It was wrong. It was wrong in so many ways, but I couldn't bring myself to care. Because, it just felt so right.
But it wasn't.
There was always a shadow lurking behind us as we'd kiss, bodies pressed up against one another so close—too close. A shadow of knowledge.
We knew it was wrong. The puzzle of our lives was shattering, and we were jamming pieces into spaces where they normally don't go—shouldn't go.
But, oh god, just feeling the desperation of your fingers in my hair, the way your lips would utter my name… and hell it wouldn't have mattered what you moaned in that moment, just the general hitch of your voice was enough to make me weak in the knees.
How did I feel so completely whole, having you near me? Your breath—a shallow flutter across my sweaty neck as you mumbled incoherent words against it, still caught up in the sensations of your body.
You weren't supposed to make me feel whole. Oh god, you were supposed to be the one to break me.
Not fix me; never fix me.
I couldn't help it; I'd go back to you every night. Your hands would travel across my skin causing my breath to catch, each gasp slowly turning into a drawn out moan as your tongue searched my body.
I couldn't understand the day you told me you loved me.
Holy hell, were we ever messed up.
Because, dear god, I said it back… and the glow of your face could match the glow of the fire burning in the Slytherin common. The kiss we shared soon after was so tender, that I felt constricted and yet so free at the same time.
I couldn't let go of you, you were my life line. Your lips connected to mine, forcefully, and your arms linked around my neck proved that you couldn't let go of me either.
And we never thought it would get to a point such as that.
Since when were you to be my entire life—my entire world? A better question: How on earth did I become yours?
We never answer these questions, not even now. They remain unanswered, and when you leave for weeks at a time, there's a chance you won't come back and the answers will never be revealed.
But every time—every single time—you do come back, and I only just realize then how worried I was.
Those nights, you'd enter the room and keep the lights off. Then you'd tuck yourself into bed, and hold me tight against your frame, never once believing I was truly asleep—because I never was. I'd be anxious and worried and anticipating your return.
It was those nights, that you'd whisper in my ear how much you loved me, and it was those nights that I couldn't even possibly consider the notion that this was wrong.
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