"Are you asleep yet?"

Harry's voice cuts into the pitch black silence. We're sprawled out in the sand around the fire, eyelids fluttering as we watch the dying embers. His head is positioned just beneath the soles of my feet as if we've formed a sort of incomplete protective circle around our creation.

I want to tell him "of course I'm not asleep, I don't think I'm ever going to sleep again" but I know he'll worry and he won't go to sleep himself.

"Not yet." I reply and yawn for good measure. "Are you?"

He laughs and headbutts my feet.

"Hey!" I exclaim and poke his ear with my big toe. "You're so needy at night."

His chuckle echos in the darkness and I smile. He knows full well I'm referring to his insistence on spooning two nights ago.

"I know you haven't been sleeping by the way." His voice is unsure as if he's not certain we're at the point where he can start making serious comments. I feel my mouth dry out, reminiscent of my first day of being 'stranded'.

"How can you possibly know that?" I ask defensively. "You're always comatose."

I instantly feel guilty for throwing my guard up and yet not quite guilty enough to retract it and raise my hands in defeat. I know that weakness is ok. It's ok not to be strong everyday. And I know that every heartfelt conversation that Harry and I have shared in which one of us is not coping (albeit usually me) has also always finished up ok. But there's still something about weakness on this island, in this situation that doesn't sit right with me. Deep down, hidden within the folds of my brain, there's a voice that tells me weakness and survival are a forbidden love story; more tragic than Romeo and Juliet and more repellent than opposite poles on a magnet. And because of that, I can't helping thinking that weakness will mean the end of my survival.

"Because when I do wake up, you're always wide eyed staring up at the sky as if you're waiting for something."

"I am waiting for something." I point out quietly.

Harry doesn't reply. He knows exactly what I'm waiting for because he's waiting for it too.

We're waiting for someone to take us home.

We're waiting for some sort of sign that we haven't been completely given up on.

"But that's not why I haven't been sleeping." I admit after an extensive silence. I lick my lips and wrap my arms around myself. It's getting cold now, especially with the fire no longer giving off a substantial amount of heat and I can feel goosebumps trailing up the back of my neck.

Harry suddenly sits up and turns around so that he's facing me. He places his hands lightly on the tops of my toes and waits for me to continue. In the dim light of the embers, I can just about make out the deep groove of a frown that has formed between his eyebrows.

"I can't sleep because of the nightmares."

It sounds childish and pathetic saying it out loud but it also feels like a weight lifting off of my chest.

"You mean like the one from the other night? When you were kicking and screaming?" His voice is curious but still sympathetic.

"Yup." The 'p' makes a popping sound as it leaves my lips. "That's the one. I've had it twice now and quite frankly, it's twice too many."

I can only hear the sound of my own heavy breathing as Harry seems to sit and ponder over my revelation. My visual of him is growing more limited by the second and I crave to read his expression; to understand if he understands.

"I think I've had them too." He says suddenly. His left index finger begins to tap the toe it rests on. "They aren't nearly as vivid as yours and they definitely haven't woken me up. But I'm always on a plane and I'm always alone. There are no crew or passengers. It's just me. Just me. And I think," he takes a shaky breath. "I think it's because when I woke up here; near enough drowned and covered in sand - I thought I was the only one. The only survivor."

I suddenly pull myself upright and take Harry's large hands in my own. There's a slight tremor in his palms and I squeeze them tightly willing it to stop.

"Harry, I'm so sorry you had to go through that." I honestly don't know what to say. "I can't even begin to imagine what it must have been like, thinking that you were the only one. I barely coped finding out there was just the two of us!"

He lets out a small chuckle.

"Only because you were overwhelmed by my sexy wet-dog look."

My mind lingers back to Harry's matted hair and soaked t-shirt on that very first day. It's my turn to laugh. We were a state, the pair of us, although I'm not sure we're even much better now. There's only so much a shallow pool of mundane water can do.

"Sure, Harry, that's definitely what it was." I say in my most sarcastic tone and roll my eyes, even though I'm quite sure he can't see me at all anymore.

"You're only human." He says in the sort of voice that comes hand in hand with a brazen shrug.

"But anyway!" I announce loudly and drop his hands. I'm well aware that he's still chuckling away. "Enough of the dream analysis and hideous immodesty! I am absolutely freezing and would like to do my time here as a warm-blooded creature rather than the ice lolly that I am rapidly becoming."

"Now who is the diva?" Harry snorts, his voice dampening as he stands up in the sand, further from earshot. "But as you wish - back to our humble abode we shall go."

I shake my head in amusement and pull myself up. It really is chilly now and there's a stronger breeze picking up in the air. I'd almost forgotten what such a thing felt like.

Our feet drag in the sand as we traipse towards the plane door and our pile of towels and t-shirts. Harry yawns the whole way, a few steps ahead me, whilst I try to clear my head of lingering memories of the plane crash. Perhaps a clear mind will provide the dreamless sleep I so desperately crave? But I'm not sure my mind will ever be rid of the repetitive prayer chanting, shrill baby cries and the endless flow of stomach churning vomit.

I'm not sure I'll ever be rid of any of it. Ever.

There's a gentle thud up ahead and then a string of furious swear words.

"What the-" I don't manage to complete my sentence as Harry's cursing becomes louder.

"I stubbed my frickin' toe!" He exclaims. "On the frickin' plane frickin' door."

I bite my lip and silently thank whoever is responsible.

Now we're both even. First the coconut and now the door.

"Stop being such a cry baby." I sigh before dropping to my knees and feeling for my palm leaf mattress. The sharp folds of the leaves meet my fingers and I pull myself onto it, attempting to block out images of the memory foam mattress topper waiting for me at home. I curl myself up in a ball and drape all the t-shirts over myself to form a very thin, unamiable duvet.

The breeze continues; rustling the palms overhead and carrying the distant sound of the waves crashing. I'm surprised to find that finally experiencing some other form of weather makes this place feel slightly more normal. I embrace the sounds as if listening to a meditation track and will myself to sleep.

My eyelids have barely closed when a weight is slung over my side.

"What the?" I say for the second time. Harry wriggles closer until my back is pressed up against his chest. I can already feel myself awkwardly seizing up like some sort of socially inept teenager.

"Maybe if you're not alone when you go to sleep, it won't be quite so unbearable."

Perhaps this is a genuine thought process that he's honestly considered as beneficial to my predicament.

Perhaps he's just being needy again.

My lips twitch with amusement but I stop myself.

"I'm never alone - Jules is there." I correct him. She's always been there, from day one. Why should it be any different when I sleep? I just wish we weren't ripped apart and fighting for our lives at the same time.

"But I'm here." Harry says matter-of-factly and also somewhat impatiently. "And I'll be here until you wake up. So go show those nightmares who's boss."

He makes it sound easy. Hell, he makes everything sound easy.

I close my eyes again, immediately feeling the warm puff of Harry's exhale against the back of my neck. He's not asleep yet though, I can tell from the sound of his breathing.

He's waiting.

Waiting for me to go first.

One surprising, sleep deprived thought drifts into my mind before I eventually fall into a slumber - ok Harry, as long as you're with me.

...but if I end up underwater again - I'm using you as the float.