As if studying a painting in a museum, Lorenzo looked up at Aiden‘s jawline, waiting for his suggestion on where they should go next. Rain pounded against the stone path of Diagon Alley, just shy of their bodies. Only the overhang above the bookstore spared the two boys from the full, furious downpour of the clouds. Though the droplets didn’t touch him, Lorenzo slowly drew his shoulders in closer to his body. The damp fabric of his coat brushed against his skin, shifting uncomfortably with the unnatural movement of his torso. He tried not to pay attention to it, but his gaze briefly slipped away from Aiden and landed on the churning curtain of rain. Drops rushed to the ground. He followed them with his eyes, observing how they flowed in a thin, spontaneously sketched river toward the water drain. It had to be nearly full—so much so that it overflowed like a small fountain, spreading toward Ollivander’s Wandmaker Store in a branching stream. The young Italian breathed uneasily at the cold sight.

Just in time, he turned back to Aiden, who, in response to Lorenzo’s earlier comment, said he already had most of his items and that they could go wherever Lorenzo needed to. The cold air crept through his bones. Slowly, it began to pressure him into making a decision. Suddenly, Lorenzo felt like he was standing in front of a last meal, because the option loomed to call it off due to the rain—to wait here, obediently, in the dry safety of the overhang for his father or the Chauffeur to pick him up. But there was also a second possibility, and it seemed to be presenting itself to him with a kind of quiet grace. Aiden moved his arms. Lorenzo could watch as the older boy slipped out of his sleeves and adjusted the coat, turning it the right way around. The double-lined fabric suddenly looked like bait—irresistible in its softness and pre-warmed fabric. The inside of the jacket called to him by name, greeting Lorenzo like a present. For the briefest flicker of a second, he expected Aiden might give it to him. It was an unreasonably entitled thought, of course. Aiden had no reason to hand over his clothing to someone he had just met. However, that didn’t stop Lorenzo from wishing for it with the same fervor one might long for a happy ending to a tragic drama, or a final, beautiful note in an orchestra drowned by demon-like violins. Maybe he could wear the jacket later in the Rolls-Royce, Phantom, and press his face into the soft lining. He knew full well he wouldn’t be allowed to bring it to Hogwarts—not wanting to risk Aiden taking it back.

Lorenzo began to stare at the jacket as if it were already one of the permanent fixtures on his bed, nestled between the Egyptian cotton pillows and the Japanese silk sheets, next to his favorite elongated cushion. His fingers itched to reach out for it, to claim it like something long overdue, an expected reward for freezing. Though, before he could act on the impulse, Aiden lifted the garment over them both and pulled the younger boy in—directly under his arm, beneath the newly created umbrella of fabric. The motion was swift, leaving Lorenzo uncoordinated in his thoughts. The young Vincenti glanced up, a flicker of disbelief in his expression, watching as his jacket, now hovered above them as a makeshift protection barrier against the cold.

At this, the feelings scattered through his head and chest like a shaken heap of toy soldiers after a child had excitedly carried the box down the stairs. As the situation settled more clearly, Aiden’s warmth struck him from the side. His heart leapt to its feet with the first step down the stairs. The boy’s scent seemed to wrap around him—rising from the jacket above and clinging down his spine—until it felt like a barricade against the cold. Lorenzo’s mind flicked off, and the wooden soldiers clattered to the ground of their box.
Something composed broke away from his features. No matter how determined he was to cling to control, it slipped through his fingers, leaving Lorenzo standing there wide-eyed against Aiden’s body. Suddenly, it didn’t seem so terrible anymore or least not doom bearing, that Aiden still held the jacket in his hands without offering it over. The warmth spreading through Lorenzo’s chest and into his cheeks made him unsure of his feelings.
His first instinct, unsurprisingly, was the easiest to interpret: anger. Maybe Aiden didn’t actually want to give him the jacket, and the heat was nothing but Lorenzo in fierce spite. Perhaps the other boy was just being kind, but not well-mannered and fair. Since he had taken it off, Lorenzo had felt it was as good as promised to be his. While it wasn‘t said in words, the way Aiden‘s eyes had gazed down, had done it.

Lorenzo wondered if this was the smartest way to explain anything at all. The heat in his cheeks burned against his tanned skin, growing irritating from the inside out. He tried to swallow down the unnameable sensation, but it refused to budge. One way or another, he had no choice but to surrender to the mystery. The only thing left was hope, that this strange flicker of anger in his chest might take pity on him, once he got to take the jacket home later!

“Cauldron Shop, maybe first,” he whispered. Gratitude settled quietly in his chest as Aiden began to move right away.

There was no need for discussion; Lorenzo simply knew he would follow the older boy in the right direction. As they walked, his eyes remained either fixed on the jacket or his feet and the rain below. The weather-formed stream slid gently over the tips of his shoes. Cold crept into his core, traveling beneath the leather, so Lorenzo leaned instinctively closer to Aiden’s warm body.
It took only a few minutes until they arrived at the next shop. The name was scrawled large and indistinct over the door. Old, carelessly stacked cauldrons filled the display window, as if the owner had long since decided that friendliness was no requirement for holding a monopoly in England‘s famous shopping street. Lorenzo checked up once more at the jacket, wondering how soaked he could let it get before carrying it back into the car. He did not want his Chauffeur to complain.

“Is this the shop?” he asked softly meanwhile—part of him hoping Aiden had made a mistake, and that somewhere nearby a cleaner, more welcoming place with the same name was still waiting for them.

Lorenzo looked surprised when Aiden offered his linen jacket as a shield for the rain. Perhaps he'd never been offered such courtesy before, or maybe he didn't expect a stranger to go out of their way. Any stranger might not have jumped in to catch a boy from falling in the bookshop, either. Usually Aiden wouldn't have. If someone wanted to be a clumpsy idiot, be his guest. However, he was happy to have made an exception for Lorenzo - by far the most stunning person he'd seen in his life. It was worth just earning his gratitude. This way, he might get more opportunities to be close and to touch him again. Like now, with him tucked beneath his arm on the way to the Cauldron shop.

Despite them both still being damp from the rain earlier, it felt nice - warm - to have him so close against him.

It was for everyone's best that Aiden remained clueless to what actually went on inside the Italian's head. The entitled and greedy streak would not have been appreciated, even if he'd already shown signs of making some exceptions for this boy. Aiden didn't like sharing, and that included people and items that he claimed as his. He didn't compromise in any aspect of his life, and certainly not his belongings. Also, there was no possible way in his mind that someone like Lorenzo, who wore nicer and more expensive clothes than he had ever owned, would want his old jacket.

For now, Lorenzo's wide-pupiled expression was simply interpreted as cute surprise. It actually looked like they got even more dilated when he shifted closed. That's odd... Funny, but that might have been his mind playing tricks. Regardless, if he could continue to surprise him, in the best ways, Aiden would take the opportunities as they came.

The walk wasn't far, but only a few seconds exposed would leave you soaking wet. Scurrying through the pouring rain, but using the overhang from the nearby buildings whenever possible, Aiden led Lorenzo to the old shop that looked like it was in dire need of renovation a decade ago. Every since he'd been exposed to the wizard world, Aiden had noted that they seemed to like to keep old things old. It could only be due to magic that some of these buildings he'd seen hadn't collapsed years ago. Lorenzo’s expression echoed the sentiment — nose slightly scrunched, a faint frown tugging at his lips — as he wondered if this really was the right place. It only confirmed, along with his polished attire, that he was used to finer things in life.

"Yes." He confirmed, before addressing the look of obvious skepticism and concern on his face. "It won't fall on top of you," he reassured him in mild amusement. Just last year, he’d been buying his supplies from the same shop. It looked suspicious, sure, but nothing had ever cracked or crumbled while he was there — and a year later, it was still standing. They'd survive one more time. And if not, at least there was worse company to get crushed together with.

To set an example - and because he didn't want to stand there freezing in the rain longer than neccessary (the jacket was pretty much unusable at this point) - Aiden reached for the door handle and held it open for the other boy to enter. Himself following swiftly as soon as he'd nudged his ass in there.

He had very much hoped to hear a declining answer. Perhaps even a charming laugh from the throat of his pleasantly scented, walking radiator. That ‚no‘ felt carved into Lorenzo’s destiny like a divine decree, just to be directly followed by a detour toward the proper shop—one cleaner, more elegant, maybe even with a sign of sharply polished steel. Instead, the word “Yes” fell, along with the promise that this wealth forsaken establishment won‘t fall and sleep on Lorenzo‘s head. The disappointment was obviously drawn onto his blue eyes. It wouldn’t even have surprised him if the shop itself would chose him as victim on purpose—to exact some kind of capitalist revenge and to twist midair and come crashing down on his head with its ceiling beams. The thought made the young boy nauseous. Even the clammy feeling of his own clothes faded somewhat in comparison.

Lorenzo kept a darkened, suspicious expression as he watched the yellowed glass, imagining all the ways he might escape death should it come chasing him. But just as he braced himself, it wasn’t the shop that betrayed him—it was Aiden!
His source of comfort slipped away without so much as a small warning, peeling his arm from Lorenzo’s damp shoulders and back. The Italian could only watch with wide eyes, as the other boy reached for the old door and opened it with a grating creak. The retreating warmth sent the cold rushing back, like soldiers returning from war—carrying not only the sting of needles, but the aching heart of someone who missed the touch. Suspicion vanished at once, replaced by a pair of confused eyes. He tried to stay pristine, elegant and composed but failed altogether with the quiver of a freezing lower lip. His gaze followed the Arm that had only moments ago wrapped around him. The wet sleeve emphasized the shape. Lorenzo wanted to reach out.
Just for a second—to wrap his fingers around that warmth again and stop the shivering that was slowly taking hold of his entire body. One hand had already begun the motion, lifting softly, stretching halfway before he managed to stop himself. The young boy didn’t want to make a fool of himself. As a Vincenti, he was supposed to have more control over his body than that, to have a forged composure, similar to a Roman Priest. With a light swallow and a fainted nod, he lowered his hand, then hurried through the open door into the shop with a few brisk steps.

“Grazie mille,” (eng. a thousand thanks), meanwhile he replied—an polite and quiet offering in return for the gesture. Despite his internal turmoil, he was raised strictly mannered and refused to become a complete onset of a failure. Chill haunted fingers and a warm, sweet other boy should not influence him as much as it did right now…

As soon as he stepped inside, a wave of scent drowned his heart—aged metal, dust, and something oddly fungal swam in the wet. Lorenzo interpreted it as mold spores, though he doubted that could truly be the case for a well-established, monopoly-holding shop on Diagon Alley. After just two breaths, he forced himself to adopt a professionally pleasant expression—just in case the shopkeeper was watching. A trained smile gently touched his lips, his gaze softened, and his eyebrows settled into a composed posture, trained until his body ached. But inwardly, the smell was tearing him apart. The clammy sensation on his arms and legs underscored the lack of fresh air. The Vincenti heir had barely taken a single step into the room when his hand snapped back toward the door, fingers seeking the only thing that had brought him comfort all day: Aiden.

That now-familiar warmth brushed against his thumb through the familiar sleeve. Wrinkles gathered in the fabric of Aiden’s shirt where Lorenzo's fingers gripped the cloth. His elbow trembled slightly, disturbed by the atmosphere. He wanted nothing more than to retreat beneath the coat again—but Aiden stepped into the shop with him, and the garment had not been handed over just yet. Strange, Lorenzo thought and shifted his attention to Aiden‘s face.
What he found there was far from a mirror of what Lorenzo was currently feeling. No trace of confusion crossed Aiden’s face—at least none Lorenzo could read. His brows lowered slightly, unsettled by Aiden’s lack of reaction to the suffocating density and the stench pressing against them like a snuggle-starved dog. Cauldrons were stacked across nearly every surface, wobbling in a precarious dance that suggested they might leap to the floor in synchronized deep dive at any second.

“Aiden,” Lorenzo lowered his voice. Thoughts tripped over one another, hounded by beasts of intimidation and the many rules of conversation. “I’m deeply sorry to say it like this, but it smells strange in here... I need a Size 2 cauldron. Do you think it’ll smell like this too?”

The thought sat beside Lorenzo like a ghoul of grotesque truth, whispering directly into his nostrils with each breath he took. Even the next inhale brought no relief—only another rush of that foul, fungal staleness that made his clothes feel more wet. He scanned Aiden’s face again, as if looking for some silent confirmation that this indeed was, an unbearable outcome. His fingers curled deeper into Aiden’s sleeve, instinctively seeking some protection from this horrid place. Lorenzo feared the scent would follow him home and infect his pillows.

Compared to Lorenzo, Aiden was just happy to step inside the dry shop even if the air was stuffy and smelled faintly of - what he assumed to be - mold. It was never a pleasant discovery, but it didn't come as a surprise either, after his previous visits to the old shop. He wasn't used to it, and hopefully he wouldn't have to spend enough time here that he got used to it, either. It just was what it was. Aiden lowered his makeshift umbrella, examining the wet fabric with an inconvenienced sigh. His jacket was pretty much unusable for the rest of the day at this point, and he didn't think he was allowed to use a drying spell even if he knew one. Out of all the spells he'd learned, he couldn't remember a drying spell being one among them. Though, it should have been.

Fortunately, he'd spent the rest of the day on a train, so it didn't really matter.

Expecting the Italian boy to continue on to look for his supplies, he was caught off guard when Lorenzo reached behind him to grab a hold of his sleeve. The older boy had attempted to take a step back out of instinct, when he noticed the tugging sensation against his arm. It actually seemed like his grip had tightened, creating wrinkles in the fabric. A fact that would have freaked him out beyond measure if it had been anyone else acting this clingy. His slight discomfort to unpredicted physical closeness (when he wasn't the one initiating it) was demonstrated by the stiffening of his posture, but he didn't urge Lorenzo to remove himself from him.

Instead, he glanced down at the shorter, strikingly beautiful boy, noticing the confused look on his face with silent question. Whatever tension melted away again at the sight of open, unguarded deep blue. The confused and - how he interpreted it - helpless look almost stirred a feeling of sympathy, forgiving him of whatever unspoken boundaries he had broken by reaching for his shirt.

Breaching his personal space without his explicit permission was not something the restrained boy took lightly. Usually.

Aiden darted his gaze around the small shop. The shopkeeper looked busy, cauldrons were stacked in arranged chaos, the smell was kind of funky, but otherwise there was no reason why Lorenzo should be worried about anything. Unless he was simply extremely shy in unfamiliar places.

“Aiden, I’m deeply sorry to say it like this, but it smells strange in here... I need a Size 2 cauldron. Do you think it’ll smell like this too?”

The smell was apparently the problem. Things Aiden couldn't imagine ever bothering himself this much. It was amusing as much as it was... special (odd), to say the least. Not realizing he'd been holding his breath for a second, he let out a breath with a small, bemused chuckle. "The smell comes from the shop, the cauldron will be fine." Delivered a bit flat, but genuine in his reassurance, nevertheless. He studied Lorenzo for a moment, wondering if he was always this worried.

"Do you already have your vials and copper scales? If you get the last supplies, I'll find you a good, size 2 cauldron," he offered, then added with a faint, teasing smile: "One that doesn't smell."

Between the green eyes, he had desperately searched for any sign of a nod, aching for it in Aiden‘s expression. Even his ears were tuned to catch a confirming word or two—but none followed. Instead, Aiden chuckled softly and assured the worried Italian that it was the shop that smelled—not the Cauldron itself.
Vividly, Lorenzo had to imagine how the mold spores settled onto the Cauldron’s thick metallic belly, licking its surface. Surely, they’d be sitting there now, laughing at that claim. His expression tightened faintly, even as he tried to keep his features composed.

“If you say so,” he hushed back, although he didn’t quite believe it himself.

Lorenzo searched Aiden’s face for a sign of honesty. Those dense eyebrows were relaxed, the eyes neither clouded nor narrowed. His mouth curved into an easy smile, yet there was no mocking asymmetry behind it. There was little to nothing that hinted at untruth. Neither in Aiden’s eyes, Lorenzo found any of the quiet nervousness he thought a liar must be combating whenever falsehood leaves their mouth. Aiden was simply a pleasant presence. Like the right pillow under your head, perfectly placed nearby. The fingers Lorenzo had clenched into Aiden‘s sleeve, slowly relaxed, unraveling like a forest animal in spring. His limbs felt just as cold. They were stiff, as if the bear had slept awkwardly through the winter and now called a cramping spine the bane of his existence.
They observed at each other for a brief moment, underlying the seconds with a comfortable silence. The uneasy feeling of his trembling hands did nothing to help the Italian relax, even if the green eyes had a calming effect on him. His hand remained firmly on the sleeve, even as the other boy suggested that Lorenzo could finish the rest of his shopping list. All the while Aiden would take care of organizing the Cauldron. Aiden’s lips curled into a cheeky expression. “One that doesn’t smell”, he nonchalantly added to his suggestion. Somewhere between his natural suspicion, Lorenzo could find enough trust in him to believe the boy‘s claim. It felt like a promise, spoken in the midst of being poisoned by molding air. Still, wandering into the shop alone was not on his list of preferred activities. At the thought of the Cauldrons stretching out their revolting handles toward him, it took all his courage just to force a nod.
Although he would’ve preferred to stay by Aiden’s side and to follow him around like a scent, Lorenzo had to admit that it was childish desire. He wasn’t a dog, a servant, or even a house-elf, whose trailing presence could be dismissed as proper and well-mannered. In moments like this, he had to wonder whether life might be easier in a lower position. With another small nod, parroting his first, he withdrew his fingers from the fabric of the sleeve. Lorenzo made sure to memorize the exact feeling of the soft fibers that brushed against his skin, may they be damp or not. He did not want to forget it, in case it was the very last time and a pile of cauldron was about to slay him.

“I’ll find the glass vials. Let’s meet back here in about a few minutes,” the younger of the two decided. In truth, announcing a timeline was the only thing that allowed him to function despite the stench glued to his nostrils like gawking Italian tourists.

Wasting no more time—and thus not prolonging their stay in this damp dungeon—Lorenzo turned on his heel. With a deep breath, he adopted the posture that ought to have been welded to his spine: head held straight, shoulders upright and drawn slightly back. Holding tightly whatever was left of his composure, he moved away from Aiden with carefully measured steps. Even his distaste for the smell was pushed aside in service of presenting a control his father would approve of. Lorenzo worked to maintain a calm, confident gaze, letting his blue eyes glide deliberately over the stacked assortment of goods, scanning for the vials. With each meter further from Aiden—and the warmth that called him to return as swiftly as possible, something in Lorenzo soured. He couldn’t name it exactly, but by the time he found the glass bottles stacked away in one of the wooden shelves, a sense of unease had settled in his chest. Lorenzo took a deep breath and let the imagined mold spores paint the inside of his lungs a dark green. Raising his hand, he leaned over one of the larger cauldrons to reach the glass vials nearby. They didn’t shimmer the way he had envisioned. Instead of clear, polished glass that reflected light and his reflection like a desirable dreamscape, they were grimy. Scratches marred their surface—as if a woman with particularly unkempt, long fingernails had touched something Lorenzo was now, regrettably, forced to count among his possessions.

He quietly exhaled, “Revery, where are you.,.?”speaking to nobody but himself and the disappointment.

With one finger, he carefully nudged a particularly brown bottle aside and inspected the one behind it. A dull clinking sound accompanied the attempt to spot something clean—sung by the bottles now brushing against each other‘s back and arms. At least the grime seemed to have some sort of purpose. Unfortunately, the slimmer one behind it wasn’t in any better condition. Instead of brown stains, it had a scratched neck, as if a fury had clawed its way around its throat. Lorenzo was reminded of the wife of a particular family—and how that beauty, in cream-colored heels, had once broken an acrylic nail while digging her long pink tips into her husband’s neck. He had his doubts on whether this glass object had fathered children with a Thai mistress, but Lorenzo also couldn’t think of any other reason it looked the way it did. The young Italian furrowed his brow slightly and moved the bottle aside. After all, he wanted to be able to trust his equipment and not be replaced with someone younger.
Several bottles came into view and stepped forward like a line-danced formation of ballet. The light from the narrow window reflected along their curves, as if they wore glitter on their skin despite the worn and yellowed edges. A sigh of relief slipped from his lips. They weren’t flawless, but acceptable and charming in their own, overworked way. Careful not to touch the surrounding grime, he reached his hand into the newly formed gap and fished out the needed vials. Lorenzo only required three, so they fit comfortable in one arm and a hand.
Suddenly, he felt almost drawn to the objects—perhaps he could wash and polish them with one of the cleaning staff’s special cloths. Entertaining the thought, Lorenzo tried to distract himself from the realization that crashed down on him all at once: his limbs were still cold and wet, haunted by damp textures. His hands still trembled slightly on the way back to the shop’s entrance. Curiously, he glanced around for the source of warmth behind this the short moments of delight, checking whether he had already returned. A memory was summoned, of that warm arm around his waist. It sent a wave of cold down his spine, as if the other boy’s absence now demanded reverence from Lorenzo‘s heart.

Agreeing to meet up in a few minutes—or in however long it took for them to find what they needed—Aiden headed for the cauldrons to find Lorenzo an adequate one. Now that he was alone and not blinded by demure beauty, the Slytherin couldn't help but shake his head, amused by how picky the boy was about such insignificant things. Like cauldrons, of all things. In the end it was just a cauldron. It would be simmering in the dungeons with smelly potions in it most of the time anyway. There was no escaping something foul, whether it came from mold or... something worse.

Aiden supposed Lorenzo would have a rude awakening at some point, but that was currently not his problem. Only if he, against all odds, would have to share a cauldron with him. Then it might be a problem.

The search didn’t take long; he spotted a random pile and, to avoid giving Lorenzo one that had been greased and smudged by countless other customers, he lifted the top cauldron off and took the one beneath it. Not out of kindness per se, neither did he see why it mattered, but for efficiency. Personally, Aiden didn't care, but he figured that was something the younger boy would have fussed over. After all, the boy imagined that his words and attitude would be of more consequence than the actual cauldron he picked for Lorenzo. Now thanks to Aiden's surprising consideration, he would get one that was clean-ish.

Carrying the heavy thing, Aiden walked back the way he came from to rejoin Lorenzo, careful to not bump stuff over in the slim aisles of cauldrons. Aiden spotted him halfway down the aisle, cradling three glass vials like they were made of spun sugar instead of cheap, factory-made glass. Not that the practically muggle-born actually knew where they created all this stuff. Of course Lorenzo had managed to find the prettiest ones in the dust heap. It seemed like everything he would touch would turn into gold. It was still kind of ridiculous to witness. And strangely captivating- and only emphasised that the Italian was not like most boys he'd met. In several ways.

He paused a few feet away, letting the weight of the cauldron pull slightly at his arm. He cleared his throat just enough to be acknowledged, then he lifted the cauldron an inch or two in offering, “Here. Should be clean enough." He smirked a bit, teasing: "Unfortunately, I didn't find anything prettier that would do you justice. I hope you'll manage.” They were all the same standard 2 cauldrons.

Curiously, Lorenzo was already examining the cauldron from a distance. It clung to Aiden’s arm like a heavy designer handbag, much in the way he’d seen wealthy women handle their luggage. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest; the young Italian could easily imagine that a massive, metallic object must be cumbersome. A flicker of hope stirred in his chest that Aiden might carry the cauldron all the way to the bench where Lorenzo was later to meet with his father, Mr. Vincenti. Perhaps if the older boy realizes the weight, he‘d offer his strength.
From this and other thoughts alone, a faint smile caught on Lorenzo’s lips.
Now that the older boy was stepping closer, several critical considerations took their place on his mental agenda. First, perhaps he was about to receive the coat. Lorenzo’s eyes darted swiftly over Aiden’s arms, focusing as they searched for the object of his desire. Second, there were Aiden’s warm arms themselves, of course. By now, Lorenzo’s chilled fingers were rubbing gently at the glass of his phials—soon to be polished—seeking what little warmth they could.
The hope of finding himself once more beneath one of Aiden’s arms would, it seemed, be the last to die. Then Aiden reached him, lifted the cauldron, and gave a faint grin with his arrival‘s announcement. “Unfortunately, I didn’t find anything prettier that would do you justice. I hope you’ll manage,” he added, sending a wave of surprise through the blue eyed boy.
Compliments were nothing new to him. They usually dropped into the room with all the grace of a clumsy visitor, tripping over him, set down upon his shoulders in heavy waves, and were underscored by the strained smile his father wore. But this one slipped in differently. It drifted through the air as if it had flown in sideways through a half-open window, similar to the Hogwarts letter. It was the smooth elegance of its delivery, more than the words themselves, that caught Lorenzo. A glimmer sparked in his dark-blue eyes, and the smile on his lips unfurled, hinting broader across his features.

“You’re too kind, thank you,” Lorenzo replied, his gaze darting once more to the metallic shape.Whatever kind of cauldron it was, something in him whispered that it didn’t matter. Aiden, Lorenzo believed, had only the best intentions, and he chose to hand his trust in the warm hands of his instinct.

“Aiden,” he began, lifting his head to catch the other boy’s face, “could you maybe carry it to the counter for me?” —and subsequently hand him the coat and slip an arm around Lorenzo’s shivering back.

The damp texture of his clothes still bothered him. Albeit with the distractions surrounding him, it became increasingly bearable—almost as if an exceptionally efficient butler had swapped the overwhelming scratchiness and musty scent for Aiden’s far more pleasant presence.

When he thought he’d been collecting enough ‘gentleman’ points for the whole year to come, Lorenzo followed up with yet another request: to carry the cauldron over to the counter. It wasn’t such a big deal, really. The cauldron wasn’t that heavy, and even if there was no doubt Lorenzo could have carried it himself, he had already gone this far to accomodate for him – he might as well just follow it through. Whatever the reward would be, he didn’t know. Perhaps nothing at all except getting a demanding brat on his ass anytime he needed something and couldn’t be arsed to do it himself. But for once, he didn’t really mind. As long as it didn’t become a habit.

Aiden realized he kept thinking this about his usual boundaries, anytime he was around Lorenzo. A concept that baffled him as much as it scared him. Yet he didn’t realize it until it was already too late, and he had already walked that extra step for him out of his comfort zone.

Aiden arched an eyebrow at the request, the corner of his mouth twitching in what could almost pass for a smirk. “Of course,” he said easily, letting the cauldron settle against his hip like an accessory. Taking the lead, he walked towards the counter, placing it with a thump on the bench. While waiting for the show owner to spare them the time of day, he turned to glance at Lorenzo, a teasing smirk in place. “Do you want me to pay for it too?” His tone carried no real threat, only a subtle tease. Then, softer, “I’m just teasing.” He wasn’t entirely sure how far he could push without crossing a line. Offending Lorenzo was not his goal. Most of all, he was annoyed by himself – how easily he pushed his own boundaries to the side.

His eyes lingered for a beat longer than he meant them to before he looked back to the counter when it was time to pay. “Don’t expect such service on the regular,” he added, though the words lost some of their bite as he dug into his pocket for coins. He placed them on the counter without comment, even if Lorenzo hadn't explicitly asked him to. Buying the supplies wasn’t going to ruin him. He’d bought that ice cream for Carina when they were out together – though his allowance wasn’t the most generous. And judging by Lorenzo’s clothes and posture, the boy’s family was far better off than his own.

Internally, he hoped Lorenzo wouldn’t take this generousity as a green light to take him for granted. Helping out of the kindness of his heart was definitely not his usual style. Kind, as Lorenzo had called him earlier, was not a word that would describe Aiden. This was an exception rather than a rule. Sometime he wondered if he even had a heart. And if he did, it was meant to stay frozen… not thaw under the pull of a single blue-eyed look.

With everything paid and done, Aiden lifted the cauldron off the counter to - without being asked this time - carry it outside of the shop. He walked towards the door, throwing a glance out the window to gauge the rain. The sky seemed to have cleared up a bit, just in time for them to go seperate ways. Stopping just outside of the door, he handed the cauldron over to Lorenzo. "Think you'll manage on your own from here?"

With the fear that a ‘no‘ might shatter Lorenzo’s fragile calm, the hairs on the back of his neck raised. The young Italian waited tensely for Aiden’s reaction. His gaze brushed briefly over the other’s arm, flicked to the jacket, then fled straight back to the green eyes. One eyebrow seemed to have arched in the meantime. The boy noticed uneasily that Aiden’s mouth, and his full lips, had curved ever so slightly. He wasn’t sure what it meant, and his stomach tightened in the effort to understand it. If only for a moment—before the older boy’s voice suddenly interrupted the concern.
He agreed with him, replied “of course,” and let the cauldron swing back into place like an expensive French handbag. The knot in Lorenzo’s stomach caught against his heart. It could not loosen right away. Only when Aiden moved toward the counter and the relief and natural composure began to seep back into his pulse. A smile spread across Lorenzo’s face, stretching beneath his high cheekbones and driving him to follow. The clammy clothes bothered him far less now, knowing he was being helped in this torturous quest. Aiden was painted to him like a knight in white armor, his jacket a cape, ready to rescue Lorenzo from the dreary rain. A small, admiring glance settled on the dark blue eyes. Once he too arrived at the counter, Lorenzo tilted his head back. He beamed a soft smile into Aiden’s face. Warmth crept into his fingers, even as he carefully set the glass phials onto the old surface to their front. The shopkeeper moved in the corner of his eye, but the Italian paid him no attention. For it was Aiden who spoke, asking, “Do you want me to pay for it too?”
It took Lorenzo by surprise, bewildered and short circuit all his senses. Time seemed to slow.
The wealthy young Vincenti could not fathom why he should ask Aiden for monetary help. He wasn’t dim-witted—he knew well the difference between their styles of attire. The tailored little jacket on Lorenzo’s shoulders reminded him of it with its perfect cut sleeves. Even the small, damp fold of the shirt beneath seemed to sing a song of too much gold and filled chambers deep within Gringotts’ vaults.
Lorenzo’s smile slipped away. Confused eyes drilled into Aiden’s, but before he could attempt an answer, the boy added that it had only been a joke. That, of all things, was what Lorenzo was worst at. Acts of teasing in Lorenzo’s presence tumbled straight down a deep ravine between sense and patterns. There they wandered, only to crawl back into his ears within milliseconds as harsh truths. He merely nodded, acknowledging the jest. Then made an effort not to look awkward. To seal the endeavor , a small, hesitant smile returned to his face.
Luckily after a breath, Aiden turned back to the counter. Lorenzo should by no means take it for granted, but that was not in question. He would never approach life with the expectation of being gifted anything at all. Even at home, a comfortable life was only ever offered as a bargaining chip for good behavior. The voice, at least, sounded friendlier now, and Aiden did, in fact, seem to mean it—since he reached into his pocket to pay.

“Oh wait, you don’t have to—” finally pushed its way out of Lorenzo’s throat.

However, Aiden had already placed the money on the counter, and the shopkeeper was busy sweeping it up. With the haste the old man displayed, the younger boy felt stripped of control over the situation. Although to his own surprise, he did not mind it. He was simply left with no choice but to accept the gift. It lightened his breath, like a responsibility was lifted off his slim shoulders. They loosened under surrender, and a faint trace of joy set a hidden box of warmth free. It coursed straight through his body, at least shielding him from the unpleasant chill of the damp folds in his clothes.
Once the payment was done, Aiden yet again took the lead. Lorenzo tucked the small, variously shaped glass vials back into his arms in the meantime. He gave the shopkeeper a polite nod, though the man had already turned his back on him, busy causing filth to fly from one shelf to the next. Lorenzo briefly frowned at the sight. As he followed Aiden toward the door, however, an important thought pirouetted back into his head with practiced precision: Coat. He still hadn’t received it! Watching Aiden’s broader shoulders and the cauldron carried in his arm, the word spun around in him, relentlessly.

By the time they had fully stepped out of the shop and the stench of mildew slipped from his lungs, the confusion about his feelings had not. Unobserved, the boy allowed a more serious expression to settle across his features. Lorenzo’s gaze traced over Aiden’s posture, searching for the offering gesture, the presentation of the coat. The fact that the rain had retreated into the clouds didn’t register with him—not even when Aiden turned toward him and handed over the cauldron. Carefully, Lorenzo lowered the vials inside. The glass clinked softly as it touched the metal. Afterwards, hesitantly, his fingers closed around the handle.
To his enchanting surprise it was far warmer than he had imagined, preheated by Aiden’s hand. The stiffness in him eased.

“You’re really warm,” he remarked, just before Aiden asked whether he could manage alone from here.

The young boy lifted his head. A smile settled on his lips and shimmered blue in his eyes.
“Yes, absolutely. Thank you, Aiden—for everything…”

Of course, his gaze still flicked briefly toward the object of both his possession and desire: the coat. In his mind, an analysis of the situation spun itself together. Aiden had handed him the cauldron and paid, but kept the coat. To Lorenzo, this seemed an obvious exchange! The cauldron was lent out, in return for Aiden keeping the cloth for now. The logic spread through him and soothed the urge to claim the garment right away. His fingers tightened their grip.

“Truly, for everything. That was very kind of you. I won’t forget it,”—in part to remind himself to exchange the metallic item for what‘s rightfully his.

With a heartbeat, he left it at that, studying Aiden’s posture and well-formed face instead. The light reflected on strands of curled hair, shimmering a warm brown color back at him. It was truly the simplest task admitting, Aiden was objectively handsome. But the blue-eyed boy pulled his attention away, when it finally dawned on him that no cold reprisal had come from above! With furrowed brows, he tilted his head back and stared to the sky. The clouds had drifted, at least in part; lighter blue shades gleamed behind them, like the Italian sea beneath morning mist. Relief settled in and Lorenzo gaze wandered. This time it was outward into the distance. Somewhere among the rooftops, the pale stone of Gringotts Bank stared back at him. It reminded him of his father. Instantly, the smile froze—the brief joy died.
He had no idea how much time had passed since visiting the Book Store. There had been no clock in this dusty shop. If his father was already waiting, he would hear the verbal punishment in the car. The shoulders stiffened.
Suddenly the world was a colder place, despite the warm handle between his fingers. His breath almost hitched. Remaining polite, Lorenzo stepped back.

He offered Aiden a final smile: “I hope we’ll see each other again. Get home safely, Aiden…”

Then he turned as quickly as he could without breaking posture. The cauldron was embraced, pressed against his body to secure a hastened pace. He left the shabby old shop with quick strides and disappeared seconds later into a narrow alley that would, hopefully, lead him straight to Gringotts. The wish to see Aiden again, however, was genuine. Unfortunately and with a crease on his small brow, he only now realized that he had forgotten to ask him to which Hogwarts house he belonged.

Lingering outside with the Cauldron between them, Aiden noticed Lorenzos expression turning more serious— searching him and his attire. For what, he didn’t know. Aiden glanced down at the jacket questioningly, but saw nothing unusual. Maybe he had some piece of lint on his jacket that only someone of extreme wealth would notice. Only someone far more outlandish than himself would have connected the dots of something so farfetched: that his act of using a makeshift umbrella could have been misinterpreted as anything other than what it was—a practical gesture to escape the rain. Yet the thought pricked at him nonetheless. In Lorenzo’s mind, perhaps, it might have meant something else entirely. That Aiden cared for him. He pushed the notion aside at once, convincing himself it wasn’t the case. And if he would have collected all the small instances today where he’d broken boundaries, gone to far as to pay for this strangers school supplies, he would have lost his mind.

He’d handed over the cauldron with easy detachment. It was meant to be simple, sterile—a transaction closed. Yet Lorenzo, of course, managed to turn it into something bordering on intimate. The comment that he was really warm caught him off guard, stirring something uneasy and awkward in his stomach. What was he supposed to answer to that? Absolutely nothing. Instead he changed to topic to whether the boy would manage on his own. The pretty brunette reassured him that it would be no problem, accepting the item that looked comically large and clumpy in the shorter’s arms.

”I think so too.” Aiden agreed. At least neither were under impression that the Italian was too delicate to carry his own cauldron from here, no matter how delicate he might look. That searching look washed over the boy’s face once more, as if he was waiting for something unspoken and looking for something between the seams of Aidens jacket. Strange was the only way he could describe it without straight out asking him what was wrong. It was probably for the better than he remained unenlightened.

Lorenzos gratitude was the gift that kept giving, to the point where Aiden almost rolled his eyes. Sure, he might not be used to gifts— since he was more than able to buy things himself — but it was just a cauldron. A few sickles was not groundbreaking. ”Really, don’t mention it,” Aiden insisted, growing tired but nothing but polite softness in his voice. It would not be a common occurrence.

“I hope we’ll see each other again. Get home safely, Aiden…” Lorenzo announced his departure, now when the rain had cleared and he surely had a family to get home to.

Compared to Aiden, who would return to Hogwarts tonight expecting no one to be there waiting for him, the energy between them suddenly felt melancholic—caught between his own loneliness and Lorenzo’s distant gaze. Unless, of course, it was just his perception. ”I’m sure we will. I wouldn’t miss your face in a crowd… Just don’t trip on your way. The cobblestone can be a menace.” A soft smile followed. He didn’t actually worry how stead-footed Lorenzo was, but wishing him nothing but wellness was genuine.

Aiden watched Lorenzo go, the cauldron clasped firmly in his arms, a polite smile lingering on his face. He felt that tug in his chest again—the one he didn’t like and told himself it was nothing worth pondering over. And yet, despite himself, he acknowledged it: Lorenzo’s presence left a trace. Even now, as the Italian disappeared down the alley, Aiden’s eyes lingered on the empty space where he had stood. He caught himself replaying that smile, the tilt of Lorenzo’s head, the brief light in his blue eyes. Something so precious looking couldn’t be dangerous, he told himself. But clearly, he was dangerous to Aiden’s productivity. As reality slowly vignetted, he was reminded that he still had all his books to buy.