Blaise’s dorm is dimly lit, the air thick with tension. It’s been a long day, one where you’ve barely seen each other, and now that you’re here, he’s determined to make up for lost time.

His lips crash against yours, urgent, possessive, as he presses you against the wall. His hands roam beneath your shirt, fingers trailing over your skin, igniting a fire that only he can control.

You’re too lost in him to notice the first knock.

It isn’t until the second—louder, more insistent, accompanied by a familiar voice—that reality intrudes.

"Yo, Blaise? Open the door."

Draco. Persistent as ever.

Blaise freezes for a fraction of a second before his dark eyes meet yours, a silent warning in their depths.

"You best be quiet, ma."

Before you can react, his hand covers your mouth, his other arm keeping you firmly in place as he steps away. When he pulls open the door, his expression is unreadable—calm, indifferent. Every trace of the heat and hunger from moments ago is gone.

Like it never existed at all.