The moment she first realizes she's in love with him is a sigh. And maybe that's wrong, but she's never imagined she'd ever fall in love, anyways.
It's a quaint kind of sigh, with cobblestone streets and a full moon peeking out next to wispy clouds and droplets of rain — not enough to soak, but enough to feel the drip-drip-drip on her hair.
It's a romantic kind of sigh, with soft guitar music and warm, dimly-lit streetlights and orange-red leaves scattered around the street — and one she picks up, to remember the night.
Maybe it's the atmosphere, she thinks, like a faint whisper of a smile, that's influencing her. But really, she knows it's not.
Maybe it's because it's too far away from home for mindless things like awkward silences or questionable pasts to matter, and that's influencing her. But really, she can't imagine it being that either.
Because she's taking it all in — the beautiful view, the gorgeous scenery. She's taking it all in, but her eyes keep drifting to him.
Everyone looks ethereal in this lighting, she tells herself. And he does: his eyes are reflecting the moon and the lights, but there's something about him, too, about the look in his eyes, that isn't quaint or romantic — there's a sparkle there, like he's got a secret that he won't share.
She thinks for a second, but just one, when he smiles at her with that sparkle, that she should say something — but she shakes her head, pushing away the thought. It's too risky. Too dangerous for both of them, and ridiculous to boot.
But that doesn't stop her from being in love with him, just the same.
—
The moment he first realizes he's in love with her is a frown. And maybe that's wrong, but he didn't want to fall for her, and certainly not that deep.
It's a worried sort of frown, with a gray tiled room that could not possibly be any more unassuming and an oath that they'll protect with to last breath — with an unnecessarily angry demeanor, one that he can't reveal to her because he's afraid she'll realize what it means.
It's an exasperated sort of frown, with a note passed on a piece of parchment that smells like her perfume and a bad joke she winks at him while saying to try to cheer him up — he can't help but keep the parchment, even though it'd be safer to burn it.
Maybe it's the atmosphere, he thinks, because he's so, so scared, and she's got it all together, that's influencing him. But really, he knows it's not.
Maybe it's because it's too dangerous now for mindless things like awkward silences or questionable pasts to matter, and that's influencing him. But really, he can't imagine it being that either.
Because he's taking it all in — the bland cream walls, the sign-up sheet with their names written on it. He's taking it all in, but his eyes keep drifting to her.
Everyone looks that composed, he tells himself. She's scared on the inside, just like him, and everyone in that pale, stark room with the harsh fluorescent lighting. But there's something different about her — there's a sparkle there, like she's been waiting for this all her life.
He thinks for a second, but just one, when she smiles at him with that sparkle, that he should say something — but he shakes her head, pushing away the thought. It's too risky. Too dangerous for both of them, and ridiculous to boot.
But that doesn't stop him from being in love with her, just the same.
—
And ultimately, life? It's just a collection of moments, mundane moments and romantic moments and worrying moments and everything in between. Moments where you're correct, and moments where you misunderstand, and moments that mean everything mixed with ones that mean absolutely nothing.
Sometimes, you can pinpoint the moments that shape your life — take them back to an exact place and time. Oftentimes, even those pinpoints are wrong, because really, though she likes to think that she was influenced by a romantic atmosphere, she started falling in love with him in sixth year, and really, though he likes to think that he was influenced by the imminent life-or-death situation, he started falling in love with her in sixth year, too.
A/N: Do I know exactly what I'm doing? Not really. Am I doing it? Yes. If you've somehow stumbled upon this story, I hope you enjoy it - do leave a review, I'd love to hear what everyone thinks about the story :)