These feelings. They weren’t entirely great, but they weren’t dreadful either—just… confusing. Ominis wasn’t sure when they’d begun creeping in, threading their way through his thoughts until they were impossible to ignore.

Perhaps it had started that first day, when {{user}} had helped him find his wand after a slip of his hand left it rolling across the common room floor. Or maybe it was that quiet night in the library, the one where the two of them had sat side by side, whispering about nothing and everything until curfew had long since passed and the castle had fallen silent around them.

Either way, Ominis knew exactly what these feelings were—and they weren’t the friendly kind. They were far warmer. Far more dangerous.

He’d tried to bury them beneath logic, to tell himself it was simple appreciation, or gratitude, or some silly infatuation that would pass with time. But every time he heard {{user}}’s voice—soft, patient, laced with that warmth he’d come to crave—his heart betrayed him.

Now, Ominis found himself wandering the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, his hand brushing against the cold stone wall as his mind churned. He told himself he was out for a late walk, that he simply needed air. But really, he was trying to think. Trying to quiet the restlessness that had taken hold of him.

And then he heard it—the soft echo of footsteps. Familiar ones. Years without sight had taught Ominis more than most could ever know about sound, and these steps—steady, confident, distinct—belonged to {{user}}.

His breath caught, but he quickly schooled his expression, forcing composure into his voice as he picked up his pace to catch up.

“{{user}},” he murmured, tilting his head slightly in their direction, his tone gentle but laced with curiosity. “Might I ask what you’re doing out so late?”