runaway_cub (runaway_cub) wrote in snark_n_bark, @ 2008-06-22 19:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | complete, faelan, padma |
Bound with all the weight
Characters: Faelan, Padma
Summary: Faelan can't bear the loneliness anymore.
The numbness was threatening to eat Faelan alive.
He had already stopped counting the days since Sirius had gone, and had smoked through the entire pack of cigarettes Harry had given him at the memorial service, and then some. That night had been difficult - not because of emotion, of which Faelan felt none - but because he felt like he should have. Everything seemed too distant, like nothing was real, not even his own footsteps on the ground.
Working and walking filled his days and nights. He didn't talk much to Neville at the greenhouses because he had nothing to say, and at home, he couldn't be in the house without wanting to run away and scream. Gaius had left and Harry...well, Faelan had no idea what to say to Harry. Certain that he would mess up by saying the wrong thing or feeling things he didn't deserve, his thoughts stayed wrapped up inside of his own head, unable to formulate into anything he felt he could express, or anything that was worth hearing.
At least Harry didn't want him to leave Haven's Loft. He didn't know if the man would keep the house, but there was a palpable comfort at knowing that wherever Harry went, Faelan was welcome. It was practically the only thing that hadn't made him feel anxious in days, so it was one of the few thoughts that kept Faelan from thinking he really had wandered away into some other universe where everything was the same but entirely different.
And then there was Padma. His beautiful, caring, patient Padma, who kept bringing him food and leaving him paper flowers even though he didn't have the guts to face her. He was weak and broken, and all he could think about was how much more she deserved than him. And he couldn't bear to think of how sure she was to leave him when he was still getting used to the idea that another person had already gone. It would be easier if he just spared them both the trouble of making her do it.
And yet there was a hole inside of him, an aching pit like ravenous hunger, and it didn't matter how far he walked or how many cigarettes he smoked, nothing could make it go away. And so it was that he found himself, without any real intention to, wandering down to the back alleys of Hogsmeade in the middle of the night, reaching down and drawing out his werewolf senses, searching for any hint of her scent at all.
Of course, his senses led him, fueled by the empty, inexplicable sense of isolation that had settled over him, right to the back entrance to her flat. He doubted she would want to see him. He had turned away from all of her efforts to reach out, had held her at so far a distance that she hadn't even turned up for Sirius' memorial service, when he'd been sure she'd try to force him to speak to her, where she'd touch him and hold him and he wouldn't have any choice but to give in and take it because she was there and so irresistible.
But she hadn't, and he knew it was for the best that she just stay away from him, but he missed her anyway.
It was dark in the stairwell, but he didn't light his wand. He didn't intend to go in, or even to go up to her door, but his feet carried him of their own volition. The door greeted him like the thickest, most impenetrable barricade to a comfort that he knew was only a few inches away, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't knock.
He touched the door. He slid his hand down the flat wood and dropped his head against it. It was cool, and it felt good, and he let his knees give way as he slumped down, landing with his back to the wall and his head against the door, wishing for a million things that he couldn't even feel enough to name.