dinner parties | scorbus

CH21: thought-provoking

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CH21: thought-provoking (3,961 WORDS)

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Albus, in all honesty, did not feel the least bit guilty that he had chosen to ice Scorpius out of his life for a temporary period of time. He was aware that he ought not to, and that technically he should have known better than to pump himself with too great an amount of happiness only to be let down. He'd never intended to have his heartbroken, of course, who did? Nobody sane would ever purposefully put themselves into a predicament in which they were exposed to such raw, gut-wrenching pain. And Albus realised that he experienced that same pain when he thought of his blond-haired best friend.

So, Albus wondered (having listened to the small, intrusive thoughts in the back of his mind) why someone would purposely force someone else into such a state of pain. He wondered if the thrill of mutilating an open, innocent heart would seem appealing to someone unlike himself; why satisfaction could be taken from causing someone else to give up on love entirely.

Albus had no doubt in his mind that Scorpius had broken his heart on purpose.

He wasn't stupid. Albus knew that the likelihood of their flirty behaviour being passed off as nothing more than friendship to Scorpius was slim. Best friends didn't behave how Scorpius and Albus did; cuddling in a daisy field, kissing one another on the hands and cheeks, sleeping wrapped up in one another the moment that the opportunity had presented itself, flirting incessantly, and holding hands. Scorpius knew. Albus wouldn't believe a word saying otherwise. And he was livid, because Scorpius had toyed with his heart for a laugh, it seemed.

He had decided that he despised Scorpius with every bone in his body, primarily due to his inability to do dislike Scorpius properly. Though, tears that burnt Albus' eyes when he thought of his best friend, he couldn't really hate Scorpius, and it made him want to scream. Albus liked to think that there was nothing he couldn't do, and such was clearly not the case.

Because he couldn't hate the boy he was in love with. And he also couldn't bring himself to like the girl that had captured Scorpius' attention the moment Albus was ready to ask for it. In all honesty, Albus believed he had earned himself Scorpius' love; and his time, and his affection, and his kisses. Annabelle didn't deserve it, and she didn't have a right to it. Albus knew that he, too, also didn't deserve Scorpius' love despite his longing for it.

His agitation grew as he became increasingly aware of his overwhelming confusion.

Did the Scorpius he loved ever even exist?

Albus couldn't help throwing his thesaurus full of letters across his room with a glare each time he thought about it, and he'd punched the stone wall with such force that he'd dislocated a finger earlier in the week. Now his splint served as a constant reminder of his pain.

The negative thoughts had become overwhelming; jabbing into his heart like needles. Albus frequently wondered if their friendship had been a sick joke — if Scorpius really wasn't nice in the slightest, and if he'd merely managed to manipulate and force his way into Albus' mind to pollute it. He wondered if his vulnerable, sweet, giggly best friend had ever even loved him in return. Albus also wondered if Scorpius had a multifaceted, steely appearance that he had covered with a mask of geeky, floundering moron. With everything inside of his chest, Albus prayed that it wasn't true — that the Scorpius he'd come to know as his best friend remained the boy in his truest form, but the uncertainty caused Albus discomfort.

Worst of all, Albus still craved Scorpius' attention like a weak child with everything within his chest. He wanted to throw his arms around the blond boy's neck and cry, and have lips against his temple as Scorpius murmured sweetly down his ear. He wanted fingers to push into the knots on his back as they had before, and for Scorpius to hold Albus' brunet head to his firm, warm chest until Albus' hysteria had depleted. Albus wanted his feet to burn as he stood on his toes for far too long, his hands wrapped around Scorpius; he wanted the weight of a head on his shoulder and arms around his waist. Albus wanted an opportunity for his chest to sting and react to Scorpius as if he were the most deadly of drugs — for his heart to pulse sickeningly quickly, for his thoughts to become incoherent, for his fingers to shake due to nerves rather than cold.