Black
An unlikely accident, and Snape is battling the unforeseen consequences. Again and again.
"It was not your fault."
It is my fault. Do not fabricate words.
"The damage has largely healed. Only a slight discomfort remains."
Hardship and a scar, forever visible, forever tormenting you. Forever tormenting me.
"I have already adapted sufficiently to function normally."
Liar. I have seen you struggling. Your pretensions are easily unmasked by me.
"Do not continue your newly found habit."
I have no choice, can't you see–
No... of course you cannot.
"It will only cause you pain..."
Pain I can easily cope with. Had coped with it, am coping at this very moment, and will cope with it for the rest of my remaining days, perhaps even clinging on and haunting me after the last heartbeat
"It will pain me."
Why are you lying to yourself again? Why are you deceiving me again? Is it not enough that, since that day, the day when all had changed for you, for me, all I have been bearing is your deceit? Must you continue to strain my pile of burdens, examining when it will crumble and crush my body, my mind, my soul?
"At least... turn your eyes to me."
I cannot do that. If I see you, any part of you, I will inevitably be sucked to that part of your body.
"I want to see you. I want to truly see you."
Your lies seem permanently attached to your vocals.
"You crave for the same. Why are you denying yourself this pleasure, the pleasure we both need, now more than ever?"
Yet, they are weaker fastened on yours, than my own are.
"Please..."
At once, he leapt up, fury coating all other emotions. How dare he–
He would be the last to plead. Pleading wasn't invented for a person of his status, decorum and character. No, the only ones who had that allowance was someone like himself.
"Don't leave."
His voice, leaking that horrid quality, and unlike his normal, strong and merry tone, fortified his temper toward a point where there would be no return.
"Shut up!"
He spiralled around, soiled and dishevelled locks of hair whipping against his face, and barely contained his habit to stare at that point of the other's body.
"Don't... just... just stop..."
His legs shook, his body hadn't absorbed nutrition for a considerable time, and soon he slumped to the ground: his muscles tired, his body tired, his mind tired.
A sound, originated from the wizard a few metres away from him, ripples of clothes and hasty feet and all he could perceive was softness. Even with closed eyes, the other senses still received signals: touch on his body, whispered words, and the remnants of days without cleansing.
Their combined attack drowned him and compelled him to undo his previous action. And there, before him, them he witnessed only.
A channel was formed, an impenetrable passage, that spat at the laws of time, engulfed him. A specific image was searched and found and were given movements.
Himself, listening to every word that he was conveying in an enthusiastic, almost child-like manner, a change of behaviour that the listener welcomed very much. For he was smiling a gentle smile, his coloured eyes shining brightly. The speaker seemed not to notice them, so entranced was he in his own story.
Fragments, distinctive fragments received the gift of life.
"To summarise it: it's progressing impressively," he finished.
"That is good to hear. Very good news, indeed," answered the other, the shimmering eyes glimmering greater.
"Yes... the only problem that remains is finding a suitable patient," continued he.
"But that slight predicament is already solved," he quickly added, reading his body language.
"That is another fact I welcome. Who is the fortunate person?"
No answer followed, only a deep stare from the black eyes.
"Do excuse me for my next words... but I do not think that will be wise."
"Perhaps... I can be of assistance?" the second presence offered, after a small debate, where no progress was seen, but only a temporary decline.
"I'm not certain..."
"I am more than happy to help you, and since you, coincidentally, require a person – ...another person – why not accept it?" the kind voice continued, knowing he was nearing the point where the other would throw down his defences. One more turn and he would yield.
And yield he did.
"All I need to do is... examine it?" he asked, a touch of dejection staining his voice.
A small nod.
"And... nothing else?" he pressed, hoping to elicit a more favourable response.
"Nothing else," the other said, mirroring his words.
He showed a deep sigh, being certain that that would not elude his dear friend's attention and waited.
No response.
Perceiving that the other would not fall in a bait again, he slowly moved forward and peeked inside.
That marked the moment where all went wrong. His mind knew this. Details, only chunks of details, magnified by focus, hit him.
His black eyes' focus intensifying. The change of expression on the familiar face: from mild melancholy, but enthusiastic expression, to surprise.
The feel of his wand against his fingers as he swiftly draws it, and his legs bringing his body closer to him.
Silence.
No sound of bewilderment, surprise or even of anger. No sounds of pain. No sounds at all created by the tall body.
No sickening noise when the fluid makes contact with flesh.
Nothingness.
No suitable response from himself. No reaction until the damage had been delivered. No action from himself. The other had already taken measures, by the time he responded.
Blackness.
It seemed to have covered his eyes by the presence he had always been feeling indecisive and puzzled about, during the fresh past more than ever, but not at this moment. The colour had always caused negative emotions, but not this time. He should grab the comfort that was not even an inch away from him, but he could not. He would not.
The other presence seemed to disagree.
Warm flesh beneath smooth, yet wrinkled robes, engulfed him. Soft, murmured words were trying to gain access to his ears, attempting to search for the receptors that would lead to his brain, but the entrance had created an invisible wall against them. When that was noticed, the body sharing warmth to him reclined, enough to lower his body temperature, but not to quench the persisting closeness. An all too familiar hand embraced his chin and together with the repeated enquire, urged his eyelids to open, but the blackness inside stared down. A safe place to watch.
At least, he thought so.
Even though they were both on the ground, the tall body managed to curl even more, bringing body and face closer to the carpet beneath them, moving swift to surprise the other. And surprised he was.
As predicted, the two ebonies of shimmer were immediately drawn to it.
Blackness.
The colour he preferred above most, had now tumbled down to the very bottom, to a place where the general population would not like to reside in. Where, when asked before that disastrous day, the day he wished had never occurred, he would agree with them. But now, changed by Past, these kind of places were the only ones that would be suitable for him.
His eyes slowly travelled away, away from that damn colour, and focused on the purple robe: a suitable colour for him. The sacred, yet mysterious colour. He always stood, unwillingly, and perhaps unknowingly too, a few steps above the rest, radiating strength and intelligence. His knowledge was unending. He knew everything. But almost nothing was known about him. He knew all the secrets, while he remained a mysterious person. Even to the people close to him.
Even he, once upon a time counted as a person truly close to him, would lose his way, when thrown into the maze with questions about the older wizard.
The arms holding his body relaxed their hold, but the following words contradicted them.
"Do you allow me a chance?"
He nodded, knowing that the other would persist and knowing what outcome would appear in his battling mind. Right after it, he whispered an affirmative word, for the first action was not enough.
Not any more.
Ten, long fingers rested on his face, a thumb touching his closed lips, a long finger stroking his cheek, four fingers carefully examining black strands of hair.
A deep, sad sigh, the puff of air brushing against his own face, the force of the next exhale becoming stronger when distance disappeared. Who had crossed it, he did not know. Maybe he, or maybe himself, or maybe both.
The battle in his mind was closing to an end. Very predictable. The anger, the hatred, the loathing. Toward him. Toward himself. In the end, they would all vanish. Euphoria and bliss were all that would soon float in his mind.
He welcomed them. He hated them. And yet, in the end, he would do nothing to change it. Not even a tiny bit. For he knew that these feelings, this drug, would overpower him, if he ignored, and quench them. Time was a harsh teacher. He was an unsuitable student, refusing to learn.
Refusing to change.
Almost unbeknownst, his black eyes fixated again on the others.
Blackness.
I've purposefully left multiple things a little vague. The nature of their relationship, the meaning of some sentences or thoughts and what the result of the accident is. The last one should be clear: I've left enough hints. If not, read it again. If it still remains unclear, then review or send a PM.
The exact nature of this relationship, depends on your own view. I have written this with one in the back of my mind, but a different interpretation will work, too.