Harry's fond of the cold - the simple effect of the airconditioner having been turned on for a little longer that makes his bed and pillows cold enough to put a smile on his face. The fact that he can justify burying himself underneath blankets and comforters with the reasoning that his house always ran cool and chilly. The feeling of having his beanies cover his ears and his hands in his pockets making him feel warm enough.
But that's different, he thinks. Doesn't like the physical feeling of being cold because that reminds him why he's alone in the first place - saying something he didn't mean that didn't land him in anywhere but regret, and with you sleeping in the guest bedroom when he should've.
He's tossing and turning, still wearing his shirt and his boxers but the air around him makes him cold and in the same time suffocated, a whine bubbling in his throat as he slams his legs down again on the bed as he's so close to crying.
Maybe Harry really doesn't like the cold at all.
He only thought of that at first and had the thinking that maybe he was actually right on the earlier fight, which prompted him to try and sleep again.
He's tried lying on his tum, and normally it would be accompanied by head rubs from you but that wasn't really on the table tonight, and he would've enjoyed it.
Had the front of his body pressed to the mattress with his head against his pillow just facing your side, but then his neck felt weird so he changed where he was looking at, but then it was the same - and his curls kept flopping around with him every time he moved and that just irritated him even more.
Harry's also tried this app on his phone that's meant to calm you and lull you to sleep, with his noise-cancelling headphones on and the comforter hiked up to his chin, and it was too mellow.
Just too mellow that he can hear all the static in his mind, and he didn't know if it was fast-paced either because he can't differentiate the two at the moment, looking like a sad bub with his brows furrowed, eyes lost, and lips downturned.
He's also tried sleeping in a 45-degree angle with a bunch of pillows under his head and his back, and it was the closest he's ever got to actually resting, but then it failed when he realized it sucked because you weren't there to either be excited or to be annoyed - and he'd know which is it if you were there.
Tried sleeping flatly and it was too eerie for him, hearing his every shift at the bed since his ear's pressed to the mattress that made him realize that he really couldn't sleep.
Because if Harry sleeps, he sleeps. None of this crap in which he has to try every possible method he knows to being him to it.
Harry peacefully asleep has him either on his tum or his side, his head turned to face you either way and he'd be softly snoring if he's eaten dinner not long ago before he goes to bed.
His eyes would be closed, and not have his eyeballs fluttering under his lids just like what they're doing now, with his eyebrows free from any knots.
His lips would be slightly parted open at times, and he'd be even sleep-talking at times with incoherent mumbles and moving atleast half of his body on top of yours, bear-hugging and what else as he smiles unconsciously.
Harry wants to chuckle at the irony that the thing you fought over (with him initiating) was about sleep - on how he said you couldn't sleep without him and how ridiculous it sounded, without having even heard your side on why you couldn't and why you asked him to sleep beside you.
And maybe he said it a little harsher, something along the lines of "what d'you want me to do, love? Sing you to sleep? Give you milk with cookies on the side? Go home four hours earlier to read you your bedtime story?" that makes him wince every now and then.
He doesn't reckon if you've replied at that moment; it's either because you remained speechless or he stopped listening yet either way, he knew he fucked up when you stormed out of the master's bedroom, the very one he's in now, without any shot of trying to reconcile him.
It was an unspoken rule to not go to bed with any conflict still, and by that point you really didn't have any regard to it that you went straight down the stairs and into one of the many that the house offers, with no second look either to the soft call of your name from him that he thought always worked every time.
But the guilt didn't fully seep in his heart until he lies on the bed, having cleaned himself up, done his skincare routine, and changed his clothes - all alone - and realized your side was empty.
Still as empty as cold as you left it an hour ago.
Harry by now is proper restless, knuckles just rubbing his eyes and he wants you to scold him right now not to do so, going to the point that he even mumbles what you'd say to him under his breath.
He hates the feeling of being alone in this room that's meant for two hearts and not only his, because if it stays the same as it is right now, it wouldn't really be his room as it could be anyone else's for that matter - and he doesn't want it to be anyone else's.
What he's doing now is being himself, gathering the blanket against his chest as he maneuvers his way out of the bed and into the dark to go out with ease, having been awake for so long and staring into the dark that he no longer needs assistance.
The floor's cold and so are the steps of the stairs, proper sniffling as he wipes them off with the back of his hand, opening guest rooms one by one until he finally found yours, hearing the buzz of the airconditioner from outside as he prays to God it's unlocked.
Because the keys to the room are upstairs and he can't manage another minute without you, or more specifically, sleeping beside you.
Harry sees you soundly sleeping and if it wasn't for the desperation, he'd be out already.
Yet he wouldn't have stayed either if it wasn't for you opening your eyes and looking at him as if it was normal - as if you knew this was coming eventually with only some surprise tainting your features.
He's slipping into bed and he cherishes the fact that he's warm now, pulling his king-sized blanket over on top of your bodies as he doesn't mind the smaller bed he's lying in now.
"Can't go to sleep without you."
Harry's wrapping his legs around your own, his hand slipping under your shirt as he rests on your tummy, head just tucked to the crook of your neck that's exposed, wiping some tears off with the fabric of your shirt as he finally feels warm.
Maybe Harry never really didn't like to sleep without you.
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