vii. drawn
You collapse on your four-poster bed, the curtains drawn, blocking you from the rest of the world. Your breath fights to leave your chest - the weighing realization trapping it inside you, pressing heavy and making the simplest tasks, such as breathing, feel impossible.
They say love hits you like a brick.
But the problem is you don't love him (right?).
You can feel your throat well, your heart flutter at the mere thought of him, and this just isn't right. You are his friend, and sometimes you're unsure whether he even considers you that, but nothing more - nothing more.
Because anything more...well, that would be wrong.
Wrong.
But there's just something about the way he makes you feel - as though he needs you, not Fabian, not you and Fabian, but only you. You've never experienced that before. And after years of shared friends, shared rooms, shared belongings, the thought of having something (someone) all to yourself, the thought of having something Fabian wouldn't want (and couldn't have)...well, that's rather appealing.
So maybe this, whatever this is, wouldn't be so bad. Maybe Regulus needs someone for himself, too.
(The only problem is he would never want you.)