AN. I am pretty sure I have completely lost my ability to write in normal novel style. But I am keeping up my reputation I suppose... Haha, I'm going to end up like Sirius if I talk like that too much. But yes, another short, weirdly written oneshot. Hooray. For Caketin and her 114 letter word, I guess, it was rather impressive. xD
James / Teddy, implied Albus / Scorpius, I think I managed to not swear in this one, but I'll warn you just in case.
Turquoise
lust ; jealousy ; anger ; avoidance ; lies ; ignoring ; forgiveness ; love ; peace
The edge of the roof; a dizzying drop towards foliage and dark water, unnoticed due to the half-empty bottle of muggle booze clutched between pale, sweaty fingers. Almost silence; only broken by a slight breeze, a distant pair of owls and heavy breathing, unnaturally loud. A full moon, gazed at by dark, tear-filled eyes, not seeing anything but images of the past few hours flashing before them.
earlier…
A hotel room; beige carpet, cream walls, raspberry sheets on twin beds and a folded-put sofa bed. A dark blue rucksack spilling its contents onto the pillow and a pair of heavy, black combat boots: Teddy's. A messy pile of clothes on top of a pack of cigarettes, a tube of lubricant and several condoms: your own. Neatly folded clothes, a Slytherin tie and an unread letter: Al's, though you know he's set up camp in Scorpius' room across the hallway. He needs to keep up appearances for his mother. So do you.
The door bangs open, the mark left on the wall unnoticed. A young man dressed in swimming trunks, damp towel in hand and turquoise hair dripping onto bare shoulders; lust. The knowledge that an equally damp-haired and underdressed Victoire has just re-entered another room just down the hallway; jealousy. A split second. The towel falls to the floor, a strong grip of tanned fingers tightens around a pale chaser's wrist, yanking the smaller, fully dressed body towards the damp, half-naked one. A backwards kick. The door slams shut. A rough kiss; anger. A sharp shove, sending the taller male backwards. Disappointment in bright blue eyes, anger in dark brown. Rough words. "It's not fair, you're being selfish. You've got-" A pause. A silent dare to say her name. Flat denial. "Her."
A step towards the smaller boy. A name though the heavy, rough, breathing. "Jamie-" Another shove. "Don't call me that." A hurt look, disguised by anger, quickly turned away. A hand on a t-shit bared arm. Swearing. "Let me go." A slacked grip, a badly aimed punch. More swearing, then the slam of the bathroom door.
Cold tiles underfoot; a half-hearted feeling of calm. Uncomfortably tight jeans quickly shed, followed by boxers and T-shirt. Heavy breathing and a thudding heart; the sudden shock of cold water on sweaty skin. The humming of the shower masks the click of the door; footsteps and a hand on the temperature dial go unnoticed. The water splashing onto pale skin is warmer.
Another body; hair now light brown, tanned skin, blue eyes, a scent other than soap filling nostrils; lust. A back pressed against cold, wet tiles. Another kiss, longer, slower than before. Hands tangle in hair. Something snaps; anger. A push forwards, sending a taller, heavier body backwards. Cursing, half explanations and apologies. "I don't care." The door clicks shut. The water is cold again.
Dress shirt, black trousers, loose tie. Scarlet and gold; Arthur will approve. You left while the other was in the shower; avoidance. Al is with Scorpius, the two teenagers in Silver and Green. The music is loud, mainly Muggle stuff from the Sixties and Seventies. A half-hearted grin and a bottle of beer, lost in the crowd of red-haired Weasleys.
They are obvious: turquoise and silver-blonde in a sea of fire. He looks so happy, she is laughing; jealousy. It could have been you, happy as the other couple who do not seem to match, blond and midnight black, together at the side of the room.
Standing, fixated, the party whirling on around a living statue. Dancing with an unknown girl, some friend of some cousin. It doesn't matter: she's not him. He's still with her, the half-French blonde with promises for the future; a cottage, picket fence and children. Tears, quickly blinked away; jealousy. A grin and a wink. "I'll be back."; lies.
The clang of trainers on metal stairs: slow, uneven, intoxicated. Alcohol-laden breaths taking in clear night air. Distant sounds of the party going on below. A hand on the doorknob, holding up a body. The door shuts; peace and quiet and staggered steps. More steps closer to the edge.
now…
The door opens; closes. Booted footsteps. Still sitting at the edge, no movement, no recognition; ignoring. A voice, husky and surprisingly sober; lust. "Jamie…" A simple statement into the night. "Don't call me that." A hand on a shoulder, shrugged away. Still looking anywhere but at him, but now standing, staring out into the darkness.
A firm grip on a forearm; gently turned around so brown eyes meet blue. Tanned hands in dark brown hair, pale in turquoise. A kiss; long, gentle, deliberate. Tears in both brown and blue eyes, whispered apologies; forgiveness.
Settling in the taller male's lap; dark head pressed against crisp, white shirt, breathing hard. Gentle touches, whispered words; love.
The night, calm and clear; two young men on the roof; peace.
Two sets of three words, unsaid, but well known.
I am sorry.
I love you.