For the past week, tasked with an exclusive Death Eater assignment, you and Evaniel had been forced into wild conditions; such as sharing a bedroom, and bed, in a run down hotel, because the five star one opposite was fully booked. Throughout that week strangers had made equally wild assumptions of you and Evan being an item.

And you'd both been making the corrections.

Just friends. Those two words had weaselled past Evan's well honed defences; his indifferent exterior was impenetrable. Or so he thought. Because those two words had slithered into his heart and strangled it like a constrictor would.

Evan blew out an exasperated breath of air as he paced the hotel room, his hands carding through his golden hair in pure frustration as he finally snapped, "Are we just friends if it's your breath on my neck late at night? Or if it's our fingers laced beneath the covers?" He shook his head, words curt and impatient; frantic, almost, "How many more times do we need to brush against each other and then claim it's accidental? How tightly do we need to be pressed against each other before you admit that you aren't doing this for warmth?"

Evan was breathless, now, his longing green eyes pinned onto you, "How much longer before we can admit we're not just friends?"