Luna was soft. This, Ginny knew for a fact. Soft in every conceivable way, from the silky fray of her robes to the whispers she spoke in late at night.
Her touch was softest, smooth skin and small hands. Fingertips dancing across Ginny's face, down her shoulders. No sparks in their wake, never sparks. She was too gentle to leave sparks.
She left calmness instead, tracing spirals and and flowers on the redhead's back, listening to her speak. Sometimes she would simply take the girl's hand in her own and brush her fingers back over bruised knuckles. Bandaged haphazardly, full of small weeping wounds from Quidditch.
Ginny's favorite, were the warm nights. Hazy evenings spent in shorts and t-shirts, Luna carefully making constellations with Ginny's freckles. They sit like that- for god knows how long- Ginny leaning back against the headboard with Luna in her lap, the blonde's legs wrapped loosely around her waist as she sleepily caressed the Gryffindor's face.
Though Ginny loved receiving attention, she loved giving it too. And, there were plenty of other soft little Luna-things to be admired and adored.
Her hair, was one. A glorious tumble of silky blonde, that Ginny often threaded her fingers through. She loved the way it felt, the way it curled at the bottom. And as far as she knew, Luna loved it when she played with it.
The blonde had her own fair share of problems to work through. And Ginny wasn't always there to scare away any name-calling pricks. So on bad days, she would hold Luna close, resting her chin atop the girl's head and inhaling the scent of rain and cherry candy as she ran her hands through those honeygold tresses.
Her lips were soft too, leaving featherlight kisses on the Weasely girl's cheeks. After Quidditch games, in the mornings. Soft and light and lovely. Her voice had an airy dreamlike sound to it, quiet and cute. Her eyes, even. Everything about Luna Lovegood was soft and loveable. And as Ginny saw it, the opposite of herself.
Ginny's hands were rough, calloused. Her touch was scratchy and she figured it left embers on those she touched. Tiny, smouldering embers. Her hair wasn't nearly as fluffy as Luna's, instead laying flat against her face. A giant red mess. She did not have Luna's wide and varying knowledge, unable point out star-signs in the girl's smile or her eyes.
Luna assured her otherwise, quite often, but Ginny had a difficult time holding onto the idea that she was even semi-decent.
"I am fire," she stated in a mumble, half asleep with Luna in an empty Ravenclaw common room. "I burn and I destroy. I am not meant to be loved."
"Gin," the blonde murmured, "Ginny."
"Luna," she whispered back.
"Fire can be soft. Soft like candles." Luna nestled herself into the curve of Ginny's body, drawing a blanket over both of their shoulders. "Fire is warm, and on my own I am cold."