ᴜɴᴅᴏɴᴇ | ᴅ.ᴍ

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄

"WE shouldn't speak anymore. You're sober enough to walk to your dorm now or do you need an escort for that as well."

"I don't need your help. I don't want it and I'm not asking for it, but the thing is, no matter how many times we keep telling that to each other, either of us ends up next to each other." I turned around, putting the palm of my hand against my temple. "I don't know why you're trying to help me at some point. You've hated me. What changed?"

"Nothing has changed: I still dislike you."

"Disliking someone isn't the same thing as hating them." We looked up at each other at the same time — there was something. There is something and I don't know what it is. Or maybe I do know what it is and all I'm doing is being in denial. No, that can't be possible.

"What do you want me to say?" He protested. "Would you like me to express how much I dislike your presence? Would you like me to state how much I hate you standing in the same room as me? Would you like to write it down on parchment, on how much I loathe you even breathing in the same room as me? Is that something you prefer?"

"Then why state the fact that I make you want to care for me?" I stepped towards him. "Then why tell me that I make you want to touch me? Tell me what I'm missing because nothing seems to make sense. I don't know what you're thinking if you say one thing and then do another."

"I'm telling you to leave yet you're doing nothing but coming near me. Every time I tell you to fucking leave, you do the opposite. There's room for only one of us to be stubborn."

"You started all of this," I expressed, "you started this when you looked me in the eyes and told me to breathe when I couldn't do anything but feel a sense of panic." His lips twitched, mouth parting to say something. He was confused just as much as I was. "You walk in and walk out like it's a bloody pub house. You tell me to stay away, yet you're always there like a fucking walking reminder."

"I don't give a damn about anything you think." He moved away, loosening his shirt as he ran his hand through his hair. "I was being considerate — it could've been anyone. Don't expect anything from me, Young. You're not going to get anything, just leave. I can't listen to you anymore."

"I don't want anything from you, Draco." His head snapped up in my direction. "I only wanted to understand you the way you understood me. When I told you things — when I told you some things about me, it wasn't because I wanted your pity, it's because I wanted you to get me as a person. I wanted to understand you, not pity you."

"If you can't get it through your head yet, I'll fucking help you." He strode forward as I took a step back. "I don't want you here. I don't want you in this room and I don't want to hear your pathetic voice. I don't want your help, not your advice on trying to understand me better. I couldn't give two fucks about that, yeah?"

He took another step forward as my back pressed against the drawer shelves. The embroidery itching against my skin as he's looking directly at me, his hand on one side of me, locking me in place. A sharp object pressing against my thigh as I let out a gasp. "I've noticed you carry this around." My eyes looked down at the dagger he had held down on me. He took my dagger. "It's a hefty thing to take everywhere with you." He leaned further down, tracing the knife against the curve as he's wedging it between my legs.