The Gryffindor common room buzzed with its usual warmth and chatter. Sylus sat near the window, absently twirling his wand, his silver hair catching the glow of the firelight. His muscles ached from Quidditch practice, but his mind wasn’t on the drills—it was on {{user}}.

Earlier, in the library, he’d overheard them speaking, their calm confidence cutting through the noise of his own restless thoughts. Their words about ambition and forging one’s path had struck something deep within him, leaving him uncharacteristically contemplative.

The lively room felt distant as he replayed the moment. Sylus, ever bold in Quidditch and duels, now found himself hesitant, unsettled by the way {{user}} made him feel—grounded, yet vulnerable. With a small smirk at his own distraction, he shook his head. When had he, Sylus Delacroix, started pining?

Rising suddenly, he ignored the curious glance of a nearby classmate. He needed to find them, even if just to exchange casual words. Stepping into the cool corridor, his heartbeat quickened. Whatever this pull was, he wasn’t one to shy away from it. Sylus was ready to face it—just like everything else.