silver | d.m.

46.silence

October 2005 | H I M

Draco crumbles the shell of peanuts to the worn oak bartop.

Actions have consequences, right? Get your fingers burnt. Be your own undoing. You can't unring a bell. Fall on your own sword.

Draco did just that. He fell on his own sword, got his fingers burnt badly in the process, which slipped to ring the bell as loudly as he could. He is his own fucking undoing and lives with the consequences.

Those fucking sayings exist for a reason.

Draco just had to go and learn the hard way.

He thought he knew consequences when he spoke rudely to her at the bar. Or when he flipped because she lived her life. Or when he touched her spine because of the tattoo. When she slapped him. When she told him she hated him. When she didn't deny it weeks after.

But kissing her, he still doesn't regret it. Would never regret it. Not when it was like coming back to life, when it felt so right and so hot, he still gets a semi just thinking too long about it.

Her lips are meant on his under any circumstances. No discussion!

But he understands what it did to her, and Lila, and even to himself. Whatever this is, is not healthy. He understands Tess' silence.

Doesn't mean he likes it.

Over a month of silence and he feels like ripping his hair out. It's been so long since he got called dimwit, he's dreaming about it now.

He saw her once, in the elevator. She entered after him since they were going down.

Didn't even look at him.

He stared at her. He couldn't help himself, being in withdrawal from his favourite drug and boom—right there. It was a warm day, so she had a skirt on, one of those longer ones that end halfway on the calf and had a mesh material over it. Light blue with small flowers on it.

Not gonna lie, it made that juicy behind of hers pop, but that isn't even the most he's missing. It was those hands not holding his or pushing his face away that made him remember this little tiny encounter for weeks.

They were so close, he could have wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind, nuzzled his face in her neck and take a deep fucking inhale of that intoxicating scent that makes him lose all brain power and self will.

Fucksake, I miss her.

He wants to knock at her door and see what she is up to this time. She always did things and made it look amazing. Cooking, cleaning, sleeping, puzzling—you pick, she makes it a time to remember.

If he would look behind himself, he would find the very table they sat at on her birthday. Where she showed a new facet of herself and continued to do so every day since. That's almost a year ago.

It is amazing, truly, how two people can be strangers until someday, they know every inch and crevice of you.

Draco feels eyes on his back and turns, thinking he has gone completely mad by wishing her by his side. He startles when a big, muscly, tattooed man is right behind him.

"Fucksake, Stryker," he sneers. "Ever heard of announcing yourself?"

"I like to see 'em jump," the man grins slyly as takes the empty seat beside Draco. And the one on the other side is filled with... ah, Blaise.

Great. This is just going to be great.

And they are shoulder to shoulder, too. "Do you have to be so close? A little space wouldn't hurt."