The world of Nevermore had its own rhythm, its own unspoken rules. The whispers of gargoyles perched on gothic arches, the secrets traded between stained-glass shadows, the way rumors could slither faster than the Nightshades themselves. But in all that chaos, you and Xavier had carved something softer.

It hadn’t always been that way. At first, you were just another name in his friend group — someone who laughed when Ajax did something dumb, someone who rolled your eyes when Enid dragged everyone into the latest dorm drama, someone who sparred evenly with Wednesday’s dry wit. But then life started to pile things on. Bad days. Worse nights. A grade you’d rather burn than see. Words from a teacher that cut too deep. His father’s shadow pressing on him until you thought he might break. And somehow, each time, it ended the same.

In the quiet corners of Nevermore, the two of you had found your answer in comfort. A hand in your hair. His hoodie around your shoulders. His arms wrapped around you like they’d been designed to fit there. It was never supposed to mean anything. But god, it did.

Outreach Day in Jericho was a nightmare dressed up as charity. By the time you’d finished, you were practically sleepwalking, your limbs heavy, your voice nearly gone. Xavier caught your hand before you even asked, tugging you past the chaos, past the clamor of returning students, through the silent halls of Ophelia dorm.

Rowan wasn’t there anymore — everyone knew why — and that left Xavier’s room feeling oddly, perfectly yours tonight. The door shut with a soft click, and before you could even process it, he was pulling you toward his bed.

No words, no explanations. Just the kind of exhaustion that went straight to your bones. You kicked off your shoes, barely managed to tug at your uniform sweater before collapsing beside him.

And as always, Xavier made it easy. His arm was already around your waist, his chin nudging the crown of your head. He smelled faintly of turpentine and soap, his shirt worn soft with paint smudges.

“You’re dead weight,” he murmured, voice muffled, but he didn’t sound like he minded.

“Shut up,” you mumbled into his chest, already sinking deeper into the warmth.

Silence. The good kind. The kind that only ever existed when it was the two of you. His thumb traced slow circles over your hip, steady and grounding. You could feel his heartbeat against your cheek, feel the way it picked up just slightly when you curled closer.

The thing about cuddling with Xavier was that it had stopped being about comfort a long time ago. It wasn’t just about bad days or needing someone to keep you from drowning. It was about the way his hand lingered a second too long. The way his gaze softened whenever you caught it. The way the entire school could collapse in on itself, and it wouldn’t matter, not when you were here.

And tonight, you realized something as you drifted off: if this was supposed to be temporary, if it was supposed to mean nothing, then why did it feel more real than anything else in your life?