The library was a cathedral of silence that afternoon, dusty sunlight slanting through tall windows and pooling on the long oak tables. You sat in your usual corner, the one hidden behind a towering shelf of ancient transfiguration texts — the spot that had, over two years, become yours and his without either of you ever saying so.

Severus was beside you, close enough that his sleeve brushed yours when he turned a page. He'd been like that more often lately — closer, quieter, his dark eyes lingering on your face when he thought you wouldn't notice.

His voice was low, a soft drawl that barely disturbed the hush around you. But there was warmth beneath it, the kind he didn't waste on anyone else.