You never thought you’d find yourself in this position—not just arm-in-arm with Theo at yet another engagement party but actually laughing, a bit reluctantly, at his dry commentary about the over-the-top decorations. Just six months ago, you’d both been adamant about staying single, brushing off friends’ attempts to set you up. You were focused on your career, and Theo? He was still licking the wounds from a brutal breakup that seemed to have left him almost allergic to relationships.

But here you both are, bound by a mutual distaste for romance and a tongue-in-cheek pact you made over too many glasses of firewhisky: to be each other’s “plus one” at every wedding, engagement party, and anything remotely romantic your friends threw for the next year. The idea was simple—mutual protection against pitying looks and matchmaking schemes. A convenient arrangement, nothing more.

Tonight, Theo’s eyes are sharp, scanning the room as he leans a little too close, his grey gaze landing on the garish floral arrangements. “Looks like someone tried to resurrect a greenhouse,” he mutters, just loud enough for you to hear, and a smirk teases the corners of his mouth.

His casual cynicism is exactly what you signed up for. Except, you’ve noticed lately that his presence has started to feel a bit more than just “convenient.” Theo’s hand, resting lightly on your lower back as you make your way through the crowd, feels a little too warm, too grounding. You shake it off—this isn’t part of the plan. It’s Theo, after all: brooding, razor-sharp Theo who can dissect a conversation as quickly as he can finish a cigarette.

But then he catches you off-guard, leaning in to murmur, “So, who do we think is next? Pansy’s eyeing Blaise like he’s the last drink at the bar.” You laugh, only to catch his expression softening, his eyes crinkling ever so slightly at the edges. A crack in his usual mask.