"If only I'd thought of the right words,
I could have held onto your heart,
If only I'd thought of the right words,
I wouldn't be breaking apart
All my pictures of you."
-Pictures of You by The Cure

Staring at the dark again, you left your silhouette upon my pillow.

The darkness of this cool night engulfs me, drowning my hopes in fears and suffocating my optimism with suspicions that have long been growing.

Could it be my fault? Could it be that the influence of a dark creature such as myself has drawn out in you the evil tendencies that have long lurked beneath thewave of your bubbly personality and charm? No, you couldn't have joined them. I know this for sure. I know that you would prefer death to joining those close-minded purebloods... Though there was a time when I knew for sure that you loved me, and we can both see where that has brought us.

Is it bad that I still desperately love you? That I can manage to make excuses in my mind for your strange absences and hollow excuses? Perhaps it is in fact bad and perhaps I am a fool for it. Though I would much rather be the fool who knows where the one he loves goes at night than the fool who is confused by your new habits more than you can imagine. How this happened, I don't know. How we grew so far apart in so little time is beyond to me. The little talk we share now is strained and tense. No laughter is to be found in our home.

Our bed is empty without you sprawled all over it, having no concern for where I might be laying. It took me so long to grow used to sleeping with someone else, touching someone else, being touched by someone else, especially someone who has no concern for personal space. And now it will take me even longer to grow accustomed to the lack of all those things you showed me. I know all too well what it means to have people rudely invading your space and doing that to others was always an irrational fear of mine. And you were always the opposite. You were always my mirror image—and still are. Tall, dark hair, tan skin, pale eyes, muscles, outgoing personality reflected short height, light hair, pale skin, deep eyes, slight build and shy nature. But somehow, despite how completely unalike we are, we worked well together. Pretty damn well, if I say so.

Where you were ready to spend any amount of money on any thing, I was for conserving our money for darker days—and we agreed on a modest middle ground. Where you wanted dark colors, I wanted light—and so our home has brilliant contrast that our few guests have always been in awe by. Where you wanted parties, I wanted quiet nights alone together—and so we lived a life of variety. Between the two of us, a grand compromise was born of two distinctly different people. And where you never held back and had no shame, I was content with blending in the background and for minimal physical contact—and that left us with the perfect relationship in the eyes of others. As shy as I am, you could always convince me to relax and listen to you. The result of your power over me was many nights alone, locked up in our room with only these sheets to bear witness to your level of total control over me.

Have you forgotten all of that? Have you forgotten the years we've known each other as friends, the years we've been together as so much more than that? Or have you found someone else? I need closure, I need explanations, I need to know what it is you are hiding from me or I fear that I shall do something drastic. Light words from me, I know, always the one to say that I'll do something drastic but always the one to play the coward and sink back into nothingness, but the silence you bring and the secrets you hold from me are too much to bear. I could never keep my secrets from you, but in turn you always seemed to have something to hide, something that you never shared with me, something that you never seemed to trust me enough to share.

The door slowly creaks open.

I know that it's you. You always come in around this time—when you sleep in this bed at all. Sometimes the couch seems to suit you better, or the guestroom, or whatever other bed you spend your nights away from me in. Be that bed empty or occupied by another person, I'm not sure that I'm ready to know.

You always do the same thing when you sneak in like this. You quietly close the door and toe your shoes off into the corner by the bureau. You take off everything except for your boxers, drape it all on the chair, fold your trousers halfheartedly and climb into bed with a tired sigh. You never touch me, and if you do by accident you are quick to move, as if I will contaminate you with some horrible disease by lengthened contact. You lie there for a long time until you fall asleep. You know that I'm awake, just as I know that you are, and we both know this. The silence is awkward, though we are both denying the others' presence and feigning sleep. If only you would answer my questions, just tell me where you go all these nights, perhaps I could trust you enough to help bring us back to something resembling the love we used to have.

We never talk like we used to. Nor do we kiss or hug; no small brushes of hands or coy smiles are shared. We can't even lock eyes! Do you ever have the urge to hold me against you like you used to? Or to wake me up before you leave in the morning to kiss me good bye? I do, I miss it dearly. I miss how we used to be. I miss you. I don't know when we were reduced to this—shadows of our former selves, the echoes of a once great love fallen to darkness. Could we have done something to prevent it? What could I have done? What can I change about me that would bring you, all of you, back? Maybe if I noticed it sooner I could have prevented it. Maybe if I had shown you more love, held back less, followed more of your stupid schemes, maybe I wouldn't have lost you in the first place. This desperation to get you back is like a hole in the middle of me—something missing that was once there, something I didn't realize I had until it was torn from me and stomped on in the dirt and left to die. The pressure builds in me. I feel helpless… I feel close to tears—a feeling I have always hated.

And thought you lie next to me in our bed, to me you aren't really there. I still see that silhouette upon my pillow—the outline of a man I used to know—and nothing more.


A/n— I have never done this scene in the S/R relation ship (before Wormtail's betrayal, the time when Remus is suspected of being the spy), and decided to give it a try. I don't like how it turned out and I'll probably try it again sometime. I've been very busy, and my writing hasn't had my full attention lately, sorry!

The first line isn't mine. It's from the song Free by Train.

Please review! If you have constructive criticism, I'll love you forever.

:-:silver-sunn101:-: