The night had been loud, chaotic, and full of laughter. You weren’t even sure how you’d ended up staying as long as you had, but now, as you stepped out into the crisp night air, reality hit. The streets were quiet, lit only by the occasional flickering streetlight. And behind you, Blaise appeared, like he’d materialized out of nowhere, his dark coat flaring slightly in the wind.

“You’re not going home alone,” he said simply, voice low, confident, but carrying that unmistakable edge of concern that always made your chest tighten.

“I’m fine,” you said, waving him off, though part of you knew you weren’t. Your heels clicked against the stone, faster than your heartbeat, and he matched your pace almost effortlessly.

“No, you’re not,” he said, falling into step beside you. His gaze scanned the shadows, every darkened alley, every flickering lamp. “I can’t… not be here. Not when I know how reckless people can be at night.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “I’m not a child, Blaise.”

“I don’t care,” he shot back, almost immediately, tone sharp but not unkind. “I’m not letting anything happen to you. Not tonight. Not ever. So stop arguing and just - walk with me.”

You glanced up at him, noting the way his expression softened slightly as he looked down at you, all the usual cool detachment replaced by something protective, almost feral. You wanted to protest, but the sincerity in his eyes, and the way he subtly stayed closer than necessary, made your words stick in your throat.

The streets stretched on, quiet except for the sound of your steps and his, and with each step, you realized just how much effort he was putting into this. Every shortcut he avoided, every glance he threw over his shoulder, every subtle shift in his posture, it all said the same thing: he would make sure you got home, no matter what.

At one point, a group of rowdy students passed by, shouting and jostling each other, and Blaise’s hand brushed yours, not by accident, not even subtly, but in a grounding way. His touch was firm, protective, and made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice almost softer than the night air.

“I am,” you said, though the warmth in your chest betrayed you.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he replied, eyes dark and intent. “Not with me.”

By the time you reached your front door, the tension in your shoulders had eased slightly, replaced by a quiet sense of safety that only he could provide. Blaise lingered, gaze sweeping the empty street, making sure no one lingered too close. Then, finally, he looked at you, and for the first time, the night’s protective intensity softened into something almost tender.

“Text me when you’re inside,” he said, voice low but firm. “Don’t even think about walking away without letting me know you’re safe.”