I Still Let You In, for Haylee
Title: I Still Let You In
For: Haylee
Characters/Pairings: Scorpius/Lily
Rating: 3rd-5th years
Warnings (if any): none
A/N: The title of this fic comes from the song "Basic Space" by The XX. Thanks to Marie (electronicquillster) for her beta work. Dearest Haylee, I hope you enjoy this, even though it's late! This was a new pairing for me, so I hope I did these characters justice, and that you like where I went with them. I was particularly inspired by the Arthur Miller quote you provided: "Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets."
The space between their lips is so small that it would take only the slightest of movements to close it. But they are both frozen in hesitation, the repercussions of that space’s disappearance heavy on their minds.
And then, in one second of vanished doubt, she leans forward, and it is over, or it has begun.
*
“We need to tell them.”
“It’s too soon.”
“But the longer we wait, the harder it will be to tell them, and the more upset they’ll be.”
He knows this is not an easy conversation for her, and it is one they have had before. Every time she refuses him, unwilling to let their parents know of their relationship. She does not allow herself to believe that their parents will approve, and she cannot prepare herself for the adverse reactions. He keeps brining the matter up, though, and it has become redundant.
“Lily, please.” He inches closer to her, covers her hand with his. “They have a right to know.”
“And we have a right to tell them when we wish to,” she says, though she knows it is a weak excuse.
He doesn’t answer at first. He keeps his hand over hers, and they fit perfectly together, they always have. Then he moves it and stands up, leaving her alone on the couch. “I do wish to,” he says. “I’m not ashamed of us, Lily.”
“I’m not ashamed, either!” she says, standing as well. “Scorpius, you must know that.”
“I’m not sure that I do,” he replies. He turns away from her, but she pursues him - those few steps between them, the miles, they feel like, are victims of her determination.
She places her hand on his arm. It feels cold. “It isn’t that I don’t love you,” she says quietly. “It’s just that I don’t know if I can handle my parents not supporting our relationship. I can’t deal with that sort of rejection, you’re too important to me.”
He looks down. He knows that she loves him. He’s known it all this time, they both have, but he can’t help resenting her resistance. “I’m sick of hiding from everyone,” he whispers to the floor. He turns around to face her, causing her hand to drop from his arm. “I’m sick of pretending like I don’t love you.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, and he thinks she is going to finally agree, she is finally going to share their relationship with everyone, but he is wrong. “I’m not ready,” she finishes.
It has been this way before - her, it’s about her, it’s always about her. Maybe he’s exaggerating, but maybe he isn’t. Maybe it always comes down to what she wants, forget what he wants. Maybe he’s tired of it. Maybe he wants things to be different.
But he definitely loves her, and he definitely can’t lose her, he can’t, he just can’t. So he nods at her when she says she isn’t ready, and he is wondering if she will ever be ready, but for now he forces himself to remain in this in-between. He loves her too much to fight her.
*
When they do tell their parents, the reactions they receive are not the ones they expected. They had waited for anger and disappointment, but what they had gotten was acceptance and, in some bizarre twist of the universe, blessing. Neither of them knew it, but their parents recognized the love that they shared, because it was impossible to miss.
“See?” he says when they return to her flat, still processing the divulgence of their relationship.
She locks the door and turns towards him. “That was…”
“Good,” he supplies, stepping closer to her.
She doesn’t move. “Why do you think they reacted that way?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe they can see that this is more than a fling.”
She gives a small shake of her head and moves past him into the sitting room. He follows her.
“Lily, I don’t understand. I’m happy that they’ve reacted this way.”
She sits down on the couch. “No, I am, too. I’m just confused by it, that’s all.” She is still not even looking at him.
“You seem more than confused. You seem…” He searches for the right word for a moment as she continues her examination of the floor. “Reluctant,” he finishes.
Now she does look up at him. “Why would I be reluctant?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” he says. “You tell me.”
“I don’t feel that way,” she says.
He must look like he doesn’t believe her, because she stands up and takes his hand in hers.
“Scorpius, I love you. You know that.”
It is his turn to look away. His eyes find a stain on the carpet, a remnant of a spilled glass of wine. He remembers the night they spilled that glass, and he chooses now to focus on that rather than their current situation.
She gives his hand a little squeeze. “Scorpius?”
He tears his eyes away from the stain and brings them back to her face, which shows undeniable concern. “Sometimes I feel like you don’t love me as much as I love you,” he admits without thinking about it, without meaning to. The words just stumble out of his mouth, pulled away from whatever place they were hiding in and spilled out in a tangle of truth.
She doesn’t respond at first. “That isn’t true,” she says. “You must know that isn’t true.”
“Must I?” he asks. “You’re not even happy that our parents know now. Their acceptance should have made you happy, and instead you’re just--” He stops abruptly, because what, exactly, is she? “You’re just numb,” he finishes.
She drops his hand and turns completely away from him. He returns his gaze to the stain on the carpet - a memory of a happier time - and she maintains what he assumes is a steady appraisal of the wall.
He thinks - we have been here before, and he doesn’t know how to get away from it.
*
The space between them feels larger than it is. Somehow, stuck here with her, he feels so exceedingly far away, but in reality the distance is infinitesimal. He finds himself unable to move; his mind is at once working in overdrive and completely blank.
She captures his lips with hers, and nothing has begun. It has only ended.
*
The door is open, but only enough that they can see each other, not enough that he is welcome.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and the words sound useless.
“It doesn’t matter.”
He looks down, then back up, at her. “How can it not matter?”
Her eyes are cold as she stares back at him. It is a coldness he had forgotten years ago, when she stopped directing it at him. Now, seeing it again, just for him - he wants to be sick. She says, “You missed your opportunity to apologize a long time ago. I’m past you now. I’ve moved on.”
He takes a small step forward. “But if you just--”
“No.” She starts closing the door.
He places a hand on the door to keep it from shutting. “Let me explain,” he pleads, one last time.
She gives one harsh look at his hand, flat against her door, his fingers spread out in even despair, and she shakes her head. “There’s nothing to explain. Please leave.”
He does.
*
When he hears the knock on his door, he almost doesn’t get up to answer it. He almost remains, so still, on his couch to wait for the caller to leave. He almost takes another sip of his now-cold tea.
He almost ruins everything, all over again.
But he does open the door, expecting nothing special - a neighbor in need of something, perhaps, or a friend checking on him. The person waiting for him belongs in neither of these scenarios.
“I’m sorry,” she says before he has a chance to speak. “I’m sorry, Scorpius, I’m so sorry.”
And she rushes forward and throws her arms around him and he is shocked, but he embraces her back.
She pulls back after a moment. “I was wrong,” she says. “I shouldn’t have let you go so easily, it wasn’t what I wanted…” He can see tears forming in her eyes, and the image of her sadness stirs the words in him.
“This isn’t your fault,” he says. “It’s mine. I was the one who--”
She shakes her head. “But it was my fault from the beginning, I know it was. I was just too blind to see it, and when you tried to apologize…” She trails off, and he takes the opportunity.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and this time he can feel the words healing the scar.
Tears still ready to fall, her eyes find his, and it only takes a second of indecision before they are together again.
“I love you,” she whispers, and it fills the space between them before he catches both the words and the open air, and he fits the pieces back together.
“I love you, too.”
For: Haylee
Characters/Pairings: Scorpius/Lily
Rating: 3rd-5th years
Warnings (if any): none
A/N: The title of this fic comes from the song "Basic Space" by The XX. Thanks to Marie (electronicquillster) for her beta work. Dearest Haylee, I hope you enjoy this, even though it's late! This was a new pairing for me, so I hope I did these characters justice, and that you like where I went with them. I was particularly inspired by the Arthur Miller quote you provided: "Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets."
The space between their lips is so small that it would take only the slightest of movements to close it. But they are both frozen in hesitation, the repercussions of that space’s disappearance heavy on their minds.
And then, in one second of vanished doubt, she leans forward, and it is over, or it has begun.
*
“We need to tell them.”
“It’s too soon.”
“But the longer we wait, the harder it will be to tell them, and the more upset they’ll be.”
He knows this is not an easy conversation for her, and it is one they have had before. Every time she refuses him, unwilling to let their parents know of their relationship. She does not allow herself to believe that their parents will approve, and she cannot prepare herself for the adverse reactions. He keeps brining the matter up, though, and it has become redundant.
“Lily, please.” He inches closer to her, covers her hand with his. “They have a right to know.”
“And we have a right to tell them when we wish to,” she says, though she knows it is a weak excuse.
He doesn’t answer at first. He keeps his hand over hers, and they fit perfectly together, they always have. Then he moves it and stands up, leaving her alone on the couch. “I do wish to,” he says. “I’m not ashamed of us, Lily.”
“I’m not ashamed, either!” she says, standing as well. “Scorpius, you must know that.”
“I’m not sure that I do,” he replies. He turns away from her, but she pursues him - those few steps between them, the miles, they feel like, are victims of her determination.
She places her hand on his arm. It feels cold. “It isn’t that I don’t love you,” she says quietly. “It’s just that I don’t know if I can handle my parents not supporting our relationship. I can’t deal with that sort of rejection, you’re too important to me.”
He looks down. He knows that she loves him. He’s known it all this time, they both have, but he can’t help resenting her resistance. “I’m sick of hiding from everyone,” he whispers to the floor. He turns around to face her, causing her hand to drop from his arm. “I’m sick of pretending like I don’t love you.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, and he thinks she is going to finally agree, she is finally going to share their relationship with everyone, but he is wrong. “I’m not ready,” she finishes.
It has been this way before - her, it’s about her, it’s always about her. Maybe he’s exaggerating, but maybe he isn’t. Maybe it always comes down to what she wants, forget what he wants. Maybe he’s tired of it. Maybe he wants things to be different.
But he definitely loves her, and he definitely can’t lose her, he can’t, he just can’t. So he nods at her when she says she isn’t ready, and he is wondering if she will ever be ready, but for now he forces himself to remain in this in-between. He loves her too much to fight her.
*
When they do tell their parents, the reactions they receive are not the ones they expected. They had waited for anger and disappointment, but what they had gotten was acceptance and, in some bizarre twist of the universe, blessing. Neither of them knew it, but their parents recognized the love that they shared, because it was impossible to miss.
“See?” he says when they return to her flat, still processing the divulgence of their relationship.
She locks the door and turns towards him. “That was…”
“Good,” he supplies, stepping closer to her.
She doesn’t move. “Why do you think they reacted that way?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe they can see that this is more than a fling.”
She gives a small shake of her head and moves past him into the sitting room. He follows her.
“Lily, I don’t understand. I’m happy that they’ve reacted this way.”
She sits down on the couch. “No, I am, too. I’m just confused by it, that’s all.” She is still not even looking at him.
“You seem more than confused. You seem…” He searches for the right word for a moment as she continues her examination of the floor. “Reluctant,” he finishes.
Now she does look up at him. “Why would I be reluctant?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” he says. “You tell me.”
“I don’t feel that way,” she says.
He must look like he doesn’t believe her, because she stands up and takes his hand in hers.
“Scorpius, I love you. You know that.”
It is his turn to look away. His eyes find a stain on the carpet, a remnant of a spilled glass of wine. He remembers the night they spilled that glass, and he chooses now to focus on that rather than their current situation.
She gives his hand a little squeeze. “Scorpius?”
He tears his eyes away from the stain and brings them back to her face, which shows undeniable concern. “Sometimes I feel like you don’t love me as much as I love you,” he admits without thinking about it, without meaning to. The words just stumble out of his mouth, pulled away from whatever place they were hiding in and spilled out in a tangle of truth.
She doesn’t respond at first. “That isn’t true,” she says. “You must know that isn’t true.”
“Must I?” he asks. “You’re not even happy that our parents know now. Their acceptance should have made you happy, and instead you’re just--” He stops abruptly, because what, exactly, is she? “You’re just numb,” he finishes.
She drops his hand and turns completely away from him. He returns his gaze to the stain on the carpet - a memory of a happier time - and she maintains what he assumes is a steady appraisal of the wall.
He thinks - we have been here before, and he doesn’t know how to get away from it.
*
The space between them feels larger than it is. Somehow, stuck here with her, he feels so exceedingly far away, but in reality the distance is infinitesimal. He finds himself unable to move; his mind is at once working in overdrive and completely blank.
She captures his lips with hers, and nothing has begun. It has only ended.
*
The door is open, but only enough that they can see each other, not enough that he is welcome.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and the words sound useless.
“It doesn’t matter.”
He looks down, then back up, at her. “How can it not matter?”
Her eyes are cold as she stares back at him. It is a coldness he had forgotten years ago, when she stopped directing it at him. Now, seeing it again, just for him - he wants to be sick. She says, “You missed your opportunity to apologize a long time ago. I’m past you now. I’ve moved on.”
He takes a small step forward. “But if you just--”
“No.” She starts closing the door.
He places a hand on the door to keep it from shutting. “Let me explain,” he pleads, one last time.
She gives one harsh look at his hand, flat against her door, his fingers spread out in even despair, and she shakes her head. “There’s nothing to explain. Please leave.”
He does.
*
When he hears the knock on his door, he almost doesn’t get up to answer it. He almost remains, so still, on his couch to wait for the caller to leave. He almost takes another sip of his now-cold tea.
He almost ruins everything, all over again.
But he does open the door, expecting nothing special - a neighbor in need of something, perhaps, or a friend checking on him. The person waiting for him belongs in neither of these scenarios.
“I’m sorry,” she says before he has a chance to speak. “I’m sorry, Scorpius, I’m so sorry.”
And she rushes forward and throws her arms around him and he is shocked, but he embraces her back.
She pulls back after a moment. “I was wrong,” she says. “I shouldn’t have let you go so easily, it wasn’t what I wanted…” He can see tears forming in her eyes, and the image of her sadness stirs the words in him.
“This isn’t your fault,” he says. “It’s mine. I was the one who--”
She shakes her head. “But it was my fault from the beginning, I know it was. I was just too blind to see it, and when you tried to apologize…” She trails off, and he takes the opportunity.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and this time he can feel the words healing the scar.
Tears still ready to fall, her eyes find his, and it only takes a second of indecision before they are together again.
“I love you,” she whispers, and it fills the space between them before he catches both the words and the open air, and he fits the pieces back together.
“I love you, too.”