Notes, disclaimers, etc: I told you you weren't getting anymore disclaimers. So this didn't take me so long to write. Well it actually did… anyway. The song used is "Fool" by Shakira, who is my new favorite artist. Go buy "Laundry Service" and be happy. Um.. yeah.
This chapter contains: angst!Lee, Hermione, cool lyrics, lots of ill-used British slang, lots of slash, allusions to twincest.
Chapter 21: This Pain Begins To Feel Like Pleasure…tell me lies, slap me on the face
just improvise—do something really clever
that will make me
hate your name forever…
You hate the way they sit together. Leaning against the tree, their shoulders touching. Bracing themselves against each other. Whenever George says something Fred throws his head back and laughs, exposing the soft skin of his neck.
You gave him that necklace but he has forgotten. He wears it out of habit and you suppose you should be flattered but it's probably because he just forgets to take it off.
You're sitting alone and maybe fifteen feet away Harry and Ron are giving you strange looks. Hermione is probably in the library again. You know you are scowling but you will blame it on the sun if you have to.
Ron approaches you because he knows you better. "Lee…" He says. "Are you okay?"
"I'm smashing." You glare up at him, his form conveniently blocking the sun. "Bloody smashing, Ron, so do me a favor and sod off for a bit."
He backs away and you hate the way he doesn't look at all like Fred, except for maybe his hair. But you noticed a long time ago that Ron's hair is darker. The way the sunlight filters through the leaves onto Fred and George you can see his hair gleaming. His head all aflame with flares of red and gold.
He backs away and the sun is back in your eyes and you keep looking into it until you can't stand it and turn away.
…but I can't help it if I'm just a fool
always having my heart set on you
'til the time you start changing the rules
I'll keep chasing the soles of your shoes…
At night you lie awake and listen to them talk. They never mention you. They talk instead about inane things, things that never really matter. Sometimes Fred cries in soft, breathy cries and you promise yourself you would never make him cry like that.
You don't need to ask why. You know very well how easy it is to fall in love with Fred. You imagine it must have been the same to fall in love with George. Even if they're not the same person as they're convinced they are.
He told you that it was like they were simple extensions of self. You'd wanted to scream that it was bullshit. You'd wanted to tell him about the way you spoke, about the cadence of your voice at night as compared to his. You wanted to tell him that you were right there in fucking front of him and all he had to do was get his head out of his ass.
You had just smiled sympathetically.
…got resigned from hearing my own story
every night I'm paying hell for glory
I'm embarassed but
I'm much more sorry…
He tells you look sullen. He tells you that your skin has that color to it, that residual blush. You're in love, aren't you, he asks, and you give him a dull stare.
Well, I can't tell you not to fall in love with someone who will never love you back because—here he shares a smile with George who is across the room but somehow in between you and him at the same time—because you never know, Lee, you never really know.
You're happy for him. Or you pretend to be anyway and it's good enough. He doesn't try looking past your smile anymore because frankly? He doesn't have time. He has things to do, a lover to kiss, a family to betray.
You can't say it doesn't bother you. That he chose his brother, who was so expressly verboten, over you. He knew you loved him from the way you kissed him at night and clung to him like you were slipping. You knew he didn't love you from the way he always looked past you.
You tried explaining to him one night but everything came out wrong. I know you don't feel like I do, you said, and it's shit. I know this is stupid and wrong and I know that it's just, well it's just shit. But I like you no it's more than that I like being with you and I could just sit here with you all day long and be happy because you're right here. I mean being here with you I smile just thinking about it because I well, I don't know, I don't fucking know, but I just want to always be around you.
He blinked and gave you a smile that hurt more than it was supposed to and said I'm sorry Lee, what did you say?
…all this pain begins to feel like pleasure
with my tears you'd make a sea of desert
salt my wounds and
I'll keep saying thank you…
You keep telling yourself that it's only because, well, all sorts of reasons really: the way his hair was pieced together with sunlight, the way he led you on, the stolen night in the shower, the way he had always been yours and not yours at the same time. The forbidden fruit and all that psychobabble.
You wish you believed it. Really, you do. Everything would be easier if this obsession that rages on your eyelids could simply be explained away; you could, maybe, sleep at night.
"You're in love with him, aren't you?" Hermione sits unceremoniously next to you. Gives you her no-nonsense look, lips pressed together and everything. "That's a very stupid idea."
"Well it really wasn't my bloody idea." You mumble, looking away. She's always been too good at reading people and lately she'd been watching you, at meals when you just picked at your food, in the common room when you pretended to study.
She tilts her head. Studies you with an odd look in her eye. "Well, obviously," she says, "it wasn't your idea, but." Stops. Tilts her head the other way and looks across the common room, at him. Looks at him smiling, his arm around George, his head resting on George's shoulder. Looks at him, happier than he has been all year. Looks back at you. "But he doesn't know, does he. And he's not in love with you."
"Yes, Hermione. I'm quite aware of that, thank you." You say and your voice is thick with irritation.
"Well then." She sits back with a satisfied look.
You stand, gather the books that you weren't really looking at. "If you think," You tell her softly, "If you think that it's that simple, you've never really loved anyone."
…but I can't help it if I'm just a fool
always having my heart set on you
'til the time you start changing the rules
I'll keep chasing the soles of your shoes…
He finds you lying on your bed, staring at nothing in particular. Your eyes are closed but you hear him coming and you know it's him by the way he walks.
"Lee." He sits on your bed without invitation. "I think… that we should talk."
"Okay."
You wait for him to begin but he doesn't. He shifts his weight and you can almost hear him chewing the inside of his cheek and you refuse to open your eyes. "Well… I… er." Deep breath. "I noticed that you seem really depressed lately and really angry and we never talk anymore and I thought that maybe I thought we could just—well that you might have something that you wanted to talk about. Because you know you were always there for me. And all." He finishes lamely, running out of steam and too embarassed to continue. He shifts his weight again. "Would you open your eyes?" He asks. "I keep thinking you're asleep."
You comply and look everywhere but at him. "So you think I want to talk about something because I've been depressed lately."
"You don't eat." He states and it's true, you can see your ribs now, stabbing outwards from your skin. "You never talk. Lee, you're like a shadow."
He seems to have forgotten that only a few weeks ago he was the same way. You focus your eyes on the ceiling and clench your teeth because you don't want to say what you do. "Well, I can't think of anything I have to talk about with you. Sorry."
"Oh." He sounds abashed. Ashamed. And confused. You've never so blatantly refused him and after all he was trying to help- but honestly what the hell could he do? He's trying but you won't let him now. Better for him to just forget you and keep living his wonderful life.
"Yeah." You close your eyes again. In your mind you are screaming for him to go away. You've already ruined his day. You're not trying to hurt him. You love him and you can't help it and he's still there, still trying to be a friend to you when all you want is for him to just disappear. Except you're not sure you'd be better off without him.
"Well…" He gets off your bed. "I just…" Struggling. "Lee, I…" He sighs. You open your eyes as if to prompt him to get the hell on with it. He gives you a wan smile. "I just hope you're happy, is all."
…fool…