Fuck this, Harry thinks, listening to the
rustle of Malfoy’s sheets as the insufferable git rolls over for what has to be
the fifth time in as many minutes. And fuck McGonagall for assigning Draco Malfoy,
of all people, to be his roommate. No wait, Harry immediately takes this back.
Even in his internal monologue he isn’t comfortable disrespecting McGonagall.
Still Malfoy is a nightmare to dorm
with. Merlin, Harry would much rather be having
a nightmare – at least then he’d actually be sleeping! Malfoy tosses and
turns all night. He gets up and
visits the bathroom two-three times every
night. What, does he have a
bladder the size of a peanut? It’s ridiculous.
All Harry wants is to sleep. All
Malfoy seems to do every night is make as much noise as possible. Harry
mentions it to Ron once at breakfast. Even though all the eight years have been
given new shared “houseless” dorms, thankfully they’re still allowed to sit at
their house tables. Harry is incredibly grateful for this. It’s bad enough
staying awake all night listening to Malfoy, he’d hate to have to put up with
him in the daylight as well.
“What the bloody hell are you
talking about?” Ron asks.
“He makes noises, Ron, in his bed. All night!” Harry explains, desperate for
someone to understand his frustration. It’s constant, night after night. Rustle rustle rustle.
Ron looks at Harry like he’s lost
his mind, a faint blush on his cheeks. Harry doesn’t bring it up again.
tired. So very tired. He can’t remember ever not feeling tired. It’s been so
long since he’s been able to really sleep. At least two years, maybe more.
Probably more. He thought things would change after the Battle of Hogwarts.
That Voldemort’s death would give him peace. But it hasn’t. Nothing seems to.
He doubts anything ever will.
night it’s the same. He lies in bed desperately willing himself to sleep, for
his body to give in and relax. But the relaxation never comes. Sure he gets
bits of rest here and there but it’s always fleeting, never enough. The morning
takes a lifetime to arrive and yet, somehow, it’s always too soon.
he studies late in the library. He pushes himself to remain for as long as
possible. What’s the point in going to bed anyway? Finally the exhaustion
becomes too much for him and he heads back to the dorm, all the while knowing
the exhaustion isn’t enough to grant him sleep. It never is.
is dark. Potter must already be in bed. He is surprised by how early all the eighth
years go to bed. In Slytherin lights out was always well after midnight.
Unfortunately, not many others from Slytherin have returned to Hogwarts to back
him up on this. So everyone seems to retire by 10pm every night.
stumbles around the dark room, trying to be quiet, his arm reaching out in
front of him searching for his bed pole to grasp, while his eyes adjust. There.
Using the bed post as a guide, he lets himself fall into bed.
Ah. His body crumples inwards,
pleased. It takes all Draco’s determination to keep his body upright throughout
the day when all he wants to do is collapse. His body craves for sleep all day
and then when he finally gets to bed, nothing. Yet another restless night.
Except today something feels different. His pillow is
softer somehow, his blanket warmer. There’s something else too. A strong, commanding scent he’s never noticed
before. He breathes in deeply and lets it wash over him. Grapefruit. Honey. Ginger. It’s comforting. And familiar. He takes
another breath. And another. His eyes close.
Sometimes John and Sherlock accidentally talk all night.
Like maybe the intention to go to sleep at a normal time was there, but then they get distracted.
11 PM: They finish the movie and it just naturally feels like time for bed. Teeth are cleaned, doors are locked, and they settle in between the sheets, and damn is the bed comfortable compared to the haphazard dog pile of limbs they had gotten into on the sofa.
“What did you think of the film?”
“Nice; very enjoyable.”
“Did I tell you it was my favorite when I was a kid?”
“Yeah. Would watch it on repeat.”
“Interesting. But it’s no longer your favorite?”
“Right. I dunno- I still love it, but not in the same way.”
“I understand. Your favorite now is that one Bond, um…Die Another Day?”
“Yeah.” John gives Sherlock a small, soft smile. He looks almost bewitched.
“What’s that look for?”
“It’s for you. ”
“Yes, but why?”
“Because it’s really nice to have someone remember things like that about me.”
1 AM: The discussion has shifted to favorites, and why they’re favorites.
“So you would rather listen to that same Rolling Stones album again and again for eternity than ever even trying something like Debussey?”
“Alright, well, now I know.”
“You know what?”
“That we’re breaking up.”
2 AM: …and now they’re just naming things they like.
John: “Long car journeys”
Sherlock: “The smell of coffee.”
“You hate coffee.”
“I hate the taste of coffee.”
“You are a complex being.”
They laugh some more.
John: “Rainy mornings that last all day.”
“I didn’t know that.”
Sherlock fidgets with his lips, trying to figure out how to phrase his answer.
“Because you always wake me very…pleasantly… and often you continue waking me pleasantly for most of the morning…afternoon…even into the evening sometimes.”
“Do I? When it’s raining?”
“Yes. Not every time, but under a certain set of conditions I can, for the most part, look at the forecast for the morning the night before and know in advance whether or not I’ll be getting anything done the next day.”
John looks back at him, a concoction of surprise, then near embarrassment, then a sly smile.
“Interesting, see, I find that I get one thing in particular done consistently on those days.”
4 AM: The topic has shifted between worst hangover stories and crazy uni memories to some more difficult things, like John’s time in the service, and Sherlock’s addiction.
“We’ve sort of been dealt a few tough hands eh?”
“Makes me want to take you away somewhere and just be relaxed for a bit.”
“I would agree to that in an instant.”
“Yeah? Let’s do that, then.”
“I do get them on occasion.”
John is trying to work in to the concersation something he’s been wanting Sherlock to know for a long time. It’s difficult, though- he’s never really said anything like this- anything so personal.
“It says a lot about you, I think, that I can do things like this- stay awake all night, not having to be overwhelmed or rampant. You balance me, John.”
“Yeah..yeah I- I know what you mean. You also- I mean, you sort of…I don’t dread…my life to come…anymore. I used to think of all the days and years I had left to endure, wonder how I would fill them, hoping I could find something that wouldn’t feel so miserable, something to settle for, but you- fuck, Sherlock, I think back to that now and it feels like a horrible nightmare. I’m…more than just glad, to have found you. You- damn, this is hard, I-”
Sherlock ties his fingers with John’s and moves even closer.
"Take your time. No rush. No pressure. Anything you want to tell me, you can. You’re safe here.”
"I suppose…You umm…you made me rethink- my plans, for me, yes. But not only that, you also showed me a way of living so different from what I had known, so much better and full of richness, I look back at those days where I no longer wanted to be alive and think -it’s probably because I wasn’t alive. I had every responsibility and felt every drawback of life but was denied any of the good stuff. You showed me so much more than I ever knew was out there- you sort of saved my life by…showing me how to live it? That’s so cheesy, I-”
And now Sherlock is crying. So John starts crying.
6 AM: they’ve got themselves together by now and moved on to something a little lighter.
"Right…so, you mean to tell me that James Moriarty, criminal mastermind, scary man with an affinity for the latest in explosive fashion, still sleeps with a teddy bear?”
"How did you figure that one out?”
"It took a few-visits- to piece it together, mostly because I was in disbelief myself, but he shows signs of a stiff neck as if he sleeps in an extremely bent position with one arm hooked partially under himself, likely around a small item. Persistence of this soreness shows that he didn’t just sleep wrong once, he makes a habit of this position. But what really sealed the realization was the right thumbnail. Much shorter than all the others, wrinkled texture, dry skin around the edges where the rest of his finers are immaculately manicured. Exposed to moisture for long periods of time.”
"No fuckin way!”
"Oh yes. He sucks his thumb. What a terrifying creature.”
"I’m always curious what you could tell about me right away and what took you a bit longer.”
That’s a dangerous path John- not everyone wants to know what others can tell about them.”
"Yeah but I’m just tired enough to ask anyway.”
"Well, all the things I pointed out at Bart’s…then more and more about your childhood based on your dating habits…around a month after we moved in I had narrowed down the approximate size of your…tyre lever…”
"Well…I had underestimated, to be honest. Your stature is misleading, as I’m sure you know.”-
"So, that is to say, you were-”
"Incredibly anxious and then surprised in the best possible way.”
"I was going for ‘not disappointed’, but alright.”
"Not in the slightest. My God, not even a little. In fact, what’s the opposite of disappointed?”
7 AM: Talking has ceased. The sun seeps in at the sides of the drapes, pale and gray. It’s a bit chilly, but neither know- it’s aafe and warm in the bubble of their room.
Neither sleep until around noon, after tea and toast in bed- the rain hits the roof in steady droves, tapping occasionally at the window if the wind blows a certain way.
self-titled era: shaking hands.old keyboards. friends that talk behind your back. the feeling you get after staying up too late. being sleepy all day but suddenly feeling awake at night. recovery. reaching the end of a tunnel. slowly lifting your head. realizing you can make a better life for yourself. drawing on your skin. burning old photos. abandoned theme parks. art shows. swimming pools.
RAB era: baseball fields. skinned knees. falling down after running really fast. collapsing at the end of a sports match. rained out events. resting in the shade on a hot day. shaved heads. summertime. the last few weeks of school. only leaving your house if you feel that that day is going to be important. sudden bursts of inspiration. finding creativity you never knew before. worrying about everything. the lump in your throat after you’re trying not to cry. things building up. unspoken words. dogs. hiking. cleats.
Vessel: sudden fellowship with others. finally reaching out to your friends. the cold rush of air on your face when a door opens. raising your arms towards the sky. finally getting counseling. screaming, but not knowing why. night terrors. pine trees. a feeling of being lost. lonely in a room of people. soda. carbonated water. pink and yellow and red and gray. smiling over sadness. anxiety. butterflies in your stomach. the smile you get when you begin to realize everything will be alright.
Blurryface: realizing that your friends have helped you, but now is the part of the battle you must fight on your own. blasting music in the car. summer days. hot pavement. empty rooms. moving houses. shouting just to hear an echo. late nights driving. nightmares. graffiti. sirens. doing bad things, but desperately wishing you could do good. doing good but can’t stop thinking about bad things. fighting against the darkness that no one else can see. cracks in the ceiling. basements. spaces where you don’t feel quite real. falling into bed after a long day. the final great battle before the end of the war.
kevin never specified anything here so im just thinkgin andrew stayed awake with him all night watching over him, just talking to him from the bottom bunk, casually, while the others slept. and even though he would never admit it, andrew was worried af bc he couldn’t protect kevin during the match, but he knew kevin was FINE, so he started saying things like: “what if he had broken your hand again that would have been fucked up am i right? oh shit kevin what if he ripped if OFF” kevin that night until 6 AM:
I wrote this in an hour, so please excuse any spelling or grammatical errors.
The smell of alcohol was heavy on Thomas’s breath as he stumbled through the doorway of his and Alexander’s home drunkenly, his vision hazy. He slammed the door shut behind him, uncaring of the rather loud bang it made, the noise resonating through the house. He walked in as straight a line he could, which was rather crooked, due to his current state, and into Alexander’s office.
Alexander sat at his desk, hunched over his laptop and typing furiously, eyes shining with reflected light from the screen. The document that he was currently working on was nearly twenty pages long by now, each dark word on the digital paper having been written in rapid succession. This, of course, meant that Alexander had not left his at-home office in two days, as he was notorious for doing.
“Hey, Lex…” Thomas slurred, moving over to Alexander and resting his arms on top of the other man’s head, leaning over him. “Wanna come to bed? I’ll make it worth your while…”
“Hi, Thomas.” Alexander replied, not particularly caring about his boyfriend’s drunken state. “I have to work on this, I can’t come to bed. Maybe later? I have to have this done by next week, and I really don’t want to procrastinate on it.”
“You never procrastinate, Lex, you’re you,” Thomas said, leaning down to whisper in the other man’s ear. “If you come to bed, I can make you feel good, Lex. Really good… Come to bed, Lex…”
“No,” Alexander responded, not willing to put up with Thomas’s antics at this hour. “I have to work, and you know that. Go to bed without me. I need to do this.”
“Work, work, work, all you care about is work. Work can wait. You’re already so far along, why can’t you just come to bed, Le-”
“Thomas, no! I’m not going to come to bed, I’m not going to have sex with you, and I am not going to stop working! You need to understand that I have important things to take care of!” Alexander interjected, frustrated, and pulled his gaze away from the computer.
“So, I’m not important? Is that what you’re saying? You care more about your fucking work than you do about me? Huh?”
“Thomas…That’s- that’s not what I meant…” Alexander stuttered, attempting to clear up any misunderstandings caused by his poorly-chosen words.
“Then why’d you say it like it was?”
“Thomas, I just have more pressing issues than going to bed with you right now, it’s not personal, it’s just-”
“It’s just that you care so fucking much about your work. So much that you just forget about your boyfriend. That’s fine. Fucking great, even. I’ll just find someone else to share my bed with, then. I don’t need you.” He declared, turning around and leaving the room quickly, footsteps heavy against the wooden floor.
“Thomas, wait!” Alexander said hurriedly, realizing his mistake. “I didn’t mean-” He tried to explain, but was cut off by the front door slamming shut loudly. Alexander raced over to the door, and nearly collapsed as he watched Thomas step into a cab and be driven off, too late for Alexander to stop him.
He put his face in his hands and ran his fingers through his hair regretfully. He really fucked up this time, didn’t he? He could feel wet tears begin to trail down his face as the weight of the situation fully dawned on him. He had essentially told Thomas that he didn’t care about him, that some stupid report was more important than the man he loved… Yes, he really had fucked up.
Alexander drove up into the driveway nervously, looking up at the home he and Thomas shared amidst the pandemonium of the city. He parked the car, taking in a deep breath as he did so. He could do this. He could walk inside their home and beg for forgiveness. Thomas hadn’t come back home the previous night, and he’d been in meetings all day in a separate building, so Alexander was unable to try and speak with him. Then, to top it all off, Alexander had been forced to stay an extra three hours longer because of some new case that was barely worth the effort.
Stepping out of the car, he ascended the few stairs to their front door and closed his eyes, breathing slowly and opened the again, bringing his key up to unlock the door. When he reached for the doorknob, however, the door creaked open on its own, already unlocked and ajar. Alexander cautiously stepped over the threshold, shoving his keys back into his pocket.
He gently closed the door behind him, careful not to slam it, unlike Thomas had been the night before. He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes as he remembered the harsh slam of the wooden door last night as Thomas stormed out when Alexander had told him…had told him that…that he…That wasn’t important at the moment. What was important was finding Thomas and apologizing. It didn’t matter if Alexander had to beg on his hands and knees.
Soft laughter sounded from their bedroom and Alexander lifted his head at the noise. Thomas must be in there, he thought, and headed towards the room. Pushing open the door, he felt his heart skip a beat as he took in the sight before him.
Thomas laid in bed next to his closest friend, James Madison, who was evidently more than Thomas’s close friend- at least, now he was. They were both fully undressed, laying in eachother’s arms beneath a thin blanket. The room was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, and Alexander nearly screamed as his mind processed the what he was seeing.
“Oh, Alexander!” Thomas noted boredly, as if it was a simple fact and not his boyfriend catching him cheating. “You’re home. I warned you, didn’t I?”
Alexander felt a tear trail down his face, still in shock. “Thomas, y-you-”
“I what?” Thomas asked condescendingly, cutting Alexander off. “I had amazing, mind-blowing sex with James? I had sex with someone else in our bed? I don’t really give a fuck if you’re crying or not? I’m just following up on my promise from last night? Because the answer to all of those is a definite yes, Alexander. I told you that I’d find someone else to share my bed with, so I did.”
“Thomas, what’s going on?” James asked, slowly emerging from the depths of sleep. “Why are you shouting?”
“Nothing, Jemmy, it’s nothi-”
“It’s not nothing!” Alexander interjected, eyes wet with tears. “You’re cheating on me, and you’re acting like it’s nothing! I trusted you, and I wanted to make things right, but apparently you don’t want to…”
“Why is Alexander here?” James asked, gaze switching between Thomas and Alexander as he sat up, pulling away from the other man. “You told me that you two had broken up, Thomas!”
“Then I guess he lied to you! We didn’t break up, and I get to come home to see my boyfriend cheating on me!” Alexander half-sobbed, half-shouted, not making any effort to hide his emotions.
“Thomas, you fucking bastard!” James yelled, leaving the bed as quickly as possible and pulling his boxers on. “You knew I wanted you, you fucking knew, and then you go and tell me that you and Alex broke up so that you can what? Cheat on your boyfriend with me? Get revenge for something miniscule? You fucking disgust me, Thomas. I’m leaving.” He said, pulling on his pants and grabbing his shirt, heading for the door and stopping as he looked at Alexander in front of him, sobbing heavily. “Alexander…I’m so sorry…” He muttered before leaving the room, and soon enough, the house.
Alexander stared at Thomas through blurry eyes, his cheeks stained with tears. The taller man lay in the bed, naked save for a sheet covering his waist and everything below it.“Thomas…” Alexander spoke softly, wrapping his arms around himself. “How could you do this to me?”
Thomas let his gaze fall on Alexander, focusing on him. “We had a fight. And it looks like I won, Alex.” He stated plainly, sitting up and resting his back against the headboard.
“Is this actually about that stupid fight, Thomas? I-I was going to make it up to you, was going to apologize and beg for you to talk to me again, even if it was just to tell me to go away. I couldn’t sleep last night, I was so upset at what you would say to me. Couldn’t imagine a life where you really despised me for what I did. Well, I could, but I didn’t want it, Thomas. Not ever.”
“Alexander, you said-”
“I hadn’t slept in three days! And you had been gone all day, I missed you, and I wasn’t thinking straight, and I was lashing out at you, and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I…I had no idea, Alex, I-”
“But I guess you aren’t, huh? You didn’t stay awake all of last night terrified that the your boyfriend would never love you again. I did that. You were off fucking James Madison. Why? Because you were mad?”
“Yes, Alex, but-”
“But nothing! You didn’t have a good reason for it then, and you sure as hell don’t have a good reason for it now! I’m leaving, Thomas. I’ll be back for my stuff later. Goodbye.”
“No, Alex, wait!” Thomas shouted, nearly jumping off the bed and grabbing onto Alexander’s wrist tightly. “Please, don’t leave me…I fucked up, I know I did, but please, Alex, I need you…” He begged, staring up at Alexander with wide, fearful eyes.
Alexander yanked his hand away from Thomas’s own, and stepped back, staring at Thomas with a look that could not be mistaken for anything other than pure spite as he spat, “You didn’t need me earlier. It looked more like you needed James.”
And with a pivot and a slamming of the door, Alexander was gone.
And Thomas was alone.
He would remain that way for quite some time, his only company being the sobs that echoed through the room.
You know..Just a thought.. After the fall..John must have stayed awake at night..For many reasons obviously..All Sherlock related..But..One of the reasons were..Maybe..That he couldn’t remember anymore exactly….How Sherlock smelled like..Like he did remember something. But was like. Was that really sherlock or something my mind made up..
Thank you @joeynihil for letting me use the Cody gif :D
Summery: Brett goes out of his way to make you blush or shy but he goes too far.
“Brett’s coming?” You asked when your friend finished
listing off the people she’d invited.
“It’s a party to celebrate the team winning all their games
so far… why wouldn’t I invite Brett?” She asked, glancing at you in the mirror
as she put her makeup on, frowning when she looked over the jeans and t-shirt
you were wearing.
“Well… because he’s kind of a jerk.” You mumbled, playing
with your fingers as you scuffed your feet on the foot of her bed.
You winced as the stack of pots and pans clattered to the floor with a metallic banging that seemed to last forever. Dean barreled around the corner, gun drawn and finger on the trigger.
“What the hell?!” He shouted, seeing you standing before him, a wooden spoon in hand and an innocent smile plastered across your face. “It’s almost two in the morning, Y/N!” He shouted, rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, and I’m hungry.” You stuck your tongue out at him.
“What is going on…” Sam trudged into the kitchen and ran a hand through his bed matted hair.