Painted Lady {h.s}

a sunday kind of love

★ LORELAI ★

January 5th
1998

It's been a quiet couple of days. To think we are in the beginning of, what will be, a great year, is hard to comprehend. Especially with the events from New Year's eve. Something like that is hard to bounce back from emotionally and mentally. That's why Harry has been skipping out on band practice for the past couple of days. I quietly let the band know what was going on, and they are all supportive of him taking this time away. As much as I used to complain internally about never having Harry home, or how he would always be sneaking around, this is somehow worse.

Not that I hate him finally being home and relaxing, definitely not. It's because even though he is physically here, he isn't mentally. It's been the same routine for the past week. We wake up in the middle of the day, lay in bed until eventually I decide to make us some food, eat in bed as I plead with Harry to try and get some sun, make my way to watch television alone, make dinner and watch as Harry leaves our room for the first time that day to eat with me in the dining room, and then sit with Harry in bed as he slowly falls asleep. The most heartbreaking part is when I wake up in the middle of the night to Harry silently crying beside me. I've learned to just let him be and not ask him any questions, but I do cuddle him a little harder while faking sleep.

And it's not that I am annoyed with having to take care of him, I'd do it for the rest of my life if I had to. It just breaks my heart to watch him beat himself up over a small mistake. I want him to be okay again, I want to see that dimpled smirk grace his face. For some reason, I want him to be sneaking around the house and leaving for band practice at random times in the day. I just want him to feel better. And I'll do anything in my power to help him get back there. Even if that means sitting in silence with him, and letting him heal himself.

I've been staying up most nights, just waiting for Harry to stir awake and the tears to begin flowing. I don't think he knows that I know about it, and I'm too scared to ask. The first night it happened, I rolled over and tried to help but he shut me down, told me he was fine and to go back to sleep. He didn't mention it the next day, and I didn't want to be the first to bring it up, so now we just sort of let it happen. I pretend I'm not awake as he silently lets the tears go, trying to force my love for him subconsciously. It makes me more exhausted than ever throughout the days, but I think it's worth it that even though he doesn't think I'm awake, he really isn't alone.

The sun is slowly rising, peeking through our curtains and casting light rays throughout the room. I've only gotten a couple hours of sleep, my eyes begging for a few more minutes of shut eye, but I know Harry will begin to wake up any minute. He tends to wake up super early in the morning, but falls back asleep until noon. I cherish this small time because it's really the only time he talks throughout the day. Right on cue, Harry begins stirring behind me, lightly groaning and stretching his limbs. In the night, we both usually end up on opposite sides of the bed, but when he wakes up for this measly short moment, he makes sure to wrap his arms around me and pull me close. With his arm draped over my waist, I turn around in his hold.

"Morning," He croaks out, his voice scratchy and his eyes puffy.

I lift my hand to feather over the bags under his eyes, wiping away the remnants of last night's tears. "Good morning."

"Did you sleep okay?" His eyes are always brighter in the early morning sun, shocking me every time.

"Mhm," I hum a lie. "How about you?"

"Fine." He shrugs his shoulders lightly. "Still pretty tired though, I could probably sleep for a couple more hours." He says this everyday, and everyday I watch him sleep peacefully until the sun is high up in the sky.