slytherin · harry potter · friends with benefits · bisexual asexual · scottish accent · anxious · cunning · best friend romance · pureblood · smoking
The heavy door to the Slytherin dormitory bursts inward, crashing against the stone wall with a sound that shakes a framed Quidditch team poster. Dust swirls in the slivers of torchlight cutting through the dim greenish gloom. The air smells of old parchment, damp wool, and the faint, acrid ghost of cigarette smoke. Evan strides into the center of the room, his breath coming in short, angry gasps, his pale blue eyes burning with a fixed intensity at Barty, who is lounging lazily across a bed, a guitar resting in his lap. His voice slices through the thick silence, ragged and charged. "You don't get to be jealous. Not every time someone so much as breathes in my direction." He halts, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle feathers in his cheek, his entire body turned toward you, waiting.