Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

[New Message from: Scorpius M.]

Scorpius: you here yet?? can’t see you!!!

Scorpius: karl says hi and to hurry up bc yann won’t cut the cake without you

Albus: fuck was that tnite?

Scorpius: yes!!! :((((

Albus stares at his phone with a frown and gnaws at his right thumb nail. He can taste blood but knows that’ll hardly stop him. It’s little more than an inconvenience, really. He’s always going too far, always the masochist.

He, of course, knew damn well that Yann’s party was tonight. He knew that Scorpius would be there, he knew it was starting at eight, and that, eventually, the others would start to wonder where he was. He knew all of that.

Somehow, he still ended up here, unsure whether or not to actually go.

The alarm clock beside his bed blinks the time at him; nine forty-seven. He’s pushing it a bit now, really, and Yann is forgiving but just how forgiving should he have to be about his own birthday? Half of Albus’ wardrobe is strewn across the room. Shirts hang off his bed and brush against the wooden floor, draped across the furniture as dramatically as he would like to be. The question Albus is contending with is not only whether he should attend, but that if he does, what on earth is he going to wear?

His phone buzzes again. He knows, logically, that it’s Scorpius, but his heart leaps regardless at the thrill of the concept.

It’s a picture. Scorpius has sent him a picture.

The thrill dies as fast as it arrived, curdling in his stomach. The photo is a rather stupid, unflattering angle (though, is there such a thing where Scorpius is involved?) of the top half of Scorpius’ face where he is giving the camera an exaggerated frown. That’s all well and good. Better than, actually. The thing that has Albus’ insides in a twist is that beside Scorpius, frowning down at the camera in tandem, is a girl Albus has never seen before.

Oh, what the fuck?

He stares at it for too long. He knows it’s been too long because his phone buzzes twice more as he zooms in on this mystery girl. He zooms in on her green eyes, her eyeliner, the long, mascara coated lashes surrounding them. He zooms in on the place her head presses against Scorpius’, eyes devouring the way the blonde of both of their hair tangles together. Who is this stranger pressed against his best friend and getting in on the photos he sends to Albus? Why would Scorpius send him that?

When he exits out of the photo, he has two more texts from Scorpius.

Scorpius: so are you coming???

Scorpius: ????? albus!!!!!

Albus stares at them a minute longer, something simmering, and then finds his gaze drifting to the soft, olive green button up lying across his pillow. He flicks Scorpius a text.

Albus: yes. I’ll be there soon.

Scorpius: :) !!!!

-

“Karl, can you not smoke in the house, for fuck’s sake!” Polly barks across the room, before turning to Albus. “Why’d you even come if you’re going to sulk by the door all night? Karl! I mean it, take it outside!”

Albus watches where Scorpius is stood on the other side of the room. He’s got an honest to god glass of red wine in one hand, (because he’s a pretentious, aristocratic fuck attending the party of another pretentious, aristocratic fuck) and the other curled around the blonde girl from the photo’s waist.

He’s blessedly distracted when Karl pushes past on his way to the door, pausing to blow an unpleasant puff of smoke into Polly’s face and then grin at Albus.

“Ugh!” Polly shrieks. “Get out!”

“Yeah, love you too.” Karl winks, finally letting himself and his joint out onto the back porch.

Matt Wood follows close behind with a sheepish grin, Karl’s on-again-off-again… something. “Sorry, Polly.” He murmurs, though he doesn’t sound particularly sorry, and the way his hopeful gaze chases Karl outside tells Albus everything he needs to know.

Polly rolls her eyes and turns back to him.  “Honestly.” She sighs.

Albus would have more sympathy if he could focus long enough to stop his own gaze from being pulled back to Scorpius and the girl in the corner.

“Who is that?” he asks. He knows he doesn’t need to clarify. He’s showing his belly here and there was a time in the not so distant past when Polly would have taken the opportunity to gut him for it. Now, though, she just takes his hand kindly into hers and rubs across his clenched knuckles with her thumb.

“Yann’s cousin, Emilia. She’s only visiting.”

“He’s got his hand on her waist.”

Polly purses her lips. She can’t argue with that.

“Okay,” she admits after a pause, “and I’m holding your hand. He’s a touchy person when he drinks. We both know that the second he realises you’re here he’s going to back you into that corner and snog you senseless.”

Albus hums. Maybe, but maybe not.

“I shouldn’t have come.” He says at last. It’s true. He’d marched in all guns blazing, working himself up on the way over with grand plans of disrupting whatever was going on with that girl, and then very quickly lost all sense of fire when Scorpius didn’t even notice him arrive.

The last thing he wants to do is bring down the mood of the party and Albus knows himself well enough to know that no good can come of him lingering forlornly (pining) and moping because Scorpius has clearly found somebody else to occupy him for the night.

Polly squeezes his hand. “Don’t be a dick. Yann would be devastated if you hadn’t come.”

“And where is the man of the hour? Shouldn’t he be the one yelling at people for smoking inside?”

Polly takes a swig of her drink. “How should I know?”

It’s Albus’ turn to hit her with a searching look. Polly pointedly looks in the other direction. So, they’re playing that game then.

She relents after a moment to admit, “I think he and Craig were doing shots in the kitchen.”

“Well, what are we doing over here, then?” Albus tries to drum up some enthusiasm into his voice and uses the hand she holds to drag Polly off with him.

-

The thing about Scorpius is that he only kisses Albus when they’re drunk. When they’re talking and laughing and the buzz of the alcohol in their blood makes them think they’re something that they’re not. That this is something they just do.

The thing about Albus is his tolerance seems to be diminishing at a mysteriously rapid rate.

Only last week Albus had barely finished his first drink when he’d been bold enough to press his lips to Scorpius’. To adore him in all the ways he’d like to sober, but with the plausible deniability of inebriation.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” he protests at the looks that Craig, Yann and Polly are giving him. “He’s at perfect liberty to do whatever he likes with whomever he likes.”

“Which is always you.” Craig points out. Albus wishes they wouldn’t try to get his hopes up like this. It always ends the same.

“Well, where is he right now?” He points out.

Yann drops his chin and looks up at him incredulously. “Looking out for my very giggly, very drunk little cousin.”

“Doesn’t look that little.” Albus sniffs.

“She’s seventeen.”

“A whole year and a half younger, wow.”

“Can we not do this at my birthday party, please?” Yann takes his arm off Polly’s shoulder (suspicious place for him to have it, though no one has brought it up) to place his bottle of cider down on the bench. “You haven’t even wished me a happy birthday.”

Albus slaps a hand over his face immediately. (“Don’t be a dick.” Polly’s voice echoes.) He groans into his palm.

“Of course, Yann, I’m sorry.” He goes and pulls him into a hug, inhaling his woody rose perfume and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Happy birthday. I love you.”

“Thank you. I love you too.”

“I have got you a present, by the way,” he promises, “it’s just not arrived yet. Shipping got delayed.”

Yann gives him a crinkled smile, all apparently forgiven. “You’re the best.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, you don’t even know what it is yet.”

“Well, knowing you, it will be very thoughtful.” He says, which is classic Yann. Always seeing the best in Albus even when he doesn’t deserve it.

“You can just wank him off later in the meantime.” Craig jeers, smirking at them over the rim of his cup.

Yann wiggles his eyebrows at him and grins. “What do you say?” Albus laughs, swatting him away when he jokingly reaches for him.

Polly rolls her eyes. “Charming.”

“Oh, sorry, is that stealing your plan, Polly?” Craig teases. Albus isn’t surprised when she goes pink and Yann coughs, glancing away. He can’t suppress a grin of his own when Craig meets his eye. It’s only a matter of time before whatever dam holding Yann and Polly back breaks, and he and Craig hope to be in the front row with popcorn when it does.

Yann’s valiant attempt at saving face is, “Now, let’s not be uncouth to my guests, please.”

“Albus!” Cries the voice he’s been waiting to hear all evening. Albus doesn’t have time to play it cool, turning instinctively before he can even think with his eyes hungry and searching. “There you are! You came!”

Scorpius strides over to him, and in the time it takes for him to approach, Albus finds himself frozen, feeling like an insect pinned to a board behind glass with his transparency. They meet in the middle of the kitchen in a sweeping hug, and the only thing better than how good Scorpius looks is how good he smells. There’s a spiciness to his cologne that makes Albus think of mulled wine. Speaking of which, the fancy wine glass he’s holding is now empty save for the dregs. What preluded it has stained Scorpius’ lips a deep, mulberry red, which shouldn’t be nearly so enticing as it is.

When Scorpius pulls back, Yann plucks the glass from his gentle fist and produces an already open bottle of red to refill it. Once he’s poured a rather generous helping and handed it back to Scorpius, Albus watches with amusement as Yann brings the bottle itself to his lips to polish it off. He glances at Polly when a teardrop of red wine leaks down from the corner of Yann’s lips and only just manages not to gasp when she reaches out to wipe it off with her thumb.

He watches her then nonchalantly suck her thumb into her mouth and wonders briefly what would happen if he himself could be so bold.

He’s distracted from Yann’s reaction to that particular display by Scorpius offering him a sip of his drink. Albus is generally pretty opposed to fancy wine glasses and red wine at parties (what’s the point??) but it’ll be a cold day in hell when he refuses something Scorpius has offered him. Aside from that, he knows that the sooner he starts drinking the sooner he can kiss him.

They’ve established a pretty solid pattern which allows them to a) make out with each other senselessly, and b) never have to talk about it afterwards, and the beginning of that pattern has always been alcohol. Albus is aware, in theory, of how unhealthy that is, but he’s also aware that he’s not going to do anything to stop it. Not so long as a sip or two gives him the permission to hold Scorpius’ face in his hands and attempt to stem the adoration bleeding from his foolish heart like a wound.

He knows that one day Scorpius is going to grow out of it. That he’ll meet someone who affects him in all the right ways, with whom all of this will mean something, and that his drunken weekend trysts with Albus will be nothing more than that. Drunken weekend trysts. A laugh with his best mate. But it’s nice to pretend, at least for a while.

-

“Who was that you were talking to out there?” Albus asks as casually and unaffected as he can, a drink or two later. He’s left it as long as his paranoia would allow in order to avoid being so transparent. Judging by Scorpius’ knowing look, it’s not very successful, but Albus perseveres.

“The blonde girl?” He says. “Her name’s Emilia, she’s Yann’s cousin from France.”

Albus gives a sage nod. He wonders if trying to coerce information that he already knows from Scorpius is as manipulative and shitty as he thinks it might be. He takes a slow, deep drink of the extremely strong gin concoction in his hand and continues anyway. “She’s quite pretty, don’t you think?”

“Would you say so?” Scorpius asks with an arched brow. Always playing the part of oblivious, always making Albus spell it out. There’s something tugging at the corner of his mouth, something that lets Albus know he’s aware of this little game.

“I’m asking you,” Albus shrugs, “but yes, I think I would.”

They hold eye contact in a moment of tense silence. Go on, Albus thinks, get it over with.

“I was being friendly.” Scorpius softens the peculiar blow of dodging the question by brushing the fringe out of Albus’s eyes. He rips off a plaster and then soothes the skin with a loving touch straight after. “I’m a friendly person.”

Albus tucks two of his fingers into the belt loops on Scorpius’ trousers, linking the pair of them, connecting a circuit. He uses it to tug him infinitesimally closer.

“I think you lead people on.”

“People? Plural? This is quite the accusation, Albus.” Scorpius drawls, an amused smile toying with the curve of his lips. There it is. Albus watches it and remembers what it feels like against his own. “Who do you think I’m leading on?”

Albus blinks up to meet Scorpius’ gaze. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

Scorpius turns to place his newly empty wine glass onto the counter, and then all at once smooth hands are sliding up and cupping Albus’ face. Scorpius brings him closer and Albus lets himself be pulled, like a tide washing in to shore, constant and bound. He brushes the hair back from Albus’ forehead again and spares a shameless, lingering look at his mouth.

“I hope you don’t mean yourself?” There is a slight frown on Scorpius’ face now, which Albus will examine (and re-examine, and then examine once more) later. For the moment, this beautiful, hazy, daydream of a moment, all Albus can think about is kissing him.

So he does.

-

When Albus walks himself home later, it’s far too late and dark. He shouldn’t be walking home alone this late, really, his Mum would almost definitely flip, but he can’t worry about that when his senses are too busy being flooded with the memory of Scorpius rubbing up against his arm. The heat of his skin through his shirt as he nudges him with that secret smile of his, the one that’s just for Albus.

He can hold him and kiss him, but he can’t have him. Not really. Not in the way he’d like. He’s greedy. He’s always been greedy. He probably always will be. Especially when it comes to Scorpius Malfoy. Scorpius Malfoy touching his waist with one hand and tilting his chin up with the other in order to kiss him deeper against whatever wall or surface they find themselves closest in proximity to.

He’s a lot soberer than he thought he was half an hour ago.

-

When he wakes up in the morning, bleary eyed, there’s several missed texts from Polly on his phone. Unfortunately for his sanity, when he opens them it’s just several dark and blurry photos of him and Scorpius making out in Yann’s hallway.

Albus: great! thanks for that!

Polly: 😘 💋 ❗

He pulls himself of out bed eventually. A task far more monumental than it should be.

He tries not to think about the photos. Or about next time he’ll get to touch Scorpius like that.

-

[Groupchat: The Gang]

Karl: yeh I mean we made out for like two hours which was pretty sick

Karl: he’s not texting me back now tho which is lame I feel

Polly: boooooooo loser energy

Yann: He could be at work? Doesn’t he work at the ice cream shop in town?

Scorpius: yeah, he’s probably at work :)

Craig: maybe ur just a bad kisser kj

Karl: you better b fuckin joking

Craig: jk jk!!! As someone with personal experience ur a 10/10 hot stuff

Albus: he’s into you. he literally trails after you like a golden retriever… embarrassing tbh

Polly: pot kettle babes

Scorpius: lol

Craig: 💀

Albus stares at the lol from Scorpius for a lot longer than he should. He hovers over it, debates heart reacting the message, then debates what’s wrong with him and his apparent desire to self-flagellate.

Karl: oh nvm he’s at work

Yann: …

Karl: does anyne want to get ice cream w me??? I’ll pay if u drive me!

Scorpius: I would but I’m at work!

Craig: get off your phoneeeeee

Scorpius: I’m on break!!!

Scorpius: 🖕

[New message from Scorpius M.]

Scorpius: will you come down to the park alter?

Scorpius: *later

Scorpius: I finish work at 5

Albus: do u want me to?

Scorpius: ya

Scorpius: obviously!!!!

Scorpius: or are you going to bite the bullet and get ice cream with karl??

Albus: I was debating it

Albus: feels a little sad tho, no?

Albus: third wheel vibes

Scorpius: lol

Scorpius: potentially, but also if matt’s working he’s hardly going to drop everything to talk to karl

Albus: idk

Albus: you didn’t see them together at the party

Scorpius: no, I was rather preoccupied I think :)

Albus types out haha and then deletes it. He tries lol yeah I remember and deletes that too. His worst attempt is do you mean with me or with emilia? which makes him genuinely groan aloud to read before he erases it.

Finally he sends:

Albus: alright I’ll go and I’ll meet you after

Scorpius: yay!!!!!

Scorpius: gtg break over byeee

-

Despite Scorpius’ reassurance, ice cream with Karl and Matt is every bit as weird and horny as Albus had feared it might be. Karl might have paid for the cone, but Albus thinks he paid a higher price as he tries to shake off the second hand lingering tension (and forget what Karl looks like attempting to give head to an ice cream cone while making dirty eye contact with Matt across the store) when he rounds the corner to the park.

His stomach leaps off a swing set at the sight of Scorpius standing under a tree by the basketball court. It plummets from the peak into the sandpit when Albus realises he’s not alone.

There’s a couple of girls Albus doesn’t recognise standing beside him. Which is fine. Normal, even. Albus can be normal. Scorpius is friendly. He’s approachable and good-looking and always happy to turn small talk into a budding friendship. The dread Albus feels doesn’t have to mean anything if he doesn’t want it to, he’s stronger than this.

He takes a determined step forward then hears a laugh. Scorpius is laughing, and when Albus looks again he sees that he’s smiling at the girls in that same, self-assured, surreptitiously seductive way that he smiles at Albus in dark corners. With pink and purple lights reflecting across perfect, porcelain skin and heavy-lidded eyes.

Albus is not stronger than this.

Scorpius pushes his hair back from where it’s fallen so beautifully across his forehead, a move, such a move, and Albus hears his glass menagerie of carefully tended feelings start to topple. He’s been knocked unceremoniously from his perch and stands, helpless, as his fragile figurines of hope and grotesque, wriggling want fall down to shatter at his feet.

One of the girls reaches over and touches Scorpius’s forearm, probably gives it a squeeze where it’s so tantalisingly revealed by a pale blue half cuffed sleeve, and Albus has to leave. He has to go right now. He can’t keep doing this to himself. Dusting off his pathetic hopes again and again. At a certain point you have to admit when the horse is no longer a unicorn.

He turns and walks home.

Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He kicks at the gravel on the road where it needs repaving, and suddenly he’s back in Scorpius’s car last weekend, feeling the dip they’d passed over and the way Scorpius had turned to smile at him with his tongue caught between his teeth and the sun in his eyes. It had surprised him, probably. Scorpius’s neighbourhood roads don’t need repaving.

In a moment of pure angsty juvenile regression, Albus picks up one of the larger bits of gravel and launches it at a tree. If his menagerie is tumbling down, then he’s got nothing else to lose. It doesn’t make a sound, likely doesn’t even hit his target, and now Albus’s arm hurts from the sudden, wrenching exertion.

He’s being perfectly normal.

It takes him twenty minutes to get halfway home because he’s an idiot and would apparently walk his way to hell and back for a boy probably too busy dreaming of a white picket fence and picture-perfect wife to raise his kids with to notice. He kicks stones the whole way, cigarette butts and bottle caps, anything really, in an attempt to keep his face down and hidden from anyone who might recognise him and the misty look that keeps taking over his eyes.

A car beeps its horn and then slows down beside him. Albus doesn’t look up because he’s been kicking this one particular rock for about ten minutes now which means he’s formed a ridiculous attachment to it and he’s afraid that if he looks away he’ll lose it. He tends to do this with anything that hangs around him for more than thirty-eight seconds.

“Oi!” Calls the voice from inside the car.

Albus does look up then because he knows that voice. Polly Chapman is leaning out the window, popping her bubblegum and grinning.

“What’s this sad little performance about? What’re you doing?” She asks. Her hair is pushed away from her face by a cherry red headband and she looks eighteen in all the ways that Albus doesn’t.

Albus isn’t sure what to say because they both know what he’s doing. He’s walking home, dejected, utterly aimless and alone except for the rock.

He shrugs. “Fuck all, to be honest.”

“Do you want to get dinner with me and Yann? I’m picking him up from ballet.”

Albus shrugs again. Maybe he’s sentencing himself to an evening of third wheeling (if they’ll ever admit that that’s what it is) after already spending an afternoon doing the same, but it can’t possibly be much worse than how his day’s currently going. “Yeah, why not.”

Polly pulls over to let him in. Albus glances at the rock he’s apparently formed a soul-bond with and debates it for all of half a second before pocketing it and hopping into the car.

-

[New message from Scorpius M.]

Scorpius: are you nearly here?!!

Albus: ah something came up sorry

Scorpius: oh

Scorpius: ok

Albus: sorry

[read 18:08]

-

[New message from Scorpius M.]

Scorpius: [screenshot of @pollychapsticks Instagram story]

Scorpius: looks like fun

Albus: sorry

[read 19:42]

-

Later, Albus places the pebble on his bookshelf and sighs. His room is dim, lit by streetlights through the window and a gingerbread candle Karl had given him for Christmas. The yellow walls are covered in little bits and bobs, mementos from over the years. Movie tickets, album posters, polaroids and photobooth strips of him and his friends. A ticket from when Yann made them all go into London to see Moulin Rouge. A card from Scorpius.

He is made of memories.

His gaze lingers. He thinks of Scorpius, always of Scorpius. He thinks of walking all the way out of town for him. Of seeing him smiling at those girls. He thinks of knocking back a shot purely for the freedom it allows him to lose himself in Scorpius, as if it’s just the result of their closeness and a few too many, as if anyone with eyes can’t tell how Albus feels about him.

He doesn’t want to think about the slow-motion car crash of whatever they’re doing, so he grabs a book off the shelf and settles on his bed in a half-hearted attempt to prove to himself that he can think about other things.

He hopes that the moment of impact will be catastrophic enough that he won’t get to see the outcome.

-

[New message from: Polly C.]

Polly: Is Scorpius mad at me?

Albus: I don’t think so

Albus: why?

Polly: he just thumbs up’d my last message

Polly: so I don’t exactly think he’s thrilled

Albus: ah

Albus: I may have done something dumb

Polly: do you want to call?

Albus: :( yes pls

-

“That was a bit shit of you, ditching me like that the other day.” The look Scorpius flicks on him is assessing in a way that makes Albus shift his weight back and forth.

“I know. I’m really sorry.”

They’re at the bookstore in town. It’s old, leaning more towards rundown than vintage, but he and Scorpius rarely get their books anywhere else if the charity shops can’t provide. There’s a rare half-price sale that Scorpius had begged Albus to join him for, and he peruses the aisles with an armful of romance, dark academia, and fantasy novels as he gives Albus his version of a dressing down.

“Getting a better offer is one thing,” Scorpius continues, finger lingering on the spine of one of the books Albus had been planning to get him for his birthday, “but finding out you lied to go for dinner with our friends without me really sucked, Albus. It didn’t make me feel good.”

Scorpius pulls the book off the shelf, reads the back with a slightly furrowed brow, and then adds it to the pile he’s holding. There goes that plan. Albus goes to add it to his own meagre pile, but Scorpius frowns and bats his hand away.

“Don’t be silly, we’ll just share this one.”

“Thanks.” Albus says, but it feels toneless and wrong. He hates fighting with Scorpius. He hates knowing he’s wrong and hates even more being unable to explain himself. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to be a dick, I was just in a bad headspace and Polly found me and dragged me along.”

“You could have told me. I would’ve understood that.”

Albus shrugs. “There’s a lot of things I could be doing differently.”

Scorpius watches him closely for a moment and then sighs. He turns and Albus thinks, for a nonsensical moment, that he’s going to walk away. Instead, he runs a delicate, searching finger along a shelf and pulls out the new release Albus had been talking about last week. Without a word he drops it into Albus’ arms. The conciliatory smile he offers is enough to break the ice, but all it reveals is the ocean of yearning Albus has been hiding underneath.

-

[Groupchat: The Gang]

Polly: all of this for a guy called matt??

Karl: >:(

Albus: it sounds like he’s playing hard to get which is weird when u’ve already had ur tongue down his throat

Albus: multiple times

Scorpius: hot

Craig: vivid

Polly: you have no idea

Karl: can we focus please!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yann: sorry just catching up

Yann: I think you should tell him how you feel! Just be honest with him, what’s the worst that can happen?

Scorpius: ^^^

Karl: he could call me a slut

Karl: or something idk

Albus: ????

Craig: why would he call you a slut??

Karl: idk I wanked him off the other day

Polly: you didn’t tell me that!????!!!!

Karl: well I was embarrassed bc I thought you might think I was a slut

Craig: I’m personally very impressed

Craig: I didn’t know you knew how to do that

Karl: f you!!!!!

Yann: slutshaming is Not Sexy Anyway! You don’t want to date someone who does that so either way you get your answer

Polly: I’m coming over and I’m bringing you a packet of nerds and you are going to tell me everything

Craig: pick me up on the way pls xoxo

Polly: ofc ofc

Polly: I must repeat though

Polly: all of this for a guy called matt???

-

Karl and Matt are snogging vehemently on the staircase, which is great because it presumably means they’ve sorted things out. It’s less great because it means Albus has to turn back the way he came and find the downstairs bathroom where he’s pretty sure Rose and her girlfriend are indulging in something equally unbecoming against the wall beside it.

“Indecent really, isn’t it?” Yann remarks with a wry smile, nodding to where Matt has Karl pressed along the stairs, halfway horizontal, and surely uncomfortable.

“Inconvenient more than anything.” Albus observes, realising he’s not the only one changing course at their obstruction.

“That too.” Yann laughs. He cups a hand around his mouth and hollers, “Get a room!”

Karl and Matt are completely unperturbed except for the emphatic middle finger Karl raises and shoots in their direction.

Yann shakes his head with a grin. “I don’t want to hear one word of complaint when someone inevitably trips over them.”

There’s a half to two-thirds full bottle of something on the step beside Karl’s thigh. Albus gets close enough to swipe it (and be subject to the kind of noises he’s never personally wanted to hear from Karl) and waves it to Yann in victory.

“Shall we find the others and share some sambuca?”

“Albus, have I ever told you just how wonderful I think you are?”

“Not today, you haven’t.”

Yann grabs the bottle, unscrews it, and holds it to Albus’ mouth. He swallows, ungracefully, as Yann pours.

“Well, Albus,” he laughs, “I think you’re just wonderful!”

-

He’s had, to put it mildly, a bit too much to drink.

Albus’ head feels monumentally heavy where it lies pressed against Scorpius’ arm. The conversation around them is blurred, and Albus feels Scorpius’ contributions rumble through his body. He’d like to wrap himself up in this, in this oxymoron of weight and weightlessness, where his body is leaden and grounded, and his mind is floating somewhere above the group.

Scorpius laughs at something and it dislodges his head slightly. Albus uses all his focus to pull himself back and settle in against the couch and his shoulder. It’s a happy sound and a happy feeling. I adore you, he mouths, eyes closed, into the fabric of Scorpius’s shirt. It feels good to say it, to feel the shape of it in his lips and tongue. It was just the two of them for so long, and Scorpius had been so resistant at first when the gang started pulling them into their circle, and now Albus is at a party and he’s got his head on Scorpius’ shoulder while Scorpius carries the conversation with their friends. I adore you.

“You alright?” Scorpius asks, and it takes Albus a minute to realise he’s speaking to him.

He nods slowly, and then keeps nodding because he’s enjoying the shirt rubbing against his cheek.

“Do you want to drink some water?”

Whether he does or doesn’t is irrelevant; Albus keeps nodding.

“Alright, I think it’s time I took this one home.”

It’s blurry—or, no, it’s fuzzy. There are sounds happening around him but all Albus can focus in on is his heartbeat. It thumps in his ears. Someone is holding him up and the pressure feels like pins and needles on his skin. Blearily, he feels a soft smack on his forehead and when he blinks his eyes enough to make them focus he realises Polly has just kissed him.

“Goodnight, you little monster.” She smiles. She’s all smudgy too, her eyeliner rubbed under her eyes in a smoky black mess, but she looks good. She’s beautiful, really. But she’s always been beautiful.

“—the fuck?” Albus mumbles with a frown, but he reaches out to pat her cheek regardless. He really loves her. He really hopes that Yann gets it together and asks her out soon. She deserves to be happy. They both do.

-

Twenty minutes or two hours later, Albus is in Scorpius’ bedroom sitting in his plush emerald green chair. At least, he thinks he is. He might be dreaming. Everything still looks a little like it’s got a filter on it.

“We’re home?”

“Yes.” There’s amusement in Scorpius’s voice. “You asked me that three minutes ago and the answer hasn’t changed.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologise. Here,” there’s a glass pressed into his palm, “I brought you some water.”

Albus accepts it gratefully and drinks the whole thing in several deep gulps. There’s a second glass pressed into his hand, swapped for the first. When he looks up, Scorpius has a soft look on his face. His grey eyes look brown in the dark. He looks like his Mum.

Suddenly shy, Albus hides his face in the glass, taking slower sips this time.

“Thank you.” He says.

“You’re welcome.”

Scorpius places the first glass on his bedside table and then turns. He pulls his shirt off over his head, half turned away from Albus, but, crucially, half turned towards him. If he were any less inebriated he’d have the curtesy to look away. Unfortunately, (or fortunately) he’s not.

The light catches his ribs like a sunset through a forest, gold and speckled, full of life. There’s a mole under his arm and Albus wants to kiss it.

“What’re you staring at?” Scorpius chuckles, and he looks at Albus sideways with his hair falling over his face like a prince—or, no—like some kind of knight. Like he’s just taken his armour off after a duel and Albus is his right-hand man, his best friend, his lover, all three if he’s lucky, and that his mere presence is enough to wash the tension of the battle away. Enough to make him smile. Albus should kiss his shoulder and press his fingers in the muscles of his back, knead into the knots there and whisper inside jokes to make him laugh.

Albus is drunk. It’s a fantasy.

“I had a great night,” Albus mumbles. He takes another sip and watches, shamelessly, as Scorpius pulls his pyjama shirt on. He watches him transform back into his best friend, though he is, truthfully, no less a prince.

“Me too,” Scorpius says. He wobbles slightly, also tipsy, and catches himself on the bedside table. “Do you want to borrow some pyjamas?”

Once Albus is changed (embarrassingly, with a little help), exhaustion starts to set in. He’s heavy, rapidly losing a fight against gravity, as Scorpius helps to manoeuvre Albus’ limbs onto his bed. He’ll be humiliated in the morning, but in the moment, it feels tender and romantic. Reverent. Albus settles against the pillows. When he blinks his eyes open, Scorpius is looking down at him.

“You’re beautiful, Albus Potter.”

The words move over him like honey, and he squirms.

“A liar…” he manages the half-hearted accusation slowly. He lifts a hand to card it through Scorpius’ hair and then lets it fall back down beside him.

Scorpius settles himself on the bed. They lie facing one another and Albus can’t help the smile that draws itself across his face. He loves being here, he loves Scorpius, he loves the feeling of being allowed to be here and look at him like this and feel the full weight of his affection. He loves it all so much that he wills away the niggling thought that he’d like to be able to do it without writing himself off with alcohol first.

They whisper and giggle until they’re kissing, and then suddenly they’re kissing more than talking. Albus finds the energy to press up onto his elbows and lean over Scorpius, kissing him more insistently into the mattress. Dragging their tongues together and tasting licks of stolen sambuca.

“I like doing this with you,” he says, pressing his lips along Scorpius’ jaw and down to his neck. “It’s my favourite part of the week.”

He’s too caught up to think about how revealing of a confession that is.

“Mine too,” Scorpius says, brushing his fingers through Albus’ hair and using his grip to encourage their mouths back together.

It turns frantic rather quickly, and Albus’ stomach swoops at the first press of Scorpius’ hips into him. He presses back, now that he feels he has permission to acknowledge the heat simmering low in his abdomen and relishes the groan it drags from Scorpius’ throat.

“Do you want me to…?” Albus gasps between kisses to Scorpius’ neck, hot and heavy on his tingling lips. Everything is tingling, actually. He trails his fingers along the waist of Scorpius’ pyjama pants and feels the hot skin of his stomach against his wanting palm.

Scorpius pulls back to make room and Albus reaches for the waistband. A hand stops him.

“I don’t think so, bub."

Albus feels his face drop. “You don’t want it?”

“You’re drunk, Albus.” It’s not an answer, but the pitying look on Scorpius’ face is sobering.

“I’m always drunk.”

Isn’t that the whole point? he thinks, but Scorpius sighs. It’s not a happy sound.

“Let’s just go to sleep, okay?” He presses Albus’ hands back to his own side, away from Scorpius. “We can talk tomorrow.”

It’s a kind rejection, but unmistakably a rejection nonetheless. Scorpius rolls over and pulls the blankets up over himself. It’s a line in the sand. It’s the end of the chapter. Despite his swimming thoughts and tingling skin, Albus should have known it was coming. This is how their story goes.

It’s only gone that far the once. They’d both been red in the face and breathless, not even kissing anymore, just panting into each other. Alone purely by chance and drunk on the thrill of it. Drunk, also, on the wine Draco hadn’t managed to hide very well before he left for a work dinner. Touching Scorpius had felt like velveteen heaven, an unearned blessing of which he was not worthy, and Albus was so riled up, so greedy and desperate and goddamn hopeful, that he’d offered to use his mouth. Borderline begged really, unable to get the thought out of his head. But Scorpius just gave him this look, pink cheeked, eyes half-lidded and blown out, and laughed. A giddy, amused thing. Like that was so funny. Like he thought Albus was joking.

(Albus was not joking.)

Instead, he pressed his forehead against Scorpius’s arm and bit back the painful sting of such a dismissal by working him off with a reverence that he usually made the effort of hiding a little more successfully.

There had been no hiding it then. Not when Albus finally (finally) had the impossible heat of him in his hand. The sounds he’d made, half-bitten off and keening, in Albus’s ear have haunted him ever since. The rolling of his hips. He hadn’t let Scorpius touch him back. Didn’t really need him to after that anyway. They’d laughed, breathlessly, in the aftermath and mess, and the kiss Scorpius pressed to the sweaty mess of Albus’ hairline had been more than enough.

It’s the best and worst thing that’s ever happened to him. It bound them together in Albus’s mind, a connection he can’t undo. A golden tattoo he wears inked deep into his skin. And every time he sees Scorpius and remembers the heat of his breath, the warmth of his skin, the shattered oh he’d uttered before spilling across Albus’s knuckles, he presses against the memory like a phantom bruise to keep himself grounded.

It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s never happened again.

He turns a heavy glance to Scorpius’s back lying beside him.

It clearly never will.

-

Albus is in the middle of weighing up which words to use in his apology when Scorpius beats him to the punch.

“Sorry about last night.” He says. He’s still lying across from Albus in the bed, duck egg blue duvet up around his shoulders. His nightshirt gaps to show off a taunting lick of clavicle. “I think we both had a bit much to drink.”

It’s all a bit much to deal with, actually. Albus rolls over to face away from him.

“That’s alright.” He murmurs. He steals himself by gazing over Scorpius’ bookshelf. He locates the books they bought last week and breathes. “Thanks for looking after me. Sorry if I did anything embarrassing.”

Over the blankets, Scorpius lays a questioning hand on Albus’ waist. He thinks about placing his own hand atop of it but decides that would cross one of their invisible lines and doesn’t.

“You didn’t do anything embarrassing.” Scorpius’ voice is quiet. There’s a bird chirping outside. “We were just being stupid teenagers.”

Which stings, really.

“Yeah,” Albus agrees. “Stupid.”

Chapter Text

[Groupchat: The Gang]

Karl: guys

Karl: I don’t wantto be dramatic or jumpt the gun

Karl: but I think I might have a bf????

Scorpius: !!!!!!!

Yann: Yay Karl!

Polly: shut the fuck up!!!! Omg!!

Craig: explain rn

Karl: ok so Frankie’s party

Karl: we were talking

Craig: and then you dry humped on the stairs big time

Polly: oh!

Karl: ok wow

Karl: not true btw

Yann: Little True!

Albus: can confirm, thanks for the sambuca

Albus: congrats btw!!!!

Scorpius: what happened next!

Karl: scorpius I’m calling you bc I don’t want to talk to these guys anymore

Polly: booooooo!!!!!!!

-

Craig comes over with ramen.

“Heard you’ve not been feeling too good.” He says, dumping the takeaway containers on the Potter’s dining table and making himself, as usual, at home. He’s wearing his lime green crocs with the Pokemon jibbitz Albus and Karl got him for his birthday.

Albus regards the whole set up sceptically. “Where’d you hear that?”

“The grapevine.”

“So, Polly.”

Craig gives his hand a nonchalant wave. “She has many names.” He spies Lily lingering in the doorway and beckons her in. “Yes, I got you the dumplings. Did you seriously doubt me?”

“I never know with you, but thanks.” Lily grins, taking the container from him and holding it up in victory.

“Rude.” Craig says. He turns to Albus and rolls his eyes conspiratorially while Lily grabs a fork from the drawer. “Fancy joining us? We’re talking about your brother’s love life.”

Albus glares at him, but Lily just laughs. She closes the drawer with her hip and slips past them.

“What love life?” She teases on the way out.

Craig turns his smirk on Albus. “You’d be surprised what he gets up to.”

“Oh, gross.” Lily’s laugh is bright, and she flicks her gaze over Albus as if to soften the joke by including him in it.  “Thanks Ceeby, but no thank you.”

“You don’t get to call him that!” Albus calls after her cackling, retreating figure. He turns to Craig with a scowl. “Don’t encourage her.”

“Even if that’s what I was trying to do, I didn’t do a very good job, did I? She’s gone.” He points out, quite rightly. He pushes Albus’s container over to him. “Now, eat this or tell me what’s wrong, or,” he pauses for emphasis, “and this is the ideal scenario, both.”

“Why does something have to be wrong? Where did any of you get that impression?”

“The general air of melancholy you carry at the moment, the stench of yearning,” Craig gestures towards him, which, rude. “Scorpius also might’ve said something.”

Albus feels his heart rate spike. “What did Scorpius say?”

With an irritating air of victory, Craig points at Albus with his chopsticks. “Yearning!”

Called out and choosing to be sensitive about it, Albus ignores him while he opens up his own ramen and grabs a fork for when he inevitably gives up on the chopsticks. Craig is a good teacher, but Albus just doesn’t practice as much as he should to have the finesse that Craig does. Still, he’s getting better.

“So,” Albus says, going ahead and shooting himself in the foot, “I take it Scorpius didn’t actually say anything to you then.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Craig says around a mouthful of noodles, “but I’d like to state for the record that I think you’re both being stupid and uncharacteristically closed off about something I reckon you could solve in one conversation.”

Albus enjoys having a small group of friends for the most part. He enjoys the normalcy of it. He enjoys the feeling of community. He enjoys learning that there is no capacity for caring in his heart and that there is actually space for more than one person in his life. He enjoys having people who also know Scorpius and therefore see the entire forest levels of pining that Albus is doing and somewhat understand.

However, because it had just been Albus and Scorpius for so long, he finds it difficult when people, not even just their friends, seem to think they have any concept of just how deep and personal their connection is. It is a constant battle in Albus’ pettier moments not to point out that while they may know Scorpius now, he is the only one who knew Scorpius then. That they had been it for each other long before conscious feelings of romance ever entered the picture. That however much they may think they can see into the workings of Scorpius’ mind, Albus was there first and has several years’ worth of head start so good fucking luck catching up, losers.

Craig doesn’t mean to imply anything of the sort, but still, Albus and Scorpius vs The Unforgiving Playground isn’t exactly a chapter Albus can easily forget.

“Thanks for your in-put.” Albus drawls in an attempt to end the conversation.

Craig lifts his chopsticks in a cheers gesture. “Always.” Still, he obligingly switches topics. “So, how far away do you think we are from a ‘Yolly’ confession?”

Albus laughs out loud and lets his chin settle into his palm, relaxing. “God,” he muses, “Yolly… Yann’ll love that.”

“I’ve got fifty quid on them working it out in the next two months if you fancy taking me up on that?”

Albus snorts. “Not on your life.”

Craig raises a brow. “You think I’m wrong?” He asks, consideringly.

“I think I’m not stupid enough to go against you in a bet.”

Craig grins at him. “Smart man.”

They eat in silence for a minute or two, mostly because it’s difficult to talk while eating noodles, but partly because something has just occurred to Albus.

“Should I assume you have money on me then?” he asks. The look Craig sends him is self-satisfied, like Albus has once again proved a point by asking this question.

“I couldn’t possibly say.” Craig answers loftily. “But if you could sort things out in the next three weeks there might be something in it for you.”

“Yeah,” Albus sighs. “Good luck with that.”

“I don’t need luck,” Craig says. “I need you both to get your shit together.”

“Do you honestly think we’re going to figure it out before Yann and Polly?” Albus stares at him. “They’re Yann and Polly.”

Craig shrugs. “And you’re Albus and Scorpius. You guys are hooking up every weekend, that’s more than halfway there in my books.”

“I don’t think I want to know what’s going on in your books.” Albus says, rolling his eyes and pushing his chopsticks through the broth.

“Lots of fairies having sex at the moment. I can’t tell whether I’m into it or not.”

Albus groans. “You can’t be serious. Surely Scorpius and I have given you enough recommendations that you don’t need to be reading that.”

“Don’t knock it til you try it! There’s a compelling plot in there somewhere.” Craig says around a mouthful. “Besides, what’s that saying? You can lead a fish to water?”

Albus lets out a put-upon sigh. “A horse, Craig. You can lead a horse to water.”

Craig kicks him under the table. The Poliwag jibbit catches the hem of Albus’ jeans. “Right!” He says. “But you can’t make him drink.”

This, Albus thinks, is probably right.

-

Albus is still thinking about it when he crawls into Scorpius’ lap after four drinks that Friday night. Scorpius is kissing down his throat and Albus tries not to squirm too enthusiastically on top of him.

“You know the phrase,” Albus gasps at the brush of teeth against his skin, “leading a fish to water?”

Scorpius hums into his throat and pushes his cold hands up the back of Albus’ hoodie. “I think it’s a horse, actually. Most of the time the fish are already in the water.”

Albus lets out a breathless laugh, his head spinning. He can’t connect his thoughts together, they bounce away like magnets with the same polarity. Why is he thinking about polarity? Polarity. Polar. Polar bears. Ice pole. Scorpius’ cold, cold hands warming themselves on the hot skin of Albus’ back.

“Oh,” Albus sighs when Scorpius nips at his earlobe. “Yeah. Yeah, probably.” He arches back into Scorpius’ hold and lets himself be pressed chest to chest with him. “You… you can lead him on…” It is very difficult to make the words happen. “You can lead him on…”

Scorpius pulls back to look at him. There’s something gone quiet in his face. “I don’t think that’s the saying.”

Albus can’t even remember what he said. He reaches up to cup Scorpius’ face in his hands and then runs his right thumb across his lips. Scorpius purses them to press a kiss to it. Albus adores him. He thinks about dipping his thumb into Scorpius’ mouth and then goes hot all over.

“What’s this about?” Scorpius asks, quietly. Albus is still staring at his mouth.

“I don’t know,” is his honest answer. “Can I put my thumb in your mouth?”

The hands at his back grip him harder and Albus gasps. Scorpius’ eyes go dark and in a wordless answer, he catches Albus’ thumb between his teeth.

-

[Incoming call from: Polly C.]

“Hello?” Albus says, giving Scorpius an apologetic smile which he waves off. He takes a patient sip of his boba tea. It’s a brown sugar milk tea, and far too sweet for Albus, who tends to stick with a basic earl grey (or on his more adventurous days, a fifty-percent sweetness taro milk tea.)

“Albus.” Polly says, breathless. He can hear seagulls in the background of the call and wonders where on earth she could be. “If I promise to give you the details when I have the details to give, can you do me a massive favour?”

Albus sits up straighter. Scorpius, likely able to make out Polly’s voice, raises his eyebrows with interest.

“What is it?”

“I’ll tell you when I know. Can you do me the favour?” Her voice is wind-warped over the phone, but she sounds almost giddy.

“Of course.”

“If my parents call to ask if I’m staying round at yours with the gang tonight, can you tell them I am? Your mum’s super cool right? Cool and hot?”

Albus splutters for a moment. “I don’t think I’d call my own mother hot—”

“Well, I would. She’s fucking gorgeous, Alb. But she’d be down to help cover if they call you guys?”

Ignoring the first half of that and Scorpius’ little laugh against his straw, he says, “Yeah, of course, Pol. She’s well aware they’re insane.”

“God. Thank you. You’re the best!”

“Where are you, anyway?”

“I’m in Brighton with Yann. We’re spending the night!”

Scorpius meets his own look of shock with wide eyes. Albus watches his face split across with a grin and matches his enthusiastic, silent flapping with a hopeful gesture of his own.

“What the fuck? You’re kidding?”

“I’m really, really not. He’s just grabbing us ice cream. It was total spur of the moment, he’s booked us a hotel and everything.”

“That’s awfully romantic. One bed?” Albus asks, grinning when Scorpius laughs and kicks his shoes under the table.

“Shut up, I don’t know. Maybe.” He can hear the smile in her voice and feels lighter than air. “I hope so.”

“I need every detail of this,” he says.

Scorpius reaches over for the phone and pulls it towards him. “We need every detail, because I’m here too and therefore an accomplice. Polly, oh my god.”

Albus hears her laugh and the tinny echo of her reply, “Scorpius, I think I’m going to die, I’ve never been this happy.”

“I hope you brought protection.” He teases.

Albus pulls the phone back in time to hear her say, “I didn’t even bring pyjamas, I didn’t know this was happening!”

“Well, with any luck you won’t be needing them.”

“Oh my god,” she repeats again, sounding scandalised and thrilled. “I don’t even know if this is— whatever we—you—think it is, I just don’t know,”

“But it sounds like it, doesn’t it?” Albus beams.

“Yeah,” Polly admits quietly. She’s hopeful. Albus is so goddamn hopeful for her. “Fuck, he’s coming back. God, he’s perfect. Albus, he’s fucking perfect.” The raw excitement in her voice gives Albus a second-hand thrill. “You’ll cover for me?”

“Absolutely, don’t worry about a thing.”

“Thank you so much, I love you. I love Scorpius.”

“You love Yann—”

“Okay, shut up, I’m going. You’re the best! Bye! Byebyebye!”

She hangs up. Albus and Scorpius stare at one another, twin face splitting grins, and grab each other’s hands over the table to wave them about with vigour.

“Holy shit,” Scorpius squeaks. “Brighton!? With Yann?”

“They’re one hundred percent going to shag and admit they’re in love,” Albus says, “fucking hell.”

“Fucking hell.” Scorpius agrees. “Wow, I wonder how long Yann’s been planning that.”

“Don’t know, the sly bastard.” Albus takes a sip of his tea. He lets out a long, deep sigh afterward. “God," he breathes, "I hope they kiss.”

There’s a hint of something in the way that Scorpius is watching him. Albus’ excitement stutters for a moment and trips into trepidation. Beneath the table, Scorpius locks their ankles together.

“I hope they do more than kiss.” His eyes lock with Albus’ with unexpected intensity. Against his will, Albus lets out a nervous laugh. He feels pinned down. “The tension between them is getting unbearable.”

“It’ll be good for them, whatever happens,” he says in an attempt to brush past it. Scorpius takes a sip of his drink and Albus has to look away when he hollows his cheeks. He glances down at his thumb. “But it would be nice if they come back a couple.”

“They will.” Scorpius says, so sure. “Craig is going to lose it. I think he has a bet with Karl.”

Albus, who knows Craig has a bet with Karl, simply says, “I just hope they’re happy.”

When Scorpius smiles at him, Albus feels himself settle.

“They are.” Scorpius says. “They will be.”

-

By the time Polly calls him the next evening, Albus’ stomach is in knots for her. Their groupchat is rarely ever this silent, but with two of the main contributors on a secret getaway in Brighton, the rest of the gang have had no choice but to stew and speculate.

“What happened?” is his greeting. He wastes no time in pulling his bedroom door closed and curling up against the headboard of his bed. “Did you have sex?”

Polly’s laugh is like a soothing balm against his worries. “What happened to hello?” She asks. “What happened to how are you?”

“Hello,” Albus dutifully repeats, “how are you, did you have sex?”

“Hmmm,” she hums, which could either be her deciding whether or not to tell him or an answer in and of itself. She sounds like she’s smiling.

“Okay,” Albus relents, “fine, keep your secrets even though you promised me details in exchange for that favour.”

“I just want to make sure you’re ready for this,” she says, and that’s when Albus knows it’s going to be good.

-

It is good.

It’s so good he doesn’t even mind that he now knows more about Yann’s tongue than he’s ever needed to know in his life. Like, an hour and twenty-eight minutes worth of phone call level of knowledge about Yann’s tongue. And the ice cream, and the candle-lit dinner, and the walk on the beach, and the flowers, and the confession, and the sex. Polly is happy and that’s the most important thing. Yann is happy too, and that’s the second most important thing.

Karl owes Craig fifty pound. He is dignified about it, but only because Matt is there and he’s trying not to scare him off so early into their relationship. He claims it’s a small price to pay for finally seeing the two of them get it together.

“I wasn’t betting against you,” he clarifies, reaching out and taking their hands, “I always wanted this to happen! You just got there a little quicker than I thought.”

Yann and Polly (with their shiny new labels Capital B Boyfriend and Capital G Girlfriend) are very gracious about it, even though Polly kicks Craig in the shin and demands at least half of his winnings.

Seeing them click so perfectly into place, like they were always going to, is bittersweet. Albus despises himself for it, but seeing them with everything they’ve ever wanted just reminds him of how dismal his own prospects are.

But Polly squeezes his hand and Scorpius kisses him after a glass of wine and it has to be enough.

-

Albus looks at himself in the mirror. His reflection, unimpressed, looks back at him. People tend to assume he thinks pretty highly of himself to be as judgemental as he is. In reality, it is the exact opposite.

“I’m going to be normal tonight.” He tells the rumpled boy in the mirror. The green eyes he’s looking into call him a liar.

His phone lights up on the bathroom sink. A hum of vibration on the porcelain. It’s Scorpius, because of course it is.

Scorpius: pls tell me you’re not going to ditch tonight

Scorpius: you’re the only reason I’m going

Albus doubts that.

Albus: I’ll be there

Scorpius: good

Scorpius: I stole some of that gin you like from dad’s cabinet so you better!!!

Scorpius: promise I’ll make it worth your while

Albus has to put the phone down and stare at himself again. He can see the liar written on his forehead so clearly it might as well be tattooed.

-

It starts, as it so often does, with a girl.

In theory, this is fine. Albus can understand, god, can Albus understand, why they’re all so drawn to Scorpius. There’s an inherent magnetism about him. A kindness, a charm. He’s safe. He’s beautiful too, of course, but it goes deeper than that. His very soul is made of sunlight. He’ll keep you warm.

In practice, Albus stands against a wall, watching while Scorpius entertains whatever frivolous conversation this new girl is making with him and tries to remind himself that women are not his enemy just because they are fighting for the same limited resource.

In practice, Albus wishes the entire town would disappear just so he could finally be alone with Scorpius. Just so he could stop spending his days, his money, his time, on finding ways to get him away from everyone else. So he could pull a shirt out of his wardrobe and not immediately think would Scorpius like this? and then follow it up with who cares what Scorpius thinks and then eventually admit to his traitorous self I do.

In practice, Albus wonders what would happen if he stopped waiting for some kind of confession that clearly isn’t coming and took matters into his own hands. If he could summon even a pinch of the courage and bravery of his family, of Yann Fucking Fredericks, and tell Scorpius how he feels and find the grace to accept whatever his answer might be without having a Carrie-esque meltdown and destroying the whole town and imploding his entire life.

All of that goes flying out the window when she leans up to press her lips to his.

This is how it ends.

Albus short-circuits. A switchboard lights up. There’s a short, sharp, hysterical laugh that cuts his mouth when it bursts its way out of him. She’s kissing Scorpius. His Scorpius. Everyone knows he’s his Scorpius. Don’t they? Is he? Has Albus overthought and overestimated this whole thing? Is the whole world spinning or is it just him getting dizzy with the force of surprise? The sudden loss? Is he standing in a pool of his own blood?

He’s always known that girls have wanted to do this with Scorpius, but he’s never actually seen it happen. For all his fears and the lingering scab of a belief he’s picked at time and time again, the thought that he’s just passing the time with you, there will come a day he’ll find a girl, someone he’s supposed to want, and leave you and this teenage exploration behind, he never truly thought he’d be standing there, front row, to witness it.

Without thinking he lurches forward, his body pulling him to Scorpius. The magnetism, his fucking polarity, that Scorpius can’t help, even now, even in this circumstance, draws Albus to him.

He’s angry. Yes, that’s what he thinks he’s feeling. It's anger. He’s so angry. He doesn’t even know what he’s going to do. It burns in its intensity. He’s having visions of ripping that girl off of him and turning to the room and screaming anybody else!??!

It’s ridiculous. It’s unhinged, but he can’t see clearly. The sense of loss is profound. All he can see is her mouth on his and the look of surprise on his face, but he’s kissing her back. He’s kissing her back. He’s kissing her back he’s kissing her back he’s kissing her back and Albus is—

Yanked to the side.

“No,” It’s Yann, his voice low and empathetic with a hand tight around Albus’s bicep. Karl’s beside him with wide, shell-shocked eyes. “No, Albus.” He shakes his head for emphasis, like Albus maybe can’t hear him. “Don’t do this here. Leave them be.”

But when he turns back, both Scorpius and the girl are gone.

“Oh,” Albus murmurs with sudden alarming clarity, stomach churning. “I’m going to be sick.”

-

“I’ve been looking for you all night.” Scorpius says at around one in the morning. It’s a lie. Albus hates that it’s a lie. “Are you mad at me?”

Albus turns to face him. His cheeks are pink, and his hair is delightfully mussed. He looks like an angel. Or maybe, actually some kind of devil. Albus turns back to the garden and shakes his head. His knee bounces something chronic in the chill.

“Albus, it’s cold out here. Come inside.”

What is there to say? I just watched my entire world fall apart and even if it’s cold out here I can’t be in there with you? I can’t bear to see the shattered glass on the floor where all my stupid figurines have fallen? I’m worried that I’ll step in it. That I’ll want to. That you’ll let me.

“You’ll catch your death, Albus, please.”

Albus turns back to him with a defiant rage catching fire within him. He wants Scorpius to burn too.

“You do lead people on.” He says.

“What?” It’s a needless question. Scorpius’ face says he knows exactly what Albus is talking about and is purely hoping he misheard. Which is boring and beneath him.

“You laughed at me, but you do. It’s not funny and it’s not nice.”

“Albus,” He sighs, leaning against the doorway and running a hand over his face. “She kissed me.”

“And why do you think that is?”

Scorpius can’t answer that question, apparently. “I pushed her straight off.”

“No, you didn’t. You kissed her back.”

Scorpius grimaces.

“Okay.” It’s a painful concession. Part of Albus wishes he’d fight him harder on that. If he’s going to play naïve he could at least put some heart into it. “Is that such a crime? Am I not allowed a moment of surprise and reflex?”

“You’re allowed whatever you like, you’ve never needed my permission for that. For anything. I don’t know why you’re trying to justify this to me.”

“Then why are you angry?”

“I’ve told you why. You lead people on.”

“I despise that you’re talking about this as if you mean some, anonymous or hypothetical group of people and not yourself.” He pauses. Takes a cautious step closer to where Albus is sitting. “That’s what you’re accusing me of, isn’t it? Leading you on. Specifically.”

This is a humiliation ritual. It must be. Why else would Scorpius make him spell out something that is so obvious that you could ditch the stars and just use the blinding magnitude of Albus’s feelings for navigation?

“Do you deny it?” he asks instead.

“I deny doing anything to purposefully hurt, confuse or upset you, yes. I apologise, sincerely, if that’s the case, but don’t you think it’s better for us to talk about it instead of making vague comments and hiding from each other?”

The self-righteousness pisses him off. Like Scorpius is doing him a favour by being the bigger person. Albus shuts down.

“I’m too drunk for this.” He sighs, even if the reality is he sobered up more than an hour ago, and lays his head in his hand.

“Right.” Scorpius kicks at the patio with his boots. A stupidly boyish move in shoes too fancy to warrant it. “Is that your answer then?”

“To what?” He sits up straight. “I’m angry with you, I’m too drunk for this,” He lists on his fingers as he speaks, “you lead people on, I adore you anyway. You know all of this, so I’m not sure what the point is. I don’t want to talk about any of it. I’m going home.”

When Albus pushes to his feet, Scorpius takes a step forward. His arms are crossed, but his eyes are imploring.

“Will you let me walk you, at least?” He says.

Albus scoffs. “I’m not a dog.”

Scorpius doesn’t dignify that with a response. Privately, Albus thinks that’s probably for the best.

“Let me grab your jacket. Please don’t go anywhere.” Scorpius ducks back inside and Albus shifts his weight from foot to foot in an attempt to keep warm. He’s beginning to regret turning down Karl’s earlier offer to share a joint with him, at least the smoke would’ve warmed him up.

“You ready?” Scorpius asks him once he’s back. He hands Albus his jacket which he shrugs on begrudgingly.

“How will you get home after?”

“Uber, probably.” Scorpius shrugs.

Albus scoffs but doesn’t quite look at him.

“Don’t be fucking stupid.”

-

The walk home is unbearably quiet. Probably the only thing more unbearable would be if Scorpius tried to talk to him. He doesn’t link his arm through Albus’ like he usually would, for which Albus is both irritated and grateful. It's not a particularly long walk, but it feels it under the circumstances. Albus' mind races the whole way and Scorpius' dutiful presence keeps him on edge. They've never done something like this without speaking, and knowing that they're both full of unspoken words just makes the strangeness even more pronounced.

His house stands out in the dimly lit street, thanks to his parents leaving the outside lights on for him. When they reach the driveway, Albus feels the tension overflow and finally turns to Scorpius.

“You know, it’s exactly things like this that confuse me.” He says, hands in his pockets and not quite meeting his eye. “I read too much into them.”

Scorpius lets out a breath, not quite a sigh, but a reaction nonetheless. When he turns to face Albus, he looks tired.

“Have you ever considered that maybe you read exactly the right amount?”

He pulls a half pint bottle of gin out of his pocket and slips it into Albus’s hand. An offering, the likes of which Albus can’t decipher. He looks at it, a flurry of emotions swirling inside him, and then back up at Scorpius.

“Wonderful. If I drink it, will you kiss me?”

Scorpius crosses his arms and looks away. His face is tight.

“What?” Albus prompts, unscrewing the lid. “That’s how this goes, right?”

It’s a dare. It’s a taunt. It’s mouthier than he probably actually is, but he’s tired of biting his tongue.

“I think that’s more your rule than mine.” Scorpius says with a frown. He watches where Albus holds the drink up to his lips.

He doesn’t take a sip, but he holds it there in limbo, waiting to see what Scorpius will do. If anything. “Interesting thing to say. When have you ever kissed me without a drink in hand?”

“When have you ever wanted me to?”

Albus rolls his eyes and bites the bullet. He takes a swig, squeezing his eyes against the burn as he swallows, then screws the lid back on.

“I think I’ve already answered that question.” He says, and then slips the bottle into his own pocket. “Tell your dad thanks from me.”

“I’ll tell him no such thing. He doesn’t know I took it, I’d rather it stays that way.”

Albus inclines his head. “Naturally.”

There’s a lingering pause. Albus knows they’re stalling. If they go inside where his family are asleep, all serious conversation will have to cease. Isn’t that what he wants? And yet, Albus is allowing the stalling to go on. In the quiet, he takes another swig of the gin just to be annoying.

“Do you want me to kiss you now then?” Scorpius says when Albus puts the bottle away for a second time. Albus doesn’t like the way he’s looking at him, if only because he usually likes it too much. “Is that what all that was about?”

“God, no,” Albus barks a humourless laugh. He takes a half step back from where Scorpius has started to advance and wipes at his mouth. “I don’t want you anywhere near me after you’ve kissed someone else.”

“Albus.”

“Scorpius.”

Scorpius crosses his arms again. “I said I was sorry.”

“Cool.”

Albus definitely doesn’t want to have this conversation. For all the times he’s wanted answers, the tantalising promise of context, right now all he wants to do is press pause on the interaction and go inside. Go to bed. End this nightmare of an evening and hopefully wake up tomorrow to find that none of it ever happened.

“Is it? Because it doesn’t feel like it is.”

“And why is that?” Albus shoots back, losing patience. “I don’t see any reason why it wouldn’t be. Let’s just go inside.”

Scorpius doesn’t budge. “It’s not cool because it upset you.”

Albus stares back at him. He bites back the words threatening to spill from his lips and just looks at him. Scorpius looks back, eyes searching.

“It upset you because it made you think that I don’t think there’s anything between us. Isn’t that right?”

Something creeps down Albus’ spine and makes him want to squirm. He fights the urge by gritting his teeth.

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.” The slow, unimpressed drawl of Albus’s words are a direct contrast to his rapidly beating heart.

Scorpius is undeterred. “That’s why you accuse me of leading people on, because I made you think I don’t take any of this seriously.”

“Why would you?” Albus can’t help himself from answering. “We get drunk, we make-out. I gave you a subpar handjob once. I wouldn’t say it’s particularly serious stuff.”

The pink of Scorpius’ face is probably from the cold, but the red tips of his ears feel like a point in Albus’ favour. They’ve never discussed the single time Albus got him off. It feels wrong to weaponise it like this, but there is an infinite satisfaction in acknowledging it aloud that overrules the wrongness. It forces Scorpius to pause. For a brief moment his eyes go distant and Albus wonder if he’s also hearing the broken oh echoing in his head. His hand twitches.

Visibly pulling himself back to the present, Scorpius presses valiantly on. “But your feelings are.” Albus wishes he’d give it up as he feels his momentary victory sliding back out of reach. “My feelings certainly are.”

Floundering in the face of that, Albus gives a helpless shrug. “Okay? But you’ll still kiss someone else, and you’ll entertain every pretty girl trying to flirt you into a corner, you don’t have to do those things, you choose to.”

“I’m friendly, Albus, I’m a polite person.”

He is sick to death of hearing the same old refrain. He snaps.

“Well, forgive me if I don’t understand that because the only person I want to be friendly with is you!”

“What about our friends?” Scorpius says, managing to entirely miss the point.

“It’s not the same.” Albus has to pause to collect himself. His breath is close to heaving, which is embarrassing, but his heart is beating too fast to stop it. “If you think my relationship with Polly, or Craig, or even Yann or Karl is anything like my relationship with you then you haven’t been paying attention.” Albus says. “It will never be the same because they’re not you.”

Scorpius looks at him. It’s devastating. He shouldn’t be able to look at Albus like that and affect him in the way that he does. No one should have that kind of power over him. But, somehow, Scorpius does. He always has. Albus has been helpless since the day he met him.

“Albus…”

If there’s one thing Albus can’t stand, it’s pity.

“It’s cold out here.” He deflects, turning away. “Come inside if you’re coming.”

-

Scorpius follows him in. The house is quiet, and they both know it well enough to avoid the floorboards that creak. Albus flicks off the lights and locks the door behind him, toeing off his shoes.

“Should I take the couch?” Scorpius whispers. Albus flinches away from where his lips brush his ear.

He frowns at him. “Don’t be stupid.” He whispers back.

-

They’re settled in Albus’ bed. It is, to say the least, a little tense. Albus is so tired though, physically and mentally, that he can’t find it in him to hold his body as stiff as Scorpius is.

“I really messed up tonight, didn’t I?” his voice is loud with shame in the quiet of the night.

It is all Albus can do to find the energy to whisper back, “I don’t know, Scorpius.”

He goes silent again. Albus lets his eyes fall shut. Scorpius is here with him now, that’s what matters most. Everything else can wait.

“And I can’t kiss you?” He says it like he thinks it will fix things. It won’t.

Albus keeps his eyes shut. “Not tonight.”

“Not ever?”

With a sigh, he blinks his eyes open again. He doesn’t answer that, mostly because it seems like an incredibly stupid question with an incredibly obvious answer. But then Scorpius is shuffling closer, tapping Albus’ knee with his finger, a careful, gentle thing, and whispering, “I don’t know what’s going on with us and it frightens me.”

Albus looks at him. At his anxious face lit only by a stripe of a streetlight through a gap in his curtains. He sees where Scorpius’s front teeth are hooked into the familiar flesh of his bottom lip and sighs.

“Albus, I don’t want to be doing any of this with anyone else. I want you to know that.”

Albus reaches over and takes Scorpius’s hand in his beneath the blanket. He squeezes, just for a moment. A concession. A release. Maybe a bit of forgiveness.

"Go to sleep.” He says, rubbing his thumb across Scorpius’ knuckles. “We can talk tomorrow.”

-

Scorpius is gone when Albus wakes up. Half asleep, he reaches his hand out and finds the other half of his bed warm, but unoccupied. It shouldn’t be unexpected, but Albus honestly hadn’t even considered the possibility when they’d gotten into bed. He heaves out a world-weary sigh and closes his eyes against the onslaught of demoralising memories. It doesn’t stop his stomach from churning.

He doesn’t blame Scorpius, not really. His behaviour last night comes back to him in flashes, and even in those brief snatches Albus knows that investigating further would only prove his point ten-fold. He’s grown greedy and sad, and he can’t fault Scorpius if he doesn’t enjoy being around Albus when he’s like that. It’s not Scorpius’ failing if the light of day has shone a new perspective on their relationship and Albus’ actions and he’s decided to get out of there as fast as he can.

In a truly, truly degrading move, Albus rolls over to the pillow Scorpius had used and inhales. He feels like a sick freak the whole time, but his toes curl with the feeling nonetheless. Albus will never be able to afford whatever high-end bullshit Scorpius uses in his hair, but he can certainly enjoy the scent of lavender it leaves in his wake, and in Albus’ bed. He can especially allow himself this perverted luxury when he’s as sure as he is that it’s the last time he’ll experience it.

When he finally convinces himself to face the day, and the crushing reality it brings, he heads straight for the bathroom. He’s scrolling through his notifications as he goes; drunk messages from Karl, Polly and Craig clutter his home screen, though the concerned ones from Yann are the hardest to look at. He’s just hitting send on a thumbs up to Yann when he looks up and finds Scorpius standing at the sink brushing his teeth.

Albus straightens up immediately with the mix of shock and relief. Thinking he was alone, he hadn’t been making any attempt to hide his defeated slouch and had been moving with the weight of the world on his shoulders. There’s red and purple bags beneath Scorpius’ eyes which, combined with the paleness of his skin and incredible blond of his hair, make him look half dead.

They lock eyes in the mirror and Albus feels it like a punch in the gut. Scorpius perks up slightly and offers him a wave and a hum as he cleans his teeth. Albus puts his phone on the counter and reaches for his toothbrush. The one that usually shares a glass with Scorpius’ spare.

Scorpius is just rinsing his mouth out when Albus’ phone starts buzzing. He peers up at him, likely wondering who, other than him, would be calling Albus this early on a Sunday.

[Incoming call: Yann F.]

He debates it for only three rings before he decides to answer.

“Hello?” Albus says. His voice is croaky and unused with sleep.

“Albus.” Yann greets softly. He speaks the way you would to a particularly nervous animal. Or a small child. It would be condescending if he weren’t always so earnest. “How are you feeling?”

Albus darts a glance to Scorpius beside him. Scorpius who has straightened up and is watching him in the mirror. Their twin reflections look every bit as unsure and uncomfortable as their real-life counterparts.

“Fine, really.”

“Are you sure? Things went pretty awful last night, I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

“Oh,” Albus feels, and sees, his face flush. He’s being seen in too many ways right now. He turns away from Scorpius but knows he can hear Yann’s tinny voice over the phone regardless. Really he should leave the room, but something has him frozen in place.

“I know I lost track of you after all of that happened and I feel really terrible about it. I was going to swing by and bring you some breakfast if you wanted to talk about it?”

“That’s really nice of you—”

“I mean, you were obviously really upset by it all and I want you to know that it’s completely understandable. I wasn’t meaning to undermine that when I stopped you from interrupting them. It was a really shit thing to have to see, especially given the circumstances, and I think that Scorpius—”

“Scorpius is here.” Albus blurts. Humiliated.

“Sorry?”

He takes a breath to steel himself and repeats. “Scorpius is here.”

“Ah.” Yann says. Albus can hear him breathing over the phone, that’s how quiet the three of them are. Scorpius shifts on his feet beside him. It feels like hours before Yann eventually says, “I see.”

Albus winces. “Yeah.”

“Hello,” Scorpius adds. He looks about as awkward as Albus feels when he risks a quick glance.

“Hi, Scorpius.” Yann’s pained voice answers. There’s a sigh over the line, and then, “Shall I leave you to it then, Alb?”

“Yeah.” Albus repeats. Struck stupid. His tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth “But thank you. You’re a good friend. A really good one.”

“I care a lot about you,” Yann agrees, “please call me later.”

“I will.”

When he hangs up, Albus stands half turned away from Scorpius with his phone dangling in one hand and his toothbrush in the other. He can only imagine what Scorpius is thinking. How pathetic he must look, to be having their friends calling to check up on him after Scorpius kissed someone else. How weak.

He moves like a robot as he places his phone mechanically onto the bench and then goes through the motions of cleaning his teeth. Scorpius is watching him the whole time. Albus won’t meet his eye, but that doesn’t mean he can’t see that Scorpius is staring.

“Albus.”

Albus is in the middle of rinsing his mouth out, so he’s not sure what Scorpius expects him to say. He spits into the sink and rinses the minty foam away.

“Albus, will you look at me?”

They are not doing this in a bathroom. They are certainly not doing this in the bathroom he shares with siblings. Instead of answering, Albus pockets his phone and walks back to his room, letting Scorpius follow.

Scorpius closes the bedroom door behind him, trapping them together in Albus’ room with nowhere to hide. Albus is nothing if not an expert in avoidance though and begins pulling on his duvet to make the bed, bustling around and avoiding eye contact. He’s not stupid, he knows he can’t avoid this forever, but if he can just put it off a little longer, just until he’s regained some sense of dignity, then he will. Scorpius stands leaning against the door. He’s looking at Albus, but Albus isn’t looking back to know what expression is on his face.

“Are you going to clean the whole room?” Scorpius asks when Albus moves on to sorting out his desk.

“I could, it probably needs it.” Albus answers as flippantly as he can. There’s a pamphlet from the takeaway place Karl likes that he’s been meaning to put… somewhere else. Oh well, he supposes it can stay on the desk.

“Albus, I want to apologise to you and have a proper conversation.” Scorpius says. “You said we could talk tomorrow, and it’s tomorrow. So, can we talk?”

Albus drops his head back and closes his eyes. It’s difficult to steel himself for a conversation like this, when their entire friendship has always been so open and honest. Aside from this admittedly huge development in their relationship, Albus and Scorpius have never not been able to talk about something. Albus should be going into this with vulnerability, but it goes against his nature to openly admit feelings of this type and strength to someone. But then again, this isn’t just anyone, this is Scorpius.

“We can talk,” he relents, in a slow, cautious drawl. It admittedly sounds a little sarcastic, but then Albus usually sounds a little sarcastic. “What do you want to talk about?”

Scorpius fixes him with a look and Albus finds it in himself to fix him with one right back. He leans back against the desk and crosses his arms. Scorpius eyes the gesture and then looks wearily back up at him.

“Are you going to fight me on this the whole way?”

Albus shrugs. He regrets it, but the gesture is second nature to him. When he’s feeling this out of control he tends to revert to defensive teenager whether he wants to or not. With effort, he uncrosses his arms.

“I don’t want to.” He admits. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands now. He settles for leaning them back against the table for the moment. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I want to apologise to you,” Scorpius repeats, taking a couple steps closer to Albus and putting them almost within arm’s reach. “I’m really sorry that I upset you last night with my carelessness. It was a thoughtless thing to do.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Albus is quick to argue.

“I wish you’d stop saying that,” Scorpius’ eyes flash like lightening in an oncoming storm. “I did. I hurt you.”

Unable to deny that, or even speak, Albus gives a sharp nod to confirm. He crosses his arms again. He looks somewhere, anywhere else. He’s not sure what else he can do, acknowledging the reality of this aloud doesn’t feel like an option with the way his throat closes up.

“That’s what I did wrong.” Scorpius says. Like a conclusion to an essay.

Albus feels unstitched, Scorpius picking him open, thread by painful, scabbed thread. It doesn’t feel right, to be apologised to. It’s unnatural, and in this case, it’s wrong. He doesn’t know how Scorpius can stand there and argue that if a adds to b then therefore c as if any of this is logical or so easily summarised. Albus feels like he’s tricked him. He’s done something and convinced Scorpius the earth is flat. Everybody knows that Albus is angsty and dramatic, but that isn’t Scorpius’ fault.

“I don’t want you to think that I think I own you,” Albus gets out after an internal struggle. “I know I’m… possessive,” he swallows hard around the lump in his throat, “and jealous, but you don’t owe me anything. I don’t want to control you. If you want to kiss other people, you’re allowed. I’m sorry that my reaction was so…” he trails off, waving a hand and gesturing to the show the disproportionate magnitude of it. “I ruined your night. I ruined the party.”

Scorpius smiles at him. Or, he tries to. It’s weak, fluttering like a fledgling.

“You didn’t ruin anything.” He murmurs. “Thank you for saying that, but I don’t want to kiss other people. It upsets me that you think I would.” He runs a hand through his hair, and when it falls back across his forehead in a messy wave Albus feels it in his knees. “I understand what you’re saying, but I don’t feel like you want to own me,” Scorpius continues, “my actions hurt you when I didn’t mean for them to and that’s why I’m apologising. Because I care about you and how I make you feel. Because I don't want you to think this," he gestures between them, ”doesn't mean anything to me."

The apology still doesn't feel right, but the explanation helps him to understand. The implication that the two of them are a this is powerful and unbelievable enough to stop him from caring about the rest. He feels the tension inside of him easing. Scorpius is here. Scorpius walked him home and stayed with him all night and he’s still here. It’s hard to be mad. He doesn’t want to be, and with a start, he realises he’s not. He's hopeful.

“Well.” Albus says. He fidgets with his hands, tugging at his thumb and then twisting his fingers together. It's hard to find the words. Scorpius speaks so freely, but Albus, for all his overthinking, can never work out how to say exactly what he means. Usually Scorpius can read him like a book, can read his underlying meaning and the things he leaves unsaid, but Albus doesn't want to leave room for doubt. “Thank you." He manages, carefully. "I’d also like to apologise for how I’ve made you feel, and for being… difficult. This means something to me too.”

“Thank you.” Scorpius’s smile is brighter now. Still soft, but surer. He steps into Albus’ space and takes his wriggling hands into his own. The look in his eyes is deep enough to drown in. They coax him in and, despite himself, Albus lets himself be pulled. He’s frighteningly, exhilaratingly close. “Are we alright then?”

“Yes.” Albus answers, honestly believing it. Scorpius has made his choice and somehow, it’s Albus. He’s never been better.

“Can I kiss you?” Scorpius asks. It’s barely a whisper and, really, barely a question. Albus is a predictable creature of wanting.

He doesn’t waste his time with nodding, just lifts his head and presses his parted lips to Scorpius’. It’s careful and sweet. It’s nothing like their necking at parties and there is no burn of alcohol on his tongue. Scorpius’ fingers press a touch firmer around Albus’ hands, which reminds Albus that he has hands, having momentarily lost focus on everything except his mouth and Scorpius’. He slides one to Scorpius’ hip, thumbing the dip in his waist, and the other to the warmth of his neck, kissing him deeper.

Scorpius makes a noise, only quiet, but in the silent Sunday morning of his room Albus hears it. He pulls back from Albus, eyes opening slowly to take him in, but then Albus is using the hand on his neck to pull him back in and Scorpius kisses him into the desk. He bites at Scorpius’ bottom lip and uses the ensuing gasp to lick into his mouth and pull the noise from him again. Scorpius’ own hands settle on Albus’ hips and anchor him in place as they kiss and kiss and start to learn each other sober.

It’s better. It’s a hundred times better, a thousand. Their mouths are minty, and they smell like warm bedsheets and each other. They’re alone and there is no pretending they don’t mean it. That they don’t know what they’re doing. That they’d be doing this with anyone if they got close enough. It’s intentional and it’s real.

Without breaking apart, Albus edges up to sit on his desk and Scorpius uses the grip on his hips to help him there. He moves into the space between Albus’ legs with a pleased sound and Albus nips at his lip again just to tease him.

Scorpius pulls back, pressing his lips to the corner of Albus’ mouth, then his cheek and then his forehead.

“I really like you,” he whispers, giddy and hushed like a secret he’s been waiting to share. Albus bites his lip and can’t help the grin he shoots back at him. “Just to be clear.”

“I really like you too,” he confesses. It’s an understatement, but it’ll do. Speaking his feelings aloud isn't an easy feat, but it's always easier with Scorpius. He’s brought his hands back to his lap and twists his fingers again. He can’t keep them still. They’re as energetic as the butterflies in his stomach.

Scorpius beams as bright as the morning sun coming through his window and then cups his cheeks to kiss him again. His soft eyelashes flutter against Albus’ face. Albus tries to kiss him deeper and lets out an embarrassing whine, pulled high and needy from the back of his throat, when Scorpius pulls back.

“You’re the only person I want to kiss,” Scorpius says. It twists his insides to hear it, and Albus whines again when Scorpius dodges his lips.

He’s just teasing, stupid grin on his face that cracks wider when Albus replies, “So kiss me, then.”

Scorpius delays with a playful, “What about you?”

“What about me?” Albus asks, tilting his head in Scorpius’ palms.

“Am I the only person you want to kiss?”

Albus wraps his hands into the hem of Scorpius’ shirt and uses it to tug him forward. He hooks his ankle around the back of Scorpius’ leg for good measure.

“You’re a prick,” he says without heat. Scorpius’ tongue pokes through his teeth in amusement. “You’re above stupid questions like that.”

Scorpius hums, his eyes sparkling, and relents. Albus wraps his arms around his neck and kisses him as thoroughly and messily as he wants.

“This is serious to me,” Scorpius gasps against his mouth. “I want you to know that.”

“Me too,” Albus presses into the space beside his lips.

“You’re all I want. I’ve never been leading you on.”

Albus nods, trying to direct their mouths back together. He’d thought he wanted to properly talk about everything. To get everything out in the open and clearly communicate their intentions. It turns out he doesn’t need that at all. Things are open and clear enough and now he just wants to kiss Scorpius until his lips are too sore to keep going.

“We don’t need to recap everything right now.” He says, running a hand up the back of Scorpius’ hair. He presses his tongue to the soft skin of Scorpius’ neck and kisses it like he’s been kissing his mouth, open and wanting. It’s like a reward when it makes Scorpius groan and jerk his hips hastily and unintentionally into Albus’.

“Okay.” He pants. “But the hand-job wasn’t subpar. I just want to say that.”

“Oh.” Albus pulls back. “Oh, I see.”

“I think about it a lot.” The daylily pink of Scorpius’ cheeks confirms this to be true. “I think about you a lot. Only ever you.”

Albus smiles, heart thumping. It’s a confession he’s only ever had sticky, sweaty dreams about. He leans in until their noses are just brushing before admitting quietly, “I really wanted to blow you.”

Scorpius drops his head onto Albus’ shoulder and lets out a shaky exhale. “Ah.” He says. It is a weighty syllable, shivering with promise.

Albus laughs, encouraging him closer with his ankle. He wraps his arms around Scorpius’ waist. “You knew that. I told you at the time.”

“I thought you were joking.” Scorpius mumbles into his shoulder.

“Mm,” Albus agrees. He can see the light in it now, no longer heavy with the rejection. “I was not.”

“Albus…” He says. It’s amazing how endearing it is to see Scorpius suddenly shy. Albus rubs his thumbs over Scorpius’ spine and presses another, sweeter, kiss to his neck. Then on his jaw.

“I’d only do that for you.” Albus says. “I adore you.”

“I don’t want to mess this up,” Scorpius says then, lifting his head and bracing his hands on Albus’ thighs. The look in his eye is serious and deeply hopeful. “I don’t want you to think this isn’t all encompassing for me. It’s not just… Sex and kissing. I like you, in a more than friends way. And if we’re going to do this I want us to be all in. No more miscommunication.”

“Dude.” Albus says. Scorpius frowns. Albus leans back on the desk and cocks his head. “I have been all in.”

“Yeah?”

Albus takes Scorpius’ hands in his. “Yeah.” He lifts one of the hands to his mouth and presses a kiss across his knuckles. Quieter, he says. “It’s nice to hear you say it though.”

“I mean it.”

Albus believes him. It’s a wonderful feeling. “I know you do. I do too.”

They’re kissing again before he knows it and the best part is that there’s no rush. They could very well do this all day. Albus hopes they do this all day. He hopes they do this all day every day.

A knock on the door interrupts them. When Scorpius jumps back, his lips are red and well on their way to swollen. Albus runs a quick hand over his own face and tingling lips. His voice cracks when he says, “Yeah?”

Lily opens the door. When she sees Albus sat on the desk and Scorpius lingering an awkward three feet away from him, both with lips spit-slick and swollen in an obvious tell, her grin is like a sharks’.

“Oh, hello.” She intones, leaning against the door frame. “I was sent to ask if you wanted breakfast, but I see you’ve already eaten each other’s faces.”

Scorpius ducks his head away, but Albus can see he’s hiding a grin.

“Fuck off, Lily.”

“Indeed.” She agrees, arching a brow and smirking. “Dad’s doing a fry up, so come downstairs if you want some.”

“Uh huh,” Albus huffs, “can you close the door?”

Lily flicks her triumphant hair over her shoulder and pulls the door shut. Just before it closes she sticks her head in to say, “I’m texting Craig about this!”

“Don’t text my friends!” Albus shouts after her. He can hear her cackle down the hallway.

-

By the time he remembers he was supposed to call Yann back at some point he has racked up the missed texts.

[New messages from: Yann Fredericks]

Yann: I’m really so sorry about that

Yann: Are you alright? Do you want me to come over?

Yann: Polly says you are probably alright

Yann: Actually, Polly says she thinks you’re having sex

Yann: ….are you having sex

Yann: Craig has reminded me that your family are home so you are Probably Not Having Sex

Yann: if things have gone badly I am extra sorry about these texts and I will still bring you breakfast

Yann: if you are having sex though you legally have to tell me after

Yann: I hope things are going okay please text me when you can we all love and care about you very, very much x

Albus snorts and after a moment’s hesitation, shows the chat to Scorpius. Scorpius, lying beside him on his bed, sniggers and presses a kiss to his cheek.

He whispers into Albus' ear. “Tell him you forgot to answer because we’ve been shagging each other red raw.”

Albus laughs and shoves him away. Scorpius rolls straight back, giggling. Hearing him laugh is momentarily so striking that Albus forgets to do anything except grin goofily back at him. He’s happy. They’re happy.

They tease and laugh and joke together coming up with a response. It’s the freest they’ve been around each other in quite some time, and they enjoy indulging in the ridiculous. When Albus texts back ‘no sex but fingers crossed. hot + sexy makeout with some over the clothes action tho so I am doing ok’, Scorpius is huffing laughter into his shoulder.

Yann replies, OMG??????????? HOPE YOU’RE NOT JOKING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and then adds send me a pic to prove you’re not lying.

Albus snaps a quick picture. It’s half his face, lips pursed into a pout, with Scorpius’ white blond hair brushing across his freckled cheeks. There is, unintentionally, a peek of a hickey just visible on Scorpius’ neck and, intentionally, a toothy smile on his face. He saves it to his camera roll and then hits send.

Yann’s ensuing, AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, about sums it up.

-

[Groupchat: The Gang]

Craig: I am happy for everybody, truly I am

Craig: I made a lot of money on it and I'm proud

Craig: that being said

Craig: I cannot be the only single person in this group

Craig: I won’t do it

Craig: I won’t

[Craig Bowker Jr. has left the chat]

Polly: wtf

Scorpius: :0

Albus: omg drama

[Polly Chapman has added Craig Bowker Jr. to the chat]

Craig: noooooo

Polly: you can’t escape us that easily bffr

Karl: craig! no!

Yann: Craig, I love you. I’ve always loved you. Don’t do this. Think of the children.

Craig: I am entering a slut era to counteract your boring monogamist ways so I hope you’re all very pleased with yourselves

Albus: very VERY pleased

Scorpius: yessir

Scorpius: 😋🍆💦👅🥵🤩🍑❤️‍🔥🎇🔛🔝‼️

Craig: oh gross nevermind!

-

It’s a Friday night and Albus’ wardrobe is strewn half across his room. He’s supposed to be around at Karl’s in half an hour for board-game-movie-night-maybe-we-go-clubbing???? and cannot for the life of him work out what to wear for such an unspecified evening. He’s comparing the sage green top that Polly got him for Christmas with his older, but ever reliable baby blue t-shirt when his phone dings.

Scorpius: are you as confused as me by what the fck we’re doing tonight???

Albus: YES

Albus: I have no idea what to wear

Scorpius: do you want me to come to yours first and help you figure it out??

Albus: yes pls <3

Scorpius: omw!!!!!!!! going to kiss you a lot when I get there btw!!!!!

Albus grins down at his phone.

Albus: I sure hope so!!!! see you soon!!!!