Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Slytherin!”

The word rang in Rin’s ears like a curse.

He sat frozen on the stool, fingers gripping the edge until his knuckles whitened. For a moment he thought the Sorting Hat was joking, that it had made a mistake, that it would change its mind if he just sat still enough. But the roar of applause from the Slytherin table left no room for denial.

Rin slid off the stool, jaw tight. He didn’t look at the Gryffindor table. He didn’t look at his brother.

Especially not at Sae.

Two weeks ago, they’d fought. Not a normal sibling fight—the kind that burned too deep to shrug off. Sae’s words had been as sharp as glass, and Rin’s reply had been worse. He still heard them when he closed his eyes.

“You’ll never catch up to me.”

“I don’t want to be anything like you anyway.”

A lie. A stupid, ugly lie.

Rin had wanted Gryffindor because Sae had been placed there, because for all his bitterness he still wanted to be near him, to prove that he belonged by his side. But now…

Now he was walking toward the Slytherin table, every step heavier than the last.

The Slytherins welcomed him with claps on the back and smug smirks, but Rin barely registered them. His gaze flickered once—just once—toward Gryffindor. He caught the outline of Sae’s shoulders among the older students. Sae didn’t turn his head. Didn’t even acknowledge him.

Something sank in Rin’s stomach.

Fine. He didn’t care. He’d prove himself without Sae. He’d burn brighter in a different house. He’d—

“Eat,” one of the prefects said, sliding a plate toward him. Rin muttered a thanks, though the food turned to ash in his mouth.

That night, the dorms were a blur of green banners, stone walls, and unfamiliar faces. Everyone else seemed to settle in easily, talking about Quidditch or exchanging names. Rin sat on the edge of his bed, unpacking slowly, careful with every fold as if neatness could make up for the chaos inside him.

But then, a knock at the door. A prefect again, frowning.

“Itoshi Rin?”

“…Yeah?”

“Room assignment error. You’re not supposed to be here. Come with me.”

Rin’s brow furrowed, but he obeyed. Maybe this was it—the Hat had been wrong, maybe they’d fix it, maybe he could—

But no. The prefect led him down another hall, up a staircase, and stopped at a single door at the end. “You’ll be rooming here. Temporary situation. Your roommate doesn’t have one anymore, so you’re paired with him until further notice.”

The prefect left before Rin could ask who him was.

Rin stood in the corridor, suitcase in hand, staring at the heavy wooden door. His pulse quickened, though he didn’t know why. He exhaled slowly, pressed down the handle, and pushed it open—

The room was quiet when Rin stepped inside.

Two beds, two desks, two wardrobes. One side lived in sheets twisted, quills scattered, a broomstick propped in the corner. The other side—bare. Waiting.

Rin set his suitcase down on the empty bed. He unpacked in silence, folding his robes into neat stacks, lining his books by size and subject. The act calmed him. Precision was something he could control. Unlike the Sorting. Unlike Sae.

When he was finished, Rin stood back and looked at the space. His side of the room was already orderly, stripped of personality but undeniably his. He dragged a hand through his hair and let out a quiet breath.

Sixteen. He’d be sixteen soon.

And what then? What was he even doing here?

The school was supposed to be a chance—a chance to sharpen his skills, to find his place. But what did that mean if Sae was already out there, two years ahead, dazzling professors, earning accolades, leaving Rin in his shadow?

They barely spoke now. Different houses, different circles. 

That was good, Rin told himself. Distance meant fewer reminders. Fewer stabs in the chest every time someone compared them.

He sank onto the bed. The sheets smelled faintly of stone and dust, but it was fine. Everything was fine. He would make it fine.

Rin lay back, staring at the ceiling until his eyes grew heavy. He let himself drift, his thoughts a blur of green banners, Sae’s turned back, and the question he hated most—What if I never catch up?

Sleep claimed him before he could find the answer.

Rin stirred. Something cold brushed against his face—like a draft, but sharper, deliberate. His eyes fluttered open.

A face.

Too close.

A man, tall, older, leaning over him with a grin that was all teeth and mischief.

Rin’s heart lurched. Instinct took over. He shoved hard, sending the intruder stumbling back with a laugh.

“Oi, violent much?” the man drawled, catching his balance with infuriating ease. His hair was blond with pink strike, almost white under the lamplight, and his eyes gleamed with an energy Rin instantly disliked. “You’re even prettier up close, though. Not a bad way to wake up.”

Rin sat up, pulse still racing, scowl carved deep into his face. “Who the hell are you?”

The man spread his arms, as if announcing himself on stage. “Shidou Ryusei. Your charming, devastatingly handsome roommate. Two years your senior, but don’t let that intimidate you, kid.”

Rin blinked, stunned into silence for a beat. Then, “…You’re my roommate?”

“Bingo.” Shidou dropped onto his bed with a thud, sending a pile of quills rolling off the desk. He didn’t even look when one snapped under his boot. “Guess you’re the replacement they saddled me with. Not bad, though—I was starting to get lonely without anyone to annoy.”

Rin gritted his teeth. “I’m not here to entertain you.”

Shidou smirked, kicking back on his pillow. “Don’t worry, princess. Just existing is entertaining enough.”

Rin’s glare could’ve cut glass. He already regretted ever closing his eyes, “…Sure.”

Unbothered, Shidou then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “So, Rin, right? Tell me something about you. Favorite spell? Least favorite class? Darkest secret?”

“No.”

“No what?”

“No, I’m not telling you anything.” Rin pulled his blanket tighter, as if that might ward him off.

Shidou whistled low. “Cold, huh? That’s fine. I’ll break you in. We’ve got a whole year together, roomie.” He grinned, sharp and bright, like this was the best news in the world.

Rin turned his face toward the wall, already done with the conversation. Silence stretched, but Shidou didn’t seem bothered. He hummed under his breath, tapped out a rhythm on his desk, rummaged through a bag and muttered about missing socks.

Eventually, Rin muttered, “Can you keep it down?”

“Sure, sure.” A pause. Then Shidou, softer, “Night, Rin.”

Rin didn’t answer. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe evenly. But sleep came slower this time, disrupted by the weight of a presence far too loud to ignore.

Morning crept in through the enchanted windows, pale light spilling over stone walls and green-draped beds. Rin was already awake.

He’d been up for a while, silently reorganizing the top shelf of his wardrobe. Robes lined in color order. Books stacked cleanly on the desk. Wand polished. Everything squared away. His side of the room already looked like he’d lived there for months, though he’d only arrived the night before.

The other side looked like a battlefield.

Shidou Ryusei had returned sometime after Rin drifted back to sleep, judging by the mess left in his wake. His trunk lay open at the foot of his bed, robes half-dangling out, one boot tossed in the corner while the other rested on the desk. A pair of socks—striped, horribly bright—hung from the bedpost like a flag.

Rin pressed his lips together. He didn’t even want to look at the floor.

Behind him, the bedsprings squeaked. Shidou yawned loudly, stretching out like a cat. “Morning, roomie~.”

Rin didn’t answer.

“C’mon,” Shidou pressed, dragging himself up on one elbow. His hair was a wild halo, sticking out in directions Rin didn’t think possible. “Don’t tell me you’re the type to sulk before breakfast. That’s depressing.”

“I’m not sulking.” Rin adjusted the angle of a quill on his desk. “I’m trying to live in peace.”

Shidou barked a laugh, rubbing his face with one hand. “Peace? In this room? Hate to break it to you, princess, but I’m not exactly the peaceful type.”

“I noticed.” Rin’s gaze flicked to the heap of clothes on the floor. “Do you always live like that?”

Shidou followed his eyes, then shrugged. “Yeah. Makes it easier to find stuff.”

Rin stared at him. “How.”

“Simple. If I throw it all in one place, I only have to look in one place.”

It was so stupid Rin couldn’t even reply. He turned back to his books, muttering under his breath.

Unfazed, Shidou swung his legs off the bed and rummaged through his trunk. Every movement was loud, leather creaking, fabric rustling, items clattering to the floor. Rin flinched when a small metal case fell open, spilling what looked like enchanted marbles across the stone. They rolled under his bed.

“Oops,” Shidou said casually. “Mind passing me those if you find ‘em later?”

Rin’s head snapped up. “They’re under my bed.”

“Yeah, that’s why I said later.”

“Unbelievable.” Rin pinched the bridge of his nose.

Shidou grinned, unabashed, then pulled out a green-and-silver scarf and wrapped it dramatically around his shoulders. “Admit it, I brighten this place up. You’d be bored stiff without me.”

“I was bored before. It was better.”

“That’s cold, Rinny.” Shidou flopped back onto his bed, still in yesterday’s shirt, his scarf trailing across his chest like a sash. “But don’t worry. I’ll warm you up.”

Rin refused to look at him. He stacked his books higher, carefully aligning the corners. “I don’t need warming up and don’t call me–!”

“Everyone needs something. You just don’t know it yet.”

The words hung there, careless but oddly weighty. Rin shoved the last book into place, harder than necessary, and stood up. He wouldn’t give Shidou the satisfaction of a reply.

Behind him, Shidou chuckled. A low, satisfied sound.

Classes were fine.

That was the best Rin could say about them.

He sat near the front, quill scratching steadily across parchment, answering when called on and otherwise keeping his head down. His yearmates—most of them younger, still buzzing with the novelty of their first week—whispered and laughed behind him. He didn’t join in. He didn’t want to.

The professors didn’t bother him either. They seemed satisfied with his work, though a few raised brows when he delivered answers too quickly. Rin ignored it. He wasn’t here to show off. He wasn’t here to make friends.

When the bells rang for lunch, he gathered his books and followed the tide of students toward the Great Hall.

The hall was massive, ceiling enchanted to show a pale stretch of sky, sunlight filtering through drifting clouds. Long tables divided by house colors ran the length of the room, alive with chatter. The scent of roasted chicken and baked bread rolled in waves.

Rin hesitated at the entrance, eventually slipped into the Great Hall with the other Slytherin first-years, trailing behind without bothering to learn their names. The chatter and clatter of cutlery rolled over him, familiar yet suffocating. 

He only wanted a seat, a plate, and silence.

Head down, he moved through the crowd, weaving between robes and benches. Just as he was about to slide into an empty spot, his shoulder collided hard with someone else’s.

The impact jolted him. Rin muttered a quick, “Sorry,” without looking up—until the voice answered back.

“…Rin?”

His stomach dropped.

Rin’s eyes snapped up, and there he was—Itoshi Sae. Sharp as ever in his Gryffindor robes, emerald and gold flashing in the candlelight. The brother he hadn’t spoken to properly in months, maybe longer.

For a second, neither moved. The crowded hall kept buzzing around them, but Rin felt pinned in place, breath caught in his throat.

Sae’s expression didn’t change much, only the faintest flicker in his eyes, but Rin knew that look—it was recognition and distance all at once. Heat crept up Rin’s neck. He wanted to turn, vanish, anything. But his body betrayed him, rooted to the spot with all the unsaid things between them pressing in.

Before either of them could speak, a loud voice cut through the air.

“Oi, Sae-chan!”

The voice was loud enough to ripple through the Great Hall. An arm hooked itself easily around Sae’s shoulders, pulling him into a half embrace he didn’t return. Rin’s eyes widened.

Shidou Ryusei, with that wolfish grin, leaned in far too close. “You’re lookin’ extra pretty today. Did you miss me?”

The Gryffindor didn’t even flinch. He stood as if rooted to stone, letting the arm stay there, letting the words slide off him like rain on glass. His indifference was sharp enough to cut, but it wasn’t rejection either.

And that—more than the ridiculous flirting—made Rin’s chest twist.

His brother, who never let anyone close. His brother, who used to look only at him, even when they fought. To see someone else in that place, arm slung over him like it belonged there—it was almost unbearable. Jealousy flickered hot and sudden, tangled with something heavier, sadness, anger, an ache that made it hard to breathe.

Then Shidou’s gaze shifted. Bright, sharp, too curious. He tilted his head, finally noticing Rin. “Oh? Who’s this, then?”

Rin froze.

Before he could answer, Sae’s voice came, flat and cool. “Don’t bother.”

He shrugged off Shidou’s arm, turned, and walked away. No backward glance.

The sting landed deeper than Rin expected. As if that single sentence had carved him out, erased him from the moment entirely.

Without a word, Rin moved past them, shoulders stiff, and slipped into his seat at the Slytherin table. His appetite was gone, replaced by the heavy churn of something sour and hollow.

His food sat untouched in front of him.

Across the hall, Sae had taken his place among the Gryffindors, expression unreadable as always. He looked the same—calm, distant, untouchable. And yet, Rin couldn’t stop replaying that moment. Shidou’s arm draped over his shoulder. Sae not brushing it away immediately. Sae’s voice cutting Rin off like he was nothing.

He stabbed at a piece of bread, appetite soured. His chest felt hollow, like something had been scooped out and left empty. Why did it still hurt so much? He should’ve expected this—Sae had been drifting further and further from him long before Hogwarts. Different houses, different lives. Still, seeing it up close had a way of twisting the knife.

The hall buzzed with chatter and laughter around him, a world away from the storm in his head. He kept his gaze locked on his plate, eyes shadowed under his fringe.

And then—

Splat.

Warm liquid slid down his hair, dripping across his temple and splashing onto his robes. The heavy scent of broth filled his nose. Rin’s body went rigid.

Slowly, very slowly, he reached up and wiped at his head. His fingers came away slick with soup.

It wasn’t scalding—lukewarm at best—but humiliation burned hotter than any burn could. His teeth ground together.

He shot up from his seat, chair scraping hard against the floor, and spun around.

Behind him, two boys froze like deer in torchlight.

One with messy deep blue hair and wide, horrified eyes, the Ravenclaw scarf around his neck marking him clearly. His face had gone pale, lips parting like he wanted to speak but couldn’t. Beside him, a Hufflepuff with bright yellow trim was equally pale, his guilty expression screaming louder than any apology. His hands twitched, still half holding the tray as if gravity itself had betrayed him.

For a beat, none of them moved.

His fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white. The soup dripped steadily from his hair, soaking into his collar, each drop a reminder that everyone was watching.

Laughter and whispers had already started rippling through the hall. He caught fragments—“Did you see that?” “Poor kid—” “He looks furious—”

The shame burned hotter than fire.

Then he exploded.

Rin surged forward, arm cocked back, ready to deck the nearest boy. Isagi’s terrified eyes widened, Bachira actually flinched. But before Rin’s fist could connect, a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders from behind and yanked him back.

“Cool it,” a voice hissed in his ear. A Slytherin first-year, shorter than him, face blurred in Rin’s fury—he didn’t care who. All Rin saw was red.

“Let me go!” Rin snarled, thrashing violently, trying to wrench free. His body strained against the grip, but the boy held on with surprising strength.

“Stop it! You’ll get us docked marks!” the voice snapped again, sharper this time.

The words cut through the haze. Docked marks. Losing points. On his first day. In front of everyone. Rin froze, chest heaving, breath ragged. He could feel every pair of eyes in the Great Hall pressing down on him.

By instinct, his gaze flicked across the tables, searching for one face.

Sae.

His brother was watching. For a heartbeat, Rin thought—hoped—maybe there’d be something there. Recognition. Sympathy. Anything.

But what he saw was a flicker of disgust. Sae’s mouth curled ever so slightly, his eyes hard and cold, before he turned away as if Rin wasn’t worth another second of attention.

It knocked the air out of Rin harder than any punch.

Something lodged in his throat, tight and stinging. He hated the way it burned, hated how close it felt to crying. Not here. Not in front of all of them.

The Slytherin boy’s hands loosened, sensing he’d calmed down. Rin jerked himself free and stood rigid, soup still dripping onto the floor.

Without a word, without a glance at the two boys—who were stammering apologies he refused to hear—Rin stalked out of the hall. His steps were quick, sharp, the only thing keeping him from unraveling.

The voices followed him, the whispers, the laughter, but he didn’t slow down. Couldn’t.

Rin didn’t stop walking until the voices of the hall were far behind him. His shoes hit the stone steps hard, echoing in the corridor, each step fueled by the need to get away before anyone followed. By the time he reached the dorm, his chest was tight, his throat raw with words he hadn’t said. He shoved open the door and went straight for the bathroom, locking it behind him.

The mirror greeted him with the worst sight imaginable: himself.

Soup clung to his hair in uneven streaks, dripping down his temple. His robes were stained, collar dark and wet. His face—pale, tense, red around the eyes. Like he’d almost…

No.

His jaw locked.

It had been a pathetic show. First day, and he’d already lost control in front of half the school. First day, and Sae had looked at him like he was nothing.

The humiliation stung all over again, rising hot in his chest. He gripped the sink until his knuckles whitened, teeth grinding.

A single tear slipped free before he could stop it. Rin turned on the faucet at once, splashing cold water over his face. Again, and again, until the mirror was misted and his skin numbed. If he drowned himself in enough of it, maybe it would wash everything else away too.

By the time he straightened, hair plastered to his forehead and cheeks damp, no one would know. No trace. Itoshi Rin didn’t cry. Not here. Not anywhere.

He pulled his robes tighter around himself, forcing his breathing steady, and left the bathroom.

Rin threw himself onto his bed the moment he stepped out of the bathroom. 

The mattress dipped under his weight, the smell of damp robes and soap clinging to him. He pulled the blanket half over his body and turned toward the wall, shutting out the rest of the room.

His stomach twisted with hunger, but he ignored it. The thought of food made him sick. 

The memory of warm soup sliding down his hair, the laughter ringing in his ears—it was enough to kill whatever appetite he had left.

Less than a week. Less than a week in this school, and he’d already made a spectacle of himself. Already given people something to whisper about. Already given Sae another reason to look at him like… like that.

His throat tightened. He pushed the thought down, hard.

He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to think about Sae’s eyes, or Shidou’s grin, or the crowd’s laughter.

So he lay there, staring at the wall, fists curled under the blanket, jaw clenched until it hurt. Angry. Sad. Hungry. A storm with no outlet.

And above all, determined not to break.

The hour dragged like wet cloth. Rin hadn’t moved from his position, curled toward the wall, listening to the faint hum of the castle beyond the dorm. His stomach complained once, twice, before falling silent. He ignored it. He ignored everything.

The door creaked open without warning.

“Yo!”

Rin tensed but didn’t turn. Shidou’s voice filled the room like it owned it, careless and loud. Footsteps followed—unhurried, uninvited. Something clattered onto the nightstand behind him. A plate. The smell hit him immediately—bread, roasted meat, and the lingering steam of soup.

“I brought you food,” Shidou said, not mockingly but matter-of-fact, like it was the most natural thing to do. “Realized you didn’t eat anything.”

The mattress dipped on the other side as Shidou sat down, too close, like boundaries didn’t exist for him. Rin kept his face turned to the wall, jaw tight, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

But his stomach betrayed him with a low, traitorous growl.

Shidou chuckled under his breath. “Thought so.”

Rin didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just pressed his cheek harder into the pillow, as if he could vanish into it.

Shidou didn’t take the hint. Of course he didn’t.

“C’mon, don’t be stubborn,” Shidou drawled, dragging the plate closer until the smell was impossible to ignore. “You’ll pass out or something. Then I’ll have to haul your scrawny ass to the infirmary. Don’t think either of us wants that.”

Rin’s shoulders stiffened. “…I don’t need your pity.” His voice came low, sharp, the first words he’d given all day.

“Pity?” Shidou barked out a laugh. “Nah, don’t flatter yourself. I’m your senior. Gotta take care of you lot. Above all…”

Rin heard the shift in tone—lighter, but with a surprising sincerity.

“…I’m your roommate.”

The words landed heavier than they should’ve. Rin hated how his chest tightened at that.

Shidou leaned back against the bedframe, stretching his legs out like he owned the space. “So yeah. Eat. Or I’ll feed you myself, and trust me—you don’t want that.”

For a long beat, Rin didn’t move. His pride screamed at him to stay still, to let the food sit there untouched. But his stomach betrayed him again, louder this time, and Shidou snorted.

Finally, Rin sat up, face turned away as he snatched the plate like it was a chore. He didn’t thank him. Didn’t even look at him.

But he ate.

The senior guy grinned, satisfied, and let him. No more words, no more needling—just quiet, comfortable enough that Rin could almost breathe again.

It was annoying. Infuriating. And somehow, Rin thought, not that bad.

Rin ate in silence. Small, quick bites, as if finishing the meal faster would erase the humiliation of being caught hungry in the first place. The food wasn’t hot anymore, but it was better than the hollow ache in his stomach.

Shidou didn’t push him. For once, he just lounged there, one leg bouncing lazily off the edge of the bedframe, arms folded behind his head. His messy hair stuck up at every angle, his tie half undone. He looked completely at ease, like the dorm was his personal throne room.

Rin hated that ease. 

Hated how Shidou seemed unbothered by everything—like the world bent around him instead of the other way.

But more than anything, Rin hated that it was working. The noise in his chest had quieted. The whispers of the Great Hall, the look on Sae’s face, the burn of humiliation—it all seemed muffled now, drowned out by Shidou’s steady, infuriating presence.

He finished the last bite and shoved the empty plate onto the nightstand without a word.

Shidou tilted his head, grinning. “See? Wasn’t so hard. You eat like a human, after all.”

Rin shot him a glare sharp enough to cut. “Shut up.”

The grin widened. “There he is.”

Rin turned back toward the wall, dragging the blanket over his shoulders like armor. He wanted to sleep, to push the day out of existence. But behind him, Shidou’s careless voice filled the quiet.

“You know…”

Rin stiffened.

“…you’ve got this look, like the whole world’s out to get you. Like you’re fighting shadows or something. It’s kinda cute, honestly.”

Rin’s ears burned. He clenched the blanket tighter around himself. “You’re annoying.”

Shidou chuckled, low and unbothered. “Maybe. But if the world really is out to get you…” His voice softened, almost casual in the way only truth could be. “…then I guess you’re lucky you’ve got me.”

The room fell quiet after that.

Shidou didn’t elaborate. He just kicked off his shoes, sprawled across his own bed without ceremony, and within minutes his breathing evened out. Out cold, like nothing had happened.

Rin lay rigid under his blanket, staring at the wall. His chest felt tight in a different way now—not humiliation, not rage, but something unsettled, something that lingered in the space Shidou’s words had carved open.

He told himself it was stupid. He told himself it meant nothing.

But even as sleep pulled at his eyes, Rin knew he would remember those words.

If the world really is out to get you… then I guess you’re lucky you’ve got me.

The next day, after class, Rin slipped his books under his arm and headed out the door, intent on retreating before anyone could corner him. 

He wasn’t in the mood to talk, not to anyone.

But the same two boys stepped into his path, blocking the corridor. Rin’s jaw tightened. He shifted to the side, brushing past with a sharp, “Move.”

One of them reached out, not grabbing, just stopping him with a hand raised. “Wait—we just want to talk.”

Rin’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t care.”

The blue-haired boy of the two exchanged a glance with his friend, then said, “We… came to apologize. For yesterday.”

Rin stilled, his fingers tightening around his books. His first instinct was to scoff, to cut them off before they could get another word out. But they didn’t look smug, or like they were trying to rub it in. They looked… uneasy.

“We’re second years,” the other explained, a little awkwardly. “Didn’t know who you were. We thought it was just a joke, but it went too far. We asked one of the first-years to point us to you.”

The sound of their voices grated against Rin’s pride, but what truly bothered him was the heat rising in the back of his neck. People passing in the corridor slowed, watching, maybe recognizing them from yesterday’s spectacle. His humiliation from then came crawling back, prickling at his skin.

“…Whatever,” Rin muttered, trying to shove past again.

“Look, we’re serious,” the bob cut pressed. “We didn’t mean to humiliate you like that. You don’t have to forgive us, but… at least hear us out.”

Rin’s teeth clenched. He wanted to yell, to tell them he didn’t need their apology, that nothing they said would erase what had already happened. Instead, he found his voice lowering to a bitter edge. “I don’t want it. Just don’t talk to me again.”

The boys hesitated, guilt written across their faces, but they didn’t chase him as Rin stalked down the hall. His steps echoed, quick and heavy, until he was free of the corridor and the eyes following him.

He didn’t want their pity. He didn’t want their recognition. 

And most of all, he didn’t want to be reminded of how pathetic he had looked yesterday—of the way his own brother had looked at him.

Rin didn’t stop walking. He didn’t even know where his feet were carrying him—just away, as far as possible from those two and from the eyes in the corridor. His grip on his books loosened until the edges dug into his palm, sharp enough to sting.

By the time he looked up, the air felt different. Softer. 

He blinked and realized he’d wandered into one of the castle gardens. The noise of footsteps and chatter had faded, replaced by the faint rustle of leaves and the trickle of water from a fountain at the center.

Rin exhaled, sharp and unsteady, setting his books down on the stone bench. His chest still felt tight, like the humiliation was lodged inside his ribs, refusing to let go. 

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands until his scalp burned.

The garden was empty, save for the scattered blooms and vines curling up the old stone walls. The quiet should have helped, but instead it made his thoughts louder—about yesterday, about the apology, about Sae’s face twisting like Rin was dirt beneath his shoes.

His throat clenched. For a moment, he thought the sting in his eyes might win, but he forced a long breath through his nose and sat down heavily on the bench. 

He wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not anywhere.

Instead, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the fountain’s rippling surface. He hated this feeling—this mix of anger and shame he couldn’t shake off. Less than a week here, and already he felt cornered.

Rin sat hunched over, staring into the fountain’s rippling water when a faint rustle caught his ear. His shoulders stiffened. He wasn’t alone.

He turned his head, careful not to draw attention, and froze.

Shidou was crouched near one of the garden beds, hands deep in the soil like he’d been doing this for a while. A small trowel glinted in the light, but his focus wasn’t on the tool—it was on the strange, bulbous plant in front of him, its leaves faintly glowing an otherworldly green. 

Every few seconds, it twitched, as if alive. Shidou hummed under his breath, completely absorbed. 

His usual grin was gone, replaced with something oddly calm—his brows drawn together, lips parted slightly as he carefully loosened soil around the roots. The reckless boy Rin thought he knew looked… different.

For the first time, Rin really looked at him.

His skin, tanned as if he’d lived under the sun forever. Blond hair sticking up every which way, tipped in soft pink that caught the light when he leaned forward. Two stubborn strands straight down from his hairline, like antennas that refused to behave.

Shidou didn’t notice him watching. Maybe that was why Rin let himself linger on the sight longer than he should have. Without the noise, without the mouth running endlessly, Shidou looked… almost nice. Almost.

Rin caught himself staring and tore his gaze away, annoyed at the thought.

Rin shifted on the stone bench, debating whether to slip out before Shidou noticed. No such luck.

“Oi.”

Rin stiffened. Shidou was still crouched, hands dirtied, but his pink eyes flicked up sharp and sudden, grin following a beat later. “You spying on me, roomie?”

“Tch. Don’t flatter yourself,” Rin muttered, standing to leave—except his own feet betrayed him. He paused instead, curiosity tugging. His eyes darted to the plant Shidou was fussing over. It looked like it might start growling at any second.

Shidou straightened, wiping his hands on his trousers without a care, and tilted his head at Rin. “Well? You just gonna stand there, or you wanna see something cool?”

Against his better judgment, Rin stepped closer, arms crossed. “It’s just a plant.”

A laugh burst out of Shidou, loud and bright. “Just a plant, he says. Nah, this little guy’s a beauty. Do you like explosions?”

Rin blinked. “What?”

“Explosions,” Shidou repeated, utterly casual. “Boom! Bang! Kaboom!” He mimed something detonating with both hands, complete with sound effects. His grin widened. “This one—if you poke it wrong—puffs up like a balloon, then bang! Blows dirt everywhere. Wicked fun. Professors hate it.”

Rin stared at him like he’d grown another head. “You’re insane.”

“Thanks, I get that a lot,” Shidou said cheerfully, leaning back down to pat the soil around the glowing bulb with surprising care. “But if you treat it right—gentle, steady—it’ll bloom instead. Gorgeous black petals, smells like burnt sugar.”

Rin’s lips parted before he caught himself, frowning.

 He hadn’t expected Shidou of all people to handle something so carefully. For someone who lived like chaos incarnate, he had patience here. Skill.

Shidou glanced up again, smirk tugging at his mouth. “I’m making one for someone. Gonna be a killer surprise.”

Rin shrugged, uninterested—or pretending to be. “Don’t care.”

“Aw, come on, you don’t even wanna know who?”

“No.”

Shidou laughed again, loud enough to make the plant twitch. “You’re funny, Rinny. Cold as ice.” He turned back to his work, still grinning.

Rin looked away quickly, irritated by the warmth prickling beneath his skin. Still, a reluctant thought dug at him, maybe Shidou wasn’t just chaos after all.

“Oi, Rinny.”

“Don’t call me that.” Rin’s voice was flat, but Shidou only grinned wider.

“Rinrin, then.”

Rin’s eye twitched. “Shut up.”

Shidou suddenly shoved the trowel toward him. “Here. Hold this.”

“I’m not—”

“C’mon, roomie, don’t be shy.” Shidou pressed the tool into his hands anyway and scooted over in the dirt, making space. “You look like you need some character development. Gardening’s good for that.”

Rin glared at the trowel like it was diseased, but his pride wouldn’t let him throw it back. With a huff, he crouched down beside Shidou. “This is stupid.”

“Stupid fun,” Shidou corrected, grinning. He guided Rin’s hand toward the soil, all careless enthusiasm. “Dig a little around the base, not too rough—yeah, like that. Ohhh, Rinny’s a natural!”

“Stop calling me that, antenna freak.”

Shidou barked a laugh. “Antenna freak? That’s new. You think I look like a bug, huh?”

“Cockroach fits better,” Rin muttered, carefully loosening dirt like he’d been told. “You’re just as annoying.”

Shidou clutched his chest, feigning mortal injury. “Ouch! Brutal. My poor heart.”

Rin ignored him, tamping the soil down a little harder than necessary.

But Shidou was unstoppable, humming as he worked beside him. “Still. Worth it. You know how cool it’s gonna be when this blooms? Black petals, fire-sugar smell, big showy thing. Perfect gift.”

Rin rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide it. “You talk too much.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m excited!” Shidou flashed that maddening grin. “Can’t wait to see his face when I hand it over. Boom! Instant knockout.”

Rin stabbed the trowel into the dirt with more force than necessary. He didn’t care who Shidou was making it for—he really didn’t. Except his jaw clenched, and his shoulders tightened, and he couldn’t stop the faint twist in his chest as Shidou went on about it.

“Rinrin,” Shidou sing-songed, leaning too close, “you jealous?”

Rin shoved him with his shoulder. “Shut up, cockroach.”

Shidou laughed so hard the plant twitched again, and Rin was half-tempted to jab the trowel in his direction. Still, he didn’t move away.

By the time the last of the soil was patted down, Rin dusted off his hands and stood, ready to bolt, “Alright, I’m done wasting my time,” he muttered, turning toward the path out.

“Oi, Rinny—hold up.”

Rin sighed, already bracing himself for another round of nonsense, but when he turned, Shidou was crouched again. He tugged at a small bloom by his knee—black petals edged faintly in violet, swaying like it had been waiting just for someone to notice.

“This one’s ready,” Shidou said, eyes gleaming. He plucked it free with a flourish and held it out. “Here. Take it. If it stays too long on the stem, it’ll rot out by nightfall.”

Rin’s brows drew together. “No. I don’t want it.”

Shidou grinned, shaking the flower in his face. “C’mon, don’t be a stiff. Just take it. Consider it a gift. First day of roomie bonding.”

“I said no.”

“What, you allergic to flowers or something?” Shidou tilted his head, grin still fixed in place. “It won’t bite. Promise.”

Rin’s ears burned hot. He scowled harder to mask it. “You’re an idiot.”

“Maybe, but I’m your idiot.”

Rin’s chest tightened at that—too sudden, too sharp. He turned away quickly, snatched the flower from Shidou’s hand before the antenna freak could see the heat rising in his cheeks, and shoved it into his pocket.

“Happy now?” Rin snapped, already storming toward the garden gate.

Behind him, Shidou’s laugh rang out, bright and unbothered. “Rinrin, you’re the cutest when you’re mad!”

Rin’s steps faltered for half a beat, heart hammering, but he didn’t look back. If he did, he might’ve given himself away.

Rin slammed the door behind him and leaned against it, chest heaving just enough to remind him he was still human. The flower—soft, dark, slightly sweet-smelling—was clenched in his fist, hidden under the sleeve of his robe.

He paced the small length of the dorm, letting the sound of his footsteps fill the silence. His mind, however, refused to cooperate.

What… what was that?

He dropped onto his bed, head resting on the pillow, staring at the ceiling as if it might have the answers. The heat in his chest, the sudden thump in his heart when Shidou handed him that flower—none of it made sense. Rin prided himself on being in control, on being careful, on keeping everyone else’s nonsense at arm’s length.

And yet…

He’d felt affected. Hot. Flustered. A little… thrilled, even.

Rin ground his jaw. That wasn’t him. That wasn’t how he was supposed to react. He was supposed to ignore Shidou, mock him silently, maybe roll his eyes. Not… whatever this was.

He clenched the blanket in frustration, trying to shove the thought away. I’m not… I don’t…

The words died on his tongue. He couldn’t articulate it. Not yet. Not even to himself.

Rin lay there in the quiet, staring at the ceiling, cheeks still tingling. Something about Shidou—his energy, the grin, the reckless way he moved through the world—was… different. And it had left an unexpected mark on him, right in the center of his chest.

He didn’t want to admit it. He wouldn’t admit it. But he knew, somewhere beneath the anger, the pride, the annoyance… he couldn’t stop thinking about that guy

Not one bit.

Rin sat on the edge of his bed, the small flower clutched in his hand. After a long sigh, he noticed a tiny glass vase on the windowsill—probably left by a student last year. Without overthinking it, he set the bloom inside and poured a little water from the pitcher on the desk.

It looked… okay. Fine, even.

He leaned back against the headboard and studied it for a long moment. Black petals with faint violet edges. Delicate, yet somehow defiant—like it had survived despite everything.

Rin shook his head lightly. It’s just roommate bonding, he muttered to himself. Nothing more. Just… a tiny bit of attention, nothing serious. Been alone too long, that’s all. Craving some human contact. Doesn’t mean anything.

He let himself take a slow breath, trying to cement the thought as rational. His ears still tingled faintly, and his chest still felt heavier than it should, but he shoved the rest away with practiced precision.

It’ll probably never happen again.

And with that, Rin turned toward the wall, facing away from the flower, letting sleep pull him under.

Rin woke with a start, sunlight slipping through the dorm window. His stomach growled faintly, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten much since yesterday. Groaning, he pushed himself up and ran a hand through his hair.

Today… Quidditch training. First class.

He tugged on his robes quickly, grabbing his books and equipment. Even though he didn’t particularly care about making friends, or impressing anyone, he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the whole field either.

By the time he reached the Quidditch pitch, the sun was already high, glinting off the hoops at either end. Students were scattered across the field, some laughing, others warming up with broomsticks. Rin’s eyes swept over them but kept moving; he didn’t want unnecessary interaction.

Until he heard a voice call out, cheerful and familiar.

“Hey! You’re Rin, right?”

Rin’s head snapped toward it. Standing not far off was a tall boy with messy dark hair, a friendly grin, and the same hesitant-but-eager energy he’d felt yesterday in the Grand Hall.

“I’m Niko Ikki,” the boy said, stepping forward. “You’re the first-year from yesterday… the one those second-years were apologizing to, right?”

Rin’s eyes flicked over him quickly. That was the boy who had held him down in the dining hall—what was his name?—yeah, that one. He’d been pale, awkward, and clearly terrified of getting in trouble, unlike most of the older students yesterday.

His jaw tightened. He didn’t particularly want to make conversation, but… he couldn’t help but notice that Niko was giving off a surprisingly genuine vibe, calm and unassuming. 

Something different from the chaos and ridicule he’d felt the day before.

Rin kept his arms crossed, expression sharp. “Yeah. What about it?”

Niko raised his hands in mock surrender. “Nothing—just thought I’d say hi before training. Don’t worry, I’m not here to bother you.”

Rin snorted softly, the corner of his lips twitching against his better judgment. Calm, at least. Unlike some people.

He adjusted the strap of his broomstick bag and turned toward the pitch, eyes scanning the field. Training awaited, but for a fleeting moment, Rin allowed himself to notice the little shift from yesterday—the quieter kindness in someone, the way not everyone was chaos.

It was… new.

Rin scanned the pitch as the students gathered in small clusters by house colors. His first impression—wide open space, brisk wind tugging at robes, brooms lined neatly for inspection—was enough to make him straighten his posture.

A whistle cut through the chatter, sharp and commanding. “Alright, first-years, listen up!”

Rin’s head turned automatically. Standing at the center of the field was a tall figure in Slytherin robes—muscular, with sharp features, and an air of confident authority that immediately demanded attention. His eyes swept across the group like he was already calculating their every move.

Rin froze for a fraction of a second before recognition hit. Shidou…?

Shidou grinned, catching Rin’s gaze. “Ah! Didn’t expect to see you here so soon, Rinny. Roommate duties and Quidditch practice on the same day, huh?”

Rin stiffened, immediately turning his face toward the other side, pretending not to know him. Don’t look, don’t react.

Shidou only laughed, loud and carefree, ignoring Rin’s icy posture entirely. “Ignore the first-years. I’m Shidou Ryusei—your senior. I’ll be showing you how Slytherin keeps the skies ours. Any questions?”

Rin’s jaw tightened. Keep cool. Act like you don’t know him. He gave a small, curt nod to the air, eyes forward.

Another figure stepped forward from the opposite side—a second-year, Julian Loki, his robe perfectly fitted, stance relaxed but calculating. He carried the quiet aura of someone who didn’t need to yell to be feared. Loki’s gaze briefly flicked toward Rin, then swept over the assembled students, noting their posture, their expressions.

Rin instinctively straightened, broom strap tight against his shoulder. He didn’t want to look nervous, didn’t want anyone thinking he was a weak first-year. He already had enough chaos to manage in this school.

Shidou clapped his hands once. “Alright! First-years, grab your brooms. Loki here will demonstrate a few maneuvers, and then we’ll split into teams. Don’t hold back—you’re Slytherin now. Show me you can handle the sky.”

Rin’s stomach twisted with anticipation and irritation alike. 

He wasn’t a complete novice at flying, but the thought of having Shidou so close—so casual, so unbothered—made his chest beat a little too fast. He shoved the thought aside, gripping his broom tighter.

Just training. Nothing else. Don’t let him get to you.

Still, as he mounted the broom and glanced at Shidou, a small part of him couldn’t ignore the strange tension blooming in his chest. Rin mounted his broomstick with careful precision, toes gripping the footrest, hands steady on the handle. He wasn’t going to stumble. 

He wasn’t going to embarrass himself. Not today.

“Focus, first-years!” Shidou called, his voice carrying effortlessly across the field. “Keep your balance. Eyes forward, not down. Don’t let the broom do all the thinking for you.”

Rin’s jaw tightened. I don’t need his advice.

The wind tugged at his robes as he lifted off the ground, broom steady beneath him. Around him, other first-years wobbled, some screeching, some laughing. He ignored them all.

Except Shidou.

No matter where Rin drifted, Shidou hovered nearby, effortless in the air, arms crossed, a grin plastered across his face. “Oi, Rinny, watch that turn! You’re leaning too far—careful or you’ll tip!”

Rin bristled. “I can manage.”

“Sure, sure,” Shidou replied, weaving around him with ease. “But hey, don’t fight me on it—I’m the senior here. Gotta look out for you.”

Look out for me. Rin’s chest tightened. He scowled, focusing hard on the broom, but he couldn’t shake the heat creeping up his neck.

As the drills continued, Shidou kept flitting around him—too close to be coincidence. Hovering just behind during turns, swooping alongside when Rin attempted speed runs. Rin’s heart thumped against his ribcage, a mix of irritation and… something else he refused to name.

“Careful on the descent, cockroach,” Rin muttered under his breath, gripping the broom tighter.

Shidou laughed, loud and carefree. “That’s the spirit! And hey, roomie, you’re improving fast!”

Rin’s ears burned. Stop calling me that. But despite himself, he couldn’t stop adjusting his balance to match Shidou’s subtle movements, couldn’t stop noticing how effortlessly the boy handled the broom, how his grin never faltered even when the wind whipped in his face. Every time Shidou hovered near, every careless tease, Rin felt a strange weight in his chest—a warmth, a pull he didn’t want to admit. He shoved it down, doubled down on focus, telling himself, It’s just training. Nothing else. Ignore him.

But no matter how hard he tried, Shidou’s presence lingered, teasing and irritating, yet… undeniably affecting.

By the time the first drill ended, Rin was breathless—not from flying, but from the strange, prickly heat curling through him whenever Shidou was near. 

And for the first time, he realized that he didn’t entirely hate having the senior constantly shadowing him.

I hate this. I really hate this…

Yet the faint curl of pride in his chest told him otherwise.

The drills finally ended, and Rin set his broom down with a precise clatter. He let out a long, controlled breath and rolled his eyes at the day’s chaos, brushing imaginary dirt off his robes.

“Pfft, what a waste of energy,” he muttered under his breath, ignoring Shidou’s hovering grin.

But then Shidou’s head perked up sharply, eyes lighting like a spark. Rin followed his gaze without thinking—and froze.

On the far side of the pitch stood Sae. His brother, calm and collected as always, seemingly unconcerned with the chaos of first-years and seniors around him. But the way Shidou immediately broke into a run, broom barely grazing the ground before he was speeding toward him, made Rin’s chest tighten unexpectedly.

Rin stayed where he was, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. 

Shidou was close—close enough that Rin could see the mischievous grin softened into something almost… caring. And Sae? Sae didn’t pull away. He even smiled, the faintest tilt of his head suggesting comfort, familiarity, maybe even amusement.

Rin’s stomach knotted. What… what’s going on there?

They weren’t in the same house. They weren’t even in the group. Why was Shidou running to him like that? Why did Sae seem… comfortable with it?

Questions spiraled in Rin’s mind, each one pricking a little more. Friends? That seemed impossible. And yet… the way Shidou moved, the way Sae didn’t flinch, didn’t step back… It was almost like they shared some secret understanding.

Rin’s jaw tightened. He shook his head slightly, trying to dispel the sudden heat crawling up his neck. Doesn’t matter. Not my business.

And yet, despite himself, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Not entirely.

Rin shoved the thoughts away, straightening his back and gripping his broom strap tighter. Not my business. Forget it. Just go back to the dorm and pretend none of that happened. He stepped off the pitch, letting the wind whip through his robes, forcing himself to focus on nothing at all—just the path, the grass under his feet, the echo of broomsticks in the distance.

And then—bam!

Something solid hit him square in the chest. Books and papers clattered to the ground.

“Oops! Didn’t see you there,” said a voice, calm but amused.

Rin looked up, eyes narrowing automatically. Standing over him was a tall boy, almost as tall as Rin himself, maybe taller, wearing the deep blue robes of Ravenclaw. What immediately caught Rin off guard was his eyes—one deep blue, the other green. The mismatch gave him an unsettling yet intriguing air.

“I… watch where you’re going,” Rin snapped, crouching to pick up his scattered books.

“Sorry, sorry,” the guy said smoothly, crouching as well to help. “Oliver Aiku. And you are?”

Rin straightened, brushing off the dirt from his robes. “Rin. Itoshi Rin.” His tone was clipped, a warning of don’t bother trying to be friendly.

Oliver’s mismatched eyes flicked over him once, just long enough to make Rin feel… noticed. He smirked faintly. “Rin, huh? First-year? Slytherin?”

Rin’s eyes narrowed, hands tightening around his books. “Yeah. And I don’t need your commentary.”

Oliver laughed softly, standing upright. “Fair enough. Just didn’t mean to bump into you. Guess it’s one of those days.”

Rin muttered something under his breath, already turning to continue toward the dorm. But for some reason, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of those mismatched eyes lingering in his mind.

Another distraction I don’t need, he thought, shaking his head. Just go back. Ignore it.

Rin straightened, brushing his robes with brisk, deliberate movements. He wanted to get back to the dorm, shove the pitch incident away, and pretend it never happened.

However, Oliver Aiku wasn’t done. 

He stepped a little closer, one hand in his pocket, eyes glinting with amusement. “Hey, first-year,” he said smoothly, voice low and casual. “You look… interesting. Thought I’d come see if you’re free, if you know what I mean.”

Rin froze for half a second, his jaw tightening. Free? The nerve of this guy. The way he said it—like it was just casual, like he had a right to even ask.

“I’m… not,” Rin said flatly, taking a deliberate step back.

Oliver chuckled, leaning slightly forward, giving Rin a grin that was both infuriating and unsettling. “Ah, come on, don’t be shy. No harm in a little fun, right?”

Rin scowled, cheeks tinged faintly. “I said no.”

Oliver shrugged as if it were nothing. “Alright, alright. Fair enough.” Then, his gaze sharpened slightly, eyes flicking at Rin’s face with curiosity. “Say… are you Sae’s brother?”

He froze, stiffened, and glanced away. What? How do you even know— He kept his voice level, even as irritation bubbled inside. “I’m… not talking about that.”

Oliver laughed softly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Fair. Was just curious. Didn’t mean to pry.”

Rin gave a terse nod and turned, striding toward the dorm. Weird. Awful. And a third-year senior, of all people, just casually asking something like that? Not a chance.

As he walked, Rin’s mind spun slightly, part anger, part disbelief. This guy—playful, flirtatious, irritating—seemed completely unbothered by rules, by hierarchy, by common sense. And somehow… that made him more infuriating.

Ignore him. Just ignore him. Rin muttered, but he couldn’t help the faint prickling awareness that this encounter wasn’t going to be the last.

Rin closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment.  

Letting out a long, controlled breath. The chaos of the Quidditch field, the weird garden incident, The raveclaw's inappropriate curiosity—they all buzzed faintly in the back of his mind. He stripped off his robes, washed his face, and rubbed at his damp hair until it fell back into place. He straightened his uniform, smoothed the creases, and finally let himself sit on the edge of the bed.

For a moment, he allowed the quiet to settle, but even then his thoughts were prickly and restless.

The sudden, cheerful voice of Shidou broke the silence.

“Rinny! Guess what?”

Rin’s jaw tightened automatically. He didn’t turn. “What?” His tone was deliberately flat.

Shidou bounced into the room, radiating the kind of happiness that made Rin want to grit his teeth. “My crush finally agreed to hang out with me! We’re going to—well, not a date, just… talk about some assignment, but still! He said yes!”

Rin blinked, his chest tightening in a way that made him want to scowl harder than he already was. 

Why do I even care?

“That’s… great,” he muttered, voice carefully neutral, pushing down the strange flutter in his chest. He refused to let it matter. It’s nothing. Just some random person. Doesn’t concern me.

Shidou’s grin didn’t falter; he leaned on the desk casually, eyes glinting with excitement. “I’m telling you, Rinny, it’s going to be awesome. Finally someone appreciates my genius, huh?”

Rin swallowed, biting back a snort. “Sure, whatever.”

But even as he tried to focus on his own thoughts, the warmth in his chest betrayed him. He pushed it down, shoving away the unfamiliar weight. Don’t care. Not interested. Doesn’t matter who it is.

Shidou, oblivious to Rin’s internal struggle, flopped onto the bed at the foot of Rin’s, still grinning. “You’ll see, roomie! One day you’ll understand my brilliance in love too. Maybe I’ll give you tips.”

Rin’s eyes flicked to the ceiling, jaw tight. I don’t need your tips.

And yet… he couldn’t help noticing the way Shidou’s energy filled the room, how alive he seemed, how… unignorable he was. He pressed his fingers against the edge of the mattress, forcing himself to look away, forcing himself to pretend he didn’t care.

I don’t care. I really don’t. Just… leave me alone.

.

.

.

The dorm was silent. Most of the lights were out, the usual hum of shuffling feet and whispered chatter replaced by an almost sacred stillness. Rin stirred awake, muscles tense, senses alert.

He blinked at the darkness. The bed beside him was empty.

Shidou’s gone?

He shook his head, brushing the thought aside. Doesn’t mean anything. Probably just—whatever. But some unexplainable pull tugged at him. A restless energy that he couldn’t name. Before he even realized it, his feet were carrying him out of the dorm, silent against the polished floor.

The hall stretched before him, quiet and serene under the soft glow of moonlight filtering through tall windows. He drew in a slow breath, savoring the rare calm, letting the shadows guide him.

He wandered through the corridors without a clear destination, only the faint instinct that told him he shouldn’t turn back just yet.

The spiral staircase loomed ahead, its wooden rails glinting faintly in the moonlight. Rin’s steps faltered. His gaze drifted around the corner—and froze.

A figure moved there, just enough that Rin could see the outline of his familiar spiky hair, the lean frame. His roommate.

Shidou.

Rin’s chest tightened, a strange mix of curiosity, caution, and… something he didn’t want to name. He stayed in the shadows, just on the edge of the stairwell, watching. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of Shidou’s face, the way his posture relaxed in the quiet of the castle at night.

His instincts screamed to retreat, to turn away, to ignore it—and yet, something made him take a single careful step forward.

Rin froze in place, every instinct screaming at him to turn away, yet his eyes refused to obey.

Shidou wasn’t alone.

In his hands—carefully, almost reverently—was the flower from the garden. The same one Rin had helped to plant it, the one he had thought was just a silly gift.

And right in front of Shidou… was none other than his brother.

Rin’s heart stuttered, a sudden, sharp ache in his chest. His eyes widened, disbelief twisting into something sharper, heavier. Sae—his calm, unflinching, distant brother—was standing there, close to Shidou, talking with a smile Rin had rarely seen him give anyone outside of a classroom or house duties.

Shidou leaned forward, gesturing toward the flower, eyes bright with excitement, laughing softly in a way that made Rin’s chest tighten further. Sae, seemingly at ease, nodded, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips.

Rin felt a strange, bitter sting curl in his stomach. Why… why is he so comfortable with him?

Questions collided in his mind. Friends? Or… something else? Why is my brother letting him—letting Shidou—be this close?

The irrational, raw part of Rin—the part he usually kept locked tight—wanted to storm forward, grab the flower, shove Shidou away, demand answers. 

But he didn’t. He stayed in the shadows, frozen, chest tight, jaw clenched.

Don’t… don’t make this about you, he whispered to himself. But even as he tried to shove the feelings away, the heat in his ears betrayed him, the twist in his chest undeniable.

Rin’s mind raced, a jumble of jealousy, confusion, and a little pang of something he didn’t yet dare to name. His brother. His roommate. And that flower—all tangled into a knot he couldn’t unravel.

He swallowed hard, pressing a hand to his chest, forcing himself to retreat a step back into the shadow of the stairwell. Not my business. Not my business.

And yet, as he watched the two of them, side by side, Rin couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Rin turned his gaze away, forcing himself to step back into the shadow of the stairwell. He clenched his fists, jaw tight, every nerve screaming at him to deny it.

No. Not… this. Not him.

But the more he tried to shove the thoughts away, the harder they pressed back, relentless and undeniable. The warmth that always seemed to flare when Shidou was near. The way his heart had thumped in the garden, when Shidou had handed him that flower. The careless, radiant happiness Shidou carried even now, standing so close to his brother…

Rin pressed a hand to his chest, exhaling sharply, trying to chase away the betrayal of his own feelings.And then came across a thought in his head. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

And then, with a bitter twist in his stomach, he finally admitted it—to himself, at least.

Damn it. I’ve… fallen. Fallen for Shidou Ryusei. Out of all people.

The realization hit him harder than he expected, an uncomfortable mix of frustration, disbelief, and an unwilling acknowledgment of what had been creeping up inside him all this time. He swallowed the heat in his throat, his ears burning faintly, and muttered under his breath, voice low enough that no one could hear:

Of all people… why him?

Rin shook his head violently, trying to purge the thought, to remind himself that he wasn’t weak, that he could handle this. 

And yet, deep down, he knew the truth. 

Shidou had somehow wormed his way in, and there was no easy way to push him out.

With one last glance—one he hoped no one would ever notice—Rin turned sharply and retreated back down the hallway, letting the shadows swallow him as he walked away, heart pounding, mind spinning, and an unfamiliar ache settling deep in his chest.

Rin lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to find comfort in the darkness. 

His mind spun in circles, replaying the night—the garden, the Quidditch field, Shidou’s careless grin, that flower and… the image of Shidou with his brother.. Every thought tangled with something he refused to name, a heat in his chest he tried desperately to ignore.

He didn’t know how long he’d been lying there, eyes wide, muscles tense, heart stubbornly refusing to calm.

Then—a soft creak. The subtle click of a door opening. Silence, followed by a slow, almost exaggerated sigh. Rin didn’t move, didn’t even turn his head, but instinct told him everything he needed to know.

Shidou.

The sigh carried a lightness, a brightness that made Rin’s chest tighten. It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t annoyed or bored. It was… happy. Ridiculously, infuriatingly happy.

And Rin’s stomach twisted.

Out of all people—all people—it was his brother, Sae, who had managed to pull that sound out of him. That laughter, that sigh of contentment that Shidou never bothered to hide.

Rin’s fingers curled around the edge of his blanket. He wanted to push it down, shove the feeling away, call himself crazy. But the heat in his chest wouldn’t relent, and his stomach knotted with an unfamiliar ache.

Damn it, he muttered under his breath. Of all people… it’s my brother.

He turned his gaze to the small vase on the bedside table, the flower standing silently in the dim moonlight. Its petals seemed almost to mock him, delicate and alive, a reminder of Shidou’s chaotic charm—and of the ridiculous, undeniable pull that Rin felt every time the senior was near.

Rin exhaled slowly, pressing his face into the pillow. Sleep wouldn’t come tonight, not with the warmth still lingering in his chest and the echo of that happy sigh filling the quiet room.

And somewhere deep down, he knew—he didn’t want it to.

Chapter Text

Rin never liked the library. 

It was too quiet, too still—too many eyes pretending not to stare. But here he was, wasting his weekend among shelves older than the castle itself, hunting for something that probably didn’t exist.

A spell to kill love.

It sounded ridiculous even in his own head, but he kept repeating it anyway, like the words might will themselves into reality. If there were charms to erase memories, to change appearances, surely someone must’ve thought about a cure for feelings.

His fingers skimmed over the spines of thick tomes.

Heartbreak & Hexes, The Anatomy of Amortentia, Binding vs. Banishing… all useless. Dust clung to his robes, his eyes burned from scanning page after page, but he pressed on. Anything was better than sitting in the dorm, hearing Shidou’s laugh echo inside his skull.

By the third stack of books, Rin realized he hadn’t spoken to a single soul all day. Perfect. That was how he wanted it. Or at least, that was what he told himself. Then Rin’s eyes caught on a thin, crooked script halfway down the page:

“The Willing Charm—bend another’s heart and mind to your own desire.”

His breath stilled.

It was everything he was looking for, written in black ink on yellowing parchment. For a moment, he just stared. What if he could cast it—make Shidou look his way, make the confusing heat in his chest vanish into something simple, controlled?

His stomach twisted.

No. That wasn’t it. That wasn’t him. Forcing someone felt… wrong. Desperate. Cheap.

Rin slammed the book shut, the sound echoing too loud in the quiet library. He shoved it back into the shelf and wiped the dust from his hands like it might burn him. What the hell was he even doing here? Wasting his time chasing after spells that didn’t exist.

A bitter laugh escaped before he could swallow it. Pathetic.

He needed to clear his head. Do something—anything—more productive than sitting here pretending magic could fix what was wrong with him.

So he packed his things, pushed the heavy library doors open, and let himself wander into the halls of Hogwarts.

The corridors stretched endlessly, sunlight spilling through tall windows, stained glass scattering color over the stone. He’d never really bothered to look before. Between his dorm, meals, and classes, Rin’s world had been small—deliberately small. But now, walking without direction, the castle felt almost… alive.

High ceilings arched above him, portraits whispered as he passed, staircases shifted like they had their own secrets. For once, he didn’t mind. Maybe a tour was overdue. Maybe breathing in the weight of the place could ground him.

And maybe, if he was lucky, it would help him forget.

He walked and walked, and there tucked into a forgotten corner, half-hidden behind a stone archway, stood a mirror. Not one of the enchanted kinds Hogwarts was littered with—at least, Rin didn’t think so. 

Just tall, wide, its frame carved with curling vines gone dull with age.

He stopped anyway.

His reflection stared back at him, sharp and unyielding. Green, circular eyes—too green. Too familiar. His bottom lashes casting shadows over his cheeks in a way he hated, because he knew exactly who else carried them.

Sae.

Rin’s jaw tightened. His fists curled. It didn’t matter how much he tried to carve himself apart, the mirror always handed him back that face. His brother’s face.

A flash of memory hit, Sae’s look at the Great Hall, that disgust curling over his features before he turned away. The same eyes. The same lashes. But on Sae, it was elegance. On Rin, it was mockery.

He exhaled sharply, dragging his hand through his hair like it could rip the resemblance out by force. It didn’t. The mirror only smirked back with Sae’s ghost.

“Damn it,” he muttered, stepping back. He wanted to smash it, shatter the glass into a hundred jagged pieces so there’d be nothing left to compare. But his feet froze. He couldn’t. Not here. Not now.

At first, it was just his reflection glaring back. The same cursed resemblance to Sae. 

But then—something shifted. The air pressed cold against his skin, and the glass seemed to ripple, like water disturbed by a pebble.

Rin froze.

The boy in the mirror wasn’t standing alone anymore.

Beside him appeared a figure—tall, broad-shouldered, spiky blond hair tipped pink. Shidou. His grin was lazy, infuriatingly carefree, like always. But what jolted Rin’s chest wasn’t the sight of him—it was the way Shidou leaned in. Too close. An arm slung casually over Rin’s shoulder as if it belonged there.

Rin’s breath caught. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “No…”

The reflection didn’t listen. The Rin in the mirror tilted his head just slightly toward Shidou, not away. Not in disgust. His lips curved—so small it might have been missed, but it was a smile. His smile.

Rin staggered back, pulse hammering in his ears. His face burned hot as if the whole world had caught him naked.

“This is—” he hissed through his teeth, shaking his head, “—stupid. This is fake.”

He spun away, refusing to look again. The pounding of his footsteps echoed against the empty hall as he stormed off. But no matter how far he walked, that image clung to him—the reflection of himself, smiling with Shidou at his side.

And that, more than anything, terrified him.

Later that night, the image refused to leave him alone. Even lying in bed, he could still see it—the grin, the weight of an arm on his shoulder, that damned smile on his lips. Finally, Rin couldn’t stand it anymore.

He cornered one of the older Slytherin students the next day, pretending it was just idle curiosity.

“That mirror in the east wing,” Rin muttered, arms crossed, his tone sharp enough to discourage questions. “What is it?”

The boy raised a brow, then smirked like he knew something Rin didn’t. “Ah, the Mirror of Erised. Dangerous thing, that one. Shows you your deepest desire. Not the future, not reality. Just… what you want most.”

Rin’s stomach lurched. He masked it quickly, muttering a noncommittal “Tch,” before walking off.

But his head was spinning. Deepest desire?

He clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. No. That couldn’t be right. Shidou Ryusei? Of all people? He barely even tolerated him. He was loud, annoying, disgusting—everything Rin should hate.

And yet… the mirror hadn’t lied.

It showed the one thing Rin couldn’t bring himself to admit, not even in the quiet corners of his mind.

Rin hadn’t asked for this. He didn’t even want this.

But apparently, Slytherin’s Head of House was obsessed with Quidditch, and that meant every single first-year was ‘strongly encouraged’ to attend tryouts. Which, in professor-speak, meant dragged out onto the pitch whether you liked it or not.

So here Rin was, broom in hand, standing on the grass as the evening sun bled into the sky. His jaw was tight, his expression darker than the gathering shadows.

“This is a waste of time,” he muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing at the groups of eager kids bouncing on their toes like they’d been waiting for this their whole lives. Quidditch this, Quidditch that—he couldn’t care less. Flying around on sticks chasing balls? Pathetic.

Still, he stood in line because choice wasn’t on the table.

A whistle cut through the air, sharp and commanding. “Alright, you lot! Up you get. We’ll see if any of you have talent or if you’re all dead weight.”

Rin’s lip curled. He already knew the answer. He didn’t need a broom to prove what he was—or wasn’t.

And then, of course, his mood soured even further the second he spotted the blond spikes of hair at the far end of the pitch.

Shidou Ryusei.

Of course he’d be here.

“Oi, Rinny!” Shidou waved like they were best friends across a crowded room. His grin was blinding. “Didn’t think you’d show up! Gonna fly circles around me, yeah?”

Rin’s grip tightened on his broom. Great. Just great.

The whistle blew again, signaling drills, but Rin barely paid attention. His broom hovered at his side, the wood slick against his palm. The chatter of other first-years swirled around him, their excitement grating like nails in his ears.

That was when a shadow fell over him.

“Yo~” a voice drawled. “Aren’tcha Rin? You Sae’s brother, right?”

Rin stiffened. Slowly, he turned his head. The boy looming over him wasn’t one of the overeager first-years—he was older,  with a sharp jaw and deep purple hair that stuck out at odd angles, almost crow-like. His eyes gleamed with sly amusement.

“Rude of me. Name’s Karasu Tabito,” he said easily, as if the whole pitch belonged to him. “Your brother’s a star player for Gryffindor. I’m sure you’re not just some mediocre broom-rider either, yeah?”

The words cut deeper than they should have. Rin’s chest tightened, the memory of years past pressing heavy against his ribs. How he used to love Quidditch. How he used to dream of playing alongside Sae, proving himself. Until everything between them soured, and the thought of flying beside him became unbearable.

His glare sharpened like glass. “Shut up,” he snapped, rolling his eyes. “I’m not wasting my time on stupid games.”

Karasu only grinned wider, unfazed by the bite in his voice. “Heh. You’re fiery. Just like him.”

That made Rin’s jaw clench. Just like him. The comparison burned more than any insult.

“Get out my way you crow.”

Rin’s words hung in the air like a blade, sharp and final. For a moment, Karasu’s grin only deepened, his eyes narrowing with something that looked a little too close to a challenge.

“Oh?” he tilted his head, voice sing-song with mockery. “Got some bite in you. Figures. Bet you’d be fun to push around the pitch. Maybe—”

“Karasu.”

The voice came from behind him, smooth but firm enough to cut through. Another figure strolled over—leaner, a little shorter, his silver hair tied back loosely, Slytherin crest stitched sharp on his robes. His gaze flicked briefly to Rin, then back to the crow-headed senior.

Karasu clicked his tongue. “What, Otoya? Just talking to the kid.”

“Sure you were.” Otoya’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You know how you sound when you start. Let it go.”

Karasu let the silence stretch before snorting, tossing up his hands. “Tch. Fine. You always ruin the fun.” His eyes slid once more to Rin, sharp and probing. “We’ll talk again, rookie.”

With that, he strolled off, his laugh trailing behind him like feathers caught in the wind.

Rin let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his fists still tight at his sides. The humiliation of needing an out gnawed at him, even if he hadn’t asked for it.

“Don’t mind him,” Niko said, suddenly at his side as if nothing had happened. “Karasu likes to test people. Especially ones with the Itoshi name.”

Rin’s scowl deepened. He didn’t reply. He didn’t want to owe anyone—not Otoya, not Shidou, not anyone in this stupid house.

When the practice began again, Rin tried to keep to the sidelines, hovering low on his broom and avoiding attention. But the professor wasn’t having it—he barked orders for everyone to rotate positions, making sure each first-year got a fair share of the pitch.

Rin gritted his teeth. He hadn’t touched a broom in months, but the moment his hands tightened on the handle and the wind bit his face, something in him clicked. 

His body remembered what his mind tried to bury. Sharp turns, quick accelerations, a seamless balance—his movements were too clean to be dismissed as beginner’s luck.

He told himself he wouldn’t stand out. He wouldn’t try. 

But when the Quaffle came his way, instinct overrode restraint. A feint, a dodge, and he slipped past two clumsy defenders. The next moment, the ball shot clean through the hoop with practiced precision.

A few gasps followed, and Rin cursed under his breath. Exactly what he didn’t want.

From the opposite team’s side, Shidou’s voice rang out, loud and irritating as always, “Yo, not bad, Rinrin. Your play reminds me of someone.”

Rin froze, even as the broom carried him forward. He didn’t turn, didn’t ask. He didn’t need Shidou to finish the sentence. His chest tightened, and for a flicker of a second, his grip faltered. But he forced his face blank, eyes narrowed against the evening wind. He wasn’t going to let Shidou—or anyone—drag him back into that shadow. 

For his own sanity, he would bury it, the way he always did.

The next few days slipped into routine—classes, tests, the occasional petty drama of house rivalries. 

Hogwarts moved in its usual rhythm, but Rin barely cared. He pushed through lessons, did the work, ignored the chatter. What he wanted most at the end of each day was the one place that felt remotely like his own.

Not his room. His bed.

His dorm room was a battlefield thanks to the “leech”—a loud, careless senior who seemed allergic to silence and basic decency. Books left scattered, muddy boots on the floor, obnoxious laughter at all hours. Rin had long since stopped trying to argue with him. 

Retreating to his bed was the only sanctuary he could cling to.

Tonight, he collapsed into it, shoes kicked off with no care for neatness. His body ached from more than just class. The constant push and pull of being watched—by professors, by peers, by expectations—wore him raw. He wanted stillness. Just stillness.

But it didn’t help that one professor, infamous for his twisted sense of fairness, had decided the entire house would suffer whenever a single student lost points. Extra classes. Extra drills. Equal punishment, he called it. 

Rin called it what it was—stupidity.

He buried his face in the pillow, too drained to even scowl properly. His eyelids burned, heavy. Everything felt like it was tumbling out of him at once, but at least here, in the narrow cocoon of his bed, no one could demand anything from him.

For now, that was enough.

He was nearly gone—half sunk into the heavy pull of sleep—when an annoying reminder cut through the haze.

He hadn’t showered yet.

A curse slipped under his breath. He hated the feeling of sweat clinging after a long day, the faint grime of classrooms and practice lingering on his skin. Rest would only feel worse if he ignored it.

With effort, Rin peeled himself off the bed. His limbs protested, his mind begging him to just give in, but habit won out. He gathered his things and trudged to the showers.

The first rush of hot water hit his skin, and his body loosened almost instantly. Steam filled the air, and he leaned against the tiled wall, letting the warmth roll over him. This—this was the only kind of silence he could stand. No teammates, no professors, no brothers’ shadows hanging over him. Just heat, water, and a moment where the world left him alone.

It was exactly how he liked it.

The hot water beat down on him, sliding over tense shoulders, loosening the knots buried deep in his muscles. For a moment, Rin let himself drift, eyes closed, the sound of rushing water filling every corner of his head.

And then, uninvited, his mind wandered—back to a mirror, to a grin too wide, to the way Shidou’s voice had sounded when he called his name during practice.

His stomach twisted. Heat that had nothing to do with the steam crept up his neck.

Rin’s eyes snapped open, and he pushed off the wall sharply, forcing his focus back to the water. No. Absolutely not. He wasn’t going to think about that. About him.

Embarrassment pricked his skin worse than any cold draft. He scrubbed at his face with both hands, as if he could wash the thought away entirely.

“Stupid,” he muttered under his breath.

By the time he shut off the tap, his mood was sour again—clean, yes, but irritated at himself for even letting his head go there. Rin tugged his shirt into place, dragging his fingers through damp hair before reaching for the door handle. He just wanted his bed, nothing else.

The door swung open—

“Bloody hell—!” The curse tore out of him before he could stop it.

Because right there, leaning half-lazily against the frame, was Shidou. His grin widened at the reaction, sharp and amused, and Rin instinctively stumbled back a couple of steps, the door creaking wider in his grip.

For a split second, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of water dripping faintly from Rin’s hair filled the air.

“You gotta help me practice,” was the first thing out of Shidou’s mouth. No greeting, no explanation—just that.

Rin’s irritation flared instantly. “Fuck off, you bug,” he snapped, shoving Shidou out of his way as he shouldered past him into the hall.

Shidou only laughed, the sound echoing down the corridor, like Rin’s anger was just another game to him. But Shidou wasn’t the type to let things go. He fell in step right behind him, hands stuffed in his pockets, voice sing-song.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Rinny. You smell nice. What soap do you use? Roses? Lavender? Oh wait—don’t tell me you’re the type who sniffs himself in the mirror.”

Rin’s steps faltered, blood boiling. He spun around, glare sharp enough to cut. “Shut your mouth.”

Shidou just leaned closer, antenna-like bangs dipping into Rin’s line of sight. “Or what? You’ll kiss me to shut me up?”

The punch came fast and hard, catching Shidou across the jaw. He staggered back a step, laughing even as he wiped his lip.

“There it is!”

Rin didn’t give him a chance to breathe, throwing another punch. Shidou ducked, caught his wrist, and the bathroom erupted into chaos—fists flying, water still dripping from the sink they crashed against. Rin fought with sharp, controlled precision, each strike deliberate. Shidou countered with reckless joy, wild and untamed, meeting Rin blow for blow.

“Rinrin’s vicious. I like it!”

“Stop calling me that!” Rin snarled, kicking out and nearly sending Shidou into the wall.

Instead, Shidou twisted, caught Rin by the waist, and with one explosive motion, flipped him onto the wet tiles. The impact jolted through Rin’s back, air knocked from his lungs. Before he could recover, Shidou straddled his hips, pinning his wrists above his head with an iron grip.

Both of them were breathing hard, sweat mixing with the spray of water, their glares locked in a heated clash neither would yield.

Shidou grinned down at him, lips split, eyes glittering with wild delight.

“I like you.”

Rin froze. His heart, still pounding from the fight, seemed to trip over itself, stutter, then stop. He must have heard wrong. His ears burned, his chest felt too tight.

Shidou’s pink gaze stayed locked on his. No mischief. No joke. Just intensity, “I really—” his lips quirked, uncharacteristically serious “—I’m in love with you.”

Rin’s breath caught. Every part of him screamed to shove him off, to spit out a retort, to laugh in his face—anything. But his body didn’t move. His head swirled with denial, and yet… there was something, deep and dangerous, blooming in his chest at those words.

Hope.

The very thing he didn’t want.

“From the first time I saw your eyes,” Shidou continued, voice dropping to something dangerously gentle, “teal, a bit dull—hehe—but the brightest among anything I’ve ever laid my eyes on. I knew you were the one.”

Rin’s chest tightened. His pulse roared in his ears, each beat louder, harder, like it wanted to break free. He had no idea how to react—how to breathe, even. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Shidou, usually all sharp grins and manic energy, looked… different. His face was close, too close, pink eyes softened into something that almost resembled sincerity. No smirk, no teasing. 

Just the bare, unguarded truth of someone laying themselves bare.

“You’re so… amazing,” Shidou whispered, his thumb brushing against Rin’s wrist like he didn’t even notice he was still pinning him down. “Never once have I stopped wishing for you to see me.”

Rin’s mind spun. Amazing? Me? He hated how his heart answered before his logic could catch up, beating faster, louder, traitorous. 

It was stupid—Shidou was stupid. And yet every word pressed too close to the part of him he kept locked away.

He swallowed hard, throat dry. His body screamed to shove him off, to spit an insult, to deny the warmth curling and uncoiling in his chest—but he couldn’t. Shidou’s words clung to him like a spell, pulling at the pieces of him he tried hardest to bury.

And all Rin could think was—

“You don’t even realize how much space you take up in my head,” Shidou murmured, softer now, like the manic edges of him had burned off for once. “Every time, I just want to be near you. To make you look at me.”

Rin’s fists clenched. He can’t mean it. He doesn’t. This is a joke. Some freakish game.

But Shidou wasn’t smiling. His pink eyes burned with something raw, something real, and it made Rin’s insides twist.

Why me? Why do you sound like you mean it? Why does it hurt to want to believe you?

Shidou whispered, leaning closer. His breath fanned across Rin’s cheek, warm and far too intimate. “Every time, I just want to be near you. To make you mine.”

Rin’s entire body went rigid. His mind screamed to shove him away, to spit out venom, to run—but his body betrayed him. He froze, heart hammering so violently it hurt, and deep down, a treacherous part of him whispered that he wanted this. That maybe this was real.

Shidou’s face lowered, lips brushing against Rin’s—barely a ghost of contact, enough to send Rin spiraling into panic and heat. And then–

“I love you, Sae.”

Everything stopped.

Rin’s world cracked in two. His lips met nothing but air as Shidou leaned back, completely unaware of the way Rin’s chest caved in.

The name hung between them like a curse, louder than any insult Rin had ever taken, sharper than any wound. His stomach dropped, and the sudden weight of it pressed into his ribs until he couldn’t breathe.

It wasn’t him. It had never been him.

Rin didn’t move. Couldn’t. His body felt hollow, every nerve collapsing inward.

“That’s amazing, isn’t it!?” Shidou suddenly burst out, springing back with the same wild energy he always carried. “That’s my plan to confess to Sae-chan~ What do you think, Rinny?”

The words twisted the knife deeper. Rin’s chest felt too tight, his throat locked shut. Of course. Practice. That’s all it ever was.

He turned his face to the side, eyes fixed on nothing, because if he looked at Shidou now—at his grinning face, at the excitement radiating off him—he might break.

Shidou didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and didn’t care. He laughed, stretching his arms over his head like he’d just scored a goal. “I nailed it, huh? Bet Sae-chan won’t be able to resist!”

Rin swallowed hard, forcing his breathing steady. 

His nails dug into his palm until it hurt, grounding him. He said nothing. Because what could he say? That his stupid, traitorous heart had almost believed it? That he hated himself more than Shidou in this moment?

So he stayed quiet, retreating back into himself, while Shidou grinned at the ceiling like the world was his.

“...Yeah, right.”

It was all Rin managed to force out, the words dry and brittle on his tongue. Before Shidou could react, he pushed himself up and strode for the door.

“Oi, Rinny? Where’re you going? Don’t ignore me—hey!” Shidou’s voice followed, louder with each step, but Rin didn’t look back. He couldn’t.

His pace quickened, almost a run, until the sound of Shidou’s voice was swallowed by the night. The sting burned hot behind his eyes, threatening to spill over, but he clenched his jaw and kept moving.

Anywhere but there. Anywhere the dark could fold him away, somewhere Shidou wouldn’t find him. He couldn’t go back to his room—not with Shidou waiting, not with that grin and those words still clawing at his chest.

So he walked faster, deeper into the quiet, where the night might hide him.

Rin didn’t know how long he’d been walking. His feet carried him wherever the corridors bent, wherever the staircases decided to lead, until he wasn’t even sure which tower he’d wandered into. He only knew he needed distance—miles, if possible—from Shidou’s voice still echoing in his ears.

Turning a corner too sharply, he collided with something solid. Someone.

“Oof—hey.” A hand steadied him, large and casual. Rin blinked up, startled, only to find himself staring at Ravenclaw’s blue-trimmed robes.

“Itoshi Rin?”

The voice was familiar, low and calm, and Rin’s stomach sank. Oliver Aiku.

Rin immediately ducked his head, gaze drilling into the floor. Good—Aiku was tall enough that Rin’s face could stay hidden in the shadows. He didn’t want anyone to see his eyes, swollen and glassy, or the trace of tears he hadn’t wiped away.

Aiku tilted his head, studying him. As Ravenclaw’s prefect, it was his duty to make sure students were where they belonged. But never had he expected a Slytherin first-year to stray into Ravenclaw’s domain, especially one like Rin.

“What’re you doing here?” Aiku asked lightly, though his tone carried that prefect edge—half amusement, half authority.

Rin said nothing. He kept his head down, fists clenched, as if silence might let him dissolve into the stone floor.

Aiku arched a brow, recognizing the boy’s stiff silence and the way he kept his head low. Something was off, but Aiku wasn’t the type to prod directly. Instead, a smirk tugged at his lips, the same one he’d worn the last time he’d cornered Rin.

“Well, well,” he murmured, leaning slightly down to catch Rin’s hidden expression. “A Slytherin wandering all the way into Ravenclaw territory at night. You know that’s not allowed, right?” His voice dropped, velvety, suggestive. “Unless you’re looking for trouble.”

Rin’s jaw tightened, but he still didn’t lift his head.

Aiku let the silence stretch, then chuckled softly, his hand brushing Rin’s shoulder as though steering him. “Relax. I won’t deduct points. Not if we keep this between us.”

Finally, Rin flicked his eyes upward—just for a second. It was enough for Aiku to catch the red rims and the sheen of unshed tears. Aiku’s smirk deepened, but it softened too, like he’d found a crack to press into.

“You probably don’t want to go back yet, huh?” Aiku said, lowering his voice. “So… why don’t you come to my room instead? I can make sure no one finds out. Perfect little secret between us.”

The words hung heavy, a coaxing lure wrapped in casual charm. Aiku leaned just a little closer, enough that Rin could feel his breath against his ear. “Promise—I won’t tell a soul. What do you say?”

Rin’s throat felt tight, his head heavy. He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to fight, didn’t even want to explain why he was here. The weight of everything pressed down until all he could do was stand there, shoulders stiff, eyes fixed on the ground.

Aiku’s hand lingered on his shoulder, steady but firm. His voice was coaxing, too smooth, as if the offer were harmless. “Come with me instead. No one has to know.”

Rin should’ve refused. Should’ve shoved him off like he had before. But his body didn’t cooperate. The thought of walking back into his own dorm, back into the mess of noise and Shidou—back into him—made his chest ache.

So instead, Rin gave the smallest nod. Barely there, but enough.

Aiku’s smirk widened at the gesture, satisfaction flashing in his dark eyes. “Good boy,” he murmured, tilting his head toward the Ravenclaw corridor. “This way.”

And Rin followed. Too tired to argue, too tired to care.

Aiku’s room was just as Rin expected—a single, neatly kept space, the privilege of a prefect. Quiet. Too quiet.

“Make yourself at home,” Aiku said easily, leaning against the doorframe. “You look wrecked.”

Rin didn’t bother answering. He stripped his shoes off, shoulders drooping, and dropped onto the bed. The mattress was softer than anything in his dorm. He didn’t care. He only wanted sleep. But then the mattress dipped, the weight shifting beside him. Rin’s eyes cracked open just in time to see Aiku leaning over.

“Hey—” Rin tried, pushing at his chest, though his effort was weak, almost perfunctory.

Warm breath skimmed his neck. Hot, deliberate. “Just tell me to stop, and I will,” Aiku whispered.

Rin froze. His body wouldn’t move. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe confusion, maybe both. His pulse thudded against his throat—vulnerable, exposed—until sharp teeth grazed his skin.

The sudden bite tore him out of the fog. Pain jolted through him, and his hands shoved harder this time. “NO!”

Aiku leaned back immediately, palms raised in mock surrender. His smirk didn’t fade. “Alright. Message received.”

He slid off the bed, smoothing down his uniform as if nothing had happened. “Go to sleep, Itoshi. I’ll be with a friend tonight. Stay as long as you like—just make sure you’re gone before sunrise.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Rin lay there, heart still racing, the sting on his neck pulsing with heat. But exhaustion was stronger. Before long, the fog swallowed him again, and he slipped into sleep.

Rin woke with a start, the unfamiliar ceiling above him snapping him back into memory. 

Aiku’s room. His jaw clenched as the night before returned in fragments—the exhaustion, the bite, his own frozen uselessness. Anger twisted in his chest, sharp and bitter, but beneath it lay something worse, the creeping sense of being pathetic.

His hand shot to his neck. The skin there throbbed faintly, raw where teeth had sunk in. 

He hissed under his breath. No scarf, no jacket. Just his thin nightshirt that left the mark on full display.

He scanned the room, desperation edging into his movements, until his eyes caught the splash of blue and bronze draped over a chair. A Ravenclaw scarf. He didn’t think twice. Snatching it up, he wrapped it high around his neck, tugging it tight until the mark disappeared.

He slipped out into the corridor, steps quick but deliberate. Subtle. 

That was what he told himself. 

But the stares found him anyway. Older students, first-years, groups loitering before breakfast. Ravenclaws’. Their eyes flicked over him, frowning, whispering—unfamiliar face, wrong place, too familiar to ignore.

Rin’s ears rang with their murmurs. He pushed forward, jaw set, refusing to care. Just get out. Just leave.

He was almost at the door when the world yanked back. Literally. The scarf tightened, pulled sharply from behind. The fabric slid up and away from his neck, baring the fresh bite for anyone to see.

Rin stumbled a step, spinning, heart lurching as the scarf dangled from someone’s hand.

“Hey, Rin! I tried calling you but you didn’t hear me.”

The voice snapped him out of his panic. Rin froze, turning just enough to see Isagi standing there, scarf in hand, looking confused. The shorter boy tilted his head, oblivious, holding the Ravenclaw colors between his fingers like it was nothing.

Rin’s breath hitched. His eyes darted around—the glances, the hushed whispers, the way a few students leaned closer to each other, already drawing conclusions. His stomach dropped. The bite. They could see it. Or worse, they could assume.

He snatched the scarf back, fingers trembling against the wool, and wound it back around his throat with a rough tug. No explanation. No words. Just the fastest exit his legs could give him.

“Rin? Wait!” Isagi called after him, startled.

But Rin didn’t stop. He pushed past the stares, through the murmurs, letting them crawl across his skin like fire. Whatever they thought they saw—he didn’t want to hear it. He just had to get out.

By the time he stumbled back into the Slytherin dorms, his pulse was still pounding in his ears. 

He half-expected Shidou lounging around with that annoying grin, or worse—other students ready to throw questions at him. But the common room was empty, shadows stretching long under the low light.

He slipped into his room, shut the door harder than intended, and finally let out the breath he’d been holding. Silence. Blessed silence.

The scarf was the first thing to go—he tore it off and threw it onto his bed. His hand rose instinctively to his neck, fingers brushing the bite mark. Heat flared in his chest, not from pain but from humiliation. Pathetic. That was what he was. Pathetic enough to let Aiku get that close. Pathetic enough to be seen like that by others.

Rin sank onto the bed, dragging both hands over his face. He should sleep. He needed sleep. 

But even with the room quiet and the air cool, he couldn’t stop feeling the phantom press of teeth against his skin, the whispers echoing in his head like they’d already spread through the castle.

But then reality hit him—class. 

He groaned, flopping back for a second before dragging himself upright. No matter how much he wanted to bury himself in the sheets, he couldn’t skip. Not without drawing even more attention.

He peeled off his clothes and pulled on his uniform with stiff movements, each tug of the robe reminding him he’d have to face the day. And worse—the Great Hall. Crowds. Stares. Whispers he wasn’t ready to hear. 

The thought alone pressed a headache between his temples.

His hand brushed the bite mark again, and he hissed through his teeth. No way he was letting anyone see this. Muttering under his breath, he aimed his wand at the wound. A faint shimmer of magic spread, and just like that, the skin knit closed. No scar. No trace. At least on the surface.

“Good. Done,” Rin muttered, though his chest still felt tight. He shoved the wand back into his pocket, squared his shoulders, and pushed himself toward the door.

The Great Hall buzzed with more chatter than usual when Rin stepped inside. 

He slowed at the threshold, brows pulling together. It wasn’t unusual for students to gossip, but this—this felt sharper. Louder. The kind of noise that wasn’t about grades or quidditch scores.

He ignored it. Of course he did. 

Head down, he stalked toward the Slytherin table, sliding into a seat with his usual scowl. Still, his skin prickled with the weight of eyes following him. Whispers cut short when he glanced up, then picked right back up the second he looked away.

Whatever. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of asking.

It wasn’t until later, in class, when Slytherin and Ravenclaw shared the same room, that it clicked. The whispers didn’t stop here either—if anything, they doubled. Snickers followed him in, and when he dropped into his seat, he caught the not-so-subtle glance of a Ravenclaw pointing at him and then at his own neck, smirking. Heat rushed to Rin’s ears. His fists tightened on the desk. That bastard Aiku. And worse—people were starting to put their own story together, one Rin didn’t have the power to stop.

The second the professor left, Rin was already shoving his things into his bag. If he moved fast enough, maybe he could escape before—

“Oi, Itoshi!”

Three Ravenclaw first-years blocked his path. Too close, too loud, too curious. Rin’s scowl deepened, but they didn’t flinch.

One of them leaned in, eyes gleaming like he’d just uncovered treasure. “Tell us—are you fucking with Aiku-senpai!?”

The words slammed into him like a bludger. Rin froze, the room suddenly too hot, too small. Laughter snickered at the edges—other students listening, waiting.

His hands clenched tight around his bag strap, jaw locking. “Shut the hell up.”

But the damage was done. The question had been asked, loud enough for half the class to hear.

Rin’s patience snapped. He shoved past the first-year blocking him, hard enough that the kid stumbled back into his friends. His bag hit the desk with a sharp thunk, scattering parchment and drawing a few startled glances.

“Get the hell out of my way!” Rin barked, voice low but edged with venom.

But they weren’t done. One sneered, muttering under his breath loud enough for Rin to catch, “Just a first-year trying to seduce a senior… what a slut. Shame. Guess pretty faces can get anything.”

Rin’s fists clenched at his sides. Blood pounded in his ears. His teeth ground together so hard it hurt. He ignored them, storming out of the classroom, head down, heart racing, rage flaring hotter than he wanted.

Every step felt like it was being watched. Every whisper behind him felt like a knife. And yet, he refused to look back, refused to respond.

Furious. Humiliated. But unwilling to give them the satisfaction of seeing him falter.

By the time Rin finally pushed open the door to his room, the dorm was empty. No Shidou. No one. Just silence, his sanctuary after the chaos of the day.

He didn’t think about Shidou, didn’t think about Aiku. The whispers, the stares, the rumors—they didn’t matter. None of it was true, and if people wanted to spread bullshit, let them. It would fade. Eventually.

Rin’s eyes landed on the Ravenclaw scarf, still draped across his bed like a mocking reminder of the night before. His jaw tightened. Enough.

“Reducto!” he spat, pointing his wand with precise force. The scarf shot out the window, fluttering wildly in the breeze before disappearing into the darkness outside.

Rin sank onto the bed, arms crossed, jaw set. The heat in his chest slowly cooled into the familiar dull ache. He didn’t care. Not about the rumor, not about anyone.

At least…he told himself that.

Dinner came faster than Rin wanted, and by the rules, he had to go to the Great Hall. He moved through the entrance, keeping his head down, shoulders squared, like he owned nothing and belonged nowhere.

Whispers were faint now, scattered. The rumor had lost momentum, no one having ‘evidence’ to build upon, and Rin couldn’t have cared less.

Sliding into his seat, he grabbed a plate and dug in, focusing entirely on the food. Every bite was deliberate, a small act of rebellion against the chaos of the day. Eyes flicked in his direction occasionally, but he ignored them, unbothered, untouchable in his bubble of detachment.

For the first time that day, Rin felt something like peace.

Dinner passed, and Rin chose the long route back to the Slytherin dorm, weaving through the hallways to avoid as much attention as possible. His eyes stayed glued to the stony ground, tracing every crack and shadow to keep himself occupied.

Then, something caught his gaze—shoes. Polished, familiar, impossibly precise. Rin froze for a fraction of a second before forcing himself to look up.

There, standing just ahead, was his brother.

Sae. Same calm posture, same subtle aura that seemed to command attention without effort. Rin’s stomach twisted. He had expected a dozen things to happen today, but seeing Sae here, here in the quiet aftermath, was not one of them.

Rin’s chest tightened. He wanted to look away, pretend he hadn’t noticed. 

But some part of him—the part he didn’t want to admit even to himself—couldn’t tear his eyes off his brother.

Rin’s stomach twisted as he approached his brother. For a brief, fleeting moment, he thought Sae might have come over to check on him. Maybe even defend him. That hope made his chest ache—it had been so long since they’d shared anything resembling care.

But the look in Sae’s eyes was not soft. It was sharp, cutting, and Rin felt it pierce him straight through.

“Aren’t you ashamed?” Sae snapped, stepping closer, his voice low but venomous. “Do you even realize how foolish you look? How you’re dragging the family name through the mud?”

Rin’s heart thudded painfully. 

His first instinct was confusion, then hurt, then a burning anger. “What the hell do you care now? Shitty brother,” he spat, stepping back, hands trembling. “You didn’t care before, and now you’re acting like this? Go to hell!”

Sae didn’t flinch. “If you keep doing this, wasting your time, fooling around, letting yourself get caught up in nonsense… you’ll never be great. You’ll fall into a hole you won’t climb out of.”

Rin’s chest burned, but it wasn’t fear. It was fury, mingled with humiliation. 

Every word stung, and yet it also made something inside him flare up. “So, all this time, you weren’t worried about me at all. Just the family name! Not me. Just your damn pride!”

Sae’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply. Rin glared, fists clenching, and turned sharply, storming off before his brother could say anything else. The hallway echoed with his footsteps, but the fire in his chest didn’t dim.

He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. The anger, the betrayal, and the shame mixed together, fueling the bitter truth Rin had finally accepted… Sae didn’t care about him. Not really.

Rin stormed through the hallways, the weight of his brother’s words pressing down harder with every step. His chest burned, hot and tight, and every breath tasted like frustration and humiliation. The whispers from the day, the stares, the rumors—it all came back, sharper, twisted into a knot that tightened in his gut.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t think. 

He just moved, letting the corridors blur past, his footsteps echoing angrily against the stone. By the time he reached the Slytherin dorm, he was trembling—not from exertion, but from the mix of fury, hurt, and confusion swirling inside him.

He leaned against the door, head bowed, trying to slow his breathing. And then he heard it.

A faint sound, impossibly familiar, drifting from the other side of his room. The soft, careless, melodic humming—or singing—of Shidou Ryusei.

Rin froze, fists clenching. The sound made his chest twist in ways he didn’t want to admit. Part of him wanted to shove the door open, yell at him, demand that he leave. Part of him…wanted to just listen.

The demon roach, singing like nothing else in the world existed, completely oblivious to Rin’s presence, completely himself.

Rin swallowed hard, forcing himself to step away from the door, letting the sound drift over him, annoying and comforting at the same time. He didn’t move. He didn’t knock. He just stayed there, letting the world inside the dorm—and the chaos of Shidou’s voice—wash over him while the storm inside him raged silently.

Rin finally pushed the door open, stepping into the dim light of the room. Immediately, Shidou’s head snapped up, a wide, teasing grin spreading across his face.

“Wow, Rinrin~ Long time no see! Are you done having fun?” he chirped, his tone annoyingly playful.

Rin’s jaw tightened, fists clenching at his sides. He wanted to snap, to yell, to shove him out of the room. He knew Shidou had probably already heard the rumor floating around, and the thought should have sent him into a fury.

But he didn’t have the energy. Not tonight.

Instead, Rin just let out a short, bitter sigh, shoulders sagging slightly. 

His green eyes met Shidou’s pink ones for a brief, tense moment, and then he ignored the teasing altogether, moving toward his bed without another word.

Shidou’s grin faltered for a fraction of a second, sensing the exhaustion and simmering anger radiating off Rin, but he didn’t press it. Instead, he leaned back against his desk, humming softly, letting Rin settle in—quiet, unbothered, and untouchable.

Rin didn’t look at him. He didn’t want to. But the faint tug in his chest, the heat behind his eyes, reminded him that despite everything, Shidou’s presence still got under his skin.

The dim light of the dorm cast long shadows across the room, but Rin didn’t care. He sank onto the edge of his bed, letting the tension in his shoulders coil tighter, aware of the faint scrape of his fingers against the quilt.

A soft step echoed behind him. “Hey… you okay?” The usual playful edge was gone from Shidou’s voice, replaced by something quieter, careful.

Rin’s gaze flicked up, eyes narrowing like a trap snapping shut. “I don’t need your pity,” he said flatly, dragging the words out with a cool, measured bite. “Just… leave it.”

Silence lingered for a heartbeat too long. Shidou froze mid-step, the pink of his hair catching the pale moonlight, shadows flickering across his sharp features. He looked… uncertain, which only irritated Rin further.

“I’m not—” Shidou started, but Rin didn’t give him a chance. His hands dug into the bedspread, fingers clutching the fabric as though it could anchor him against the tide of his own frustration.

“Look,” he said, voice quieter but still sharp, “I’ll handle my own mess. You don’t need to stick around. Don’t make it weird.”

Shidou hesitated, the faintest crease forming between his brows. 

He stayed where he was, quiet now, letting Rin’s words land with all the weight they carried. Across the room, the clutter of books and papers seemed to shrink under the unspoken tension, the soft hum of the night outside the windows pressing in.

Rin stared at the bedspread, jaw tight, mind buzzing. Comfort, care, attention—each was like a fragile trap. 

He didn’t trust it. Not tonight. Not after the rumors, the confrontation with Sae, and the simmering anger still raw in his chest. But a small, reluctant part of him—the part he’d buried long ago—longed for it anyway, and that made the anger twist sharper, like a knife turned inward.

The silence stretched, punctuated only by the faint rustle of Shidou’s movement as he settled into a chair across the room. Rin didn’t look. Didn’t dare. He just pressed his palms against his eyes for a moment, willing his heart to stop racing, wishing he could make the storm inside him quiet enough to fall asleep.

The room was quiet, but Rin couldn’t sleep. 

The bed beneath him felt too soft, too warm, as if it were mocking him. 

Every sound—the soft creak of the floorboards, the faint whistle of wind through the castle—seemed amplified in his mind. He pressed his hands against his eyes, but the images wouldn’t fade.

Shidou. That stupid, infuriating, impossible Shidou. The way he moved through the dorm, the careless confidence, the teasing smile—it shouldn’t matter. Rin told himself it didn’t. And yet, when Shidou laughed, even quietly, somewhere deep in him it echoed like it belonged.

The rumors from the day lingered in the edges of his mind. The whispers, the glances, the subtle snickers—he had brushed them off, yes, but it wasn’t the school’s judgment that gnawed at him. 

It was the idea that someone could see him, even for a moment, and think… that. The thought made his chest tighten, and not in anger alone.

And then there was the night before. 

The way Shidou had been there, spilled his heart like it was for him, completely oblivious—and somehow that had struck something in Rin he wasn’t ready to name. The warmth in his chest, the twist in his stomach, even the faint prickling at his temples… it wasn’t comforting. It was maddening.

He clenched his fists, curling slightly under the blanket. 

The rational part of him—the part that had years without relying on anyone—screamed that he should push it down, ignore it, walk away. But another part, small and stubborn, kept whispering that maybe, just maybe, there was a sliver of… something. Something that wasn’t supposed to exist.

Rin forced his eyes shut, willing his thoughts to stop. But the green of his own eyes in that mirror, the pink glow of Shidou’s hair, the careless confidence that made him want to punch—and something else—kept flashing behind his eyelids.

Sleep didn’t come. The night stretched on, endless and suffocating. And somewhere in the quiet, Rin realized with a grim twist of his chest that he was already in too deep, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Rin shifted in his bed, the soft rustle of the sheets barely breaking the quiet. He turned slightly, eyes catching movement across the room. 

On the opposite bed, Shidou was there—curled up lazily, his antennae twitching ever so slightly, oblivious to Rin’s presence. The dim moonlight filtered through the window, painting him in pale silver, softening the sharp angles of his face, the mischievous edge in his pink hair now subdued in shadows.

For a moment, Rin simply watched. 

No teasing voice, no chaotic energy, no expectation—just Shidou, still and quiet. 

His usual liveliness was gone, replaced by something… ordinary, human, almost fragile. It was a side Rin had never seen, never allowed himself to see.

The room felt suspended, like time had slowed, granting Rin a rare chance to observe without fear, without defense. He noticed the way Shidou’s chest rose and fell with each breath, the slight curve of his lips even in repose, the soft gleam on his tanned skin. 

No one was there to interrupt, no one to pull him back—neither the crowded dorm, nor the whispers from the day, nor even Shidou himself.

A part of Rin stiffened at the awareness of how his heart was reacting. Heat pooled in his chest, fast and unexpected, and he shifted further back into his bed, trying to rationalize the surge of feeling. This wasn’t supposed to matter. This was just a quiet moment, nothing more.

And yet, for the first time in a long while, Rin felt a strange, almost forbidden comfort in simply looking.

The world outside the dorm—noise, rules, expectations—had dissolved. There was only this moment, quiet and fragile, suspended between heartbeats.

A conflict twisted in Rin’s chest, a mix of longing and guilt. Selfish, he thought. I shouldn’t be feeling this. I shouldn’t want this. And yet, a deeper, more insistent part of him whispered that he needed it, needed something that was entirely his, even if it could never belong to him.

Slowly, carefully, he swung his legs off the bed, feeling the floor beneath his feet but barely noticing. Each step toward Shidou felt both heavy and weightless, as if time itself had slowed to let him savor the impossibility of it.

He leaned down over the other bed, his chest rising unevenly, fingers curling into the edge of the mattress. Shidou’s face, turned slightly toward the moonlight, was impossibly serene, vulnerable in a way Rin rarely allowed himself to see.

His chest tightened as he leaned closer, every step deliberate, each movement measured like he was approaching something sacred. Rin’s heart pounded in his ears, a wild rhythm that only made him more aware of the impossibility of what he was about to do.

When his lips finally brushed against Shidou’s, the sensation was electric and terrifyingly tender at the same time. 

Soft. Warm. Alive. 

Rin froze for a heartbeat, feeling the subtle, unguarded warmth of Shidou’s skin beneath his lips. It wasn’t rushed—he lingered, daring to steal this fleeting intimacy. Time seemed to slow, the world outside the dorm, the rumors, the rules, even the impossible expectations—all of it melted away.

The kiss deepened slightly, Rin pressing just a little closer, careful not to wake him, not to disturb the fragile quiet. 

There was a sweetness to it, an almost painful poignancy, like touching something beautiful he could never truly claim. The curve of Shidou’s lips, soft under his, felt impossibly right, yet utterly forbidden.

Rin’s heart thrummed painfully, and a warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with the moonlight. He wanted to stay there forever, to carve this moment into memory, even knowing that it belonged only to him. A tiny, selfish part of him whispered that he could steal it, that he deserved this one fragment of closeness, this one delicate heartbeat of connection.

Eventually, with a sigh that barely left his throat, Rin pulled back just enough to press his forehead lightly against Shidou’s, lingering in the closeness, savoring the heat and the quiet. 

His lips tingled, still humming from the contact, and he could feel the memory of Shidou’s warmth imprinting itself across every nerve ending. The brief contact sent a small, impossible warmth through him, a spark he knew he couldn’t hold onto. 

It wasn’t about Shidou, not really. It was about Rin. 

About claiming a moment, a fragment of feeling that was entirely his, if only for a heartbeat.

Pulling back, Rin’s lips tingled with the memory, and a pang of sadness settled over him. His chest tightened, guilt and longing wrestling together. He had stolen this moment, and yet he felt almost painfully alive. Shidou stirred slightly in his sleep but didn’t wake, leaving Rin with the quiet he craved—an echo of warmth in the cold, silver-lit room.

Rin lingered for a heartbeat longer, memorizing the curve of Shidou’s face, the soft line of his lips, the gentle rise of his shoulders. 

Then, quietly, he pulled back fully, retreating to his own bed. His heart pounded, his eyes stung, and a small, private smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

It was selfish. It was fleeting. But it was his.

The classroom felt impossibly bright, the sunlight slicing through the tall windows, but Rin barely noticed. The professor’s voice droned on about charms and incantations, words that floated over his head like mist. 

His pen hovered uselessly over the parchment, mind tangled in a web of memory that refused to loosen its grip.

It was Shidou. The thought came unbidden, unstoppable, and Rin’s chest tightened at the memory. The softness of his lips, the warmth, the way the moment had lingered just long enough for Rin to feel—no, claim—it for himself. 

Stupid, reckless, and fleeting. But not a single fragment of it made him regret what he had done.

He traced the outline of the memory in his mind, again and again, letting it burn into him, a small, private rebellion against the rules, against the world, against himself. For once, Rin had something that belonged entirely to him. 

Something untouchable.

The bell’s shrill ring jolted him back to the present, papers rustling as students gathered their things. Rin’s heart still raced, his thoughts still clinging to the warmth and the forbidden thrill.

As he stepped out into the corridor, trying to steady his pulse, something caught the corner of his eye—a shadow moving with purpose, a figure he didn’t expect. His stomach dropped.

Shidou. And he wasn’t alone.

Rin froze, every instinct screaming, but he couldn’t look away.

The moment Rin saw them, something inside him snapped. He didn’t think, didn’t reason—his legs moved before his brain caught up, carrying him through the crowded corridor with a velocity he barely recognized as his own.

Shidou stood close to Sae, laughing softly at something his brother had said. 

The sight was simple, mundane even, but Rin’s chest constricted with a sharp, almost unbearable ache. He wanted to tell himself to stop, to turn back, to remember that what he felt was selfish, misplaced. Yet every fiber of him propelled him forward.

The sunlight catching Shidou’s hair, the easy grin on hiss face—it all burned into Rin’s vision. 

He hated it, hated himself for the sting of jealousy that bubbled up, but he couldn’t stop. His pace quickened, his breaths shallow, each step a battle between reason and raw, unfiltered emotion.

Shidou didn’t notice him at first, and Rin felt a strange mixture of relief and pain at that. 

Relief that he could watch unnoticed, pain because the scene before him—the closeness, the laughter—was something he wanted for himself, and knew he couldn’t claim it.

Sae’s head turned slightly, catching Rin out of the corner of his eye. Rin’s stomach dropped, his pulse spiking, but still he didn’t stop. The corridor seemed impossibly long, every student around them fading into a blur. 

All that existed was Shidou, Sae, and the sudden, raw urge inside Rin that refused to be ignored.

By the time he reached them, his heart was hammering in his chest, and his hand itched to do something, anything, just to reclaim a fragment of what he had briefly known.

And suddenly a firm grip yanked Rin to a halt before he even realized he was moving. His wrist burned where the hand held him, and instinctively, he spun around—eyes locking with Aiku’s sharp, amused gaze.

“Itoshi Junior~,” Aiku drawled, letting the name linger like a taunt. “Where are you rushing off to in such a dramatic fashion? Did someone steal your heart or something?”

Rin tried to jerk free, but Aiku’s hold was like iron, steady, and unrelenting. Every instinct screamed to bolt, yet Aiku’s grin, that infuriatingly confident, teasing smirk, made him pause against his will.

“Let me go,” Rin muttered through gritted teeth, the words low and sharp.

“Hmm? Oh no, I think I’ll keep you right here for a moment,” Aiku said, leaning in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Tell me… what’s all this fuss about? You’ve got that little storm-face going again. And that scarf of mine—where is it, hmm…”

Rin’s jaw clenched, his ears warming. “Burned it. To dust,” he spat.

Aiku laughed softly, a low, teasing sound that made Rin’s chest tighten. “Burned it? How dramatic, Itoshi. You really are something else. That little scarf, gone to ash, and yet here you are, rushing like the world’s on fire. What’s got you all riled up?”

Rin glared, pulling his arm slightly, but Aiku didn’t budge. 

Instead, he tilted his head, letting his gaze roam over Rin like he was inspecting a puzzle. Every sharp edge of Rin’s anger, every flicker of hesitation, seemed to amuse him.

“Relax, Itoshi. I’m not gonna bite… much,” Aiku said with a wink, though his hold didn’t loosen. “Just tell me what’s going on. Or… do you want to keep pretending you’re all fierce and untouchable?”

Rin’s stomach twisted, caught between outrage and an irritation he couldn’t fully untangle. He wanted to shout, to push, to vanish—but Aiku’s presence, the teasing tone, and the knowing look in his eyes made him freeze in place. His pulse spiked the moment he realized Shidou and Sae were just a few feet away. He froze, chest tightening, heat rising to his face. Aiku, sensing an opportunity, shifted closer, hands brushing against Rin’s sides as if to draw him in.

“Why don’t we make the whisper come true?” Aiku murmured behind him, voice low, breath warm against Rin’s neck.

Something inside Rin snapped. Fury, embarrassment, and humiliation collided all at once. He swung an elbow back with all his strength. Aiku staggered, loosened his grip, and Rin yanked himself free.

Turning sharply, Rin’s hand connected with Aiku’s cheek, the slap echoing in the quiet corridor. “Don’t fucking touch me again!” he hissed, voice raw with anger.

Aiku blinked, stunned, his playful smirk faltering for the first time. Rin didn’t wait to see his reaction. With a surge of adrenaline, he turned and stormed past, ignoring the curious stares of Shidou and Sae, who remained frozen a few feet away, watching him retreat.

The corridor seemed impossibly long as Rin’s footsteps echoed against the stone, each step carrying his frustration, humiliation, and a strange, tangled mixture of relief and lingering heat from Aiku’s proximity.

Rin’s legs carried him almost automatically, adrenaline fueling each step, until the chaos of the corridor, the whispers, and Aiku’s touch all fell behind him. 

He didn’t know where he was going—he just needed somewhere private, somewhere he could think.

When his feet slowed and he caught his breath, he realized he had returned to a quiet, hidden corner of the castle. And there it was—the large, ornate mirror he had stumbled upon weeks ago, tucked away like a secret the castle had forgotten to hide.

For a moment, Rin just stood there, staring at his own reflection. Green teal eyes—so much like Sae’s, yet tinted with his own defiance—stared back at him. The moonlight caught the edges of his lashes, the faint shadow of redness around his cheeks, and for a second, he almost hated what he saw. Almost.

He leaned closer, pressing a palm to the cool glass, as if he could touch some version of himself that wasn’t tangled up in rumors, jealousy, or feelings he didn’t dare name. The mirror didn’t answer, didn’t judge. 

It simply reflected him—raw, unguarded, real.

Rin exhaled, a shaky sound, and let the silence of the hidden corner wrap around him. Maybe here, for just a few minutes, he could let everything—anger, embarrassment, desire—fade into nothing but the quiet, silvered reflection of himself. His fingers lingered on the cold glass, heart hammering, and then the reflection began to shift. 

It wasn’t just him staring back anymore—Shidou appeared, standing in the same hidden corner, close enough to lean toward him, eyes warm and attentive, lips curved in that mischievous, easy smile.

Rin’s breath hitched. Every stolen glance, every teasing word, every chaotic moment they had shared seemed condensed into this impossible, silent scene. 

He wanted to reach out, to close the space between them, but his hands remained frozen on the glass, powerless.

Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, and he quickly blinked them away. 

He couldn’t—he wouldn’t—let anyone see this. But the ache in his chest refused to be ignored. All the moments he had stolen for himself, every small victory of attention from Shidou, felt fleeting, like sand slipping through his fingers.

No matter what he did, Rin reminded himself, he couldn’t have what he truly wanted. 

Not in reality. 

Not in this world where Shidou’s affections weren’t his, where Sae’s shadow always lingered, and where even the simplest desire seemed out of reach.

He sank to the floor in front of the mirror, hugging his knees, silent sobs threatening to escape. The reflection remained, impossibly perfect, untouchable. And Rin’s heart ached, a raw, bitter reminder that at the end of the day, some things—his deepest desires—were always just out of reach.

The sound of footsteps echoed softly against the stone floor, hesitant but unmistakable. Rin stiffened, heart hammering, certain it was just his imagination. But then a shadow fell across the mirror’s surface, and he knew—Shidou was here.

Rin huddled against his knees, chest tight, whispering the words he couldn’t fully control. “Fuck off.”

A soft, deliberate step echoed in the room. The dim moonlight revealed Shidou leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, a teasing smirk on his lips—but his eyes were sharp, curious, carefully studying Rin.

“I think you forgot something,” Shidou said, tilting his head. “I’m your senior. And… your roommate.”

Rin’s green eyes narrowed, refusing to look up. “Yeah, right,” he muttered, voice low, stiff, biting back the irritation—and something else he didn’t want to name.

Shidou pushed off the frame, stepping closer. “And what Aiku just did… doesn’t look like it was mutual, don’t you think? So, I guess the rumors about him and you weren’t right?”

He stayed silent, the words stinging despite himself.

Shidou chuckled softly, leaning slightly so his tan shoulder brushed the floor near Rin. “I mean, I knew he was a playboy,” he added, his tone half-laugh, half-observation. “But damn… seeing him try to pull that on you? Priceless.”

Rin’s fists clenched tighter around his knees. 

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even want to. Shidou let him stew, the faint warmth of his presence just close enough to be felt but not imposing.

“You know,” Shidou continued, voice lowering, gentle but playful, “I wasn’t expecting to find you here, sulking like some cornered cat. And yet…” He grinned, quirking an eyebrow. “I’m kinda glad I did.”

Rin’s heart skipped—not from the words, but from the way Shidou said them, the effortless confidence that made it hard to hate him fully, even when he wanted to. 

He didn’t look up, didn’t speak. But the tightness in his chest loosened just a fraction.

Shidou’s smile softened as he crouched a little, settling at a safe distance, giving Rin the space to breathe. “I’m not here to mess with you, Rinny,” he said quietly. “Just… thought you should hear it from me. Not the hallway rumors, not some first-year chatter. Me.”

Rin didn’t respond, but his heartbeat betrayed him—louder than he wanted, faster than he’d admit. And for the first time in hours, he wasn’t entirely alone. He stayed huddled against his knees, chest tight, but the words formed before he could stop them. 

“Can… you do me a favor?” His voice was low, almost trembling.

Shidou’s grin softened, eyes lighting up with that easy warmth he always carried. “Anything, Rinrin~”

Rin’s hands gripped Shidou’s collar, pulling him down in a bold, desperate motion. Their lips met in a brief, lingering kiss—soft, hesitant, but heavy with everything Rin had kept inside. For Rin, it was a moment stolen just for himself, a need he couldn’t deny.

But Shidou stiffened immediately. His eyes widened in shock, and he shoved Rin back, stumbling slightly. “W-why—” he started, voice caught between surprise and panic.

Rin straightened, chest heaving, cheeks flushed but eyes dull, almost empty. 

“You hate it?” His voice was flat, questioning—not desperate anymore, just… resigned.

Shidou’s hands fumbled at his sides, unable to find words. His gaze flicked away, tense, guilty. Rin already knew the truth, had always known—Shidou’s heart belonged elsewhere. And yet, standing there, staring at Shidou, Rin couldn’t stop the ache in his chest.

The place felt impossibly still. Moonlight cast long shadows, highlighting the space between them, the unspoken truths, and the desire Rin had tried—and failed—to bury.

Rin stumbled backward, retreating toward the corner of the hall, his hands covering his face as the first hot, bitter tears slipped through. Anger and hurt twisted inside him, making it hard to breathe. He barely dared to look at Shidou, but his voice trembled as he repeated the words over and over.

“Do… you… hate it?”

Shidou ran a hand through his spiky hair, furrowing his brow in a rare serious expression. His usual teasing demeanor vanished, replaced by tension and guilt. “Rin… listen. You can’t just do that… okay? You were vulnerable, I get it, but— You… you know I…”

Rin’s voice cracked, and the tears fell faster. “You're in love with Sae… I know.”

Shidou’s eyes softened, but the weight of the situation made his next words firm. “Yes. Sae. I know. And you… you’re important to me, Rin, but—”

“Then why—” Rin’s voice broke, a sob catching in his throat. “Do you hate it?!”

Shidou took a cautious step forward, his own frustration and helplessness showing. “No! I don’t hate it… it’s just… you can’t force something like that, Rin. You know how I feel… I love Sae.”

Rin’s shoulders shook, silent tears still streaming down his face, but his gaze stayed locked on Shidou. The anger and longing battled inside him, leaving him raw and trembling.

Finally, Shidou spoke again, softer, trying to anchor both of them. “Look… let’s just forget what happened. Go back to our room, okay? No one else needs to know, and we… we handle this quietly.”

Shidou stepped closer, careful, his usual mischievous grin nowhere in sight. He reached out slowly, as if testing the waters, and draped an arm over Rin’s shoulders. Rin stiffened, instinctively pulling away, but the warmth was gentle, protective.

Rin froze, heart hammering. 

He wanted to protest, to push him off, to tell him he didn’t need anyone. 

But the raw exhaustion, the ache in his chest, and the comfort of being held finally broke through. He sagged slightly into the embrace, letting the tension slip out of his shoulders.

Shidou held him just like that—quiet, steady, and soft. No teasing, no words about Sae, no expectations. Just a touch that told Rin, maybe for the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, that someone cared enough to stay.

“Let's go back, okay?”

Rin swallowed, nodding slowly, though the sting in his chest refused to fade. He wiped at his tears with the back of his hand and took a deep, shaky breath. The room felt heavy, the silence between them charged—but for now, retreating to their shared space was the only way to survive the moment.

Chapter Text

Rin remembered the night when everything fell apart.

Snow crunched beneath his boots, the bitter wind slicing at his cheeks, but it wasn’t the cold that made him tremble. His heart pounded too fast, too hard, as if it was trying to burst out of his chest. Breath hitched in uneven gasps, each one tighter than the last.

It was supposed to be their dream. His and Sae’s. 

The two of them soaring through the sky on their brooms, side by side, reaching for glory together. The best quidditch players the magical world had ever seen—that was what they promised each other. 

That was what Rin lived for.

But Sae came back during his second year, eyes colder than the frost in the air, and shattered everything with a few careless words.

“Once I finish school, I’m done with quidditch.”

The ground seemed to give way under Rin’s feet. His throat tightened, words spilling out in desperation. “What? No—you can’t just quit. We trained for this. We dreamed of this. If it’s not with you, if I can’t have that dream with you… then I have no reason to play at all!”

He waited—he begged—for his brother to deny it, to soften, to say something that could soothe the ache ripping him apart.

Instead, Sae’s gaze stayed icy, indifferent. His voice cut deeper than the winter air.

“Then quit.”

“Don’t use me as an excuse for your fantasy life.”

“You’re lukewarm. Nothing but an annoying pain in the ass little brother.”

“Do whatever you want with your life, and I’ll do the same with mine.”

He turned away. The snow crunched again, further and further, as Sae’s figure disappeared into the white haze.

“Get lost.”

The final blow.

Rin stood frozen, his entire world collapsing with those two words. His chest tightened until he could barely breathe. His vision blurred as his knees buckled into the snow, hands clutching at his shirt as though he could hold his breaking heart together.

“…Nii-chan…” His voice cracked, pitiful against the empty night.

The panic hit all at once. Breath strangled in his throat, shallow and ragged. His body shook uncontrollably as he gasped, but no air filled his lungs. The snow around him glowed faintly under the moon, but all Rin could see was darkness closing in, suffocating him.

That was the night everything broke—the dream, his brother, and the last piece of warmth Rin thought he still had.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Light found Rin before his alarm did, a pale wedge slipping between the curtains and across the bedspread. For a long second he lay still, letting the warmth wash over him like someone else’s memory. The dream—the one about brooms and the two of them cutting through wind together—came back to him in fragments, a film he had watched a hundred times. 

He pushed it away. He always did.

It had been a week.

The space between him and Shidou had widened like a fault line, slow and silent until it was too late to pretend nothing was missing. 

Where the senior once prowled into the room with his shoes untied and a grin, there was now an empty corner, a tossed shirt, the faint scent of him on the pillow. They were in the same room and, technically, the same life, but conversations had thinned to the barest necessary exchanges, a towel left on a chair, a bowl of food slid across the desk, a casual “see you tomorrow” that meant nothing.

There was an agreement neither of them spoke aloud—the elephant settled in their doorway and refused to be named. Rin suspected Shidou knew why. Shidou had seen more than anyone; he watched people the way hawks watched mice. 

Whether he guessed the real reason or had pieced it together from the way Rin looked away when someone mentioned Sae, Rin didn’t know. It didn’t matter. Neither of them would start the conversation. 

Pride and fear acted like two stubborn gatekeepers.

There were small mercies. He did not have to watch Shidou with Sae anymore; he told himself that with the sort of bitterness one uses to salt a wound. He could eat without pretending to be fine while the world hummed around him. That part felt like victory, petty and small, and Rin clung to it because it was something he had managed to hold on to.

But the victory tasted like ash.

Regret sat under his ribs all day, a dull, constant pressure. 

He replayed the stolen kiss the way other people rehearse mistakes out loud. It was his—he kept telling himself that—stolen and private and therefore somehow righteous. Yet the aftermath had been its own kind of punishment. Shidou had recoiled, eyes wide and breathless in a way Rin would not let himself forget. 

The refusal had felt like being cut out and put on display; the rejection had been sharp and public even when it had been private. For a bit, pride saved him. Mostly, it did not.

Sometimes, in the quiet, he caught his reflection and hated how small he looked. That flash in the mirror—teal eyes that were Sae’s as much as they were his—was a double portrait. The boy who still wanted to fly, and the boy who had been left behind in the snow. Shame warmed the back of his throat. Embarrassment flamed at the corners of his vision. 

There were nights he fantasized about disappearing entirely and waking up in some other place where people did not know the names that meant things he could not bear.

He swung his legs out of bed and planted his feet on the cold floor. Routine felt like armor, the quick wash, the knot of the tie, the practiced glide of him into his robe. He healed the marks he could—warding words for a bruise, a charm for the worst of it—but there were stains no magic could touch. Memory clung like a shadow.

As he moved toward the door, he paused, fist pressed lightly to the wood. 

For a heartbeat he allowed himself to imagine the conversation that would follow if he said the words. It was ridiculous—dangerous—to even think it. Pride pushed back. Fear settled in again. He let go and left the dorm, stepping into a day that felt ordinary on the surface and very nearly catastrophic under his skin.

Somewhere nearby, the castle woke up properly. Students shuffled. Tassels clacked. The world continued, as it always did, indifferent and enormous. 

Rin swallowed, the familiar ache settling in. He had traded a dream once; he had no intention of bartering again. But the thought that had been rising like smoke all week refused to quiet down. 

Maybe he had already lost something he hadn’t fully understood how to keep.

After lunch, Rin drifted without really thinking where his legs were carrying him. 

His eyes had brushed against Shidou’s figure in the hall earlier—hard to avoid when the older Slytherin moved like he owned every room he stepped into. Rin hadn’t meant to look, hadn’t meant to hope, but he did. And the hope made him feel idiotic when Shidou never once turned his head back.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and kept walking, eyes fixed on the cobblestones. It was easier that way, to count cracks in the ground than to think about the way his chest still stung.

The path led him toward the gardens before he even realized. He stopped short at the archway, the sharp scent of leaves and earth stirring something familiar. This was the same garden where Shidou had first dragged him for that ridiculous ‘roommate bonding’, loud and brash, a grin stretching wider than the sky. Rin lingered at the entrance but didn’t step in. Not today. He had no business revisiting ghosts that weren’t even dead yet.

He turned on his heel and made for the dorms, trying to shake the haze that clung to him. But when he pushed open the door to his room, his chest tightened all over again.

The flower.

It sat where he had left it—Shidou’s gift—its stem bent, petals curling in on themselves, half-dead. 

The sight stopped him in his tracks, mocking him with its frailty. Of course it would wither. Of course something that once felt like promise now looked like decay. Shidou had handed it to him, alive and bright. And now, with his own hands, Rin let it waste away without so much as a charm or spell to revive it.

Ironic. Cruel. Fitting.

He picked it up anyway, careful in a way that made no sense, and lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. The flower dangled limply between his fingers. It felt like holding the end of a thread he didn’t know how to tie back together. His chest ached with the weight of it—how something so small could echo the whole damn mess of him.

For once, Rin didn’t try to fight the silence. He sat with it, flower in hand, staring at what was left of something that had once felt alive.

The door slammed open without warning, and Rin jolted upright. His fingers clenched around the flower on instinct, shoving it beneath a stray pile of parchment before Shidou’s shadow fell across the room.

They locked eyes for a heartbeat—Rin’s stiff, Shidou’s unreadable—before Rin tore his gaze away. He cleared his throat, too sharp, and busied himself with his desk. Rearranging quills that didn’t need arranging, shifting books already aligned into neat rows. Anything to make his back a wall, anything to avoid the weight of being looked at.

Shidou didn’t press. He just dragged his boots across the floor, tossed his bag onto his bed, and flopped down like he owned the air itself. The mattress creaked under his careless sprawl, the sound loud in the unnatural stillness. His hair was damp at the edges, probably fresh from a lecture, but he said nothing. 

No offhand joke, no stupid laugh, not even a lazy insult. Just silence.

The quiet gnawed. From anyone else, Rin might’ve welcomed it, but not from Shidou. Shidou was never silent. And now the absence of his voice pressed heavier than all his noise ever did.

Rin’s shoulders stiffened. He kept his eyes locked on the neat scrawl of his own name stamped across the front of his book—Itoshi Rin. A name that looked too composed when everything beneath it was splintering. He traced the letters with his gaze until they blurred.

Did he really hate it this much? The thought itched under his skin, a question Rin couldn’t silence. Did Shidou find the act of speaking to him unbearable now? Was this how things would rot—two people in the same room, both pretending the other wasn’t there?

He gripped the book tighter, pulse thrumming like it wanted out of his throat. He wanted the nightmare to end, to rewind to something normal, something easy. Back before he’d been stupid enough to fall. Back before his lips had touched where they never should have.

Shidou had said to forget it. Just forget what happened. So why didn’t this feel like forgetting? Why did the silence feel like acknowledgment, like a bruise they were both pretending not to see?

Rin exhaled through his nose, sharp, and buried himself deeper into the pages. If he stared long enough, maybe he could convince himself none of this was real.

Something inside him finally gave.

The tightness behind Rin’s throat tore open and he couldn’t hold it back. It started as a small, hot prick behind his eyes and then an animal, ugly sob climbed his ribs and tried to break free. He clamped his jaw so hard his molars ached, trying to swallow the sound down. It didn’t work. 

A single tear rolled out, warm and clean, and he was grateful—bitterly grateful—that he was facing the wall. At least Shidou couldn’t see the slick trail down his face.

Air felt too sharp in his lungs. His nose ran, and the stupid, humiliating little sound of it made his cheeks burn. He rubbed at his face with the heel of his hand as if he could scrub the whole moment off. He told himself to move, to leave, to break the pressure by moving. His feet refused. The floor was suddenly a trap.

Alone. That thought kept thudding through him like a mallet. 

Parents swallowed by ministry work, too busy for anything more than telegrams, Sae—so cool, so final—walking away with a handful of sharp words and leaving a hole that never stopped echoing. He had learned how to bury that ache under work and training and small, brittle routines. 

He’d learned how to be fine.

Until now.

The companionship he’d started to want—the stupid, impossible kind that made him stupid later—had shown its face and then recoiled. He had thought, for a dangerously short time, that he might not be the only empty one in the room. Now that idea lay in pieces across the floor. If the one thing he had dared to reach for slipped away so easily, what was left? Am I that unlovable? The question rolled through him and tasted like copper.

His hands shook. He let them fall to his knees and tried not to think. That lasted about two breaths.

A movement at the edge of his hearing—soft, not quite the careless stride he’d come to expect—made him flinch. He didn’t turn. He couldn’t. But the silence was gone in a way that wasn’t painful, it was being replaced.

A shadow settled beside him on the bed. Not the weight of teasing, not the loud grin. Something quieter—deliberate, awkward in a way that said Shidou was trying not to break whatever fragile thing remained between them.

A hand touched his shoulder, tentative. Not the invasive grab of jest, but the careful placement of someone who’d practiced gentleness and still wasn’t sure if it was allowed. Fingers pressed, then retreated, then steadied. The contact was small and immediate and it made Rin’s breath catch.

“Hey,” Shidou said, voice low, not the shout or the joke he used like armor. “Don’t… don’t do this alone.”

Rin’s shoulders trembled. He wanted to push the hand away, to shove the whole scene from his memory and pretend he’d never needed anything. Instead his knees folded forward and before he could stop himself he let the answer he’d refused all month spill out with no shape: a ragged, wordless inhale.

A stronger arm circled his back then, pulling him in—not the possessive, showy sort of drag, but an earnest, steady hold that molded around the small of his spine. Shidou’s chest was warm at Rin’s temple, his breath a rough whisper at the side of Rin’s face. The senior’s other hand stayed slack on the mattress, fingers splayed like he didn’t want to force anything. There was no show, no declaration—just a pressure that said, for now, you don’t have to be the only one holding this.

Rin’s teeth ground and the anger and shame and the stubborn, humiliating hope all unravelled in a single wet sob. He pressed his face into Shidou’s shirt, the material rough and real, and let himself dissolve, the crying small and animal and utterly human. 

No words came. None were needed.

The hold tightened a fraction, then loosened into the kind of stillness that lets shaking shoulders slow. Outside, the castle kept going—distant footsteps, a muffled laugh—and inside the room two breathing rhythms found, briefly, a way to line up.

He didn’t know what would come after. He didn’t know if the space between them would ever fully close. 

Rin’s eyes blinked open to the dark ceiling of his dorm. The air was still, the faint smell of old wood and ink clinging to the room. For a moment he didn’t move, too heavy and too hollow to bother. His cheek felt stiff, dried salt tightening his skin.

The bed beside him was empty. Sheets neat, untouched.

He pushed himself up slowly, chest heavy, and pressed a hand to his face. It was damp earlier, wasn’t it? His mind flashed back to the weight on his back, the arm around him, the rough shirt against his cheek. That low voice, almost careful.

But the silence now was absolute.

Maybe it was all a dream. The stupid kind that handed him comfort in the middle of misery only to rip it away when morning came. Except it wasn’t even morning—it was night. He tilted his head toward the window; the castle grounds were swallowed in moonlight, and the rest of the dorms were already quiet.

He glanced back at the other bed. Empty, still. Shidou hadn’t even come back for bedtime.

His throat clenched, a half-laugh half-scoff leaving his lips before he could stop it. Figures. Of course.

He felt stupid—pathetic, even—for hoping. For letting his chest believe something real had happened, that someone had actually reached out to him, only to find nothing left behind but the echo of his own desperation. He rubbed at his eyes hard, as if that would erase the ghost of Shidou’s warmth still lingering in his memory.

“Idiot,” he muttered to himself, sinking back into the pillow.

The room swallowed his words whole.

Until a sound creaked from the window. Moonlight washed pale silver over the stone floor as Rin pushed the window open wider, startled when a small parcel dropped onto his desk. His heart skipped—then steadied when he saw the familiar flash of white wings.

“Owly…” His voice softened, almost disbelieving. The snowy owl perched proudly, its wing no longer crooked, feathers sleek again. He still remembered the time Owly was stuck in the tree that caused the bird to fall and broke its wing. The cause why Rin couldn’t bring Owly. He reached out, careful fingers brushing the bird’s chest before pulling him closer. “I’m glad you’re okay now.”

The owl blinked at him, amber eyes steady, and gave a soft hoot as if in answer. Rin’s throat eased for the first time that night. At least he wasn’t completely alone.

Talking about animals reminded him of the other creature that shared their dorm. Under Shidou’s bed, as always, Mixy’s tail flicked lazily from the shadows. Rin crouched a little, eyeing the black cat’s faint glimmer in the dark. “You two gonna get along?” he muttered. “Owly won’t eat you, right?”

The owl ruffled its feathers, unimpressed. The cat didn’t even bother to lift its head. Rin exhaled a quiet laugh through his nose. “Figures.”

He carried Owly to the small wooden stand by the window, watching as the bird hopped onto its perch, tucked his head, and slipped back into rest without a sound. Quiet company—that was all he had, and yet the emptiness in his chest stayed.

He glanced once more at the cat under the bed, then at the neat sheets beside his own. The silence pressed against his ears.

Sleep felt impossible now. The thought of lying down again, alone with the noise in his head, made his skin crawl. He wasn’t about to cry again—he refused. Instead, he slipped on his robe, fingers brushing the smooth fabric with restless energy, and stepped out into the corridor. The castle was hushed, shadows long, and the air smelled faintly of candle wax and old stone.

Anywhere was better than his room right now.

Rin kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets, head low as he drifted through the empty corridors. His footsteps echoed too loudly, bouncing off stone walls like they were mocking him for being out here alone. Every now and then, a torch flickered, and the faint chill of the castle crept beneath his skin.

He wanted to walk until his thoughts quieted. Except they didn’t.

“Oi, sulking boy.” A voice floated through the air, airy and smug. Rin froze, then grimaced when Nearly Headless Nick drifted out of the wall beside him, tilting his head at an awkward angle as usual. “The drafty corridor hardly makes a proper spot for brooding, don’t you think?”

Rin clicked his tongue and kept walking.

Another voice chimed in behind him, shrill and echoing. “He looks like me when I first died. Always wandering around, hopeless and dripping misery.” Moaning Myrtle’s form bobbed beside him now, her glasses crooked as she peered up at him.

“Leave me alone,” Rin muttered. He didn’t have the energy to deal with ghosts.

But they followed anyway, like shadows that refused to detach.

“There’s a better place, you know,” Nick said after a pause, floating along at his side. “Somewhere warmer, cleaner… pine-scented.”

Rin frowned. “What?”

“The Prefects’ Bathroom,” Myrtle supplied, her tone oddly cheerful. “Bigger than your dormitory. You’ll like it. A proper soak might wipe that look off your face.”

He wanted to ignore them. Really, he did. But wandering the castle aimlessly didn’t seem any less pathetic. And, honestly, the thought of hot water against his cold, tense body didn’t sound so bad.

By the time he muttered “Fine” under his breath, Myrtle had already flown ahead, leading the way with her giggles.

Fifth floor. Behind the portrait of a plump mermaid who rolled her eyes at him as if she were tired of opening her door to strays.

“Password?” she asked lazily.

“…Pine Fresh,” Rin answered, voice low.

The portrait swung open, and Rin stepped inside.

The air immediately changed. Warmth hit his face, carrying faint hints of steam and lavender. The bathroom stretched out before him, marble walls gleaming under torchlight. At its heart, the enormous bath gleamed like a polished lake, lined with countless taps. Each poured streams of color—pink foam, green bubbles, golden water that smelled faintly of honey.

Rin stopped at the edge, his reflection rippling in the wide surface. For a long moment, he just stared. The silence here was different—not heavy like the dorm, not biting like the corridor.

It was… almost comforting.

He sighed, slipped off his shoes, and sank into the warm water, letting it swallow him whole.

Finally, his thoughts dulled into quiet.

The water was almost too warm at first, prickling at his skin, but Rin forced himself to sink deeper until only his head rested above the surface. The bath carried the faint scent of pine and something floral, steam curling in lazy wisps around him. For the first time that night, his chest loosened.

He leaned back against the smooth marble edge, shutting his eyes. The heat worked slowly into his muscles, into the stiffness in his jaw and shoulders. For a brief moment, he could almost forget everything.

“Ohhh, so this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Rin’s eyes snapped open.

Moaning Myrtle hovered just above the water, her glasses catching the light. She was leaning over far too close, peering down at him with a wide grin.

Rin’s face immediately went red. He pulled himself lower into the bath, water sloshing around his chest. “What the hell—get out!”

Myrtle tilted her head, unbothered. “Why? I used to live in this bathroom. Privacy’s overrated when you’re dead.”

“I said leave.” Rin’s voice dropped sharp, but his ears burned. He couldn’t believe this was happening—he was completely naked under the water, and this ghost was just… hovering there.

“Oh, don’t be shy.” Myrtle bobbed closer, sending ripples across the water. “It’s not like I haven’t seen worse. Besides, you looked so gloomy, I thought you might drown yourself if I didn’t check in.”

Rin turned his head away, fists clenched under the water. “I don’t need your pity. Just—go bother someone else.”

Myrtle huffed, crossing her transparent arms. “Fine. Be a sulky prat. I was only trying to help. You’re worse than Harry was.” With that, she gave a dramatic sniff and drifted through the far wall, leaving only a faint chill behind.

Rin let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, sinking lower until the water lapped against his chin.

So much for peace.

The steam curled around him, muffling the silence. Rin dragged his fingers through the water, trying to calm down, but the echo of Myrtle’s voice still rang in his head.

Just when he thought she was gone for good—

“You’re still brooding, aren’t you?”

Rin nearly jumped. Myrtle’s round face peeked through the stained-glass mermaid this time, her watery voice bouncing off the marble walls. “You think hiding in hot water will fix it? You look pathetic.”

“Are you kidding me?” Rin snapped, sitting up in the bath. “Didn’t I tell you to leave?”

“Ohhh, touchy,” she sang, swooping over the bath again. “You’re sulking, alone, at night, in this bathroom—don’t tell me it isn’t because of a girl? Or maybe a boy?. It’s always a boy.”

Rin’s jaw tightened. He turned his face away, but Myrtle circled him like a vulture.

“Come on,” she coaxed, “what did he do? Break your heart? Pretend you don’t exist? I know that look. I’ve seen it a hundred times. You might as well scream into the water.”

Something in Rin cracked. His hands clenched against the bath’s edge until his knuckles turned white. “Shut up,” he muttered, voice rough.

But Myrtle only floated closer, lowering herself so her eyes met his. “Why should I? You’re lonely. I can tell. You’re so lonely it’s dripping off you like steam.”

Rin’s teeth ground together. “I said shut up!” 

His voice broke louder than he intended, echoing off the marble. The water surged as he hit it with his fist. Myrtle blinked at him, startled, but Rin kept going.

“You don’t know anything. You think I want to feel like this? You think I chose to ruin everything?” His throat burned, words spilling out faster, rawer. “He won’t even look at me now. He won’t talk to me. And I can’t—” His voice cracked. He pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes, but the tears came anyway, hot and unstoppable.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. About him. About how I ruined it just by… just by wanting too much.” His chest heaved, breath sharp. “I’m so damn tired of being alone.”

For once, Myrtle didn’t giggle or prod. She hovered silently, her watery form softening.

Rin sank back into the water, curling his arms over the edge of the bath, shoulders trembling. The words he’d buried for days finally hung in the steam, heavy and real.

Myrtle tilted her head. “There now,” she said, quieter, almost kind. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Rin let out a broken laugh, bitter and wet. “Shut up,” he muttered again, but without strength.

The mermaid in the stained glass gave a soft ripple of laughter, as though mocking him, but Rin didn’t even care anymore. He was too drained, too raw.

The echoes of his outburst still clung to the marble walls, but Rin no longer had the strength to care. He slid deeper into the water until it lapped at his collarbone, steam sticking to his damp hair. His arms hung limp over the bath’s edge, chest rising and falling unevenly. Myrtle drifted back toward the ceiling, oddly quiet, leaving Rin to his exhaustion. The only sound left was the soft hiss of water spilling from one of the enchanted taps, perfumed steam curling like smoke around him.

His eyelids grew heavy. He hadn’t meant to relax—didn’t deserve to—but the warmth dulled the sharp edges of his thoughts. The weight of his chest eased, if only slightly, and before he realized it, his lashes lowered.

The darkness behind his eyes wasn’t empty.

It was snow.

White, endless snow falling under the dim glow of lantern light. His boots sank into the frost as he ran, breath puffing fast and desperate. And ahead—just ahead—was the familiar back of his brother.

“Nii-cha—!”

The call tore from him, but the figure didn’t slow. Rin’s chest tightened, panic bubbling as he stumbled forward, trying to catch up. The air burned his throat, and the sting of betrayal he thought he’d buried clawed back to the surface.

“Don’t—don’t leave me!” His voice cracked, pathetic against the howling wind.

But Sae never turned.

The snow blurred, swallowing everything until Rin couldn’t tell if he was running or sinking. His lungs fought for air, his hands empty, and just like before—he was left behind.

A sharp inhale dragged him half awake. Rin’s eyes fluttered open, steam clouding his vision, and for a second he didn’t know where he was. The snow still clung to his skin in memory, his chest heaving as though he’d just run through it.

He pressed a hand to his face, nails digging into his damp hair. “…damn it.” His whisper was hoarse, barely audible over the trickle of enchanted taps.

The bath that had once been soothing now felt like a trap, a reminder he couldn’t escape—not from Sae, not from Shidou, not from the hollow ache gnawing at his chest.

By the time Rin pulled himself out of the water, his limbs felt heavier than stone. He dried himself off in silence, ignoring the way Myrtle peeked through her fingers at him before darting back into a drain. His patience for her antics—or anyone’s—was long gone. The marble floor was cold under his bare feet, and the echo of each step followed him like a shadow as he gathered his robes. He didn’t bother buttoning them properly; the damp fabric clung awkwardly to his skin, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The corridor outside was eerily quiet. Torchlight flickered against the stone, but the usual comfort of Hogwarts’ nighttime hum wasn’t there. Only the hollow drag of his footsteps, the weight of exhaustion pressing on his spine. He rubbed his sleeve roughly against his face, erasing the lingering wetness on his cheeks, and lowered his head. 

If anyone saw him now, he’d rather vanish into the wall. He already felt pathetic enough.

By the time he reached the door to his dorm, the thought of pushing it open felt like another battle. His hand hovered on the knob, jaw tight, before he forced it. The room was dim, empty, silent—mercifully so.

He exhaled, shaky, and shut the door behind him. The first thing he noticed was Mixy, Shidou’s cat, blinking lazily from under the bed as if to say, you again? Rin gave a weak, humorless huff.

Owly was asleep in his perch by the window, feathers tucked neatly, completely unaware of the mess Rin was. For a brief moment, Rin envied the owl’s peace.

He sat on the edge of his bed, fingers gripping the half-dead flower he’d hidden earlier. Its petals crumbled at his touch, fragile and brittle. He stared at it for a long moment before setting it aside, curling into himself.

“Get a grip,” he muttered under his breath. His voice cracked anyway.

But no one was there to hear it.

Sleep wouldn’t come, no matter how much Rin willed it. He tossed once, twice, then sat up with a sharp exhale. Pointless. His body was tired, but his mind kept spinning back to the bath, to Shidou, to everything.

If rest wouldn’t take him, maybe study would. He reached for the book on his desk—the one with his name scrawled neatly across the cover. Itoshi Rin. A Potions and Magical Dilution guide. Dry enough to bore him into unconsciousness, hopefully.

He flopped sideways onto his bed, propping the book against his pillow, letting his eyes skim over words about rare herbs and mixing ratios. It wasn’t long before his jaw slackened with a yawn, lids drooping heavy. He made it to the third potion before the blur of letters finally pulled him under.

Or so he thought.

BANG!

His eyes snapped open, heart jumping against his ribs. He froze, staring at the door. Silence followed, heavy and deliberate. Maybe he imagined it—

BANG!

He jolted upright this time. No mistaking it. Someone was knocking. Hard.

The next thud rattled the frame, echoing through the quiet dorm. Rin groaned, rubbing at his face, fury mixing with exhaustion. “Who the hell—” he muttered under his breath.

It was two in the morning. Who in their right mind thought this was funny?

Slamming his book aside, he swung his legs off the bed and stomped toward the door, every step more irritated than the last. His fingers tightened around the knob.

Whoever was behind this better pray he didn’t hex them on sight.

The door creaked open, and Rin froze.

“...Shidou?”

The blond stood in the doorway, shoulders slouched, eyes glassy. He didn’t answer. Just… swayed. For a second, Rin thought he’d collapse right there in the hall. They stared at each other, neither speaking. The silence stretched so long it made Rin’s chest tight. His fingers clenched the doorframe, searching for words.

“Shidou..?” he tried again, voice rough from sleep.

No response—just sudden movement. Shidou tipped forward, gravity pulling his weight down. Rin barely had time to react before the older Slytherin’s full body pressed against him.

“Oi—!” Rin staggered back, nearly losing his balance as he caught him. The impact drove him a step, then another, until his back almost hit the bedpost. Shidou was heavy—solid muscle and broader shoulders pressing down on him. His arms locked instinctively around Shidou’s torso to keep them both upright.

“Hey! You—” Rin’s protest cut short when a sharp, bitter smell hit his nose. He blinked, eyes narrowing. “…Are you drunk?”

The question hung in the air, his voice a mix of disbelief and irritation, though underneath it, a flicker of unease curled in his stomach.

Rin gritted his teeth as he struggled under Shidou’s weight. The idiot didn’t move, didn’t even try to stand on his own.

“Damn it, Shidou—” he hissed, digging his shoulder against the older boy’s chest to push him upright. “You’re heavy as fuck. Get off me already—” He kept muttering curses under his breath, frustration boiling over, until he felt a faint breath against his ear.

“...Why.”

Rin froze. The sharp string of swears stuck in his throat, cut clean.

“Huh?”

Shidou’s head dipped lower, his words a hushed slur but clear enough to gut Rin where he stood.

“Why won’t you love me back?”

Rin’s breath hitched hard, chest tightening as though the world had slammed into silence. His hands clenched tighter in Shidou’s shirt without meaning to.

What the hell was he talking about?

Rin’s mind spun, a whirl of static and disbelief. The words Shidou had spilled out—slurred, cracked, but sharp enough to cut—hung heavy in the room. He barely had time to process when Shidou pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, his hand still gripping Rin’s shoulder like an anchor, a bridge that kept them tethered.

For the first time since they became roommates, Rin saw him stripped bare of that cocky grin, that shameless arrogance. Shidou’s face was unguarded—eyes wet, brows knit tight as though holding back something unbearable.

“Why?” His voice trembled, broken in a way Rin had never thought possible. “Won’t you love me back…?”

Rin’s chest clenched, throat bone-dry.

Then came the dagger.

“Why, Sae?”

Oh.

The truth split him open in a second.

So that was it.

It had never been him. It was never Rin.

Bitterness coated his tongue, thick and choking. His fists curled in the sheets of his sleeve, desperate to swallow down the hollow ache clawing through him. He wanted to laugh, or scream, or throw Shidou off right then, but all he could do was stare.

Before his thoughts could settle, Shidou’s grip tightened, and a sudden shove sent Rin stumbling back. His heel caught the post of his bed, and he toppled, body twisting as instinct forced his eyes shut against the fall.

The mattress caught him. Soft. Cold. Familiar.

But the weight he braced for never landed.

Slowly, cautiously, Rin’s lashes lifted—and the breath hitched in his chest.

Shidou loomed above him, braced with one hand sunk into the mattress, the other on Rin’s shoulder still. His expression… gods, Rin couldn’t even name it. Vulnerability? Desperation? Something darker, something needier? Whatever it was, it carved him raw, made it impossible to look away.

Shidou shifted closer, the bed dipping with his movement. One knee pressed into the edge of the mattress, right beside Rin’s hip. Trapping him there.

Rin’s heart hammered, loud and erratic, as if his body knew the danger before his mind could. His lips parted, but no sound came out—only the silent question burning in his head.

What are you doing to me?

“I’ve been in love with you from the start…”

The words spilled from Shidou’s mouth, low and unsteady, and for a second Rin thought he misheard. His whole body froze, breath caught in his throat, unable to move.

“I always love your eyes.”

Rin’s pulse thundered in his ears. Shidou’s hand slid upward, warm against his skin, his palm cupping Rin’s cheek with a tenderness so unlike him it felt unreal.

“And your lower lashes too,” he murmured, his voice frayed with something halfway between a laugh and a sob. His thumb lingered just under Rin’s eye, tracing the delicate skin as if memorizing it.

Rin trembled. Every part of him screamed this was wrong—Shidou was drunk, lost in his own delusions, in love with someone who wasn’t him. And yet, Rin’s chest ached with a hunger that refused to be silenced. He wanted this. He wanted him.

Shidou leaned in. Closer. Closer.

Rin’s heart hammered so violently it hurt, as though it wanted to tear itself free from his chest. He should’ve pushed him away. Should’ve stopped this before it broke him completely. But instead, his body betrayed him, remaining still, allowing the space between them to collapse.

“I love you…” Shidou whispered, the words brushing against Rin’s lips.

Then they touched.

The kiss was soft at first, almost fragile. The world narrowed to the heat of Shidou’s mouth pressed against his own, the taste of something bitter—alcohol, salt, maybe tears—and the devastating sweetness buried beneath it. Rin’s lashes fluttered shut. He shouldn’t be doing this. He knew he shouldn’t.

But gods, he didn’t care. Not when the one thing he had longed for was finally within reach, even if only in a lie.

For this one fleeting, borrowed moment, Rin let himself drown.

Then, Shidou pulled back.

Rin’s lips parted, a shaky breath rushing out. His chest heaved, his mind racing—was that it? Was the moment already gone? He lay frozen, expecting Shidou to stumble away, to laugh, to forget everything he’d just said.

But then Shidou dove in again.

The second kiss was rougher, needier. Rin didn’t resist this time. His body betrayed him, melting into the contact, and before he could stop himself, he felt hot tears slip down his face. Not from happiness. Never that. The pain clawed so deep in his chest it made it hard to breathe— because he knew this wasn’t real. Shidou’s lips, Shidou’s words… they weren’t meant for him. He was only a placeholder for someone else.

In truth, Rin was the one taking advantage.

And yet his arms rose, wrapping around Shidou’s back almost desperately, pulling him closer, closer still, until their bodies pressed together. The kiss deepened, growing more heated, more consuming. Their mouths moved in sync, Shidou devouring him like fire, Rin clinging as though this illusion was the only thing keeping him alive. The tears wouldn’t stop. They mingled into the kiss, into the heat, into the lie Rin wished he could believe. For this one unbearable moment, he let himself break.

Shidou continued, shifted.

Rin’s heart skipped violently as he felt the older’s weight adjust— now all four points of Shidou’s body pressed against him. A flash of panic hit as he realized the touch sliding beneath his clothes. This is wrong! His mind screamed, every rational thought warning him to stop, to push away.

And yet… he didn’t.

The kiss didn’t break. Rin’s lips moved against Shidou’s, trembling, tasting, needing, even as his body burned with guilt and shame. His hands remained restrained, palms flat against Shidou’s back, steadying him rather than exploring, keeping some boundary he barely controlled.

I’m sorry… I’m sorry…

The words stayed unspoken. He didn’t have the strength to voice them, didn’t want to interrupt the moment with his own self-loathing. Each press of Shidou against him, each sigh and tremor, was a reminder of desire, of loneliness, of everything he’d been denying himself.

Rin let himself be carried in the lie, the fleeting warmth, knowing the truth gnawed at him. This shouldn’t be, could never be. Yet even as guilt tore at him, even as his mind screamed stop! his body betrayed him, clinging, pressing, surrendering to a moment he had no right to keep. 

Shidou’s lips slowly trailed from Rin’s mouth down to the hollow of his neck. Rin froze for a heartbeat, heart hammering, mind screaming, this is wrong… yet he didn’t pull away.

Eventually, Shidou relaxed, weight softening as his breath evened. Rin felt the subtle rise and fall of Shidou’s chest against his own, the warmth of his body settling in. He stayed like that, arms instinctively wrapping around Shidou, holding him close as the older boy drifted into sleep.

Rin’s own breathing grew loud in the quiet room, ragged and uneven. 

He couldn’t believe what had just happened— the forbidden closeness, the stolen touch, the kiss. Tears still streamed down his face, unbidden, and with each one came a pang of self-loathing, a bitter taste of disgust at himself.

And yet… amid the shame and guilt, a small, almost imperceptible smile formed on his lips. I allowed myself to feel, even if it’s wrong… even if it’s fleeting.

Rin pressed his forehead against Shidou’s, inhaling the scent of his hair, trying to memorize the moment, to clutch at the warmth, even as every rational thought told him he shouldn’t.

He felt disgusted with himself. And for some reason, that feeling mingled with a tiny, guilty sense of… satisfaction.

Rin stirred first, a strange warmth pressing against his arm. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, disbelief washed over him. 

Ah… so it really happened.

He tilted his head down, and there he was—Shidou, still asleep, curled lightly against his chest. His expression was serene, completely at peace, and Rin couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips.

But as the moment stretched, reality crept in like a cold shadow. His smile faltered. What happened last night… it was wrong. I should hate it. And yet, he didn’t. Deep down, he hadn’t hated the act itself. He’d wanted it. He’d craved it, even if only for a fleeting moment. A bitter pang of longing shot through him. If only this could be real…

The soft stir of movement shook him from the spiral of thought. Shidou shifted, blinking groggily, confusion flickering across his features as he tried to figure out where he was. Slowly, his gaze found Rin’s, and the seconds stretched painfully, deliciously.

Rin didn’t flinch. He steadied himself, heart pounding, refusing to run, refusing to lie to himself.

There’s nothing to lose. I have nothing in the first place.

Shidou’s eyes widened slightly, taking in the way Rin held him close, a faint flush coloring his cheeks. For a heartbeat, neither spoke. Then Shidou’s lips parted, voice tentative and unsure.

“Rin…?”

The single word hung between them, fragile and questioning, and Rin felt his chest tighten. This was real now. No illusions, no drunken mistakes—just the two of them, and the unspoken truth pulsing in the air.

Shidou slowly pulled back from Rin, not with disgust, but with that bewildered, unsteady confusion Rin had seen before in situations far more mundane.

“What—” Shidou muttered, raising a hand to his temple. Rin guessed it was either a headache or a hangover, the slight flush in his cheeks confirming the latter.

Their eyes met again, and this time Rin could read everything—the processing, the realization, the panic slowly creeping in. Shidou’s sharp inhale betrayed the awareness of last night, and Rin’s chest tightened. He already knew how this would go, and yet he stayed still, steady, letting Shidou unravel in front of him.

“Fuck—did we—” Shidou clapped a hand over his mouth, then moved away from Rin, kneeling awkwardly on the edge of the bed.

Rin shifted up slightly, supporting himself with his elbow, absorbing every reaction, every stumble of expression that crossed Shidou’s face.

“Rin, did we—” Shidou started again, voice cracking slightly.

“Yes. We kissed,” Rin replied dully, carefully pushing all the aching warmth from his chest into numbness. There was no triumph, no embarrassment—only cold, empty truth.

Shidou froze, staring at him. “Fuck! I’m—I'm sorry,” he stammered, and Rin just blinked, expression blank, watching as the older boy struggled to find footing in the reality of their shared mistake.

The room hung in heavy silence, punctuated only by the faint rustle of sheets and the lingering pulse of emotions neither of them could properly name.

And in honesty Rin couldn’t bring himself to blame Shidou. If anything, he knew he had mirrored Sae’s coldness in his own way, same eyes, same eyelashes and being drunk, Shidou might have mistaken Rin’s emotions and looked for something else entirely. The truth was, Rin should be the one apologizing. He had been the steady one between them, the one with a mind clear enough to push back, to prevent this from happening. If he had acted, none of this—none of the confusion, the closeness, the guilt—would have unfolded.

And yet… he didn’t feel like apologizing. Not now. Not ever. 

He was tired of always being on the losing side, tired of the guilt he carried for things that weren’t entirely his fault. For once, he wanted to feel something purely selfish.

So he didn’t explain. He didn’t try to smooth over the tension. He simply looked away, letting the silence stretch, letting the moment breathe.

“What happened… happened,” Rin said quietly, almost to himself.

“Rin—” Shidou began, voice hesitant, but Rin didn’t look back. His attention caught on the way Shidou’s pink eyes had shifted, focused somewhere else entirely. Curiosity piqued, Rin followed the gaze and noticed his book lying slightly askew on the floor. 

Rin blinked, letting a cool indifference settle over him, then returned his eyes to Shidou. But now, the older boy’s face was different—frowning, serious, the playful spark replaced by something heavier. Rin’s chest tensed ever so slightly. Why did it feel like Shidou was seeing him in a way he hadn’t before?

The air between them thickened, unspoken, and for the first time that morning, Rin wondered if Shidou’s usual composure had cracked just a little.

“Itoshi… Rin?” 

Shidou’s voice wavered slightly, almost drowned by the weight of what he was processing. His gaze lingered on the front page of the book, tracing the letters with an almost reverent hesitation. Then, slowly, he lifted his eyes to meet Rin’s. “Your name… Itoshi Rin?”

Rin frowned, uncertainty knitting his brows. “Yeah,” he replied simply, not understanding the sudden shift in Shidou’s expression.

Without another word, Shidou moved off the bed. His posture swayed slightly, like he was fighting to stay steady, but he forced himself upright. Rin remained seated, eyes fixed on him, sensing the unusual gravity in Shidou’s movements. The older boy’s gaze dipped briefly to the floor before snapping back to Rin, sharp and searching.

“Fuck… it couldn’t be…” Shidou muttered under his breath, a murmur too soft for Rin to catch clearly.

Curiosity pried through Rin’s numbness, overriding the lingering tension in his chest. “What is it?” he asked, voice steady but low, eyes narrowing slightly.

Shidou hesitated, swallowing audibly. He looked like someone trying to piece together a puzzle that didn’t quite make sense. The air between them thickened, heavy with unspoken realizations. For Rin, the moment carried a strange pulse—equal parts dread and anticipation—because he had a sinking feeling he was about to learn just how much Shidou didn’t know… and how that would change everything.

Jaw tightened, and his eyes darted between Rin’s face and the book, like he was trying to piece together a sudden, impossible puzzle.

“Fuck! I know you look similar—” he muttered under his breath, his fingers twitching as if to grasp at some invisible clue. “Always thought it was weird…” Another quiet murmur escaped him, as if speaking louder would break the fragile thought process. “No way! No no…” Shidou’s voice rose slightly, shaky and disbelieving.

Rin’s patience snapped. “What!?” he barked, the edge in his voice cutting through the fog of Shidou’s murmurs.

Shidou blinked, startled by the outburst, then exhaled deeply, trying to compose himself. His gaze finally locked onto Rin’s. “Are you… by any chance related to Sae?”

Rin froze, the question hanging between them like a charged wire. 

He blinked once, then again, utterly confused. Of course he was related—half the school probably knew that already. “Yeah…” he said flatly, though his tone carried a note of disbelief, as if Shidou had just asked something impossible. “He’s my brother…?” 

The room fell silent for a heartbeat, the weight of unspoken implications pressing down on them both. Rin’s frustration simmered beneath his calm exterior. Part of him wanted to yell, part of him wanted to vanish, and part of him just wanted Shidou to acknowledge the truth without all the hesitation.

Shidou ran a hand through his hair, his pink eyes softening with the mix of realization and shock. “I… I should’ve known…” he muttered, almost to himself, as if trying to reconcile what he was seeing with what he had believed all along.

Rin’s jaw clenched. Did he just find out about this? He didn’t trust the sudden softness in Shidou’s eyes—not yet. But deep down, a small, reluctant part of him wondered how the older boy would react now that the truth was finally out. 

But the other part, the tired, bitter part, didn’t care anymore. He just wanted it to end.

Without another word, Shidou bolted upright. “I… I need to think,” he muttered, swaying slightly as he turned. Before Rin could react, the older boy was already at the door, yanking it open and vanishing into the corridor.

The click of the door echoed in the empty room, leaving Rin sitting on his bed, the quiet weight of loneliness settling back over him. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, staring at the spot where Shidou had been, and whispered under his breath, “Figures…”

He leaned back against the headboard, feeling the familiar hollow ache inside. Once again, he was alone.

The door clicked shut, and the emptiness in the room felt louder than ever. 

Rin sank back against the headboard, letting the tension in his shoulders slip, though the ache in his chest only deepened. Shidou had left, and with him went any explanation, any semblance of closure. All that remained was the silent, suffocating weight of the past week pressing against Rin’s ribs.

He rubbed at his eyes, trying to blink away the sting of tears he hadn’t realized he’d been holding back. His hand fell to the edge of the bed, fingers curling against the sheets. Alone. Again. Just like so many nights before, when everything had seemed pointless and even his own heartbeat felt like a reminder that he didn’t belong anywhere.

A bitter laugh escaped him, low and humorless. Figures, he thought. Shidou had come close, had been real for a moment—but just as quickly, he was gone, leaving Rin with the echo of what might have been. 

The kiss, the closeness, the whispered words—it all felt like a dream now, fragile and cruel, impossible to grasp.

Rin’s gaze drifted to the floor, the shadow of the room stretching long in the moonlight. He thought about the flower Shidou had given him, now half-dead on the bedside table, about the warmth of Shidou’s body pressed against his own, and the sudden, sharp sting of reality. He had wanted to hold onto it, even just for a moment, but reality had a way of dragging him back, reminding him that nothing was ever simple.

The anger bubbled up first, hot and jagged. Not at Shidou—though part of him wanted to—but at himself. 

Why didn’t I stop it? The thought burned. 

Rin had let it happen, let his own desires slip past the careful control he usually kept over himself. And now he was left with the aftermath, alone, wondering if he had done something unforgivable.

His hand clenched the sheets, nails digging into the fabric as his breath hitched. Part of him still longed for that warmth, that closeness. But another part—the part that hated himself—wanted to push it all away, to scrub the memory from his mind. He didn’t even know which feeling was stronger.

Slowly, painfully, Rin exhaled, letting the tension drain from his body. 

He leaned back fully, staring at the ceiling as if the cracks in the plaster might give him some answer. I shouldn’t care… he told himself. I have nothing to lose anyway.

But even as he repeated it, he knew it was a lie. The ache in his chest, the sting behind his eyes, the hollow emptiness—those were proof that he still cared. He had allowed himself to feel something, to reach for something he had no right to. And now, alone in the room, he had to sit with it, with nothing but the echo of Shidou’s confused eyes, his whispered question, and the impossible, fleeting brush of lips that had changed everything.

The day stretched on, and Rin remained there, curled against himself, letting the quiet envelop him. Alone, yet strangely alive, even amidst the self-loathing and the lingering spark of what could never be.

Rin pressed a hand over his eyes, finally letting the tears fall freely. 

Not for happiness, not for anger—just for the raw, unfiltered ache of wanting something that would never be his.