It's late. You should be asleep. Yet you're slumped on your black leather sofa bundled in softly illuminated cotton blankets. The gentle droning of midnight television preventing you rest. Despite the desperate calls from your aching body to simply, turn it off, you stare blankly at the screen. Eyes sore and mind numb – you're exhausted. Things weren't meant to happen like this. You grip tightly to the blankets as if they're the only thing connecting you to the present. Turning slightly, you mumble in annoyance; it was one of those nights. Well, week. You can't recall doing anything productive lately. In fact, the only activity you fully remember is ending up in said similar position every damn day. You tear your gaze from nowhere in particular, using the last of your remaining consciousness to sit up - your hands swatting away the dampness from your cool cheeks.
You hate winter. The inability to ever reclaim warmth, the maddening Christmas atmosphere and how everyone seems to be sick. "Happy holidays" you laugh bitterly into your hands. You push yourself up, evidently too quickly. The smooth wooden laminate below is cold to the touch and your eyes take a minute to adjust to the new view. You guide yourself to the kitchen and fumble for the light with the layers still wrapped around your small frame. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of your window – you're wrecked. Mascara staining your under-eyes and hair knotted in various places. You smile sadly, looking away and pouring yourself a whisky. Despite your situation you can't help but admire the view. Lights pepper the outside world, stars are clearly visible and it's almost silent. You take a sip from the glass, it burns slightly. You swiftly finish your drink in the next few minutes and decide to play some music. Lazily unlocking your phone, you know just the one you're looking for.
'What would you choose if you're life depended on it?'
You hum softly to the familiar tune, you both loved this song.
'What would you do if you were me?'
He'd grab you by the waist and kiss your neck, smiling like an idiot. He'd tell you all the things he loved about you and then some. He'd call you by those stupid nicknames that always made your heart skip a beat. You loved him, you were absolutely in love with him.
'- But somehow let you slip away'
You tiredly walk into the kitchen, the smell of eggs and bacon peaking your interest. You glimpse around the corner and see him frantically attending to each element, you laugh quietly eyes fixed to his movements. He hears you and grins while still focusing on the eggs. Pushing his dark hair out of the way in the process, without looking up, he points towards the bedroom, somewhat off – but you get the point.
"Y/N, bed, now" he orders, still smiling while moving from one place to another.
"Jeez, not even a 'good morning?" You respond in a fake exasperated tone
He pauses. His known cocky grin plastered on his face and in one swift movement you're scooped up in his arms, being carried back to the bedroom. You protest at first, but he knows you could easily escape if you really wanted to. He carefully places you down on the dark duvet, hair falling in front of his face again.
"Good mornin' doll" He presses a gentle kiss on your forehead and makes his way back to the kitchen.
'- And the world doesn't disappear'
'- Every time he draws near'
"You look stunning Y/N, he's gonna love you!" It had been a while since your last date so you'd asked some friends to help with an outfit. It had taken almost an hour for everyone to agree on something. Once that was out of the way they opted to help with hair and makeup. One word, stressful.
