A capricious rollercoaster of feelings - just for you and Harry, minced with a flavour of each emotion and sentiment you desire to experience.
. . .
[Oneshots] First prize winner of Imagines category in Kiwi Awards, 2019.
• He loses his sanity when he let's her slip through his fingers, for an unbearable eternity •
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♧
Harry inserted the key into his apartment building and twisted it, only to turn it to a side and push open the door, grogily. His breathings remained intact as he immediately avoided catching something inside his wary vision which would trigger anything back.
He soulfully focused on shutting the door close, locking it with an instant “click.” The sound echoed through the silence, which seemed to drag about forever. As if he was underwater and all the voices around him seemed diminished—except the relentless palpitation of his heart that didn't bear any purpose now. He breathed out a defeated sigh and inhaled deeply, immediately mesmerised by the faint essence lingering in the air. Her essence.
As if it could physically hurt him-his emotional pain—he dumbfoundedly found himself holding his breath for a second, before deciding it wasn't worth now. Her essence immediately brought him painful memories which he was so willingly trying to push away, that he forgot he actually had been standing against the shut door from quite a while, lost in an unknown world. He couldn't recognize where he was until he remembered, he was back at his apartment.
His apartment. Seemed odd now. Only a few hours ago, he reciprocated, it was known to be their haven. Their haven.
It wasn't now.
The rough pads of his hands were placed against the flat material of the orange door as he shrugged off the bag from his shoulder. It managed to screech out a sluggish, lazy sound, breaking the traumatising silence which soon envoloped him again.
The room was dark, only source of light being the gaps below the entrance, shimmering dim lit yellow throws through the seeps onto the red slaughtered carpet.
His fingers unintentionally flicked on a switch by the door, turning on the lamps as he robotically turned on his heel, wordlessly tipping for his bedroom, not once glancing around him. His face remained emotionless, stoic and cold, while his eyes gave out hints of sorrowful memories that might have surfaced his mind a few hours ago.
He maneuvered himself through his bedroom—through their bedroom which seemed to be as empty as his heart now. He didn't care to turn on the lights as he immediately aimed for the bathroom. He wanted to ignore the pain which was about to drag out right after sparing the bedroom a glance.
He didn't know why he was going to the bathroom. He just was. It was as if he was on autopilot mode—his body not in control, conscience being clueless and heart being completely shattered. He didn't know when he had showered, when his hands tugged a new shirt over his head or when he made himself ready for bed. He just went through the motions, numbly.
