cinnamon and cloves
"And I am dreaming of joys I've never known."- Emilie Autumn, Gaslight
She smells like cinnamon, and you smell like cloves. She is perfect and you are…you. You are Lily Luna Potter, always trying to live up to your father and wear your mother's shoes. You will forever be weighed down by the names you hold. But she is Roxanne, one of a kind, shining like the unique star she is, floating in your sky.
Ever since you were little, you've looked up to her. When you wished upon a shooting star, you wished you could be her, because she is beautiful and she is everything you are not.
But now, you're getting older, and you don't want to be her anymore. You want to be with her. You want to spend every waking moment with her, you want to talk to her, and you want to have her pay attention to you. You want to see her smile and laugh at your jokes, and hug you, and hold you—
You stop. It's not right. You can't think about other girls that way, let alone Roxy. Even if you do want her to kiss you. Even if you're just a little bit curious to see what it might be like.
Even if you've been curious for months.
When she visits, out of the blue, home from Romania and visiting Uncle Charlie, she is more irresistible than ever. Roxanne is breathless from telling stories, and so when your mother tells her to sleep in your room tonight, you don't protest.
You do, however, decide to be quite honest. Although, 'decide' is a tricky word. It implies that you are consciously choosing to say the words coming out of your mouth at two in the morning.
"I like you, Roxanne."
She rolls over. "What? I like you, too."
At first, you're flooded with relief. But you check yourself—she's got no idea what you're on about.
"No, I mean…I like you." You feel the blood rush up through your cheeks.
"Okay?"
"I like," you start. "I like girls. And I like you." It is eerily quiet, and you stare into the darkness. You're about to clarify again, to make it seem like it was just a misunderstanding, but then you feel her leg on your foot.
She's climbing into your bed like a prince into your tower, and she swings herself up next to you. Her arm is touching yours; her hand twines into yours unbidden, but welcomed.
"Okay," she whispers into your ear. "I like you, too."
You wish that you could stay here forever. You're allowed another wish, you think, because your first one is about to be granted. She kisses you, and you find that it's everything you've dreamed of—it tastes like cinnamon and cloves and everything it shouldn't be.
A/N: Written for Kelly, after her too-long absence. Also for the Femmeslash Project, theme: coming out, and for the HP Potions Competition, prompt: write about wishing.
Love you tons, Kels.
Allie