Warm; comforting; delicate; soft.
So soft.
Until that evening, Severus hadn't had the faintest idea how nurturing, how delectable the touch of another human being could feel like.
After begging her to stay with him (him, begging), she had not hesitated for one single second. Immediately vanishing the tattered tray containing the empty cup of tea and the white, chipped plate full of lemon biscuit crumbs, she had transfigured her clothes into a simple set of comfortable pyjamas. Then, kindly looking into his eyes, she had proceeded to lie down next to him on the worn sofa and had covered both their bodies with that ridiculously thin blanket of his. Facing him, she had continued to brush his hair back, to caress his cheek until, out of sheer exhaustion, he had fallen asleep with her small hand resting on his face. Soft.
So soft.
Severus woke up to the luscious feeling of another person's skin under his fingertips. Somehow, Hermione had succumbed into a restful slumber, face deeply buried into his neck. He could taste the familiar, delicious scent of vanilla and strawberries emanating from her impossible long, thick curly hair while his right hand, out of its own volition, drew nonsensical patterns over the bare skin of her tantalising back.
He took a few moments to study her calm features, gently placing the lightest of kisses on her smooth forehead. His heart twinged with sorrow when she exhaled a sigh of contentment.
He could not do this to her. He could not trap this incredible, beautiful, kind soul into his world of despair, darkness, guilt and filth.
He would let her go.
"In a minute… Just one more minute," Severus thought, the feeling of exquisite skin still under his fingertips, under his lips.
Soft.
So soft.