Tears Run Cold
The waiting was the main problem of it all. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was the waiting. He had waited to get his letter to Hogwarts, he had waited to get on his house's quidditch team, he was waiting at that very moment. This time was different though. This time, he was waiting for her. Waiting for her to answer him. This was the worst type of wait of all. This was the wait that really determined the rest of his life. But who was he kidding? She was a free spirit, no one like her would ever consent to being a Quidditch wife. He hugged his knees anxiously against his chest and silenced the skeptical thoughts in his head. He loved her, and hoped she would also love him enough to say yes. But what would a yes do for him? Why it would make him happy for ever, wouldn't it? He thought so at least. But one could never be quite sure of these things. He felt so uncertain of himself.
Now he knew how it felt to be the one waiting. Waiting for her answer for a change. She was in charge this time, in charge over him perhaps, but her own feelings were a completely different matter. She still didn't know what she would say to him, how she would react to his proposition. How would she react? What would she say? What was there to say? Not all that much it seemed, as she was simply sitting there, next to him, on the rock by the lake, thinking it over. It should have been an easy decision, he was supposed to be the love of her life. So why was she so unsure?
He looked back, in her second year, he had hit on her mercilessly. She had been completely oblivious to his advances. She was such an innocent back then, she still was.
She'd gone about things all wrong when she was younger, didn't know how to cope with him. Sure, he was hot back then, was even more so now, but she'd flown off the handle. She liked him, had since she'd met him. Hell, at the moment, she could almost wager that she loved him. Back then though, she hadn't been so sure. Yeah, it was the same old story, girl meets boy, girl likes boy and doesn't tell him, boy hits on girl, girl doesn't notice, someone tells girl that boy is hitting on girl, girl gets confident, goes about telling boy she likes him all the wrong way, boy teases girl mercilessly about it for the rest of the year.
Of course, the year after that, he had stayed away from her for quite a long time. But whenever he saw her in the halls, he couldn't help but notice how pretty she was looking.
She noticed that he had changed his hair over the summer, she liked it. A lot.
About halfway through the year, he got up the nerve to try it again, you know, the whole "I'm gonna walk past you quite often and whisper audibly to my friend just how pretty you are".
She saw through his plan, it was so transparent. But it worked. She went to all the Quidditch games, sate right behind his goal posts. Stared at his back for huge amounts of time at once. Every time. But she didn't have the courage to put her heart on the line again.
She had seemed to be responding to him, but then it had all just stopped. Sure, she went to the games, but that was the extent of it. That was all there was. They won the cup that year. She was in the crowd that day, but maybe it was for her other friends who were on the team. She was so young that whole time. Sure, she was smart for her age, but not smart in the ways of the world, she didn't know what to do, never had.
He graduated that year, went to play quidditch professionally. He was good, and had an adoring bunch of fans who thought the same. She wasn't one of them. He rationalized. She wouldn't sink to that level, join the fan club, scream his name at the games. She was too good for that.
That wasn't the reason. She couldn't stand to see him. She had screwed everything up. She knew that, or at least thought that.
Really, it wasn't her fault. He'd tried pressuring her, sweet talking, all his tricks. He was a nice guy really, but wasn't really sure what to do back then.
Now she was graduated, the ceremony had been that afternoon. It had been three, maybe four years since they'd seen each other, and he was back.
He wanted her to know that he still liked her, loved her even. And even when he asked it was out of the blue. He didn't know what he was doing, but it felt right somehow.
So here she was, thinking about it. Why would she be thinking about it? They hadn't seen each other in years, and had never even gone out.
He hated to admit it, but he had cried. Cried night after night over the loss of her.
She'd cried too. Still convinced that she had been the one to mess things up, her tears had run hot, and then cold as her heart mirrored the tears.
He wanted her to say yes so badly. Didn't know why, only that he loved her.
She thought more, it must be an agonizing wait for him.
It was.
"Sorry."
That was it. She had walked out of his life, just like that, a bland expression on her face. Amazing how she held the power to crush someone in one word. That was it, sorry.
The waiting was the main problem of it all. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was the waiting. He had waited to get his letter to Hogwarts, he had waited to get on his house's quidditch team, he was waiting at that very moment. This time was different though. This time, he was waiting for her. Waiting for her to answer him. This was the worst type of wait of all. This was the wait that really determined the rest of his life. But who was he kidding? She was a free spirit, no one like her would ever consent to being a Quidditch wife. He hugged his knees anxiously against his chest and silenced the skeptical thoughts in his head. He loved her, and hoped she would also love him enough to say yes. But what would a yes do for him? Why it would make him happy for ever, wouldn't it? He thought so at least. But one could never be quite sure of these things. He felt so uncertain of himself.
Now he knew how it felt to be the one waiting. Waiting for her answer for a change. She was in charge this time, in charge over him perhaps, but her own feelings were a completely different matter. She still didn't know what she would say to him, how she would react to his proposition. How would she react? What would she say? What was there to say? Not all that much it seemed, as she was simply sitting there, next to him, on the rock by the lake, thinking it over. It should have been an easy decision, he was supposed to be the love of her life. So why was she so unsure?
He looked back, in her second year, he had hit on her mercilessly. She had been completely oblivious to his advances. She was such an innocent back then, she still was.
She'd gone about things all wrong when she was younger, didn't know how to cope with him. Sure, he was hot back then, was even more so now, but she'd flown off the handle. She liked him, had since she'd met him. Hell, at the moment, she could almost wager that she loved him. Back then though, she hadn't been so sure. Yeah, it was the same old story, girl meets boy, girl likes boy and doesn't tell him, boy hits on girl, girl doesn't notice, someone tells girl that boy is hitting on girl, girl gets confident, goes about telling boy she likes him all the wrong way, boy teases girl mercilessly about it for the rest of the year.
Of course, the year after that, he had stayed away from her for quite a long time. But whenever he saw her in the halls, he couldn't help but notice how pretty she was looking.
She noticed that he had changed his hair over the summer, she liked it. A lot.
About halfway through the year, he got up the nerve to try it again, you know, the whole "I'm gonna walk past you quite often and whisper audibly to my friend just how pretty you are".
She saw through his plan, it was so transparent. But it worked. She went to all the Quidditch games, sate right behind his goal posts. Stared at his back for huge amounts of time at once. Every time. But she didn't have the courage to put her heart on the line again.
She had seemed to be responding to him, but then it had all just stopped. Sure, she went to the games, but that was the extent of it. That was all there was. They won the cup that year. She was in the crowd that day, but maybe it was for her other friends who were on the team. She was so young that whole time. Sure, she was smart for her age, but not smart in the ways of the world, she didn't know what to do, never had.
He graduated that year, went to play quidditch professionally. He was good, and had an adoring bunch of fans who thought the same. She wasn't one of them. He rationalized. She wouldn't sink to that level, join the fan club, scream his name at the games. She was too good for that.
That wasn't the reason. She couldn't stand to see him. She had screwed everything up. She knew that, or at least thought that.
Really, it wasn't her fault. He'd tried pressuring her, sweet talking, all his tricks. He was a nice guy really, but wasn't really sure what to do back then.
Now she was graduated, the ceremony had been that afternoon. It had been three, maybe four years since they'd seen each other, and he was back.
He wanted her to know that he still liked her, loved her even. And even when he asked it was out of the blue. He didn't know what he was doing, but it felt right somehow.
So here she was, thinking about it. Why would she be thinking about it? They hadn't seen each other in years, and had never even gone out.
He hated to admit it, but he had cried. Cried night after night over the loss of her.
She'd cried too. Still convinced that she had been the one to mess things up, her tears had run hot, and then cold as her heart mirrored the tears.
He wanted her to say yes so badly. Didn't know why, only that he loved her.
She thought more, it must be an agonizing wait for him.
It was.
"Sorry."
That was it. She had walked out of his life, just like that, a bland expression on her face. Amazing how she held the power to crush someone in one word. That was it, sorry.