Rose was having a hard time keeping it together in the face of… whatever it was that was happening with Scorp.

"You're going to have to stop gaping at some point," she said, placing the still steaming tin of pudding between them.

Merlin, now he was gaping at the spoon.

"Your spoons don't match."

There was a crease between his eyebrows and he sounded terribly distressed like it had never occurred to him that such an aberration might occur in nature.

"They don't," she agreed with a laugh, sliding a burning spoonful of crumble into her mouth and possibly burning the ceiling of her mouth in the process. "Aghhh, worth it." She sniggered at him and rested her cheek against her hand. "This is how the other 99% lives, mate."

He dug his mismatched spoon into the crumble and pointed out, "Al's spoons match."

Honestly, she was right about ready to crumble him if he didn't stop looking around like everything was a petri dish oddity. He wasn't doing it unkindly, but she could feel him silently judging everything .

"Al doesn't live on a writer's stipend. Only way I could afford all this largesse," she said, waving an indulgent arm at her tiny domain, "was by telling the landlord I would fix up the place myself. Which I did... with magic. On the plus side, he stopped treating me like a helpless little missy."

He shoved a thoughtful spoonful of the crumble into his mouth with a half-smile. "I see."

She shrugged. "You don't live alone either. I'm guessing not for the money…?" His eyes narrowed at her and she quirked an eyebrow at him. "What, you can traipse into my life and pass judgement all over my poor spoons but I can't pry a little?"

"Maybe."

The last of her ice-cream melted in her mouth and she gave him a crooked grin. "Please, do share."

"My Grandmother's a bit… confused," he enunciated, letting the euphemism cynically roll off his tongue. Like he was harbouring a secret contempt for the word. "Has been since my Grandfather passed."

Rose nodded, her spoon hanging upside down from her mouth.

Apparently encouraged by her silence, he continued, "My Mum can't stand her and Dad has a particularly hard time seeing her when she's on one of her more… bewildered days." He frowned at the crumble on his spoon. "I keep telling them they should put her in a home but… apparently 'that's not what we do'."

Rose nodded again, far too familiar with the concept.

"So you commute," she said, mouth pressing into a thin line.

He let out the most jaundiced smile yet. "She thinks I'm my dad. Keeps begging me not to marry my mother which, I might add, turns Oedipal love into a far more private type of hell."

The laugh she let out would've given awkwardness a run for its money. "I have no idea how to answer that."

"You don't have to," he said simply, pulling his own spoon out of his mouth between tight lips. He sneered. "I get a perverse sort of pleasure making people uncomfortable with it."

Rose's eyes narrowed. "Eat your damned pudding, mate. See if you can't wash down all that bitter."

"The bitter needs something stronger," he said, quirking an eyebrow at her. "Preferably of the alcoholic persuasion."

"First you raid my home, then you loot my pudding, then you set your wily sights on my liquor." She sighed dramatically, pulling her stool away from the counter and opening the cabinet underneath. "Is there no end to the madness?"

He got up to his feet and peered over her shoulder at the assorted bottles, breath warm on her ear.

"Undetermined of the present." He threw her some serious side-eye and then looked away, smiling to himself. "Sight unseen."

Bugger.

She'd tossed a blanket his way and offered him an oversized sweater that was far too large to just be hers. He didn't ask, she didn't tell. Her couch was the stuff of dreams, ugly and terribly comfortable.

The storm grew nearer, knocking down lampposts and trees in its wake. They were barely at the start of it and already the world was rattling like a rickety matchbox, mayhem outside the safe haven that was her little flat.

Scorp found himself almost indifferent to it: there were other far more pressing matters demanding his attention.

Rose was sitting on a window seat, folded legs hidden from sight inside an oversized sweater of her own, a wine glass twirling in her hand as she watched the rain pouring out, a smile on her face. "Tell me something I don't know," she said quietly, brow resting against the windowpane, beautiful as no girl had ever been before and possibly never would.

"What sort of thing?"

The entire experience felt like a childhood memory of comfort and warmth - except for the alcohol, of course, and the fact that he wanted to throw her against the nearest wall and kiss that smile off her face.

Details of course. A mere footnote on the situation at hand, the sort that didn't really matter because nobody really reads footnotes.

She glanced over at him and smiled softly, eyes crinkling as she shuffled to make herself comfortable. "Something… I'll like."

"Making heavy demands." He swished his own glass around and took a swallow, flinging his legs over the back of the couch so he could have an unobstructed view of her. "Let's see…"

She added, "Don't make it sad," as a sort of an afterthought.

Like he was incapable of anything but.

"It was implied," he said, letting out a bitter laugh of his own. He thought for a few minutes, eyes glued to the window and took a final sip of his drink before going for it. "Alright, this isn't sad. If you run when you're in the rain, you'll get less wet." He was delighted at her indignant look. "No, hear me out. When you're running, you get swatted with rain from the front as well as the top so one would figure running might make things worse."

A small crease showed on her forehead. "And you're telling me running is always less… wetting."

"You're eloquent when you're squiffy."

Rose chuckled. "You're either far too eloquent or not squiffy enough." Her eyes met his, colour tinting her cheeks. "I did like it, by the way. Practical and not at all sad. Nice even."

Her smile was perfection. If his quill were here, it'd have written a treatise on it by now.

"Practical advice is never not nice," he said, sniggering at the horrified look she immediately threw him.

"I swear to Merlin if you start rhyming, I will -"

"- kick me out?" he offered sceptically, tilting his chin at the maelstrom roaring out the window. "You're far too nice a person for that."

Her blue eyes softened and she smiled. "I was actually going to say 'ply you with the hard liquor until you can't see straight, much less rhyme'."

"Hard liquor as opposed to what?" Scorp snorted, tilting his glass. "This flimsy firewhiskey?"

"Scorp," she said, removing her legs from under the sweater, setting her feet down on the floor and giving him a grave, stern McGonagall-circa-2025 type of look. "There will be none of that rhyming debauchery under my roof."

"Only salubrious alcoholism," he proffered, holding up his glass to her.

The corner of her mouth twitched upwards. "Yes."

"You have a lot of rules," he getting up to his feet and dragging his blanket behind him. He stalked closer to sit on the space her legs had vacated. She was watching him warily and Scorp laughed, leaning primly back against the window. "Calm down, Weasley. No impure intentions here whatsoever."

He was lying of course. At this point, he was a cocktail of complete inebriation and impure intentions… and he wasn't even drunk.

"Good," she said, moving to drape her legs over his lap and sheltering the pair of them with his blanket, as if it might shield them from the world. "Because if you're looking for a notch, I suggest you go find it elsewhere."

His heart quivered in his chest and Scorp felt uncomfortable all over again. Time and time again under her blue eyes he felt far too close and not close enough.

In the end, there was no debauchery of any kind, rhyming or otherwise. He wasn't about to pounce on the person who was keeping a room over his head, especially since apparently she had very little intention of pouncing back.

That feeling of discomfort kept popping up again and again and again, viscerally painful the closer she got, agonizing and excruciating whenever she pulled away.

Buggering storm.

She should've left when she'd had the chance. Time and distance had erased the last one from her mind, played it down. Convinced her it wasn't so bad.

It was getting closer, Rose noted, downing the last of her glass before refilling it and downing another half. She could already feel the tingle on her skin, every hair raised with anticipation, her stomach wriggling with fear.

Like her body knew it was prey.

Every thunder, even the ones far away, made her tingle with a faint echo of magic static. It was still pretty tolerable, but her body was now being reminded with awful accuracy of what it would be like.

As the storm raged they moved further from the window - or fine, Rose moved further from the window and Scorp followed.

"You know, you don't have to awkwardly tailgate me," she said, pouring some more wine into her glass and staring at him as he topped up his own. "You have the lay of the land by now."

She winced when a nearer thunder struck and Scorp's eyebrow furrowed upwards.

"You're giving me carte blanche?"

She pulled a face and let out a little snort at the obvious shock plastered in his face. "What, you don't let your guests roam free?"

Scorp snorted. "Of course not. Grandma is convinced guests steal the silver." He leaned against a nearby wall in a way that made her pulse race. "Specifically teaspoons for some reason."

She needed to be far drunker for this.

"Since my mismatched spoons are a dime a dozen," she said, glaring at her glass and shuddering as another static jolt climbed up her spine, "and there's no silver to speak of, mi casa is su casa for the time being. At will, Malfoy."

"Do you mean strip to my underpants and sing poor renditions of the Weird Sisters?"

"No! " Rose choked on the wine she was sipping and covered her mouth and nose with her hand. She didn't miss the look of delight on his face at the situation, and reached out for her wand to accio a napkin… only to let her hand drop for the thousandth time as she remembered she couldn't.

"I honestly can't picture you singing, much less poorly and in your underpants." She opened a nearby cabinet and dabbed at the stain on her shirt. He rested his cheekbone against the doorframe with a smirk and Rose's heart thumped quietly as she looked over at him and added an incredulous, "Really?"

"No, of course not." He snorted and downed the last of his glass with a smug look. "They're excellent renditions of the Weird Sisters. My mum tells me I sing like an angel."

"She does?"

"Of course she doesn't," he said, pulling a face and shaking his head. "Keep with the program, love."

"Bugger off, Malfoy."

"I'm doling out beautiful sarcasm here and you're missing out on it because you keep drooling over the image of me singing into a hairbrush... in my underwear."

He wasn't wrong.

Her therapist had AdviceTM precisely for this sort of situation. Checking in, letting go of judgement, using 'I' statements, all of which felt terribly dangerous right about now.

It was a fascinating amalgamation of books. On the bookshelves, collecting dust, literary masterpieces. Closer at hand, terribly pastel coloured books that looked like they'd been shat out by a rainbow.

Scorp read tonelessly aloud from a random page, "'Hands plunged down my back to cradle my arse as he ground into me'?"

Rose, who was just stepping in the room became beet red and looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. "Scorp…"

He tutted and leaned back against the couch, continuing, "'Only sex, that's all it can be' . Well, now we have drama. Wonder what comes next."

"Put down the book, Malfoy."

"I will do no such thing." He twirled the book around and looked at the candy cover. "I'm invested now." She approached him with grim determination and he held out a hand to keep her at bay. "No, no, no. You told me to make myself at home. Mi casa es tu casa , mis books are tus books, I assumed."

"I also told you that if you poked fun at anything, you'd be out on your arse."

She looked like she was about ready to cry which was reasonable because books were deeply personal affairs and the sanctity of them was not to be mocked - even if it was terribly tempting to do so.

Scorp sighed, and quirked an eyebrow at her before saying, "Would it make you feel less self-conscious if I told you I read my way through Seventy Ways To Yell 'Arghh' just yesterday?"

Not 'saying', confessing, really. Seventy Ways to Yell 'Argh' wasn't the sort of thing people admitted to reading. However, at this moment in time and coming face to face with her embarrassed-going-on-hurt look, he'd gladly have admitted to any and all of his literary shame.

It had the intended effect. "You what?!"

She looked shocked and disappointed and amazed at the same time.

His reputation taking a nosedive for the sake of her feelings, would the infamy never cease?

He nodded blithely, draping his legs up over the back of the couch and tapping her book against the cushion. "Trust me, I'm in no position to judge… whatever this is."

"You read troll smut?!"

"First of all," he said snootily, "it's a celebrated work shedding light into an otherwise neglected and unknown culture, so don't tear it down until you've read it." Scorp snorted and offered her a crooked smirk. "But also the answer is 'yes'."

"It's garbage!" Rose let herself fall on the other end of the couch and took a fortifying sip of her wine. "It's… it's awful!"

"It's also surprisingly entertaining, which you'd know if you'd actually read it."

They stared at each other for a few seconds, him smiling innocently, her still trying to wrap her mind around the concept that he read crack fiction.

"You're taking the piss," she said finally, shaking her head. "There's no way -"

"It's in my bag."

She gaped back at him and her eyes flickered to his bag before they settled on him before they went right back to the bag.

"No."

"Oh, yes," he said sweetly, walking over to retrieve the aforementioned book and handing it to her. "In the flesh - or rather, the page."

"I can't -" She took it from his hand and turned it in her hands, delightedly cradling it to her chest in a way that made him feel almost jealous. "Oh, Merlin."

Scorp rolled his eyes. "Stop being a judgy pest," he said, laying back down on his previous, terribly comfortable position and holding her book open on his chest. "Or I'll start reading this one aloud, see how your literary taste fares."

"You're not really reading it, are you?"

"Why not?"

He hadn't intended to, but now he definitely was - if only to find out why she was looking so delightfully flushed. He let out a mild snort and pulled the blanket over his legs, relishing on the fact that it smelled like her - like bloody sunshine - and stubbornly opening it to the first page.

Rose's eyes were wide and her eyebrows so high up they were practically hidden in her hairline.

He smiled to himself and read on, "'I glanced down at the text while the light was red'- " Brow furrowed momentarily. "What text? And what light?"

She had leaned back against the opposite cushion, legs sprawled over the empty couch seat his legs weren't using and was silently staring at his book with a 'will I won't I' type of look.

"If you read it," he enticed with a sing-song voice, "you can tear it to shreds properly." He snorted after a few seconds and then added, "You'll like it, probably." She looked at him like he'd just offered her a deeply personal offence and he let out a strained laugh. "Not the troll smut, obviously, but the rest of it's rather palatable. Heartwarming even. A story of love and outlandish, borderline silly violence in pursuit of it."

"You're baiting me."

She still looked suspicious and Scorp's heart twanged in his chest. "Maybe a little."

"You really liked it?" And after a few seconds, "Really really?"

The way she was looking at him now was far too personal, far too intimate. All of this was like some sort of bizarre literary foreplay that would lead to absolutely nothing at all and would have him tearing out his hair for months to come as he remembered her sitting on the edge of the couch, biting her lip and reading his book.

"'Like' is a strong word, but I stand by it," he said, pointedly looking away from her. "Give it a go."

Every single time she snorted or let out a shocked laugh at the pages, his heart felt like it'd been handed a punch.

He was far too distracted figuring out what bit she was at in his book, what line, what everything to properly remember to poke fun at hers.

It was a terrible book, Rose thought with a smile as she lowered Scorp's legs and draped two or three blankets over him. He was snuffed, just like the candles that had died through the night, exhausted to the end of their wick.

There was no light to signal the dawn, nothing but dusk and the slamming of rain against the windows. Lightning persisted, falling far too often and far too close for comfort.

Rose tentatively stuck her head into the living room to find Scorpius already sitting at the window seat and scowling outside. His hair was wet and his clothes were rumpled from sleeping in them and he looked as stormy as the quagmire raging outside.

"Good morning, sunshine," she cooed. "Sleep well?"

He groaned in return. "I keep forgetting you're a morning person."

"Whereas I never forget you're a grouch."

She crossed the distance between them with practised steps that were far happier than she was feeling after a wretched night of twisting and turning in her bed. To add insult to injury, her feet had been cold and, without magic, there were no warming spells to keep them toasty.

Didn't really matter how many pairs of socks she stuffed on them when at her core she still felt… cold.

She shook a smile onto her face and carefully handed him a mug of piping hot coffee. "Here you go," she said, taking in his wet hair, evidence of a shower. "Did you find the towels?"

"Yeah." He scrunched his nose. "It was a… complicated process. Half burning and half freezing before I figured out those sadistic nozzles."

The thought of Scorp hissing as he fought against her famously finicky shower was sort of amusing and Rose's smile grew. "You get used to it."

He gave her a cynical smile and took a sip of his coffee. "Great brew. Best yet, probably." He shook his head and frowned at the cup. "I have no idea how you do it, especially sans magic."

No, okay, that was amusing.

"It's instant coffee," she said, her chest shaking with laughter. "This one's the very worst instant coffee too, it's like… bottom-shelf, scraping-the-barrel instant coffee. I had to fish it out of the very back of the cupboard." He stared blankly back at her and Rose sat on the very edge of the couch, still quaking with laughter. "It's not even a brew, it's literally ground coffee in a packet that you pour hot water into and then stir."

He was staring down at his cup like it had somehow betrayed him.

"Your snooty taste buds are into naff coffee, oh Merlin." Rose brushed a delighted hand through her hair. "And here I was tinkering with the blend at work -"

"How do you know how I take my coffee?"

The look he gave her made her heart stop. Too close.

She let out a laugh and stood up to her feet. "What do you mean? We've been working together for -"

"I was three days in and you already knew. S'not just me either, is it?"

He said it like it was odd and Rose's heart put up a defensive little shield. "My Nan always said the easiest way to make someone happy was to notice and remember how they took their coffee."

So she did. A small gesture, really, that cost nothing and asked for nothing in return.

He stared at her for a second, eyes narrowed and then looked pointedly away. "Fair."

She clung to her coffee with slightly shaking hands and took a few aimless steps away from him.

"I didn't mean it as a bad thing," he said with a scowl and took another sip of his common-as-muck coffee. "And it does make me happy."

He didn't look it or sound it.

Why do you say things like that? was what she wanted to ask. It was like he'd missed the childhood class on 'smile for happy, frown for sad'.

"I have fresh clothes for you if you want," was what she said instead, offering him a sunny smile that was in stark contrast with what she was feeling. "Boyfriend spoils. Mostly shirts, I think..." He was now giving her the once over, the same petri-dish oddity look that he'd given her house at first and her heart raced. "What?"

He shook his head and let out a small snort, getting up to his feet. "Lead the way. I think I need another shower, I stink already."

She did just that, heart shuddering as she led him into her bedroom.

Her bedroom was surprisingly bereft of personality and Scorp almost felt disappointed. There was no colour about it, no soul, like it was someone else's entirely.

"You weren't kidding."

Half her wardrobe was male shirts and hoodies, like someone of the male persuasion was actually living there. Rose shook her head, her hand brushing through them.

Boyfriend spoils.

It sent his heart into disarray. All of her did, really, but this was the sort of hopeless dismay that had him scowling until his face hurt. One thing was hearing it, another thing entirely was seeing it: anger, jealousy, possessiveness knit themselves into a cosy scarf around his neck that felt a little like a noose, a miserable little piece of gallows humour that the universe was keen on rubbing his nose on.

In the bubble they shared at work, she'd almost felt... his or, if not his at the very least not someone else's.

"I keep meaning to get rid of it all," she said, shaking her head and rolling her eyes, her smile never faltering. "Long overdue."

The implied 'breakup' had his heart straight up laughing and it was hard to keep his face from following suit. "Why don't you?"

She let out a small snort in return and waved a dismissive hand, the same 'Leave Me The Hell Alone' from last time.

"Blue or grey?" She held two shirts to him and nodded at the second. "Definitely grey. Goes with your eyes."

His hand held hers in place over the shirt for a second before she seamlessly slipped away.

"Do you need underwear?" She pulled a face and started fishing through drawers. "Of course you do. Not sure about pants, there are some but you're taller, you'll look -"

Again and again. Home.

"- ridiculous," she finished, triumphantly tossing a pair of underpants at him. "There you go."

"Why did you break it off?"

He personally couldn't imagine what breed of armpit-licking wanker would let her get away without a fight.

She let out an incredulous chuckle through her smile. "I didn't." She rolled her eyes. "Apparently I'm too, what was the word -" She stopped to toss him a pair of socks and Scorp's jaw set at the obvious pain on her face. "- shallow."

Clearly, the problem was far more insidious than just an armpit-licking wanker.

Clearly, they were talking about a dangerous escapee from a psychiatric institution, possibly the kind that molested small furry animals. At the very least a catatonic blight upon civilized society, a myopic excrement stain of existential sub-mediocrity.

Anger really did bring out the lyrical side of him.

"Shallow," he repeated acerbically, getting down to catch the socks he'd missed. "You."

"Seems like it. I get it, I mean, I write fluff pieces for a living." The laughter she let out was far too brittle for his liking, every chuckle a morsel of broken mirth. "Not exactly peak journalism. I'm not out there in Syria reporting The Truth-"

"I'm sorry," Scorp interrupted her, shaking his head, still trying to wrap his mind around the inane words coming out of her mouth. "You mean to tell me this-" egregiously narcissistic exhibition of genetic deficiency "- ex-boyfriend of yours said what?"

Well, he knew what he was doing after they got out of this. All he needed was a shovel and a discreet plot of land hidden somewhere in the woods.

"Real charmer, I know." Her brow scrunched up and she tilted her head at him. "Don't give me that look, I know you think it too. You may be nicer about it -"

"What?!"

"- and not actually outright say it, but…" Her eyebrows scrunched and she shook her head with another little laugh that sounded too much like his own. "Doesn't matter." She gently took her mug from his hand and walked over to the door. "I'm getting us a refill. If you're going to shower again, get a move on it. I need -"

He had no idea what she needed because she was gone before she finished the sentence.

Maybe he wouldn't need that discreet plot in the woods after all. If he ever met the wanker, there'd be nothing left to bury.

Her therapist would've told her now would be a good time to say the words aloud, a little 'I' statement that would help.

I am upset.

But Rose Weasley didn't do 'upset'. She wasn't entirely sure how not the regular kind. Sadness was uncomfortable and best left ignored - until it came pouring out all at once in an angry cyclone that tore everything in its wake.

It wasn't anger, it was never anger.

It was bottled up sadness. Disappointment. Disillusionment.

The personification of all those emotions was staring right back at her, a scowl on his face.

"Want one?" she asked as she poured herself a much-needed glass of wine. "I know it's early but," and here she tilted her chin at the window, "it's going to get worse soon."

He shook his head and leaned on his arm against the doorframe.

Rose let out a little huffy laughter into her glass of red. "How's the shirt?"

The grey shirt had been a favourite of hers and on him, it was… well. She'd given it to Ethan a month or two before their untimely separation and he'd always claimed it was off. On Scorp it fit like a glove. Perfect. Like it had been made for him somehow.

"I'm filching it when this is over," he said simply, letting out a laugh that warmed her more than the wine ever could. "While we're on the topic of shirts-"

"You can take them all, if you want," Rose said, rolling her eyes. "You'd be doing me a favour."

"Thanks, but that wasn't it," he said, getting over to her and taking her glass away. "I was going to say that some shirts are incredibly stupid."

Rose stared back at him. What in the world…?

"The very word says it all, you just take the 'r' and that's what they are." He took a swallow of her glass and grimaced before handing it back to her. "Just because a daft shirt keeps finding excuses as to why it won't fit, that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with me. Right?"

This was either Scorp laying it thick on the self-image issues, or they weren't talking about shirts at all.

"And just because one shirt says my shoulders are too broad-"

Definitely no lack of self-love there.

"- it doesn't mean all other shirts share the same opinion. In fact, most shirts think that shirt is a proper wanker. A putrid, cretinous, backwards-swine of a shirt. "

She felt a smile, a genuine, non-forced, bonafide smiling smile grow on her face.

"You don't say," she said, carefully keeping her eyes trained on her glass so she wouldn't give her heart any more reasons to explode. "Those are very strong feelings to have toward a piece of clothing."

"I have a few choice words for that shirt. A lot of them, actually." A hand rested on top of her head and gave it a gentle squeeze of sorts before turning to the living room. He stopped right before the door and threw her a smirk over his shoulder. "You know the shirt's wrong, right?"

"I know."

"Do you?"

She could see the annoyance simmering in his face and she forced a smile on her face.

"Most of the time."

He sighed and stalked back into the kitchen. From the way he poured himself a glass, he'd apparently decided that it wasn't far too early to have a drink.

"Everyone loves being miserable. It's easy to complain and mope and spin a sad little story. Any idiot can do it." Scorp rolled his eyes and let out a scornful little chuckle that had nothing to do with the words coming out of his mouth. "You're the smile on people's coffee break, lost between the scowl on page 1 and the frown on page 3."

He took a swig of his drink and grimaced.

"Don't let a confounded shirt convince you that's somehow less than."

They'd started out in remote corners of the couch and somehow converged on the end furthest away from the window, huddled close in silent agreement, their discarded books forgotten on the table. Rain, wind and magic buffeted the glass pane and she squeezed further into him, their eyes glued to the cyclone raging outside.

From a purely logical point of view, this should've felt far more foreign but, in the present situation, all she could do was thank the Fates that he was there.

That she wasn't alone.

"I can feel the damned thing," Rose whispered. "Like it's crawling under my skin."

In general, magic was something you had but didn't really notice, sort of like your toes. Now, however, just like when you stubbed one and became acutely aware of its presence, Rose's blood was screaming in her veins, tingling with irritation, making her fidget at the itch she couldn't scratch.

Scorp nodded. "You don't say."

Far too ironic, far too close, far too handsome.

Far too dangerous.

"Tell me something I don't know." His tone was steady and she could hear the mocked mimicry in his voice. "Something I'll like."

"How can you..." Words died at a stronger thunder and she almost hissed as a wave of static jolted through her. "How can you even sarcasm ? Aren't you uncomfortable ?"

Only mordant laughter in return. "What do you think?"

She struggled to look at him and met the usual jeer.

"I have no idea," she said honestly, rubbing an agonizing arm. It wasn't so much pain as… pins and needles. "I'm going a little batty myself but you seem -"

"Fine?"

Again with the laughter, Merlin.

"Yes, fine," she said spitefully. "I'm -"

Another thunder clapped and Rose winced.

Warm arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer. "I'm not fine," he clarified, pulling the blankets further around them before his arms engulfed her again. His chin rested on her shoulder and he let out a bitter little chuckle. "And I'm really glad you didn't kick me out."

Rose bit down on her lower lip. "Then why -"

A flash of light, followed by a rumble shook the apartment and Rose clambered further into him.

"Small talk, darling." He laughed his acidic little laugh into her neck. "Figured it might help."

Rose looked over at him and his lips curled upwards in a faint smile that was equal measures of caustic and vulnerable.

"I've never been around for one of these," he continued, shaking his head against her shoulder. "My parents and I always go away. Far away. I always figured it was much ado about nothing but -"

He briefly flinched as another thunder struck and Rose's heart stirred with protectiveness.

"- apparently I was wrong."

Under the blanket, her fingers traced his arm all the way to his hand. Unlike the rest of him, it was cold and clammy and practically jumped at her touch. Her fingers twined into his and closed around them in a fist.

"I'm glad you're here," she said quietly. "I'd be miserable if you weren't."

She leaned back against his chest and stretched her legs over the couch.

A thunder clapped and he let out another of his sarcastic chuckles. "You're not miserable because I'm here?"

"I am miserable." Quietly, after a few seconds, she added, "But less."

Her small hand tugged at his with every thunder, every noise, effectively pulling his arms closer around her. Their legs were tangled on the couch, the back pillows having been relegated to the floor for extra room.

He probably shouldn't feel this happy, given the circumstances and the fact that every few minutes their skin would crawl with magical psoriasis… but he was.

Merlin, was he.

"Ask me again," she said quietly after a few minutes of silent clinging.

"Ask again what?"

"Something you don't know," she said, giving his hand a reflexive a tug as another flash of light hit and the nervous crawl itched under their skin. "Something you'll like."

"Something I'll like?" He snorted. "Oh, please, do make it depressing Miss Sunshine."

She stiffened against him and let out a small chuckle. "Well, that's easy then." Her voice became very small and she continued, "Baby panda died. His mum sat on him."

Bugger. Scorp had hoped she'd missed it entirely.

He rested the side of his head against hers, eyes closing. "I know."

"You didn't tell me."

"Darling -" His arms tightened around her and he pressed a small kiss to the side of her head. Just the one. A footnote. "- no, of course I didn't tell you."

"It didn't even make the Bad News."

He shook his head. "It didn't. Got pushed down by all the tragedies. Limited space."

"Why wouldn't you tell me?"

Because it would make you sad.

"I had to find out from Fletcher," she continued, turning to look at him and looking oh so betrayed. "I don't want to get my Bad News from Fletcher."

"How's it any different than getting them from me?"

She struggled out of his arms and looked at him like he was insane. "Fletcher's a snivelling parasite who feasts on people's misery."

"And I'm not?" He was torn between feeling amused and pleased. "You always said -"

"I know what I said." Rose scowled, propping herself up with an (extremely painful) elbow to his ribs. "You might be a dopamine deficient prat, but you don't -"

"Capitalise on misery? Crusade for angst? Obfuscate all that's good in this world?"

She snorted and shook her head. "No, you do that too. It's more..." She hesitated for a second and then her mouth curled into a small smile. "It's just easier when it comes from someone close, you know?"

It was good that lightning chose that exact instant to strike so he had a reason to feel the way he was feeling. Raw. Exposed, a little like he had when he'd found himself exhibited on her wall.

"Close?"

"Aren't we?" Her face fell. "I thought… I just…"

Everything inside him crawled and it had nothing to do with the storm.

He should rip the band-aid and get it over and done with. Snog her and either get shagged or get smacked and move on.

"Of course we are," was what came out instead, and he pressed a kiss to her head - this one hesitant and not a footnote at all. "Can't think of anyone I'd rather face Armageddon with."

He should hand her in to the proper authorities - the smile she gave him was clearly the reason for those melting ice caps everyone was fussing about. It thawed every single cold piece of him and set it on fire and Scorp felt his cheeks heating up.

Oh, the indignity. Oh, the abasement.

Here he was, still wrapped around her little finger. And it was only getting worse.

He'd fallen asleep with his head on her shoulder, like an overtired child.

How he could sleep, Rose wouldn't be able to tell you. Outside, the storm growled, sucking the magic out of everything and everyone, heading straight for Diagon Alley where it would feast on every building, every semi-permanent spell, every person.

Circe hadn't been this bad, Rose thought, mouth pressed into a thin line. Neither had Morgana or Medea.

Ceridwen was a 9.2 in the Podmore scale and it kept on growing.

Thunder struck and Scorp fidgeted against her. Rose's hand moved over to his hair and stroked it softly and he leaned into her touch like a cat.

"Scorp?"

Nothing.

Rose carefully untangled herself from him and stopped just as he let out a slight little protesting moan. She stopped until his breathing slowed again and resumed plucking herself from his arms. Sidestepped his torso, nearly tripping in her effort not to wake him.

Looking at him asleep made Rose's heart ache. The snide was all but gone replaced with something vulnerable that everything in her yearned to protect at all costs.

She assembled all the blankets she could find and wrapped them around him. When she was tucking in his feet, he stirred, smiling at her faintly from the recesses of his sleep and mumbling a small 'thanks' before his eyes closed again.

If the awake Scorp was dangerous, the asleep one made her want to throw all caution to the wind. If toying with the cynical version of him was playing with matches, staring at the soft boy inside was like being caught in a wildfire.

He'd wished she'd stay, willed it like nothing else before.

And she was gone anyway.

He was all alone in her too comfortable couch, with her too comfortable blankets that smelled comfortably like her. There was a pervasive, uncanny feeling that something was missing, like when you misplaced your wand or forgot the cauldron you'd left simmering.

Terrifying really.

Well, if nothing else, this story is clearly an excellent way to flex my vocabulary. This one comes dedicated specifically to fearinourminds, who I hope had an excellent day. Thanks to Fangalicious, nobodysperfect2133, raspberryrainx3 and the unknown Guest for their super kind words on the first chapter, y'all are bamf ❤️ Here we are with chapter 2! Chapter 3 coming soonish, I just need to actually, y'know, write it.

(Quotes from Rose's book are from Abby Jimenez's book, The Friendzone. Solid chick lit, guys, I actively recommend.)

Have a great one!