There was an indisputable rightness to their touch, even so many years later, which brought a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. How did four years change everything and nothing all at once? There never would be a future between them… would there?
Nona had been so sure of that fact just moments ago, but looking into his eyes, being wholly unable to turn away, had her questioning her certainty.
"I—yes, but—" Ollie was so persuasive, so reasonable, her head spun in confusion as to why she could not be the same, "I don't—I don't…"
His words wrapped her up in a warm, safe feeling, and for just a moment she saw… something. Two people curled up beneath the covers at night. Two places at the table. A study crammed with books of poetry and music and art crammed between volumes of magical theories and Muggle science. She imagined all these things in a daze, but it was the image of a small head bent over, covered with dark curls, that had her starting in his arms.
"I need time," she said softly, though panic began to rise in the back of her throat. Those warm, wonderful, reassuring words she wanted to believe beyond all measure, she couldn't trust them. Nona knew, she felt very strongly, that Oliver had no ill-intention toward her, but it felt like a trap nonetheless. "I need—some time, to think about all of this. I don't… I don't know what to do. I know how I feel but it's not—it's not so easy. Please."
Nona broke away suddenly, as if she was afraid his touch might burn her. She backed away as she pleaded, "Time. You have to give me that."
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