Post by Albus Potter on Nov 17, 2014 23:41:06 GMT
Albus still stood facing the boy, his arms crossed over his chest and fingers digging into the soft knitted wool of his jumper. Albus' brows come together as Maverick bends, undoes his shoes and says something Albus only partially understands. A plan? For whom? Perhaps his brother since he said 'he'd been preparing himself', implying that what ever brought rise to his ire was seated in the past. But Albus doesn't ask though, he doesn't usually unless forced too. That's the thing about Albus, he never runs out about things to think on, contemplate and worry over. He is sure if he kept track of all the questions he had in one night he could fill a book. A lot less comes out of him though. In fact, Albus is rather quiet and the dark haired boy believes it is the pregnant silence that lingers about him that keeps his favor with people like Maverick. Albus provides a companion that doesn't say to much in public, where others may pry, doesn't ask unless sincerely concerned, but still seems to just know things.
Albus watches as Maverick drops his pants, and Albus' cheeks tinge slightly. This is the part he hates about being in a boys dorm. They don't care if you see, but it makes Albus uncomfortable. Albus knows why, he's not dull, and even his cousins figured at least one of them would be gay. Did it have to be him though? Albus would prefer not, he found it hard enough to figure out how to make friends, let alone his sexuality. It's just another question he'll have to add to his unending list, the slytherin supposes.
Maverick still isn't speaking, though Albus knows the boy has more to say. Instead he drops his underwear and Albus has to avert his eyes as his mouth dries slightly. Albus curls and uncurls his toes, and counts by threes in his head trying to ignore the tingling in his stomach. Albus hears the creak of bed coils and the slight thud of the old headboard before he hears Maverick's voice again. He tells him something altogether confusing and Albus' eyes flicker up to meet the pair looking back at him. Albus bites his lip, flipping the words in his head once more before a soft, ghost of a sigh escapes him. He shakes his head slightly, more to himself than Maverick. He's accepted the tight, proper, cryptic way in which Maverick spoke, but sometimes Albus wishes the Rotburn would just be straight with him, and tell him exactly what had happened. The beater wouldn't though, he never does.
Albus then crawls into bed, under thick duvets and grandma made afghans only to reappear soon after, his dark eyes still searching Maverick's for some semblance of an explanation. There is none, just his friends carefully composed face, shadows dancing upon it from the lone candle on the nightstand between them mockingly. The shadows are more to Maverick than Albus. They conceal him, they aid him, they know all his secrets. They can do for Maverick, what Albus will never be able too and the way they dance across his face with the greatest of intimacy and knowing is a great discomfort to the middle Potter
"Good night Maverick" Albus says weakly, reaching in between them and extinguishing the flame with his fingers. "Sweet dreams."
Albus watches as Maverick drops his pants, and Albus' cheeks tinge slightly. This is the part he hates about being in a boys dorm. They don't care if you see, but it makes Albus uncomfortable. Albus knows why, he's not dull, and even his cousins figured at least one of them would be gay. Did it have to be him though? Albus would prefer not, he found it hard enough to figure out how to make friends, let alone his sexuality. It's just another question he'll have to add to his unending list, the slytherin supposes.
Maverick still isn't speaking, though Albus knows the boy has more to say. Instead he drops his underwear and Albus has to avert his eyes as his mouth dries slightly. Albus curls and uncurls his toes, and counts by threes in his head trying to ignore the tingling in his stomach. Albus hears the creak of bed coils and the slight thud of the old headboard before he hears Maverick's voice again. He tells him something altogether confusing and Albus' eyes flicker up to meet the pair looking back at him. Albus bites his lip, flipping the words in his head once more before a soft, ghost of a sigh escapes him. He shakes his head slightly, more to himself than Maverick. He's accepted the tight, proper, cryptic way in which Maverick spoke, but sometimes Albus wishes the Rotburn would just be straight with him, and tell him exactly what had happened. The beater wouldn't though, he never does.
Albus then crawls into bed, under thick duvets and grandma made afghans only to reappear soon after, his dark eyes still searching Maverick's for some semblance of an explanation. There is none, just his friends carefully composed face, shadows dancing upon it from the lone candle on the nightstand between them mockingly. The shadows are more to Maverick than Albus. They conceal him, they aid him, they know all his secrets. They can do for Maverick, what Albus will never be able too and the way they dance across his face with the greatest of intimacy and knowing is a great discomfort to the middle Potter
"Good night Maverick" Albus says weakly, reaching in between them and extinguishing the flame with his fingers. "Sweet dreams."
