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Everything started with a laundry mishap.
Specifically: an entire drawer’s worth of Ominis’ meticulously tailored, perfectly pressed, aristocratically formal school shirts and vests had come back from the laundry ruined.
Shrunken.
And not just a little shrunken.
“I look like I’ve tried to put on my third-year uniform,” Ominis muttered, tugging at the sleeves of his tight-fitting shirt in visible offense. “They don’t even reach my wrists. It’s like being throttled by cotton.”
Sebastian, lounging on the dormitory sofa, watched with the sort of detached amusement he usually reserved for Peeves getting hexed. “Maybe they’re trying to force a new fashion on you. You’re always so neat—might do you good to look a little unbuttoned.”
Ominis shot a frown in his general direction. “Unbuttoned? My collar’s choking me.”
Sebastian smirked, about to say something unhelpful like you still look devastatingly well-groomed, when Ominis gave an undignified groan and sat heavily on his bed.
“I have nothing to wear. I can’t go to class like this. I’d rather go naked.”
Sebastian choked slightly. “Please don’t. Just Engorgio it or something.”
Ominis looked so deeply offended that Sebastian almost apologized on instinct.
“Engorgio? These robes were custom-tailored by Hogsmeade’s finest at the start of the year. A cheap growth charm would make it look like a toddler tried to yank it bigger.”
Sebastian blinked. “...Okay,” he said slowly. “Then… order new ones?”
Ominis pouted, an expression that might’ve been cute, if not for the murderous scowl that came with it. (Though honestly, the combo was kind of hot.)
“These are all unwearable,” he complained, fingers skimming over another too-tight sleeve. “And ordering a new set and waiting for tailoring? That’ll take ages. I’ll have nothing usable for days.”
Sebastian paused.
A thought sparked in his brain, bright and awful.
“…You could borrow my clothes,” he offered.
Ominis turned toward him, brows raised. “What?”
Sebastian shrugged.
“Borrow my clothes. Shirt. Vest. I’ve got extras. And, I mean—” Sebastian glanced over Ominis’ slight frame. “They might be a bit big on you, but that’s better than wearing a crop top to Transfiguration.”
There was a beat of silence. Ominis’ brow knitted together, clearly contemplating his alternatives. Eventually, he muttered:
“I’m not that much smaller than you.”
“No — no! That’s not what I meant—”
Ominis sighed loudly, demonstratively.
“I’m accepting the offer,” he said flatly, rising and holding out a hand. “Give me something passable.”
Sebastian scrambled off the sofa and dug through his trunk, yanking out a neatly folded button-down and his spare dark green vest.
“I wore this one to Hogsmeade last week,” he said, offering them like an olive branch. “It’s clean, promise.”
Ominis took them without ceremony and turned toward the washroom. “If I look like a child playing dress-up, I’m blaming you.”
“You won’t,” Sebastian called after him. “You’ll look—” Hot. So hot. Unfairly hot. “—fine.”
He waited, bouncing on the balls of his feet, until the door creaked open again.
Ominis slipped out.
Sebastian’s breath caught in his throat.
The sleeves were just slightly too long. Not ridiculously so, but enough that Ominis had to keep adjusting them with a bit of annoyance: pushing them back only for them to slide again. The vest — Sebastian’s vest — fit looser than it ever had on him, the open sides showing the faint pull of fabric across Ominis’ waist. And the collar, Merlin’s bloody beard, the collar was unbuttoned, just one, and Ominis’ pale throat was visible in a way that should have been illegal.
Sebastian’s brain short-circuited.
“Well?” Ominis asked dryly. “Do I look ridiculous?”
Sebastian made a noise. A high-pitched, dying-bird noise.
Ominis tilted his head. “That bad?”
“No!” Sebastian said, perhaps a bit too fast. “You look … uh. Good. I mean. It looks good. On you. The shirt. And vest. My shirt. On you. Looks. Good. What?”
Ominis smirked faintly. “You’ve gone stupid.”
Sebastian nodded. “Yes. Yes, I have.”
They went to breakfast.
Sebastian did not taste a single bite.
Instead, he stared, absolutely useless, at the way Ominis absently rolled his sleeves while listening to Imelda prattle about demolishing Gryffindor in the upcoming match. Ominis was fidgeting more than usual, and every movement sent another jolt through Sebastian’s already unstable brain.
He shouldn’t be this undone over a slightly-loose shirt. It wasn’t even scandalous. Ominis was still buttoned to the neck, vest done up, shoes polished, posture perfect. But the borrowed clothes made something tug loose in Sebastian’s chest, like a thread pulling.
It was something intimate, private. Like watching Ominis wake up or skim his finger to identify an object or laugh so hard he had to set his wand down.
And then Ominis pushed his sleeves up again, exposing his veiny, pale forearms, and Sebastian nearly dropped his pumpkin juice.
He survived breakfast.
He did not survive Charms.
They were paired together, as usual, and stood side by side practicing switching spells. Ominis was calm and focused, wand sweeping with precise confidence. But the vest shifted every time he moved, dragging slightly with the momentum, showing just a hint of shirt tugged loose at the waist.
Sebastian didn’t hear half the instructions.
“Sebastian,” Ominis muttered, “you’re off-beat.”
“Sorry.”
“Are you bothered by something?"
Merlin, if he was.
“I'm not. I'm just, uh. Focusing.”
“On what?”
Sebastian looked at him.
At the faint flush in Ominis’ cheek from casting, the way the vest hung ever so slightly wrong on his shoulders, the gentle dip of his collarbone—
“My doom,” Sebastian said under his breath.
Ominis frowned, but didn’t push.
By the time Defense Against the Dark Arts rolled around, Sebastian had officially lost the ability to function.
They were sparring in pairs. Ominis was next to him, tightening the buckles on his wand holster with long fingers that Sebastian tried very hard not to watch.
“You’re staring again,” Ominis said, voice tinted with amusement.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Can’t prove it.”
“I don’t need to. You’ve missed every cue today.”
Sebastian made a valiant attempt at focusing. He lasted all of three seconds before Ominis pulled the vest down with both hands, like it was riding up, and that was it. Sebastian tripped over his own feet dodging a disarming spell and hit the floor hard enough to knock the wind out of himself.
Ominis sighed.
“You’re a disaster. What's going on?”
“I’ve been hexed by fate,” Sebastian wheezed.
And the worst part, the most agonizing, unfair, delightful part, was that Ominis had no idea. No idea the effect he was having. He was simply existing. A little annoyed, a little rumpled, a little perfect.
And wearing his clothes.
By the time classes ended, Sebastian was ready to walk into the Black Lake and sink.
He should never have suggested this in the first place. It would probably have been better if Ominis actually went naked to class. Then, Sebastian would have something credible to blame his stuttering on. The outcome would most likely be the same (Sebastian losing his mind), but at least it would be justified.
There was no reason for him to feel hot and tight all over his chest at the sight of Ominis in his vest, the one where a thread had pulled loose at the hem and Sebastian’s cologne lingered at the collar.
He managed to keep it together until they reached the dorms.
Ominis sat down on his bed and unbuttoned the vest slowly, undoing each button with nimble fingers.
Sebastian, halfway through unlacing his boots, froze.
Ominis frowned. “You’re doing it again.”
Sebastian swallowed. “I'm not doing anything.”
“You're as stiff as if someone had Petrified you."
"Well, that's what it feels like," Sebastian muttered under his breath. Unfortunately, Ominis' excellent hearing immediately picked up on it. “Because of the clothes?”
Sebastian groaned and flopped onto his bed. There was no point in denying it.
“Yes. Because of the bloody clothes.”
There was a long pause. Sebastian dared a peek at Ominis. He looked thoughtful, like a new thought had occurred that he hadn’t previously ever entertained.
“…You like how they look on me?”
Ominis was facing toward him now, one eyebrow raised, a faint smile ghosting his lips.
“I do,” Sebastian said honestly. “Too much.”
Ominis set the vest aside. “Then I might keep them for a few more days.”
Sebastian’s heart stuttered. “You’re evil.”
Ominis only smiled wider. “You’ll live.”
Sebastian returned to the Slytherin common room late.
Practice had gone long. Longer than necessary, in his opinion, since Imelda seemed to believe frozen broom fingers built character. His shoulders ached, his gloves were still damp, and the pitch-black sky had dumped an inch of snow on his head by the time he made it back to the castle.
All he wanted was dry clothes, warmth, and maybe a fire.
What he was not expecting — what his brain was not ready for — was what he saw the moment he stepped through the common room door.
Ominis Gaunt, curled sideways in Sebastian’s favorite armchair by the fireplace, a book open in his lap, legs tucked up neatly—
—and wearing his Quidditch jumper.
Sebastian blinked.
And blinked again.
It was unmistakable. The thick green knit, the ribbed collar, the slightly fraying cuffs from last season’s games. And on the back, in bold stitched letters, clear even in the firelight:
Sallow
07
Ominis was wearing his name. Like it was something natural, something he was showing off. Boasting about.
He had one arm tucked into the sleeve and the other pulling the collar slightly up toward his chin. The jumper was too big for him by a full size: whereas it was loose on Sebastian, it was hanging off Ominis’ more slender, slimmer frame like a second blanket. One shoulder had slipped slightly down, exposing the edge of his white undershirt. His wand lay discarded at his side, resting on the armrest, and his book tilted as though he’d been slowly dozing off mid-sentence.
Sebastian’s brain did something violent.
He made a sound, some unholy cross between a cough and a shriek, and Ominis turned his head immediately.
“Sebastian?”
He sat up slightly, turning his head in the direction of the door. The fire caught his hair in warm gold streaks. “Didn’t realize practice would go that late.”
Sebastian opened his mouth.
Closed it again.
Ominis tilted his head. “You all right?”
“I—” Sebastian cleared his throat. “Yes. Fine. Just… cold. Long practice.”
Ominis nodded, then patted the side of the armchair. “Come warm up. Fire’s nice.”
Sebastian’s legs moved on their own. He crossed the room in a daze and dropped onto the rug near the hearth, more to avoid sharing the chair than anything else. He couldn’t take being closer to all of that. He stared at the fire instead, nearly blinded by the orange flames.
Ominis, for his part, seemed oblivious.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said lightly, pulling the too-long sleeve over his hand again. “All my jumper are still too small. And this one was hanging on your bedpost. I figured you wouldn’t care.”
Sebastian blinked.
“You… took my Quidditch jumper.”
“Is that what this is?” Ominis tugged at the hem lightly. “I didn’t even check. It just felt warm.”
“You’re wearing my name.”
Ominis raised an eyebrow. “Should I take it off?”
Sebastian almost died.
“No — no. Merlin, no. It’s fine. It’s good. It’s ...it’s totally fine. You can wear it. Always. Forever. Just—” He waved a hand vaguely at the fire. “Warm. You should be warm.”
Ominis smiled slightly. “You’re still acting odd.”
Sebastian dragged both hands down his face. “I’ve had a long day.”
“That long?”
“Imelda made us run drills in midair for forty-five minutes. I think my spleen is frozen.”
Ominis hummed sympathetically and adjusted his legs. The jumper bunched around his knees, the fabric stretching over him like a soft second skin, as he reached for his book again.
Sebastian bit the inside of his cheek and wondered if it was possible to die from attraction and mortification simultaneously.
Sebastian was already at their usual table in the library, surrounded by scattered parchment and half-hearted notes, when he heard Ominis approach.
"Not like you being late," he said, not looking up.
"Considering how many times you've made me wait for you, I think we're even," came the reply, followed by the gentle whoosh of Ominis sitting down across from him. “I had to change. My new vests arrived.”
Sebastian did look up then, and promptly forgot how to breathe.
The vest in question was indeed new: crisp, dark, and perfectly tailored. There was a brief moment of disappointment over the fact that Ominis no longer would have to borrow Sebastian’s clothes. But it wasn’t what snatched the air out of Sebastian’s lungs.
It was the tie.
His tie.
Green silk, diagonal silver stripes, slightly faded from too many washes, and with the faintest ink stain near the bottom. Charming, really, if you looked close enough. Which Sebastian had, many times. It was unmistakably his.
Ominis had tied it perfectly, of course. A clean, symmetrical knot just beneath the crisp collar. It sat snugly against his throat like it belonged there.
Sebastian was doomed.
“You—” he tried, but his voice cracked like dry wood. He cleared his throat. “That’s my tie.”
“Hmm?” Ominis inclined his head slightly, as if listening to something only he could hear. Then he smiled faintly. “Oh, right. Yes, it is.”
Sebastian stared. “You have your own ties.”
“Yes, but this one was closer,” Ominis said, utterly unfazed. “I was running late. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
Sebastian did, in fact, mind.
He minded a lot.
But he couldn’t say that, not without sounding completely deranged, so he made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and looked down at his notes as if they might save him from this slow, spiraling death.
They studied.
At least, Ominis studied. Methodically, his fingers gently brushing across Braille script or his wand reading lines aloud in a quiet murmur, crisp and clear. Meanwhile, Sebastian stared at his page without taking in a single word, because every time he looked up, Ominis was still wearing his tie.
He found himself thinking about Ominis' fingers, pale and clever, tying the knot earlier that afternoon. Imagining them brushing over the fabric, adjusting it just so. Imagining those same fingers untying it slowly, drawing it loose from his collar. Imagining his own fingers trailing down from Ominis’ throat, soft and warm, looping the tie around his hands. Wrapping it around Ominis’ wrists, pinning them above his head, securing his hands to the headboard with the tie-
His brain abruptly hit a wall.
Don’t go there now.
Instead, Sebastian let out a sigh that was far too dramatic for a simple Charms essay. He tossed his quill down, slouched dramatically across the table, and groaned, “I have no idea how to do this.”
Ominis didn’t look up from his book. “Do what? Read? I’ve suspected that for years.”
Sebastian blinked at him.
Then snorted.
Then outright laughed, and it hurt, because he wanted to stay annoyed, but Ominis always did this, always, with that dry wit and the razor-sharp smile like he didn’t even know how devastating he was.
“You’re the worst,” Sebastian muttered.
“I do try.”
Sebastian leaned back in his chair, scrubbing a hand through his hair. His heart was still thudding far too fast, and his gaze kept drifting toward the knot of green silk that had no business being on Ominis, and yet looked so terribly right.
He couldn’t stay here.
He stood abruptly, fumbling with his bag. “Actually — uh. I just remembered. I promised Anne I’d help her with something.”
Ominis looked up at the sudden shift in sound and movement, brows drawing together. “Now? You’re leaving mid-study session for your sister?”
“Yes?” Sebastian winced at how unconvincing that sounded. “She… she needed help with Transfiguration.”
“Since when do you know anything about Transfiguration?”
“Exactly,” Sebastian said, with a weak smile. “She needs all the help she can get.”
Ominis gave a slow, skeptical nod, but didn’t press. “All right. I suppose I’ll stay here and actually learn something, then.”
Sebastian nodded far too quickly. “Good. Great. Enjoy. See you.”
He turned and walked off at a pace just slightly short of a run.
The door creaked open just past midnight, and Sebastian slipped into the dormitory on quiet feet, robes half-clinging to his sweaty frame. Practice had run late again; Imelda was ruthless now that their upcoming match against Gryffindor was approaching, and after a quick shower, he could barely keep his eyes open as he longingly thought of his bed.
What he hadn’t expected was to find Ominis already awake. Or… almost awake.
He stirred as the door clicked shut, blinking slowly and lifting his head from the pillow. A sleepy crease marked one pale cheek, and his platinum hair stuck up in soft, uneven tufts. He yawned, small and muffled, and reached for his wand, murmuring to gauge the space around him.
Sebastian froze halfway to his own bed.
Because Ominis was sitting up, dazed and blinking, wearing his shirt.
One of his old, soft, loose Quidditch shirts: the dark green one that had faded at the collar, worn thin from so many washes. And it looked unfairly good on him. The neckline sagged slightly, slipping down one pale shoulder. The hem barely brushed his hips. He looked small in it, cozy and warm and soft.
Sebastian forgot how to speak.
Ominis tilted his head toward him. “Sebastian?”
“…Uh,” Sebastian said brilliantly. “What… are you wearing?”
Ominis rubbed at one eye, voice husky with sleep. “Your shirt. I couldn’t find one of mine. And I like yours better anyway.”
Sebastian’s brain short-circuited.
It was one thing seeing Ominis swanning into the library in his tie. Or walking around the common room in his oversized jumper. That had been in public. Ominis had at least been fully dressed. Elegant, unfairly hot, but fully dressed.
But this?
Sleep-rumpled. Bare-legged under his shirt. Looking like he belonged in Sebastian’s bed, or worse: like Sebastian belonged in his.
“Comfortable,” Ominis added, shifting a little under the covers. “And it smells like you. I liked that.”
That was it.
That was it.
Something inside Sebastian snapped like a pulled bowstring. He crossed the room in a few long strides before he could think better of it, heart hammering in his chest. Ominis opened his mouth — maybe to ask what was wrong, maybe to say something else devastating — but Sebastian didn’t give him the chance.
He kissed him. Hard and certain. Years of pining and frustration and tension exploding all at once.
Ominis gasped softly in surprise, but didn’t pull away. Instead, he reached up and curled a hand in the front of Sebastian’s shirt, pulling him closer.
The kiss turned messy and eager. Sebastian cupped his jaw, tilted his head, kissed him again and again like he’d wanted to a hundred times but never dared. Ominis let out a soft, startled laugh against his mouth, murmured something like “Finally,” and leaned into it, fingers slipping into Sebastian’s hair.
Sebastian wasn’t sure if he wanted to keep the shirt on him forever or rip it off with his teeth.
He pulled back just enough to look at him. Ominis' cheeks were flushed now, lips pink and kiss-bitten, eyes half-lidded. Sebastian could barely breathe.
“I— fuck,” he muttered, forehead resting against Ominis'. “You’re dangerous.”
“I aim to be,” Ominis replied, smugness curling at the edge of his sleep-heavy voice.
They kissed again, slower now. Softer. Like they had time to sink into it.
Eventually, Sebastian stripped off the last of his practice gear and climbed into bed beside Ominis, pulling the blankets up around them. Ominis shifted without hesitation, making room as though this were something they did every night. He tucked himself against Sebastian’s chest, his breathing slow and even.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The dormitory was quiet, save for the faint rustle of sheets and the soft creak of the bed beneath them.
Then Ominis murmured, voice low and sleepy, “I wasn’t sure you’d ever do it.”
Sebastian blinked down at him. “Do what?”
“Kiss me.”
Sebastian huffed out a breath, part laugh, part disbelief. “You didn’t exactly make it easy.”
“No?”
“You kept parading around in my clothes like it didn’t mean anything,” Sebastian said, brushing his thumb over Ominis’ hand. “How was I supposed to survive that?”
“It did mean something,” Ominis said immediately, more awake now. “It meant a lot, actually.”
Sebastian’s chest tightened. “Yeah?”
“I’ve liked you for a while,” Ominis admitted, fingers tracing idle lines across Sebastian’s shirt. “I didn’t know if you felt the same. You’re good at hiding things.”
Sebastian let out a quiet, slightly unhinged laugh. “I was trying to. But then you showed up in my vest like it was yours, and that was it. All that effort went straight out the window. I couldn’t think about anything else. I couldn’t even look at you without losing my mind.”
Ominis made a pleased, smug little sound and nestled closer, clearly satisfied with himself. He curled his fingers in the soft fabric of Sebastian’s shirt — his shirt — and exhaled like he’d just solved a puzzle.
They lay there in the dark, the air between them warm and settled. Outside, the wind tapped gently at the dormitory windows.
After a moment, Sebastian asked, “So... are you going to keep stealing my shirts?”
“Yes,” Ominis said, without hesitation.
Sebastian smiled. “Good.”
He let his eyes fall shut, one arm draped loosely across Ominis’ back. His pulse was still a little quick, but it was starting to slow, settling into something calmer. A kind of peace he hadn’t felt in ages.
Just as he was starting to drift off, Ominis murmured, quiet and smug: “I knew it would work.”