IF I NEEDED SOMEONE - a ben hardy fic

ONE:

chapter one : 3.02 :

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THE FIRST SOUND HE HEARD when he awoke was the loud crack of his head smashing into the top bunk. An immediate sharp pained groan left his lips. Restless, long nights had become routine. He had sat up too fast, too startled.

He hates sleeping alone. Nightmares weren't always an issue but now, they had become more frequent.

His left hand flew straight to his head, rubbing delicately at the lump he could feel forming. A strong headache was brewing which made him question some people's decisions to buy bunk-beds.

The dim light of his digital alarm clock sat in the corner of his vision, he felt drawn to the faint red light.

3:02

He let out a grunt for the second time that night, well morning.

Despite his lack of clothing, he found that he was sat in a damp, disgusting swamp of sweat. The blankets had collected on the floor, strewn out as if they had been thrown. A fan sat in the corner of the room, working endlessly in its attempts to defeat the heat.

He rose, exhausted, and stumbled in the pitch black room towards the bathroom down the hall. Once out of the small compact bedroom he silently fumbled for the bathroom.

The moment he had flipped the small switch on the wall, he found himself covering his eyes with his hands. Too much light, it was too early for this. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he tried to brave out the blinding light.

With squinted eyes, he felt his way to in front of the basin and mirror before leaning down to wet his face. He didn't see a point in attempting to return to bed, he may as well try to wake himself up more. Going back to bed meant the high possibility of more restlessness and bad dreams, he didn't need that.

Rising from the sink he looked to the stranger that stood before him. Dark cycles surrounded his eyes, his hair worse than its usual bed-headedness.

Seeing himself look so horrible brought out a horrible craving. A craving he was shamed for, which he understood why, but he needed a cigarette, more than ever he had ever felt.

Without bothering to dry his face, the coolness of the remaining drops was calming. Pulling himself away from the car wreck that sat in the mirror, he escaped the room while switching off the light.

Glass doors lead out to the balcony, street lights from outside managed to creep its way inside. The faintness created a light glow within the hallway. He slid the door across slowly, cautious of the creak it could sometime make.

The balcony was long and hosted a small table and three chairs, nothing else apart from flower pots occupied the space. Despite it being a big balcony, it, unfortunately, was shared with the house that was directly next door. There once was a wall between each section but that was knocked down when his mother and father had become close friends with the neighbours.

He wasn't sure why that would make them want to knock the wall down, privacy was important.

He sat at the small table, surveying its surface. On it sat an ashtray, a white lighter and a half-empty packet of cigarettes. He had left them here earlier, his mother not wishing for them to be inside her house.

He fumbled for a cigarette, the anxiety without it was worsening each moment it wasn't sat between his lips. Hurriedly lighting it, he quickly put it between his lips, inhaling its dangerous release. His addiction had gotten worse since it happened. He found too many excuses to sneak off and smoke, he didn't see any issue with it. It was the only thing that was helping.