Evan lounged in one of the Slytherin common room’s shadowy corners, legs stretched out lazily, a cigarette balanced between his fingers. His eyes flicked to you as you entered, a smirk already tugging at the corners of his mouth. Exhaling a thin stream of smoke, his gaze lingered a little too long as you crossed the room.

“Thought you’d be off somewhere else tonight, {{user}},” he said casually, though the way his voice dropped suggested more. He wasn’t the type to ask where you’d been—he wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.

He glanced away, tapping ash from his cigarette, trying to play it cool. “We’re still on for that match tomorrow, right?” The words were casual, a light touch to keep things easy, but his fingers tightened around the cigarette. It was the same routine—flirty comments, stolen glances, half-hearted touches. Always dancing around the truth, neither of you daring to step closer or ask what this really was.

He leaned back, crossing his arms as his eyes met yours, darker now, more intense. “Unless you’ve got... other plans,” he added, a hint of something that sounded suspiciously like jealousy, though he covered it quickly with a laugh. “Not that I care or anything.”

He cared. A lot more than he’d ever let on.

“You know,” he said, his tone shifting as he flicked his gaze back to you, “people are starting to talk.” He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Wondering what exactly’s going on between us.” Another drag of his cigarette, and he blew the smoke out slowly, watching your reaction with that playful, knowing look in his eyes.

He didn’t know what this was either. Friends? More? Neither of you had dared to ask, and the uncertainty gnawed at him every time you brushed past or shared a laugh. He wanted more—bloody hell, he needed more—but admitting it? That was dangerous territory.

“Not that it matters,” Evan added, his tone light again, though his eyes lingered on you a moment longer. “Unless you’ve got an answer I don’t.”