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haunted by the look in my eyes that would've loved you for a lifetime
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BROOKLYN'S POV
I've become very familiar with the art of waking up in a cold sweat and forgetting where I am for a few seconds.
The sticky feeling of the sheets being stuck to you and the feeling of wanting to chop all your hair off because it's sticking to the back of your neck for dear life, all the while trying to get your bearings and waiting for your soul to come back to your body.
Usually it occurs after a particularly long, grueling dream that pictures me and a certain someone at a certain point in time in our lives, or it just happens out of nowhere and I have no idea why my brain hates me so much. Tonight is the latter– it just happened. I just woke up, no dream triggered it. I think it's safe to say the my circumstances right now could have triggered it, and I didn't need to have the dream because I'm actually here.
After pushing the sheets down to the end of the bed so they're not touching me and sitting up, I finally start to catch my breath.
I reach over to the nightstand and check the time on my phone, groaning internally when I see that it's just past three in the morning. It takes a feat for me to fall back asleep after these instances, so chances of getting more rest are low. I'm practically wide awake anyway– my brain never gets used to this.
Once I can breathe again, I stand up. I have to change my shirt because of how uncomfortable my current one is and my hair goes up in a ponytail because I hate the feeling of it touching my neck. Then I become aware of how thirsty I am, realizing I have to go downstairs to get water because I never brought any up here. Which was silly of me, because I should've known this would happen in some capacity.
I quietly crack the door open and peek into the hallway, and it's light enough that I don't need a flashlight. I slip into the hallway and to the top of the stairs, stopping short and noticing that the lights in the kitchen seem to be on. They're dimmed low, but they're on. I listen for a second and when I don't hear anything, I turn around and look at Harry's bedroom door that's open.
So, he's awake.
I go down the stairs quietly so I don't startle him, and I see him standing with his back to me, leaning against the counter with a glass of water in his hand.
"Hey." I say quietly so he knows I'm right behind him.
He whips around and furrows his eyebrows.
"Why are you awake?" He asks.
"Why are you awake?"
He pauses, leaning off the counter and setting the glass down.
"Couldn't sleep." He clears his throat. "You?"
"Same." I finally move, going to the cabinet with the glasses and pulling one out.
"Any reason why?"
I chuckle sarcastically. "Sometimes yes, sometimes it just happens. You?" I throw the question back to him.
He looks up at me and then to the ground again as silence envelopes the air around us. "That's exactly right."
"How often does it happen for you?" I ask him delicately, wanting to know more.
"Couple times a week, maybe." He shrugs. "It's unpredictable."
I take another sip. He continues.
"The first time it happened...I had this dream, and, well–"
"Me too." I cut him off impulsively, unable to stop myself.
He looks at me, and I cannot for the life of me decipher what he's thinking.
"Either way," he clears his throat, "I won't go back to sleep. It's basically a game of roulette every night, but the bullet is me actually sleeping through the night." He continues.
"Sometimes," I let out a low chuckle, "when I can't sleep, I'll go hang out with Emma and Marley and I'll come back later that morning already smelling like fish, and Kalani will–"
"Why do your friends smell like fish?"
I almost laugh at his question before I realize I left out the most important piece of context.
"Oh. They're dolphins."
"Oh."
"Kalani's not a dolphin. Emma and Marley are. Never mind."
Harry laughs.
"I can't say I do anything as extravagant as swimming with dolphins in the middle of the night. I usually just busy myself in the studio."
"That's...probably much more normal."
Both of us laugh, the lack of sleep getting to our heads.
"Do you wanna watch a movie?"
"What?"
"A movie." Harry says as I collect myself. "Since neither of us are going back to sleep."
I gulp. "Sure."
He nods, turning on his feet and walking over to the couch in the living room. "You can pick." He picks the remote up from the coffee table. "Maybe nothing too action packed. It is the middle of the night."
"Of course, because I, of all people, would choose a violent movie even when it was midday."
"How about horror?"
I pick up the nearest pillow and throw it at him.
I eventually land on Clueless.
Harry's next to me on the couch and there's this awkward distance between us that we've never had before. I don't dwell on it because it's not like either of us will close the distance. I just don't like it and I'm not used to it. But I probably should get used to it.
Harry tosses me a blanket and puts one over his legs, slumping down in the cushions similarly to me when the title card of the movie comes on the screen.
NO PERSPECTIVE
The credits are still rolling.
Neither of them know it, though.
Both of them fell asleep long before the credits came on the screen.
Perhaps it was the presence of the other that allowed them to do so. Brains that were so tailored to the other person– Brooklyn's to Harry and Harry's to Brooklyn– were finally able to rest, simply because they were together.
Together may have different definitions. But, nevertheless, they were in the same place. Without even realizing it, the two drifted off not even halfway through the movie, all because they were together. Something they would have never been able to do if they were in their respective rooms upstairs, much less their respective states and time zones.
Neither of them had chosen to acknowledge the unburdened happiness they felt when they saw each other for the first time in eight months as Harry stood at the bottom of the stairs, gripping the banisters for dear life.
Brooklyn doesn't know that his tears were tears of happiness, and Harry doesn't know that her tears were tears of relief.
Relieved disbelief, if you will.
Looking into the other's eyes didn't remind them of what wasn't. That they weren't together. That this wasn't a necessarily 'happy' visit. Both simply looked past all of that and let themselves feel the happiness that the other brought them for that fleeting moment.
Brooklyn doesn't know that Harry finally felt like he wasn't alone when she told him she can't sleep either sometimes. He wanted to cry because he knew he wasn't alone. He knew, deep down, that she was still affected by everything in some capacity, just like he is, and that it doesn't make him crazy.
Brooklyn doesn't know that all two hundred song snippets on Harry's computer are inspired by her. She doesn't know that Harry didn't take the photos of them down because he physically couldn't, and when he tried, he felt nauseous.
The comfort of knowing they were an arms lengths away from each other was what's letting the two sleep peacefully for once. As tempted as Harry was to reach his arm out and touch her in any capacity, he refrained himself, reminding himself that knowing she was right there was enough.
Well, Brooklyn couldn't really control it when she slumped over so far that her head landed on Harry's lap, but that's not her fault. He didn't even realize it either, because he was asleep already.
Looking at the two, you would never be able to tell what they've been through. You would never be able to sense the tense air between them as they circumvent the obvious. You would never be able to read Brooklyn's wondering expression or notice something was off with the way Harry was acting.
You'd see it for what it is. For who they are. Simply, two people who beg themselves everyday to find that happiness they once felt again. Two people who were so in love at one point that they couldn't sleep without knowing the other was safe. Two people leaning against one another–physically and emotionally– making each other feel normal again despite the abnormal circumstances.
But maybe that was the problem. Maybe their dependence on each other was the problem. Maybe that's what they have to realize before they truly, seriously figure it out.
But, for now, that's okay. Needing someone isn't something to be ashamed of.
***
BROOKLYN'S POV
It took me a second to remember all that happened last night when I woke up. More specifically, when I woke up laying on the couch, actually feeling well rested, which never happens after a night like last night.
I realized that I was neatly tucked under a blanket, Harry was nowhere to be found, and light was pouring into the living room because it was almost ten in the morning.
I know we started Clueless last night, but I don't remember a second of it. Obviously we fell asleep somehow and even though I'm surprised I did, I'm grateful for it because otherwise I wouldn't be particularly pleasant to be around.
I groggily stood up, folded up the blanket, and drank more water because my mouth was as dry as the Sahara, and now I'm lugging myself up the stairs to find Harry.
My first guess is the studio, so I turn left at the top of the stairs. The door is slightly ajar, and I can hear shuffling in the room, so I lightly knock on the door and peek in.
Harry's sitting at the desk and looking at the computer, holding his guitar in his lap as he stops typing and turns his head to me.
"Hey." I say, leaning against the door frame.
"Hey." He repeats. "Sleep well?"
"Actually...yeah."
"Me too. Forgot what it feels like to be well-rested."
I chuckle. "How long have you been awake?"
"Less than an hour." He shrugs, glancing at the time on the computer. "I was gonna wait and ask you if, uh, you wanted to go get breakfast at one of my favorite places? Well, brunch, I guess."
I raise my eyebrows and he keeps going.
"Only if you want to, I just figured it'd be easier since I don't really keep food here, as you know. Plus I wasn't sure if you'd want french toast again." He rambles and I catch myself smiling.
Although, one concern does come to mind. "Would that be safe? I mean, like..."
He nods. "It is. I can call ahead and say I'm coming and they'll make sure it doesn't get crazy. They're really good people."
I find myself nodding. "Then sure. When do you wanna leave?"
"No rush." He shrugs. "I can be ready whenever, so basically whenever you're ready."
I nod, turning on my heel and heading down the hallway to my room. As I ignore the panic induced neurons firing in my brain about the possibility of being seen in public with Harry, I flip my suitcase open. There's no reason to worry about that because he knows what he's doing and I trust him, so if he's not worried, I won't be worried.
I file through everything I overpacked, ultimately yanking out a red ripped tank top and white shorts that have a waist tie that ties into a bow. I genuinely don't remember packing them, but that's what I get for shoving everything in the suitcase and calling it good. With those in my hand, I get anything else I need before moving into the bathroom to try and make myself look like I didn't wake up in the middle of the night and end up falling asleep on the couch after.
My stomach growls in the process, so I hope I can trust in Harry's taste that this place is good. I'm trying to not be dramatic and keep worrying about going out, because again, I trust that if it would really be an issue, he wouldn't recommend this. But I can't help the tiny sliver of me that's imagining what could happen if someone were to snap a picture and put it on Twitter.
But I'm ignoring that because I can't be bothered to let it eat me up, so I get ready as quickly as possible. Once I'm done, I throw my pajamas back in my suitcase and slip on the only pair of sneakers I brought, grabbing my phone and heading back to the studio to tell Harry I'm ready.
Except, I don't get all the way to the studio because I see Harry in his room. I stop, knocking lightly on the door frame to get his attention. He turns around as he sticks his wallet in his back pocket and smiles.
"Ready?"
I nod.
"I called and they said they'll be ready, so, nothing to worry about." He continues, and a little weight is off my shoulders. "Come this way." He chuckles as we get to the bottom of the stairs and I continue to walk straight towards the front door out of habit.
I follow him as he turns right, going through the living room and opening a door that I didn't even know was attached to the living room that leads to the garage.
"You can pick one if you like."
I stop as I pass through the threshold, almost rolling my eyes at the sight of the three, very fancy, very expensive, very nice cars that line the equally nice garage.
"I hate you." I let my eyes roll and he laughs. "...That one." I point with a little bit of shame to the one at the opposite end of the garage and he grabs the keys off a key hanger next to the door. I walk past the other two cars and walk around to the passenger side, feeling like I should be dressed in black tie attire to even sit on leather this nice.
Our doors shut simultaneously and I hear the garage door begin to go up as the car starts. Harry hands me the cord to plug my phone in and I take it, filing through music so something can fill the quiet air.
"It's not far." Harry starts. "Traffic might make it seem like it though."
"Driving here is so scary. I don't know how you do it. I could barely look at the road when Devin was driving the other night."
"It's good practice for lengthening your attention span."
"I'd develop too much road rage. Like Devin."
"I'd be terrified to ever cut her off during rush hour."
"I'm surprised she's never had to show up in court."
Soon, we're driving through what looks like a neighborhood and I can see the Hollywood sign on a mountain in the distance.
Harry drives the car around a slight bend and a bright blue door comes into my peripheral vision. He parks along the curb up the road and we hop out, and as I look around, it doesn't look too crazy. Maybe we're here late enough in the morning that the breakfast rush cleared out and now it's the stragglers who woke up too late, AKA us.
I lag a few steps behind to glimpse at the Hollywood sign again before following Harry into the restaurant. Beachwood Cafe is printed on the door and a small sign above it, and the blue and yellow checkered pattern on the floor makes me feel very summery. Everything about this place is adorable and I can sense why Harry was drawn to it in the first place.
Harry flags down a short woman with black hair pulled into a low bun, and she smiles as she walks over to us.
"Harry, how are you?" She asks as I glance at her name tag that reads June.
"Good. How are things?" He replies, giving her a brief hug.
"Oh, busy as always. Who's this?" She smiles, turning to me.
"Uh, Brooklyn." I speak up, and she gives me a hug too which catches me slightly off guard.
"Fantastic to meet you, hon. Head to your usual table, okay? I'll bring some coffee."
Harry nods and I follow him blindly as he heads left and into a smaller secluded room with more tables. He sits down at one next to the wall and I slide in across from him.
"That was June. She served me the first time I ever came here and ever since. One time, paps showed up and she went out there and screamed at them in Spanish until they ran away. It was so funny and I think she scared some other customers."
I smile. "Reminds me of Stevie."
"I know." He nods. "They would get along nicely."
"And run quite the efficient cafe together."
June comes to the table and delivers water and the coffee, giving us menus and scampering off again and I hear her yell something.
"I will say," Harry lowers his voice humorously, "your coffee is better."
"That seems a little unfair."
"How?" He smiles, a little lopsided.
"You're obviously biased."
"...Maybe a little." He shrugs.
He picks up his menu, still looking up at me above the top edge and I catch his eyes. They shoot right back down to the words in front of him and I try really, really, really, really hard to not smile, but it doesn't work at all.
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two more chapters for part three and then part four scream if you wanna go fasterrrrrrrrr