He was snarling and angry and beautiful. As soon as that name left his lips, and that expression flew across his face--He had to stop listening. He had to stop looking. He didn't want to hear what was going to be said, the inconsistencies considering what that look had meant.
It was really a sobering thought. Or not a thought really, but a moment. That moment of realization. It could almost be called an epiphany. Yeah, it was a fucking epiphany--One he didn't want to be having. Fucking bloody hell. It would've been better if the bastard wasn't--But he was, but he wasn't going to be it. They hadn't even done anything. Well, nothing real. And it was still breaking his fucking heart. This was why guys didn't care. This was why his mother did what she did. He knew, logically, that she had loved someone. And she'd always told him that something happened and she never wanted to do it again. And he understood now. He really did. And he fucking, fucking, fucking hated it.
He was ignoring the situation.
It didn't matter though. He wasn't talking to him. Oh sure, he was the only other person in the room. But that didn't mean he was talking to him. No. He was talking to the Boy-in-his-head.
Blaise was invisible. Just as he'd always been. He was just a background character. A bit player. A red-shirt even. It didn't matter that he thought of Draco as his Aphrodite (he shouldn't even know that song, he wished he didn't. That way it would stop fucking playing through his head and mocking him.) The Ishmael to his Quequeg then...Damnit. He needed to stop this. He needed to stop dwelling, he needed to stop caring.
It didn't fucking matter. It never did. Everyone knew the Hero got the guy in the end (or something like that), not one of the side kicks. And certainly never one of the background characters.
And he was always a background character.
It was his fault though. He could've done something. Could've worked up the fucking balls to ask him if he swung that way, instead of just waiting like a pansy and hoping that if he was he'd be first on the list. Who the hell was he fucking kidding? He didn't even make the list.
"Blaise, are you even listening to me?"
He couldn't take it. He really couldn't. Not anymore. It hurt too damn much.
"Helllo, Blaise? Could you care for just a moment about what I'm going through?"
He couldn't
So he snapped.
"No, I've cared too fucking long. Go fuck the little scar head and get out of my face."
...That...That actually felt good. It really did.
Huh.