Red Volkswagen || h.s.

happiness

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haunted by the look in my eyes that would've loved you for a lifetime

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BROOKLYN'S POV

I've become very familiar with the art of waking up in a cold sweat and forgetting where I am for a few seconds.

The sticky feeling of the sheets being stuck to you and the feeling of wanting to chop all your hair off because it's sticking to the back of your neck for dear life, all the while trying to get your bearings and waiting for your soul to come back to your body.

Usually it occurs after a particularly long, grueling dream that pictures me and a certain someone at a certain point in time in our lives, or it just happens out of nowhere and I have no idea why my brain hates me so much. Tonight is the latter– it just happened. I just woke up, no dream triggered it. I think it's safe to say the my circumstances right now could have triggered it, and I didn't need to have the dream because I'm actually here.

After pushing the sheets down to the end of the bed so they're not touching me and sitting up, I finally start to catch my breath.

I reach over to the nightstand and check the time on my phone, groaning internally when I see that it's just past three in the morning. It takes a feat for me to fall back asleep after these instances, so chances of getting more rest are low. I'm practically wide awake anyway– my brain never gets used to this.

Once I can breathe again, I stand up. I have to change my shirt because of how uncomfortable my current one is and my hair goes up in a ponytail because I hate the feeling of it touching my neck. Then I become aware of how thirsty I am, realizing I have to go downstairs to get water because I never brought any up here. Which was silly of me, because I should've known this would happen in some capacity.

I quietly crack the door open and peek into the hallway, and it's light enough that I don't need a flashlight. I slip into the hallway and to the top of the stairs, stopping short and noticing that the lights in the kitchen seem to be on. They're dimmed low, but they're on. I listen for a second and when I don't hear anything, I turn around and look at Harry's bedroom door that's open.

So, he's awake.

I go down the stairs quietly so I don't startle him, and I see him standing with his back to me, leaning against the counter with a glass of water in his hand.

"Hey." I say quietly so he knows I'm right behind him.

He whips around and furrows his eyebrows.

"Why are you awake?" He asks.

"Why are you awake?" 

He pauses, leaning off the counter and setting the glass down.

"Couldn't sleep." He clears his throat. "You?"

"Same." I finally move, going to the cabinet with the glasses and pulling one out.

"Any reason why?"

I chuckle sarcastically. "Sometimes yes, sometimes it just happens. You?" I throw the question back to him.

He looks up at me and then to the ground again as silence envelopes the air around us. "That's exactly right."

"How often does it happen for you?" I ask him delicately, wanting to know more.

"Couple times a week, maybe." He shrugs. "It's unpredictable."