DSCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I would maniacally be writing a next-gen spinoff right now.
Like Fools We Dance Around Fate
Fate had it in for him, he was sure of it.
Because there's no way he could not have met her, was there? They'd travelled in the same social sphere, gone to the same school for seven years and their parents had been friends from the beginning. At some point, they were bound to meet and become friends.
And after meeting her, there was no way he could not have fallen in love with her.
It was all stupid destiny's fault.
Well, he knew there were rules, and one of those rules was do not fall in love with your best friend, but he hadn't been looking when he fell, and in any case it wasn't as though he had ever demonstrated great foresight. She'd always been the smart one. And man, he wanted her so badly-and he felt awful about it. He shouldn't be feeling this way-he was supposed to protect her, as caveman as that might sound. He was like a brother to her.
(Ergh-okay, bad thoughts.)
But-well- it never, ever felt like it was under his control, you know? It's just-he couldn't help it when he started to think differently about her. And he couldn't control it when he just started feeling happy on seeing her face. She made him smile and he couldn't help that.
He guessed that's why it was called falling-nothing was under your control.
Oh, just-fuck it all.
Because-she dated poets and musicians and philosophers, okay, and...how could he even begin to compare? To guys like that? Like, really? He guessed some girls might prefer him to the whole tortured artist thing; but it was never going to be the one that mattered, was it? And it hurt a bit (okay, a lot) and sometimes he had to bite his lip to keep from yelling at her for going out with all those guys and looking like a pussy. He had no right to be jealous. But face it; he was nothing more than your everyday Joe, with a knack for keeping everyone in splits most of the time, but that didn't matter in front of existentialist debates in terms of pop-punk songs, and soulful love letters. He couldn't write soulful love letters-if he could he would be writing one right now, about how pretty she was(and see, he couldn't even whip out fancy lines of poetry about her eyes, or whatever) instead of lying on his bed at ten o'clock, eating chips and brooding. She was his best friend, but it had never even occurred to him that she was also totally, completely out of his league.
Oh, and there were girls lining up to date him, okay? He just had to make a call, and he would have a date for the next Saturday night, because he did not lack good looks, nor charm. And fuck, fuck, fuck, but it hurt so much that for the first time, he really wanted something-someone-and he couldn't have her. The one person in the entire world he didn't have a shot with, it seemed, and he had to go and fall in love with her.
So not fair.
But like Dad said, life wasn't fair. Yeah, but then, Dad'd gotten the girl of his dreams, no fuss, right? For Merlin's sake, Mum used to tell them bedtime stories about him and her instead of something freaking normal, like knights and dragons, and stuff. Probably that's why he was such a useless wuss who acted like some gentleman from the eighteenth century on dates (as the aforementioned love of his life was wont to say).Roses, and door-opening, and chair-drawing-out, the works. Well, to hell with her, he'd never found anyone who didn't appreciate it (though he was also wont to break up with his girlfriends too after a while-but he was nice about it, at least, unlike some of her boyfriends).Oh, but he could never forget her, or what she said. Maybe if he acted like her stupid boyfriends spouting poetry all the time and acting all artistic and tortured like-well, a tortured artist, she would like him. But no, he would look like a fucking prick, man, because he wasn't that sort of guy at all. There was nothing he could do, you know? Yet like some sort of fool, he still held on to hopes that she would one day come running into his arms and hold on, limpid, saying to him breathlessly,"Oh,I do love you!",gazing with total devotion at him. Merlin, he'd been reading too many of those Harlequin Historicals in secret. She would never do something like that. She was more the kind of girl who'd grab him by the tie and kiss him in front of the whole school (she was rather prone to drama).
Well, it wasn't like he would mind that, either.
Or anything. Oh, he was desperate.
And still...hopeful.
Because-well, like that writer guy or whoever said-tomorrow was another day, right? (or was that someone in a movie?).And maybe tomorrow he'd have the courage to tell her. And maybe...maybe that could make all the difference.
He knew he was being a fool in waiting, but well, nobody was making any life-affirming decisions right now, nobody was getting married or anything. There was still plenty of time. He knew he was being rather cowardly, but to hell with it, it wasn't like with the other girls. It was...new, and scary. And he was an ordinary guy, so he was scared, all right?
And he had to learn how to tread this unfamiliar territory before taking that dive that could really change his-his whole life. Because she was so, so important to him, and there wasn't just his heart but their whole friendship at stake-fifteen years of shared crayons, lunches, and special secrets. And he didn't know if he could bear it if it had to come down to one or the other. It was .hard to make a decision. And he might well have been flippant about it, and been stupid about it, but bull-headed was just the way he approached everything. It mattered more than anything to him, the way he felt about her, she mattered more than anything to him. Maybe he couldn't declare it to the whole world and her like the poets in their biker jackets, but he'd gladly jump in front of a moving bus for her (and actions spoke louder than words, so there).
He cared for her all right-he just needed some time. To...to make himself strong enough. Strong enough to handle it, if she-if she rejected him and everything was...ruined and spoilt, just because of him. He needed to be strong enough to not crumble when-if-she looked away, and...everything came crashing down, but silently enough so that nobody else noticed when it did-nobody else realized the enormity of what just happened.
He was not totally weighed down by fear, because there was still that amazing feeling when she looked at him and she was near and it gave him some sort of hope. He was just waiting for...the moment. The moment when he felt like he was brave enough.
Because his telling her might make all the difference but it might also cause everything he'd known for all the years of his life to fall apart, and he didn't want that to happen, because'almost' was better than 'nothing at all'.
A/N: This is pretty different from my usual style-what do you think? Review, please. I really, actually like this piece-I really like the character of James II, and I'm thinking of expanding it when I get the time into a multichaptered. Kind of a his and her story. What's your opinion? Are you reading this and shouting 'Oh, NO!'?(Or maybe, just maybe, 'Oh, YES!'?).
Pleeeeeeease review-really. I get lonely without them. :D
