And It All Became So Clear

RiXX

Rating: G
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 31/10/2006
Last Updated: 31/10/2006
Status: completed

One-shot. What will it take for Harry to tell Hermione about his feelings for her? Halloween Ficathon entry.

Chapters

1. And It All Became So Clear

1. And It All Became So Clear

A/N: This is part of the Halloween Fluffathon, located at: http://talk.portkey.org/index.php?showtopic=21857. Please check out the other, fantastic contributions to this little ficathon, they're so worth your time it's not even funny :) Hope you enjoy this little one-shot, and a Happy Halloween (or Samhain, if you're that way inclined) to you all!

Standard disclaimers apply. I don't own Harry or Hermione, because if I did, I'd be bashing their heads together until they realised what they're missing out on.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

The Great Hall was alive with colour. Oranges, reds, yellows, greens, blues and purples tinted the stone from streamers, banners, and nearly every kind of festive decoration that you could think of. Candles leant pools of light to the room from where they were bunched together on tables, numbering in the hundreds at every location as pumpkins floated overhead, humorous faces carved into them that glowed with a single flame inside.

Let it never be said that Hogwarts shirks on Halloween, Harry thought wryly to himself, as he levitated another water feature onto one of the surrounding tables with a flick of his wand. Numerous fountains like the one he was currently concerned with dotted the perimeter of the Great Hall, their water charmed to appear a bright orange as it flowed down the levels of stone and into the pool below.

“Can you move it further back, Harry?” A soft, familiar voice came from his left. “I think we can squeeze another few place settings in the far corner if we can make just a little more room.” With a gentle movement of his wrist, the fountain slid across the table, ruffling the cloth slightly as it did so before he set it down.

“Oops?” He grinned, having the good grace to blush as he turned his head to face his best friend of seven years. She raised a dignified eyebrow before hurrying over to the disrupted tablecloth in question.

“Lift it again,” She called over, smoothing out the material as he did so, before stepping back. “Alright.” After he set it down once more, he took a few seconds to glance around at the fruits of a full day’s work before Hermione reached him. This setting for the Halloween feast had been all her idea, truth be told. A way to promote inter-house cooperation and friendship, she’d called it when she first pitched the idea to McGonagall. Ron had called it a waste of effort, but such was his way, it had earned him a glare and a sharp foot-stamp from the brunette at any rate.

The large house tables lined the walls of the Hall; filled with refreshments and displays such as the one Harry had just finished setting. The wide open space they’d previously occupied would be used for dancing later on, once dinner had been dismissed and the lower years sent back to their dormitories, but for now it was filled with many small, five person circular tables, draped in black cloth with a single candle in the centre of each. With the lights dimmed for effect and the enchanted ceiling reflecting an image of a starry night sky, the floor looked as if it were illuminated by a hundred fireflies on a hundred pedestals, the soft yellow glow lending an almost ethereal feel to the room. The aesthetic plan alone should have convinced the staff of its merit, but Hermione being Hermione, had come up with what she considered another masterful idea. Each table would seat members of at least three Houses. She’d apparently taken the Hat’s song to heart this time round, and with the same fervour that she pursued her crusade for Elf rights, she’d used her Head Girl position to try to foster working relationships between all houses in every facet of school life. Needless to say, McGonagall was impressed. Of course, when Hermione became passionate about something, it was hard not to be.

“Oh Harry, it’s perfect.” She said excitedly as she stood next to him. He moved his arm to enfold her waist impulsively, drawing her small frame into him while they looked out over the floor.

“Looks good, huh?” He observed, smiling as she leant her head gently on his shoulder.

“Mmm,” She breathed. “Thank you so much.”

“For what?” This was your idea, Miss Granger.”

“For everything.” She replied softly. “For helping me, for supporting me. I know it must have seemed fairly silly when I suggested it.”

“Nothing you suggest sounds silly to me.” He rubbed his hand lightly up and down her side. “Besides, you had that look in your eyes. Me and Ron know better than to argue with it.”

“Oh?” he couldn’t see her face from where his line of sight was, but he knew she was smiling. “And what look is that?”

“The ‘I’m-A-Super-Genius-So-Listen-To-What-I-Say’ one.” He replied simply. “My personal favourite.” He glanced at her then, smirking as he saw her blush.

“I do not have a super-genius look Harry Potter.” She mumbled, adjusting her head slightly on his shoulder. He couldn’t help the slight thrill that coursed through him as she made herself more comfortable in his embrace, the brush of her cheek against his shoulder that sent electricity through his nerve endings.

To be honest, he couldn’t say how long he’d had these feelings for Hermione, or when they’d even started. He supposed, if he went right to the root of it all, he could trace it back to that fateful night in their third year, where he’d ridden Buckbeak on a desperate mission to liberate Sirius, her hands wrapped firmly around his waist in abject terror as they’d plummeted towards the windows of the tower he was kept in. That was when he’d first noticed how much he didn’t actually mind their developing closeness. Fourth year had only cemented the foundations of his emotions as she stuck by him through thick and thin when nobody else would, when even Ron had abandoned him. Fifth year was when he’d truly begun to realise what he felt for Hermione was something more than what was normal for a friend, so he’d done the typical male thing and gone completely the wrong way about dealing with it. With Cho.

He inwardly winced, thinking about that now. How naïve his attempt at diversion had been, how misguided his last ditch effort to transfer his worryingly deep affection for his best friend to someone else had ended up. But once again, he couldn’t escape her, couldn’t help but think of her, even when his world seemed to crash around him later that year in the terrible battle at the Ministry as she fell.

It was then he realised his emotions were dangerous, that he could never pursue a relationship with her because she weakened him in ways he didn’t know how to deal with. Ways that warmed his heart in one moment, and hurt so intensely the next. He’d ignored the lessons he should have learned from Cho, and they’d grown apart. He’d watched her interactions with Ron, convinced himself that they had something between them. After all, the signs all pointed to it, right? They argued like an old married couple, they did things to spite each other, to make one jealous and the other hurt, but the affection seemed to be there. So he’d taken up with Ginny, in another poor substitution for what he should have pursued with her.

It had taken another near-death experience to bring him round to another revelation, and indeed, it had taken the life of his Headmaster, his mentor and surrogate father for him to finally realise his standing.

Which was, no matter how bad it was for him, no matter what she felt or didn’t feel for him, he couldn’t help but bask in her presence. He delighted in her simple touches, the hugs they shared, the way they had of speaking without words or how they were just comfortable to sit in silence with one another, not talking but simply content to be in each others’ presence.

It was official, he’d fallen for his best friend, and he’d fallen hard. Like Hogwarts, let it never be said that he did things by halves.

“Besides…” She murmured, looking up at him in that adorable, shy way that she had sometimes. The look she gave when she wasn’t quite sure of something. It was one of her most rare; one he’d only seen her give to him, and it filled him with a warmth he found almost painful in its intensity. “You have different names for my expressions? I didn’t think you noticed me that much.”

Of course, that was also the problem with falling in love. Everything seemed so multi-layered, and sometimes you just couldn’t control your mouth…

“I notice everything about you, Hermione.” He replied unconsciously, feeling a sharp spike of apprehension as he realised what he’d just said. It melted into a kind of euphoria, however, when she beamed slowly, lazily at him before she took his other hand and moved so she was leaning back into his chest, bringing both arms to rest around her front.

“What would I do without you Harry?” She sighed happily, the top of her head resting under his chin.

“Live a peaceful life, maybe?” He teased, trying to keep the waver out of his voice as her hands linked with his on her belly. A few moments of silence lingered between them then as they continued to take in their surroundings.

“What’s life without adventure?” She whispered finally, angling her head so that she could glance up at him once more. He couldn’t help but be momentarily struck by her sheer, innate beauty then as the warm glow of the candlelight illuminated the soft skin of her face, lending itself to the sparkle of her deep brown eyes. She smiled bashfully once more, giving his hands a quick, affectionate squeeze before gently removing herself from his arms.

“Come on, let’s go get ready. Everything’s done here.” She said quietly, her gaze lingering on his for a few moments longer than was necessary as she began to move towards the entrance hall. He stood still for just a second, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before he set off after her.

What’s life without adventure, indeed?

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

She was radiant. She was beautiful, she was Alpha and Omega, she was just…perfect. As he looked fondly at Hermione directing people to their tables, smiling and laughing and just…in her element, he couldn’t help but smile at how alive she looked. Her dress robes shimmered faintly in the candlelight, their deep, almost blackened red colour reflecting the glow of the candlelight beautifully as she spun this way and that, finally pausing to flash him a grin that made him weak in his knees. As if that weren’t enough, she was coming towards him as well, the sweet scent of her perfume making him feel like his senses were numbed, drugged to the point where all he could do was wear what he was sure was a huge, goofy grin on his face.

“Alright, Harry?” She asked companionably, giving him another smile that threatened to knock his legs out from under him.

“You’re beautiful-it’s beautiful, the Hall!” he breathed, then corrected with less than half a second’s pause, praying that his she didn’t catch his slip. She seemed thankfully oblivious though, if her smile (and lack of blush) was any indication. As she glanced back out over the floor, he took the opportunity to admire the way her hair curled, its glossy brown waves spilling slightly over her pale shoulders, accentuated by the glinting earrings she wore. Hermione-watching. His new, favourite hobby of recent years.

“Glad you think so,” She replied distractedly, before she took his hand seemingly on impulse. He tensed, only for a second, but enough for her to turn to him and notice. “Come on!” She ordered lightly, pulling him towards her as she smirked. “I’m not going to bite.” Harry rolled his eyes in response.

“Where are we going?” He asked half-heartedly as she pulled him through the menagerie of chairs and people that milled about everywhere. He flashed a grin at a shock of red hair that became visible in front of him, receiving a thumbs-up in return from his other best friend. “Ron’s over…”

“Ron’s sitting with Luna, “ Hermione replied quickly. Harry smiled; he could almost taste the disapproval in her voice. She’d never got on with Luna, always found her a little too…bizarre, he wagered. Of course, ever since the Ravenclaw had called her “precocious” in the middle of an argument over the existence of the famed Crumple-Horned Snorcack, they’d made a conscious effort to avoid each other. “Our table’s here.”

“I thought it was random.” Harry replied, as they came to a stop by an as-yet empty setting, taking up seats next to each other that were facing the front of the Hall.

“I know the Head Girl.” Hermione teased, smiling at him. “Besides, er, I didn’t want to endure the others on my own.”

“What others…?” He asked warily, before a voice he’d tried his hardest to ignore ever since he’d returned for the seventh year at Hogwarts reached his ears. His head automatically snap to the source with a glare.

“Oh, you have got to be joking.” Draco Malfoy drawled, glancing at the two of them in disgust. “Any table, any table Granger, and you stick me with the Boy-Who-Should-Shower-More?”

“Hermione…” Harry growled out of the corner of his mouth. She blushed before half-whispering to him.

“Inter-house cooperation, Harry…” She offered weakly.

“I won’t have dinner with a Death Eater.” He hissed, standing up in his place. Malfoy simply glared at him through cool, inexpressive eyes.

“Harry, please…” Hermione pleaded with him, placing her hand on his forearm. The touch of her fingertips on his skin seemed to calm him slightly, as he reluctantly dropped his gaze from the Slytherin’s to meet his friend’s. They looked at each other for a few moments, reading each other’s eyes before Harry rolled his again. Despite Malfoy’s clearing in any involvement in Dumbledore’s death (in complete disregard of eye-witness accounts and severe protestation from…well…everyone), the School had been ordered to accept him back for the final year of his NEWTs, but Harry had never trusted him. And from the reports he’d been getting from old members of the DA in various houses, nobody else did, either.

“Don’t expect me to be pleasant.” He muttered, before retaking his seat. Malfoy allowed one side of his mouth to rise in a wicked grin, before he sat down.

“Well that was truly sickening.” He started, unfolding his napkin. “Tell me Potter, is it nice, being whipped stupid by your girlfriend?”

“Is it nice, knowing nobody in this school will ever talk to you again?” Harry shot back viciously; taking a small amount of pride in the ever-so-slight flinch he gave.

“Harry’s not my boyfriend anyway, Malfoy. Get some new material.” Hermione chipped in, which made Harry’s heart sink. She’d sounded so matter of fact about it, not even a shred of indignation. Almost like she thought it was so ridiculous it wasn’t worth thinking on. He locked eyes with the other boy then, and Merlin be damned if the ferret wasn’t a mind reader (and a giant wanker to boot), because his eyes suddenly grew wide, darting between the two as a worryingly smug grin began to coat his face. Harry shot him a look that could have melted mountains.

Luckily however, as he opened his mouth to shoot some horrifically telling remark in their direction, the buzz of chatter stilled. He glanced up, to see McGonagall stand in the centre of the stage by the Staff table.

“Good evening, and a happy Halloween to you all.” She began, her clipped, Aberdeen tone sounding stern even when she was celebrating. Harry gave a small shudder as she looked at all of them in turn. No matter how hard he tried he could never entirely warm up to McGonagall, whenever she spoke to him he was always wondering whether she was going to praise him for something, or expel him. “Before we begin this feast, I would like to take a moment to congratulate the Head Girl, Hermione Granger, and the Head Boy, Ronald Weasley on preparing this truly magnificent setting for us all to dine in. A round of applause, if you please.” As the sound of clapping rang out across the room, Hermione smiled graciously as she whispered to Harry.

“The only thing Ron’s been helping with is inspecting Luna’s dental hygiene.” Harry tended to agree, but he couldn’t help but feel slightly dejected at the almost jealous ring to her words. Surely she couldn’t still be hung up on Ron? They’d had all summer to do something about it, and they hadn’t, and Ron was with Luna anyway?

And you’ve had the last three years to do something about it, where’s that got you? A voice in the back of his head whispered harshly to him. Harry frowned deeply as he clapped.

“I’ll make him do rounds all this week.” Hermione whispered to him again, obviously taking his facial expression to be a sign of disappointment at their redheaded friend. He forced a fairly weak-looking smile in her direction, stifling a sigh.

This was going to be a long dinner.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

As it turned out, it was. Malfoy took every small opportunity to chip away at Harry all evening, mocking everything from his physical appearance to his relationship with Hermione (which had cause him to ‘accidentally’ spill his pumpkin juice all over his nice green and silver robes), and his parents (from which he was lucky to be able to reproduce ever again, after Harry had applied a particularly strong shrinking charm to the seat of the Slytherin’s trousers). The slightly timid and embattled looking Hufflepluff at their table, that none of them knew particularly well stayed quiet, knowing he was in easy reach of the boy next to him. Luckily, however, the end of the feast began to approach. Hermione had been fantastic. She’d been patient, witty, understanding of Harry’s discomfort and sympathetic to his detestation of Malfoy, whilst maintaining a cool, unflappable exterior that the boy found infuriating.

“So, what’s it like, boning the Ice Queen of Mudbloods, Potter?” He’d asked after a particularly fruitless bout of teasing Hermione, the girl refusing to rise to his bait.

“Draco…” She sighed. He could of sworn she smirked at the use of his first name, she knew how much Malfoy hated it, “If you insist on acting like a child, I’m going to have to treat you like one.” With a flick of her wrist, his cutlery was suddenly animated to jump out of his hands, cut up his chicken breast and attempt to feed him. He glared balefully at her, whilst Harry smirked, finding her hand under the table and squeezing it on impulse. She grinned at him in return, before dropping his grip to pick her fork back up. His eyes paused on her for a few more moments, before he returned to gazing at his half-eaten kiev.

And finally, it was over. The dance afterwards was briefly enjoyable, if only to stand with Ron by the butterbeer table and glare pointedly, refusing on pain of death to venture anywhere near the waltzing couples. They were going to be men, and men drank at these types of gigs, they didn’t dance.

Of course, all that had gone out of the window as soon as Hermione had somehow managed to slip right up to him, less than thirty centimetres between them and ask him so innocently to go with her that he really had little choice in the matter. To Ron’s various curses and hollers, he followed her out and swayed to the music gently, relishing her proximity. Which, of course, only got closer as she wrapped her arms lightly around his neck, the two of them speaking volumes without saying words to each other. Harry felt like he was flying.

And of course, it ended all too soon. The students began to disperse as Ron, Luna, Hermione, Harry and Neville sat at one of the tables on the edge, chatting light-heartedly to each other (mostly, Hermione and Luna stilled ignored each other pointedly). Eventually, however, Neville drifted away, giving Hermione a hug that lasted a little too long for Harry’s liking, and then Ron and Luna went off to continue their inspections of the broom cupboards. Important, you know, after all this frivolity. Which left Harry and Hermione lounging comfortably in two chairs beside each other, the House Elves having not been called to clear up yet (not that anyone would dare while she was still in the room of course, the staff had had enough ear-bendings from the Head Girl on S.P.E.W. to last them the rest of their life, thank you very much).

“Enjoy yourself?” Harry asked, pulling off his tie and unbuttoning the top few fastenings of his shirt, his robes draped casually over the back of his chair.

“Immensely.” Hermione sighed, closing her eyes as she took another sip of her butterbeer. “Tired, though.”

“Yeah.” He agreed. “Still up for Hogsmeade tomorrow, though?” Wisely, the staff had scheduled a visit the day immediately after the event, presumably to allow those in the upper-years who…overindulged…to clear their heads, and to lessen resentment amongst the younger years that they’d had to leave before the celebrations had truly ended. A stroke of genius, Harry had thought, especially since he was starting to get a nice buzz off of the drinks he’d put away this evening. A soporific, limb-weighting buzz of course, but one nonetheless.

“Um…” Hermione started, causing Harry to glance over at her. She was picking at her nails slightly, chipping the ends of her crimson paint, as her cheeks seemed to flush. Harry frowned.

“What?” He asked gently, expecting an onslaught about how they should be researching, how she’d only agreed this night off because it was her duty as Head Girl to run it, how…

“Neville, kind of…asked me…” She said quietly, in faltering words. Her eyes didn’t meet his as Harry simply gaped.

He certainly hadn’t expected that.

“Neville?” He asked, his voice surprisingly level and calm, despite the fact he felt like his heart was about to burst from the adrenaline and shock pumping through it.

“When I danced with him, he…” She trailed off, her gaze locking his. “Well, he asked me, and since I didn’t have anyone to go with, and because it’s…”

“It’s fine,” He replied, his voice still in that chilling, unnaturally calm tone. “Neville’s a good lad.” He drained the rest of his butterbeer with gusto, before setting it down on the table quietly as he stood up.

“What…where are you going?” She asked, startled at his abrupt actions. He didn’t reply, merely slung his robes over his shoulder before setting off. “Harry!” She called after him, the shock evident in her voice.

“Good night, Hermione.” He called back softly, before he found himself wheeled around by the elbow. He couldn’t help the sudden flare of anger that sparked in him, his despair and hurt turning quickly to frustration and annoyance as he glared at her, instantly regretting it as he saw a flash of hurt cross her eyes.

“What?” he asked, the weariness creeping into his voice.

“What?” She repeated, her voice quiet but the slight incredulousness coming through in that very Hermione way she had of conveying it. “What do you mean what? What have I done?” He blinked for a few moments, before sighing.

“Nothing,” He said, rubbing at his left eye under his glasses. “You haven’t done anything.”

“What’s wrong, Harry?”

Another moment’s pause.

“You wouldn’t understand.” He moved to go again, but she tightened her grip on his arm.

“Since when have I never been able to understand?” She asked gently. He gave her what must have looked like a mournful gaze (it felt like one should do), because her eyes softened and her mouth opened slightly.

“You wouldn’t understand this.”

“Is it…is it about Neville?” She asked tentatively, the blush creeping back into her cheeks. Normally he loved that blush, adored it, you could say. He thought it was one of her most endearing features. But because Longbottom was the cause of it, in that instant, he hated it.

“Yes, it’s about Neville!” He gave in finally, pulling his arm free of her hand. She immediately folded hers in front of her dress, her eyes going to her shoes.

“And what’s your problem with him?” She asked, looking at him finally with a piercing gaze that seemed to break down what little barriers he had left, crush that last little voice screaming “No, you’ll bugger it all up if you say it!”

“Because I don’t think he’s right for you.” He said quietly, his eyes going to his shoes now. He flinched at the slightly indignant snort that came from her.

“What, so it’s alright for you to have your little flings with Cho, and Ginny…”

“I never said-“

“…and we won’t even get into Won- Won and Lav-Lav.” She spat, ignoring his interruption. “In case you haven’t noticed, Harry, I’m a seventeen year old girl…”

“I noticed.”

“…and this may surprise you, but guys aren’t exactly beating down the door to get to me…”

“Because you’re ignoring what’s in front of you!” He snapped suddenly, losing his patience. Her eyes narrowed.

“If this is about Ron…”

“It’s not.”

“…I don’t think I should date my best friend…”

“MAYBE YOU SHOULD!”

There was a deathly silence then that hung between them then, their eyes locked, as Harry willed himself to calm down, feeling so emotionally wound that he would either destroy the Hall with a burst of magic or break down in tears any second. Hermione’s mouth hung open, her brow creased as she put together what he’d said. Her face suddenly turned slightly paler, and Harry couldn’t help but sigh quickly, shaking his head as he looked away.

“What do you mean, if it’s not about Ron?” She asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You know what I meant.” He replied in an equally small voice, not missing the slight stiffening of her posture at that point. Of course, he wasn’t looking. To look would mean to notice the beautiful dress robes she wore, the curve of her legs as they ended in her red heels, the way she held herself with such dignity, such natural beauty…

“Harry, I…” She started, and then trailed off. He barked a laugh, a cold, emotionless, crushed laugh.

“Just…just don’t say sorry. You don’t have to be.”

“I never…”

“And please don’t tell me you never knew, either.” He interrupted again. “Please don’t tell me you didn’t notice, because I haven’t exactly been subtle about it, despite my best efforts you know? I never wanted you to find out, but I can’t help that every time I’m near you it feels like things just slow down. That I can look you in the eye and know what you’re saying without you even moving your lips. That I can sit with you, and I can hold your hand and I can feel like the luckiest man alive because I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing. My first thought every morning is of you, and my last one too. And please, please don’t tell me you don’t feel the same, because that would…that would just hurt too much. Just don’t say anything.” He sniffed lightly, not through tears, but out of instinct, habit…call it what you will. As he began walking off again, she didn’t seem to follow him. “And now you know…I don’t expect anything from you.” He’d managed to reach the doors of the empty Hall, his mind and joints slightly numb now from the emotional expenditure. He didn’t think he realised fully what had just happened, to be honest, at the risk of sounding horrifically clichéd (but accurate), his heart was in a thousand pieces and he himself was in a state of shock. So much so, that he didn’t register that he was being spun around again until his back connected roughly with the door.

“Oh no you don’t, Potter!” Hermione snapped. He flinched, not at the tone of her voice, or at the other violent shove he then received that pushed him against the door again, but at the glistening in the corner of her eyes, the glassy kind of texture they’d taken on breaking him in two. “You don’t get to say something like that and just walk away.”

“Yes, I do.” He said quietly, moving to leave. Another, stronger shove and he was right back where he started. “Let me go, Hermione.”

“NO!” She shouted, startling him (and, he thought, herself). “You CAN’T love me.” Harry didn’t say anything, feeling slightly ill as she glared at him. Wasn’t it enough for her to reject him, did she have to humiliate him as well? They were still and silent then, the furious girl apparently waiting for him to say something.

“I do.” He said, to her slight gasp. “I’m sorry…but I do. I had to tell you…just…the thought that you’ll be out there tomorrow with him rather than me…I couldn’t do it Hermione, not without letting you know how I feel.” He stared at the cobble-stone floor, not daring to look her in the eye at that point. Her breathing was irregular, her small, stifled sniffs sent a wave of sickness through him every time, since he knew he’d caused them on what was undoubtedly before this one of her best nights ever. She’d organised an event for the entire school, she’d let go for a change…a boy had asked her to Hogsmeade…

Except that boy hadn’t been him. It hadn’t been him, and it hurt him deep inside where it wasn’t supposed to hurt that it wasn’t him, and any guilt he had over her tears was nothing compared to what he was feeling now, how lost he was now that he knew she was irrevocably beyond him…

“I know.” She said quietly, her voice slightly hoarse. He moved to leave, but he was once again stopped. This time by her soft, delicate hand on his cheek.

“Hermione…” he sighed, his voice pleading with her to just let him go. He closed his eyes.

“I know, look at me, I know because I noticed every time.” She whispered.

His heart stopped beating as gentle, yet forceful pressure turned his head to hers, his eyes opening to see cinnamon orbs so close to his. Too close, she was too close. Her could smell her perfume, he could taste the scent of her shampoo, he could see the lines of her mascara on her eyelids, and she was just too close…

“But I just never realised, until now.”

He could feel her breath on his lips, the distance between them shrinking with every nanosecond went by. His heart still wasn’t beating.

”But it’s okay.” She breathed, their noses brushing lightly as she closed her eyes. “It’s all clear to me now.”

The End.