As he bends over the parchment to point something out, all I'm aware of is his presence – his breath on my cheek, his hand so close to mine, a lock of his hair falling across his forehead. Without thinking, I stretch out a hand and brush it to one side.
*S**t, what am I doing?*
He looks up at me, a slightly puzzled expression on his face. I'm not surprised – he's only meant to be helping me with my transfiguration homework. I hastily look away, rummaging through my bag for something that isn't there. When I glance up again, his eyes are still on me, calculating, penetrating, searching for something. So green, I'm immersed.
"Do you want to take a break?" His voice, so full of concern. "You're making progress, but maybe…"
Is that… is he hinting at something? No, probably just my imagination.
*He's your friend, Neville.* I tell myself. *Don't ruin that.* He stands up.
"Come on, let's take five minutes." It sounds like he's pleading, almost. I stay where I am, unable to move, to concentrate.
*Now you're being stupid. Just say yes and go with him. Stop pissing about. Stop imagining…*
Shakily, I get to my feet and follow him from the quiet room. The corridors are even worse. Deserted, no one to distract me from him. I'm so conscious of his slender form in front of me. He leads the way silently, never looking back, never stopping. And I can't his lack of words is killing me.
*Say something to him. Break the silence. He's embarrassed. You just tried to come onto him*
But I can't think of anything. So I simply follow. Suddenly, he stops.
"You should have more confidence in yourself, Neville."
It's more an order than a suggestion. He smiles. I melt.
"That work was fine. In fact, you should be really pleased…"
"I'm sorry" - I cut across him, stopping him mid sentence. Again, the puzzled look.
"For before – when I… you're hair…"
His face softens. He doesn't reply, but turns to gaze out of an open window.
*He's just being nice because you're so obviously embarrassed. You shouldn't even have mentioned it. He doesn't care for you – not in that way. He just feels sorry for you – he pities you.*
"Come look at this, Neville."
He turns and beckons me over. He's so gentle, so soft and tender. I obey.
It really is beautiful. Dusk has just fallen. The sky is awash with colour, and in the distance, shooting stars weave their way through the night.
I gasp at the splendour. He opens the window further and leans right out. He takes a deep breath. Encouraged by his kindness, I join him. The night air is wonderful, so calm and refreshing and, intoxicating almost.
We remain there, in silence. But this silence isn't one of unease. This is the silence of my dreams. Where we just stand, together, alone, and peaceful. It lasts a long time, or so it feels to me. Neither one of us wanting to leave the view. I shiver involuntarily. I feel his arm around me. Firm, yet so gentle. I shiver again, only this time, it's a shiver of excitement, of anticipation, of sheer and unconcealed joy.
He doesn't seem nervous. He seems so confident, so sure of himself. He knows what to do. He doesn't blush, or look away, or try to cover up his moves. Again, I feel his eyes focused directly on me. He hasn't let go; he's still there, supporting me. He moves me, so very slightly, away from the window, until the cold air no longer whips at my face. I glance up, desperate, yet terrified, to see into those eyes.
Longing, caring, protecting… it's all there, in those two little orbs of the purest green.
I wonder what he must be seeing. A nervous, plain, insignificant boy. No deep pools of mesmerising colour. Just dull, grey eyes.
I'm frightened. I feel like a fox, caught in the headlamps. I don't want him to speak; I don't want him to let go.
His gaze is steady. I know he won't break the silence. But it's more than I can bear. I need to know, need to be sure. What can he want from me? I open my mouth to speak.
Silently, he moves a finger to my lips.
His eyes command me to remain still. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing nerves. A slight movement at the corners of his mouth. The smallest reassuring smile. I relax. I'm looking into the eyes of the person I have loved for the last five years. And he's here, with me, just me. And he doesn't seem to mind. He brought me here. He must like me. Must want me. He must.
Slowly, very slowly, he leans closer. All the time, eyes focused on mine, as if checking that I'm still alright. I close my eyes, hoping, but not daring to hope. How many times I've longed for this. In the dead of night, in my own bed, lying there, trying to get his image out of my head. The moments span eternity. How could he know? How perfect this is. How much I need him, want him, ache for him.
His breath is on my face now. So close. I feel dizzy, like I've eaten too many fizzing whizzbees. I lean in. Our lips meet.
He's so passionate, caring, loving. His arms around me tightly, his lips pressing against mine.
And I'm not imagining anymore. This is real, this is actually happening. I could cry with happiness. But I don't. I relax into his kiss. I'm feeling braver now, confident almost.
I reach out my hand, and brush a lock of hair out of his eyes.
A/N: this is the first thing I've ever posted anywhere ever!!! I'm so excited! So please be kind with me :-)
Just want to say thank you to my bestest big sister ever – Morganmuffle, for reading all my rubbish and always letting me read hers! (even if she never came up with a title for me :P!). And happy birthday as well, 'cause she's twenty today!
And to add – who got the title? It's a song from "The King and I" - I thought it was appropriate :-)
Think that's everything! Maybe now I'm out of lurkdom, I might start posting more stuff!