Chapter Text
“Slytherin!”
The word rang in Rin’s ears like a curse.
He sat frozen on the stool, fingers gripping the edge until his knuckles whitened. For a moment he thought the Sorting Hat was joking, that it had made a mistake, that it would change its mind if he just sat still enough. But the roar of applause from the Slytherin table left no room for denial.
Rin slid off the stool, jaw tight. He didn’t look at the Gryffindor table. He didn’t look at his brother.
Especially not at Sae.
Two weeks ago, they’d fought. Not a normal sibling fight—the kind that burned too deep to shrug off. Sae’s words had been as sharp as glass, and Rin’s reply had been worse. He still heard them when he closed his eyes.
“You’ll never catch up to me.”
“I don’t want to be anything like you anyway.”
A lie. A stupid, ugly lie.
Rin had wanted Gryffindor because Sae had been placed there, because for all his bitterness he still wanted to be near him, to prove that he belonged by his side. But now…
Now he was walking toward the Slytherin table, every step heavier than the last.
The Slytherins welcomed him with claps on the back and smug smirks, but Rin barely registered them. His gaze flickered once—just once—toward Gryffindor. He caught the outline of Sae’s shoulders among the older students. Sae didn’t turn his head. Didn’t even acknowledge him.
Something sank in Rin’s stomach.
Fine. He didn’t care. He’d prove himself without Sae. He’d burn brighter in a different house. He’d—
“Eat,” one of the prefects said, sliding a plate toward him. Rin muttered a thanks, though the food turned to ash in his mouth.
That night, the dorms were a blur of green banners, stone walls, and unfamiliar faces. Everyone else seemed to settle in easily, talking about Quidditch or exchanging names. Rin sat on the edge of his bed, unpacking slowly, careful with every fold as if neatness could make up for the chaos inside him.
But then, a knock at the door. A prefect again, frowning.
“Itoshi Rin?”
“…Yeah?”
“Room assignment error. You’re not supposed to be here. Come with me.”
Rin’s brow furrowed, but he obeyed. Maybe this was it—the Hat had been wrong, maybe they’d fix it, maybe he could—
But no. The prefect led him down another hall, up a staircase, and stopped at a single door at the end. “You’ll be rooming here. Temporary situation. Your roommate doesn’t have one anymore, so you’re paired with him until further notice.”
The prefect left before Rin could ask who him was.
Rin stood in the corridor, suitcase in hand, staring at the heavy wooden door. His pulse quickened, though he didn’t know why. He exhaled slowly, pressed down the handle, and pushed it open—
The room was quiet when Rin stepped inside.
Two beds, two desks, two wardrobes. One side lived in sheets twisted, quills scattered, a broomstick propped in the corner. The other side—bare. Waiting.
Rin set his suitcase down on the empty bed. He unpacked in silence, folding his robes into neat stacks, lining his books by size and subject. The act calmed him. Precision was something he could control. Unlike the Sorting. Unlike Sae.
When he was finished, Rin stood back and looked at the space. His side of the room was already orderly, stripped of personality but undeniably his. He dragged a hand through his hair and let out a quiet breath.
Sixteen. He’d be sixteen soon.
And what then? What was he even doing here?
The school was supposed to be a chance—a chance to sharpen his skills, to find his place. But what did that mean if Sae was already out there, two years ahead, dazzling professors, earning accolades, leaving Rin in his shadow?
They barely spoke now. Different houses, different circles.
That was good, Rin told himself. Distance meant fewer reminders. Fewer stabs in the chest every time someone compared them.
He sank onto the bed. The sheets smelled faintly of stone and dust, but it was fine. Everything was fine. He would make it fine.
Rin lay back, staring at the ceiling until his eyes grew heavy. He let himself drift, his thoughts a blur of green banners, Sae’s turned back, and the question he hated most—What if I never catch up?
Sleep claimed him before he could find the answer.
Rin stirred. Something cold brushed against his face—like a draft, but sharper, deliberate. His eyes fluttered open.
A face.
Too close.
A man, tall, older, leaning over him with a grin that was all teeth and mischief.
Rin’s heart lurched. Instinct took over. He shoved hard, sending the intruder stumbling back with a laugh.
“Oi, violent much?” the man drawled, catching his balance with infuriating ease. His hair was blond with pink strike, almost white under the lamplight, and his eyes gleamed with an energy Rin instantly disliked. “You’re even prettier up close, though. Not a bad way to wake up.”
Rin sat up, pulse still racing, scowl carved deep into his face. “Who the hell are you?”
The man spread his arms, as if announcing himself on stage. “Shidou Ryusei. Your charming, devastatingly handsome roommate. Two years your senior, but don’t let that intimidate you, kid.”
Rin blinked, stunned into silence for a beat. Then, “…You’re my roommate?”
“Bingo.” Shidou dropped onto his bed with a thud, sending a pile of quills rolling off the desk. He didn’t even look when one snapped under his boot. “Guess you’re the replacement they saddled me with. Not bad, though—I was starting to get lonely without anyone to annoy.”
Rin gritted his teeth. “I’m not here to entertain you.”
Shidou smirked, kicking back on his pillow. “Don’t worry, princess. Just existing is entertaining enough.”
Rin’s glare could’ve cut glass. He already regretted ever closing his eyes, “…Sure.”
Unbothered, Shidou then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “So, Rin, right? Tell me something about you. Favorite spell? Least favorite class? Darkest secret?”
“No.”
“No what?”
“No, I’m not telling you anything.” Rin pulled his blanket tighter, as if that might ward him off.
Shidou whistled low. “Cold, huh? That’s fine. I’ll break you in. We’ve got a whole year together, roomie.” He grinned, sharp and bright, like this was the best news in the world.
Rin turned his face toward the wall, already done with the conversation. Silence stretched, but Shidou didn’t seem bothered. He hummed under his breath, tapped out a rhythm on his desk, rummaged through a bag and muttered about missing socks.
Eventually, Rin muttered, “Can you keep it down?”
“Sure, sure.” A pause. Then Shidou, softer, “Night, Rin.”
Rin didn’t answer. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe evenly. But sleep came slower this time, disrupted by the weight of a presence far too loud to ignore.
Morning crept in through the enchanted windows, pale light spilling over stone walls and green-draped beds. Rin was already awake.
He’d been up for a while, silently reorganizing the top shelf of his wardrobe. Robes lined in color order. Books stacked cleanly on the desk. Wand polished. Everything squared away. His side of the room already looked like he’d lived there for months, though he’d only arrived the night before.
The other side looked like a battlefield.
Shidou Ryusei had returned sometime after Rin drifted back to sleep, judging by the mess left in his wake. His trunk lay open at the foot of his bed, robes half-dangling out, one boot tossed in the corner while the other rested on the desk. A pair of socks—striped, horribly bright—hung from the bedpost like a flag.
Rin pressed his lips together. He didn’t even want to look at the floor.
Behind him, the bedsprings squeaked. Shidou yawned loudly, stretching out like a cat. “Morning, roomie~.”
Rin didn’t answer.
“C’mon,” Shidou pressed, dragging himself up on one elbow. His hair was a wild halo, sticking out in directions Rin didn’t think possible. “Don’t tell me you’re the type to sulk before breakfast. That’s depressing.”
“I’m not sulking.” Rin adjusted the angle of a quill on his desk. “I’m trying to live in peace.”
Shidou barked a laugh, rubbing his face with one hand. “Peace? In this room? Hate to break it to you, princess, but I’m not exactly the peaceful type.”
“I noticed.” Rin’s gaze flicked to the heap of clothes on the floor. “Do you always live like that?”
Shidou followed his eyes, then shrugged. “Yeah. Makes it easier to find stuff.”
Rin stared at him. “How.”
“Simple. If I throw it all in one place, I only have to look in one place.”
It was so stupid Rin couldn’t even reply. He turned back to his books, muttering under his breath.
Unfazed, Shidou swung his legs off the bed and rummaged through his trunk. Every movement was loud, leather creaking, fabric rustling, items clattering to the floor. Rin flinched when a small metal case fell open, spilling what looked like enchanted marbles across the stone. They rolled under his bed.
“Oops,” Shidou said casually. “Mind passing me those if you find ‘em later?”
Rin’s head snapped up. “They’re under my bed.”
“Yeah, that’s why I said later.”
“Unbelievable.” Rin pinched the bridge of his nose.
Shidou grinned, unabashed, then pulled out a green-and-silver scarf and wrapped it dramatically around his shoulders. “Admit it, I brighten this place up. You’d be bored stiff without me.”
“I was bored before. It was better.”
“That’s cold, Rinny.” Shidou flopped back onto his bed, still in yesterday’s shirt, his scarf trailing across his chest like a sash. “But don’t worry. I’ll warm you up.”
Rin refused to look at him. He stacked his books higher, carefully aligning the corners. “I don’t need warming up and don’t call me–!”
“Everyone needs something. You just don’t know it yet.”
The words hung there, careless but oddly weighty. Rin shoved the last book into place, harder than necessary, and stood up. He wouldn’t give Shidou the satisfaction of a reply.
Behind him, Shidou chuckled. A low, satisfied sound.
Classes were fine.
That was the best Rin could say about them.
He sat near the front, quill scratching steadily across parchment, answering when called on and otherwise keeping his head down. His yearmates—most of them younger, still buzzing with the novelty of their first week—whispered and laughed behind him. He didn’t join in. He didn’t want to.
The professors didn’t bother him either. They seemed satisfied with his work, though a few raised brows when he delivered answers too quickly. Rin ignored it. He wasn’t here to show off. He wasn’t here to make friends.
When the bells rang for lunch, he gathered his books and followed the tide of students toward the Great Hall.
The hall was massive, ceiling enchanted to show a pale stretch of sky, sunlight filtering through drifting clouds. Long tables divided by house colors ran the length of the room, alive with chatter. The scent of roasted chicken and baked bread rolled in waves.
Rin hesitated at the entrance, eventually slipped into the Great Hall with the other Slytherin first-years, trailing behind without bothering to learn their names. The chatter and clatter of cutlery rolled over him, familiar yet suffocating.
He only wanted a seat, a plate, and silence.
Head down, he moved through the crowd, weaving between robes and benches. Just as he was about to slide into an empty spot, his shoulder collided hard with someone else’s.
The impact jolted him. Rin muttered a quick, “Sorry,” without looking up—until the voice answered back.
“…Rin?”
His stomach dropped.
Rin’s eyes snapped up, and there he was—Itoshi Sae. Sharp as ever in his Gryffindor robes, emerald and gold flashing in the candlelight. The brother he hadn’t spoken to properly in months, maybe longer.
For a second, neither moved. The crowded hall kept buzzing around them, but Rin felt pinned in place, breath caught in his throat.
Sae’s expression didn’t change much, only the faintest flicker in his eyes, but Rin knew that look—it was recognition and distance all at once. Heat crept up Rin’s neck. He wanted to turn, vanish, anything. But his body betrayed him, rooted to the spot with all the unsaid things between them pressing in.
Before either of them could speak, a loud voice cut through the air.
“Oi, Sae-chan!”
The voice was loud enough to ripple through the Great Hall. An arm hooked itself easily around Sae’s shoulders, pulling him into a half embrace he didn’t return. Rin’s eyes widened.
Shidou Ryusei, with that wolfish grin, leaned in far too close. “You’re lookin’ extra pretty today. Did you miss me?”
The Gryffindor didn’t even flinch. He stood as if rooted to stone, letting the arm stay there, letting the words slide off him like rain on glass. His indifference was sharp enough to cut, but it wasn’t rejection either.
And that—more than the ridiculous flirting—made Rin’s chest twist.
His brother, who never let anyone close. His brother, who used to look only at him, even when they fought. To see someone else in that place, arm slung over him like it belonged there—it was almost unbearable. Jealousy flickered hot and sudden, tangled with something heavier, sadness, anger, an ache that made it hard to breathe.
Then Shidou’s gaze shifted. Bright, sharp, too curious. He tilted his head, finally noticing Rin. “Oh? Who’s this, then?”
Rin froze.
Before he could answer, Sae’s voice came, flat and cool. “Don’t bother.”
He shrugged off Shidou’s arm, turned, and walked away. No backward glance.
The sting landed deeper than Rin expected. As if that single sentence had carved him out, erased him from the moment entirely.
Without a word, Rin moved past them, shoulders stiff, and slipped into his seat at the Slytherin table. His appetite was gone, replaced by the heavy churn of something sour and hollow.
His food sat untouched in front of him.
Across the hall, Sae had taken his place among the Gryffindors, expression unreadable as always. He looked the same—calm, distant, untouchable. And yet, Rin couldn’t stop replaying that moment. Shidou’s arm draped over his shoulder. Sae not brushing it away immediately. Sae’s voice cutting Rin off like he was nothing.
He stabbed at a piece of bread, appetite soured. His chest felt hollow, like something had been scooped out and left empty. Why did it still hurt so much? He should’ve expected this—Sae had been drifting further and further from him long before Hogwarts. Different houses, different lives. Still, seeing it up close had a way of twisting the knife.
The hall buzzed with chatter and laughter around him, a world away from the storm in his head. He kept his gaze locked on his plate, eyes shadowed under his fringe.
And then—
Splat.
Warm liquid slid down his hair, dripping across his temple and splashing onto his robes. The heavy scent of broth filled his nose. Rin’s body went rigid.
Slowly, very slowly, he reached up and wiped at his head. His fingers came away slick with soup.
It wasn’t scalding—lukewarm at best—but humiliation burned hotter than any burn could. His teeth ground together.
He shot up from his seat, chair scraping hard against the floor, and spun around.
Behind him, two boys froze like deer in torchlight.
One with messy deep blue hair and wide, horrified eyes, the Ravenclaw scarf around his neck marking him clearly. His face had gone pale, lips parting like he wanted to speak but couldn’t. Beside him, a Hufflepuff with bright yellow trim was equally pale, his guilty expression screaming louder than any apology. His hands twitched, still half holding the tray as if gravity itself had betrayed him.
For a beat, none of them moved.
His fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white. The soup dripped steadily from his hair, soaking into his collar, each drop a reminder that everyone was watching.
Laughter and whispers had already started rippling through the hall. He caught fragments—“Did you see that?” “Poor kid—” “He looks furious—”
The shame burned hotter than fire.
Then he exploded.
Rin surged forward, arm cocked back, ready to deck the nearest boy. Isagi’s terrified eyes widened, Bachira actually flinched. But before Rin’s fist could connect, a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders from behind and yanked him back.
“Cool it,” a voice hissed in his ear. A Slytherin first-year, shorter than him, face blurred in Rin’s fury—he didn’t care who. All Rin saw was red.
“Let me go!” Rin snarled, thrashing violently, trying to wrench free. His body strained against the grip, but the boy held on with surprising strength.
“Stop it! You’ll get us docked marks!” the voice snapped again, sharper this time.
The words cut through the haze. Docked marks. Losing points. On his first day. In front of everyone. Rin froze, chest heaving, breath ragged. He could feel every pair of eyes in the Great Hall pressing down on him.
By instinct, his gaze flicked across the tables, searching for one face.
Sae.
His brother was watching. For a heartbeat, Rin thought—hoped—maybe there’d be something there. Recognition. Sympathy. Anything.
But what he saw was a flicker of disgust. Sae’s mouth curled ever so slightly, his eyes hard and cold, before he turned away as if Rin wasn’t worth another second of attention.
It knocked the air out of Rin harder than any punch.
Something lodged in his throat, tight and stinging. He hated the way it burned, hated how close it felt to crying. Not here. Not in front of all of them.
The Slytherin boy’s hands loosened, sensing he’d calmed down. Rin jerked himself free and stood rigid, soup still dripping onto the floor.
Without a word, without a glance at the two boys—who were stammering apologies he refused to hear—Rin stalked out of the hall. His steps were quick, sharp, the only thing keeping him from unraveling.
The voices followed him, the whispers, the laughter, but he didn’t slow down. Couldn’t.
Rin didn’t stop walking until the voices of the hall were far behind him. His shoes hit the stone steps hard, echoing in the corridor, each step fueled by the need to get away before anyone followed. By the time he reached the dorm, his chest was tight, his throat raw with words he hadn’t said. He shoved open the door and went straight for the bathroom, locking it behind him.
The mirror greeted him with the worst sight imaginable: himself.
Soup clung to his hair in uneven streaks, dripping down his temple. His robes were stained, collar dark and wet. His face—pale, tense, red around the eyes. Like he’d almost…
No.
His jaw locked.
It had been a pathetic show. First day, and he’d already lost control in front of half the school. First day, and Sae had looked at him like he was nothing.
The humiliation stung all over again, rising hot in his chest. He gripped the sink until his knuckles whitened, teeth grinding.
A single tear slipped free before he could stop it. Rin turned on the faucet at once, splashing cold water over his face. Again, and again, until the mirror was misted and his skin numbed. If he drowned himself in enough of it, maybe it would wash everything else away too.
By the time he straightened, hair plastered to his forehead and cheeks damp, no one would know. No trace. Itoshi Rin didn’t cry. Not here. Not anywhere.
He pulled his robes tighter around himself, forcing his breathing steady, and left the bathroom.
Rin threw himself onto his bed the moment he stepped out of the bathroom.
The mattress dipped under his weight, the smell of damp robes and soap clinging to him. He pulled the blanket half over his body and turned toward the wall, shutting out the rest of the room.
His stomach twisted with hunger, but he ignored it. The thought of food made him sick.
The memory of warm soup sliding down his hair, the laughter ringing in his ears—it was enough to kill whatever appetite he had left.
Less than a week. Less than a week in this school, and he’d already made a spectacle of himself. Already given people something to whisper about. Already given Sae another reason to look at him like… like that.
His throat tightened. He pushed the thought down, hard.
He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to think about Sae’s eyes, or Shidou’s grin, or the crowd’s laughter.
So he lay there, staring at the wall, fists curled under the blanket, jaw clenched until it hurt. Angry. Sad. Hungry. A storm with no outlet.
And above all, determined not to break.
The hour dragged like wet cloth. Rin hadn’t moved from his position, curled toward the wall, listening to the faint hum of the castle beyond the dorm. His stomach complained once, twice, before falling silent. He ignored it. He ignored everything.
The door creaked open without warning.
“Yo!”
Rin tensed but didn’t turn. Shidou’s voice filled the room like it owned it, careless and loud. Footsteps followed—unhurried, uninvited. Something clattered onto the nightstand behind him. A plate. The smell hit him immediately—bread, roasted meat, and the lingering steam of soup.
“I brought you food,” Shidou said, not mockingly but matter-of-fact, like it was the most natural thing to do. “Realized you didn’t eat anything.”
The mattress dipped on the other side as Shidou sat down, too close, like boundaries didn’t exist for him. Rin kept his face turned to the wall, jaw tight, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.
But his stomach betrayed him with a low, traitorous growl.
Shidou chuckled under his breath. “Thought so.”
Rin didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just pressed his cheek harder into the pillow, as if he could vanish into it.
Shidou didn’t take the hint. Of course he didn’t.
“C’mon, don’t be stubborn,” Shidou drawled, dragging the plate closer until the smell was impossible to ignore. “You’ll pass out or something. Then I’ll have to haul your scrawny ass to the infirmary. Don’t think either of us wants that.”
Rin’s shoulders stiffened. “…I don’t need your pity.” His voice came low, sharp, the first words he’d given all day.
“Pity?” Shidou barked out a laugh. “Nah, don’t flatter yourself. I’m your senior. Gotta take care of you lot. Above all…”
Rin heard the shift in tone—lighter, but with a surprising sincerity.
“…I’m your roommate.”
The words landed heavier than they should’ve. Rin hated how his chest tightened at that.
Shidou leaned back against the bedframe, stretching his legs out like he owned the space. “So yeah. Eat. Or I’ll feed you myself, and trust me—you don’t want that.”
For a long beat, Rin didn’t move. His pride screamed at him to stay still, to let the food sit there untouched. But his stomach betrayed him again, louder this time, and Shidou snorted.
Finally, Rin sat up, face turned away as he snatched the plate like it was a chore. He didn’t thank him. Didn’t even look at him.
But he ate.
The senior guy grinned, satisfied, and let him. No more words, no more needling—just quiet, comfortable enough that Rin could almost breathe again.
It was annoying. Infuriating. And somehow, Rin thought, not that bad.
Rin ate in silence. Small, quick bites, as if finishing the meal faster would erase the humiliation of being caught hungry in the first place. The food wasn’t hot anymore, but it was better than the hollow ache in his stomach.
Shidou didn’t push him. For once, he just lounged there, one leg bouncing lazily off the edge of the bedframe, arms folded behind his head. His messy hair stuck up at every angle, his tie half undone. He looked completely at ease, like the dorm was his personal throne room.
Rin hated that ease.
Hated how Shidou seemed unbothered by everything—like the world bent around him instead of the other way.
But more than anything, Rin hated that it was working. The noise in his chest had quieted. The whispers of the Great Hall, the look on Sae’s face, the burn of humiliation—it all seemed muffled now, drowned out by Shidou’s steady, infuriating presence.
He finished the last bite and shoved the empty plate onto the nightstand without a word.
Shidou tilted his head, grinning. “See? Wasn’t so hard. You eat like a human, after all.”
Rin shot him a glare sharp enough to cut. “Shut up.”
The grin widened. “There he is.”
Rin turned back toward the wall, dragging the blanket over his shoulders like armor. He wanted to sleep, to push the day out of existence. But behind him, Shidou’s careless voice filled the quiet.
“You know…”
Rin stiffened.
“…you’ve got this look, like the whole world’s out to get you. Like you’re fighting shadows or something. It’s kinda cute, honestly.”
Rin’s ears burned. He clenched the blanket tighter around himself. “You’re annoying.”
Shidou chuckled, low and unbothered. “Maybe. But if the world really is out to get you…” His voice softened, almost casual in the way only truth could be. “…then I guess you’re lucky you’ve got me.”
The room fell quiet after that.
Shidou didn’t elaborate. He just kicked off his shoes, sprawled across his own bed without ceremony, and within minutes his breathing evened out. Out cold, like nothing had happened.
Rin lay rigid under his blanket, staring at the wall. His chest felt tight in a different way now—not humiliation, not rage, but something unsettled, something that lingered in the space Shidou’s words had carved open.
He told himself it was stupid. He told himself it meant nothing.
But even as sleep pulled at his eyes, Rin knew he would remember those words.
If the world really is out to get you… then I guess you’re lucky you’ve got me.
The next day, after class, Rin slipped his books under his arm and headed out the door, intent on retreating before anyone could corner him.
He wasn’t in the mood to talk, not to anyone.
But the same two boys stepped into his path, blocking the corridor. Rin’s jaw tightened. He shifted to the side, brushing past with a sharp, “Move.”
One of them reached out, not grabbing, just stopping him with a hand raised. “Wait—we just want to talk.”
Rin’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t care.”
The blue-haired boy of the two exchanged a glance with his friend, then said, “We… came to apologize. For yesterday.”
Rin stilled, his fingers tightening around his books. His first instinct was to scoff, to cut them off before they could get another word out. But they didn’t look smug, or like they were trying to rub it in. They looked… uneasy.
“We’re second years,” the other explained, a little awkwardly. “Didn’t know who you were. We thought it was just a joke, but it went too far. We asked one of the first-years to point us to you.”
The sound of their voices grated against Rin’s pride, but what truly bothered him was the heat rising in the back of his neck. People passing in the corridor slowed, watching, maybe recognizing them from yesterday’s spectacle. His humiliation from then came crawling back, prickling at his skin.
“…Whatever,” Rin muttered, trying to shove past again.
“Look, we’re serious,” the bob cut pressed. “We didn’t mean to humiliate you like that. You don’t have to forgive us, but… at least hear us out.”
Rin’s teeth clenched. He wanted to yell, to tell them he didn’t need their apology, that nothing they said would erase what had already happened. Instead, he found his voice lowering to a bitter edge. “I don’t want it. Just don’t talk to me again.”
The boys hesitated, guilt written across their faces, but they didn’t chase him as Rin stalked down the hall. His steps echoed, quick and heavy, until he was free of the corridor and the eyes following him.
He didn’t want their pity. He didn’t want their recognition.
And most of all, he didn’t want to be reminded of how pathetic he had looked yesterday—of the way his own brother had looked at him.
Rin didn’t stop walking. He didn’t even know where his feet were carrying him—just away, as far as possible from those two and from the eyes in the corridor. His grip on his books loosened until the edges dug into his palm, sharp enough to sting.
By the time he looked up, the air felt different. Softer.
He blinked and realized he’d wandered into one of the castle gardens. The noise of footsteps and chatter had faded, replaced by the faint rustle of leaves and the trickle of water from a fountain at the center.
Rin exhaled, sharp and unsteady, setting his books down on the stone bench. His chest still felt tight, like the humiliation was lodged inside his ribs, refusing to let go.
He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands until his scalp burned.
The garden was empty, save for the scattered blooms and vines curling up the old stone walls. The quiet should have helped, but instead it made his thoughts louder—about yesterday, about the apology, about Sae’s face twisting like Rin was dirt beneath his shoes.
His throat clenched. For a moment, he thought the sting in his eyes might win, but he forced a long breath through his nose and sat down heavily on the bench.
He wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not anywhere.
Instead, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the fountain’s rippling surface. He hated this feeling—this mix of anger and shame he couldn’t shake off. Less than a week here, and already he felt cornered.
Rin sat hunched over, staring into the fountain’s rippling water when a faint rustle caught his ear. His shoulders stiffened. He wasn’t alone.
He turned his head, careful not to draw attention, and froze.
Shidou was crouched near one of the garden beds, hands deep in the soil like he’d been doing this for a while. A small trowel glinted in the light, but his focus wasn’t on the tool—it was on the strange, bulbous plant in front of him, its leaves faintly glowing an otherworldly green.
Every few seconds, it twitched, as if alive. Shidou hummed under his breath, completely absorbed.
His usual grin was gone, replaced with something oddly calm—his brows drawn together, lips parted slightly as he carefully loosened soil around the roots. The reckless boy Rin thought he knew looked… different.
For the first time, Rin really looked at him.
His skin, tanned as if he’d lived under the sun forever. Blond hair sticking up every which way, tipped in soft pink that caught the light when he leaned forward. Two stubborn strands straight down from his hairline, like antennas that refused to behave.
Shidou didn’t notice him watching. Maybe that was why Rin let himself linger on the sight longer than he should have. Without the noise, without the mouth running endlessly, Shidou looked… almost nice. Almost.
Rin caught himself staring and tore his gaze away, annoyed at the thought.
Rin shifted on the stone bench, debating whether to slip out before Shidou noticed. No such luck.
“Oi.”
Rin stiffened. Shidou was still crouched, hands dirtied, but his pink eyes flicked up sharp and sudden, grin following a beat later. “You spying on me, roomie?”
“Tch. Don’t flatter yourself,” Rin muttered, standing to leave—except his own feet betrayed him. He paused instead, curiosity tugging. His eyes darted to the plant Shidou was fussing over. It looked like it might start growling at any second.
Shidou straightened, wiping his hands on his trousers without a care, and tilted his head at Rin. “Well? You just gonna stand there, or you wanna see something cool?”
Against his better judgment, Rin stepped closer, arms crossed. “It’s just a plant.”
A laugh burst out of Shidou, loud and bright. “Just a plant, he says. Nah, this little guy’s a beauty. Do you like explosions?”
Rin blinked. “What?”
“Explosions,” Shidou repeated, utterly casual. “Boom! Bang! Kaboom!” He mimed something detonating with both hands, complete with sound effects. His grin widened. “This one—if you poke it wrong—puffs up like a balloon, then bang! Blows dirt everywhere. Wicked fun. Professors hate it.”
Rin stared at him like he’d grown another head. “You’re insane.”
“Thanks, I get that a lot,” Shidou said cheerfully, leaning back down to pat the soil around the glowing bulb with surprising care. “But if you treat it right—gentle, steady—it’ll bloom instead. Gorgeous black petals, smells like burnt sugar.”
Rin’s lips parted before he caught himself, frowning.
He hadn’t expected Shidou of all people to handle something so carefully. For someone who lived like chaos incarnate, he had patience here. Skill.
Shidou glanced up again, smirk tugging at his mouth. “I’m making one for someone. Gonna be a killer surprise.”
Rin shrugged, uninterested—or pretending to be. “Don’t care.”
“Aw, come on, you don’t even wanna know who?”
“No.”
Shidou laughed again, loud enough to make the plant twitch. “You’re funny, Rinny. Cold as ice.” He turned back to his work, still grinning.
Rin looked away quickly, irritated by the warmth prickling beneath his skin. Still, a reluctant thought dug at him, maybe Shidou wasn’t just chaos after all.
“Oi, Rinny.”
“Don’t call me that.” Rin’s voice was flat, but Shidou only grinned wider.
“Rinrin, then.”
Rin’s eye twitched. “Shut up.”
Shidou suddenly shoved the trowel toward him. “Here. Hold this.”
“I’m not—”
“C’mon, roomie, don’t be shy.” Shidou pressed the tool into his hands anyway and scooted over in the dirt, making space. “You look like you need some character development. Gardening’s good for that.”
Rin glared at the trowel like it was diseased, but his pride wouldn’t let him throw it back. With a huff, he crouched down beside Shidou. “This is stupid.”
“Stupid fun,” Shidou corrected, grinning. He guided Rin’s hand toward the soil, all careless enthusiasm. “Dig a little around the base, not too rough—yeah, like that. Ohhh, Rinny’s a natural!”
“Stop calling me that, antenna freak.”
Shidou barked a laugh. “Antenna freak? That’s new. You think I look like a bug, huh?”
“Cockroach fits better,” Rin muttered, carefully loosening dirt like he’d been told. “You’re just as annoying.”
Shidou clutched his chest, feigning mortal injury. “Ouch! Brutal. My poor heart.”
Rin ignored him, tamping the soil down a little harder than necessary.
But Shidou was unstoppable, humming as he worked beside him. “Still. Worth it. You know how cool it’s gonna be when this blooms? Black petals, fire-sugar smell, big showy thing. Perfect gift.”
Rin rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide it. “You talk too much.”
“Yeah, ‘cause I’m excited!” Shidou flashed that maddening grin. “Can’t wait to see his face when I hand it over. Boom! Instant knockout.”
Rin stabbed the trowel into the dirt with more force than necessary. He didn’t care who Shidou was making it for—he really didn’t. Except his jaw clenched, and his shoulders tightened, and he couldn’t stop the faint twist in his chest as Shidou went on about it.
“Rinrin,” Shidou sing-songed, leaning too close, “you jealous?”
Rin shoved him with his shoulder. “Shut up, cockroach.”
Shidou laughed so hard the plant twitched again, and Rin was half-tempted to jab the trowel in his direction. Still, he didn’t move away.
By the time the last of the soil was patted down, Rin dusted off his hands and stood, ready to bolt, “Alright, I’m done wasting my time,” he muttered, turning toward the path out.
“Oi, Rinny—hold up.”
Rin sighed, already bracing himself for another round of nonsense, but when he turned, Shidou was crouched again. He tugged at a small bloom by his knee—black petals edged faintly in violet, swaying like it had been waiting just for someone to notice.
“This one’s ready,” Shidou said, eyes gleaming. He plucked it free with a flourish and held it out. “Here. Take it. If it stays too long on the stem, it’ll rot out by nightfall.”
Rin’s brows drew together. “No. I don’t want it.”
Shidou grinned, shaking the flower in his face. “C’mon, don’t be a stiff. Just take it. Consider it a gift. First day of roomie bonding.”
“I said no.”
“What, you allergic to flowers or something?” Shidou tilted his head, grin still fixed in place. “It won’t bite. Promise.”
Rin’s ears burned hot. He scowled harder to mask it. “You’re an idiot.”
“Maybe, but I’m your idiot.”
Rin’s chest tightened at that—too sudden, too sharp. He turned away quickly, snatched the flower from Shidou’s hand before the antenna freak could see the heat rising in his cheeks, and shoved it into his pocket.
“Happy now?” Rin snapped, already storming toward the garden gate.
Behind him, Shidou’s laugh rang out, bright and unbothered. “Rinrin, you’re the cutest when you’re mad!”
Rin’s steps faltered for half a beat, heart hammering, but he didn’t look back. If he did, he might’ve given himself away.
Rin slammed the door behind him and leaned against it, chest heaving just enough to remind him he was still human. The flower—soft, dark, slightly sweet-smelling—was clenched in his fist, hidden under the sleeve of his robe.
He paced the small length of the dorm, letting the sound of his footsteps fill the silence. His mind, however, refused to cooperate.
What… what was that?
He dropped onto his bed, head resting on the pillow, staring at the ceiling as if it might have the answers. The heat in his chest, the sudden thump in his heart when Shidou handed him that flower—none of it made sense. Rin prided himself on being in control, on being careful, on keeping everyone else’s nonsense at arm’s length.
And yet…
He’d felt affected. Hot. Flustered. A little… thrilled, even.
Rin ground his jaw. That wasn’t him. That wasn’t how he was supposed to react. He was supposed to ignore Shidou, mock him silently, maybe roll his eyes. Not… whatever this was.
He clenched the blanket in frustration, trying to shove the thought away. I’m not… I don’t…
The words died on his tongue. He couldn’t articulate it. Not yet. Not even to himself.
Rin lay there in the quiet, staring at the ceiling, cheeks still tingling. Something about Shidou—his energy, the grin, the reckless way he moved through the world—was… different. And it had left an unexpected mark on him, right in the center of his chest.
He didn’t want to admit it. He wouldn’t admit it. But he knew, somewhere beneath the anger, the pride, the annoyance… he couldn’t stop thinking about that guy
Not one bit.
Rin sat on the edge of his bed, the small flower clutched in his hand. After a long sigh, he noticed a tiny glass vase on the windowsill—probably left by a student last year. Without overthinking it, he set the bloom inside and poured a little water from the pitcher on the desk.
It looked… okay. Fine, even.
He leaned back against the headboard and studied it for a long moment. Black petals with faint violet edges. Delicate, yet somehow defiant—like it had survived despite everything.
Rin shook his head lightly. It’s just roommate bonding, he muttered to himself. Nothing more. Just… a tiny bit of attention, nothing serious. Been alone too long, that’s all. Craving some human contact. Doesn’t mean anything.
He let himself take a slow breath, trying to cement the thought as rational. His ears still tingled faintly, and his chest still felt heavier than it should, but he shoved the rest away with practiced precision.
It’ll probably never happen again.
And with that, Rin turned toward the wall, facing away from the flower, letting sleep pull him under.
Rin woke with a start, sunlight slipping through the dorm window. His stomach growled faintly, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten much since yesterday. Groaning, he pushed himself up and ran a hand through his hair.
Today… Quidditch training. First class.
He tugged on his robes quickly, grabbing his books and equipment. Even though he didn’t particularly care about making friends, or impressing anyone, he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the whole field either.
By the time he reached the Quidditch pitch, the sun was already high, glinting off the hoops at either end. Students were scattered across the field, some laughing, others warming up with broomsticks. Rin’s eyes swept over them but kept moving; he didn’t want unnecessary interaction.
Until he heard a voice call out, cheerful and familiar.
“Hey! You’re Rin, right?”
Rin’s head snapped toward it. Standing not far off was a tall boy with messy dark hair, a friendly grin, and the same hesitant-but-eager energy he’d felt yesterday in the Grand Hall.
“I’m Niko Ikki,” the boy said, stepping forward. “You’re the first-year from yesterday… the one those second-years were apologizing to, right?”
Rin’s eyes flicked over him quickly. That was the boy who had held him down in the dining hall—what was his name?—yeah, that one. He’d been pale, awkward, and clearly terrified of getting in trouble, unlike most of the older students yesterday.
His jaw tightened. He didn’t particularly want to make conversation, but… he couldn’t help but notice that Niko was giving off a surprisingly genuine vibe, calm and unassuming.
Something different from the chaos and ridicule he’d felt the day before.
Rin kept his arms crossed, expression sharp. “Yeah. What about it?”
Niko raised his hands in mock surrender. “Nothing—just thought I’d say hi before training. Don’t worry, I’m not here to bother you.”
Rin snorted softly, the corner of his lips twitching against his better judgment. Calm, at least. Unlike some people.
He adjusted the strap of his broomstick bag and turned toward the pitch, eyes scanning the field. Training awaited, but for a fleeting moment, Rin allowed himself to notice the little shift from yesterday—the quieter kindness in someone, the way not everyone was chaos.
It was… new.
Rin scanned the pitch as the students gathered in small clusters by house colors. His first impression—wide open space, brisk wind tugging at robes, brooms lined neatly for inspection—was enough to make him straighten his posture.
A whistle cut through the chatter, sharp and commanding. “Alright, first-years, listen up!”
Rin’s head turned automatically. Standing at the center of the field was a tall figure in Slytherin robes—muscular, with sharp features, and an air of confident authority that immediately demanded attention. His eyes swept across the group like he was already calculating their every move.
Rin froze for a fraction of a second before recognition hit. Shidou…?
Shidou grinned, catching Rin’s gaze. “Ah! Didn’t expect to see you here so soon, Rinny. Roommate duties and Quidditch practice on the same day, huh?”
Rin stiffened, immediately turning his face toward the other side, pretending not to know him. Don’t look, don’t react.
Shidou only laughed, loud and carefree, ignoring Rin’s icy posture entirely. “Ignore the first-years. I’m Shidou Ryusei—your senior. I’ll be showing you how Slytherin keeps the skies ours. Any questions?”
Rin’s jaw tightened. Keep cool. Act like you don’t know him. He gave a small, curt nod to the air, eyes forward.
Another figure stepped forward from the opposite side—a second-year, Julian Loki, his robe perfectly fitted, stance relaxed but calculating. He carried the quiet aura of someone who didn’t need to yell to be feared. Loki’s gaze briefly flicked toward Rin, then swept over the assembled students, noting their posture, their expressions.
Rin instinctively straightened, broom strap tight against his shoulder. He didn’t want to look nervous, didn’t want anyone thinking he was a weak first-year. He already had enough chaos to manage in this school.
Shidou clapped his hands once. “Alright! First-years, grab your brooms. Loki here will demonstrate a few maneuvers, and then we’ll split into teams. Don’t hold back—you’re Slytherin now. Show me you can handle the sky.”
Rin’s stomach twisted with anticipation and irritation alike.
He wasn’t a complete novice at flying, but the thought of having Shidou so close—so casual, so unbothered—made his chest beat a little too fast. He shoved the thought aside, gripping his broom tighter.
Just training. Nothing else. Don’t let him get to you.
Still, as he mounted the broom and glanced at Shidou, a small part of him couldn’t ignore the strange tension blooming in his chest. Rin mounted his broomstick with careful precision, toes gripping the footrest, hands steady on the handle. He wasn’t going to stumble.
He wasn’t going to embarrass himself. Not today.
“Focus, first-years!” Shidou called, his voice carrying effortlessly across the field. “Keep your balance. Eyes forward, not down. Don’t let the broom do all the thinking for you.”
Rin’s jaw tightened. I don’t need his advice.
The wind tugged at his robes as he lifted off the ground, broom steady beneath him. Around him, other first-years wobbled, some screeching, some laughing. He ignored them all.
Except Shidou.
No matter where Rin drifted, Shidou hovered nearby, effortless in the air, arms crossed, a grin plastered across his face. “Oi, Rinny, watch that turn! You’re leaning too far—careful or you’ll tip!”
Rin bristled. “I can manage.”
“Sure, sure,” Shidou replied, weaving around him with ease. “But hey, don’t fight me on it—I’m the senior here. Gotta look out for you.”
Look out for me. Rin’s chest tightened. He scowled, focusing hard on the broom, but he couldn’t shake the heat creeping up his neck.
As the drills continued, Shidou kept flitting around him—too close to be coincidence. Hovering just behind during turns, swooping alongside when Rin attempted speed runs. Rin’s heart thumped against his ribcage, a mix of irritation and… something else he refused to name.
“Careful on the descent, cockroach,” Rin muttered under his breath, gripping the broom tighter.
Shidou laughed, loud and carefree. “That’s the spirit! And hey, roomie, you’re improving fast!”
Rin’s ears burned. Stop calling me that. But despite himself, he couldn’t stop adjusting his balance to match Shidou’s subtle movements, couldn’t stop noticing how effortlessly the boy handled the broom, how his grin never faltered even when the wind whipped in his face. Every time Shidou hovered near, every careless tease, Rin felt a strange weight in his chest—a warmth, a pull he didn’t want to admit. He shoved it down, doubled down on focus, telling himself, It’s just training. Nothing else. Ignore him.
But no matter how hard he tried, Shidou’s presence lingered, teasing and irritating, yet… undeniably affecting.
By the time the first drill ended, Rin was breathless—not from flying, but from the strange, prickly heat curling through him whenever Shidou was near.
And for the first time, he realized that he didn’t entirely hate having the senior constantly shadowing him.
I hate this. I really hate this…
Yet the faint curl of pride in his chest told him otherwise.
The drills finally ended, and Rin set his broom down with a precise clatter. He let out a long, controlled breath and rolled his eyes at the day’s chaos, brushing imaginary dirt off his robes.
“Pfft, what a waste of energy,” he muttered under his breath, ignoring Shidou’s hovering grin.
But then Shidou’s head perked up sharply, eyes lighting like a spark. Rin followed his gaze without thinking—and froze.
On the far side of the pitch stood Sae. His brother, calm and collected as always, seemingly unconcerned with the chaos of first-years and seniors around him. But the way Shidou immediately broke into a run, broom barely grazing the ground before he was speeding toward him, made Rin’s chest tighten unexpectedly.
Rin stayed where he was, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
Shidou was close—close enough that Rin could see the mischievous grin softened into something almost… caring. And Sae? Sae didn’t pull away. He even smiled, the faintest tilt of his head suggesting comfort, familiarity, maybe even amusement.
Rin’s stomach knotted. What… what’s going on there?
They weren’t in the same house. They weren’t even in the group. Why was Shidou running to him like that? Why did Sae seem… comfortable with it?
Questions spiraled in Rin’s mind, each one pricking a little more. Friends? That seemed impossible. And yet… the way Shidou moved, the way Sae didn’t flinch, didn’t step back… It was almost like they shared some secret understanding.
Rin’s jaw tightened. He shook his head slightly, trying to dispel the sudden heat crawling up his neck. Doesn’t matter. Not my business.
And yet, despite himself, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Not entirely.
Rin shoved the thoughts away, straightening his back and gripping his broom strap tighter. Not my business. Forget it. Just go back to the dorm and pretend none of that happened. He stepped off the pitch, letting the wind whip through his robes, forcing himself to focus on nothing at all—just the path, the grass under his feet, the echo of broomsticks in the distance.
And then—bam!
Something solid hit him square in the chest. Books and papers clattered to the ground.
“Oops! Didn’t see you there,” said a voice, calm but amused.
Rin looked up, eyes narrowing automatically. Standing over him was a tall boy, almost as tall as Rin himself, maybe taller, wearing the deep blue robes of Ravenclaw. What immediately caught Rin off guard was his eyes—one deep blue, the other green. The mismatch gave him an unsettling yet intriguing air.
“I… watch where you’re going,” Rin snapped, crouching to pick up his scattered books.
“Sorry, sorry,” the guy said smoothly, crouching as well to help. “Oliver Aiku. And you are?”
Rin straightened, brushing off the dirt from his robes. “Rin. Itoshi Rin.” His tone was clipped, a warning of don’t bother trying to be friendly.
Oliver’s mismatched eyes flicked over him once, just long enough to make Rin feel… noticed. He smirked faintly. “Rin, huh? First-year? Slytherin?”
Rin’s eyes narrowed, hands tightening around his books. “Yeah. And I don’t need your commentary.”
Oliver laughed softly, standing upright. “Fair enough. Just didn’t mean to bump into you. Guess it’s one of those days.”
Rin muttered something under his breath, already turning to continue toward the dorm. But for some reason, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of those mismatched eyes lingering in his mind.
Another distraction I don’t need, he thought, shaking his head. Just go back. Ignore it.
Rin straightened, brushing his robes with brisk, deliberate movements. He wanted to get back to the dorm, shove the pitch incident away, and pretend it never happened.
However, Oliver Aiku wasn’t done.
He stepped a little closer, one hand in his pocket, eyes glinting with amusement. “Hey, first-year,” he said smoothly, voice low and casual. “You look… interesting. Thought I’d come see if you’re free, if you know what I mean.”
Rin froze for half a second, his jaw tightening. Free? The nerve of this guy. The way he said it—like it was just casual, like he had a right to even ask.
“I’m… not,” Rin said flatly, taking a deliberate step back.
Oliver chuckled, leaning slightly forward, giving Rin a grin that was both infuriating and unsettling. “Ah, come on, don’t be shy. No harm in a little fun, right?”
Rin scowled, cheeks tinged faintly. “I said no.”
Oliver shrugged as if it were nothing. “Alright, alright. Fair enough.” Then, his gaze sharpened slightly, eyes flicking at Rin’s face with curiosity. “Say… are you Sae’s brother?”
He froze, stiffened, and glanced away. What? How do you even know— He kept his voice level, even as irritation bubbled inside. “I’m… not talking about that.”
Oliver laughed softly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Fair. Was just curious. Didn’t mean to pry.”
Rin gave a terse nod and turned, striding toward the dorm. Weird. Awful. And a third-year senior, of all people, just casually asking something like that? Not a chance.
As he walked, Rin’s mind spun slightly, part anger, part disbelief. This guy—playful, flirtatious, irritating—seemed completely unbothered by rules, by hierarchy, by common sense. And somehow… that made him more infuriating.
Ignore him. Just ignore him. Rin muttered, but he couldn’t help the faint prickling awareness that this encounter wasn’t going to be the last.
Rin closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment.
Letting out a long, controlled breath. The chaos of the Quidditch field, the weird garden incident, The raveclaw's inappropriate curiosity—they all buzzed faintly in the back of his mind. He stripped off his robes, washed his face, and rubbed at his damp hair until it fell back into place. He straightened his uniform, smoothed the creases, and finally let himself sit on the edge of the bed.
For a moment, he allowed the quiet to settle, but even then his thoughts were prickly and restless.
The sudden, cheerful voice of Shidou broke the silence.
“Rinny! Guess what?”
Rin’s jaw tightened automatically. He didn’t turn. “What?” His tone was deliberately flat.
Shidou bounced into the room, radiating the kind of happiness that made Rin want to grit his teeth. “My crush finally agreed to hang out with me! We’re going to—well, not a date, just… talk about some assignment, but still! He said yes!”
Rin blinked, his chest tightening in a way that made him want to scowl harder than he already was.
Why do I even care?
“That’s… great,” he muttered, voice carefully neutral, pushing down the strange flutter in his chest. He refused to let it matter. It’s nothing. Just some random person. Doesn’t concern me.
Shidou’s grin didn’t falter; he leaned on the desk casually, eyes glinting with excitement. “I’m telling you, Rinny, it’s going to be awesome. Finally someone appreciates my genius, huh?”
Rin swallowed, biting back a snort. “Sure, whatever.”
But even as he tried to focus on his own thoughts, the warmth in his chest betrayed him. He pushed it down, shoving away the unfamiliar weight. Don’t care. Not interested. Doesn’t matter who it is.
Shidou, oblivious to Rin’s internal struggle, flopped onto the bed at the foot of Rin’s, still grinning. “You’ll see, roomie! One day you’ll understand my brilliance in love too. Maybe I’ll give you tips.”
Rin’s eyes flicked to the ceiling, jaw tight. I don’t need your tips.
And yet… he couldn’t help noticing the way Shidou’s energy filled the room, how alive he seemed, how… unignorable he was. He pressed his fingers against the edge of the mattress, forcing himself to look away, forcing himself to pretend he didn’t care.
I don’t care. I really don’t. Just… leave me alone.
.
.
.
The dorm was silent. Most of the lights were out, the usual hum of shuffling feet and whispered chatter replaced by an almost sacred stillness. Rin stirred awake, muscles tense, senses alert.
He blinked at the darkness. The bed beside him was empty.
Shidou’s gone?
He shook his head, brushing the thought aside. Doesn’t mean anything. Probably just—whatever. But some unexplainable pull tugged at him. A restless energy that he couldn’t name. Before he even realized it, his feet were carrying him out of the dorm, silent against the polished floor.
The hall stretched before him, quiet and serene under the soft glow of moonlight filtering through tall windows. He drew in a slow breath, savoring the rare calm, letting the shadows guide him.
He wandered through the corridors without a clear destination, only the faint instinct that told him he shouldn’t turn back just yet.
The spiral staircase loomed ahead, its wooden rails glinting faintly in the moonlight. Rin’s steps faltered. His gaze drifted around the corner—and froze.
A figure moved there, just enough that Rin could see the outline of his familiar spiky hair, the lean frame. His roommate.
Shidou.
Rin’s chest tightened, a strange mix of curiosity, caution, and… something he didn’t want to name. He stayed in the shadows, just on the edge of the stairwell, watching. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of Shidou’s face, the way his posture relaxed in the quiet of the castle at night.
His instincts screamed to retreat, to turn away, to ignore it—and yet, something made him take a single careful step forward.
Rin froze in place, every instinct screaming at him to turn away, yet his eyes refused to obey.
Shidou wasn’t alone.
In his hands—carefully, almost reverently—was the flower from the garden. The same one Rin had helped to plant it, the one he had thought was just a silly gift.
And right in front of Shidou… was none other than his brother.
Rin’s heart stuttered, a sudden, sharp ache in his chest. His eyes widened, disbelief twisting into something sharper, heavier. Sae—his calm, unflinching, distant brother—was standing there, close to Shidou, talking with a smile Rin had rarely seen him give anyone outside of a classroom or house duties.
Shidou leaned forward, gesturing toward the flower, eyes bright with excitement, laughing softly in a way that made Rin’s chest tighten further. Sae, seemingly at ease, nodded, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips.
Rin felt a strange, bitter sting curl in his stomach. Why… why is he so comfortable with him?
Questions collided in his mind. Friends? Or… something else? Why is my brother letting him—letting Shidou—be this close?
The irrational, raw part of Rin—the part he usually kept locked tight—wanted to storm forward, grab the flower, shove Shidou away, demand answers.
But he didn’t. He stayed in the shadows, frozen, chest tight, jaw clenched.
Don’t… don’t make this about you, he whispered to himself. But even as he tried to shove the feelings away, the heat in his ears betrayed him, the twist in his chest undeniable.
Rin’s mind raced, a jumble of jealousy, confusion, and a little pang of something he didn’t yet dare to name. His brother. His roommate. And that flower—all tangled into a knot he couldn’t unravel.
He swallowed hard, pressing a hand to his chest, forcing himself to retreat a step back into the shadow of the stairwell. Not my business. Not my business.
And yet, as he watched the two of them, side by side, Rin couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Rin turned his gaze away, forcing himself to step back into the shadow of the stairwell. He clenched his fists, jaw tight, every nerve screaming at him to deny it.
No. Not… this. Not him.
But the more he tried to shove the thoughts away, the harder they pressed back, relentless and undeniable. The warmth that always seemed to flare when Shidou was near. The way his heart had thumped in the garden, when Shidou had handed him that flower. The careless, radiant happiness Shidou carried even now, standing so close to his brother…
Rin pressed a hand to his chest, exhaling sharply, trying to chase away the betrayal of his own feelings.And then came across a thought in his head.
Oh.
Oh.
And then, with a bitter twist in his stomach, he finally admitted it—to himself, at least.
Damn it. I’ve… fallen. Fallen for Shidou Ryusei. Out of all people.
The realization hit him harder than he expected, an uncomfortable mix of frustration, disbelief, and an unwilling acknowledgment of what had been creeping up inside him all this time. He swallowed the heat in his throat, his ears burning faintly, and muttered under his breath, voice low enough that no one could hear:
Of all people… why him?
Rin shook his head violently, trying to purge the thought, to remind himself that he wasn’t weak, that he could handle this.
And yet, deep down, he knew the truth.
Shidou had somehow wormed his way in, and there was no easy way to push him out.
With one last glance—one he hoped no one would ever notice—Rin turned sharply and retreated back down the hallway, letting the shadows swallow him as he walked away, heart pounding, mind spinning, and an unfamiliar ache settling deep in his chest.
Rin lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to find comfort in the darkness.
His mind spun in circles, replaying the night—the garden, the Quidditch field, Shidou’s careless grin, that flower and… the image of Shidou with his brother.. Every thought tangled with something he refused to name, a heat in his chest he tried desperately to ignore.
He didn’t know how long he’d been lying there, eyes wide, muscles tense, heart stubbornly refusing to calm.
Then—a soft creak. The subtle click of a door opening. Silence, followed by a slow, almost exaggerated sigh. Rin didn’t move, didn’t even turn his head, but instinct told him everything he needed to know.
Shidou.
The sigh carried a lightness, a brightness that made Rin’s chest tighten. It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t annoyed or bored. It was… happy. Ridiculously, infuriatingly happy.
And Rin’s stomach twisted.
Out of all people—all people—it was his brother, Sae, who had managed to pull that sound out of him. That laughter, that sigh of contentment that Shidou never bothered to hide.
Rin’s fingers curled around the edge of his blanket. He wanted to push it down, shove the feeling away, call himself crazy. But the heat in his chest wouldn’t relent, and his stomach knotted with an unfamiliar ache.
Damn it, he muttered under his breath. Of all people… it’s my brother.
He turned his gaze to the small vase on the bedside table, the flower standing silently in the dim moonlight. Its petals seemed almost to mock him, delicate and alive, a reminder of Shidou’s chaotic charm—and of the ridiculous, undeniable pull that Rin felt every time the senior was near.
Rin exhaled slowly, pressing his face into the pillow. Sleep wouldn’t come tonight, not with the warmth still lingering in his chest and the echo of that happy sigh filling the quiet room.
And somewhere deep down, he knew—he didn’t want it to.