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The guinea pigs scurried around, running in circles. Albus leant forward, watching them. Something about the sight calmed him- the way they seemed alive and real, the way they curled up against him when he held them in his hands, the brightness of their eyes. He leant against the cage they were in, closing his eyes and smiling as one of them pawed against his face gently. It was a good time to be alive.
Sometimes, in moments like this, he could forget how miserable he really was.
There was something invasive about sadness like that, something that settled inside him and claimed him, made itself a part of his identity. Albus couldn't think of adolescence without thinking of the sadness, the nights when he couldn't sleep, the loneliness and the oddly firm notion that nobody would understand him.
One of the guinea pigs squealed, and Albus smiled, opening his eyes. It was a good reason to stay alive.
Scorpius was watching him from the corner of the room, he knew that. Scorpius, his best friend, who didn’t understand what it was like, but was trying his best. Scorpius, who smiled at him gently, his eyes always kind. Scorpius, who never ran out of candy and sugary sweets, but ate weirdly healthy food as well, opting to eat a mixture of yoghurt and muesli on the nights they stayed up talking. Scorpius, who cried when they watched Disney movies and then denied it later. He was one of a kind, and Albus always wondered at the miracle that was their friendship.
It wasn’t insecurity that drove him to voice the question aloud, instead it was the thought that Scorpius could do so much better. Naturally smart, kind, gentle, thoughtful and considerate; Scorpius was the sort of person who ought to be adored by everyone, not just Albus.
“You’re brooding again,” Scorpius said from where he was standing, his eyes still focused on Albus. It was more gentle and patient than it had been at first. Scorpius had learnt so much and come such a long way in trying to be the most supportive friend Al could get. From the initial anguished loneliness spent in the common room, Scorpius saying with genuine confusion in his eyes, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean by that,” he’d evolved into someone more understanding of the depth of the sadness, usually gently probing, saying things like “it’s okay if you can’t get out of bed today, I know you’re trying,” and “I’m proud of you for making it through the day.”
Everything Albus wanted to say lingered on the tip of his tongue. I want to get better. I’m sorry you have to deal with me. You deserve more than this. Aren’t guinea pigs adorable? Today would be a nice day to spend outside but I don’t think I have the energy for that. And maybe, somewhere, in an unquiet and unceasing buzz, I’m bisexual, and I know we’re too young to tell, but I think I’m in love with you.
But what was the point being in love with someone if you barely had the energy to function normally? Rose was always going on and on about it, about how love was demonstrative and therefore flattery never worked on her. Albus had heard that too many times to believe that Scorpius would want to be with someone whose sole reason for living was the cuteness of guinea pigs.
Well, maybe not always. It was hard enough making it through each day, but there were things that were worth staying alive for- guinea pigs, his supportive family, his friendship with Scorpius, Greg’s cakes and bingo nights with Narcissa, the MCR album Lily had gotten him last Christmas that had changed his life forever, ice-cream shops -
Scorpius was walking up to him, slightly concerned. The boots Albus had given him made rhythmic thud noises as he walked, echoing slightly in the otherwise empty Muggle Studies classroom. Albus smiled, closing his eyes. I did that. I gave him those boots. The knowledge of that made him feel more solid, more real - like he had a place in the world that nobody else could fill.
“It’s not a good day, is it?” Scorpius asked, gently putting a hand on his shoulder.
Is it ever a good day? Albus blinked, turning to face Scorpius. “No, it isn’t, not really. But you make it better,” he said, pulling his best friend into a hug. Scorpius reacted like it was a reflex, wrapping his arms around Albus and holding him firmly but not painfully tightly.
“I wish there were more things I could do to help you,” Scorpius murmured, and then softer, so that Albus barely heard it: “I love you so much.”
It was probably platonic, Albus figured, closing his eyes. He said, softly but firmly, “You’re doing enough.”
“Tell me if there’s anything you need from me,” Scorpius murmured. “Anything.”
“Well, you could convince Mum to let me have a guinea pig as a pet,” Albus said, and he heard the smile in Scorpius’s voice as he said, “It’s a deal.”