He wasn't frightened. He was—alert. He was...bursting with adrenaline. He was—

—Going to vomit. The motorbike cut sharply to the left; Scorpius let out a frightened squeal as his stomach plummeted and his body slid precariously on the slick seat. He squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his arms around Albus, gasping and panicked. He was gripping him so tightly that when they turned to the right a moment later, Scorpius hardly moved an inch; he merely swayed with Albus's body, the material of Albus's shirt now clenched in his fists.

"That was the last turn," Albus shouted over the rumbling engine. "I promise!"

Right. He could let go now. No more turns. But...no, he was not going to take any chances. Better to stay put. He cautiously lifted his face from Albus's shoulder, took one look at the blurring landscape, and immediately buried his face back into the crook of Albus's neck. His taller height meant his body was practically engulfing Albus's smaller one at this point, but if Albus minded, he wasn't showing it. Scorpius felt a swell of admiration for his best boyfriend at how well he was handling both operating the odd machine and not projectile vomiting.

"You all right back there?" Albus shouted.

"Yep. Yep. Fine as wine. Fine as a sublime wine in the summertime. Fine as—oh!"

He gave another start as the motorbike leaned towards the right. He was certain he was gripping Albus to the point of pain now, but he couldn't get his muscles to relax. His legs were quivering. Albus must've felt his trembling because their speed quickly decreased until they were at more of a crawl. He felt a hand press against his thigh.

"Better?"

His heart did that thing—that Albus thing. Where it felt heavier than usual, fuller than usual. And it made the back of his throat feel narrower. He nodded against Albus's neck, grateful and abruptly emotional.

"Much," he squeaked.

The sound of the passing wind was still loud, but the sound of Albus's pulse was louder. With his face pressed into his neck, he could hear the hard, irregular thump, thumpthumpthump, thumpthump, thump of Albus's heart. He could feel it against his chest too, pumping wildly enough that it was distinctly discernable through Albus's back. Though whether that was from the force of Albus's heartbeat itself or his grip, he wasn't sure. He was holding him rather closely. He probably would've been able to feel it even if they weren't in the middle of a possibly deadly motorbike excursion.

Scorpius took in slow, measured breaths and focused on that weird (lovely) heartbeat until he'd stopped shaking. His body relaxed; he let go of the now-damp material of Albus's shirt. Once he felt less frightened, he moved his chin to Albus's shoulder and tentatively peered out at their surroundings, now inching by instead of soaring. They'd circled around all the nearby villages. Scorpius could see the quaint warmth of Godric's Hollow twinkling just ahead. The pub they'd frequented nearly every week the past month was still a hub of activity, with blurry shapes entering and exiting the wooden doors at a surprising rate for such a small village. The Den wasn't strictly part of it; it existed on the far outskirts, isolated in the stretch between Godric's Hollow and a neighboring village, but it was close enough to be the easiest address. And, luckily, close enough that he and Albus could frequent it often.

When they came to a gradual stop outside of the pub, Scorpius had a difficult time moving his body. Albus—still enveloped in both Scorpius's armsand legs—was chained in place.

"I think we've merged into one now," Scorpius laughed, "I don't think I can move. My legs are jelly."

There was a brief silence. Albus's neck had grown warmer than it was before. Scorpius felt that Albus-thing happening in his heart again, and he accidentally tightened his hold. No, he chided himself, no, no. Wrong, Scorpius. You're meant to be letting go, not hugging tighter!

Before he could scold himself much further, Albus wormed his way from Scorpius's grasp, stood, kicked down the side stand to park the bike, turned, and then sat back down in the opposite direction, so he was facing Scorpius, his back now facing the handlebars. Scorpius stared curiously at him—in the dim, orange light flooding from the pub's one exterior lamppost, he had a difficult time reading the expression on Albus's face. His dark eyebrows were furrowed intensely. His jaw was set. Was he angry? Had Scorpius made him angry? He hoped not. He didn't want Albus to be angry with him. He wanted him to be happy. He wanted to tell him that he was beautiful (especially right now). His green eyes were clear and striking, his hair was windswept and even messier than usual, and the way the orange light illuminated the light freckles peppered across Albus's cheekbones made Scorpius feel distinctly tingly with fondness...

Albus's intense (and confusing) expression grew nearer. And nearer. And suddenly Scorpius could place it, could remember the first time he'd seen it (after that football match) and then his mouth was pressed to Scorpius's— warmly, wonderfully, his palms pressing gently over Scorpius's cheeks, and the contrast of his boyfriend's cool palms against his blushing face felt nearly as good as hearing the tiny sigh/gasp/groan that Albus gave as he kissed him back harder...

In that moment, he forgot everything. Everything. Somebody could've approached them head-to-toe on fire and Scorpius wouldn't have remembered how to put flames out. So when Albus responded with like intensity, slowly leaning forward into Scorpius's body, Scorpius completely forgot that they were sitting on the motorbike. He completely forgot that there was nothing but empty space behind them. And when he leaned back to accommodate Albus's leaning pressure, he lost his balance and went flailing off the side of the motorbike, Albus tumbling down with him.

They hit the ground hard. Scorpius very narrowly missed hitting his bicep on the burning exhaust pipe. He groaned and struggled to regain the breath that'd been knocked from him, Albus's body heavy and equally stunned atop his.

"Hey, Albus...there's...not a seat back," Scorpius wheezed.

Albus grinned down at him. Scorpius immediately grinned back, even if his back and chest still ached from his fall onto the pavement. Albus crawled off of Scorpius and sat beside him, lifting his hands. He grimaced at his scraped palms.

"Driving back is going to be enjoyable," he said dryly.

Scorpius sat up. He scooted forward, carefully taking Albus's hands into his. He bowed his head over their joined hands and peered critically at the soft, torn skin. Why did Albus always seem to be covered in blood after they kissed? A curse?

"It's serious," he told Albus. He was grinning, though, never quite able to master the art of sarcasm like Albus had. "You're going to have to have your hands amputated!"

"Well," Albus commented, "at least then I could keep my hands to myself."

"But I don't want you to keep your hands to yourself."

Albus flushed. He bit back a shy smile. Scorpius beamed and inched closer.

"Though," Scorpius said fairly, "it might be best if we only kiss on stationary, stable objects."

Albus scoffed in mock-offense. "All these limitations in my life—'you can't buy a dog to take to Hogwarts, Albus', 'you can't cut your sister's hair no matter how often she smacks you with it, Albus', 'you can't kiss your boyfriend on a parked motorbike, Albus'. What can I do?"

Scorpius leaned forward and pressed his lips gently to Albus's. They were both smiling when he leaned back.

"That. You can do that. We're on solid ground, see."

Albus fidgeted, clearly delighted. "Right. We are indeed."

"Solid, solid ground," Scorpius said, smacking the pavement with his palms. "It's not going anywhere. Unless there's an earthquake. But that's not likely because we're not over any faults."

Scorpius knew Albus hadn't taken in a word of that. If he quizzed him on it later, Albus would certainly not remembered having heard the wordearthquake. He had that glazed over look he often wore in History of Magic. He was inching forward again—

"Are you boys all right?!"

They snapped their heads to the left, staring up at an obviously drunk Muggle woman in her late sixties. She was vaguely familiar-- a pub regular. She swayed, stumbled, and then quickly reached to hold onto the pub doorway. Her disheveled appearance suggested she'd been in the close company of somebody else, but she was alone now, her blue eyes squinted in confused concern at Albus and Scorpius from behind glasses with gaudy rhinestones.

"Have you been in an accident?" She turned her eyes from the bike and to Albus. She squinted harder. "Hang on—are you one of the Potter boys? Jim? John? Jack?"

"James?" Scorpius provided helpfully.

Her face dropped for a second.

"James Potter? No—he—hiccup—gone off, didn't he, and that baby son—" she grew agitated. She looked a bit green. "What—don't confuse me! I know what sodding year it is!"

"Er..." Albus glanced at Scorpius. Scorpius widened his eyes. "He's talking about my brother James. What's your name? How do you...do my parents know you?"

"Well, of course he was, little James, the eldest boy. I know that, of course I know that," she insisted. And then: "What are you two doing on the ground? Do you need medical assistance?"

"No! No, we're okay," Albus quickly said. He jumped to his feet and reached a blood-caked hand out. Scorpius gently grasped his wrist instead, not wanting to hurt his wound, and allowed him to pull him to his feet. The woman's gaze was lingering and uncomfortable.

"Well," Albus said, nodding towards the doorway, "we're just going to go..."

"You're Ginny and Harry's boy. The middle one."

Albus and Scorpius paused. Scorpius was surprised to hear Harry's name on this drunk muggle woman's lips.

"Er...how do you...?"

"We exchange hellos and the occasional cake," the woman answered. She hiccupped loudly a moment later.

Scorpius looked at Albus. He was watching the woman warily.

"My parents never said they knew any of our mug—neighbors."

"No? How rude of them, not that I'm surprised. Your mother's got a nasty temper and your father could suck the fun from anything."

Scorpius frowned, taken aback by the woman's sudden hostility.

"Hey!" he cried, insulted on the Potters' behalf. "That is not nice, and it's not true, and it's...not nice!"

"Yeah!" Albus snapped. "Don't talk about my parents like that."

The drunk woman didn't seem as drunk as she had before. She straightened, her eyes lighting up with interest.

"So would you say your parents are supportive or aloof? Loving or cold? Firm or indifferent? Are they tormented by past traumas? Can you feel tension beneath every goodnight kiss?"

"What?" Albus demanded, baffled. Scorpius stared hard at the woman's face because he thought he might've seen her somewhere other than the pub, but she refused to meet his gaze. Instead, she narrowed in on Albus's injuries.

"Oh, dear, look at your hands. You poor, fragile boy. Let me buy you a pint. We can talk. Tell me who hurt you."

"Nobody hurt him," Scorpius said, perplexed. "We fell off the bike, it was an accident. And I don't think we're allowed to have a pint...we're not even sixteen yet..."

Not that it'd stopped them the previous time, but to Scorpius, it seemed weird and inappropriate to accompany this lady anywhere, so he'd use any excuse he had. He was positive he'd seen her inside the pub the other times they'd been, but that wasn't it...there was something familiar in the way she carried herself, even if her specific facial features weren't familiar.

"Oh—rubbish, what's it matter? You'd deny a poor, lonely old woman a bit of chit chat? I haven't spoken to anybody other than my cats in ages...why, I hardly remember what human interaction feels like..." she trailed off, growing dramatically teary. Scorpius's heart reacted accordingly.

"Don't cry! It's okay. We can talk to you. We can talk about loads of stuff. What do you like to talk about? Do you like football?"

Her tears stopped immediately. "No, I'm not interested in football. I want to discuss family dynamics."

"Well, okay, that's a bit...personal and unorthodox, but I guess—" Scorpius was interrupted.

"Not you," she said impatiently. "Albus."

"Albus?"

"Me?"

They glanced at each other after speaking at the same moment, their lips quirking up into amused grins. Scorpius itched to take Albus's hand, but he didn't want to make his wounds sting any worse. He reached over and wrapped an arm around Albus's waist instead; they continued grinning at each other. The sound of something clattering to the ground made them jump, and when they looked back, the old woman had dropped her handbag onto the ground. She was openly gaping at them.

Scorpius felt his heart sink. His dad had warned him that this might happen; he'd warned him that his relationship would inevitably cause more scorn and bullying, but Scorpius hadn't cared because Albus was worth it. And he was realizing now what his dad had meant. The woman was soundlessly opening and closing her mouth, her eyes impossibly wide.

"What?" Albus challenged. "Is there a problem?"

Was she having a heart attack? The woman was grasping the front of her throat and making wheezing noises. But right as Scorpius began to look around to call for help, a manic smile bloomed over the woman's face. She began cackling madly a moment later.

"Erm..." Albus took a decided step backwards, pulling Scorpius with him. "Do you...think she's...you know? All there?"

Scorpius watched the woman uneasily. She was practically toppling over from the force of her hysterical laughter. She dropped to her knees suddenly and began rummaging through the contents of her dropped handbag, searching excitedly for something. Scorpius didn't want a woman that unstable to have anything in her hands.

"Absolutely not," he hissed to Albus. "Let's...back away...slowly..."

The woman spotted their retreat. She snapped her head up, chaining them in place with her eyes.

"Wait," she said. She stared at something behind them. "Look at that!"

Scorpius and Albus turned around by instinct, peering across the street. There was a young couple walking slowly, a stray cat (one of the Potters' strays, actually), and a flickering lamppost with a loose lightbulb. Nothing remarkable that he could see. Scorpius looked at Albus quizzically, but Albus just shrugged. They turned back around to ask—

"Where'd she go?!" Scorpius demanded.

Albus looked around them, equally baffled. "She can't have just disappeared..."

"Maybe she went back inside!" Scorpius suggested. He edged towards the door and pulled it open, peeking in. The rowdy heat of the pub greeted him, but he couldn't see that old woman anywhere. He looked back at Albus.

"Not there."

"Strange. Ah, well. Shall we?"

"Definitely!" Scorpius beamed. Albus gave a sudden shudder and reached behind himself, scratching frantically at his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry, just had an itch," he said. He approached and smiled. He took Scorpius's hand. The rough texture of Albus's palm told Scorpius his scrape had already scabbed over somewhat. He gave Albus's hand a tentative squeeze, pleased that he could hold his hand again.

"Let's go! Maybe our friends are here," Scorpius said eagerly.

Their muggle friends were there, much to Scorpius's delight. They spent nearly two hours crowded around a sticky, too small table, laughing and pretending to be ordinary muggle boyfriends in an ordinary muggle pub with their ordinary muggle friends. They drank ordinary muggle ale—which was somehow different from any ale Scorpius had tasted in the Wizarding world and had a taste that Scorpius had initially found repulsivebut later found himself oddly enjoying—until everything felt pleasantly light and zoom-y, and then they went outside to show their friends the motorbike. Scorpius was trying to listen as Albus and Simone talked motorbike parts, but he was too busy staring at Albus. He loved so many things about him so much. He wanted to tell him that. He wanted to say I love so many things about you so much, but the part of him that wasn't ale-soaked thought he probably shouldn't. It sounded stupid, anyway—most things he said probably did, going by the looks he sometimes got. But in that moment, it made perfect sense to Scorpius, because he did. He loved the way Albus's dimple deepened when he laughed or smiled hugely; he loved the way he scrunched up his nose whenever Scorpius said something particularly "geeky"; he loved the way he could go from hard to soft in a millisecond, how the lines of his body broadcasted how he felt about somebody perfectly, how he could go from tense and defensive at school to loose and at ease when they were in Albus's home...how he believed in Scorpius.

"What do you think? Scorpius?"

"What?" Scorpius turned to Albus. He scrambled to think, to see if he'd processed any of the conversation that'd just occurred, but it'd been largely ignored. "I...think...that...could you repeat everything that came before the question?"

Muggle beverages are evil, he decided. Butterbeer never made him feel like this.

Albus laughed. "Josh invited us over for..."

He trailed off, his brow furrowing. He glanced at Josh.

"Fallout 5," Josh supplied. He grinned. "I still can't believe that your mum and dad don't let you use technology. How do you...talk to people?"

"Letters." Albus stepped to the side, pulling Scorpius with him. "What do you think?"

Scorpius had no idea what a Fallout 5 was. It sounded a bit dangerous. But Josh and Simone seemed relaxed, so it couldn't be too bad.

"Sure! I'd love to do Fallout 5!" He beamed as Josh and Simone laughed. Once they left to use some sort of muggle transportation, Scorpius quickly grabbed Albus's arm. "Albus...Fallout 5 isn't...a drug, right?"

Albus looked distinctly troubled.

"I really don't know, Scorpius. I just nodded and smiled."

Scorpius sucked in a nervous breath. "Oh, Merlin's pants."

"Yeah. Well—time to muster some courage. Hopefully whatever it is...it won't be too dangerous."

It was not a drug. It was a box. A black metal box that sort of looked like a vertical school book. It seemed to be humming.

Albus let out a relieved sigh. He reached over and grabbed Scorpius's hand reassuringly.

"It's fine! It's video games. That box—that's the thing I was telling you about that Dudley sent! The thing that James got so obsessed with that he didn't eat or use the toilet for an entire day! And then Mum threw it from the house and called it an 'evil, brainwashing box' that she 'never wanted to see ever again'!"

Scorpius still didn't really understand, but he was glad that Albus was so excited.

"Great! Cool! What's a video game!"

Albus squeezed Scorpius's fingers. "You'll see—it's brilliant!"

It was brilliant—and terrifying. They each took turns. Scorpius was horrible at it, and the continued consumption of that strong muggle ale didn't help. But he loved every