Blaise blinks in the morning sun and sits up, stretching his arms up as he smacks his lips. He looks around, sees the curtains are pulled back to allow the white light of the reflecting snow passage into his room. His books are all scattered across his desk and he knows he won't arrange them until the night before they're bound to go back to classes.
His eyes travel to the door of his washroom. He knows it's squeaky clean, the elves never falter in leaving it that way. But he wants a bath and his washroom doesn't have a tub. So he thinks about going to the Common Washroom, and he shrugs.
He slides off his mattress, sliding on his moccasins as he stifles a yawn. His wand is swished and his toiletries come floating behind him as he leads directly to the washroom at the end of the hall.
Usually, Blaise wakes up way earlier than anyone else, which means that the washroom was free of busybodies and he could take his time scrubbing his body to the point of it tingling.
So he wasn't really expecting a raven-haired boy to be exiting, half-naked and only in a towel, with wet tendrils hanging down his face, and a red lollipop hanging from his lips.
"Oh," Blaise stutters, the sleep in his eyes being slapped away immediately. "Sorry."
"No need to apologize," the boy smirks lopsidedly, the sucker in his mouth dragging obscenely across his lips. He gives him a once over.
"I, uh," Blaise clears his throat. Never in his life has he ever had to come across attractive men. Never. All the boys in his House were more like annoying brothers that never minded their business.
The air is knocked out of his lungs when the boy reaches out and puts his thumb on his chin, effectively closing his mouth. "Don't want to catch flies."
"Right. Thanks."
"Ricky," the boy grins, his eye dropping in a wink. "Call me Ricky."
"Thanks, Ricky."
"So," he leans against the tile wall of the entrance hall and looks down Blaise's body again. "First time I'm seeing you around."
"I...I actually don't use this washroom often. I wanted a bath."
"Fancy," the boy grins around his lollipop.
"Yes. Quite. Well, I'll just be going, now."
"Never caught your name," he says before he can pass him.
Blaise looks down at the outstretched hand that was meant to catch his bicep and then back at the boy's sage green eyes. "Blaise."
He gives him a toothy smile. "See you around, Blaise."
The darker Slytherin doesn't wait to see him walk off, he just hurries further into the washroom until he sees the stalls and the round-about of sinks.
He twists all the knobs and until he's surrounded by noise, he exhales, sitting on the edge of the pool that's facing the entrance.
The real face of a young criminal, Blaise thinks. The way he carried himself, almost like he was playing a game.
Blaise takes his time unbuttoning his sleeping shirt, lets it graze his shoulders softly as he lets it fall on the stone floor. He stands, pulling his sleeping trousers off and sits back down as he waits for the water to reach the desired depth.
He's swinging his legs back and forth, the froth of the colored soaps rising and rising as the pool fills up. He gets ready to pull his pants down, already has his fingers in the elastic, when a body comes walking briskly into the washroom.
"Jesus Christ," the boy says, immediately lifting his hands to cover his face and turning his back to Blaise. "Sorry. I didn't know you were here."
The darker Slytherin is confused. Out of all the times he's wandered the Wing, this is the first time he bumps into these two boys? When he's naked?
"It's alright," Blaise says slowly. "I still have my pants on."
The boy turns and immediately smacks a hand over his eyes and nods to himself. "Forgot you have a different word for pants."
"I'm decent," Blaise laughs despite the situation. "Everything that needs to be covered is out of your eye."
"Right. Sorry, again. I didn't know you were in here. I just came to wash up. Jo told me the bathroom was clear."
"Jo?"
The boy lets his hand drop from his face but he does a very good job of keeping his eyes trained on Blaise's face. "My brother. I don't know if you met him."
"He told me his name was Ricky."
The boy rolls his eyes. "Of course he did."
"Is that not his name?"
"No," the boy says irritatedly. "His name is Jiovanni. I call him Jo. I'm Xabros," he nods with his lips pressed, as if he's embarrassed about what he's about to say. "And my brother calls me Xa."
"Creative," Blaise mumbles, trying not to snort.
"Our mom liked to think she was."
"Why did your brother fake his name?"
Xabros sniggers. "Because he thinks his name is not his style. I'm not any better, either, but at least I don't care about trivial things like that."
"I'm sorry," Blaise says suddenly. "Were you going to shower? I was going to have a bath but I can leave?"
"Oh, no," Xabros looks horrified at the mere suggestion. "Please, stay. Have your bath. I interrupted you. No, stay. I'll leave."
"Wait," Blaise calls, his cheeks heating up when Xabros turns with raised brows. "If you want to have a bath, I don't mind sharing."
The boy's brows disappear into his headline. "Uh, look, man, I just met you..."
"Oh, Merlin, no! No," Blaise shakes his head. "That's not...what I meant. No. I just. This is the first time I'm meeting you, and not to be rude but your brother was rather...obscene."
"He tends to be," Xabros winces. "Sorry about him, if he came off a little crude."
"It's alright," Blaise brushes it off. "So?"
Xabros shrugs. "Don't see why not."
Blaise looks away when the boy undresses in front of him, and he takes his wand, swishing it to close all the knobs and the faucets so the water stops flowing. He waits until he hears the other boy submerge himself into the water that he does so as well.
"Before anything else," Xabros begins, looking him dead in the eye. "I just want you to know that whatever you've heard of us, anything you've read, I hope it doesn't sway your opinion of us. I mean, I know Jo gave you a terrible first impression, but he just has terrible social skills."
A laugh bubbles out of Blaise and he tries to hide it behind the mountains of bubbles around him. "I assure you, I make my own assumptions."
"Good," Xabros grins. "Now, go."
"Excuse me?"
"You have questions. I can see it on your face. Almost everyone always has questions."
"I won't burden you with that, then. You must be exhausted of answering the same ones."
"I don't mind doing it again if it's you," Xabros admits shyly, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips.
"You're American?"
Xabros laughs. "Of all the questions. Yes. We are."
"Why did you come to Hogwarts? Why not go back to Ilvermorny?"
"They wouldn't take us in after the trials," Xabros says softly, watching Blaise's face very closely. "And neither would Hogwarts, at the time. So were were sent to France."
"To Deuxmür, right?"
The boy smiles, his dirty blond hair swinging off the top of his head and landing on his temple. "That's right."
"And you were there for a shorter time than your sentence?"
"Good behavior," Xabros shrugs, a twinkle in his green eyes.
They lock eyes for a moment until Xabros blinks. Blaise tilts his head. "Are you comfortable talking about the incident?"
At that moment, something shifts in the air; the green in Xabros' eyes flashes and he leans forward, a sneer twitching at his lips. "Are you?"
*******
When Ron wakes up, he's confused for a second.
First of all, because it's still dark around him. And second of all, because he knows it's morning.
Then he realizes he's in Draco's bedroom, and that the wanker probably added charms to his room to automatically close the curtains because he's obviously a vampire.
Ron huffs. He reaches under his pillow for his wand, swishes the curtains open. The rug is cold to the touch, but he walks to the bathroom door anyway, scratching his hip as he flicks his wand again and the lantern lights up.
He sees Draco's left him a few toiletries, probably thinking he didn't have his own, and thinking right because he doesn't. He always used Harry's, or Seamus'. Clearly.
A note is garnished at the top of everything, his name written in green ink. Ron rolls his eyes.
He picks it up and flips it open.
Weasley,
I appreciate your agreement to move into my room to protect Blaise, whether it was for personal reasons or not. Please accept these gifts as a part of my gratitude. Use them sparingly.
There's a tub of Fabyen's Fabulous Frosting in curly orange font, and a smaller lettering under that which reads Moisturizer.
He takes the container and examines it with an arched brow, shrugs, and then opens it to smell it. His eyes widen.
Woah, he thinks. This smells nice. Expensive, too.
The moisturizer is set down and he lifts a hefty bottle, the gelatinous liquid inside makes him conclude it's shampoo, and he twists the cap open to smell that one.
It smells like cedar and...leather. Ron likes it.
The other identical bottle reads Conditioner in bold letters and he arranges them in the shower before turning back to the rest of the toiletries.
A small black box with golden lettering reads Soap from the Himalayas.
A longer, sleek wooden box reveals a brush, long enough to scrub the spots on his back he can't reach with his hands.
And the last is a petite cube, tied with a satin ribbon. There's a glass bottle inside of it, with an amber looking liquid that swishes around excitedly as he moves the bottle around, examining it.
He pops the cork open and takes a whiff, and then he holds the bottle as far away from him as possible with wide eyes.
It's cologne.
Draco got him cologne.
And not just any cheap one, either. There's only been one time he's smelt that scent. Ron turns the box around and his eyes bulge at the block letters.
Sense.
by MV
Draco Malfoy got him a Marquelo Venicci cologne as a casual gift. Or would this count as a Christmas gift?
Ron sniffs the cologne again and his eyes roll back. He's only smelt that scent once, at a charity ball Molly made him attend because they were part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
There was a gruff man, with a clean face and a dazzling smile, and as he passed Ron, he had dropped his eye in a friendly wink before Ron had caught a whiff of the cologne.
The Gryffindor chortles at the memory, corking the glass bottle once more and tucking it back into it's box.
Special occasions, only, he reminds himself. And make sure to thank that snake.
He quickly takes the soap and the brush, hops into the shower to rinse off quickly. The shampoo works on it's own as soon as it touches his hair, as if it works itself into his scalp and the suds make it tingle in the best way.
When he gets out, he feels refreshed and clean and he eyes the tub of moisturizer for a split second before he shrugs. Why not?
So he takes a small gob in his hand and rubs it on his face, his neck, his shoulders, and his chest before he deems himself moisturized.
He gets dressed quickly, his tempus charm letting him know it's twelve 'til ten and that breakfast is halfway through. Plus, he still has to gather Blaise.
His shirt is halfway buttoned when he steps out of the doorframe, and his eyebrows immediately furrow at the static charge in the hallway.
Blaise's door is ajar and with one push, he knows he isn't there. Blaise wouldn't leave without saying anything, he knows that. So going down to the Common Room is pointless.
He looks down the hall the other way, where he assumes the rest of the rooms are, and takes a quiet step forward.
He's in uncharted territory, with his wand as his only defense, so he looks down at his shoes and shrugs them off.
The stone floor is even colder than the rug in the room, and he clenches his teeth to keep from saying anything. He passes two more doors before he's met with a large arch, covered in green tile, that stretches into the room for a few feet.
"I'm not afraid."
Ron perks up at the sound of Blaise's voice ringing through the room, steady and calculating.
He furrows his eyebrows. He knows that tone, has heard it before, has seen the face that matches that tone. Blaise is trying to find answers.
Another voice chuckles, it's deep. "Everyone's afraid."
"Of you?"
"Of something," the voice murmurs. It's a boy. And then there's a movement, Ron concludes they're in the water.
His eyebrows rise. They're bathing together?
A surge of anger and jealousy twist uncomfortably in his gut and he walks forward until the tunnel opens into the washroom, and he sees Blaise and the boy sitting on opposite sides of the pool, soapy bubbles scattered here and there.
Blaise moves his eyes to Ron for a second before moving back down to the boy, and the Gryffindor sees something like relief flash through them before his face turns emotionless again.
"Ron. Good morning."
The boy turns to Ron with disinterest in his eyes, and then they quickly flash to something more discreet. "Hey, man. I didn't know you were in this House."
American.
Ron wants to lift his eyebrows in shock. This American boy is just casually bathing with his exclusive crush and he thinks it's okay?
He goes to react but he sees Blaise shake his head from the corner of his vision. He takes a steadying breath. "That's because I'm not."
"Inter-house unity," the boy nods. "I like it, I didn't know that was allowed."
"It isn't," Blaise speaks up from behind him, already lifting himself out of the water with a towel around his waist. "He's the exception. Now, if you must excuse me, the water has become too...temperate for my liking."
"Don't worry about it," the boy grins, and Ron glares. He feels like growling at him. "I enjoyed talking to you. I'll see you around?"
"Perhaps," Blaise says quietly, taking Ron's hand and turning him as he leads him out of the washroom.