"You w-w-what?" Draco whispered as his face went pale.
"I- I- love you Draco Malfoy. And I always have! And I can't help it! I've tried and tried to hate you but it doesn't block the feelings I have for you. And ever since you have been hanging out...
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I know that I don't own you And perhaps I never will So my anger when I see you with her I have no right to feel
I know that you don't own me And I shouldn't ask for more; I shouldn't feel let down, All the times when you don't call.
What I feel — I shouldn't show you, So when your around I won't; I know I've no right to feel it — But it doesn't mean I don't. —Lang Leav
____________________
The unsettling emotions of feeling both unwanted and suffocated intertwine within me like a dissonant melody, leaving me pondering the root cause. It's an emotional labyrinth, and my mind is caught in the intricate web of questioning, seeking clarity on why I am enveloped in this peculiar sensation.
As I grapple with these emotions, it's fortunate that, at least for now, the turmoil resides within the realm of my thoughts. Physically, I'm holding up, but the mental toll is undeniable. The weight of these emotions, a subtle burden that persists in the background of my consciousness, prompts me to confront the source.
A distinct pattern of knocks resonates through my room, and I instantly recognize it as Draco's signature. One loud knock, followed by a softer one. It's a familiar sound, a rhythm that accompanies his frequent visits. "Come in!" I call out, my voice echoing in the room as I continue my search through the contents of my closet.
Draco's entrance is met with a question, a testament to the frequency of his visits that a hypothetical roommate would surely find tiresome. His nocturnal presence from 7 pm to 4 am is a routine filled with shared moments of camaraderie – drinking, gaming, and occasionally indulging in skincare, a ritual that brings a rare sense of tranquility.
With Draco's query hanging in the air, I explain my frenzied search, tearing through the closet in pursuit of an elusive item. "Oh, I'm looking for something that I haven't seen in a few months. I think I left it at my summer house, cause I haven't seen it since then," I reveal, my closet becoming a chaotic sea of clothes and memories. The anticipation builds until, in a moment of triumph, I spot my shirt hidden among the clutter.
"YES! OMG! YES, I FOUND IT!" I exclaim, an explosion of joy propelling me to leap and dance around the room, the rediscovered shirt held aloft like a precious treasure. The elation of finding this seemingly lost item becomes a temporary reprieve, a fleeting escape from the enigmatic emotional storm that still rages within.
4 hours later except drunk and dumber
"Draco," I slurred my words, the syllables weaving together as I wobbled around the room. The unmistakable haze of intoxication enveloped me, a familiar companion on our nights of revelry. Though, tonight, our usual excessive indulgence was tempered by the looming specter of our OWL exams, a nagging reminder that sobriety should be a temporary ally.
