"Nothing Promised, No Regrets"

Mr. Itoshi. You caught his surname once from one the waitresses, and you've been praying on his downfall ever since. This apparently important man discovered your safe place and decided he wanted it for himself, like every rich person once they find something the common folk enjoy.

That's right, he came one day you weren't there, sat on your favorite spot, and decided he'd put a pretty penny in and reserve the table for each one of his visits.

He made reservations.

They didn't even do those before him! It was first come, first serve!

The only informal reservation going on was when the employees kindly saved your table on the days you'd text them you'd come, but now this man slammed a ton of cash on their hands and made it his property.

The worst of it is that you cannot even sit on the other tables located at the patio, since there's been an influx of customers ever since he discovered this place.

You're happy for the business, really. You just liked it better when it was only yours. Now the only private area is the outer part of the restaurant, but due to the amount of customers, you're often forced to sit on the table that's right next to the bathroom.

A tragic downgrade, all because capitalism personified found your food heaven, brought strays with him and kept the only calm space for himself with the power of money.

You die a little from embarrassment every time the staff gives you a pitiful look and tells you there are no free seats outside.

So, that's Mr. Itoshi, the most hated man in your life at the moment. The man you sadly occasionally coincide with at the restaurant, and that orders the exclusive pastry you like before you can. The one who infuriates you every time you hear his last name.

In such a peace threatening situation, it's really good that you have Sae to clear your mind.

You met him one day you accidentally raided his number with your rambling. Under the impression you were texting to your friend Mae's new number (funny how similar their names are), you yapped about this show you liked without a care in the world. The results were... amusing, to say the least.

You thought everything would end there, you were scolding a stranger's for god's sake, but he seemed to have found amusement in your antics and didn't block you right away. You responded in kind, texting him about random topics every other day, just to see how he'd respond.

Before you knew it, you had formed a strange bond with this man thanks to your friend's terrible handwriting on her number (how do you even write a three like an eight? You don't know, but you're happy with her results).

After all, not only Sae had the same favorite childhood show as you (surprising given his personality, I know), but you had many other things in common. Like your love for the sea and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. Or the peace you both found watching and feeding seagulls when visiting the dock. How you went from educating him on your music taste to talking about the little things in life is beyond you, but talking with him was surprisingly enjoyable.

And he was a bit secretive, sure, but that's not a bad thing, right? Not everyone is very active on social media. You know his first name, that he's currently living in Spain like you are, and that he has a well-paying job, if the way he regards money-related matters so nonchalantly says anything.

He doesn't go in detail about personal matters, but you know that he asks his parents to send him salted kelp so he can make tea from it. That he has a younger brother he pretends not to care about but still brings up sometimes, that he's sometimes homesick even if he doesn't tell you out loud. And it's just been a few months, but he became one of the people you've talked most, even if you hadn't assigned a face to his name.

Again, that's not much of a big deal. You hadn't shown him your face either, if just to keep some privacy between you two. You shared random pictures of your days frequently, like what you had for breakfast or the sunset from his window, but nothing to revealing about your appeareances. You visit the places you recommend each other, but there's no direct trace of you or him in such moments.

So when Sae randomly asks you to pick something up on his behalf, you don't know what to expect.

You accept because it's a place you know, and it's public. Maybe he wanted to treat you to a meal? He had done it once, told you he'd pay for what you got if you tried a restaurant he had talked about. You were expecting a prank, but when you told the owner your name, he said everything you wanted would be covered. It had you giggling and kicking your feet... and your friends worried that Sae could be a wealthy but catfishing old man trying to ensnare you.

Anyway, back to the present. You find the man Sae told you about, and after a brief exchange he hands you a short letter and a package. You go back to your car and open the letter first, surprise coloring your expression as you read its content.

"We've been talking for a while, it's about time we saw each other in person. I'm free on Saturday at 6pm, I'll send you the location of this place I'm thinking about. In the package is something i think you'll like. Make sure you wear if you decide to go.

—Sae"

You don't know what you expected, but this surely surpassed it. The note is very Sae, by what I mean painfully straightforward. There's a certain charm in it, Sae's not one for games or beating around the bush. Is this his way of admitting interest...? 'Cause you'd be lying if you said you weren't interested. But before you could reread it again and again, your eyes went back to a certain word.

Wear...?

You grab the box and open it, your heart stuttering at the view.

Inside the package lay a whole outfit in your favorite color, its material silky, comfortable and definitely expensive.

The implication's obvious, he wanted you to wear this when you saw each other. Is this the classic romantic move, or did he just want to be able to recognize you? Knowing Sae, it could easily be the latter, but is it really?

You're barely processing everything, so you pull out your phone and decide to text him.

Yup, offline again. Typical move, you're not getting answers from him today.

So, why not gamble it?

Yeah... It's worth a try.

✿・✿・✿

Hours later that day, Sae sent you the location of the place he wanted to see you at. And to your surprise, it was your favorite restaurant! The one you've been avoiding because of the Itoshi guy who hoards tables and steals the best views. You and Sae always recommend each other spots to visit on Spain, yet you'd never mentioned this one because you weren't sure if he'd enjoy the current experience. But turns out he knew it, after all.

You're curious of wether he's been around from its good days and you hadn't noticed, or if he's one of the many new customers. You're already planning on telling him all about the place, your history with it and gossip about Itoshi. You wonder if he'd understand your point or if he'd side with that man since he's also wealthy.

Once Saturday comes by and you arrive to the restaurant, you're practically vibrating with excitement. You'd been distracting yourself the whole way, but knowing you're about to meet the man you've been chatting with for so long has you thrilled. You smooth any wrinkles in your outfit, the one he chose, before walking in.

The restaurant's in full swing, not packed with people like in its busiest days but crowded enough to speak well of its reputation. You look around nervously, suddenly feeling like a fish out of water, before someone from the staff approaches you with a smile.

The employee asks for your name, and starts leading you through the tables without another word. You're starting to notice a pattern with the way Sae does things, but it's hard to question it given its effectiveness. You're brought to the patio, where surprisingly enough, the staff points at your favorite table.

Or your ex favorite table, you guess. You haven't been able to sit there for a while. It seems Itoshi's not here today, if Sae could get it. Maybe Sae just offered more money than him? That's a funny mental image. You get out of your thoughts, slowly approaching the man whose back is facing you at the moment.

"Sae...?" You ask in a small voice once you're close, giving a tentative smile.

"Mn. Sit." He murmurs without even lifting his head, but there's something like acknowledgement in his voice. Like he had memorized yours only from the sound your voicelines.

You take a seat in front of him, averting your gaze at first. It takes but a few seconds before you stare openly, though, curiosity winning over you.

And damn, Sae's face card does not dissapoint.

You have to physically hold back a reaction when you take in his looks, mouth agape. You just got blinded by the sheer beauty of this man. You did your best to picture someone average, trying to keep your expectations low (so long he's not an old man, right...?), but not only he looks about your age, but he's drop dead gorgeous.

His skin's flawless, his hair's silky, his suit's perfectly tailored and his vibe's immaculate. And his lashes, oh god, his lashes. They're so striking and luscious, you can't help but feel jealous.

You're one second away from drowning in the pond that are Sae's eyes, before he finally looks away from the menu. "Done staring?" He asks, and you want earth to swallow you. You can hear the smirk in his voice despite his expressionless face.

You let out a quiet gasp, not finding words right away. Sae's eyes go up and down, taking you in, before humming in something like approval. "You look nice. I knew it'd suit you."

How he knew the clothes would look good without knowing how you looked is beyond you, but the compliment does a number to you still. "Thank you," You whisper in a strangely timid voice, which catches his attention.

"You're strangely calm for someone who's so annoying over text. Thought you'd be getting on my nerves by now."

That gets to you. You may feel awkward since this is your first time meeting him, but you were pretty comfortable with him over the phone. So while talking with Sae in person had been feeling more like a job interview than a friendly chat, you rise to the bite by instinct.

"And you're as blunt as you are over text. You just can't do niceties, can you?"

"Not my style." Sae replies, his lips twitching in what could've been a smirk. You roll your eyes, but no matter how much you pretend you hate it, his little comments are so familiar that they're the perfect icebreaker.

You're chatting and bantering as usual in no time, adapting easily to Sae's blunt manner and blank face. It's quite endearing how his personality doesn't differ from how he texts. Or maybe that's how it feels to you because you had already grown fond of him before you saw him in person. Hard to find anything to dislike when he's got a face like that, too.

It feels like you've been talking for ages, when Sae glances towards a waitress preparing her tray to serve to the customers. "I ordered something ahead for us that I thought you might want to try," he comments casually, "Though you can order for yourself when the waitress comes by."

You hum in interest, curious as to what he picked. That makes you remember, you never really got to tell him that you already knew this place. You were eager to bring it up, but got distracted by nerves and other conversation topics. With a smile, you're about to mention it and ask what dish of the menu he enjoys, until the waitress's voice rings out.

"Mr. Itoshi, here's your order!" She calls, and you stiffen. Him? Here? How annoying. You had completely forgotten about the thief of your joy for a second there. Well, if he's here too, he must be mad you took his table. You smirk, revenge's best served cold for sure.

...Though that doesn't explain why she's approaching you two. Maybe she mistakenly thought he'd be here? Odd. If she's bringing him food, she must have known where he's sitting, right? So why is she setting two plates in front of you and Sae?

"Ichibo steak, as you asked." The woman states and starts going on about the dish and whatnot, but you're not listening anymore. Why is she here right now? Did you mishear? You're pretty sure you heard her call that bastard's surname, but everything's going on normally regardless.

You shake your head, you're probably the one in the wrong. Something mus have happened that you weren't aware of, or your mind is actually playing tricks on you. When you focus again, the woman's about to leave, but Sae stops her.

"You didn't get my partner's order." He explains bluntly, and the waitress straightens. You're about to overthink the usage of that word and feel flustered, but her next words stop you.

"I apologize, Mr. Itoshi. Do you both wish to get something else?"

Mr. Itoshi.

Itoshi, again, and in Sae's proximity.

That's when you finally clock it.

"Did you- did you call him Itoshi?" You blurt out, pushing aside the original topic of the conversation. She blinks, confused as to why his companion of all people is asking that, but nods.

"Yes, I did. He's a regular in here and a distinguished patron, so we already know him." She explains further, before attempting to continue. "So, would you like anything else?"

She's talking to you, but your mind's blowing up. And with Sae doing nothing to correct her, it finally dawns upon you. "You're Itoshi?!"

A few heads turn your way, but you're too into your shock to care. Sae tilts his head casually, answering in a way too calm tone. "Yes, I'm Sae Itoshi. I never told you because I didn't want you to know me for what I do. But I suppose that doesn't matter now."

You let out a little gasp at his admissal, but that quickly turns into annoyance. Does he think you care about his legacy or whatever? That's not the issue at hand, and you make damn sure he knows it. "I don't care about whatever you do professionally, Sae. I care about my table! And you're the one who stole it!"

Sae pauses in mild interest, and the waitress is frozen in place. She clearly doesn't get paid enough to deal with your bullshit. Or maybe this is the first interesting thing that happens to her in work. Well, that's not your problem. Because you've been wanting to tell Itoshi Sae a few things for a while, and this is the perfect moment to.

"You," You point at his chest, now standing in place, "Came here one day, reserved my favorite spot, starting coming every day I did too, and ordered my favorite, limited dishes before I could. You also brought many new customers due to your fame and made this place so crowded I couldn't enjoy it the same way. This was my favorite restaurant! I wanted to gatekeep it!"

More heads are turning and quiet whispers can be heard, but you inhale and keep going. "And you also barged in into my life, made yourself a place in it and asked me to meet you, in the same place that you made me hate. You're vile, Itoshi Sae! Were you planning this from the from the start?! What did I ever do to you!"

Sae let's you rant all you want, this topic is so silly but you're so fired up it's adorable. So you hated his guts because he inconvenienced your life with the side effects of his actions? Hilarious. He only speaks when you stop, sheer amusement in his blank gaze.

"So you're the whiny customer who got fired up with my presence, huh? I had heard something about you, too."

And if you weren't mad before, now you're livid, even going as far as to throw a napkin his way.

"Hell yeah I am! You rich people are so selfish!" You huff, and Sae finally breaks. A, faint deliberate smirk graces his lips, as he leans forward.

"Is that so?" Sae asks, tone still neutral but charged in a way that makes you pause. "Then I should remind you that you're wearing the clothes I bought for you, you'll have diner with my money, and you have done so before without a single complaint."

"Huh?" You frown slightly, "I always told you that you didn't have to do those things. Are you rubbing all of that in my face?"

"No," He explains calmly, "I did those things because I wanted to. I'm just saying you should keep enjoying what I give to you so willingly, and we can discuss this little tantrum later."

"Tantrum? Oh Sae you jerk-" You're one second away from grabbing a glass and wetting his suit, when the waitress chimes in to calm you down. You suddenly remember your predicament: you're still in public, and Sae's still the man who prods, pokes, and annoys you with his bluntness in hopes you'll rise to the bite. You know your dynamic, but you were so out of it you kept reacting. And it's surely become a problem, because everyone's looking at you and the owner's not too happy.

You and Sae end up leaving the restaurant, out of your own accord. They didn't have the guts to tell Sae to leave, but he suggested that himself so you wouldn't spend the your time together getting glances from strangers. Your arms are crossed as you gaze towards the sea, still sulking but mostly embarrased. And even now, Sae can't help but speak again.

"So you're done with the temper tantrum now?" You flip him off, and he huffs in amusement. "I didn't know I was making your life miserable. Next time just walk up to my table and tell me."

"You would have called security on me or something, that's what you vip's do." You retorted, tone sarcastic. You were calm enough to joke now, though you refused to outright say it. What happened back inside was terribly embarrasing, you keep praying in your mind for earth to finally swallow you. You really got too carried away by your surprise, but your banter with Sae is eternal and you don't want to make it seem like he was right.

Sae doesn't reply right away, silence remaining for a moment. You take a breath, deciding to get more serious. "...I still can't believe you're him."

"Do you realize that was a bit excessive?" He asks, but again, you shake your head and refuse to cave. "You deserved it... I guess. At least I wanted to rant my frustration to you. I just regret that it happened in public."

"Be stubborn all you want, but today's far from over." Sae suddenly states, turning to face you. "I said dinner would be on me, and I'm still keeping my word. So since you got us kicked from the restaurant..." "Your fault." "...Sure. But you're coming with me to a new place. This one more exclusive, since our privacy got butchered earlier."

You perk up, a bit tempted. You're still cross at him, Sae's even more rude in person, but you know he's not really trying to hurt your feelings and is even offering something nice. And you still kinda wanna hate him, and you're keen on not making him feel like he's got the upper hand... but if you go home after this, all you'll think about is what happened earlier.

And you'd sure as hell rather give your night a better ending than be petty and let it end here.

"...Well," You begin, "You just said 'sure' when I told you this all was your fault."

Sae raises an eyebrow, "I guess." You kinda wanna punch him for the short answer, but you ignore that.

"So... You admit this was your own doing, and that you jinxed my reputation, you were mean to me, and you ruined one of my favorite places for your selfish desires."

At this point, he only shrugs, playing along. "If that helps you sleep at night."

"In that case... I guess I can accept. Give you a chance to redeem yourself." You offer, smiling like you're the one doing him a favor. Sae's lips twitch again, oh you're ridiculous, but he knew that before you even saw each other in person and he knows he loves it deep down.

"How kind." He plays along, the lack of humor in his voice being the cherry on top for his sarcastic statement. You're not even mad anymore, curiosity rising. "Where to?"

"I'll drive us there." He begins walking towards a car you assume is his, and you follow. "Though if you're so concerned about capitalism and how 'the rich' use their money, we can go in public transport."

You nudge him away, letting out a huff. "Stop taking my words out of context."

"I'm pretty sure we're in context. Let me know if there are other places I should never go to in the future, by the way. Would hate to ruin the experiences of common people."

"You...!" You groan and ignore him, not bothering with it anymore. Sae's never going to let you live this down, not until you admit it was a bit silly, at least. You'll never, though, that's not who you are. And that's exactly what he likes, Sae enjoys whatever's wrong with you and messing with it as much as he can.

As much as you don't want to admit it, you actually end up having fun that night. The place Sae chose was indeed exclusive and secluded, and besides the ocassional poke, he knew to stop getting on your nerves.

You talked about the topics you usually did over text, and that easy familiarity you found both in banter and in deep conversation was found again. You really weren't dissapointed with Sae, despite the whole fiasco that happened before.

The stubborn part of you still wants to be annoyed. But the identities have fused seamlessly, so you're learning to like both sides.

Yes, you still like witty Sae who you used to chat with and whose charm is being honest to a fault.

Yes, you still kinda wanna smack Itoshi upside down, finding comfort in having a figure you can hate blindly with little reason.

And Itoshi Sae? Well, you're getting to know him now, so it's pretty early to say.

But with both good and bad... yeah, you think you'll end up liking him best.

The noise was overwhelming, and you nearly pitied the opposing team as they filed out of the nearby rink’s entrance, but the feeling was quickly forgotten as you turned back to Blaise. He’d already been awarded a comically large plastic wrestling championship belt in the locker room for his efforts, and he was now laughing as he held the belt in his hand.

You ended the video as the cheering transformed into incoherent yelling and the occasional howl from one of the rookies, grinning at the team’s antics. Selecting the option to add text to the story, you typed, “Lots of love for number 7 on the bus tonight.”

Biting back a nervous grin, your stomach flip-flopped subtly at the sight of Blaise’s laugh replaying on your phone. You paused, taking a moment to push the thought aside before pressing the button at the bottom of the screen to post the story. 

When you glanced up, you realized that Blaise had stood from his seat, the plastic belt laid across the armrests. Your smile widened when you realized he was starting a speech. Crouching down into the aisle, you ensured that all his teammates and coaches could see.

“...thanks, boys.” He flashed a little smirk that made his teammates chuckle and your chest flutter dangerously before continuing. “But I want to acknowledge that this game was an incredible team effort! We showed up tonight, we played from end to end, we beat the number one team in the league because we are undefeated!”

The bus erupted into another wave of deafening cheers, applause, and whistles that set the floor vibrating underneath your feet and made your lips crack with a grin. There truly was nothing like the spirit of this team, your team – although you didn’t play, they’d claimed you long ago. Nights like these, with an away game won, spirits soaring, and a long drive back to your home campus ahead of you, were your absolute favorite. 

“Let’s hear it for your captain, Malfoy!” Blaise’s speech reached a fevered pitch as he yanked the blond boy from the seat he’d taken across from Blaise and Enzo. “Absolute beauty.” Despite looking slightly jostled, Malfoy grinned as his teammates cheered for him, offering the boys a wave like a movie star greeting a crowd of supporters. You giggled, setting your phone down on your knee and letting your camera hang around your neck so you could applaud. “Your tendy, Flint, with thirty-seven saves!” 

“Woohoo!” You let out a cheer that was easily drowned out by the clamber of the bus as the team cheered Flint’s best performance of the season.

“Berky, with the hatty!” Blaise’s speech continued on as he shouted out the impressive performances of the night to raucous applause, from goals to puck blocks to Riddle’s five-minute fighting major after he’d dropped the gloves with a rival defenseman who’d cross-checked a rookie in the head minutes before.

Of all the jobs you’d had since high school, this one was by far your favorite. During your freshman year of college, you’d received a mass email that the university’s D1 hockey team was looking for a photographer and social media manager, and with the thought that you had nothing to lose, you’d submitted your portfolio on the application portal. You’d scarcely believed your eyes when, a few weeks later, you’d received another email from the team’s head coach, informing you that you’d been selected. 

Initially, you’d been intimidated beyond belief. You were surrounded by future NHL prospects, after all. Your hands had shaken so badly during your first practice that nearly all the video you’d taken was unwatchable. But the boys had warmed up to you quickly, putting your worries at ease. By the end of the season, you were invited to team dinners and parties, basically an honorary member of the team. Three years into your favorite gig and you were inseparable from the hockey players.

“...and our photographer, who shows out, every. Single. Game!” 

Your eyes widened as the gazes of the players and coaches suddenly trained on the space where you were crouched on the floor. Chuckling, Blaise reached his hand out to you and you took it, standing up with a sheepish grin as the team roared, applause and loud whistles echoing across the bus. You tucked your phone back into your pocket and stepped closer to Blaise, who immediately slung his arm around you. Nervous giggles slipped from your lips, your cheeks feeling fiery. 

“Guys!” you protested, but Blaise shook his head, pulling you in closer to his chest.

“Half of you owe your profile pics to this one, don’t lie.” He nodded towards you and you laughed, knowing just how many of the boys around you had one of your hockey action shots as their Instagram profile picture. “You can thank her for all those DM’s, yeah?” You rolled your eyes at that, smacking him lightly in the chest. But as you looked up at him, you saw him beaming down at you, and for a split second you forgot how to breathe.

As quickly as it began, it was over. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” Grinning, Blaise released you and pointed up towards the front of the bus, where the bus driver chuckled back at him through the rear-view mirror. The team gave one last cheer as he tossed the plastic belt in the carry-on compartment above his head and sat back down in his seat. Then, the bus driver revved the engine and the vehicle grumbled to life.

After placing your camera in its case and setting it above with the carry-on bags, you glanced around and realized you’d committed a considerable oversight. In all the commotion as the team had boarded the bus after the win, you’d been so busy doing your job and filming content that you’d forgotten to find yourself a seat. Most of the athletics buses were huge – typically, there were far more seats than there were passengers on the bus, but as you looked around, there looked to be none available.

“Am I going crazy, or is this bus smaller than usual?” You tossed a worried glance at Draco, figuring he would know the answer. As the bus lurched forward, you stumbled, grabbing the edge of Blaise’s seat for support. 

Draco shook his head. “One of the athletics buses broke down this morning, and apparently everyone and their mother had an away game tonight. The small ones were all they had left.” He rolled his eyes, an expression of deep annoyance crossing his face. 

“What’re you so mad about?” Theo Nott scoffed in Draco’s direction, jutting his thumb at you. “She’s the one without a place to sit.”

“How were there enough seats for everyone on the way here but not on the way back?” You frowned in confusion.

Nott jerked his head toward the front of the vehicle. “Pucey rode here with his parents, but he’s coming back on the bus.”

You shrugged, letting out a wry laugh. “Guess I’m taking the aisle, then.” 

“No way.” Blaise’s objection was immediate as he shook his head. “C’mon, Berky and I’ll pack it in.” He threw back the armrests cordoning off his seat from Enzo’s and began to move away from the aisle and towards the window, nodding for his seatmate to do the same.

“Uhh…” Enzo glanced over at you and then down at his and Blaise’s seats, where there was clearly little more room to be found. “Yeah, sure.” Scooting down as best he could, he managed to create approximately two more inches of room before being squished between his linemate and the window.

You eyed the sliver of seat by the aisle they’d managed to empty. If you really, really tried, you might’ve been able to fit a quarter of your left thigh in the available space. Hockey players weren’t generally small humans, and there was no way they were going to be able to fit two of them and one photographer in a space meant for two people. “Guys, it’s really fine.” You weren’t overly fond of the idea of riding home cross-legged in the aisle, but as long as the driver didn’t hit too many sharp turns, you were sure you would be alright.

“C’mere.” Blaise patted his thigh, nodding towards you. “Just sit on me, then.”

You could’ve sworn the entire bus heard the breath that got stuck in your throat. Swallowing it thickly, you gave your head a little shake as you tried to ignore the way that your heart seemed suddenly determined to run away in your chest. “I – what?”

He shrugged, shooting you an easy grin. “It’s fine, just sit here.”

“I’m a whole person, I’m heavy! I can’t just sit on you for a couple hours.”

“What, you think I’ve been slacking in the weight room?” He let out a little scoff, and he would’ve looked almost offended if not for the playful glint in his dark eyes. “Sit.”

Finally, you relented, shaking your head and trying your best to look exasperated despite the fluttery feeling in your ribs. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears as you let him pull you into his chest, settling you across his huge thighs. As strong as he looked on the ice, he felt even stronger beneath you, your skin tingling where you felt his muscles tense and flex against you. He smelled ridiculously good, the scent of his expensive musky cologne enveloping you. You hoped with every fiber of your being that he couldn’t feel the embarrassingly loud pounding of your heartbeat as you sat against him.

“Comfy?”

You could feel the way his voice vibrated through his chest, surrounding you and seeping through your skin. It was an agonizing bliss, as was the little smirk he flashed your way, telling you that he knew he was teasing you.

“Yeah, I’m good.” The words were rushed, shoved from your mouth before your voice had the chance to waver.

When exactly you’d caught feelings for Blaise, you weren’t certain. Maybe it was during that first practice, when you’d filmed all of the boys answering a question as they exited the locker room and he’d given you a great sound byte with a handsome grin before winking and welcoming you to the team. Or maybe it was after the team had won the championship during your freshman year and he’d declared you their good-luck charm, insisting that you hold the enormous trophy and snatching your DSLR camera to take a picture. Perhaps it was piece by piece, day by day, your crush taking shape with every little pre-practice hug, every arm offered to help you across the ice when you needed to film from the opposite side of the rink, every wink and grin and touch. All you knew was that one day at the start of last season, your feelings had hit you like a train, and ever since that day, you couldn’t think straight or even breathe properly in the presence of one Blaise Zabini. 

He was your friend, just like any of the hockey guys. You were basically one of his teammates. But there were times when you wondered whether the two of you might be dancing on the edge of something more, glancing into the deep end and wondering whether you ought to jump in. You knew you shouldn’t make assumptions – all the hockey boys were flirts. It was probably just wishful thinking. Still, every time he wrapped his arms around you or complimented your photos after a game, you couldn’t help but get your hopes up. You were only human.

Trying to distract yourself, you leaned forward, trying to engage in whatever frenetic conversation Theo and Draco were having.

“...the Leafs are not going all the way this year!” Theo gave the bottom of his seat a frustrated smack. “You all wasted Marner, you’re wasting Matthews and Nylander, I’ll bet you miss the playoffs.”

“That’s rich, coming from the Oilers fan,” Draco scoffed. “McDavid’s walking the second he’s a free agent.”

You rolled your eyes, having heard this argument a million times before. “Canes are winning the cup,” you replied, your tone almost bored. “Anderson’s unreal, Slavin’s a wagon, they’ve got Aho, Ehlers, they’re getting a good season out of Taylor Hall…you can’t change my mind.” 

The boys glanced at each other, then glanced at you, wordless. Draco frowned, his mouth opening and closing a few times in futility. 

“That’s a good take,” Enzo finally said, breaking the silence with an emphatic nod. “That’s a really good take. Nice one.” He held his fist out for a bump and you obliged, laughing.

Glancing back at Draco and Theo, you shrugged your shoulders. “Your teams both suck.” You crinkled your nose playfully, keeping your gaze forward though you could practically feel Blaise’s eyes boring into the back of your head. Turning, you finally acknowledged him. “Sorry, Leafs fan.”

He raised his eyebrows, the intensity in his gaze sending a flurry of tingles across your skin. “Really?”

You turned around more fully to look at him, your weight resting on his right thigh as you moved in his grip. Shrugging, you widened your eyes in false innocence. “What? I’m just telling it like it is.”

Looking you up and down, he let out an incredulous little laugh. “You should keep in mind where you’re sitting before you go telling it like it is.”

The thing about your crush on Blaise was that you somehow couldn’t resist the urge to dig yourself in even deeper, even though you should’ve been trying to dig yourself out.

As you crossed your arms, you raised your own eyebrows. “What are you gonna do about it? Drop me?”

The edge of Blaise’s grin twitched, his nose scrunching playfully. “Nah.”

His strong arms were suddenly around you, pulling you all the way into his chest. You let out a little shriek of surprise, but then you felt the worst part – fingers digging into your sides, sending ticklish sparks through your stomach as a full-on scream slipped past your lips. Thankfully the bus was so loud that most people didn’t even turn around, but your cheeks burned as an unrelenting fountain of giggles poured from your lips thanks to Blaise’s torment.

“Blaise! Please!” You twisted and squirmed in his grip, but he was way too strong, and you could feel him smirking into your shoulder as his fingers teased your skin. “Pleaseee!”

“Who’s the best team in the league?” His voice lilted teasingly.

“The Leafs! The Leafs! I’m sorryyyy!” Finally, he relented, leaving you giggling and breathless in his arms.

“You heard it here first, boys. She’s a Leafs fan.”

Draco nodded astutely, glancing at you where you sat slumped against Blaise’s chest. “It’s for your own good.”

“No it is not,” you protested with a huff, sitting up. “And that was a sentiment provided under duress.” Turning, you crossed your arms as you pouted in Blaise’s direction. “You’re mean.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He gave a low chuckle as he circled his arms around your waist. “You’re not going anywhere.”

You didn’t – you stayed perched on his thigh as Mattheo passed back a fifth of Fireball and everyone drank, fueling the loud conversations and card games spawning throughout the bus. With the help of the alcohol, your muscles lost their tension. You relaxed back into Blaise’s arms, occasionally piping up to contribute to the heated hockey debates and chaotic partying stories. 

“I can barely drink this garbage anymore,” Theo groaned as he took another swig of the liquor. “Not after that post-'ship barn-burner our rookie year.”

“Wasn’t that the night you fell out the window of our Uber?” Blaise chimed in. Your eyes widened as you let out a giggle.

“Yes,” Theo groaned, looking as though he regretted bringing it up.

“Got his bell rung and he wasn’t even on the ice.” Mattheo’s face popped up in between Theo and Draco as he turned around in his seat, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

“Wait, pause, I have so many questions.” You held up one finger in Theo’s direction. “Please tell me the car wasn’t moving.”

“Nearly parked.” Theo winced.

“Nearly?” 

“The back wheel only hit him a little.” Mattheo scrunched his nose, holding his thumb and forefinger slightly apart.

Shaking your head, you grinned. “That explains a lot.”

You felt the rumble of Blaise’s stifled laughter in his chest as Theo narrowed his eyes in your direction.

Enzo chuckled, nodding towards you. “You know, I always forget you weren’t around that night. Seems like you’ve been hanging out with us forever.”

“Didn’t think I was quite ready for a night out with you guys yet,” you mused. “I suppose I was right if Theo was falling out of car windows.”

“You sure came out after the next ‘ship, though.” Mattheo cracked an enormous grin as you groaned.

“Don’t even remind me!” You clamped your hands firmly over your face, shaking your head. “Never again. I can’t even think of gin without gagging.”

“Remind you of what?” Draco chimed in. “The drinking contest with Riddle? The arm-wrestling competition with the bouncer?” You aimed a swift kick at his shins and he dodged it, smirking. “Dancing on that table in the middle of the bar?”

“You’re the worst.”

“Zab carrying you home?”

You froze abruptly, your hands dropping from your face. Staring at Draco, you furrowed your brows in bewilderment. “Wait, what?”

Draco let out a low chuckle, a half-smile on his lips. “You don’t remember?”

Shaking your head, you thought back to that night. You remembered stumbling in the heels you’d foolishly worn as you walked back towards campus, but nothing after that. Shifting, you turned towards Blaise. 

“What happened?”

He exhaled softly, a little smile tugging at his lips. “It was no big deal. You were wearing those huge heels and you tripped, I didn’t want you to hurt yourself walking back.”

“He was hysterical,” Theo added dryly.

“He yelled at me in the middle of the street for letting you drink so much,” Mattheo drawled.

“Blaise!” You let out an incredulous little laugh. “It was my own stupid fault for drinking so much. You shouldn’t have yelled at Mattheo.”

“See?” Mattheo gestured so intensely in your direction that Draco was forced to duck. Blaise scoffed before turning back to you.

“You cut yourself when you fell,” he added. “I just brought you back to your dorm, helped you clean up your knees, and made sure you weren’t gonna be sick. ‘S all.”

“The dishes in the kitchen…” you trailed off, remembering the soapy dishes you’d woken up to in your sink the next morning. You’d always figured you’d cooked yourself a meal in your blacked-out state, wondering at how you’d managed to avoid burning the whole building down. “Did you cook for me?”

A low, breathy laugh slipped past his lips as he gave you that little smile that could melt you in an instant. He shrugged. “You said you really wanted mac n’ cheese.”

Your lips parted but you couldn’t find words, your heart fluttering in your chest with such intensity that you knew Blaise could hear it. But if he could, he didn’t mention it, instead gazing at you with that impossibly soft smile.

“Zab, you’re such a simp, it’s unreal.”

Mattheo’s voice provided a profoundly unwelcome snap back to reality, his smug grin hovering over the back of Theo’s seat like the Cheshire cat.

Before you could respond, you heard Blaise scoff, his muscles tensing beneath you. “I’ll show you a simp, Riddle.” You watched as his eyes narrowed in his teammate’s direction and his lip curled. “I’ll put you through the glass at practice tomorrow, you hear me?”

Despite the former’s love for a good fight, you could tell Mattheo had no desire to go toe-to-toe with Blaise as his eyes widened. “Heard.” He disappeared back into the group of seats ahead of you.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the memory of the defenseman’s alarmed expression as you turned back to Blaise. “Could you really do that?”

He let out a soft chuckle. “I wouldn’t,” he clarified, nodding in Mattheo’s direction. “But don’t tell him that.”

As the bus continued to cut through the pitch-black mountain roads, a sliver of the moon shining down on its passengers, the effects of the alcohol began to wane and the inside of the vehicle grew quiet. Players began to put in headphones, snack, or close their eyes, the remaining conversations growing hushed. Enzo soon fell asleep as Draco read and Theo stared out the window, leaving you and Blaise the only ones softly whispering to each other. 

You were completely cuddled up to him, sitting on his thigh with your knees pulled up to the seat, your head resting against his chest. His calloused fingers absentmindedly trailed across your ankle, his other hand wrapped around your waist. Your gaze was trained on the screen of your phone as you clipped the video footage you’d captured of the game, hoping to have a few posts ready for the team’s TikTok account by the end of the bus ride.

“Wow,” Blaise murmured, his eyes drifting down to your screen as you put the finishing touches on the clip of his game-winning goal. “You’re amazing at this, you know.”

You felt your cheeks growing warm, an irresistible grin tugging at your lips. “Says you, Mister OT-game-winner.” Giving him a gentle nudge in the ribs with your elbow, you giggled. “With goals like that, the posts make themselves.”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “There’s no way I could make that look like that.”

It was technically true – you’d added slow-motion and reverberation effects so the viewer could see every moment of the goal, every last second of buildup until he released the shot and the puck fired into the net. Still, you shrugged, a little smile on your face. 

“Just a little editing.”

He laughed, the low sound a whisper in the night. “Whatever you say.”

You finished another video before abandoning your work, turning off your phone and gazing out the window to let your eyes rest. The feeling of Blaise’s fingers trailing across your skin and the delicious smell of his cologne lulled you into a state of relaxation, your nerves slipping away entirely. 

Only time would tell what this night meant, but you didn’t want to worry about that yet. You felt nothing but safety, allowing your breathing to fall in time with his and your eyes to flutter closed as his fingers began to twine in the ends of your hair. Blaise had taken care of you before and he’d take care of you now. As you finally rested, you knew this was exactly where you were supposed to be.

“i’m executing a flawless vision!” oikawa protested, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

you were sitting on your own living room rug, thoroughly bound from the waist up in a massive, glossy pink bow. you looked like a very expensive, slightly confused gift basket. the aoba johsai third-years had broken into your apartment exactly twenty minutes ago under the guise of ‘intelligent birthday operations,’ and instead of screaming for help, you had mostly just been impressed by how fast hanamaki could tie a double-knot.

“honestly, i feel like a fancy ham,” you said, shifting slightly to see if you could move your arms. you couldn’t. they were pinned quite securely to your sides. “is the candlelit dinner really necessary if i can’t even pick up a fork?”

“iwa-chan will feed you,” oikawa said, waving his hand dismissively as he lit the final tea light on your coffee table. they had cleared away your textbooks, replaced them with a white tablecloth, and ordered an obscene amount of high-end takeout. “in fact, he will probably view this as the greatest day of his entire mortal existence. now, quiet! i hear his footsteps. everyone, to the balcony!”

in a flurry of squeaking sneakers and hushed arguments about who was stepping on whose feet, the three boys scrambled out through your glass doors, shutting the curtains behind them just as the front doorknob jiggled.

the door swung open.

iwaizumi stepped into the apartment, his shoulders tense and his brow furrowed in that permanent, default scowl he wore whenever he had been left alone with oikawa for more than five minutes. he was carrying his gym bag, looking thoroughly exhausted by the mere concept of his own birth anniversary.

“oikawa, if you hid my keys in the bushes again, i’m going to—”

he stopped dead in his tracks.

the apartment was dimly lit, glowing with the soft, flickering warmth of a dozen tiny candles. the scent of cherry blossoms and spicy takeout filled the air. and there, sitting precisely in the center of the room, was you. wrapped in a giant pink bow like a prize-winning show pony.

iwaizumi’s brain stalled. his brain completely derailed, flew off the tracks, and exploded into a spectacular fireball of adoration. his gym bag slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. his eyes dilated so fast they looked entirely black, his chest heaving as his lungs suddenly forgot how to extract oxygen from the atmosphere.

“hey,” you said softly, giving him a little helpless wiggle of your shoulders. “happy birthday.”

the sound of your voice seemed to snap a cord inside him. iwaizumi was across the room in a fraction of a second, dropping to his knees before you with a force that rattled the floorboards. his hands hovered over you, trembling slightly, utterly terrified of touching you too hard but looking so intensely starved for your presence that it was borderline feral.

“what did they do to you?” his voice was a raw, low rasp, thick with a terrifying amount of protective instinct. his fingers immediately went to the knot of the ribbon, his knuckles brushing against your ribs, sending a massive jolt of electricity straight down your spine. “are you hurt? did that dumbass hurt you? i’ll kill him. i’ll bury him in the school yard.”

“i’m fine, i promise,” you giggled, the sound light and bubbly in the quiet room. “they didn’t hurt me at all. oikawa was very specific about not wrinkling my shirt. they wanted to give you a proper present.”

iwaizumi’s gaze locked onto yours, and the sheer, crushing weight of his devotion was enough to make your breath catch. he looked at you the way an ancient, desperate traveler might look at an oasis after a century in the desert. there’s a terrifying, beautiful affection in his eyes—a silent admission that you held his entire heart in your hands, and if you squeezed even a little bit, he would gladly disintegrate into dust for you.

“you’re the only present i want,” he muttered, his voice dropping so deep it resonated in your chest. his thumbs stroked over the fabric of the ribbon, his eyes tracking the line of the pink silk up to your collarbone, before snapping back to your lips with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. “you shouldn’t be wrapped up like this. it makes me want to lock you in this room and never let anyone else look at you again.”

your heart did a violent, joyful flip-flop against your ribs. “is that a threat, iwaizumi?”

“it’s a promise that once it happens again, i won’t hold back,” he growled softly, finally tugging the golden knot loose.

the ribbon slithered off your shoulders like water, pooling around your hips in a mess of pink satin. the moment your arms were free, iwaizumi didn’t waste another millisecond. he surged forward, his massive, calloused hands framing your face with a tenderness that completely contradicted his terrifying expression. his palms were warm, his thumbs sweeping over your cheekbones as if he were trying to memorize the texture of your skin for the rest of eternity.

when his lips met yours, it was less of a casual kiss and more of a total spiritual surrender.

he kissed you with desperate, heavy hunger, his mouth moving over yours with a frantic need to consume and be consumed. it was a bruising, deeply romantic sort of worship. he groaned against your mouth, his fingers tangling into the hair at the nape of your neck to pull you even closer, erasing every single millimeter of space between your bodies.

you wrapped your newly freed arms around his neck, pulling yourself up into his lap. he welcomed the weight instantly, his strong beefy arms locking around your waist like iron bands, anchoring you to him as if he were terrified you might evaporate into thin air if he loosened his grip by a single fraction.

“god, you taste so good,” he mumbled against your lips, peppering short, hard kisses along your jawline, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. “i’m losing my mind. you’re going to kill me one day, i swear to god.”

“you’re doing great for a dead guy,” you whispered, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the crisp, comforting scent of sweat and laundry detergent that was uniquely him. you nipped gently at his earlobe, feeling the sudden, violent shudder that went through his massive frame.

“don’t do that unless you want this table knocked over,” he warned, his voice incredibly thick as his hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin through your clothes with a possessive strength that made your toes curl. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes burning with a liquid, molten heat. “i mean it. i’m so crazy about you it’s actually making me sick.”

“good,” you said, reaching up to smooth down the unruly spikes of his dark hair, your fingers lingering on his forehead. “because i’m not planning on letting you go anytime soon.”

he stared at you, his expression softening into something so purely, profoundly tender that it looked almost painful for him to hold. he leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he just breathed you in, his thumbs tracing slow, heavy circles against your waist.

“happy birthday, hajime.”

“it’s a happy birthday now,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering seal of absolute devotion.

from the balcony, a faint, muffled snicker broke the silence, followed by the distinct sound of oikawa being violently elbowed in the ribs by matsukawa.

iwaizumi didn’t even open his eyes, his grip on your waist tightening just a fraction more as a small, wicked smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “ignore them. if they stay out there long enough, they’ll freeze, and then i can throw them into the trash incinerator tomorrow morning.”

n: sweet, sweet iwa. happy birthday :3

i have a discord server haha hi guys :3 we got a tag thanks to eme, soup, and maddy !

© showhay — don’t copy, repost, or translate without my permission. do not use/feed my works to AI.

It was simply a soft, still brush of lips, more of a question than an answer. His mouth was warm and soft for someone who usually carried himself with restraint.

They barely touched yours and his hands stayed to himself. Your heart still raced as though he'd pinned you beneath him.

Your head reared up from the pillow without realizing, a perfect angle for him to deepen into you.

But, he didn't. You already felt him retracting.

He pulled back entirely before it could've turned into an actual kiss.

Yet, your lips tingled and your pulse fluttered. Butterflies erupted deep in your stomach that they bordered on painful. For a second, you forgot how to breathe at all.

From where you lay, his shadow remained hovering over you, crossing onto your futon.

Even in the dimness, you felt the weight of his attention. His gaze was excruciating, too intense to be held for too long.

His breathing was slow and controlled, reminding you of how much of a mess you must've looked like yourself.

The moment of silence that passed felt like forever, before his rough voice broke it.

"Are you okay?"

A wave of relief trailed down your spine. He didn't regret it.

You nodded, swallowing. "Yes."

If only he knew the truth. You tried not to think that way anymore ever since you'd touched yourself to the mere thought of him, and especially now when he was being so careful with you.

On this trip, it was more difficult to not have such thoughts. His touch seemed to be frequent here, compared to at home - when it was zero to none.

The heat of the trip built up the ache in your chest, the one that yearned to be touched.

Calm down, you told yourself. He'd only kissed you once, and just barely.

Hiromi shifted beside you. The movement brought him closer instead of further away, as the side of his face settled against his pillow.

You mirrored him, and at this distance, all it would take was an inch forward for your noses to brush.

A breath escaped him, as though he'd been holding it.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked.

The air felt still at his question, almost stifling. The rustle of the pillow indicated your small nod, if he couldn't see it.

You exhaled too, slowly through your nose.

"I just…" Both of your hands linked together under the duvet. "I was intimidated. Did you usually work so much before?"

Before you.

You still worried about being a waiting wife, even if he'd told you he wanted to carry you now.

Being a lawyer was unlike other jobs. The cases he dealt with consumed him. He was the only man that could solve them after all.

Law swallowed thought, time and self until there was barely a distinction between the person and profession.

"No," he murmured. "It was a lot but not this much. I admit I'd been avoiding you."

You felt like you had glimpsed at unfamiliar morsels of him with more translucency, highlighting who he ostensibly was.

Part of your brain still couldn't comprehend how far your conversations with him had developed lately, but perhaps it was best if you couldn't.

You pressed your lips together. "I figured as much."

His face tightened. "It wasn't because of you. I didn't know you. And perhaps that was apart of why."

You scratched your temple lightly, trying to think despite how warm your face had become.

You'd avoided him too. For the same reason, at that. Something told you he already knew that.

"But what was the other reason?" you asked.

There was a pause, almost hesitant of the truth.

"When we met, I assumed you were shy or overwhelmed," he finally began, voice soft and low.

Most people wouldn't consider you that. You bet they would opt for cold or distant to describe you instead.

"And after the wedding ceremony, I went looking for you," he said. "Before lunch."

You turned more on your side to face him. His deep eyes dropped, somewhere between your mouth and the pillow.

After the ceremony was the small moment you were left alone. All eyes had been on the both of you during the purification rituals and prayers - all but his, of course.

You'd shut yourself in a room to change out of your pure white kimono, locking it and especially ignoring the knocks from your parents until they gave up.

You had no idea your new husband had wanted to see you at any point that day.

"I heard your parents talking before I reached the corridor. Your mother was relieved you'd 'agreed to get things together'. And your dad said you were better off married than chasing another dream."

The words stagnated shame in your gut, as though you were weighed down by wedding robes again and unable to breathe.

As if any dream you'd ever chased belonged to you.

They'd said worse about you, but it was mortifying that your husband heard a glimpse of it on your wedding day. Most people's parents would be both happy and upset to have their daughter leave them on their wedding day.

"You looked upset the entire day. I could tell you weren't the one who suggested the idea of marriage. And I knew it was too late when I heard that," he recalled, pensively.

"I…could have easily said no," you muttered.

"Easily?"

The moonlight caught in his eyes. You stayed silent as you watched.

He was the first person you'd ever known to understand. Then again, it wasn't like you told anyone your feelings.

While you weren't forced, and while you could have easily lived life as a disowned daughter, you simply didn't have it in you.

"I thought if I kept my distance, maybe it would make things easier," he said.

"But in the yakiniku restaurant…" you hesitated, thinking back to when you'd showed up to his office after he forgot to take his lunch.

"What did they tell you?" you'd asked, tilting your head.

He'd shook his head slowly. "That you were looking for a husband."

He knew you weren't the one looking, so why didn't he tell you?

"Were you testing me or something?" you queried.

"Not that," he said, almost immediately. "I wanted to see….how far they'd gotten."

How much you believed them.

You couldn't run to counter his words.

"And then? Once you saw how much that was?" you asked instead.

He paused and shook his head. "That was where I went wrong."

Your brows contorted.

"You were nervous at the wedding, but you kept up the act all day," he said.

He leaned in, large nose grazing against yours as he continued. The mint of the toothpaste he'd used earlier was light and fresh.

"It hurt to look at you, like there was nothing else you could do," he finished.

You resisted tilting your head, because you were sure you'd be so close that your eyelashes would brush his cheek if you did.

"What if I hurt you again?" you mumbled, pulse beating in your throat at the empathy he'd showed you.

"Maybe I deserve that much." He gave a weary sigh. "I've said all I've wanted to say. It's up to you now."

"What do you mean?" you uttered.

Quickly, you racked through your brain with all of the new memories with him.

You thought the decision had been made. He'd said he wanted to step to you.

"It's not too late. You can leave this all behind and I won't blame you for it."

You felt your heart breaking, even if it had been broken for a long time.

"If I did?" you mumbled, eyes trailing along the sheets. "Will you move on and marry another woman?"

You didn't doubt that there were lines of women willing to be his next wife.

You couldn't bring yourself to say the word divorce, and from what it seemed like, neither could he.

His brows contorted, and you could sense dark brown irises dilating.

"How could I? We've barely begun."

There was a hint of hurt in his voice, and the unfamiliarity of it pounded in your ears like cicadas. You immediately regretted doubting him, but how could you not?

You and Hiromi had skipped every step to a relationship, all laws of attraction, and gone straight to marriage. Time was going backwards.

"You are not that shallow, like you said," you responded, in a breath.

He took the gentle shuffle forward to touch his forehead to yours, sharing a moment of silence.

You almost jolted when his hand trailed under the duvets, brushing your wrist.

"I am," he muttered.

His eyes flicked over your expression close to his, as though he was trying to memorize it. Moonlight leaked through the shoji, softening his features and glowing the edges of his dark hair.

The restraint that seemed to rule his mind and body broke. You felt it in his heavier exhale that brushed against your skin, and how his eyes fell back to your mouth and stayed there. Silence thickened until it felt feverish.

Soap mixed with the clean scent of the bed sheets made you feel dizzy, enough to feel heat behind your eyes.

In one sudden movement, his hand slide from your wrist to your jaw, pulling you into him.

Your lips connected with urgency, unlike the careful contact a few moments ago.

Tension spilled out in one frantic moment.

His other hand had a mind of its own, starting at your shoulders and settling at your back, as he hauled you even closer.

A soft and needy sound escaped you, swallowed by his mouth. He reacted with a gentle squeeze to your jaw. Your eyelashes fluttered shut at his taste of mint and a hint of fruits he'd eaten earlier.

Had it really been that long since you'd been kissed? You couldn't keep up with his lips as they engulfed yours, even if you desperately tried.

You attempted to be as quick as him, twisting your fingers into the fabric of his robe and stayed there.

You weren't sure where this was going to go just yet. Hiromi inhaled sharply through his nose, as if he was thinking the exact same thing.

You were still lying on your side, but your bodies shifted to each other too quickly. The duvet tangled around your legs and your knee accidentally pushed against his thigh.

You wanted to roll around the sheets with him. It was the only form of fighting that you'd enjoy.

The last bit of control in you stopped you from acting on all your desires, reminding yourself that this was the first proper kiss with your husband.

He was the opposite, and everywhere at once. No part of your jaw, head, neck and back were left untouched by his hands.

He couldn't decide where he wanted to hold you the most, while your fingers remained gripping at his robe - as if he'd disappear from you within a second.

His composure had fallen apart, making you drunk on all of him.

His forehead pushed against yours again, kissing you deeply.

You wanted to run your tongue over his teeth and taste the light mint from the toothpaste.

But, he kept his tongue to yourself, and as did you.

Instead, he took your bottom lip and sucked it into his mouth. Your pulse pounded in your lips at the action.

You attempted to catch your breath in that moment, but he didn't stop there. He released your bottom lip and went in for your mouth again.

The room became warmer and louder with sounds of kissing. Every breath tasted like him, heat and desire. It all made you lightheaded, but neither of you could stop.

His hand slid down your arm, before catching itself at your below. His fingers flexed, like he was fighting against his own impulses in real time.

Finally, his lips moved to the side, above your jaw. The kisses to your face felt embarrassing, as if he was worshiping you.

Still, you slightly relaxed as he kissed along your cheek, your breathing slow and deep. Your fingers finally released from his robe and returned under the covers.

The blood barely rushed back to your head at how dazed you felt. You didn't doubt your lips were swollen, with how much they were tingling.

"There's no in between with you," you managed to say weakly. "You act like I don't exist, and then kiss me like that."

Your chest rose up and down. You wondered how he wasn't much out of breath compared to you, unless he was used to kissing like this.

He slowed his kisses and you wanted to take your words back, as he pulled back entirely.

He swallowed lightly and deflated back against the pillow. It almost made you shiver to not be held by him.

You lifted your hand to graze your bottom lip.

"Get some sleep," he spoke hoarsely, leaving you speechless.

Your eyes fluttered open, met with the white ceiling.

The first thing you noticed was your husband's absence in your blurry peripheral, and the leak of light.

Your view trailed around the room, confirming that it was empty.

The room that was filled with honest words and endless kisses the night before was now subdued.

Your fingers trailed up to your mouth, running your fingers over your lips as you'd done last night.

When you sat up, you immediately stilled at the sight of Hiromi's back, through the glass doors.

Sheets pooled around your waist as you stared. You didn't stand and go to the window just yet or you'd give yourself away.

He was stood in the onsen. Steam wrapped around his waist like smoke around a fire, leaving his back exposed.

The water seemed to have taken him away into thought.

Broad shoulders tapered down the elegant curve of his spine. You felt perverse for intruding on an intimate sight, but you couldn't bring yourself to look away either.

You snapped back to the matter at hand. You did say you were going to go in the onsen one last time, before you'd leave today.

You checked the time. 9:12.

Did he beat you to it, or were you just late?

You weren't sure what time you were meant to check out of the onsen ryokan. If it was 12pm, you knew you couldn't wait around.

You rubbed your eyes before running your hands down your face, asking yourself if you were really about to do this.

The wilder side of you already seemed to be acting on your behalf. It was only catching up to the rational side, or rather, your consciousness.

He'd brought your recklessness out last night and it still hadn't hidden, despite a well-rested night of sleep.

You got up and freshened up in the bathroom, before rinsing your entire body off briefly in the shower.

You wrapped your bathrobe around yourself, dripping along the tatami as you padded across the bedroom.

One hand nervously gripped the edge of your sleeve, and the other pulled back the glass door.

You cleared your throat, because you hadn't spoken yet since waking up, and because your heart was pacing.

Things didn't exactly end badly last night. Perhaps telling you to go to sleep was his way of holding you back, or even himself.

"Morning," you muttered, keeping your eyes down as you stepped along the edges of the onsen.

He was in the morning sunlight, while you stayed under the shade opposite him - the side of the onsen closest to the door.

"Morning," he said.

You hadn't thought this far ahead, but you tried not to care enough to stop now.

You untied your robe quickly before the sudden courage would disappear.

You were a grown woman, and he was a man almost ten years older than you. He was bound to see your nude body.

At least, that was what you told yourself as you removed the loose fabric and set it aside.

The air felt colder since you'd just rinsed off in the shower, until you lowered yourself carefully into the warm hot springs.

Heat swallowed you. You kept your gaze downward at the pale water rising along your chest and covering your breasts.

You were unaware if he'd glimpsed at you or not. Even so, the awareness of him wrapped around you almost as tight as his hold the night before.

"Last day today," he murmured, taking you by surprise to start a conversation.

You nodded with a small sigh, letting the water soothe your muscles and wake you up this morning.

"Felt like an eternity," you responded, almost awkward. You immediately regretted the way you worded it, because an eternity with him away from life and responsibilities was far from a drag.

The water lapped softly against the edges, ripples drifting between you. The scent of minerals attempted to soothe you.

This morning was bright, much like the recent weather, even if you were under the roof on your side. Opposite you, sunlight touched his skin like he was an angel.

You sank deeper into the heat, back resting against the side.

 Across from you, Hiromi was doing the same, and relaxing one arm along the edge behind him. Droplets fell from his wet dark hair and down his temples, brunette appearing pitch black.

Your eyes flickered lower for a split-second, while his gaze trailed behind your head. The steam blurred parts of him only enough to make your imagination worse.

Stop. It.

"You slept well?" he asked, innocent question breaking you out of your perversion.

You nodded and blinked, as if to rid of the thoughts. "Yes. I was worn out."

The words escaped you before your brain caught up, making you freeze.

"I-"

There was no way of not making the words sound weird, because nothing else could have worn you out the day before, aside from the intense kiss with him. 

There was the curse in the gym, but he'd sorted that out and it was far smaller than the one in your bedroom.

He, of all people, knew how much people fumbled under pressure.

His brows lifted slightly, but said nothing.

You stared at the outline of your reflection in the water.

"We'll need to check out at 12pm."

You nodded. Good, he was at least changing the subject.

"Are we taking the train back too?" you asked, threading your fingers through the water.

"Yes, unless you want a taxi?"

"No, I'm not picky." The words came out quiet and awkward again, even if there was always an element of that when speaking to him in casual moments.

A breath of a chuckle escaped him. "I didn't think you were."

You weren't sure what that was supposed to mean, or what his look of amusement was about.

You felt the heat of the onsen opening up your pores. It was far too hot in here, and it was difficult not to overanalyze his every move. You'd done that since the first time you'd ever met him.

The last time you were in the onsen together, it had ended in somewhat of a disagreement. Now you'd both said all you needed to, and you were left with tension you'd attempted to fix the night before.

 You let out a sigh, shoulders dropping slightly. "It's nice to have the onsen right outside."

"We could have one installed, you know."

Your eyes shot up from the rippling water.

He was dead serious, with his lack of expression.

"Oh, no, that's very expensive. And these things are hard to maintain," you said, sheepishly.

Anything of the sort would be a huge intrude to Hiromi's home. Perhaps, it was also an excuse to come back to the hot springs another time too.

He gave a small shrug, bare shoulders slightly peaking above the water for a second. "Anything you want to do around the house or garden, go ahead. You don't need to ask."

You linked your fingers together below the water, instead of freely skimming your fingers through.

You'd never considered it. You didn't have much of a green finger, nor were you passionate about decorating.

That, and the fact it wasn't your house.

"Oh, thank you. But…it's really okay," you hesitated.

You weren't sure why it made you feel awkward. He'd been nice to you before, of course, but he was acting so normal after last night.

"I should have made your room look better," he responded.

You shook your head. Your room, that was his spare room, was nice and simple, but you liked it that way.

When you lived in your one-bedroom apartment, it was a sanctuary from your parents' house. Hiromi's house could soon become that, the more you got used to being in his presence. Already, it was a hell of a lot better than being at your parent's house.

"You painted the house before I came," you reminded him, quietly. "Thank you."

There was a chance Hiromi had done that for your arrival, if he initially thought he was marrying a girl who'd actively looked for a husband.

Maybe he was trying to make her feel at home. He found you, instead of some optimistic girl.

It was as if you shared the same thoughts, when he asked, "I might have to ask you the same thing. Did you have anyone else to marry?"

You'd asked him something similar yesterday when he'd called you beautiful.

From his perspective, it made more sense for you to simply marry someone you were dating. But it was simply easy that his mother and yours were former classmates from the same hometown.

You shook your head. "Not at the time."

"Before then?"

The silence between each of your responses was loud and peaceful at once. Hiromi waited patiently for your answers, though his gaze remained fixed on you with that unbearable attentiveness of his.

A breeze slipped through, carrying the scent of minerals.

"I stopped dating during law school," you stated. You leaned your head back against the edge.

Official relationships were exhausting and took too much dedication, and flings were still reoccurring enough. You'd cut yourself off before anyone else could grow tired of you first.

The last time you dated someone was in your final year of university. It was the year before you enrolled into your Master's program.

In a way, you were more present back then. You allowed yourself to feel everything, even if it was mainly stress - at least you were engaging with love and had hope in yourself back then.

"Were your parents really the only reason you agreed?" he asked.

"I suppose I…was tired of trying to be something to someone," you muttered, even if the words contradicted your very marriage. "I don't even think I was enough for my previous partners."

Hiromi's gaze lifted from the rippling water to you. "Really?"

There were the smallest changes in his expression that you'd noticed the more time you spent with him, such as how his jaw flexed when he disagreed with something.

You laughed lightly under your breath. "Men are hard to keep entertained. I think I was too boring."

You traced your fingers beneath the water, where he couldn't see the nervous movement.

The heat had loosened your muscles, but conversations with him exposed parts of you that forever remained tense - no matter the warmth surrounding you.

He stared at you for a long moment, brows furrowing faintly.

"I find that very hard to believe," he said.

You g lanced away, to the rocks bordering the bath. Anywhere but his focused stare.

You felt like you were the opposite to him, under his microscope at the topic of men, while he remained cool.

"And you? How long has it been for you?" you queried.

Sunlight bounced across the water. The conversation felt like a continuation of yesterday. To your dismay, it wouldn't end the way it did last night.

"Few years. It wasn't anything serious," he replied. He rolled his shoulder lightly, and your eyes betrayed you.

"Did you want it to be?" you asked, eyes drifting to the bushes behind him, brushing through the light breeze.

"I should have, since I was reaching that age. But no one was…" He sighed. "Okay, you're right. We are hard to keep entertained."

Your mouth twitched at the corner. "If you couldn't find anyone interesting enough, then maybe it's not a gender thing."

"Yes, and it was for marriage," he responded.

You tilted your head slightly, contemplating his words. "Marriage isn't this…passionate thing. Or so I've heard."

"Usually from people in decade-long failing marriages."

You lightly scoffed and nodded. "Hm. Maybe they're right."

He was a lawyer, he must've seen many failed marriages and divorces first hand. Because of that, it seemed out-of-character for him to still think highly of marriage.

Unless he thought highly of you.

"Then, did you think this marriage would be…a break for you?" you asked. There was no animosity in your tone. You only wanted the truth, even if it would fill you with guilt.

"I'm not sure about ours yet," he murmured. "All I can ask is for you to take a chance."

The words drifted across the water softly and landed in your heart with unexpected weight.

"A chance?"

It felt like you were no longer at opposite ends of the onsen now, but as if he was hovering above you again.

His expression was so intent, making you more exposed than your naked body. "I wonder if you can put faith in me."

Could you?

You'd been left alone your entire life. An absent husband was nothing new.

The water distorted your reflection in the ripples, until you barely recognized your own face.

The most foreign feeling was to be wanted.

"Are you still afraid?" he asked.

"When did I say I was afraid?"

"Intimidated, then," he said, referring to the night before.

A breath of a laugh escaped you. "Why do you ask?"

"You're hiding in the corner."

You hadn't realized how much you'd pressed up against the side of the onsen.

Would he prefer you to be on top of him instead?

You remained to your side, although you shifted off of the wall slightly.

"I'm fully naked," you said, lightly deadpan.

His stunned blink both satisfied and excited you. His confidence was unfair in this moment, while you were crumbling inside at the close memory of your kiss.

"Fair."

The next day after you'd checked out and gone home, everything was opposite to what you'd expected. Imagine your shock when you'd woke up and stepped downstairs in your pyjamas, to find him sipping coffee at the kitchen island.

He was dressed in his suit and wearing those thin, oval glasses of his and reading a newspaper. You couldn't remember the last time you saw someone with one of those.

You'd arrived home in the afternoon yesterday after checking out of the onsen ryokan, so it made sense for him to be off to work. But, you thought he'd already be gone by now.

Additionally, the time was almost 8am, yet he was still here. You used to never see him leave in the mornings, and he was gone before you woke up.

"Morning," he spoke first, eyes remaining to the newspaper.

"Morning," you said hesitantly, stepping over to the stove to make tea.

The sight of him made you remember two things.

"Did you eat?" you asked.

"I don't usually eat before work."

Your brows rose and you were already reaching for the toast.

"It's alright," he said. "There's not much in the house, is there?"

"I'll give you something light. Do you have enough time?" you asked.

"Mm."

That was all he'd said before you got started, making a mental note to do some grocery shopping today. Additionally, you also packed away leftovers from last night's dinner for his lunch - quick miso and grilled fish you'd made when you got home.

You only just remembered your teapot once it was steaming. Reaching for the handle, you immediately jolted.

"Ouch," you uttered.

Right. You should've used a towel, with how long it was boiling for.

You'd been so concerned with getting everything ready for him in case he needed to leave, to even think and act like a responsible adult.

The sting hit on the red mark against your fingertip.

Immediately, the chair behind you scraped against the floor.

Hiromi was beside you before you could even process. The warmth of his body with his faint cologne enclosed you.

"Careful," he murmured. His voice was low and roughened by the morning.

You looked up quickly, startled by the sudden proximity. His round eyes looked even bigger behind the thin frames of his glasses, as they frowned at your hand.

His fingers loosely closed around your hand, freezing you as if he had a death grip instead. He examined the burn with focus.

"It's nothing," you said.

"Let me see."

Your lips parted slightly, but you held your deep breath in. The only thing you could hear was his light breathing and the rattle of bubbling water settling inside of the teapot, the stove now obviously off.

"Sorry," you couldn't help but say.

You weren't sure why else you said it, aside from being stupid enough to grab the handle without a towel. He was far too close that you needed to fill the silence somehow, close enough that his tie brushed against the sleeve of your top.

His eyes connected to yours and shook his head. "Nothing to be sorry for."

You were inwardly apologizing that every time he touched you now, all you remembered was his mouth on yours.

Of course, returing bmade you wonder if you'd kiss again, and how intense it would be the next time. If the two of you would even get into a situation that would end with a kiss.

His eyes lingered on your face, before he finally released your wrist and returned the distance beteen you again. The absence of his touch immediately made you cold, despite the burn on your finger.

"Here." The freezer shut and he returned with a bag of frozen vegetables, as well as a dish towel. The bag immediately soothed your finger.

He held the towel over the handle and poured tea into your mug.

"Have some too?" you asked, as he set it back down.

It was as though he'd gotten himself back together, making you realize it wasn't just you who felt the tension.

"I should leave before its too late," he said.

You nodded, clutching the frozen vegetables to your finger like it was grounding you from running after him.

As well as leaving later - or rather, on time for the average person - Hiromi also began arriving home earlier in the evenings instead of late at night and ate the food you cooked, instead of leaving it untouched in the fridge. Most nights, he ate with you.

It happened again and again. The front door opened while the sky was still blue instead of black, as the evenings became lighter.

You wondered if this was the chance or the faith he'd asked for.

It had only been a week since you'd returned from the onsen ryokan, where your dynamic had both altered and stayed the same. You still didn't know how to stand near him normally.

"Are you not going to have breakfast?" you said.

Hiromi was already at the genkan, bending slightly to slip into his shoes.

He shook his head. "I'm a bit late."

That's a first, you thought.

"At least, take lunch," you said, holding out the bento to him.

He paused and his shoulders slightly relaxed, taking the box. "Thank you."

He stepped into his other shoe, and straightened up, only for the two of you to freeze.

Scarlet fabric slipped from the inside of his trousers and out of the ankles, landing directly beside his polished black shoe.

Your soul left your body.

What had just fallen out of his black slacks, at the ankles, was your red lace thong.

The delicate lingerie sat innocently on the floorboards, like an attack from the universe.

Hiromi glanced slowly at you, the same time your eyes met his.

"Oh, god, sorry," you quickly and quietly said, bending and grabbing the underwear.

This had already happened during your first few days of marriage. Except that time, you'd found your panties in his slacks while doing the laundry!

You told yourself to wash your clothes separately, but you hadn't remembered.

It seemed the trip to the hot springs had relaxed your brain to make you idiotic.

You couldn't even look at him or return his quick mutter of a "goodbye" before he left and shut the door.

"Those fucking panties," you groaned, collapsing face-first onto the sofa.

Noshiko's cackling nearly burst through the speaker.

"I'm being serious. I felt like I died," you sighed deeply.

"Please. Maybe he liked it," she snorted.

"Liked it?" you shrieked. "He must think I'm a total pervert."

"You both had a hot makeout. Surely, he's a pervert too."

Your stomach clenched at the memory. You'd told Noshiko about it, and her being her - she was able to sense your want for more.

It was the afternoon. You'd just returned from buying frames, since the wedding photos arrived not long after the panties incident.

As you shifted through the photos, selecting one to put in the frame, you caught Noshiko up on everything.

"Maybe…" you agreed, sitting back up.

"Look, I'm not saying throw yourself at him. Just…try to loosen him up a bit?" she suggested.

"What do you mean?" you asked with another sigh, opening up one of the frames at the back.

"You know." Her tone went sly. "Touch him, tease him."

"I'm hanging up."

There was no way she was serious!

"What else can you do? You can't ask him, can you?" she asked, tone defensive. "You're married and acting like Victorian strangers."

She was right about it all and it pissed you off. You and Hiromi weren't anywhere near the stage where you could just ask for him.

"Just give it a try. Maybe a massage," she added.

"What kind of massage?" you gasped.

"Not the one you're thinking."

The call ended shortly afterward, although her words remained lodged in your brain.

Still, it gave you a chance to properly focus on the wedding photos. Most of them were just as staged as you remembered, but at least your smiles weren't wide to obviously look fake.

There were only a few candid ones, where you and Hiromi almost looked real. The one you eventually chose to frame wasn't posed; you didn't remember the photographer directing you for this one or even taking it.

You stood among the shrine gardens, a faint smile tilting at the corners of your mouth and your eyes lowered at the flowers below you.

Meanwhile, Hiormi was behind you, looking directly at you with intense focus. The expression made your face heat.

It wasn't what a typical wedding photo looked like, but it was evidence of one of the only times he'd looked at you the entire day.

You positioned the ladder in the genkan.

Was it strange to put the photo here, to be seen as soon as one walked in, even if there was already nails in the wall from before?

You climbed the ladder careful, stretching upward to straighten the frame against the wall.

"There…"

The front door suddenly opened and you jolted violently. The ladder shifted beneath you.

A gasp tore from you as your feet slipped and the world tilted.

You expected the crash onto the floor and the clatter of the ladder, until strong arms caught you.

Your heart pounded from both adrenaline and shock.

That scent….his scent.

You blinked rapidly in shock, turning and tilting your head up slowly.

"Are you okay?" Hiromi asked immediately.

You couldn't speak, as you glanced at him with shock and confusion.

Your body was half-suspended against his chest, one of his arms firm around your waist, while the other steadied your back.

You wondered if he could feel your catastrophic pulse.

"What…" you finally breathed. "What are you doing home?"

It was only the afternoon. You got too used to how quiet the house was around this time.

"I had a half day," he replied.

You didn't even know those existed for Hiromi.

His brows twitched slightly as he looked over you again, checking for any injury. He loosened his hold and let you go when he saw you were okay.

You steadied yourself back on your feet. Your heart stumbled so strongly in your chest, it was a surprise the rest of you remained upright without his help.

He'd caught you before, except you weren't standing on a ladder and he hadn't suddenly burst in. Yet, most of the impact came from his sole presence, rather than the almost-fall.

"I thought we could go out for dinner." He'd already changed the subject before you could thank him for catching you.

"Oh." Your gaze drifted, blinking back to reality and away from his dark brown eyes.

"What were you doing?" he asked.

The question made you realize the frame was still clutched in your hand. At least it didn't fall and smash all over the floor.

You turned the frame toward him, where recognition softened his expression.

"The photos arrived?"

You nodded. "Sorry. I probably should've waited so we could choose together."

"No," he said, taking a step back from you. "It's a nice one."

You gave another small nod, as you glanced to him. His tie had already loosened slightly from the workday, exposing more of his throat than usual.

You understood what Noshiko meant by loosening him up, even if you had no idea how to go about it. He was devastating either way, when he was or wasn't composed.

You'd both gone for dinner at a Western-style restaurant and shared a few beers over the food. 

Meal times with him were usually the more natural aspects of your relationship, if you could call what you had with him a relationship. You didn't feel like his wife from an arranged marriage, or even a woman he'd kissed, but simply a human sharing a meal with another human.

The walk home was also quiet and slow, probably because of the alcohol and exhaustion. Hiromi was still in his suit.

At home, you found yourself not wanting to part from him just yet. It wasn't even that late and it was a Friday night.

After you'd slipped off your shoes, you asked, "Do you want some wine?"

His brow raised slightly as he took his blazer and tie off. "Why not?"

You smiled faintly and moved toward the kitchen.

You didn't recall him drinking much alcohol during your stay at the onsen ryokan. Then again, perhaps places like that were meant to cleanse people of things.

You poured red wine carefully and halfway into two glasses, the bottle clinking against the rim.

You returned into the living room, where he was resting on the sofa with his eyes closed.

He'd unbuttoned the top of his shirt, peaks of skin exposed. His legs were resting open, with his legs spread from the corner he sat in.

His eyes opened slowly, snapping you out of your stare.

You handed him the glass carefully, before sitting on the other side of the couch.

You took a small sip, the smooth and acidic liquid melting on your tongue before slowly swallowing.

"Are you okay?" you asked, since he was still spread out. "Tired?"

He sighed. "You wouldn't believe I even worked for half the day."

You lightly laughed. "That bad?"

When he was like this, he looked easy to reach out to. Or even, to plant yourself between his legs and lie back against his chest.

He hummed, lowly. "Today was fine. I just get the craziest situations."

"I suppose no one else could fix them," you responded. You shifted, so your body and head were facing him.

"I'm not that invincible."

"Really?" You cleared your throat. "What is it you fear most in a case?"

He took a sip of wine, round eyes blinking slowly in thought.

"What I told you about before. The court denying blatant evidence to prove someone obviously innocent," he murmured.

"They decide the narrative and then they run with it," you said quietly.

He ran a hand through his brunette hair, although not a single strand looked out of place. "Even that has become entertainment nowadays."

His shoulders tightened, and at first, you thought it was mostly because of the bitterness in his voice.

He rolled his shoulders, and then Noshiko's voice rung in your mind from earlier.

Just give it a try. Maybe a massage.

Could this be your way of literally loosening him up?

He'd taken you to an onsen ryokan for days and paid for it, because of what you'd gone through. The least you could do was help him.

"Tense?" you asked, trying to find a way to bring this up.

He gave a nod. "Hm."

Your fingers tightened around the steam of your glass, as if the courage came from only the few sips of wine and couple of beers from the restaurant.

Your mouth opened and you couldn't go back. "Do you want me to massage it for you?"

You were left with silence.

Hiromi looked at you fully.

His face looked smooth, despite his exhaustion. Thirty-six was by no means old, but you were surprised he'd taken such good care of his skin to look as good as he did - with the lack of time he seemed to have.

"You don't need to do that," he said quietly.

Despite the heat creeping up your neck, you managed to keep it together and remain your eyes on him.

"I want to."

Gently, he set his wine glass down on the coffee table.

"Alright."

His posture closed and he shifted to the middle of the couch where you could reach him, no longer spread out.

You knelt up and carefully moved. You weren't directly behind him, enough that he just needed to turn his head to look at you.

Your hands hovered awkwardly for a second, as he kept his head forward, before finally settling against his shoulders. The moment you touched him, you felt how rigid he actually was.

"Like stone," you mumbled, without thinking.

"Concerning."

Behind him, you smiled lightly at the response.

You thought about the methods the massage therapists had used at the hot springs. Your thumbs pressed carefully into the muscle of his shoulders.

A slow exhale released him. It didn't sound like he was in pain, so you continued.

You attempted to focus on the movement of your hands, instead of the shape of your husband beneath them. His shirt was thin enough that you could see the skin.

Silence passed between you, and for a moment, you thought he was drifting to sleep. Instead, he finally spoke up.

"I'm sorry if I've been shutting you out again," he muttered.

You inhaled, blinking away the tiredness you felt yourself. "You haven't. It's okay."

"i disappear into work without realizing," he responded.

"No, it's…it's different now," you spoke, just above a whisper.

You leaned closer without realizing, although the concentration disappeared from your face and you were only left with curiosity. Your hands still worked slowly along his collarbones.

"If you want to talk, you can."

You appreciated any reassurance. Even if you knew this information deep down, that Hiromi wasn't going to bite your head off for talking to him.

"Same goes for you," you murmured.

He hummed, and you felt the low vibration on his skin, before he added, "I suppose it's not as easy when we don't share a room like we did."

Your breath hitched inwardly - which you were glad about since he was so close.

Was he talking about the ryokan?

Unintentionally, you pressed at the base of his neck more firmly without realizing.

A groan escaped him.

"I'm so sorry, are you okay?" you immediately said, head tilting around slightly to examine his reaction.

His eyes fluttered momentarily, before opening again. "No, it's not that…it felt good."

You deeply exhaled, both from relief and frustration. You wanted to hear his sound again.

You felt too hyperaware now, that your hands were on him and you were close enough to just rest your head on his shoulder. You could easily wrap your arms around his waist and fall asleep there.

"Hiromi," you suddenly said.

It seemed he knew what was on your mind, when his head turned finally. 

Brown eyes dropped briefly to your mouth and then back up again.

You almost felt like jolting back, with how easy it was to touch your lips together.

His eyes looked past your face to your neck and shoulders then, making you feel naked.

"You're tense too," he murmured.

"How do you know that?" you breathed.

"I just do."

He didn't even need to touch you to know that fact. All incidents of this week had built up to the highest scale of tension, after your first and steamy kiss in the ryokan. There was no way he could pretend like it didn't happen now.

"I wonder why," you whispered, unintentionally playing his own game.

A small smile rose on his lips, before leaning forward and claiming your mouth with the urgency of a man who was far from tired.

You supposed you should be surprised, but, after years spent at Hogwarts, nothing really shocked you anymore. This really was just another Saturday at Hogsmeade. With a sigh, you resign yourself to simply waiting out the chaos of above, hoping that someone with more than a few brain cells to rub together would eventually realize that vanishing spells were clearly making an already bad situation worse.

That's when another body ducks into your hiding spot, shoving you unceremoniously into the corner.

"Hey! Find your own spot. Move," you hiss, shoving back at the person who was very much invading your personal space.

"Shove off. I don't exactly fancy the idea of being burnt to a crisp," the person snaps back, twisting around to face you, a scowl clear across their face.

It takes a moment to place him, but you recognize the boy. Blaise Zabini. Trouble tended to follow him wherever he went. And by trouble you specifically meant Mattheo Riddle. Again, you probably should have been surprised, but Blaise Zabini being at the scene of the crime was about as expected as the centuries old rivalry between the snakes and the lions. And it was just your luck that he had to bring his problems to you. Admitting defeat (you didn't need his blood on your hands), you scoot over a bit giving him more room to take cover.

"So, I'm assuming you know who started this whole mess," you say dryly, trying, and failing, to ignore the way Blaise's leg was pressing up against you.

"No," he replies curtly, face remaining unchanged as he pointedly avoids making eye contact with you.

You raise a disbelieving eyebrow and Blaise must be able to sense your skepticism because there's a short pause before he lets out a low grunt, begrudgingly looking over at you.

"I don't know what happened. I ditched Mattheo and the rest of them when we got to Hogsmeade. Didn't feel like serving another detention for something I didn't do," he says.

You don't know if it's the sheer exhaustion laced in his voice, or the unanticipated sincerity in his eyes, but you believe him.

"Well. At least you acknowledge that Mattheo is a problem," you say with a sigh, trying awkwardly to lighten the mood as the sound of rogue explosives continues from above.

Blaise snorts and you swear you even catch a glimpse of a smile. You might have imagined it though.

"I live with them. I am no stranger to the fact that Mattheo has a nasty habit of making his problems, everyone else's problems." He pauses. "It's really Theo you have to watch out for though. He'll scheme right alongside Matt, but he's never the one that gets caught."

His words hang in the air. You couldn't remember there ever being a time where you'd heard Blaise string that many words together. You'd kind of always thought he was a quiet one. Always watching, analyzing, staying three steps ahead of everyone else. It had never occurred to you that maybe he was the one really worth talking to. The fireworks last for several more long minutes which you and Blaise spend in silence—aside from the occasional intake of breath when a loud crack sounds just a little too close.

When all the noise finally subsides, Blaise is the one to peek his head up above the counter first before extending a hand, wordlessly helping you to your feet. The shop is a complete and utter disaster. Rows and rows of shelves have been blasted over, boxes of product are scattered across the floor—burnt, torn, completely spoiled. Even the lights overhead were flickering, the occasional spark threatening to start a whole new problem.

"Bloody fucking hell." The words escape your mouth without a second thought as you stare at the carnage in shock.

You figured the damage would be bad. But this was brutal.

"There! It must have been them!" The voice you vaguely recognize as belonging to the shopkeeper rings out across the store.

Your head swivels as you look around, trying to spot the alleged troublemakers when you realize that the store is completely empty except for—oh. Oh no. The pieces seem to click for Blaise too, as he begins shaking his head.

"It wasn't us. We went for cover under the counter as soon as the fireworks started going off," he states as Minerva McGonagall appears next to the shopkeeper with her arms crossed and a glare already burning a hole through the two of you.

"Really?" The shop keeper scoffs. "Then how did you two know to hide straight away, hmm? And if you were hiding, how did you know it was fireworks being set off?"

"Well, the hiding part was mostly a result of our above average self-preservation skills, and the knowledge of fireworks bit probably came from the fact that we have functioning ears," you reply dryly, agitated by the fact you were being accused of something you clearly didn't do.

Beside you, you hear Blaise try to suppress a snort and can't help but feel pleased that you were able to amuse the boy once again, but that was far from your greatest concern at the moment. The shopkeeper doesn't look convinced. She turns to McGonagall, fists clenched and her mouth in a thin line.

"These two were here before all the explosions started, and they're still here now. I just know it was them and I demand something be done. They cannot be allowed to get away with something like this, my shop is in ruins!"

You have to feel a bit bad for the old woman, her shop had definitely seen better days. And really you couldn't blame her for being so upset. But it just wasn't fair that you were being blamed when you had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. You stand there just stewing in frustration as McGonagall apologizes profusely for the wreckage, promising that everyone involved would be held accountable.

"What do you expect us to do? Pay for all the damages?" you ask, crossing your arms in defiance.

Looking around, your family definitely could not afford to essentially rebuild the entire store from ground up. And quite frankly they shouldn't have to. Because none of this was your fault. Blaise perks up a bit at the suggestion however.

"Yes! My mother would be happy to pay. We can cover all the costs, no need to even involve y/n," he says, a charming smile gracing his face even though the rest of him remains tense.

But McGonagall shakes her head.

"No, no, no, Mr. Zabini. I will not have you believe that you can just throw your family's money at problems to make them disappear. Absolutely not. You and y/n will complete volunteer hours. Here. Starting this week," McGonagall says sternly.

"But Professor, it really wasn't us," you try to protest.

"Well, unless you have the names of the students who did this, the evidence against you is strong enough—"

"What, her just saying she saw us so she knows we did it is enough? That's bull—"

"That is enough. Unless you would like to serve a detention as well, I highly recommend you stop while you are above water," McGonagall says coldly.

You want to argue more, but Blaise's hand on your wrist stops you in your tracks.

"It's not worth it," he mutters under his breath, giving your wrist a light squeeze.

You bite your tongue, but not before shooting a nasty glare the shopkeeper's way. Apparently finished with the two of you, McGonagall turns to working out logistics with the old witch, leaving you and Blaise to scurry off to await your fates.

Your first afternoon spent at Honeydukes was awful. You didn't want to be there. Blaise didn't want to be there. And the shopkeeper? You had words to describe her that would probably get your sentence increased by at least a few months. You had thought she was a sweet, little old lady before, but now she was just miserable to be around—constantly snapping at you and Blaise and ordering the two of you around, then getting upset when you did exactly what she asked. It was infuriating, and you could tell that Blaise was at his wits’ end too by the end of the day.

When you finally returned to the castle that night, you were exhausted. All you wanted to do was fall face first, down onto your bed and promptly pass out. But you had more work to do. A charms assignment, a full translation for ancient runes, 12 inches due for potions, you were going to be up all night. You knew Blaise would be up too. He pretty much had the same class schedule you did. These hours at Honeydukes would probably wear down on him too. Or maybe not. He'd always seemed a bit super human to you. Always above everything.

You force the mental image of Blaise out of your head, willing yourself to focus on the work in front of you. Worrying about him wasn't going to do anything to help you. In fact, it was kind of what got you into this whole mess in the first place. You shake your head to clear it. Focus. Charms. Right. Your quill is just about to reach your parchment when a sharp knock jolts you forward, splashing ink across the blank page. Damnit.

With a huff, you drag yourself across the dorm room, swinging your door open, ready to tear into whatever poor soul is waiting on the other side. Except—you blink. Blaise Zabini is standing there looking rather disheveled. A far cry from his usual clean-cut, pristine presentation, you almost don't recognize him. Gone is his usual perfectly crisp, white button down and tie, and in its place is a worn down jumper that had definitely seen better days. His trousers are loose and wrinkly and it appeared as though he hadn't even bothered to tie one of his shoes. In short, it looked like he'd been run over by a hoard of wild hippogriffs.

"Are you— are you alright?" you ask, unable to keep your shock from seeping into your voice.

"I'm fine," Blaise replies, deadpan.

You give the boy another once over.

"Are you sure? You look awful."

"Tactful as always," Blaise says dryly, ignoring the barb and pushing his way into your dorm without so much as an invitation.

You want to protest, but honestly you're too tired so instead, you close the door and turn to find Blaise seated on the very chair you had occupied just a mere minute ago. You still don't have the energy to fight it though.

"What do you want Blaise, I have so much to do," you find yourself sighing as you lean back against your door.

Blaise mirrors your movement, leaning back in the chair and raising an eyebrow as if to challenge you.

"If you're just going to sit there, I'm not doing this. Please don't waste my time," you huff, feeling yourself growing more and more agitated.

"I'm never a waste of time," Blaise replies plainly, still refusing to elaborate on why he had shown up at your door so late at night.

"Yes, yes. I know. You're god's gift to the world and you're better than everyone else. I should be groveling in your presence. Can you please tell me why you're here, or leave me to work in peace."

You can't quite read the look that flashes across Blaise's face at your words, maybe hurt? Begrudging respect? You can't tell, but Blaise opens his bag that you hadn't really noticed before and pulls out his own stack of parchment.

"We're going to work together," he says as if the decision had already been made unilaterally.

"Are we?" you ask, arms crossed as you tilt your head at the boy.

You weren't exactly opposed to the idea. Blaise was wicked smart, you knew he was right up there competing for top marks in most subjects. But he was also Blaise Zabini, and while he might be nice to look at, his reputation certainly preceded him. Though he had surprised you a fair bit in the few interactions you'd had with him so far.

"We are. Look, we both have a heavy course load this term and with all the extra hours we'll have to spend outside of Hogwarts, I've done the math and there's just no way we'll be able to get all of our course work done without working together," Blaise says bluntly.

As much as you hate to admit it, you know he's right. Just thinking about all the work you had to do before Blaise had knocked on your door filled you with dread. Looking at Blaise, you can tell he already knows he has you so you let out another sigh, throwing your hands up in defeat.

"Fine. But you're taking the lead on ancient runes. I'm horrible at it."

Blaise was exceptionally difficult to get a read on, you were coming to understand as you spent more and more time with the boy. For the first few weeks of your mandatory community service at Honeydukes, you had been particularly bitter and it seemed like Blaise was on the same page. It simply wasn't fair that you and Blaise were taking the hit for something neither of you had done, and you made sure to make that point perfectly clear. But for Blaise, nothing seemed to affect him. It was like he didn't even care.

As the weeks went on though, you came to find that you didn't really mind the work you were doing—it was actually a bit therapeutic. The reason you were there aside, it wasn't actually so bad and getting out of Hogwarts was a nice perk. And Blaise, well, you were making progress with him you supposed. He wasn't nearly as snarky with you as you'd seen him be with others and you could swear you'd caught him staring before. But he was still…aloof. Hovering, as if he could never quite find the right words.

When the two of you did speak, words between you and Blaise were exclusively related to work: what aisle was stocked with exploding bon bons, which price tags went with the fudge flies, who was going to take the arithmancy notes, and who was going to write up the summary on the 6th—or was it the 7th—Goblin War. So it was a surprise to you when Blaise was the one to bring up a topic outside of your usual subject matter. Of course it was quidditch.

It was something about Malfoy being his usual primadonna self on the pitch and Riddle and Goyle, the team's beaters, making a pact to use him as their moving target for the day. Apparently they bludgered too close to the sun and Malfoy went down. Dramatically. In your personal opinion, the boy probably had it coming, but you didn't voice that particular opinion. Blaise had just been venting and honestly, you were happy to let him do so. It made him so much more…human.

Of course you had to pick his brain for all the details, because please, it was hilarious, but Blaise insisted that he didn't know what Malfoy had said in the locker rooms that day to get Riddle so pissed off, or how Riddle had then successfully roped Goyle into the whole mess.

"Blaise, how could you not think to ask what got the whole thing started? Mattheo got Gregory to turn on Draco, I need to know everything that happened. This is historic," you'd insisted between giggles.

Something about the whole thing must have been infectious, because Blaise was smiling too now, and you'd decided then and there that you liked it very much when Blaise smiled. His whole demeanor softened, seeming to draw you in.

Of course the lousy shop keeper had had to go and ruin it all, snapping at the two of you to work more and chat less.

"Rest be assured, we will be circling back to this," you'd told Blaise before turning on your heel to continue stocking shelves.

And then Blaise actually did. Later that night when Blaise was once again at home in your dorm room, he'd turned to you, quill hovering above parchment, eyes lighting up as if he'd just remembered the most important thing in the world.

"I found out what happened between Malfoy and Goyle," he'd announced proudly, eyes gleaming as your face lit up.

"Tell me everything."

"Apparently Malfoy took the whole 'Goyle can't read' bit a little too far."

"You're joking."

You don't really remember a lot of that night because you and Blaise stayed up so late that you didn't realize that you hadn't gotten any work done until the sky started to turn light again. It was worth it though, because by the time the two of you were ready to head down to the Great Hall that morning, it felt like you'd known Blaise your entire life. It was strange to think that just a few weeks ago you'd known so little about him.

As the weeks stretch on, you develop a bit of a routine. Go to class, stop in the library, report to the Headmaster's office to floo to Honeydukes, grab a late dinner, wait for Blaise's knock on your door. It was nice. And your relationship, if you could even call it that, with Blaise was nice too. He wasn't always as snobbish as people made him out to be and really, his haughty attitude could be rather comedic at times. Not that you'd ever let him know that, his ego was already big enough for the both of you combined.

You feel a soft jab at your arm.

"Are you going to do your side, or are you going to make me do it since I'm clearly the more talented wizard," Blaise quips, a taunting grin on his lips as he glances down at you.

"Oh shove off, would you."

With a roll of your eyes, you quickly cast a levitating charm and watch as the last of the glittery, pink banners that normally decorated the shop floats up to its familiar position on the ceiling.

"I'd say we did rather good," you decide, standing back to admire your work.

You'd spent much of the day redecorating the shop and it was almost looking back to normal if you did say so yourself. And you did.

"Of course it looks good, I did most of it," Blaise teases, his smile only growing.

If you were delusional, you'd think the boy was flirting with you. In his own twisted way. So you roll your eyes again, and shake your head disapprovingly.

"What do you even do when you're not being an absolute headache," you sigh dramatically.

"Look pretty." Blaise's shit-eating grin is unmistakable now.

"Ugh. You deserve this place. We could put you on the shelf, call you eye candy," you scoff before fully thinking through your words.

"So you agree, I'm pretty?" Blaise preens, looking all too smug.

You needed to get this back under control.

"If I actually thought that, I wouldn't let you know. Your head is already too big as is."

With that, you quickly turn your back to the boy, hoping he'd missed the heat that was now creeping up to your cheeks. You really needed to get your head on straight. But it was hard. Now that you were actually thinking about it and watching as Blaise's lean, quidditch muscles flexed as he moved boxes around the shop—he really was the definition of a pretty boy. It was almost mesmerizing watching him.

Seeing Blaise sprawled across your bed had to be some kind of sick joke. It had been meant as just a lighthearted, harmless quip, but since that afternoon at Honeydukes, all you could think about was how freaking attractive the boy that you'd been spending all of your time with for the last several weeks was. Of course you'd always seen it, but now you just couldn't get it out of your damn head. You wanted to bang your head on the wall. Or climb him like a tree. You weren't sure which. But there he was, none the wiser, lounging on your bed like some kind of godly entity. Sick.

You really needed to clear your mind. Slumping back in your chair and silently chastising yourself for being so distracted, you crack open your potions textbook. Surely a deep dive into bezoars would take your mind off things, or at least be so dull you'll have no choice but to focus on not falling asleep.

Laying across your bed, scribbling away at a translation for ancient runes, Blaise was riding high. Your words "eye candy" echo in his mind as he writes. You thought he was attractive. His chest tightens at the thought. See, Blaise was many things. Observant and decisive were two of those things. And what he had observed for the past year was someone who was cheeky and intelligent and fit, and what he decided was that they would be his. You would be his.

Of course in order to make that happen, Blaise would have had to actually do something about it. And he always told himself he would, he just…never did. And his pride wouldn't even allow him to consider why that might be, but now he had a chance. You thought he was attractive. You might even like him. He would take it. For now.

Glancing up, Blaise had to stifle his in take of breath. You really were perfect in his opinion. And he had high standards. But looking at you now, the way your eyes slowly scanned the pages of your book, the soft curve of your lip as your tongue flicked out to wet your fingers as you turned the page, it was almost enough to make Blaise want to combust right then and there.

Instead he clears his throat, pulling your eyes away from your book and towards him, exactly where he preferred them.

"There's a quidditch game tomorrow," he mentions casually in that cold, steady tone that was so practiced it was basically second nature to him.

"Oh, exciting. Who's playing?" you ask, head tilting in a way that told Blaise he had your full, undivided attention. And he reveled in it.

"Slytherin and Hufflepuff."

"Right, well, good luck in case I don't see you in the morning."

There's a moment of pause.

"I thought you might like to come watch," Blaise finally spits out, desperate to hold your attention for even a few moments longer.

"Why, because you're playing?" you ask, a small smile playing on your lips.

"Especially because I'm playing," he responds with a cocky grin.

"I suppose I'll be there then."

Your eyes lock back in on your book and for once, Blaise thinks it might be for the best because his grin is now threatening to take over his entire face.

Blaise was thoroughly convinced that the world was on his side. It was a perfect day for quidditch—warm but cloudy enough that there was no sun beating down, barely a breeze, and stands packed with spectators. And of course there was you, right there in front surrounded by Pansy Parkinson and Lorenzo Berkshire. Oh. That might actually be a problem, but he would have to mitigate that particular issue later.

"Blaisey!"

Blaise is greeted by Mattheo with a thump on the back.

"Don't call me that," he monotones, his familiar scowl finding its way to his mouth.

"Oh don't be like that, I heard you finally got that special someone in the stands. Eh? Exciting day," Mattheo sings, voice intentionally loud enough to draw the attention of the rest of the team.

Blaise was going to murder him later. Painfully.

"Oi, Riddle. Shut your trap and stop trying to sabotage your own team, yeah?" Flint shouts.

He was still pissed about Malfoy getting mauled, but at least ferret boy had been cleared to play today.

"Sorry, sorry," Mattheo relents, holding his hands up in surrender, but that troublemaker grin doesn't fade from his face. "I'll be expecting a thank you at the wedding though," he taunts quietly as he passes by.

The quidditch stands are crowded and you aren't exactly sure where you're meant to be as you're funneled forward through the wooden rows. Somehow you manage to end up right in the front, standing next to a girl with short, sleek hair and a brunette boy that looked like he could be on the cover of a magazine. Pansy Parkinson and Lorenzo Berkshire. You knew the two of them ran in the same circle as Blaise, but you weren't exactly sure how friendly they all were. It seemed you were about to find out though as Lorenzo leans forward on the rail to get a good look at you.

"You here for Zabini?" he asks. "Took him long enough, been wondering how long it would be before you started coming around."

You blink. You'd never talked to Lorenzo Berkshire before in your life and you had no idea what he was on about. Thankfully, Pansy comes to your rescue.

"Ignore him. Bloody idiot, that one," she sighs as if it were a common disclosure she gave out often.

Lorenzo seems completely unfazed by the comment, so maybe it was.

"You know the rest of the team?" Pansy asks, making easy conversation.

You didn't want to seem ungrateful, but you were surprised by how willing these two were to ease you into their little group.

"I know a few of them. A bit hard to tell though from this distance," you reply timidly.

"That's fine. Only thing you really need to know is which one Zabini is anyway. But look down there," Pansy points to the group of boys in emerald green down on the field. "Obviously that one is Blaise, I'm sure you're familiar," she says with a smirk, "The two he's standing with are the other chasers Nott and Pucey. Then the blonde who's not paying attention? That's Malfoy. The two next to him are the beaters, Riddle and Goyle. And that last one who's been monologuing this whole time is the team captain Flint. He's the keeper."

Your eyes follow Pansy's movements as she lists off each of the players, doing your best to soak in the information. Seemed easy enough, especially once Pansy put a name to the faces you hadn't quite recognized. Pansy and Lorenzo bicker back and forth some more as you watch the players on the field get ready to begin. It had been a long time since you'd come down to watch a quidditch game.

Once the game starts though, you realize that there was one thing you hadn't taken into account when accepting Blaise's invitation to the match. And that was his quidditch uniform. Sweet Salazar, you hoped no one noticed you salivating over the way his robes clung to him as he soared through the sky. And every time he flew past you caught a glimpse of that cocky smile of his that was growing to be all too familiar. It was definitely worth coming out.

The match is a quick one, and according to Lorenzo, the matches against Hufflepuff usually are. By the time Malfoy finally catches the snitch, Slytherin had already scored enough points that it wouldn't have even mattered if Diggory had been the one to catch the snitch first. You can't quite bring yourself to hoot and holler like Enzo when the match finally comes to an end, but the way Blaise's eyes find you as soon as the whistle blows tells you that you didn't have to. He knows you were there and he's the only one that matters.

After, you stand with Pansy and Lorenzo and wait for the team to trickle out of the locker room. Draco is one of the first ones out and when he spots Pansy, is quick to scoop her up into a hug. Mattheo and Greg are next, quickly joining Lorenzo off to the side where he's busy chatting up some of the Hufflepuffs. Then, finally you see him—hair still damp, either from sweat or a shower, but practically glowing as he spots you waiting there for him.

There's nothing grand or romantic about the way he saunters up to you, and there's no sweeping hug like when Draco greeted Pansy, but you can't help but feel your heart flutter as Blaise appears before you, perfect as always.

"Did you enjoy the game?" is the first thing Blaise asks, his hand brushing the back of yours as he stands in front of you.

You feel yourself short circuit for a split second at the contact before quickly recovering.

"Yeah. It was fun. You looked good out there," you hear yourself mumble as you try desperately to cling to the feeling of Blaise's skin against yours.

"Did I?" Blaise preens, that shit eating grin appearing once more.

He'd been doing that a lot recently. Smiling. Or at least a lot more than you'd ever seen. Not that you had really noticed before of course.

You reach out and give the boy a light shove on the shoulder.

"That's not what I meant," you reply as heat rises to your face, but even you can tell there's no sincerity behind your words.

"It's alright if it was." Blaise's voice is lower now. Hungry almost as he takes a step closer.

You feel your heart stop while your mind races at a mile a minute, repeating Blaise's words in your mind over and over making sure you heard right. That you weren't imagining it. But before you can respond properly, a voice calls out, pulling Blaise away while words sit at the tip of your tongue. All you can do is watch as Blaise turns away to rejoin the rest of the team, throwing one more parting glance your way before his face returns to its typical stoney expression.

You would think that, with its magical organization system, the Hogwarts library would be much easier to sort through. Yet here you were on what seemed like a wild goose chase, trying to track down the one book that would help you to complete your transfiguration essay. You'd been searching for nearly forty minutes now and it really was frustrating because the more time it took for you to find the blasted book, the more time your brain had to microanalyze every interaction you'd ever had with Blaise Zabini. You were driving yourself mad.

"What do you think the chances are that Zabini completely fumbles, despite everything we've done?"

Wonderful. And now your delusions were causing you to hear voices talking about Blaise out loud. Would you ever escape—wait. You take a step closer to the shelf, holding your breath as you try to hear through the rows of books.

"He better not. You know how hard it was to sneak those fireworks into the school? Told him today that I expected a thank you at their wedding. Course he doesn't know that we're the masterminds behind it all yet. Expect he'd be a little more grateful if he did, yeah?"

That voice you distinctly recognize as belonging to Mattheo Riddle, and, peering through the gaps in the shelves, there he was sat directly across from none other than Lorenzo Berkshire. But fireworks? Whose wedding? What did Blaise have to fumble? Your brain goes into over drive, straining to put the pieces together, and when it all starts to click you let out a breath you didn't realize you had been holding. Huh. You could confront the two right then and there, but instead you decide to take your new found discovery and file it away for later.

As it turns out, 'later' would actually be later that night. It's dark out when Blaise finally knocks on your door. You were expecting it of course, but this time he marches in with his usual confident swagger before you even have the chance to roll off your bed.

"Hey," is all he says as he drops his book bag on the ground before taking a seat next to you on the bed.

The mattress dips beneath him causing you to slide towards him until your legs are pressed against each other. You're not sure if you should curse gravity, or thank it.

"Hi," you squeak out, acutely aware of how close the two of you are sitting.

"Did you ever finish that transfiguration essay? I thought we could swap ideas," Blaise says, bending down to pull out parchment and a quill.

Your mind stutters at how inhumanly calm Blaise is while sitting so close that you could smell every individual note in his expensive cologne.

"Yeah, but, I don't think I want this to end. Once we've stopped going to Honeydukes and have more free time again," you blurt out. No plan, just words cascading out of your mouth.

Blaise doesn't even look up, just continues scribbling his name onto his parchment.

"That's fine. This arrangement has been working well."

You shouldn't feel surprised at this point, but you were always a little bit stunned by how nonchalant Blaise could be at times.

"No. I'm saying I think I like you," you try again, hoping to get your point across.

"Obviously. What's not to like?"

If it weren't for that obnoxious smile that had grown on you so much over the past weeks you'd have thought he was being an arrogant prick.

"You're an absolute headache. You know that?" you pout, giving the boy a smack and jolting his quill sharply across the page.

With a wave of his hand, the parchment and quill are magicked back into his bag as Blaise turns to face you know, eyes burning.

"A good looking one though, hm? That's what you were going to say this morning no?" he asks, as he slowly moves closer.

You shake your head no, but you both know that it's a lie.

"I decided that you would be mine a long time ago. It was just a matter of getting you on the same page, so of course you like me, you've always been mine."

You simply don't have the words to respond. All you can do is remember how to breathe as your eyes fully train in on the way Blaise's mouth moves as he tells you exactly who you belong to. And then that mouth is on yours and you forget how to function all together.

It's soft and sweet, and much more gentle than you ever imagined Blaise capable of being. As the kiss deepens, you feel Blaise pull you closer, hand sweeping against your thigh, guiding it until you're seated on his lap. His lips trail down your jaw, your throat, fingers pulling at the neck of your jumper as he nips at your collar bone.

"Blaise."

His name slips out from between your lips—breathy, airy and Blaise growls. His touch feels like it's burning away at your skin yet you still press yourself against him, desperate for the feeling. His mouth finds yours once more, kissing you until your lips are swollen and you're left gasping for air. When you finally pull apart, Blaise is looking up at you with something that can only be described as pure, unadulterated admiration.

In that moment you wonder how long Blaise had had his eye on you. How long you'd unknowingly pulled his attention. How long you'd occupied his thoughts, driving him mad just as he had been to you these last few weeks. You'd have to find out another time.

You shift your weight in Blaise's lap until you're at eye level, a teasing grin pulling at your lips. One that clearly said 'I know something you don't'.

"Blaise?" you ask, voice sing-song as you look at the boy with wide, innocent eyes.

"Yes, angel face?"

You feel your nose scrunch up.

"Is that a no?" Blaise chuckles, breath warm against your cheek.

"We'll circle back. But I heard the most interesting thing this afternoon in the library. Do you know what it was?"

Blaise shakes his head.

"I'm sure there are lots of interesting tidbits to pick up in the library, sweet cheeks."

You give him an unamused look.

"That's just bad and you know it," you huff, giving the boy a quick peck on the lips. "Now hush, I know who set off those damn fireworks at Honey Dukes."

Blaise raises an eyebrow and you can tell you have his interest piqued.

"It was your beloved teammates. Riddle and Berkshire. They outright admitted to it in the library earlier. Were worried you would fumble after 'all the hard work they did' to get you some alone time with me," you chirp, giving Blaise a playful poke on the shoulder. "Said you should be thanking them."

"Is that right?" Blaise asks, eyes suddenly dark as his expression becomes unreadable.

You feel yourself hesitate at the change in Blaise's demeanor and it seems like Blaise picks up on the shift because his face immediately softens again.

"I'll have to handle those two myself," he mutters. "But first—"

His hands make a trail down from your waist, dragging tantalizingly against your thighs, and hooking behind your knee caps before he yanks you close once more. Your arms wrap around his neck as a laugh escapes you. It's quickly smothered though as lips collide and you find yourself lost in a hazy bliss once more. You decide in that moment that if Blaise isn't going to thank his friends for framing the two of you, then you just might.

…But probably not.