The man in bed beside him reeks of cologne—jasmine or rose or whatever, but at least he's still asleep. Louis slips out of bed, the silk sheets falling off of him, grabs his wand off the nightstand, and walks naked into the toilet down the hall of his flat. He tugs his lavender-colored robe off of the hook on the door and wraps it around himself. It's colder than he expected—it must've dropped below freezing in the night because the wooden floors are chilly against his bed-warmed feet.

He's barely hungover—just a slight headache and a little nauseous, but nothing too bad. He didn't drink nearly as much as...whoever the other man is. He takes a piss and then washes his hands with an aloe soap bar that's fallen into the sink. He scrubs and scrubs and then washes his face clean, too. He hopes the man in his bed is gone already, but he knows he's probably still asleep, facedown in Louis' pillow.

He can't even remember the man's name.

When he's finished in the toilet, he rummages through the dryer for some clothing, as he doesn't want to go back into his bedroom and wake up the man there. He finds a T-shirt that definitely belongs to one of his cousins and some jeans; he pulls them on and heads to the kitchen, where he takes lights a flame on the stovetop with a nonverbal fire-making charm and takes a carton of eggs out of the fridge. Sure, the clock reads three o'clock, but Louis wants an omelet for breakfast. He butters the pan first, and then whisks the eggs together in a bowl. As he cooks, the previous night starts to come to him in pieces.

Louis has been an Auror for almost a year now. He joined the three-year training programme straight out of Hogwarts, wanting something to dive in and distract himself from whatever the hell was going on inside of his head after seventh year.

He doesn't think about that anymore.

He saves lives now—as an Auror in the Dark Crimes branch, he followed up on crimes involving Dark magic in order to track down Dark Magic users and put them in Azkaban. On nearly every mission, he's gotten embraces from upset families and smiles from rescued victims. He dives into the thick of danger, facing Dark spells, cursed objects, and evil witches and wizards as an Auror. It means he comes home with wounds he doesn't remember getting and memories of horrific events, but at least he doesn't have to think for long before he comes home, fucks someone new, wakes up and starts all over again. Anyone's willing to sleep with him, anyway, as a Weasley that's one-eighth Veela and well-known within the Wizarding World, he has men and women jumping at the opportunity to sleep with him.

And yet…

Two cold arms wrap around him from the back and Louis whips around, dropping the pan onto the stove with a clatter and stabbing his wand out on instinct. The man from his bed holds up his hands in mock surrender. Louis' shoulders drop. "Oh. Sorry."

The man gives him a sheepish smirk. "No worries. Just wanted to say good morning." He runs the back of his hand down Louis' arm. "Last night was amazing."

Louis turns back around and adds bits of red pepper and mozzarella cheese to his omelet. "Yeah. Look, I'm gonna leave right after I eat, so, um…"

"Connor."

Louis is still a little sore from last night. "Right. Connor. I had a great time last night, but…"

The man runs both hands up Louis' arms, over his shoulders, and kisses the side of his neck. "Mmhm… You did?"

"Yeah…" Why the fuck are his hands shaking? He stills them as he scrapes the omelet onto a plate on the counter. "You want half for the road?"

Connor laughs. "You really are trying to get rid of me, aren't you?"

Louis shrugs and holds out the plate to him. "I've got a busy day ahead. I had a good time, you had a good time—let's leave it at that. Now, I've really gotta go—Auror business, you know."

Connor leans back against the kitchen counter, tilting his head. "You're a tough one to read, Weasley." He kisses Louis' cheek, a long, lingering one. "Owl me, yeah?"

"Sure."

The other man gives him one last smile, picks his wand up off the windowsill where he left it, shrugs on his coat, and vanishes into the cold. A wintery breeze sneaks inside as the door opens, and Louis sits down at the counter to eat his omelet, finally alone.

He's not really dressed for the cold, but it was about time he left the flat, anyway. He's supposed to be out on another mission tomorrow to join a hunt for some Dark wizard who's apparently been spotted trekking through northern Germany. Why couldn't the man pick Brazil or Namibia? Somewhere warm, where Louis wouldn't risk freezing his balls off just to catch another Dark magic user.

He's wearing dark jeans, thick boots, and a silk shirt, his coat buttoned up and a purple knitted scarf knotted tightly around his neck. Grandma Molly made it just for him, and now that he thinks about it he wishes he'd worn a different one.

It really is cold outside, so frigid that ice crusts over the already fallen snow and the puddles to make a slipping hazard for anyone walking through London. He nearly slips and falls a dozen times. How cold did it get last night? Snow gathers on his eyelashes and in his hair, so he pulls a knitted cap out of his coat pocket and tugs it over his ears. Fuck my hair, he thinks harshly. No one can see past the Veela parts of him to tell if his hair is fucked up anyway.

The night is ultraviolet and thick with people, couples tangled around each other for warmth, bare-legged girls in fur coats, loners in beanies with wind-whipped faces… Louis supposes he's one of them. He crosses the street and narrowly avoids getting hit by a sedan that slips over an icy patch. "Watch it!" he shouts into the wind, but his voice is lost, and the man behind the wheel flips him the bird. "Fuck you, arsehole!" He must've passed the pub already; it couldn't possibly be this far. He's fucking freezing, and the fact that he's lost makes it even worse. He stomps at a patch of ice. He fishes in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes, but he can't find any—must've left them in his other coat.

As he's about to cross the road to go back the way he came, a figure swathed in purple on the other side of the street slips on the same patch of ice the car swerved in and starts to fall in oncoming headlights. "Look out!" Louis' reflexes are quick—he spots the car and makes a split second decision, casting a hefty "Protego!" that blasts the man out of the street and makes the car honk noisily as it veers to avoid the strange blue mass of light. As soon as it passes, Louis bolts across the street, casting a sticking charm to his boots so he doesn't fall again. He squints through the white flakes spilling from the sky and he dashes to the figure, who's now laying on his back with his arms outstretched "Oi! Oi, mate, you alright? I—I—" He's not just a man. He's… "I…" Words escape him; his breath leaves him in strained puffs of vapor dissipating into the night air. "I…"

Lorcan Scamander is on his back on the ground, his violet eyes staring blankly up into the sky. His hair is still as blonde as ever, almost silver in the light of the moon, and he's just as radiant, just as beautiful. He's struggling to get up, as his cane is now a few feet away. Louis has to bend to pick it up, and he pushes it into the other man's hand, silent. Should he say something? Will Lorcan know it's him if he doesn't say anything else? As he catches his breath, the blonde turns his head in Louis' general direction and smiles. "Saved me again, Weasley."

He knows. Louis can't breathe.

"Help me up?"

For the first time since he was seventeen, Louis takes Lorcan's hand, helping him back to his feet, and guides his cane to an ice-free part of the sidewalk. "You okay?" he manages.

Lorcan is still smiling. "Of course," he says, but it's not a real answer. He's doing that thing he does, when his eyes half-close and he takes in the presence of the person close to him. Well, if I'm gonna be blind, I've gotta be able to see people somehow, don't I? Lorcan said once, when they were both fifteen and high and stargazing on the roof of Ravenclaw Tower.

Louis had laughed, then, a real laugh from deep inside of him and interlaced their fingers. Okay—what do you see when you look at me?

Lorcan giggled. Hmm… Purple.

Purple? What does that even mean?

Like... When I see you, it's like I'm biting into a plum. Or watching a baby bird fly for the first time.

That, Louis declared into the night sky, makes no fucking sense.

Lorcan sat up, and looked down at him with that breathtaking smile. There were hundreds of freckles on his face, like constellations layered on top of each other, down his neck and disappearing into his white collared shirt, the tie loosened to reveal a touch of collarbone. The world makes no fucking sense, he said, and Louis wanted to kiss him right then and there. That's why I love it.

"It's you," Lorcan breathes, face lifted in surprise, and snowflakes melt as they dust his face.

"Yeah," he admits, and his throat flares with guilt. "Hey, Lorcan."

The blonde man's eyebrows furrow, his expression now draped in something like grief. "It's been a long time."

Seeing him again is deja-vu, a dream so distant that when he tries to grasp it, it melts around his fingers and spills right through the cracks. "Yeah."

"Four years."

"Yeah."

Lorcan Scamander sighs, and his eyes glisten. "I missed you so much."

If Louis stays here any longer, he's gonna...he's gonna… Fuck, he's gonna cry like a little girl in the middle of the street if he has to look at Lorcan's face any longer. He doesn't have a response. What is he supposed to say? Me, too, he tries, but the words never make it to his mouth.

"Wanna go somewhere?"

"Why?" he manages.

"Because we're going to freeze to death. C'mon."

For the second time that night, Louis takes Lorcan's hand.

Lorcan Scamander was the only one he ever truly trusted—not his parents, not his sisters, not his mates, but Lorcan Scamander. When they were together, Louis always felt safe. He felt happy. Their souls were so close they were intertwined, like trees planted too close together, roots tangled together. Part of him was always, always rooted in Lorcan Scamander. You're different, he'd told him one night when they were eleven, hiding in the kitchens and eating leftover pastries as the house elves slept. You're really my friend.

Why? Lorcan asked him.

You wanted to be my friend, Louis explained simply, without ever seeing me.

But I can't see you, he said, confused, powdered sugar spattering his face.

Yeah, Louis agreed, and he grabbed another pastry from the tray. That's how I know it's real.

"What are you thinking about?"

He could never lie to Lorcan. "I…" he starts. They're at a booth in the back of a nearby pub now, warmed by firewhiskey and the low heat of the fireplace behind the blonde. "I don't know. You. Me." He spins the glass of firewhiskey on the table between them, focusing on it instead of him. "Us." He's spent four years trying to forget Lorcan Scamander—so why does his chest feel like it's about to burst?

"You seem...upset."

The tears are coming back, and Louis struggles to push them back. "Why wouldn't I be?" he snaps, and a rush of shame spreads over his face. "The last time I saw you…"

"...you told me you hated me," Lorcan finishes. "I know. I forgave you for that a long time ago, love." He smiles sadly. "Louis. I'm not mad about that. You were...going through something really difficult, and you lashed out. It's okay."

Everything he says—love, forgave, Louis—makes the tears bubble over, and he grips the edges of the table to try to pull himself together. "I'm sorry," he chokes out—there they are, the words he never managed to say to him for four years and six fucking months.

"Louis, it's okay… That was so long ago. When your aunt died—"

"Don't." He feels it again, raw like an open wound, and now he remembers exactly why he's so numb. Why he can't fuck anyone without shutting himself out completely. "Look—I dunno why you're still talking to me—you know who I am. You've seen the papers." They put him on the cover of Witch Weekly last month. The Veela Prince, they called him"I'm not the kid you remember," he scoffs.

Lorcan shakes his head. "You're just like I remember," he counters. "Just a little sadder, I think. You're still purple, Louis, still sweet and brave and kind, just a different shade. You're wrong."

"I'm always wrong."

"Louis—"

"No. Stop. What's fucking wrong with you?" he snaps, and Lorcan blinks his beautiful violet eyes. He feels sick to his stomach. "You know exactly who I am—I'm not like you. I fucked someone last night and a different one the night before that—so what the fuck are you still doing here?"

"I don't care who you've slept with or who you haven't." Lorcan's eyes drift. "I know you better than those magazines ever well. I'm here for you," he answers, and he places his hand on the table between them, palm up. "I care about you, and I know you're in pain, so I'm still here."

"...It was my fault." The glasses are empty, and sweet strands of purpled sunlight sweep into the pub. It's mostly empty now, the only sounds being the bartender cleaning glasses behind the bar and the waitress sweeping up in the opposite corner. The fireplace is dying, the smell of ashes sifting to them, and Lorcan and Louis are on the same side of the booth now, Louis' head tipped onto Lorcan's shoulder. "I shouldn't have walked out on you."

Louis' hand sits in his lap, and Lorcan takes it, tracing the edges of his fingers. "It wasn't your fault. It was nobody's fault—you were just in pain."

And he was. The funeral happened halfway through his seventh year at Hogwarts, and when it did, he just...stopped. He barely remembers the year, only that he got through it with half-decent grades and lost all of his friends by the time it was over. Most importantly, he lost Lorcan.

"I just thought—I thought—" He takes another breath, and Lorcan waits patiently for him to finish. "Fuck, I can't explain it, Lorcan, it's been four fucking years and I can't—"

Lorcan just keeps stroking his hand gently, even as Louis feels the grief hit him like a tidal wave of black sea.

"I joined the Aurors 'cause I thought it would make me feel better, yeah? Give me something to do that was good, you know, something that wouldn't—fucking—taint me. I just feel like… I just...feel like I need to save everyone, to redeem myself…"

"Redeem yourself for what?"

"For… I don't know." He shifts his head so that his forehead is leaning on Lorcan's shoulder, and he breathes in that sweet scent, of lavender and vanilla, and the tightness in his chest unfurls just a little. "I know it doesn't make any fucking sense. It just...hurts."

Lorcan lifts his hand and kisses his knuckles, just once. "Grief speaks before sense, love. It's okay if it doesn't make any sense."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"Really. I—I'm sorry. When… I... "

"I know. It's okay."

"I… I just…"

"I know, I know. It's okay. We're okay. It's okay."

[2728 words]

Hogwarts - Men's History - Task #4 - Write about a male character who gets a lot of girlfriend/boyfriends.

Writing Club - Thomas: (word) deja-vu, (action) running, (dialogue) "I just... feel like I need to save everyone, to redeem myself." & Showtime - 9 Something Good - (genre) Romance & Character Appreciation - "Because we're going to freeze to death." & disney challenge - dialogue - "It was my fault. I shouldn't have walked out on you." & the fabulous world of comics - 11 - (restriction) no under the age of 18 & Elizabeths empire - 30 (era) next gen & lizas loves - 4 - Blindness/Deafness - Write about a character that suffers from either. & lizzy's loft - "Grief speaks before sense.", (word) surprise & angel's archive - 16 - Russia (1993) (weather) snow & Scamander's Case - 30 - (plot point) saving someone & Film Festival - 1 (weather) snow & Marvel Appreciation - Shield - Write a fic including the spell Protego

Days of the Year - May 7 - No Socks Day - Write about a 'morning after.' Spring - 5 - (word) happy & Color - lavender & Birthstones - Pearl : (dialogue) - "You're wrong." / "I'm always wrong." & Tarot Cards - The fool - (theme) new beginnings & Earth element - (word) rooted & SPring Astrology - (word) radiant & History of Spring - 1 - Write about a character acting with deep sincerity

366 - 27 - bend

Insane - 318 - (character) Louis Weasley

Geek Pride: How To Train Your Dragon - Write about a character seeing past someone/something's reputation.

Game of Life - Occupation - your choice (Auror)

IWD - Karl Marx (dialogue) "What are you thinking about?" & job - Auror = (word) safe

Flowers - Sweet Pea - (dialogue) "I missed you so much."