Facade [h.s]

forty-six

I woke up in the middle of the night, feeling cold all of a sudden.

I sighed, opening my eyes to stare at the window, finding myself wishing I'd left the curtain open the evening before, just so I could be soothed by the sight of the stars instead of the darkness permeating every angle of the room like a freezing, unwelcoming blanket.

I lay perfectly still for a while longer, not wanting to wake Harry up, since I had no intention of dealing with him in that moment.

The rest of our day had been unnaturally tense, and I'd been more than glad when we'd finally gone to sleep, not wanting to tiptoe around him any longer. I kept being reminded of the words I'd said to him every single time I looked at his face, I couldn't deal with it anymore. I wished I could rewind time, or that we could both act like that statement had never left my mouth, but I knew it wasn't a possibility.

After some more seconds or minutes, I couldn't tell, I gave up and stood up, walking to the window and opening the curtain by half, letting the light of the moon come through the glass.

I stared at the night sky for some instants, trying to let the light of the stars calm me down and convince me that things weren't as bad as I thought they were, but with no success. I'd managed to do the only thing I couldn't have come back from out of spite, or anger, and I had to face the consequences now. I didn't know why I'd done that. Why I'd tried to use a love confession as a blade to cut right though Harry's arrogance during an argument.

Had I done it to hurt him, to hurt myself, or to hurt us both? Had I told him like that to make him feel what I was feeling, had I willingly slapped him with my words, or had I simply tried to prove him that he could be loved? That he could make someone's heart beat quicker and their laughs louder, simply by existing? That he'd been able to make a lasting impact on someone's life? Had I done it to hurt him at all, or to give him hope?

I shook my head, turning around and stilling instantly when I discovered that Harry was not lying on the bed.

I furrowed my eyebrows, looking towards the door of the bedroom. Where had he gone?

I didn't make a move for some seconds, debating whether I should've looked for him or not, and then I decided to get out of the bedroom, ignoring the screaming voices in my head that were telling me it was a bad idea.

I should've gone back to sleep and ignored the lack of Harry's presence, I knew that. But I couldn't.

I entered the living room and I tilted my head when I found Harry sitting on the thin windowsill he always sat on, his hair a bit messy because of the warm wind of the night blowing right through the open window. The light was off, the only source of illumination the stars, and he didn't notice me when I walked in.

His head was leaning against the frame of the window and his hand was on his thigh, a cigarette between his fingers that he didn't seem to be particularly interested in.

"Harry?" I called him softly, from afar, not wanting to risk him getting scared and falling down. I couldn't understand why he loved that spot so much. It just seemed dangerous, to me.

He turned his head towards me as soon as I spoke, an unreadable look inside his unusually dark eyes. During the day they always seemed to be so transparent, but at night it was always like the shadows of the darkness belonged to them. I'd never seen eyes that could be so clear but so mysterious before meeting him.

"Hey," he murmured in reply, and I took it as my clue to finally get close to him.

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

He shrugged. "I couldn't."

"I understand."

He turned his head towards me again. "Do you?"