Please Forgive Me

It's been days since you’ve looked at me the way you used to. The one look that you reserved for me and only me, the look that could melt my very heart on even the coldest of days.

I miss it...

Lying here alone is so abysmal, so very cold. I toss and turn uncomfortably all night long now, dreading the moment that I would hear the birds chirping, and would see the tired rays of light gleaming through the window just above your bed. Witnessing dawn always did make me so sad.

Mornings just aren't as great when I am not able to roll out of bed, and plod over to your bed while you are still asleep, climbing in... watching you sleep. If you only knew how many mornings I had sat there for over an hour, just watching you sleep. You always looked so peaceful. I breathed so silently, cradling you with my eyes.

Sometimes you'd wake up, I always pretended that I had just gotten there. You have a way with words, my friend. "Morning, you," you always mumbled with a sleepy smile, always making the same gesture next to you. I can still feel how well I fit in your arms, feeling safe, happy, complete. Your socks were always so warm. I like that.

I wish you would look at me in that special way again, if only just once more. Days have been so cold lately. Nights, too.

My dear friend and partner in many things, I never meant to cause you any hurt. I can guarantee you that for every inch of pain you are feeling, I am feeling miles more. Pain is so hard to measure... I just wanted you to be happy. I felt like I wasn't doing that. You must understand my hesitance to be that close to another human being. You are too good to be true, Ron. Too excellent, too great in quality to be any possession of mine.

So I had to break you. I had to try to break you, to see if I could. And I did. And now reality is perching heavily on my shoulders, barring any relaxation, and hypnotizing my thoughts.

I miss your laughter, Ron. I miss the way you caressed my face all over so gently, being especially careful when your hands came to my scar. I never really had a home, but your touch felt like everything I imagine it to be.

I love you so much, and you forever own a part of me now. I don't think I could ever be the same. I wish I could tell you everything in my heart, my friend. But I am not so crafty with words, like you are. Words never seemed important when we were together, though. Everything was justified when I was lying in your arms. Oh, to be justified again.

Nothing really matters anymore, I guess. Maybe I will get over it with time, maybe I will forget how you so completely compliment me. Maybe I will forget that there will never be another person on this whole planet that could ever make me half the person I am with I am with you. I was nothing before I met you, Ron. I am The Boy Who Lived because you believed me to be. I am changed forever because of what you mean to me.

Why can't I tell all of this to you?

I close my eyes and try to sleep, but I am too tired to even fall asleep. Does that even make sense? Of course it doesn't. The late night musings of a sixteen year old boy really shouldn’t make sense. The only thing that makes sense in my exhausted mind is you and me, together.

Just like the way everything made sense when you would look at me in that way you reserved for me and only me.

I roll over and open my eyes, focusing on the window above your bed. I may as well stay ahead of the game, and greet the sun when it rears its ugly head in. I start humming a song in my head, when I notice movement below the window. I lazily lower my eyes to where I spotted the shifting, and let a sharp breath out. There you are, sitting cross-legged on your bed, gazing in my direction.

I entertain the thought of rolling the other way and ignoring your blatant staring, but I get the better of myself. I slowly sit up, leaning backwards on my knuckles. You tilt your head to one side, letting the moonlight glisten off of your brilliant red hair. You seem to be deep in thought.

Damn, if you only knew how beautiful you are, my friend. So perfect.

You shove the covers off of you, and begin plodding towards my bed, stopping at the foot.

"Hey," you say in a voice barely audible. I nod in return, smiling softly.

I gesture next to me, as I had seen you do so expertly many mornings. You hesitate for a short moment, and then tentatively climb into my bed, right next to me. I'm not used to being the host, why don’t you say anything?

Moments pass. "I don't really sleep anymore," you say, tugging at a loose string in your pajama pants. I nod again, completely at a loss for words. "I can see you don't really sleep either. You look terrible, Harry."

I smile inwardly. Such a dazzling way with words. "I'm too tired to sleep," I say dumbly. You give me an odd look, and relax on my pillows. For a few moments, I sit here listening to your rhythmic breathing, I feel the warmth of your body, just inches away. I bet your socks are warm, too.

You let out one particularly large breath, and turn toward me. "What are we doing?"

"Sitting."

"Shut up, Harry," you say, as I have heard you say so many times in these past six years. "I know you lie awake every night. I see you, you know."

I lean back on my pillows next to him, daring to shift so that the sides of our bodies were touching. I immediately feel better, feeling your touch. "I miss you."

You exhale again, and close your eyes. "Then why did you do it?"

I shrug, searching the ceiling for any possible answers. The only answer I can find seems to make no sense.

"Because I love you, Ron."

The bed shifts as you move your arms to encircle me in them. You move your face close to mine, closer, until I can feel your warm breath on my skin. I hold my breath, waiting for your next move. You don’t make it.

"What now?" I ask, moving my hands to your back. The gentlest of caresses.

You shrug this time, and graze your lips against my cheek. I feel your moist, warm lips, and instantly my heart melts. How perfectly I remember your touch.

"We can try this again," you whisper into my ear, tickling my neck with every word you say. "I promise not to ever hurt you. I don’t want you to be afraid, Harry."

Our lips meet with the sweetest of syncopations. I can feel your familiar taste against my lips, I want to swallow every drop of you. You’re so delicious, you have no idea.

"I want to try again," I say softly. You smile, and I sigh. "I'm sorry for everything. I can’t stop loving you, Ron. I need you, I just... I need you to hold me."

"I love you more than you could ever know, Harry. I promise things will be okay this time. I won't let anything happen."

Our lips meet again in the smoothest of kisses, and we slide down under the covers of my bed. I feel complete as I lay next to you, marveling again at how perfectly we fit together. I hear the birds, and can see the sun peeking in through the window above your bed. It reminds me that there are only a few short hours until our first class, but I don't feel sad.

The last thing I see before I fall asleep is you giving me that look that you reserve for me, and only me.

fin