This is a series of short stories formatted off the fanfic100 challenge on livejournal(dot come). It can also be found under the name "harmony100" on livejournal. There will eventually be 100 ficlets on here. For now, this is the first one. Pairing is obviously Harry/Hermione. Please critique or comment; it helps me immensely. This is also my catchall disclaimer for the entire thing: I don't own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with it.
Writer's Choice, #96
Confessions
He always catches her fixing her face in the morning. She comes to him natural and leaves half cabaret girl. At least, that's what he thinks.
She always catches him watching her from the doorway. She fights a losing battle, trying not to look at his body as he leans bare against the doorframe, completely nonchalant. Why is she even bothering to put on blush? All she has to do is see his knowing grin and her cheeks redden.
"Why do you do that?" he asks for what has to be the thousandth time.
"Do what?" she asks, playing for time to come up with a new, better excuse. She knows she'll fail.
"You know. That. With the pencil and the mascara and everything. You put on too much. Why?"
She sighs, taking the cap off her eyeliner and leaning closer to the compact in her lap to line her brown eyes. He's always found it amusing that she sits on his toilet, directly in front of the mirror, and uses her little one instead.
"You know why. They expect me to wear makeup."
Silence follows. He knows exactly to whom she's referring. They who are consistently brought up on these mornings, but left unspoken on the preceding nights. He's sullen now, a mixture of guilt and anger welling inside. The anger wins out in the end. It's their fault that he's like this, that she's like this. It's their fault that she leaves in the morning, never mind the makeup.
He nods, instead of speaking. There's no use wasting his voice arguing with her anymore. She bites her lip, contemplating whether or not to go to him. She decides against it. She can't tell him now; she isn't that brave, not when it comes to him. She turns to powder her face, her finishing step. There's no use of putting anything on her lips until later, he'll just kiss it off when she leaves.
"Do you have to do it here?"
He's found his voice again and it's pathetic to his ears. He hates himself for whining. His plea reaches something in her, though. She turns to him, questioning silently.
"It's just, I know you're putting it on for-- for him. For everyone else."
He's staring at the tiled floor now. His voice broke on his words. He feels so weak. Why can't he be as indifferent as her? Why can't he pretend that their frequent nights spent together in secret aren't killing him?
"Actually," she says delicately, closing her compact, "it's for my interview."
"Your interview?" He's just curious enough to look up at her over his glasses. "I thought you liked your job."
"Oh, I do! It's just, I'm not very happy with the location. I have an interview at ten to certify that I'm switching offices."
"Where are you moving to?" he asks, his voice small. He can't take it if she's even farther away.
She drops his gaze, gathering her courage. When she looks up, she looks not at him, but at a spot just to his right. "Here."
He's dimly aware that his mouth has fallen open. No. No! She can't: it's not possible. The only thing worse than her moving farther away would be her moving to the city he lives in. He'll have to leave.
"You're moving here?"
She nods, still not quite meeting his eye.
"With him?" His voice is strangled, almost not there.
Her eyes go to the rug beneath her feet. Almost imperceptibly, she shakes her head. "No. No, I'm not."
He stares at her, at a loss of what to say.
"I broke it off on Saturday," she continues. "I told him everything. He's not speaking to me. His family's been avoiding me. I wouldn't suggest trying to contact any of them soon."
"So you're moving here to get away from them?"
"No. I'm moving here to be with you."
Something clicks in his head as she finally looks at him. He's across the bathroom in less than a second, pulling her into his arms. Her compact clatters to the floor, but she doesn't care.