unsubtlebackarch replied to your post: unsubtlebackarch replied to your post: now, hes…
nathan is Hogwart’s Top Prankster (TM), a title he holds with unsurpassed pride.
he enjoys flaunting the position by never taking anything seriously (which you’re sure is, if he had a Guidebook to Being Nathan Chambers, and you’re pretty sure he’s egoistical enough to have such a book printed, bound, and sold by volume, Rule Number One). like — for instance — once, while you’re both lounging in the Hufflepuff common room, and he has the audacity to thread his fingers between yours, in plain view of everyone else. (often they ask you, how can you put up with someone like him? and you answer between a thin smile, practice.)
you frown and you ask, “what are you doing?” because if you know nathan chambers as well as you think you do (and you do), Rule Number Two is to flirt with every living being in sight, and you’re quite sure even you are not exempt from this rule.
he replies facetiously, “oh, just feelin’ for calluses,” and you’re stunned by how easy-going the answer is, how his stupid Irish accent has filtered into your brain like quotidian normalcy, how he has managed to slip not only his fingers but his entire existence through your membrane like a thief, flooded your halls and your vestibules with his pace of life.
he had a girl once, and he lost her in a well-publicized affair to a man who would one day marry her. sometimes he falls asleep on your shoulder, and you watch his eyelids twitch frenetically, long lashes frenzied. you wonder if perhaps underneath his stupid jokes and ironhide skin, that the boy hides a terrifying capacity to love.
(impossible — impossible —)
you don’t why, but you start to grow more and more disgruntled with the female flings he’s bringing around. despite him, he’s more popular with the girls than anyone likes to think. it’s the goofy charm, you suppose. it’s the underestimation of how much he will seep under your skin.
you grow restless and snap at him — and immediately feel guilt.
“sorry,” you murmur, “i’ve had a long day —”
“wes,” he starts, but you’re already off, stalking your way to the Hufflepuff common room.
you’re startled awake one night when you feel a warm snake circling your torso, and wildly, you turn on your side — you’re met with a halo of brown curls. “shhh,” he’s telling you, “don’t wake the others.”
“what the hell are you doing?” you hiss, half-angered, half-bemused.
“don’t be like that,” he says, his eyes devoid of their usual twinkle. “don’t be like that.” his eyelids flutter close, his hands finding every valley and peak of your face like a blind man gropes for vision — “you’re my favorite, you know? don’t forget — don’t ever forget —”
and you want to scream and run and hide, because he’s suddenly pulling you close and gently pressing his lips to yours, but like everything else nathan does, like everything else, he’s melting into you, permeating, like a fucking disease —
(Rule Number Three is, don’t you ever dare break wes.)