drabble: Words
Title: Words
Summary: "There is a word for this, she thinks. She thinks there must be a word for this, though she doesn't know what it is."
Rating: PG
Word Count: 371
Notes: While this was written with Harry/Ginny in mind (cut for those who want to believe otherwise!), it can fit many het pairings, I suppose. This is a longish drabble.
Words
There is a word for this, she thinks. She thinks there must be a word for this, though she doesn’t know what it is-the feeling of letting go, the feeling of forgetting, the feeling of heart swelling and lungs bursting is so new to her she can’t even begin to think of a word to describe it adequately.
Whether there is a word or not for it, it is how she feels here, as she lies next to him, her head tucked against his neck, their legs tangled together. Beneath his skin she hears his heartbeat, steadily slowing, and doesn’t know how explain how wonderful it is.
I love you, he mumbles into her hair as he turns his head. The words mean something more, coming from him; she knows the few times he’s said them to her are the only times. She can’t say it back, though-she doesn’t know how it can be enough to encompass everything, doesn’t know how she can make him understand how acutely she needs him and how acutely she doesn’t need him-how she depends on him and how he makes her independent, all at once.
So she says nothing but Yeah, and he stiffens and looks away. That came out wrong, she says.
No, I get it. She feels somehow suddenly separated from him, though they are still pressed together. It’s okay. I’m glad you aren’t pretending.
No-no, don’t be stupid. It’s not that I don’t love you.
He knows how evasive that was, and gives her a stern look-or as stern of a look as he can when they are so close and he can’t see her face easily and he isn’t wearing his glasses so he’s practically blind. The stern look ends up being directed towards her chest.
It’s not enough, she says helplessly, and he still doesn’t understand. There is a long, awkward silence, but neither of them move away.
Sometimes I think I’d be adrift without you, she says haltingly. Sometimes I think I’d lose myself without you.
I don’t understand, he says, unwilling to admit it. He bites his lower lip and so she touches it, because she is allowed to.
I know, she replies. Neither do I.
Summary: "There is a word for this, she thinks. She thinks there must be a word for this, though she doesn't know what it is."
Rating: PG
Word Count: 371
Notes: While this was written with Harry/Ginny in mind (cut for those who want to believe otherwise!), it can fit many het pairings, I suppose. This is a longish drabble.
Words
There is a word for this, she thinks. She thinks there must be a word for this, though she doesn’t know what it is-the feeling of letting go, the feeling of forgetting, the feeling of heart swelling and lungs bursting is so new to her she can’t even begin to think of a word to describe it adequately.
Whether there is a word or not for it, it is how she feels here, as she lies next to him, her head tucked against his neck, their legs tangled together. Beneath his skin she hears his heartbeat, steadily slowing, and doesn’t know how explain how wonderful it is.
I love you, he mumbles into her hair as he turns his head. The words mean something more, coming from him; she knows the few times he’s said them to her are the only times. She can’t say it back, though-she doesn’t know how it can be enough to encompass everything, doesn’t know how she can make him understand how acutely she needs him and how acutely she doesn’t need him-how she depends on him and how he makes her independent, all at once.
So she says nothing but Yeah, and he stiffens and looks away. That came out wrong, she says.
No, I get it. She feels somehow suddenly separated from him, though they are still pressed together. It’s okay. I’m glad you aren’t pretending.
No-no, don’t be stupid. It’s not that I don’t love you.
He knows how evasive that was, and gives her a stern look-or as stern of a look as he can when they are so close and he can’t see her face easily and he isn’t wearing his glasses so he’s practically blind. The stern look ends up being directed towards her chest.
It’s not enough, she says helplessly, and he still doesn’t understand. There is a long, awkward silence, but neither of them move away.
Sometimes I think I’d be adrift without you, she says haltingly. Sometimes I think I’d lose myself without you.
I don’t understand, he says, unwilling to admit it. He bites his lower lip and so she touches it, because she is allowed to.
I know, she replies. Neither do I.