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The taste of coffee in sits bitter in his mouth at midnight. When he starts to feel drowsy. But Niall’s sat on the sofa strumming his guitar, feet propped next to a can of Redbull. He’s looking down at the strings, a crease in his brow, the one he gets when he’s really focusing on something. It’s a song he’s working on. Harry likes Niall’s songs, they’re not just about love and falling into it and out of it, they’re about other things. Real, tangible things. Non-ideals. Raw and true. Niall struggles through them, though, when it comes to the lyrics. But Harry’s got a journal full of words, so of course some of them are bound to work. And that’s what they do, while they wait for the moon. Until even the caffeine can’t keep Harry’s eyes open.
It’s after three, when Niall sets the guitar down. Harry’s been drifting in and out of sleep for a good hour. It’s easy, under the spell of a soft melody. Not so easy with the cold that curls in when Niall pulls the back door open, small telescope in hand. Harry shifts to tighten his arms around himself, must make a sound because he sees the other boy glance over. The moon catches his face, pale and bright, makes it look smooth and delicate as porcelain. He thinks he sees the corner of his lip twitch up. He thinks, he looks beautiful, before Niall turns away again and pulls the door closed behind himself. Harry watches the shadow of him as he starts to set the telescope up, stoops to get the tripod ready, screws the scope carefully into the top; watches the way his fingers fiddle deftly with the knobs as he adjusts the focus. The chill disappears from the room. Harry drifts back to sleep.
There’s no telling how much time has passed, but he next wakes up to Niall leaning over him, tugging at his sleeve, whispering his name. Eyes alight, even through the dark. The deck is bathed in silver light, Harry can see it from the couch. He wishes he could have this more often, Niall like a kid on Christmas morning, urgent and insistent. Eager to share this moment – eager to share it with Harry.
The telescope’s angled at the moon. Harry tugs a sweater on and follows Niall outside, shivers and curls in on himself. Niall’s back at the telescope, staring into the eyepiece.
“You can see the craters,” he tells Harry and then, breathy and awed, “you can see everything.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Harry can hear him breathing, softly. He can hear faint sounds of London in the distance, the ever-present hum of the city. It’s muted, now, at this hour. Even the sirens are asleep, thousands of cars tucked away in their garages, nobody around. It’s enough that Harry can pretend they’re alone in the world.
“The eclipse’s not started yet,” Niall adds, steps back and gestures for Harry to take a look into the telescope, “didn’t want you to miss any of it though. Take a look!”
Harry steps to peer into the eyepiece. The moon is bright, almost blinding through the lens. He can see, in surprising detail, the scars across its surface. The deep evidence of long-ago impact, the scatter of resulting debris in radial disarray.
“Wow,” he breathes. Niall’s stood beside him, watching him hopefully; watching the moon. Harry turns the focus and watches the details sharpen. He imagines what it would be like, standing up there and looking back at the world. Wonders whether anyone would be able to see you, all that way away, and how it would feel to be so impossibly far from home. Terrifying, he thinks. Exhilarating. Like going a thousand miles an hour, all while standing still. He has to step back, afraid to stare for too long at the barren landscape. Like doing so might make him forget the ground beneath his feet. The image of the moon is still burned across his retina, blurring the features of Niall’s face in the dark. He blinks to try and erase it. Niall glances at the time on his phone, looks back up at the moon.
“S’gonna start, soon,” he tells Harry. He wraps his arms around himself as he peers back into the telescope, hands tucked underneath his armpits. The light catches his eyelashes, the tips of his hair where it pokes out from under his toque. His skin. Curves into his ears, casts shadows down his neck. He looks so soft like this, softer than usual. Harry can’t tell where the moon stops and Niall begins, starts to think in all his exhaustion and half-dream state that maybe Niall doesn’t belong to this planet, after all. Thinks about what it could have been that made Niall love space the way he does, imagines him sitting at his bedroom window back in Mullingar, staring up at the stars, watching grainy images of rocket launches on the TV.
And suddenly Niall turns his head, and their eyes meet. His lips are caught in a smile, the kind that pulls out the secret dimples in his cheeks, the slightest scrunch of his nose, the sparkle in his eye.
“Look up,” he whispers, chiding, gentle. And Harry – Harry would do anything he asked, ever. So he does. The shadow’s started sneaking across the moon, he sees; a bite of darkness out of the full bright. He hears Niall let out a slow breath, as if the simple act of the Earth crossing the sun is a miracle.
And maybe, Harry thinks, it is. All that shit Niall’s always talking about, the universe and the stars and the way everything had to come together just-so for life to even begin to exist. The way the Earth just orbits the sun, all on its own. Out of their control.
They stand there, watching the shadow grow. Watching the moon turn to a rusty orange, watching the orange turn red. Niall fiddles with the telescope, every so often. Makes Harry look through the eyepiece. Tells him about how the craters are thousands of kilometers wide. Pulls his toque down over his ears and zips his sweater to his chin, and all Harry can think about is how quiet it is, how Niall looks when he’s really concentrated on something, sucking on the thin line of his bottom lip, eyebrows raised. Ignores the cramped cold and tries not to shiver.
When the moon’s fully eclipsed, they drink sweet peppermint tea out of a thermos and squeeze next to Obama on the bench, shoulders pressed together. Niall tucks one foot behind the other and swings his legs, leans back, face angled up toward the sky. Harry follows his gaze, lets his eyes wander across the dark night and its spattering of stars. The blood red moon. The milky way. All the constellations Niall tries to tell him about, the ones whose names Harry always forgets from one city to the next. He feels very small, says so to Niall. Says, “Imagine if there was a camera on us, and it just started zooming out. Like, out past London and the continent and the world, and past the moon and solar system and galaxy and everything. And it just kept going. We’d be so small.”
Niall glances at him, only for a second, too enraptured by the moon to look away from it for long. But he smiles again. It takes Harry off guard, because it seems scary, to consider how minuscule they are. How insignificant. Then, Niall’s always had a way of seeing things differently. Seeing them for the best parts.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” he stretches his legs out, wearing a bemused smile now. “Half of the biggest boyband in the world, still a tiny spec in the rest of the universe.”
Harry smiles slowly, laughs quietly.
“Yeah,” he agrees. And that’s all it takes for him to let go, to let the feeling of smallness flood through him. And he cherishes it, while it lasts. Ignores how strange it feels, because Niall’s right. In the face of the universe, they’re still just human. Just ordinary. Niall hums thoughtfully, shifts closer. Harry can feel the weight of him against his arm, comfortable and secure.
“And somehow us tiny specs found each other. I can’t wrap my head around it.”
His voice is laced with wonder, a wonder that’s reminiscent of the very first time they performed on the X-Factor stage as One Direction. A wonder Niall’s held onto, better than any of them. He shakes his head a little. Harry makes a sound of agreement, observing the stars again. He thinks about Niall’s words. In all the universe, only one Niall and one Harry. In all the possibilities and probabilities and big miracles and small miracles. Him and Niall on the same tiny planet in the infinite expanse of space, at the same exact time in a trillion-year history, side by side. He doesn’t know what the chances are, but he knows they must be incredibly small. It means too much to fully grasp, everything that lead to this moment. Everything that lead to every moment. He shivers, and it has nothing to do with the cold. Looks back at Niall. Feels a rush of warmth for him in his heart, for saying it like that, for always putting things into perspective. To Niall, it’s all amazing. To Niall, nothing is ever jaded or old. And here Harry is, lucky enough to bask in his glow.
“I’m glad I found you,” Harry tells him, and then with a certainty he was never even aware of until this exact moment adds, “you’re my best friend.”
He says it quietly, but firmly. In spite of whatever might happen, those simple words will always be true. No matter if they talk every day or not, no matter what happens in the next second or the next month or the next year. Since he was sixteen years old embarking on the greatest adventure of his life, right up to this very moment, it’s been Niall. He’s the steady beat, the heart of everything. He’s the star the rest of them revolve around. And that’s what’s important. Niall only glances at him, as he’s having this profound realization. Lets out that breath of a laugh he always does when he thinks Harry’s gone too far out of his head.
“I know. I love you, too, Harry.”
And that just proves it, really. Niall always knows what Harry means, even if Harry doesn’t. He knows that ‘I can’t find a single damn pair of socks in my stupid suitcase’ means ‘I miss home’, knows that ‘teach me guitar’ means the world is going too fast and Harry needs a moment to breathe, knows that sometimes Harry needs someone to listen for hours and hours even if they don’t say a thing in reply, knows that ‘hug me, Niall’ means ‘pat my back and laugh at me and whisper rude things in my ear’. He knows that Harry only wants to make people happy, knows when to exploit that trait and when to let him off the hook. Knows how to make Harry comfortable in even the worst of circumstances.
Harry leans to hug him, tucks his face in his neck and wraps his arms awkwardly around him. He feels Niall’s own arms come up after a moment, feels them sneak warm and tight around him. He closes his eyes and breathes out, nice and slow. Sleep creeps back in on him, waiting and wanting and oh, so inviting.
“You’re missing the eclipse,” Niall points out, all mumbled against the side of Harry’s head. His voice vibrates through his chest, his throat, against the tip of Harry’s nose where it’s pressed against his skin.
“There’ll be another,” Harry sighs, pressing closer to Niall’s warmth. Niall scoffs, quietly. Harry can feel where he’s resting his cheek against his head.
“Harry, if you’re not going to appreciate that this only happens once every three decades –”
“No,” Harry mumbles, and shifts to look up at Niall. Slowly, tearing his gaze from the sky, Niall looks back at him. His face is so close, the line of his jaw. He watches Harry, patiently.
“No?”
Harry shakes his head and sits up properly, keeps his arm around Niall though.
“In thirty years it’ll happen again, and thirty years after than until like, the sun explodes, yeah?”
Niall laughs.
“Well, yeah,” he agrees. Harry nods.
“But I only get you, like, once. Ever.”
Niall raises an eyebrow, shifts to look at him better.
“I know we’re watching the stars together,” he starts quietly, softly, and Harry immediately sees the amusement in his eyes, “but I think you’re getting a bit sentimental.”
Harry pouts. Niall smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Harry can feel him curl his thumb in the fabric of his sweater, the way it presses against the small of Harry’s back. He looks distinctly fond. It makes Harry’s chest ache.
“Just watch the eclipse with me. Then we can talk about how important I am.”
Harry firms his lips together.
“You’re just gonna fall asleep, after.”
Niall grins, impish and bright.
“I’ll still be listening.”
Harry frowns more.
“I’ll fall asleep, too.”
“You can tell me about it in our dreams, then,” Niall decides. His thumb strokes Harry’s back gently, a long, slow arc. He hasn’t looked back up at the moon yet, Harry realizes. Like, for this instant, Harry’s more important than all of that. And Harry wills Niall to look at him the way he looks at the moon, even for just a moment. To look at him the way he looks at Niall. He reaches to cup his face, presses his palms against his cheeks. They’re cold. Harry holds him there, looks him over. Stares back at him, into his eyes and how deep and clear they look in this light. Sneaks his fingertips under the very edge of his toque, into the soft warmth of his hair. Niall humours him, for a moment, then makes a face, trying to lean back out of his grasp.
“What’re you doing?”
Harry reaches to try and pull him back.
“Looking at you, please?”
Niall groans.
“We’re watching the eclipse, Harry. I know it’s a full moon but stop being weird.”
Harry sighs, drops his arms back down. Niall looks him over, takes in his petulant expression, rolls his eyes and hugs him tight again. Lets Harry lean his head against his, when he’s done being a pill. Doesn’t pull away when Harry presses a kiss to his cheek. And that’s enough, for Harry. For now. He lets his eyes droop closed as the small sliver of light at the corner of the moon begins to grow again, spreads all the way back across the surface. Tangled up in Niall’s arms, safe and warm. Lets Niall drag him to bed when it’s over, and begs to be tucked in. Grabs his wrist when he’s done so he can’t leave, whines until Niall climbs in beside him. Wraps his arms around him, tight, like he’s a giant teddy bear Harry won at the carnival. Except he’s really an average-sized human Harry somehow won in the great lottery of life.
Either way, Harry’s got a plan to never let him go.
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Fin.