Rose was late to Advanced Concoctions. Not because she overslept—this time—but because a sentient locker had trapped her for fifteen minutes demanding she validate its artistic aspirations. Nimbus had been utterly useless, offering commentary like, "It has a compelling sense of form for a piece of hallway furniture."
She stormed into the lab only to find everyone already partnered up.
Except Basil.
He sat alone at a cauldron, arms folded, lips pressed into a line. The only seat left was beside him. Of course.
Professor Marigold, a haughty dryad with impeccable taste in vests, raised an eyebrow. "Ah, Miss Thorne. So gracious of you to join us. Take your seat."
Rose groaned inwardly and slid onto the bench beside Basil. He didn't say anything. Neither did she.
The assignment was simple: brew a Binding Mist—a potion that required not only precision, but trust between partners. Of course it did.
"This is going to explode," she muttered.
"Only if you stir like a goblin," Basil replied.
She gave him a look. "I'll have you know I stir elegantly."
They fell into a strange rhythm. While they argued under their breath, their hands moved in sync. Basil crushed nightglass leaves with surgical precision. Rose measured dewblossom extract by intuition—and nailed it. Together, their potion shimmered a perfect pale violet, swirling with flecks of gold.
Professor Marigold walked by, genuinely impressed. "Extra credit if it doesn't melt through the table."
They both watched the cauldron. It did not melt anything.
"See?" Rose said. "We're not entirely dysfunctional."
Basil smirked. "Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold."
But then his smile faded, just slightly. "Look, I meant what I said in the garden. I don't hate you."
"Did you rehearse that line?"
He chuckled under his breath. "Maybe. But you're... hard to ignore. Even when you're being infuriating."
"That's mutual," she said. Her voice had softened without her meaning to.
They were close now, leaning over the same cauldron, their hands almost brushing. It was the kind of proximity that carried tension like a drawn bowstring—awkward, electric, unspoken.
Then the cauldron burbled ominously.
"Don't move," Basil said quickly.
"Why?"
"You're breathing wrong."
"I beg your—"
FWOOM.
A cloud of gold mist erupted into their faces. The rest of the class ducked as the potion overflowed in dramatic style, though it thankfully didn't melt the table. Professor Marigold gave them a withering look.
Rose coughed through the haze. "We were doing so well!"
Basil blinked, face lightly glittering. "You breathed too loud."
She elbowed him—hard.
They got a B+.
After class, Rose didn't rush off like usual. They walked side by side, a bit too close for enemies and not quite close enough for friends.
At the stairwell, she hesitated. "So… you still think I'm dangerous?"
He looked at her, something unreadable in his eyes. "More than ever."
And then, to her utter confusion and secret delight, he smiled.
"So am I."