𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 |𝐃.𝐌

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗 | 𝐛 𝐚 𝐜 𝐤 𝐲 𝐚 𝐫 𝐝

𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡
𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞

──────────⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰──────────
HEMERA

It only takes a brief-lasting gust of the chilly afternoon wind for me to wrap my coat tighter around my body, the silky feeling of the material sliding over the base of my neck engulfing me into a wool-made shelter of much-needed warmth. Even if it's only the early days of September, I know better than to assume that the weather always goes hand in hand with calendars and dates. From the mild rainfalls that dared to make an appearance during the supposedly warmest weeks of the summer, I can take a fair guess that the cold winter awaiting ahead is already planning a lash-out. Perhaps, one that nobody will expect.

"Are you cold?" Draco asks from where he's sitting directly next to me on the blanket we have laid out on the grass. The castle's backyard is quiet, placid, and surprisingly, deserted most of the time, making it one of our favorite places to hang out when we both wish to get away from the chatter and gossip that always chase us down. I keep my eyes on the open arithmancy book splayed out across my crossed legs and answer his question with a short-lived shake of my head.

"You can have my coat if you want." He presses.

"I'm fine," I mumble, still not looking at him as I focus on transferring all the numbers of the equation onto a spare sheet of paper before I have to solve it. "Thanks though."

"Just let me know if you change your mind and need it, yeah?"

A smile tears my mouth in half at how considerate he is; at the thought that he's always been like this. Caring, compassionate, benevolent in every way he can. He's the person I'd doubtlessly let myself rely on over and over again because him letting me down isn't even a possibility that would ever cross my mind. And if it did, it'd be immediately squashed by the love and blind trust I have for him, before it could poison my thoughts with doubts.

I hum out my almost silent response and blink with rising confusion at the long line of numbers I've written down. Numbers that I'm supposed to know how to add and deduct and multiply and divide again and again to eventually come to a pointless result— a result that will define my grade in arithmancy when our Professor checks my homework tomorrow.

The deep frown that stretches over my face brings my brows too close to touching. Subconsciously, I begin to chew on my thumbnail in thought. Trying to come up with an idea- anything, that would possibly help me solve this provoking equation. Not to be dramatic, but part of me feels like it's staring intensely into my soul the longer I contemplate giving up.

A few more seconds of me looking blankly at the mocking numbers and I come up empty still. Frustrated with this nonsense and with myself, I blow out a heavy sigh that reveals no hint of relief hiding somewhere in it.

Crestfallen and completely defeated against any hope of improvement, I turn my head in Draco's direction. He looks utterly and undividedly concentrated on capturing the shape of the tree's trunk on the other side of the yard, his skilled hand drawing line after line on his sketchbook. The faint gray color of the featherlight pencil strokes stretches all over the top of the paper, in inexact sketches that I guess are the outlines of the long branches. This oak tree whose frond-filled branches shade a vast part of the castle's backyard is something he's been wanting to paint for a while and watching him finally working on his rough delineation fills me up with admiration to the brim.

"I like your sketch" I mumble, peeking at it.

"It's pretty rough." He doesn't look up.

"I still like it."