a/n: wayy to descriptive and pretentious. probably some spag. for my math teacher, because he doesn't care if doddle on my paper.
prompts: night, bitter
i
Night is his savior. Hidden in the dark, they pressed close to each other, hands clasped beneath pale sheets and heads turned away form the world, all bathed in the moonlight. In the dark, no one can see their sin; no one can see them.
In the dark, they fade away, disintegrate until they're nothing more than billions and billions of atoms rotting in quintillions to the quintillionth power of atoms that create Earth. They disappear from the cameras and the world, from the people all clawing to have a piece of them; always shouting and yelling and never whispering. Too loud.
During the night, it's quiet. So quiet he can hear his thoughts scraping the interior of his brain; they make a soft crinkle as he shoves them into worn boxes and throws those boxes into a roaring fire in the farthest corner of his consciousness. During the night, he tries to burn it, burn the hunger in his gut silently eating him from the inside out. Burn the innocent smiles and white lies, though, he'd hardly call them white lies at this point. The lies he murmurs are sharp little knives, blacker than sin itself.
During the night, he shames himself for loving a boy, Merlin, his cousin. If anyone knew, the tabloids would scramble to publish the story, coating the whole relationship in soot until it blackens the Potter name. He imagines everyone's response to the truth. Dad's eye would widen and he'd shake his head, disappointed as usual. Mum would blow up, a bomb with fire red hair and gleaming eyes, her fists shaking, hands clenched into tight balls, and disappointed tears gleaming in the crevices in her eyes. James and Lily would slowly shake their heads in disbelief, then anger, then sadness at the reality: their brother loves his cousin, his male cousin. Everyone would be angry, disappointed, and sad, and it would kill him.
Beneath the cool sheets, he shudders. Turning over on the wooden bed, he tucks away his secret, Hugo, in an ornate chest in his head. He throws away the key.
During the night, Albus Potter sins. He doesn't regret it.
ii
"Why are we doing this?" Hugo asks, hands tracing the edges of the blankets.
"I-"
"No why? I want to know why!" His head sinks into his hands. "Why do I need this? Why is this wrong?"
Albus shakes his head, not attempting to answer. "I don't know why. Maybe it's fate or sin, but who cares."
"I do."
"I should, but I don't."
Silence ensues, crushing their shoulders to the floor.
"Hey…" Albus begins. "No day but today."
Hugo's broad shoulders shudder. "Yeah. No day but today."
iii
Dear Albus,
I'm sorry. I could never love you like you loved me. I found someone better, a girl, someone I'm not related to. Lying tangled in the sheets with her feels less wrong. Not saying we were wrong, but the pit of my stomach clenched every night I lied with you…
Albus doesn't read the rest of the letter. His hands move without his brain thinking and suddenly the paper's condensed into a tight ball and hurled into the fireplace. His eyes trace the bright orange fire licking the ink and pages, and the crackle of the burning paper rings in his ears like a bomb detonating. He smells the ashes, smoke, anger, and regret. Tears glaze his eyes, from the smoke or the memories, he doesn't know.
He turns his back and walks out the door.