IN NOX, SUM VERITAS━━DRACO MALFOY

five. resfeber

━━━━ · 。ﾟ☆ .☽ .* ☆ﾟ. ━━━━

(n.) the restless race of the traveler's heart before
the journey begins, when anxiety and anticipation
are tangled together; a "travel fever" that can
manifest as an illness

IT WAS SAFE TO SAY THAT LOUIS MASON THEODORE NOX HAD AN EFFECT ON PEOPLE. Albeit there only being one person he had that certain effect on and without his knowledge more or less, as well, it still counted.

Especially when that person believed he stood high above all, with his chin jutted just so to make people think that he was worth being worshipped and looked at as though he were someone that only came around every one thousand years, a rarity for the general public to see and adore because he was just about as good as gone when his time came and would move on to the next life.

To have that effect on such a person could only mean that they weren't as godly as they thought, playing make-believe in an entity's clothing, or they had finally met their match, someone who was able to go toe to toe with them and take no prisoners. It couldn't have been the former because the teenaged god's name was forged from that blazing steel, the one that was practically impenetrable and set far too high for the mundane person to reach and touch. However, it couldn't have been the latter, either, for the reason that the boy he had laid his eyes on was only a mortal, made from the dirt he walked on, meek and lowly to some degree.

Draco argued with himself the night he had run into the boy once more, who had been looking rough and disheveled, claiming to have come from that afternoon's Quidditch tryouts. He hadn't been sure why his eyes had dashed over to the open section of Louis's shirt for a moment before flickering back up to his face where they should've been as Louis fumbled with his cobalt tie, his trying fingers attempting to make a knot but failing miserably.

In all his years of living, breathing, and gracing the Earth, Draco's never had his eyesight linger on anyone that's lasted more than three seconds, at least anyone he wouldn't dare to look twice at, anyway. But this boy, this phoenix-haired, ocean-eyed, ink-stained teenager of all people, whom Draco had never come into contact with until this year, all the while having the audacity to enter the most difficult and grueling phase of his life, only to make it more hectic and mentally gruesome. He didn't even have to worry about him so why was he making such a fuss over him? Why was he giving this mortal the time of day when he had more important tasks at hand to worry about? He didn't even know his name for Merlin's sake. So what gave him the right to overtake each and every one of Draco's passing thoughts as though it was something he did on a daily basis before going quietly into that good night as though he didn't know what he had done?

Draco lay awake that night, tossing and turning, begging for sleep in hopes that it would soon overtake him and pull him under. Once it did, that sleep spell drawing him into a blue-black abyss, he was immediately haunted by those cerulean irises and that crooked smile he saw from across the crowded dining hall, as though his subconscious was just waiting to spring them onto him the second he closed his eyes. Why his innermost self was ever thinking about them in the first place, he didn't have a reason, no northern star to point him in the right direction while he was lost at sea with no one but himself to assist in steering the boat.