He was getting just so SICK of it.
He'd walk down the halls, see the happy couples doing their... THING. You know what they did
(He was thirty five. He'd never done it, so why should they?)
He'd punish them of course, but it still bothered him.
It wasn't... jealousy.
(That was exactly what it was)
It wasn't an... inferiority complex
(Though it was close)
He just felt... inadequate in some way.
And if there's one thing he hated, it was feeling inadequate to kids half his age.
(There must have been SOME benefit to turning thirty five)
"That's why," he said aloud, sorting through his words and turning a pinker shade of pale than he would have liked to admit he could've turned. "That's why I figure it's best I choose you."
You could cut the tension in the room with a knife
(That's what he needed, a KNIFE. Then he would never have to feel that damn "emotional" system again)
"You do understand, don't you?"
It was the moment of truth.
"You're the only person I trust."
Ech, he hated that word. It was his experience that trust was about as useful as his left pinky toe.
"I mean, the only person that I'd... want to... if you know what I mean..."
He sounded like those gibbering teens he hated so.
(He was thirty five. He had recently forgotten he was once a gibbering teen.)
"Right. No use in beating around the bush. You're the one."
He stood straight, feet together, hands at his sides.
A determined look graced his countenance.
(He couldn't believe he was THIS determined about... THIS. How banal.)
"Right."
Silence was so awkward.
(He loved it. Except when he was victim of it.)
"Let's get on with it then."
(Why was his heart beating so damn loud? This was so contrived)
He felt the cool glass press against his lips.
(1, 2, 3, 4, 5...)
Now he knew why he had avoided it. But at least he had DONE it. That was the important thing.
He pulled the mirror away and stared discerningly at the smudge on the glass.
(He hated imperfection)
Polished it clean.
"Professor Snape, sir..."
(He turned peach. Again.)
"I... um...Wait, what are you doing?"
Quick, quick, use that brain that you pride yourself on.
"None of your business! Twenty points from Gryffindor!"
Retreating footsteps..
(The most pleasant sound.)
"Right-o. Well then..."
(His reflection blinked back at him)
He closed the drawer.
He left the class.
He got on with his life.
(Still bitter, but fulfilled)
Fin.
A/N: My new genre. Faux Angst. Is it funny? Is it sad? It's a bizarre and not quite pleasant milkshake of both. RnR and make me feel like a good person :-D
He'd walk down the halls, see the happy couples doing their... THING. You know what they did
(He was thirty five. He'd never done it, so why should they?)
He'd punish them of course, but it still bothered him.
It wasn't... jealousy.
(That was exactly what it was)
It wasn't an... inferiority complex
(Though it was close)
He just felt... inadequate in some way.
And if there's one thing he hated, it was feeling inadequate to kids half his age.
(There must have been SOME benefit to turning thirty five)
"That's why," he said aloud, sorting through his words and turning a pinker shade of pale than he would have liked to admit he could've turned. "That's why I figure it's best I choose you."
You could cut the tension in the room with a knife
(That's what he needed, a KNIFE. Then he would never have to feel that damn "emotional" system again)
"You do understand, don't you?"
It was the moment of truth.
"You're the only person I trust."
Ech, he hated that word. It was his experience that trust was about as useful as his left pinky toe.
"I mean, the only person that I'd... want to... if you know what I mean..."
He sounded like those gibbering teens he hated so.
(He was thirty five. He had recently forgotten he was once a gibbering teen.)
"Right. No use in beating around the bush. You're the one."
He stood straight, feet together, hands at his sides.
A determined look graced his countenance.
(He couldn't believe he was THIS determined about... THIS. How banal.)
"Right."
Silence was so awkward.
(He loved it. Except when he was victim of it.)
"Let's get on with it then."
(Why was his heart beating so damn loud? This was so contrived)
He felt the cool glass press against his lips.
(1, 2, 3, 4, 5...)
Now he knew why he had avoided it. But at least he had DONE it. That was the important thing.
He pulled the mirror away and stared discerningly at the smudge on the glass.
(He hated imperfection)
Polished it clean.
"Professor Snape, sir..."
(He turned peach. Again.)
"I... um...Wait, what are you doing?"
Quick, quick, use that brain that you pride yourself on.
"None of your business! Twenty points from Gryffindor!"
Retreating footsteps..
(The most pleasant sound.)
"Right-o. Well then..."
(His reflection blinked back at him)
He closed the drawer.
He left the class.
He got on with his life.
(Still bitter, but fulfilled)
Fin.
A/N: My new genre. Faux Angst. Is it funny? Is it sad? It's a bizarre and not quite pleasant milkshake of both. RnR and make me feel like a good person :-D
