Lights. Camera. PDA. (HS // au)

Don't wanna be reminded, don't wanna be seen

Savannah

My eyes flow open as another nightmare triggers my sleeping body to wake up.

I squeeze my eyes shut and bury my face in the pillow, wiping the sweat that had formed on my forehead and trying to calm my racing heartbeat. This is the fifth time that I have woken up from a bad dream; feeling alert for a couple of seconds before falling back into a deep sleep. I can feel the fatigue building up as my eyelids start drooping again.

Wait a minute, this is not my pillow.

I pull my face up and lean on my elbows.

You're in Harry's apartment, idiot. I smack my face in exasperation at my stupidity of forgetting this and take a look around the room. Squeaky white bed sheet on a queen size black coloured bed, two side tables beside and a dresser. The walls are painted the lightest shade of yellow with an LCD attached in front of the bed. There's a couch situated just below the window which gives a beautiful view of the Hollywood mountain.

I get up and stretch myself, yawning as I do so, and lazily go to the bathroom. There's a brand new toothbrush on the counter beside the sink. I smile and start brushing my teeth, observing myself in the mirror. The marks on my neck are the most conspicuous things in the world right now, what with their red colour.

"I'll make sure mine doesn't go unnoticed."

I shudder involuntarily as his words echo in my mind and I quickly turn around and leave the bathroom. I exit the room and momentarily freeze in my spot as the vastness of the living hall engulfs me. My condition yesterday was so feeble and lost that I took no notice of how huge this apartment is. And so utterly beautiful.

I slowly walk around in awe, admiring the sleek furniture and the classy look of the apartment. There's a strange aura of scented candles, making it seem like I'm in an enchanted place. It's sophisticated yet homey.

"Hey."

I spin around and find a freshly showered Harry in the kitchen with an apron tied around his waist. Cooking.

He knows how to cook?! What, why, how WHY DON'T I KNOW HOW TO COOK?! Could he be anymore perfect?

"Hi." I mumble sheepishly, a slight blush spreading on my cheek for no reason at all.

"You're up early." He observes without detaching his gaze from the frying pan.

I shrug, taking a seat on one of the stool type chairs near the counter. "Couldn't sleep."

He glances at me for a second and then his stare fixes on me, a mixture of sympathy and anger on his face.

I smile sadly, pointing to the marks in my neck and ask, "I look hideous, don't I?"

He slowly walks over to me and leans on the counter, resting his weight on one of his arms. His fingers unconsciously touch my neck, making me flinch. Not because of the pain, but because of the fact that he's touching me.

"Do they hurt?" His voice is barely a whisper as he asks me, eyes fixated on my neck.

I swallow hard, my heart thumping in my chest at the close proximity of him. He suddenly looks at me then, straight into my eyes, and keeps looking. It's like he's trying to look deeper into my soul, as if the softness of his eyes can cure the pain in mine.

I can see the light tinges of blue and golden flecks spread out on the different shades of green that encompass his iris. I can see the natural pink that seems to always keep his lips captive. I look at him, and I can see the sincerity and purity stretched across his entire face. I look at him, and it feels like home.