He didn't know when it started. Quite frankly, he really didn't care. All he knew was that it had happened, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do to make her realize that. Her. He could barely contain himself around her. It was as if he could feel her, even now, living inside him like no other before. He breathed her in, he relished in her existence.
He knew he'd disappointed her. He knew he'd let her down. All he could feel was this heavy guilt that weighed down on his body. It made him move differently, made him breathe differently. He could see how it would end, if it'd ever begun. But then she looked up from her book, glanced at him from across the library, and he knew. He knew she was blinded, and he knew he'd won. He knew that when he brushed against her in the halls later that night she would stop and look up at him, gaze into his eyes, and he would look back. There, in the crowded halls, with students bustling around them, and the slowly fading sound of rain outside, they would experience something that neither of them thought possible. And he knew that he would let his fingers trace over her cheek, and around her jaw. He knew her breath would hitch and it would fan out over his hand, sending shivers down his spine. And he knew, above all, that her eyes would close much the same as his, and time would seem to slow as they shared a part of themselves with the other.
So later that week, when he ran into her in the Head's commonroom, he didn't look away, as he'd been doing for the past few days. He walked straight at her, backing her against the wall. But he never touched her. They were separated only by what they were holding back. And then she breathed against him, her chest rising against his, finally allowing some kind of contact between them, and he was lost. And so, as her eyes fluttered closed, and his lips descended upon hers, he took what was his by eternal right. He held her against him, crushed her to him, forgetting that there was a Prefect's meeting in ten minutes as he lost himself in her timeless embrace.
Then they were stumbling up the stairs, breaking at the landing, her body pressing into his against the banister. Her hands clutched at his shirt, his fingers digging in her hips as her lips grazed over his jaw. His breath broke as her teeth nipped at the sensitive skin between jaw and neck. Growling low in his throat, his hands grasped her hard and brought her up against him, forcing her legs to open around his waist. Her hands seized at the nape of his neck, drawing his lips to hers, branding them with her taste.
No words were spoken as the door to his bedroom was thrown aside, their path towards his bed made with barely conscious steps. And when she lay beneath him, no barrier left but that of her eyes, he stared into her endless pools of hazel and gold. He let her entire entity spill over him in waves, just living in the moment of her gaze. Then, as their bodies moved, her eyes found his, their lips met once more, and he took her soul out into the night. He let it flow over his every being, his every sense as they lay together, wave after wave of complete and utter ecstasy crashing over them in torrents.
The next morning, he woke alone. And when he saw her that day, saw her in class, saw her in the halls, saw her in the commonroom, her demeanor was that of cool indifference. Right now, it may be over, but it wouldn't stop there. He would always be there for her, if she'd only care.
And then one night, she came to him. She came to him broken and battered and defeated. He'd been sitting in his room reading, calmly ignoring the pain in his chest. The door had opened slowly, and there she stood. He looked up at her and stood, placing his book on the chair. Walking towards her, he saw the tears that stained her cheeks; saw the pain that hid behind her eyes. Then she was in his arm, her lips pressed against the cool skin of his collarbone. His arms came around her, holding her to him as she relinquished to what she could never really control.
It was years later that he noticed it. How she'd touched his heart. How she'd touched his soul. He looked down at her as she read in bed and he realized just how she'd changed his life, his goals. And as she looked up at him, her eyes filled with love, he realized just how blind love was, and how he should have known when he heart was blinded all those years ago.
But then they fought. They fought and fought and fought. He knew he was wrong. He always was when it came to her, but he couldn't stop himself. And the things he said. The memories he brought up, the pain and sorrow, the hate. It wasn't until she sat crumpled against the doorframe that he realized just how wrong he was. He barely registered his actions as he knelt before her weeping form, his hands stretching out towards her, his body aching to be near hers. And when he brushed away her tears, he finally saw what he'd been trying to see all his life. He saw her love glowing brightly in her eyes. And he knew that he'd been a fool. And so he kissed her, and held her hand. He pulled her up, and held her close. He shared her dreams, shared her bed. He knew her well, knew her smell. He was addicted to her. But the worst part was that he didn't deserve her. He had to say goodbye that night. Goodbye to his lover, his friend. She had been the one, the only one for him, and he'd let her slip right through his fingers.
And so, after he saw the hurt in her eyes as he came down the stairs with a duffle bag in hand, he left. He walked out the door and down the street. He walked until he couldn't walk anymore. As he fell through the cracks, letting slip all he cared for, he found himself dreaming of her. And when he woke, his spirit broken, his dreams were taken from him in the harsh light of day.
One day he saw her, saw her as she boarded the train. He hoped that as she moved on she remembered him, remembered their life and all it used to be. And as he stood there, his hand grasping the metal pole for balance, he saw what he hadn't seen before. He'd seen her cry; he'd seen her smile. And as he'd watched her sleeping for a while, he'd wanted nothing more than to be the father of her child. He'd have spent a lifetime with her. He knew her fears, and she knew his. And that was all that mattered.
He followed her home. He didn't know why. Quite frankly he didn't really care. As his hand rapped on her door, he found that he wanted nothing more than to hold her, if only for a moment longer. But when she opened the door, saw him standing there, it was as if no time had passed. He enfolded her in his arms, their lips crashing together in a desperate attempt to become one once again.
Then, later that night as she slept in his arms, he knew he never wanted to be anywhere else again. They'd had their doubts, but now everything was fine. And when she woke, her eyes turning up to his, he told her was he'd been longing to tell her for years.
"I love you, I swear that's true. I cannot live without you."
And then she cried, her smile breaking through him as she kissed him again and again. He held her, kissed her, made love to her, again and again. And that's when he knew. He'd never have to say goodbye again. He'd never have to say goodbye to his lover, his friend. She was the one, the only one for him. And he told her so.
Weeks later, he still held her hand in his. He held her as they slept. And in time he would bear his soul. In time, when they were all gathered together, old rivalries long forgotten, old friends and new together in the warm welcoming kitchen of a family of redheads, he found himself kneeling at her feet. He found himself reaching his hand into his pocket and withdrawing a small velvet box. He found that nothing in the world could compare to the look on her face as he slid the cover open, revealing the diamond-encrusted ruby. He found that nothing could compare to the smile she gave him as he slipped the ring on her finger.
But then, many years and children later, he found himself once again standing alone in an empty flat. He found himself staring at an empty livingroom, devoid of any sign of life. And there had been so much life in this house. There had been so much joy and love, so much laughter and happiness.
He watched quietly as friends and family alike shook his hand, hugged him, said they were sorry. None of it really mattered. It was like he wasn't really there. And then he watched, terrified, as the ground slowly enveloped her. She was really gone. There was no one left for him. He was completely alone.
His children and his grand children hugged him, kissed him, cried for him. He watched, horrified that in this sea of love and family, he felt nothing. It hurt how much they loved him. It hurt how much he loved them. It hurt that he'd had to say goodbye again. He'd had to say goodbye to his lover, his friend. She had been the one, the only one for him.
And now he was hollow, so hollow. He was hollow without her, a shell without her. He knew that without her, he would remain hollow, and everyone would watch him whither away into nothing as the black hole in his heart grew and grew. Because when that hollow space in his heart finally burst, he saw her standing there, her hazel eyes dancing with love, hand outstretched, welcoming him home. And when he took her hand, her warmth spreading through him once more, that black hole in his heart was gone, and together they faded into a mist that hung around the house for years to come, never really ready to let go of what they had. And when that mist finally dissipated into nothing, there was always a faint glow about the place that no one could ever really place. The truth was, they never said goodbye. They were lovers, friends, and they would never have to say goodbye again.