Sometimes you hate her. You loathe her guts. You wish you and he never met her. If you hadn't, that stupid bloke over there would be sitting with you laughing at the prospect of another prank, not gazing at her hypnotized, ignoring every word you're saying.

What are you saying? That you hate her? No. You don't. But at the same time you do. She stole him from right under your nose. You drum your fingers on the grass, eventually beginning to pound the ground with your fists. You roll your eyes, remembering how he used to say wistfully, "Her eyes are so green, Padfoot. Like the grass. Or emeralds. Either way… they're this beautiful green…" You snort at his lovesick condition, mocking him by clasping your hands together and murmuring her name. You immediately feel sick. It wasn't his fault he was in love. And it wasn't your place to tell him who was right for him.

You roll onto your flat stomach, brought to you by Quidditch. You sigh. Quidditch. You never play it with him anymore. Except for practices. You just want to play with him for fun. You remember the first time he refused. You were angry, shocked, and baffled. You remember yelling at him and cursing her. He punched you hard. You had told him that you couldn't believe that he had picked a girl and a broom closet over his best mate and a broom. You realize how selfish you sounded and again, you feel terrible.

It wasn't as if you weren't expecting it. Well, truth be told, you actually weren't expecting it. You admit to yourself that the whole thing was pretty laughable. You thought he and she together were a joke. Fire and ice? You were certain that you'd win your bet with Remus. But then you owed him twenty galleons. You realized that they compliment each other beautifully. They were the same and yet, so gloriously different. They balanced each other. The It couple, Hogwarts labeled them. And sometimes you wonder if you'll have something as God-sent as that. You wonder if you'll ever fall in love. You wonder real hard and stretch your brain, imagining yourself with some girl who you'd call beautiful, who you'd spill your entire soul to. You scoff. Right. You wanted to live your life to the fullest. Loving just tied you down.

You should be happy. Now that he's 'officially' taken, his fan girls will start pining over you. That's what you want right? Swooning girls left and right. But really, you don't. Now you feel hollow. Now you wish that you were in his place and that your arm was wrapped around her waist. Well… you just want to be in a similar situation. You don't want to rip up or be jealous of your best mate's happiness. He deserved it. And you, grudgingly, concede that maybe she deserved it-him, too.

You flip onto your back again and shut your eyes, the sunlight creating dancing, flickering images beneath your eyelids. So you don't hate her. You just want her to share him. After all, you saw him first. Bros before hoes. You kick yourself mentally, remembering another fight with him regarding her. You remind, no force yourself to never think that again. You have to accept her. You have to. You try to, you want to. But somehow, a part of you just can't.

A/N: wow, i'm really writing right now, even tho i'm dead tired from bball and volunteering at a day camp. gotta love those kids. anyway, i was reading this superbly awesome fic and decided to try writing in this style. even though it wasn't fluffy (well duh, it's not about love) , hope you liked it! R&R