Things were just … different between you, now. It felt as if there was a strange tension filling the air between you, crackling like static during any and every silence that Murphy would do his best to fill with chatter about Quidditch and strategy.
It felt, well, awkward. Horrendously and constantly awkward.
The main issue was that you didn’t know why this was happening, especially so soon after realizing the true depths of your feelings toward him. And part of you had even been daring to hope that perhaps—just maybe—he fancied you back.
But you were starting to wonder … Did he even like you as a friend anymore? Were you just drifting apart?”
You didn’t want to lose him or the friendship you’d cultivated over him teaching you all about Quidditch and wizard’s chess.
It happened in the Quidditch commentator stall, one of your favourite places to get away from the crowded halls of Hogwarts together, you’re sitting on the bench behind McNully while he flipped through one of his strategy books, eyes darting across the pages with a voracious appetite. Although you weren’t sure if it’s genuine or faked, it was hard to tell with him.
It’s that awkward silence again.
You had laughed at a witty quip he made and suddenly he had a book on his lap and the silence ensued. Had you done something wrong? You didn’t think so.
Yet, even in the uncomfortable silence, you couldn’t help but be struck by how handsome he was. The warm sunlight seemed to hit his blonde hair and create a sort of halo effect as it kissed his skin, it doted on him as you longed to. He was positively remarkable in every conceivable meaning of the word.
“I fancy you,” you blurted out, the words leaving your lips before you could even so much as process them.
And suddenly, his eyes are back upon you—wide with shock—and his jaw is slack with surprise. You successfully rendered him speechless and whether or not the red blush that blooms across his face is the good kind or the bad kind.
You felt like an absolute and utter fool. Out of all the misadventures you’d gotten yourself into at Hogwarts, this was up there. Which was saying something.
“I mean, I, um, I didn’t tell you that because I want to hear it back. I, uh, I told you because I wanted you to know,” you rambled, trying to cover up your mistake as best as you could, moving to get up and run away as quickly as you could to go cry in your dorm room and berate yourself for being so stupid.
But before you could stand up, Murphy’s hand reached out to gently grasp your wrist—firm enough to stop you, but loose enough for you to shake it off if you wanted to. The book clattered to the ground, forgotten about, as one of his radiant smiles broke out across his face.
“Eliza wait, there’s no need for that because there's actually a one hundred percent chance that I fancy you back.”
You blinked at him, suddenly feeling quite lost. “I—what?”
“Well, you said, ‘I love you,’ and after the ensuing disbelieving silence said ‘I didn’t tell you because I want to hear it back. I told you because I wanted you to know,’ and tried to get up to leave. And then I stopped you from leaving by grabbing your wrist and said, ‘There’s no need for that because there’s actually a one hundred percent chance that I fancy you back.’ And then you asked ‘What?’ so now I’m giving you a play-by-play about what just happened for you since it all went by pretty quickly.”
Without another word, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. It was a clumsy kiss, lacking in experience, and it didn’t help that neither of you could stop smiling into it.
When you pulled away the realization of it all truly sunk in as the two of you shared love-struck grins. However, confusion was quick to burst your bubble since if he felt the same way, then what was going on between the two of you for the past couple of weeks?
“So . . . what exactly has been going on between us, then? I thought that maybe you—um, didn’t want to be friends with me anymore.”
“No! No, no, it was nothing like that, believe me,” Murphy said, his smile faltering as he repetitively shakes both his hands at the wrist, a sign you’ve learned means he’s feeling overwhelmed with anxiety. “It’s just that I've been getting nervous, because well . . .”
You patiently waited for him to finish the thought, concerned by how hard of a time he was having in getting his words out.
“I wasn’t sure if you liked me like that, it was hard to tell, but I knew with an almost impossible degree of certainty that I really liked you. I started out thinking that maybe it was close to 52%, but then it dropped to 42.5%, and then to 23% and so on and so forth until the odds were looking more like 1.9% give or take a few hundredths. But even if you did, I wasn’t sure if you’d want to be with me because . . .” he trailed off nodding toward his legs.
Your heart broke as you understood, in spite of him trailing off, leaving it incomplete. Everyone always viewed him as his wheelchair, not the person who used it and you hated it. Who’d want to date someone with his issues or his disability? The thought that people actually said things like that made you sick to your stomach and the realization that he was anxious that even you cared about that?
After all of the time you’d spent together and some of the conversations you had? It felt like a Bludger beating your heart to a pulp as you understood just how anxious he must have been.
And you leaned forward to steal another kiss, this one more fluid and intense, to remove all doubt. Because you loved him for him—all of him—and nothing would make you happier than calling the wickedly talented Murphy McNully your boyfriend.