cold girl fever

“sisters,” dusty’s amusement grows out into a quiet laugh. puzzlement is one way to describe it, disbelief another, and it continues to be a cyclical pattern—she insists, he denies, rinse and repeat. frankly he has no clue who planted the idea in her head that it was something more than just pure camaraderie between him and the two eighth years, but life goes on, and it does like this:

at the corner of his periphery, he catches a tail of a cirrus cloud feathering out over a span of baby blue, but his attention has long shifted to take in her expression. she’s looked at him like that before, endless, numerous times, but there’s a subtle change in the impression that it leaves. the stirring in his chest—that’s new, as is the faint flush of embarrassment at the sudden candid turn.

“well when you put it like that…” another pause, as he waits for the right words to pull loose from his lexicon. “…you’re making me feel kind of guilty for switching out my costume idea last minute.” dusty grins in obvious jest. “not very loyal of me, is it?”

he keeps his eyes on her. the world stills, and in that split-second, there’s a shy, budding possibility. slowly, dustin begins to lean in, close and closer until he’s hovering over her, the tips of their noses barely brushing, heart lurching at this proximity and—

he’s pulling out a leaf that’s fallen into her hair. 

“gotcha.”

blowing it free out of his hand, he returns to laying flat on his back. 

(god. god what the fuck.) 

“is it gonna be something scary again?” he clears his throat. “your costume, i mean.” 

“sister wives?” she quips in return, knowing fully well that if he hadn’t gotten it now (even with her insistence and the eighth years’ “pursuing”), dustin likely wouldn’t get it any time soon. but it is not necessarily a bad thing—to be clueless. in dustin’s case, it’ll only serve for further confusion and awkwardness (thus, in her case, would serve to be troubling for her to try and lead him out of) to be in the know of the two’s feelings. 

(if she had to be completely honest—gwen had no interest in helping them vie for his heart.)

it is slightly embarrassing. her words. as soon as she said it, gwen nearly regretted it. how it sounded—like a confession on her tongue. how her cheeks warm, slightest of pink under the sunday sun. how her heart quickens, almost guilty, as if she’s just let a heavily guarded secret slip. how dustin’s gaze makes her feel—foolish? embarrassed? like a school girl. 

“oh?” her brow arches, eyes lowering for a moment to eye the brightly colored buttons on her toy. (coward) “what is it then? space cowboy? indiana jones?” gwen hums, knocking her shoes together absently. “whatever it is, i assume it’ll have the hat—that’s what you’re really loyal to...” the teasing lilt in her voice is hard to miss, though amusement however evident is quick to dissipate in the face of well—his face.

it is—hard to put into words. the slytherin is frozen, much like time, everything else around them. muted in the presence of dustin kang (with the exception of the very loud organ pounding within her rib cage). her lips part with the brush of his nose against hers, eyes fluttering, stomach tight in anticipation—for something that doesn’t come.

and gwen doesn’t know what to make of the way her heart drops.

(this is so wrong.)

“...thanks.” she speaks, willing the uncertainty away. she doesn’t know the first thing to make of what didn’t happen nor the bits of disappointment surfacing. but she knew very well what lines weren’t meant to be crossed, has known it very well throughout their years together. 

this? him and her? she can’t afford to lose this.

“uh,” she shifts a bit, struggling to find words in midst of the mental chiding she’s giving herself. “no, i didn’t have the time—” her voice is slightly muffled, palms pressing into warm skin and brows furrowing beneath her fingers. jesus, get a grip. “i was thinking like—maybe a bloody take of a childhood classic,” her mouth drones on despite herself; not one for mindless babble, but gwen finds it immensely difficult to properly focus and desperately needed a new topic.

“rapunzel or, ah, alice in wonderland or something.” she hums. “ah—but, did your “sisters” already ask you to take them? should i be looking into other options?” 

it’s easy to turn back to teasing, gwen would rather to cling to this for the rest of the day if it meant that it would save her from the worser parts of her thought process.

“because i’m certain i can go with stacey, if anything.”

costume / bloody alice in wonderland (please do not ask her if the blood is real or not it is)

date / dustin kang @bvbblin​

goblet / orange, mild state of euphoria

demeanor / though it does not make her act out too drastically, it does make her loads more sociable and happy compared to usual, plus loads of giggle-water has put her in a giggly happy mood

he’s pliant to the natural ways of push and pull: gravity, the weight of his body as it lays against the cushion of green, the turn on his side to face the girl beside him. the leaves continue to fall, flutters of brilliant crimson to burnt gold, butterfly-wing delicate. they don’t choose their landings, but he has. years of vicinity have shaped the way he orients himself around her. on most days, it’s a matter of being joined at the hip.

today, it’s different.

he remains idle, half present, half drifting. a single lock of her hair is twined gentle around one of his fingers as he absently coils it around, then lets it unravel. between them is held a palpable sliver of space. to the naked eye, it’s negligible, barely there. but when his senses are this alert, even the smallest shift in the ambiance is impossible to ignore. 

nonetheless, there’s something about this calm that lets him ease better into the hold of the moment, even if the last is spinning slow in repeat (from another point of view, it’s almost strikingly similar: his hands, her hair, the sheer undoing of things). 

“friends,” dustin corrects her, his own baritone muted. there’s a smile heard in there somewhere, amused all the same. he shifts, elbow against the dirt, head propped up by his hand. instinct nearly pulls him to put his other arm over her waist, but intuition gives him pause. not now. so it remains as is. there’s the slight quirk of his brow. “you guessed right. how’d you know?” what’s left between the lines: i’m not that predictable, am i? 

it’s hard to fight the heart. what it wants, what it needs. all momentary discomfiture could not keep her from seeking out her spot (rightfully so) beside him. dustin’s presence till this day remains a palliative touch, painting over old bruises and a worn soul. it didn’t matter now that oddity lurks between them, things left unspoken, unaddressed. the effect he has on her, the way he makes her feel, remains the same. 

calm. peaceful. safe. 

“suitors,” gwen retorts, corner of her lips curving. it is expected that he doesn’t see it, dustin seldom does when it comes to this sort of thing—or perhaps, the pair of girls themselves simply aren’t good at confessing. the slytherin wasn’t too sure. and, if she had been completely honest, did not care enough to question him or them about it. 

his question prompts a quiet hum, fingers running over the miniature buttons on the toy absently. “you’re loyal to things you like,” is the answer she settles with, head turning slightly to meet his gaze, pausing for the slightest of moments in consideration of the distance (or lack thereof) between them. “it’s not a bad thing.” she smiles assuringly, eyes sweeping over his features briefly, taking in minute details (the quiet pause in which she lingers on his lips; heart skipping). 

“i like that about you.” 

the setting is late noon, middle courtyard, under the oak tree. premise? gwendolyn lim nestled into fresh cut grass and dustin kang beside her, doing whatever it was he does. this is routine, a norm among the two. sunday afternoon is best spent in unity, under rays of sun peaking through leaves, under the comfort of each other’s presence, catching up. throughout the years at hogwarts, various bonds formed and strengthened, losing time in daily schedules for each other is a given. not that there was anything in particular owed to one another. but, there is a bit of an unrest that settles after prolonged absence (the ache that swarms, puts pressure on her chest just slightly) that’s hard to ignore. even for gwen.

so, these hours slotted specifically each other. slotted for whatever it was they did together. so long as it was together. now, however, the usual vibe of ease seems the slightest unhinged.

context? her heart palpitates at the recollection of the last moment together (vivid images that flicker through the mind, the heat of his touch, pounding in her ears, almost), twists at heart strings, prompts confusion that fogs the mind. even now it leaves her doing naught but resting on the field, head settled on top of her cloak, in her hands a small fidget toy, shoes knocking together absently. and her eyes? stubbornly faced upward. near avoiding it.

but, gwen would never so much as ask. matters as such should be treated delicately. as is the gist of their relationship; the last fragile, precious thing she has to her soul.

“so,” voice soft, she starts slow, fiddling with the toy in hand. “how was costume shopping with your fans?” a quiet hum, the tease in her words is evident. till this day, she isn’t sure as to how dustin still didn’t see it. “did you decide on a cowboy theme again?”

daughter of a muggleborn and a pureblood, gwen was raised in her mother’s home—a dwelling for an old, traditional pureblood lineage.

her mother’s side of the family never really accepted the fact that her mother married a muggleborn, and so they’ve become very estranged despite her still living there.

her father left when she was young, unable to handle living in the house full of talking portraits, ghosts, house elves that all curse at his name.

gwen grows up with her mother in the house, under the watchful eyes of portraits and ghosts and house elves who’ve all had their own opinions

there’s a lot of terrorizing here, lots of insults and screams that shake the walls. 

by the time she’s entered hogwarts, by the time she’s in her sixth year, gwen already feels very very aged.

personality wise: this has her painted as a very patient, old painful soul type of persona. (or, just really tired and a bit depressed)

she is more calm than most people, hates crowds, stays within her friend group normally.

a really chill/cool friend type, however she might be a bit judgmental of people even if she doesn’t often voice it to them.

has a bunch of weird habits/past times to keep busy, because despite hating crowds she doesn’t like it when it’s completely quiet.

at the end of the day she does have a bit of a difficulty expressing intimate feelings to people, given the fact that she’s very used to keep things locked up.

*note her personality is still rather hard to gauge for me but i hope to develop her better as time goes!

visits her mother every weekend at st mungos without fail.

plot wise, i would love to divulge into more interesting connections. the norm in terms of exes (people that gwen adored but did not have it in her to fully be “all in” or as expressive as one might’ve liked), dated once or twice and ever hit it off, etc. in terms of friends, any variety would work as long as they vibe, gwen doesn’t particularly have any qualms against anyone unless they step on her toes first. 

i would love a st mungos plot, someone gwen’s only ever seen in the waiting room because they also have a relative that’s in the hospital.