Chica, if this doesn't work for some reason, I'm smiting your computer.
CHICA. READ THIS PART FIRST. IT’S A DECLARATION OF MY UNDYING LOVE.
Woo! I actually wrote more drabbles for you last night, and then… ZOHMYGOSH CHICA, I ATTEMPTED SOME SMUT. HET SMUT. FROM YOUR CHICA. O_O But then I hated it and deleted it. But I attempted it! *squees* Right… and… that’s it, I think.
Vrier just smirks when he talks about her. “I know, Isi,” he says, smiling and nudging his best friends’ shoulder. “You tell me how wonderful she is all the time.”
“But she is, Vrier, isn’t she?” Isidore asks, eyes wide and full of adoration. “Amelia is beautiful and perfect, and I don’t deserve her. Whenever I’m around her, nothing else matters. It’s just like-“
“She was made for your arms,” Vrier finishes.
“Sorry,” Isidore says sheepishly, sticking his hands in his pockets. His friend laughs.
“No. It’s the same thing I think about Ion. I think it’s called love.”
The Slytherin isn’t exactly sure when he realized he wasn’t just protective of her, or enamored with her, or just slightly obsessed with her. He isn’t sure when he recognized his need for her to be near him all the time as something more than teenage hormones. He isn’t sure when he first ran his hands through her hair thinking he would die if anyone else could ever do this with her. He isn’t sure when, exactly, he fell in love with the quiet girl. Really, Isidore is only sure of one thing: he’s in love with her now, and he’ll be damned if that ever changes.
Isidore doesn’t realize, at first, that he’s never told Amelia that he loves her. He watches her some days during class, watches the way she plays with the feathers on the quill, the way she tries to act sneaky when she checks the clock she keeps in her bag, the way she wraps her foot around the leg of the desk… And one day after class, she walks up to him and takes his hand. “I saw you watching,” she says with a small smile. He wants to say it’s because he loves watching her, because he loves everything about her, but the words catch in his throat.
“Sorry for staring.”
Sometimes, Isidore stops and asks himself why he loves her. Sometimes he thinks it can’t be normal to fall in love with someone so quickly and so hard at the age of fifteen and never look back. Whenever he asks himself why he loves her, though, he comes up with the same answer: he loves her because of the way she smiles at him; because of the way she thinks there’s nothing wrong with him. He loves her because she knows all his flaws and she loves every one of them. He loves her because it doesn’t make sense not to.
Amelia doubts herself too much, Isidore decides one day. She looks at him sometimes, biting her bottom lip, as he talks with Rose. She sticks her hands in her pockets and does her homework furiously. It takes him a long time, but he finally realizes what it is. She’s jealous.
He doesn’t understand why at first. Isidore sits there, staring blankly at the plate in front of him, as Rose babbles on. She doesn’t even notice he’s left the conversation. And then he remembers, and he can hardly even believe he forgot.
Isidore has known it for so long, but he’s never told Amelia.
“Melia?” he asks. Her arms are wrapped around his waist, her lips curled into a familiar content smile. The Hufflepuff looks up, her eyes filled with the same amount of adoration as they always are. And just like always, Isidore can practically feel his heart stop beating for a few seconds.
“Yeah, Isi?” she asks, nuzzling her face into his shirt. Isidore runs his hands over her back, looking down at her. He loves her so much. It’s been so long since he knew, and every time he gets close to saying it, his mouth clamps shut. But not today.
“I love you, Amelia.”
He asks himself why she feels so right with him, no matter what they’re doing. It feels right to be sitting next to her during class, it feels right to hold her hand underneath the table during dinner, it feels right to twist his arm around her waist in the hall, it feels right to press his body against hers in the darkness of their dorms. It feels just as right to press kisses to her forehead as it does to her naked chest. It doesn’t matter why she’s with him, it doesn’t even matter how she’s with him. All the matters is that she is.
Today he turns 25, and today he starts thinking about what to get her for their anniversary. Over the years, they’ve accumulated many anniversaries. First kiss, first date, first day as a couple, first time, engagement, wedding… This year, though, he decides to remember something else. This year, he’s celebrating the first day he looked at her. Ten years ago on September 5th, he looked past what he thought she was: a timid Hufflepuff, and saw what he knows her to be now. There are more words for it, he supposes, but only one of them has ever really mattered to him: Amelia.
Awww... Chica, you make me ooze fluff... and het. WTF. I love you. *twitch* I'm going to miss RP badly when school starts and I've got no spare time. But I think I'll miss glomping you constantly more... *hicsob* **IS SUCH A HORMONAL GIRL**
Woo! I actually wrote more drabbles for you last night, and then… ZOHMYGOSH CHICA, I ATTEMPTED SOME SMUT. HET SMUT. FROM YOUR CHICA. O_O But then I hated it and deleted it. But I attempted it! *squees* Right… and… that’s it, I think.
Vrier just smirks when he talks about her. “I know, Isi,” he says, smiling and nudging his best friends’ shoulder. “You tell me how wonderful she is all the time.”
“But she is, Vrier, isn’t she?” Isidore asks, eyes wide and full of adoration. “Amelia is beautiful and perfect, and I don’t deserve her. Whenever I’m around her, nothing else matters. It’s just like-“
“She was made for your arms,” Vrier finishes.
“Sorry,” Isidore says sheepishly, sticking his hands in his pockets. His friend laughs.
“No. It’s the same thing I think about Ion. I think it’s called love.”
The Slytherin isn’t exactly sure when he realized he wasn’t just protective of her, or enamored with her, or just slightly obsessed with her. He isn’t sure when he recognized his need for her to be near him all the time as something more than teenage hormones. He isn’t sure when he first ran his hands through her hair thinking he would die if anyone else could ever do this with her. He isn’t sure when, exactly, he fell in love with the quiet girl. Really, Isidore is only sure of one thing: he’s in love with her now, and he’ll be damned if that ever changes.
Isidore doesn’t realize, at first, that he’s never told Amelia that he loves her. He watches her some days during class, watches the way she plays with the feathers on the quill, the way she tries to act sneaky when she checks the clock she keeps in her bag, the way she wraps her foot around the leg of the desk… And one day after class, she walks up to him and takes his hand. “I saw you watching,” she says with a small smile. He wants to say it’s because he loves watching her, because he loves everything about her, but the words catch in his throat.
“Sorry for staring.”
Sometimes, Isidore stops and asks himself why he loves her. Sometimes he thinks it can’t be normal to fall in love with someone so quickly and so hard at the age of fifteen and never look back. Whenever he asks himself why he loves her, though, he comes up with the same answer: he loves her because of the way she smiles at him; because of the way she thinks there’s nothing wrong with him. He loves her because she knows all his flaws and she loves every one of them. He loves her because it doesn’t make sense not to.
Amelia doubts herself too much, Isidore decides one day. She looks at him sometimes, biting her bottom lip, as he talks with Rose. She sticks her hands in her pockets and does her homework furiously. It takes him a long time, but he finally realizes what it is. She’s jealous.
He doesn’t understand why at first. Isidore sits there, staring blankly at the plate in front of him, as Rose babbles on. She doesn’t even notice he’s left the conversation. And then he remembers, and he can hardly even believe he forgot.
Isidore has known it for so long, but he’s never told Amelia.
“Melia?” he asks. Her arms are wrapped around his waist, her lips curled into a familiar content smile. The Hufflepuff looks up, her eyes filled with the same amount of adoration as they always are. And just like always, Isidore can practically feel his heart stop beating for a few seconds.
“Yeah, Isi?” she asks, nuzzling her face into his shirt. Isidore runs his hands over her back, looking down at her. He loves her so much. It’s been so long since he knew, and every time he gets close to saying it, his mouth clamps shut. But not today.
“I love you, Amelia.”
He asks himself why she feels so right with him, no matter what they’re doing. It feels right to be sitting next to her during class, it feels right to hold her hand underneath the table during dinner, it feels right to twist his arm around her waist in the hall, it feels right to press his body against hers in the darkness of their dorms. It feels just as right to press kisses to her forehead as it does to her naked chest. It doesn’t matter why she’s with him, it doesn’t even matter how she’s with him. All the matters is that she is.
Today he turns 25, and today he starts thinking about what to get her for their anniversary. Over the years, they’ve accumulated many anniversaries. First kiss, first date, first day as a couple, first time, engagement, wedding… This year, though, he decides to remember something else. This year, he’s celebrating the first day he looked at her. Ten years ago on September 5th, he looked past what he thought she was: a timid Hufflepuff, and saw what he knows her to be now. There are more words for it, he supposes, but only one of them has ever really mattered to him: Amelia.
Awww... Chica, you make me ooze fluff... and het. WTF. I love you. *twitch* I'm going to miss RP badly when school starts and I've got no spare time. But I think I'll miss glomping you constantly more... *hicsob* **IS SUCH A HORMONAL GIRL**