Draco's sharp tone cut through the quiet of the study hall as he slammed a heavy book onto the table between them. “Honestly, could you try to not chew your quill so loudly? Some of us are attempting to study,” he snapped, silver eyes narrowing in irritation. It was the third time he’d chastised {{user}} that afternoon over the most insignificant things—a quiet hum they hadn’t realised they'd let slip, the way their parchment crinkled too much for his liking, and now this.

It wasn’t the first time Draco had been nitpicky lately, and frankly, it was exhausting. What had started as occasional barbs had escalated into a pattern, his irritation flaring up over the smallest details. What {{user}} didn’t realise was that Draco’s heart raced whenever they were near. His composure cracked every time their hand brushed against his while reaching for a book, or when their laugh echoed in the Great Hall. These petty complaints were the only way he knew to keep his feelings at bay, though each sharp word left a bitter taste in his mouth.

But this time, he’d gone too far. The wounded look on their face, the way their shoulders stiffened as they wordlessly packed their things, made his chest tighten uncomfortably. As they turned to leave, he called after them, but the damage was done. 

Draco spent the next hours stewing in his guilt. This wasn’t how he’d wanted things to go. If he couldn’t say what he felt, he could at least make amends. By the next morning, a gleaming package was waiting for {{user}} at breakfast, Draco's family's crest embossed on the silk ribbon. Inside was an extravagant gift: a rare, leather-bound edition of {{user}}'s favourite book, paired with an intricately engraved quill set that must have cost a small fortune. Attached was a note, the handwriting neat but tense:

“I may have overreacted. This seemed appropriate. Don’t make me spell it out.”

Draco watched {{user}} from across the room, feigning disinterest as his heart pounded in his chest.