Prompt: lamp
For Laura because I love her and CharScor and aldfkdjasfklasjdf. ily
It's clenched fist meets bedside lamp.
It's bedside lamp meets hardwood floor.
It's too grey eyes meet blue, and this is how the end begins.
xXx
The glass shattered on the floor glitters in the fading afternoon sun. It leaves a trail like incriminating breadcrumbs connecting the two of you, reflecting the brokenness you've tried to hide. But you just can't do it anymore. You can't pretend that this is working, or that his scent doesn't trigger memories you've tried and failed to recreate, because he is so, so close and yet, not close enough.
Because you are broken, and broken men do desperate things, like look for comfort in the arms of boys who don't know better yet, who haven't learned to be cautious. And of all the boys in all the world, it had to be him, didn't it? It had to be Scorpius Malfoy.
And the tragedy of it is he has no clue what he's done. He doesn't know that he just can't help being himself. He can't help not being somebody else with that same cold, Malfoy stare. That same violent streak clashing with yours until something or someone hits the floor, clashing like your mouth against his, silently praying for someone to put the fire inside you out. His fingers splayed across your back like flames licking at your ribcage threatening to invade, but you could never let him in. Not really.
And it doesn't even matter now, anyway, because all you can feel is his radiating stare from across the room, burning you with that same goddamn righteous anger that you used to love and hate, that you've missed so much but it's not the same. Because you can't even feel the sting of his parting words and scorpions simply can't be dragons.
Besides, you're used to being burned, aren't you, Charlie?
You're used to picking up the pieces.
xXx
It's clenched fist meets bedroom wall.
It's weary face meets empty hands.
It's blue eyes meet their own reflection, and this is how it always ends.
It always ends.