Human Design | Sirius Black

xxxi. Doesn't Dull The Ache We Feel (when reality sets in)

THE WORLD QUIDDITCH Cup of 1978 had lasted a total of six days until Egypt finally seized their win, the Seeker Layla Arafa catching the snitch right before doing a summersault off her broom that could have ended badly if it wasn't for the dozens of security and medical wizards present at professional Quidditch matches. 

By that time, Reece understood exactly what Orla had meant by saying that a part of her didn't want the match to end because even though he had not met an all-around perfect Portuguese man, the end of the match symbolised a return to monotonicity and England in all its greyness.

But it wasn't as cruel a verdict for everyone. Orla had indeed stayed in touch with Renato via owl, soon evolving to seeing each other every other weekend despite the price of international Apparition licences, and then it turned to her staying in Portugal for an entire week at a time. At the same time, Dris and Malika had moved in together and by the sound of it were perfectly suited for each other. As things were, it was not that big of a surprise that by the end of the year, they were both engaged to be married; "I know we're rushing, but I could be dead tomorrow so there's no time to be cautious," they would both tell Reece at their monthly meetups. He was happy for them, of course, but he couldn't help the seeds of envy that wound their roots tightly into his gut because his life was still nothing more than a nonstop cycle of wake up, go to work, come home, go for a run with Mat, do extra work, sleep with the occasional deviance for when he'd meet the two of them or Yrsa or Erika or his parents, take Mat to the vet, get the chance to go to a Quidditch match, or the Ministry Christmas party in December. 

Reece supposed he didn't really have the right to be jealous because in the end he didn't try hard enough to make his life more exciting so it was his own fault. He could take the reigns and lead himself to another path, 'have some fun' as he was constantly told, but he held himself back because as numbing the daily repetition was, it was safe also. He wasn't looking for any more repeats of his last confession, he had given Benjy his heart for a little while and what else had it done than become his gravest mistake? 

He'd settle for rosy affairs in his head that were torn away each morning he woke up and were lost as just another drop in the lake, the men he saw in his sleep stitched up the seams of every broken promise life (or his cowardice) couldn't keep until they tore worse than ever at every awakening, and thus he learned to hate mornings.

Reece woke up, went to work, and came home. He had a job so now he should find ten thousand distractions but it worked in the exact opposite; he used his work as a distraction from everything he didn't have.

"He's well cute," said Orla and Reece snapped his head to face her instead of the man he had been staring at for at least five minutes. His attention had waned from Dris and Orla's conversation but it seemed that they had noticed because both were looking at him now. "You should talk to him." Her eyes flickered to the wizard who sat alone at the bar of the Leaky Cauldron. "Do a wee flirting thing, plámás him a bit."

He shook his head and shifted in his chair so that he was strictly facing forward. "No."

Reece occupied himself with drinking his ale whilst she rolled her eyes. "Why not?" He only scowled. "Oh, take that puss off your face. Honestly, what's the harm; if he doesn't like you, you'll never see him again."

Setting his glass down onto the table, he leant over it to mumble, "I'm not going to announce it to everyone here that I'm gay Orla, what if somebody is in with You-Know-Who's lot?"

"You're a pureblood. Your blood is purer than either mine or Dris's," she countered.

"Yeah, but I'm gay, they could kill me for that. What's the point of my being a pureblood if I won't have kids? I'm a 'blood traitor' or whatever and I'm gay, they would kill me for that. I'm not trying to get attention from Death Eaters." No, it was much better to make sure nobody knew. What did the verdicts of gods and devils matter if the people he shared mortal life with had chosen to condemn him, the journey of his soul and it's cleansing or pollution would only come after that of his body?