Lyrical Muses: April.
Title: A New Year.
Song: Stay Away by The Honorary Title.
Character: Blaise Zabini.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Blaise/Tom
Fandom: Harry Potter.
Author's notes: Not mine, if he was, he'd look like Hans Matheson. 735 words.
It's been cold that year, and Christmas has been so white that Blaise is sick of it. He's sick of waking up in the morning cold, sick of going to the window as he has his first cigarette of the day and looking out upon a landscape that is covered in snow. He rarely goes downstairs during the festive season - it's a big season for the Death Eaters and Blaise wants no part of it. All too soon, that white will be marred with red, and all too soon, they'll all be running again.
It will be a new year in a few days and Blaise's thoughts are bleak. He doesn't expect the new year to be any better than the last. He's on a shorter leash now, isn't allowed as much freedom of movement as he's used to, so he defies that by refusing to go downstairs. He defies it by climbing out of the window and sitting on the roof of the Riddle House, wrapped in his thick coat and smoking cigarettes, flicking the butts down into the snow below. He climbs back in when he hears the annoyance in Tom's voice and saunters around the floor he's taken to living on with a smirk on his face. The smirk annoys Tom even more than Blaise being on the roof does, and they fight, they yell and inevitably, Tom leaves, stomping down the stairs so he can inflict his anger on someone else.
Blaise has decided that today is going to be different. Today, he's not going to argue. Today, he's going to tell Tom how it is.
Tom is surprised when he comes to Blaise and sees him sitting in an armchair. He regards Blaise cautiously, then, sitting on the edge of the rumpled bed, asks, "Not on the roof today?"
Blaise shrugs, exhales a thick cloud of cigarette smoke. "I figured I'd move past the argument and get straight to the point."
"Oh?"
"I'm leaving."
There's a long silence. Then Tom shakes his head. "No."
"It wasn't a request." Blaise takes another drag of his cigarette. "If we fight about it, you know I'll fight dirty and I'll leave anyway. So let me go, or get ready to fight."
Tom is looking at his hands, shaking his head, trying to deny the words coming from Blaise's lips. I love you…
"You love yourself," Blaise answers out loud.
Tom looks up at Blaise then, his eyes shining with tears and he looks so much like the boy that Blaise fell in love with so many years ago that his heart lurches painfully in his chest. "I love you, Tom," Blaise says gently, "but we're going to kill each other."
Blaise…
"I'm leaving." Blaise stands up, flicks his cigarette butt out of the window and picks up a rucksack.
Please, Blaise…
"You don't need me anymore," Blaise says quietly. "You haven't needed me for a very long time. And somewhere along the line, years ago, you stopped being you and became," he waves a hand vaguely, "this."
Please!
"You've used me enough." Blaise walks over to the door. "It's over."
There's a sound like a sob from the bed, but Blaise doesn't dare turn around. He feels the same, his heart breaking into a million tiny pieces. "Have a good life, Tom," he says quietly. "Happy new year. And stay away from me."
He's left the room, walking down the corridor, the sounds of his lover's anguish loud in his mind. He can hear Tom crying for him, can hear his pleas, but he shores up his defences and the words fall on deaf ears.
Outside, in the white, Blaise sighs, and looks out over the snow. It's time to go. He lowers his shields enough to send a thought to the sobbing form staring at him from the window. I'll always love you, Tom, but this? The way this has gone? I can't do it anymore. Squaring his shoulders, before Tom can reply, Blaise disapparates and is gone.
It's a new year, and Blaise will be more alone than he has ever been in his life. And somehow, that doesn't make him feel as good as he had hoped.
Song: Stay Away by The Honorary Title.
Character: Blaise Zabini.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Blaise/Tom
Fandom: Harry Potter.
Author's notes: Not mine, if he was, he'd look like Hans Matheson. 735 words.
It's been cold that year, and Christmas has been so white that Blaise is sick of it. He's sick of waking up in the morning cold, sick of going to the window as he has his first cigarette of the day and looking out upon a landscape that is covered in snow. He rarely goes downstairs during the festive season - it's a big season for the Death Eaters and Blaise wants no part of it. All too soon, that white will be marred with red, and all too soon, they'll all be running again.
It will be a new year in a few days and Blaise's thoughts are bleak. He doesn't expect the new year to be any better than the last. He's on a shorter leash now, isn't allowed as much freedom of movement as he's used to, so he defies that by refusing to go downstairs. He defies it by climbing out of the window and sitting on the roof of the Riddle House, wrapped in his thick coat and smoking cigarettes, flicking the butts down into the snow below. He climbs back in when he hears the annoyance in Tom's voice and saunters around the floor he's taken to living on with a smirk on his face. The smirk annoys Tom even more than Blaise being on the roof does, and they fight, they yell and inevitably, Tom leaves, stomping down the stairs so he can inflict his anger on someone else.
Blaise has decided that today is going to be different. Today, he's not going to argue. Today, he's going to tell Tom how it is.
Tom is surprised when he comes to Blaise and sees him sitting in an armchair. He regards Blaise cautiously, then, sitting on the edge of the rumpled bed, asks, "Not on the roof today?"
Blaise shrugs, exhales a thick cloud of cigarette smoke. "I figured I'd move past the argument and get straight to the point."
"Oh?"
"I'm leaving."
There's a long silence. Then Tom shakes his head. "No."
"It wasn't a request." Blaise takes another drag of his cigarette. "If we fight about it, you know I'll fight dirty and I'll leave anyway. So let me go, or get ready to fight."
Tom is looking at his hands, shaking his head, trying to deny the words coming from Blaise's lips. I love you…
"You love yourself," Blaise answers out loud.
Tom looks up at Blaise then, his eyes shining with tears and he looks so much like the boy that Blaise fell in love with so many years ago that his heart lurches painfully in his chest. "I love you, Tom," Blaise says gently, "but we're going to kill each other."
Blaise…
"I'm leaving." Blaise stands up, flicks his cigarette butt out of the window and picks up a rucksack.
Please, Blaise…
"You don't need me anymore," Blaise says quietly. "You haven't needed me for a very long time. And somewhere along the line, years ago, you stopped being you and became," he waves a hand vaguely, "this."
Please!
"You've used me enough." Blaise walks over to the door. "It's over."
There's a sound like a sob from the bed, but Blaise doesn't dare turn around. He feels the same, his heart breaking into a million tiny pieces. "Have a good life, Tom," he says quietly. "Happy new year. And stay away from me."
He's left the room, walking down the corridor, the sounds of his lover's anguish loud in his mind. He can hear Tom crying for him, can hear his pleas, but he shores up his defences and the words fall on deaf ears.
Outside, in the white, Blaise sighs, and looks out over the snow. It's time to go. He lowers his shields enough to send a thought to the sobbing form staring at him from the window. I'll always love you, Tom, but this? The way this has gone? I can't do it anymore. Squaring his shoulders, before Tom can reply, Blaise disapparates and is gone.
It's a new year, and Blaise will be more alone than he has ever been in his life. And somehow, that doesn't make him feel as good as he had hoped.