a/n: this was going to be about melt-downs, about quitting. It didn't work. Well, it did, but in a much different way. The content is really heavy, just as a warning.

LorcanLucy, another new to me pairing. I promise that I'll stop writing Lucy for a bit, but she wanted to star in this, so here she is.

Total word count: 2,571

our blackened paradise

She's a supernova, brighter than any of the stars in the navy sky whilst her energy, fire fire fire, explodes all over the universe. She lights up the entire night for one, two, three seconds, moments, heartbeats and then fades away. To where? He wonders, watching the shell of a girl, drained of all life and blood, her cheeks pale and body limp; where'd she go?

She's bright and pretty and just so picture perfect with rosebud lips and ebony hair and sweet as honey smile that melts off her face, washed away by a few crystal tears before her blue eyes dull and she becomes entirely vacant. Chin up, a grim line set on her mouth, and shoulders held rigidly, the very picture of stubborn bravery, for as long as she can bear before slumping over, defeated and deflated.

He thinks that if he reaches out and clenches his fist, he might be able to grab hold of her before she slips away, really truly gone. So he does, he reaches for a fist full of her but she's smoke and no matter how tightly he grips, she's gone.

Where?

Extinguished and anguished, no fight left in the girl who never backs down, never gives up. No fight to keep her upper lip stiff, so she cries and it's terrible but beautiful and oh so very wrong. He holds up a shaking finger to timidly bush away the tears. She flinches back, as if his touch will be fire. Numbness sets over his bones, freezing his arm, hand, fingers, looking him in this ugly place.

"Go," she commands, her voice wavering with indecision that renders her frail.

"No," he responds quickly, determined to stay. His act, a kind one, causes fresh tears to brim over on her already red eyes. He tries to pull her into a hug, one like the many that she used to pepper him with. She jerks away, the unfamiliar movement ungraceful. She tries to speak, an apology or accusation, neither of them know which, but no words come from her strawberry lips. An untimely hiccup steals away the rest of her dignity. She makes a low guttural sound, a half articulated command for him to leave, but he pretends not to understand and stays seated next to her anyways.

"I'll kill him," he offers, his voice low with anger, "I'll kill him for you, for touching you."

She smiles sadly and shakes her head, eyes trained on her lap, hands folded complacently. "I could never ask that of you. And it wasn't all his fault, anyway."

"What the hell do you mean?" He explodes and his anger is everywhere, consuming everything, and he doesn't mean to but he's yelling at her and she looks even more frightened and sad and oh god, she's crying some more. Instinctively, he reaches out but she's not her, or not like how she usually is, and so she denies him the comfort of an apology and just cries harder.

"Luce," he breathes, and she just looks at him with those clear blue eyes that shine with unshed tears, and he doesn't know if he's ever seen despair like this, certainly never from her.

She sees him hurting and she can't stand it. Her fingers itch towards him and his scent is everywhere and if she just reached out, she could touch him and be in his arms, but she can't because there's a wall between them even if he can't see it, and he'll never break through. It hurts her, which hurts him, which hurts her some more. She thinks she may be dying from the pain of it all, but then his hand brushes hers and she is far too wrapped up in her own thoughts to pull away and now she feels full of light because his fire burns away all the darkness she sees inside.

But then his tender face isn't his anymore, so she leaps up and away because she can't stand to be near him- no she's can't stand the image of that sweet smile twisting into an ugly grimace being replayed behind the dark of her eyes. It's not him, it's not him, it's not him; she thinks so hard that the words themselves fall from her lips. It's not his lips, his sneer she's imagining, but the features are so similar, though the people are not, that she has to back away.

In her stumbled retreat, she back-peddles hastily and runs into a wall, the surface of which painfully collides with the back of her head. She cries out, the terrified noise causing him to flinch.

Dark shadows play across his face, a lace of light and dark, the white moon and the black unknown. She wishes she could shine a blinding light on him, cover him with luminescence and purity, at least to her traitorous eyes; but she can't, so she can't look at him but he's him, so she can't look away, and, oh, she's crying some more.

"Just talk to me." He cries out, his voice strangled and eyes anguished.

She wets her lips, experimentally trying to knock enough courage into her slim frame to provide him with an adequate answer. For a moment, she gapes like a fish, mouth opening and closing repeatedly. He fears that this is all the closure he will get, but, eyes hard and voice robotic, she begins.

"He looks like you," she whispers to the still night air. He doesn't think that she's talking to him anymore; instead she's just speaking to the night and the moon. "He looks just like you. But his voice is different, sharper, and his eyes aren't kind like yours'.

You and I had just parted ways for the night, the way we always did, and then he came. I thought he was you for a moment, that maybe you had forgotten something here and were coming back for it, but his walk was too brisk and not smooth at all like yours is.

I didn't run. I could've run, I should've run!" She cries out, her voice ringing off of the cold stone walls. "But I didn't.

He walked up to me like he owned the place. He pushed me against the wall, my head hit it and it hurt! He just laughed. He called me all sorts of dirty names, telling me I was a slut and a whore, telling me I was getting just what I deserved." A flicker of real emotion played over her face, a mix of deep sadness and absolute terror. He longs to pull her close, to tell her that he'll fix the problem, he'll fix her. But he can't, so he doesn't, and her petite features smooth back into a seamless mask that matches her toneless words.

"He told me that if I was willing to sleep with a mudblood, I must want it pretty bad. I didn't know what he was talking about, George and I never did any of that!

I tried to tell him that he was wrong, but he didn't listen. He put his hands everywhere, they were hot and sweaty and I tried to swat them away but he used them to pin me down.

He put his mouth on mine, and I couldn't breathe. He was choking me with his tongue and strangling me with his hands and then he began unbuttoning my shirt. He wasn't careful, ripping all the buttons off the strings. They fell to the floor with repeated pings, like the sound hail makes as it hits the empty basin of the fountain. The hail was everywhere, the pings were deafening, and then it was melting and moist and he was pressed against me with his mouth sucking and biting even as I screamed no.

He didn't stop." She quiets for a while, her breathing heavy as sobs hitch in her throat and the tears keep falling. It was as if by saying the story, she was finally feeling it, and so she cried for her misfortune. "Why didn't he stop?" She asks softly, allowing the question to hang in the air just like the dust particles that wave in the faint light. He lets the silence fall, heavy and oppressive, over the pair. He guiltily reddens at the cowardly act, wishing that he knew just what to say to stop her tears and make her smile light his whole world up, just like it always does, but he doesn't know exactly what words to use and she doesn't know what she needs to hear and they're both silent.

"I would've," he tells her after a long minute. She gazes up at him, lashes wet with freshly fallen tears, "I would never have done anything you wouldn't have wanted. I would've stopped."

"I know," she trails off, the word unfinished in her mouth as she wonders what his point is. The fact that he wouldn't have hurt her does not alleviate the fact that she was hurt. She tries to articulate this, but he speaks first, voice fast with rising confidence.

"He and I are different people. I wouldn't have done that, but he did. You're upset because you keep looking at me and seeing him, but we're not the same at all." A flush rises in her cheeks as she defends her best friend from her own terrible imaginings.

"Of course you wouldn't have done that! You're so, so…. You! And he, he's mean and terrible and wicked. Oh, of course I know that you're different people and you would never do that to me." He moves with the passionate outburst, taking slow, gliding steps towards her. He moves at a snail's pace, giving her all the time in the world to escape if she needs to. She finds herself wanting to stay, and so does such.

A few moments later finds him still ambling in her direction, and her frozen in place, a look of mixed horror and wanting swallowing her pretty features.

And then he's right in front of her, so close that his warm breath fans across her face and she feels like crying because this is far too similar to before but he's not his brother, he's not his brother, he's not his brother.

"You're not your brother," she affirms, and he nods.

"I'm not him," he breathes, "so tell me to leave and I will,"

She opens her mouth to tell him no, go away, but the words get lost in her head, which is spinning because his hand is reaching up to brush a few strands of dark hair out from her eyes. She tilts her chin up to allow him the easiest few of the errant locks, his green eyes widen with surprise, he had expected her to jump out of his way like before.

Their skin connects and it's like fire but ice and it burns so cold. She's dizzy and breathless and slides down the wall to escape his burning. He takes this retreat to be from loathing or fear, or a combination of the two, and leaps back, putting as much distance between her body and his as possible. He can't help but feel panicked that he may have hurt her, that he may be no better than his brother, the causer of all this pain.

"No," she whispers, her voice airy, "don't leave. Stay. I didn't mean to," but she has no more words and he's not coming closer and her head is spinning but why won't he come over here and burn away all the thoughts that plague her poisoned mind?

He doesn't move, so she reaches out a small hand to pull on his larger, calloused one that hangs at his side. She tugs gently and he responds favorably, which elicits a small smile from her. It's like the clouds are parting and she's the sun, she's always his sun, and he can't help but move closer because she's her and he's him and they've always felt like they were being pulled together.

He sits next to her, neglecting her negative reaction previously on account of her current urging. She settles in next to him, allowing their skin to brush in a few places, sending fire up her spine and raising goose-bumps on the affected areas. He gives her a fond grin and she retorts with a well worn smile and they're them, the way they were before, but they're more than just that because they're moving together in a way that seems more than innocent. Her eyes flutter closed, but he hesitates, afraid to cause her any more distress. This pause isn't acceptable to her, and she pulls him close and they're connected and it's bliss for both, though she's terrified the entire time.

He's not his brother, becomes her mantra as his hands settle loosely around her waist, his lips kind not demanding against her own. She thanks him mentally for this small comfort, his understanding and not pushing her boundaries. She thinks she might have built a wire fence between the two of them, and he can touch her through it but he'll never actually be able to cross and press her to him in the way they both long for.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He asks after her lips stop moving against his and her body feels limp, like it has lost all of its electric tension, under his hands.

"I'm fine," she mutters, but she doesn't feel it and he knows, he knows her. So he stands up and offers her a hand. Blearily, she takes it, her head now pounding with a swirling rush of emotions that leave her unable to process anything but the fact that she wants him far away and needs him so much closer.

He's not his brother, so he leads her back to their common room and sits her down on a couch, pausing to summon a blanket, a pillow, and a warm mug of tea. He gives her the tea, which she drinks with heavy eyes, and then lays her down, tucks her in, and brushes his lips against her forehead. She doesn't flinch.

"I love you," he whispers to her still form, convinced that she's asleep.

"I love you too," she murmurs back, and he smiles bigger than the moon because this means that maybe she doesn't hate him for looking like his brother, something he never dreamed would be a problem until tonight.

From her spot on the couch, she falls asleep with a small smile on her face. Where before a face would have haunted her dreams, angry and demanding, now the same face smiles down on her and she feels safe.

Because he's not his brother, okay? And he'll take good care of her, he'll never take advantage of her, because he loves her.

a/n: Awkward ending. Oh well. Thoughts?

If you liked this enough to favorite or put on alert, please don't forget to review!