too good to be true {l.s}

The Revelation

IV

THE REVELATION

November 3rd

Ooh whoa, ooh whoa, ooh whoa

The first coherent thought that goes through Harry's mind, starting at the moment where he considers himself conscious enough to even have coherent thoughts in the first place, is "It's absolutely impossible that it's already 8am".

The second thought is "My head is going to explode".

You know you love me, I know you care

Just shout whenever and I'll be there

You are my love, you are my he-

Harry hits the alarm clock's off button a little harder than he exactly needed to and the clock ends up falling from his nightstand into the bedroom's floor but Harry's sure it didn't break - if it can handle Baby, it can handle a lot worse than a small fall - and that's what matters for now. From the perspective of an outsider, someone who would be secretly watching the scene of Harry's waking up, Harry would appear to be an aggressive man, even violent, smashing alarm clocks within seconds from waking up. He's aware of it, but that's not what this is. It would be unfair to judge him from moments like this, Harry wishes no one would judge him at all. He's not aggressive and he's not angry. Harry's just... tired. He would like to think that everyone would do the same in his situation: not only is he suffering from a migraine, he is also facing sleep deprivation, having barely slept at all during the night, too many awake nightmares. His thoughts are already all over the place and it's been less than a minute since he woke up and that's what scares him more than anything. It doesn't feel like it's going to be a good day.

As a rotten cherry on top of Harry's spoiled cake, he just woke up to Justin Bieber's voice. And he usually doesn't mind, but today it sounded like the song was ringing inside of his head, inside of his brain, coming out of his own month, coming out of his ears. It felt like he was singing it against his will. It was a terrible feeling.

Harry knows that he can change his waking-up-song at any time, through the alarm clock's Bluetooth system, but there's something sweet about thinking of Louis as the first thing in the morning, about opening his eyes while thinking about his sunshine boy. It's an attempt to start the day with happy thoughts. No one can say that Harry doesn't try. Thinking about Louis' loud voice, about Louis' strident laugh, inexplicably seems to balance out Harry's headache. It softens it a bit. If Harry does it in the right way, if he manages to bring Louis closer to him in his mind, his head stops being the problem: instead, it feels like it's Harry's heart that's going to explode; a painless explosion, bursting out of his chest. All he has to do is concentrate.

Harry closes his eyes and starts breathing slowly, trying to lose himself to the sweet vanilla smell of that feathery, cinnamon hair; soft against Harry's fingers. Harry's turquoise pillow is comfortable against his head and neck, his curly hair falling like a halo around it as he feels his body relaxing, mind diving head-first into the haze of blue eyes and pointy teeth. He almost falls asleep, but he doesn't. That is how he realizes that his mind is still quite distracted. He is still stuck in that magical place between dreaming and reality; a fog where he can't tell what's real and what isn't; where reality feels like a lucid dream. He's been feeling like this for a while lately. In this ephemeral state of mind, floating between two worlds, Harry's dream comes to him like a whisper of hope. Without opening his eyes, he stretches his left hand to the nightstand, grabbing the black journal he knows it's there. He grabs the pen as well. He does it relatively fast, so the memory won't abandon him; so he won't be left feeling all dark inside again. There's this warmness that comes with the haze of sleep that Harry can't lose. He only opens his eyes when the dream journal is right in front of his face. He sits up a bit, scooting to the right side of the bed, only to place the journal on the mattress, his bed acting as a clipboard. This, writing down his dreams, was something Dr. Mills initially asked of Harry, back when their sessions had started, back when things were worse. Since then, it became a habit Harry just can't let go of, especially since his dreams have been so colorful lately, so full of life. They taste real, Harry's dreams. They taste better than reality.