Here is my response for the mutual break-ups challenge on The Dark Lord's Most Faithful forum. My assigned pairing was Susan/Blaise, and the fic is 1337 words exactly. Title comes from a line of the song "Shake It Out" by Florence and the Machine. Now, I can't go and pick the lyrics from the billions of lyrics websites out there because that would make /me/ a copyright breaker, but I really advise everyone to check out lyrics and song, they're beautiful :)
Mutual break-ups
Prompt: This time, the theme is mutual break-ups! That's right: I want you to write about two characters ending their relationship but remaining friendly afterward.
Here's the catch: you will also be picking a number from 1 to 50. Each number corresponds with a randomly generated crack-pairing (well, they're not all implausible but I have thrown out anything that is canon or commonly shipped).
Word Count: Keep it under 2000. You're super epic if you make it 1337, however.
The dawn was breaking on a brand new world.
Susan Bones watched, leaning against her bedroom's window, golden light flood the sky after the blackness of night. Her colours – brightest glow and deepest darkness, two faces of the same coin. Life, house, home. She took a deep breath of the morning air.
Covers ruffled behind her and she turned around with a smile. Propped up on his elbows, he stared at her from the bed with one brow raised. Together, they'd seen death. She didn't blush or avert her eyes from his dark-skinned, bare torso or his too insightful irises, didn't think of hiding as she walked back to him slowly and dropped by his side on the covers, dressing gown slipping and revealing a flash of bare skin. He traced a scar with a gentle fingertip, his gaze now turned downwards. They pondered war and life, ending and beginnings, without a word.
"Do you want coffee?" she asked distractedly. He had a low, throaty chuckle.
"Black and strong."
He liked his coffee bitter, burning his tongue and clearing his head. Absent-mindedly she filled the mug and placed it on a tray with tea for herself, levitating the whole up the stairs with a careful, steady hand. He was the only person in the house, except from her, and he was not the type for childish jokes. Still she advanced cautiously, her subconscious recalling any overexcited friend might have bounced and toppled her over.
Ernie had liked his coffee strong, but sweet, Justin and Hannah preferred chocolate. A thousand times she had brought drinks and sweets back from the kitchen, taking it upon herself to treat the merry circle of her friends. Did they still dip sugars into dark liquid, chuckling and messing around, gobbling up cakes with appreciative groans and thankful exclamations? Or had war tainted the simple glow of such naive moments, made every recollection a stabbing? Susan pushed the door, troubled. He still sat where she had left him, and she led the tray forward, holding firmly onto her wand.
"What was it like in the Slytherin common room?" she asked, nibbling on a cookie as she watched him from the corner of her eye.
He took his time to answer. "What do you mean?" he eventually said and she bit her lower lip, not finding words for the pictures in her head.
"Did you sneak things from the kitchens with your friends, too?" she tried. "On Sunday mornings when everyone had lie-ins… Long evenings by the fire…"
"Of course we did." He shrugged. "Crabbe and Goyle could have eaten at any hour of the day. We all went once in a while to get ourselves a little something. Of course we had to come all the way from the dungeons, but we didn't mind too much if there was food involved."
"Did someone bring back treats regularly for the lot of you?"
He frowned. "No, we all managed by ourselves – unless too many people wanted a snack and we just made a list. We're not that big on slavery, you know. We didn't have an appointed food-fetcher."
Susan giggled to mask her awkwardness, having the answer she'd been going for. "I am your humble food-fetcher, Your Highness," she shot. "No sugars in your coffee and a scarcely-clothed lady in your bed, was that your order?"
He smirked as he sipped his drink. "Hold on to that thought."
Susan bowed mockingly.
"Let's see, Miss Hufflepuff," he murmured as his fingers trailed across her stomach. "Badgers are warm… incredibly cuddly… very selfless, and born food-fetchers."
"The contrary of a Slytherin."
"You said it." She sat up and he shifted in response, watching her with an eyebrow slightly cocked. "How does it feel?" he asked.
"How does what feel?" she retorted.
He rolled his eyes. "Sleeping with a snake, of course," he drawled.
Swiftly, she slapped him on the thigh. He chuckled, shaking his head at her while she glared. "Stop being so immature," she said stiffly.
"You may be right, feisty girl." He sighed. "More seriously. My question stands, even without the wild innuendos."
She pursed her lips and glanced away. "You are impossible."
"Merely not what you're used to," he countered.
She fell back against the pillows, frowning at the ceiling and vaguely longing for the cocoon of a yellow canopy. He picked up her hand and pointedly toyed with her fingers, until she groaned and pulled the limb away. She was going to have to answer.
"It feels like forgetting," she said. "Well, of course it doesn't really. Nobody ever forgets. But it's like remembering, from a distance. Do you see what I mean? Standing apart."
"I get it," he replied quietly. "There's no more war to stand apart of, though."
She fidgeted. "I know."
It took a few seconds until she started talking again, too quickly, the words flowing from her lungs and skipping on her tongue. "With the others – it was always the war. Fighting, fighting and I became so tired. We had no right to anything but fighting, not anymore, not ever. Stopping was an insult, even for a second." She swallowed. "With you it was different."
He was silent. "It was the war," she rambled on. "Sometimes I felt like a traitor, but I was still fighting. And without you, I might not have been that strong."
"I wasn't on the wrong side," he told her. "I wasn't on any side. The side of survival, perhaps."
"I know." She turned on her stomach and stared at the white bedspread, the pattern of creases. It was his turn to sit up, then.
"The war is done," he said. "And so are we, right?"
Susan didn't reply. She closed her fists around the sheets, pulled and twisted the fabric slowly, clenching and enclenching like the coil at the pit of her stomach. "I'm scared," was the only response she could find.
"Aren't we all?" he responded, a bit merciless. She shut her eyes. "Aren't we all," she echoed, not feeling her lips.
He kissed her fleetingly, just a peck for the sake of human touch, a flash of warmth. Her eyes shot wide open and they stared into each other's hearts, too lucid for love. He nodded slowly, solemnly. "You know it, like I know it."
"Surely we could last a little longer," she tried. "We're not hurting anyone."
"We'd hurt this." His vague gesture embraced the whole room and Susan recalled she had hated herself for being able to laugh. "We've got to grieve. It cannot be avoided. And we don't belong together that way, not in grief. In relief."
"We'll have been an escape." Her voice was hoarse.
"A bubble. A little thing outside reality." He snorted as he talked and she reached for his hand impulsively, squeezed it once. He gave a low sigh, before he stood and began looking for his clothes. She watched, impossibly smiling to herself, her eyes stinging all the while.
"Don't think I'm going to forget you, Susan Bones," he said over his shoulder as he pulled a shirt over his head.
"Nor I you," she whispered. He turned towards her with a hint of cynism in his smile.
"It won't be the same," he murmured. "I don't mind being your dirty little secret, though."
"We should be past that. Everything we went through…"
"I suppose we should." He paused, ready now and waiting. Susan inhaled deeply. "I'll miss you, I think," she said.
"We can stay friends."
"Friends. Right." She grinned through the tears. "That's probably what we were always meant to be."
He leaned to kiss her on her wet cheek and she shuddered a little at the warmth of his breath.
"Goodbye." And he walked out.
Susan squeezed her eyes shut, curling into a tight little ball. The grief of a thousand losses was stirring within her, threatening to take over. She faced it, embraced it.
Sunlight washed into the room, warming the creased sheets and the quietly sobbing girl.