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A meteor 8.4 miles wide will crash into North America, a catalyst for the largest extinction known to man-kind, in approximately 4 hours. The plethora of half-drunken liquor bottles covering the stretch of Harry’s dining table is a pretty good indication of how he’s taken to the news.
It all becomes too much, after spending half of his last day on Earth drinking and chain-smoking and holding in the sobs that quietly choke him. He hasn’t bothered to answer anyone’s calls, has turned off the living room TV. The silence burns over his clammy skin, does nothing to soothe the racing of his thoughts. The stench of his own sorrow suffocates him.
So he throws a pair of worn leather boots on, grabs the closest jacket hanging in the entrance closet, and steps outside. He doesn’t move at first, just cups his hands around a cigarette, struggling to light the end. Inhaling, he closes his eyes, lets the harsh burn scratch at his throat and clog his lungs. His chin tilts down as he coughs, watery eyes staring at the dead bits of grass that poke out from a thin layer of icy morning dew.
His feet start moving before his thoughts can collect themselves. Behind his house, there’s a small, man-made lake, small pieces of ice floating above chilly, rippling water. His boots crunch the frozen grass beneath his boots, nose turning pink already. Ice and snow are a rarity these days; it’s a twisted kind of miracle that Harry gets to experience it before he dies.
Dies. He’s going to die.
The cigarette between his index and middle finger indents, Harry’s breaths harsher than before. His eyes screw shut, lips pursed.
“Harry!” he hears someone shout, somewhere above him. He looks up, at the faded orange and pinks that sweep across the sky. Grey, ominous clouds slowly but surely begin to hide the sun away for the last time.
His eyes meet a far-away figure on top of the giant hill several yards away from the lake. It’s Louis, his adventurous, bubbly, hyper, loud best friend. He’s waving ecstatically down at Harry, smile wide, eyes crinkled at the corners. He’s beautiful, a silhouette against the setting sun.
“Lou!” he screams back, his voice shot. His heartbeat picks up, thumping within his chest. Out of everyone he’s ever known, the only person he’d want to see on his last day alive would be Louis, and here he is.
“Come up here!” Louis requests. Harry tosses his cigarette away, ashes smearing over the icy grass.
Where the sun shines the brightest is where his Louis is. Harry treks up, up, up the hill, until his hand smacks over a tiny yellow flower. Ice quickly melts from underneath his fingernails, and when he sits up, he wipes down the grass stains from his jeans. The grass is greener, more alive here than it is at the bottom of the hill. There’s a giant evergreen tree at the center, with Louis resting his back against it. His blue eyes glisten despite the weather, his chin tilted up toward the brackish sky. He wears pajama pants and a thick puffer jacket, off-white Adidas adornimg his feet.
Beside him is a woven basket, gently closed with a thin piece of twine. When Harry takes a seat in front of it on the dewy grass, Louis begins to open it up, taking out tiny sandwiches and a bottle of wine.
“What’s the occasion?” Harry asks, bitter. Louis only smiles.
“The end of the world, Curly,” he replies, smooth, without a hint of trepidation to his voice. Harry swallows.
Louis begins to scarf down sandwich after sandwich as if he hasn’t eaten in days, and Harry watches.
Watches how he licks his lips after every bite, how his fingers grasp the sandwich in his hands, tiny finger indents within the bread visible when he sets it down on his bent leg. The sun, although bleak, still manages to gleam along his golden skin in a heavenly way. His eyes flutter shut as he hums in delight, his eyelashes long as they lay against soft skin. Harry wants to touch, to feel Louis’ skin on the pads of his fingers, run his palms along the ridges of Louis’ spine. He wants to hold him, as close as he can, to feel Louis’ heartbeat in time with his own before the chance is gone.
He wants to kiss him.
There’s a tiny hint of a smile to Louis’ thin lips, eyes closed as his chest rises and falls after finishing another sandwich. The tiny amount of scruff on Louis’ face hides the soft smirk he possesses. “I can feel you staring, you know.”
“Oh,” Harry reddens, moving to sit down beside him. He’s afraid to close his eyes, afraid to lose another second of life before the faint speck of a meteor in the sky collides with the Earth.
Louis opens his eyes, dabbing his lips with a handkerchief. His eyebrow furrows for only a moment before he takes a glass full of red wine, bringing it to his mouth.
He takes a small sip. “Are you not hungry?”
“Hmm?” Harry blinks rapidly, looking down at his lap, where an uneaten sandwich lays.
“Harry,” he rests his hand on Harry’s bent knee. “Eat something. For me.”
He obliges, despite the bile rising steadily in his throat. Louis smiles at the sight and lights a cigarette.
His wristwatch tells him they’ve got 2 hours left. 2 hours until they’re nothing but the discarded ash that falls from the end of Louis’ cigarette, smearing black on his pajama pants. There’s not enough time; there will never be.
In a sudden burst of anger, Harry undoes his watch and stands, chucking it far past their sanctuary, watches it land just before the icy lake beyond. Louis looks at him, eyes wide.
“I remember when I bought that watch,” Harry grits. “It was right before New Year’s. It was part of a limited edition collection, and I thought to myself, ‘I must have it, or I may die.’”
Louis’ soft smile fades. An animal rustles the branches of the evergreen behind them, unaware of their impending doom. Harry envies it.
“And… and what was the point?” Harry begins to ramble, fragmented sentences and panic. “I buy–-bought all of these things, thought they would–-as if it would fill some kind of void in my heart–-if I had known that none of it would matter when I’m 6 feet under–-”
“You would’ve still bought the watch,” Louis interrupts, quiet.
“I would have bought any other watch,” Harry sighs, slumping back into a seated position. Louis stares at him in silence.
Harry hears two thumps, the strike of a lighter. When he looks up, Louis’ lit his shoes on fire. “Meaningless things.”
Bewildered, Harry coughs up a second of surprised laughter, Louis giggling beside him.
“They’ll keep us warm. Not so meaningless, then.”
“True right,” Louis grins.
There’s a long silence after that. They watch the stars shift in the sky, the orange swipes of clouds turn purple and ominous. Harry feels Louis’ eyes on him, can’t help the blush that coats over his cheeks. There’s a sort of tension that shifts in the air between them, thick and clogged that it has Harry nearly gasping for some kind of relief.
Louis rises to his knees. Harry strains his neck to look up at him.
He stays quiet when Louis hobbles toward him. He has the urge to stay where he is, to lay his cheek on Louis’ stomach. Instead, he moves in sync with Louis’ pace, leaning back as Louis moves forward. Louis’ hand finds its place on his shoulder, and his heartbeat quickens at an exponential rate.
He rests back on his hands, stretching out his legs. Louis takes a finger and taps his temple, and he can see the galaxies that live in Louis’ eyes from this close-up. Louis glances between both of his eyes, intent.
“Wonder what you’re thinking of up there,” Louis says, soft and kind. His finger trails down Harry’s face, to the underside of his jaw, at the tip of the jutted bone.
Harry swallows thickly. It’s like Louis can read right through him. Hell, he can probably see how Harry’s heart struggles to catch up any time his eyes are on him.
“Many things,” Harry whispers because he doesn’t know what to say. “All sorts of things.”
“Will you tell me?” Louis’ eyes are on his lips, his finger dangerously close to the seam. Harry’s breath stutters.
“I think you know.”
Louis’ eyes brighten only slightly, his eyes darting quickly across Harry’s features. Harry stares down at the base of his throat, watches his Adam’s apple bob as he delays a shaky exhale.
“I want to hear you say it,” Louis brings his face closer to Harry’s. There is the faintest smile on his lips.
Harry’s not sure how to respond, with Louis this close to him, close enough he can smell the wine on his lips, can see how the red has stained the pink. He is stunned by fear.
Fuck. He has an hour left to live, and he can’t even make a simple confession.
Harry’s fingers tremble when he places his hand in Louis’, warm and velvet. He squeezes, once, forcing himself to keep eye contact, to make sure Louis knows, knows what his heart has been yearning for. He can see the quickened breaths leaving Louis’ open mouth.
“How long have you known?” Harry breathes, and he should feel embarrassed but instead he feels like crying.
“I’ve always known,” Louis replies easily, his voice ladened with slight humor. “You always thought you were slick, huh?”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I want to hear you say it,” Louis repeats himself, serious once more. The sky has darkened considerably, f uck, there isn’t enough time.
He can’t say anything. His lips are paralyzed.
Louis releases Harry’s hand, shuffles over into his lap, and wraps himself around his waist and torso, burying his face into the juncture of Harry’s neck. It’s only awkward at first, with Harry having to adjust his legs for Louis to sit comfortably, Louis’ legs crossing and uncrossing. But then, it’s nice, it’s soothing, and Harry splays his palms against Louis’ back.
He feels Louis’ breath on his neck, his thighs squeeze his waist as Louis grips tighter. Harry’s hands travel lower down his back. Louis hitches his breath when Harry’s fingers touch near the base of his spine. He doesn’t stop him, so Harry continues.
Both hands drag across the swell of his ass to the thighs that squeeze him, gripping tightly. His eyes screw shut, hands holding back onto his waist. He thinks he feels Louis’ lips brush along the pulse in his neck.
When Harry loosens his grip, Louis only holds on tighter. “Don’t.”
The black speck in the sky grows bigger.
“Tell me,” Louis moves from his neck, the tip of his nose brushing his. Harry keeps his eyes closed.
They’re silent for a long, long time. Harry’s fingers tremble on Louis’ waist.
“I’ll say it, then. I’ll be brave, for you.”
Harry nods.
“Open your eyes first. Please.”
He opens his eyes.
“I’m in love with you,” he breathes, quiet, like the meteor hurtling toward Earth. “I’ll love you until my last breath.”
“You’re just saying that because–”
“No,” Louis presses the tip of his pointer finger to Harry’s lips. “I’m not. I love you. I–-I love you more than anything, and,” his voice rises in panic, “and I’m so fucking scared that you’ll die thinking I didn’t.”
A tear drips down Harry’s cheek, and Louis wipes it away.
“Why didn’t you say this before–-before-–” he chokes, lips wet.
Louis glances up at Harry’s eyes before shifting back down to his parted lips. “We are both cowards,” and then his lips are on Harry’s.
It’s the lightest of kisses to exist, but it’s a kiss, and it revives Harry’s soul.
With haste do Harry’s hands find purchase on Louis’ waist, holding him steady in his lap.
“Being held by you, like this, is the most wonderful feeling,” Louis smiles against his lips, soft and open and Harry might die before the meteor ever touches them. Rose color flutters across his features. He can feel Louis shaking, and he’s not certain if it’s from the weather.
“Are you nervous?” Harry stupidly asks. Louis nods nonetheless.
“I am,” Louis admits. Harry thinks he’s brave.
Louis leans forward once more, arms wrapping around Harry’s neck, his cheek flush to his shoulder. Cautiously, Harry dips his face into the warmth of Louis’ neck, kissing at the frantic pulse that beats there.
Blissful, is how he feels. If only for a moment.
The sky has darkened immensely. Clouds loom overhead, and Louis’ hand tightens its’ grip on Harry’s jacket. There’s not enough time, there will never be enough time again.
“What is the best way to die, you think?” Harry whispers, swallowing down the lump in his throat. Louis kisses it away.
“Asleep. In your arms.”
Harry couldn’t agree more.