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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
A little collection of confessions inspired by songs.

Honey, Come -> Yvette Ar'dhair hadn't been feeling like this for terribly long, but she had come to terms with it. The least that Dox could do was return her affections, dammit, but no; she's too busy running around with the Ostwald boy, and she's left in the dust.

And It Rained -> Felix Terrance met Etheldred Blair when his family moved to Kent when he was six. This was over ten years ago. It was love at first sight then, and love-that-won't-freaking-go-away now.

When The Flowers Fall -> Emily Fergusson has been Wilfred's girlfriend since third year. They've had their moments, but they loved each other. Loved each other for long enough for Emily to know that someone else has taken her spot in his heart.

(All set in the Potterverse.)

Submitted: September 03, 2015

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 03, 2015



HONEY, COME. (Inspired by ‘Someone Like You’, Adele.)


“Yvette, can I tell you a secret?”

She should have refused. She should have told her that she was busy. She shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up. She shouldn’t have felt so broken. She should have gotten back to her Transfiguration homework and she should have told her to do likewise because it was late and they had to hand it in tomorrow after lunch and she knew that she would end up doing it with that moron she liked so much ten minutes before class started.

But she hadn’t.

She had simply nodded her head, because Dox was really the only person for whom she would let herself get distracted. They were in the Library. Talking wasn’t really allowed, but there were some boys goofing around that had Madam Pince’s whole attention so they weren’t really in any danger of getting scolded. Yvette liked the Library. It was a nice, quiet place that the moron didn’t usually come into, unless he knew for certain that Dox would be there. This last thing was something that Yvette cherished – she didn’t have to compete for a look and a smile when she was in the Library, she didn’t have to outrage herself to chase everyone away. She could just be…happy, she supposed.

Dox was all but glowing, all but shining, whatever secret that she had to tell Yvette too sweet to keep to herself. Dox was just that sort of person. Like an odd, cowardly sort of bear. Whenever she found some honey she quickly wanted to share it with other people, just because she liked to see their reactions. It made her happy and Yvette liked seeing her happy, so she usually ate all the honey the girl found – even when it tasted bitter.

Today’s was the bitterest honey she had ever tasted.

The rock she was standing on gave way suddenly and she fell, staggering forwards, scraping along the side of the bank until her feet ended up in the water and she was screaming at it, at them, at everything, incoherencies that flew out of her mouth like the swallows that nested in the nooks and crannies of Hogwarts’ roofs. Yvette crawled back up, backwards, kicking out and somehow finding her way up the bank, feet cold, wet and muddied.

A perfect metaphor for how she felt at the present moment.

The blonde grabbed a nearby stone and squeezed it in her palm – it was better than nothing, better than letting her nails dig into her skin and leave marks that others might be able to see. Better than getting physically hurt and having to hate herself for it later.

What am I doing?

She threw the stone with all her might out onto the water, watching it soar in a clean arc that to her felt jagged and oblique. She sat there for a moment. Whether the grass beneath was damper than her legs or not she neither knew nor cared to know, staring out over the clear surface of the Lake, reflected in her cold irises that were now lost in the rays of light, indifferent and at the same time bursting at the seams. Scarcely keeping it together.

It was at a lake like this where everything had started. It felt eons ago, a lifetime of running after people that didn’t see her. She remembered how hot it had been, the feel of the plastic sand bucket digging into her palm, full of water and rocks that the tiny girl behind her was too weak to carry. She remembered the girl bouncing around her in excitement, remembered the bright way that she had tilted her head to the side, pigtails slanting, and remembered how she’d pleaded with Yvette to be friends.

“Yvette, I…I think I fancy Osw!”

How could she have been such a fool? Of course Dox fancied Osw. It couldn’t have been clearer if someone had written the message on a flag and waved it around for everyone to see. Of course they liked each other – the two idiots were birds of a feather. Yvette knew that. Yvette had known that for a long time.

So why does it…hurt so much?

One hand clutched at her chest, desperate to feel the beating in her breast that would remind her to breathe, as pang after pang came, each a bullet that winded her, leaving her gasping for breath and finding that she was trapped inside a vacuum. Now all she could do was helplessly whimper as she saw Dox in her mind again and again, the excitable glimmer in her eyes and the pale rose paint splattered unevenly over her cheeks, an amateur’s canvas. And the image shifted to all the complicit looks that Ostwald and Dox had shared, all the lingering touches in front of Yvette, and each one was a new bullet, a fresh wound that made her bleed crystalline blood that streamed down her thin cheeks, on its way to the Lake.

Yvette wasn’t the sort to cry. She never cried. She thought crying was for weaklings, for people that couldn’t do anything more productive than sit and mope rather than fix something for themselves, but how could she fix what wasn’t broken? Everything was picture-perfect, Dox was happy and the moron wasn’t a bad person. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t.

Her pain was a selfish pain, a greedy pain. She had wanted too much, gotten her share and fallen short. It was enough. She was still Dox’s best friend. Nothing would change that. And yet, Yvette wasn’t satisfied – she had played a hand at all or nothing and been left in the dust as everyone else rode off into the sunset.

She was being melodramatic. It was to be expected. She hadn’t really done anything to try and reach a different outcome. Pushing people away in the hope that they would come chasing after you was a strategy that sometimes worked and often failed.

Yvette smiled, rolling her eyes. “You think? Dox, you make it too obvious. But I’m glad you reached the conclusion all by yourself, maybe you’re not as thick as I thought.”

Of course Dox was thick. She was denser than gelatin, denser than a thousand jars of peanut butter, she was the densest thing Yvette could think of – how could she honestly have believed the smile, the congratulating remarks fired out through clenched teeth and fisted hands? Her heart throbbed again and Yvette bid it to be silent.

“Anyway, I’ve finished my homework, and if I let you copy you’ll never learn. I’m heading back to the Common Room – don’t move from here until you’ve finished it, got it, Dox?”

Don’t move. Don’t move, or you’ll see my shaking shoulders, you’ll see my glassy eyes and you’ll see the earthquake in my mouth.

What could be worse than falling into the clichés, into the typical box of sappiness that Yvette had avoided her whole life? What could be worse than falling in love with your best friend?

That was what Yvette had thought when she first accepted her thoughts, her feelings, when she’d had to stifle the fluttering of the fierce eagle in her chest, when she’d burst into a smile at the ridiculousness of the situation. And now, finally, she had an answer: the only thing worse than falling in love with your best friend was seeing the aforesaid idiot fall in love with someone else.

Yvette had long legs. She walked quickly. But she was always aware of moving – not this time, though. This time she moved in a haze, with her shoulders slumped, her face just barely kept blank, eyes unfocused as she allowed the muscle memory to guide her down to the Hufflepuff Common Room.

If the first person she had seen was Dox, Yvette would have snarled and turned around without wasting a second. She would have hidden herself somewhere where no one else could find her, to lick her wounds in peace, but she didn’t see Dox. She didn’t want to think about where the midget could be, but she didn’t see Dox.

She saw Mary, talking happily to a small group of people, shining like a beacon in Yvette’s head. She didn’t want to fall back on anyone, but if she didn’t make it to the dorm before her fortified dam burst, she knew Mary would patch up the holes with anything she had at hand.

Dark surprise looked at her, above an opening that mouthed her name, but there was a beeping in Yvette’s ears and she couldn’t hear a thing above the sound of the raging waters inside. It seemed to flow in slow motion, each grain of sand that fell down the hourglass seeming to float for an eternity as Yvette closed her eyes sharply, saying something – what did she say? – before they opened again and Mary’s surprise was gone, in its place, concern. She didn’t want concern, dammit. She wanted to play Chess, right? Yes, she wanted to play Chess. She wanted to be able to see something crumble. She wanted to see it fix itself without a problem.

So she pushed past Mary and she ran up the stairs to their dorm, because if the other girl didn’t want to play Chess with her it didn’t matter at all and she was still perfectly fine. Yvette had pushed her away, too, pushed her to keep on talking, to ignore her, to go and see Oswald (it slipped out of habit). She would be fine.

And yet, Mary ran after her.





AND IT RAINED. (Inspired by ‘She Will Be Loved’, Maroon 5.)


The scene could have very well been out of a movie. One of those sappy romance films that Anne seemed to love so much and had passed onto Lewis to give to Felix, in the hopes of instructing him in the ways of romanticism. But Felix didn’t want to be romantic, dammit, he didn’t want it to be like this. He just wanted to be honest with himself at long last. He wanted to be honest with her.

It was raining. Not light, pleasant rain – if any rain could be classed as pleasant; Felix found it just as annoying – no, it was full out pouring and there he was, standing like an idiot. Just staring, tongue-tied.

Felix had never been tongue-tied in his entire life.

He had very nearly bought flowers for her, something typical that went with the situation, but she wasn’t her brother – she didn’t like flowers. She didn’t like having to look after more things that weren’t Wilfred. She’d told him, once. He knew all sorts of things about her – things that not even she remembered, because how was he supposed to forget them if she was always haunting the back of his mind? It wasn’t fair. He had more than ten years’ worth of memories with her, more than ten years’ worth of things to remember about her.

More than ten years’ worth of things that made him fall in love with her. It wasn’t fair.

Felix knew how much she loved her brother, the little regard she had for people as a whole – why should she? She was a queen, everyone else shouldn’t be worth her time –, he knew that sometimes she felt like she could own the world and sometimes she wanted to drop all the intricate glass orbs she was juggling, just to see what would happen. He knew of every boy that she had kissed or turned down, he knew of every boy that she had urged to step up and try to conquer her, he knew of every time she wished she’d been swept off her feet but been landed with something less than that.

He knew she didn’t love him, but it didn’t really matter.

Oh, who was he kidding? Of course it mattered. It mattered the whole world.

He wouldn’t be doing this otherwise.

She hadn’t arrived yet, already five minutes late from the time that he had agreed to meet up with her. He had chosen a place which would mean something to them – anything at all – but only later realized that she would stare around blankly, unknowing. She had only been seven years old, after all.

Had the sun been shining, it would have been a pretty August sky, probably blue and clear, with birds and maybe even the moon peeking out, veiled in the light. The tree that he leaned against would have offered merciful shade, not shelter from the pouring rain, and the grass would have rustled underfoot rather than hiss at the raindrops, sinking into the mud. It would have been another kind of perfect.

Strands of his hair clung to his face, the typical pink spikes down, for a change, curling, their bright tonality dimming, laced with a pinch of hairs here and there of a nervous green or gloomy purple. Not that it could really be noticed – he was too soaked through for the mop atop his head to really have a definite colour. His hands were empty, bare of gifts or other offerings that he would pose to the girl, the romantic soul chained up somewhere within fully believing that he – without any sweetening supplements – would be enough. He wanted this to be true, more than anything else. Just him. In his dark jeans and his favourite leather jacket. Just Felix.

Suddenly, footsteps, trudging through the marshy area, waterproof boots squelching in and out, step after step, brisk, determined. He knew it was her before he saw the silvery cloak, before he saw the red hair peeking out, plastered to pale skin and before he saw the rain reflected in her dark irises.

“You’re late,” He said quietly, too quiet for her to hear. The girl perched against the tree, warmer and drier than he was under her magical clothes, eyeing his tall and soaked form with expectation.

“What, no flowers?” She said leisurely, not bothering to apologise for her tardiness. Felix displayed his bare hands for her to see, a slight scowl forming on his face as he noticed that they were shaking. She didn’t pay attention to it – assuming it was because of the cold.

“You don’t like flowers,” He responded flatly, feeling like his head was going to explode – he had imagined this moment, this here and now, at least half a dozen of times already, but it was raining and this was real and he had so many things he felt the need to say that he guessed it would be better if he changed the plan completely. He just wanted to get it out. He had faith that if he was honest with himself – with her – he would be able to bury this once and for all.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t stand not being on the receiving end of her attention, couldn’t stand holding her gaze for five seconds straight and being forced to look away in fear that he’d get manipulated into falling in love with her again. He wanted this to stop.

“That’s perceptive of you,” Now a slight smirk – just the slightest flick of the lips – shone on her face. Patience somewhere in her expression. She was waiting for him to say something, but he couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth and God it was raining. “I don’t really like rain either, though, Felix. So go ahead and tell me what the hell we’re doing here in middle of a bog, dammit.”

He cast her a look, unbreathing, watching as her posture slackened to a more casual stance, hip jutting out just slightly and hands in the pockets of her trousers. Felix sighed, shaking his head, gaze falling and hopes dashed. He really had been hoping that – deep down – she would remember this place. Would remember those times where he had been more than just Wilfred’s best friend.

“You really don’t remember…”

“No, I don’t,” She cut through smoothly, flicking a strand of wet hair out of her eyes in a jerk of her head. “And I’m getting wet. Get on with it or I’m going, Terrance.”

It would have been so easy to let himself get caught up in the sharp impatience, to just make up another of his multiple ridiculous excuses, grin it off and let things be; the one thing that Felix would never be able to square up to. And that was what he would have done, if the soft edge of curiosity hadn’t been in her voice, in the curve of her tilted face. An excuse wouldn’t do now. Not when he’d waited for her in the rain for five whole minutes – and going – whilst his socks got wet, not after he’d already shown her the disappointment that no grin could really wash away.

“Etheldred, I’m in love with you.”

He saw her splutter, felt the rain all but evaporate off his burning face, felt his heart fall at the sight of her scrunched up nose and downward-curled lips. It was the face of a rejection, and he couldn’t really say that he hadn’t been waiting for it. This outcome was the only actual outcome that he had been expecting to receive.

See, Felix? Twelve years don’t change the fact that you were wrong.

He grinned smugly, forcing out a laugh that was far too fake for her to even be able to see the difference between it and his genuine laughs, lighting up his cold eyes and turning his face upwards in what he hoped looked like triumph and not utter defeat. “Oh, Ethel,” he laughed, his mouth tasting sour to him, “you should have seen your face. I think you just made my day – no, my week!” He laughed again, loud enough to not hear the poisonous thoughts over the sound of his own voice.

Etheldred had yet to say anything and he didn’t trust his act to last much longer, especially not if he actually looked at her, so he continued, drowning in something deeper than rain that sucked him down and put a rougher note to his words, snatching away the subtle sweetness that often remained when he talked to her, leaving him bare, coarse, blunt.

“I can’t believe you took me seriously—”

“Felix, stop.

He clamped his mouth shut immediately, making the mistake of looking down at Etheldred in his surprise. That furrow from earlier was gone and she looked at him with fixed, unblinking eyes, shining in the myriad of reflections in the rain, her lips a line, so much more serious than he had ever seen her. She looked lost, at the mercy of a tempest that he couldn’t shield her from, a storm that he couldn’t see. It was unbelievably frustrating. He felt himself choke.


“Did you mean it?”

Felix squeezed his eyes shut. “The last time we were here was eight years ago. Do you remember what I told you?” He asked, losing the grin, the faux triumph, all of those additional layers that had proven useless one time too many. He hoped against hope that she would recite the words back at him, that she would have had them memorized, just like he did, but the girl merely shook her head.


I promise I’ll love you forever, Ethel. I’ll keep you safe and I’ll make you happy every day. I won’t let anything happen to you and I’ll defeat any monster that tries to take you away. You can be my princess, all I need is for you to love me back.” Felix said, word by word, unable to forget that moment – the one time that she promised she would love him too, the one time that he had managed to sweep her away with words he’d been mowing over for weeks, the one time she was left speechless in his presence and looked at him with eyes full of wonder.

Hogwarts had changed things for the both of them, but he had never managed to forget that moment – the pretend wedding that she had agreed to willingly partake in, the one memory that time hadn’t been able to mute.

He threw a hand into his wet hair, pushing it backwards and using the time to sigh, having poured his heart out to her then and there. He felt so foolish now, the shame that he hadn’t felt as a child now filled him and he was nine again, looking at the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, but the determination of a little boy with nothing to lose was his undoing and he crumbled. This wasn’t just a crush. Felix believed in true love. Disney and all those movies he had watched had drilled it into his head. He believed that there was a girl out there – just one – that he would be able to always stick around, one girl that would always tolerate him and whom he would adore in exchange. It was the most romantic he was capable of being.

He had just had the bad luck of having fallen in love with the girl as a child.

“How could you expect me to remember all of that? I was seven,” Etheldred commented abruptly, startling him out of the hurricane of thoughts and feelings within. “I can’t remember…It’s fragmented, but I know I agreed.” Her face was cast into shadow by the hood of her cloak, but all of a sudden she was right in front of him and she was pulling it back to let the raindrops gather in her red hair and she wasn’t looking at him with wonder, but something stronger. Something that he didn’t know eyes could express. “I agree with it now, too,” She stated, not in a cute murmur like in the movies, but he drew his arms around her waist and his face lit up brighter than the sun, and they were spinning and he was burying his face into her hair and he was laughing at the impossible sappiness of the situation before falling onto the wet ground, but he didn’t care. He was happy. He could taste his own delight on her lips.

And it was still raining.





WHEN THE FLOWERS FALL. (Inspired by ‘I’m Sorry’, Blake Shelton.)


Wilfred had groomed himself particularly well today. He’d combed his hair for a good long while, ensured that all of his items of clothing were without a single crease in the fabric and cleaned up even the slightest detail of his appearance that might be frowned upon, even slightly. Everything had to be perfect about him - he was finally going to go and talk to Emily.

The pair had never spent so much time without talking - mostly because she always cooped herself up just too far out of his reach, lately - and he was adamant to fix this. He was going to fix their one-sided fighting - as she fought, but he did not - and he was going to fix them. He hated seeing her unhappy, even if over the past few days the most he had seen of her was a passing swish of robes of Ravenclaw blue and the ghostly spring of black curls that were already gone when he tried to reach out for her.

The redhead conjured a bouquet of flowers, looking at them appreciatively and slipping in the card that he had made himself, his own neat writing lacing the card with the words that had spent days teasing at his subconscious. He wasn’t a good writer, but he had put a lot of effort into this, so he was sure that Emily would see that and appreciate it.

“Where’re you going so fancy?” Felix asked as he strode in casually, not bothering to stifle a yawn as he opened his mouth very wide.

“I am just going to go and talk to Emily. I shall say sorry to her and make things better again.” Wilfred answered without the slightest hesitation, not a single ounce of doubt for his plan in his mind. Felix raised a pink eyebrow.

“Really?” he asked, brow creasing ever so slightly, “what are you going to apologise for?”

That was all it took. Just that one question, just that one clause that threw away all of Wilfred’s confidence. What was he going to apologise for? Well, he didn’t know. Casting a dark look over at his best friend, the redhead clamped his mouth shut firmly, turning back to the task of checking over himself in the mirror.

“Hey, Wilfred - Wilfred,” He was forced to look at Felix as the other boy touched his arm, making him flinch and look at him, hiding his dread behind all the faux patience he could paint like a blindfold over his brown eyes. For once, Felix looked serious, which was as odd as it was utterly terrifying.

“Listen here. You’ve done nothing wrong - you shouldn’t have to apologise to her.”

“Of course I have wronged - she would never be angry, otherwise,”

“Oh yeah? Say one thing you’ve done wrong. Just one.”

There was a dare somewhere there, an urge to prove himself right by putting Wilfred down, which made the redhead frown, set on proving his friend wrong but unable to think of anything at all.

At least, nothing that he was willing to admit - those thoughts had been buried earlier that morning, it was too soon to revive them after they had only just been expelled from his head.

Felix arced an eyebrow. “Come on, I’m still waiting.”

“Felix, it doesn’t matter. I have had enough of this - I love Emily, for Merlin’s sake. Is it really that difficult to be able to accept the fact that I want to stay by her side?”

For a second, Wilfred dreaded that his fellow classmate would affirm that yes, it was, because his own confidence was running out and he really could do without having this conversation right now. He read the affirmative word in the contours of Felix’s pursed lips, in the shake of his head of pink hair, in the way his shoulders shrugged, disappointed, before he left Wilfred to his devices.

Wilfred cast a dark look at himself in the mirror, clenching his jaw firmly, trying to coax that lighthearted optimism back into his fluttering heart, but it was impossible.

It was difficult to restore an illusion once all the smoke had cleared.

The boy passed other people that seemed like the echoes of companions to him - something ethereal, unrealistic, people that weren’t really there. Shadows at the corners of his vision. His feet automatically climbed the steps to the top of Ravenclaw Tower, a place he had frequented far too many times as it was. For a second, he saw himself standing for hours in front of the metallic knocker, the many times he had been incapable of guessing the riddle and waiting for Emily to come out, meeting her laugh with a silly grin of his own.

Some of his resolve returned as the memory evaporated, his chest now heavy as he cleared his throat and went up to the door, knocking.

The bronze eagle came to life, blinking, opening its mouth and not wasting a second to recite the riddle that Wilfred was more than ready for. Whatever it was. He would guess it, no matter what. Even if it took him an hour.

“What is as ancient as the earth but new every month?”

Wilfred blinked, clearly surprised at the simplicity of the riddle - he had heard so many harder ones in his many visits. This could only mean that he was supposed to come here, he was supposed to fix things. This instilled in him some true confidence, not an illusion this time.

“The moon.” He answered, hoping that it really was as easy as he had imagined.

A pause.

The door opened.

Puffing out a glad breath, the redhead pushed his way into the Common Room, draped in blue and bronze everywhere, high windows of crystalline glass and a comfortable hubbub of people talking. Yet, all conversation faded from his hearing as he caught sight of Emily sitting down on a couch, immersed in a thin tome, her blue eyes skimming over the pages much faster than he ever would be capable of.

“Emily,” He called out to her, walking towards her with the bouquet of flowers hidden behind his back. Her eyes snapped up suddenly, storming over when she caught sight of him. Wilfred braced himself, willing himself to take any harsh words. But then, abruptly, her expression softened and she looked at him patiently. The sort of expression one would wear when addressing a cause they clearly believed lost. “What do you want, Wilfred?”

His mouth ran dry all of a sudden, so he thrust the flowers in front of him, their vibrant colours catching the attention of some of the other Ravenclaws in the room. “I’m sorry for making you upset - you must know it never was my intention, I apologise for everything I have done and please Emily can you be not-angry with me?” The air suddenly returned to his lungs and he blew it out in a turmoil of pleading syllables barely wound together by coherence. The girl blinked, setting her book to the side and standing up. “Wilfred…”

“Take them!” He said, suddenly desperate, handing the flowers over, like his entire destiny depended on this one single action. “I got them for you,” He said, igniting a hopefulness in his eyes that he wished would get through to Emily, but her glasses seemed to act as a barrier - since when could his emotions not get through to her?

“They’re very nice, but I don’t want them.”

His face fell, gradually accompanied by his arm holding the now-useless bouquet. “Oh.” Was all he managed to articulate. She had put a hand to the back of her neck and he watched the tension of her elbow, the way she looked down to the floor.

"Listen, Will, we can't go on like this. It's been childish for me to barricade myself up here, but..." She trailed off, shrugging, eyes glancing up at him for a second, brow slightly creased. The silence in the Ravenclaw Common Room was stifling and all the pairs of eyes on them - on him - were overwhelming.

In a sudden burst of desperation, horror and fear, Wilfred let the flowers fall to the ground, barely registering the rustle of the petals and the card slipping out. He reached forwards and took her free hand in both of his vehemently.

She took a step back, wrenching her fingertips away from his.

"Wilfred I want to break up."

She might as well have slapped him in the face, for he looked physically pained, shock lining his features. "What? But...but...I-I'm sorry, I truly am - don't please - I-I love you, Emily - don't..." He started fumbling for the words, voice going raspy, the concave of his eyebrows showing an emotion that he couldn't recall having felt before.

Emily's eyes closed tightly, like she was attempting to erase him from before her. Wilfred didn't want to be erased from anywhere. He put his hands gently on her cheeks, urging her in gibbering murmurs to think this through. They'd been going out for three years - he loved her.

Emily opened her eyes. She was crying, shaking her head, the bitter droplets clinging to her long, dark lashes. "No you don't," She contradicted, voice like sandpaper. Burning sandpaper. When he made to protest, to tell her that he did, she leant forwards and pressed a soft, shaking kiss to his lips that was more bitter than sweet and tasted of resolution. She was the one to pull away, looking at him through her glasses. "What are you sorry for, Wilfred?" She asked, repeating Felix's words softly, a grimacing smile twitching weakly at the corners of her mouth.

And still, Wilfred didn't know what to answer.

"I'll abandon the Host Club."

The fact that he was willing to even as much as say such a thing with such utter conviction visibly shocked the girl, but she shook her head. "You'd be miserable,"

"I would not! It would be back to the way things used to be, I promise. Just, please, don't...don't leave me..."

He wasn't aware of it, but the anguish that constricted and squeezed his chest had worked itself into a foul liquid that singed his eyelids, burning his pale cheeks. He felt sick.

"Don't be melodramatic. You didn't think this would last forever, did you? How awfully naïve."

Wilfred jumped back, away from her and her contact, as if stung, mouth quivering and eyes wide as he realised that her eyes were lowered, speaking not only to him, but to herself as well. Emily suddenly looked up fiercely and smiled in a way that sent him staggering back another step. "Three years is more than enough, I'd say. It was nice, but-but it's got to end. It's got to." She added two words, two words that would have made all the difference in the world if she had said them loud enough for Wilfred to hear.

For you.

Wilfred shook his head in denial, trying to hold back and swipe at the tears, but Emily had turned around and picked up her book calmly heading up to her dorm with perfectly measured steps. Brown eyes followed her, hurt as she put distance between them, locking on hers when she turned around to look at him, apparently having thought of something more to say.

"Oh, and Wilfred, tell Godai to go die." And then she was gone and Wilfred stared after her in shock, heart sinking. She knew. She knew the only thing he would have apologised for. She knew.

Gulping down his sorrow, the pain and the guilt, Wilfred ran out of the Tower, leaving behind the flowers, running down the steps and continuing to run outside despite the burning in his chest, trying to outrun the melancholia.

Trying to outrun the relief.


© Copyright 2019 Willoughby Blair. All rights reserved.

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