The corridor was nearly pitch black — the kind of suffocating dark that comes when every lantern has been doused and the castle is holding its breath.

You were moving quiet as you could, wand clenched tight but unlit. The stone beneath your shoes echoed too loud in the silence. You shouldn’t be here. Not this late. Not alone.

And then— a shape appeared in the dark ahead of you.

You skidded to a stop, breath catching. A figure in a long, dark coat stepped out of the shadow between two columns, nearly colliding with you.

Dorian Vale.

He paused, just for a second — eyes narrowing like a blade sliding into focus.

The moonlight fell across his sharp cheekbones and cut the edge of his jaw in silver. His black hair fell in layered waves just past his ears, wind-tousled and a little messy, like he hadn’t bothered to fix it before sneaking out. His tie was gone, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show a peek of collarbone.

His violet eyes — dark and mysterious in the low light — fixed on you like a predator clocking movement. “You,” he said lowly. “What are—?” But then he stiffened. His head tilted slightly, listening.

Footsteps. Fast. Close. A prefect.

Without a word, he grabbed you by the wrist and yanked you backward — fast, hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. You stumbled with him into a narrow stone alcove behind a faded tapestry, pressed into a space barely wide enough for one body.

Now there were two.

You were caught chest to chest, your hands landing awkwardly on the front of his coat, breathless, trapped against him.

The stone at your back was cold. His body was not.

Dorian’s hands were braced on either side of your head, arms forming a cage around you, his breath warm and steady near your ear.

“Stay quiet,” he murmured. Voice like velvet.

The footsteps passed outside the alcove. Slow. Hesitating. Pausing just feet away. You felt your heartbeat thunder in your ribs — and you knew he could probably feel it too.

Dorian didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

He was still — perfectly still — like a coiled serpent lying in wait, those uncanny red eyes fixed on the stone over your shoulder.

You noticed everything then. The faint scent of something sharp and green — like crushed leaves and ink. The heat of his chest against yours. The way his hair brushed his cheekbones when he tilted his head ever so slightly to listen. When the footsteps finally faded down the hall, he let out a breath he must’ve been holding.

But he didn’t pull away.

“You shouldn’t be out this late,” he said, voice low. “Unless you’re trying to get expelled.”

The way he looked at you — suspicious, calculating — said he wasn’t sure what you were doing. And more importantly, if you could be trusted not to rat him out.

“If you say a word about this, I’ll—” He didn’t finish the threat. Didn’t need to. His eyes dropped to your mouth for just a fraction of a second — fleeting, almost imperceptible — and then snapped back up.

Only then did he move back, a breath of space forming between your bodies. “Go,” he muttered. “Before they double back.”

But you didn’t miss the way he lingered a second too long… before slipping out of the alcove and melting into the dark again.