( allonsy-tommo )
Ollie was a bag of nerves, which predictably meant he got about twenty minutes sleep that night. He was sitting on the end of the bed when Harper woke up because he was too wound up to keep laying down, his knee bouncing– foot going from toes to flat. He kept running his hands through his hair, pulling too hard, strings of brunette curls coming away from his scalp. His alarm was going off, his phone vibrating on his bedside table but he couldn’t even hear it, too busy lost in his thoughts, thinking about every single thing that could go wrong today. He had his eyes closed, trying to picture his father, but all he really had was an image built up from when he was seven, strung with the few awkward visits along with a few old photographs his mother had kept hidden away. He could hear Grace in the shower, and he wanted to cry a little bit– at how calm she was coming across. He wished he was like that, thought he might be able to pretend everything was fine– but today was the day and he was having a bit of a meltdown at the end of a bed he didn’t even own. He wanted to call his mum, but he also knew she’d be worrying enough, so that’s why he’d left his phone on his dresser.