Where Were You In The Morning?

I Don't See You

Blaise stirs awake from the sound of inconsistent pecks at the window. He groans, mock sobs into the pillow, and then sits up.

And he realizes he's alone.

The ever-burning presence of one Ronald Weasley is not next to him as it was last night.

Oh, last night. Blaise flushes down to his chest, drags the sheets around his waist and takes them with him to go open the window.

"Salazar," he hisses when the cold wind from outside bites at the warm skin, quickly shutting it a little too harshly after the owl comes in.

It ruffles its feathers and glares at Blaise, only holding its leg out for him to take the roll. It makes Blaise smile.

After enlarging the parchment, Blaise is greeted with his mother's elegant scrawl. She writes about her latest conquest, how free she feels, and how much she loves and misses him. It warms Blaise to his very core.

He writes her a quick response and straps it to the waiting post owl's leg, bids it goodbye with a treat, and starts about his day.

Walking in to the elves' kitchen is always as heartwarming as he remembers, with the workers running around rampant to prepare his meal.

"Master Zabini! Master Zabini is awake!"

"Good morning, Master. Breakfast is being preparing!"

"Thank you, Grop," he grins kindly to the Head of the kitchen elves. "Are you in need of supplies, should I send an order to the market?"

"No, Master," Grop looks horrified. "If Grop is needing supplies, I is the one who be going. Master is being very busy!"

"Head Grop," one of the busy creatures pipes up from behind a stocked shelf. "Serving for two?"

"Ah!" Grop grunts, taking a leak and smacking the elf when Blaise's face darkens. "For one, for one!"

"It's quite alright, Grop. No harm done. Have my tea ready in a few. I'll go freshen up before breakfast."

"Yes, Master. Yes."

Blaise turns before he can see Grop hitting the other elf with the leak again. His shower is quick, with him trying to avoid thinking of the night before, the hands, the heat.

He shakes his head and steps out, gritting his teeth at the cold seeping through the door. The estates in London still need to be sold, and whatever was left of the lands in France was to be repurposed as a Wizarding Medical. St. Mungos was beginning to get crowded as the Wizarding population grew.

He still needs to go to his fitting for the gala the Ministry is hosting for their newer graduates into the Auror program per his invitation, curtesy of his good friend and graduating junior Auror Justin Finch-Fletchley.

He supposes he should schedule another lunch date with Pansy, to willow in self pity about dying alone. Then again, he should have known better. Who'd want to spend the rest of their lives with him?

It's absurd, really. Even though Blaise knew he couldn't handle the thought of a quick lay, and even though he told Ron he didn't want to be just another pillow memory, and even though he had a lingering doubt him and Weasley even had a chance of being more--more--he still went through with it.

Blaise sighs. What is wrong with me?

His clothes for the day are waiting for him on his already-made bed, along with--thank the gods for his lovely house elves--any traces of Ron left behind. No evidence of last night's escapades.

Bless those creatures, really.

His tea is steaming from its place on the center island in his kitchen, and he stands before it for a moment in silence. He can still hear the elves in the room next to him, their kitchen, as they busy themselves with--well, Blaise doesn't know with what because he lives alone in the huge mansion and he only eats when he wants, instead of on a schedule.

He goes to pick up his cuppa when suddenly there's a pair arms circling his waist, and he barely gets a spare second to gasp before his chin is turned with a soft force and his mouth is being claimed.

And, oh.

He remembers these lips. They did lovely things to his skin the night before.

Blaise hums in delighted surprise and melts, running his hands up the welted arms that surround him and hold him tight. Any and all doubtful thoughts evaporate like they never existed, leaving behind a shining orb of hope dangling in the middle of Blaise's ribcage, right next to his heart.

"Good morning," Ron mumbles, and then proceeds to attack Blaise's face with thousands of little kisses. He pauses to smile against his temple when Blaise laughs with glee.

"Where were you?"

Ron hums. He pulls away slightly, only far enough to lookin into Blaise eyes. His hands move up to hold his cheeks, and there's something so intimate about the moment, the glowing orb of hope in Blaise's chest grows. "You thought I'd left you."

"Yes," Blaise says. It's low, and filled with sorrow, because despite the fact that he has his own demons, how could he doubt Ron?

Gorgeous, happy, amazing Ron. With his bright eyes and sunshine smile.

"I'm sorry I made you think you weren't good enough," Ron punctuates this with a long kiss, tender and chaste, but filled with purpose. "I'm sorry I made you doubt us."

"You are awfully confident," Blaise grins. "What happened?"

"I went to talk with Hermione. She always knows what to say. Turns out I like blokes with brown eyes and a dashing smile."

The grin that spreads across Blaise face is wolfish, but playful. His heart feels full, so big, and he thinks maybe the glowing orb of hope is his heart.

So much emotion is running through him, so much happiness, that he swoons. He sways, his eyes close and he just feels the presence of Ron all around him.

Ron chuckles in mirth, his body following Blaise's so they sway together. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," Blaise says, humming blissfully when Ron kisses his lips tenderly. "Yes. I think I am."