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Tuesday is TV night.
It’s something that they established back in school, whenever Scorpius would spend a week or two with the Potters. Monday and Thursday were cooking nights, Wednesday for video games, Friday and Saturday for exploring, and Sunday for movies. Scorpius appreciated a routine he could come to expect, and Albus enjoyed getting to plan out what things he would get to introduce Scorpius to and when.
He also enjoyed allowing himself to be a little delusional as a teenager, imagining “and then at midnight we kiss” scribbled underneath “make Scorpius watch The Matrix” on a random Sunday night.
Though some of the scheduled activities changed when they moved into their own place — Albus cooked every night, and Friday was now for getting sloshed at home — Tuesday night always remained dedicated to binging TV.
Scorpius had done an early morning shift, napped the afternoon away, demolished the takeout Albus had brought home from the studio, and then declared himself unable to move from the couch. Albus had laughed, made himself a bowl of popcorn, offered Scorpius one (“I’m too stuffed to even stand up, Albus”), and joined him on the couch, sitting a respectable distance away.
They’re three episodes into their current binge of The Good Place when Scorpius first nabs some of his popcorn, sliding closer on the couch. Albus sighs performatively but offers him the bowl to take a handful, smiling a little when Scorpius flaps a hand in thanks.
The second time he does it, Albus narrows his eyes, glaring. Scorpius pauses with his hand halfway into the bowl, laughs, and then snatches some anyway, plopping his head onto Albus’ shoulder in apology. As a result, Albus is too flustered to do much of anything.
When Scorpius reaches into his popcorn bowl for the third time, glaring at him is no longer enough.
“I told you I’d make you a bowl,” Albus scowls.
Scorpius gives him a sweet, innocent smile, as if he hasn’t just shoved a handful of Albus’ popcorn into his mouth. “I wouldn’t have eaten a whole bowl,” he gets out between bites, words garbled.
“Well I didn’t say we could share,” Albus huffs.
“You’re not sharing.” Another handful. “I’m stealing.”
“Merlin, you are so annoying.”
“Yes, I’ve been told,” Scorpius grins. He’s stopped trying to reach into the popcorn bowl and has instead slumped a little bit further into the couch, trying to head butt his way onto Albus’ chest.
Albus reminds himself not to tense up. Scorpius just likes to cuddle while they watch tv. He does this all the time, even claiming that Albus is like a warm, weighted blanket. Sometimes they cuddle during movie nights or gaming sessions too. It’s not something to over-analyze.
“I hate you,” Albus says, trying to keep the teasing atmosphere up.
“Mhm,” Scorpius hums, barely a response, and he fits his nose snugly into Albus’ sternum.
“You can’t even see the screen like this,” Albus protests, but his voice sounds weak. He needs to get it together. Thankfully, Scorpius seems unfazed.
“M’tired,” Scorpius says, yawning and throwing an arm across his lap. He still hasn’t moved his head.
“Not too tired to steal my food, though.”
“I’ll never be too tired for that,” Scorpius snorts, looking up for just long enough to stick his tongue out. When Albus tries to flick his forehead, he dips his head back down to hide again, laughing. “Not even when we’re, like, 90 years old. Even if I have to hobble over with my walker.”
Scorpius is joking, his voice still light and airy and playful. He doesn’t mean anything by it. Of course they’ll still be annoying each other when they’re old — that’s what best friends do. The words still twist his insides anyway, flaying him out and making him feel horrifically exposed. Thankfully, Scorpius’ face is hidden again.
“Bold to assume I wouldn’t just kick it out from under you,” Albus says, hoping the sheer brutality of the words will offset the way he rests his hand on Scorpius’ back. The touch is too gentle, too hesitant, and he can practically hear it announcing I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU at the pitch of an alarm. The popcorn bowl has been discarded.
Scorpius cackles, pulling his face free again and deciding instead to flop onto Albus’ lap, pillowing his head on a thigh and grinning. “You’d do that to an old man?”
“In this scenario I am also an old man,” Albus rolls his eyes, shooting his hand out to block the crown of Scorpius’ head from making contact with the popcorn, pushing the bowl further away. Scorpius leans into the touch as if it’s an intentional one, so Albus allows himself to play with his hair. It’s fine. It’s normal.
Scorpius’ smile somehow deepens, dimples painfully prominent and his crooked canine pointing right at Albus’ snake tattoo. The asp sticks its tongue out, wriggling closer to Scorpius, and Albus fights the urge to slap his own forearm. Instead, he just twists a strand of Scorpius’ hair around his finger.
“You’re going be a funny old man,” Scorpius sighs happily, closing his eyes.
“How so?”
“You’re the type to yell at kids to get off the lawn while also being covered in tattoos. It’s going to confuse the youth.”
“Well what kind of old man are you going to be?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Scorpius smiles, opening his eyes to reach for Albus’ free hand, immediately playing with his scarred pinky, wiggling it with his own fingers. Albus chews on the inside of his cheek and ignores the touch as much as he can.
His tattoo, however, does not. He can’t really feel its movements all that much, but he watches as it travels up his left arm and underneath the sleeve of his t-shirt, reappearing on his other bicep and happily making its way down to his right wrist.
“Hello,” Scorpius laughs, giving the asp’s head a little poke.
“Don’t encourage it,” Albus grumbles.
“Why not? He’s so cute.”
Albus’ cheeks heat instantly and he has the desperate impulse to pull his hand away from Scorpius completely. That’d be telling on himself, though, so he simply tries to ignore the snake’s happy wriggling at the attention. None of his other magical tattoos give him this much trouble, but considering his asp was his first and he’s given it free reign to his torso and arms, it’s developed quite the obsession with Scorpius.
“No he’s not,” Albus huffs. “He’s just needy and wants attention all the time.”
“Well I like him,” Scorpius frowns, smiling again when the asp seems to head butt his fingers. He taps its head again and absentmindedly rubs his thumb against the side of Albus’ wrist, tracing the scar tissue. It’s unconscious, a force of habit, but it still makes Albus overwhelmed.
“Well he likes you too,” Albus mumbles, looking away from his wrist and back to the tv. “Obviously.”
“Obviously?”
“I enchanted the stupid thing,” Albus shrugs, wishing, not for the first time, that someone in his life had taught him to keep his mouth shut.
Scorpius strokes the tattoo with his fingertip again and giggles. “So because you like me, all of your tattoos also do?”
“Shut up,” Albus groans, tugging at Scorpius’ hair just once. Scorpius only laughs again in response, continuing to tap the snake’s head.
Scorpius has been doing this all the time recently. Making comments here and there — as if he knows. The idea of him knowing is just as horrifying as it’s always been, but the bits of plausible deniability work to keep Albus sane. Scorpius still isn’t explicit about it, never says it outright. They know that they like each other. Obviously. They’ve been friends for ten years. But sometimes Scorpius lingers on the word like for too long, or smiles at him in that way, half teasing and half something else, and Albus has to go take a cold shower or flop face down in the grass.
“You’re very sweet, you know that,” Scorpius is saying quietly, Albus having tuned him out while lost in his own head. He’s rubbing his thumb along the body of the snake, lines that Albus painstakingly created himself, and the asp is clearly reveling in the touch.
“It’s just a drawing,” Albus says, working to keep his voice neutral. He is not jealous of a tattoo.
“I’m not talking to the snake,” Scorpius smiles, leaning back into Albus’ touch again.
Albus shivers, both at the touch and at the words, and Scorpius just blinks up at him with an easy smile. There’s a slight blush across his cheeks, but he otherwise looks unbothered, and Albus immediately feels like an idiot.
“I’m not sweet,” he argues, and Scorpius simply quirks an eyebrow at him.
As if in response, the snake on his wrist wiggles again, seemingly trying to leave the confines of Albus’ skin just to get closer to Scorpius. Albus moves to pull his wrist away but Scorpius is faster, pulling it closer to him.
“You are sweet,” Scorpius challenges, but this time he’s not looking at the tattoo at all. His face is too genuine and it’s making Albus a little dizzy, but when he looks away, it’s only to find Scorpius pressing his lips to his wrist.
It’s barely a kiss, but Albus feels his stomach jump up into his chest, and the urge to snatch his arm away is battling with the urge to pull Scorpius up to kiss him properly instead. His lips are a little dry from the salt of the popcorn but the touch is gentle and soft, and when he pulls away, he’s pretty sure the asp has knocked itself out. Maybe it’s actually dead. Can magical, semi-sentient tattoos die?
“Uh —”
“See? Sweet,” Scorpius smiles. His blush is much deeper now, and there’s almost a bit of nervousness in his eyes, but he’s holding his ground more confidently than Albus knows he himself ever could. He must see something in Albus’ face that emboldens him, or is encouraged by the fact that the asp is moving again, zipping around Albus’ arm delightedly, because he presses another kiss to the outer notch of his wrist, alongside the uneven skin. He can feel Scorpius’ smile.
He wants to make words. He knows that there are words that he could say right now. But his heart feels like it’s pounding out of his chest and it’s humiliating to realize that Scorpius can feel it while his lips are resting against his pulse. Instead, he just focuses on breathing. Maybe his tattoo can get away with passing out after a kiss, but he absolutely cannot.
When Scorpius looks up again, a bit of the hesitance is back in his gaze, so Albus simply strokes his fingers through his hair with his free hand. He might not be able to reassure him with words that this is so very much extremely okay, but touch he can do. Sort of. His hand is shaking.
Despite the shaky hands, or maybe because of them, Scorpius seems to have found his confidence again. He lifts his head from Albus’ thigh and sits up again. Albus expects him to return to his previous position beside him, but Scorpius instead decides to climb into his lap properly, sitting on his legs. Albus immediately drops his hands to his sides.
Both of them turn their heads when they hear the popcorn bowl thunk against the floor, and Scorpius just laughs.
“That’s your fault,” Albus says weakly, finding his voice.
“Yes,” Scorpius smiles. “Definitely my fault and you are so very angry at me and mean and scary, yes, I know.”
Albus huffs at the mocking, but then Scorpius is prying both of his arms away from his sides and settling them on his own waist. His snake tattoo zooms down to his palm, the stupid traitor. He refuses to look Scorpius in the eye, but his only other option is down at his bare thighs, so he bites the bullet.
“Can I kiss you on the mouth?” Scorpius asks, still blushing but without fear, as if he’s pitching that Albus give him his leftovers.
“Yeah,” Albus croaks, still unsure how much pressure he’s allowed to apply to Scorpius’ sides. “I mean… only if you want t—”
Scorpius must want to, because he’s being kissed almost immediately, one hand resting on his cheek and the other on his shoulder. Albus knows for a fact that Scorpius has never kissed anyone, but there’s not an ounce of hesitation behind it, and that alone makes his hands impulsively tighten on his waist. He tastes like popcorn and rice and a smile but his lips are even softer than they look. He must be making some kind of sound, because Scorpius is also humming. His ears are ringing.
Once his brain has rebooted enough to even consider kissing back, Scorpius has pulled away, beaming and reaching up to thread his fingers through Albus’ hair.
“That was great! Is it always like that?”
Albus feels hysterical laughter bubbling up in his throat, and when he lets some of it escape, Scorpius laughs with him, blushing harder.
“Okay, wait. Let me try again.”
Somehow, there’s even less hesitation this time. Scorpius presses their lips together, and Albus finally has the bandwidth to kiss back, but his next hysterical laugh is swallowed by Scorpius deepening the kiss, opening his mouth inexpertly. Technically, it’s a mess of a kiss, and Albus should be laughing even harder now, but there’s something about it being Scorpius that makes Albus convinced it’s the best kiss of his life.
The idea of initiating anything is unthinkable right now, when the slightest change or wrongfooted step could make Scorpius decide that this is horrible, actually. Eventually, though, after their teeth clack for the third time and Scorpius does something with his tongue that has Albus properly laughing again, he finds the courage to pull away and take Scorpius’ face in his hands.
“Okay?” Scorpius asks immediately, his eyes going from wide and bright to concerned. “Sorry! That was fast. I just thought that kissing your wrist was nice and then this is the way most people kiss so I figured—”
“You’re perfect,” Albus says. He reviews the last sentence to leave his mouth and then takes a deep breath, plopping his forehead to Scorpius’ shoulder. “It was good. Perfect. Fine. Let me just… okay.”
Initiating a kiss with Scorpius is about a thousand times more terrifying than initiating a kiss with anyone else, but he manages to do so without giving either of them an injury. Scorpius’ enthusiasm is still getting in the way of his technical prowess, but he improves almost immediately, and that is thrilling in a way that Albus refuses to think too hard about right now. Still, there’s a voice in his head screaming about how he’s the first person Scorpius has ever wanted enough to kiss, how there’s so much they’ll get to learn about each other and about themselves, how Scorpius’ hands are still grabbing at him.
When Albus slows, Scorpius makes a sound that he feels in his toes, and he pulls away to hide in his shoulder again.
He doesn’t look up until he hears Scorpius laugh and feels a kiss pressed to the side of his palm, still resting against Scorpius’ jaw. The asp is wrapped happily around his thumb, enjoying the fact that it’s absentmindedly stroking Scorpius’ cheek.
“Can we kiss again?” Scorpius says, blushing down to his neck but otherwise unembarrassed.
“Who’s needy and wants attention now?” Albus jokes weakly, poking Scorpius with his thumb. He needs at least a few minutes of deep breathing before he can kiss again.
“Oh, still you,” Scorpius says confidently, and that startles enough of a laugh out of Albus to shove Scorpius sideways onto the couch.
“So you don’t want to make out on the couch and do want to go back to watching TV,” Albus smiles, his chest feeling lighter than it has in years.
They still have to talk. And clean up the popcorn. And finish The Good Place.
Scorpius pulls him down by the collar of his shirt instead.