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#I never thought I’d be drawing lotura and here I am
ronronics · 6 years
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So you know that Pikachu-static-cheek-thing… Just gonna leave this here
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No Time Like The Present
Summary: Lotor receives a gift and finds it means more to him than he realizes. 
Pairings: Lotor x F!Reader
★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I kindly ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. Thank you. ★
Warnings: N/a.
Future Sight___Historic Significance___No Time Like The Present___Thinking Ahead ___Best Friends
Lotor knew he was staring.
He knew he was unconsciously drifting his gaze from the professor to where you were sitting, directly across the hall from him. More than once he had to snap out if it by internally slapping himself, even if you didn’t once recognize the indecent gaze of his eyes lingering on your body. Your mouth. Your neck. Your shoulders. All of you. From the way your quill moved with every flick of your wrist to how those lips would mutter silently to yourself in reminder.
Lotor wondered what else your hands could do. What else that mouth could do. What else hid behind those lustrous orbs of yours. He couldn’t decide between wanting to steal a kiss from you or wanting you to take his breath away with a press of your delicate, pillowy lips upon him. His thoughts were rampant with little care for the rules he labeled as self-respect. And, damn it all, he had to control himself better.
You are not in love. You are heavily infatuated, you fool. You know the difference, now gather your wits and pay attention to the lesson at hand.
Hand. Lotor’s mind flashed an image of your hands, helplessly clinging to his back in wild lust. Were your nails long? Would you be digging them in his hot flesh while his hips grind against your body underneath him? Oh, how he wanted to feel your palm touching his chest, anywhere your curious mind desired. Are you the kind to let your fingertips explore or -
Damn. What was he? A foolish hormone-driven prepubescent again?
“Asked her out to the Yule Ball yet?”
Lotor kept his gaze glued on you and, without missing a beat, answered, “No. I do not think I will.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Shiro was watching his friend, that half-lust, half-adoration look in his eyes, “I heard Throk was going to.”
“You sure hear a lot of gossip nowadays, hm, Shiro?”
“Not my fault Allura’s mice like to hang out with me.”
He would have to hand it to Lotor, though. The man didn’t even flinch when he mentioned Throk. Was he that enthralled with you? Were his rose-colored goggles too tight on his face? Did he even notice you staring straight back at him with a small smile on your lips? No, he thinks not. He was on cloud nine and riding high in his horny thoughts.
“She will not agree to go with him.”
“Never get rid of that confidence, friend. It suits you,” Shiro grinned, containing his chuckle to not draw attention, “Since when could you tell the future?”
“I can not,” he grinned, “But chances are slim for Throk when she, no doubt, has lines of eager suitors just waiting to ask for her hand.”
Shiro was tempted to roll his eyes. What a hopeless romantic, this guy. When his grey orbs caught the black rose sticking out of his friend’s satchel, the Gryffindor prefect shook his head in mirthful amusement.
Hopeless? Maybe not. Romantic? Definitely.
Another crumpled ball folded itself into a snake, the magic from your wand bringing inanimate objects to life. Temporarily, anyways.
If anyone were to come into your room, they would see a zoo littered all over the floor. Paper animals from bears to giraffes tramped over the rug, some hiding under your bed while others sought to rip the smaller one to pieces. Ah, yes, the circle of paper life. It mattered not how noisy they were being. It could not distract you from hovering the tip of the quill over another blank parchment.
And hover it stayed.
The words were not coming to you and that was beyond frustrating. Your penmanship was fine, beautiful even, but the prose? The poetic soul? The letters meant to represent those lingering thoughts in your head were not working with you tonight. Or any previous night, for that matter. All you were doing was wasting ink and time. And yet, you kept trying, struggling to make this letter as perfect as possible for a certain white haired Slytherin.
Sighing heavily, you straighten your back and stretched your arms above you, letting your mind wander.
If there was one thing you appreciated with being Lotor’s friend, then it is that you didn’t need to be perfect. Everyone had flaws, but he showed you twice already that fixing them is what makes you a better person. Change is a good thing. Painful, but good. It was difficult keeping your eyes astray from that mirror shard. Easily one of the hardest hurdles you have ever had to do. You wanted so badly to see your mother, your father, all of you, smiling happily like before they…
“Dear Lotor,”
Dear Lotor? Was that proper for your friend? Hopefully, yes.
“Words can not express how thankful I am to have you by my side.”
You thought back to potions class, the time in the forest, even when he was guiding you to your house’s wing. A small, fond smile spread on your lips.
“Whereas I have been recklessly selfish, you have dutifully”
Dutifully? Ugh. That was not the right word! You know he wasn’t helping you out of duty. Well, not completely anyways. You hastily scratched over “dutifully” then continued writing, figuring this was a good 56th draft.
“You have kindly grounded me to see things more logically, something I have failed to do for someone sorted into the Ravenclaw house.”
Yes, yes. Keep it somewhat light with a self-burn joke. No doubt he would agree with you anyways. Probably chuckle to himself if he reads it. When he reads it. You bit your bottom lip, hesitating on the next words itching to transfer from your mind to ink. This part was always the hardest. The blank yellow tint of the paper mocked you, teased you for the cowardly trepidation gripping your chest. All this time, locked in your room, you came to one conclusion: you liked Lotor. You would consider the both of you as friends, right?
Right.
“If it is all the same to you”
Scratch that. It was too non-chalant.
“I hereby request that”
Scribbles. Too formal.
“Would it be terribly selfish if I were to ask you to attend the Yule ball with me?”
As...friends? Best friends. You felt your face warming up at those two words. Best. Friends. You really liked that.
Prince Lotor was nervous.
A rare occurrence for him, but it did happen. While he brushed off invisible lint from his shoulder, other hand folded neatly behind his back, he kept his posture straight and regal in waiting like a true gentleman. The bottom of the stairs have never felt so intimidating before. His collar suddenly felt too tight and, goodness, was that a scuff on his boots? Who dared step on his shoe without his knowing? He kept sneaking glances to his cuffed wrists, just to make sure he was presentable for the public. No, not just the public. But for you, too. Of course he was fine, handsome even, and yet…he was stiff as if he was going to face a basilisk with only his bare hands for weapons.
Green was still a horrendous color, but he will admit it complemented the black suit wonderfully.
“Prince Lotor.”
Your voice calling his name, with his proper title, drew his nebulous eyes up each carved marble step. That smile on your face suited you well and, in all honesty, was better than the elegant dress draping past your ankles. That beauty radiating from your eyes put the soft sapphire linen to shame. Little did he know, you were thinking the same when you stared in awe at the silver braid crowning his head. Did he even realize he was grinning like a fool with a soft fondness glazing over his sharp face?
“You look beautiful, my dear,” he held his hand out, which you gladly surrendered your own on top of his, “Surely, this flower will not even hold a candle to you.”
You scoffed, he chuckled, “C’mon, Casanova, give yourself some credit here. I’d say try not to attract too much attention at the hall, but that’s nearly impossible for you.”
“Oh? Go on,” Lotor tied the white silk band around your wrist delicately, ensuring the blooming corsage was centered properly, “Think women will drop to my feet and beg for a dance?”
“Ha!” you barked a laugh, “That’ll be the day. But no, it’s more like...you’re just hard to miss.”
With his height, his skin, his hair, yes, Lotor was indeed hard to miss. No doubt people would stare and, although you had no problem with speeches and crowds in a classroom, this was a different setting all together. A social gathering, not something you were accustomed to yet, especially besides someone whose mere presence demanded attention. Lotor curbed the playful banter then held his elbow out for you to take, already sensing your creeping uneasiness while his own nervousness disappeared in thin air.
“I do not suppose you have any more of that invisible ink you used in your letter, hm?” there was a hint of pride at your ingenious trick, one he almost wasn’t able to solve, “We could douse ourselves in it and run off. All those in our year will be there, I doubt they would notice two people missing.”
Besides, it’s not like this is the first time Lotor would bend the rules for you.
“And land you in trouble with the Headmaster Bob? I think not, Mr. Prince Slytherin Prefect.”
“Please,” he said with some exasperation hidden in his grin, “Just call me Lotor for tonight.”
The doors were already open and, from above, you could see the enchanted ceiling sprinkling snowflakes of all sizes. They disappeared before touching anyone’s head, but what truly caught your sight was the bright moon and the powdered tall trees displaying a winter wonderland before your very eyes. Magic was truly a special phenomenon you will never quite get used to.
“Damn, looks like we missed the ballroom dance,” you sure did not sound too heartbroken about it, “Seems like my accursed knack for being late strikes once again. Terrible.”
Lotor arched a brow and grinned down at you, “Nonsense. We will still get our dance yet, darling, though this music is not exactly suitable for it. Nor is...all this wild hopping and flailing.”
While all the students were inside, going crazy to the rock of ages blasting in the hall, Lotor led the two of you out into an isolated garden patio, complete with cement benches, neatly trimmed bushes still shimmering with green leaves, and even a soothing fountain filling the chilly air. Strange, but the cold did not seep into your bones as fast as you thought. In fact, you felt rather warm besides your friend.
A puff of fog left your mouth as you spoke, “It was getting stuffy in there. But, aah, the fresh air is nice.”
You took a deep breath just to emphasize your approval, but when you tried to release your hold from him, Lotor’s bigger hands refused to let you go. He wasn’t clasping tightly at all, more loose to let you go if you truly wanted to. Your questioning gaze and tilt of head made the Prince falter for a second, before he offered you an enchanting smile. Enchanting or mischievous, you wondered?
“I was serious about the dance,” he liked the surprised look on your face, “But if you are not of mind, it is no tragedy, my dear.”
“You know, I failed that lesson. Spectacularly, might I add.”
“Good thing I am not a teacher then, hm?”
A laugh left your mouth before you could stop it, funny bone simply tickled at the light banter. Yes, it is a good thing he was no teacher. You returned to his arms, much to his delight, and placed your free hand on his broad shoulder. Lotor tangled his fingers with yours before setting his palm properly to grip your waist. He was half tempted to squeeze, maybe try to see if you were ticklish at all, but it was your hum of thought that distracted him.
“Just don’t laugh when I step on your toes.”
“I will most certainly laugh. You know this.”
Teasing bastard, but you grinned in amusement anyways. Lotor nearly puffed up his chest, ready to lead you into the dance, but first he started...purring? No, ridiculous. He was humming a soft tune, one completely different than that leaking from the dance hall. Slowly, with the utmost care as if he was holding an ethereal moon goddess in his very arms, the Prince guided you along with his firm, lithe body.
Chest against chest, pelvis flushed together, the surrounding garden and night slowly faded away as the only thing both of you could feel was each other’s sublime presence. He was good at this and, really, now you kind of wish you paid more attention in class. Lotor expertly avoided your missteps, making it seem like you were flawlessly following his guide even though he was doing 95% of the work.
You were acutely aware that he had a smile on his face, one you have never seen him wear since you first met him crossing the threshold into Hogwarts castle.
“You are staring.”
“Can’t help it. Your freckles are distracting.”
“I get that quite often,” he flashed you an honest, handsome grin, canine glinting under the dim moon, then found his throat constricting suddenly, “You may touch them, if you wish.”
As the dance came to a slow end, you decided to take him up on that offer. His hands smoothed down to hold your waist, a way to keep you close to him in this chilly, chilly night. Couldn’t risk you getting a cold or becoming sick, right? Lotor kept still when gentle fingertips trailed up to his chin, barely skimming over his jawline, then gave the barest of flinches as you touched him. His cheeks were freezing, but your warm thumbs caressing over his freckles felt absolutely blissful.
You don’t know why, but you half expected those speckles to glow.
“Hm,” you squinted, eyes narrowed at him and, well, it put him on alert. Was it something he did? Said? Perhaps he was holding you too tight -
“...55...56…”
“...Are you,” he started, realization dawning on him, “Are you counting my freckles?”
A pinch on his cheeks, “Yes! You made me lose count. Stay still.”
But he didn’t. Lotor bellowed out a laugh, head tossing back at the ruined moment. No, not ruined. This was perfect. Not exactly what he expected, but you always did have a funny way to diffuse domestic scenarios. Leave it to you to make him swerve off his intended path. A good thing, no doubt. Always expect the unexpected. His chest was shaking while you tsk’d at him for interrupting your very important assignment.
“Come, darling,” he let out a relieved sigh, the laugh doing wonders on his hardened, infatuated soul, “Sit with me. I have something for you.”
Lotor brushed off the layer of snow from the cement bench then motioned you to take it. He did the same for his own spot before glancing up at the night sky. Beautiful. Always has been, but tonight, those star seem to be glimmering even brighter than before. Your eyes were stuck on the moon and it was in this rare, pleasant silence where the both of you came to understand how...nice it was being with each other.
“Christmas was never something I gave a second thought to because it was too...how do you say? Too sentimental, ” his hand reached into his coat, pulling out an immaculately wrapped square present, “It was not a holiday for me. Celebrating with family over a warm dinner and thoughtful, spoiled presents. Hugs and togetherness spreading cheer and good will to each other. Sickening, really.”
You would have believed him if you didn’t catch that growing smile on his lips.
“But I realize that is wrong. What it means to me does not mean the same for others. Not to you,” his thumb brushed over the shiny bow on the present before he turned and offered it to you, “There are people who had a happy family and...ahem, pardon me.”
Lotor was at a loss for words. This talk was making his heart jump in his chest, crashing into his vocal chords and messing with his brain only because it felt awkward sharing personal thoughts so...openly.
“I simply hope this gift exchange, as you say, is enough to bring back those joyful memories for you, my dear.”
My best friend. Lotor was no dunce. He could piece two and two together, especially after you shared with him the history of your broken family. He didn’t need to hear it all and, judging by how much it affected you, you weren’t going to indulge him. The only thing that mattered was that you were happy. You had a happy family and, damn it, just because his own parents were cruel and heartless doesn’t mean you should follow his chosen path of being the seasonal despondent.
You had good memories of your family, but this? Lotor’s gift? You couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the surge of feelings making your lower lip quiver. You threw your arms around him in a crushing embrace, causing the Prince to stutter at such straightforward displays of affection. And yet, his arms wrapped around your midsection as he returned the sudden hug. This...this felt nice, especially knowing you accepted his gift.
“Thank you,” you swayed him slightly before backing off him, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Lotor. This is...it’s not the same, but…”
Lotor’s smile faltered a bit.
“But it’s much better. Way better.”
Now, he felt ridiculously proud of himself.
“I love it - “
“You did not even open it yet.”
“I know! I’m just taking in the moment! It’s important! It feels good!”
Lotor raised a silver brow and, finally, you pulled the bow and strings off the present. The wrapping came off next. The Prince found himself unconsciously holding his breath in dreadful anticipation. The book with no title laid bare for your very eyes, but you went deathly silent. Intricate etchings in the green leather dye suddenly seemed mediocre for someone like you. The symbolic tree with jade minerals carved into leaves were too dull. He knew he should have gone with emeralds. Much prettier, much shinier, much more suited for -
“Wow…” your voice was low, but full of dazed awe, “You...you made this?”
“Oh, no. I bought the journal,” he watched your fingertips gently skim over the leaves, “But those, I put in myself. I even...ah…”
The timber of his voice trailed off and you turned to look at him to see his gaze fixated on the white floor, “Yes? You even…?”
“So pushy, you are,” he chuckled, running a hand over his hair and trying to steel himself with being so open, “I have enchanted it. Do write in it tonight and see what happens.”
“You aren’t going to tell me?”
“No.”
“See, that’s just mean,” you bumped your shoulder against him lightly, playfully, “Now I can’t wait until the dance is over.”
Would you think differently of him if he said he didn’t want it to end?
“Okay, fine, keep your secrets,” you reached into your bag, “Now, before I give this to you, you have to close your eyes.”
“Oh, really now?”
“Yes, really.”
“Very well, I will humor you.”
You almost wanted to pinch that catty grin off his face, but he did obey when his lids slid close. Taking a few seconds to make sure he wouldn’t peek, you gently grabbed his hand and placed the paper wrapped orb in his palm. At least, you should have, until you noticed a certain pale scar cutting across his skin. The scar from the mirror, an unwelcome reminder of your foolish actions.
Taking a deep breath, you plopped the gift and pushed his fingers up to curl around it.
“Alright, there.”
When he opened his celestial eyes, the first thing Lotor saw was that your smile, as true as it was, had a quick flutter of sadness creeping at the edges. It disappeared before he could question you and he ultimately decided, well, perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps it was that fleeting memory of your family invading your mind again. In any case, he let it go for now, then deftly peeled apart the wrapping covering your gift.
Your leg was bouncing in anxiousness. Every crinkle of the paper was a mocking tune to the gift in his hand. This wasn’t as practical as his gift. Did he like gifts that were more useful than sentimental? Oh, stars, what if this was just going to be sitting in a storage box, hidden away for years because all it ever does is show one’s emotions and -
Lotor’s brows shot up in genuine surprise, “Is...is this blue sandstone?”
“Uh huh,” your hand came up to rub your neck nervously, “Shined it, too, until it was good and ready. Do you...like it?”
Why did you even ask that? It only made your throat tighten more in trepidation, both wanting and afraid to hear his answer.
He could not take his eyes off the orb, inner stars slowly changing to green grass and blooming flowers and sunshine all around. It was warm, so warm that he had to bring both of his hands in to cradle it lovingly. This small gem was...precious. Beautiful. He knows about these, he knows about these intimately, but he never sought to own one himself. Lotor liked to believe he is a man who knows himself both inside and out, emotions included.
But this soothing visual of spring time told him otherwise.
“I do,” he whispered, “I do like it. This is...This is truly an extraordinary gift, my dear. I will cherish it forever.”
Lotor may be a Prince, but right now he felt like a King.
You sighed in relief. Lotor took entirely too long to answer, but when he did, his words made you feel big. Wholesome. Accomplished, even. Then...then you realized what exactly this was you were feeling. You felt accepted. You didn’t feel so alone now. It was quiet, both students simply touching and admiring the gifts given by the other while the stars protected you two from above.
“Do you...want to go inside? Grab a drink?”
Lotor slowly dragged his eyes to lock with yours, a certain tenderness radiating from them in the night. It was a good look on him, one you thought, well, you wouldn’t mind seeing it more often.
“Not yet, my dear. I am...taking in the moment.”
Neither of you wanted the night to end, but alas, even youngsters had their limits. Lotor’s tie was loose, jacket hanging off the side of his chair, and top two buttons of his shirt undone. Still, he wasn’t tired, he didn’t want to sleep, not when the blue sandstone orb was still in his possession. This would easily be a treasured gift he will not share with others. Solely for him and him only. Not even Kova would have the luxury of touching this.
The navy-dyed journal on his desk began glowing a faint, soft hue. Lotor couldn't stop the surge of...joy? Happiness? Eagerness? Something. The surge of something fluttering to his face and planting a smile on his lips. He flipped it open to the first blank page and waited in suspense. He never told you what the secret was because he wasn’t quite sure if his enchantment worked in the first place.
Then, words started appearing on the parchment, words written in your handwriting.
“Dear diary, 
Tonight was the most fun I’ve had in a while.”
Lotor grabbed his quill, uncapped his ink bottle, then dipped it before writing right under your sentence.
“Me, too.”
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Thinking Ahead
Summary: Lotor realizes that the feelings he has been harboring are not what they seem. 
Pairings: Lotor x F!Reader
★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I kindly ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. Thank you. ★
Warnings: Dirty thoughts, underage drinking.
Future Sight___Historic Significance___No Time Like The Present___Thinking Ahead ___Best Friends
“Here you go, two cups of black tea.”
Romelle, bright eyed and equally bright haired student of Hufflepuff, placed two dishes of tea in front of you and Lotor. Professor Trelawney’s reasoning for “switching up partners” is so people would not be too familiar with each other. That way, everyone could get a true taste of variety amongst their peers. Unfortunately for her, she was oblivious to you and Lotor’s growing friendship.
“Ugh, this tea is so bitter.”
“Yes, I will admit, this is not one of my more preferred flavors.”
Black tea was too strong on your palette, but at least the temperature of the drink was perfect. Not too hot, not too cold, and you couldn’t help but grin when Lotor sent you a pointed look the second you started sipping loudly. Where are your manners? You had none, not for some tea leaves fortune telling crap.
“Have you ever had sweet berry hibiscus tea?” you asked out of the blue, peeking at him over the edge of your tiny cup.
“I have. The fruity flavor is delightful with a side coconut jelly,” somehow, this meager chitchat made the bitter liquid bearable, “I took a trip to Maui one summer. Oh, so humid, but not as hot as I would have expected. The locals were, ahem, generous and kind beyond measure. Of course, after they accept you, the ridicule for being a tourist never ends.”
You smiled at hearing that, finding some sort of cruel glee in his suffering, “Yeah? They call you old man because of your hair?”
“Oh, come now, surely that insult is as old as time itself,” he chuckled then grinned at the challenge, “No, no, they playfully poked that I am a fish when it comes to surfing. I quote, ‘Floundering and wiggly.’”
Now, the two of you laughed, and unbeknownst to either of you, Allura’s attention was not so subtly focused on the happy duo. Or at least, how happy Lotor seemed. Romelle took her seat across from her, tilted her head when she received no recognition from her close friend, then followed her line of sight. A mild annoyance began creeping up her spine then she gently slid a hand to cover Allura’s dainty ones, a show of support and a way to garner her full attention.
“Allura?”
The Princess stayed silent for a moment more before tearing her gaze away, offering Romelle a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “Yes? Pardon me, ready for some tea?”
The concerned look reflecting Romelle’s eyes did not go unnoticed. Nor did the soft way her thumb was gently rubbing over the Princess’ knuckles out of instinctual comfort. They talked about this before, talked about her and Lotor’s previous relationship several times over when she felt those feelings creep back up in her heart. You were right when reading her palm: Allura had an insecure heart, even a year after her relationship with him took a turn for the worst.
But that was not why she was intently watching you two right now.
“Are you alright?” or rather, will she be alright?
“Yes, I am quite fine, thank you,” the Princess picked up her teacup and rest her mouth on the lip, “...Actually, I think I am just...concerned.”
“Concerned? You know he can not hurt you anymore, Allura.”
“Not for me, no. I mean for her.”
A spark of jealousy welled up in Romelle, but she quickly tampered it down before it could be known. You and Allura were not friends. Acquaintances, perhaps, but even so, she could understand the Princess’ bleeding heart for others. Especially in situations that didn’t include her, or need to include her at all. She only wished for the safety for everyone and the blonde girl couldn’t blame her. She cared too much for people and it did get her hurt more than once.
This was not new information to Romelle.
She sipped from her cup then glanced at Lotor, taking keen interest in him when he drank from his own cup, “Allura, do you think he’d hurt her? Maybe we should talk to Shiro about this…”
The Princess finally took a gulp of her tea, hoping it would relax her nerves, “No, that won’t be necessary. I’d rather not involve anyone else unless he - Unless I start to notice something. I really am trying to take your advice into practice.”
As in, don’t get in too deep in other people’s lives, ex’s included. It was just hard to do so when the man you once loved is giving someone else that same exact look she felt for him. Or at least, she thought she felt. A year later and it was still so very confusing for her fragile heart. Allura gently squeezed her friend’s hand in sincere apology.
“I am sorry for making you worry,” she continued, “Let’s enjoy this tea, yes?”
Romelle doubted the enthusiasm plastered over Princess Allura’s face, but she knew no words would soothe her troubled mind right now.
Lotor laid in bed with Kova perched on his shoulders, his tail loosely wrapped around the Prince’s neck. The cat would have rather been laying in his lap, but it was already preoccupied with an open book. There were words scribbling fast across the page, yet they appeared not by Lotor’s hand. No, the writing was too big, too loopy to be his.
I nearly threw the book into the fire when you wrote back. You should’ve told me at the dance! Nearly scared me to death. Thought one of the ghosts possessed it or something.
He reached over to his bedside table and picked up his quill. The nub was wearing down. Soon, he would need a new one.
You would willingly traverse into the Forbidden Forest past midnight, but a two-way journal scares you?
I’m a Ravenclaw, not a Gryffindor. Bravery is not in my blood.
Lotor grinned at that. Yes, curiosity and bravery were not of the same definitions.
Did your tea reading spook you of the future?
Why would I believe soggy, yucky leaves telling me I’m going to be attacked?
Maybe it is a sign. Watch out for puddles.
After that, the Prince drew a surprisingly detailed puddle, but then added a stick figure to represent you. There was a frown on your face and he could already imagine the indignant noise you’d make once seeing his creative masterpiece. To his surprise, ink started sketching as an image of, what he could only assume, was HIM appeared over the water. Was that... was that him on his broom? Lotor chuckled in mirthful amusement.
My ears are not that big.
In response, you drew his hair longer. Excessively longer. Rapunzel length longer. Then, the moon appeared. Full, just like that night, and little stars dotting the vacant sky. Lotor’s heart softened at the image you were drawing, not at all thinking about how he was connecting the dots and making constellations here and there. It wasn’t until he saw a single, long line stretch from the bottom of the page to the top and stop there did he tilt his head in confusion.
No more words? Ah. You must’ve fallen asleep on him. It was well past midnight anyways. You had a good idea. Before he decided to snuggle under the comforter in search of dreamland, he wrote three little words. Three little heartfelt words that he knows you’ll see come morning.
Good night, darling.
Lotor’s brows scrunched up in offense at watching you read. Well, he was trying to read, but his eyes caught such a despicable act to nature he had to put his own studies on halt just to make sure he was not dreaming a horrid nightmare. He cleared his throat softly, just enough to catch your attention.
“I had no idea you lick your thumb before turning pages.”
Almost comically, your tongue was still stuck out just as you were about to wet it, “I know, it’s a disgusting habit -”
“Very. Remind me to never lend you any of my books.”
You had to suppress a laugh at his squinty face, almost like he found a fly in his five-star bowl of clam chowder. This time, instead of using your thumb, you swiped the page with the tip of your wand. It seemed this pleased him more than your gross saliva tainting the books and spreading unknown germs to others. Or even to yourself! Who knows how many people have touched these books?
“And remind me never to touch any of your books, too.”
You rolled your eyes yet kept a playful grin plastered on your lips, “One of my favorite stories is World War Z. Have you read it?”
“The one about zombies? Really? That one is the best book you can think of?” Lotor arched his brow, attention focused on you now instead of his own reading, “You know zombies can never really happen.”
“Shh! It could totally happen, y’know. If science can go wrong, why can’t magic? They wouldn’t’ve made reversal spells if magic was perfect.”
“Pardon me, did you just say…” he squinted at you even more, “W...wouldn’t’ve?”
Now, he was baffled at yet another phenomenon you showed him. Unnecessary contractions. Lotor blinked like you just grew another pair of lips on your face, which nearly made you chortle a bit too loud in the quiet library. No other students would even consider staying this late in the archives for fun, yet good company was all you two needed, location be damned.
“You have been hanging around Keith too much, darling,” he reprimanded, yet you didn’t take it at all seriously, “Next thing I know, you will be a brooding jar of angst who mopes in bed all day. Oh, wait, that DID happen.”
It was your turn to scoff in mock offense. How dare he grin that catty grin after openly poking fun at your expense? You almost wanted to retaliate by flicking a paper ball at him. Almost, and you only decided against it when you saw his eyes shine in delighted mirth, half his face hidden behind a book. It was...nice. Not his weak insult, no, but rather the friendly familiarity was quite refreshing between you two.
“Oh, yeah? Well, at least I don’t...I don’t…”
“Hm? Yes? You do not what? Use your words, dear.”
“Hmph, at least I don’t...Gah, I can’t think of anything!”
Lotor wasn’t flawless, but it was kind of hard to think of one, singular trait you could joke about on the spot. And he knew this. He reveled in making you fumble over your words because, although you were smart, you still needed at least a day warning to come up with a worthy insult. Meanwhile, the scrutinizing observer he was, he could pick at you till the sun comes up.
“It is alright. Take your time,” he nonchalantly turned a page, that air of victory surrounding his smug self, “You can say it tomorrow when you are ready.”
“Quietly. You do not want us to get caught, do you?”
As silently as you could, you lifted your foot and gently tapped the stone with every step you took. How Lotor could pull off being so stealthy, you had no clue. Magic, probably. He was leading you up many flights of stairs in a part of the castle you were not familiar with. Was this the Slytherin wing? No, there weren’t even any pictures on the cobblestone walls. Where exactly were you?
“Ugh, wait, let me - “ you knelt down quickly, slipping off your clunky shoes and allowing the cold stone to seep through your socks, “Okay. Okay, where are we going?”
One hand in his, the other now holding your scuffed shoes, Lotor decided against giving you a firm answer. Instead, he turned over his shoulder, sent you a quick wink along with his signature trusting smile. You stumbled gracefully, blaming the uneven stairs for fault, yet he was strong enough to still prevent you from kissing the floor.
“We are almost there...if you would stop tripping,” cue smile transforming into a playful grin, an excited grin, like a boy ready to see the fireworks start.
“Well, maybe if someone didn’t have mile-long legs, I wouldn’t have to sprint to keep up,” you huffed, that is, until the two of you came across a large gap.
The chasm below, oh stars, how high up did you two travel? This was at least 50 stories high. It was a miracle the stairs were even holding up at all, as decrepit this building was. But...there, across the death hole, was a door which you could only assume was where he was planning on leading you. Before you could even ask him a question, Lotor released your hand then effortlessly leaped across the gap, landing calculated and ever so majestically.
And maybe a little smug when he met your slack-jawed face.
“That is so unfair.”
“Jump. I will help you, do not worry. The gap is not as big as you think.”
You were half nervous and half...excited? It must be because of your curiosity peaking at the sight of the ornate curved door. Surely, no one else would even consider venturing forth with the prospect of a very long drop right in front of them. But Lotor said he would help. Lotor said not to worry. Yet, you shuffled in spot, calculating how much of a running start you would need to make it across.
Meanwhile, the Prince was way too amused seeing you hesitate. He held out his arms as if offering a hug, trying to lure you in with the trust he carefully built with you.
“You drop me, I haunt you for the rest of your life.”
“Duly noted, darling.”
That gap...was it just you, or was it getting bigger? Before you could let your nerves get the best of you, Lotor sent you a nod of encouragement and you exhaled a heavy breath. Shaking your arms, you backed up a bit then took a running start, leaping with all the strength in your legs. Don’t look down. Don’t look -
Oh, fuck. Too late. And now, you realized your jump wasn’t nearly as far as it should have been. One foot landed on the edge and Lotor’s instincts immediately kicked in, his strong arms winding around your midsection to pull you close for security. You weren’t sure who made the “eep” noise, no, certainly not you, but you definitely heard him chuckle when your hands clung onto him for dear life.
Your heart was beating so fast. If you were listening closely, you could hear his, too.
“See? That was not so difficult, now was it?” Lotor took a few cautious steps away from the hole, noting your legs were shaking like a newborn foal, “Come, you - ah - dear, your nails…”
You stubbornly shook your head, refusing to let go of your hug as he guided you through the door, “Forests, fine. Flying over a lake? Fine. Leap of death? No. Next time, give me a piggyback ride. I’m not doing that again.”
The door closed behind you two and it was Lotor shrugging you gently to pull your face out of the safe confines of his chest. A dead fireplace, cushions, some thick blankets, half a ceiling missing. This place was in shambles, but it did make you feel more lax, more safe, more secluded. Lotor’s arms fell to his sides to let you explore the humble room, moon missing tonight and sky shimmering with distant stars.
“Here,” the Prince picked up a folded blanket, spreading it out and over your shoulders, “It is only going to get colder and we will be here for a while.”
“Oh...it’s…” the view from up here, so close to the clear sky, you almost felt like you could pluck a gem or two from the night, “You brought me here to stargaze? They look so much clearer tonight.”
Some more shuffling and Lotor wrapped his own thick comforter around his body then sat on a chilled cushion. There was no wind tonight, thank goodness, otherwise this trip he carefully planned might have ended prematurely. Footing your own cushion closer to his side, you also plopped next to your tall friend while tucking your blanket tighter in your chest. Neither of you minded that you two were, as they say, attached at the hip.
“Not only that. Just wait. Give it a few minutes,” Lotor angled his head upwards, nebulous eyes reflecting those twinkling stars and anticipating the phenomenal show to start.
You mimicked him, orbs searching for something in the sky, anything other than those countless dots swimming in the night. Lo and behold, you saw something flicker. And another, this time longer. A shooting star? Many! Many shooting stars blinking in sight, and just like that, you perked up in amazement, in the awe Lotor witnessed that night at the moonstone lake. Lips parted, iris darting across the sky to catch each falling star, you saw 10, no, 12 pass by in the mere minutes you were sitting here.
The cold didn’t bother you anymore, “That’s...that’s like, 12 wishes!”
16 now and soon you would no doubt lose count with how frequently they appeared. You couldn’t keep up with his freckles, shooting stars even less.
“I can’t...think of more than 3 wishes,” your mouth scrunched up in a corner, “I wish tests weren’t so hard.”
“That, my dear, could easily be handled if you studied more,” he reached to his satchel and pulled out two green mugs, “If I recall correctly, the Muggle world believe wishes can be granted by magic, no?”
Your attention diverted to the cup he placed in your lap, fingers deftly picking it up and noticing it...empty. “Yeah, they believe that if you blow a dandelion in the wind, your wish comes true, too. Other things like, uh...something about ladybugs? And eyelashes? A bit silly, isn’t it?”
And yet, he has a suspicious feeling in his gut you tried every possible wishing device at your disposal. Lotor pulled out his wand then gently tapped the rim of his cup, warm dark liquid instantly filling it to tipping point. The steam wafted in the air and you noticed a few mini marshmallows floating in his drink, clumping together in the sea of sweetness. No sooner were you able to voice your question of “How did you do that?!” did he use magic to fill your cup, as well. Less marshmallows, but no complaints from you.
“Well, magic does not have to make sense,” Lotor spoke with a hint of cockiness and, after taking a sip of his drink, he hummed in thought, “Needs a bit more of a...kick, no?”
“A...kick?” you raise da brow, carefully drinking a small portion before smacking your lips together, “Peppermint cocoa? Didn’t take you as a sweets kinda guy.”
“I adore sweets. Chocolate frogs are one of my favorite delicacies,” he admitted, hiding the fact that he also...collected those cards in the package as a hobby.
Lotor pulled out a bottle. A dark bottle, label unreadable in the dim room, then he popped the top off with one strong flick of his thumb. He poured a generous amount of what looked like milky coffee in his cup before offering the tip to you. Whatever it was, there was a whiff of sugary sweetness and, oh...that was alcohol. Faint, but it was there, and you shot a bewildered look at him.
“The Prince drinks alcohol? What would the Slytherin housemaster say?” you feigned shock and, even in the dark, you could see his glowing eyes roll at your words.
“Hush, you. Alcohol is commonly referred to ‘liquid courage,’ no?” to his delight, you held your drink up and he poured a small amount for now, “After seeing your...flawless bravery over that hole, I think some liquid courage would somewhat embolden you.”
You sipped. You sputtered. You stuck out your tongue, somehow thinking it would help get that ghastly bitter burn off your palette.
“Oh, this is - this is disgusting!” and yet, you took another sip, maybe the second time around wouldn’t taste as bad, “How can you drink this stuff? Blegh…”
A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest. Yes, this must’ve been your first drink, but in his mind, it was not strong at all. Still, seeing your blatant dislike of it, he brought his wand up and prepared to magically whisk away your drink and give you fresh hot cocoa. It was you who cradled your mug away from him, holding it like you were preserving a precious, rare golden apple.
“Oh? So, you DO like it, I see,” Lotor’s eyes cataloged the blush gracing your cheeks, either from embarrassment at playing keep-away or from the drink warming up your body.
“Now, I didn’t say that,” you leaned against him, placing all your weight on the sturdy Prince, “I should try it...a third time. And fourth. And fifth. Then I will give you my five-minute review of your peppermint hot cocoa.”
This was so dangerous, sneaking out this late, drinking alcohol, but it was giving you a sense of acceptance, of fun, hanging out with Lotor with no judgement from anyone. No student roles under a teacher’s gaze or homework to be done before noon or responsibilities other than caring for each other in the most spirited of company. Goodness, was he always this warm? You lifted his arm and tucked yourself against him, figuring double blankets would keep you two cozier longer throughout the night. .
“If you fall asleep, do not drool on me. I will wake you, dear.”
Your eyes scanned the page, mouth silently reciting the spell so you could memorize it by heart. Though, with your previous attempts that came out for naught, you knew this was going to be difficult. It was almost as if your wand was purposely refusing to work with you. While the rest of the class was practicing with success, you glared with determination at the potted plant in front of you. Unblooming. It looked nearly dead, to be honest.
“Morning dew, nightly rain
Bring this rose to bloom again.”
Three flicks of your wand, each punctuated at the end of a verse, yet all the plant did was...wilt. And with it, so did your spirit. To your right, before you could even see his smarmy grin, Lotor hummed in amusement at your failed attempts. Rude. You saw out of the corner of your eye that his potted plant, well, blooming was too nice of a word. It was flourishing. Practically a mini rose bush now, orange of all ugly colors.
“Don’t laugh,” you pouted, trying not to take his mockery at heart and knowing this was just him being a little shit again, “I’m trying.” “Maybe if you said it correctly, it would work. Here,” Lotor faced his already beautiful plant then cleared his throat, voice clear and loud, “Morning dew, nightly rain, bring this rose to bloom again.”
It grew twice its size, nearly tipping the pot. You grumbled, a low “show off” muttered from your lips.
“Now, your turn,” he faced you, watching your every move, from the flick of your wrist to the posture you held, “Your voice must be loud and clear.”
Again, you mumbled, both at his instruction and this dumb plant that wasn’t listening to you. The Prince tsk’d, your behavior and discouragement making him cross his arms. This was stern Lotor now. Not quite the same from the forest, but close enough that if you didn’t heed his advice, he would definitely leave you to fail over and over again.
“Sit up. Do not slouch,” he watched you do as he commanded, “Hold your wand at a 45 degree angle near the plant’s base. Now, LOUD and CLEAR.”
“I don’t like raising my voice,” you finally admitted...stubbornly.
Lotor narrowed his eyes slightly at the excuse. He reached over and scooted the plant closer to you then lifted your chin up with a finger. His eyes didn’t miss the way you stiffened in your seat nor how you easily surrendered to one of his slender digits. For a quick second, his mind flashed to what else he could do to you with just a single finger.
“You do not have to be loud, then. Clear. How will your wand hear you? How will the plant hear you? Now, try again.”
“Tch, now who is the pushy one, huh?”
“You could fail and lose house points. Your choice.”
“Bah! Fine, fine, just - don’t watch me.”
He wouldn’t watch you directly, but he was listening intently now, just to make sure you spoke the spell clearly. Or blow up your plant on accident. A few minutes passed and when you cheered a “Yes, finally!” under your breath, he knew you got it to work on the 6th try. By HIS guidance, no less, but still, it was the results that mattered in the end. A nudge at his side and he raised a groomed brow at you, eyes obviously waiting for a sign of gratitude.
“I don’t like yellow roses. Can I change the colors?” you flipped through ahead of the book, going to the more advanced spells, and he had to stop himself from rubbing the headache forming at his temples.
Fool. Mumbling idiot. You were going to accidentally change the color of your skin if you weren’t careful.
A strange thought crossed his mind then. Were you always this...imbecilic?
Lotor felt sick today. A cold, no doubt, or a fever? He wasn’t sure, but the tonic the nurse gave him only helped temper his body a little bit. The drapes were pulled together to keep his entire room dark and a thick layer of blankets covered his form. Oh, but he was breaking out a sweat now, his least favorite part about being ill. Aside from the migraines, of course.
The journal glowed a faint blue hue by his bedside, the light actually intensifying his headache. You were writing in it, most likely waiting for him to reply, but he was too aching to move any of his limbs. The sick Prince knew that a distraction would help him avert his mind from focusing on his soreness, yet part of him just wanted to...ugh, that brightness was getting on his blasted last nerve.
With all the strength he could summon, he grabbed the book and stuffed it inside the drawer. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. Sleep and silence were his best cure for his shut-in self. Eyes drooping slowly, he buried his face into the lush pillow then willed his mind to shut up. For five minutes, just five, let the comforting arms of sleep embrace me. Wish granted.
Though, he roused at the soft rapping of knuckles on his door. He had no idea how long he was knocked out. Could be an hour, could be a day. He wanted no visitors, so who dared…?
A turn of a knob and your face, as well as the hallways blinding light, leaked into the room. His silver brows knotted in annoyance and, with a peek from one eye, he tried to dig even more into his pillow to avoid you. Sick Lotor was an unhappy Lotor. A warning from Ezor when they had reluctantly let you in their wing and led you to the grumpy Prince’s private room. Your footsteps indicated you were right besides his bed, probably just looking down at him in pity. The thermos in your hand suddenly felt a little worthless, but you stood firm in your wavering thoughts.
“Hey, Lotor?” a rumbling grunt as a response, not the friendliest, but you understood his frustration, “Figured you were, uh...y’know, under the weather.”
“I am not sad. I am sick,” came his muffled reply, followed by a cough, “...And tired. Very tired.”
Yes, you know the wretched side effects of being sick. You may be going to a wizarding school, but illnesses still affected everyone. Why couldn’t magic whisk it away? Taking a seat at the edge of his bed, being mindful of his space and the fresh scent of mint wafting in the air, you offered him a soft pat pat on his elbow. Instantly, he cringed into himself, the touch both welcome and a little uncomfortable. You had intended to come and keep him company, perhaps tell him about what you learned in class today, yet all his body language pointed to one option: he wanted to be ALONE.
“Alright, alright, loud and clear,” you weren’t offended by his brusque words, well, maybe a little bit, “Here. Don’t know if you ate anything yet, but there’s some chicken soup in this. Generosity from the kitchen staff after they booted me out for sneaking in.”
You at least expected a chuckle, a quip of “I am surprised they did not turn YOU into soup,” but nothing came. Placing the thermos on his bedside table, you headed for the door and, with one last glance back at him, you offered a soft smile.
“Get better soon.”
The illegal Love Potion was finished and a majority of the class was excited, rightfully so. Everyone was eager to know who their loved one was, their crush, and possibly even sneak a portion out to use on the object of their desires. But not him. He was here for the grade. Lotor adored the dark arts and, although not officially part of the curriculum in his other class, this was just another step into understanding why Love was the strongest curse of all.
And yet, you were shifting nervously in your seat. Hands neatly folded on the desk, knee shaking up and down insistently, and your eyes couldn’t even focus staring at ONE thing. He didn’t understand. The two of you use the same ingredients, so you must be getting the same perfect grade as him. Or perhaps...you, like the others, were curious about what the potion would reveal to you if you took a small whiff.
“Did you...y’know,” you asked vaguely, motioning to his simmering potion.
“No. Did you?”
“No.”
A moment of silence. You knew you had certain feelings for him, but pinpointing them to love or anything stronger than love was what really kept you uncertain. Friends? Best friends? Maybe...something more? Should you ask him? Part of you wanted to, yet another side of you was actually happy with where you two were at now. You trust him. You trusted him quite a bit.
“Wanna do it together?” you asked, knowing there was a few minutes to spare before class started.
Lotor’s silence made you hesitate even more. Not because it was a yes or no answer, but because he was thinking about what he was going to experience. It was no matter of the heart that he already heavily desired you since that mirror showed him what the two of you could be. His thoughts were invaded with you before, yet he couldn’t differentiate between him being a horny adolescent or an actual fool in love.
The Prince sent you a side glance, “Yes. Let us try.”
Both of you gently swept the smoke rising from the cauldron to your noses, preparing yourselves for the answers to the unknown.
Peppermint cocoa. Old library books. Fresh laden snow. Chicken pot pie. A...rose?
You brought a hand up to cover the lower half of your face, immediately knowing where all these scents were coming from. Or rather, who. You...love him? No. That couldn’t be. You didn’t even realize it! How could some liquidy goop know you better than you? But...maybe on some degree, it was true. You love him enough to be such close, vulnerable friends with each other. Enough that you wished his sickness would erase completely from his body that one night. Enough that you willingly leap into his welcoming arms, despite the fear clouding your mind.
The realization...well, it brought you two things. One, a peace of mind now that your question was answered. And two, you found that the damn beating organ in your chest wanted to ask him about these conflicting thoughts. You swallowed a thick gulp lodged in your throat, sparing a meek look at your partner sitting idly besides you. Did he smell...something foul?
Lotor’s face was twisted in utter disgust.
Yes, he knew what his nose would pick up. Chicken noodle soup, white carnations, misty lake water, oak trees, and finely-ground powdered moon stone. With every scent, a new memory flashed in his mind, from that dangerous adventure at the forest lake to the soup he gratefully consumed shortly after you closed his bedroom door. The memories...it made his heart fond, his heart yearn to hold you again, but the smell. All of it mixed together?
It made him want to puke on the spot.
Lotor covered his nose with his hand to block anymore of that potion from reaching his brain. He knew you were staring at him, waiting for an answer, anything, and he knew you were not blind. The growing friendship, the late night cuddling, the hugs, the sentimental time spent together. You must’ve suspected something between you two, some fine line between the moments of vulnerability you shared with each other.
“Lotor, did you - “
Yet, he turned away from you, avoiding looking at you in the eyes, just as the professor waltzed into the classroom. Maybe the smell was too strong for him? Yes, yes, that was a logical conclusion. The potency, when taken too much, can cause nausea. Right? You swear you read that somewhere in the book. It must be the cause of his sudden reaction.
Because if it wasn’t that, then everything else pointed to the other option, and you weren’t sure if you were ready to accept that.  
Lotor didn’t speak to you for the next few days. Sometimes, you thought you saw a glance of him turn a corner. Sometimes, he was hastily shoveling his food in his mouth to leave abruptly. Sometimes, he would spare you a quick, stoic glance before turning his attention to his books. Either way, there was no right time to talk, no perfect moment with his odd evasiveness lodging between you two.
Then again, you tried to see this as openly as possibly. Perhaps he was just busy. Tests and finals were coming up and you, too, were preoccupied with other studies.
“Hey, Lotor, wait up,” you called out to him this time, jogging to catch up before he entered his class.
“Hm? Yes, dear? What is it?”
“Did you wanna head to Madam Puddifoot’s this weekend? After tests and everything. Figure we could use a break, eat some cake, the good stuff!”
Lotor didn’t meet your gaze nor your enthusiasm. Instead, he glanced off to stare at the floor, internally debating something bouncing around that cluttered skull of his. He was a man of few words, even fewer when concerning personal emotions, yet lately he couldn’t even organize his thoughts in a coherent order. There was something bugging him, something deep in his skin, and as your friend, part of him realized it would wedge an awkwardness between you two.
“Ah...no, I apologize,” eyes still glued to the floor, Lotor missed the downtrodden dip of your smile, “Perhaps another time, hm? When things have quieted down and students have gone home for break.”
Yes. Yes, a good diversion, one he didn’t quite think all the way through.
“Oh, yeah! Sure, good idea. Less people would be overcrowding the shop. Just...y’know, the journal. You know where I am at.”
Were you always this...this easy to push around? Odd. He never really noticed it before.
A nod of his head, he turned and left you standing there alone. Not even a goodbye? He really must be stressed.
Lotor was feeling...angry. Frustrated, and not in a way he could relieve himself through some private time alone. Yes, in the confines of his dutiful patrol across the Slytherin wing, he still thought of you, of forcefully kissing you against the wall. Biting your delicate neck with little control until he had his fill of moans and screams. Even pinning your wrists at your lower back as he fucked you from behind made his groin stir in want.
All these images distracted him, but there was something...missing. He didn’t feel love. It was just lust. Just a need to climax, to dump his load into you over and over again. Knowing these thoughts only got worse over time left a bad taste in his mouth. He never wanted to use you for anything, least of all sex. His body wanted you, but his heart...his heart was unsure.
What changed? When did the line between lust and love divert? And why, when he thought of you, did he feel...nothing anymore? 
He would even go as far as to say there was a smidgen of contempt. That’s what was making him irritated. His heart was slowly beginning to dislike you, dislike your stubbornness, your pushiness, even your clumsy nature was grating on his nerves. All those times of you being a fool were true, through and through. You were oblivious to dangers. Not at all patient. Too dim-witted to see your true self, so you relied on others - relied on him - to bring it out of you.
It was annoying, yes. He was not someone to seek attention from. Yet, he couldn’t just say this to you. You’d get upset, cry about it, no doubt. Lotor just didn’t feel the want to deal with your wayward self again. He felt as if he was spending TOO much of his time catering to you and it no longer left a good, fluttery feeling in his chest. In fact, it left him feeling emotionally drained.
What he thought was friendship, or something more, was actually neither of those.
Perhaps that was why he still hasn’t taken that journal out from the drawer.
The two of you were drifting apart.
You finally managed to have at least a few minutes with him. Albeit, yes, it was by pure chance that your curious exploring led you to the same secretive balcony deep within the castle grounds. But, now that you were here, it felt a little awkward to be staring at his broad back. How do you start this? It hurt to realize you were hesitating talking to your best friend.
You were concerned for him, deeply concerned, but how do you say this without saying it?
“Did you follow me?”
The timber of his voice was a little deeper than you remembered. Taking careful steps, you walked up besides him and leaned on the stone railing with your hands hanging off the edge. Stiff, you were both stiff, or maybe it was the trick of the chilly night. The air didn’t feel as warm as it did before.
“No way, how do I know you didn’t follow me, huh?” the accusatory tone didn’t fall on deaf ears, but Lotor didn’t return the usual amusement.
“You should not be out this late. It is past curfew hours.”
It was hard to keep your mood from turning sour at his terse answers, but you had to remind yourself that this was Lotor. Your best friend. You missed him, even this moody side of him. Perhaps another joke would help? Maybe some light hearted teasing?
“Oh, c’mon, classes are over. What’s wrong with a little midnight adventure? Last one too exciting for you?”
Nothing. Not even a blink.
“I know what you are trying to do,” Lotor’s shoulders slumped and finally, he looked at you straight in the eyes, “I suggest you stop while you are ahead.”
The words spilled out of your mouth faster than you could stop them, “Lotor, I’m just trying to help.”
“Did I ask for it?”
“No, but - damn it, you helped me. Why can’t I do the same for you?”
Annoyance. That was all you could see flit across his face and it stung deep within your chest. You tried to put on your best pleading expression, something to show that you really were worried about him, about his distant self, about his walls being rebuilt brick by brick. This wasn’t like him, not at all.
“People usually help out of the goodness of their heart, not as some sort of debt to repay. ”
“That’s not what I meant. I just - you’re acting different.”
Again, wrong words to say. You knew it, you felt the sudden shift in the air. Saw the way his jaw clenched in restrained control and how his eyes hooded low in a paralyzing glare. Pushing, you were pushing too much, and Lotor was getting very uncomfortable. And, as usual, with his discomfort came the need to...protect himself. Retaliate with words to disarm you completely.
“Oh? And you are unhappy with this ‘different’ side of me? Is that why you seek to help change me back?”
“No! Of course not, Lotor. When I wasn’t myself, you showed me - look, I don’t know what’s going on with you - “
“No. You do not. Perhaps you should have been more observant,” he sneered at you, hitting hard at the fact you were an airhead most of the times.
You brushed off his comment, but it left a lingering ache in your heart, “Or you could just - WE could just talk. Just one night, get whatever it is off your chest and I’ll do the same.”
“No.”
You anticipated the answer before even offering the suggestion, especially knowing deep down that neither of you would be comfortable with speaking so openly about emotions. Foolish, you weren’t thinking ahead, thinking about what you were saying before letting it slip from your tongue. Talking to him like this was insufferably frustrating. It was wearing down your patience, HIS patience, but your stubborn persistence is what would tip the breaking point. You were never aware of this.
“Then what do you want to do, Lotor?”
“Is it not obvious?”
Again, his voice was being degrading and part of you wanted to scoff at him.
“I came here by myself for a reason.”
You could at least piece two and two together, even if the sharp edges left biting wounds on your skin.
“...You want to be alone,” you finished for him, sad you had to say those words out loud for both of you to hear.
Lotor needed time to sort out...whatever this was. And, judging by the way he averted every single one of your questions, this had nothing to do with you. Nothing you COULD do, except give him the space he needed unless you want to find yourself facing the brunt of his cold shoulder and burning words again.
You hated this feeling, this feeling of being rejected. Shunned.
“Fine. I’ll give you your space.”
“Thank you.”
Lotor sure didn’t sound truly thankful, but at this point, you didn’t much care. If isolation was his way to handle things, then you would let him do it. Even if it cost you the friendship and whatever feelings evolved between you two. Something that neither of you got the chance to further explore. That revelation made the pit in your stomach sink in sadness.
The hot, angry tears of frustration wouldn’t stop falling down your cheeks as you turned and marched away from him.
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