chocolate / evanita
@writingritaskeeter
evan’s hands were stained with glitter and tobacco. he sat with his spine against the back of madam puddifoot’s, a cigarette dangling between careless fingers, lips parted slightly despite the cold that bit them swollen. tired eyes fell on rolling expanses of snow-capped hills, sparkling and quiet, pockets of air trapped beneath the surface capturing the sound of sweethearts and valentines. a sigh puffed a cloud of white through the crisp air, an unpleasant feeling running down his spine. he remembered just how it looked that night, with rita like some sullen god in a winter coat and his hands bleeding tainted ichor against his own shattered self. his lungs were made of inky tar, the reflection of every GALAXY she held inside of her painted onto them. he took another drag.
he didn’t dare touch her. she was too VAST and too great for him to even begin to comprehend, let alone hold in rough hewn palms. he feared any touch would leave gashes on soft peach skin, now more than ever. once, a long time ago, they had been so comfortable, but things felt strained now. they felt unnatural and a bit forced as he sunk further and further into — whatever was happening.
rita had dragged him to hogsmeade and disappeared as soon as they arrived, leaving him to mill about and pluck at decorations and get glitter all over himself. and so he made his way to the back of madam puddifoot’s, shooing away a couple of fifth years deep into a heavy makeout session, and sat himself against the wall. he was content to sit there and smoke for the rest of the trip, as he’d brought a small paperback of macbeth, but it seemed she had other plans. it was then that he had the distinct feeling of one RITA SKEETER standing over him, hands probably on her hips, face twisted into some sort of disapproval.
“how nice of you to join me. to what do i owe the honor?”