acidpop25: "Flicker," PG
Title: Flicker
Author: acidpop25
Rating: PG
Prompt Set: 100.1
Prompt: #61, "Bewildered"
Word Count: 203
Summary: "Someone might see."
Warnings: None
Notes: Luna/Padma
When we go for walks, Padma will not let me hold her hand, brush my fingers against hers.
"Someone might see."
The autumn wind in her hair and it flutters, flutters, flutters like raven's wings, and tea-coloured skin and a soft turtleneck jumper the colour of sage, of sage, and her clever dark eyes glow in the weak golden light, and I cannot touch her.
There is caution, there is caution there.
Padma, Padma.
Padma always leaves the club after me; ten minutes, fifteen when she is nervous. She will leave and walk the opposite direction than the one she knows I take, and then she will find somewhere safe to disapparate, and when I waited and followed her she got so, so angry, and I didn't understand it.
Sometimes Padma is a Ravenclaw in all the wrong ways. Think think think.
It doesn't matter, Paddy.
She doesn't let me call her Paddy, either, when there's anyone to hear. Only in her sleek too-clean flat in London or the warm disorder of my house in Ottery St. Catchpole, then, then she's Paddy. Padma, Paddy, beautiful beautiful girl, eyes like candle-lights. Yes.
But outside she flickers, she flickers.
Paddy, Paddy.
I don't understand.
Author: acidpop25
Rating: PG
Prompt Set: 100.1
Prompt: #61, "Bewildered"
Word Count: 203
Summary: "Someone might see."
Warnings: None
Notes: Luna/Padma
When we go for walks, Padma will not let me hold her hand, brush my fingers against hers.
"Someone might see."
The autumn wind in her hair and it flutters, flutters, flutters like raven's wings, and tea-coloured skin and a soft turtleneck jumper the colour of sage, of sage, and her clever dark eyes glow in the weak golden light, and I cannot touch her.
There is caution, there is caution there.
Padma, Padma.
Padma always leaves the club after me; ten minutes, fifteen when she is nervous. She will leave and walk the opposite direction than the one she knows I take, and then she will find somewhere safe to disapparate, and when I waited and followed her she got so, so angry, and I didn't understand it.
Sometimes Padma is a Ravenclaw in all the wrong ways. Think think think.
It doesn't matter, Paddy.
She doesn't let me call her Paddy, either, when there's anyone to hear. Only in her sleek too-clean flat in London or the warm disorder of my house in Ottery St. Catchpole, then, then she's Paddy. Padma, Paddy, beautiful beautiful girl, eyes like candle-lights. Yes.
But outside she flickers, she flickers.
Paddy, Paddy.
I don't understand.