disclaimer: these oranges aren't mine.
warning: the oranges and the apples get down and dirty.
dedication: regret, because i hope that wasn't too freaky.
~~Apples and Oranges: a Parable.
One day Orange Boy looked at Green Apple Boy, and he felt his seeds begin to loosen, soaking inside him, start to leak from him, seeping away his liquid, emptying his heart.
Apple Boy just sat there, smooth and shiny and round, with reflective curves and beautiful spring-like color. He seemed untouchable, like it would shatter him, break him, if you set your teeth too harshly upon his skin.
Orange Boy felt bitter and powerless, and he was sure the other boy would taste sour and he'd want to spit him out and run. They had nothing in common and he had no clue why he was looking in the first place. It was just that he was right in front of him, and he looked somewhat lost, like he didn't know where he'd fallen, or that he'd fallen at all.
But Orange Boy knew he'd fallen, because he had fallen too. He was bruised, somewhere inside, but you couldn't tell with him, his skin was resilient and thicker and sturdier than it looked. Green Apple Boy was always underestimating him and he was continuously reminding himself that he was right when he thought he was just inherently superior in the first place. It was the other boy's inferiority that was making him miss the Orange Boy's worth. Green was a stupid color, wasted on such a sour hard-headed tosser. What did -he- know about green, anyway.
His seeds began to feel full to bursting, and his skin began to peel, dry and fragrant. He was losing his defenses, becoming more and more naked, and Green Apple Boy still didn't seem to notice or understand. He thought he could put himself into a cup, and let the other drink his fill of him, he thought he would be poison. He knew he would be. His heart would be his weapon.
When the other boy lifted the cup to his mouth and drank, at breakfast the next morning, his eyes stayed open. In fact, they opened even wider. He began to choke, and swallowed quickly, over and over, quite convulsively. He didn't know what was wrong, but his heart felt like it was liquefying in his chest, and he thought his insides were turning to mush. He realized, finally, that he was sharing something. It felt important. It felt familiar. But he didn't know who it was, and neither did he seem to know who -he- was.
~~
His tears ran clear and sweet down his smooth cheeks, dripping onto the table. Everyone had left, and he was the only one there, he thought. But he wasn't. The Orange Boy was right there, still, staring at him. It seemed like he was always there. It seemed like he was always staring at him. It seemed like their gaze had no beginning and no end, and they knew everything and nothing, and it seemed like if he just stretched out a hand, he could touch the other's skin, slide his fingers through the other's wispy hair.
And yet, he was far away, at the other end of the Hall. His body felt tight and bruised from the inside out, and his heart was heavy. He thought they didn't have a common language to speak of, so he may as well not even bother trying, but something about the look in the other's eyes made him want to attempt the impossible.
He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to think. He felt empty and sucked dry of liquid, a shell of a boy. If he touched someone, his skin might collapse and he'd be revealed as a dry husk masquerading as a person. At this moment that didn't matter. Everything seemed impossible. Everything seemed possible. When he looked into the Orange Boy's eyes, everything flipped around and stood still, spinning in dizzying circles. Why not, he thought. It couldn't get any worse.
His throat was parched, but somewhere, he found the last drop of moisture within him, and his tongue darted out, wetting his lips. The other boy swallowed. He smiled.
"Draco," he said.
And the Orange Boy answered.
warning: the oranges and the apples get down and dirty.
dedication: regret, because i hope that wasn't too freaky.
~~Apples and Oranges: a Parable.
One day Orange Boy looked at Green Apple Boy, and he felt his seeds begin to loosen, soaking inside him, start to leak from him, seeping away his liquid, emptying his heart.
Apple Boy just sat there, smooth and shiny and round, with reflective curves and beautiful spring-like color. He seemed untouchable, like it would shatter him, break him, if you set your teeth too harshly upon his skin.
Orange Boy felt bitter and powerless, and he was sure the other boy would taste sour and he'd want to spit him out and run. They had nothing in common and he had no clue why he was looking in the first place. It was just that he was right in front of him, and he looked somewhat lost, like he didn't know where he'd fallen, or that he'd fallen at all.
But Orange Boy knew he'd fallen, because he had fallen too. He was bruised, somewhere inside, but you couldn't tell with him, his skin was resilient and thicker and sturdier than it looked. Green Apple Boy was always underestimating him and he was continuously reminding himself that he was right when he thought he was just inherently superior in the first place. It was the other boy's inferiority that was making him miss the Orange Boy's worth. Green was a stupid color, wasted on such a sour hard-headed tosser. What did -he- know about green, anyway.
His seeds began to feel full to bursting, and his skin began to peel, dry and fragrant. He was losing his defenses, becoming more and more naked, and Green Apple Boy still didn't seem to notice or understand. He thought he could put himself into a cup, and let the other drink his fill of him, he thought he would be poison. He knew he would be. His heart would be his weapon.
When the other boy lifted the cup to his mouth and drank, at breakfast the next morning, his eyes stayed open. In fact, they opened even wider. He began to choke, and swallowed quickly, over and over, quite convulsively. He didn't know what was wrong, but his heart felt like it was liquefying in his chest, and he thought his insides were turning to mush. He realized, finally, that he was sharing something. It felt important. It felt familiar. But he didn't know who it was, and neither did he seem to know who -he- was.
~~
His tears ran clear and sweet down his smooth cheeks, dripping onto the table. Everyone had left, and he was the only one there, he thought. But he wasn't. The Orange Boy was right there, still, staring at him. It seemed like he was always there. It seemed like he was always staring at him. It seemed like their gaze had no beginning and no end, and they knew everything and nothing, and it seemed like if he just stretched out a hand, he could touch the other's skin, slide his fingers through the other's wispy hair.
And yet, he was far away, at the other end of the Hall. His body felt tight and bruised from the inside out, and his heart was heavy. He thought they didn't have a common language to speak of, so he may as well not even bother trying, but something about the look in the other's eyes made him want to attempt the impossible.
He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to think. He felt empty and sucked dry of liquid, a shell of a boy. If he touched someone, his skin might collapse and he'd be revealed as a dry husk masquerading as a person. At this moment that didn't matter. Everything seemed impossible. Everything seemed possible. When he looked into the Orange Boy's eyes, everything flipped around and stood still, spinning in dizzying circles. Why not, he thought. It couldn't get any worse.
His throat was parched, but somewhere, he found the last drop of moisture within him, and his tongue darted out, wetting his lips. The other boy swallowed. He smiled.
"Draco," he said.
And the Orange Boy answered.