Disclaimers: I do not own Harry Potter or Gundam Wing; they both belong to their respective owners J. K. Rowling and Sunrise.

Summary: This is a story about a young man learning to live again after having been physically, and emotionally, scarred after a war.

Pairing: Trowa+Harry

Warnings: AU, SLASH, Harry POV ,OOC, OC (just one), Oneshot. Some minor changes to the original plot of HP, though completely leaving out the epilogue, and completely AU for Gundam Wing, meaning no Gundams here people.

Author's note: I don't really know where this came from; maybe it's from the mood I woke up to today, quiet and reflective… Anyway just read and please tell me what you think.

Your Eyes Speak to Me

"No one is as deaf as the man who will not listen."

- Jewish proverb.

I woke up today feeling quite solemn and reflective. Of course, I wake up feeling like that most of the days now.

Grimmauld Place is as gloomy and quiet as ever; I'm no longer bothered by the screaming portrait of Sirius mother and I merely cast a short glance at it as I pass it on my way to the front door. The smells of smog and pollution greet my nostrils as I step outside; waving my wand in a lazy half circle making the lock click shut behind me. There isn't really any need to be so cautious; a simple Alohomora spell would've given anyone entrance, but there's only a few that knows where to look for number twelve nowadays.

The wind rustles in the few pitiful trees the city council decided to put some money into planting along the sidewalk. The people are busy; the morning rush has just started and people are swarming to the underground stations. There's an Asian grey haired woman; a delicate woven kimono wrapped around her age bent body, a stout middle-aged man; leading a group of colleagues wearing grey suits to match their peppered hair, a teenage girl with black and purple trimmed hair; her cell phone tucked safely away in the pocket of her cut off jeans while she rambles into the headset.

I observe them for a while from the other side of the street; women, men, and children of all ages some would think are to too young to use the underground by themselves but they still do. They know how to buy a ticket, they know how to get to the right train and step off at the right station. Children grow up so fast today, but it's not their fault. It isn't their fault…

Patiently waiting for the red light to switch into green, I count the white stripes to see if there is still the same amount as last time. I come to the conclusion than none has decided to wander off on its own on this day either; they are quite comfortable where they are. Movement on my sides alert me to the light having turned over and, acting on a sudden urge, I skip lightly over the crossing while only stepping on the white stripes. I land with my two feet on the pavement, left hand out to steady my balance, on the opposite sidewalk. People can't help but to stare at the spectacle. They wouldn't stare at a child of course, but I'm no child no more. A grown adult in my own right and as such I really shouldn't act like I just did according to the rules of society. My shoulders sag with a sigh and I walk along like nothing's happened. No doubt people are shaking their heads behind my back but will soon have forgotten about the skipping young man after a street or two.

'Flora's sign slowly come into view as I turn the corner. My timing is spot on as the door swings open and the owner steps out to put out the store sign. The forty or so old woman stretches her back with her hands on her hips, and then she smiles warmly as she catches sight of me, the corners of her eyes creasing. I offer her a small one in return and she gestures me inside with a soft wave of her hand, her silver bracelet twinkling in the morning sun.

The smell is warm and sweet inside the little café. As the first customer of the day I get the privilege of choosing where to sit. The two seat table by the window in the corner gleams invitingly. I weave through the tables and sit down on the seat closest to the wall; my person partly hidden from view from outside by a middle size green potted plant. My eyes follow a couple that passes the window, their hands snugly wound around each other's while the girl leans slightly towards the man.

There's a cup of tea standing on the small table when I turn back around. I look up and see Flora smiling a little to herself, as she keeps busy with filling the shelves with various pastries and cakes. The corner of my mouth rises lightly. I pick up and swirl the teaspoon twice before taking a sip of the golden liquid. It tastes like sweet honey.

I go back to watching the passersby outside.

Noon gives way for the lunch hours. The café doesn't serve warm food, but it's a popular hideout for some to have your afternoon cup of tea and perhaps a small cake to go with it. The tea is good here after all. Here office men give themselves a few minutes to relax from the stress of the everyday life; a little peace from bothersome co-workers and tour guides taking a breather from overenthusiastic tourists with flashing cameras. Everyone has a need for it, but few take it.

Later noon in turn gives way to afternoon. The little café is mostly empty, only a few customers littered here and there hiding behind a newspaper, bent over a laptop or chatting quietly with a companion. There's a book in my hand, a quite insignificant book really. It used to have a plastic wrapping but I removed it after I'd gotten annoyed with the curious looks of what I was reading. The cover is completely dark grey without the more colorful wrap. It's a book written by a Russian author; a fantasy novel about white and dark magicians. It has a darker take on the average view of magic; the muggle views that is, not like the actual wizard world. I know better than to still believe in the memories of easily impressed eleven years old me.

Caught in my recollections; I fail to notice the young man that steps into the café at that moment, of how he orders a cup of tea or of how his eyes sweep across the room. I do notice however, over the brim of my book, when a hand delicately puts down a tea cup and then as the young man slips into the seat opposite me. I stare, my eyebrows raised lightly in surprise. I flick my eyes to the side, wondering if business hour have ended already but the café only has three other customers not counting the young man and me. Usually, would you not disturb someone that is obviously occupied with other things, like say, reading a book?

Like sensing my unspoken question, the man looks up displaying one deep green eye; a color so like my own yet not. The shade is different; the green of a pine tree. His other one eye is hidden beneath a fall of auburn hair, making me wonder if he has something to hide as I hide my scar under layers of disarrayed raven hair. I still as our eyes meet. It's calm, lightly inquisitive.

I lower my eyes, feeling his gaze linger on me for a short moment. I continue on reading, resting the book in one hand and raising my cup in the other. The cup rests in the air until I take a sip after finishing the sentence. Casting a lowered look at the man, he's taken up a book of his own, I tilt my head discreetly to read the title off the front. Title doesn't ring any bells; obviously a muggle book and I feel myself relaxing just a little bit. It had been a silly suspicion, but one I couldn't help. Living through a war on the front lines does that to you. It wouldn't have been the first time that I was approached by a less than pleased member of the opposing side, or worse, someone from my own with a mouth that could only be matched by their ridiculous rose colored view of me.

A touch on my arm catches me off guard and I flinch away, my fingers suddenly frozen and the book slips out of my grip onto the table. The fall rattles the tea cups and one tip over, spilling tea and staining the white table cloth. My hand dives into my pocket, grasping the holly wand. My alarmed eyes meet a shocked face and I feel my cheeks tinge with embarrassment as I notice the few other customers outright staring at me as well as Flora's confused and worried expression. I realize I almost pulled my wand on complete muggles.

I act without thinking, the book is snatched in mid movement and I'm out of my seat before Flora, or the man for that matter, has a chance of stopping me. The clock must've been a little after four since I'm met with a cluster of people and I feel a tad disgusted shortly before stepping out and doing my utmost to disappear in the crowd.

I escaped into Hyde Park, took a detour from the usual paths and found myself ending up in a secluded spot hidden behind a large weeping willow and lush bushes. I feel my chest heaving even though I know my stamina hasn't deteriorated that much from my new routine of inactivity after the war. When my heart finally settles down my thoughts rain down on me with a vengeance; why did you do that for? What the bloody hell was that reaction? You could have seriously hurt that innocent muggle or the other ones!

I shake my head, denying and accepting my own accusations at the same time. I could have hurt those muggles. But I didn't. I didn't. I repeat mentally, my hand sliding down the trunk of the tree, feeling the ragged bark under my palm and fingers. I heave a large breath, sliding down to sit with my knees bent and my hands between them. My fingers wound around each other, tugging and tightening my grip alternately. The book lies discarded in the soft grass on my side. I turn my eyes sideways, watching the grey cover as it almost blends in as a rock against the green of the grass.

I reach out my hand for it, picking it up, turning the pages and then start reading.

It's a whole week later that I finally draw up my, supposedly, famous Gryffindor courage and visit Flora's little café again. I'm met with an immensely relieved middle-aged woman that comes over and nearly fawns over me. I grimace inwardly at the memory it brings up of another middle-aged woman that also seemed to think it her responsibility to take care of me whenever they could. Flora eventually puts her hands on her hips, a common gesture, and shakes her head with a small smile. It's as if she's saying 'boys will be boys', or something of the like. She motions me after her and I follow with a sense of responsibility to make up for my sudden departure the last time. She rummages around for a while behind the counter, obviously looking for something but having trouble finding said something. Few minutes later she appears to have found what she was looking for and uses the counter as leverage as she pulls herself up again. She smiles again and holds out her hand. I look at her strangely, though politely, and reach for the thing she wants me to have. A piece of paper falls into my hand.

A business card.

I look at it even more strangely now, and confused. Did Flora suddenly decide to get some business cards for the café or something? I look up at her questioningly only to have her shake her head and give a small roll of the eyes. I try not to frown too much at her actions. She reaches out and taps with her index finger on the card, directing my attention back to it. I decide to humor her and read the small text on it. I realize straight away that it isn't one of her silly ideas that she wanted to show me. For one, the name on the card is not the café´s, or even Flora's full name. The card belongs to someone else, someone whose name I've never hea- seen before. And it's a male. My suspicions rises and I look at Flora who is wearing a somewhat embarrassed expression from the stare I give her, but she answers me with one of mature authority. It means she won't be backing down. It means that I will have to contact this man whose business card I have in my hand. It means I have to, no doubt that's what she wants; apologize for my reaction to that man from last week.

I don't want to, and I don't know how I will manage it with my problem, but something tells me that if I don't my tea won't be as sweet or good tasting for a good while. And I can't lie to her to get myself out of this situation either. I swore I would never tell lies.

I stand outside a red and grey building, a golden name plate hung beside the white door reading 'Barton's veterinary clinic for small animals'. I glance doubtingly from the plate to the door, my feet still standing below the first step. I pull out the business card again from my coat pocket, matching the text on it to the text on the plate. I don't like the memories this week had brought me, and I don't like the memories of a kind hearted half-giant I'm getting now when I read the word 'animals' again. I'm almost on the verge of leaving when the door suddenly opens and a lady steps out with a dog trailing after her in a leash. She looks at me surprised before she smiles politely and holds the door open for me. With that gesture, and with my ingrained manners, I just have to take the steps up and go inside, thanking her with a short nod of my head.

The door closed behind me, my sensitive nose picks up on the definite smell of an infirmary, or clinic for small animals in this case. There's a short corridor that I follow and I end up in what must be the reception and waiting room. There are no patients or owners though, except for the young girl sitting behind a light colored wooden desk with a fairly new computer which she taps on until she notices me. She raises her eyebrows, going back to tapping on her computer quickly, now frowning, and then leans to check a calendar. She's probably trying to figure out if she's missed putting an appointment into the computer. I hold up my hand and shake my head with an awkward smile. She stops her searching but then sits up to give me a curious once over. She grows slightly confused when there is obvious that I have no 'patient' with me even for an emergency visit. Before she can start to question me, I step forward holding out the business card. Her attention goes down towards it, looking up again towards me and I can just see the cogwheels spinning wildly in her head.

A door to the right opens and both our attention is drawn to the man that walks out dressed in a white doctor's coat, black slacks and a dark green turtleneck. I immediately recognize the man at the sight of the fall of auburn hair hiding one of his eyes. He has his mouth open to say something to the girl but stops himself when he catches sight of me. He looks surprised before a small gentle smile grazes his face. He speaks shortly with the girl, before turning back to me and showing with his hand for me to follow him.

The room we enter is filled with various equipment that I don't know half the names of; but I can understand from it all that this must be the examination room. The man continues though to another door and we enter into a much smaller room with a similar looking desk from the one in the waiting room. There's a laptop instead of a stationary computer though. The man sits down behind the desk and, taking the hint, I take one of the free seats on the opposite side. Before he can say anything, I reach into my pocket and draw out a folded piece of paper. I hand it to him without further ado; he accepts it with a curious raise of an eyebrow and reads it with one last look at me.

The note is simple enough; it says that I'm sorry for my reaction, for him not to worry about the week before and thanking him for showing his concern by leaving his business card with Flora. Perhaps a bit short, but I'm not planning on staying for too long. I'm just going to make sure he receives the apology and then I'll be on my way. The hand with the note lowers and he speaks. I was feeling slightly uncomfortable the whole time since entering the building but now I feel the emotion rising. His mouth moves, forming words, but there's just one problem.

I can't hear them.

I try not to grimace and it turns out as a frown instead. I debate whether I should just leave; I've left him the note with my apology. That's enough isn't it? My insecure and bothered frown makes him stop talking, looking at me with a minor frown of his own of confusion. I'm wringing my hands in my lap while the man stares at me until his eyes widen. He looks down at the note and then back up at me again. Realization seems to dawn in his eyes and I feel my shackles rising. I don't like it when people know. It's much easier going on about life in a regular manner without them knowing. Flora knows, but outside of her she was the only, real acquaintance, outside of my closest ones in the wizarding world that knew.

Knew that I've gone deaf.

The man startles me slightly when he rips out a notepad and ink pen, scribbling a message on it. He turns it around and holds it out for me. I give him a long stare. His doesn't waver and I reluctantly take the notepad. This simple action seems so demeaning to me, I can't help thinking that because I still, though I won't admit it, feel miserable over my own situation. My han- problem has left me estranged from the people I grew up with. My way of solving it has been to hole myself up at Grimmauld Place. They do visit, sometimes, but it's never for long and I suspect it's because of my sour mood.

I read the neat handwriting, reading his apology of carelessness for not noticing my, problem. I feel awkward now, and still uncomfortable. I write down, in my scraggly handwriting, one sentence, telling him that it's okay and not to bother about it.

He frowns at the sentence, looks at me unsurely. Is there pity in his eyes? My eyes harden reflexively. He notices I've gone stiff and his expression blanks out. It throws me off at first and then he scribbles on the notepad again. He apologizes again and insists that he meant no disrespect towards me for my 'condition'. I suppose that's one way to put it. He retracts the pad and writes again. I don't know what I expect to read when he shows it to me again, but it's certainly not the question that sits there on the white paper.

'What is your name?'

I don't take the pad. Because I honestly don't want to give him my name, giving my name would mean more interaction, more time spent with him and there has been this feeling growing in my gut ever since we started communicating with that simple piece of paper. It's disturbing for me to realize it's actually a sense of longing. I've missed this. Missed being with other people and talking to them, though you wouldn't exactly call this talking. Then another thought strikes me, his look while still slightly disconcerting is not filled to the hilt of pity. I thought I saw it before but I think I was wrong, must have mistaken it for something else. I weigh my thoughts and considerations. Then I take the pen and write down my name, wincing inwardly at the contrast between my awful handwriting and certainly cleaner one.

'Harry Potter.'

He smiles at my response, lighting up his face and easing my tension somewhat.

'Trowa Barton.'

His name. I already knew that from the business card and I tell him so. I think he chuckles, I can't hear it but I can see how his eyes and mouth moves.

'You go to that café often?'

'Yes,' I nearly write down every day but then I stop myself, remembering I hadn't been at the café for a little over a week until today. 'almost every day.'

'It's strange I never saw you before, since I visit it every other afternoon.'


'After five o'clock usually.'

'I go home around half past four.'

'So we just barely missed each other.'

He smiles at me and I feel a slight tug at the corner of my mouth. It's infectious, that small, almost secretive, smile.

'But you were there at four last week.'

'My last patient canceled their appointment; I decided to take the rest of the day off.'

'I see.'

The man rose to his feet then, going around the desk and surprising me with sitting down in the other chair next to mine. I stared at him confusedly but he just reached over, taking the pen from my hand.

'Sorry, felt a little awkward reaching over the desk.'

I looked up at him, noticing the diminished space between us and how he was casually leaning sideways towards me.

'I'm glad aunt Flora managed to give you my card.'

I read the sentence and then stopped. Wait, aunt Flora? I cast him a befuddled look before scribbling quickly.

'Flora is your aunt?'

'Yes, didn't she tell you?'

His eyebrows drew together a little in surprise.

I frowned, of course she couldn't have told me, and even if she tried I wouldn't understand her anyway. And for that matter, why would she tell me she had a nephew? He seemed to catch on to what I was thinking because he looked apologetic in the next. I shrugged it off.

'I'm sorry, I seem to keep putting my foot in my mouth.'

I couldn't help smirking lightly at that.

'You don't say.'

I was in the middle of nursing a steaming cup of mint tea when he stepped into the café. Flora, or aunt Flora now I suppose, greeted him and handed him a cup before he turned around and spotted me at my usual place. He sat down with a small smile in greeting to me and I answered it with a little hesitant one of my own.

It one of many times now after our little 'talk' that we had seen each other at the café. I had been relieved to see that he wasn't treating me differently. I had also been a bit pleasantly surprised that the thought of sharing a little of my tea time in another's company wasn't bothering me that much anymore. I'd expected it to be awkward between us, but it wasn't as bad as I'd first thought it would be.

There was another book in my hand. I'd finished reading the last one and had gone over to the second book in the series. I was finding out the author had a dark yet amusing humor in his descriptions. It appealed to me how he wasn't afraid of being too rough or even cruel in some cases.

My eyebrows rose in surprise when a small piece of paper slid on the table from underneath my book. I lowered it, bookmarking the page and then putting it down. I glanced up at my company and he nodded invitingly. I picked up the note, unraveling it and then reading it. I felt my eyebrows bunch together with thoughtful confusion.

He was asking me if I wanted to have dinner with him at his apartment tonight.

I looked up at him with a wondering eye, was it just me or did he seem a bit nervous? What for? Was he afraid I was going to be affronted or something for him asking me this? Well, I certainly was surprised, but I found myself thinking that it would be a bit nice actually. I'd grown curious about him this last month and I believe it was that curiousness that made me give him a slight nod in acceptance to the invitation.

The reply was a warm smile.

The apartment was so different from Grimmauld Place. For one it didn't have this old thick smell about it and it gave off an inviting sensation. The furniture and decorations were modest. I was sitting on a barstool by a kitchen island, watching as he looked through his fridge. When he'd said dinner, I'd just thought something simple but apparently he wanted to cook something properly. I felt bad about him cooking for and me just sitting there. I wanted to protest, but I held myself back because he probably wouldn't understand my gibberish.

It's scary not being able to hear your own voice anymore, or how fast you seem to forget how everyone and everything sounded. The absolute silence nearly drove me mad in beginning. Waking up in an infirmary bed with a throng of people around you, seemingly relieved and talking to you, and suddenly realizing that you couldn't hear a thing of what they were saying or anything at all was terrifying. Even more so when you're checked over, several different spells and potions tried on you, and the only thing you get in response is a sorrowful and pitiful look is, if anything, even worse.

There are times where I wish I'd lost my voice as well; if I had then maybe I wouldn't feel so utterly frustrated. I had a voice but without hearing I couldn't make use of. The words only turn into a mess. I tried speaking in the beginning, but soon stopped. I felt immensely embarrassed wondering what strange and ugly sounds I had to be making for those pitiful looks to appear every time I tried.

Then there was the issue with magic. It took me months before I could even do half of the spells I used to be able to do without a second thought. The headmistress had taken it upon herself to teach me as much as she could, and had time for, of how to use nonverbal spells. It was all made a lot harder with the lacking communication. But it was nonetheless easier since she could use her wand to write messages in the air with. That was the first spell we worked on until I could communicate with them without having to use a piece of parchment and quill. It wasn't the same though. It wasn't the same as talking and being able to respond straight away. I soon ended up communicating only when I had to.

I watch as he take out a cutting board and some vegetables. My guilty conscience rearing its head, I reach out with both my hands, hoping he'll understand my gesture. He looks at me, clueless at first but then shoves them across the surface. He gives me a small smile before going to start on the meat. I take the time to concentrate on cutting up the vegetables. I sneak glances once in a while as he slices the meat. I wonder if he cooks often, he looks comfortable enough around the kitchen. Maybe a hobby?

As I take my first bite of the food, I stop with the fork in my mouth and smile appreciatively. I look up and feel suddenly self-conscious when I notice the amused expression he's sending me. I avert my eyes, wondering why my cheeks are warm and resolutely continue eating.

I fail to notice the dark look in one visible green eye.

I have been situated in a large beige TV sofa while he puts our dirty dishes in the dishwasher. I'm bundled up in one of the corners, my eyes watching the clear night sky and sky line of London outside. I feel the cushions shift and I turn my eyes sideways. First thing I notice is that he's decided to take a seat almost right next to me. I send him a short wondering look, there's plenty of room so why sit cramped in one corner? However his look that meets mine has me turning my eyes back to the window.

My cheeks are warm again and I'm quite aware, my left side nearly tingling, of his closeness. It's awkward really, we can't talk and the silence is deafening, no pun intended. Movement in the corner of my eye has me angling my head and I watch him grab some stray piece of paper and pen from beneath the coffee table. I eye him curiously once as he hands me the note.

'There is something I need to tell you.'

My thoughts swirls as I wonder what it is that he supposedly needs to tell me. I wasn't aware we had any unspoken, again no pun intended, issues between us.

He takes back the note and writes a new message, this time he stares at it for a few extra seconds before handing me it though. As I start wondering about his behavior, I glance at the note and feel my confusion grow tenfold.

'I think I'm falling for you.'

Falling? Falling for me? What does that mean? My mind runs quicker, wondering what secret message or whatever it is that I've obviously missed.

Sensing my confusion, he takes it back yet again, though his face is expressing some degree of disbelief over my apparent confusion. He shakes his head lightly, not able to help the quirk of the lips, as he hands it back again. He stares me straight in the eye this time and I have a hard time breaking mine away to look at the note.

'I think, I'm falling in love with you'

Falling in love… Love? Did he write love? Suddenly the message starts to clear for me, the previous sentence making more sense now. But I must be wrong, I mean, we're both men. I mean- My thoughts stop as I feel how my heart's racing inside my ribcage. I frown to myself.

A puff of air against my ear makes me shiver involuntarily and I whip my head around. My eyes meet his and I jump in surprise, my back hitting the armrest of the sofa as I turn around and eyes probably as wide as saucers. My one leg lies bent on the sofa seat while he leans halfway over, eyes boring into me. We're still for a moment, until he slowly starts leaning further, coming steadily closer. I can't move for some reason. When he's impossibly close, too close really and I would have punched anyone else, even my best mate, if they ever got this close. But I don't, and then I can feel his breath on my face. It's almost like a whisper and then there's a soft pressure against my lips. I feel my eyes go cross-eyed, trying to keep him in my sight but the uncomfortable sensation between the eyes makes me close them. The world goes completely dark. Dark and silent. I can still feel the pressure of what must be his lips and it's weird coming to the realization that there's a bloke kissing you. Then that you found yourself actually not minding it as much as you thought you would. It's actually quite nice to be honest and what's that for some self discovery.

I jump lightly when a hand comes to rest on the side of my face. The pressure goes away and my eyes open in response. I look up, not having noticed I've slid halfway down the sofa and he's almost leaning over me. I stare, stunned. He's looking at me intensely, making my stomach flutter embarrassedly. He shifts, the arm he supports himself with brushing against my side and I let out a surprised noise.

I freeze, and slap a hand over my mouth. I turn my head to stare into the leather. I hate it. I hate not hearing or knowing what sounds come out of my mouth. It's absolutely mortifying.

The touch on my cheek is back, gentle and rubbing soothingly. I hesitate but slowly turn to meet his eyes again. He smiles just as gently as his touch.

My hand slides down to my chest. I shift between staring and frowning strangely at him. His body shifts and I feel a blush rise to me cheeks as he wedges himself between my legs. Wondering what to expect next, I scrunch my eyes closed when I see him moving in again. One peck, then another and the third lingers. It's a weird sensation. I've kissed before, kissed girls before, but sharing a kiss with this bloke wasn't half bad, rather quite nice when I think about. I wonder why that is?

His lips moved slowly, you could even say patiently. His thumb rubs the spot at the corner of my mouth, my eyebrows drew together. Something wet swiped across my bottom lip, the thumb nudging it and the wetness slipped past my lips. I shivered as I at the same time felt my lungs and throat vibrate. I withdrew suddenly, my hand clamped over my mouth. I'd done it again. My face was flaming; my cheeks tingling from the heat I felt in them.

He grasped my wrist this time and I flicked my eyes at him. He stared down on me, thoughtful and calm. The hand he held in his came to lie beside my head. He left it there, fingers rising to rest on my temple, and then sliding under my fringe and halfway through my tousled hair.

Maybe it was something in his look, it was if they were speaking to me, but we seemed to gravitate towards each other. I seemed to become more daring, participating more in the kiss compared to being mostly passive before. He answered with rubbing his palm and fingers against my scalp, his tongue wrapping around my own and doing something wicked that caught me off guard, although I had technically already been completely caught off guard with this whole situation.

I found my other hand going blindly towards him, finding supple fabric, and then searching upwards until I came into contact with skin, probably his neck. The skin shivered under my fingertips and I curiously slid my fingers along the softness. The vibrations under my fingertips were sending strange signals into my brain, accompanied by the most thorough snogging I've received in my life, it sent trails of heat coursing through my body.

It was fascinating and very much confusing at the same time.

I don't know how much time had passed until he finally let me have a moment to at least try and collect my thoughts. My chest was rising up and down with my deep breaths as we stared into each other's eyes, green clashing with green. Even though I found myself missed the melding of our lips, I was also a bit worried. I didn't know if I could handle anything more at this point. I still hadn't quite gotten over my disbelief that I'd just been outright snogging with another man.

I was somewhat relieved when he decided not to push me further. He just gave me one last peck before sitting back up. That didn't stop him from looking at me until I left for home after I couldn't hold out any longer with his eyes on me and my cheeks almost burning up from my blushing.

Flora was in a good mood today; she wiped the tables and then waved off the customers after their visit. She caught sight of me after I let the two women pass and straight away showed me to my table where a familiar man was already sitting. His eyes focused on me and I sat down, trying to ignore the look he was giving me and what it did to my stomach.

Flora smiled heartily when she came back with a cup of tea, the heat of the liquid giving off soft trailing swirls. I frowned lightly when I noticed she was still standing by the table. I looked up at her questioning and immediately regretted it. Her eyes found mine, they passed between me and her nephew until she settled back on me, and then she winked. She bloody winked at me!

I felt my cheeks flame instantly at the small notion, realizing that she knew about her nephew and me. I dared a glance in his direction, and though he looked a bit surprised, he didn't seem bothered by it at all. Well, good for him.

I buried my face in my hand, turning it towards the window and stubbornly keeping my attention on it. It didn't help me not noticing the small amused smile though in the corner of my eye as he looked at me fondly.

His eyes spoke more than his words could ever do.

AN: Finished! Ugh, thank god, since I ditched my studying for this…and now I have to go back after posting this. If you like it, then please leave a review! Cheers! /Lin