Christmas was coming round, and Quirrell and Jamie's relationship was what Quirrell's mother referred to as "on the rocks", apparently. It was becoming hard for Quirrell to actually care all that much, because he couldn't get Voldemort out of his head. It was driving him crazy.

Jamie had been increasingly angry recently, always wanting to start a fight in order for Quirrell to respond to him, but the other man had been so blissfully content with his relationship with Voldemort that he rarely rose to it. What did it matter what Jamie thought of him?

"Quirinus! Clothes." Jamie yelled from the other room. He was evidently mad about something. "Your parents ironed all these clothes for you, and you've left them lying here! Come and get them!"

"Hmm…" He hummed back, unable to bring himself to get irritated. "Okay. Just let – let me finish this ch-chapter, it's so good…"

"Never mind the god damn chapter!" Jamie stormed into the living room, and Quirrell noticed just how exhausted he looked. The bags under his eyes grew heavier by the day, and he hadn't bothered to shave in ages. "I work my ass of all day, I come here to see you, and what do I find? You sitting in the same fucking spot, a ton of unfinished stuff lying all around you, and you with a smug smile always on your face like you enjoy this! You enjoy everyone doing everything for you!"

"No – no I don't." Quirrell began carefully, lowering his book. "C-calm down. I'm sorry, o-okay? I'll put – put the clothes away."

"I try so hard to make you happy, but you're never satisfied!"

"Th-that's not true!" Quirrell protested with an angry little scowl. "Don't be – be like this, c'mon. I a-appreciate everything you –"

"I'm not even a boyfriend, I'm a babysitter, and I'm sick to death of –"

"Whoa!" Quirrell stood up instantly, his hands up in surrender. "Ex-excuse me? My babysitter? Are you s-serious? I'm a g-grown man who's b-been through hell, not a d-defenceless kid!"

"Yeah, ok, Quirinus." Jamie snapped, turning away from him. "The famous backstory you've never cared to tell me. 'Quirinus has been through hell', that's all I've heard since day one."

"Are you c-calling me a l-liar?" He challenged, walking over to him, before sighing and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Jamie. I – I'm sorry. I know, I d-don't do much around h-here, and I sh-should. It's just –"

"It's just you're never in the house." Jamie shrugged him off. "And I think I know why. Why you always go out for walks and come back smiling."

"You – you do?" Quirrell replied hesitantly, beginning to grow nervous. "I d-don't think…you do…"

"You're cheating on me. You have been for a while."

A silence followed, before Quirrell burst out laughing, shaking his head hurriedly. "No! No, J-Jamie, God, that's –"

"Liar!" Jamie spun around furiously, gripping tightly onto Quirrell's shoulders. The other man abruptly stopped laughing. "Do you think I'm an idiot? I spend so much time on you, I treat you well, and you give me nothing in return. You're 'still waiting' for the right time. We've been together for months now and you're still not ready for sex. Y'know anyone else would've broken up with you by now?"

"You-you're accusing me of ch-cheating because I won't s-sleep with you?" Quirrell asked incredulously. "Are you – you serious?"

"I'm not accusing you, I know for a fact! My friends have seen you around with someone else. You left me alone at that Halloween party to go off with some random dude. You're cheating on me, Quirinus, after all the time I've put into this!"

"P-please stop yelling at – at me." Quirrell managed, pulling away from Jamie's hold on his shoulders. "I'm not – not a pet you've t-trained, I'm a person. I'm y-your boyfriend."

"Are you, now? Are you sure about that?"

"Y-you're breaking up – up with me?"

Jamie didn't reply for a long time, and Quirrell promptly shoved past him, heading for the front door.

"Yeah, go on, then! Run away, that's all you ever do. Run to your new man." Jamie yelled after him.

"St-stop shouting! You're ac-acting completely crazy!"

"Just fuck off, why don't you? Give our parents the rest they deserve. Who even needs all your baggage?"

Quirrell stopped, turning to him, unable to mask his horror. "W-what? You c-can't speak to – to me like that."

"This isn't your house. They were going to have to get rid of you sooner or later." He retorted icily. "Just do them a favour and leave. Pack your bags and go."

Quirrell spat at him before opening the front door and slamming it behind him. He bit down hard on his lip so he wouldn't scream out of frustration, and then he began to run.

Voldemort.

XxX

"Jeez, I'm coming, I'm…" Voldemort shoved his door open at the sound of rapid knocking, only to hit into Quirrell. "Shit! Sorry, man, I wasn't expecting you – What happened?"

"Who c-cares?" Quirrell replied, storming into the hotel room and wiping at his eyes. "Like, really, who – who cares? Teach me h-how to dance!"

"Dance?" Voldemort echoed as he closed the door. "Uh, sure. Well, I can maybe show you the standard waltz, or…"

"P-perfect!" Quirrell clapped his hands, standing a little straighter and setting his jaw, but his lips quivered and his eyes were red from crying. He took off his coat, aimlessly throwing it on Voldemort's bed. "I – I've always wanted to d-dance a waltz. Come o-over here and t-teach me!"

"Quirrell, man, are you alright?" Voldemort asked carefully, though he did step closer towards him. "Has something happened?"

"I – I think my b-boyfriend left me," Quirrell admitted, before his voice cracked completely and he covered his face. "Oh God, I'm s-sorry, I don't even c-care that much, but – but he's l-left me, they always do, and – and he was so h-horrible!"

"Jamie? He broke up with you?" Voldemort asked dumbly, reaching out a hand to squeeze Quirrell's shoulder. "Is he fucking crazy?"

"He – he said I was ch-cheating on him, and th-that I had too much b-baggage and –" He wheezed, clutching his chest, and Voldemort swiftly moved him so he could sit down on the bed.

"Breathe. In for four, then out again, remember? You're safe in here, he can't find you, I'm right here with you." Voldemort waited for Quirrell to get his breath back, before continuing: "He accused you of cheating? Where did that come from?"

"'C-cause I'm never in the – the house," Quirrell panted. "I'm a-always with you. He s-said his f-friend had seen us t-together."

"There's nothing wrong with you meeting with a friend." Voldemort replied, taking his hand and squeezing it comfortingly. "He's completely jumped to the wrong conclusion there."

"I – I know, I tried, but he was so m-mad! He told me to – to leave!"

"Since when was it his house?" Voldemort rolled his eyes. "You can kick him out anytime, not the other way around. God, what a moron…"

Quirrell just shrugged, wiping his eyes. "M-maybe he's right. I'm too – too much work, he's a-always said that."

"Dude, are you serious? Are you really gonna let him walk all over you?" Now Voldemort was beginning to get a little agitated. "Why do you let everyone do this to you? It's just – it's just – C'mon, man, you stood up to me when I was an evil parasite on the back of your damn head, right? Why won't you do the same to your so-called boyfriend?"

"Oh, let – let me think!" Quirrell snapped with a shake of his head. "'C-cause back then I'd n-never been arrested!"

"Alright, okay, that is a completely fair point…" Voldemort began, trying to force down the sharp sting of guilt in his stomach. "But Quirrell, you can't let him get away with this."

"He just b-broke up with me, r-remember? He al-already got away w-with it." Quirrell muttered in response, before standing up. "P-please teach me the – the waltz."

"Right." Voldemort hesitated, before slowly reaching for Quirrell's hands. "If I'm leading, you have to put your hand just here…" His voice dropped as Quirrell placed his hand on his waist, taking a step closer. Voldemort cleared his throat, feeling his face heat up. "Yeah, just like that, and then just focus on this rhythm. One, two, three, one, two, three…"

Quirrell's eyebrows were scrunched in concentration as Voldemort began leading him, and he glanced down at his feet.

"Exactly, yeah," Voldemort grinned. "We just repeat these steps over and over, moving forwards each time. But hey, look up at me, you can't keep staring at the floor like that."

"Oh, s-sorry." Quirrell lifted his head with a sheepish smile. "I w-wanna make sure I – I'm…doing it…right…" He trailed off as he stared at Voldemort, and how the other man was looking at him. He swallowed nervously, feeling himself lean in at the exact same time as Voldemort until –

They were kissing. Soft, chaste, but kissing nonetheless. Nothing overbearing or scary, it was just right. Perfect. There were the fireworks Quirrell had read about. He was the first to slowly pull away, feeling tingles throughout his entire body, though he was unable to look Voldemort in the eyes.

"Sorry," Was the first thing Voldemort managed to say, sounding extremely nervous. "I didn't – I mean, I don't regret it, but – are you alright?"

Quirrell pulled away from him, his heart hammering in his chest as he looked around the room for his coat. "J-Jamie will h-hate me."

"Jamie?" Voldemort repeated dumbly. "Who cares about Jamie?"

"Oh, God, I – I'm sorry, I h-have to go home." Quirrell snatched up his coat with shaky hands, turning back to look at Voldemort. "I d-don't regret it e-either, I really l-liked it, but –"

"Then what's the problem?"

"I j-just can't, I'm so c-confused, I can't ch-cheat on-"

"He left you, Quirrell! You haven't cheated on anybody." Voldemort attempted to reason, reaching for his hand. "Stay. Calm down. Everything's going to be okay."

"I d-don't know!" Quirrell exclaimed, covering his mouth. "I'm s-sorry, Voldemort, I am, but – but I can't!"

Before Voldemort could say anything else, Quirrell had ran from the room, leaving him behind in a complete daze.