”When there's loving in the air, don't fight it, just keep breathing. I can't help myself but stare, double check for double meanings. I'm a man who's got very specific taste.”

My Type — Saint Motel

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The ride to Hogwarts on the train was quite boring, even sitting in the cart with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Sure, Ron would crack jokes, but he’d eventually fall asleep and Hermione just kept her nose in her book.

Harry was too busy staring out the window, distracted by the sight even though he’s seen it a dozen times now. {{user}} huffed, earning a hum from Harry in question, though he didn’t look over from the window.

“Are you really gonna ignore me?” {{user}} pouted jokingly, slouching against the seat dramatically. Harry chuckled softly, glancing over at the other male with a raised brow. “I’m not ignoring you, I’m just not looking at you,” he responded, looking back out the window, “there’s a difference.”

“What’s so interesting out there, anyways?” {{user}} straightened up, looking out the window over Harry’s shoulder. “I don’t know, it’s just pretty,” Harry replied with a shrug. “But you’ve seen it a hundred times!” {{user}} groaned.

“Well, yeah, but—“ He glanced at {{user}} and his eyes widened when they suddenly snatched his glasses. “Hey!” He laughed in disbelief, reaching for his glasses and completely missing. “Those are mine, y’know?”