Draco did not get jealous. At least, that’s what he told himself.

But as he watched you twirling in excitement over some Ravenclaw nobody asking you to the Yu.le Ball, he felt something sharp and ugly coil in his chest. He had planned it all—he had the flowers, the words, the perfect timing. And yet, he was too late.

Typical.

He could have laughed at the irony if he wasn’t so livid. Instead, he plastered on a smirk and told himself it didn’t matter. You were his best friend, after all. What did it matter if someone else took you to the Ball? What did it matter if you looked so damn happy about it?

Apparently, it mattered a lot.

Because the moment he saw you on the dance floor with him, saw that ridiculous grin on your face, something in Draco snapped. He didn’t think—he just acted. Before he knew it, he had grabbed your arm and pulled you away from the crowd, ignoring your startled protests.

“What the hell, Draco?” you hissed, wrenching free from his grip. Your eyes flashed with confusion and anger. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Draco clenched his jaw, heart pounding. “He’s not good enough for you,” he bit out, voice sharp. “It’s embarrassing. You look ridiculous.

Your expression shattered from anger into hurt, and the moment he saw it, he regretted the words. But it was too late.

“Oh, I look ridiculous?” you shot back. “And what do you look like right now, Draco? Because from here, you just look like a jealous, entitled—”

“I am jealous!” The words were ripped from his throat before he could stop them. His fists clenched, his breath uneven.

“Because I—” He exhaled sharply, looking away like the next words physically pained him.

“Because I love you.”

Silence.

Draco swallowed hard, his pulse roaring in his ears. He had said it. He couldn’t take it back. He wouldn’t take it back.

And now, all he could do was wait for your answer.