"Please?" was all I could say between kisses. All over his face and neck my mouth roamed placing pecks along his pale white skin. He stood motionless. I could taste the alcohol that stained my lips as I licked them and knew he could smell it on my breath.

"Please, I'm so sorry," I whispered close to his ear, a spot I know to be especially sensitive. Cheap trick, I know, but he would have done the same. "Please," I began again, but was cut off when he spoke.

"Why?" he asked. His eyes were closed and his voice flat. My mind started to race – how could I possibly begin to explain?

"I – I was stupid," I stammered. His hands flew to my shoulders and gripped them almost painfully. I inhaled sharply at the sudden movement, and while I felt relieved he was responding, I was concerned with how his fingers continued to dig into my skin.

"Why?" he repeated frustration and impatience dripping from the word.

"I – I, um," Words were never easy when it came to explaining anything between us. We let our eyes do the talking, except his eyes were closed and he couldn't see what I was trying to tell him. I attempted again with words, "Those things I said I want, a relationship and commitment, well I don't want those anymore. I never really did, I don't even know why I said anything. I don't know what I was thinking – well, I wasn't thinking. I was stupid. I just," Uh-oh. I kept rambling. Words kept falling out and he still wouldn't make eye contact, which brought on a whole new wave of miserable attempts of explaining myself. "I can't keep lying to myself, please, I –"

His steel gray eyes met mine, and my words caught in my throat. I couldn't breath, and I almost wanted to cry in relief, but something in his eyes was different. I furrowed my brow in confusion trying to read what his eyes were saying. Before I could start to decipher that look, his lips met mine.

My eyes fluttered shut at the sudden contact and all I wanted to do was wrap my arms around him and keep him close, but his hands were still clutching my shoulders. As if he knew exactly what I wanted he deepened the kiss and I pressed myself against him. As he moved his hands from my shoulders to my face and I seized the opportunity to wrap my arms around his neck. When I opened my mouth against his, the familiar taste of cigarettes assaulted my taste buds.

(2 years ago…)

I sat on a bench waiting with Fred outside the shop my mother was currently bustling about in with the rest of the Weasely clas, well, the rest of the family who lived at home anyways. "Can you please tell them to hurry up?" I asked, turning my head and craning my neck to look up at him since he was leaning against the wall instead of sharing the bench with me. With an exaggerated sigh, he trudged back inside the shop.

I rolled my eyes at my brother's dramatic flare and shook my head. As I turned my head back I caught someone's eye. He was walking by on the other side of the street, his pale hair reflecting the sun and catching my attention. He had his left hand shoved into his pocket, his right hand by his mouth, and I realized he was taking a long drag from a cigarette. He kept his eyes locked on mine while he exhaled slowly, blowing smoke into the air and dropping his hand to his side.

I should have looked away the second I saw him, but those eyes… it was as if he were trying to figure me out, like he wanted to unwrap me and find out who I really was One eyebrow was slightly arched as if he couldn't understand why I wouldn't show the world the real me. It was the first time anyone looked at me like I was something more than a simple, pretty girl that had never know struggle, loss, or pain. Someone who knew I had more to tell.

He looked away as he flicked his cigarette on the ground and walked on, running his fingers through his hair before shoving it into his pocket and continuing on as though nothing happened. I snapped out of my trance and looked away. I squinted my eyes in confusion as I struggled to understand what on earth just happened. "Ready to go?" my mother called out and I shook my head to dispel any remaining thoughts clouding my brain.

When he pulled away I kept my eyes closed, scared of what his might have been saying. I bit my lip, anticipating something awful and cursing myself for ever thinking I could walk away from this.

3 days ago

It happened as it usually did. He called me, and I came running.

I met him outside my flat. We sat on the stoop for a few minutes, making small talk that neither of us really cared about: what we did that day, the nice weather lately, and other 'safe' topics that never revealed any sort of personal information.

"So, should we head inside?" he asked me after the standard 9 minutes of empty dialogue. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as I prepared to give an answer he most certainly wouldn't like to hear.

It was snowing as he led me to my doorstep. I was so proud of my own flat I moved into just after I finished Hogwarts. I was still shocked he offered to walk me home after the Ministry's Christmas party. And so when he asked, "So, should we head inside?" I could only nod my head in response.

I made tea and we sat on the sofa discussing the party, each of us being very careful and selective of what we said. Usually Firewhiskey lowers one's guard, though that seemed to be the very opposite in this situation. After we finished out tea, both of us rose to our feet. He mumbled something about 'should be getting on' and I scurried into the kitchen clearing away the mugs of tea.

"Oh, your coat!" I picked up his expensive winter coat of the kitchen chair and went to hand it to him as he finished lacing up his Italian leather shoes at the door. I'm not sure if it was the soft "Thank you," or his fingers brushing mine that shot sparks through me as I handed his coat to him. The next thing I know our lips brushed, hesitating for just a moment, and then he had his back against the door as we get lost in a mess of lips, tongue, and teeth kissing, caressing, and nipping.

Then it was over. I willed myself to look at him, and our eyes met briefly before he fled out the door leaving me leaning against the frame with my fingers touching my lips trying to remember what his felt like against mine.

"Honestly?" I asked as I released my breath I'd been holding in. He nodded.

"I'm tired of this. I'm tired of having nothing to show for this, whatever this is! I can't have dinner with you, or hold your hand in public, or even have a real conversation with you," and I looked over the gauge his reaction. There was none - surprise, surprise the Ice King of Slytherin. He sat looking forward, which gave me a nice view of his profile, but that's beside the point!

"I just… I feel like you're ashamed of me. As if I'm unworthy to be considered a friend even," I continued, but he cut me off.

"Me? I'm ashamed of you? I could say the same thing of you!" He scoffed, running his hand through his hair that needed to be cut. He wouldn't look at me.

"Listen," I began reaching for his arm, "I just… I'm going to need more, more… I don't know, just more!" I finally got out after struggling to find the words. He took a deep breath.

"I don't want a relationship," he wouldn't look at me as he said it and moved his arm from my hand, "I don't know where I'm going to be in the next two, six, ten months. I'm still struggling with shit I have to sort out myself," and finally he looked at me, but I turned my head away before I saw his eyes.

Throughout school I would stare at him, hoping he would look at me with those piercing eyes that set me on edge. I couldn't get the image of his intense and questioning stare in Diagon Alley that summer. When he finally felt my gaze upon him, he'd fulfill my wish, though I'd hurriedly look anywhere but at him as I felt a blush creep onto my cheeks and my stomach knot with excitement.

It was a game, and that was all. That's all it could be.

It was all I was able to tell myself to rationalize my behavior. Why him? I couldn't get him out of my head and I constantly craved his attention, even if it was negative. Every time he would look back, or the rare times I'd catch him looking first, was a win for me. And I hated to lose.

Without looking at him I said, "I'm not going to sleep with you tonight," and then finally brought my eyes back up to his.

Without pause he responded, "I don't want to see you anymore."

I couldn't explain why, as I made my way back up to my flat, I felt as empty as I did. I had stood up for myself; I should be proud and happy. Right?

Was I dreaming? It had almost been one year since the Ministry's Christmas party and things had escalated since then. I was lying on my side with one arm supporting my head and my other draped over my stomach. Next to me, he was sleeping on his stomach, head turned toward me with his pale hair falling over his aristocrat face. I reached out and brushed the strands behind his ear and let my hand trail over his shoulders and down his back.

Nope, definitely not dreaming.

He opened his eyes as I brought my hand back up his back slowly. One look and that signature smirk was all it took before we began a repeat performance of the night before.

The first time we were together was supposed to get him out of my system. All that pent up tension from the sideways glances and discreet looks throughout our school years had to be released if I was going to forget about him. When did it turn into something more for me? Was it something more for him?

I shook my head to clear my thoughts, but instead I kept getting flashbacks.

The anxiety was almost too much to bear. It had been two and a half weeks and no word. 'That bastard,' I thought bitterly as I sat down at my desk. The private messages we had been sending back and forth for months were used to coordinate our, ahem, meetings.

'I refuse to give in first,' my stubbornness had kicked in, 'if he wants to be with me, fine, if not, then it's his loss,' I continued to console myself. Every time it was the same thing: small talk, a great shag, minimal sleep, a wordless goodbye in the morning, and weeks of waiting until he would send me another message.

But, oh was that shag worth it.

'See? Just sex' I thought to myself as I struggled to reign in the memories. If it had been just sex, why had I felt that way? Feelings were not part of the deal. But, of course we would slip up on occasion.

"Does my heart beat fast or slow?" He asked as he drew lazy circles on my back with his finger. I pressed my head closer to his chest and listened. His heart was racing. But never mind that, he actually had a heart!

"Fast, at least right now," I said and I turned my head to look up at him. He quickly caught my lips in a kiss, and my eyes fluttered shut. He put his hand on my chest, feeling my heartbeat.

"Your heart beats fast, too," he said happily as if the similarity drew us closer together – and I'm not talking physically. I looked into his eyes and he knew he'd slipped. "But of course, I could get any woman's heart racing," he said and smirked. I immediately kissed the smirk right off his face, and got his heart racing again too.

Three days.

That's all it took. Three days with out any hope of another message before I broke down and asked him to meet me. Of course he was reluctant, but it didn't take much convincing on my part to get him to meet me.

"Please?" was all I could say between kisses. I instantly attacked him when he arrived at my stoop, begging and pleading as he stood stoic in his aristocratic glory. I can't begin to describe my happiness when he finally kissed me back.

When he pulled away, I bit my lip fearing the worst. Why did I have to go and open my big mouth? Can't appreciate a good thing when I've got it, can I?

"So, should we go inside?"

I let out a sigh of relief and kissed him again. As we made our way up to my flat I could only think to myself, 'this, whatever this was, was everything I needed,' and I couldn't have asked for more.