Her behaviour when in his presence was amusing;
Her nervous babbling and obvious blushing
Causing those around her to roll their eyes knowingly.
His actions, however, were unexpected,
His softened gaze paired with
An uncontrollable need to fix his...
Draco was frustrated, and it showed in his hard-packed punches.
So much rage. So much annoyance. So much agony. And he wasn't sure which emotion took lead over the others. He gave one last punch before collapsing and allowing the ground to catch him. Draco felt alone as he laid helplessly on the floor, which contained his blood, sweat, and tears.
But it didn't matter because that feeling had been his only solace since the beginning. He was well familiarise with loneliness. It all made sense. Loneliness had been his serenity for as long as Draco could remember.
His little-known secret.
It wrapped itself around Draco like a blanket soaked in ice cold water, making him shiver with fear. But it had been so long that Draco didn't know if it was still cold. Because Draco had grown accustomed to it. And once you become accustomed to something, you become accustomed to its presence.
Because it's been there for so long, you're not bothered by it no longer.
And, because the only sound Draco could hear was the harsh wind outside, he let loneliness remain silent and comfort him, reminding him that he would never be a friend to anyone else. Looking up at the ceiling, the shitty fan above him appeared to be on its last spin.
And if it stopped, Draco's heartbeat would stop as well, because he had a bet with loneliness.
Draco didn't have the courage to leave this world, according to loneliness. Draco was adamantly opposed. So they bet that Draco would die the day the old fan with the peeling paint stopped spinning.
And, being the devious, manipulative friend that it was, loneliness promised to be the one to push Draco over the edge when the time came. But no matter how many times they swore the fan would stop spinning, it kept going. Continue to push forwards. Past the thick air and humidity, and continue to do its job of providing some relief to Draco after a sweaty practise.
And, on occasion, Draco thanked it for not coming to a stop. He had no idea why.
But perhaps the pain he felt each day after punching without boxing gloves was what kept him hopeful.
Because he indulged in pain as a guilty pleasure. A feeling pushed into a part of him that he tried to keep as far away from himself as possible. Pain reminded him that Draco was still feeling, and pain wasn't just physical.
Pain trailed her sharp nails agonisingly slow down Draco's spine as he packed his bag and made his way home, watching him with discomfort each time.
Telling him that he wasn't leaving until he got all of the answers and explanations he needed. loneliness was gradually separated from Draco by pain, which drew a bloody line between them. Because he was friends with loneliness.
Pain, on the other hand, was his saviour.
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So, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm attempting to do this thing where I end each chapter with something extremely profound.
To synchronise the mood.
Consider voting if you enjoyed the chapter! I adore you allll. 🤍
