Ennervate!
Soo. Nearly 7 months to the date after my first post and about 4 eta: 5 GEEZ after our last (COME ON PEOPLE) we have more fic, albeit degenerated-in-quality fic. Mmhm. So, one repeat, two new, three bleh. Here we go:
Title: Promise
Pairing: Michael/Anthony in a screwy roundabout unrequited way. TSW.
Summary: "There are promises to be kept, queries to answer, and commands to follow, so Anthony does, and wonders all the while if the promise has already been broken whether it is worth continuing to be kept."
Anthony has never inherently been one to break promises or disobey orders, though naturally he can't claim that he's not ever done it. Tell him to do something and he will, as a general rule, do it, unless coerced otherwise (no speculation on how easy that feat is) though never has an order been particularly difficult to follow, or a promise very challenging to keep. Never before now, that is.
Just stay away from me.
He does, of course, as per his way except usually when he complies with something it doesn't hurt like the dickens with every passing minute, increasing instead of abating. Neither does the order ring in his ears over and over and over as if mocking his pain and longing, a reminder from some higher power that he isn't wanted and that he doesn't have anyone to talk to anymore.
He doesn't really do much talking at all these days, outside of answering the obligatory questions ("Yes, Professor." "1825, sir.") He doesn't have anyone to tell when he gets good marks on an essay or he notices that Morag MacDougal is holding hands with Jack Sloper, or when he's the first in the class to correctly perform a Confundus Charm, even before Hermione Granger, and there's no one to lie in bed with in the middle of night when neither can sleep and talk about aimless things like favorite parts of the day or why Madonna was so popular.
It is a night like that when he can't take it anymore. For the eighty-four thousandth time since Michael told him to stay away, he can't sleep, and the aching in his heart and everywhere else from seeing Michael and not being able to say anything to him, from sitting at the same table but opposite ends at dinner, in class, steering clear of each other in the hallways and not walking to class together, the sheer weight of not being able to be near Michael, it's become unbearable, it's just gotten to the point where he JUST CAN'T TAKE IT--
Anthony gets (read tumbles) out of bed and stands trying to calm down in the space between his bed and Michael's. A few more breaths and his eyes clear and he realises whose bed he's staring at, and before he quite knows what he's doing he's taken two silent steps forward and nudged aside the curtains.
Michael looks angelic, which is totally predictable. The moonlight is just barely enough to illuminate him, his hair curling off his forehead, long lashes a smudge in the dark against his skin, lips just slightly parted. Anthony's breath quickens slightly just looking at him, because it's the closest he's been to Michael in what feels like decades, and he's close enough to be able to reach out and--
Michael stirs, lips pressing together into a frown, and Anthony jumps, hand jerking back. There is a moment of agonized silence, then he reaches forward again to brush his fingertips against the grim line of Michael's mouth, and he can almost hear the unsaid promise straining under the weight of disobedience. His mouth smooths out in another beat, and Anthony feels oddly pleased to at least have done that for Michael, to have done something that is normal, gotten rid of a frown, done something that resembled a place where Anthony actually could make things better.
Anthony remembers the beach in August, when Michael wanted him, loved him, longed for him in the same way that Anthony does now, except it's a cruel parody, one of desperation. Neither of them are happy now, there are no pretty seashells to help them, and there is nothing, absolutely nothing, that Anthony can do. He thinks that, in itself, is the greatest sorrow.
An indeterminate amount of time goes by, and Anthony feels as if he could spend forever just looking at Michael, just being near him, not being secondbest and unwanted, not having to see anguish in Michael's eyes that he cannot quash, just being Anthony being with Michael. After awhile he is fixated on Michael's mouth and he thinks of how long it's been since they've kissed, how they used to kiss and when they last kissed, how he would love to kiss him again and have him kiss back, and no, you CAN'T kiss him, he told you to stay away and you have to keep your promise, you have to, he doesn't want you anymore
But Anthony doesn't care, is already too far gone with this already, too far into leaning down and too far into kissing, pressing his lips just barely to Michael's, and he can hear the promise snap in the silence of the room. He feels like he's going to be struck down by some mighty hand when Michael starts, murmuring something unconsciously. "Kevin.."
And lo, Anthony was struck down by God, and He saw that it was good.
Yes, that was definitely punishment. See if Anthony ever breaks a vow again.
He backpedals and lets the curtains fall shut again, whispers a tearchoked "no, Anthony" into the space between their beds and hoping fervently that Michael doesn't hear, stumbles back into bed and realises the ludicrousness of all of this. From the silence that follows Anthony wants and almost does believe that that wish, at least, was granted, and he wasn't heard.
As usual, life is cruel.
He hears the bedcovers rustle from the bed next to him and tries valiantly to be asleep, then the sound of Michael getting out of bed and a few footsteps across to--shit, be dead, Anthony, be dead. "Anthony?"
Nooope.
Again, more softly, "Anthony.." Person of question pretends that he is a rock or something else very very inanimate. A long silence and a small noise, which repeats itself once or twice. Anthony's mind goes blank as he realises it's crying, and he can't figure out for the life of him why, and besides, it's too late now, he's always been shite at pretending, and wouldn't be able to pretend to wake up so as to ask. A hand goes out to brush aside a strand of hair in his face (good, too, because he was about to sneeze) and Anthony tries very hard not to shudder with the loveliness of Michael touching him, but a few moments more and Michael whispers something that Anthony can't hear, and is gone.
From then on it is even harder to keep his promise, but God forbid (which in a way He has) that he has to deal with that unconscious rejection again, so he deals with the conscious one, goes on not talking and not laughing and not doing anything really, at all, but most importantly and most painfully, stays away from Michael. There are promises to be kept, queries to answer, and commands to follow, so Anthony does, and wonders all the while if the promise has already been broken whether it is worth continuing to be kept.
Title: Secrets
Pairing: Michael/Anthony
Summary: Dumb girls and their dumb journals.
Anthony is not one for diaries or journals, or confiding to the blankness of parchment, but one more day of keeping It inside and he thinks he’s going to explode, so he pulls out a roll, feeling stupid, and begins to write, because Marietta told him yesterday that writing things down helps.
I love him.
He feels a bit better, but not much. What’s all this crap about girls and journals? It’s not very helpful at all … He crinkles his nose, and continues to write.
Since when did I love him? All right, forever, but not like that. … God, I can’t stand keeping this secret, but I can’t tell anyone. How could I? The only ones I would are the last people I CAN -
“Tell what?” asks a gentle but undeniably teasing voice, and Anthony jumps a foot and nearly falls off his bed, quill splattering on the wall and parchment fluttering to the floor. Michael blinks, looking faintly amused. “Tell what?” he repeats.
“N-nothing,” stammers Anthony, deciding violently never to write anything personal down ever again. Dumb girls.
Michael glances at the ink spot on the wall and back to Anthony. “It doesn’t really look like nothing …” He grins. “C’mon, spill. Is it Ginny? I’ve got nothing against my friends dating exes-“ Anthony shakes his head vigourously and scoots away from Michael, who rolls his eyes. “You’re no fun, Goldstein. Come on, share the love …” and Anthony winces, which to Michael gives it all away, and edges away again, this time falling straight off the bed with a thump. Shit shit shit shit.
“You’re being really odd, Anthony. How bad could it be?” Michael slides off the bed in succession and joins a very disgruntled Anthony on the floor. A poke in the ribs and Anthony wiggles. “I’ll tickle you more if you don’t tell …” And he does, laughing as Anthony flails and tries (to no avail) to escape the ubiquitous fingers. “Tell, c’mon-“ and Anthony is growing panicky with the tickling and the secrets, but Michael won’t stop and it’s driving him nuts because he HATES BEING TICKLED, but he has to or it won’t stop, and the laughter sounds almost mocking to him now because he just. can’t-
“ALL RIGHT!” roars Anthony at last, and the sheer volume of it sends Michael to a screeching halt. Michael looks startled and a bit hurt, and Anthony thinks that that won’t be the least of it once he’s done. “You want to know,” says Anthony flatly, and Michael nods slowly, looking very confused indeed. Anthony looks away. “Right, I can’t get along with Ruth for the life of me even though I’ll have to, and I can’t possibly love her because,” a swallow, “because I’m gay, and in love with my best friend, who’s already dating someone and wouldn’t date me anyway, and if I don’t DO something soon I’m going to attack him and snog him senseless and then he’ll hate me.” Silence.
More silence. Anthony looks fixedly at the floor and waits to wake up from his nightmare, and hopes that his face isn’t as flushed and burning red as it feels.
Then, softly, so that Anthony goes completely blank, “I broke up with Cho yesterday, Anthony.” And his gaze flies to Michael’s face and he opens his mouth puzzledly,
“What-“
But he finds he can’t get any farther than that because of a foreign but wonderfully familiar tongue in his mouth, and … he really doesn’t mind at all.
In the future, he might just write down personal things more often.
Title: Uh. Nothing. ...
Pairing: Lots?
Summary: It doesn't merit one. TSW, written about two months ago, so as out of date as it is pointless.
The Sorting Hat proclaims that Ravenclaw is a house built on knowledge, on wisdom, and on learning; and for the most part, it's correct. One would be safe to say that ignorance is bliss anywhere and everywhere but those Hogwartian hallowed halls (admire the alliteration) of enlightenment, known to those other more mundane, subsentient folk as Ravenclaw.
Anthony Goldstein would beg to differ. While one reason is the sheer otiosity of knowing the twenty-six uses of niffler fur, the other is the bliss of thinking that Michael loves him and only him, that Kevin loves only Stephen who loves only him, not knowing that it's a lot more complicated, requires a lot more Ravenclaw-esque brainpower to keep it all straight. Not knowing that really, REALLY, Kevin is Involved with Stephen but kissed Adrian, and, wouldn't you KNOW, kissed Michael too, Michael who just realized he loved Kevin, Kevin, who loves and has loved Michael, but still loves Stephen who still loves him and who luckily enough still doesn't know about all of this, doesn't know about Michael and Kevin and Adrian and talking in circles and tangled webs and connections and
No, Anthony thinks, ignorance is more blissful that any Ravenclaw gives it credit for.
Your turn, Jing! *prods*
Title: Promise
Pairing: Michael/Anthony in a screwy roundabout unrequited way. TSW.
Summary: "There are promises to be kept, queries to answer, and commands to follow, so Anthony does, and wonders all the while if the promise has already been broken whether it is worth continuing to be kept."
Anthony has never inherently been one to break promises or disobey orders, though naturally he can't claim that he's not ever done it. Tell him to do something and he will, as a general rule, do it, unless coerced otherwise (no speculation on how easy that feat is) though never has an order been particularly difficult to follow, or a promise very challenging to keep. Never before now, that is.
Just stay away from me.
He does, of course, as per his way except usually when he complies with something it doesn't hurt like the dickens with every passing minute, increasing instead of abating. Neither does the order ring in his ears over and over and over as if mocking his pain and longing, a reminder from some higher power that he isn't wanted and that he doesn't have anyone to talk to anymore.
He doesn't really do much talking at all these days, outside of answering the obligatory questions ("Yes, Professor." "1825, sir.") He doesn't have anyone to tell when he gets good marks on an essay or he notices that Morag MacDougal is holding hands with Jack Sloper, or when he's the first in the class to correctly perform a Confundus Charm, even before Hermione Granger, and there's no one to lie in bed with in the middle of night when neither can sleep and talk about aimless things like favorite parts of the day or why Madonna was so popular.
It is a night like that when he can't take it anymore. For the eighty-four thousandth time since Michael told him to stay away, he can't sleep, and the aching in his heart and everywhere else from seeing Michael and not being able to say anything to him, from sitting at the same table but opposite ends at dinner, in class, steering clear of each other in the hallways and not walking to class together, the sheer weight of not being able to be near Michael, it's become unbearable, it's just gotten to the point where he JUST CAN'T TAKE IT--
Anthony gets (read tumbles) out of bed and stands trying to calm down in the space between his bed and Michael's. A few more breaths and his eyes clear and he realises whose bed he's staring at, and before he quite knows what he's doing he's taken two silent steps forward and nudged aside the curtains.
Michael looks angelic, which is totally predictable. The moonlight is just barely enough to illuminate him, his hair curling off his forehead, long lashes a smudge in the dark against his skin, lips just slightly parted. Anthony's breath quickens slightly just looking at him, because it's the closest he's been to Michael in what feels like decades, and he's close enough to be able to reach out and--
Michael stirs, lips pressing together into a frown, and Anthony jumps, hand jerking back. There is a moment of agonized silence, then he reaches forward again to brush his fingertips against the grim line of Michael's mouth, and he can almost hear the unsaid promise straining under the weight of disobedience. His mouth smooths out in another beat, and Anthony feels oddly pleased to at least have done that for Michael, to have done something that is normal, gotten rid of a frown, done something that resembled a place where Anthony actually could make things better.
Anthony remembers the beach in August, when Michael wanted him, loved him, longed for him in the same way that Anthony does now, except it's a cruel parody, one of desperation. Neither of them are happy now, there are no pretty seashells to help them, and there is nothing, absolutely nothing, that Anthony can do. He thinks that, in itself, is the greatest sorrow.
An indeterminate amount of time goes by, and Anthony feels as if he could spend forever just looking at Michael, just being near him, not being secondbest and unwanted, not having to see anguish in Michael's eyes that he cannot quash, just being Anthony being with Michael. After awhile he is fixated on Michael's mouth and he thinks of how long it's been since they've kissed, how they used to kiss and when they last kissed, how he would love to kiss him again and have him kiss back, and no, you CAN'T kiss him, he told you to stay away and you have to keep your promise, you have to, he doesn't want you anymore
But Anthony doesn't care, is already too far gone with this already, too far into leaning down and too far into kissing, pressing his lips just barely to Michael's, and he can hear the promise snap in the silence of the room. He feels like he's going to be struck down by some mighty hand when Michael starts, murmuring something unconsciously. "Kevin.."
And lo, Anthony was struck down by God, and He saw that it was good.
Yes, that was definitely punishment. See if Anthony ever breaks a vow again.
He backpedals and lets the curtains fall shut again, whispers a tearchoked "no, Anthony" into the space between their beds and hoping fervently that Michael doesn't hear, stumbles back into bed and realises the ludicrousness of all of this. From the silence that follows Anthony wants and almost does believe that that wish, at least, was granted, and he wasn't heard.
As usual, life is cruel.
He hears the bedcovers rustle from the bed next to him and tries valiantly to be asleep, then the sound of Michael getting out of bed and a few footsteps across to--shit, be dead, Anthony, be dead. "Anthony?"
Nooope.
Again, more softly, "Anthony.." Person of question pretends that he is a rock or something else very very inanimate. A long silence and a small noise, which repeats itself once or twice. Anthony's mind goes blank as he realises it's crying, and he can't figure out for the life of him why, and besides, it's too late now, he's always been shite at pretending, and wouldn't be able to pretend to wake up so as to ask. A hand goes out to brush aside a strand of hair in his face (good, too, because he was about to sneeze) and Anthony tries very hard not to shudder with the loveliness of Michael touching him, but a few moments more and Michael whispers something that Anthony can't hear, and is gone.
From then on it is even harder to keep his promise, but God forbid (which in a way He has) that he has to deal with that unconscious rejection again, so he deals with the conscious one, goes on not talking and not laughing and not doing anything really, at all, but most importantly and most painfully, stays away from Michael. There are promises to be kept, queries to answer, and commands to follow, so Anthony does, and wonders all the while if the promise has already been broken whether it is worth continuing to be kept.
Title: Secrets
Pairing: Michael/Anthony
Summary: Dumb girls and their dumb journals.
Anthony is not one for diaries or journals, or confiding to the blankness of parchment, but one more day of keeping It inside and he thinks he’s going to explode, so he pulls out a roll, feeling stupid, and begins to write, because Marietta told him yesterday that writing things down helps.
I love him.
He feels a bit better, but not much. What’s all this crap about girls and journals? It’s not very helpful at all … He crinkles his nose, and continues to write.
Since when did I love him? All right, forever, but not like that. … God, I can’t stand keeping this secret, but I can’t tell anyone. How could I? The only ones I would are the last people I CAN -
“Tell what?” asks a gentle but undeniably teasing voice, and Anthony jumps a foot and nearly falls off his bed, quill splattering on the wall and parchment fluttering to the floor. Michael blinks, looking faintly amused. “Tell what?” he repeats.
“N-nothing,” stammers Anthony, deciding violently never to write anything personal down ever again. Dumb girls.
Michael glances at the ink spot on the wall and back to Anthony. “It doesn’t really look like nothing …” He grins. “C’mon, spill. Is it Ginny? I’ve got nothing against my friends dating exes-“ Anthony shakes his head vigourously and scoots away from Michael, who rolls his eyes. “You’re no fun, Goldstein. Come on, share the love …” and Anthony winces, which to Michael gives it all away, and edges away again, this time falling straight off the bed with a thump. Shit shit shit shit.
“You’re being really odd, Anthony. How bad could it be?” Michael slides off the bed in succession and joins a very disgruntled Anthony on the floor. A poke in the ribs and Anthony wiggles. “I’ll tickle you more if you don’t tell …” And he does, laughing as Anthony flails and tries (to no avail) to escape the ubiquitous fingers. “Tell, c’mon-“ and Anthony is growing panicky with the tickling and the secrets, but Michael won’t stop and it’s driving him nuts because he HATES BEING TICKLED, but he has to or it won’t stop, and the laughter sounds almost mocking to him now because he just. can’t-
“ALL RIGHT!” roars Anthony at last, and the sheer volume of it sends Michael to a screeching halt. Michael looks startled and a bit hurt, and Anthony thinks that that won’t be the least of it once he’s done. “You want to know,” says Anthony flatly, and Michael nods slowly, looking very confused indeed. Anthony looks away. “Right, I can’t get along with Ruth for the life of me even though I’ll have to, and I can’t possibly love her because,” a swallow, “because I’m gay, and in love with my best friend, who’s already dating someone and wouldn’t date me anyway, and if I don’t DO something soon I’m going to attack him and snog him senseless and then he’ll hate me.” Silence.
More silence. Anthony looks fixedly at the floor and waits to wake up from his nightmare, and hopes that his face isn’t as flushed and burning red as it feels.
Then, softly, so that Anthony goes completely blank, “I broke up with Cho yesterday, Anthony.” And his gaze flies to Michael’s face and he opens his mouth puzzledly,
“What-“
But he finds he can’t get any farther than that because of a foreign but wonderfully familiar tongue in his mouth, and … he really doesn’t mind at all.
In the future, he might just write down personal things more often.
Title: Uh. Nothing. ...
Pairing: Lots?
Summary: It doesn't merit one. TSW, written about two months ago, so as out of date as it is pointless.
The Sorting Hat proclaims that Ravenclaw is a house built on knowledge, on wisdom, and on learning; and for the most part, it's correct. One would be safe to say that ignorance is bliss anywhere and everywhere but those Hogwartian hallowed halls (admire the alliteration) of enlightenment, known to those other more mundane, subsentient folk as Ravenclaw.
Anthony Goldstein would beg to differ. While one reason is the sheer otiosity of knowing the twenty-six uses of niffler fur, the other is the bliss of thinking that Michael loves him and only him, that Kevin loves only Stephen who loves only him, not knowing that it's a lot more complicated, requires a lot more Ravenclaw-esque brainpower to keep it all straight. Not knowing that really, REALLY, Kevin is Involved with Stephen but kissed Adrian, and, wouldn't you KNOW, kissed Michael too, Michael who just realized he loved Kevin, Kevin, who loves and has loved Michael, but still loves Stephen who still loves him and who luckily enough still doesn't know about all of this, doesn't know about Michael and Kevin and Adrian and talking in circles and tangled webs and connections and
No, Anthony thinks, ignorance is more blissful that any Ravenclaw gives it credit for.
Your turn, Jing! *prods*