Word count: 460
Summary: A kiss is just a kiss, right?
A/N: Written for hp_wishes for comicsbycate. Been mulling this over for awhile. Hope it satisfies!
A kiss is just a kiss, right?
A gesture of affection from one person to another.
So why does it bother me so much a day later, that my best mate leaned over and pressed his mouth to mine after we went out drinking.
He tasted of rum, because that was always Albus’ poison. I can fucking still feel the press of his lips, slightly dry and slightly sloppy, on mine. It burns, a day later. Is a kiss supposed to keep burning for so long?
Then he said, “Good night, Scorpius,” and wandered off to his own flat, the next floor up.
Perhaps, I think, he was so drunk he mistook me to be his date. Only Albus goes on a date ever freaking blue moon. He’s only ever had one girlfriend that I know of, and I should know, right? He’s my best mate. And he called me by name. By name!
That fucking kiss.
Why can’t I stop thinking about it?
I don’t even know if he remembers it. He certainly doesn’t act like he remembers it. We’re at that café he likes so much for lunch, and his hands are making arcs through the air as we talk Quidditch like we often do. But I’m not paying attention to Quidditch—I keep watching his lips! It’s… it’s… I don’t even know what it is.
He’s just acting so normal, and I feel anything but normal. Damn Albus, for being so contrary. Perhaps I imagined it? Perhaps it was simply me who was so drunk I hallucinated it.
But I never drink that much. And why would my imagination come up with something so, so strange! He’s my best mate, for crying out loud!
“Are you even listening to me?” Al asks, and I blink, my gaze broken as he waves a hand in front of my face. “Earth to Scorpius, are you there?” He looks so damn amused, a smirk quirking his lips. That’s my expression, not his.
I can’t stand it anymore. I lean across the table, grab the collar of his robes, and kiss him. This time I’m not drunk, and I’m definitely not hallucinating. And—he’s not pulling away. In fact, he’s kissing me back, and it’s fucking terrifying.
“I was wondering if you remembered that,” Albus said almost ruefully after I finally pull away.
I look at him warily. If he hadn’t wanted me to kiss him, he’d have pushed me away. But perhaps he hadn’t meant to that time, and he was just indulging me for our friendship…
“I’m glad you did.”