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The two of them always studied together.
Well, the fact of them actually studying was only true half of the time.
Scorpius was always very diligent with his studies. According to Albus, he’d already “wasted” centuries of his life in the library, but to him, those supposed centuries were spent in one of his favorite places. Even when there wasn’t an assignment pertaining to a particular course, Scorpius would be surrounded by spines and papers, spread over a whole table to himself. Other times, he would return to their dorm room with a stack of books half his height and a bright sparkle in his eyes, brought on by the newly discoverable knowledge in his arms.
He was great at burying himself in tomes and textbooks for hours, studying histories and methods until Albus interrupted him or until he passed out on his bed.
It was primarily the former that happened to occur more often.
Albus, on the other hand, was . . . less enthusiastic about his studies. Not that he wasn’t interested; a great deal of the subjects that didn’t involve extensive reading or spells or potion-making or boring history or—
Okay, maybe he isn't interested.
But he truly did attempt to focus! He just– struggled with keeping his brain tuned in to schoolwork, what with the words on the page turning to gibberish in minutes, and spells and their complicated movements making little sense to him no matter how hard he tried. Whenever he did try, he only ended up warping something beyond repair or breaking a window. And frankly, he didn’t want another long lecture from a professor about wand or potion safety. It was the same words over and over again, telling him he needed to just “try harder” and “focus more.” He’d already heard that enough from every adult in his life and he was getting really tired of it.
That said, he’d be easily distracted by other things he could be doing. Things that actually piqued his interest and captured his attention.
Like watching Scorpius study.
It usually devolved into him bugging Scorpius to the point where he would sigh and push him out of the dorm or snap at him good-naturedly or just flat out ignore his best friend.
But, sometimes, more than all of those other courses of action, Albus would just watch.
He’d prop a book open and pretend to read and absorb the information, but glance overtop the spine to look at his friend instead.
Scorpius has always been very animated, his energy level not having died down one bit since they’d met on the Hogwarts Express years ago, and Albus has always been slightly enchanted by his mannerisms. In combination with his staring problem, it ended up with times where he’d just observe him until Scorpius either noticed, making eye contact for a brief second before Albus flicked his eyes away, or Albus was addressed by someone else—which always managed to piss him off just a little.
He liked to look. There wasn’t harm in it, and Scorpius never seemed to mind when he caught him, smiling or exhaling a laugh. Though, yes, Albus did always feel a little caught by his silver-eyed friend.
Anyway. He was sure that was simply awkwardness.
When he’s studying, Scorpius is never still. He’d have his wand out, practicing movements that drew Albus’ gaze to the slender notch of his pale wrist from beneath his sweaters or robes. Or he’d be muttering under his breath, reading out a line or working out logic out loud. Sometimes he’d grow frustrated, not understanding a concept or unable to find the right pronunciation, and pick and bite at his nails, the only part of him that was chipped. With all of his high class pampering and upbringing, his hair and wardrobe were always flawless. He was almost doll-like, clean and shiny porcelain, yet his nails showed his anxiety no matter how he tried to hide it. Their chipped edges were the slightest bit of imperfection on an otherwise perfect person. Perfect to Albus, at least.
He has a habit of furrowing his brow, too, and then complaining of headaches later, Albus had noticed. He had taken the opportunity to tease him for it on a few occasions, and at the mention of it, Scorpius would always scoff at him and, unconsciously, furrow his brow again.
He always felt a little bit exposed when Scorpius would direct his studying squint at him. Albus would always laugh and turn his face away whenever that happened, changing the topic.
Though, there were certain times, usually the couple of days before a big exam, where Scorpius would put his foot down and practically order Albus to “study or else.”
Albus would complain at first, just because he couldn’t fathom wanting to study, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care about a test that would only show his professors and peers that he was even more of a failure. That he wouldn’t be living up to his father.
He hated being reminded of that with every mediocre grade, chastising feedback, and disappointed sigh from a professor. Even worse, from his parents. Even more so when he’d hear the snickers and feel the side eyes in the halls and up the stairs, knowing that they’d be gossiping about his latest failed potion or flunked spell that ended up singeing a professor’s hair off.
But there was a palpable difference between them and Scorpius. Because Scorpius never made him feel stupid, never made him feel like his legacy was being lauded over his head. Albus didn't feel like he had to perform around him.
He’d drag Albus to his bed and talk through a theory or historical event for an hour, getting lost in the explanation and tangents for a while before he’d realize, see Albus, silently sat across from his papers and scripts, and would flush slightly red.
As time passed, Albus found he liked that even more than watching him. Listening.
And, after more of those late afternoon and even later night study sessions, Albus found himself almost looking forward to Scorpius nagging at him to pay attention with a wry smile.
And was it not a benefit that Albus happened to actually retain the information when it was Scorpius’ soft voice and excited hands relaying it to him? Albus’ grades and the slightest bit of his self-esteem certainly thought so.
Tonight was, to Albus’ initial chagrin, one of those study nights. OWLs were in a couple months, and Scorpius had been in a near manic state for the latter half of the year, his study nights nearly doubling. Most of them hadn’t included Albus, however, Albus wasn’t exactly sure why, but he’d been rather insisting on Albus joining him today.
Albus couldn’t bring himself to decline, not with the downturn to Scorpius’ eyes and the noticeable slump to his lanky frame after Albus had attempted to come up with an excuse.
Which is how he got here, memorizing potion recipes, with the names of ingredients and inventors swimming in his brain. Scorpius was sat next to him, a couple of inches between him and Albus’ own sprawled body. Albus, propping himself on his arm, glances between Scorpius and the detailed potion descriptions on multiple sheets of parchment spread across the bed.
“Okay,” Scorpius claps his hands together and leans over to scan the pages, “could you name me . . the ingredients and their ratios to a Regerminating Potion?”
Albus’ eyes flick to the papers for a moment, but Scorpius catches him and lightly smacks his arm. Albus lets out a mock offended “ow!” as Scorpius tsks, “Without. Looking. It doesn’t matter if you just read it off the page.”
“I wasn’t!” Albus complains, but obliges and keeps his eyes focused on a point in the canopy, wracking his already exhausted brain for the answer. How Scorpius can do this for hours, he can’t fathom. “Uhm, I think it’s . . three sprigs of knotgrass, crushed, two leaping toadstool caps, and . . five drops of fluxweed tincture?”
Scorpius gives a shrug and a wince, “Almost. It’s four drops, and it’s mallowsweet tincture, not fluxweed. That would’ve resulted in the worst smelling odor if you’d mixed them up.”
Albus smirks, “Well, good thing I’m not brewing it.”
Scorpius sighs, “Yes, but the point is that you needed to know these recipes months ago. Do you even know the inventor?”
Albus lies back on the bed, one arm behind his head and the other on his stomach, “Not the foggiest idea.”
The absolutely irritated sigh that Scorpius lets out makes Albus snicker, “Albus, you’re utterly hopeless. I’m doing this for your benefit, you know?”
“Yes, and I have known since you told me in first year, and I continue to be reminded of that fact even today.”
Scorpius leans back against the headboard, brushing his hair back and collecting himself, “Well, maybe, if you actually tried— “
Albus’ face sours, his gut twisting unpleasantly, and he sits up on his elbows, “Don’t give me that. You know I hate it.”
Scorpius looks pained for a moment, regret painting his face, before he coughs, “Sorry. Didn’t mean it.”
There’s a moment of silence, and it’s a moment too long for Albus to take, so he sits up quickly, crossing his legs and wrinkling a couple papers. Scorpius’ immediately makes a squeak of protest, and Albus rolls his eyes, taking the papers out from under his feet while saying, “Fine. How about this: You pick a topic—anything you like—that you think will be helpful to me, and I’ll just— shut up for ten minutes. Then, you let me have a break for five minutes to do whatever I want other than attempt to study. And we do that over again until— hm, let’s say, six-thirty?”
Scorpius moves to pluck the papers from him, but Albus shifts them out of reach, eliciting an unimpressed groan from his blonde friend. “And maybe we can switch to something other than potions?”
Scorpius grabs for the papers again, but Albus is too quick, passing them to his other hand and making Scorpius swipe at the air. Scorpius sighs, dropping his arm, and Albus can hear the exhale of a laugh in it despite his frustrated front, “But—“
“That’s my only deal, take it or leave it.” Albus inclines his chin toward his outstretched hand. “If not, I’m leaving because my brain currently feels like it just got hit with a Confundus charm and I can’t take any more questions.”
Scorpius glances at the clock, then at the materials clustered around them, then dramatically throws his head back, “Okay, Albus, you win.”
Albus gives him a look, like See? That wasn’t too hard, was it? and Scorpius just mutters something unintelligible under his breath—certainly some affectionate jab.
Albus holds out the papers, and Scorpius takes them, immediately rearranging and sorting them to his liking. He sifts through the other pages and books, holding a nervous silence. Albus fidgets. He hates when it gets quiet suddenly, and he hates it even more when he doesn’t know what to fill that silence with.
As much as he feels infinitely more comfortable around Scorpius than he does around anyone else, he still finds himself getting tongue-tied and overly self-aware. He wishes he could snap out of that and embody a confidence and wittiness more becoming of a Potter. But there was something about Scorpius and his presence, his wry smile and glint to his eyes before he’d say something he knew was clever. Something there choked him up and froze him.
He wasn’t sure what to fill the silence with because there was always so much he wanted to say. His brain just wouldn’t calm or slow down enough to let him get a single meaningful word out.
“Uhm, Albus? Hellooo?”
Albus blinks a few times as Scorpius waves a book in his face. “What— oh, sorry. Zoned out again. You were saying?”
Scorpius smirks, tapping Albus’ chest with the book with no real force. Albus, shaking off the unwanted and frankly unpleasant to think about for more than a minute thoughts, grins and pushes the book away. “Well, nothing yet,” Scorpius muses, flipping through the book, “But, how about . . oh! The history of laws regarding magical creatures? Not too boring for you, I hope?” He adds the last part mockingly.
Albus does perk up slightly at the mention of magical creatures. He has a soft spot for animals, an interest that was prevalent in his childhood and persisted to the present. He’d more often find himself enjoying the seclusion of taking care of a graphorn calf or the mischief of a niffler snuffling in his robes for trinkets.
However, it also reminded him of the dark, skeletal horses that he was suddenly able to see after what had happened last year.
Albus didn’t like to dwell on it, and he rarely ever talked at length about it with Scorpius, or his dad, or anyone for that matter. Part of him wanted it to stay that way, didn’t want to pick at the wound that had already scabbed over, but . . . it hit him really suddenly sometimes, sending him trembling and gasping in the middle of the night, reeling from the memories of flashes of green light, agonized screams, a body convulsing in the grass.
He knew Scorpius had his own nights too. He heard the muffled sobs and short breaths that would come from the bed mere meters away from him. Albus wanted nothing more than to crawl under the covers right next to him until he stopped shaking, to stay as close as possible to him so that there would be no chance of anyone taking him away again.
Albus doesn’t think he could bear that happening ever again. It might kill him.
The appearance of the thestrals, the winged creatures that thrived in the Forbidden Forest and pulled the carriages to the school, was a shock to him. He didn’t realize they were both seeing them until Albus mentioned it offhandedly, and Scorpius had paused, his grip on his robes becoming a bit more strained. He had looked haunted, the hollow stare of someone who had seen horrors beyond their comprehension.
Albus couldn’t imagine what Scorpius had been through in the Dark World. Most of him didn’t want to, but every time he caught that tremble to his frame, it made him want to demand to know everything. He wanted to help him, to shield him from everything and everyone who had ever hurt him.
He often found he didn’t care whether he himself got hurt. He’d put himself between Scorpius and snide remarks or lowly hissed charms before. He’d put himself between Scorpius and the end of a wand before. He would do it again in a heartbeat.
But the one time he wasn’t able to, when it really mattered . . . he doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself for that. It replays too often for the wound to ever fully scab over. Knowing that his failure to protect him came with a cost that he sees daily, in the barely noticeable tremor to his hands, and the phantom pains that strike with fury in the night and leave him quiet and exhausted in the morning.
Albus hates those days that follow. He would do anything for Scorpius to never have one of those nights ever again.
He’ll make sure that no one will come that close. Ever again.
As long as Scorpius was okay, then Albus was too.
“I— I mean, I can also pick something else to talk about, or if you’re not feeling like it, we don’t have to do this—“ Scorpius’ stuttering voice breaks through the detrimental train of thought hurtling through Albus’ mind. Albus, once again, hadn’t realized he zoned out, probably with that closed-off pinch to his face.
“No— hey, no, go on. Sorry, just . .” Albus trails off, biting back opening a can of worms that he knows neither of them want overflowing right now. He huffs a laugh, dropping his head momentarily, then sits up, moving books out of the way, much to Scorpius’ immediate vocal protest. “Put this stuff away, I just— want to listen to you. You’re much more interesting than anything in these dusty old things anyway.”
Scorpius suddenly flushes, clearing his throat, and turning his face away while gathering up his materials. “W-well, they’re not all boring. Not to me, obviously.”
“And you’re a weirdo who likes learning just to learn. So, obviously.” Albus returns to his usual playful mocking, feeling infinitely more comfortable now that they’re back to their usual banter.
Scorpius snorts and gets up to put the books on the sill, a raw and genuine noise that clears the last of the clouds hanging over Albus’ head. “Don’t pretend you’re not like that too. And anyway, am I not saying everything that I learned from the books?” Scorpius muses while he messes with the stack. “What’s different about me compared to them? It’s the same thing, isn’t it?”
Albus shakes his head a little too quickly. “No, you have this . . this personality to it. Besides, you add more in, stuff you just know because you’re curious. And I like that.”
Scorpius slows, looking out the window for a brief moment as an incredulous expression spreads across his face, and he turns to Albus abruptly. “So you do read them!”
Albus laughs, loud and boyish, “Of course not! You couldn’t catch me with those thousand year old tomes ever. I just . . pay attention in class.”
Scorpius hops onto the bed, sticking his finger in Albus’ face with a near manic grin. “Now that… is the biggest lie I’ve ever heard from you in my life!”
“Then I don’t think you realize exactly how much you talk.” Albus shrugs, smug and cheeky.
Scorpius groans out of mock frustration. “I hate you so much. And, I don’t talk that much.” He says, knocking his back against the wood headboard, but a sentimental smile shines through. He tilts his face lazily toward where Albus is equally leaning against the bedpost, his silvery eyes squinting with that same tenderness.
Albus is suddenly caught again, pinned; as if the world has narrowed down to nothing but Scorpius’ eyes and teeth and relaxed body next to him, gazing at him with such fondness. He swallows shallowly, digging his fingernails into his sweater sleeve.
He’ll lie to himself about a lot of things.
Shit. He’s had thoughts along this same topic for years. Practically since he’d met Scorpius. Always something that caused him to linger, to want Scorpius to linger, whether it was his gaze or his touch or his words. However, they’d grown in frequency since their fourth year, and more overwhelming, possessive almost. They’d both had a taste of the possibility of losing the other, Scorpius even more so, and ever since, it seemed neither of them wanted to stay away for too long. Even the summer break following the . . incident last year was painful, at least Albus felt it was that way. He’d gotten slightly annoyed at how overprotective his parents became, but realized he recognized the feeling, that want to shield. Though for him, it was directed to his closest friend.
Albus tries not to let himself think about anything more. He was content to simply be around him. That’s all he’ll need, and he’ll continue to deny himself any more than that. He couldn’t risk losing what they had, that bond that connected them together.
But, in the silence, Albus can’t bring himself to lie about wanting to kiss Scorpius as badly as he does now.
Albus hums, breaking the quiet, suddenly hyper aware of how close they are. He leans away to try and subtly gather his senses, hoping his face doesn’t look as warm as it feels. “Right. So, our deal?”
Scorpius blinks rapidly, as if suddenly remembering exactly why he’d put the books up in the first place. The dusting of pink that had climbed his face and neck still remains, coloring his ears now, which is something Albus is only now noticing, to the annoyance of his self-control. “Oh, yes! That.” Scorpius readjusts himself to sit, back to the wall. “Still okay with me talking about . . anything?”
Albus is only half paying attention, with the late afternoon sunlight cutting through the windows to wash Scorpius’ light hair in ethereal-like clarity and shimmer across the delicate smattering of freckles on his face as though they were the stars in his namesake constellation. “When have I ever objected to that?”
Scorpius inclines his head knowingly, “Practically all the time—”
Albus scoffs, wishing he could take back half of those times, “Shut up. Come on.” He makes a gesture for Scorpius to continue. “I want to listen now, that’s what matters.”
At this point, he’s far from considering this solely for the exam and not purely self-indulgent in his selfish wants to hear Scorpius’ voice.
Scorpius, however, seems none the wiser to Albus’ true intentions, and visibly brightens, “Great! So, we’ll start with the beginnings of magical creature laws, which I know you’ll love just because I’m talking about creatures.”
Albus shakes his head, “Yeah, yeah, I bet I could talk your ear off about the practical stuff though. You know the facts, I know how to apply them.”
Scorpius concedes, “Yes, well, you spend half of your day in the Care of Magical Creatures classroom or somewhere on the grounds. That’s practically the only classroom you care about. You don’t disappear just to get away from people.”
Albus smirks at the jab, bumping his shoulder against Scorpius’ own. “Don’t call me out like that, Scorpius. You do the same thing. Just indoors.” Albus ignores the way that Scorpius continues to lean against him, the consistent pressure of his bony body another too-often indulged comfort.
“Then see? We’re not that different, are we?” Scorpius says, his voice oddly soft.
“I say we’re a lot different, with a lot of other things. That’s why we fit so well.” Albus says the last bit with a small, private quirk of his lips. He—against all of his better judgement and his previous words of encouraging inaction screaming at him to please, stop, you’ll ruin the one good thing we have—rests his hand near Scorpius’. The small spark that travels in the centimeters of space between their pinkies sends a signal straight to Albus’ brain. Begging him to both pull away and leave himself cold, and press closer and feel complete.
“And why no one else messes with us. We’re just too good.” The together is unspoken but it feels to Albus like he just yelled it into the empty dorm room, and it’s bouncing off the walls to mock him. He doesn’t dare to look at Scorpius. Not yet. You know what, maybe not ever, if he could choose. He’s in way over his head, and he hates himself for wanting. For starting that deal with the intention to act like it was any other day. For allowing himself to dig so deep. For feeling this way toward his best friend, who probably didn’t feel the same.
His eyes stay fixed to the small space between them, their hands, Albus’ tan and dusted with dark hair, and Scorpius’ slender and soft ones dusted with the same interstellar freckles that dot his cheeks.
His subconscious feels eyes on him. He doesn’t want to find out whether they’re real or not.
“Maybe so. Maybe we are different and that’s what makes us work.” Scorpius says after a while, deliberate and slow. Then, he says, quietly, with a hesitance to his voice that Albus feels without even having to look or listen hard, “But . . maybe we’re similar . . in a few things, and those are what really matter.” Scorpius ventures, his finger moving to hook around Albus’ pinky.
Albus is fairly sure that Scorpius could hear his heart catch in his chest and rattle his ribcage.
Albus tries to talk, but his words gum up his throat and he quite nearly chokes. He tries again, “Scor . . can I be honest?”
At first, his finger only twitches, but then he finally regains control over his stupid muscles and nerves and takes Scorpius’ hand in his, pressing their now clasped fingers together.
And he chances to look up, brings his head up from where it hangs and glances sidelong at him.
Scorpius is staring at him from beneath his pale lashes, with the look in his eyes stuck between endearment and apprehension. Albus can’t hold the eye contact for more than a second before he glances away.
“I—I didn’t really care about what you were trying to teach me or talk about.”
Scorpius brow furrows, and Albus sees the flash of hurt in his features, immediately regretting his word choice. “You didn’t care—“
“No. I mean—“ Albus searches for the right things to say that won’t make him sound outright cruel or dismissive. “I meant that I didn’t care what you were talking about, as long as it was you.”
Scorpius doesn’t breathe a word, still terrifyingly close, so Albus takes that in stumbling stride and continues.
“I like listening to you. I-I don’t know why exactly, you just . . center me. Or something— I don’t think I—“
Scorpius squeezes their hands, and Albus stops. He doesn’t say anything, and that scares Albus more. He wants to backtrack every stupid thing he’s said and done in the past hour. Go back to before the closeness was charged and the touching was intentional.
“I’m sorry. I’m not feeling—“ He shifts away, the loss of the connection of their shoulders scalding him, but when he tries to disentangle their hands, Scorpius holds fast.
“Albus—“
“This doesn’t have to mean—“
“Albus, listen—“
“—and I don’t want this to change—“
“Albus! Could you shut up for one second?” He does, despite the words only now wanting to flow out of him like a raging river. He’s still refusing to meet Scorpius’ eyes, afraid of what he’ll find staring back at him in that starry sky.
“If you’d listen to me, for once,” Albus hears the hint of exasperation, tinged with warmness. “Then you’d understand that I never said I didn’t like that. You looking and listening just to look and listen.”
Albus’ voice shakes, “But, you don’t understand that it isn’t just that. It’s so, so much more and I don’t want—“
“Have you ever stopped to consider what I want, Albus?”
Albus has never frozen so quickly in his life. He bites his lip, trying to keep from saying another stupid thing and ruining this even more than he already has. He can’t dig the fingernails of his right hand into his palm because Scorpius still has it clutched in his grip. He refuses to let himself hope.
“Albus. You don’t ever see me staring back, do you?”
Albus turns his head to him, disbelief showing plain as the remaining daylight on his face. Scorpius, oh, he’s giving him this look of knowing pity and Albus truly wishes he wasn’t on the receiving end of it.
“You’re so headstrong and determined, and I both love and hate that about you because you get so set in your ways, in your denial, that you can’t see that . . I’ve been right here.”
Albus exhales, the hope growing to spread beyond his mind. Scorpius’ grip loosens, his thumb smoothing overtop Albus’ hand.
“I—“ Albus starts but realizes he has absolutely no clue what he wants to say. All of his thoughts and words are simultaneously clogging his throat and deafening his brain.
Everything is silenced at once when Scorpius cradles his jaw with one hand, pushing his unruly hair back. Albus can’t escape him, not his touch nor his stare. Scorpius leans closer, almost a sway, his pupils flicking to Albus’ lips, parted in surprise, then back to Albus’ green eyes.
Albus has never seen Scorpius more sure in his entire life.
“I really do like you, Albus. And I’ve done incredibly ill-advised things before, so tell me now if—“
“You can.”
Scorpius’ certainty falters, “You— haven’t even heard my question.”
A beat passes, where neither of them say a word. Scorpius doesn’t ask his question. Maybe he already knows the answer. Albus decides what he wants. That he’s going to take a chance with someone he cares about.
“Will you kiss me?” Albus whispers, as if he speaks any louder, this moment will shatter. They’d gotten so close, and he’s been breathing in the scent of him, dusty from the books and smelling like pine from the cologne he puts on in the morning. Close enough to hear and feel the hitch in Scorpius’ breath at the sentence that fell from his mouth. His bleeding heart, more like.
Scorpius doesn’t move immediately, instead gripping their clasped hands even tighter, trying to stifle his anxiety. His hand on Albus’ cheek curls slightly to pull him in, gently, and Albus goes willingly, finally closing the gap.
It’s chaste, a momentary press of lips before someone—they can’t tell who—pulls back.
“If I’ve made a mistake, please tell me.” Albus turns their hands over, taking Scorpius’ one in both of his. His pulse jumps between his palms.
Scorpius laughs quietly, “For once, this isn’t a bad idea from you.”
“I was so afraid it was going to change everyth—” Albus seems to be taking this action, and the possibility that blooms from it, more heavily than Scorpius. He’s barely through his words before Scorpius kisses him again. Properly.
Well, as properly as two teenage boys who haven’t kissed anyone before can.
Albus exhales into Scorpius’ mouth, freezing for a second in shock before he kisses back, pressing closer. Scorpius’ hand moves to card through the curls at the nape of Albus’ neck. Albus wants his hand to stay there forever.
When they break away, their lips tender and breathing the same air, Scorpius is the one who speaks.
“It does change something, but not much. You’re still my best friend, and that won’t change. No matter what.” Albus knows how Scorpius works well enough to understand that his words aren’t a rejection, but a welcoming. A promise too.
“We just kiss now too, yeah?” Albus knows he sounds stupidly earnest.
Scorpius giggles, and Albus can’t help but laugh too. “Yes, Albus, we just kiss now too.”
“Well, maybe not just kiss—“
Scorpius shoves him back, an embarrassed grin on his face and an even deeper flush down his ears and neck. Albus really likes that color on him. “Oh shut up, don’t ruin it already.”
Albus takes the opportunity to scoot back to him, liking the press of Scorpius’ body along his own, now that he can finally have it, brushing at the waist and elbows and knees. “I don’t know, it’s getting a little addicting.” He punctuates this with a little peck to the corner of Scorpius’ pink lips. “Don’t know if I want to stop.” Then one to the curve of his cheek.
Suddenly, Scorpius tilts to kiss him on the lips emphatically, effectively spinning all of Albus’ attempts at flirting out of control and causing a surprised gasp to escape him.
“It must be having the same effect on me.” Scorpius murmurs in the air between them before kissing Albus senseless again, his hands finding his waist. And that does another little fluttery thing to Albus’ stomach. “I don’t want to stop either.”
Albus smiles into the next kiss, his hands coming up to smooth over Scorpius’ neck and cheek, cradling his face, his fingertips in his hair.
The worries that had initially crowded his mind had dissolved instantaneously the second that Scorpius kissed him the first time. Not very many coherent thoughts fill their space, what with his focus being dead set on Scorpius’ hands and the feel of lips on his.
“I really like this. And you. I like you.” Albus stutters out between kisses, and Scorpius squeezes his hips. Somehow he feels like he’s baring his soul, even with just simple words, dancing around the truth of his affection.
“Me too. I like you too.” Scorpius returns, slightly teasing, as if he knows Albus needs to build the confidence to say what he really wants to say. He’s not rushing, neither of them are. This— it’s too new and delicate, and they both have so many issues, complicated relationships with emotions. They’d have to end up actually communicating at some point. Both about what exactly they want this to be, and beyond that, so many other complicated, painful things that they haven’t dared to acknowledge.
The word boyfriend flits through Albus’ mind, and he wants ever so badly to call Scorpius that. His boyfriend.
However, all of that can wait. Right now, he only wants to kiss Scorpius more, to taste the warmth and sweetness and pressure of his mouth, and if he’ll allow it, his neck and jaw wherever else he’ll let him touch.
Albus grabs Scorpius’ wrist from his waist, wanting to tug him closer, closer, closer. Scorpius wobbles, at some point having sat up on his own thighs, and falls forward, to both of their surprises.
They scramble for a moment, Albus being forced to fall on his back, and Scorpius lets out a frankly adorable squeak as he braces his arms, one next to Albus’ ribs and the other next to his neck, both now sideways on the bed.
They stare at each other in stunned silence for a moment, as Scorpius hovers over him, mouth parted. Albus is suddenly very much aware of the warm weight of Scorpius’ thighs around his. Despite Scorpius’ slight figure, he’s still much taller than Albus, and he’s reminded of that fact with exactly how surrounded he feels, Scorpius’ body caging him in.
“Hi.” Albus says softly, a bit wonderstruck. He’s so pretty. Lives up to his name.
“Hi.” Scorpius replies with a little giggle, and Albus really, really likes that sound out of him.
Tentatively, Albus reaches up between them, finding his hips and letting his fingers travel to slip under and thumb the hem of his sweater.
“Thank you.” He finds himself saying. Albus doesn’t know where it comes from, but it comes out regardless.
“For what?” Scorpius asks, a little bit puzzled.
Albus gets suddenly self-conscious. “Well, for a lot that I don’t appreciate. You’re always there and I’m—“ He can’t look Scorpius in the eye, “You don’t know how often I worked myself into knots over this, and how afraid I was that . . maybe you wouldn’t feel the same.”
When Albus finally does look at Scorpius, he’s got this odd look on his face, a mix of surprise and that same fondness that he’s had a hint of all afternoon. Albus finally knows its name now. He’d seen that look in his eyes so many times before and never wanted to believe that it was what he wanted it to be. Turns out he was right.
“Oh, Albus, you truly are hopeless.” Scorpius sighs as he flops to the side heavily, bouncing both of them. “Blind, too.”
Their legs hang off the bed, and Albus turns on his side to face him. “What are you talking about?” He asks, deathly curious. He reaches for Scorpius hand, and he links their fingers again. Scorpius turns over to match him, pulling his knees halfway up to his chest, his long fingers finding a loose thread in the blankets and pulling at it.
Scorpius bites the inside of his cheek, looking suddenly nervous, but he tries to laugh it off. “I think it started in our second year. I didn’t distinguish it from the usual feelings, and didn’t want to think more of it. We already had to deal with a lot, I didn’t want to complicate it with something I didn’t know more about. I didn’t find a name for the feeling until our fourth year, but then . .”
He pauses, that blank look falling over his face again, closing him off. Albus won’t let that happen, not when they’re finally talking. He won't let Scorpius or himself keep running away. He nudges Scorpius’ ankle with his foot, and Scorpius blinks at him, his eyes refocusing.
“I’m sorry.” Albus says. He doesn’t know any other comforting words. He was never good at that, but he’ll try. It’s better than avoiding or saying nothing, he reasons.
Scorpius nods, less of an agreement and more of an acknowledgment, though Albus can see the gratefulness in it when he chooses not to push. “Well, with everything that happened, I didn’t think about it until recently. Until people finally gave us room to breathe and stopped bullying us. And . . it kind of just clicked one day. Not specifically the wanting something more, but realizing I cared a lot about you, more than what—well, what was normal. I didn’t have anything to compare it to. I didn’t know it was something I wanted until we kissed and . . I felt whole. Like some missing piece had slotted into place and I finally realized what it was. You.”
Albus feels a little awestruck, listening to him, “Really?”
Scorpius stutters, “Not that I didn’t think we fit before. Knowing you felt the same helped fill in the cracks, I think, to something that had always been there.”
“And I thought I was being sappy.” Albus teases, and Scorpius breathes a laugh.
“I’m never going to let you forget that ‘light in the darkness’ confession though.”
Albus snickers, remembering that fight last year, and remembering the good that came of it. “That was a confession, wasn’t it?”
“Of sorts, I guess.” Scorpius grins, almost shyly. They both go quiet, letting a comfortable silence hang for a moment to just lie together, smoothing over the skin on each other’s hands.
To think that only half an hour ago, Albus thought that this would never be able to happen. That it was another thing he’d inevitably fuck up.
He was so, so wrong.
“When did you . .”
“Realize?” Albus supplies. Scorpius hums his assent, and Albus finds he isn’t quite sure of the answer. “I don’t really know. I . . don’t remember a time when you weren’t different to me. I think what—“ Albus almost chokes on the name. “What she said. It made me realize, and as much as I hate that she played a part, I can’t lie about it.”
Scorpius goes rigid, his breath punching out of him, and he white-knuckles Albus’ hand in a death grip for a moment, before releasing the tension. “I don’t blame you. I never could.” He says finally, his words a little water-logged. “Situations like those can do that.”
“It made me realize I wanted to hold you and never let you go.” Albus whispers, hesitantly. He isn’t used to being vulnerable, and he still really hates it. He can tell this is difficult for Scorpius too, to hear these truths and confront them. They’re both used to not talking about it.
“You’re being sappy again.” Scorpius teases, the smile returning to his voice and comforting Albus.
“Hey, only for you.” Albus counters, and leans forward to kiss Scorpius again, soft and a little apologetic. When he pulls back, he makes an effort to meet Scorpius’ cloudy eyes, “We do have to talk about it. Eventually. We can’t keep it in.”
Scorpius nods, looking away, “Yeah, but, another time?” He asks, suddenly sounding tired, more than a 16-year-old kid should sound.
“Another time.” Albus echoes.
“Can we just– be here for today? Just us?” Scorpius asks, pulling Albus closer, their legs bumping together. Albus instinctively wraps his arms around Scorpius’ waist, tucking his face into the curve of his neck.
“Can’t promise someone won’t walk in.” He murmurs into the skin there, tracing lines with his thumbs into the notches of Scorpius’ shoulder blades.
“Don’t care.” Scorpius mumbles back, and Albus feels his arms tighten where they’re circling his chest.
There’s that pang of want again, deep in his chest. It blossoms into a low thrum, its hold on him like a gentle caress.
He doesn’t want to let anything happen to the boy in his arms. He won’t. Not ever again.