Draco

Draco exhaled slowly, fingers drumming lightly against the linen-covered table. The restaurant wasn’t overly fancy—just quiet, and intimate, the kind of place where no one would think twice about the infamous Malfoy heir sitting alone.

But you weren’t going to keep him waiting much longer.

His sleeves were rolled up, the dark ink on his forearm exposed. He made no effort to hide it—not anymore. Redemption didn’t erase the past, but he wasn’t running from it either. And for the first time in years, neither were you.

Then he saw you.

You moved through the restaurant with effortless confidence, wrapped in a sleek black dress that fit like it was made for you. The candlelight flickered against your skin, your sharp Slytherin gaze locked onto him, unreadable but undeniably aware.

Draco stood before he could think better of it, clearing his throat as you reached the table.

"You look—" His voice caught, and he let out a quiet scoff, shaking his head. "You know how you look."

Your lips quirked, brow arching. "Flattering, Malfoy. Real smooth."

He smirked, pulling out your chair. "I try."

You sat, watching him as he did the same, his stormy gaze never leaving yours.

"So," you said, resting your chin on your hand. "A dinner date."

Draco leaned forward slightly, a slow smirk playing on his lips. "A long time coming, don’t you think?"

Your fingers traced the edge of your wine glass, amusement flickering in your eyes.

"Yeah," you admitted, voice softer now. "It is."