Justin Bieber/Jason McCann Imagines | Book One

Awake

I don't fall asleep at night. Ever. I lay awake in the darkness and sometimes, if I try my hardest to imagine, it feels like I'm sleeping. When my thoughts mix with the darkness, it tends to create an illusion that I'm not fully awake. But I am. Always.

It gets boring, and lonely. But I find great interest in rolling over and staring at her as she sleeps. Of course, she doesn't know I do this; she thinks that when we lay down to sleep, we sleep. But we don't- she does, I can't.

And it's like the hours pass by as seconds when I watch her chest rise and fall, and her mouth part as she falls deeper into her slumber.

I'm almost envious of her that her body gets to experience what must be such a beautiful feeling. The feeling of nothing, just for a few hours. It's like being dead while not having to be fully committed - at any moment you could wake up and your body is back to functioning again.

When her hair falls in her face I let my finger gently brush it away, just so that her face is still visible to me. She'll fidget when my finger lingers too long on the side of her face.

Sometimes when the window has been left open and the air is cold, she pushes her body into mine so much that I struggle to breathe. Sometimes, I leave the window open purposely.

The first few hours are the easiest. My mind is fresh and I have the entire day to recite in my mind; all the conversations, all the gestures, all the contact. But once it reaches the very early morning, I get the bitter taste of dryness mixing with the hollow minty taste of toothpaste, and my mind is as bored as I am. It throws out nothing else for me to occupy myself with.

So I turn to her again and start to count the subtle - and the not so subtle - marks on her face. I've counted seven so far, at least twenty times.

I am present with the birds and the early rises of the morning. I know when the morning is drawing near when the sun turns a soft yellow and the sound of cars roaring by becomes audible every so often, but I still lay waiting for her to open her eyes and find me wide awake.

She never suspects that I have seen each phase of her sleep, or that I have counted the number of birds that make conversation outside of our bedroom window, and she doesn't suspect that I am tired, somewhat. I feel my body wanting to take a break from the heavy duties of the day, but for some reason, it doesn't know how to.

Therefore, each morning I climb out of bed with [Y/N]'s eyes on my back, and I shower in the warm water, sometimes doing business I felt was too inappropriate to do with my sleeping girl next to me, and reluctantly step out to find she's still laid in the safety of the plump sheets.

She simply kisses me before rolling over each night, leaving me alone with the long hours ahead.