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hyuckiefluff · 2 months ago

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Flipped | Mark Lee

pairing: gryffindor!mark lee x slytherin!fem reader (ft haechan) genre: angst, fluff, smut (in 2nd part) wc: 29k+ summary: the first time you met mark lee, you flipped his world upside down— literally. seven years later and after countless attempts to avoid you, you're still driving him insane. except now, it’s for an entirely different reason. content warnings: mild possessiveness/jealousy, minor confrontation/injuries, non-consensual drugging (love potion), mark is mean at first and terribly bad at feelings, miscommunication, unrequited feelings. explicit sexual content, cursing, loss of virginity, semipublic sexual activity, oral fem receiving, unprotected sex. a/n: proofreading this after meeting mark lee irl had me feeling crazy... bro is actually majestic and i miss him BAD. anyway... this one is special to me because i’ve been wanting to write a hogwarts au since forever and i absolutely love how it came out. this is also slightly inspired by the movie/book “flipped” so it has a ‘she fell first, but he fell harder’ vibe that i’m kinda obsessed with. i tried to do something different and write the events from both perspectives, i hope it’s clear enough so that you can tell when it’s him and when it’s her. feedback is always appreciated! ps: i had to split this into two parts bc apparently i reached the max word count, so all the smut cws apply to the 2nd part . thank you so much for reading!

The first time Mark Lee met you, you flipped his world upside down.

And not in a good way. In the most literal and humiliating way possible.

It happened on the Hogwarts Express, during your very first year. Mark had been desperately searching for an empty cabin but since he was dragging a suitcase stuffed to the brim by his overly concerned mother, he was at a severe disadvantage. Someone else had already claimed the spot every time he reached a door.

By the time he made it to the last cabin, he was already panting. But at last, he found one that was partially empty.

You sat cross-legged on the seat, nose buried in The Quibbler. Mark found that a little odd, his father always said The Quibbler was full of nonsense, a rag for conspiracy theorists rather than real journalism. But that wasn’t his problem. His problem was the fact that both of his arms were shaking from the weight of his bag.

He cleared his throat. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

You looked up, and your messy bangs fell into your wide, starry eyes. For a second, Mark swore they got even bigger at the sight of him.

“Not at all!” you chirped, your voice high and excited.

Mark forced a polite smile and stepped inside, shuffling toward the overhead compartment. He glanced up at where your bag was already neatly placed and swallowed hard. How the hell was he supposed to get his own up there? He wasn’t weak by any means, but after dragging it through the entire train, his arms were screaming in protest.

You seemed to notice his struggle because you set The Quibbler down and pulled out your wand. “Need help?”

Mark was about to shake his head when suddenly, his feet left the ground.

“What—HEY! PUT ME DOWN!”

Mark flailed helplessly as his entire body flipped upside down, his robes falling over his head. Panic surged through him as he felt his pants begin to slip.

“Oh my! I’m so sorry! I thought this was the right spell!” you gasped, flicking your wand again, this time more frantically.

Mark tried to grip at something, anything, but all he managed to do was thrash at the air while more of his clothes tried to slip away from his body.

“I—I don’t know the counterspell!” you admitted in a panic.

At the commotion, students from other cabins poked their heads in. A chorus of laughter erupted at the sight of Mark dangling upside down, arms desperately trying to keep his robes and pants in place.

A tall, older student finally pushed his way inside. He took one look at Mark and sighed as if this were nothing new. “Seriously? Don’t you first-years ever learn?”

“I—I was just trying to help him levitate his bag…”

The older student pinched the bridge of his nose. “Finite.”

Mark hit the seat with an unceremonious thud.

“If you lot keep casting spells on the train, I’ll start deducting points from your houses as soon as you’re sorted,” the boy warned before turning on his heel and waving off the lingering audience.

You hesitated, staring at Mark with wide, guilty eyes. “I’m sorry…” you whispered, your voice wavering just a little.

But Mark wasn’t listening. He was too busy seeing red from both rage and humiliation. Without a word, he grabbed his bag and stormed out.

That was the day Mark Lee met you.

And the day he swore he’d never speak to you again.

The first time you met Mark Lee, you flipped.

Not literally but in the way your heart did a little somersault the moment he stepped into your cabin.

You had been engrossed in The Quibbler, completely enchanted by every bizarre detail about the magical world. Since you grew up with two Muggle parents, receiving your Hogwarts letter was like stepping into a dream where the impossible suddenly was real. You couldn’t get enough of it.

Your cabin door suddenly slid open and a boy stood there, panting slightly, his face flushed red from exertion as he struggled to drag an absurdly large trunk behind him.

You felt your face heat up. You’d never been around many boys growing up, having attended an all-girls school, but there was something about him that struck you immediately. Maybe it was the way his glasses were slipping down his pretty nose, or the way he offered a shy, slightly strained smile as he stepped inside. He was adorable.

And he was struggling.

You watched as he attempted to haul his trunk toward the overhead rack, his arms visibly trembling under its weight. Something in you immediately wanted to help.

The problem was… you had no idea what you were doing.

You’d only ever performed magic by accident, usually when you got too emotional. Your mom still loved to tell the story about how the lights in the house flickered every time you cried as a baby. Or the time Madeline Perkins made fun of your pigtails, and the swings mysteriously sent her flying off the playground.

But you’d only just gotten your wand the day before at Ollivanders. You hadn’t practiced a single spell yet, but you had been reading your textbooks. Wingardium Leviosa was the most basic charm in your book.

How hard could it be?

Apparently, hard enough that you somehow missed the part where it said that even though the spell was only for objects, if it was aimed at a person, it would also make their clothes float.

Which was how you now found yourself staring up at the cute boy you’d just met, his body suspended in midair, robes billowing wildly, eyes wide with pure horror.

Talk about a terrible first impression.

From that moment on, Mark Lee avoided you like the plague.

It didn’t help that you were sorted into different houses—him in Gryffindor, you in Slytherin. You quickly learned that those two houses were basically sworn enemies, which made it even easier for him to pretend you didn’t exist.

Despite his rocky start on the train, Mark had no trouble making friends in Gryffindor. He was well-liked, effortlessly charming, and even if he wasn’t the loudest in the room, he always carried a quiet sort of confidence. You, on the other hand, kept to yourself. Spending most of your free time watching him from across the Great Hall, your crush on him growing by the day.

You didn’t know why you liked him so much, he hadn’t done anything grand or impressive to win your admiration. If anything, he actively tried to avoid you.

You tried approaching him a few times during your first year, hoping to properly apologize and smooth things over. But each time, he found a way to dodge you, claiming he was late for class, too busy with homework, or suddenly needed to be anywhere else but next to you.

So by second year, you changed your approach.

If Mark Lee wouldn’t pay attention to you as a friend, you’d make him notice you as a rival.

Mark had been one of the best students in your first year, so you became an absolute academic weapon in your second. You were determined to match him in every class, if not surpass him.

“Excellent work, Miss Y/N,” Professor McGonagall praised, a rare note of surprise in her voice as she examined the intricate tea jar you had just transfigured from a blue jay.

You glanced over your shoulder at Mark. He was sitting a few rows back, his brows furrowed as he stared at your jar with a barely concealed frown. His own transfiguration was… less successful. The lizard he’d tried to turn into a pen still had a suspiciously scaly texture.

But it wasn’t just Transfiguration where you shined.

You also excelled in Potions, something that became very clear when Professor Snape assigned your class, which you shared with the Gryffindors, the difficult task of brewing Draught of Living Death, a highly advanced sleeping potion that could render someone unconscious with just a single drop.

One of the Gryffindors groaned in frustration. “Sir, this is way too advanced—”

“If it’s too difficult for your little Gryffindor hands,” Snape sneered, cutting him off, “perhaps you should take notes on how some of the Slytherins are managing. Particularly Miss Y/N.”

Your ears burned at the attention as several students shuffled closer to your workstation, peeking at your bubbling cauldron. The only ones who didn’t approach were the Gryffindors at Mark’s table.

You noticed that his potion was violently spewing green gas bubbles, and he looked deeply frustrated, brows knitted together as he stirred with precision.

Letting your own potion simmer for a moment, you stood up and made your way over to his table. The chatter among his friends died down as you approached. Zhong Chenle, the boy sitting next to him, smacked his arm lightly to get his attention.

Mark finally looked up, his glasses fogged from the potion fumes, and the front of his hair sticking up in all directions.

You stifled a laugh.

“Need help?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

Mark blinked at you, and for the first time since the train, you finally had his full attention.

“No, thanks. I got it.”

The words had barely left Mark’s mouth when his potion let out another violent blorp, spewing a sickly green bubble into the air. It popped immediately, releasing a smell so putrid it made your stomach churn.

“Dude, that smells like a troll’s ass,” Chenle cackled, covering his nose.

Jaemin, who was sitting across from Mark, raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, mate. She’s the best in the class.” He shot you a grin. “Let her help.”

Mark resisted the urge to groan. He knew they were right, but the last thing he wanted was for you to be the one correcting him. It was bad enough that you had been outshining him in every subject lately, now you were swooping in to save him too?

But before he could protest again, you stepped closer to his cauldron making his entire body tense.

“What did you add to make it green like this?” you asked, peering into the potion. Your voice was calm, inquisitive like you weren’t there to gloat but to actually help.

Mark clenched his jaw, eyes fixed stubbornly on the cauldron. “I did exactly as the instructions said.”

Jaemin let out a small snort, clearly unconvinced.

“Hm,” you hummed, examining the bubbling liquid. “You must’ve added more than three drops of Valerian root extract.”

Mark frowned. Valerian root extract? He thought back to when he had been adding the ingredients, trying to get ahead of everyone. Had he miscounted? Maybe. Probably.

You reached for a small vial of powdered sopophorous bean and sprinkled just a pinch into the potion. “This should balance it out and bring it back to its original black color,” you explained, gently stirring the mixture.

Mark watched in reluctant amazement as the once-toxic green sludge darkened before his eyes, settling into the inky black shade it was supposed to be.

He barely stopped his brows from rising in surprise. You had fixed it. Just like that.

Mark swallowed down the frustrated lump in his throat. He wasn’t about to give you the satisfaction of knowing you had one-upped him again.

“That was impressive, Y/N,” Jaemin said, clapping his hands.

“Thanks,” you said, smiling shyly. “The instructions in this book are a bit ambiguous, so I suggest adding less than what the recipe says at first, watching how the colors change, and then adjusting accordingly.”

Mark exhaled slowly, forcing himself to loosen his grip on his stirring rod. He hated to admit it, but that was actually… good advice.

Still, he kept his eyes on his potion, refusing to look at you or thank you for helping.

"You should start sitting with us, Y/N," Chenle said, grinning like a cat as he threw an arm around Mark. "So you can help our boy here, who’s clearly lost."

Mark didn’t miss the way your eyes lit up at the invitation. And that was exactly why he needed to shut this down immediately.

He knew about your little crush on him, everyone did. You weren’t exactly subtle about it. You always looked at him with those heart eyes across the Great Hall, his friends teased him about it constantly. You also cheered the loudest for him at every Quidditch match, even when he was playing against Slytherin. Even when your house lost. He’d seen the way your own housemates sneered at you for it, the way they mocked your infatuation, but you never seemed to care.

The other thing about you was that you were so unapologetically Muggle-born.

Not that Mark cared about blood status. He wasn't that kind of wizard, despite coming from a long line of pure-bloods. But you made it so difficult for yourself. You didn’t even try to blend in among your Slytherin peers. You didn’t mind their teasing, didn’t care that you had practically no friends in your own house.

It was frustrating, the way you took every jab with a smile, like none of it ever got to you. But what frustrated him even more was that whenever he said anything, whenever he so much as muttered something slightly harsh, your whole face fell.

And for some stupid reason, that bothered him more than it should.

“Sorry, this table is already full,” Mark said, once again avoiding your gaze. He imagined the way your smile faltered.

“What are you talking about? There’s plenty of—”

Mark elbowed Chenle sharply in the stomach.

“Like I said, the table’s full.”

“Oh… okay,” you murmured, your head dipping slightly. “Then I’ll leave you to it.”

Mark didn’t watch you walk away, but he could feel the disappointment in your steps.

“Dude, you’re so mean to her,” Jaemin muttered, his eyes still on your retreating figure. “She clearly likes you.”

“Whatever,” Mark huffed, waving him off. “Let’s focus on something else.” He ignored the knowing smirk Jaemin shot him and tried—failed—to ignore the creeping warmth rising up his neck.

In your third year, you found a passion for Herbology.

Mark should’ve been relieved. After all, the more time you spent in the greenhouse, the less time you spent trying to talk to him. And at first, it was great. He barely had to think about you at all.

But then… it became his problem.

Because one day, he started noticing small bowls of water left in his usual spots—on the Gryffindor table, outside the Quidditch locker room, even near the Gryffindor common room entrance. At first, he ignored them. Maybe some first-years were testing a spell. Maybe it was a coincidence.

Then, he saw the petals floating in the water shift and transform into delicate, shimmering fish as soon as he grabbed the bowl.

And Mark hated to admit it… but it intrigued him. The magic was advanced, something most students their age wouldn’t even attempt. He even caught himself watching the tiny enchanted fish, mesmerized by the way their colors glowed under the candlelight.

That was his mistake, because his friends noticed.

“You’re actually accepting her gifts now,” Chenle teased, crossing his arms as Mark peeled off his muddy Quidditch uniform.

“We don’t even know if it’s hers,” Mark argued, tossing his gloves onto the bench.

Jaemin snorted. “Do you really think anyone else in our year knows how to do that kind of magic?”

“Yeah, she’s the only one crazy enough about you to put in that much effort,” Chenle added with a smirk.

Mark rolled his eyes. “There are other girls who like me, you know.”

Jaemin raised an eyebrow. “Are there? ’Cause I feel like Y/N’s already scared them all off.”

Chenle laughed. “Honestly, just give her a chance. She’s pretty, and let’s be real, she’d probably do anything for you.”

Mark sighed, rubbing a towel over his damp hair.

They didn’t get it. He’d spent years running from you, dodging your attempts, shutting down any rumors before they could spread. He couldn’t just give in now.

Maybe it didn’t make sense to anyone else.

But it did to him.

So he kept doing what made the most sense to him, and one day, you found yourself walking into the greenhouse when your eyes immediately spotted the familiar bowls scattered across the table. Your heart clenched at the sight, but you refused to believe Mark would just discard your gifts like that.

But as you approached, you noticed something that made your stomach twist painfully. The fish, once so vibrant and lively, now lay still in the water. They barely moved. They didn't swim with the same energy, the same color that had once made them sparkle. They just stayed there, like lifeless figures floating in stagnant water. And, as ridiculous as it sounded, you could almost swear they looked sad.

It hit you like a physical blow. Mark really didn’t want anything to do with you.

The realization didn’t come alone, though. You’d noticed it over the last few months, but you’d been too stubborn to admit it to yourself. Mark had been spending more time with a girl from Ravenclaw. You didn’t even know her name, but the way they talked and laughed together, the way he’d smile at her with that soft look you’d always hoped to get... It was all the confirmation you needed. Mark Lee wasn’t just avoiding you… he was interested in someone else.

You stood there in the greenhouse, staring at the fish, a sinking feeling settling deep in your chest. He didn’t care about you the way you’d always hoped.

In your fourth year, you decided it was time to focus on yourself. To put Mark away and finally let go of your feelings for him.

You’d been practicing something called Occlumency. Professor Snape had given you a book on it and told you it would help you shield away any distractions when you started falling behind in class due to your little infatuation with a certain seeker.

“This is very advanced magic,” Snape had said, handing you the book with a knowing look, “and it takes months, sometimes years, of practice to master it.”

And practice you did. Every day, you worked at it, pushing your emotions into a mental drawer and locking it away. It was hard at first. Your thoughts kept wandering back to Mark, but slowly, you began to make progress. You learned to control your thoughts, to put each memory, each feeling about him into that mental drawer, one by one, and shove it far back in your mind.

The more you practiced, the easier it became. It wasn’t perfect, but over the course of the year, you started to feel a strange sense of indifference towards Mark Lee.

At least until The Yule Ball was announced in the middle of the term. Even with all your hard work on Occlumency, you couldn’t stop the twinge of longing that crept in. You knew Mark would be going with Mia, the Ravenclaw girl whose name you had learned through the whispers of the school. It wasn’t like you had any right to feel disappointed, but the nagging thought of asking him yourself refused to leave your mind.

You had planned to skip the celebration altogether. The last thing you wanted was to sit alone while Mark and Mia danced, all dressed up and happy.

But that changed one afternoon in the library when you were buried in research on Venomous Tentacula for a Herbology project

The library was the one place where you could lose yourself without interruption, so you were caught off guard when you heard footsteps approaching and a voice calling your name.

“Hey, Y/N, right?”

You turned, surprised to see Lee Haechan standing there. He was easily one of the most popular guys in Slytherin, the kind of person who always had a group of friends around him, cracking jokes and showing off on the Quidditch pitch. He wasn’t one to hang around in the library by himself during a free period. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had spoken to him—if you ever had.

“Yeah,” you answered, your voice more guarded than usual.

You were used to your fellow Slytherins teasing you for the smallest things, such as your Muggle clothes or the way you searched for books manually instead of having Madam Pince summon them for you.

“You probably don’t remember, but last year, you helped me during the Potions final,” he said, his tone surprisingly shy. It was a sharp contrast to the cocky confidence he usually carried.

You thought back, remembering how badly he had struggled to keep his assigned potion from bubbling over and spilling across the table. You had only helped him because if his potion had spilled into yours, it would’ve ruined your work. But you didn’t tell him that.

“I remember,” you said, reaching for a book on a higher shelf.

Before you could grab it, he stepped closer, plucking it from the shelf with ease.

“Thanks,” you muttered, slightly suspicious of the unexpected kindness.

Then he said something that completely threw you off balance. “Listen, I heard you don’t have a date for the Yule Ball.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but your fingers tightened slightly around the book. Lee Haechan, of all people, was bringing up the Yule Ball? He was one of the most sought-after guys in Slytherin, and yet here he was, talking to you about the biggest event of the year.

“I’m not really planning on going,” you said, brushing off the conversation as you moved toward a nearby table.

And, of course, he followed.

“Really? Why not?” he asked, dropping into the seat across from you.

You sighed, knowing he wouldn’t leave you alone until you answered. “For starters, I don’t dance.” You flipped open your book, eyes scanning the pages in an attempt to distract yourself.

Haechan leaned forward slightly. “Ah, that’s an easy fix. I can teach you.”

You glanced up, raising a brow. “Where is all this coming from, Haechan?”

His smile widened when you said his name “I thought it was obvious,” he said. “I want you to go to the dance with me.”

You stared at him, waiting for the punchline, for the moment he’d burst into laughter and reveal it was all some elaborate joke. But he didn’t laugh. He just watched you, his smile still in place.

“Me?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

He nodded. “You have pretty eyes, by the way.” His voice was casual as if he were just commenting on the weather. You nearly choked on your own breath, covering it up with an exaggerated cough.

“Did anyone ever tell you that?” he continued, watching your reaction with obvious amusement.

You willed yourself to stay composed, but your heart was racing. What was he playing at?

“Why would you want to go with me?” you asked. “It can’t just be because I helped you once on a test.”

“Why not?” He rested his chin in his hand. “Maybe I’m extremely grateful and want to repay you.”

Your heart beat faster than you wanted it to, and you couldn’t tell if he was just messing with you or if he actually meant it. Haechan had a teasing air about him that made it impossible to tell. Was this a bet with his friends? Or did he just enjoy seeing you flustered?

You hesitated, trying to find the right words, but before you could say anything, he stood abruptly.

“Sleep on it if you want,” he said with a grin. “You can tell me after the Quidditch game on Saturday.”

“Oh, but I wasn’t planning on—”

“I’ll see you there, Y/N,” Haechan said, cutting you off with a wave. Before you could protest, he walked away, leaving you in stunned silence.

The next few days were strange. Haechan was clearly hovering around you. He wasn’t making it obvious, but you were observant enough to notice that he wasn’t skipping some of your shared classes anymore. He had also started spending time in the library even though you’d rarely seen him there before. He didn’t approach you, but you felt his eyes on you every time.

You also realized he was checking out books right after you did. It was oddly amusing, so you decided to mess with him one day.

You had spent enough time in the library to know how to take books from the Restricted Section without alerting Madam Pince. You pretended to read over one, placed it on a different shelf, and waited. A few minutes later, you spotted Haechan heading straight for that section.

Silence filled the air, then a bloodcurdling scream rang through the library. The sound of a book hitting the floor echoed through the rows of shelves. Moments later, Haechan rushed out, his wide eyes locking onto you as you hunched over, struggling to hold in your laughter.

“I’m guessing that was your doing,” he said, dropping into the seat beside you.

You shook your head, still grinning. “That’s just a security mechanism all the books from the Restricted Section have.”

His brows lifted, amusement flickering in his gaze. “How did you even get a book out of there without a professor’s note?”

You shrugged. “I have my ways.”

He tilted his head slightly, watching you with something that made you suddenly self-conscious. “You keep surprising me, Y/N.”

Across the library, Mark sat at a table with Mia, his Potions textbook open in front of him but he wasn't reading anymore and his quill was static in the air. His gaze was locked on you and Haechan, watching the way you leaned in, the way your laughter softened the space between you. Mia followed his stare, then let out a quiet hum.

“What an odd picture, huh?”

Mark blinked, tearing his eyes away. “What?”

Mia tilted her head, her quill twirling between her fingers. “They’re from the same house, sure, but Haechan is one of the most popular guys in school.” She glanced over at you, then back at Mark, a slow smile tugging at her lips. “And she… isn’t she kind of an outcast? Even in her own house?”

Mark tried to keep his tone neutral and disinterested “So?”

Mia let out a soft laugh, dipping her quill in ink. “Isn’t it obvious? He’s probably just bored. Using her for his own amusement.”

Mark glanced back at your table. Haechan was leaning in, grinning as he spoke to you. You looked up at him with something close to exasperation, but there was a smile playing on your lips. It was weird. You didn’t smile like that often.

He ignored the way something twisted in his chest. “You don’t know that,” he muttered, forcing his eyes back to his parchment.

Mia hummed, unconvinced. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

The next morning, you woke up earlier than usual for a Saturday with a quiet sense of dread settling over you. Instead of heading to the greenhouse like you normally would, you made your way to the Quidditch pitch, the crisp morning air biting at your skin. You had layered up so much that your scarf nearly swallowed half your face, but even with the extra warmth, you wished you were still curled up in bed.

When you reached the stands, the realization hit you like a punch to your face—today’s match was against Gryffindor.

You should’ve known, but school events had barely been on your radar between your Occlumency lessons and your herbology studies.

You climbed up to the Slytherin side of the stands, slipping into a seat in the back row. It wasn’t crowded yet, and you hoped to stay unnoticed, keeping your head low. The last thing you wanted was to catch the attention of a certain seeker. Or two. Not that Mark would be looking your way anyway.

The distant whoosh of broomsticks cut through the morning stillness, and then, all at once, the stadium came alive. Players soared onto the pitch in a blur of red and green, the announcer’s voice booming through the enchanted speakers. You were only half-listening when you noticed Haechan scanning the crowd.

You set to ignore him when his eyes landed on you.

He mouthed something, but you couldn’t quite make out the words from the distance. His lips moved again, slower this time, like he was asking a question.

You hesitated, then lifted your hand in a thumbs-up, hoping that would satisfy whatever he wanted. Though you immediately regretted it when you felt the weight of other eyes shifting onto you. People had noticed the exchange. Your face burned, and you quickly looked away.

The game began, and you tried to focus. Your eyes followed Haechan for most of it, but every so often, your Occlumency walls slipped, and your gaze found Mark. He was fast, his broom cutting through the air as he scoured the pitch for the Snitch. Haechan was right on his tail, matching his every turn, the two of them locked in a battle of speed.

You knew Mark was a talented seeker. He was quick and light in the air, but his broom wasn’t as fast as Haechan��s, and that made some difference.

You weren’t really rooting for either of them. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Though the right thing to do as a Slytherin would be to hope for Haechan’s victory.

The crowd suddenly roared, breaking you from your thoughts. Both seekers had disappeared behind one of the towers in a steep dive, and they were gone for a few agonizing seconds. Then, like a flash of green lightning, Haechan shot back into the air, arm raised, the golden Snitch clutched tight in his fist.

The Slytherins around you erupted into cheers, the stands vibrating with excitement. You blinked, then let yourself be swept up in the celebration, joining the chorus of triumphant screams.

Haechan suddenly veered toward the stands, his broom tilting slightly as he hovered just above the crowd. He brought the Snitch to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to its delicate golden surface before tossing it in your direction. Your hands reacted before your mind could catch up, fingers closing around the tiny fluttering ball with ease.

A collective gasp rippled through the Slytherin section, eyes darting between you and Haechan.

"Y/N!" Haechan called out, his voice carrying effortlessly over the noise of the crowd. "Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?"

The world felt like it had slowed.

You hated attention. You hated feeling like all eyes were on you. But what you hated the most in that moment was the fact that Mark was there, hovering just behind Haechan, watching everything unfold. His broom was still, his expression neutral, but you could feel his eyes burning into you, waiting for your response.

"So," Haechan prompted, his voice a little breathless from the cold and the game, his nose and cheeks tinged pink. "What's your answer?"

Your fingers tightened around the Snitch. You risked a quick glance at Mark, searching for something—anything—in his face. But all you could see was the annoyance from losing the match.

There was only one right answer.

"Okay," you said.

Haechan grinned, throwing his arms up in victory. The crowd erupted, voices overlapping as cheers and chants of his name filled the air.

Mark wasn’t on his best game today. He was usually laser-focused before a match, but things weren’t going right thia morning. First, someone pulled a prank and turned his Quidditch robes a bright pink. Now, he was stuck wearing Sungchan’s, which were way too big. They hung loosely around his shoulders and got in the way whenever he tried to move.

On top of that, Mark was in a strangely sour mood, though he couldn’t figure out why. Everything felt off. The broom didn’t feel right in his hands, and the wind felt harsher than usual.

Then he saw you in the stands.

At first, he thought you were there for him. You usually came to cheer him on, so it made sense. But when Lee Haechan flew by and his face lit up when he saw you, Mark realized he’d been wrong. You looked flustered, but you still gave him a thumbs up.

So, you weren’t there for him? That was okay. Actually, it was better than okay.

But then Haechan wouldn’t stop. He kept swooping around Mark, poking fun.

“A little slow today, huh?” Haechan called as he flew beside Mark. “You looking a little distracted, Lee.”

Mark narrowed his eyes. “Focus on your game,” he said, his tone clipped.

“Oh, I am.” Haechan’s eyes flickered to you in the stands, where you were rubbing your hands together for warmth.

Mark’s focus broke. The rest of the game felt like a blur.

He was usually the fastest to spot the snitch. No matter who he played against, his eyes always found it first. And Haechan wasn’t known for being the most observant player, so when Mark saw the snitch fluttering just a few feet away, he immediately maneuvered toward it. But his borrowed robes dragged around his legs, slowing him down. By the time he managed to free himself, Haechan had already spotted the snitch and was racing toward it.

Mark pushed forward, forcing his broom to match Haechan’s speed. When he caught up, the Slytherin boy turned to him with a smirk and a challenge in his eyes.

“First one to catch it wins the prize,” Haechan said.

Mark frowned. There was no prize for catching the snitch. The cup at the end of the year depended on accumulated wins, and there were still plenty of matches left. But then it clicked. Haechan wasn’t talking about the cup. He was talking about you.

For some ridiculous reason, he thought Mark was interested in you.

The snitch suddenly dove, and both seekers followed. They jostled for position, each elbowing the other to get ahead. But then Haechan leaned forward, and it was like his broom had shifted into another gear. He shot ahead, leaving Mark behind with no chance to catch up.

When Mark rose back to the pitch, he already knew he had lost.

It shouldn’t have pissed him off as much as it did. Gryffindor had been on a winning streak for the past three matches, and they were still leading. This loss wouldn’t hurt them in the long run. But something about losing to Haechan irritated him.

It definitely wasn’t the fact that Haechan flew straight toward you. It wasn’t the fact that he tossed you the snitch and asked you, in front of the entire school, to go to the dance with him.

Mark didn’t know why his ribs felt tight against his chest or why he found himself waiting for you to look at him. But then you did, and all he could do was scowl.

And then you said okay.

Mark didn’t wait to hear the cheers so he turned his broom and flew away.

It was the night of the Yule Ball, and you were nervous. Ever since the match, you had started getting more attention from your fellow Slytherins. Some of it was good, some of it wasn’t. A few girls had taken an interest in you, though, and they were nice enough that you didn’t feel the need to keep your guard up so you didn't refuse when they offered to help you get ready for the ball.

“You have really pretty eyes,” Minjeong said, tilting your chin up. “I think if we curl your lashes and tweeze your brows a bit, they’d stand out even more.”

“Oh. Thanks,” you said, shifting awkwardly on the vanity stool they had just enchanted into existence in the dorm.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Karina started, eyes bright with excitement, “but I made some modifications to your dress.”

You tensed. “What? What kind of modifications?”

“Oh, just a few little ones,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “I mean… you’re about to show up with the most popular Slytherin guy. You can't wear something plain.”

“Right,” Minjeong agreed, blending eyeshadow onto your lids. “You have to show everyone you’re on his level.”

You weren’t sure how you felt about that. But you let them work. They curled and pinned your hair, dusted powders and pigments onto your face, and finished off with a few well-placed glamour enchantments. When they finally let you open your eyes, the reflection staring back at you was almost unrecognizable.

“This is our best work yet,” Minjeong said, clapping Karina on the back.

“Absolutely,” the taller girl agreed, looking satisfied.

Your hair fell in soft curls over your shoulders, half-pinned in the back with what looked like strands of shimmering tinsel woven in. Your eyes somehow looked bigger, framed by thick lashes that made them seem darker, more intense. Your brows were perfectly shaped, giving your face a softer, more refined look.

“Okay, now put on the dress! We’ll go get ready,” Karina said, pointing toward the neatly laid-out fabric on your bed.

Before you could say anything, they were already out the door.

“Thank you!” you called after them, but they were long gone.

You turned toward the bed, hands smoothing over the fabric of the dress Karina had "modified". To your relief, it was still elegant and not overly flashy. The gown was a soft, silvery blue with a delicate shimmer that caught the light when you moved. The bodice was fitted but modest, with sheer lace sleeves that draped lightly over your shoulders. The skirt flowed down in gentle layers of airy fabric, giving it an almost weightless quality. It was pretty, delicate, and just fancy enough to make it clear you hadn’t thrown it together last minute.

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. At least it wasn’t anything too dramatic.

When you stepped out of the girls' dorm and into the Slytherin common room, your heart pounded so loudly you were sure someone could hear it. Haechan was waiting for you, and the moment your eyes met, you noticed how the entire room seemed to pause. Conversations quieted, and nearly every gaze turned toward you.

“Wow… you look so… wow,” Haechan stammered, walking up to you. His expression was so genuinely stunned that you felt warmth rise to your cheeks.

“You look gorgeous, and I don’t think that even describes it well.” He took your hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles, his lips curling into a grin when he noticed how flustered you looked.

“Hah, thanks,” you chuckled nervously. “You look nice too.” He did. His black suit fit him well, long robes flowing behind him, accented with silver details that made him look effortlessly put together. His hair was slicked back, but a single strand had fallen over his forehead, softening his sharp features.

He placed a hand on your back and led you up the stairs and out of the dungeons, you instinctively held onto his arm to steady yourself.

Thankfully, by the time you reached the Great Hall, the attention had shifted from you. The room was filled with students dressed in elegant robes, sparkling gowns, and tailored suits, each more dazzling than the next. The sheer number of people made it easy to blend in, or so you thought.

Because somewhere across the hall, a particular Gryffindor’s eyes never left you.

“Who is that?” Jaemin asked, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“That’s Y/N, idiot,” Chenle replied, looking equally stunned.

“No way… seriously?” Jaemin’s eyes widened.

“Now she finally looks like she could really date someone like Lee Haechan,” Mia chimed in, sipping her drink with a raised eyebrow.

Mark didn’t respond. His gaze remained fixed on you across the room.

“Cat got your tongue?” Mia teased, and Mark snapped out of his trance, his eyes meeting hers.

“No… I was just thinking she looks the same,” Mark muttered before walking away.

You ended up enjoying yourself far more than you’d expected. Haechan was surprisingly fun to be around, and he wasn’t getting too touchy, which you appreciated. You both jumped and swayed to the music of the Weird Sisters.

“I hate this band!” Haechan shouted over the noise, but his feet didn’t stop moving.

You burst out laughing. “Me too.”

He grinned at you, his face flushed, both of you breathless and sweaty.

Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “Hey, what’s up with you and Mark Lee?”

Your laughter died in your throat.

“Huh? Nothing, why?” you stammered, trying to hide your nerves.

“Because he’s looking at me like he wants to hex my head off,” Haechan said, chuckling.

You glanced over your shoulder and saw Mark indeed staring in your direction. His expression was tight, angry even, but there was something else there too. Beside him, Mia was practically clawing at his attention, asking him something. He simply shook his head, dismissing her with a frown before she stormed off.

“Don’t mind him,” you said, turning back to Haechan, but he was already watching you.

“I’m not,” he said softly, his hands finding yours.

Suddenly, you were standing closer to him, and you had to tilt your head to meet his gaze. The music shifted into a slower tune, and your heart skipped a beat when you realized how close he was now.

“Stop me if you’re not okay with this,” he murmured, his breath warm against your face. Before you could even process, his lips brushed yours, and then he closed the gap entirely.

Haechan’s lips were soft against yours, and for a brief moment, the world around you disappeared. The music faded into the background, the chatter of students blurred into nothing, and it was just the two of you.

Then, all at once, everything shattered.

A loud crack echoed through the Great Hall, and before you could process what was happening, something thick and cold splattered down your back. You gasped, stumbling away from Haechan as a chilling sensation spread over your skin. A murmur rippled through the crowd as gasps and stifled laughter filled the air.

You looked down. Dark, sticky liquid seeped into the delicate fabric of your dress, staining the soft silk into something sickly and ruined. A pungent smell filled your nose. You barely had time to react before your dress started shrinking.

Your breath caught as the bodice tightened, the fabric pulling uncomfortably against your ribs, cinching around your waist like an invisible grip. Your sleeves vanished, and the hemline shot up several inches in one horrifying swoop, exposing far too much of your legs.

The laughter grew louder.

You clenched your fists, heart pounding as humiliation crashed over you in waves.

“What the hell?” Haechan’s voice rang out, sharp and furious. He whipped around, wand drawn, eyes scanning the hall for the culprit.

And then your gaze landed on Mark.

He stood several feet away, his wand still faintly sparking at the tip. His expression was frozen, his face a shade paler than before. His mouth was slightly open, like he wasn’t sure how the spell had left his lips in the first place.

But you didn’t see uncertainty. You didn’t see hesitation or guilt. All you saw was an angry boy.

A boy who barely acknowledged you before. A boy who always seemed unimpressed by your very existence. A boy who just humiliated you in front of the entire school.

Your throat tightened.

He really hated you that much.

Haechan was already stepping in front of you, blocking you from the murmuring students. His wand was still raised, his grip so tight his knuckles had gone white.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Lee?” His voice cut through the noise, venom dripping from every word.

Mark didn’t respond. His jaw was clenched, his fingers twitching like he wanted to undo what he had just done. But he didn’t move.

Your breath was shaky as you forced your voice to come out steady. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Mark’s gaze snapped to you, something flickering in his eyes. But you didn’t care what it was.

“You could’ve just ignored me like you always do,” you continued, your voice sharper now, your chest rising and falling with barely contained anger. “You didn’t have to humiliate me.”

Mark opened his mouth, but for once, he had nothing to say.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat, then turned away.

Haechan was already pulling off his robe, draping it over your shoulders before wrapping a protective arm around you. “C’mon, let’s go,” he muttered under his breath, shooting one last glare in Mark’s direction before leading you out of the Great Hall.

Mark didn’t mean to stare.

But from the second you stepped into the Great Hall, he couldn’t seem to look away.

You didn’t look different. That’s what he told himself. It was just a dress. Just some makeup. Just a bunch of pointless glamour spells. Nothing about you had actually changed.

And yet.

His grip tightened around the goblet in his hand as he watched you dance with Haechan, laughing at something he said, looking so damn happy at his side. Mark didn’t even know Haechan that well, but for some reason, he hated him.

He hated the way Haechan touched your waist. He hated the way you let him pull you closer when the song slowed down. Hated the way you tilted your head to look up at him, that slight pause in your movements making it clear what was about to happen.

Mark’s heart slammed against his ribs, something bubbling up inside him, something sharp and hot and suffocating.

And before he even thought about what he was doing, his fingers twitched around his wand.

It happened too fast.

A crackle of magic shot from his wand like a reflex, like something instinctual, something uncontrollable. It streaked through the air, twisting and curling before hitting you and Haechan where you stood.

The Great Hall fell into silence and then laughter erupted.

Mark could barely register what had happened, only that you looked devastated. Your dress was drenched and shrinking until the delicate fabric was something ridiculous, something cruel, something designed to humiliate.

His blood ran cold. He had done that.

He hadn’t meant to. He didn’t even know what spell he cast, just that it happened because of the way you looked at Haechan. Because of the way Mark didn’t want you to look at Haechan.

Haechan’s voice cut through the buzzing in his ears.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Lee?”

You turned to him then, and when your eyes met his, something inside him dropped.

Because you didn’t only look angry. You looked… hurt.

"You didn't have to do that," you said, and it wasn’t an accusation. It was just... disappointment.

Mark felt something claw up his throat. But he couldn’t say anything.

He watched as you shook your head, your expression hardening as you pulled Haechan’s robe tighter around yourself.

"You could’ve just ignored me like you always do,” you said, voice sharp now. “You didn’t have to humiliate me."

Mark opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

And then you turned your back on him. And he just stood there still gripping his wand.

Still feeling that suffocating thing inside his chest.

Hating himself for the fact that he had only just realized what it was.

Mark felt like the ground had been yanked from under him. His whole body felt heavy, like he was stuck in some kind of nightmare where he could see everything going wrong but couldn’t stop it.

Jaemin sighed, shoving Mark’s wand into his own pocket. “Seriously, what the hell was that?”

Mark couldn’t answer. He was still staring at the spot where you’d stood, where you’d looked at him like he was the worst person in the world.

Chenle shook his head. “Look, I don’t know what your problem is with her, but you actually humiliated her in front of everyone. That’s not just being petty, Mark. That’s being cruel.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Mark said quickly, voice hoarse, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew how weak they sounded. What did that even mean? That he hadn’t meant to hex you? That he hadn’t meant to let his jealousy swallow him whole?

Jaemin scoffed. “Well it sure as hell looked intentional.”

Mark ran a hand through his hair, frustration and guilt tangling in his throat. “I—I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. It just—” He exhaled sharply. “It just happened.”

Jaemin exchanged a look with Chenle. “Right. It just happened that you hexed her right when she was kissing Haechan.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. He hated the way Jaemin said it. Like it was so obvious.

Chenle crossed his arms. “If you’re gonna act like this every time you see her with another guy, maybe just admit that you like her and spare everyone the dramatics.”

Mark flinched. “I don’t—”

Jaemin held up a hand. “Before you finish that sentence, think really hard about whether or not it’s a lie.”

Mark clamped his mouth shut. Because he didn’t know anymore.

But it didn’t matter, did it? Even if he did like you, what difference would it make?

You were the one who hated him now.

By the time your fifth year came around, you’d successfully mastered Occlumency so well that when you returned to school Mark was nothing more than a passing thought. The memories you had of him felt distant, like a foggy dream.

You never thought you’d feel this way, but it was almost freeing. The emotional weight he’d carried for so long was no longer crushing you. You were finally able to move on.

After what happened at the Yule Ball, you were relieved that Haechan seemed to understand you needed space. He kept things between you friendly, never bringing up the kiss or attempting to do it again. It made things easier, even if there was still an underlying tension whenever he caught your eye for too long. But just because he didn’t push for anything more didn’t mean he stopped very obviously flirting with you.

If anything, he seemed to have doubled down. Compliments slipped into every conversation, his arm would brush against yours whenever he passed by, and he always found some excuse to sit next to you in the common room or during meals. It was like he had claimed you in some unspoken way—not forcefully, or in a way that made you uncomfortable, but in a way that let everyone else know that he was still very much interested.

Karina and Minjeong, meanwhile, had become your biggest support system. For the first time, you felt like you truly had friends. And if they had one common enemy, it was Mark Lee.

“He is so pathetic,” Karina muttered, stabbing at her breakfast aggressively. “Walking around like a sad puppy as if he isn’t evil.”

“How dare the Gryffindors say we’re the house full of terrible people when they have someone like Mark Lee?” Minjeong scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

You hid a small smile behind your cup, already used to their daily Mark-related grievances. It had become routine at this point. Every morning, without fail, they found something new to complain about. And if they couldn’t find anything, they made something up.

“I mean, look at him,” Karina continued, tilting her head toward the Gryffindor table. “He’s just poking at his food and sighing dramatically. Does he expect us to feel bad?”

Minjeong rolled her eyes. “As if he has anything to be heartbroken over. He’s the one who embarrassed you in front of everyone. And now he has the audacity to mope around? Get a grip.”

You said nothing, focusing on your plate instead. You had built up your Occlumency walls so well that even you weren’t sure what you felt about Mark anymore. You weren’t angry. You weren’t sad. You weren’t… anything. And you were proud of that.

You stopped going to Quidditch games after a while. You just couldn’t shake the feeling of self-consciousness that crept in every time you stepped into the stands. But Karina and Minjeong convinced you to go today. It was Slytherin’s match, and though it was against Gryffindor, you agreed. You trusted your walls, confident that nothing could touch you now.

The game started, despite the pouring rain. The weather only seemed to make it more intense. The announcer’s voice echoed over the field, remarking on the lightning that nearly struck the Slytherin keeper. You could barely hear him over the storm.

Mark and Haechan were both darting across the sky, locked in pursuit of the Snitch. They were higher than the other players, cutting through the rain like streaks of lightning themselves. You tried to follow them with your eyes, but the thick raindrops blurred your vision and the gusts of wind whipped your hair into your face, making it harder to see. Then, all at once, the sky split open with a crack of lightning.

Your heart skipped a beat as you saw Mark’s broom fall from the sky, his body following in a terrifying, uncontrolled descent.

“Oh my god!” You gasped, your voice barely carrying over the storm. Time seemed to slow. Your mind raced as you realized that one of the professors had cast the Arresto Momentum charm just in time. The world around you shifted back into real-time, and suddenly, Mark’s body was lying motionless on the pitch.

He was unconscious but thankfully unscathed. The rain was pouring down in sheets now, mixing with the frenzy of footsteps as professors rushed to his side.

Without thinking, you slipped out of the stands, pushing through the chaos of the crowd. Your heart was hammering in your chest, your breath quickening as you neared the pitch. The professors were already at his side, checking him over carefully. You could barely breathe, the panic tightening around your chest.

“Mark,” you whispered, as if calling him out of a deep sleep.

When Mark woke up, the first thing he saw was Madam Pomfrey waving her wand over him, a soft golden light flickering at the tip as she muttered a diagnostic spell under her breath.

“Oh, great heavens! You’re finally awake,” she gasped, clutching her chest in relief. “I was beginning to think I’d have to send for St. Mungo’s. There was no reason for you to still be unconscious!”

Mark blinked a few times, his vision still slightly blurred, before realizing he wasn’t alone. Chenle and Jaemin were sitting nearby, their faces tight with concern.

“Mate, you scared the shit out of us,” Chenle said, his brows furrowed.

“We thought we lost you,” Jaemin added, a little too serious for Mark’s liking.

“What… happened?” Mark asked, his voice hoarse, as if he hadn’t had a sip of water in days.

“You fell off your broom from at least fifty feet in the air. It was insane,” Chenle said.

“I don’t… why don’t I remember anything?” Mark mumbled, wincing as a dull, throbbing pain settled in his skull.

“Professor McGonagall slowed your fall, but you still hit the ground pretty hard. You must’ve knocked your head,” Jaemin explained.

Madam Pomfrey huffed. “I’ll bring you a dose of Revitalizing Tonic, it should help with the disorientation. You two wrap things up and get to your dorms… it’s far too late for visitors.” She turned on her heel, bustling off toward her supply cabinet.

Jaemin scooted closer, watching Mark carefully. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got beat up by the Whomping Willow,” Mark muttered.

Chenle snorted. “You’re lucky you didn’t actually land on it. That would’ve been really bad.”

“We were all so worried. No one thought you’d wake up today,” Jaemin added.

“The whole team was here earlier,” Chenle continued. “Mia too… and, uh—Y/N was the last one to leave—”

“Wait, what?” Mark pushed himself up too fast, his head spinning in protest. “Y/N?”

“Yeah, we’re just as shocked as you are,” Chenle said. “She ran to the pitch the second you fell. I swear, I thought she was gonna pass out from how hard she was crying.”

“She looked like she was having a panic attack,” Jaemin added. “Professor Snape had to give her a Calming Draught.”

“I think she genuinely thought you were going to die,” Chenle said.

Mark’s stomach twisted painfully. His mind still felt sluggish from the fall, but that one piece of information cut through it like a blade.

You were crying over him? Panicking? That didn’t make any sense.

“This doesn’t…” Mark swallowed. “This doesn’t make any sense. Why would she—why would she care?” His voice was barely above a whisper, his chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with his injuries.

“Beats me,” Chenle shrugged. “She hasn’t talked to you in over a year. I was sure she hated your guts. But apparently, you’re harder to get over than we thought.”

Mark barely registered the teasing tone. His brain was running a mile a minute.

You were worried about him. You didn’t hate him? Or maybe… maybe it was just shock. Maybe seeing him fall had been scary in the moment, and once you knew he was okay, you'd go back to ignoring him. This didn't mean anything.

…Right?

After Chenle and Jaemin left, Mark knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Madam Pomfrey had left him a Sleeping Draught, which sat untouched on his bedside table.

He couldn’t stop thinking about what Jaemin said. How you ran onto the pitch, crying over him. It didn’t make sense. You hadn’t spared him a second glance since the Yule Ball. If anything, he would’ve preferred if you were still angry, if you had lashed out at him, screamed, hexed him—anything.

But instead, you had simply erased him from your world. The few times you had looked at him had been either by accident or when he deliberately put himself in your way, and your eyes had always been so empty.

The door to the hospital wing suddenly creaked open. Mark assumed it was just the wind, or maybe Madam Pomfrey checking in on him, so he quickly shut his eyes and feigned sleep when he heard soft footsteps approaching.

For a moment, there was nothing. He almost convinced himself he had imagined it until he felt the weight shift at the edge of his bed.

Then, the sound of quiet, muffled sobs.

“Mark…”

His breath caught in his throat.

It was you.

Before he could even process it, your hand was suddenly on his face, fingers grazing his cheek in the softest touch. A shiver threatened to run down his spine, but he forced himself to stay still.

“I’m sorry…” Your voice was fragile. “I wished so many bad things on you last year… I feel like…like this is my fault.” A shaky inhale. “Please be okay.”

Mark wanted to sit up. Wanted to tell you it wasn’t your fault, that none of this was. That he had deserved everything you threw at him but not this guilt.

But if he moved, would you run? Would you slip away before he even had the chance to say anything?

He was too much of a coward to find out. So he stayed still, letting your fingers caress him, letting your words sink into his skin like a warmth he hadn’t felt in so long.

Mark was certain you had stayed the whole night. Even in the haze of half-sleep, he had felt your presence beside him. He only realized you had left when the first rays of sunlight began filtering through the hospital wing’s windows.

Madam Pomfrey cleared him to leave that morning, assuring him he wasn’t in any real danger anymore. She did, however, insist he avoid Quidditch for at least a week. Not that he particularly cared. There were no matches coming up, but even if there were, he doubted he’d be able to focus on anything other than you.

He didn’t know what to do with the new knowledge that you did care about him. That you had cried over him. That you had touched him so gently, so reverently, as if he were something precious. It should have been a relief, but it made him anxious instead. After all this time, after everything that he’d done to you, how was he supposed to approach you?

The thought of you looking at him with those same empty eyes, telling him to get lost, made his stomach twist.

No—he had to be smart about this. He had to find a moment when you were alone.

That would have been easy before, when you had no friends and spent most of your time buried in books or wandering the castle halls by yourself. But now? Now, you were constantly surrounded by Karina, by Minjeong, and worst of all, by Haechan.

Mark had been watching the two of you closely, trying to figure out if there was something going on. He knew Haechan was still pursuing you, that much was obvious, but you weren’t dating as far as he could tell. At least, he hadn’t heard anything about it.

Still, the thought gnawed at him.

After a lot of consideration, he decided the best way to talk to you was during your prefect rounds at night. The problem was figuring out when you were scheduled. If he had tried this a year ago, you probably would’ve handed over the information without question. Now? Not a chance.

So, he had to get creative.

It took some effort to figure out your schedule, but after bribing a few Slytherins with an unlimited supply of Fizzing Whizzbees from Honeydukes for the rest of the year, he learned that your shift usually started around 8 pm.

So by 7:59 pm, he was slipping out of the Fat Lady’s portrait, glancing around to make sure Filch wasn’t lurking in the shadows. His heart was pounding, but he wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or anticipation.

He was finally going to talk to you.

He figured you’d start your shift near the Slytherin common room, so he made his way toward the dungeons. Sure enough, there you were, walking slowly, completely absorbed in a book.

Mark couldn’t help but smile to himself.

"So much for staying vigilant during patrols," he finally said.

You flinched, nearly dropping your book. When you turned around, your wide eyes locked onto his, shimmering under the dim candlelight. For a second, all he could think about was how lovely you looked.

"Mark..." you breathed, almost like you couldn’t believe he was real.

"Hi," he said, scratching the back of his neck. He looked away for a moment, gathering the courage to step closer.

"Are you okay?" you asked, and the genuine concern in your tone made his heart stumble over itself.

"Yeah, it wasn’t that big of a deal," he chuckled nervously.

"Not a big deal?" Your brows furrowed, and your tone sharpened slightly. "You fell from the sky, Mark."

He wasn’t used to you looking at him after all this time, much less with worry.

"I’m sorry," he said, watching the way your hands clenched into fists at your sides. "I heard you were pretty shaken up after it."

"Yeah…" you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I was..."

Mark's heart jumped. He knew it already, he knew you had stayed by his bedside, knew you had cried over him—but hearing you say it made something in his chest tighten painfully.

Your eyes scanned him again, like you were checking to make sure he wouldn’t collapse at any second.

"I’m okay, I promise," he reassured you.

You nodded, then let out a sigh, glancing around as if suddenly remembering where you were.

"What are you doing outside your common room this late?"

Mark hesitated. Should he make up some excuse, or should he just tell the truth?

"If you were planning to sneak out with Mia, I’ll have you know that I must deduct points from your house and report it to Professor McGonagall," you said, your tone suddenly more detached. Just like that, the warmth in your expression flickered out, and your eyes went cold again.

Mark felt like he had just been shoved back into reality.

"No, no," he stammered quickly. "Mia and I are not… we’re not together."

You pursed your lips, nodding slowly. "Okay. Then why—"

"I wanted to talk to you," he blurted out. "To apologize. For everything. I never got the chance to back then."

"It’s been a year, Mark," you said flatly.

"Yeah, I know," he murmured. "But you still deserve an apology. And I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven, but… I needed to say it anyway."

His voice faded toward the end, barely audible.

"Okay…" You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "You're forgiven. I don’t hold it against you anymore... I actually haven’t for a while."

"Really?" Mark blinked. "You don’t even care why I did it?"

"Not really. It doesn’t matter anymore."

"I want to explain, though," he insisted.

You simply nodded, waiting.

Mark took a deep breath. "I was an idiot back then… well, I guess I’m still an idiot but I was an angry idiot. And I don’t know what came over me… I took it out on you. But I swear, it wasn’t because I hated you. I never hated you." He exhaled sharply, as if forcing the words out before he lost the nerve. "I know you don’t have to believe me, but… I just—I need you to know that."

He spoke so fast, stumbling over his words. Afraid that if he paused, he wouldn’t get to say everything he wanted. By the time he finally stopped talking, your expression had softened just a little.

"I see…" You seemed to search for the right words before settling on a quiet, "I’m glad you told me." A small, tentative smile tugged at your lips.

But it didn’t ease the tightness in Mark’s chest. It didn’t make him feel any better. Because there was more, so much more he wanted to say, but he didn’t know how. And he was terrified.

"Do you wanna hang out?" he blurted before he could stop himself.

"Now…?" You glanced around, hesitating. "I’m kind of—"

"No! Sorry, I meant… later. Tomorrow, maybe? Or—I don’t know… whenever you can."

You stayed quiet for a moment, considering it. "Uhm… okay. Tomorrow. After class?"

Mark nodded too eagerly. "Yes! That sounds perfect." His voice came out overly excited, but he couldn’t help it.

"Okay. See you tomorrow, then." You gave him a small wave before turning away. "Now go before any of the other prefects see you."

Mark barely registered your warning, his mind was already racing ahead to tomorrow.

You were dreading your night shift as a prefect tonight. You hadn’t slept much after staying by Mark’s side all night. You heard he was discharged this morning, but not seeing him with your own eyes made you feel as if he was still hurt.

You had no idea how to deal with the knot in your stomach, so you brought a book with you hoping it would distract you. But even as you read the words on the pages, they blurred into one long line, your mind constantly flickering back to him.

You’d spent so long putting up walls inside your mind, careful to shield yourself from things that hurt too much. It had worked, mostly. You hadn’t felt anything deeply in a long time. But after the accident, those walls felt thinner, more fragile than ever.

And the minute Mark spoke behind you, you felt them crack.

Your whole body went stil and he was just standing there, smiling shyly at you. It took everything in you not to collapse in relief.

You whispered his name and tried so hard not to let your emotions show. But everything felt too much, the relief, the fear, the overwhelming rush of memories and feelings you had buried for so long. You had to hold it all in. You couldn’t let him know how glad you were to see him.

You were trying to remain composed, to keep your usual guard up, but with him standing there, looking so... so Mark,

"Hi..." he said quietly.

You forced yourself to speak. "Are you okay?" It was the question you had been waiting to ask, but it came out more desperate than you’d intended.

"Yeah, it wasn’t that big of a deal," Mark chuckled, the sound awkward and nervous. But even the way he said it made your heart sink with unease.

You couldn’t hide the irritation that sparked inside you, the remnants of the fear still clinging to your chest. "Not a big deal? You fell from the sky, Mark." The words left you harsher than you intended. You were so angry at the idea of losing him, so scared because it had been too close.

"I’m sorry, I heard you were pretty shaken after it." His voice was quieter now, and you could feel the way he was trying to reach you, even though the distance between you both felt insurmountable.

You nodded slowly, the walls inside your mind trying to reassemble themselves, trying to keep you composed. “Yeah... I was...."

The truth slipped out, and as soon as it did, you regretted it. You didn’t want him to know just how terrified you’d been that something might happen to him and you wouldn’t be able to truly tell him how you felt. The walls inside your mind cracked again.

"I’m okay, I promise," Mark said softly, his gaze holding yours, as if trying to assure you.

You wanted to close your eyes and pretend like everything was okay, but the walls kept wavering. You couldn’t trust that feeling, not yet.

You nodded, but the unease inside you didn’t go away. Not when you saw the way his eyes kept searching yours. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something you couldn’t control.

The walls that had kept your emotions in check for so long were trembling now, and it was getting harder to keep them from falling. You needed to focus on something else, anything else.

"What are you doing outside of your common room so late?" You forced the authority back into your voice. But you knew it didn’t fool anyone—not Mark, not even yourself.

He stumbled over his words, clearly nervous. "I wanted to speak to you. Apologize for everything. I never got the chance to back then."

The words hit you like a sudden gust of wind, knocking the breath from your lungs. It wasn’t just an apology. It was him standing in front of you, looking so... raw. You weren’t sure if you were ready for everything he was willing to lay bare. But you couldn’t stop him. You couldn’t stop yourself from listening.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. "It’s been a year, Mark."

"I know. But you deserve an apology, and I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven, but still... I wanted to say it."

Your heart squeezed at the sincerity in his voice, but something inside you fought to keep the walls intact. The last time you’d allowed yourself to feel so exposed, it had ended in too much pain.

"Okay..." You put a strand of hair behind your ear. "You’re forgiven... I don’t hold you to it anymore. I actually haven’t for a while."

His expression shifted in relief, but it didn’t bring the peace you thought it might. "You don’t care why I did it?"

You shook your head, forcing the walls to stay up. "Not really. It doesn’t matter anymore."

"I want to explain, though," Mark said, looking at you with an intensity you hadn’t seen in him before.

And you nodded, thinking that maybe it was okay to let the walls waver for now.

So you heard him out when he nervously asked to hang out, and you ignored the logical part of you that told you you might get hurt again.

The next day, Mark woke up earlier than usual. He told himself he wasn’t making a big deal out of hanging out with you today, but he still spent longer than necessary in the shower. He even put on cologne, something he never did.

He only had two classes with you this year, and after the Yule Ball accident, he made a habit of sitting as far away as possible, just so you wouldn’t catch him sneaking glances every few minutes.

But today, he was going to sit next to you.

At least, that was the plan—until he walked into Divination and saw that Lee Haechan had already taken the seat beside you.

Mark blinked. He didn’t even know Haechan was in this class. Then again, he was pretty sure he had skipped most of the semester. And yet, he suddenly decided to show up today? Right when Mark was finally trying to make things right with you?

Mark scowled as he trudged to the table behind yours. Mia slid into the seat next to him, but he barely noticed her presence until she snapped her fingers in front of his face, breaking his intense staring contest with the back of Haechan’s head.

"Did you do something different to your hair?" Mia asked, eyeing him.

Mark instinctively ran a hand through it. He had used a bit of gel this morning, but now that she pointed it out, he felt self-conscious.

"No," he muttered, dropping his hand and forcing himself to focus on Professor Trelawney, who was currently droning on about the art of tea leaf reading.

"...And remember," she was saying dramatically, her bracelets jingling with every exaggerated movement, "the leaves do not lie! They reveal the truth hidden beneath the surface, the past, the present, and sometimes, if you are truly gifted, the future."

Mark barely listened, too distracted by the way Haechan kept whispering in your ear.

"Now! Pick a partner and interpret their tea leaves. It can be anyone's cup!"

Mark didn’t hesitate. He shot up from his seat, stepping around Mia and snatching your cup before Haechan could even reach for it.

You flinched slightly at the sudden movement, but when you looked up and saw it was him, you relaxed.

"Hello," Mark said, smiling.

You smiled back. "Hi."

From beside you, Haechan’s jaw tightened. "I see you’re alive."

Mark smirked. "You’re lucky I am or there’d be no witness to prove you didn’t push me off my broom."

“Guide yourselves with the book and pay close attention to the patterns so you can decipher what the tea leaves say,” Professor Trelawney cut in, her voice airy and theatrical as always.

“I guess I’ll look at your cup then.” You flicked your wand, summoning Mark’s cup toward you.

Haechan huffed beside you and settled for reading Mia’s cup instead.

Mark watched you tilt his teacup, your eyes scanning the damp leaves at the bottom with unnerving concentration. He’d never taken Divination seriously, Trelawney's constant doomsday prophecies were more of a running joke than anything, but the way you were studying his cup seriously made him realize you were exactly the opposite.

“Alright…” You murmured, brushing your fingers against the rim of the cup as you turned it slightly. “This shape here…it kind of looks like…” Your brows furrowed in thought before you glanced at the textbook. “A hound?”

“A hound?” Mark repeated, leaning in slightly.

“It symbolizes guilt.” You looked up at him then, and for a moment, the room felt too quiet. “Something that’s been eating at you for a while. Maybe something you want to say but haven’t faced properly yet.”

You were staring back into the cup as if searching for something more. Mark wanted to brush it off, make some joke about Professor Trelawney getting to your head, but the way you spoke made him hesitate.

“Well,” he started, clearing his throat, “that’s… ominous.”

“Maybe it just means he regrets not catching the Snitch before nearly cracking his skull open.” Haechan snorted, leaning back in his chair.

Mark’s jaw twitched but before he could open his mouth to say something, Professor Trelawney’s voice rang through the room.

“Now, now! I sense many of you are struggling to find clarity in the leaves, but do not fret! The Inner Eye is a gift not all possess.”

Mark turned your cup carefully in his hands, squinting at the clumps of tea leaves at the bottom like they might suddenly rearrange themselves into something comprehensible. They didn’t.

“Alright…” he said slowly, stalling for time. “So, um—this kind of looks like…” He tilted his head. “Maybe… a deer?”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “A deer?”

“Or… a horse,” he amended quickly. “Yeah. Definitely a horse. Which, uh, probably means…” He paused, grasping for anything remotely logical. “You have an adventurous spirit. And, um, bravery. And, like… untamed passion?”

Mia snorted from beside him, barely holding back her laughter, while Haechan outright scoffed.

Before you could tease him, Professor Trelawney materialized beside your table, her many scarves billowing behind her. She peered over Mark’s shoulder, tutting disapprovingly.

“I knew you didn’t have the Sight, my dear boy,” she said, shaking her head mournfully. “But fear not, Divination is an art that can be nurtured… even in those with less potential” She patted his shoulder with a dramatic flourish before floating off to torment another group.

Mark sighed, his ears burning red. But then he glanced at you and you were smiling. At him.

And suddenly, he didn’t care about looking like an idiot.

The bell rang before he could bring up your plans for later, and you left with a small wave. He spent the next few hours trying not to overthink it, but thankfully your last class of the day, Care of Magical Creatures, was together. That meant another chance.

Professor Kettleburn led the class out to the paddock, where a row of iron-reinforced cages sat waiting. Today’s lesson was on Chimeras.

Even Mark knew that was a terrible idea.

“Of course, we won’t be working with full-grown Chimeras,” Kettleburn reassured, “for obvious reasons. However, the Ministry has provided us with young ones under very, very careful supervision.”

He demonstrated the proper way to throw raw meat to the creatures. The chimera’s serpent tail lashed at him when he got too close, and the class collectively took a step back.

“Alright! Now, you lot give it a try!” Kettleburn beamed, seemingly unfazed by the near-death experience.

Mark grabbed a chunk of bloody meat and approached the enclosure, trying to ignore the way the chimera’s goat head was glaring at him. The moment he threw the meat, it hit the ground about a foot too short, and the beast let out a dissatisfied growl.

“This,” he muttered under his breath, watching as the chimera’s lion head snapped at him, “is why Professor Kettleburn has lost almost all his limbs.”

“Need help?”

Mark flinched at the sudden voice, turning to find you standing there, watching him with an amused tilt to your lips.

He huffed out a laugh. “You know, I’ve noticed you ask that a lot. Do I really look that helpless?”

You giggled. “Uhm… a bit.” Then, you took the meat from him and tossed it over the fence in one smooth motion. The chimera caught it mid-air, seeming significantly less hostile toward you than it had been toward him.

Mark blinked. “Is there anything you’re not good at?”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I’m a terrible flyer.”

Mark scoffed. “That’s the one thing I think I’m good at.”

“Oh, I’ve heard.” You said it casually, but both of you knew you’d been to almost every single one of his Quidditch matches since first year.

He hesitated, then rubbed the back of his neck, summoning whatever courage he had left. “So… did you still want to hang out today?”

“Yes,” you said without hesitation. “How about the library?”

Mark barely resisted the urge to groan. He tried to keep his face neutral, but you noticed the way he grimaced.

You smirked. “Or we can do the greenhouse?”

His expression instantly lightened. “Yes! That sounds good.”

And when you turned back toward the chimera, Mark found himself staring a little too long. He’d never really noticed how pretty your eyes were. Or maybe he had, and he’d just forced himself to ignore it. But now—now he couldn't stop seeing them. The way they glowed when you got something right in class, the way they sparkled when you looked at him for the first time on the train all those years ago.

He missed that. The way you used to adore him.

And he hated himself for wasting it—because he’d been too much of a coward. Too immature to handle something so good.

After your last class, you made your way back to the Slytherin dorms, stopping in front of your mirror to fix your uniform and contemplate whether a simple glamour charm might make your cheeks look a bit rosier. Not that you were dressing up for Mark, obviously.

You weren’t sure how to feel about his sudden shift in attitude. He’d never been this… nice before. And maybe you were quick to accept it because you’d spent the past few days terrified of losing him. But was that enough of a reason to let your guard down?

You sighed, closing your eyes and practicing Occlumency for a few minutes before heading out. You knew you’d need your walls strong if you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of him.

When you stepped into the common room, Karina and Minjeong were hunched over a Potions essay they definitely should’ve finished by now.

“And where are you going all dolled up?” Karina asked, looking up from her parchment.

“What? I look the same as I always do,” you said, feigning nonchalance.

Minjeong raised an eyebrow. “Are you meeting Haechan?”

It would’ve been easier to say yes. But they’d find out soon enough when Haechan inevitably strolled through the door looking for you.

“No, I’m going to go check on the Venomous Tentacula.” You were actually proud of how quickly you came up with the lie.

“Okay. Boooring.” Karina waved you off, already focused back on her essay.

You smiled quickly, muttered a goodbye, and slipped out of the common room before they could ask anything else.

When you arrived at the greenhouse, Mark was already there. He straightened up the moment he saw you, hands fidgeting slightly at his sides. But then you noticed he was holding something. A flower.

Not just any flower... a Moonbloom Orchid. A rare magical plant that was known to change colors based on the emotions of the person holding it, and right now, its soft lavender hue radiated warmth and quiet affection.

Your eyes widened. “Oh my god, Mark… it’s so pretty. How did you get it?”

Mark shrugged, trying to seem casual. “Oh, it wasn’t that hard to find.”

That was a complete lie.

He had sneaked out to Hogsmeade during his free period yesterday and asked around every store, pub, and dodgy corner for hours, trying to track one down. He had spent almost all his galleons on it.

But looking at your face, your excitement, he decided it was worth every single one.

“Thank you. I love it,” you said, your fingers brushing over the glowing petals as you smiled up at him.

And that smile—Merlin, that smile—hit Mark like a Bludger to the chest.

For the first time, maybe ever, he wanted to kiss you. Really kiss you. Not in some fleeting, passing thought but in a way that made his heart pound and his throat tighten. The desire was so sudden, so strong, it nearly knocked him off balance.

He cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Okay, so… want to show me around?” he asked, as if he hadn’t been having lessons in this greenhouse for years.

You giggled, and he could tell by the amused glint in your eyes that you saw right through him. “Sure,” you said, playing along. “I guess I can show you what I’ve been working on.”

You led him toward a section of the greenhouse that looked darker, the air thick with the scent of damp soil and something faintly spicy. Twisting vines curled around the edges of a wooden planter, their leaves twitching slightly as you approached.

“These are pretty hard to find,” you explained, crouching beside the pot. “I begged Professor Sprout to let me plant the seeds I found. Don’t ask where I found them, though.”

Mark raised a brow, intrigued, but he didn’t press.

“You really love this stuff, huh?” he asked instead.

You glanced up at him, then back at the plant, lightly running your fingers over its writhing leaves. The Venomous Tentacula shuddered, curling toward your touch as if it recognized you.

“I guess I do,” you admitted. “I don’t know… I feel comfortable around plants. I can feel their emotions, almost. Even if they can’t really express it… I guess I relate to that”

Mark watched you carefully, noting the way you hesitated like there was something more you wanted to say but couldn’t quite bring yourself to.

The way you spoke about plants… it was almost the way he felt about you.

Something real and quiet. Something he had never really put into words because he didn’t know how. Because even now, standing next to you, close enough that he could see the way the evening light reflected in your eyes, he felt like he shouldn’t want it.

Mark wasn’t sure how long he stood there just watching you, but it was long enough for you to notice.

You blinked up at him, tilting your head slightly. “What?”

He shook his head, forcing a laugh. “Nothing,” he said.

But it wasn’t nothing. It was the way the soft glow of the sunset made you look almost unreal. The way your lips parted slightly, like you were about to say something, only to change your mind. The way his own thoughts were a mess, tangled somewhere between I shouldn’t and I can’t stop thinking about you.

You turned back toward the plant, your fingers lightly tracing one of the curled leaves. “It’s kind of funny,” you murmured, half to yourself. “Plants grow towards the things they need. Sunlight, water… warmth.”

Mark swallowed. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the way you said it made his skin feel hot. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “They don’t second guess it. They don’t hold themselves back.”

He wasn’t sure if you meant anything by it, but it struck something deep in his chest anyway.

Because he had spent years holding himself back.

And now, with you standing this close, your voice soft, your eyes flickering to his he wondered if maybe he should stop doing that.

His hand moved slightly, barely thinking, like an instinct. Like those plants reaching for sunlight. And for the briefest moment, your fingers brushed against his.

It would be so easy to close the space between you.

So easy to reach forward, to tip your chin up slightly, to finally, finally—

The greenhouse door banged open.

Mark jolted back so fast he almost knocked over the planter.

Professor Sprout bustled in, looking completely oblivious to the moment she had just shattered. “Oh! What are you two doing here? Curfew is soon, I need to lock up for the night.”

You cleared your throat, stepping back as well, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Sorry, Professor. We were just finishing up.”

Mark forced himself to breathe, still feeling the ghost of your fingers against his.

Still thinking about how close he had been… and how badly he already wanted to try again.

The rest of your fifth year went by in a blur. Even though you and Mark were on much better terms now, there was little time to think about it between the overwhelming pile of O.W.L prep and the ridiculous amount of homework assigned for every subject.

You managed to pass every exam, most of them with an Outstanding. Mark, on the other hand, had spent so much time this year distracted by you that he fell behind on his classes.

So as punishment, he forced himself to stay away—at least until he could guarantee he wouldn’t completely fail.

He still barely scraped by. Defense Against the Dark Arts was the only subject he earned an Outstanding in, but his Potions grade wasn’t high enough to qualify for the advanced level. Not that he wanted to take the class again, but it meant one less excuse to see you during the day.

When sixth year came around, he found himself sticking around you more, even if your friends didn’t particularly like him. So more often than not, he waited until you were alone.

Like now.

“Hello,” Mark said, spotting you sitting on the grass with a book open in your lap. The Whomping Willow loomed behind you, its massive branches swaying with an eerie creak. He eyed it warily.

“You’re awfully close to that thing.”

You barely glanced up. “It’s not so bad once it gets used to you.”

Mark scoffed, crossing his arms. “I don’t think that is capable of getting used to anything.”

You hummed, flipping a page. The late afternoon sun filtered through the leaves, making you look almost ethereal.

Mark swallowed.

He’d spent so much time not noticing these things, forcing himself to ignore the way your presence always made his stomach twist. But now, it was getting harder to push those thoughts away.

Without thinking, he sat beside you, close enough to feel the faint brush of your robes against his. “You know,” he said after a moment, voice quieter than before, “you are allowed to relax now. OWLs are over.”

You huffed a soft laugh, still looking at your book. “I don't think I know how.”

Mark tilted his head, watching you. “Maybe I could teach you.”

You finally turned to face him fully, the corner of your mouth twitching. “And you’re the expert on relaxing?”

Mark grinned, a little lopsided. “Nope. But I’m an expert at not studying. That’s basically the same thing.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling now, and something in his chest tightened at the sight.

A light breeze rustled through the trees, sending a few leaves drifting between you. One of them settled in your hair.

Mark hesitated.

Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he reached up. “Hold still,” he murmured.

Your brows furrowed. “What—”

His fingers brushed against your hair, plucking the leaf free. But his hand lingered grazing your temple.

You went still. Mark swallowed, his pulse hammering. He thought about pulling away. But then you looked at him and your eyes flickered down to his lips just for a second.

Suddenly, the space between you wasn’t so wide anymore.

His hand was still in your hair, and your breath was so, so close, and he could see the way your lips parted slightly almost as an invitation.

But then a sharp creak from behind you made you jolt apart. The Whomping Willow shifted, its branches twitching ominously.

Mark exhaled, pressing a hand to his face. What the hell was that? When he glanced at you, you looked just as dazed. Maybe even disappointed.

That sent a strange thrill through him.

But then you cleared your throat, shaking your head as if brushing the moment away. “We should probably move,” you said, standing and dusting yourself off. “Before the tree decides to take a swing at us.”

Mark huffed a laugh, still a little breathless. “Thought you said it was harmless.”

But as you started walking away, Mark stayed there for just a second longer, staring after you.

He really needed to kiss you.

Badly.

Mark Lee was confusing you.

There had been two clear moments now where you’d almost kissed. Both times, he’d been the one to lean in first, and both times, something had interrupted before it could happen. Yet despite his boldness in those brief moments, you still couldn’t fully let yourself believe this attention was real.

Your heart wanted to, but your brain knew better.

Mark had spent years ignoring you, brushing you off like you didn’t exist, and then humiliated you too. Only to suddenly pull you into his orbit now. Yes, he’d apologized—sincerely, you’d give him that—but that didn’t mean you could just forget the way he hurt you before.

Meanwhile, Haechan seemed to be acting… strange lately.

He was always around, even more than usual. He’d even started asking you to help him with assignments, which was bizarre because Haechan had made a sport out of either sleeping through classes or deliberately distracting you in them. Yet now he’d started seeking you out in the library, sitting closer in the common room, and finding any excuse to keep you near.

You didn’t mind. If anything, it felt comfortable being around him. Haechan never made things complicated.

But you did notice the way Mark would glare daggers at him from across the Great Hall. Or the way his jaw clenched whenever he caught Haechan whispering something in your ear that made you laugh.

And then there was the incident.

It happened in Charms class. Professor Flitwick had started teaching everyone Expulso, a more advanced charm that forcefully propelled objects away from you. It was precise magic that required perfect wand movement and a focused mind.

And well... Mark had neither.

You’d been paired with Haechan for the practical exercise and he, of course, turned the whole thing into a joke, purposefully missing his targets just to make you laugh. Then he decided to experiment, turning his wand on the scarf Mark had left on his desk. With a flick of his wrist, Haechan sent it flying toward himself.

“It’s a bit cold in here, isn’t it?” he grinned, draping it around his neck.

“Dude, give it back,” Mark said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

Haechan shot him a smug look. “Relax. I don’t fancy these colors either.”

Mark gripped his wand so hard his knuckles turned white. He really tried to keep his composure, but watching you laugh with Haechan as he mocked the Gryffindor colors did something dangerous to his self-control. His mind blurred with pure instinct. Before he could stop himself, he flicked his wand and muttered, “Expulso.”

He’d only meant to send the scarf flying back to him.

Instead, Haechan was thrown clear across the room, crashing into a stack of desks and sending books and ink bottles scattering everywhere. Gasps echoed around the classroom. Mark’s stomach dropped.

“Mr. Lee!” Professor Flitwick exclaimed, horrified. “Detention! Immediately!”

And that’s how Mark ended up cleaning every single portrait frame in the castle as punishment.

Now he was on his fourth hour of wiping down dusty frames, trying to ignore Sir Cadogan’s taunting comments.

“Are you truly the best Seeker this school has to offer? Ha! Pathetic, if you ask me! No spine! No dignity!” the painted knight cackled, waving his sword wildly.

Mark gritted his teeth, his grip on the cloth tightening. “I swear, if you don’t shut up—”

“Oh? Going to hex me too, are you?” Sir Cadogan jeered. “Do it, coward! Strike me down if you dare!”

Mark seriously considered shaking the frame just to feel some satisfaction when he heard footsteps behind him.

“You haven’t learned your lesson about hexing people yet?”

Mark froze.

He turned around and there you were, still in your uniform, badge pinned neatly to your robes as a reminder that you were out on prefect patrol. His heart did a stupid little flip at the sight of you.

“Apparently not,” Mark said, trying to force a laugh.

“I think we need to do something about your self-control, Mr. Lee.”

The way you said his name, playful but with a trace of authority, sent a rush of excitement through his veins.

“I admit,” Mark started, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’ve been a bit hot-headed lately.”

You raised a brow. “Lately?”

Mark groaned. “Okay, fine. Always. But—” he hesitated, his mouth clamping shut before he said something stupid like I just get like that when I see you with him.

You were still watching him, expectant. “But?”

“…Nothing.” He turned back toward the frame, vigorously wiping it down as if it would erase his own embarrassment.

You stepped closer.

“Mark.”

He swallowed thickly, his hand pausing. “…Yeah?”

“Why did you do it?”

He tried to play dumb. “What do you mean?”

You huffed. “You’ve never lost control of your magic like that with him. Not even during Quidditch. You didn’t just hex Haechan… you blasted him.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “Maybe he deserved it.”

“For what?”

Mark clenched his teeth. For touching you. For putting his arm around you like you belonged to him. For making you laugh like that. For being close to you in a way he wasn’t allowed to be.

“…For being an asshole,” Mark muttered pathetically.

You scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Touché.

“Mark,” your voice softened. “Look at me.”

He did. And God, he shouldn’t have.

You were so close. Your scent, your warmth, it was dizzying. Mark could feel his pulse roaring in his ears, his breath shortening. His hand hung limply by his side, still clutching the rag tightly.

There was ink on your cheek.

Without thinking, he reached up, his thumb grazing softly against your skin. “You, uh…” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard. “You’ve got ink. Right here.”

You gasped.

And Mark realized he was completely, utterly doomed. His thumb caressed your cheek, and then his hand drifted lower, trailing down your jaw before he realized what he was doing.

His entire body was screaming kiss her.

You didn’t move away and for one unbearable moment, Mark swore you were leaning in too—

“Oi!” Sir Cadogan suddenly barked from his frame. “You there! I see you trying to woo a lady with improper decorum! Unhand her at once!”

You flinched back like you’d been scalded. Mark cursed under his breath, his entire body recoiling from yours.

“I—uh... should finish patrol,” you stammered, practically fleeing.

“Yeah. Right. Patrol.” His voice cracked.

And as you disappeared down the corridor, Mark let his head fall against the wall with a groan.

That was three times.

Three times he’d almost kissed you. Three times something—or someone—had interrupted. And three times he’d walked away regretting it.

He didn’t know how much longer he could hold himself back.

Halloween arrived in a blur of decorations and excitement. The castle was buzzing with energy, students gorging themselves on sweets from Honeydukes and filling the Great Hall with loud chatter and laughter.

Mark wasn’t particularly fond of sweets, but he still tagged along with Jaemin and Chenle to Hogsmeade that morning. It was a decent distraction.

When he finally returned to the dormitory that evening, exhausted and chilled from the walk, he found a small pile of sweets on his bed. Mark frowned. Weird. He didn’t remember leaving any there. But then his eyes landed on a heart-shaped box of chocolates.

His heart stopped.

A slow, stupid smile spread across his face as he reached for the box, his mind flashing back to years ago—to the day you’d given him a similar box of chocolates in second year. Back then, he’d been a coward. He’d tossed them out in front of you when his friends told him to, too embarrassed to admit that the sight of you blushing as you handed them to him had made his heart race. He could still remember the hurt on your face when he did it.

Mark wasn’t about to make that mistake again.

He opened the box without hesitation, popping one of the chocolates into his mouth. It melted on his tongue, rich and sweet, but almost immediately he felt… odd. Like his blood was moving too fast in his veins.

He blinked.

His pulse thundered in his ears, and an uncomfortable tightness built low in his stomach. His throat was dry. His skin felt hot. His head felt like it was being stuffed with cotton.

“What the hell…” Mark muttered, stumbling back slightly as a wave of dizziness hit him.

The room swayed around him, his thoughts clouding over like a dense fog. But the one thing that stayed sharp and clear in his mind was you. Your face. Your voice. The lingering warmth of your skin from when he’d touched your cheek before. His body burned with the desperate, uncontrollable urge to find you.

Mark didn’t remember walking out of the dorm. His body moved on autopilot, driven by a force he didn’t understand, only that he needed to see you.

You hated Halloween patrols.

They were miserable every year, especially when you knew the castle was still alive with music and celebration, and you were stuck walking through empty corridors. It didn’t help that Halloween was also prime time for students sneaking out of their common rooms to pull pranks or engage in other debauchery.

So when you rounded a corner and spotted two people heavily making out against the wall, you didn’t think much of it. You just sighed and braced yourself to break them apart.

“Alright, enough,” you said, walking toward them. “Back to your dorms or I’m docking points—”

You froze.

The boy pinning the girl against the wall, his hands gripping her waist like he couldn’t get enough of her... was Mark.

Your heart plummeted so fast it made you feel physically ill.

“Mark?” your voice cracked.

Slowly, like something out of a nightmare, Mark’s head turned toward you. His pupils were blown wide, his hair mussed from the fervent kiss. There was a wild, unhinged look in his eyes that you didn’t recognize like he wasn’t entirely there.

But the girl…

You felt like the air had been knocked out of you when you recognized her.

Minjeong.

Your best friend.

Your mind couldn’t catch up. No. This didn’t make sense. Mark had almost kissed you. Three times. You’d spent weeks pouring your heart out to Minjeong, admitting—-however humiliating—that you thought Mark was starting to like you back. And she… she knew.

She knew exactly how you felt about him.

Your gaze darted between them, desperately searching for some sort of explanation, some indication that this wasn’t what it looked like. But Mark was still staring at you in a daze, and Minjeong was… smiling.

You felt something splinter deep inside you.

“You—” your voice died in your throat.

Minjeong had the audacity to giggle. She pulled away from Mark’s mouth, though his hands were still clinging to her hips. “Oh…hey, Y/N,” she said breathlessly, a sheen of gloss smeared across her lips.

You looked at Mark, desperate for him to say something. But his gaze was fixed solely on Minjeong, his chest heaving, his lips still parted like he wanted more.

“Mark,” you choked out again.

His head snapped toward you. For a split second, his face twisted into something confused, like he didn’t understand why you were there. His eyes darted across your face, and you swore there was a flicker of recognition, a brief moment of panic in his expression.

Then Minjeong giggled again and Mark’s gaze instantly darkened as it fell back on her.

“Aw, don’t be mad, Y/N,” she pouted. “Please don’t tell Professor Snape, yeah?”

You felt like you were watching yourself from outside your body. “You two… can’t be here right now. You need… you need to go back to your common rooms.”

Your voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.

“Come on,” Minjeong teased, suddenly hooking her arm around yours. “Don’t be a buzzkill, Y/N. We’re just having some fun.”

You flinched. Don’t touch me.

Your Occlumency walls shot up instinctively, straining under the weight of your heartbreak but holding just enough to keep your expression neutral. You swallowed down the burning in your throat and repeated, “You need to go.”

Mark still wasn’t speaking. His pupils were so dilated it was unnatural, his chest still rising and falling rapidly like he couldn’t catch his breath. His swollen lips parted like he was about to say something.

But Minjeong turned, smiled sweetly at him, and said, “Mark, come on. Let’s not get Y/N in trouble.”

And Mark moved like a moth to a flame. Without hesitation, he grabbed her waist and yanked her into another bruising kiss. You recoiled like you’d been burned, forcing your eyes away before the image could be seared into your memory forever.

The sound of Minjeong’s delighted giggles made you want to scream.

Finally, she pulled back, wiping her mouth with a smug grin. “See you tomorrow, Y/N,” she sang, then turned to Mark and cooed, “Come on, lover boy. Let’s go.”

Mark didn’t even look at you. He let her drag him off down the corridor without so much as a glance in your direction.

The second they disappeared, your Occlumency walls shattered. You sucked in a shaky breath, clutching your chest like you could physically hold the pain in. A choked sob escaped your throat, but you quickly swallowed it back, forcing yourself not to cry here.

You’d be damned if you let them see you break.

What you didn't know is that Mark wouldn’t remember any of it.

Not the taste of Minjeong’s lips. Not the way his body burned with the inexplicable need to touch her. Not the sick, nauseating feeling in his gut when he caught your tearful gaze and felt like he was betraying something sacred.

All he would know was that when he woke up the next morning, his throat would be dry, his mind foggy…

…and the lingering taste of chocolate still heavy on his tongue.

A whole week passed since Halloween and Mark could not, for the life of him, figure out what he’d done to make you go back to acting like he didn’t exist.

You wouldn’t speak to him, wouldn’t spare him a glance, and on the rare occasion that your eyes did meet his, it was like he physically repulsed you. It was driving him insane.

Mark was starting to think he must’ve had one too many butterbeers during Halloween night and done something incredibly stupid. But he couldn’t know for sure because, again, you wouldn’t speak to him.

He also noticed you and Minjeong weren’t talking anymore. That part confused him almost as much as your behavior toward him. You were either with Karina or Haechan now, but most of the time, you were alone. And Mark hated it — hated seeing you without the warm spark you always carried when you were surrounded by friends.

But most of all, he hated that you were ignoring him. He needed you to talk to him. He needed you to tell him what he did wrong so he could fix it immediately.

Which is why he was now standing outside the Slytherin common room, anxiously hoping someone would be kind enough to let him in. Unsurprisingly, none of the Slytherins were willing to let a Gryffindor in, especially one who looked as nervous and fidgety as Mark did.

He was starting to lose hope when, finally, the perfect opportunity came in the form of Karina.

“Hey! Karina—” Mark called, jogging a few steps toward her. She slowed down as she spotted him, her face immediately tightening into an annoyed scowl.

“What do you want?” she said, her tone clipped and cold.

Mark blinked, taken aback. He knew Karina didn’t exactly love him, but she had never sounded this openly hostile toward him before.

“Uh… I was hoping I could talk to Y/N. I was wondering if you could either let me in or—”

“How dare you?” she snapped, suddenly pointing an accusing finger at him.

Mark froze. “I— sorry, what?”

“You’ve got some fucking nerve coming here with those stupid puppy dog eyes like you didn’t completely break her heart again. Haven’t you humiliated her enough? Or do you just get off on using her and throwing her away when you’re bored?” Karina’s voice trembled with anger.

“Wha... what are you talking about?” Mark asked, his voice rising in exasperation.

“Don’t play dumb, Lee. You know exactly what you did,” she spat.

“No, I don’t! I swear, I don’t know what you’re accusing me of right now! I already apologized for the Yule Ball… and the gifts… but what is this about me using her?” Mark’s heart was starting to race, his palms sweating as dread crawled up his spine.

Karina scoffed incredulously. “Seriously? You’re gonna keep playing the innocent act? After everything?”

“Karina, I’m serious. I don’t know what you mean! What did I do to her?”

“Oh my god.” She let out a bitter laugh, taking a step back like she couldn’t stand to be near him. “You really don’t remember?”

Mark’s throat tightened. “…Remember what?”

Karina stared at him for a long moment, her face twisted with disgust. “Halloween, you idiot.”

Mark blinked. “Halloween?”

“Yes, Halloween. When you were shoving your tongue down Minjeong’s throat like a desperate little dog.”

Mark’s stomach dropped. “What?”

Karina laughed humorlessly. “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know. Y/N saw you, Mark. She caught you all over Minjeong that night. After you almost kissed her three times. After she told us how she thought you finally liked her back. After she spent literal years pining after you!”

“No…” Mark felt like he couldn’t breathe. “No, no, no. That… that’s not right. I wouldn’t do that. I don’t like Minjeong, I like—” his voice caught in his throat. “I like Y/N.”

Karina let out another bitter laugh. “Yeah? Well, you sure have a fucked up way of showing it.”

“No, I— I don’t remember that! I don’t remember kissing Minjeong! I swear to god, Karina, I would never do that to Y/N...” his voice cracked, panic making his words rush out in a desperate tumble. “I don’t remember! I don’t—”

“Save it, Mark.” Karina’s face hardened. “I’m not the one you should be begging for forgiveness to. But it doesn’t even matter, you've already ruined everything. She’s not gonna take you back, not after that. So do her a favor and stay the hell away from her.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the common room.

Mark trudged back to the Gryffindor common room looking deader than the ghosts that roamed the castle. His head was spinning, Karina’s words replaying in his mind like a haunting echo.

He couldn’t believe it. He kissed Minjeong. How the hell could he not remember something like that? Was he really that drunk that night? But it didn’t make any sense. He’d never gotten so drunk on butterbeer that he completely blacked out before.

It was eating him alive. The image of you looking at him with absolute disgust now made so much painful sense. And if you saw it happen, no wonder you hated him.

By the time he stepped into the boys’ dormitory, Mark looked like someone who’d just been handed a lifetime sentence in Azkaban.

Jaemin, who was drying his hair with a towel, was the first to spot him. “And what the hell happened to you?” he laughed, eyeing Mark’s pale, horrified expression. “You look like you just sat through one of Snape’s scoldings.”

Mark groaned and dropped face-first onto his bed. “Kill me.”

Jaemin raised a brow. “That bad, huh?”

“I screwed up this time, dude. Like… really screwed up.”

“What, did you jinx another student by accident?”

“No.” Mark’s voice was muffled against his pillow. “…I kissed Minjeong.”

“What?!” Jaemin and Chenle —who had just pulled open the curtains of his four-poster bed— exclaimed at the same time.

Mark turned his head just enough to look at them. “I don’t even remember it happening, but apparently, I kissed her during Halloween… and Y/N saw the whole thing. And now she hates me.”

“Dude,” Chenle gawked, disbelief clouding his face. “How the hell do you kiss someone and not remember it?”

“Yeah, that’s insane–” Jaemin started, but then his voice abruptly cut off, his eyes widening like something just clicked in his brain. “…Wait. Halloween?”

Mark lifted his head, brow furrowing. “Yeah?”

Jaemin suddenly shot to his feet and walked over to Mark. “Did you eat any chocolates?”

Mark blinked. “What…?”

“Did you get any chocolates that night?”

“Uh… yeah? Why?”

Jaemin’s face paled. “Oh my god. Dude. Those were doused with Amortentia.”

Mark felt his entire body go cold. “…What?”

“Holy shit,” Jaemin ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely horrified. “You seriously didn’t know?”

Mark sat up so fast his head spun. “What do you mean I didn’t know?! What the hell are you talking about?”

“The chocolates, Mark! Every year during Halloween, girls sneak Amortentia into the chocolates hoping that the guy they like eats them and falls in love with them for a few hours. It’s a whole thing. Why do you think I told you to throw away the ones Y/N gave you years ago?”

Mark’s brain short-circuited. “Wait… what?”

“Dude!” Jaemin looked at him like he was dense. “I told you not to trust those chocolates around Halloween! Renjun’s dad works in Diagon Alley, and he says love potions are always sold out around this time of year because of Hogwarts students.”

“Especially you, dude,” Chenle added “You’re Gryffindor’s Seeker. You’re literally the main target. How did you not know this by now?”

Mark’s heart was pounding so hard he thought he might pass out. “I...I didn’t. I thought—I thought the chocolates were from Y/N…” his throat tightened. “But she’d never do that to me…”

Jaemin and Chenle exchanged a look before Jaemin cautiously asked, “…Did they have a card on them?”

Mark blinked, trying to remember. “…No?”

“Exactly!” Jaemin threw his hands up. “Y/N always put a card on her gifts to you, dumbass. She’s never not done that.”

“Oh my god,” Mark’s voice cracked, his hands clutching his hair. “I’m such an idiot! I thought they were from her so I just... I ate them. I didn’t even think—” his stomach twisted in horror. “I kissed Minjeong because of a love potion?”

“Looks like it,” Chenle said grimly.

Mark felt like he was going to throw up. “Oh my god. Y/N must think I’m the worst person alive. She probably thinks I led her on and then went and kissed her best friend—”

“Yeah, well, considering you practically ate her face off in front of her, I’d say that’s a fair assumption,” Chenle shrugged.

“I didn’t mean to! I don’t remember any of it happening!” Mark’s voice cracked as panic completely consumed him. “Oh my god, Y/N hates me. She thinks I—fuck! I have to go talk to her—”

“Woah, woah, no. Don’t do that,” Jaemin said quickly, grabbing his arm.

“What?! Why not?”

“Because if you go to her right now all panicked, she’s just gonna think you’re making excuses! You need proof that you were under a love potion or she’ll never believe you.”

Mark stared at him, wide-eyed. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

“Minjeong.”

Mark blinked. “…What?”

Jaemin gave him a look. “Minjeong. She’s obviously the one who gave you the chocolates. If you can get her to admit it, Y/N will have to believe you.”

Mark swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his ears. “But what if she doesn’t admit it?”

Chenle scoffed. “Then we hex the truth out of her. Don’t worry, we got you.”

Mark could barely process anything. All he could think about was how you must’ve felt watching him kiss Minjeong. How heartbroken you must’ve been. How you probably cried yourself to sleep that night thinking he never cared about you.

You probably still thought that.

Mark’s hands clenched into fists. No. He wasn’t letting you believe that for another second.

An hour later he was pacing outside the Great Hall like a caged animal. Jaemin and Chenle stood nearby, whispering to each other. They were supposed to be helping him stay calm, but so far, their only strategy had been muttering plans that Mark couldn’t even focus on.

“I still think we should just give her Veritaserum and call it a day,” Chenle muttered.

“We’re not drugging anyone,” Jaemin shot back. “We’ll talk to her first.”

“You think she’s just gonna just admit she poisoned him with Amortentia?”

“She doesn’t have to,” Jaemin said with a smug grin. “We just need to pressure her enough that the truth slips out”

Before Mark could ask further, Minjeong appeared at the top of the staircase, chatting with a group of Slytherins.

“There she is,” Jaemin muttered, already moving forward. Mark and Chenle followed.

“Minjeong!” Jaemin called out.

She paused, turning around. When she saw them approaching, her smile faltered.

“Oh,” she said, plastering on a forced grin. “Hey... what’s up?”

“We need to talk,” Mark said, his voice tight.

Minjeong blinked. “Talk?” Her gaze flicked between the three of them. “About what?”

“About Halloween,” Jaemin said pointedly.

Mark watched Minjeong’s face carefully— the way her eyes widened just enough to betray her surprise before she forced her expression back to something neutral.

“Halloween?” she repeated with a weak laugh. “Why would we need to talk about that?”

Mark stepped forward. “Don’t act stupid,” he said quietly.

Minjeong’s smile faltered. “I... don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really?” Chenle crossed his arms. “Then how come Mark doesn’t remember kissing you or anything about that night at all?”

Minjeong scoffed. “What are you insinuating?”

“You laced the chocolates with Amortentia,” Mark cut in, his voice like ice.

Minjeong’s eyes widened. “What?!” she sputtered, her voice rising a little too high. “That’s insane! Why would I do that?”

“You were waiting outside the Gryffindor common room that night,” Jaemin said coldly. “You knew exactly that Mark would think they were from Y/N and you were waiting to see if it worked.”

“That’s not true!” Minjeong snapped. “I didn’t—”

“Everybody else was at the celebration except you,” Chenle said. “You knew he would go to the common room after Hogsmeade, and you sneaked in the chocolates right before we arrived.”

“T-that’s ridiculous!” Minjeong stammered. “I was just leaving the Great Hall when I saw Mark walking around and he kissed me out of nowhere!”

“Bullshit,” Jaemin shot back. “You knew he was drugged and wouldn’t differentiate from the person he really wanted and anyone else.”

“Merlin, you guys are being crazy. Why would I even do that?”

“Because you like him,” Jaemin answered before Mark could. His voice was dripping with amusement, but his eyes were cold. “And you knew you didn’t stand a chance with Y/N around, so you figured a love potion would tip the odds in your favor, right?”

Minjeong scoffed. “As if I would ever--”

“Then swear on your magic,” Chenle challenged, his smile razor-sharp. “Swear on your magic that you didn’t put Amortentia in those chocolates.”

Silence.

Minjeong’s mouth opened then closed. Her eyes darted to Mark, panic slowly blooming in her face. “I—I don’t have to do anything—”

“Swear on your magic, Minjeong.” Mark demanded.

She didn’t.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” Jaemin muttered.

Minjeong’s face flooded with color. “You guys are insane! I didn’t do anything! Mark probably wanted to kiss me—”

“Oh, spare me” Chenle snapped, his laugh sharp and incredulous. “You think if he actually wanted to do it, he’d just block out the entire night like it never happened?”

Minjeong’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “H-he was probably just—just embarrassed or something.”

“Embarrassed?” Mark’s voice finally cracked, and whatever grip he had on his composure snapped like a twig. “Embarrassed about what, Minjeong? You’re the one desperate enough to force yourself onto me when I was incapacitated ” His voice was raw, his chest rising and falling with the force of his anger. “I don’t even like you!”

The words hit Minjeong like a slap to the face. Her entire body visibly recoiled, her mouth parting slightly.

But Mark wasn’t done.

“I like Y/N. I’ve always liked Y/N. And you…” his voice cracked as the words ripped out of him, “you made me kiss you in front of her. Do you have any idea how fucking awful that must’ve been for her?”

Minjeong’s throat bobbed, her face pale. “I—I didn’t mean for her to see.”

“Yes, you did!” Mark shot back, his voice raw and trembling. “Don’t even try to pull that bullshit right now. You knew she was patrolling. You absolutely knew what you were doing. You wanted me to want you, even if it wasn’t real. Even if you had to—” his voice broke slightly, rage burning his throat, “—had to drug me to get it.”

Minjeong flinched, her eyes darting between them. “I didn’t think it would—”

“Exactly!” Mark let out a humorless, bitter laugh. “You didn’t think. You didn’t think about me, you didn’t think about Y/N… You didn’t think about anyone but yourself! All you cared about was getting me no matter what it cost, and you didn’t care how it would make her feel. You—” his voice cracked and he swallowed hard, “—you humiliated her. And she probably thinks I’m the world’s biggest asshole who just played her.”

“I-I swear, I didn’t think it would get this far”

Chenle scoffed. “You literally slipped him a love potion. What the hell did you think was gonna happen?”

Minjeong shot him a glare, but her voice cracked when she tried to defend herself. “I just— I thought maybe if he… if given the chance…. he’d realize he liked me, okay?”

“Are you serious?!” Mark practically exploded. His voice booming with the sheer force of his emotions. “You didn’t think about how messed up it is to force someone into something like that?”

Minjeong was shaking now. “I didn’t mean for it to get this bad…”

“But it did,” Mark’s voice broke, his throat tight. “And now I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me.”

Silence slammed down on them like a sledgehammer. Minjeong’s face crumpled, but Mark didn’t care. His entire body was shaking with rage, with guilt, with absolute devastation.

And that’s when Mark heard a sharp, shaky intake of breath behind him.

Slowly, he turned around and his heart dropped.

You stood a few feet away, eyes wide. But it wasn’t heartbreak painted across your face. It was pure, unbridled rage.

“You—” your voice shook with fury as you looked at Minjeong. “You drugged him?”

Minjeong froze like a deer caught in headlights. “I—”

“You gave him Amortentia,” you seethed. “You drugged him and then… and then you let him kiss you and you didn’t even stop him?”

“It wasn’t… I didn’t—” Minjeong stammered, panicking now.

“What the fuck is your problem!” you cut her off. “Do you have any idea how messed up that is? You violated him!”

Mark’s breath caught in his throat at the way your voice cracked with fury.

“What?” Minjeong scoffed, suddenly back on the defensive. “It’s not like he didn’t enjoy it in the end—”

“Oh my god,” you recoiled like you were about to be sick. “Do you even hear yourself? Do you think it’s okay to force someone to kiss you under a love potion and then act like it was consensual?”

“I didn’t force him to eat them—”

“You set them up for him like a trap” you shrieked. “You drugged him! You took away his ability to choose! How can you even live with yourself?”

Minjeong looked around like she was hoping someone would swoop in and save her, but no one did. Even the Slytherins she’d been chatting with earlier were watching in stunned silence.

“You… who consoled me all the times I went to bed crying over him!” you spat, your voice raw with emotion.

“I… I’m sorry…”

“Oh, shut up,” you snapped. “You knew exactly what you were doing, an apology won’t do it now”

Minjeong opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out.

“Let me make one thing very clear,” you said through gritted teeth. “You don’t look at him. You don’t speak to him. You don’t breathe in his direction. If I catch you so much as standing near him, I’ll make sure every professor in this castle knows exactly what you did.”

Minjeong didn’t need to be told twice, she practically bolted in the opposite direction, not sparing any of you a glance.

Silence hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

“Y/N…” Mark said weakly, his voice cracking. “I’m so—”

“Don’t,” you choked out, turning back to him. “Please don’t apologize. Just—” your voice broke again, and then suddenly, you were throwing yourself into his arms. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry she did that to you.”

Mark held you even tighter. “It’s not your fault. God, Y/N, I missed you so much.”

“Me too,” you whispered. And you meant it.

This was the first time you hugged and Mark realized you fit perfectly in his arms, like you were meant to be there all along. You smelled incredible too. It was that soft, earthy smell of fresh rain on soil and blooming jasmine, the kind of scent that lingered in greenhouses after a long day of tending to plants. It hit him all at once. Of course. That was exactly what the Amortentia had smelled like to him.

His stomach tightened at the realization. The first time he bit into those chocolates, the first person that had flashed through his mind was you.

God, he was such an idiot.

When you finally pulled away, Mark’s entire body screamed at him to pull you back in. To kiss you. To fix everything. His gaze fell to your lips, and he almost gave in but then he remembered Jaemin and Chenle were still very much standing there, watching the two of you with annoyingly amused smiles.

Mark cleared his throat, stepping back slightly. “Uh… thanks, guys. You know, for… everything.”

“Of course, man,” Jaemin grinned. “We couldn’t just let that snake get away with it.”

“I still can’t believe she’d go that far,” you murmured, concern furrowing your brow. “I didn’t even know she liked you like that… or that she was capable of something so—” you swallowed hard, struggling to find the word. “…horrible.” You glanced up at Mark, your eyes still heavy with disbelief.

Mark’s heart ached at the guilt in your voice.

“You couldn’t have known,” he reassured softly. “She fooled everyone with that sweet girl act.”

“Not everyone,” Jaemin muttered under his breath, arms crossed.

“Oh, shut up, just the other day you were talking about how she’s the hottest slyther—” Chenle started, only to get a sharp elbow in the ribs.

“Anyways!” Jaemin cut in quickly, forcing a grin. “We’ll, uh… leave you guys to it. And please, for the love of Merlin, talk. I’m sick of all this miscommunication.”

“Seriously,” Chenle added, smirking. “If I have to live another day of you two silently pining for each other I will offer myself to the werewolves.”

Mark felt his face heat as you laughed softly, and a moment later, Jaemin and Chenle disappeared down the corridor.

You both stood there, your gazes flicking everywhere except each other. The weight of everything that had just happened still hung heavily in the air.

Mark swallowed hard. “So… uh…”

“Come on,” you suddenly said, grabbing his hand before he could finish his sentence.

“Where are we—”

“Just trust me,” you murmured.

Mark let you pull him along, his fingers curling instinctively around yours. You led him up staircase after staircase until you reached the Astronomy Tower and when you finally stepped out onto the platform, Mark couldn't believe his eyes

“Whoa…”

The view was breathtaking. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting hues of orange, pink, and deep indigo across the sky. From this high up, the Hogwarts grounds looked almost dreamlike. The Black Lake glistened like glass, and the Forbidden Forest stretched endlessly beyond it.

“I’ve never been up here during sunset,” Mark admitted, his voice slightly awed. “It’s… beautiful.”

You smiled softly, leaning against the railing. “I thought you’d like it.”

Mark turned to you. “Why?”

You hesitated, then shrugged. “…I’ve noticed you do that a lot.”

Mark blinked. “Do what?”

“Stare at the sky.” You smiled faintly, not looking at him. “Whenever you’re playing Quidditch. When it’s a slow game and you’re not chasing the Snitch, you just… look up. Like you’re mesmerized by it.”

Mark’s breath caught.

He didn’t know what hit him harder. The fact that you noticed something so small about him or the fact that you cared enough to remember.

“I didn’t think anyone ever noticed that…” he said quietly.

You glanced at him then, your gaze soft and sincere. “I don’t think anyone else caught it… but I did.”

And that was it.

The final push Mark needed.

“Y/N,” his voice cracked, raw and desperate. “I swear to Merlin…I never wanted to kiss her. The only person I’ve ever thought about kissing is you. It’s always been you.”

Your breath caught, and Mark took a shaky step closer. “I… I didn’t know it at first. I mean, I did, but I didn’t understand it. Not until I ate those chocolates. Because the first thing I smelled was—” he swallowed thickly, his gaze locking on yours. “It was you. Rain, jasmine, and… and that earthy smell you get when you come back from Herbology. That’s what Amortentia smelled like to me..”

Tears stung your eyes, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Mark…”

“And when I heard what Minjeong did, I thought I was gonna lose my mind. The idea of you thinking I didn’t care about you… that I’d choose her over you… I hated it. I hated myself for hurting you, even if it wasn’t my fault.” His voice broke slightly. “I never wanted anyone else but you.”

The tears finally slipped down your cheeks. “You mean that?”

“With everything in me,” Mark choked.

Mark could feel his pulse hammering beneath his skin, his hand twitching at his side. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to kiss you.

“Can I—”

“Please,” you cut him off, already stepping toward him.

That was all it took.

Mark crashed his mouth onto yours, his hands instinctively finding your waist as you gripped the front of his sweater. The kiss was desperate, not rushed, but heavy with years of longing. He kissed you like he was afraid you’d slip away if he stopped, and you kissed him like you were trying to make up for all the time you’d lost.

And Merlin, you tasted like heaven.

By the time you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, foreheads resting against each other.

“…I’ve been wanting to do that for years, you know,” Mark admitted, laughing shakily.

You let out a soft laugh. ”Years?”

“Yeah,” he smiled sheepishly. “I think I fell for you the first time you hexed me on the train. I was just too immature to see it.”

Mark swallowed hard, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Can I… can I kiss you again?”

“Mark, you can kiss me whenever you want.” you said, caressing his cheek.

He loved the sound of that.

This time when he kissed you, it was slower. Like he was memorizing the taste of you, the feel of you, the fact that you were finally his.

read part 2 here

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writingbuckets · 4 months ago

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𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧-𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

paige bueckers x reader

wc: 6.8k

synopsis: Y/N and Paige Bueckers are caught in a tense moment after Paige’s jealousy and neglect come to a head. With emotions running high, both struggle to navigate their complicated feelings, forcing them to confront the future of their relationship.

warnings: angst, jealousy, explicit sexual content, slight manipulation, possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, slight violence (physical restraint)

a/n: i present to you... jealous paige bc this is one of my favorite tropes literally ever! this was 16 pages on google docs so i apologize for that, gonna go through all my posts and add warnings to them so i shall see you later <3

You’re sprawled out on your bed, limbs heavy against the soft blanket, phone clutched in one hand. The screen casts a faint glow in the dim room, illuminating the furrow of frustration etched into your brow. Your thumb idly scrolls through your message thread with Paige—a barren wasteland of unanswered texts. Each message feels like a tiny stone dropped into the pit of your stomach, adding to the growing weight.

Monday

Hey, how’d practice go? You alive?

Wednesday

I know you’re busy, but can we talk soon? Paige?

Friday

Cool. Guess I’ll take the hint.

You sigh heavily, locking your phone and tossing it onto the bed beside you. The device bounces slightly before settling face down, but your mind refuses to let it go. A sharp buzz suddenly cuts through the silence, jolting your heart into a sprint. For a fleeting moment, hope flickers. You snatch up the phone, only for disappointment to flood in when Jasmine’s name lights up the screen instead.

You swipe to answer, switching to speaker and tossing it back on the bed. “What’s up, Jas?” you say, your tone flat and lacking its usual warmth.

“Clearly not you,” Jasmine replies, her voice teasing but tinged with concern. “You sound like someone kicked your puppy. Is this about Paige again?”

You pause, chewing on your bottom lip, the weight of your emotions threatening to spill over.

“She’s been ghosting me all week,” you finally admit, bitterness seeping into your voice like a slow drip. “I get that basketball keeps her busy, but is it really that hard to send one text? Like, ‘Hey, sorry, can’t talk right now’? That’s all I’m asking. It’s not rocket science.”

Jasmine’s incredulous tone comes through loud and clear. “Wait. She hasn’t responded at all? Not even a quick ‘Hey, I’m swamped’?”

“Not a word,” you reply, the edge in your voice sharpening. “Meanwhile, she’s out here talking about how much she likes me and how she wants to make things work. For what? So I can sit here, feeling like a damn afterthought, while she… I don’t even know what she’s doing anymore.”

“You deserve so much better,” Jasmine says firmly, her voice a grounding presence.

“Tell me about it,” you mutter, picking up your phone again despite yourself. It’s a reflex, a bad habit you can’t seem to break. You open Instagram, swiping through stories without purpose, when something stops you cold.

KK’s latest post dominates the screen. It’s a picture of the team crammed into a booth at Ted’s, smiles wide and carefree. Paige is smack in the middle, holding up Dirty Shirley, her grin so effortless it’s like she hasn’t ignored a single text in her life. She looks happy. Relaxed. Completely unbothered.

The caption reads: “Dubs only, baby! Turnt up with the squad 🏀.”

Your grip on the phone tightens as heat rises to your cheeks. Your jaw clenches involuntarily. So, she has time for this? Time to party, to hang out with her team, to go to Ted’s of all places—your spot—but can’t find two seconds to acknowledge you?

“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath, the words simmering with anger.

“What happened?” Jasmine’s voice snaps you back to reality.

“She’s at Ted’s,” you say through gritted teeth. “With the team. Laughing, drinking, looking like life is perfect while I’m over here wondering if she fell off the face of the Earth.”

“Oh, hell no,” Jasmine says, her indignation matching your own. “She thinks she can ignore you and get away with it? Nope. Get up, put on your hottest outfit, and remind her who the hell you are.”

You sit up, heart pounding as the idea takes root. Your glare is fixed on KK’s post, as if staring at it hard enough might erase the image entirely. Locking your phone, you toss it onto the bed before swinging your legs over the side.

“You know what?” you say, your voice steady and laced with resolve. “Maybe I will.”

The moment you’ve had enough, something shifts inside you—like a fire being reignited. The frustration that’s been simmering all evening finally boils over, and you grab your phone with newfound determination. Sitting upright on your bed, you unlock the screen, your fingers flying across the keyboard with practiced ease.

Y’all down for Ted’s tonight? Need backup.

The message is direct, no frills. This isn’t just a night out—it’s a mission.

Jasmine’s reply comes almost instantly, as if she’s been waiting for an excuse to hit the town. Say less. On my way in 20. Her energy is palpable even through a text.

Seconds later, Veronica chimes in: I’m in. Let’s cause some trouble. Her signature wink emoji follows, and you can’t help but smirk.

Finally, Serena’s response lights up your screen with a single word: Bet. Short, sweet, and packed with confidence.

With your friends locked in, you toss your phone onto the bed and head straight to your closet. It’s time to make a statement—one that’s impossible to ignore. You stand in front of your wardrobe, fingers brushing over hangers as you mentally critique each option. Too casual. Too plain. Too predictable.

After what feels like an eternity, your hand lands on the one. It’s bold, sleek, and undeniably sexy—a figure-hugging dress that accentuates all the right places and practically demands attention. You pull it off the hanger, holding it up in front of the mirror. The deep color complements your skin perfectly, and the hem does the absolute minimum in covering the bottom of your ass.

You slip into it carefully, smoothing the fabric over your body and adjusting it until it fits like a second skin. Taking a step back, you examine yourself in the mirror, tilting your head as a small smile plays on your lips. You look good. No—scratch that. You look amazing. But tonight, looking amazing isn’t enough. You want to turn heads. You want Paige to feel it.

Not done yet, you move to your vanity, flipping on the lights. Your makeup bag sits waiting, and you dive in with practiced precision. First, a flawless base, smooth and glowing, like your skin was kissed by the perfect Instagram filter. You follow with a contour that defines your features, giving you a sharp, sculpted look. Then comes the winged liner, bold and dramatic, with a flick so precise it could cut glass. Smokey eyeshadow enhances the look, making your gaze impossible to ignore, and a high-shine gloss adds the perfect finishing touch to your lips.

You lean back, giving yourself a final once-over in the mirror. Every detail is on point, down to the faint shimmer of highlighter catching the light on your cheekbones. It’s flawless, if you do say so yourself.

As you’re spritzing on your favorite perfume—a scent both intoxicating and unforgettable—your phone buzzes again. Jasmine’s text reads: Outside. Let’s do this.

You slip on your favorite pair of chunky, heeled boots, the ones that make you feel like you own every room you walk into, and grab your bag. The rhythmic click of your heels on the pavement mirrors your determination as you stride out to Jasmine’s car.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you’re met with a low whistle from Jasmine. “Damn, girl,” she says, giving you an approving once-over. “Are you trying to destroy someone tonight?”

You smirk as you buckle your seatbelt, tossing your bag onto your lap. “Not destroy. Just remind a certain someone what she’s about to lose.”

Jasmine’s laugh fills the car as she reaches over for a fist bump. “Now that is the energy I needed. She won’t know what hit her.”

The ride to Ted’s feels electric. The bass of the music pulses through the car, a perfect soundtrack to your rising confidence. Jasmine keeps hyping you up the whole way, stealing glances at you every so often.

“You look so good, you’re probably going to start a fight,” she teases with a grin.

You meet her eyes with a smirk, adjusting a strand of hair in the mirror. “Good,” you say, your voice dripping with confidence. “Let her be mad. She’s got it coming.”

Jasmine’s laughter rings out, blending with the music as the two of you pull into the crowded parking lot. The neon sign for Ted’s glows against the night sky, and the hum of voices and laughter spills out into the cool evening air.

You step out of the car with purpose, adjusting your outfit one last time as your heels click against the asphalt. One final glance in the car’s side mirror confirms what you already know: you’re a vision, and tonight, you’re a force to be reckoned with.

Ted’s won’t know what hit it. And neither will Paige.

The low buzz of voices and the faint clinking of glasses hit you the moment you step into Ted’s. The warm glow of string lights overhead bathes the packed bar in a golden hue, and the energy in the room is palpable—loud laughter, animated conversations, and the occasional cheer erupting from the direction of the pool table. Your heels click against the floor as you make your way in with Jasmine, Veronica, and Serena flanking you like a well-coordinated squad.

It doesn’t take long to spot her. Paige is exactly where you expected, seated in a large booth near the back with Azzi, KK, Ice, and Jana. She’s dressed casually, black denim shorts, a black crop top, and an unbuttoned, white shirt, but she might as well be wearing a neon sign with the way she draws attention. She’s laughing, leaning back with her arm draped casually over the seat, completely at ease. You can see the sparkle in her eyes from here, even as she remains blissfully unaware of your presence.

The sight makes your stomach twist, but you shake it off. Tonight isn’t about Paige. At least that’s what you tell yourself.

“Let’s hit the bar,” you say, keeping your voice steady as you lead your friends in the opposite direction, deliberately ignoring the booth and the person in it.

The bartender greets you with a smile, and you order a couple rounds of shots for your group, letting Jasmine and the others hype you up as you throw them back the second they’re placed in front of you. Once you feel enough of a buzz to quell your anxiety, you decide to settle for a mixed drink to sip on for the remainder of the night. It isn’t long before you notice someone approaching, a tall, athletic-looking girl with broad shoulders and an easy grin. She’s wearing a fitted T-shirt and jeans, and the confidence in her stride is unmistakable.

“Hey,” she says, leaning against the bar. Her voice is low, smooth. “You look like you’re having more fun than anyone else here.”

You flash her a smile, tilting your head slightly. “You could say that.”

Her grin widens, and she introduces herself, launching into a conversation that you quickly match. Her compliments come freely—your outfit, your laugh, even the way you carry yourself—and you don’t hold back, laughing a little louder than usual and letting your fingers brush against her arm as you talk.

Across the booth, KK nudges Paige, a look of concern flickering across her face. “Uh, hey, isn’t that Y/N?” she says, nodding toward the bar.

Paige’s head snaps toward KK, her expression darkening as she follows her teammate’s line of sight. Her brows knit together as she takes in the scene—your effortless smile, the way you lean into the girl’s space, her hand resting on the bar just a little too close to yours. She recognizes the look in your eyes, it’s the same look she was on the receiving end of the first night you met.

“Yeah,” Paige says shortly, her voice clipped. She sets her drink down with more force than necessary, her grip tightening around the glass before she looks away.

Meanwhile, you pretend not to notice the silent storm brewing across the room. You keep your focus on the girl in front of you, leaning in just enough to keep the conversation flowing, though you can feel the heat of Paige’s jealousy from where you stand. It sends a thrill through you, equal parts satisfaction and spite.

As the girl laughs at something you’ve said, you turn your head to the side slightly, trying to catch a glance at the booth where Paige sits. Out of the corner of your eye, you see her tense, her hand balling into a fist on the table as she murmurs something to Azzi.

You can feel it in the air, Paige is reaching her breaking point. And that’s exactly what you wanted.

Paige sits stiffly in the booth, her grip on her drink tightening as her knuckles blanch. Her jaw works furiously, muscles twitching as if she’s holding back an eruption. The sound of your laugh, airy and effortless, cuts through the din of the bar, and Paige’s eyes flicker with barely concealed rage. Her teammates exchange uneasy glances, sensing the storm brewing beside them.

Azzi nudges KK and leans in. “Uh, is she okay?”

KK shrugs, her voice low. “I don’t think so.”

Paige suddenly stands, her movements sharp and deliberate. The scrape of her chair against the floor draws their attention.

“Where are you going?” Azzi asks, concern softening her voice.

Paige doesn’t look at her, her gaze fixed like a laser on you across the room. “I’ll be back,” she mutters, her voice clipped.

She doesn’t wait for a response, weaving through the crowd with purpose. Her steps are quick, her shoulders tight, and her eyes never leave you. You’re at the bar, leaning casually against the counter, completely absorbed in your conversation with the tall, athletic-looking girl beside you. The girl leans in close, her hand grazing your arm as she says something that makes you throw your head back with a laugh.

Paige’s chest tightens, and the corners of her vision blur with the heat of her jealousy. Each second feels like an eternity as she closes the distance, her blood boiling at the sight of the stranger getting a little too comfortable with you.

When she reaches you, she doesn’t pause to think. Her arm snakes around your waist in one swift motion, pulling you firmly against her side. The sudden contact makes you gasp, your conversation abruptly cut off. The flirty girl takes a step back, startled and clearly intimidated by Paige’s possessive presence.

“We’re leaving,” Paige says, her tone low and commanding. Her words are sharp enough to slice through the tension in the air.

You turn your head sharply, blinking in surprise as your eyes meet hers. The fire in her gaze burns so brightly it could scorch you, but you’re too stubborn to back down. “Now you have time to talk to me?” you ask, drawing the sentence out with deliberate sarcasm. “I think I’m fine right here.”

Paige’s jaw ticks, but she doesn’t respond. Instead, her arm tightens around your waist, her fingers pressing firmly into your side. It’s a silent warning, one you choose to ignore as you plant your feet against her attempts to steer you toward the door.

“Paige, what the hell?” you protest, your voice rising with irritation.

“Not here,” she snaps, her tone cold and final. Her grip remains unrelenting as she continues to lead you away from the bar.

Your friends notice the commotion, Jasmine standing halfway out of her seat. “Y/N, are you good?” she calls, her brows furrowed with concern.

You twist in Paige’s hold just enough to look back at them, throwing a hand up in a dismissive wave. “I’ll text you!” you shout over your shoulder, your voice dripping with frustration.

Paige doesn’t slow her pace until the two of you are outside, the cool night air biting at your skin. She releases you near her car, and you immediately step back, glaring at her.

“Seriously, Paige?” you snap, your voice sharp as you cross your arms over your chest. “You think you can just show up, ruin my night, and drag me out like this?”

Paige’s nostrils flare as she turns to face you fully, her expression thunderous. “I think I just did.”

Eventually you arrive at her apartment, and she has to practically pull you out of her car by your arm. The second you step into Paige’s entryway, you rip your arm out of her grip with enough force to make her stumble slightly. You spin around to face her, your chest heaving with frustration. The door slams shut behind you, echoing through the space like a gunshot.

“What the hell is your problem, Paige?” you shout, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade. Your words are sharp, fueled by anger that’s been simmering for days.

Paige whirls around to face you, her face already twisted in fury. “My problem?” she fires back, her voice rising to match yours, letting out a humorless chuckle. “You’re out there all over some random girl, and you’re asking me what my problem is?”

You take a step closer, refusing to back down. “Yeah, I am! Because you ignore me all week, and the second I talk to someone else, you suddenly care? Make it make sense, Paige!”

She runs both hands through her hair, pacing in jerky, frustrated strides between the door and the counter. “Do you know how insane it made me to see you with her?” she snaps, her words laced with raw, unfiltered emotion. “Laughing, touching her, looking like you were having the time of your life? Like I didn’t even exist?”

You laugh bitterly, the sound sharp and humorless as you cross your arms over your chest. “That’s rich, Paige. At least she actually talked to me, which is more than I’ve gotten from you in weeks.”

The room feels charged, every word hanging heavy in the air, but Paige isn’t done. She steps forward again, her voice low and rough with frustration. “You think I don’t care? You think I don’t want to talk to you? You’re all over her, touching her like it doesn’t matter, and it’s driving me crazy—"

“Gee, sounds like you finally get it,” you fire back, your words sharp with bitterness. “But hey, don’t worry, I’ll stop talking to people if it’ll make you feel better. Maybe next time, I’ll just sit in the corner and wait for you to remember I’m here, like some sad little backup plan.”

You turn your head, preparing to walk out, but before you can take a single step, Paige’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist with a force that stops you in your tracks. Your heart pounds in your chest as you turn to face her, ready to throw another snarky remark her way.

But before you can speak, she’s there, bringing her hands to grab both sides of your face, her lips crashing into yours with an intensity that takes you by surprise. You freeze for a split second, then instinct kicks in. You try to pull away, pushing against her chest with as much force as you can muster.

But she doesn’t let up. Her kiss deepens, her hand sliding to the back of your neck, keeping you in place. The anger you’ve been carrying fades, replaced with confusion and something else you can’t quite name. You can feel her tension, her frustration, her need for something—maybe an answer, maybe redemption.

She slides one of her hands down to anchor around the front of your throat, her other hand drifting to grab at your hip through the thin material of your dress. She slowly starts to back you towards her kitchen, not stopping until the top of your ass is pressing against the island counter. She brings both hands to your hips, tapping the side of your ass with one hand, encouraging you to jump, and roughly squeezing your hip with the other.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as she lifts you effortlessly onto the cool marble countertop. Her hands slide possessively up your thighs, pushing the hem of your dress higher. She steps forward, wedging herself between your parted legs.

"You look so fucking good in this dress," she says, her voice low and thick with desire. One hand slips under the fabric to caress the bare skin of your hip while the other tangles in your hair, tugging your head back to expose the column of your throat.

She dips her head, warm breath ghosting over your sensitive skin before her lips press against your racing pulse. Your back arches as she nips at the delicate skin, soothing the pinch with her tongue and surely leaving a mark. A breathy moan fills the air and it takes you a moment to realize it came from you.

Her lips trail lower, peppering hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. You shiver as her tongue flicks out to taste your skin. The hand on your hip slides inward, fingertips skimming teasingly along the inside of your thigh.

You wrap your legs around her waist, pulling her in closer, desperate for more contact. She chuckles darkly against your throat, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure racing down your spine. "I love it when you get like this," she murmurs approvingly. "All desperate and needy."

To punctuate her point, she rolls her hips, grinding against your center. The pressure and friction draw a keening whimper from your lips. Your hands fly up to grip her strong shoulders, nails digging into taut muscle through her shirt.

Her lips glide over your skin, a delicate yet fervent touch, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. As she moves up from your jawline, each kiss ignites a spark, and her breath, hot and teasing, touches your neck, sending shivers racing down your spine. "I've been thinking about having you like this all night," she murmurs.

You whimper as her hands skim higher, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through the thin fabric. She captures your lips in a searing kiss, tongue delving deep to claim your mouth, leaving you breathless and aching for more.

She reaches up to pull your dress down, revealing your bare breasts. Her lips immediately latch onto one of your nipples, sucking and biting it gently. You arch into her touch, a moan escaping your parted lips as she places full attention on the sensitive bud. Her tongue flicks and swirls, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Her other hand palms your neglected breast, kneading the supple flesh. She rolls the pebbled nipple between her fingers, pinching and tugging in time with the ministrations of her mouth, each pull sending another rush of heat flooding your body.

"So pretty, baby," she says, the words vibrating against your skin. She gives your nipple one last hard suck before trailing her lips across your chest to the other breast, circling her tongue around the straining peak. Her mouth is relentless, her tongue swirling and flicking over your nipple until it’s aching, her teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. Her free hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing the curve of your hip before slipping between your thighs. You’re already wet, your panties soaked through, and she groans against your skin as her fingers brush over the damp fabric.

Your head falls back as you cry out, hands fisting in her silky hair to hold her close. She smirks against your skin, clearly enjoying the reactions she's pulling from your trembling body. Your back arches involuntarily, pressing your body closer to hers as you desperately seek more of her touch, the sound of her soft chuckle making you shudder with pleasure.

"Patience," she whispers, the word barely audible as her fingers trace lazy circles around your clit through the lace of your underwear. The sensation is frustrating, and you can't help but whimper, your hips bucking involuntarily in search of more contact.

You can feel the wetness pooling between your legs, your body responding to her touch in ways you never thought possible. You already know she's jealous, you saw the way she looked at you earlier when you were talking to that other girl. But you can't help but feel thrilled at the way she's touching you now, as if she's trying to claim you as her own.

You lean back on your hands, your eyes locked on Paige's as she continues to tease you. Her gaze is intense, fiery, and you can see the possessiveness in her eyes. It sends a thrill down your spine, making you even more turned on.

"You're mine," Paige murmurs, her voice low and husky, filled with an undeniable possessiveness. The words send a thrill throughout your body, making your heart race with excitement. “Say it.”

"I'm yours," you whisper back, your voice barely audible as the tension builds within you. You can feel the pressure growing more and more intense, your body aching for release.

Paige's fingers finally slip under the waistband of your underwear, making contact with your sensitive skin. The feeling is electrifying, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. You cry out, your hips bucking wildly as she begins to stroke you. Her touch is firm and confident, her fingers expertly finding your most sensitive spots.

You feel yourself teetering on the edge of orgasm, your body trembling with anticipation. Paige's gaze is locked on yours, her eyes filled with a fierce intensity that makes you feel both vulnerable and powerful at the same time.

She leans in, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, "Come for me, baby."

And with those words, you finally let go, your body convulsing with pleasure as you cry out her name. Paige holds you close, her fingers still moving rhythmically as you ride out your orgasm. As the waves of your orgasm begin to subside, Paige pulls her fingers away from your clit.

Before you can fully catch your breath, Paige is on you again. She moves with a speed and agility that takes you by surprise, pushing your back onto the counter with a force that leaves you momentarily stunned.

Your body splayed out beneath her, you feel a thrill of excitement run through you. You're completely at her mercy, and the thought is intoxicating. Paige's hand makes its way back to your throat, her grip firm and unyielding. She pins you to the counter by your throat, her body pressing against yours as she holds you in place.

You gasp at the sudden change in position, your heart racing with a combination of fear and excitement. The feeling of being completely dominated by Paige is both terrifying and exhilarating, sending a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Paige's other hand slides back between your legs, her fingers finding your entrance with ease. You can feel yourself growing wetter with each passing moment, your body responding instinctually to her touch. She finds your g-spot easily, her fingers curling and pressing against it with just the right amount of pressure. You moan softly, your hips bucking as she begins to stroke you, her movements slow and deliberate at first, before building up to a feverish pace.

But she’s not content with just bringing you to orgasm. She wants to claim you, to mark you as hers in every way possible. And as she continues to finger you, her grip on your throat tightening ever so slightly, you know that you're completely and utterly hers.

Paige's movements become more insistent, her fingers moving faster and harder as she brings you closer and closer to the edge. You can feel yourself teetering on the brink of another orgasm, your body writhing and bucking beneath her touch. Your breath comes in short, ragged gasps as she continues, her movements growing more frantic as she feels your body starting to give in to the pleasure. “Paige, I can’t… it’s too much.”

“Nah, baby, I’ve been so mean to you this week, I just wanna make it up to you.” You moan louder now, your voice echoing through the room as Paige brings you to new heights of pleasure. Your body feels like it's on fire, every nerve ending sparking with pleasure. “C’mon, I know you can take it.”

And then, with one final stroke, you reach the peak of your orgasm, your body convulsing and shaking as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. Paige's fingers continue to move inside you, prolonging your orgasm and sending you spiraling into new heights of ecstasy. When it's all over, you collapse back onto the counter, your body spent and satisfied. Paige pulls her fingers away, a satisfied smirk on her face as she looks down at you, bringing her fingers to her mouth to suck at the remnants of your orgasm.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended, though the heat in your cheeks betrays your embarrassment. You quickly move to fix your dress, suddenly feeling self-conscious now that the moment is over.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Paige replies, her voice steady but softer than usual. Still, her gaze doesn’t waver, her blue eyes fixed on you.

The silence in the apartment feels suffocating, filled with the weight of everything unspoken. The distant hum of the refrigerator is the only sound, an almost mocking contrast to the charged tension between you. Sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter, you swing your legs idly, trying to feign a casualness you don’t feel. The cool surface beneath you does little to soothe the heat creeping up your neck as Paige stands in front of you, close enough that her presence seems to fill the room.

When you finally look at her, expecting that same smug, self-satisfied smirk she’s perfected, you’re caught off guard. Her expression isn’t cocky; it’s something else entirely. The spark of amusement is gone, replaced by something heavier, something raw. Her blue eyes hold yours, steady and searching, as if she’s trying to find the words buried somewhere between you.

Paige shifts slightly, her hands resting on the counter on either side of your thighs. She takes a breath, her chest rising and falling in a way that betrays the steady confidence she usually exudes. For a split second, it feels like the world narrows down to just this moment, just the two of you.

Her voice finally breaks the silence, low and uncharacteristically serious. “You know we need to talk about everything.”

The words hang between you, heavy and undeniable. Her tone is firm but carries a vulnerability that makes your stomach twist. She’s not brushing this off or dancing around it like you half-expected. No teasing grin, no playful deflection—just a directness that makes it impossible to pretend this is something you can both walk away from unscathed.

Paige shifts her weight slightly, standing even closer now, the space between your legs shrinking until there’s barely any left. The warmth of her body radiates against you, and you suddenly feel hyper aware of every inch of space she occupies. Her eyes don’t leave yours, and you can tell she’s waiting, giving you the chance to push her away—or pull her closer.

But the way she looks at you, so open and unguarded, makes it hard to do either. It’s a stark contrast to the Paige who had been ignoring your texts all week, and yet, it feels so achingly familiar. You’re torn between wanting to stay guarded and giving in to the pull of the moment. Finally, you arch an eyebrow, your voice steady despite the swirl of emotions threatening to surface.

“Okay,” you say, your tone more challenging than you intended. “Start talking.”

Paige’s shoulders stiffen, and for a second, you think she might retreat into that wall of stoicism she hides behind so well. But then her jaw tightens, and she steps even closer, her closeness making your nervousness spike, but you don’t flinch, meeting her gaze head-on.

“I can’t stand seeing you with someone else,” she says, her words thick with frustration. “I don’t want you flirting, laughing, or even looking at anyone but me. I want you, Y/N. Only you. I want us to be exclusive. I’ll do better. Just… don’t ever do that again.”

Your breath catches, and you almost flinch at how accurately her words cut to the truth. Still, you say nothing, giving her the space to continue.

“I messed up,” she begins, her voice quiet but deliberate. “I know I’ve been distant. I know I’ve made you feel like you’re not important to me, like basketball or… anything else in my life comes before you.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to maintain your composure, the snarky defense you’ve built up around yourself threatening to crack. You cross your arms, fighting to keep the sarcasm in your voice, even though your insides are a tangled mess of emotions.

“Exclusive, huh?” you challenge, your voice sharp, almost taunting, as you raise an eyebrow. Your arms are crossed tightly over your chest, creating a barrier between you and the vulnerability she’s suddenly laying at your feet. “And what happens when basketball gets in the way again? When I’m just another item on your to-do list?”

Paige flinches, just barely, but you catch it. The slight crack in her usually unshakable confidence stirs something in you—satisfaction, maybe, or guilt. You can’t quite tell. Her jaw tightens, the muscles working as if she’s biting back the first response that comes to mind. Instead, her gaze shifts, no longer carrying the frustration or defensiveness you’ve grown used to. Instead, there’s something softer, rawer, in the way she looks at you now. The intensity of her eyes locks you in place, her expression quietly pleading yet resolute.

“I’m not going to let that happen again,” Paige says, her voice low and steady. “I know I’ve screwed up before. I’ve made you feel like you’re not a priority, like you’re just… there, waiting for me to fit you in.” She pauses, the weight of her own admission hanging heavily between you. “But that’s not how I see you. That’s not what I want us to be.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected. There’s no rehearsed apology, no empty promises. Just a raw honesty that feels like she’s peeling back the layers she’s kept hidden from everyone else. Your heart twists, torn between holding onto your frustration and the pull of what she’s offering.

You narrow your eyes, unwilling to let her off the hook so easily. “And how do I know this isn’t just another one of your moments? That it won’t be the same cycle all over again?”

Paige exhales, her shoulders rising and falling with the weight of your skepticism. “Because I don’t want to lose you,” she says simply, her tone almost breaking. “Because when I saw you with her tonight, it felt like the ground was being ripped out from under me. I don’t want to feel that again, Y/N. I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re not enough, or that you’re not worth my time.”

You’re still sitting on the counter, and the height difference gives you a brief sense of power, though it doesn’t last long under the intensity of her gaze.

“You’re not some item on a list,” she continues, her voice softening as she tilts her head to meet your eyes. “You’re the list, Y/N. You’re the one thing that matters more than all of it. And if that means I have to rearrange my life, show up differently, or prove it to you every single day, then that’s what I’ll do.”

The vulnerability in her words catches you off guard. For a moment, all the anger and bitterness you’ve been clinging to starts to loosen its grip. Still, you’re not ready to let her win that easily. You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly as if to study her, daring her to flinch under your scrutiny.

“You’re really laying it on thick, Bueckers,” you quip, though the usual sharpness in your tone is softened by the faintest hint of a smirk.

Paige’s lips twitch upward, a flicker of her usual confidence returning. “That’s because I mean it,” she counters, her voice steady. “I’m not going to let you walk away from this—not without fighting for you.”

You’re quiet for a moment, the air between you charged with unspoken feelings and the lingering tension of everything that’s gone unsaid for far too long.

“So, you’re telling me I’m the priority now?” you ask, your voice quieter this time, a little softer, though you keep your arms crossed in a weak attempt to shield yourself. There’s hesitation in your tone, an uncertainty you can’t quite hide, but the words still slip past your lips. “Not basketball, not your schedule, not the team?”

Paige doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t waver. Her blue eyes hold yours with an intensity that pins you in place, her conviction written all over her face. “Yes,” she says, her voice steady, as though the truth of it is something she’s carried for a long time. “You. Only you, Y/N.”

You look down at where her hands rest, then back up to meet her eyes—those piercing blue eyes that seem to hold nothing but honesty and a hint of fear, as if she’s bracing for your rejection. Your defenses falter. The weight of her confession, the raw emotion in her voice, the way she’s standing there, so vulnerable—it all seeps into the cracks of your resolve. Slowly, your arms drop to your sides, the tension in your shoulders easing as you exhale a shaky breath.

“Paige,” you murmur, your voice quieter now, fueled with something more forgiving. “If you screw this up—”

“I won’t,” she interrupts, her voice firm but not forceful. Her hands slide up slightly, resting on your hips now, anchoring herself to you. “I swear to you, Y/N. I won’t.”

You hold her gaze for another long moment, searching her face for any sign of doubt. But all you see is determination—determination and something deeper, something so achingly familiar it makes your heart clench.

“Okay,” you whisper, the word barely audible, but it’s enough. Enough to make Paige’s expression soften, her shoulders relax, and a spark of hope flicker in her eyes.

Her grip on your hips tightens slightly as she steps closer, standing between your legs, her face just inches from yours now. “Okay?” she repeats, as if she can’t quite believe it.

“Okay,” you say again, your voice steadier this time. You tilt your head slightly, a small, almost teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “But you’d better back it up, Bueckers. I’m not making this easy for you.”

Paige chuckles softly, a sound filled with relief and affection. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Before you can respond, she leans in, her hands sliding up to cup your face gently, her thumbs brushing against your cheeks. She hesitates for the briefest moment, giving you a chance to pull away, but when you don’t, she closes the distance.

The kiss is slow at first, almost tentative, as if she’s trying to convey everything she can’t put into words. But it doesn’t take long for the intensity to build, for her to pour every ounce of her emotions into the connection. Her lips move against yours with a mix of passion and desperation, and you can feel her heartbeat pounding in sync with your own.

Your hands find their way to her shoulders, then slide up to thread through her hair, pulling her closer as you kiss her back with just as much fervor. The tension, the anger, the frustration of the past week melts away, replaced by a warmth that spreads through your chest like wildfire.

When she finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, foreheads resting together. Paige’s eyes search yours, her lips curling into a small, almost shy smile. “I’ll make it up to you, Y/N. Every day. You’ll see.”

You can’t help but smile back, your fingers still tangled in her hair. “You’d better,” you reply, your tone soft but teasing. “Because I’m holding you to it.”

Paige grins, and for the first time in what feels like forever, it feels like everything is falling into place.

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