#sleepwalking

[saint-orment]

mmmm

[arosetolivefor]

West End Girl by Lily Allen

[sidneyshmidney]

Not Really Asleep - Sidney Crosby x Daughter Reader

Summary: After losing your mom, sleep becomes unpredictable— A.K.A the few times your dad caught you sleepwalking and the one time you faked it Warnings: grief, loss of a parent, sleepwalking, emotional vulnerability Word Count: 1,787 requests open :)

The house never feels the same after.

The first week after your mom passed was a blur of people and noise and casseroles left my family friends and flowers left by some of your friends from school and voices that drop when you walk into the room.

You remember sitting on the couch while someone squeezed your shoulder and said, “She was so proud of you.” You remember nodding like that was the right response.

You remember your dad not letting go of you at the funeral.

That part sticks.

His hand at the back of your head, pulling you in, like if he held on tight enough, something wouldn’t fall apart.

It already had.

After that, everything shifted.

You’ve always lived with him—technically—but it’s different now. Before, it felt shared. Split between houses, since you and your mom lived back in Cole Harbour, Nova Scotia while your dad stayed in Pittsburgh for the hockey season.

You had a room in Pittsburgh, you and your mom would visit for holidays and big games, but your school and your friends and your life were all in Canada.

But schedules didn't always line up and your routines seemed to move around each other rather than with each other.

But now everything is just here.

Full time.

No breaks.

No traveling to the US for holidays.

No going back until the season was over.

In Pennsylvania, your room looked the same, but it didn't feel the same. The house doesn’t either. There are little things missing everywhere—your mom's voice, her stuff, the way she used to text you random things during the day.

Your dad takes time off from the team.

A full month.

People talk about it—sports channels, interviews, statements—but you don’t really pay attention. You just know he’s home. Always home.

At first, it helps.

He’s around more than he’s ever been. Making sure you eat, asking if you’re okay, sitting with you even when you’re both not really talking. Sometimes you watch TV together and neither of you actually processes what’s on.

Sometimes you just sit when neither of you really know what to say.

“Did you sleep?” he asks one morning, leaning against the kitchen counter while you pick at a piece of toast.

You shrug. “I think so.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He nods, like that’s enough, even though it probably isn’t.

“You need anything today?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No.”

“Okay.”

There’s a pause.

“…I’m here, alright?” he adds, quieter.

“I know.”

And you do.

You just don’t know what to do with that.

When he goes back to the team, things shift again.

Not drastically.

Just enough.

He’s still there, still checking in, still making time—but there are practices, games, travel. His schedule comes back in pieces, and you can tell he feels guilty about it even when he tries not to show it.

“I’ll be back late tonight,” he says one evening, grabbing his keys. “Game day. It'll probably run a little long."

“It’s fine,” you tell him from the couch.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

He hesitates. “Text me if you need anything.”

“I don’t need anything.”

He gives you a look.

“…I’ll text you if I need anything,” you correct.

“Okay,” he nods. “Good.”

The first time it happens, he doesn’t realize what it is.

It’s late.

He’s just gotten back from a road game, exhausted, barely making it through the door before heading upstairs.

It was almost two in the morning, you were already in bed. The house was quiet, lights off, everything normal.

He falls asleep fast.

Sometime in the middle of the night, he hears something.

Soft.

Like footsteps.

He blinks awake, frowning slightly.

Probably just her getting water.

He rolls over, half-asleep, and doesn’t check.

The second night, it happens again.

Same thing.

A soft creak in the hallway. A faint shuffle.

This time, he sits up.

Listens.

There it is again.

“Y/N?” he calls out, voice still rough with sleep.

No answer.

He waits a second, then swings his legs over the side of the bed and steps into the hallway.

It’s dim, just a little light coming in from the kitchen.

And you’re there.

Standing.

Not doing anything.

Just standing in the middle of the kitchen entryway.

He frowns slightly. “Hey.”

No response.

He walks a little closer. “Kiddo?”

Still nothing.

Something in his chest tightens.

“Hey,” he says again, softer now.

You don’t react.

Your eyes are open, kind of—but not there.

It clicks.

“Oh,” he breathes out quietly.

Sleepwalking.

He’s careful after that.

Moves slowly, like he’s approaching something fragile.

“Hey,” he says gently, stepping closer. “You’re okay.”

No reaction.

He doesn’t try to wake you—he remembers enough to know not to.

Instead, he lightly places a hand on your shoulder.

“Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s go back to bed.”

You move when he guides you.

Slow, automatic steps.

He stays right next to you the whole time, one hand lightly on your arm, steering you carefully back toward your room.

“You’re alright,” he says quietly. “Just a little lost, that’s all.”

You don’t respond.

But you follow.

He gets you back into your room, pulling the covers back and guiding you to sit.

“Can't imagine the kitchen would be comfier than this,” he murmurs. “There you go.”

You lie down without a word.

He pulls the blanket over you, smoothing it down like he used to when you were little.

“I've got you,” he repeats softly.

He hesitates for a second.

Then sits on the edge of the bed.

Just for a minute.

Making sure you settle.

Your breathing evens out quickly.

He lets out a quiet breath.

“…Alright,” he whispers, almost to himself.

He stays a minute longer than he needs to.

Then gets up and leaves.

The next morning, he brings it up carefully.

“Hey,” he says, setting a cup of something in front of you. “Do you remember getting up last night?”

You look confused. “No?”

“You were walking around.”

You blink. “What?”

“Yeah,” he says gently. “You were sleepwalking, I think.”

You stare at him. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“…Did I say anything weird?”

He huffs a small laugh. “No. You didn’t say anything at all.”

You make a face. “That’s… creepy.”

“A little,” he admits with a smile.

“Did I at least go get food or something?”

“No,” he says. “You were just standing in the doorway.”

“…Okay, that’s worse.”

He smiles faintly. “Yeah.”

There’s a pause.

“Is that like… bad?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “We’ll keep an eye on it.”

“Cool,” you say. “Love that for me.”

It does happen again.

And again.

By the third time, he’s ready for it.

He hears the footsteps, sits up immediately, and heads into the hallway.

You’re closer to the stairs this time.

That makes his chest tighten.

“Hey,” he says softly, moving quicker now. “Easy.”

He reaches you before you can go any further, gently turning you away from the steps.

“Not that way,” he murmurs. “Come on.”

You follow easily, like before.

“Just a little detour," he says quietly.

He walks you back, slower this time, more careful.

When you get to your room, he doesn’t leave right away.

He sits down beside you again.

“You’re safe,” he says softly. “You’re home.”

There’s something about the way your face relaxes that makes him stay.

So he does.

He leans back slightly against your headboard, not quite lying down, just… there.

After a minute, he reaches out and lightly rests a hand over yours.

“I've got you” he murmurs. “And you’ve always got me.”

You don’t hear it.

But something in you settles anyway.

He stays until you’re fully still again.

He talks to people after that.

A doctor. A therapist. A psychiatrist.

They all say similar things.

“Grief can disrupt sleep.” “Stress responses show up in different ways.” “It’s not uncommon after a loss.” “As long as she’s not hurting herself or putting herself in danger, it’s manageable.”

He asks questions anyway.

“What should I do when it happens?”

“Guide her back to bed. Don’t startle her.”

“Should I wake her?”

“Not unless necessary.”

“Is this going to keep happening?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

He nods through all of it.

Takes notes.

Tries to understand.

At home, he adjusts.

Locks the doors more carefully. Keeps the hallway clear. Listens more at night.

And when it happens—

He’s there.

Every time.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

Guiding you back.

“You’re okay.”

Tucking you in.

“Right here.”

Sometimes staying a little longer.

Sometimes brushing your hair gently.

Sometimes just sitting there in the quiet.

You never remember it, just vague feelings of being safe.

Until the night you do.

Not because you wake up.

But because you’re not asleep.

You’re just tired.

And lonely.

And you’ve been thinking about it—what he said, what he does, the way he’s there without asking anything from you.

You’re sixteen.

You shouldn’t need that.

You do.

But saying it out loud feels impossible.

So you don’t.

Instead—

You step into the hallway.

Slow.

Quiet.

You don’t fully know if you’re committing to it until you’re already there.

Standing.

Waiting.

It doesn’t take long.

His door opens.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You don’t respond.

You keep your expression blank, your movements slow.

There’s a small pause.

Then he steps closer.

“…Hey, baby girl,” he murmurs.

You don’t react.

He gently touches your shoulder.

“Alright,” he says quietly. “Come on.”

And just like the other nights—

He walks you back.

He's careful and gentle.

“You’re okay,” he says under his breath. “Just another one of those nights, huh?”

Your chest tightens at that.

He doesn’t know.

“Let’s get you back,” he adds softly.

You follow.

You let him guide you.

Because it’s easier than asking.

He gets you into bed, pulling the covers up like always.

“There you go,” he murmurs.

And then—

He hesitates.

Just like before.

Only this time, you know what he’s deciding.

And when he sits down—

You don’t move.

You just wait.

He leans back slightly, like he has the past few nights.

“…I’ve got you,” he says quietly.

And then, after a second—

He shifts just enough to lie down beside you, one arm resting loosely around you, not tight, just there.

Protective.

Familiar.

Safe.

Your chest tightens.

You stay still.

You have to.

But it’s the first time since everything happened that the quiet doesn’t feel so heavy.

He doesn’t say much after that.

Just small things.

“You’re okay.” “Right here.” “Not going anywhere.”

Your eyes burn, but you keep them closed.

Because if you open them—

It becomes real and it becomes something you have to explain.

So you don’t.

You just let yourself have this.

[anchorandrope]

still together, still going strong (despite the closet)

‼️ this is just my opinion; everyone interprets music however they want. you don’t have to agree

today i reblogged a post about the waiting game being about being in the closet and i wanna talk more about it!

im not trying to affirm this, but for a while now, specifically since the walls-fine line era, i think harry wants to come out of the closet, but louis doesn’t (technically, i think he has much more mixed feelings about it than harry). that doesn’t mean at all that louis isn’t proud (he is, in fact, he shows it all the time) or that he doesn’t want us to know they’re still together (he shows that all the time too lol), but i think he “doesn’t” want to publicly come out and harry does.

there’s absolutely nothing wrong with either stance, i think both are totally understandable and none of us can say for sure what we would do or how we would feel in that situation. i think louis has more than valid reasons for believing it’s a bad idea, and his situation is more complex than harry’s. let’s be honest, he has a babygate, a history of long-term “girlfriends’ and not just pure stunts and the general public isn’t as convinced that he's LGBTQ as they are with harry (yes, it’s true that there are a lot of people in denial about harry ik, but come on, we all know a lot of them believe he’s at least bi).

it began with the contrast between golden and lights up with walls and defenceless for me (i think those four songs are about themselves, their fame and their relationship).

“he’s golden” “im hoping someday im open. i know that you’re scared because im still hoping” “i know you’re scared because im so open” “im hoping someday you’ll open” and everything lights up (and the context in which it was released) it really contrasts with:

“and im too tired to be tough, just wanna be loved by you” i don’t care about being open with everyone anymore, i don’t want to be strong and put up with what that involves, i just want to love you and be loved by you. nothing else.

time passes, and we get to the harry’s house-fitf era. we met keep driving, satellite, face the music and ooms. (this is when i think louis starts to have more mixed feelings, when he really starts to wonder “what if..”)

“we share the last line then we drink the wall till you wanna talk” “spinning out waiting for ya to pull me in”

“a small concern with how the engine sounds” “i would ask, should we just keep driving?” we’re moving forward, yes, but im concerned about how we’re going. i hear the problem. should we just keep going as if nothing is wrong, or do we stop and look at the problem? how long are we going to pretend we don’t hear it?

then, on the one hand, we have face the music, which, like defenceless, emphasises “i want to be with you, but i don’t want to face this situation”.

parallels between golden and face the music

but out of my system, alive’s older sister, recognises that weight in him. i decide not to do anything, but it weighs on me. i know i have to resolve it one way or another. the situation is complex. i don’t want to do anything, i don’t even want to think about it. but im not blind, i see it affects me and my relationship.

we continue moving forward in time and arrive at hdigh-kissco era.

we are now at a point where louis recognises that the situation is more about him feigning insanity than the problem itself. it’s something inside his mind, fear, uncertainty. i’s not a question of “how do i face it?”, but rather “do i really want to face it?” that is why i think it’s a mixed feeling: at times i would like to, should i? if i don’t want to face it, why go through it? and i really think that’s totally valid.

i don’t want to hear anyone say that it’s wrong for louis not to want to come out or that he’s “bad for not making that effort for harry”.

no LGBTQ person should have to come out to anyone, and it’s a reality that consumes a lot of you, brings a lot of changes. and changes require time and energy (*cough habit cough*). sometimes you’re so tired of everything that’s happening to you (im speaking for myself here) that you say, “do i have to go through this right now? i know it’s a problem, but can’t it wait?” fighting it is exhausting.

harry insists, let the light in. lights up. it’s better to find out if it’s going to be as bad as you think. it’s uncertain, but we’ll be able to see the positive side. we like to dance, don’t we? let’s dance like it’s a dance floor even if everything goes wrong.

(and don’t get me started on face the music vs dance no more).

this seems like a quote. its something louis says in his songs. harry always continues with “we belong together” after this. can we say that he’s quoting him?

all those things you said to me when you had “lost your taste” and now you apologise. you played tough (“lonely in paris” = separated from love) but you need love. my love. you know you call me “baby” and I already tell you i forgive you, but... this didn’t happen before, we used to fight more. you’re settling down, handling it more.

and while we’re at it, i think that the “phone” in both of their discographies is the allegory they use to refer to arguments about issues that make them feel distant (that’s why the telephone, because it’s talking from a distance, not that they are literally separated and calling each other).

like this. morning calls = morning fights (i ain’t even woken up yet not nearly vertical🎶)

now, finally, back to the waiting game.

i think he’s talking about closeting. over the last few years, harry has been doing stunts that are too obvious, he doesn’t mention them or interact with them like he did when he was in 1D (they’re literally more pap walks than anything else, he hardly even mentions them in interviews). and it’s always during the periods when he writes albums and releases them. and although holivia was a shit show etc etc we can’t deny that if you’re not actively in the fandom, the stunts don’t really have much impact other than in promotion and narrative for the general public. i think harry does it because he’s tired of it, he’s tired of being the “ladies’ man” and he has every right to be exhausted (american girls? hellooooo)

louis is in a different situation. he does stunts for promotional purposes, yes, but his stunts are still much more of a beards than harry’s ever were. he always had beards until he broke up with eleanor for the second time. that’s when his *proper* stunts began (yeah the party boy era, yeah, but if you ask me, that era and the babygate worked more as a beard than as a stunt if we look at it from a distance). basically, he puts more effort into pretending to be heterosexual, at least more than harry. and again, this is not about “who is right or wrong”, it’s an observation.

in this “meanwhile”, in this seemingly endless wait, you play the “waiting game”. you keep pretending, you keep doing everything we do to wait. but it all adds up to nothing. emotionally dry years go by. you try to redo your “design” but it all adds up to nothing.

we move forward in the album and we come across her, yes, coming up roses 🌹✨

harry recognizes that he is putting pressure on something that he knows doesn’t need it. i was judging the whole journey, im sorry. i love you, i don’t need you to do this for me. you don’t have to decide between being with me and coming out or not being with me. i don’t want to see you cry about it anymore.

i always say they aren’t in a queer relationship like we would be/are, they are in a queer relationship in the public eye, under scrutiny. and i honestly believe that many people don’t give fame the weight it has in their songs. in a context where they are not A+ celebrities, we could perhaps interpret this as them having a thousand relationship problems and coming and going all the time. but knowing it? i think it’s clear that they’re still together and always have been. every album since midnight memories has songs about being in a long-term relationship. “one proper relationship”

fame brings a thousand things that none of us will ever be able to fully understand. i don’t believe that all the supposedly acclaimed “break-up songs” are about break-ups.

“somebody’s got your trainers on the ones that you wore when you walked out the door” i have your fucking trainers. i wear your clothes all the time. “you walked out the door” you disconnected from the situation, you ignore me, “you’re giving me the silent treatment, don’t know what it's achieving”, but at the end of the day, i put myself in your shoes because we share them we’re both in the same boat.

“i saw your friend that you know from work he said you feel just fine i see you gave him my old t-shirt more of what was once mine i see it’s written, it’s all over his face” its me speaking in the third person about myself because i make a distinction between myself and the voices in my mind. “oh can you hear the voice? the one inside your head” im that friend you met at work. you gave me back my t-shirt, which reminds me of what we used to share: first album post-1D, the “we have learn how to go though this publicly separated” time. (space to clarify that i think they use clothes as a material symbol representing shared history and the passage of time). i know you can tell what im thinking even though im giving you the silent treatment because i feel like i don’t recognise you lately. i wake up and see your face and you’re becoming a stranger. “my phone misses your calls btw” at least fight with me so we can talk. we can’t keep ignoring the problem. comfortable silence is so overrated. eventually, we have to discuss this.

it’s a circle, or at least that’s how it seems for now. at Manchester ONO, harry played ftdt, which is the beginning of how they ended up on coming up roses, the only song with harry being the only writer in his entire discography.

anywayyy they never broke up <3

[louisplumpyass]

SLEEPWALKING IS FUCKING INSANE WHAT THE FUCK LOUIS WHAT???? THAT IS SOME INSANE VOCALS AND THE LYRICSSSSSSSS YOU MF YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING AND GOD THOSE ADLIBS FUCK I AM NOT SURVIVING THIS ALBUM

[berrystainedsue]

sleepwalking - louis tomlinson

[charnel-grounds]

Adolf Hirémy-Hirschl (1860–1933), “Lady Macbeth Sleepwalking”

watercolour over traces of pencil on paper, n.d.

source

[dailytomlinson]

'HOW DID I GET HERE?' SONG TITLES:

Lemonade Lazy Lucid (registered july '24 Sunflowers (registered may '25) Sleepwalking (demo) Imposter Palaces