Reader x Neville Longbottom except the reader is a muggle behind a screen. Prose poetry (not a story) that would make him blush to death. Written by a girl who clearly doesn't touch grass (unlike him).
Story playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playli...
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We met in the hallway for the 1st time a hundred times. You were shy and hesitant, a trembling lip, as I vented to you about problems you felt you didn't deserve to hear for they were too private, and you felt too clumsy to hold my heart in your hand.
Your lack of confidence made me comfortable enough for once to be the bigger person.
Everyday was a game of teasing and winding you up with witty affection. I was giddy and led the way around the lake, treating you like mine when we were just friends. I called you friend any chance I got, or any affectionate nickname that would surprise you enough you felt like I'd been adressing someone else.
At lunch I would blush because I couldn't speak with a spoon in my mouth. I played with my food and went on excited rants on just about anything, to distract you from my messy eating and because your presence made me drunk. I walked around with an arm around your shoulder like I was your bro, ready to smash the jaw of incoming bullies. They rarely tried to take it on me, and being able to defend you gave me some upbeat self-assurance that made me want to scare and beat people up for fun. I would've pleasantly thrown a punch.
And everytime you were drowning in insecurities I'd sit by and take your hand like a pet until you felt too important to cry.
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At every Quidditch match we screamed like idiots until our voices broke all evening, though we weren't fans or anything. We'd always do our own commentary, the most fun was picking random opposing teams and boasting and spiting each other. It was terrific fun, seeing you slash Gryffindors with mocking remarks I'd never dreamt to hear out your mouth ever, or revere Slytherins like world champions. Every game was our gameshow, and whoever lost had a punishment. Once I dared you to run five laps around the pitch, and another, to drink three glasses of Firewhisky, it was the first time I'd seen you drunk.
Sometimes I'd come to Gryffindor after-parties, or we would meet in Hogsmeade, chatting with a buzz while ignoring almost everyone in the room. We had that best-friend energy where, noone would really approach us because when they did, we would almost instantly stop our conversation, this world of inside jokes that was only ours, two shy kids that could easily fade in the background even though my laugh was loud.
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