KinnPorsche at Hogwarts

Vegas x Pete [5]

Pete spent the next day waiting for Vegas to look for him or call him or send some student to come get him, but nothing happened. It didn't make sense to be on shift three days in a row, but they'd had a fight. He expected Vegas to do something. Get angry, throw a tantrum, put Pete in his place.

Or... try to lure Pete back into their previous arrangement.

So, he went to class, he pretended he didn't see Pol's angry gaze and then he hid in his room, refusing to go for dinner. He wouldn't have to explain himself if no one could find him.

By the time he fell asleep that night, Pete was worried and scared. He would never admit it, but he hated himself just a little bit for not going to look for Vegas the whole day.

***

Vegas was asked to take a series of personality tests that somehow ended with him in counseling. According to the test, he had the makings of a problematic cult leader and the school would very much not like one of their top students to become the next Voldemort.

"Did you know," Professor Chan had said. "That you're the first non-Ravenclaw student to solve the amoromium?"

If he wasn't so ashamed of having fallen for a prank, Vegas would have rubbed this in Kinn's face.

He sat, quietly, in the counselor's office, listening to lecture after lecture of the dangers of dark wizardry. As if this was ever going to be enough to prevent a wizard who was hellbent on going bad. If Vegas wanted to rule the world, a Hogwarts wannabe psychologist would be one of the most useless safeguards available.

After his first counseling session, he emerged from the office, ready to bitch about it, only to find Arm waiting for him. Not Pete.

"You're here today."

"Yes, Phi."

As he moved, Arm followed. Steady, efficient, capable. Everything a bodyguard was supposed to be.

So why did it make Vegas so, so angry that Arm was the one who was there?

***

Pete wanted to punch something.

Instead, he tried to read. He had Tem's notes from last year that he had used to study for the OWLs and they were proving incredibly useful. It had never occurred to Pete to ask Vegas for his notes because Vegas didn't read. He barely went to class. He just looked at things and understood them. Pete wasn't even sure Vegas would know how to explain anything to anyone seeing as stuff just sort of came to him.

Even then, while other sixth-years prepared for the NEWTs they'd take next year, Vegas sat beside Pete, fixing the strings on a guitar-looking thing that didn't make music. Normally, Pete would have asked what it was, but he was trying to be professional. No need to blur the lines anymore. Arm and Pol were the standard. When they were in social gatherings, they chatted with Vegas like normal. But when they were on duty, they kept their distance. Emotionally.

Pete had to learn to do that. He had to separate himself from his feelings. He had to remind himself that the cravings he was feeling, the desperate need to beg Vegas to touch him, the urge to lean in and inhale Vegas' scent, all of that... it all had to stop.

He counted his blessings that what Vegas said hadn't been an empty threat. He wasn't going to touch Pete again. He wasn't going to be inappropriate.

Because Pete knew that if Vegas looked at him the right way, his walls would crash to pieces, all over again.

***

Vegas was careful.

He ate in the hall. He went to class. He spent time in public places.