𝐬𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐧

He’s practiced it, too. Quietly. Under his breath. In the mirror once, which he immediately decided was humiliating and never did again.

He’s got it.

He has it.

Until he doesn’t.

---

You don’t know anything is different when he asks you to come with him.

“C’mon, doll,” he says, tugging on your hand, already halfway out the door. “Wanna show you something.”

You squint at him, suspicious, but you go anyway, letting him pull you along with that soft, insistent grip of his. The evening air is warm, the sky bleeding into that soft gold-and-pink stretch just before sunset, and he’s quieter than usual as he walks beside you.

You nudge him with your shoulder. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m always weird.”

“Yeah, but this is like… upgraded weird.”

He huffs, but there’s no bite to it. Just nerves. You don’t recognize them for what they are yet—just assume it’s one of those Bucky moods where he gets in his own head a little too much.

So you lace your fingers through his, grounding, steady. He squeezes back immediately.

Always does.

---

He stops when you reach the spot.

It’s nothing extravagant. Not some big, sweeping, cinematic place.

Just your place.

The quiet stretch near the water where you two end up more often than not—late nights, early mornings, stolen hours in between. The place where he’s watched you laugh, watched you cry, watched you fall asleep with your head in his lap while the world kept spinning around you.

It matters.

That’s why he picked it.

You turn to him, brow furrowed slightly. “Buck?”

And that’s it.

That’s the moment everything in his head just—

Gone.

Completely blank.

He knows he had words. He knows he had a whole damn speech lined up, something worthy of you, something that could even begin to explain the way you’ve changed his life.

But you’re standing there, looking at him like that—soft, curious, a little concerned—and suddenly every single thought just… disappears.

All he’s left with is feeling.

And it’s too big.

Too much.

His chest tightens, his pulse pounding in his ears, and before he can overthink it—before he can talk himself out of it—he just moves.

Drops.

Right there.

One knee hitting the ground hard enough that he barely registers it.

Your eyes go wide.

“Bucky—?”

His hands are already fumbling, pulling the ring from his pocket, nearly dropping the damn thing in the process. His fingers shake—actually shake—and he can’t even look away from you long enough to be embarrassed about it.

Because you’re staring at him.

Like you can’t quite believe what you’re seeing.

And he's panicking.

Not about the answer. Never about that.

Just—about getting it right.

About saying it right.

About making sure you know.

And he can’t find the words.

Not the pretty ones. Not the practiced ones. Not any of it.

So what comes out is—

“Please.”

It’s rough. Breathless. Barely more than a whisper.

Your face does something soft, something almost startled.

He swallows hard, chest heaving slightly as he tries—tries—to pull something else together.

“I—” He shakes his head, a broken little huff of a laugh leaving him. “I had a whole thing planned. I swear I did. I—”

Nothing.

Still nothing.

His throat works, his eyes burning just a little as he looks up at you, completely exposed.

“Please,” he says again, a little stronger this time, but no less raw. “Just—please.”

And it’s all there anyway.

Everything he couldn’t say wrapped up in that one word.

Please stay.

Please choose me.

Please let me spend the rest of my life loving you.

Please don’t let this be something I lose.

Your eyes shine almost immediately, tears welling up faster than you can stop them. You press a hand to your mouth, a breath hitching out of you as you stare down at him.

“Bucky…”

He looks terrified.

Not of you.

Of losing you.

And that’s what does it.

That’s what breaks you open completely.

You drop to your knees in front of him so fast he barely has time to react, your hands coming up to cup his face, grounding him the same way you always do.

“Hey,” you whisper, voice thick. “Hey, look at me.”

He does. Instantly.

“You don’t need a speech,” you say softly, brushing your thumb along his cheek. “You don’t need any of that.”

His grip on the ring tightens, like he’s still not convinced.

“You’ve got me,” you continue, tears slipping free now, but you’re smiling through them. “You’ve always had me.”

His breath stutters.

“Yeah?” he asks, quiet, almost disbelieving.

You laugh a little, wet and shaky, leaning forward until your forehead presses against his.

“Yeah, idiot,” you murmur. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

The relief that hits him is immediate.

His shoulders sag, a broken, breathless sound leaving him as his eyes squeeze shut for a second, like he needs it just to steady himself.

“Jesus,” he mutters, half-laughing, half-choking on it. “Thank God.”

You pull back just enough to look at him again, grinning now. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I know,” he says, still a little dazed, finally slipping the ring onto your finger with hands that are only slightly less shaky. “I had this whole—this whole thing, doll. It was good, too. Real good.”

“I’m sure it was.”

“I practiced.”

You snort. “Did you really?”

He groans, dropping his head forward until it bumps lightly against your shoulder. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not,” you say, laughing as you wrap your arms around him. “I think it was perfect.”

He huffs. “Yeah? Just ‘please’?”

You pull back, kissing him slow and soft, pouring every bit of your answer into it.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at the assumption, more so annoyed by the fact that she may be right, even if you don't want to admit it. 

You've been tutoring Dean for the past two months, and what starts off as a horrible agreement that you regretted with your entire being turned into an anticipated two hours study that you now look forward to. 

Ironic. 

At first, you did it for the extra cash. It's easy money, you couldn't refuse the tempting offer when you were already struggling to get by with a part time job. Not only did it pay better, but it consumed less of your time. 

It's a good deal, you couldn't pass it down when Dean was practically begging on his knees for you to accept it. He once sent over his hockey teammates just to cozy you up into accepting his offer, causing a whole humiliation ritual in the cafeteria while he watched from the side with puppy eyes and a pout formed across his lips. 

It was a ridiculous sight, made you fume for days before finally calming down and eventually agreeing to help him. You regretted it in an instant, watching as a cocky, taunting smile smears all over his face, screaming at you to get away and avoid trouble. 

But you didn't. Instead, you showed up, even if you dreaded it, and considered it the worst part of your day. In your defense, Dean is very annoying, and wouldn't take you seriously unless you flashed him a life-threatening glare that would end him in the spot. 

He'd pretend not to understand things just to rile you up and make you scold him, almost as if he enjoyed it, amused by the way your face twists into a sour expression. Then comes apologizing, where his voice lowers into a whisper, and you'd fight the urge not to fold over the hushed apologies he mutters to you while tracing soothing patterns to your hand. 

You don't know when, or how it starts, but the dreaded sessions suddenly turn into something you look forward to. Two hours oscillate into three then eventually four, until you both lose track of time, and forget the entire reason to you being there. 

You hate it, how easy going he is, and how his dimples form when he flashes you a smile, or chuckles at a stupid joke you make just to earn a reaction out of him. Or how your stomach flutters with butterflies when he sits too close, or teases you with that taunting tone that makes you melt. 

You hate how easy it is for him to be near you, when you're short of breath half of the time he's around. It's absurd how the compliments he gives you roll off the tongue, like it's natural for him, like he doesn't flirt with half of the girls on campus. 

He probably thinks it's some joke, something that started and now you can't seem to get away from  it. You know you shouldn't, this is Dean Di Laurentis, everyone knows he's trouble, and you shouldn't have let him cross your boundaries, or get to you with a few flirtatious comments, but somehow he did, and now you're in too deep to end things. 

So the least you can do right now is deny it. Deny anything even happened, even though your friends can see right through your lies. 

"Like I said," you start, "Nothing's going on between us, I'm simply tutoring him."

"Oh, for fuck' sake." Allie shoots back, "The whole campus thinks you're dating. You know how serious that is for Dean Di Laurentis?" 

"It's just rumors, nothing more. People thinking we're together doesn't mean that we are." You mumble, rolling your eyes with offense. "You wouldn't catch me with Dean Di Laurentis even if my life depends on it." 

"I call bullshit." Hannah chants from the side, shifting the attention to her. 

"Hannah!" You shout, as Allie perks from her seat in agreement. "You're supposed to take my side, why are you feeding into her delusion?!" 

"It's not delusion if everyone sees it," Hannah shrugs her shoulders, approaching your bed. "C'mon, I'm dating his best friend, that man never stops talking about you." 

"You're lying," Allie gasps, scooting close to Hannah as she throws herself next to her. Her gaze shifts back to you, eyebrows pinching with frustration. "She never tells me stuff!"

"That's because nothing happens." You reason, exhaling with fake annoyance. "We're barely even friends, I doubt he thinks of me like that." 

"Calling bullshit again," Hannah's head tilts towards you, not believing a word you muttered. "Have you seen the way that man speaks about you?" 

"Stop it!" Allie slaps Hannah's side, excitment visible on her face. "Tell me about it! he mentioned her often?"

"She's all he talks about," Hannah turns back to Allie, ignoring your presence and pretending you're not even there. "Once he stayed by my side for an entire party just to ask about her interests."

"He did that?" You mutter, feigning oblivion to the teasing smile Hannah flashes you. "Okay, why are you talking as if I'm not even here?" 

"Oh, come on you have to admit, he likes you." Allie chimes in, "I've never not seen Dean Di Laurentis not have sex at a party. What do you mean he gave that up just to talk about you?"

"Okay," you mumble, slightly convinced. You settle for shaking off that feeling, "That doesn't mean anything, he can, not have sex if he wants, how does that involve me?" 

"I need to knock some sense into her," Allie huffs, falling back into the bed. "Do something, Hannah." 

"I tried," Hannah pouts, joining Allie's side with disappointment. "She's such an idiot." 

"Hey!" Your brows pinch with annoyance, as you sling your backpack over your shoulder. "Anyways, I'm leaving. Do you guys need anything?" 

"Where are you going?" Hannah questions, sitting up along with Allie. 

"I have a tutoring session with Dean." You reply. 

"Oh my God." Allie says under her breath. 

"Wait, I'm coming with." Hannah gets up, heading towards her room to grab her stuff. 

"Are you going in that?" Allie questions, gaze flickering to the baggy shirt covering all your curves. 

"What's wrong with it?" You ask, glancing down as you grab into the hems of it. 

"Dress up a little, will you?" Allie groans, grabbing into you as she walks towards her closet. 

"You're acting as if I'm going to a party." You mumble, face scrunching with confusion when she throws a pink, spaghetti strapped top over to you. 

"Wear this." She orders, observing you with anticipation.

You don't argue, because doing so will only lead to more arguing, and Allie won't give up unless you admit defeat. Instead, you sigh, taking off your shirt and throw the soft material over your head. 

It... complements you. Definitely not appropriate for a tutoring session, but you know exactly what Allie intents when she handed it over to you. It scrunches around your chest, showing a bit of cleavage, and it displays all your curves, curling at your waist, and showing the sliver of skin around your stomach. 

Then, before you can argue, she throws a denim skirt in your direction, lips pressing into a a thin line as she waits for you to take off your pants. 

You do. It's not like you really have a choice. 

Your pants slide off your legs easily, soon replaced by the skirt she handed you, which complements the top well. It rests comfortably around your hips, the length of it reaching just below your inner thighs, covering enough for you to not pick a fight. 

"I still don't think this is appropriate for a tutoring session." You start, admiring yourself in the mirror. 

"Oh, shut it." She huffs, grabbing a necklace and a few bracelets for you to wear. "Here, put these on, I'll find you a pair of sneakers that match with your outfit." 

"That's not needed!" You shout, but she ignores it as she digs deep into her closet, only coming back up when she pulls out a white pair of shoes, decorated with a bit of pink. 

"Here." She offers them to you, waiting for you to put them on. 

"What's taking you so–" Hannah's sentence cuts short as she stills in her spot, taking a moment to admire your outfit. "Oh." 

"It's too much, isn't it?" You complain, ready to slide off your top. 

But before you can proceed with your action, Hannah perks up again. "No wait!" she says, approaching you. "You look amazing." 

"Hannah." Your lips form into a pout, shoulders relaxing with defeat. 

"I'm not sure Dean can handle all that." Allie murmurs, checking you out with an amused expression spread all over her face. "You look so sexy, holy shit." 

"You did your big one, Al." Hannah shoots back, fist bumping Allie with her attention still glued to you. 

"So dramatic," you roll your eyes, failing to hide the smile smothered across your lips. "Should we leave?" 

"Oh, yeah." Hannah nods, "We definitely should."

"Is it too late to go back home?" You anxiously look back at Hannah, who's a moment away from knocking on the door. 

"Probably," Hannah shrugs her shoulders, glimpsing between you and the door. "Dean's expecting you any second now, Garrett said he's camping by the door for you."

"But–" You start, cutting your sentence short when Hannah sends you a death glare. 

With no hesitation, Hannah knocks on the door, barely giving you time to process the gesture before the door's wide open. 

Your eyes widen with shock at how quickly the door unlatches, gaze instantly shifting to Dean, whos eyes land on Hannah with a tight-lipped smile that displays his dimples. 

"Wellsy!" He leans against the door, feighning surprise, as if he hasn't been waiting for your arrival for the past hour. His attention lands on you, breath cutting short when his eyes lock with yours. He mutters your name, deliberate, quiet, if you weren't paying such close attention, you would've missed it. "Hi." 

"Hey." 

Tension seeps into the air, and you're sure it's obvious in the way your body tenses, stilling in your spot as Dean's eyes travel from your head, all the way down your legs, then back up again. You fight the urge to come up with an excuse as to why you're dressed up today, but settled on silence when Dean huffs out a ragged breath, one he didn't know he was holding. 

"I was waiting for you." He doesn't think when he speaks, mouth moving faster than his brain could process. He clears his throat, cheeks flushing a deep shade of red as he realizes what he said, quickly correcting himself. "Since you're tutoring me. I wasn't sure if you wanted it to take place here, or maybe in the library, since–" 

"You don't have to explain yourself," You nervously scratch the back of your neck, an awkward chuckle tumbling past your lips. "I'll make up for it, since I'm a bit late today, sorry."

"Oh, it's totally fine." He emphasizes the 'totally', nodding his head with comprehension. "Should we..." he trails off, stepping to the side. "Come on in." 

"About time," Hannah rolls her eyes, walking past Dean into the house. He almost chuckles, face growing serious when you follow behind your friend, nervously fidgeting with yours fingers. 

Logan perks up from the couch at the sight of you, tilting his head back as a sigh of relief escapes his throat. "Ugh, finally." 

"Hi," you wave, chuckling even though you're confused. Dean closes the door, following behind you as you step up the stairs. 

"I'm glad you're here." Logan states before you can disappear, continuing when your eyebrows pinch with confusion. "I've never seen someone this excited to study, he's mentioned you like a million times in the past hour alone." 

"John Logan." Dean's tone laces with embarrassment, the threat barely heard through his gritted teeth. 

"Oh, be nice to him," you joke, glancing towards Dean from over your shoulder, who's far too busy observing the way your hips sway back and forth to pay your gaze the attention. 

The walk up the stairs feels like an eternity, but you eventually get to Dean's room, door instantly clicking shut once you're both inside. 

Dean leans against the door, taking a moment to admire as you throw yourself on the bed, making yourself comfortable as you grab out your school stuff. Your head shoots up with confusion once you take notice, lips jutting into a slight pout as you utter your next words. 

"Are you not sitting down?" 

You ignore the tension cutting through when he flashes you a lazy smile, taunting, yet teasing, tugging at the strings of your heart and making your stomach flutter with butterflies. Your gaze flickers back to your supplies, taking a deep breath to get a hold of yourself. 

Why's it so difficult to control yourself?

Dean doesn't say a word, simply walking over to you before he positions himself next to you. He sits close, too close you can smell his musky cologne that impales all your senses, and feel his breath as it lightly fans over your exposed arms. 

You cut to the chase, starting your tutoring session like you normally do. Everything's going smoothly, and you're nearing the end of it, but something else is weighing down your chest. 

You can clearly feel Dean's gaze on you, burning holes through your skin and flustering you into a mess. Your words stammer past your lips, and a deep breath drags out before you're fed up, finally looking up from the textbook. Your eyes shift to Dean, who's propped against his elbows, too comfortable to move, or take his eyes off of you. 

"Someone's paying close attention." You tilt your head, tone filling with sarcasm. Dean laughs at the abrupt change of atmosphere, head leaning back for a moment before his eyes are on you again. 

"For sure." He goes along with the 'joke', entertained by the sassiness laced in your voice. 

"What did I just say?" You question, your words more of a challenge. 

"Don't put me in the spot." He cooes, and if not for how annoyed you are, you would've folded in the spot. 

"You're not paying attention!" You state, causing the boy to scrunch his nose with defeat. 

"Alright, I'm sorry." He admits, barely earning a smile out of you. "I'll try to pay attention." 

"And what's got your attention, Di Laurentis?" 

"Something." He says, as he fidgets with the sheets covering the bed. 

"And what would that something be?" 

His gaze flickers to your cleavage, and it's swift, you would've missed it if you aren't paying such close attention. It's not on purpose. his face turns pale as soon as it happens, and he fight the urge to come up with an excuse as to why he looked, and why he did it right as you asked. 

But you know. Deep down you know what's distracting him, and keeping him from paying attention. 

"Oh." You mumble. It's barely coherent, but Dean still hears it, cursing under his breath in reaction. 

"I'm..." His eyes force shut, head dipping with shame. "I'm trying really hard not to look."

"Wow," you chuckle, entertained by how guilty he seems. "Aren't you the gentleman?" 

At that, Dean laughs, tension off his shoulder as his eyes travel back to you. "Trying to be," he reasons, voice lowering into a whisper. "But it's really hard when you look this pretty." 

Your breath gets caught in your throat, and it's difficult to control the corners of your lips, tugging into a smile, barely visible, but it's there, enough for Dean to take it as a sign. 

He inches close to you, leaning his head down as he traces small circles to your hand, ticklish, and making goosebumps breakout across your arms. You take his action as a challenge, leaning forward so there's barely any distance separating you. 

He whispers your name, exhaling through his nose. Like your mere presence is tempting him, pulling at his strings. His gaze flickers down to your lips, keeping contact for a brief second before his eyes lock with yours again. 

"You should probably tell me to stop." He states, forehead brushing against yours. His fingers trail up your arms, deliberate, yet casual, halting around the spaghetti strings of your top. He toys with the material, breath shuddering when his knuckles make contact with your bare skin. 

"Probably," you repeat, fingers finding the curve of Dean's jaw. Your tone drops to match his, breath shaking as you mutter your next words. "But what if I don't want you to?" 

That's the only sign Dean needs. 

Dean ceases the distance separating you, capturing your lips in a chaste kiss, needy, and so desperate, it knocks a breath out of you. Your hands move to the back of his neck, grasping onto his hair as he kisses you numb, tugging and nibbling at your lips. 

He bites down hard enough, the pressure of the action making you whimper, giving him the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. His tongue meets yours halfway, the warmness of his mouth engulfing the inside of yours in an instant. 

Dean's hands trail wherever he can get them, traveling from your waist to your stomach, to your back, and back on your hips when you moan into the kiss. His fingernails dig into the skin, applying enough pressure for it to leave a mark, and the mere thought of that turns you on. 

Your body leans into the touch, back arching as he rolls your hips against his knee. The fraction makes you feel funny, tingly all over, he doesn't give you a chance to process it before he does it again, entertained by the mess he creates out of you. 

You mewl into the kiss, crying out in pleasure when he disconnects the kiss, not giving you a chance to complain before his lips are back on your skin again. Only this time, he kisses down your throat, licking and nipping at the curve of your jaw, then slowly kissing his way down your neck, where his teeth graze the delicate skin with so much want, you can feel the desperation in his action. 

Dean groans against your skin, pressing slick, open-mouthed kisses to your collarbones, while one of his hands messages the exposed flesh of your cleavage. He kisses his way down, taking a mouthful of your chest the moment he has the chance to. 

The kisses he litters to your chest are soft, the sensation like feathers on your skin. He presses another kiss, grazing his teeth over the flesh, licking the same spot to soothe any pain away. 

"Dean," You whimper, head falling back as you press his face into your chest, chasing after the pleasure he's making you feel. "Please." 

"Please what?" He mumbles, kissing your chest once more before he straightens again, sitting up as one of his knees separate your legs, giving him enough space to stand in between. 

His hand caresses soft circles to your cheek, now hovering over you, with his legs dipping into the mattress. Then, with a thumb to your chin, he forces your mouth open, pressing a kiss to your lips, licking a stripe of your mouth before he repeats it again. 

"God, you know how much I wanted this?" He says in between kisses, gaze growing hazy. "Wanted," another kiss, "you."

You don't say anything, simply letting him tilt your head as he presses open-mouthed kisses to your lips, licking into your mouth and savoring every bit you're offering him. He kisses you like a starved man, like he's never done this before, like he's been dying to feel your lips on his. 

"So fucking pretty for me." He says, slowly kissing down your jaw, this time lingering when he sucks on the skin, to mark you for everyone else to see. "You dress up for me, darling? Dolled up all for me." 

You whine out in embarrassment, but that doesn't stop the pleasure surging through your body, traveling to in between your legs when Dean's hands reach under your top, massaging the plush skin and pressing you closer than you already are. 

He kisses you again, this time deepening it to savor the taste on his tongue. He tilts his head to the side, taking your upper lip between his, fingers occupied with the clip of your bra. 

And just as he's about to unclip it the door clicks open. 

"Tucker told me to bring over some–" in front of the door stands Logan, with a bunch of snacks scattered on a tray. He almost drops the stuff in his hold, mouth gaping to speak, but falling into utter silence instead. 

Your attention shifts to Logan in an instant, and you have to process the situation for a second before realization takes over.  

Fuck. 

You don't think as you push Dean off of you, causing the boy to lose his balance and fall off the bed. You try to grab onto his shirt, but it happens too fast, he lands on the ground with a thud. 

A gasp escapes your throat, attention shifting  from Logan to the now stretched out shirt in your grasp, with Dean, a mess on the ground. 

Dean's eyes follow yours, flashing his friend a guilty look that tells Logan all he needs to know. 

As for Logan, he's awkwardly standing by the door, gaze flickering from Dean to you. His head tilts, and he's contemplating whether right now is a good time to speak, maybe confront you both?

And just as you thought things couldn't get any worse, they do. 

Hannah's giggles bounce off the walls as she approaches Dean's room with a plate Logan seemingly forgot. 

"You forgot the–" Hannah starts, words dying in her throat when she's met with the awkward position you and Dean are in. "Cashews." 

"Fuck." You mumble under your breath, falling into the bed with defeat. 

"Are we..." Logan trails off, pointing between you two. "Are we interrupting something?"

"Huh?" Dean starts, too hazed by what just happened to answer. "I–"

"No," you beat him to replying, violently shaking your head. "We were just studying." 

"Mhm, just studying." Dean agrees, reaching for the hand you offered him earlier, for the mere purpose of balancing. It doesn't help your situation, causing you to instantly pull back your arm when both Hannah and Logan glance down. "I'll just, stay on the floor." 

"Yeah, right." Hannah says, not convinced whatsoever. 

"We should probably leave," Logan turns to Hannah, nudging her side as he continue. "We'll leave you to it."

"You are explaining yourself as soon as we're home." Hannah whisper-yells to you, as if the two boys aren't still listening. 

"Explain what?" You whisper back. 

"This." Hannah points to you, eyes traveling down to your chest, and Dean on the floor, a total mess, he can't even pick himself back up. 

You fix your shirt, covering Dean's face with your palm. "Don't look at him." 

Hannah's lips tug into a smile, amused by how much you're trying to prove a point. 

"He's all yours." Hannah's eyebrows raise with intrigue, giving Logan the signal to leave. 

"It's not what it looks like!" You shout, but they don't give you a chance to justify yourself, shutting the door before you can continue. 

And through the walls, you can hear Hannah yelling "Guess what we just fucking saw?" 

Right, so now everyone will know that happened, no matter how hard you try to deny it. 

Isn't this great?

"They left without giving us the snacks." Dean's lips jut into a pout, growing serious when you flash him a death glare. 

"Dean Di Laurentis." 

"That would be me." He scratches his chin, avoiding your gaze. 

"What are we going to do?" 

Though to be fair, things with Logan are not bad. That's the thing people don't understand when they hear situationship from hell. On the contrary, things with Logan are very good. Too good. Too good to look at directly without feeling something inconvenient shift behind your ribs, which is precisely why it's bad. Because he had been so genuinely, almost aggressively nice about the whole thing. He had found you at the edge of that party and sat next to you and talked to you for hours like you were the most interesting thing in the room, and he had made a real effort not to look at your boobs while you were talking, which in that particular environment was either extremely respectful or a sign that he was raised correctly, and either way it had done something to you.

And then you had woken up on his chest the next morning. His warm skin and steady heartbeat, the sort of light that meant it was too early to be awake, and done the awkward post-hookup shuffle of words, and heard: I'm not really looking for anything serious.

A bucket of cold water dropped directly on your head would have been less effective. More merciful, probably.

What else could you have done except agree? For god's sake, he was sitting there in black boxers holding a cup of coffee, extending it toward you like a peace offering, brown eyes looking at you with an expression that was genuinely, unfairly soft for seven in the morning. You took the cup. He readjusted against the headboard and looked at you with those eyes and said, simply: "So?"

So. So what? What were you supposed to say?

"Sure," you heard yourself say. "I'm interested in that too."

Sure. I'm interested in that too. Your internal voice repeated it back to you with the tone of a younger sibling trying to get a rise out of you. That was, objectively, the least true thing you had ever said out loud. You had been raised on Bridget Jones and every famous rom-com ever committed to film. You believed in love, in its inconvenience and its necessity and its complete refusal to be reasoned with. Casual did not cut it for you. It never had.

But god. If Bridget could have seen John Logan in that particular light, with that particular bed head, she would have understood completely.

So you agreed. And after that came the encounters.

At first they were private, almost secretive, you telling your friends you were going for a run and then actually running, just in the wrong direction entirely. Logan telling his that he was going to study somewhere, which was technically true, depending on your definition of anatomy. It gave everything a specific kind of thrill, the pleasant urgency of something that existed slightly outside the normal rules, and for a while that was enough.

But time has a way of dissolving things like that. Gradually, without either of you deciding to, you stopped hiding. And that was when the real problem arrived.

You and Logan became friends.

Not the convenient, surface-level kind, the real kind, the kind that builds without you noticing until one day you look around and realize that this person has become load-bearing in your life. You were always at the house. You knew the full taxonomy of Dean's recent romantic encounters, the specificity of Garrett's current problems, the ongoing narrative of Tucker's various endeavors. You didn't just know about them, you helped. You were involved. You had opinions and history and context, and they knew it, and they came to you with things.

And it went the other way too. Logan had gotten so close to your friends that he would voluntarily drive Marissa to her therapy appointments in Boston without being asked, would send Benny reels about topics they'd talked about the week before, remembered details that even you sometimes forgot. He had threaded himself into the fabric of your life so completely and so quietly that you could no longer locate the seam.

And finally, finally, things had started to feel like they were moving in the right direction. The direction they probably should have been heading since the morning after Halloween. Maybe the casual arrangement had just been a detour — a scenic route to the same destination. All's well that ends well.

And then you and Logan would go to Malone's, and a waitress would glance between you with a smile and say what a nice couple you made, and Logan would laugh in that easy, noncommittal way of his and say: we're just friends.

And there it was. Bucket of cold water. Every time, without fail, like a reset button neither of you had agreed to keep pressing.

Every single time.

Which brings you to now.

You are sitting on Logan's couch, draped over him, legs intertwined, peppering kisses down his neck while he makes a valiant and increasingly unsuccessful effort to tell you about the new episode of some reality show he has gotten inexplicably invested in. Something about traitors in a castle. Who cares. Not you. Not when Logan smelled like that and the house was quiet and his hands were doing that thing where they moved without him seeming to notice.

You sank further into him. The kisses started to linger. His words got sparse.

"Are you even listening to me?" Logan murmured, his voice coming out considerably less steady than he had probably intended.

You hummed against his pulse point by way of answer.

The front door opened.

You both startled, pulling apart with the practiced efficiency of people who had been interrupted before, but the moment you registered it was Dean you settled back into exactly the position you'd been in. Dean didn't care about PDA. He actively encouraged it.

He dropped onto the opposite couch, looked at the ceiling briefly, then at you.

"Okay, I have a question," he said. "Logan, dude, this is for science, please don't be weird about it."

At this point you were sitting upright, Logan's arms still looped around you, his chin finding your shoulder, using you as a very comfortable shield against whatever Dean was about to say.

"Shoot," you said.

Dean took a breath with the energy of someone preparing to say something they had already decided to say regardless of the response. "Do you think I should buy a vibrator for a friend of mine?"

Logan laughed against your neck. You shivered slightly at the warmth of his breath.

"Are you the friend?" you asked. "Are you buying a vibrator for yourself?"

"What? No. I'm a man."

"That doesn't mean anything. Men are allowed to have vibrators."

"I know that. It's not for me."

"I really think you should get one though. For yourself. If you want to be the Samantha of the group you have to commit to the bit."

"I am the Samantha," Dean said, with genuine offense. "And it's not for me."

"Have you even watched Sex and the City?"

"Yes. I'm from New York, for god's sake and you're being such a Carrie right now."

You settled back against Logan's chest, his arms tightening around you automatically, like a reflex, like something he did without thinking about it anymore.

Yes, you thought. And my own Mr. Big is currently holding me on this couch.

Garrett and Hannah came down the stairs in what you assumed were their stay-at-home outfits: sweatpants, hockey jersey, the specific comfort of two people who had stopped performing around each other. The moment they came into view you felt Logan's hand still. Not move away just still. And then he shifted from behind you to sitting beside you, technically still touching but the warmth of it had changed completely. It was less person you are tangled up with and more person you happen to be sitting next to on public transport.

You knew that shift. You had felt it before.

The first time, you had told yourself you were imagining things.

It was a Tuesday, nothing special about it, the kind of evening that had become completely ordinary, you at the house, Logan beside you on the couch, his thumb making absent circles on your knee while Dean argued with Tucker about something that didn't matter. Hannah had stopped by to pick up something she'd left there the week before, and the moment the door opened Logan's hand had stilled. Not moved away. Just stilled. Like an animal that had heard something.

You hadn't said anything. You'd filed it away in the part of your brain reserved for things you weren't ready to look at yet.

The second time was at one of Garrett's games. You had been standing with Logan at the edge of the rink afterward, his jacket half around your shoulders the way it always ended up, and Hannah had appeared through the crowd. Logan had straightened. Subtly, almost imperceptibly, but you felt it the slight shift in his posture, the way his jacket had slipped back off your shoulders without him seeming to notice he'd let it go.

You'd picked it up off the floor and handed it back to him without a word.

The third time you stopped counting.

Malone's on a Friday night had a particular energy loud enough to feel festive, familiar enough to feel like home. Your usual table was in the corner, the big one that fit all of you without anyone having to pull up an extra chair, and the evening had been good. Genuinely good, the kind that reminded you why you had agreed to this arrangement in the first place, Logan's knee against yours under the table, his arm finding the back of your chair sometime around the second round of drinks, the easy warmth of being somewhere you belonged.

You were mid-story , a good one, the kind that had the whole table leaning in and you could feel it landing, the timing was right, and Garrett was already laughing before you got to the punchline and Dean had that look on his face that meant he was going to steal this story and tell it as his own later, and Tucker was—

You glanced at Logan.

He wasn't laughing.

He was looking across the table at Hannah with an expression you recognized because you had spent the better part of a year learning every single detail of his face, and what was on it right now was something soft and slightly helpless the expression of someone watching something they had decided they couldn't have.

The story finished without you. Somewhere far away, the table laughed.

You picked up your drink. Set it down. Picked it up again.

"I'm going to step outside," you said. "Just — smoke a bit."

"You don't even smoke, (Y/N)!" Tucker replied, laughing, and it killed you because all of Logan's friends had come to know you so well.

"You okay?" Garrett asked.

"Fine. Just air."

You were already standing. Already reaching for your jacket. Logan was on his feet before you made it two steps.

"I'll come with you," he said.

The parking lot outside Malone's was cold and poorly lit. You got about twenty feet from the door before you stopped walking. The noise from inside filtered out muffled and distant, everyone still laughing, completely unaware.

Logan stopped beside you. Waited. He had always been good at waiting, which was one of the things you had loved about him and one of the things that had slowly, quietly driven you insane.

"Don't," you said.

"Don't what?"

"Don't do the thing where you stand there and wait for me to calm down." You turned to face him. The cold air hit your face and you were glad for it. "I'm not going to calm down. So just talk to me. Tell me the truth. Please. Don't bullshit me right now, Logan, I am asking you to not bullshit me right now."

"Baby—"

"Don't baby me, Logan. Not right now"

He looked at you with that steady, unhurried patience of his, which tonight felt less like a quality and more like a weapon.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked.

"I want you to tell me if you have a crush on Hannah." The word crush felt absurdly small for the moment but you couldn't bear the weight of the more accurate alternatives.

Something shifted in his face. Not guilt exactly, something deeper than that. The specific expression of someone who had been quietly hoping a question wouldn't arrive and had known, somewhere underneath the hoping, that it always was going to.

"It's not—" he started.

"Logan."

He exhaled. Looked at the ground briefly. Looked back at you.

"It's not serious," he said. "It's nothing. She's with Garrett. It's not like I would ever—"

"Oh my god." The laugh that came out of you had nothing to do with anything being funny. "Oh my god, you actually do. You actually have a crush on her."

"It's not a big deal—"

"You have a crush on your best friend's girlfriend and it's not a big deal." You repeated it back to him slowly. "I have been right here, Logan. For almost a year I have been right here, and you have a crush on Hannah."

"It's just a feeling. It doesn't mean anything." His voice had an edge to it now, something defensive sharpening underneath the calm. "And you don't get to be mad at me for it."

"Excuse me?"

"You don't get to be mad at me for having feelings." The words were coming faster now, the composure cracking in a way you almost never saw from him. "We said casual. That was the agreement. I can't be accountable to you for things I feel when you are not my girlfriend."

The word landed like a slap.

Girlfriend.

"Right," you said. Your voice had gone very quiet. "I'm not your girlfriend."

"That's not what I—"

"No, you're right. I'm not." You looked at him. Really looked at him — this person whose coffee order you knew by heart, whose nightmares you had talked him through at two in the morning, whose hand had reached for yours in his sleep so many times you had stopped counting. "Can I ask you something? And I need you to actually answer me. Not just wait until I stop talking."

He said nothing, which you took as a yes.

"What did you think this was?" Your voice was still quiet. Controlled. "Not what we agreed on in the beginning. What did you think it was last week? Last month? What did you think it was tonight when you had your arm around me at that table? When you picked me up from my house and kissed me in your truck?" You took a breath. "Because I need to understand how you look at what we have been doing and see something casual. I genuinely need you to explain that to me."

"It's complicated—"

"It's not complicated. It's actually very simple. I just need you to say it out loud."

"You knew what this was when we started—"

"I know what it was when we started. I'm asking what it is now." You crossed your arms against the cold. "Because from where I'm standing it looks a lot like a relationship. It looks like you drive my friends places and remember things about them they never told you twice, and I know every single thing about your life, and we spend more nights together than apart, and you reach for me when you're asleep like I'm something you don't want to lose." Your voice cracked slightly and you pushed past it. "So you'll have to forgive me for being confused about the casual part."

"I can't—" He stopped. Started again. "It's not about not wanting to. It's about what I can actually give right now. Hockey takes everything. My family, my mother, I don't have money, I don't have stability, I don't have any of the things that—"

"I'm not asking you for stability. I'm not asking you for money." Something in your chest had cracked open and you were past the point of closing it. "I'm asking you to admit what this already is. That's all."

"I am being honest—"

"Then be more honest." Your voice broke on the last word and you kept going anyway. "Because I'm in love with you."

The parking lot went completely silent.

Logan stared at you. The words sat between you in the cold air like something that had changed the temperature.

"What?" His voice came out barely above a breath.

"I'm in love with you." Steadier the second time. "I have been for a long time. And I know that's not what we agreed on. But I can't stand here and pretend I don't while you tell me it's not a big deal that you have feelings for someone else." You looked at him. "We are already a couple, Logan. In every single way that actually matters, we already are. The only thing missing is you admitting it."

Something moved across his face — something large and unguarded and almost frightened.

"It's not that simple," he said, quieter now, the defensiveness gone out of it.

"I know it's not simple. I know about hockey. I know about your mom. I know all of it, Logan, because you told me, because that's what we do. But none of that changes what I just said." You took a breath. "So just tell me. Do you have feelings for me? Yes or no. That's all I'm asking."

Logan looked at you.

And said nothing.

The silence stretched between you, long and terrible. His jaw was tight. His eyes moved across your face like he was looking for something he either couldn't find or couldn't say, and the longer the silence went on the more clearly you understood that the silence was itself an answer.

"Wow," you said finally. Very quietly. "Okay."

You picked up your bag. Straightened your jacket. Looked at him one more time this person you had spent 338 days loving in whatever form he would accept.

"Don't follow me," you said.

He didn't.

You walked back toward the warm light spilling out of Malone's windows, past your friends still laughing, past the table that an hour ago had felt like home, and you kept walking. Past the door, past the window, down the street, into the cold.

Too angry to cry. Too tired to pretend. Too done to look back.

Behind you, in the parking lot, Logan stood very still and said nothing which was the thing he was best at, and the thing that had finally cost him everything.

It had been a hard couple of days. But the upside of a not-breakup in college was that you didn't get to wallow, no watching rom-coms until the wee hours, no doing the Bella, watching the months pass from your bedroom window. Life was as it had always been, minus the space Logan had occupied in your weekly schedule. Not a metaphysical space, a literal one. When you opened your Google Calendar you found his game days still blocked out in blue, his training days still marked, everything still there like a calendar that hadn't gotten the news yet.

Pathetic, you thought, and deleted them.

Your days now belonged entirely to yourself, which should have felt like freedom and mostly felt like a lot of unscheduled Tuesday afternoons. No more disappearing in the middle of the day, no more make-out sessions in the library during lunch break. Just you and your own company and the slow, unglamorous work of being fine.

You weren't fine. You were something adjacent to fine that required daily maintenance and the careful avoidance of certain songs.

Marissa had noticed, she called it being under the weather, which was such a specific and old-fashioned way of putting it that in the beginning you had found it strange and now found it completely endearing. Your own personal nanna, showing up with iced coffee and terrible ideas at exactly the right moments.

The terrible idea this time was an underground bar in Boston she had found, which was a surprise since Marissa was fundamentally a sports bar person. You had a strong suspicion the entire excursion was engineered entirely for your benefit and the benefit of your appetite for expensive, colorful drinks, and you loved her for it and didn't say so.

The drive took exactly long enough to hype yourself up.

I'm pretty. I'm smart. I'm a catch.

The bar was dimly lit in a way that felt intentional rather than neglected, all low ceilings and good music and the general atmosphere of a place that didn't need to try. You, Marissa and Benny settled into a corner booth and approximately ninety seconds later Benny's elbow was in your ribs.

"Cute guy. Nine o'clock," he said, in what he apparently believed was a whisper.

You glanced toward the bar. Tall, white jacket, the kind of easy posture that meant he wasn't thinking about his posture at all.

"I'm not really looking for anything," you said.

"You're single. He's cute. The bar has drinks. What exactly is the problem?" Benny tilted his head. "Go order our drinks and make some poor decisions. You've earned it."

"I didn't bring my ID."

Benny stared at you. "You came to a bar without your ID?"

"I forgot." You shrugged.

"(Y/N)." His voice had the specific tone of someone choosing their words carefully. "What is wrong with you. Go. Drinks. Now. The ID thing is a you problem, figure it out."

You slid out of the booth before he could say anything else.

The guy at the bar was, up close, even more irritatingly attractive than he had been from across the room. He glanced over when you appeared beside him, and then glanced again in a way that was not subtle and didn't try to be.

"You look like you're deciding something," he said.

"Whether to admit I forgot my ID at a bar."

He looked at you for a moment. Then he smiled easy and genuine. "Hunter," he said, and held out his hand.

"((Y/N))."

"I'll vouch for you," he said. "If you tell me what you're drinking."

You told him. He ordered both without being asked, which was either presumptuous or exactly right, and you decided it was exactly right.

By the time you made it back to the booth with four drinks and Hunter's number in your phone, Benny was looking at you with the expression of someone who had orchestrated something and was very pleased about it.

You didn't tell him he was right. But you didn't have to.

The thing about Hunter Davenport was that he was genuinely, irritatingly likeable.

You had not been thinking about Logan when you said yes to Hunter's suggestion of getting coffee. You had not been thinking about Logan when the coffee turned into a walk, and the walk turned into two hours of easy conversation that asked nothing from you and gave something back.

That was the point.

You had gotten very good at not thinking about Logan in the weeks since Malone's. It was a skill, like any other, it required practice and the occasional forcible redirection of your own brain, but you were nothing if not disciplined when the situation called for it. You had been showing up to things. Laughing at the right moments. Sleeping through the night, mostly.

You were fine. You were getting finer by the day, which was either progress or a very convincing impression of it, and right now you weren't examining the difference too closely.

Hunter was easy. That was the thing about him. He was warm and uncomplicated and he looked at you like you were worth looking at, which was something you had apparently needed more than you realized.

It was nothing serious. You had been very clear about that with yourself. You were not ready for serious. But his hand was warm when it found yours walking back from the coffee place, and you let it stay there.

You were almost believing it.

The team was at the rink for an open practice, one of the informal ones that sometimes drew a small crowd of friends and the generally affiliated. You had come with Marissa, which gave you plausible deniability about why you were there, and you had sat in the third row and watched without watching, which was a skill you had also been practicing.

Hunter had waved at you from the ice. You had waved back.

You had not looked at Logan. You had been extremely disciplined about not looking at Logan, which meant you were also extremely aware of exactly where he was at every moment without technically looking at him, which was its own kind of exhausting.

After practice, Hunter had come off the ice still in half his gear and found you immediately, easy and unhurried, and said something that made you laugh. Your hand had gone to his arm the way hands do when you're laughing at something someone said, and it had stayed there for approximately four seconds.

Four seconds.

You knew it was four seconds because you had counted them, which meant some part of you had been paying attention to something you were pretending not to pay attention to.

The locker room door swung shut behind Logan without him looking back.

You found a quiet corner of the rink lobby while Hunter went to get his bag. You were looking at your phone, not reading anything on it, when you heard footsteps and looked up.

Logan.

He had changed out of his gear. His jaw was doing the thing: the tight, controlled thing that meant something was happening underneath the composure that the composure was working very hard to contain. His eyes moved from your face to the door Hunter had gone through and back.

"Hey," you said carefully.

"You and Hunter," he said. Not a question.

"That's not really your business."

"You're spending a lot of time with him."

"Logan—"

"I'm just making an observation." His voice was very even. The voice he used when he was the least controlled.

"Make it somewhere else."

He laughed short and humorless. "Right. Okay." He looked at the floor. Looked back at you. "I just didn't think you were the type."

You went very still. "The type to?"

"To go after a guy because of who he plays for." Quiet. Measured. Like he had chosen this version of the sentence carefully. "I didn't think that was your thing."

The lobby was very quiet.

You looked at him for a long moment. Long enough to make sure you had heard what you thought you'd heard. Long enough to see something flicker in his expression, the immediate, unmistakable recognition that he had gone too far.

"Say that again," you said softly.

"I didn't mean—"

"No." Your voice was calm in a way that had nothing to do with being calm. "Say it again. I want to make sure I understood you. Are you calling me a puck bunny?"

Logan said nothing. The flicker had become something closer to horror.

"Because that's what you just said." You tilted your head slightly. "After everything. That's what you went with."

"I didn't — that's not what I meant—"

"Then what did you mean?" You took a step toward him. "Because I have been patient, Logan. I have been so patient with you. I said the most honest thing I have ever said to anyone in that parking lot and you said nothing back, which I am trying. I am actively trying to make my peace with. But you do not get to say that to me. You don't get to do that."

"I know." His voice had lost all its evenness. "I shouldn't have—"

"Why did you say it?"

He looked at you.

"Tell me why." Your voice cracked slightly and you kept going. "Because it wasn't an observation. So tell me why."

Something moved across his face the composure fracturing in a way you had only seen once or twice in all the time you had known him.

"Because I can't—" He stopped.

"Can't what?"

"Because I can't watch you with him and not—" He stopped again. Pressed his mouth shut. Looked at the ceiling briefly.

"Not what?" Your voice was barely above a whisper.

He looked at you. Right at you. And for one unguarded, terrible second you could see everything, all of it, the whole enormous weight of everything he hadn't said in the parking lot outside Malone's, sitting right there on his face with nowhere left to hide.

And then he looked away.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It was wrong."

You looked at him for a long moment.

"Yeah," you said. "It was."

You picked up your bag. Hunter had reappeared at the far end of the lobby, jacket on, easy smile, completely unaware of the wreckage he had wandered back into. You walked toward him and did not look back at Logan.

But you heard him the sharp exhale of someone who had just watched something leave that they weren't sure was coming back.

Good, you thought.

And hated that you thought it.

Here was the thing about being called a puck bunny: it wasn't the word itself that got to you.

Puck bunnies weren't the worst thing a person could be.

Men were allowed their types, allowed to prefer blondes or brunettes or redheads, to only date younger women, to have a thing for accents, to announce their type to anyone who will listen like it’s a personality trait, to want someone tall or short or with a specific laugh, or say things like "I have never been with a Brazilian before". They were allowed to say these things out loud, to Tinder-filter by height, and if it was possible they would do by weight too, to have opinions about bodies that they shared freely and without apology.

But god forbid a woman had a type. God forbid a woman found hockey players attractive or musicians, or academics, or anyone with a specific quality she was drawn to. Then she was something to be named and categorized and looked down upon. Then she was a bunny.

You were not offended by the word.

You were offended that Logan, who had been silent while you poured your heart out in a cold parking lot, who had said nothing when you asked him the most direct question you had ever asked another human being , had found his voice again specifically to say that. That of all the things he could have finally said to you, after all the silence, this was the one he chose.

That was what got to you.

Not the word. The timing. The source. The specific, devastating irony of a man who couldn't say I have feelings for you finding it very easy to say something that small.

You didn't tell anyone what he said.

That was the first decision you made, walking out of that rink lobby with Hunter's hand in yours and Logan's exhale still somewhere in your chest. You were not going to tell Dean, who would say something devastatingly accurate about it. You were not going to tell Marissa, who would want to talk about it for three hours. You were not going to tell anyone, because telling someone meant turning it over, examining it, and you were not ready to examine the specific shape of what Logan had said to you and what it meant that he had said it.

You knew what it meant. That was the problem.

You had known the moment you saw his face, that flicker of something before the composure reassembled itself, the way his eyes had moved to Hunter and back to you with an expression that had nothing casual about it. You had spent 338 days learning the map of Logan's face and you knew exactly what that look was. You had just also heard what came out of his mouth immediately afterward, which meant that what Logan felt and what Logan was willing to do about it were, as always, two completely different countries.

You were done trying to travel between them.

The week that followed was quiet and it felt different from the other times you had gone quiet. Before, the silence had always been temporary, a held breath. This felt more like an exhale. Like something had finally, after a very long time, finished.

You went to class. You had coffee with Hunter on Tuesday, which was easy and warm and asked nothing from you. You went to Marissa's on Thursday and watched something forgettable on her laptop and fell asleep on her couch, and she put a blanket over you without waking you up, which was the kindest thing anyone had done for you in recent memory.

You did not go to the house off campus. You did not text Logan. You did not check if he had texted you, which required leaving your phone face-down on your desk for approximately four days straight, which was its own kind of discipline.

You were fine. You were getting finer.

You were also absolutely not fine.

Dean found you on a Wednesday.

Not dramatically, he just appeared at the coffee shop near your building where you went on Wednesday mornings, which you had mentioned to him exactly once four months ago, which meant he had remembered it and filed it away and was now using it, which was such a Dean thing to do that you almost smiled.

He sat down across from you without asking if it was okay and stole a sip of your coffee before saying anything.

"He told me what he said," Dean said, without preamble.

You looked at your coffee. "Okay."

"He feels terrible."

"Good."

"I mean genuinely terrible. Like, I've known Logan for three years and I've never seen him—" Dean stopped. Seemed to decide something. "He's not sleeping. He's barely eating. He showed up to practice yesterday and coach pulled him aside after because his head wasn't in it, which has never happened, not once in three years."

"Dean." You looked up at him. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you deserve to know that it cost him something." His voice was straightforward, without manipulation. "I'm not asking you to forgive him. What he said was awful and he knows it. I'm just, you spent a long time showing up for him and I don't want you to think that none of it landed. It all landed. It's landing right now. It's just landing a little late."

You were quiet for a moment.

"A little late," you repeated.

"Okay, very late."

"Dean." You wrapped your hands around your cup. "He called me a puck bunny."

"I know." Dean had the grace to look genuinely pained. "He said it because he was jealous and scared and he handled it in the worst possible way and there is no defense for it. I'm not here to defend it."

"Then what are you here for?"

Dean looked at you across the table, this person who had been in your corner since before you had any idea how much you would need someone in your corner, and his expression was very honest.

"I'm here because he's my best friend and he's falling apart," he said. "And you're also my friend. And I hate watching both of you be miserable when I know exactly why you're miserable." He paused. "I'm not asking you to do anything. I just wanted you to know."

You looked out the window. The street outside was grey and unremarkable, the specific flatness of a Wednesday in November.

"How long has he known?" you asked quietly. "That he has feelings for me. How long has he actually known?"

Dean was quiet for a moment.

"A while," he said carefully.

"How long is a while, Dean."

Another pause. Longer this time.

"Since pretty much the beginning," he said.

You closed your eyes briefly. Opened them.

"Okay," you said.

"(Y/N)—"

"I'm not angry." And you weren't, which was almost surprising. You were something quieter and more tired than angry. "I just needed to know." You picked up your coffee. "Tell him I said he needs to sleep."

Dean looked at you. "That's it?"

"That's it." You met his eyes. "I'm not ready for anything else right now. But tell him to sleep."

Dean nodded slowly. He finished stealing your coffee and stood up and put his jacket on, and then he stopped with his hand on the back of the chair.

"For what it's worth," he said. "The Hannah thing. It was never real. He told me that too. He said he thinks he latched onto it because it was safer than admitting what was actually happening."

You didn't say anything.

"Okay," Dean said. "I'll see you around."

He left. You sat there with your cold coffee and the grey Wednesday street outside and the specific, exhausting weight of loving someone who had known the whole time and chosen, over and over, to say nothing.

Since pretty much the beginning.

338 days. And he had known since pretty much the beginning.

You sat with that for a long time.

It had been raining since noon.

Not the dramatic, cinematic kind of rain that arrived with thunder and purpose, just the steady, grey, unrelenting kind that soaked through your jacket in the first thirty seconds and didn't apologize for it.

You were on your way back from the library, hood up, head down, thinking about nothing in particular, which you had gotten very good at recently. The art of thinking about nothing. Occupying your own brain with the immediate and the logistical the paper due Thursday, the coffee you were going to make when you got home, the question of whether you had remembered to charge your phone.

You had not been thinking about Logan.

You were almost at your building when you heard him.

"(Y/N)."

You stopped walking.

He was standing at the bottom of your building's front steps, which meant he had been waiting in the rain for some amount of time, which was evident from the state of him soaked through, hair flat, jacket dark with water. He looked like someone who had arrived with a plan and abandoned it somewhere on the walk over and was now operating on something more basic and less manageable.

He looked, for the first time in all the time you had known him, completely unguarded.

"Logan." Your voice came out carefully. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you."

"It's raining."

"I know."

"You're soaked."

"I know." He took a step toward you. "I've been standing here for forty minutes trying to figure out what to say and I still don't know, so I'm just going to say it badly and hope that counts for something."

You looked at him. The rain came down steadily between you.

"You have two minutes," you said.

He exhaled. Ran a hand through his wet hair. Looked at you with the expression of someone stepping off a ledge they had been standing on for a very long time.

"I have been in love with you," he said, "since pretty much the beginning."

The rain was very loud suddenly.

"I knew it when we agreed to casual. I knew it when we stopped hiding. I knew it every time I reached for you in my sleep and every time a stranger called us a couple and I laughed it off, and I knew it in that parking lot outside Malone's when you told me the truth and I stood there and said nothing back." His voice was steady but only barely, the steadiness of someone gripping something very hard. "I said nothing because I was terrified. Not of you. Never of you. Of what it meant. Of what I would owe you if I said it out loud. Hockey takes everything I have and my family situation is a disaster and I don't have money or stability or any of the things that a person is supposed to have before they ask someone to—" He stopped. "But Dean said something to me last week. He said that I was losing you anyway. That all my careful management of the situation had achieved was losing you slowly instead of all at once, and somehow I had convinced myself that was the better outcome."

You said nothing. The rain soaked through your hood and you didn't move.

"And then I said what I said to you at the rink." His jaw tightened. "I have replayed that moment every day since it happened. There is no version of it that I can make okay. I said it because I saw you with Hunter and something in me just broke. Not a good break. Not the kind that leads anywhere useful. Just — I broke, and I said the cruelest thing I could think of, and I aimed it at you, and I have hated myself for it every single day since." He looked at you. "I'm not telling you that to make you feel sorry for me. I'm telling you because you deserve to know that it was never about you. It was never about who you are. It was about me being terrified and handling it in the worst possible way, and I'm sorry. I am so sorry."

The rain fell between you, steady and indifferent.

"You knew since the beginning," you said finally. Your voice came out quieter than you intended.

"Yes."

"A year."

"Yes."

"And you said nothing."

"Yes." He didn't flinch from it. "I said nothing, and I let you carry it alone, and I told myself I was protecting you from the complications of my life, but I think I was just protecting myself. From having to be as brave as you were in that parking lot." Something moved across his face. "You were so brave. You said the true thing and I just stood there. And I have thought about that every day since. About what it cost you to say it and what it cost me to say nothing back."

You looked at him. This person. Soaked through and unguarded and finally, finally saying the thing he had been not saying for 338 days.

"The Hannah thing," you said.

"Wasn't real." Immediate. Certain. "I think I needed it to be real because it was safer than admitting what was actually happening. She has what you and I have, what you and I were and I think I confused wanting that with wanting her. It was never her." He held your gaze. "It was always you. It has only ever been you."

The rain had soaked through your jacket completely now. You were cold in a way that had stopped being uncomfortable and become simply the condition of the moment.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me tonight," Logan said. "I'm not asking you to do anything. I just needed you to know that I heard you in that parking lot. I heard every word. And I should have said this then, and I'm sorry that I didn't, and I'm saying it now because Dean was right, I am losing you anyway, and I would rather lose you having finally told the truth than keep you at a distance by staying silent." He paused. "I love you. I have loved you for a long time. And I'm sorry it took me this long to be brave enough to say it."

The street was very quiet under the rain.

You looked at him for a long moment. Long enough to turn it over. Long enough to feel the full weight of 338 days, of every almost-conversation and loaded silence and reset button and bucket of cold water. Long enough to remember his hand going still when Hannah walked in, and the parking lot, and the rink lobby, and the specific sound of his exhale when you walked away.

Long enough to remember, underneath all of it, a Halloween party and a wall and two people waiting out the night from the edges of it, talking like they had nothing to prove to each other.

The beginning, before it got complicated. Before it got careful.

"You're an idiot," you said.

Something shifted in his expression. Not quite hope. Something more tentative than hope.

"I know," he said.

"You made everything so much harder than it needed to be."

"I know."

"I carried that alone for a very long time, Logan."

"I know." His voice broke slightly on it. "I know you did. I'm sorry."

The rain came down. You looked at him this soaked, unguarded, finally honest person standing at the bottom of your steps and felt something in your chest that had been braced for a very long time slowly, carefully release.

"You should have just said it," you said. "In the beginning. You should have just said it."

"I know." He took a step closer. Close enough that you could see the rain on his face, the wet dark of his hair, the expression underneath all the composure that had finally run out of places to hide. "I know. I'm saying it now."

You looked at him.

"Say it again," you said quietly.

"I love you." No hesitation. No composure. Just Logan, standing in the rain, finally saying the true thing. "I love you. I have loved you since pretty much the beginning and I am done pretending I don't."

The rain fell between you and neither of you moved and the street was quiet and everything was very still.

Then you closed the distance.

You kissed him in the rain, which was cold and slightly impractical and nothing like the careful, managed version of Logan you had spent 338 days trying to navigate. This was different. This was him kissing you back with both hands and no hesitation and none of the holding back, and it felt finally, finally like the true thing. Like the version of this that had been waiting underneath all the other versions the whole time.

When you pulled back you were both soaked and breathing slightly unsteadily and his forehead dropped to yours in the rain.

"I'm still mad at you," you said.

"I know." His arms tightened around you. "I know you are."

"The puck bunny thing is going to take a while."

"I know. Whatever it takes."

"And you have to tell me things." Your voice was muffled against his jacket. "When you're scared, when it gets complicated, when your brain does the thing where it decides silence is the safe option. You have to tell me instead."

"I will." He said it simply, without qualification, which was how you knew he meant it. "I will."

You stood there in the rain outside your building, soaked through and slightly ridiculous, and you thought about Halloween and 338 days and parking lots and rink lobbies and all the long, complicated distance between the beginning and right now.

Worth it, you thought.

Logan’s older brother Jeff was leaning against the workshop desk and sipping on a can of Coke when he saw you strut in. He sighed, “Here comes Lottie.”

The nickname was a running joke between the brothers. Jeff had muttered it under his breath when you first visited the shop and asked a question about diesel gas. He took one look at you and knew you were a clueless, rich girl who shouldn’t be visiting garages such as theirs.

Logan hadn’t entertained the nickname so much. He thought it was unnecessarily mean. Besides, Lottie was always a sweetheart in Princess and the Frog.

Jeff turned on his heels and disappeared into the garage’s office, leaving Logan to deal with you on his own.

Logan put down a spare part he was working on and turned around, leaning back against the counter.

You waved excitedly with a cheerful grin. “Hi, Logan!”

He smiled politely, “Hey…”

“Did you save my girl?” You asked, batting your lashes.

Logan nodded, “She’s all fixed up for you,” he said, walking over to the wall of car keys hung on hooks to retrieve yours.

You clapped your hands, “Yay!”

He chuckled whilst shaking his head. You got happy over the simplest of things. He thought it was endearing.

You walked over to your car. Nebula, as you called her. A fitting name for a sleek, black convertible with dark purple leather upholstery and shiny silver rims.

Logan came over and handed you your keys. “You wanna try her out?”

You nodded and unlocked your car before opening the driver’s side door. No beeping. Perfect.

You beamed at Logan. “You did it!”

He smiled with an easy laugh, feeling proud of his work. In reality, your car issue was a minor one; the door sensor just needed a replacement. Nothing about it required a lick of rocket science, and yet you looked at him as if he hung the stars in your galaxy.

You put your designer bag into your car and bent over to fish out your wallet. Logan stared at your body for a second before he caught himself, clearing his throat and looking away respectfully.

You stood up straight, holding your leather wallet between both hands, looking at him with a doe-eyed expression.

He scratched the back of his neck and gestured for you to follow him to the counter. The gritty sounds of his boots crunching the gravel below and the rhythmic click click click of your heels echoed through the garage.

Logan went around the counter and pulled out a receipt and wrote down the service you needed with the price. He slid the piece of paper to you but you just kept looking at his face with a smile. He blinked before realizing you didn’t care for the price. Right, he thought. Rich girls don’t worry about those things.

“Cash or card?” He asked.

You held up your metal black credit card.

Logan pursed his lips and nodded as he pulled out a card reader. You tapped your card without even glancing at the screen and clapped your hands when the machine beeped in satisfaction.

“Thank you, Logan,” you told him kindly.

He shrugged politely, “It’s no problem.”

You smiled at him. He returned it, “Do you want your recei—“

Before he could even hand you your proof of service, you were walking back to your car. He nodded to himself and stuffed the receipt into the cash register.

He watched as you exited the garage, waving at him enthusiastically as you drove by. He gave a small wave back.

+

A week later, your BMW pulled into the garage whilst Logan was working under a car.

He didn’t hear the sound of your heels this time as he had headphones in, blasting a classic rock song. He felt a shadow looming nearby so he turned and saw your heels appear. He paused and rolled out from under the car, meeting the sight of your broad smile peering down at him.

“Hi, Logan!”

“Hey…” He sounded confused. His eyebrows furrowed and he glanced around, “Didn’t you pick up your car last week?”

You nodded. “Yep. But my AC is broken now…” You pouted.

Hm, Logan thought. He sat up, “Oh, I didn’t see that when I did the diagnostic last week—“

“Must be a new issue, then. These foreign cars are all funny,” you replied, tilting your head.

He cleaned his hands with a rag before standing up. He had oil stains on his shirt and just a little smudge on his face. You thought he looked so ruggedly handsome.

“Let me take a look,” he said and you stepped out the way for him to crank open your hood and inspect the situation.

As he got to work, you leaned against your car and watched. After a moment, you asked, “How was your weekend?”

People don’t usually talk to Logan when he repairs their cars. Especially not pretty, rich girls like you.

“It was good, played hockey, worked here in the shop,” he responded casually.

You nodded along even though he couldn’t see you.

“Did you win?” You asked.

He laughed, an amused sound. “Yeah…yeah, we won.”

You clapped your hands, “Yay!”

Logan laughed again. It was cute, he thought, how you always clapped at good news.

“You like hockey?” He asked, looking over your hood to meet your eyes.

You hummed, “I only recently got into it. My family prefers watching polo, golf, or tennis.”

Rich people sports, he wanted to say. That made sense.

“Recently, huh?” He said instead, ducking his head to keep working. “Who should I thank for putting you onto hockey?” He joked.

You smiled shyly and said, “You…”

His hand paused. The parts of your car suddenly looking like alphabet soup moving in jumbled letters. He lifted his head to meet your gaze again. But before he could manage a reply, you changed the subject. “Is it broken beyond repair?” You asked, turning your attention to your car parts.

He snapped out of his daze and shook his head. “Uhh, no. No, you just need AC coolant.”

“Is that an easy fix?” You asked.

He nodded, “Yeah, the easiest.” He said.

You smiled in relief. “Thank goodness I have you fixing my car,” you told him.

He smiled at that.

He fixed your car, you chirped out a “Thank you, Logan!”, you paid without looking at the bill, and waved goodbye as you left.

“That the BMW girl again?” Logan’s dad asked as he stepped out the office.

“Yeah,” Logan replied, wiping his hands.

“Lottie back again so soon?” Jeff teased. Logan rolled his eyes at the jab.

“You overcharge her?” His dad asked.

Logan looked at him, “Why would I do that?”

His dad shrugged, “Luxurious car fee?”

Logan squinted his eyes, “We don’t do that.”

Jeff piped in, “We could. She doesn’t even check her receipts.”

Logan looked between his dad and brother, “So what? We charge her fair and square.”

His dad shared a looked with Jeff before he went back inside the office.

+

Week after week, you came by to the garage. First it was an oil change, then a rim replacement, then a loose window ribbon, then a tire with low air, and so on.

By week 7, Logan had had enough. It’s not that he didn’t like seeing you, no. Far from it. He actually enjoyed your company. He often looked forward to when you’d come by and say Hi, Logan! in that sing-song voice of yours, your joyful smile, and innocent questions.

But now he was noticing a pattern.

So when you rolled in that Thursday night like clockwork, he didn’t go up to you. He stayed by the workshop desk and watched you with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Hi, Logan!” You beamed with a gleeful wave.

But upon meeting his stern expression, your smile faltered and your hand slowly dropped back to your side. You looked around the empty garage before walking over to him in hesitant steps. The sound of your heels filled the space between the two of you. You stopped in front of him and flattened down your skirt, a nervous tic of yours that you never noticed before.

“Y/n,” he said, his tone serious. “This is the seventh time you’ve come to the garage.”

You nodded, “Nebula keeps acting up—“

“No, she doesn’t.”

You looked at your feet. No smile, no lively clapping.

His arms uncrossed and he stepped closer. He wasn’t angry. No, it wasn’t that. Logan isn’t an idiot. He knew. He knew you had a crush on him, knew the only reason you showed up time and time again was just to spend time with him. Why else would you come? He knew families like yours had their own repairmen at fancy dealerships who could fix any problem. You didn’t need to come into his family’s garage.

Yet, you did.

Logan figured it out by week 4. But truth be told, he never mentioned it because a part of him liked being around you too. He liked hearing your upbeat voice, the familiar tap of your heels, the sound of your laugh. So he stayed quiet, he fixed your tires, and refilled your car’s oil. He went along with it. Because he liked your company just as much as you liked his.

Unable to lie to him, you lifted your head and met his eyes. “I did those things to my car on purpose.” You confessed quietly.

Logan blinked. His stance eased at your admission and he looked at you with soft eyes.

“I watched a YouTube video on how to drain AC coolant,” you added. “And drove around until my tires lost some of its pressure, and—”

“Y/n,” he held your chin with his hand. “You didn’t have to do all that to see me.”

Your eyes widened as you stared at him. He smiled gently, “I…like seeing you. With or without Nebula.”

“You do?” You asked.

He nodded, “I do.”

He leaned in slowly, giving you the chance to pull away. But you stayed. His lips met yours in a gentle kiss. Not hungry or desperate, just a soft sealing; a mutual understanding—I like you and you like me.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. You looked at him with a honeyed, dazed expression. He smiled down at you and pecked your lips once more. You weren’t a spoiled, rich girl to him. Not clueless or ditzy. You were just…you. A sweetheart with a crush on a cute guy who would do anything to see him. You were Lottie.

He glanced behind you at your car. He pulled away with a reluctant sigh, “What did you do to her this time?”

You smiled sheepishly, “I jammed my gearshift…”

He chuckled softly, both amused and fondly exasperated by you. “Okay…let me take a look.” He said, lacing his hand with yours and bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss.

But ever since you stumbled into his bed on one October night during some Halloweekend festivities, Logan quickly became your comfort zone. And right now, as you restlessly writhe between his sheets, you have absolutely zero desire to leave this comfort.

“Fuck,” the man of the hour rasped and grunted, his head dropping unceremoniously onto the crook of your neck. He breathes frenzied exhales into your shoulder, hot air drifting towards the bottom of your ears. His body weight practically crushes you, leaving you with just the tiniest slot of air to supply your lungs. But you’re not complaining. You’re exactly where you want to be.

You gasp into his brown curls as his thrusts quicken, your hands desperately fisting and grabbing onto the fitted sheet as some sort of pathetic attempt to anchor yourself. Watching you twist underneath him with heavy-lidden eyes, Logan grasps your hands, carefully interlocking your fingers with his, your palms firmly sealing against each other. Like the satisfying connection of the final pieces of a puzzle.

The loving gesture tugs at your heart. This “casual” intimacy is too much to bear, but you can’t bring yourself to let go.

“Y/N,” He rasps into your skin, his frantic breaths imprinting themselves like love bites onto your neck. You know that he’s close, and judging by the tension breeding underneath your belly that’s threatening to release itself, you know that you’re not that far off either. With your elbows digging into his mattress, you arch your back, slightly lift your hips just a tad higher, and the sound that emerges from your throat reverberates off the walls of his bedroom. Logan immediately finds his own release as he moans your name into your neck, his stubble etching a mark onto your skin, and his own body shaking from head to toe.

After he takes off the condom, Logan’s chest makes its way on top of yours as you sink into his bed, trying to catch your breath as he lazily draws circles on your thigh. Though your mind flinches at the “casual” nature of your relationship with Logan, your heart eventually learns to return to slow resting state while around him. He’s a steady presence, and his company is much needed as you try to navigate around the various stressors in your life.

Already, your tortuous coursework and demanding work-study stint are clearly draining you. Hannah frequently points out the dark bags under your eyes and the sluggish, lethargic nature of your gait as you force yourself to attend class.

But you had another stressor that completely robbed the last morsels of life clinging on to your body. A hidden, yet dangerous stressor that you kept snapped shut in the corners of your mind, only giving the key to your therapist for her to unlock.

The reason why you always refused to sleep at Logan’s place.

“So beautiful,” Logan’s voice pulls you from your reverie, his hoarse whisper tickling your collarbone. He kisses over the hickeys he proudly implanted near your breast, admiring his view. “All for me.”

You bite your bottom lip at his comment, pressing down so hard that you’re sure blood will ooze out any minute now. You’re technically not “all for him.” Even though he skips hockey practice to help jumpstart your car on the side of the road. Even though he now uses a fragrance-free laundry detergent because his sheets would irritate your sensitive skin. Even though he looks at you with those eyes that compel you to answer his text every single time. Even though his bed feels so comfortable right now.

Control yourself.

“Back at ya,” You awkwardly laugh, delivering a very nervous and spur-of-the-moment reply. So smooth, Y/N. Did you flirt this badly when he tore your Tinkerbell costume off?

Chuckles rumble from his chest, pressing down onto your heart. You could play his laugh on repeat. Hell, even set it as your ringtone. “Still not used to receiving compliments, I see.”

You don’t offer a response. Suddenly, the bed feels way too warm and way too inviting. As his pillow swallows your head, your eyes start to close.

But you quickly force yourself to wake up, remembering that you do not, in any circumstance, want to fall asleep in his bed. You will not make that mistake.

Instead, you lean over to check the time on your phone. 4:09 PM.

“I need to get going to my shift,” You slide out from underneath him, removing yourself from his grap. The sudden loss of warmth feels like whiplash.

His dark eyebrows furrow as you grab the haphazardly laid clothes on the wooden floor. “Doesn’t it start at 5:00? You still have some time,” He pats your unofficial side of his bed, watching you shimmy yourself into your jeans. “Come ‘ere. Stay a ‘lil longer.”

You bite your lip even harder, using it like a stress ball, and you try to forget that your situationship remembers that tiny detail of your work schedule. Of course he does.

“I like getting there early, though. It’s much better than arriving five minutes before a session starts,” You zip up your jeans, chuckling softly when he flashes his signature sad puppy eyes at you. “I like to quickly refresh myself on the content beforehand.”

“As if you would need any refreshing, Mrs. Bio and Psych Double-Major,” He teases, and yep, you’re pretty sure that’s blood you’re tasting right now.

“Trust me, I don’t always remember the ins and outs of signal transduction.”

Logan tilts his head to the side, staring at you with those confused eyes that you find so absolutely endearing. “And what the hell is ‘signal transduction?’”

You sigh, kneeling onto the floor and tying your shoes. “That’s a story for another time. I better get going.”

“Wait, I’ll walk you down,” He says as he jumps out of the bed, rapidly putting on his sweatpants and grabbing a random flannel from his desk chair.

You roll your eyes as you open his bedroom door, hearing the noises of his roommates from downstairs. “I’ve been here plenty of times, Logan. I know my way around the house.”

He shrugs, buttoning up his flannel. “So? God forbid a guy wants to be a gentleman.”

“A gentleman?” You stifle a laugh, and he has the gall to put on a mildly offended face.

“Of course, my lady. I’m always on my best behavior for you.”

More blood seeps from your lip. You give him a playful shove on his shoulder, but he brandishes that signature crooked "John Logan smile" at you, and fuck, you’re in deep.

As the both of you walk downstairs, your peer at the living room and say a goodbye to the rest of the boys. Tucker and Dean were sitting on the couch, pouring over a textbook that you knew all too well. By the looks of it, Garrett wasn’t home. He was probably hanging out at Hannah’s dorm, per usual.

“Good seeing ya, Y/N,” Tucker smiles at you, lifting his head from the textbook.

“Yes, very good seeing ya,” Dean drawls, suddenly jumping up from his spot on the couch and making his way over to you. “And we are in desperate need of your guidance. This bio class is killing us.”

All of the boys knew you already. Though you and Logan weren’t “serious” by any means, neither of you kept your situationship a secret from others. At least Logan spared you the hurt and discomfort that comes from sneaking around.

Then again, all of his charming, boyfriend-coded compliments haven’t made the situation any better either.

You shake your head jokingly at Dean. “You guys have Professor Ragner, right? He’s chill. You’ll be fine.”

Dean gasps in fake shock, puting a hand to his heart as if he were in a melodramatic soap opera. “Wow, so you’re just leaving us to drown with no support? I see how it is, Y/N.”

You scoff. “No offense to y’all, but I don’t have time for free tutoring. I’m getting paid minimum wage, which is practically nothing to begin with, to tutor jocks like y’all in the first place. I’m sure as hell not doing any unpaid labor.”

“I can pay you in a different way,” Dean unabashedly flirts, blond waves falling over his eyes, voice dropping to a lower tenor. You raise an eyebrow in amusement, knowing that he’s joking.

Then someone behind you loudly clears their throat. You turn around to Logan, who is adorning an expression that you can’t quite decipher.

“Jesus, relax, Johnny,” Dean comes around and pats him on the back, which Logan rejects in fake disgust, pretending to flinch. “I was just suggesting an alternative method of payment.”

“Uh-huh, sure you were," Logan replies with a chuckle, though his smile doesn’t reach all the way to his eyes.

Tucker rejoins the conversation. “I don’t know about cash, but I’ll pay you back with free meals. I make a mean pasta carbonara.”

“Now that, I can get behind,” You point finger guns towards Tucker. “Well boys, I’m off to work. I’ll see y’all later.”

Tucker and Dean say their goodbyes. With a light touch of his hand on the small of your back, Logan leads you to the porch. He opens the door, and as you step outside, he wraps a hand around your wrist, wanting to say one last thing before you leave.

“Have a good shift,” He presses a kiss to your forehead. You force yourself to not bite your lip for the hundredth time. Control. “I’ll see you on Friday, yeah?”

You don’t know what to say. You knew that the team was throwing a party before their game on Saturday. A sharp inhale exits your nose.

“Yeah, sure,” You smile at him, starting to walk to your car. “See you, Logan.”

As you drive to the tutoring center, you chastised yourself for how close you were to falling asleep in his bed. This pathetic attempt at a situationship was going to tear you apart. And if you need to distance yourself from those warm eyes and beaming smile, then so be it.

Friday was two days away. You decided to not come over to the hockey players’ house for their party before playing Eastwood. Not only did you want some space between you and Logan, but you also had an upcoming midterm that made up a good chunk of your grade for your Psych class. You thus planned on devoting your entire weekend to studying for it.

So when Friday night came along, giving excuses to Logan felt easy. Somewhat easy.

(9:21 PM) Logan: Hey, I haven’t seen you yet. Are you on the way?

(9:46 PM) Y/N: I have a huge midterm on Monday. I need to study. Sorry, I forgot to tell you :/

(9:48 PM) Logan: Ahh I see, no worries.

(9:51 PM) Logan: I looked forward to seeing you.

(9:52 PM) Logan: I’ll see you after the midterm? Good luck, you got this.

(10:23 PM) Y/N: Thanks, good luck with the game. 

A twinge of guilt spread through your chest and hammered at your heart when you didn’t confirm the rendezvous. You always came to the boys’ parties before their games, even though you continuously stuck by your rule of never sleeping over, which definitely took Logan a little bit of time to get used to. During Halloweekend, you surprised him when you slipped out of his bed at 3:00 AM, grabbing your car keys and opening his bedroom door.

“You don’t want to stay the night?” You recall his gravelly voice, utterly rattled with sleep, as he watched you put on your shoes. “It’s kinda late.”

“I have an early morning. And I didn’t drink at all, so…” You explained, giving him a tight smile before closing the door so that you didn’t have to stare any longer at his bare, toned chest. “See ya.”

Starting with a clean slate was necessary. After all, you needed to keep your commitment to both your grades and your job. Logan would only serve as a distraction.

That’s what you kept repeating to yourself as you went to bed later that night, putting your phone on the other side of your room in order to stop checking it.

The first thing that you notice is that you can’t speak.

You bring a palm up to your mouth, but your face feels completely numb. Anything you say just comes out extremely muffled, as if you never had a mouth in the first place. You gaze around your environment with blurry eyes, looking at the four corners of the dingy room. You try to touch one of the walls, but as soon as your hand comes into contact, the wall becomes translucent, your hand just floating around in open space. But as you pull your hand back, the wall comes up again, inching closer and closer to your face.

Your breath hitches as you try to find an escape—a trapdoor, a window, just anything will do. But the room starts to resemble a box the more you look at it, as if you were an inanimate object shoved inside a carton to never be seen again. The lump in your throat grows as your vision subsides with each passing second, complete murk and darkness clouding up your eyes.

You try to bang on the walls, but your balled up fists just fall into air. You try to scream for help, but you feel chains wrapped around your mouth, silencing your cries and greedily swallowing up any remaining shred of air needed for your survival.

The sound of falling objects tears your gaze away from the walls. You eyes widen as you watch clumps of your hair disintegrating into the floor and massive droplets of blood emanating from your fingertips. You frantically search your whole body for any sign of a cut, a wound, an injury, but your hunt is fruitless.

And that’s when the walls start closing in, devouring every inch of space that’s not covered by your trembling body.

You sink to the floor as your knees helplessly buckle, crawling up into a ball as a fresh flow of tears sprint down your cheeks. Soon those tears also turn to blood, drowning your limbs in a sea of red. And the ceiling feels so fucking close to you, you’re certain that it’s going to collapse.

Sounds of whining sirens and howling wind and quick gunshots and terrified screaming all fuse and merge tightly together in perfect storm, a cacophony where you can hear each individual occurrence happening at once. The walls are up to your nose, and you try so hard to scream. To cry for help.

The sound of a door slamming shut finally wakes you up.

You’re heaving as you sit up in your bed, your fists rapidly unclenching to rest your palms on your chest. Your body feels so unbearably hot, outlines of your sweat etching themselves onto your sheets. A fearful whimper tears out of you, and you wrap your hands around your curled-up body as you begin to frantically rock yourself back and forth on your bed. The sobs pour out of you in an instant, breaths clawing themselves up your throat in such a sharp, stiniging manner that you’re sure there’s clawmarks scarred across your trachea. You’ve had night terrors ever since elementary school, but you’ve never really adjusted them.

The tears completely wreck you. You move your hands from your body to the sheets, fists digging into the fabric, helplessly searching for security. What a stark contrast to your time with Logan, where you desperately fisted at his sheets while waves of pleasure cascaded through your body.

Both times, however, you were looking for control.

Nevertheless, as your sobs gradually begin to subside, you inhale shaky breaths to center yourself back to reality. When your vision starts to clear up, you go back to the 5-4-3-2-1 coping technique that your therapist suggested to ground yourself.

Five things you can see. Four things you can touch. Three things you can hear. Two things you can smell. One thing you can taste.

As you slowly list through the four things you can touch, your mind goes back to the hockey player you’re trying so desperately not to think about. But all you desire is to feel his callused palm on your cheek, his long arm around your waist, and his mouth trailing kisses on your neck.

And you hate how much you yearn to be in Logan’s arms right now. You ache for his comforting presence, but you know you can’t place this trouble on him, this overwhelming burden to bring you back to Earth after a night terror. He already has enough on his plate.

Sighing, you make your way to the bathroom to splash some water on your face. On your way there, you grab your phone, looking at the date and time. 2:38 AM, Monday, February 23rd.

So you had a night terror the morning of your big exam. Great.

At least you can thank your neighbors’ rowdiness for pulling you out of your dream. They loved to slam the door after a night out, and unfortunately for you, they seemed to go out every fucking night. You kindly asked them to close their door more gently, but clearly, your words had zero effect.

After wiping your face and staring too long at your bloodshot eyes in the bathroom mirror, you walk to your desk, deciding to fit in a last-minute study session now that you’re awake. You definitely don’t want to go back to sleep now.

After five minutes of flipping through some flashcards, you make the mistake of scrolling through the notifications on your phone. Your eyes immediately lock on to some notifications from Instagram. Specifically, some DMs from Logan.

When your trembling fingers open your message thread with him, the slight shaking in your body stops when you browse through his messages. All of them were either the silliest of reels or the stupidest of memes. And under each and every one of them, he wrote a message: This made me think of you; or you definitely need to watch this; or even this is so stupid, but it made me laugh so hard that I had to send it you.

As you laugh while watching cat videos and overplayed vines, the desire for Logan seeps through your veins. He has no idea of the effect you have on him.

Sebastian,

Witch Weekly says that writing down your feelings is supposed to help. That if you’re in love with someone you can never have, you should put it all down on parchment, let it spill from your heart like ink onto a page. Then, once it’s written, you can crumple it up, set it on fire, or hide it away where no one will ever find it.

I suppose it’s meant to be cathartic. A way to lighten the burden, to lessen the ache. But I know better.

Because no matter how many words I pour onto this page, no matter how many times I try to convince myself that this will fix something, I already know the truth.

There is no fixing this. There is no untangling my heart from yours.

I will love you until the day I die.

It feels embarrassing to even write that, like I’m some sappy, lovesick fool. But I suppose that’s exactly what I am. And who cares, really? No one is ever going to see this.

No one will ever know how deep this goes but me.

How have you never noticed, Sebastian? You’re supposed to be so sharp, so quick-witted, always a step ahead of everyone else.

But the truth is I’ve loved you since fifth year, since the moment we met.

Since the day you smirked at me like you already knew all my secrets, like you had me all figured out before I’d even said a word. You were infuriating from the start—sharp-tongued, arrogant, always so bloody sure of yourself. You challenged me, teased me, riled me up just to see me snap.

And I never stood a chance.

Somewhere along the way, your laughter became my favorite sound. Your voice became my comfort. Your presence became home.

I know you—in a way I don’t think even you do. I remember everything.

The way you take your tea, strong and almost disgustingly sweet, like you’re trying to cover up the bitterness with reckless abandon.

The way you tilt your head when you’re about to say something infuriatingly smug, that damnable smirk already forming before the words have even left your mouth.

The way your brow furrows when you’re deep in thought, when you think no one’s watching.

The way your hands twitch when you’re holding back, itching to reach for your wand, to fight, to protect.

The way you bite your lip when you’re trying not to laugh.

The way your eyes—Merlin, your eyes—burn with every emotion you try to hide. You think you're so clever, so unreadable, but I see it all. The mischief, the fire, the frustration, the fleeting moments of doubt you’d never admit to. They undo me. Every damn time.

And I’ve tried, Sebastian.

I’ve tried to love someone else.

I’ve been with other boys. I’ve gone on dates and smiled at the right moments, I’ve listened when they talked, I’ve let them hold me. And I wanted to feel something—I tried to feel something.

But none of them were you.

I could no sooner remove you from my heart than I could carve it from my own body.

You are in me. In every breath, in every thought, in every moment I spend wishing things were different.

And I have long since resigned myself to the reality that this is how it will always be.

You are my best friend, and that is more important than my feelings. It has to be. Because if I ever told you—if I ever let this slip—I don’t think I could bear the consequences.

So I stay quiet.

And at night, I stare up at the canopy of my bed and let myself think about all the things I will never have.

I think about you. I think about what it would be like if I were braver. I think about how you’d react if I kissed you.

Would your eyes go half-lidded, hazy with something slow and molten? Would you pull me close, pressing me against you, against something solid and warm? Would you let me run my hands through your hair, feel the softness of it between my fingers?

I wonder how you’d taste. If your mouth would be all heat and urgency, if you’d bite my lower lip just to make me gasp. If you’d whisper my name against my skin like you’ve always known it was meant for your lips.

Would you let me have you?

I think about it at night, when it’s late and the world is quiet and I’m alone with nothing but the ache of wanting you. I press my face into my pillow, close my eyes, and let myself pretend—just for a little while—that you want me, too.

But it doesn’t really matter. Because I’ll never know.

And I know I am eighteen years old, and older people love to say that teenagers don’t know what love is. That we’re naive, foolish, that we think we’ll feel this way forever when really, it’s just a passing fancy.

But of this, of my love for you, I am more certain than I have ever been of anything.

This is not something I will grow out of. This is not something that will fade. This is something I will carry with me for the rest of my life, whether I want to or not.

And I will keep it locked away, because I would rather love you in silence than lose you forever.

So I’ll fold this letter, tuck it away, and pretend it doesn’t exist.

Because you will never know.

—Yours (though you’ll never know it),

You signed your name, sniffing as you pressed your palm against the parchment, as if you could smooth away the trembling emotions trapped in ink.

There. It’s done.

It had felt good, in a way, to let it all out. But just as you predicted, writing it down hadn’t changed anything. Hadn’t lessened the ache or made your heart any lighter. If anything, it felt heavier, the weight of your unspoken love solidified in every word scrawled across the page.

You exhaled, folding the letter carefully—almost reverently—before setting it on your bedside table. You had every intention of tucking it away in your trunk, hidden beneath layers of robes where no one would ever find it.

But exhaustion was already pressing at your bones, and you thought, I’ll do it in the morning.

So you blew out the candle, turned onto your side, and let sleep pull you under.

Sunlight streamed through the windows when you woke with a start, your stomach dropping at the realization that you’d overslept.

“Shit,” you mumbled, throwing the blankets off and scrambling to dress as your roommates bustled around, already halfway through their morning routines.

“You must’ve been exhausted,” one of them teased as you tugged your uniform into place.

You barely heard them, too busy cursing yourself for missing breakfast. By the time you grabbed your bag and rushed out of the dormitory, your mind was already occupied with the day ahead—assignments, Professor Ronen’s latest essay, and the Quidditch scrimmage planned for the afternoon.

You never even glanced at your bedside table.

Never noticed the missing letter.

Nevertheless, your day had passed by like any other.

You’d managed to dodge Sharp’s wrath over a half-finished potion, spent lunch laughing with Ominis over Sebastian’s latest disastrous attempt at sweet-talking Imelda into lending him her broom, and successfully avoided thinking too much about the letter that was supposed to be ash by now.

Everything was fine.

That was, until you walked into the Great Hall for dinner.

At first, everything seemed as it always was—the low hum of conversation, the clatter of cutlery against plates, the floating candles casting their soft golden glow over the long tables. Your stomach grumbled at the scent of roasted chicken and buttered bread, and you barely gave a thought to where you would sit as your gaze instinctively flicked to the Slytherin table.

And there he was.

Sebastian sat in his usual spot, right beside Ominis. You felt the familiar pull of his presence, the way you always did, like some unconscious part of you sought him out before you even realized it.

But then, something shifted.

Sebastian wasn’t eating.

His hands were occupied—not with a goblet or a fork, but with a piece of parchment, one he had just begun to unfold. His brow furrowed slightly as his fingers smoothed out the creases, his dark eyes scanning the words in front of him.

You barely noticed the way your heart slammed against your ribs.

Because you knew that letter.

You knew that parchment.

You knew what he was reading.

Time slowed to a crawl, your breath halting as you stood frozen in the doorway, the warmth of the Great Hall vanishing, replaced by a creeping cold that wrapped around your spine and sank its claws deep into your chest.

Sebastian’s expression went slack.

His lips parted slightly, his brows drawing together in something unreadable as his eyes flicked over the words—your words—the ones you had never intended for anyone, let alone him, to see.

Ominis was speaking beside him, his mouth moving, probably teasing him about something, but Sebastian wasn’t responding. He wasn’t reacting, wasn’t moving. He was just reading.

Your stomach twisted violently, nausea rising in your throat as panic set in.

No, no, no, no, no.

Your breath hitched, your lungs seizing in panic as your mind raced— He hasn’t finished reading it yet. He can’t have. Maybe I can get to him, grab it before he—

But then his eyes lifted. And found yours. Everything inside you froze.

His face was unreadable, his dark gaze burning into yours with something too raw, too intense to decipher. And then—

Sebastian stood to his full height.

The parchment was still in his hands, crumpled slightly in his grip, like his fingers had tightened around it involuntarily. His mouth parted, as if he were about to say something—

And that was when your body made its decision.

Run.

You spun on your heel and bolted.

You heard the scrape of Sebastian’s chair against the stone floor, the sharp inhale of Ominis beside him, the sudden uptick in murmurs as people took notice. But you couldn’t focus on any of it—only the sheer, overwhelming need to get out, to get away, to put as much distance between you and that letter as humanly possible.

Your robes billowed behind you as you pushed past a group of Ravenclaws near the entrance, ignoring their startled protests. You didn’t even know where you were going—only that you had to move.

You barely made it into the corridor when you heard it.

“Oi!”

Sebastian’s voice, sharp and demanding, echoed off the stone walls.

You risked a glance over your shoulder and immediately regretted it.

He was right behind you, his expression set in something fierce—determined. His grip was still tight around the parchment, his knuckles white, and oh, Merlin, he was gaining on you.

You whirled down a side hall, nearly colliding with a suit of armor as you ducked around a corner. The adrenaline was making your limbs feel weightless, your body moving on pure instinct. You knew—knew—that running made you look guiltier, made it clear beyond a doubt that the letter was yours, but Sebastian knew your handwriting.

There was no talking your way out of this.

So you ran.

And he followed.

“Bloody hell, will you stop running?”

No. Absolutely not.

Your heart threatened to claw its way up your throat as you rounded another corner, nearly losing your footing in your panic. You had no plan, no destination—only the singular, desperate urge to get away.

But Hogwarts was only so big.

And Sebastian Sallow was faster than you.

So you did the only thing you could think to do—you ran for the nearest exit.

The heavy wooden doors of the castle loomed ahead, and you threw yourself at them, bursting into the crisp evening air.

The temperature was cooler out here, the autumn wind biting at your skin, but you barely noticed. The sky was deep blue, streaked with the last remnants of sunset, the grounds bathed in the soft glow of torchlight.

And still, you ran.

The wide expanse of the courtyard gave you space—space to sprint, to put real distance between you and the boy who held your heart in his hands, ink-stained and utterly exposed.

But then—

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake—”

A heavy force collided into you from behind, and suddenly, the ground was no longer beneath your feet.

A startled gasp left your lips as the world tilted, and then—

You hit the grass, hard.

The weight of another body pressed down on you, solid and warm, pinning you beneath them.

For a moment, everything stilled.

The only sounds were your own ragged breaths, your pulse roaring in your ears, and the undeniable, shuddering exhale from the boy who had just tackled you to the ground.

Sebastian.

You felt him shift above you, his hands braced on either side of your head, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.

The letter was still clutched in his fist, crumpled and worn from the chase.

And then—

“Are you absolutely mental?” His voice was breathless, frustrated—wild.

You flinched, panic curling up your spine, your body trembling beneath him.

“Sebastian,” you gasped, trying to squirm away, but he wasn’t having it.

“No.” His tone shook, his grip tightening on the ground beside you. “No, we’re going to talk about this.”

Your heart lurched. No, no, no, this wasn’t happening.

You squeezed your eyes shut, every fiber of your being screaming at you to run again, to somehow undo all of this.

But you were trapped.

Not just by his weight—not just by the way his arms and legs bracketed yours, caging you in—but by the look on his face.

His eyes.

Dark and intense, searching yours like he was trying to find an answer you hadn’t given him yet.

You swallowed, chest rising and falling too quickly, your hands curling into the grass beneath you as you tried to breathe.

Sebastian’s grip on the parchment tightened. “This—” his voice was lower now, unreadable, “—this isn’t a joke, is it?”

You swallowed, trying to force words up your throat. Your lips parted.

“I—” Your voice cracked. “I didn’t—”

“Because if it is,” he continued, his gaze darkening, intensifying, “it’s a cruel one.”

Your breath hitched, your body locking up beneath him.

A cruel joke?

"W-what?" you breathed,

Sebastian's grip on the letter was so tight now that the parchment crinkled loudly between his fingers. His other hand was still braced beside your head, his body caging you in, radiating heat, tension—something dangerous.

"You heard me," he said, his voice rough, barely controlled. "Is this a joke? Some sort of—of—prank?"

The very thought made your stomach twist. How could he—how could he even think—

"Of course not!" The words came out more forcefully than you intended, your panic spiking.

His jaw clenched. "Then why the fuck did you run?"

"Because!" You spluttered, incredulous. "You-you were- how the hell did you even get that?!"

Sebastian let out a sharp laugh, shaking the crumpled parchment between his fingers. “How did I get it? Oh, I don’t know, maybe because it was sent in the mail?!” His gaze burned into yours. “And it had my bloody name on it?!

"But I never sent it! I—" The words caught in your throat, a frantic, garbled mess of emotion and panic. You couldn't even think straight, not with him right there, not with his weight pressing you down, his breath still ragged from chasing you.

Sebastian scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Oh, so it just magically appeared in the post? Someone sent it, and seeing as it’s your handwriting, your words—your fucking confession—I’d say that narrows down the list of suspects."

Your mouth opened and closed, but your brain refused to supply a logical defense.

You had left it out.

And your roommates—oh Merlin, they must have seen it, assumed you had forgotten to send it, and done you the favor of making sure it got delivered.

Your breath shuddered as the weight of it all crashed over you, the full, awful realization that everything was ruined.

Tears burned behind your eyes, hot and humiliating, and before you could stop them, they spilled over, sliding down your temples into the grass beneath you.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, voice thick and uneven. “I—I never meant for you to see it. I was going to burn it, I swear—”

Sebastian’s entire body jerked like you’d just hexed him.

His anger—sharp and scorching only moments ago—immediately cracked, giving way to something horrified, something panicked.

“Oh—fuck,” he breathed, his grip on the parchment loosening as his weight shifted. “Shit, no—don’t—”

And then, in a blur of movement, he was off you, scrambling backward like he’d just been hit with a Stunning Spell.

You sucked in a breath at the sudden loss of warmth, blinking up at him through wet lashes as he kneeled beside you, hands lifting slightly like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know how.

“I’m not mad at you,” he rushed out, voice hoarse, urgent. “I swear, I’m not—I just—fuck, I didn’t mean to—”

You buried your face in your hands, curling in on yourself as the shame closed in.

“No, it’s my fault,” you rasped, words strangled and raw. “I should have just—kept my feelings to myself. I should have never written it down, I don’t know why I—”

"Hey, hey—" His voice was softer now, no longer demanding, no longer frantic. A warm hand hovered near your shoulder, hesitant, but you were already spiraling.

"I—Merlin, why did I even listen to Witch Weekly?" You let out a miserable, watery laugh, rubbing furiously at your face as you tried—and failed—to control the mess of emotion in your chest.

Sebastian made a noise, almost like a pained laugh, but his eyes were still frantic, still burning with something raw and unsteady.

“So... it’s true?” His voice was quieter now, rough, but no less intense. “What you wrote?”

His fingers finally touched your wrist—not enough to pull your hands away, but enough that you felt it. Enough that it sent a ripple of awareness through you.

“Tell me,” he murmured, and you could hear the strain in his voice now.

Slowly, painfully, you lowered your hands from your face.

Sebastian’s gaze burned into you, desperate and unreadable.

Your throat was tight, your breath uneven.

But you couldn’t lie.

So you nodded.

A sharp exhale left him, his hand dropping from your wrist to clench in the grass beside him. His head tilted back slightly, his jaw tight, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair again.

You winced. "I know," you whispered, curling your arms around yourself. "I know. I'm sorry. You can just—just forget about it, okay? I know it's probably weird, and you don't feel the same, and I just—I'll move on, alright? I can—I can pretend this never happened, if that's what you want—"

Sebastian let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.

And then he lunged for you,

Before you could even react, he was on you again, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him. The force of it knocked the breath from your lungs, your hands flying up to brace against his chest as he rolled, flipping the both of you over until you were the one on top, sprawled against the solid warmth of his body.

A startled noise left your lips as he crushed you into his chest, his arms locking around you like a vice. His heartbeat pounded beneath your cheek, wild and erratic, his breathing uneven.

"You're such an idiot," he muttered into your hair, his voice rough, still shaking with disbelief.

Your brain was struggling to keep up.

"W-what—?"

"You think I don’t feel the same?" He let out a breathless, almost hysterical laugh, tightening his hold around you. "Merlin, do you even hear yourself?"

Your stomach flipped, something warm and dangerous flooding your veins.

Sebastian's grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened, his hand splaying wide against the small of your back, pressing you even closer to him.

"You’re not moving on," he said fiercely. "You’re mine."

Your breath hitched. "Wh-what?"

Sebastian groaned, his head dropping back against the grass, his fingers flexing against you like he was barely holding himself together. "Fuck, do you even know what you've done to me?"

You swallowed hard, your fingers still curled in his robes, every inch of you hyper-aware of just how close you were.

"I—"

"You've wrecked me," he muttered, almost like an accusation. "I thought—I thought I was losing my mind. You had to know, you had to have noticed—"

"Noticed what?" you whispered, your voice barely there.

Sebastian let out a shaky breath, and then his hands slid up your back, one curling around the base of your skull, the other gripping your waist, firm.

"Noticed how fucking obsessed I am with you."

Your body locked up.

He flipped you again, faster this time, pressing you down into the grass beneath him, his weight heavy over yours. His breath was ragged, his expression wild, his eyes—

His eyes.

Dark, burning, hungry.

"I love you," he murmured, his voice almost pleading, like he needed you to hear it, to understand. "I’ve loved you for so fucking long."

"You—" The words tangled in your throat, your hands fisting in the fabric of his robes. "You don't have to say that just because you—because you feel bad—"

A sharp sound left his throat—something between a laugh and a growl, something raw and frustrated.

"Are you serious right now?" His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers pressing into your skin through the fabric of your robes. "You think I’m saying this out of pity?"

You flinched, shaking your head quickly. "I just—I don’t understand—"

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, dropping his forehead to yours for a fleeting second, like he needed the contact just to ground himself. "You really don’t know, do you?"

Your breath was uneven, your mind spinning. "Know what?"

Sebastian exhaled sharply, and then—

He kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t hesitant. It was a claim.

His mouth crashed against yours, desperate, consuming, like he’d been starving for this.

A shocked noise slipped from you, but he swallowed it, pressing closer, deeper, one hand sliding into your hair while the other anchored itself at your waist.

Heat flooded through you, overwhelming and intoxicating, sending shivers down your spine.

You had imagined this before—god, you had imagined this in the dark, alone, staring at your canopy and aching for him—but nothing could have prepared you for the way he felt.

The way he took. The way he gave.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he tilted your head back and kissed you again—harder, deeper, like he was trying to ruin you.

Like he needed you as badly as you needed him.

"Still think I'm lying?" he murmured against your lips, his voice a rough, wicked thing.

You shook your head, dazed, your fingers curling into his robes as you pulled him closer, your answer slipping out between gasps.

"N-no."

Sebastian smirked against your mouth, his grip tightening.

Romantics were the ones who sighed wistfully at poetry readings, who blushed at the sight of a well-crafted love letter, who spent Valentine’s Day clutching their hearts like some love-struck imbecile from an old novel.

She was not a romantic.

And yet, there she was.

Sitting in the Great Hall, not eating her breakfast, not reading her book, but instead watching - because everywhere she looked, it was there.

The soft, intimate moments she pretended not to care about. The day before Valentine's Day.

A Hufflepuff girl tucking a chocolate frog into her boyfriend’s pocket with a whispered, “For later.”

A Ravenclaw scribbling something in the margins of a letter, smiling absently to herself before sealing it with a wax stamp and charming it to flutter across the vast room.

A Gryffindor dramatically dropping to one knee in front of a giggling girl, presenting a questionably-made bouquet of half-wilted wildflowers to a simpering, blushing witch.

And herself?

Eating dry toast and definitely not pining.

“Why do you look like you’ve swallowed a lemon?”

She blinked, snapping out of it, and turned to see Poppy Sweeting watching her far too closely from across the table, arms folded neatly on the wood.

“I don’t.” She said flatly, reaching for her tea.

Poppy hummed in a way that implied otherwise. “You’re staring at people.”

She tore off a piece of toast and shoved it into her mouth, unladylike and unbothered. “I’m observing.”

Poppy snorted. “Observing what?”

She could lie. Say she was disgusted by all the romance, say that it was silly, useless, pointless.

Or…

She could tell the truth.

“…Nothing.” She muttered instead, stuffing the rest of the toast in her mouth before she could say anything else.

Evasion was neither truth nor lie, and thus, an acceptable third option. Poppy narrowed her eyes, tapping her fingers against the table. Then, far too casual-

“This wouldn’t happen to be about a certain freckled menace, would it?”

She choked on her toast.

Poppy beamed.

“It is about him, isn’t it?”

Still coughing, she reached for her tea and muttered, “It is not.”

Poppy, clearly unconvinced, simply leaned forward and propped her chin on her hand. “Right. So, when you were observing just now, you definitely weren’t actually sulking over the fact that you spend every waking moment with a certain Slytherin, except, glaringly, on the one day of the year you'd most prefer?”

She froze.

Because.

Well.

That was entirely too true.

It wasn’t that she was sulking over not getting a Valentine in general. It was that, if she ever were to get one, she already knew exactly who she’d want it from. Except Sebastian Sallow had made precisely zero mention of doing anything even platonic on the impending day from cupid-pink hell.

And that thought?

That thought was dangerous.

Because Sebastian was not an option in the first place.

Sebastian was Sebastian - her best friend, her partner in literal crime, her closest companion, the one she could turn to for anything and everything.

And he was not hers.

He flirted with everyone. He charmed his way through life. He tossed out compliments like it was second nature, and none of it meant anything.

She knew that.

She did.

And yet…

The unspoken longing was starting to eat at her, and that unrequited feeling stung a little more than she cared to admit.

“…You should write him a letter.”

She blinked. “I should what?”

Poppy shrugged. “Write it all out. Not to give to him, just… to get it off your chest.”

“That’s ridiculous.” She scowled, heat creeping up to her cheeks at the mere notion.

“It’s practical.” Poppy gave her a knowing look. “You’ve been miserable for ages over this. It's not hard to see. Just write it all down, and then decide if you want to say it to him for real.”

She opened her mouth to argue, to shut it down, to dismiss it entirely…

But then, at that exact moment -

Sebastian strolled past, laughing about something with Ominis, his robes ruffled from sleep, his hair a careless, tousled mess, looking infuriatingly attractive in that effortless way of his…

And she sighed, smitten.

“…Fine.”

-

The letter was not supposed to be good.

It was just supposed to be words on a page. A venting session. A way to untangle her own thoughts.

But when she finally lifted her quill from the parchment, she realized, with horror, that she had somehow written the most disgustingly heartfelt confession imaginable.

The worst part?

She meant every word.

She stared at it, stomach twisting, and let out a groan of regret.

Why did she listen to Poppy?

Why did she ever think this was a good idea?

This thing needed to be burned. Immediately.

She folded it aggressively, shoved it into her school satchel, and made a mental note to destroy it later.

And then promptly forgot about it.

Because that night, she was half-asleep, shoving her books into her bag without a second thought, not realizing that the letter had slipped from its hiding place and fallen, unnoticed, to the castle floor.

Waiting.

For the wrong person to find it.

She realized far too late that the letter was missing. She had spent the morning of the damned frilly holiday blissfully unaware, going about her day as normal, utterly oblivious to the unforgivable mistake she had made.

It wasn’t until midday, when she went to retrieve her Transfiguration notes, that she noticed the folded parchment was gone.

Her heart plummeted.

She froze, still as stone, fingers digging through her satchel in mounting horror, books and parchment scattered on the table as she searched, and searched, and searched…

And found nothing.

The letter - the one letter she could not afford to lose - was gone.

Panic rushed through her, overwhelming, as she replayed every moment from the night before.

She had written it.

Folded it.

Shoved it into her satchel.

And then - what? Had it fallen out? Had someone taken it? Was it currently out there, somewhere in the castle, waiting to ruin her life?

Her stomach rolled violently.

She had to find it.

Step One: Enlist Every Trustworthy Person She Knows

This was not a one-person job.

She swallowed her pride, sought out her closest friends in each house, and told them the full, unfiltered truth - with the strict demand that they never speak of it again once the letter was found.

Natty was the first to respond, the voice of reason among the chaos.

“We should retrace your steps.” She suggested, calm and methodical as ever. “Where were you last night?”

She winced. “I don’t know. Everywhere?”

Natty sighed.

Poppy, hands clasped over her mouth in barely contained amusement, offered absolutely no helpful input whatsoever. Sick amusement from this whole debacle, that one got.

Garreth Weasley, on the other hand, lit up like Christmas had come early.

“This is brilliant!” He declared, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Thought today was going to be dull. I'll have you to thank for the entertainment!”

She shoved him off, scowling. “Garreth, I will brew you into a potion.”

Garreth held up his hands, mockingly placating. “Our leading lady is so high-strung.”

Natty pinched the bridge of her nose. “Focus.”

“Right, right.” Garreth sobering immediately, turning back with mock solemnity. “If I were your missing letter, where would I be?”

“It was in my bag last night, which means it could have fallen out anywhere between the common room and class this morning.”

Poppy perked up. “And you went outside to read before breakfast, didn’t you?”

She groaned. “Right. So now it could be anywhere in the entire castle or the bloody courtyard.”

They scattered.

Natty took the main halls. Poppy went to check the greenhouses. Garreth, horrifyingly, volunteered to go search the Great Hall, which she immediately regretted allowing, because if he so much as breathed a word of this to anyone, she was going to have to change schools.

Meanwhile, she scoured the rest of the castle.

She checked every hallway, every staircase, every possible place it could have fallen. She combed the courtyard, nearly tore apart the Undercroft, and spent far too long peeking under random benches, earning more than a few odd looks from passing students.

And yet…

Nothing.

By late afternoon, her nerves were shot.

The longer the letter was missing, the worse her paranoia became.

What if someone already had it?

What if it had been read aloud to a group of cackling classmates?

What if Peeves found it?

What if it had made its way to the Slytherin common room?

She groaned into her hands.

This was hell.

And then, as if fate had decided she had suffered enough, she saw it.

Or, at least, she thought she did.

A glimpse of parchment, lying half-hidden in the empty courtyard, crumpled and slightly smudged with dirt.

Her heart leapt. She moved immediately, nearly tripping over herself, relief flooding her system as she reached for it -

Only for another hand to grab it first.

Her stomach dropped.

Because, of course.

Of course.

It was Sebastian.

Sebastian, standing just a few feet away, held the letter in his hands, tilting his head curiously.

And her?

She panicked.

“Ah - oh, that’s not important. Just some old parchment -” She lunged, making a hasty attempt to snatch it back.

Sebastian sidestepped effortlessly, lifting the letter out of reach.

“Now, now!” He teased, grinning. “No need to be so hasty. I just want to see what’s got you racing around the castle all day like a headless diricawl.”

He had noticed?

Of course he had.

Sebastian watched her too closely, too often.

He had definitely noticed.

She swallowed hard, keeping her voice steady. “Sebastian, it’s really nothing.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “So if I read it aloud right now, you wouldn’t mind?”

Her eyes went wide.

Sebastian grinned.

“Oh, Merlin.” He said, delighted. “It is something, isn’t it?”

Her heart pounded. “Sebastian -”

But he was already unfolding the letter.

Already reading the first lines.

And already…

Smirking.

-

Sebastian had every intention of teasing.

He had caught her red-handed, after all - had seen her darting around the castle like a witch possessed, muttering under her breath, frantically scouring every inch of Hogwarts like a niffler who had misplaced her cache.

She had been so focused, so desperate that he had spent the entire day trying - and failing - to get her attention. She had brushed him off in the corridors, ignored him at lunch, even physically dodged him on the way to Defense Against the Dark Arts, which was a new level of avoidance, even for her.

And now, at long last, he finally had the answer to why.

So, of course, when he picked up the crumpled parchment in the courtyard and saw her entire soul drain from her face, he couldn’t help himself.

“Ah. So this is what’s had you so worked up?” He mused, turning the letter over in his hands, pretending to inspect it. “I must say, I’m intrigued.”

She lunged again.

“Sebastian!”

“I knew you were up to something,” he said, deliberately casual, letting his thumb skim the edge of the folded parchment. “But I must admit, I wasn’t expecting it to be a secret love letter.”

Her entire body seized.

Sebastian beamed.

“Is it really?” He laughed, delighted. “It is a love letter.”

She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Sebastian. Give. It. Back.”

Sebastian tutted, clicking his tongue. “Now, now. I think it’s only fair I take a little peek, don’t you? Considering how rudely you’ve been ignoring me all day.”

Sebastian cleared his throat and unfolded it with great circumstance, smirking as he began to read aloud, voice deliberately dramatic.

“To the most insufferable, reckless, and endlessly arrogant prick I have ever met…”

He chuckled. “Oh, this is already off to an excellent start.”

She whimpered, burying her face in her hands.

Sebastian continued.

"You drive me to madness on a daily basis. I have never met someone more infuriatingly smug, more entirely frustrating -"

He snorted. “Flatter him more, love.”

"- and yet somehow, impossibly, against all logic and reason -"

Sebastian paused.

His grin faltered.

Because suddenly, it wasn’t funny anymore.

Sebastian’s breath caught as he took in the next lines, the way the handwriting shifted slightly, the way her usual slanted script had softened, like she had hesitated before writing it.

"I find myself drawn to you anyway, Sebastian."

Sebastian’s grip on the parchment tightened.

"I don’t know when it started, whether it was the first time you shielded me in a duel, or the hundredth time you made me laugh when I wanted to scream, or maybe it was always there, just in our day-to-day."

Sebastian swallowed.

"All I know is that I look for you before anyone else. That I miss you before you’re even gone. That the idea of you with someone else makes my stomach twist in ways I don’t want to acknowledge."

A slow, creeping warmth spread up Sebastian’s neck, his freckled face heating.

"I don’t know if I’ll ever say this aloud. Maybe this is the only time I’ll ever admit it, even to myself. But it’s there, no matter how much I try to ignore it. I am yours, and you don’t even know it."

Sebastian’s breath hitched.

He didn’t even realize he had stopped reading.

Didn’t realize he had gone completely still.

Didn’t realize she had been watching him the entire time, cheeks red, expression somewhere between horrified and resigned.

He felt her eyes on him, felt the weight of her gaze, the unspoken tension between them.

And suddenly -

Everything was different.

-

She was dying.

Actually, literally, physically dying.

Sebastian was silent.

And not in his usual, plotting, scheming way.

No.

Sebastian was silent in the way that meant his brilliant brain hadn't been able to quite wrap around the horrific monstrosity of emotional vomit which had been inflicted upon him.

Which was, frankly, more terrifying than anything else.

He just stood there, holding the letter, staring at it like it contained the secrets of the universe.

And she herself who had spent the entire day terrified of this exact moment, who had been dreading what his reaction would be, suddenly realized she had no idea what to do now that the very worst had actually happened.

She cleared her throat, shifting awkwardly. “I… um. That’s…”

Sebastian looked up.

Their eyes met.

Her stomach flipped.

And then -

Sebastian laughed.

It wasn’t his usual cocky, amused laugh.

It was nervous, breathless, and way too full of emotions he clearly didn’t know how to process.

“Oh.” He said, voice slightly unsteady. “So, um. That’s - wow.”

She groaned, burying her face in her hands again. “Sebastian…”

“No, no, wait -” He laughed again, more to himself than anything, running a hand through his hair, looking thoroughly unmoored. “You… Merlin! You wrote me a love letter.”

She winced. “Shut up.”

“I mean, really!” He huffed out another disbelieving laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You actually - you wrote me a love letter.”

She let out a strangled noise. “So we've determined! Now hurry it along so I can put in for my transfer to Durmstrang.”

Sebastian smirked, and for a brief, horrifying moment, she thought he was going to tease her , but then he glanced down at the letter again, eyes flicking over the last lines, and his smirk softened.

He hesitated.

Then, before she could stop him…

He reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and delicate.

A sprig of dittany, perfectly preserved, fastened to a silver hair clip.

And offered it to her.

Sebastian’s ears went pink as she stared blankly at it.

“I, um…” He cleared his throat. “It’s not - it’s not much. But I know how much you like dittany, so I thought…” He stopped himself, sighing in a bid to regain composure. “Look, I just - I didn’t know how to say it, either.”

Her heart stumbled and stopped.

Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, glancing away, looking suddenly uncharacteristically shy. “But if you’re mine, then I’m yours, too.”

Warmth flooded her, and then, before she could second-guess herself, she leaned in and kissed him in a moment of absolute insanity.

It was clumsy, awkward, entirely too soft.

They smiled against each other’s lips.

And for the first time all day, she was glad she lost the letter.

The kiss was nothing like the ones from the romance novels she squirreled away in her dorm. There was no perfectly choreographed moment of breathtaking passion, no swooning or instinctual spark.

It was clumsy - a little too eager, a little too uncertain, the way all first kisses tend to be.

She leaned in too quickly, and Sebastian, in his attempt to meet her halfway, nearly bumped their teeth together, and they pulled away just as swiftly.

They both froze for a half-second, faces inches apart, before quiet, nervous laughter bubbled up between them.

Sebastian let out a soft, breathless chuckle, shaking his head as his forehead brushed against hers. “We’re terrible at this.”

She grinned, biting her lip. “Truly awful.”

Sebastian hummed, still holding the dittany hair clip between them like some ridiculous peace offering.

“Maybe we should try again.” He murmured, his voice quieter now, more certain. “I'm a good study, you know.”

Her breath hitched.

Ah, there was the swooning.

And then - slowly this time - she tilted her chin up, closing the space between them once more. Sebastian met her gently, no more rushed movements, no hesitations; just the soft, uncertain press of lips, the quiet warmth of finally, finally knowing. He sighed against her mouth, content, and she felt his hand find her waist, the touch featherlight, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold her yet.

So she grabbed his wrist and placed it there herself.

Sebastian smiled into the kiss, tilting his head just slightly, deepening it for a lingering moment before pulling away.

She barely had time to catch her breath before he bumped his nose against hers, deliberately this time, teasing, affectionate.

He spoke against her mouth, voice warm and endearingly unsteady, “I think we just got a little better at it.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, her cheeks aching from how hard she was smiling.

“I suppose we’ll have to keep practicing.” She mused.

Sebastian’s grin turned positively wolfish. “You do know how I like to tutor.”

She rolled her eyes, nudging his shoulder, but she didn’t let go of him.

Didn’t step away.

Didn’t pull back.

She just stood there with him, forehead resting against his, her hands still tangled in his robes, his thumb brushing slow circles against her hip.

The lost letter forgotten.

The ridiculous day worth it after all.

And as Sebastian finally shyly tucked the enchanted dittany clip into her hair, she thought…

MC stared blankly at the boy in front of her. The gaudy purple and white bouquet he was quite literally shoving in her face with his shaking hand, eager for her to accept, tickled her nose and throat.

She was allergic to hyacinths.

If that wasn't annoying enough, she didn't even know this sweaty, anxious Hufflepuff's name. He'd ambushed her immediately outside her Common Room, only to thrust the offensive offering out with a nervous, "Good morning, MC."

Weeks ago, she would have been flattered by the sweet, spontaneous act. Now, after having suffered countless encounters of a similar nature since beginning sixth year, her patience had worn thin.

"Hyacinths make me break out in a rash - sorry." She said flatly, spinning on her heel and rushing away before he could reply.

She did not want to hear his stuttering apologies, excuses, and flattery that would undoubtedly follow her rejection. It felt rather cold, to turn down his gift so bluntly, but she had long since lost the patience to coddle each and every hopeful suitor who crawled from the woodwork, seeking the affections of the Hero of Hogwarts.

Unbeknownst to her, Sebastian Sallow was also waiting for her outside the Common Room. Having witnessed the entire, pathetic exchange from his spot casually leaning against the far wall of the corridor, he pushed off and made to catch up with her - a task made quick thanks to his significantly longer stride.

"Rather than the Hero of Hogwarts, I'm starting to suspect that you endeavor to be known as the Shrew of Hogwarts." He chuckled, falling into stride beside his exasperated companion.

She offered a mocking bark of a laugh in response, rolling her eyes. "Only you would find such humor in my suffering, Sebastian."

"Suffering? I must admit, I'm rather envious of you -  droves of strapping young lads falling all over themselves just for the opportunity to carry your books and shower you with gifts. Bet they'd pay a galleon just to have you cast a smile their way." Sebastian said, nudging her with his elbow. "Actually, as your friend, I'm beginning to wonder if there's a business opportunity for me somewhere in all this..."

"Oh? So not only will you make light of my misery, but you now intend to sell me? Am I your whore rather than your friend?" The edge in her tone warned him he was pushing her a bit too far this morning.

"Nothing says you can't be both." With a cheeky grin, he risked one final jab before nonchalantly draping his arm across her shoulders and pulling her close. "A bit of breakfast ought to fix up that notorious temper of yours. Let's get you fed and back in good spirits, eh? We need you on your best behavior if you're to keep our clients, er, suitors coming back for more."

She groaned, deflated, and entirely too drained to continue their banter. Letting Sebastian wheel them both along to the Great Hall, she did feel immense appreciation for his company - the swarms of hopeful admirers were not nearly as bold in the face of Sebastian's domineering presence. She could typically relax by his side.

Typically.

Until breakfast was over, and Sebastian was deep in a heated debate with Ominis over whether or not the Giant Squid actually consumed a diet entirely of toast. They'd heard a rumor that the Headmaster's house elf, Scrope, had been seen by the cove feeding it like a common house cat.

Seeing a window of opportunity while her guard dog was distracted, Everett Clopton wasted no time at all swooping in. Mindlessly collecting her books from the table and getting ready to ask her peers if they could stop arguing about mollusks so they could get to Charms on time, the words fell silent on her tongue when her belongings were snatched without warning from her hands. She turned, startled, to find Everett smiling confidently down at her.

"Thought we could walk to Charms together since it's the only class I have with you this year. I miss our little chats!" He said cheerfully.

"Perhaps if you weren't still in the beginner's flying class, you might find yourself with more time for actual studies, Clopton. I can carry my books on my own - I wouldn't want you tiring your arms before Kogawa's lesson." She said, probably a bit too rudely, but her tolerance was thread-bare.

This was certainly not the first time an inexplicably presumptuous young man had ripped something from her hands without asking - it wasn't even in the first dozen times that month. She struggled to recall the last time she'd carried anything for herself since term began. She felt downright infantile, coddled to the point these insufferable escorts refused to allow her to even open doors for herself.

Everett opened his mouth, likely to insist as was so often the case, until he caught sight of something over MC's shoulder and paled.

"I'll be taking those off your hands now, Clopton." Sebastian's voice came coolly from behind her, and she barely contained a shiver when his body brushed briefly against her side to claim her textbooks.

"R-right, of course. Thought you were busy, Sallow." Everett choked out. Trying to save a bit of face, he turned to MC with an uneasy smile and asked, "See you in class?"

"You know, it's funny. You seem like a helpful chap, Clopton. As it so happens, I've been looking for someone to help me test out a new hex I discovered in the Restricted Section." Sebastian's warning tone wiped what was left of the smile from Everett's face, and the poor boy took off without another word, tail between his legs.

"Sebastian, that was uncalled for. He meant well. Although I must admit, your tactics are far more effective than my own." She offered him a grateful smile and held out her hands. "Thank you for that - may I have my books back now?"

Disregarding her request entirely, he added his own books to the stack in his arms and nodded for her to follow. She usually had to hurry to keep pace with him, but he matched his steps with hers this morning. Unsure why, she found herself fighting to keep down an unwelcome blush. The butterflies in her stomach must have just been from stress.

When they escaped the chaotic bustle of the Great Hall, Sebastian shook his head and laughed bitterly, "How are you not cursing every single one of these fools? It's insulting the way they approach you  - so full of themselves, acting like they own you. Then all it takes is one small implication of a threat, and they're practically pissing their trousers. Everyone wants a piece of the Hero of Hogwarts, but none of them have the spine to stand by your side."

This was surprising. Sure, Sebastian could be blunt and rude even on his best days, but the angry flush on his serious face while he ranted showed that he was actually upset. It was rare for him to truly become riled and rarer still to see him dwell on things he found unsavory.

"It's unlike you to be so mean-spirited. Besides, this has been going on all year. What's got your knickers in a twist over someone as innocuous as Clopton?" She asked, curious.

"It's not just Clopton." He sighed, shaking his head. "Sometimes it feels like the entire school is out for a piece of you. I'm annoyed just watching from the sidelines - I can't imagine the toll it's been taking on you."

Warm affection flooded her chest at her best friend's concern for her well-being. For as much of a bastard as he could sometimes be, at the end of the day, she knew she could always rely on him to understand her.

"Frankly, it's amazing anyone even lets me pick out my own wardrobe at this point. Feels like I'm not allowed to simply be anymore." She lamented.

"You do understand this is all because they intend to court you, right? They're pursuing you seriously." He asked slowly.

She balked, turning toward him abruptly while they walked, "Of course I know that - it's what makes the whole thing worse. They all think know they what I want and what's best for me. It's infuriating. Thankfully, I at least have you, Sebastian. Don't know what I'd do if you ever lost your head."

Sebastian stopped suddenly, causing her to crash face-first into his back. She squeaked indignantly, rubbing her nose and glaring up at him when he spun around and grabbed her shoulders, looking at her with a strange expression.

She knew that look. She didn't like that look. It always meant mischief.

"You're right. They don't know what you like. None of them do. I, however, am the perfect man to fill such an illustrious position." That charming smile and the way he said it like he'd realized something incredible made her apprehensive.

"I'm not quite sure what you're implying." She waited for him to elaborate.

"Who else has the backbone and, let's be honest, the right to stand confidently by your side? Of course it's me." He jabbed a thumb into his chest to punctuate the statement. "I'm tossing my hat into the ring as well. I'd be an idiot to simply watch as the rest of these buffoons drooled over you. Waste of your time when we could just be spending our days together like we always do."

Processing, she cocked her head to the side. It almost sounded like Sebastian was informing her of his genuine intention to woo her. That couldn't possibly be the case, however. They'd been thick as thieves since she arrived nearly a year and a half ago, and he'd taken great joy in mocking her for all her would-be romantic partners. If she was mistaken in her assumption, he'd never let her hear the end of it.

'You actually thought that I would offer to court you?' She could practically hear his mocking laughter in her head.

So she settled on the most reasonable explanation.

"So you honestly believe that if you pretend to be serious about me, romantically I mean, that it'll scare off the rest of my suitors? That's an absurd plan, even by your standards, Sebastian. Part of me thinks that you expect to get even more sick enjoyment out of my misfortune if you can actively participate in it, rather than simply watching." She said, expecting him to laugh and try to convince her.

He didn't laugh, however. Rather, the corners of his mouth turned down ever so slightly, a flicker of hurt flashing across his features. Then the odd look vanished and was replaced by another one of his signature grins.

"Very well. I see I have my work cut out for me - starting to feel a bit sympathetic toward the other lads. Fear not, though. I shan't let my intended be without my company for even a moment." He answered jovially, shifting the tall stack of books into the crook of his arm so that he could use the other to loop through the crook of her elbow, keeping her arm pinned tight to him while they walked to class.

-

If Sebastian was joking about seeking her favor, he was making an impressive show of things. True to his word, he spent weeks glued to her side even more than usual. The only times she was without her ever-present companion were in the lavatory and her dorm bed - and even then he'd repeatedly attempted to coax her into sneaking him into her room, insisting it would send a message to anyone who saw then waking up together.

As much as she loathed to say it, this new and overbearing side of Sebastian annoyed her. She grew more exhausted with his antics by the day, and even though he'd succeeded in keeping quite literally everyone else far away from her, she simply couldn't be pleased with the circumstances of their new avoidance.

Having Sebastian dote on her so affectionately made her accept a rather nauseating truth - she was in love with him.

The way he remained so unaffected by their flirtations drove her wild, to the point she would rather be drowning in love letters and praise from strangers again than face the beautiful torture that was allowing the object of her desire to continue unknowingly toying with her emotions. He was entirely ignorant to the impact his every miniscule word and touch held over her very being, and she couldn't help the utter pining consuming her.

Then, she felt quite bitter. For all his bravado and the way he complimented her looks and character, how he seethed when anyone approached her who he deemed unworthy, she wanted to ask, "If I'm so desirable, why don't you claim me for yourself?"

That would be mortifying, however. The sheer thought of exposing her candid feelings to him like that - opening herself up for rejection - left her feeling naked and insecure. Like a coward, however, she continued suffering silently while he wore down her mental state further and further every moment of the day by feigning interest.

The final straw came when she woke to a small box on her nightstand. The package was a deep lilac - her favorite color, and the sprig of Dittany fastened into the bow was a unique gesture. When she lifted it, a note fluttered onto the floor, and she went to pick it up, but a loud banging on her door made her jump and nearly drop the lovely gift.

"Rise and shine, princess. I'm starving!" Sebastian's brash voice rudely called through from the other side of the door while he continued impatiently knocking his fist against it.

Only at times like this, when they were alone, would he behave in a way she was familiar with. The Sebastian Sallow waiting for her in the hall was the real one - obnoxious and crass, comfortable enough in her presence to treat her as an extension of himself who he didn't need to perform in front of. Not the one who pulled out chairs and carried her over mud puddles like something precious.

She stared down at the box in her lap thoughtfully. Someone clearly knew her well enough to know her favorite color and plant - it was sweet and genuine. Nothing at all like the other impersonal things she'd been buried in from those who wanted her but didn't want her.

Sebastian increased the volume with which he pounded on her door.

"Merlin's bloody balls, you're insufferable. I'll be out in a moment, you intolerable bastard." She shouted, unable to bite back the grin when she heard him laugh loudly at her retort.

Sebastian was not a patient person, and so she wasted no time in tossing on a fresh set of clothes and haphazardly smoothing her hair with a brush. So intent on leaving before he could continue his harassment, she decided to head out without the perfume she typically wore. One day without it wouldn't be the end of the world, as much as she enjoyed the fragrance.

Swinging the door open, Sebastian's fist nearly collided with her face, hand poised to begin relentlessly banging against the wood again. She stared up at him, exasperated, before shaking her head and pushing past to march down the stairs. He trailed after her, cackling.

"You're in a mood already, I see. Rough night? Bet you'd sleep better with some company." He teased, and she could practically picture the way he was most certainly wiggling his eyebrows at the innuendo.

"Think you're clever, do you?" She scoffed.

"What's that you've got there?" Taking his place by her side, he made a grab for the purple gift box, and she yanked it out of the way.

"Gift from an admirer. I found it on my nightstand this morning."

Sebastian scowled, looking appalled. "He was in your room? I'm not even allowed in your room."

"I didn't allow him in my room, you pig. It was simply waiting for me there when I woke up. It's actually kind of sweet when you think about it. They know my favorite color and flower. I can't wait to see what's inside." She said dreamily, ignoring the way Sebastian feigned a gagging noise.

"Sounds more like a louse than an admirer. Sneaking into a girl's bedroom, uninvited. Ought to find whoever it is and hex them. Did they leave a note?"

"They did, but unfortunately, I left it behind as I was trying to appease my rather childish friend this morning."

"Pity. I would like to know who I need to put in their place today." He glowered, hand unconsciously sliding into his robe pocket to paw at his wand.

"Oh, enough of that, Sebastian. Aren't you tired of pretending to fawn over me yet? I'm certainly bored with the charade. Maybe this one is actually worth my time." She answered harshly, trying to push back the sour taste the words left on her tongue.

He remained silent after that, stalking along dejectedly beside her. Wondering if she'd scolded him too much, she almost felt guilty until he still chose to wind his arm around her waist and tug her firmly against him while they walked to breakfast. His body felt warmer today, she thought, and she allowed herself to relish in the softness of his hold and the deliciously potent smell of his cologne. She was glad to have left her perfume off that morning, knowing that she would instead smell like Sebastian the remainder of the day.

Seated next to each other, Sebastian continued sulking petulantly by her side. Deciding that the best time to open her gift would be while the sarcastic boy was choosing to bite his tongue, she gently placed it on the table in front of her and loosened the bow.

She could feel Sebastian staring at her while she lifted the lid - it seemed he, too, was curious as to what this particular surprise had in store.

"Chocolates?" She asked no one in particular, perplexed and a bit disappointed.

Sebastian snorted but had the good grace to try covering it up with a cough.

Six chocolate truffles were neatly arranged in the little box. While they certainly did look exquisite as far as confections went, it felt rather dispassionate compared to the consideration the sender had put into the packaging.

Still, it was a thoughtful gift nonetheless, and while chocolate may not have been her favorite treat, she could still appreciate having a bit of dessert to start the day.

Bringing one to her lips, she opened to pop it inside her mouth.

Until Sebastian's hand came flying at her face with absolutely no warning, swatting her hand roughly and knocking the truffle to the floor. She sat there staring between the piece of chocolate on the floor and her struck hand before turning to glare at him, livid.

"And just what the fuck was that about? I know you're in a shit mood since we bickered, but that was immature even by your standards."

"Ha! How about I make you eat that accusation instead of the nasty garbage you just tried to consume." He retorted, and when she gave him a confused frown, he continued, "Go ahead and give one a sniff - don't you dare put it in your mouth, though. I'll pry your jaws open like a dog."

Still baffled beyond all comprehension, she obediently brought another chocolate to her face and inhaled deeply.

"I can't smell anything. What's got you so bothered? Are they spoiled?" She asked.

Groaning, Sebastian gestured impatiently with his hand. "Close your eyes and give it another go."

She did.

Nothing.

"Perhaps you could move back from me for a moment? Your cologne is especially pungent today. It's all I can smell - probably why I'm not picking up on the chocolate."

Sebastian stilled instantly and simply stared at her, gaping. Lost for words, he took an uncomfortably long moment simply attempting to find his voice again, making a sort of funny, choking noise before what he wanted to say finally graced him with its presence.

Softly, he bent his head down to whisper to her, "They're spiked with Amortentia, darling. That's why you can't have them. Someone's tried to drug you."

Like she'd been burned, MC dropped the second piece of chocolate and shoved the box into the center of the table, looking aghast.

"Incendio!" She set the vile box aflame and launched herself off the bench, intent on getting as far from it as possible while it smoldered.

Mortified and frightened, she still picked up on the fact that Sebastian, always so loyal even after she'd lashed out at him, was instantly by her side as they made their way out of the Great Hall together. Shameful tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she furiously wiped at her face, hell-bent on not allowing her emotions to get the better of her over something so ridiculous.

"Hey, easy now. Slow down for a moment." Sebastian caught her wrist gently and pulled her back to him, letting her bury her face into his chest.

He wasted no time at all wrapping his arms around her frame, shushing her gently. His intention was to prevent her from crying, but the tenderness with which he treated her only served to make the task that much harder and she worked to maintain a steady breathing pattern, taking comfort in his scent.

They were standing in the middle of one of the staircases leading to the dungeons. He repositioned them carefully so that she was against the wall, shielding her in case of any passers-by. When he was certain she had successfully contained her burgeoning distress, he pulled back just slightly and nudged her chin up with a finger so that she would look at him.

"There's my girl. Nerves of steel, as always." He smiled fondly at her, but she frowned.

"Oh, please don't mock me right now, Sebastian." Her voice came out thick and cracked, still trying to maintain composure.

His expression softened further, almost apologetic.

"I'm not mocking you. You're the one who was nearly poisoned, yet I'm barely holding it together. Frankly, you're handling this magnificently." He praised, and she could now see that he, too, looked positively beside himself. "Gods, I can't believe you nearly ate that - and right under my nose. I got careless, I'm sorry."

"You? Careless? Sebastian, if it hadn't been for you, who knows what manner of horrid things I might be doing right now. You saved me. I owe you a great debt."

"You owe me nothing, you silly thing. I'm your best friend, and it is my privilege to keep you from harm." He said earnestly, but then his reassuring smile turned to something akin to amusement. "Particularly now that I know you can't smell a simple love potion if I'm in your vicinity."

There it was, the unfortunate detail she'd hoped he would be kind enough to ignore - at least to spare her feelings. Life could never be so easy with Sebastian, however, and she knew damn well he wasn't going to let something that juicy slip.

Flushed brilliantly red, from the tips of her ears to under her clothing, she still met his gaze fearlessly and challenged, "Yeah? So what of it? I smell your cologne in Amortentia. Have since we brewed it in Potions last year."

His eyes widened at the unexpected boldness of her statement, and he wondered just how far he could push her. "You smell my cologne, do you? What else?"

Never one to back down, she continued with more determination than before, "I smell smoke and char - like when you taught me the Blasting Curse. It's probably because it's your favorite spell. Also old books, like the ones you enjoy absconding with from the library."

Sebastian's grin only widened, and he pressed her even further. "You know what it means to associate Amortentia with a specific person?"

"Well, if I'm literate enough to read Sharp's assigned notes on the matter, it means I'm in love with you, unbearable bastard that you are. Why that happens to be is far beyond me, though. I mustn't be in my right mind." She grinned back, daring him to tease her anymore. Honestly, it felt freeing to tell him.

Laughing loudly, Sebastian ruffled her hair affectionately. "Gods, you're just not cute at all, are you? Any other girl would be a mess of tears and shame if their affections were discovered in such a way, but not you, eh?

"Any other boy would be wondering who mixed Felix Felicis into his morning pumpkin juice to have me confessing my affections like this, yet here you stand wholly unconcerned." She quipped.

"We make quite a pair, you and I." Bending down so that his lips brushed against the shell of her ear, Sebastian delighted in the heat radiating from her face before he whispered, "Aren't you curious how I knew it was Amortentia? What I could smell in it?"

She stilled, a thrill running through her as she debated whether or not she actually did want to know the answer.

"I swear, I'll use my ancient magic on you if you say it was Samantha Dale's shampoo."

Pulling back to laugh wholeheartedly, gripping his sides, he mimed wiping a tear from his eye. His broad smile settled on something unfamilar then - vulnerability.

"You're not wearing perfume today. I noticed as soon as you left your room. You didn't put any on, yet all I could smell permeating from that wretched box was the absolutely intoxicating floral you're always wearing." He said, holding her gaze as he spoke. "Then, the subtle tang of Wiggenweld. You always keep a few on hand because you're such a bloody menace."

"And the third note you picked up?" She asked hopefully, voice hardly above a whisper.

Sebastian took a lock of her hair between his fingers and brought it to his lips, kissing the silken strands before continuing. "The Forbidden Forest always lingers here, in your hair, even long after you've come home from one of your adventures - that was there too."

Speechless. That's what she was, for the first time in her life. She searched his face for any hint of his usual teasing and came up dry. She swallowed thickly, nodding her acknowledgment and dumbstruck into silence. He laughed again, clearly enjoying the sight of her so flustered because of him.

"Now that that's out of the way, how about we deal with this unsavory suitor of yours. Then you can finally start taking my attempts to court you seriously. It was a rather large hit to my ego that you thought I was playing around."

Sputtering, she choked out, "Y-you were actually - "

"Afraid so. The whole time, in fact. And you thought I couldn't keep a secret." He winked, tucking her hair back behind her ear and leaning down to kiss her cheek.

The unexpectedly bold act stirred her from her stupor, and she said simply, "I'm an idiot. Why didn't you correct the misunderstanding? It's uncharacteristic of you to remain quiet about much of anything."

"Can you blame me for being nervous in front of the girl I fancy? In fact, I'm still a bundle of nerves at this very moment." He confessed, holding a hand out to prove to her he was shaking.

She reached up to lace her fingers through his, pulling his hand down to her lips to kiss gently along his knuckles, earning a fond sigh from him.

"What's this? The Sebastian Sallow - actually nervous?" She stared up at him mischeviously, stepping forward impossibly closer and dropping their joined hands to the side, so there was nothing blocking her from pressing herself against him, staring up prettily through her eyelashes. He swallowed thickly.

"Perhaps nervous wasn't the right word choice. I'm simply terrified beyond all measure that you'll wake up tomorrow and realize you've made a terrible mistake in choosing me." He admitted weakly.

Unable to wait another moment, she reached her arm up and curled it around the back of his neck, tangling her fingers in his soft hair and pulling him down to crash her lips against his, startling them both by her brazen behavior. Still, Sebastian's nerves melted away in a primal need to take control - he couldn't possibly allow her to manhandle him that way when he should be the one making her swoon.

Shaking his hand free from hers, he moved one to slam against the wall next to her head, the other gripped firmly to her waist, rubbing tantalizing circles into her hip bone with his thumb. When he slid his tongue across her bottom lip, he grinned deviously at her gasp and snaked the wet appendage inside her mouth, groaning when she kissed back with just as much fervor.

He worried he may have pushed her too far when, after lowering the hand on her hip to play with the waistband of her skirt, she pulled away abruptly.

His concerns were short-lived however when she panted out, "Fucking hell, Sebastian. The Undercroft is too far away. Or did you intend to take me on the stairs for all to see?"

"In a hurry, are you? And here I thought I could take my time ravaging you. Guess I'm not the impatient one in this relationship." He said wickedly, but they both knew the truth of the matter was that they were both impossibly eager to sneak away.

"If I don't get you to myself, and soon, I'm going to shamelessly sully both our reputations right here and now." She said, heated.

That was all he needed to spring into action. Earning a startled yelp from MC, he scooped her up by the midsection and tossed her over his shoulder, keeping a hand firmly planted on her ass while she clawed at his back like a cat demanding to be put down.

"I'm your girlfriend, not a sack of potatoes." She whined.

"Remind me later not to kill the lad who attempted to poison you. We do owe him that much for helping you finally see the light." He laughed louder still when she scoffed, grumbling something about how the culprit should be so lucky as to suffer a quick demise.

-

Valentine's Day at Hogwarts was always synonymous with chaos - even more so for its most famous student.

The very worst day, very worst several months, actually, of her life had been viewed through the scope of achievement heroism by the rest of the wizarding world. Rather than the most traumatic event in all her years, she received sparse few sympathetic words and instead suffered through congratulations.

Worse still were the marriage proposals.

Letter after letter poured in regularly each and every meal without fail, her peers always casting a curious glance to see which family was requesting a new daughter-in-law that day.

It was mortifying and insulting and exhausting.

Her poor owl had even long since grown weary of sending rejection replies.

Her initially polite responses of -

I'd simply like to focus on my studies for now, no thank you, but I am flattered by your consideration.

Eventually morphed into increasingly curt answers, like -

No.

And finally -

Respectfully, I would sooner lick troll dung than sign my name to your family registry.

Replies in the latter manner generally received Howlers in response, and no one was more gleeful about those incidents than the only boy who was not a perpetual thorn in her side.

At least not in the romantic sense, because he was still a pain in the ass.

Sebastian Sallow, presently seated across from her at a back table inside Mrs. Steepley's tea shop was making a poor attempt at stifling his snickers at her unending plight. The infamous day of romance had grown so unbearable that morning, what with her being ceaselessly badgered with compliments and candies and frivolous adoration, that Sebastian had taken pity on her and dragged her into Hogsmeade in a flurry to escape it all.

The inevitable detention for skipping an entire day of classes in favor of their excursion would be well worth it, and she had been grateful for his ability to perceive her discomfort with all the fuss.

Until they took their seats, and he'd started laughing at her.

"Really, Sebastian. I don't think it's all that funny. I'm genuinely suffering." She said, disapproving.

Again, Sebastian snorted in his attempts to not laugh quite so blatantly. "Oh, yes, how terrible it must be for you to drown in affection and gifts. I could almost shed a tear for you, poor thing."

She rolled her eyes, but smiled.

"You're only so happy about it because you know I'll give you all those chocolates to gorge yourself on."

Shamelessly, Sebastian nodded and took a bite of his cookie, excited at the prospect of a future filled with chocolate frogs and ill-gotten sweets. "Always. Sometimes I wonder when they'll learn you don't even like candy, but at the same time, I hope they never do as I will continue reaping the rewards."

"You expect this to continue? Merlin, I hope not. Maybe I really should get married to drive home the point once and for all that I'm not interested." She replied simply.

Sebastian choked, crumbs flying out of his mouth across the table. Despite her disgust at having spittle and chewed cookie land in her tea, she swiftly stood and rounded the table to pat his back.

"Swallowing your food is generally accepted as best practice when eating, rather than inhaling your solids." She soothed, voice saccharine while rubbing circles on his back.

Tears formed in Sebastian's eyes while he tried simultaneously to yell at her, breathe, and not laugh and risk death by pastry once again. Before he could speak, however, a voice cut through over his gasps and her teasing remarks.

"Young romance is so sweet to see. You two lovebirds stay the day, if you like. I won't tell your Headmaster you snuck away together. Such a cute couple..." Mrs. Steepley crooned wistfully from her counter, watching them with sickening affection before one of her kettles whistled, and she busied herself with that instead of prying.

"A cute couple? I think I'd rather she rat us out to Black than continue spewing sap. I'll lose my appetite at this rate." MC said, resting her hand on Sebastian's shoulder now that he'd calmed down.

Touch wasn't something unfamiliar between the two, but heat rose to her cheeks when he placed his hand on top of hers and looked up with a slight smile that was not at all teasing.

It was... fond?

The moment felt far more intimate than their usual touches somehow, and the rosy hue blossoming uncontained on her cheeks only made her more flustered because surely he saw it just as plainly as she felt it.

It must have just been the romantic atmosphere and all the absurd talk of courtship because there was no way this moment was anything besides platonic -

"What's so wrong with being called a cute couple? I happen to think we're a perfect pair, but I'm curious what descriptor you prefer be used for us." He said, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

"...us?" She asked blankly.

"What's got you all flustered? Yes, of course, us. I know you're not much for public sentimentality, but it's been nearly two years as a couple? You have to admit we're at least cute sneaking out of the castle together like this on Valentine's Day." Sebastian answered, amused, and gave her hand an affectionate little squeeze.

She blinked, rooted to the spot and nothing in her head but panic.

Two years? A couple? When had he asked? When had she said yes? They hadn't even kissed, for Merlin's sake! Was this a fever dream? Perhaps his tea had been spiked. Or hers.

What in the hell was happening?

Sebastian's expression contorted into concern, and he reached up to brush the back of his hand against her cheek.

"You're pale. What's wrong? Do you need to sit down?" He fussed, not hesitating to get out of his seat and plop her into it.

She simply let him guide her there, still raking through every interaction they'd ever had since they'd met in fifth year, trying to discern where this incredible disconnect took place. He remained kneeling beside her, searching her face for any hint of what was wrong.

Always so doting - it's why she appreciated having him by her side. He was always such a lovely friend.

Or more? The lines had blurred somewhere, surely.

After coming up empty on precisely when that had happened, she blurted out, "Are we dating, Sebastian?"

Now, it was his turn to freeze, stunned speechless.

He recovered much faster, however, brows furrowed and lips slightly downturned. "Is this... a trick question, darling?"

Darling. He did always call her that. When did it start, though?

"No, I'm asking you outright. Are we dating?" She insisted firmly, holding his gaze and trying to ignore the way her heart hammered against her ribcage.

"Y-yes?" He replied, voice cracking with uncertainty.

"Is that a question?"

"It shouldn't be, but I must admit you've got me a bit concerned. You've been my girlfriend since fifth year -"

"Since fifth year?! Have I really?!" She exclaimed, cutting him off and feeling faint.

"What in the hell do you mean have you really? Of course you have. Where is this all coming from? If you're breaking up with me, feigning amnesia is an awfully strange way to -"

She cut him off again, voice raising an octave. "I can't break up with someone I didn't even know I was seeing! When did this even start? Sebastian, I'm not feigning anything, I genuinely don't remember you asking."

They locked eyes, both wholly flabbergasted by the other. Sebastian looked offended while she was utterly mortified.

"... Perhaps I've been inexplicably and wildly presumptuous, but I had assumed it was more of an unspoken, mutually understood arrangement. Holding hands in the halls, always having my arm around you in the library, weekly dates to Hogsmeade, how you've rejected every other person without so much as batting an eye?" He spoke to her slowly, like he was explaining a very basic concept to a toddler.

She felt like a toddler, with how positively mystified she was by what had just been unveiled.

"Well, assumptions abound, I suppose, because I assumed you were just, I don't know, affectionate with all your friends." The words felt dumb leaving her mouth, and reality began setting in.

She'd never been in a relationship before. Or maybe she had? For well over a year, apparently. Gods, was she really that brainless?

Sebastian let out a strangled laugh, looking a bit pale now himself. "Well, I'm not exactly going around kissing Ominis on the cheek and holding his hand through the village. Did you really not know?"

"A kiss on the cheek and some hand-holding can easily be misconstrued as platonic! I-I kiss Poppy on the cheek all the time!" She defended weakly, increasingly unsure of how the world even worked anymore at this point.

It was like the entire floor opened beneath her feet, and she continued on in disbelief. "I am clearly not the expert, but aren't couples supposed to do quite a bit more than that? We've never even properly kissed!"

Now it was Sebastian's turn to go on the defensive, freckled cheeks burning brightly. "I just thought you were an especially chaste girl! You've always wanted to focus on your studies, I figured I'd take what I could get for now, and we'd get to the rest when you were ready. I could wait until the wedding to kiss you if I absolutely had to."

"The wedding?!" This was it. The most unholy, bizarre day of her entire life.

Goblins, curses, certain death? Easy. She could manage that with her eyes closed. Whatever the hell this was? She wanted to rip her hair out and scream.

Nothing made sense.

"You're honestly telling me that someone who's capable of spotting a snidget nest in a thicket can't even see when someone's in love with her? Either you need your head examined by Blainey, or I'm the greatest failure of a boyfriend there's ever been." Exasperated, Sebastian looked equally ready to throttle her.

They stared at each other in disbelief, mouths agape and faces bright red trying to reconcile how unimaginably fucked up this had all been.

And then, Sebastian snorted out another laugh.

She followed suit.

Before long, they were both slumped over each other at the little table in tears and gasping for air as they devolved into a shared fit of hysterical laughter at how absurd it all was. Both dense as ever, on opposite ends of the spectrum of idiocy.

Tea and snacks long forgotten during the conversation, Sebastian calmed himself first and remained knelt on the ground beside her chair. He took her hands and brought them to her lap, where he gave another affection squeeze, looking up at her with that boyish grin she enjoyed so much.

His face was still flushed, and his shaking hands in her own betrayed just how nervous he was despite the confidence he tried exuding.

"Let me ask you very clearly, and trust me when I say I intend to leave absolutely no room for misunderstanding. I'm not asking you to simply go on a date or be my Valentine." He started, lips still turned up in that crooked smile. "I need to know if you're mine."

Sharply exhaling through her nose, she regarded him for a long moment, considering.

Dating Sebastian wasn't such a ridiculous notion, she realized. He was safety and warmth personified, a perpetual source of joy in her life, and when she truly, truly thought about the future - he was the only person she could picture.

There'd always been love there in every little interaction.

Catching each other's eyes in the corridors and smiling, almost instinctively. How their hands always found each other's when they walked together. Late nights propped against each other, comfortably reading and feeling like he was simply a natural extension of herself. How his touch and presence always felt far more comfortable than the absence of it - he really was home to her.

Even today, when Sebastian simply saw her in distress and whisked her away to town without a care for the consequences. How even the most baffling misunderstandings never ended in arguments, but laughter.

"Well, I think you were correct, actually. I've been yours this whole time, haven't I?" She replied eventually, the words feeling perfectly right as they left her. "Shall we just consider today a lapse in judgment on my part? Maybe temporary insanity?"

Sebastian smiled brightly, letting his head fall to her lap to kiss her hands gently before looking back up at her with a grin.

"Temporary? You've always had a few screws loose - it's how you caught my eye in the first place." He teased. "Tell me something, though. Now that you are aware of me, my observant witch, has anything changed?"

That was certainly something to consider.

Sebastian, considerate as he was, never once questioned or pushed her preconceived boundaries, simply accepting she wasn't ready for anything beyond the most innocent of gestures.

But knowing what she knew now...

"I... feel inclined to reward you for your, frankly, inhuman patience. You are my first boyfriend, after all. I think that sort of love comes with a few benefits beyond mere hand-holding." She replied softly.

Sebastian's grin broadened, and he released one of her hands, reaching up to tug playfully at a loose strand of her hair.

"First? Maybe. But also last. And only." He pulled her hair with gentle insistence, coaxing her head down toward him, craning his own neck upward, until they were a breath apart. "Now, care to explore another first with me? If you're rewarding me, I already have something in mind."

Her reply, which was going to be a resounding and enthusiastic yes, was muffled when Sebastian very impatiently released that lock of her hair to slip his hand around the back of her head so that he could simply hold her in place when his lips finally met hers without warning.

The sensation, while new, still felt right. Sebastian's lips, soft and playful just like him, slotted against against hers perfectly. Barely a moment passed before she fell into sync with him, her hand laced through his still in her lap, while he kissed every thought in her head away.

His tongue probed hesitantly along her bottom lip, her mouth parting eagerly to accept him. He swallowed the startled squeak she let loose when he tasted her, and she could taste him in turn - all chocolate and mint tea. She loathed sweets, but the flavor was intoxicated on him. The low chuckle he offered in return had her knees weak, and she was glad to be seated.

Fingers tangling into her hair, he continued deepening the kiss, pulling her into him and seeing what other pretty noises he could draw from her.

For the briefest moment, she allowed herself a painful moment of realization that they could have been enjoying this all along instead of innocently reading together or walking through the forest gathering toadstools. She'd very much like to explore what else they could get up to alone...

But they weren't alone, as evidenced by Mrs. Steepley loudly clearing her throat and dropping her tray of fresh pastries onto to display counter with a bit more force and noise than probably necessary, but it was enough to stir her two amorous patrons out of their activities.

Red-faced and breathless, they pulled away, muttering apologies and straightening themselves, shy and lightheaded.

Sebastian stood slowly on shaking legs and offered his hand, which she readily accepted, for once noticing the way they molded together in a perfect fit.

He smirked down at her, not at all apologetic.

"I think we're due for a change of scenery before she hoses us down like a pair of dogs. I'd like to take my Valentine on a date she's actually aware of now." He said playfully, cocking a brow and pulling her up.

Again, she wondered just how many dates they'd been on and how many time she could have kissed him but didn't know it was even an option.

"I think Amit is quite handsome. I suppose he'd be a good conversation partner." Natty hums as she rests her chin on the palm of her hand. Imelda looks at her with disgust.

"He'd probably love astronomy more than you in your relationship. I'd punch him on the first date." Imelda scoffs, rolling her eyes. Poppy just gives the Slytherin gal a glare for her unkind words.

The four of you were lounging in the empty Beasts classroom, relaxing in the cool breeze coming from the forest. Professor Howin had allowed the four of you (originally you and Poppy, but Imelda and Natty had passed by and decided to tag along) to stay in the classroom in hopes of teaching the new 5th year (You) more about Beasts but all you've done in the past hour is sit on one of the tables and talk about the most random of things. Now you were talking about who to date in Hogwarts.

"What about Yrma?" Poppy suggests. "She's nice."

"Stop suggesting Ravenclaws. I physically cannot handle it." Imelda grunts. You shoot her a sympathetic look to which she flips you off. "Also, she's a third year. I'd die if you pair me up with someone younger. A journalist, too, she'd know every step I'll do, and I'll just have an aneurysm because of it."

"Alright, what about Weasley?" You suggest. Natty makes a look, considering the option. Poppy sighs and shakes her head.

"Which one?" Imelda jokes, to which Natty smacks her arm. Poppy rolls her eyes before answering the question.

"He's cute but too mischievous." Poppy lists. Imelda nods, agreeing with her statement. Poppy pets the Puffskein sleeping on her lap, smiling softly at the cute creature snoring away.

"Eh. He's fun. I can probably handle him." Natty says. You let out a small laugh.

"I'll pass. He's like a brother to me. Probably because Professor Weasley acts too much like a mom." You reply. You lean closer to Poppy, glancing down at the Puffskein to coo at it.

"What about Dale? She's cute." Natty suggests. She then turns to Imelda, who looks like she'd complain once more about a Ravenclaw being listed. "Don't."

"What? I wasn't gonna say anything..."

"It's because her past lover was from Ravenclaw that she's like this." Poppy says with a disappointed look on her face. "Clumping up all Ravenclaws and putting your prejudice that was originally for one person into the general public, huh?"

"Shut it, Sweeting." Imelda glares at her.

"Alright, stop fighting. I know you'd rather date a Hufflepuff, Reyes." You tease. The Slytherin's cheeks flush, and a harsh kick to your knee sends you jolting up against the table with a pained groan. The Puffskein awakens to the sudden harsh movement and jumps off Poppy's lap.

"Imelda!" Poppy whines as she watches the Puffskein hop away to its den. "Look at what you did!"

"How'd you even know it was me?!" Imelda complains. Poppy crosses her arms over her chest.

"You're seated directly in front of Y/N. They'd never jump for no reason, and also, Natty's an angel. Besides, I could feel the kick." Poppy chastised. Imelda looks away with furrowed eyebrows and a pout as she grumbles about it, not being her fault. You look at the two with a smile.

"It's okay, Poppy, let's just continue." You send Imelda a knowing smile to which she scowls at. Natty giggles at the interaction.

"Ooh, what about Gaunt?" Natty wiggles her eyebrows. "He's a young lord. Deemed one of the most handsome in our year. I'd date him."

"Really? You'd get pulverized by his crazy blood status fanatic of a family." Imelda leans forward to place her arms on the table before leaning down to rest her head on it. "But I guess he's decent. The type to defend you against them. A typical romantic cliche."

"Doesn't he have a lover?" Poppy mentions. Imelda immediately rises up at the information.

"Oh yeah. I saw them snogging near DADA. Sebastian looked like he was constipated, muttered about when it was his turn to be happy or something." Imelda cringes at the memory. At the mention of the Sallow boy's name, Natty and Poppy glance at each other with knowing looks. Suddenly, their attention is on you.

"What about you, Y/N? Will you date Ominis?" Poppy smiles knowingly. There's something about the two's stare that puts you in an uncomfortable position.

"Uh..." You purse your lips in thought. Ominis was one of your best friends. He had been with you through thick and thin, but that's all he ever was. Besides, he was happily in love with someone else. "Not really? Same answer with Gareth's."

Natty nods in understanding. Imelda glances at the two in confusion. "Why do you two look like you're the one who's constipated?"

"Shut it, Reyes." Poppy rolls her eyes. You laugh at their bickering. At this point, there was one person who definitely should be mentioned in this conversation. He was already well known in the school for his charming personality and handsome looks. People always gossip about him. You let out a shaky breath before nervously glancing at the three.

"What about Sebastian?" You suggest. The three fall in silence, not responding to the question. It didn't even look like they were contemplating about it. "Hello? Did you not hear me or what—"

"Oh no, we heard you." Imelda chuckles as she smirks at her. When Imelda smirks, you know it's not good. "I just don't think we can claim him."

"Claim him?" You tilt your head in confusion. "You make it sound like he's already dating someone."

"Ehh..." Natty shrugs her shoulders. "Aren't you?"

"Aren't I what? Huh?" You sat, baffled at their curious looks. "I'm not dating Sebastian?"

The three look at each other before laughing. It wasn't even a casual laugh, it's full on stomach grabbing, tear inducing, I'm-gonna-pee what the fuck laugh. You look at them in confusion.

"Merlin, I can't take this seriously." Natty wipes a tear from her eyes as she continues to laugh.

"I'm really not dating him!?"

"You're so funny!" Imelda pats your shoulder. "Don't tell me kissing each other everywhere except the lips counts as friendly. Who the fuck kisses their friend on the neck?"

"Uh, she has a point." Poppy shrugs. "He walks you to class, holds your hand, and not even in a normal way. It's the intertwined one, and if looks could kill, Garreth Weasley had already been buried months ago."

"Also, he always touches you. An arm on your waist, hugging you from behind, fixing your hair, looking at you like you're the Messiah yourself." Natty lists on, continuing Poppy's evidence. Surely not?

You stare at them with wide eyes and an unreadable look. You and Sebastian had always had a strong bond. Ominis often commented about feeling left out whenever you two were together. You always thought that he was just teasing you about it. The things that you've gone through had eliminated all barriers between the two of you, so physical affection had seem normal for you. Had the line between friends and more than friends became too blurred already?

"Merlin's beard. You don't know!" Natty gasps in shock. "Rafiki, that is more than just friendship."

"But I'm really not..." You try to defend yourself, but the more that they stare at you, the more you start to realize how obvious it should've been. Before you could try and convince yourself about how ludicrous it is all, Imelda delivers the final blow.

"Love, everyone knows Sebastian is yours."

Heat rises to your cheeks, and as if things couldn't get any worse, a familiar voice calls out to your little group.

"There you are!" Sebastian Sallow, the devil himself, grins as he approches your little group with Ominis trailing behind. The three cough at his sudden appearance and you freeze in your seat.

He makes his way behind you, grasping your shoulder firmly before leaning down close to your face. "Hey, I'm here. No greeting?"

You turn your head towards him, glancing at the three girls who look away, trying to contain their laughter. You look back at Sebastian, who smiles, expecting something. You sigh, giving him a chaste kiss on his cheek. He lights up like a Christmas tree.

At the sight of affection, the three suddenly stand up, collecting their things. "O-oh I just remembered I forgot to water the chinese cabbages again, haha! Silly me! I better go get it!" Natty says with a poorly concealed smile. Sebastian looks at her, confused.

"Uh? Okay?" Sebastian awkwardly laughs. You glared at her as she grabbed Imelda and Poppy who make haste in gathering their things.

"I also have to bring them and Ominis because of ... uh... safety." Natty bullshits her way through as Imelda grabs the young Gaunt's arm, pulling him with them.

"Huh what? I didn't get a say in th—" Poppy covers his mouth as they walk away, dragging him along. Natty gives her a final thumbs up of encouragement as the two of you watch in confusion. You watch as their figures disappear before the boy beside you finally breaks the silence.

"There they go." Sebastian sighs. "I was hoping I'd get to hang out, but oh well. I don't really have complaints with just us here."

You flush at his bluntness as he sits down beside you, pulling your figure to his arms. He hugs you tightly before resting his head on your shoulder. "History of Magic felt like forever. I swear I'd never be able to stay awake in that class. Binns must've put something in the air."

You couldn't focus. He's so close.

"Lucky that you and Ominis get to share that class. At least you'd have someone to suffer with." He jokes as he raises his head. Silence engulfs you both as he stares at your face.

"Stop." You groan as you try to push his face away, but he only grasps your hand in his palm.

"Why? You look like you're about to explode." He laughs softly. You still couldn't look at him, eyes trained at the table in front of you. To make things worse, he grabs your chin before softly turning your head towards him.

"I'm talking to you. Look at me." He mumbles lowly in a deep voice. You almost wanted to whimper at how attractive that was.

"Stop doing that, I swear." You whisper as you look at him, nervousness creeping. He smirks, leaning in.

"Why? You seem so quiet today." He chuckles, pulling you closer as he tucks a stray hair away from your face. "What's got your pretty little head busy, hm?"

"You." You admit as your eyes admire his features. He lets out a soft smile.

"Me?"

"Yeah." You raise your hands to cup his cheeks. The two of you had been sitting so close that if you just lean a little bit forward, you'd be able to kiss him.

"Yeah?" He raises his eyebrows in amusement as his gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips.

"You're so annoying." You pout. He bites his lip before dropping his head on your shoulder. Your fingers then softly scratch his scalp and twirling his curls. He raises his head back up before unashamedly stares at your lips.

"I don't need to tell you what's going to happen, right?" He whispers. You gulp nervously as your arms slide up to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer.

"Mhm." You hum before placing a chaste kiss on his lips, testing the waters. He lets out a shaky breath at the sudden action. You look up at his eyes, trying to discern if what you did was okay before he grins fully and leans back down to kiss you again.

Your body unconsciously pushes against him, craving his touch. You tenderly kiss him back, hands occuppied with his soft hair. His hands rub your lower back gently as he continues to kiss you. You don't know how much time has passed before you pull away. You both smile at each other before Sebastian leans forward to give you more pecks on the lips. You giggle at his behavior.

"I like you." He whispers, nudging his nose against yours. You smile at his confession, palms now cupping his cheeks. You press a firm kiss on his lips before staring at him in adoration.

"I like you too."

A/N 1.1 : IM DEAD i love this. Also im not sure if I said friend in Swahili right ,,, lmk if its correct 🫶

“Sebastian?” Y/N’s eyebrows shot up slightly in surprise. After everything that had happened in their fifth year Y/N and Sebastian had drifted and stopped talking to one another, with the exception of the occasional hello as they passed each other in the halls. She still spoke to Ominis at times, but they didn’t spend as much time together as they used to. She knew he missed the man that stood in front of her, but wasn’t sure how to approach him after the death of Solomon Sallow. “You know you needn’t bring anything,” she shook her head with a small smile and gestured to the seat next to Poppy. “Come and sit.”

“So there was no need for me to stop and steal these from the gardens?” He produced a small bouquet of wildflowers from behind his back, and Y/N picked out some violets and different colours of verbena clusters among the bunch that would definitely get him into trouble with Mr Moon. Poppy jumped up to get a vase for them, shooting a look at Y/N behind Sebastian’s back as she went.

“These are beautiful, Sebastian. Thank you,” Y/N reached over to squeeze his hand in gratitude as Poppy returned and set them by her bedside. “Are these forget-me-nots? A happy coincidence, or…?” Y/N trailed off slowly and picked out the different flowers she could see. 

“You told me they were your favourite once, I hoped they would help cheer you up.”

“How thoughtful of you Sebastian,” Poppy commented lightly. She turned the vase slowly as she took note of the flowers scattered within the bouquet. “Did you know one of the meanings for verbena is protection and healing?” Poppy touched the petals, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she looked over at Sebastian. “Amongst other things.” A faint pink dusted his cheeks and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yes, well. The quicker Y/N gets back on her feet, the quicker she can get to doing better than me in almost every class,” he played it off with a nervous chuckle and avoided Y/N’s gaze. “It's getting a little boring being on top.”

“It’s been three lessons,” Y/N laughed quietly and turned to look back at him. “I didn’t think you would miss me so much, Sallow.” Sebastian didn’t have a response to this, and went silent. Y/N couldn’t read the look on his face; another testament to how long it had been since they really spoke. Ominis once joked she was a Legilimens, because she could practically read Sebastian’s mind and predict what he was going to say before he actually said it.

“Is that the time?” Poppy jumped up from her seat and grabbed her bag. “I’m going to be late for Potions, Professor Sharp is not going to care that I was on the opposite end of the castle.” She dug into her bag and pulled out a herbology book before handing it to Y/N. “Here’s the book I said I would lend you, you’ll find what you need in chapter seven.” With a quick wave at a confused Y/N and a still-quiet Sebastian, Poppy turned and left.

Y/N took a moment to study Sebastian, who didn’t seem to be in a rush to get to class. He had always been attractive, that much Y/N would admit to herself only, but he had really grown up in the past two years. The last of the baby fat had disappeared from his cheeks, and his jawline had become far more pronounced. His muscles had filled out as well. He had once mentioned to her, shortly after the death of his uncle and Anne had left Feldcroft, that he had taken to fixing up the house and garden there, and she couldn’t help but appreciate how he looked.

“You’re staring,” he murmured, breaking Y/N out of her train of thought. She felt her cheeks heat up and looked away from him as if he could read her thoughts plainly on her face. 

“Don’t you have class to get to?”

“Not one I care to attend,” he moved to the chair closer to her, the one Poppy had been occupying and leant back to stretch. “Not without you, anyway.” He shot her a cheeky grin and crossed his arms across his chest. 

“I didn’t realise you would miss me so much,” Y/N let out a quiet chuckle to mask the strange feeling in her chest. This was the Sebastian she remembered, the one who made her constantly question if he was flirting or not. “It’s not even been a day.”

“It’s been longer than that, Y/N,” he said seriously. “Far too long.”

“Sebastian, I’m so - ”

“You better not be about to apologise to me,” he shook his head with a dry laugh. “Not after everything I put you through.”

“You didn’t - ”

“I crucio’d you,” he interrupted once more, near hissing the word out as he leant forward. Y/N sucked in a breath at the sudden reminder of the excruciating pain. “Not to mention the path I started to lead you down. My uncle…” he trailed off, his eyes going glassy. “I didn’t - and still don’t - deserve your kindness. Anyone else would have reported me and let them send me to Azkaban.”

“Sebastian…” Y/N reached forward hesitantly and took his hands in hers. “I forgive you. I forgave you before you even raised your wand. I told you to cast the spell on me.”

“You have to mean it to cast an unforgivable, Y/N. It wouldn’t have worked - I wouldn’t have been able to hurt you if I didn’t mean it.”

“If you hadn’t we would have been dead a long time ago. You, me and Ominis. You did what you had to in order to get us out.”

“How can you still defend me after everything that I’ve done?” his grip tightened before he let go and leant back in his seat once more. “I came here to make sure you were alright and here you are, making sure I’m alright.” He let out another humourless chuckle and looked at the cards and chocolates by the bedside. “Looks like our whole house has stopped by to see you.”

“Sebastian…” Y/N trailed off, unsure what to say to him. His sudden change in topic signalled he didn’t wish to continue the previous conversation, but she couldn’t let him keep blaming himself for everything that happened.  

“Has Imelda stopped by?” He continued as if she hadn’t spoken and plucked one of the cards from the table. 

“Between you and Poppy you would think Imelda tried to actively kill me,” Y/N rolled her eyes and settled back against her pillows. “It was an accident, and she did stop by. The hamper is from her.” She gestured to the largest present on the table, a giant basket from Honeydukes. 

“Maybe I should let Reyes knock me off my broom, if that’s how she says sorry,” Sebastian let out a low whistle and picked up another card. “Is this from Ominis?” his eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I didn’t realise you two still spoke.”

“Not as often as I’d like, but we chat occasionally when paired together in class.” She watched as he read the message on the card and cocked her head to the side slightly. “Have…have you spoken to him recently?”

“No. Not in a way that matters, anyway.” He sighed and placed the card back down. “I wouldn’t know what to say to him.”

“I find hello is always a good place to start,” Y/N offered. Sebastian laughed, a real laugh and leant forward once more so his elbows rested on his knees. “He misses you, you know.”

“I know. I miss him too. I miss you both. But like I said, I didn’t know how to approach you both.”

“All it took was me falling fifty feet to get us here,” she remarked dryly. “I missed you too. More than I realised.”

“More than you realised, eh?” he raised a single eyebrow and there was a coy smile playing on his lips. “Old feelings resurfacing?” he teased. Y/N’s jaw fell open and her face flamed.

“What? No,” she spluttered. “I never - I don’t - did Ominis say something?”

“No…but you did. Just now,” he grinned widely and took in her red face. “Did you used to have feelings for me, Y/L/N?”

“Shut up, Sallow,” she muttered, feeling utterly embarrassed. “You can go now.”

“No, don’t,” he laughed quietly and reached out to squeeze her hand gently. “Believe it or not, I used to have feelings for you too.”

“No you didn’t,” Y/N scoffed and pulled her hand out of his. Her heart leapt at the confession, even though she refused to believe he wasn’t just saying that to make her feel better.

“Yes I did. I thought I was so obvious about it. Ominis used to joke about how he was glad he couldn’t see because he didn’t have to watch me pine after you.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Y/N,” he sighed, but there was still a small smile on his face. “You’re hopeless. Give me that book Poppy passed you.”

“What?”

“The herbology book. I recognised it immediately. Turn to chapter seven like she said.” He set the book between them and let her flip through until she reached the right page. The chapter was titled Flowers and their meanings. “Do you recognise any of them?” he nodded towards the bouquet he had given her earlier as she pulled the book closer. 

“Some. The Forget-Me-Nots, verbena, dwarf sunflowers…” Y/N trailed off as she made her way down the page in front of her, reading the meanings behind the flowers he had picked for her.

“Now, I will admit, the forget-me-nots were because they are your favourite, but that doesn’t mean I respect you any less,” he leant forward, face tinged pink as he read respect and true love next to a picture of the small blue flowers. 

“I didn’t think…I thought you had just given me whatever you could grab from the gardens.”

“You didn't think I would put effort into something I gave you?” He gave her a teasing smile and watched as she found verbena on the list. Admiration and respect next to an image of the red clusters that sat in the vase next to them. 

“I’m sensing a recurring theme here.” That strange feeling had returned to Y/N’s chest in full force, the one she thought had disappeared with time and distance. Dwarf sunflowers, adoration & admiration. “Sebastian…” She looked up at him, catching sight of a flicker of emotions across his face. “Are these…do you still…?” Y/N wasn’t sure how to finish the question. 

“Do I still…?” he repeated quietly. His fingers brushed against the back of her hand gently and Y/N felt her heart stutter in her chest. “Have feelings for you? Yes.” He admitted, finally catching her gaze. “Unless you don’t think you could feel the same after everything that happened. Then no.” He added quickly. Y/N let out a breathless laugh, one that seemed to relax him. “I thought they went away some time last year, but when I heard you fell today…” he stopped and grimaced. “I felt like my own heart had stopped inside my chest. I couldn’t breathe until I heard from Poppy that you were okay.”

“Poppy?”

“It seems everyone knows how I felt - feel - about you. Except for you of course,” he paused to laugh and shake his head. “I thought you were meant to be smart.”

“When did you…how long?” To say Y/N was surprised was an understatement. She never would have thought Sebastian saw her as more than just a friend. To find out he returned her feelings from before - that he still felt the same - had left her speechless.

“I’m assuming you’re oh-so-eloquently asking when I first started to have feelings for you?” his eyes sparkled with more life than Y/N had seen in a long time, and she felt her heart swell for him. “I’ll only answer if you do as well and if you go first. I can’t keep putting my heart on the line without knowing anything in return.” His fingers brushed her hand again, a little more firmly as he gained confidence. 

“That night in the library. When you took the fall for me.” Y/N watched as he gave her a surprised look. 

“That soon?”

“You didn’t know me,” she defended her decision. “You had no need to get yourself into trouble and lie for me like that. I didn’t realise it until later, but that was the catalyst.” He mulled over her words for a few moments before standing and sitting on the bed, turning so he could face her.

“If I’m being fully honest, from the moment you walked in late to your own sorting I was intrigued. I needed to get to know you.”

“Is that why you were so snappy the first night in the common room when I introduced myself?”

“Not my finest moment, I’m sure we can agree,” he looked abashed. “I feel it's safe to assume I made up for it, though?” He watched as she nodded in agreement, a breathtaking smile coming over his face. “Looking back I started to fall for you when you beat me in our first duel in class. I didn't realise until later though, like you.”

“What do you think would have happened if we told each other back then?”

“Honestly, I don’t think it would have ended well. I think I needed to do some growing to become worthy of you.”

“You were always worthy,” Y/N took his hand in hers again and laced their fingers together. Her heart jumped as he squeezed her hand affectionately. “We both needed to do some growing, I think.”

“You still haven’t answered the most important question.”

“What’s that?”

“Are old feelings resurfacing? Can you get past everything I’ve done?”

“Sebastian,” Y/N used her free hand to gently cup his face, her thumb running over his cheekbone. “I already told you, I forgave you a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Y/L/N. If it's alright with you, I would love nothing more than to kiss you right now, but I won’t unless I know you feel the same.” He turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand and leant towards her slightly. “And if you consent, of course.” His eyes darted to her lips briefly before locking back with hers. Y/N felt her heart stutter in her chest as her hand slipped from his face to rest on the back of his neck. It wasn’t even a question she needed to think about. She thought her feelings for the man in front of her had disappeared, but if her thundering pulse was any indication, they had just lay dormant until now. 

“It's okay with me,” she said quietly. He muttered a quick thank Merlin under his breath and let go of her hand to reach up and cup her face in his hand. He closed the gap between them slowly, giving her more than enough time to pull away if she wanted to, and paused right before his lips met hers. She looked into his eyes and saw he was already staring at her, a small smile playing on his features. “What?” 

“Apology accepted.” Ominis smirked at him, his head tilting to the side slightly as the guests in front of them talked amongst themselves. Sebastian began to fiddle with his cufflinks as he watched their guests arrive and take their seats, nodding in greeting to those who caught his eye. “You seem jumpier than usual, are you alright?”

“I can’t wait to see her.”

“I remember that feeling.” He smiled softly to himself as he remembered his own wedding day with Anne, how anxious he had been as he waited for her arrival. He would have much preferred to run away and elope as opposed to having all the attention on them both, but he knew she wanted a proper ceremony and he wanted to do things right by her. “We should be starting soon. Are you ready?”

“I was ready the day she said yes.”

“You’re not going to burst into song, are you?”

“Shut up, you prick.” The pair laughed as the music that was playing quietly in the background swelled and a hush fell over the guests. The officiant walked over to Sebastian and Ominis, a large smile on his face as he shook both of their hands and they waited for the bridal party.

Sebastian watched with bated breath as the doors to the castle swung open right as the enchanted instruments started to play the bridal march. The guests stood and turned to watch Anne walk out first, gently leading both of her twins down the aisle. Arabella threw flower petals at random intervals while Alexander clung to his mothers skirts, a toothy grin coming over the toddler’s face as he noticed both his father and his uncle waiting at the other end of the aisle. Sebastian couldn’t help but laugh as Alexander wrapped his arms around his knees while Arabella ran for her father, the rest of the flower petals forgotten. He scooped his nephew into a hug and pressed a kiss to his chubby cheek before passing him off to Anne who gave his arm a gentle squeeze before standing on the other end of the altar. 

Poppy and Imelda came out next, both of them looking beautiful in their bridesmaid dresses, with the former giving Sebastian an encouraging smile as the latter sent him a glare and mimed that she was watching him. He chuckled and pulled both of the girls in for a hug before they joined Anne, muttering to Imelda about how he knew she was secretly pleased they had finally decided to tie the knot. She flicked his shoulder, but there was an obvious smile on her face as she stood by Anne and Poppy. The music swelled and went quiet for a few moments before picking up again softly as Y/N appeared in the doorway.

Sebastian felt all the breath leave his lungs as she came into view and he unconsciously pressed a hand to his chest as she caught his eye and gave him a heart stopping smile. He felt his eyes burn as she started to walk towards him slowly and willed the music to play faster so she could reach him quicker and he could take her in his arms. Y/N had always been the most beautiful girl he had ever seen - even back when he had first met her - but the words did not do her justice in that moment as she practically floated down the aisle towards him. 

“Breathe, Sebastian.” Ominis nudged him gently and he took in a shaky breath and quickly reached up to brush away a tear before it could escape. He couldn’t look away from her even if he wanted to. He would never be able to put into words how absolutely ethereal she looked, her white dress almost glowing in the afternoon sun. Y/N (finally) neared him and took his hand and Sebastian was hit with a sudden moment of realisation at just how lucky he was. He was so much closer to spending the rest of his life with his best friend and he couldn’t wait. 

“Hey, you.” Y/N smiled shyly at him as she took her place by his side, his hand clutching onto hers tightly. Her gaze softened as she noticed the tears that were threatening to spill from his eyes and reached up to brush them away gently. “Good tears, I hope?”

“Merlin, yes.” Sebastian breathed, his voice cracking slightly due to his emotions. “The best.” He resisted the urge to tug her against him and kiss her like they weren’t surrounded by their friends and family, and instead settled on standing a little closer than necessary and pressing his lips to her knuckles softly. “You are stunning.” 

“Look who’s talking.” Y/N’s gaze ran over his suit appreciatively and his grip on her hand tightened fractionally as he remembered that they needed to get married first before he could whisk her away and have his way with her. He was vaguely aware of the officiant starting the ceremony, sharing anecdotes about love and friendship that he couldn’t pay attention to as he stared at the woman standing in front of him. He didn’t know what he had done in a past life to deserve her, but he would spend every day of the rest of his life - the rest of their lives - showing her just how much she meant to him. 

“I love you,” he mouthed the words, his lips twitching into a smile as he watched her flush delicately. 

“I love you more.”

“Impossible.” He frowned playfully and shook his head as she continued to stare at him with pure adoration on her features. 

Neither of them could believe this day was finally here. If anyone had told Sebastian and Y/N when they first met all those years ago that they would be standing where it all started, surrounded by their loved ones, both of them would have blushed and stuttered in protest; but here they were, and Sebastian could think of nowhere else in the world he would rather be. He always thought his favourite version of Y/N would be her first thing in the morning, and that had been true from the very first moment he had woken with her in his arms two years ago up until that exact moment. Nothing would ever compare to how completely and utterly captivating she was, looking like his own personal divine being.

“...Sebastian?” Y/N muttered his name, a coy smile playing on her face. 

“Sorry. I’m here,” he offered the officiant a sheepish smile and shrugged one of his shoulders while tilting his head in Y/N’s direction as if to say, can you blame me? “Could you repeat that, please?”

“Do you, Sebastian Sallow, take Y/N Y/L/N to be your wife? To - ”

“I do.” The minister, as well as their audience, laughed as Sebastian interrupted with a cheeky smile on his face as he glanced at Y/N. He had waited so long for this moment and now that it was here he just wanted to skip forward to the most important part. He knew he should be a little more patient and show some restraint, but had been waiting for this for longer than he would ever admit. He wanted to be able to finally call Y/N his wife.

“Very well, then.” The preacher turned to Y/N, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “And do you, Y/N Y/L/N, take Sebastian Sallow to be your husband? To live together in matrimony, to love, honour, comfort and to keep in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” A tear slipped down Y/N’s face as she took in the look of pure devotion on Sebastian’s face. She had never been more sure of a decision in her entire life.

“You each have a ring for the other,” the officiant looked between the pair, taking note of both of their living smiles and unshed tears. “These are placed on each other’s fingers as a visible sign of the vows which you have taken today which have bound you both together as husband and wife. I hope they always remind you of your promise and love for each other.” He looked over at Sebastian, who in turn took the ring from Ominis’ outstretched hand. He thought his hands would shake during this part, but they remained steady as he slipped the ring on Y/N’s finger, his heart thumping in his chest as he did so. 

“With this hand I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine.” He brushed a stray tear from Y/N’s face and gently kissed the piece of jewellery before letting her turn to Anne so she could get his ring. 

“With this hand I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine.” She repeated the vow back to him, her voice wavering slightly as she slid the wedding band onto his ring finger, the metal gleaming in the afternoon sun.

“I’ve been told you have both been through many adventures together, but let us begin this one with a kiss. I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Sebastian was already tugging Y/N towards him before the words were finished, both of his hands resting on her waist as he dipped down to press his lips to hers. He thought his heart was about to beat out of his chest as she wound her hands up to the back of his head and pulled him in closer, the crowd fading out of his mind as he held onto her tightly. Imelda whistled loudly as their kiss lasted long enough to be indecent and Y/N broke away to laugh, her face flushing as Sebastian tried to chase her lips and pull her back into another kiss. She grinned at him and pressed a sweet, chaste peck on his lips.

“How do you feel about being a married man, Mr Sallow?”

“It’s good to see you again, Ominis.” Y/N pulled him into a tight hug before releasing him and taking a step back so she stood next to Sebastian again. 

“I’d say the same but…” He chucked at his own poor joke and held his hands out to her, a silent request to trace her features. Y/N took his hands and placed them on her face, her eyes slipping closed as his fingers moved over the scar on her temple. “Still starting fights?”

“Does it really matter who started it as long as I finish them?”

“No, I suppose not.” Ominis released her face and took a small step back. “Why are you back so early?”

“It got boring,” Sebastian shrugged and leant against the kitchen wall, his gaze not leaving Y/N. 

“So you decided to steal the guest of honour as you left?”

“I’ve got to be a bad influence on her somehow for old times sake.”

“Hm.” Ominis didn’t exactly sound pleased, but Y/N could see the smile on his face. “I’m going to head to bed. I assume you’ll be spending the night, so I’ll see you at breakfast, Y/N.”

“That’s a bit presumptuous.”

“Am I wrong, though?” Ominis offered her a wry smile before making his way up the staircase located in the back corner of the kitchen. Y/N heard a soft click as a door closed and Sebastian came to stand behind her. 

“Do you want to get out of this dress?” Y/N turned to look up at him with raised eyebrows and watched his face turn red. “I didn’t - I mean, I wouldn’t mind but that’s not…” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “What I meant was, do you want me to lend you something to wear?” 

“Yes, please.” Sebastian stopped to grab a bottle of firewhiskey from the cupboard, as well as two glasses, before leading her out of the kitchen and to the right, through what Y/N assumed was the living room. There was another staircase on this side of the house and Sebastian ushered her up and pointed her in the direction of his room. Y/N closed the door behind them as he walked over to his dresser and set their drinks down before rummaging through one of the drawers.

“I can’t give you anything of Anne’s without waking her up, is this alright?” Sebastian pulled out a long sleeved shirt and some pyjama bottoms for her. 

“Only if you help me out of this dress,” Y/N watched as Sebastian visibly gulped and his face and neck turned a brilliant shade of red. She turned her back to him and brushed her hair out of the way to show him the small buttons that ran up the back of the dress. “Please?”

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Save the theatrics for when I’m in your clothes.”

“Darling,” Sebastian groaned, his hands coming to rest on her waist from behind. “When I asked you to flirt with me I didn’t think it would be like this.”

“Like what?” Y/N brought her hands up to hold the bodice of her dress in place as Sebastian began to undo her buttons, his fingers brushing against every inch of exposed skin in a way that set Y/N’s nerves on fire. 

“Don’t play coy, you know exactly what you’re doing to me.”

“I did warn you,” Y/N laughed quietly as she felt him undo the last of the buttons.

“You did,” he agreed, voice low as he trailed a finger down her spine softly. “Is it later?”

“Give a girl the chance to get dressed first, Sallow.”

“Oh right. Yes. I’ll - hallway?” Sebastian stammered, one finger pointing at the door behind them. Y/N bit her lower lip to hold back a smile as she took in how flustered he was. It was a rare sight (in fact, she didn’t think she had ever seen it before) and it brought a sense of gratification knowing she was the one who had turned the charming man into a stuttering mess.

“Just turn around.” Sebastian nodded once before turning his back to her, resting his head on the wall gently. Y/N quickly shed the dress and pulled on Sebastian’s clothes, pulling a face as she tried to hitch the pants up as far as she could. “I feel like a child playing dress up.” Sebastian chuckled and turned back around to face her, his eyes darkening as they roamed over her. “I look ridiculous.”

“You look ravishing.”

“Oh shush,” Y/N turned her back to him so he couldn’t see her blush and poured out two drinks for them while he quickly changed as well. She picked the pins out of her hair while she waited for him and took a sip of the firewhiskey to steady her hands as she listened to him shuffle out of his clothing. She didn’t dare move until he came to stand behind her, his hand resting on her waist gently as he leant over to grab his glass. Y/N grabbed the bottle and her own glass before taking a seat on the bed and crossing her legs so she could face him. 

“To us,” Sebastian toasted.

“To later,” Y/N clicked her glass against his and took another sip of the drink. The liquid burned the back of her throat, but warmed the rest of her body and gave her the surge of confidence she needed. “You said earlier you always wanted to kiss me. How long have you felt that way?”

“Since fifth year.”

“Sebastian, that was ten years ago!”

“What can I say? I’ve always known what I wanted.” The look he gave her offered more heat than the drink and Y/N found herself drinking a little more to calm her nerves.

“Am I just a want to you?”

“No. Definitely not.” He brushed some hair from her eyes. “You are everything to me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“How long have you felt the same?”

“Since fifth year,” Y/N murmured shyly. She had assumed all of the under-the-radar flirting he had done back in school was just a part of his charm and that he was the same with all the other girls, but that hadn’t stopped her from thinking about him all the time. It had only gotten worse the more time she spent with him and she started to realise that not only was he charming to a fault, but he was also kind and smart and funny and flawed. 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Touché.” They sat in a comfortable silence, both absorbed in their own thoughts. “I wouldn’t mind either, by the way.”

“Mind what?” he asked. Y/N gave him a look and waited for the sickle to drop. It took him a moment to recall the words he had said in the kitchen, how he wouldn’t mind getting her out of her dress in a less than pure sense. “Oh. Oh.” He tilted her chin up gently, his fingers brushing along her jaw in a way that made it feel like every inch of her was on fire. “While I would love nothing more, we have all the time in the world for that later, darling. Plus, it would probably be better to wait until we don’t have to be quiet because my sister and best friend are sleeping a few doors down.”

“Silencing charms were invented for a reason.”

“And you call me the rake.” He took her empty glass and set it on the bedside table next to his, turning back around just in time to catch her stifling a yawn. “Oh I’m sorry, am I boring you?” Y/N nudged him and looked like she was about to snap back at him but instead let out another yawn before groaning dramatically and flopping onto the bed so she was laying down. Sebastian brushed some hair from her forehead, his fingers lingering on the mark on her temple gently. “Do you want me to leave you to sleep?”

“No, stay. Please?” The look on her face melted his heart and he couldn’t find it in him to say no. Instead he lay down himself and covered them both with the blanket before rolling over to face Y/N and placed a sweet kiss on her forehead.

“Get some sleep, darling. I’m right here.”

*~*~*~*~*

Sebastian woke up to the sunlight streaming in through a small gap in his curtains and looked down at Y/N, who was still fast asleep beside him. At some point in the night she had curled up to his side, her head nearly resting on his shoulder as she slept peacefully. He gently brushed some hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear, his hand lingering on her cheek for longer than necessary. He watched as she began to stir and her eyes fluttered open to look at him.

“Morning.”

“Morning.” Y/N smiled shyly and Sebastian was delighted to notice a faint flush on her face. He brushed her cheek gently, a teasing smirk on his face as her blush deepened.

“I could get used to this,” Sebastian trailed his fingers up her jaw slowly, moving round to the back of her neck before lightly running down her back. 

“Get used to what?”

“Waking up beside you.” He rested his hand on her lower back and gently pulled her closer. Y/N buried her face into the pillow and pulled the blanket up to cover her face. “Where have you gone?” he laughed, trying to tug the duvet away from her.

“It’s too early for you to be this charming.”

“I’m always charming.” He succeeded in getting the blanket away from her and was rewarded by her demure smile. “You, on the other hand, could do with being a lot less gorgeous first thing in the morning. How is that fair?” Y/N couldn’t help but laugh quietly at his response, her hand hesitantly trailing over his bicep. She watched his throat bob as she lightly traced her way over his collarbone and came to rest over his thundering heart. 

“Nervous?” she asked innocently, a coy smile playing on the edge of her mouth. “Pretty woman in your bed, and all that?”

“Darling,” his voice was considerably lower and he reluctantly removed his hand from her back to hold hers against his chest. “I thought we cleared up last night that you’re the only woman I want in my bed.”

“All you said was you wanted to kiss me since fifth year.”

“I’m pretty sure I followed that with telling you that you mean everything to me.” He narrowed his eyes at her playfully and tugged her closer, her body pressed against his in a way that set every nerve ending on edge. “Were you not listening to me?”

“My mind was occupied.”

“With what?” he asked. Her answering grin and raised eyebrow was nothing short of wicked and Sebastian felt his heart stutter in his chest. Y/N laughed quietly and wound her hand up his chest to play with the hair on the back of his head. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I’d say I’m sorry but - ”

“Sebastian, are you awake?” There was a gentle knock on his door. Y/N froze, her eyes going wide as Sebastian groaned quietly, his eyes sliding shut.

“I’m up, Anne. I’ll be out in a moment.” His forehead came to rest on her shoulder and she could hear him mutter about his sister’s poor timing. 

“I’m about to do the washing, do you need anything cleaned?” Anne tried to open his door. “Why is your door locked?” Sebastian rolled out of bed, moving faster than Y/N had seen him before, waving his wand to unlock the door.

“Must have just been stuck,” he opened the door to greet his sister, his frame blocking her view of the room, and more importantly her still in his bed. “Nothing needs cleaning, I’ll be down in a moment.”

“Why are you being strange?”

“I’ve not long woken up, Anne, give me a break.”

“Is there someone in your room, Sebastian?”

“What? No. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Morning everyone.” Y/N felt herself physically cringe as Ominis joined the twins in the hallway. “Is everything alright?”

“Sebastian has someone in his room.”

“Anne,” he groaned and lightly banged his head on the doorframe, “no I don’t.” Y/N didn’t need to be able to see through doors to know Ominis was tilting his head to the side. 

“Good morning, Y/N.”

“Morning,” she grimaced and climbed out of the bed to stand by Sebastian, attempting to tame her hair as she did so. Anne looked surprised to see her and although Ominis was looking slightly to her right, she could still see the smirk on his features that was meant for her. “It’s good to see you both again.”

“A bit presumptuous, was I?” Ominis chuckled and placed a hand on Anne’s shoulder. “Come, my love, Sebastian can show Y/N where she can freshen up for breakfast before we accost them.” He pulled her back down the hall gently, shooting a glance at the pair before they both went down the stairs.

“Well,” Sebastian let out a breath. “There goes my plan to pretend I asked you round for breakfast this morning.” His face flushed and he rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he looked down at her. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“No harm, no foul. Although, I feel like Anne is currently assuming the worst of me.”

“She would never.” Sebastian’s voice was full of conviction, as if it was a ridiculous notion that Anne would ever think of her poorly. “By the time we make it downstairs she’ll be over the shock and will probably be telling me I told you so over breakfast.” He led her down the hall, showing her where she could freshen up before shutting the door quietly behind her. Y/N moved as quick as she could, splashing water on her face to remove the traces of makeup she had forgotten to remove the night before and tying her hair in a simple braid. She made her way back to Sebastian’s room when she was done and walked in without knocking, her eyes going wide at the sight in front of her.

“Sorry!” Y/N’s face burned as she turned around and pressed her forehead to the cool wall as she covered her eyes. Sebastian laughed from behind her and stepped close, his finger running down her spine gently before he turned her back around.

“All of those flirtatious remarks last night and you go the colour of a Gryffindor’s robes when you see me without a shirt on?” Sebastian teased, grasping her chin gently so he could angle her face towards his. “You’ve seen me like this before.” Y/N couldn’t help but look back down at his bare torso, his shirt unbuttoned and hanging from his shoulders. The fluttering in her stomach that seemed to appear whenever Sebastian was around had turned into a full-fledged swarm as a kaleidoscope of butterflies ran amok within her. 

“No I haven’t.” She made herself look back up and above his head so she wouldn’t have to see the shit-eating grin on his face.

“Yes you have,” Sebastian chuckled and tried to meet her eyes again. “Or do you not remember the day I saved your life in the lake?” The confidence he exuded with the sentence made Y/N eyes snap back to his, a glare on her features as she flicked him in the arm. 

“I think we remember that day very differently, considering I wouldn’t have needed saving if you had just trusted me.”

“You were swimming into a whirlpool in the middle of the lake, you’re lucky you didn’t drown.”

“There was a cave there! If anything, what nearly made me drown was some buffoon clinging onto me as we both went under.”

“This buffoon pulled you out into said cave.”

“And right into a spider den,” Y/N laughed as he shuddered at the memory and belatedly noticed that her hand was on Sebastian’s chest, her fingers tracing over a raised mark on his right pectoral. “What’s this?”

“Oh,” Sebastian chuckled nervously and placed his hand over hers, hiding the mark from view. “You’re going to laugh.”

“Probably.” She swatted his hand away and stood a little closer, her finger moving along the curved line slowly. “Is this…?”

“Yes,” he sighed in defeat and gave her a sheepish smile. “Ominis and I thought it would be fun to try and give each other tattoos when we turned eighteen after leaving school. You can probably tell we didn’t do a very good job of it.” That was the understatement of the year. The mark held no ink, and if anything, it looked more like an old faded scar than a tattoo. Y/N tilted her head as she traced the shape again, a sly smile on her face.

“So you both decided that out of all the things you wanted permanently etched to your skin you wanted the snake from the Slytherin crest?” Her lip twitched as Sebastian nodded bashfully and she repressed the urge to laugh. 

“Does Ominis have a matching one?”

“His took a little better because of his pale skin - the prick - but yes, he does. It’s faint, but it’s there.”

“What did Anne have to say about this?”

“Oh, she was furious. Kept telling us how only criminals and people in the circus marked themselves like this.” Y/N finally let the laughter bubble out as she imagined Anne reprimanding the pair and they both more than likely stood there and took it like scolded school boys. Sebastian’s features softened at her laugh, his heartbeat picking up speed as Y/N began to subconsciously trace shapes between the freckles that covered his chest. 

“You know, I’ve always wondered how far that blush goes,” Y/N commented innocently, her finger winding its way down his chest slowly. Sebastian gulped as she came to a stop at the bottom of his sternum and gave him a demure smile. “I didn’t think it would be here.”

“Where did you think it would stop?”

“I’ve always pictured you with a full-body blush.”

“You’ve pictured me?”

“Mhm.” The light movement of her fingers on his bare skin burned as she slowly trailed between each freckle on his chest. He knew she could feel how embarrassingly fast his heart was beating in his chest but he didn’t care. He was enamoured by her and he didn’t care who knew it. He brought a hand up to rest on the back of her neck, gently pulling her forward until there was little space left between them as he tangled his fingers through her hair. “Seb?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Are you ever going to kiss me?”

“Would you like it if I did?”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.” He laughed as she rolled her eyes at him and wound an arm around her waist to pull her closer. Y/N cocked her head to the side, remembering that smile on his face from their fifth year. More often than not it meant trouble, but sometimes, like right now, he paired it with the same look on his face that he had right now. One that was almost soft. 

“Use your words, darling. What do you want?” He brushed his thumb across her lower lip as he leant towards her, his forehead resting on hers. Y/N narrowed her eyes at him and tried to close the gap between them to kiss him, but Sebastian pulled back fractionally, amusement sparkling in his eye as her frown deepened and a gorgeous pout fell on her lips. “Have I told you recently how beautiful you are?”

“Apart from earlier when you had me in your bed?”

“I believe the word I used then was gorgeous.”

“Well, if you want to be pedantic about it. Not since last night.”

“You did look beautiful last night,” Sebastian nodded thoughtfully, his nose bumping hers softly, “I think this version of you is my favourite, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Right now, first thing in the morning. Barely awake and tucked to my side…” Y/N brought both of her hands up to rest on his chest as Sebastian’s grip tightened on her waist, her fingers brushing his collarbone delicately. “I meant what I said earlier. I could get used to waking up beside you. Every day.”

“For how long?”

“For the rest of our lives.” Y/N’s breathing stilled at his words, at the raw emotion and sincerity on his face as he spoke. She felt the back of her eyes burn and tried to look away but he held her in place and kissed her cheek gently. “Do you know what you do to me? How completely and hopelessly you enrapture me? You’re bewitching.”

“Was that a pun?” 

“Shall I use a different word?” he murmured. His thumb stroked her cheeks gently, her skin burning in its path. “You’re exquisite, flawless, downright ethereal.”

“Seb…” 

“From that very first day you smiled at me, you had me. I fell for you harder and faster than anyone I’ve ever met before. My heart was yours before I knew nothing more than your name.”

“My heart is yours too, you walnut. It’s only ever been yours. From the very first moment.”

“I adore you, Y/N Y/L/N.”

He finally closed the gap between them and pressed his lips to hers so gently that Y/N thought her heart would burst out of her chest. She wound her hands up and into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as she kissed him back and he nipped at her lower lip. His grip on her waist tightened pleasantly, holding her body against his so every inch of them was touching, and Sebastian swore he had died when she pushed his shirt off his shoulders and ran her fingers down his back. They broke away as Ominis called for them from downstairs, both of their faces tinged pink as they took in each other’s swollen lips and tousled hair. Sebastian leant back in to press one more sweet, toe-curling kiss on her lips.

“I’m going to marry you one day,” he muttered against her lips, his mouth curling into a smile as he heard her breath hitch.

“I’ll be the one in white.”

“I heard Imelda managed to get the night off from training with the Holyhead Harpies,” Poppy continued. “It’ll be nice to see her properly this time.”

“Without a dragon in between us, you mean?” Y/N smiled wryly at the memory. She didn’t think Imelda would ever forgive her for ruining one of the bigger matches of her career, but apparently saving a couple of dragon eggs from a group of poachers and returning them to their mother would do the trick.

“Yes, well, she did request we leave the dragon behind this time,” Poppy laughed as they made their way down the cobbled street. They dodged a few shoppers as they walked through Hogsmeade and expertly avoided the throngs of students who seemed to be everywhere but in class, considering it was the middle of the day.

“Sorry.” A tall, dark haired wizard walked by them, accidentally bumping into Y/N. He barely spared the pair a glance as he continued on, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“Sebastian?” his name fell from Y/N’s mouth before she could process it, and they both watched as he came to a stop and turned to face them. “Sebastian!” She shot forward, narrowly avoiding a student, and launched herself at him once she was close enough, her arms wrapping around his shoulders to pull him into a tight hug.

“Was that…?” Poppy trailed off, an unsure expression crossing her face as she watched the man walk away from them.

“Oof,” Sebastian had only just recognised the figure barrelling towards him before her body hit him. He took a step back to steady them and make sure they weren’t going to fall over before he wrapped his arms around her waist firmly. “Y/N, give a man a chance, will you?” he laughed, squeezing her affectionately.

“ShutupImissedyouyouidiot.” Her words were unintelligible as she mumbled into the crook of his neck, although he could feel her smile against his skin. His grip tightened in response, lifting her off her feet as he embraced her. 

“I missed you, too, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart?” Y/N pulled back fractionally and narrowed her eyes at him playfully. “I see you’re still the charmer you were back in school.”

“Only for those I hold in the highest esteem.” He grinned down at her and finally loosened his clutch. “Hello Poppy.”

“Hello, Sebastian,” Poppy had a sly smile on her face as she watched the pair ease their hold on each other but made no move to let go. “How’ve you been?”

“Great, although I hear you’re both doing better than me,” he glanced back down at the woman in his arms. “Did you really take down Ratcliffe, one of the biggest poachers in the country? You just can’t stay away from trouble, can you?”

“Trouble can’t stay away from me, you mean. Nothing changes,” Y/N offered him a teasing grin, finally (and reluctantly) pulling herself from his arms. 

“Some things clearly do,” he murmured, eyes roaming down her figure. Although they occasionally sent owls to each other, it had been years since the pair’s last meeting. The lanky limbs and awkward persona from the girl he knew before was long gone, only to be replaced by soft curves and a gracefulness he couldn’t quite explain. “Look at you, all grown up.” And rather gorgeous, he noted. He grinned as she nudged him playfully, but was delighted to see a faint blush on her cheeks. 

“I’m not the only one who’s done some growing.” He had always been a couple of inches taller than her, but now her head just about came up to his shoulders. Rather broad ones, Y/N thought to herself, which paired nicely with the muscles she could see despite the jacket he was wearing.

“Shall I leave you two alone and come back later?” Poppy asked, breaking the pair from their trances. It was now Sebastian’s turn to flush as he looked down at the former Hufflepuff, who had also grown into a beautiful young woman even though he still towered over her.

“Come here, Sweeting,” Sebastian rolled his eyes at her, tugging her into a hug as well. Poppy laughed and patted his back before extracting herself from his hold. “What are you both doing here? Are you here for the reunion as well?”

“We are,” Poppy nodded. “We thought it would be nice to get here early and check in on the shop. Maybe take a walk around as well.”

“You have a shop?”

“We do,” Y/N nodded. “We bought the Brood and Peck a couple of years ago. All the beasts we save - magical or not - go there. Ellie Peck still does most of the management and finds them all good homes.”

“I thought it looked bigger,” Sebastian looked impressed, “did I see a shop in Diagon Alley too?” His smile widened as both Poppy and Y/N nodded bashfully. “Who would have thought, Poppy Sweeting and Y/N Y/L/N, a beast’s best dream and a poachers worst nightmare.”

“It was mostly Y/N’s idea, she couldn’t bear to release the creatures just for poachers to grab them again.”

“Stop it, Poppy. You know I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without you.” Y/N’s face flushed at the praise and she turned back to Sebastian as her friend started to protest. “Please tell me you’re going tonight. I’m going to need all the friendly faces I can get.”

“Well now that I know you’ll be there, how could I say no? Should we make our way together?”

“We could, but I should probably warn you that we’re getting there ridiculously early. It seems I have the absolute pleasure of opening the doors to welcome everyone inside.”

“Ah yes, how could I forget I’m standing with our honorary guest?” 

“Don’t start.” Y/N was smiling, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes and he caught a flicker of emotion passing across her face before she could hide it. He remembered how much she had disliked the attention for saving the school in their sixth and seventh year, and even though a decade had passed since then it didn’t seem like that had changed much. “Where are you staying? I have a house on the outskirts of the village with more than enough room, if you want.”

“Ah, I’m over at the Three Broomsticks,” he nodded at the pub that was a couple of hundred feet from them. “I stopped by earlier for some lunch and when I told Sirona I was thinking of heading home in between to get ready she told me I had a room there if I needed and it was best not to fight her on it.” Although Sebastian rolled his eyes, the affection for the older witch was still visible in the smile on his face.

“Well, we can all meet for a drink before we go then,” Poppy suggested, looking so excited at the idea that Y/N and Sebastian didn’t have the heart to disagree with her. “Imelda and some of the others are going to be there before the reunion as well. Will Ominis be joining us?”

“No, he’s taking care of Anne. They both told me to say hello if I saw you. Anne said it’s been too long, and if I don’t bring you back for tea after all of this she will keep me away from my soon-to-be-born niece or nephew.”

“Oh, she told me she was expecting, but I’ve not had a chance to come see her yet. Are you excited to be an uncle?” Y/N grinned, her hand reaching out to squeeze Sebastian’s arm with such elation he could feel his heart flutter in his chest.

“I can’t wait to spoil them. I think Ominis has learned every child safety spell he can get his hands on,” Sebastian let out a quiet chuckle and slipped his hands in his pockets once more. “I still have a couple of errands I need to attend to for them, but I’ll see you both later at the Three Broomsticks?” The three of them made quick plans for when they were going to meet before Sebastian left them with a grin and a wave.

“That man couldn’t keep his eyes off you,” Poppy commented, nudging Y/N playfully. Y/N rolled her eyes and nudged Poppy right back, but couldn’t help to look over her shoulder at Sebastian, who was currently doing the same thing. Y/N couldn’t read his expression from this far away, but she did catch the slow smile that formed on his face and couldn’t help but to smile back, her heart thumping in her chest.

*~*~*~*~*

Y/N looked up at the Three Broomsticks, the hood of her cloak protecting her from the light rain that had started. She fiddled nervously with the lace of her dress as she waited patiently for Poppy - who had stopped to pet a cat she had seen - to catch up. She felt out of place, and not just because she was standing in front of the pub in a ball gown that was fit for a castle in one of the novels Poppy loved to read. Although, Y/N mused, she supposed she was on her way to said castle. She sighed and smoothed down the fabric of her forest green skirts, wishing she was in her usual attire of a tunic and light pants (fighting poachers while wearing a corset and heavy skirts did not go well the last time).

Y/N looked back down the street, the last of the light fading as the sun set behind the hills. At this rate she could make her escape before Poppy would even notice and she weighed the pros and cons of not attending in her head for what felt like the hundredth time. Imelda would likely hunt her down if she didn’t attend, and she didn’t particularly feel like battling the witch tonight. Sebastian would forgive her - in fact, she could even owl him to see if he wanted to scrap the whole event with her. Anne had been hounding her to come round for tea and she would much prefer to see her and Ominis than to be paraded in front of her old peers like a prized calf. With a low groan Y/N dragged her feet into the pub, deciding the least she could do while she waited for Poppy was to get warm and have a chat with Sirona. 

The Three Broomsticks hadn’t changed much since Y/N had first stepped inside all those years ago, practically glowing from defeating her first troll with Sebastian by her side. The smell of butterbeer and burning logs greeted her and a familiar warmth that had nothing to do with the fires burning in their hearths ran from her head to her toes. Sirona had added a couple of new booths over the years, as well as a particularly comfortable pair of armchairs that were placed next to one of the fireplaces.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Sirona had a large smile on her face as she dried her hands. “Is that Y/N Y/L/N in my pub? Where’s your other half?” Y/N couldn’t help but laugh as Sirona rounded the bar and pulled her into a hug.  

“Poppy saw a cat. You know how she is,” Y/N released the older witch and let Sirona look her over as she removed her cloak.

“Well, I’d ask what kind of trouble you’ve both been in since I last saw you but…” she glanced at the still-healing scar that ran from Y/N’s eyebrow across to her temple. “Is that one waiting for you?” she gestured with her head to the man that was sitting in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, and Y/N realised that it was Sebastian. He looked to be deep in thought as he stared into the flames.

“He is,” Y/N turned back to Sirona with a smile. “Could I trouble you for three glasses of firewhiskey?”

“On the house,” Sirona winked at her and made her way back behind the bar just as Poppy walked into the pub. She waved hello at Sirona and came to stand by Y/N’s side, her gaze landing on Sebastian as well. 

“Well, he’s certainly not the same boy we went to school with,” Poppy muttered. Y/N couldn’t help but murmur back in agreement. He had been considered attractive back at school (and knew it), but now…Y/N couldn’t help but appreciate how devastatingly handsome he looked in his dress robes, the warm glow from the fire lighting his face. Sirona placed the three glasses on the table next to him, breaking him out of his thoughts, and he finally looked up with a smile as he took note of both the girls.

“There you both are, I was beginning to think you had forgotten all about me.” He stood to greet them with a smile and looked between the pair, his eyes lingering on Y/N. There was an unreadable expression on his face as his eyes roamed over her dress slowly until he finally met her gaze. He was vaguely aware that his staring was bordering on indecent when the door opened again and a large, rather loud, group walked in. Poppy looked between the pair, a small smirk on her face when she caught the matching telltale flush on their faces. She filed the thought away for later when she could get Y/N alone and turned to look at the group who had just walked in, her smile widening when she caught sight of Imelda.

“Kneazle caught your tongue?” Y/N cocked her head to the side, a teasing smile on her face.

“It’s entirely your fault for looking so ravishing tonight,” Sebastian caught her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her knuckles before handing her one of the glasses of firewhiskey. Y/N couldn’t help but laugh quietly and reach up to straighten out his tie. 

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr Sallow.” She gave him a coy smile as her hand lingered on his chest for longer than necessary, feeling the telltale thump thump thump of his heart. A voice calling her name from behind them broke their stares and Y/N let her fingers trail down his chest slowly as she turned to walk away. 

“Have you got nothing to say to me, then?” Imelda met Y/N halfway, eyebrows raised and arms crossed. 

“It’s good to see you again, Imedla,” Y/N pulled the girl in for a hug, who laughed in response.

“Yes, it’s much better seeing you here on the ground, instead of interrupting my match by riding a dragon. Honestly, Y/L/N, if you wanted to come see me at one of my games all you had to do was ask.”

“You rode a dragon?” Sebastian finally seemed to snap out of his stupor and took a couple of steps forward to greet his former housemate. 

“I had to get your attention somehow, didn’t I, Reyes?” Y/N shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly as Sebastian stood by her side. 

“Showing up in that dress would have worked just as well,” Imelda’s eyes roamed over her appreciatively. “Green has always looked best on you.”

“I’ll bear that in mind for next time.” Even though the wink wasn’t aimed at him Sebastian felt his mouth go dry and quickly took a sip of firewhiskey to chase away the fluttering feeling in his stomach. He lingered by Y/N’s side as they caught up with Imelda and a couple of their former school mates, his arm brushing against hers every-so-often in a way that made his face burn. Sebastian decided he would blame the firewhiskey if anyone (especially Imelda) tried to call him out on blushing like a first year every time his hand brushed past hers.

“To our saviour!” Leander Prewett called out, raising his glass in Y/N’s direction. A couple of the others followed suit, not noticing how uncomfortably still Y/N had gotten as she glanced around the room. Y/N felt her skin prickle as a few people turned to openly stare at her, expressions varying between awe and gratitude. She offered them a tense smile as Poppy shot Leander a glare and tugged his arm down, whispering harshly at him as he sipped from his glass. 

She could feel her chest tighten at the attention and willed herself not to scream at them all that she didn’t deserve their praises. That she wasn’t a saviour, she had just gotten lucky. It had taken Y/N far too many sleepless nights to come to terms with what had happened to her under the castle, and even longer to fully grasp that it wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t save everyone. Moments like these - with people muttering about how she was a hero - made her feel like a fraud.

“Hey.” Sebastian felt Y/N jump slightly as he placed a hand on her lower back gently. “Come with me?” He set their empty glasses down before leading her to the door, only stopping to grab their cloaks as he led her outside. Thestrals were tethered to a carriage a couple of feet away from the pub, the Hogwarts emblem carved onto the side - no doubt meant to take Y/N up to the castle for the event. “Are you still with me?”

“Just about,” Y/N’s eyes flicked up to meet his as he draped her cloak around her shoulders and fastened it for her. “How did you know?”

“You had that look on your face you used to get in our sixth year.”

“I didn’t realise you paid that much attention to me.”

“How could I not?” The corner of his mouth lifted up in a barely perceptible smile as he brushed a stray hair from her eyes. His fingers lingered on her jaw before gently tilting her face to his. 

“You’re a rake, Sebastian Sallow.” She narrowed her eyes at him playfully, a smile falling on her painted lips. Sebastian had the overwhelming urge to close the gap between them and kiss her but managed to restrain himself and settled for pulling her body closer to his.

“You say rake, I say dashing rogue, who’s to say which one of us is right.” Y/N laughed quietly and brought her hands up to rest on the lapels of his jacket. “Either way, I can’t help but to be charming in the presence of such a stunning woman.”

“Is that what you say to all the pretty ladies you meet?”

“Just the one.” Y/N’s fingers tightened around his jacket at his words, at the look in his eye. She wanted nothing more than to pull him into a searing kiss she had imagined more times than she could count but refrained, unsure of his reaction. “What are you thinking about?” Sebastian brushed her cheeks gently, his face inching closer to hers.

“Whether we should make our escape or not.”

“Do you not want to attend anymore?”

“I didn’t particularly want to attend to start with.”

“Do you want me to get you out of here?” He looked so concerned for her wellbeing that Y/N felt her heart crack in her chest. How long had it been since someone had taken care of her? Of course, Poppy was always around to patch her up with things that went south against the poachers but even she didn’t know how deep the internal wounds went. Or if she did, she never commented on it.

“No, not yet. I think Imelda would hunt me down and drag me back, anyway.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Y/N. I’ll fight Imelda myself if I have to.”

“You would fight Imelda ’The Muscles’ Reyes for me?”

“Darling, I don’t know how to make it any clearer that I will always fight anyone who tries to harm you.”

“My hero,” Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes, a laugh bubbling up as she took in his mock affronted expression. She leant up to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, mindful not to get any lipstick on his face. The arm around her waist tightened fractionally, holding her in place against him as he processed what had just happened. “Sebastian?”

“Hold on, I’m trying to remind myself that you’re one of my closest friends and if I kissed you like I really want to right now you would probably punch me.”

“You want to kiss me?”

“Always.” He made it sound like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” The door flew open before Sebastian could question her further and both Poppy and Imelda came to a stop when they took note of how close the pair were standing.

“Are we interrupting something?”

“Not anymore,” Sebastian sighed. He brushed a thumb down Y/N’s spine gently, a silent gesture that they would be continuing this conversation later away from prying eyes, and reluctantly released her. “Is Imelda joining us up to the castle?”

“Someone had to come along so Sweeting wasn’t a third wheel,” Imelda shot a wicked grin at Y/N and made her way over to the carriage. The footman jumped down to help the women in first, only climbing back up when Sebastian insisted on closing the door himself. The carriage started to pull away before he could get fully seated which resulted in him falling into his seat next to Y/N, his body pressed against hers in a way that frayed his nerves.

“Oof. There’s no need to throw yourself at me like that, Seb. There are other ways to get my attention,” Y/N playfully pushed him away from her.

“You mean like earlier when you tackled me and nearly sent us both to the ground?”

“You weren’t exactly protesting when you clung into me like a niffler with gold.”

“What can I say, I seem to have a penchant for pretty women.”

“You’re both disgusting,” Imelda cut in. She tried to frown at the pair, but there was an obvious smile playing on the corners of her mouth. “If you both are going to flirt the whole way there I’d rather walk.” 

“At least you didn’t have to watch them earlier when we first saw Sebastian,” Poppy adds with a laugh. “I might as well have not been there.”

“You’re both welcome to walk the rest of the way to the castle,” Y/N raised her eyebrows at the pair and tried to fight the blush that was rising to her face.

“I’m sure you and Sallow would love it if we left you alone,” Imelda remarked dryly. 

“Alright you,” Y/N laughed and rolled her eyes. “I forgot how needy you two are when you’re together. I love all three of you equally, I promise.” Protests erupted from the two girls in front of Y/N and she listened in amusement as they started to bicker about which one she preferred.

“I’d like to add my own two sickles in to say I’m offended at being placed in league with Reyes,” Sebastian leant in, his voice low so as not to attract any attention. “We all know I’m your favourite.”

“Are you?” Y/N turned her head up to give him a teasing smile, only to jolt slightly when she realised how close his face was to hers. She heard his voice echo in her head, the pure sincerity as he had said he always wanted to kiss her. It could have just been one of his lines, but it still made Y/N’s stomach flutter and a blush rise to her face. She was thankful that the carriage was dimly lit and no one could call attention to her red cheeks.

“You’re a cruel, beautiful woman.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Y/N rolled her eyes at him and turned to look out of the window so he couldn’t see the smile on her face. The carriage rolled through the north entrance to the castle, skirting round the fountain that lay in the middle of the courtyard and came to a gentle stop outside the doors. Sebastian climbed out before the footman could grab the door for them and helped the girls out, his hand lingering on Y/N’s after she was back on solid ground. A small part of him had been worried he had gone too far when he told her he wanted to kiss her, but the small blush that seemed to appear on her face whenever he stood too close made him wonder. Could she possibly want him as much as he wanted her?

The doors swung open before they could step forward, revealing the inner halls to the group and Y/N felt a rush of warmth come from within the castle gently caress the magic inside of her. It felt like greeting an old familiar friend, as if Hogwarts was saying welcome home. Y/N looked at the entrance hall in front of her as a million memories flashed through her mind. From the first time she walked through these doors with Professor Fig by her side, to returning from her battle with Rookwood while clutching an injury she had sustained to her side (which had left her with a scar). She saw flashes of laughter with everyone she had been friendly with at school, from Poppy to Imelda to Natty, Garreth, Ominis, and finally Sebastian. Hundreds of moments with Sebastian flew through her mind - laughing with him, sneaking into the restricted section, sneaking out of the castle, meeting up in the Undercroft. She had heard people say it since she had left school, but Hogwarts was, and always would be, her home. 

“Are you coming, Y/N?” Poppy’s soft question brought her back to the present, where the three of them had already made their way through the doors and were waiting patiently for her. Sebastian raised an eyebrow at her, silently asking if she wanted to get out of there. She shook her head at him with a small smile and walked towards them, holding her skirts in one hand. 

“Yeah, I am.” The group made their way through the familiar halls in semi-silence and Y/N couldn’t help but remember how nervous she had been the first time, when she had been late to her own sorting. The ever-present pang of pain flickered as she thought of Professor Fig and how kind he had always been to her. 

“Ah, there you all are,” Professor Weasley stood in front of them, a large smile on her face as she pulled each of them into a hug. “It’s so good to see you all again.”

“Likewise, Professor,” Poppy’s excitement was infectious and Y/N soon found her dark thoughts scattering as she took a look around the Great Hall. 

“Matilda, please. You’re not students anymore.”

“Might take some getting used to,” Imelda pulled a small face but laughed quietly nonetheless, quickly excusing herself as she spotted their old flying teacher. Poppy trailed after her, unable to hide her eagerness to talk to Professor Howin. Professor Weasley (Matilda, Y/N reminded herself) looked between her and Sebastian casually, taking note of how close the two stood next to each other. 

“How have you been, Prof - Matilda?” Sebastian asked, saving Y/N from making awkward conversation. “Are the current students just as chaotic as we were?”

“I don’t think anyone could cause as much trouble as you did, Mr Sallow.” There was a teasing smile on the older witch’s face as she ran her eyes over Y/N, taking note of a few new scars that littered her arms (and the still-healing one on her face). “How are you holding up, Miss Y/L/N?”

“Y/N is fine, especially if we’re to call you Matilda,” Y/N forced a smile on her face and shuffled on her feet nervously. “I’m doing fine, no rest for the wicked as they say.” 

“Hm…I hope you’re making sure she’s taken care of, Mr Sallow.”

“Oh, we all try. I’m sure you remember how stubborn she was in school though.” Sebastian shot Y/N a cheeky smile in hopes that the teasing would loosen her up. She rolled her eyes back and nudged him gently. 

“I can take care of myself.”

“No harm in letting others help,” Matilda smiled to herself as she watched her former students interact with each other. It had been painfully obvious to all the staff that the two were meant for each other when they were back in school and it looked like they still hadn’t quite worked that out for themselves yet. “Anyway, are you ready, Y/N?” 

“Ready for what?”

“To dance. Surely someone has informed you that you would be opening the festivities tonight with a dance?”

“No…no they did not.” Y/N slid her eyes shut in annoyance, her stomach churning with nerves. Maybe it wasn’t too late to say she wasn’t feeling very well and just leave? Surely if she threw up like she wanted to that would buy some points in her favour.

“Oh…well now you know.” Matilda fussed with her hair and glanced around awkwardly. “I’m sure Headmaster Black wouldn’t mind being your partner for the evening.” I would rather battle Ranrok again, Y/N thought to herself, this night cannot get any worse.

“There’ll be no need for that, Professor Weasley,” Sebastian grasped Y/N’s elbow lightly, an easy smile on his face. “I’ll lead Y/N for the dance.” 

“Oh…thank you, Mr Sallow.” Y/N could have sworn the corner of Matilda Weasley’s mouth twitched up as she looked between her and Sebastian, but the smile was gone as quickly as it appeared. “It looks like others are starting to arrive so we shall start soon.” With that she quickly turned and walked away to greet some students who had just entered the hall, leaving Y/N and Sebastian behind. 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” Sebastian shrugged and turned to face her. “It saves you from having to dance with Black and I get an excuse to hold you close. There’s no losers this way.” He bit back a smile as he watched her look away from him nervously, the same pretty blush coming to her cheeks. He didn’t know if she was flustered because she wasn’t used to the attention, or because the attention was coming from him, but Merlin did he hope it was the latter. 

“You won’t feel that way when I step on your feet. I’m a horrible dancer.”

“And here I was thinking there was nothing you couldn’t do.” He brushed his fingers along her hand subtly to get her to look back at him. “Lucky for you, I’m an excellent dancer.”

“There’s plenty I’m not good at,” Y/N disagreed and tore her eyes away from the crowd of students who had just walked in. Leander was amongst the group and if she looked at him for a moment too long all she could hear was him calling out a toast in her name and it simultaneously made her want to throw up and punch him.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” He watched as she fiddled with her fingers anxiously, her eyes darting around the room as more of their former school mates began to trickle in and wanted nothing more than to whisk her away from it all. He didn’t understand why she was subjecting herself to this when she clearly wanted nothing more than to be away from here. 

“If I could have your attention, please,” Phineas Black stood at the top of the room where the staff table would usually be, an orchestra in its place. “I would like to welcome you all to the ten year anniversary of our very own Y/N Y/L/N saving our school.” He gestured towards her and Y/N wished the ground would swallow her whole as they all turned to face her. “If our Hero of Hogwarts would like to make her way over we can officially start this reunion with the opening dance.”

Y/N placed her hand in Sebastian’s and let him escort her to the middle of the dance floor, her heart skipping a beat as she squeezed her hand reassuringly. He turned to face her with a small bow, a cheeky smile on his face as he placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. Y/N narrowed her eyes at him playfully but couldn’t help to smile at his antics. 

“You can do this,” Sebastian murmured, pulling her close as the music started. She placed one hand on his shoulder as his own came to rest on her waist, eyes darting to the crowd that surrounded them.

“Everyone’s staring,” Y/N mumbled.

“Just keep your eyes on me, I’ve got you, darling.” Her eyes snapped up to meet his at the term of endearment only to see his eyes were already on hers, a teasing smile on his face. He started to lead her into a waltz, standing a little closer than needed so he could continue to speak to her.

“You’re being far more charming than you usually are.”

“How could I not when you turn the prettiest shade of pink every time?”

“You’re a rake.”

“You know, that’s twice you’ve said that now and I have to disagree.” He placed both hands on her waist as the music swelled and lifted her briefly. “If I were a rake, I’d be flirting with every woman I met.”

“You've been flirting this whole time? I never would have guessed.”

“Don’t start,” he rolled his eyes at her and tugged her closer, leaving no space between them.

“You could have given me some warning, maybe I would’ve liked to flirt back.”

“Now that I would pay to see.”

“What are you implying, Sallow?”

“I’m not implying anything,” he chuckled and span her in a gentle circle before tucking her back in place against him, “I’m just saying it’s usually me who flirts and showers you with compliments.”

“I didn’t think you needed me to tell you how good looking you are.”

“Probably not,” he shot her a devious grin, “but it would be nice.”

“Do you want me to start now?” Y/N lowered her voice considerably, her arm leaving his shoulder to wind around his neck and pull him impossibly closer. “Would you like to hear about the thoughts that ran through my mind earlier when I saw you in the Three Broomsticks?” she murmured in his ear. She felt him falter slightly as he led her and laughed quietly, her thumb brushing the back of his neck gently. “I don’t think you could handle hearing the way I think about you.”

“Think about me often, do you?”

“Always.” She pulled back slightly so he could see the serious look on her face as she repeated his early words with just as much conviction. The sound of applause startled them both slightly, and Y/N belatedly remembered there were other people in the room watching them dance indecently close to each other. Sebastian brushed a thumb down her spine again, signalling that their conversation would be tabled for later. He led her off the floor and towards Imelda, Poppy and Natty, who all wore matching wicked grins as the pair neared.

“Well I don’t know about you two but I feel positively scandalised at that display,” Imelda teased as they walked within earshot. 

“Jealous, Imelda?” Y/N offered her friend her own sly smile. “I’m sure I can make time for you later if you feel left out.”

“Depends, does Sallow share?”

“Absolutely not,” Sebastian tightened his grip on Y/N’s waist, which he had yet to release. “You’ll need to find your own dance partner, Reyes.”

“I’m sure Prewett would love to join you,” Y/N added. Sebastian shook in silent laughter from next to her as Imelda glared at the pair of them. 

“On that note, since I know how much you hate being the centre of attention - are you ready to accept your award?” 

“My what?”

“Imelda! It was supposed to be a surprise!” Natty chastised her.

“Well, I’m glad I told her because she looks like she’s going to be sick.” The Scottish witch wasn’t wrong, Y/N could feel her stomach start to churn and the lingering buzz from dancing with Sebastian disappeared. She didn’t deserve an award for what had happened. Poppy gave her a concerned look as Imelda and Natty started to bicker about ruining the surprise, although Y/N was too far gone in her thoughts to realise. Echoes of what she had been through flashed through her mind, but there were no good thoughts sprinkled within this time. All she could see was Ranrok in his strange dragon form as she fought him, followed by Professor Fig lying on the floor and dying by her side.

“Hey,” Sebastian took hold of Y/N’s elbow gently and leant in to whisper in her ear. “Let’s go. No arguments this time.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Everywhere. Just say the word and I’ll make it happen.” She looked up at him, panic still lingering in her gaze along with such pure agony that Sebastian could feel his heart shatter. 

“Let’s go.”

You can’t let it get to you. You know why you’re here, anyone else’s opinion doesn’t really matter. They try to figure you out at dinner that first night, staring at you shamelessly over their meals like you were a zoo exhibit.

“I don’t get it,” Christina says, cocking her head to the side to get a better look at you. “I mean, I understand leaving Abnegation, I’d get bored out of my mind. But wouldn’t you like it in Amity? I mean, they’re happy all the time. I never hear any complaints. What, were people too sweet? Did it rot your teeth or something?”

Next to her, Will snorts. “Pretty sure that only applies to sugar.”

Christina rolls her eyes. “You get my point. Seriously, though, why’d you do it? What’s so wrong with Amity?”

You force a calm smile. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with Amity.”

Will turns his questioning gaze onto you. “Then why’d you leave?”

For a second, your mind goes blank. For years now, you’ve thought of leaving your old faction behind, dreamed of it practically every night. You know exactly why you had to go. But these people have only ever lived in their home factions. They’ve never been to Amity, just heard about it. Word of mouth is often misleading. You have your reasons, but at this moment it occurs to you that they will never understand.

So, you just shrug casually. “Needed a change of pace. Guess the whole thing got old. Nothing interesting.”

Christina looks disappointed, but moves on to interrogate Tris more about Abnegation instead. You almost think you’ve managed to duck under the radar this time, and then a voice sounds from further down the bench.

“Bullshit.”

You glance to your side and notice a boy looking over his shoulder at you. You recognize him as Peter, one of the Candor transfers, already having made a name for himself as one of the harsher candidates this year.

“What?” You ask him.

He jerks his chin towards the group. “Your reason for transferring. It’s bullshit. I used to be a Candor, you know. We can spot a lie from a mile away.”

You regard him dismissively. “You left, didn’t you? Maybe you’re not as good at spotting a lie as you thought. There’s nothing interesting about me leaving Amity. Go look for gossip somewhere else.”

You make to turn back to your group, but Peter speaks before you can. “I know there’s something you’re not telling us. It’ll come out, but maybe you’ll just fail out before we get the chance to discover what it is.”

You grit your teeth and don’t answer him. When you look back at the group, you realize that they’ve all been listening in to your conversation with Peter.

Christina leans forward and gives you a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about him, Peter’s just an asshole. Honestly, I’m surprised he transferred. He sure seemed to love being rude to everyone back home and getting away with it because he was honest.”

You flash her a thankful smile and try to turn back to your meal, but inside, you’re still thinking about Peter’s words. Christina and the others may be your first friends here, but they were just as curious as Peter was. At least Peter made his intentions obvious. Say what you will about Dauntless, but no one’s hiding anything around here. Everyone wants to drag each other down, it’s as clear as day. If you look to your left and right, the people at this table aren’t just focused on their celebratory dinners, they’re thinking about who would be the easiest to crush. What matters is getting a top placement out of initiation for the job of your choosing. Everyone knows this, so there’s no point in lying. You can twist and scheme as much as you like, but nothing is more blatant than the body on a training mat after a fight. One winner, one loser. Plain and simple.

See, Peter’s right. You are hiding something about Amity. There is a reason you left your sweet, sunny home behind for the coldness of Dauntless steel. No one here knows what it’s like in Dauntless because they, too, have only ever been at home– their homes, not yours. That’s the problem with the faction system, you suppose. All anyone sees is one very narrow view of how life is supposed to be, and so they cannot fathom what your life might have been like growing up, or why on earth you would want to leave the city’s most saccharine faction if it was so nice.

It wasn’t nice, that’s why. Sure, it was on the surface. Everyone’s words were sweet, their voices dripping with concern or praise whenever they crossed your path, but none of it was real. If any Candor visited, you think they’d die of shock. There have never been a prettier batch of lies than the ones told by Amity, and there are so many lies that it’s almost impossible to tell what people actually mean. You could go to town one day in a dress ripped to ribbons and everyone who saw you would run over to say how much they loved your new fashion choice and how brave it was to go for a deconstructed look! The second you turned away, they’d gossip about you until the cows came home. It’s just an excuse to chitchat with the neighbors, of course. They don’t mean anything by it.

There was one girl in particular who made your childhood a misery. She was a perfect Amity, it’s no surprise she stayed there after the Choosing Ceremony. You dreaded having her in your classes because she was always firing off the cruellest comments hidden under a veneer of charm. Everyone loved her, or maybe they were just scared of being her next target. There was never anything you could do about it, because her words were just sly enough to avoid being an outright insult. You couldn’t stand up to her, because that would involve aggressive language and get you a week’s worth of detention helping weed the school gardens. 

The worst part is that you could never tell who agreed with her– it felt like she had everyone in Amity under her sway. You’d think you made a friend, someone you could trust, and then after trusting them with your secrets, you’d see them out with your bully and you’d get this sinking feeling in your chest like you’d been betrayed. Soon enough, that girl was teasing you with things you only told your friend in confidence, and you’d have to wonder if you’d ever had a real friend or just someone sent to spy on you because they thought it was funny.

It felt like you couldn’t trust anyone. Nothing was real, not really– the people checking in on you were just filling an empathy quota set by their supervisors, and you’d heard rumors about food getting spiked with Peace Serum whenever your neighbors were getting a little too testy. Life was a pantomime, and with every year that passed, you felt your grip on the truth fading little by little.

You had always assumed that you would stay in Amity, just about everyone did. It wasn’t until you took the mandated Aptitude Test and got a different result that you seriously considered leaving. Of course you’d thought about it, a life without lies, but you had just assumed what went on in Amity would happen everywhere. When you went home from the test that night, though, you thought about the people from other factions you’d seen on your rare visits to the city. They seemed sure about themselves in a way you weren’t at home, like they could trust what they saw or else figure it out on their own.

It occurred to you at last that you could not stomach the rest of your life in the perfumed unreality of Amity. After that, the decision to transfer was obvious. You briefly considered Candor, but worried they’d be no better than Amity regarding hidden lies. Dauntless, though, Dauntless seemed like the polar opposite of anything Amity. In that way, it was perfect. Did you see yourself as a fighter, a killer? Only time would tell, but at least in Dauntless, you know exactly where you were.

So, early into initiation, when the leaders revealed the rankings, you weren’t as freaked out as everyone else. Honestly, you loved the idea. At any given moment, you knew your standing in your faction. Back in Amity, that would have been a lifeline. You’ve heard most initiates hate these lists of names, that the constant display of skill or lack thereof sets their minds afire with nerves, but they don’t know how good they have it.

You take that as a sign that you really are meant for Dauntless after all. And, when you start doing well in training, and your name begins to steadily rise through the rankings, you’re certain you’re right. Everyone is stunned that an Amity could be halfway decent at proudly Dauntless feats of strength and brutality, and they take their misplaced assumption as an excuse to hit you twice as hard in an attempt to knock you down to where they think you belong. It’s not fun, and leaves you with more than a couple of painful bruises, but again, it’s all so obvious that you want to laugh out loud. Everything is so clear here.

Well, almost everything. There’s still one murky patch on your horizon, and that’s Peter Hayes. Honestly, you just can’t understand him. Everyone around you says that Peter is not to be trusted, that he only gets close to people to figure out how to cut them down. That makes sense by itself, so why is it that Peter finds a space beside you at every meal, every training drill? Why would he keep making comments under his breath to you when no one else can hear, and why would a smile split his otherwise moody face whenever you have to bite back a laugh?

It makes no sense. If you knew what was good for you, you would keep your distance. You came here for straight lines, obvious risks, and Peter is deception walking. There’s only one reason people leave Candor, Christina had told you secretly, after she’d caught you walking back from practice with Peter by your side, just close enough to touch, far enough to make you wish he would. They love lying so much they don’t care if they get caught or not, so they go somewhere it won’t matter.

You’d whispered back to her, Is that why you left? And waited for her to roll her eyes, annoyed, and go back to her bunk. Still, her words had played over in your mind longer than you care to admit. Peter is a liar. They’re all liars, the ex-Candor. But Peter’s putting a lot of time into you, surely more than anyone would for a mere backstabbing. If Peter’s just playing with you, it’s an awfully consuming game.

The questions circle through your mind day after day. When Peter finds you again, after hours in the training gym, your musings seem to echo through the hall with every blow of your fist against the punching bags.

It was as if he appeared out of nowhere, black clothes blending in with the shadows of the gym. “You know, for a so-called pansy Amity, you do seem to train more than anyone else.”

You glance over your shoulder. Of all the people to come visit you during one of your night training sessions, you can’t say you’re surprised it’s Peter. He’s been more present than ever as of late; feels like you can’t take a breath without him noticing.

“Not everyone,” you call back. “You’re here too, aren’t you?”

Peter ambles over to you, seemingly indifferent about the whole thing, the dark room, the tense shadows wrapping around the two of you. “You’re working, I’m not. Maybe I’m just here to watch.”

You roll your eyes and turn back to the punching bag so you don’t have to look at him anymore, so you won’t risk saying something stupid. “If you want a show, I think some of your old Candor buddies are trying to sneak into some parties a few floors up.”

“I couldn’t care less about them,” Peter scoffs. The rest goes unspoken, that the one he really cares about is you.

You force a fake laugh, but on the inside, you’re afire. “What, already bored of the other initiates? Doesn’t bode well for the rest of training, does it?”

“Not everyone bores me,” Peter says offhandedly. “Or haven’t you noticed?”

“I have noticed,” you reply. “You stare an awful lot for someone who doesn’t care about any of us.”

“You stare a lot too,” Peter fires back. “Half the time I look at you, you’re already looking at me.”

“So you admit you look at me?” You counter.

For a fraction of a second, Peter’s face freezes, and then it breaks into a wide, sharp grin. “Maybe I do. What’s it to you?”

“Why do you look?” You press. “Everyone else moved on from the fact that I was Amity ages ago. Don’t tell me you’re still trying to figure out why I transferred.”

“No,” Peter decides, “That’s old news. I already know why you’re here.”

You get the odd sensation of a pit opening in your stomach. “Yeah?” You try to sound casual. “And why’s that?”

He leans in, close enough that you can see the reflection of the lights in his eyes as they shine at you. “You’re perfect for this place. It’s obvious. You want to hurt people as badly as I do.”

For some reason, you feel relieved. He hasn’t figured you out yet, he just thinks you’re like him. Having Peter Hayes think you’re built of the same bloodthirsty material as him is probably a bad thing, but you can’t stop a spike of something like pride from ripping through you.

“You’re wrong,” you say decisively. “I don’t want to hurt people. I just don’t feel like being pushed around anymore.”

“Sure, sure,” Peter says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Me too. If someone ever tried to get in my way again, I’d probably knock ‘em down, throw a punch, maybe even get out a knife–”

“Peter,” you say sharply, and he breaks off, grinning even despite the serious expression you’re fighting to keep on your face. “I wouldn’t do any of that. And neither would you.”

“No?” He asks, eyebrows raised. “Clearly you haven’t heard what the others are saying about me. They think I’m a monster.”

“Well, some would say you can’t believe everything you hear,” you fire back. “You may be good at building up an image, but I think both you and I know that not everything your old faction believes about you is true.”

Curiosity flashes across Peter’s face before he can stop himself. “Alright. What am I, then? Don’t tell me you think I’ve got good in me, I’ll throw up.”

You roll your eyes. “Maybe I do. You’re the one who’s here keeping me company on a dark night when any other initiate would take this as an opportunity to beat me up to keep me low in the rankings.”

“Maybe that’s why I’m here,” Peter says, face suddenly sinister. He takes a threatening step towards you. “Maybe I’ve had my fun talking and I’m about to stick you in the infirmary for the next week.”

You meet his gaze steadily. “Do it, then. Throw a punch.”

Peter holds his stance for a second longer, then relaxes. “Nah, I’m just kidding. I’m not the type to beat up on a harmless Amity with no witnesses.”

“I know you’re not the type,” you say, then, with a bit more heat, “I’m not harmless. And I’m no Amity.”

“I know,” Peter says calmly, and you get the sense that he means it, every bit of it. He knows you’re a threat, and he doesn’t see you as your old faction. He might be the first. Even Christina and the others keep side-eyeing you when they think you can’t see, as if Amity is something that can be studied on a person, that might rub off on them if they spend too much time around you. Peter is the only one who assumes that you can change, that you might be just as much a Dauntless as the rest of them, if not more so.

His good opinion means more to you than you care to admit. “Alright then,” you say as casually as you can, “Don’t fight me. Keep lurking if you like.”

You make a show of turning away from him back to the punching bag, but you’ve only landed a few strikes before Peter’s opening his mouth again.

“You’re moving while you’re still off balance,” he says quietly. “Take your time. You’re only half as strong if you’re not sure of your footing.”

“I won’t have time to wait when I’m in the ring,” you counter.

Peter scoffs, but the sound is fond. “I’m just trying to help, you know. I’ll just shut up, then.”

“No,” you say too quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just trying to think things through, that’s all. How am I supposed to be patient in a real fight?”

“You’ll have more time than you think,” Peter replies. “Most of these guys need time to catch their breath, anyway. Just give yourself a quick second, then go back in.”

You nod. “Like this?” You try a few more punches, this time allowing yourself a heartbeat longer between each blow. You can tell that something’s different, that you’re able to hit more squarely, even before Peter nods in satisfaction.

“Yeah, that’s good.”

You grin over at him. “You’d make a halfway decent trainer. Maybe next year it’ll be you, Four, and Eric leading initiation.”

Peter shudders. “No thanks. I intend to head to leadership.”

You shrug. “You’d be good at that.”

Peter’s eyes dart to you, genuinely surprised. “You mean that.”

“I do,” you say.

Peter holds your eyes a second longer then makes himself look away, a small smile rising to his lips. “You’re probably the only other initiate who’d say that.”

“Who cares about them?” You ask. “I didn’t think you were the type to let anyone else get to you.”

“Of course not,” Peter says disbelievingly. “Do I really strike you as the type to cave to peer pressure?”

“No,” you answer steadily, “but I don’t think you’re an uncaring killer, either. I think there’s more to you than you’re letting on.”

“Funny,” Peter quips, “I was about to say the same thing about you.”

It’s not the first time he’s insinuated that you’re hiding something, but for some reason, tonight it feels less like an accusation and more like a declaration of admiration. You’re alike, the two of you. You rise above the crowds. You have depth that others don’t.

You finish the rest of your late night training session like you intend, but everything feels different with him there, more charged. You feel wide awake even though the rest of the faction is asleep. It’s as if the whole world narrows to just the two of you, the weight of his eyes on the bruises on your knuckles, his breathing aligning with yours as you make your way through two quick jabs, one strike, a step forward then back. You’re not honestly sure by the end if you’re two people or just one single mind. And, when he walks back with you to the dorm, stalking silently through the darkened halls, you keep feeling the brush of his fingers against yours in the shadows of the night. Neither of you call each other on it.

Everything is different after that night. Peter has been increasingly present as of late, but it doesn’t feel like he’s waiting for something anymore, as if you’ve found a threshold and leaped over it. Instead of watching silently, or only making quips under his breath when he’s certain no one can hear but you, his presence is active now, commanding you to pay attention. When you wake in the morning, his eyes flick to you over and over again, making certain that you won’t be late to training. He picks you as his sparring partner, and if he can’t, he shoots dark glares at the person working with you instead. He walks back with you every time, again close enough to touch, but far enough to make you be the one to make that last move. Sometimes you do, if you can convince yourself that the halls are empty enough and you won’t be spotted. It appears your newfound Dauntless bravery doesn’t always extend to the judgment of your peers.

Your late-night training sessions take on a different shade, too. He’s more open there, when the eyes of the world are not upon him. He tells you things about himself, why he left Candor, what he’s hoping to find here. You talk, too, about the vicious side of Amity. He seems surprised, but not completely taken aback, as if he had expected it. You get the sense that your initial impression of Candor as a surface coating of truth protecting a dark underbelly of lies was true, or Peter wouldn’t be so certain when talking about how appearances can be so deceiving. 

There are times at night when you’re certain he’s going to kiss you. Sometimes, you’re overwhelmed by the sureness of it, like when the two of you are lying on your backs side by side on a mat after a round on the ring, chests heaving, and he rolls over onto one side to look down at you. There’s a hunger in his eyes for something more than blood, for the heart within your chest. He catches himself though, always just in the nick of time, right before you both do something you’ll regret. You can’t tell if you’re grateful for his control or hate it.

Your friends try to warn you off Peter once it becomes obvious that the two of you are growing closer together. Christina especially keeps insisting that he’s cruel, that he’ll tell you things to mess up your head just to get ahead in the rankings. She’s so certain that you start to doubt yourself, but then you spend another night with Peter, and get to see that soft smile he’s starting to let slip out when no one is around but you, and you just can’t believe her. Peter has a cruel streak, you’re not denying that, but you don’t think he’d hurt you. Selfishly, you almost think that’s enough to justify the rest.

Maybe you were so caught up in wanting to believe him that you forgot where you were, what the stakes of the initiation ranks might mean for everyone here. Maybe you wanted to believe that if you could change from the mold of your past faction, so could he. Maybe you forgot that cruel boys don’t lose their shape all that easily, and even if he wants to pretend to be soft and sweet with you, that sharp edge appears eventually. It always does. You of all people should know that.

A scream splits the dark air of the initiate’s bunks late one night, and even then, with an odd coppery scent billowing around you, with the howls of one of the trainees rattling in your ears, you don’t think to suspect Peter until you have no other choice. The screams are loud, blood-curdling, cries of agony you had never before heard from a human being. You hear rustling around you as initiates wake up to this living nightmare. Someone shuffles around, looking for a light switch, and, finding it, drowns the room in blinding light.

You blink a few times, trying to shake the spots from your vision. As your eyes adjust, you see people huddling around a figure a few beds from you. Edward’s bed, you think dully, but why would everyone be so worried about Edward? It takes your sleep-addled brain a few more moments to realize that he’s the one screaming, that the copper stench of blood is coming from his bed, from the gaping wound in his head that he’s clutching with one hand.

Your stomach lurches and you have to fight a wave of nausea. It’s his eye, you realize with horror, someone’s cut out his eye. No one else is in the room and you didn’t hear the door. It would have to be one of you.

Tris hurries over to Edward and starts pressing cloth to his head to try to stem the outpour of blood. Always selfless, Tris, your mind contributes helpfully. Always looking out for others. Guess you really can’t take the Abnegation out of the girl after all.

It makes you think about other people here from old factions, how those trends might inspire them to do something worse than help somebody. And only then, as if in a dream, do you start to think about who might be cruel enough to blind somebody just to get the top slot in initiation. There was only one name right below Edward’s, of course. Everyone knew the number one rank was between Edward and– and Peter.

Peter, who is sitting calmly on his bed, watching the proceedings. Unlike the rest of the room, he doesn’t look the slightest bit surprised that something like this might have happened. You realize that he’s absentmindedly picking at something under one of his nails, a dark stain, a dried brown smear on the palm of his dominant hand.

It’s blood. It’s Edward’s blood.

It hits you now, the full weight of how wrong you were about Peter. So many people tried to warn you, and you had too much pride to listen, so sure of yourself about people’s true characters and first impressions and all of that nonsense. If you had just looked– if you had just listened–

You wonder if he passed over your bed with the blade, if he had stared at your sleeping body and debated killing two birds with one stone before carrying on to Edward. No, you decide self-loathingly, he would have no need to kill you. You are no threat to him, not when you fell for his scheme so perfectly.

Christina has the kindness not to comment on your silence that day, nor why you no longer go to Peter during practice sessions but stay there with your friends. You do see a few ‘told-you-so’ looks exchanged behind your back, but everyone’s so shaken up from what happened to Edward that they let you off easy. Besides, it must be obvious that you’re beating yourself up enough that their judgement would hardly matter.

Peter only tries to talk to you once after that night with Edward. It was casual, a hand reaching out to you at the end of a training session, a low voice asking how your fights were that day. You can’t even bring yourself to look at him, sure that you can still see the ghost of Edward’s dried blood on those fingertips, and end up forcing yourself to walk right past him without a second thought. It hurts like a gunshot to the chest, like a knife in the eye. You can see him startle in your peripheral vision, start to turn to you as if to ask why, but you’re out the door before he gets the chance.

Peter gets the picture after that. He stops trying to walk next to you in the corridors and doesn’t try to train with you any more. He doesn’t even show up in the gym after hours anymore, although you swear you can still feel the ghost of him watching you when it’s just you and the bruise in your knuckles and the weight of having misjudged him so terribly.

He still watches, though. Still waits at the end of the ring while you’re fighting. He won’t let you go, not completely, and one night when you’re walking back from a party he finally gets his chance. You’re on edge, head pounding from too-loud music that you were always one line away from recognizing, and decide to head out to the roofline to clear your head. The night air is crisp, takes your breath away, and you decide to wander over to the railing and stare out over the city. It’s beautiful at night, with the buildings sprawling out before you like an old photograph. You can imagine people in every window, opening every door, waking and sleeping and going about their business. A whole world, and to you it’s just one pinprick of light in this immense darkness.

A sudden voice splits the peace of the night, and you’re instantly on your guard again. “And here I thought I’d never get a chance to see you.”

You whip around to see Peter quietly emerging from the door you’d just left. “Peter,” you say breathlessly, then remember all the weight and ache of his betrayal and look away again.

He folds his arms across his chest. “Still won’t talk to me? I see Christina got to you at last. Funny, I really thought you could see through all that.”

“It’s not Christina,” you spit at him. “You stabbed Edward when he was sleeping, Peter. You blinded him. He was top of the rankings and now he’s factionless. His whole life is over because you backstabbed him.”

Peter’s gaze hardens. “If he was top of the rankings, he should have known to be ready for anything. A real Dauntless would know better than to let his guard down in a room full of competitors.”

“He was asleep,” you say disbelievingly. “We fight in training, sure, but not in the dorms. You cheated and lied. You made me think you were better than this. I should have listened to them in the first place.”

Peter’s eyes look hollow. “If you fooled yourself into thinking I’m a saint, that’s your fault, not mine. I’ve known what I am for a very long time. I am the perfect Dauntless, whether you want to believe that or not.”

“You weren’t,” you stutter out. “You could have been something else. For a while there, I really thought–”

“Thought what?” Peter asks scornfully. “That I was a nice guy? That there was any world in which I stopped wanting to win and just decided to roll over because people deserved it more? No. If Edward deserved to win, he wouldn’t have given up. You know he did. I just wanted to show it to people. Now everyone knows he was a coward who would rather drop out than try to live with discomfort.”

“Discomfort,” you laugh incredulously. “He’s blind.”

“I left him an eye,” Peter retorts.

You shake your head. “You’re insane, Peter.”

“But you liked it for a while,” he says. “Didn’t you?”

You can’t answer, the words cling like dust to your throat. You try to push past him, but Peter grabs your arm, stopping you from going too far. “You can think whatever you want of me,” he says hollowly, “but I have always been this way. Don’t blame me for your high expectations.”

“I never expected you to be perfect,” you hiss back. “I just wanted a friend. You’ll never have that, Peter, not again, not after this. We’re all too scared of you to ever let you get close again.”

He pulls back for a moment, wounded, and you take that opportunity to yank your arm back and storm away. Selfishly, you want Peter to call after you, to stop you, but for once he lets you go without a fight and you’re gone, disappearing back into the quiet darkness of the Dauntless corridors.

You’re distracted. You feel the absence of him like a phantom limb. It affects you more than you care to admit. You have a fight two days after that, one you should win with a decent effort, and you find yourself zoning out halfway through. You try to force yourself to focus, but your mind is elsewhere. You don’t see the hit that knocks your legs out from under you, and your arms seem to move far too slowly to block your head when the fist comes at you. There’s an intense blast of pain, and then you’re not in the gym at all anywhere, but floating somewhere in the darkness, untethered and spinning in endless nothingness.

Your eyes blink open some time later, after hours or days or maybe just a few minutes. Your world is shaking slightly, side to side with a rhythmic motion, and you realize that you’re being carried by someone. You open your eyes a little more, although the lights hurt. There are arms wrapped around you, someone running with you to who knows where. You look up, squinting, and realize that it’s Peter who has you, Peter who is running at a full sprint.

He glances down at you, realizing you’re awake. “Keep your eyes open. Don’t fall asleep again.”

He’s saying something about a bad hit to your head, but you’re tired, tired from weeks of intense training, of late nights and bad habits and exhaustion, and the thought of sleep really is quite nice. Your eyes start to flicker shut again. Dimly, you hear Peter’s voice taking on a pleading tone, but it’s too late now. The darkness swallows you whole once again.

You don’t wake for a while, of that you’re certain. Even then, you shift between sleeping and consciousness, finally able to pull yourself solidly into reality with great effort. When you’re finally able to sit up and look around, you realize that you’re in the infirmary. Your head aches, as if it’s been punched into the ground, which you suppose it has.

You groan lowly, remembering the fight. It had felt like you were moving through water, every action slowed and dull. The pained sound from your throat draws the attention of someone in the chair next to your hospital bed, who sits forward intently. It’s Peter, you feel with an unwanted rush of fondness. He’s the one who got you here and he stayed the whole time.

“How are you feeling?” His voice is rough, tired.

You wince. “Good enough, considering. How long have you been here?”

He shrugs, not quite looking at you. “Needed to make sure you were alright. That was some hit you took.”

“A proper Dauntless would have said if I was weak enough to lose that fight, I would deserve the hit.” You don’t say it kindly. Peter takes it like a blow.

“I already know you’re good enough,” he says, head low like a kicked dog. “You weren’t yourself today. Doesn’t mean I want to see you get beaten like that. When you stopped moving–”

He cuts himself off suddenly, a pained expression twisting across his face. You look back at him, really look at him, in a way you haven’t allowed yourself to look in a while. He’s still every inch the boy you wish he was. His dark hair still curls slightly over his temples, and his eyes shine even with the poor fluorescents of the infirmary. You’ve always thought him handsome, a feeling that hasn’t gone away despite your brain telling you otherwise.

“I thought you were gone,” Peter says abruptly. “You were just lying there. Scared me.”

You reach over and lay your hand on his. “I’m still here.”

He’s not done yet, the words pouring from him like blood from a wound. “I hated the way you looked at me after what I did to Edward. I don’t regret blinding him, I don’t, it was the right move, let me in exactly where I needed to be, but I hated that it meant I lost you. Didn’t feel as good being at the top when you weren’t around anymore. It’s all bitter now. I’m not a good person, Y/N, I never have been, and I’ll keep doing shit to people if it gets me where I need to be, I just– I wanted you to know that I miss you, that’s all. You got one thing right about me. I wasn’t happy being alone.”

He leans back slightly, chest heaving with the force of all that truth. Somewhere in there is still a Candor’s spirit. He will always feel better after he spills his guts.

“I forgive you,” you say quietly. “And I missed you, too.”

Peter meets your eyes at last. “Don’t leave me again.”

“Don’t make me find out about your bad decisions at the same time as everyone else,” you counter. “I can’t stop you from doing what you do, but I hated feeling like you betrayed me. You tell me everything or you’re done.”

A flicker of a smile ghosts his lips. “You want me to be honest?”

“I want you to be talkative,” you decide. “I was getting bored with you.”

This time he grins in earnest. “I knew there was a killer in you somewhere.”

“Not a killer,” you answer, “but a Dauntless for sure.”

“Oh, that we all knew,” Peter laughs quietly. “I figured that out on the first day.”

You glance at him, curious. “How? Everyone else just saw some clueless Amity.”

He lifts a shoulder, pleased. “You stood up to me, then ignored me without a second thought. You were the most interesting thing I saw that whole day.”

You laugh at that. “You just wanted entertainment, you mean. You wanted a puzzle to solve.”

“Haven’t solved you yet,” Peter says. “Are you going to let me stay around long enough to get a second chance at figuring you out?”

You take a slow breath in, then out. The reasonable answer is to say no, because by now you know that Peter may be alluring and always one step out of reach, but he’s a bloody and twisted soul. If you go down this path too long, it’ll consume you. You know that.

You also know that you didn’t come to Dauntless to play it safe, but to live, and to live fully. “Yes,” you reply at last, “I think I will.”

For someone so dark and dangerous, Peter certainly has a wonderful smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”

He squeezes your hand once, twice. You smile to yourself with satisfaction. Peter may be using all of this as a game to keep himself busy while he stalks to the top of the rankings, but he’s forgotten one thing:  you’re playing, too. He’s not the only one curious about just what makes a Dauntless initiate the way they are. The way you see it, you’ve just had one great view of the inner workings of a Candor. You’ve got a great many questions. It’s time to get some answers.

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