theodore nott was all long lines and arched brows. he had this air about him, somehing quiet and bristling, like a gust of wind growing steadily stronger. his hands were soft and his eyes haunted, and he had seen enough horrors to understand the world. those he trusted were few and far between, but if you’d gained his favor, he would follow you to the wild, he woud bury your skeletons with you. often he would disappear, but he would always come back and hold you. loving him was like trying to hold water in your palms.
pansy parkinson was all sharp edges and wolfish smiles. there was something about her, something blinding and harsh, like a too bright light. her touch was harsh and her gaze desperate, and she had been in a cage long enough to know it will never do. she did not love many, but if she wanted you in her life, she would claw into you, she would hold you close to her chest. sometimes she could hurt you, but she never meant to. loving her was like trying to kiss a lightning bolt.
they have been the center of each other’s world for years, the eye of the storm. from a luxurious childhood, to painful youth, to quiet adulthood. there had never been anyone else for either of them.