-- ･:*:･ﾟ★ ･:*:･ﾟ★ --
❝ home for the holidays ! ❞
-- ･:*:･ﾟ★ ･:*:･ﾟ★ --
─── HIS LIPS TASTED like the most beautiful things. Alaska could recall peppermint, red wine, black coffee, an amalgamation of everything that represented Reg. And the astringency of him was left peppered on her lips even after he walked her to her dormitory, planted a sweet kiss on her cheek and said goodnight before traipsing back, filled with glee and a warm feeling blossoming in his chest, to the Slytherin common room. She had tossed and turned underneath her satin sheets, unable relieve herself of the brilliant feeling of her hands entangled in his hair, his holding the sides of her face as if it were made of fragile glass, soon to evaporate, or shatter, in any of the passing minutes as the clock ticked, their hearts hummed, and their lips moved. He smelt of honey and coffee, like he always did. But with their close proximity, his aroma was now recollected with more whimsical thoughts than ever. He pulled at her heartstrings. He played with her mind. He left her feeling more vulnerable than she ever did, yet he strengthened her with a confidence, and a feeling of courage, that she had never experienced in all of her years. He was the bravery she never managed to conjure or muster by herself. He made her heart obsidian and a saccharine yellow all at once. The myriad of images of him smiling stupidly as he retracted his lips from hers, mesmerising eyes staring into eyes, filaments of gold swirling amongst a sea of silver. Moonlight paled his face. Sharpened his cheekbones. Enhanced the beauty that was him. He was something unworldly stunning, indescribably gorgeous. And, god, she was falling hard. It was like a free fall. A bottomless oblivion. A blackened void. She was hurtling for a ground that never seemed to come. But it was exhilarating. Thrilling. She couldn't complain. Not even when the palpitations in her chest were becoming seemingly unbearable, she couldn't speak negatively against the feelings she was experiencing. Something about having only him and her on her mind was too enticing, too alluring, to despise.
That day after, Alaska stood at Platform Nine and Three Quarters after stepping off the Hogwarts Express, chimney bellowing spirals of grey smoke into the sky, evaporating before it could touch the clouds. Flurries of snowflakes fell from the heavens, littering her hair as it voluminously framed her face, ringlets out of their usual, tight restraint of a high, swishy ponytail. She was surrounded by her friends, one of Bradley's arms strewn around Frankie's petite waist, her head buried into his side as she laughed at something obscenely inappropriate Nolan told the two of them, the dark-skinned boy howling shamelessly at his own joke. Standing to the right of her, Alaska stole a glimpse at Regulus from her peripheral vision, capturing an image of the boy smiling softly as he stared at her. The cold, arctic air kissed her cheeks like gentle zephyrs, when the billowing wind was anything but. It felt like spring as a warmth flooded her body with the heart her shivering body had been desperately waiting for since the beginning of winter. It was as if equinox had already reached her, and she was falling headfirst into a lake of warm currents, catapulting through uncharted waters. She craned her neck slightly to the side, making eye-contact with the boy. He didn't hurry to turn away, he wasn't flustered, or humiliated, for being caught staring at her. But, rather, he simply smiled even wider, the corners of the lips she had been kissing only hours before reaching his glimmering eyes. The spheres of grey she couldn't seem to rid her thoughts of glittered with a stunning, silvery light. They held untold stories she couldn't wait to hear fall from his mouth, his voice velvety, smooth, soft as satin. Compassion enriched his tongue. Strengthened his octaves. It summoned phantoms and ghosts and spirits to listen to the stories. He had an affect on her that she had never experienced before. He had her under a bewitchment that no spell she has memorised could rid her from. He was a flint and stone, creating a spark of tantalising electricity within her. He was an extraordinary specimen. A structure carved by the hands of De Vinci, and a vessel made of amalgamation of mercury, of stardust, of nitrogen. He glittered and he shone and he obliterated her moral to dust. He was just a boy. And he made her feel like far more than just a girl. He made her feel like the shimmering balls of gas he nicknamed her after, one of the many shimmering vessels he told her the stories of in the dead of a midnight blue twilight. He made her feel like a vital amalgamation of dark matter, undiscovered, waiting to be unsnarled, unravelled. He made her feel like the ruler of a galaxy, reigning upon a throne forged by the fragments of obliterated comets and asteroids.