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hi besties. get me to 2k comments and 500 votes and i'll post the next chapter ASAP. y'all got me 900 votes last time and like 4k comments so i know you can do it
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"How was practice?" I ask as Blaise plops down on the armchair next to the sofa upon which I'm seated.
He groans tiredly, eyes falling shut and head falling back while his body slouches against the cushions. "Please. Cassius had us running laps and doing fucking burpees the entire time."
I smirk softly, glancing down at the textbook I'm reading from (while simultaneously working on an essay for History of Magic). "Well there's something I don't miss about Quidditch..." I murmur under my breath, flipping a page in the book while glancing up to see the rest of the Quidditch team filing into the common room, their hairs all wet from showering and their faces sporting comical grimaces. I grin to myself, watching Adrian stumble into the side of a table and groan in pain, but then my amusement falls away when Carlier walks in rather chipper beside Warrington.
"He's fucking insane. Thinks we won't win the match against Ravenclaw without running a couple hundred kilometers a day."
I smirk slightly. "How does it feel dating your captain?"
"Like I'm constantly caught between wanting to kill him and wanting to kiss him," Blaise seethes, and I glance over to see his dark eyes trained intensely on Warrington. I can't tell whether he's eye-fucking him or glaring, though. He then looks over at me, eyebrows furrowing slightly, "And we're not dating."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"And why not?"
"We're not labelling, Draco," Blaise huffs slightly, two of his fingers massaging into his temple while his eyes follow Warrington around the room. "There's no need to. It's nothing serious. He's a halfblood, too, I wouldn't date a halfblood."
I shrug. "True. What are you, then? I mean, what are you even doing with him?"
"He's just... We're just having fun, alright?"
"I'm pretty sure he likes you, Zabini."
"So what?" Blaise snaps, sharp eyes darting over to bore burning holes into my face. "Doesn't matter..."
My eyes narrow slightly. I watch him carefully, watch as his scathing eyes roll and drop away from me. They scan over the entire common room, glance at the green lanterns swinging from rickety chains, glance at the pair of fourth-years playing exploding snap in the corner, glance down at his running shoes, a little creased at the top, glance down at his hands where he fiddles with the rings on his fingers, glance at the loose thread on his shirt, all while he worries away at his lip.
