Italy In The Spring [h.s]

9

I wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, my throat feeling impossibly dry and in desperate need of water.

Timmy is dead asleep beside me, his hair splayed messily across the white pillowcase and his legs tangled in the bedsheets. I smile to myself and trace the tip of my finger down the side of his face, admiring how angelic he looks when he sleeps.

The clock resting on the nightstand reads 2:57 a.m., my head pounding and stomach growling after not having eaten anything.

My bare feet meet the freezing cold hardwood floor, hissing under my breath and shriveling up slightly at the intrusion of warmth. I stumble around in the dark, trying to locate a pair of Timmy's socks hidden away in a drawer. I slip them on my feet, pulling them all the way up to the middle of my calves before sneaking out of the bedroom and into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water.

The pitch-black darkness of the house swarms around me, causing me to trail my fingertips along the wall as I walk down the hallway. My eyes adjust to the darkness, spotting the moonlight streaming through the windows of the kitchen.

I hum softly under my breath and grab a glass from the cabinet, maneuvering my way around the kitchen rather easily with the only light coming from the rays of the moon. Filling my glass up with water, I spin around to take a seat at the kitchen island, only to jump and almost let the glass fall from my hand, having to clamp my hand over my mouth to muffle the scream that follows.

"Harry!?" I whisper yell, pressing the palm of my hand to my racing heart. "Jesus fucking Christ. Scare the shit out of me, why don't you?"

The pale moonlight washes over the side of his face, a glass of water resting in his hands while he sits across from me on the other side of the kitchen island, "Sorry. I didn't think you would see me."

"So you figured sitting there and watching me like a creep would be the best option?" I tug on the bottom of Timmy's shirt, wincing once I realize it only comes down to just above my mid-thigh.

"I mean... yeah," he hums with a tiny smile.

I roll my eyes and hide the lower half of my body behind the island, "What are you doing up? It's almost 3 a.m.."

He shrugs his shoulders, swirling the water around in his glass, "I could ask you the same thing."

"I'm thirsty and hungry," I reply before taking a swig from my glass. "Your turn."

Harry stares at me for a few moments, eyes shining underneath the white rays of the moon, "I don't sleep well when I'm not somewhere familiar."

I smile softly, remembering our time together in Sicily. When I had snuck into his bed and woke up tangled in his arms the next morning. Back when times were simpler and I wasn't a fucked up mess like I am now.

"How long have you been in here?" My eyes take in his appearance, heart melting as my eyes cast over his hair pulled up into a bun with tiny hairs slowly slipping out of it.

He's shirtless, the black ink of his tattoos catching my attention. The wings of his butterfly are the end of my view of the rest of his torso. He rests his arms on the counter, displaying all of his arm tattoos that I've once traced with my fingertips.

And that bitch from the flower shop.

Nope. I can't think like that. Especially since I have no right to be jealous in the first place.

"About an hour," Harry replies with a small shrug. "Kinda therapeutic."

"I guess I interrupted you then," my eyes drop down to the glass in my hands.