It felt like a ton of lead hung off a chain around his throat; he wished it were real so that it might just kill him. Surely this would be easier than the sense of guilt and shame that squeezed his lungs out breathless. But when darkness never came, Cassian kept his gaze fixed on his knees. He could not bring himself to face what he’d done. The way Vince’s voice broke in frustration was enough to tell him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he abstractly placed the taste of blood. Had he reopened Vince’s cut, or was this a new one?

When Vince vehemently disagreed – the strongest words he’d spoken since their fight in the study – Cassian’s head snapped up to him in shock, an impulse he regretted. There he found everything he’d been afraid of. The Slytherin’s expression wasn’t hard to decipher, there Cass saw anger. Pain. Sadness. He was responsible for putting it there.

More impossible to understand was what Vince wanted. What he could possibly hope to gain, from keeping him around.

“Vince…” he started warily, wanting to tell him this was no use. Nothing could fix them. They could not be saved. But the Slytherin moved smoothly around him, affectionately setting him back against the bed, throwing open the window to let in a gentle breeze. Words failed him as he watched Vince find a blanket. Blue eyes gazed up at him, curious, worried, confused. Though no words. He’d said enough – and Vince looked happy.

Imagine. Happiness in the face of your supposed friend’s worst abuse.

Cassian’s chest ached, and as Vince settled across from him he pushed his head back into the pillow to stare up at the ceiling and dissuade the pinpricks he felt at the corners of his eyes. He felt… exhausted. Defeated. Adrift at sea again, no matter what his beacon said about rule breaking. I need to stop hurting him like this. This cannot continue. This back and forth. This is insanity…

Tomorrow. He would put an end to all of this… tomorrow. Maybe even once they wake, the high tide of dreamless sleep might have washed this all away. And his feelings will disappear. He will never act on them again. Then. They will drift apart… slowly, never completely. Enough to soften the edge. Enough to remember the fondest moments, and relieve a laugh or two. In private, Cassian will think about the tender way Vince tucked him in, the soft and sweet look he leveled after promising no rule-breaking.

“Um,” he started, voice cracking a little as he spoke to the ceiling. “Defense Against Dark Arts. Charms. Herbology. Care of Magical Creatures. Ah… Transfiguration. Potions, if you can fucking believe it.” He scoffed, mock-laughing at their running jokes over his worst subject. “Apparently I turned into an optimist over the summer. How about you?”

Cassian listened. They traded idle talk this way for some time, offhand comments on which students would kick all their asses, which ones they should sit next to for copying notes, the quirks of their professors, complaints about homework, bets on who could do what. In time, Cassian’s keyed-up heart rate subsided. His tension melted into the mattress, muscles slacked, he didn’t even notice as his foot fell to the side and toes brushed Vince’s waist. The barrier worked. The drone of crickets rang through the room like a lullaby.

“...I’m sorry,” Cassian mumbled eventually into the darkness after quite some time. Sleepiness already started to fold itself over his brain like cotton. He wasn’t really sure what he was referring to, or even what he was saying, or why. But it felt important. It felt like the most important thing he said all night. “Vince… I’m sorry for everything.”

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