It's late in the Slytherin common room, the greenish light from the lake filtering through the high windows. Most students have gone to bed, but you’re still curled up on one of the leather sofas, a book open on your lap.

Theo is next to you. He's always next to you. His arm is draped over the back of the sofa, his fingers absently tracing small circles on your shoulder. His other hand rests on your knee, thumb moving back and forth in a slow, thoughtless rhythm.

His lips brush your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. Soft, unhurried. Like he's got nowhere else to be.