soft, softer

ft. @hufflesmin​

It’s kind of sad sometimes, how the only thing that keeps Jay passionate is muggle music. But he isn’t complaining, he thinks he owns the muggle world, illegally stealing food and magically fluttering skirts back when he was an idiopathic-hormone-raging-eighteen year old. But he still can’t brush the former habit until now. 

Which in such case, he illegally sneaks a Coldplay ticket for himself, chancing upon his student who has a ticket too (whether she did the same is unknown, Jay ought not to dig deeper anyway) and who says having company to boot in a concert would suck? no. That’s why he agrees to watch the concert with a younger one– not really caring if he’d actually look like a father accompanying his most precious daughter. 

eagerness shows in her every stride -- though really when is she ever not a fire ball of energy and good vibes. excitement only heightens when she finds her company for the night, one that had come unexpected but nonetheless welcomed. 

“ prof prof prof !! ”

she chirps, all thousand watt smiles in greeting. she near tumbles into him at the speed she closes in on him, everything akin to an overeager puppy. it’s strange to see him out of the context of hogwarts, no classrooms and assigned wardrobe. he looks cool, charming even -- though truth be told he always had an air of charisma around him.

“ ooo~ooo so this is what it looks like? ”

she hums as she looks over the concert venue. fans are already lined up and the banners for the concert wave under the shake of the wind. it’s hard not to be hyped and she celebrates with a word she feels suits the older male’s style. “swag.” 

he helps her forget as he always does and she holds him until she stops drowning. she holds him until she’s soaked through his shirt. she holds him until her tears quiet enough to hear the thrum of his heartbeat. 

and she holds him until --

“do you hate me?”

from the beginning, he never should have been more than a friend. in the middle, she should have known to stop before anyone got hurt. and now here, she makes her same mistakes again. yet she is a ghost, scrambling to find her place, to find herself and somehow she finds him her keeper. 

“kyle?”

for someone who had just heard him promise to be there soon, she still finds herself in disbelief in the amount of forgiveness he can have in his heart. window flies open in her haste and for a second there is a sense of calm in the storm raging in her brain. her laugh wavers in the midst of the lack of oxygen, too many sad songs playing in her heart. 

she thinks of witty replies, the banter they usually share. if she were anything her usual self, she’d probably offer an idiotic, no this is the krusty crab. but today she is not the jeon somin she knows herself to be. today, she’s just a little sad, in need of some love and tenderness that only he can bring.

“i just wanted to hear your voice.”

the sniffle alarms him, the quiet shaking of her voice, the sadness transcending telephone static. 

“i’m here,” he assures her. 

kyle is a rag doll, all string hair and fraying stitches, and how many times she throws him around and leaves him behind makes no difference–they both know he’s not going anywhere.

he thinks she knows this. it should make him angry that she knows this. but even his anger is only ever love. thrown away and drenched in rain from the sidewalk she left him on, his anger can only ever be love.

“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry for this.” 

her guard cracks. he is the last person she’s allowed to cry to about this. still, tonight she discovers how selfish she can be.

drip drip drip. once the tears start, she can’t stop. 

“joseph.” her voice wavers, disgusted at how low she can sink. “he doesn’t -- doesn’t want to do this anymore.” it hurts just as much the second time when the words become concrete in the air. “ he doesn’t want me anymore.” 

“my time is yours.” she agrees easily, weak now in the face of his presence. she knows as clear as day who’s fault it is for the time spent apart. too many lies, too many plays and it was bound to catch up to her some day. but if there’s anything she can swear on, it’s that she never meant for it to be like this, never meant to bring him harm. 

“should i open it now or later?” she questions as they head towards the great hall. body stays just close enough that if maybe by chance they happen to swing their arms right, they’ll brush skin to skin, all accidental electricity. it’s opportunity now to pick at old scabs but she can’t resist the temptation, can’t resist him. heaven knows how hard she’s tried all this time.

“when are you heading home?” 

answers die in a graveyard on the tip of her tongue, restrained by shame, by reminder that she is in charge of the light. yet she is tired, weary, lost in the maze of a broken heart. 

“i just wanted to hear your voice.”

somehow she finds middle ground, confessing only enough to avoid showing her bleeding soul. for it is all too like a young child breaking a dish for a second time and expecting the same person to put the pieces back together. 

she holds the shatters, trying not to think about the tenderness pouring through his words. he will make her want for too much. there will be no end to her desire -- from his words, to his comfort, to his hands, and to his heart. he makes her soft when she is already too gentle, prime target for the harsh world.