acidpop25: "Goodnight," PG
Title: Goodnight
Author: acidpop25
Rating: PG
Prompt Set: 100.1
Prompt: #37, "When?"
Word Count: 369
Summary: "When did it go wrong?"
Warnings: None.
Notes: This is quite possibly the strangest thing I've ever written. And by that, I mean, it's really odd and somewhat disjointed, but deliberately so. I quite like it.
"Harry," she whispered. The room was dark, empty but for her and afterimages of memories behind her eyelids. When did it go wrong?
~*~*~*~
"Harry," she breathed against his neck. Smelled sweat; didn't quite touch, he was propped on his elbows, chest just almost brushing hers as he inhaled.
"I love you."
"Yeah." A kiss to her temple. "Me too."
Pause.
"Should be getting back."
Still.
"It won't hurt to stay."
Lying?
Stayed anyway.
~*~*~*~
The blow sharp and stinging across her cheek, she can feel skin burn, redden, a handprint. Caught red-handed.
"Go on," Luna says, looking up at the taut fireball that is Ginny. "I probably deserve it. Yell. Hit."
Crack as fist hits jaw hits floor; stone. Luna tastes blood and fire, and isn't sorry.
~*~*~*~
"Luna, I'm-"
"Don't apologise. Not for that."
"But I shouldn't have-"
"You had to." Luna presses a mug of hot tea into his hand. Strong but not too strong, two sugars, only a touch of cream, not enough so the tea is any lighter. The blue mug.
~*~*~*~
Desperation in every line of their bodies; frenzy. Up against the wall, lightning-white and he squeezes eyes shut, fists hand and tears at dark hair, groans like he's dying so, so lost, forsaken and his head hits the wall and his knees hit the floor and they need, God, they need and so I let the door fall shut and go to bed to read a book.
~*~*~*~
Caught dancing in the bedroom (hardwood floors, perfectly smooth), pas-de-bourrée past the bed, turn, turn, turn, hair whipping with head; balance. Piano keys he cannot hear, and step, step, dégagé (fifth position), the arch of spine and slender neck, arms open, fold in, open like ribs or like flowers.
"Luna?"
"Shhh," the admonition hummed at him. Pirouette.
~*~*~*~
"Harry," she breathed against his neck. Smelled sweat; didn't quite touch, he was propped on his elbows, chest just almost brushing hers as he inhaled.
"I love you."
"Yeah." A kiss to her temple. "Me too."
Pause.
"Should be getting back."
Still.
"It won't hurt to stay."
"I can't."
"There's a war to fight."
"I need you here more."
"Goodnight."
~*~*~*~
A/N: Confused? Yeah, suspected as much, so I'll explain now that you've read it once. The first two lines are the key to the fic- this is a series of Luna's scattered recollections (not in any sort of order, and largely unrelated to one another) as she tries to piece together what went wrong. The memories themselves may or may not actually be relevant to that question.
If you want a really in-depth explanation of all the layers and possibilites of this fic, go here.
Author: acidpop25
Rating: PG
Prompt Set: 100.1
Prompt: #37, "When?"
Word Count: 369
Summary: "When did it go wrong?"
Warnings: None.
Notes: This is quite possibly the strangest thing I've ever written. And by that, I mean, it's really odd and somewhat disjointed, but deliberately so. I quite like it.
"Harry," she whispered. The room was dark, empty but for her and afterimages of memories behind her eyelids. When did it go wrong?
~*~*~*~
"Harry," she breathed against his neck. Smelled sweat; didn't quite touch, he was propped on his elbows, chest just almost brushing hers as he inhaled.
"I love you."
"Yeah." A kiss to her temple. "Me too."
Pause.
"Should be getting back."
Still.
"It won't hurt to stay."
Lying?
Stayed anyway.
~*~*~*~
The blow sharp and stinging across her cheek, she can feel skin burn, redden, a handprint. Caught red-handed.
"Go on," Luna says, looking up at the taut fireball that is Ginny. "I probably deserve it. Yell. Hit."
Crack as fist hits jaw hits floor; stone. Luna tastes blood and fire, and isn't sorry.
~*~*~*~
"Luna, I'm-"
"Don't apologise. Not for that."
"But I shouldn't have-"
"You had to." Luna presses a mug of hot tea into his hand. Strong but not too strong, two sugars, only a touch of cream, not enough so the tea is any lighter. The blue mug.
~*~*~*~
Desperation in every line of their bodies; frenzy. Up against the wall, lightning-white and he squeezes eyes shut, fists hand and tears at dark hair, groans like he's dying so, so lost, forsaken and his head hits the wall and his knees hit the floor and they need, God, they need and so I let the door fall shut and go to bed to read a book.
~*~*~*~
Caught dancing in the bedroom (hardwood floors, perfectly smooth), pas-de-bourrée past the bed, turn, turn, turn, hair whipping with head; balance. Piano keys he cannot hear, and step, step, dégagé (fifth position), the arch of spine and slender neck, arms open, fold in, open like ribs or like flowers.
"Luna?"
"Shhh," the admonition hummed at him. Pirouette.
~*~*~*~
"Harry," she breathed against his neck. Smelled sweat; didn't quite touch, he was propped on his elbows, chest just almost brushing hers as he inhaled.
"I love you."
"Yeah." A kiss to her temple. "Me too."
Pause.
"Should be getting back."
Still.
"It won't hurt to stay."
"I can't."
"There's a war to fight."
"I need you here more."
"Goodnight."
~*~*~*~
A/N: Confused? Yeah, suspected as much, so I'll explain now that you've read it once. The first two lines are the key to the fic- this is a series of Luna's scattered recollections (not in any sort of order, and largely unrelated to one another) as she tries to piece together what went wrong. The memories themselves may or may not actually be relevant to that question.
If you want a really in-depth explanation of all the layers and possibilites of this fic, go here.