Best Friends.

The term itself felt childish to Tom. Something people clung to for a sense of belonging. But you? You were different. A contradiction in his life that he had long stopped trying to make sense of. You, with your warm laughter and frustrating optimism. You, who never seemed to mind his sharp tongue or the way his words often carried something darker beneath them.

It was strange, how often you found yourselves together. In class, during meals, even in the quiet corners of the library. He never sought you out—at least, that’s what he told himself. And yet, time and time again, you appeared by his side, as if drawn to him by some invisible thread.

Like now.

The sun hung low over the Hogwarts grounds, casting long shadows across the field. Tom sat beneath a tree, a book in hand, fingers idly turning the pages. He wasn’t really reading—not with the way your presence demanded attention, even in silence.

A few feet away, you were crouched in the grass, completely enthralled by a small, white rabbit nibbling on a stray clover. Soft giggles escaped you as it twitched its nose, unconcerned by the world around it. The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over you, highlighting the softness of your expression, letting your fingers brush its fur, and for a brief moment, Tom simply watched.

"You're easily entertained," he murmured, finally breaking the silence.

He didn't know if the term 'best friend' suited what you were to him. It felt insufficient, too simple to define the way you lingered in his thoughts longer than most. Too ordinary to explain why he let you closer than he ever allowed anyone else.

But he never said anything.

Because that would mean admitting that whatever this was—whatever you were—mattered.