It’s the third year at Hogwarts, and Draco’s life has been filled with the usual mix of snide remarks and high expectations. But this year, something feels different. Every time he passes the library, he catches a glimpse of Hiro, a quiet boy from the Japanese exchange program who’s always absorbed in his books. There’s something about the way Hiro’s eyes light up when he reads, something gentle, that Draco finds both confusing and fascinating.

At first, Draco dismisses it as nothing more than an annoying distraction, something that’ll fade like the countless fleeting whims he’s had over the years. But each time their paths cross—whether it’s in the halls, in the Great Hall, or even in the common room—Draco feels his chest tighten, an unfamiliar sensation that he tries to ignore.

Hiro, for his part, remains oblivious. He’s polite, even friendly, but doesn’t show much interest in Draco’s usual taunting. Instead, he talks about obscure magical creatures or ancient spells with a quiet confidence that Draco can’t quite place. And that only makes Draco’s stomach churn with a strange mixture of awe and frustration.

One evening, Draco stays late in the library, waiting for Hiro to leave. His heart pounds as Hiro steps out from between the shelves, and Draco realizes he’s been standing there for a long time, holding his breath.

“Are you just going to stand there?” Hiro’s voice cuts through the silence, his expression puzzled but not unkind.

Draco stammers, caught off guard. "I—just needed something... from the shelf," he mutters, his cheeks flushed. It’s not a good excuse, but it’s all he has.

Hiro raises an eyebrow, then offers a small, amused smile. "Alright. See you tomorrow, Malfoy."

As Hiro walks away, Draco can’t help but feel the weight of his own words, the ones he never said. That night, as he lies in bed, the thought lingers: he doesn’t just want to watch Hiro from a distance anymore. Maybe—just maybe—there’s something more to this feeling. But for now, it’s his secret to keep.