Yikes! I haven't updated this in so long. Terribly sorry about that. There was that IT phase I went through, and then I started working on original material so yeah. Bad excuses. Hope this was worth the wait?

Voldemort was an idiot. A huge, fucking idiot. The biggest idiot to ever idiot, in fact, and even he hadn't known that he could reach such a new low.

Quirrell had asked him out. Gay Quirrell did a gay thing and gayly asked him out. For coffee. And Voldemort had agreed. Of course he had agreed! He'd only been pining after this guy for weeks!

And then he'd done the stupid thing.

Voldemort banged his forehead on the counter. It had been over a month since he gave Quirrell his number, a month since he'd done the stupid thing, and he was back to hating his weekends.

Mostly Saturdays. Especially Saturdays. Because Voldemort was a big, fucking idiot.

"Cheer up, my lord! Look! A book on horcruxes!" Bellatrix held up said book, beaming grandly, as if that was supposed to make him feel better. In reality, it just made him sick. Everything made him sick anymore.

"Thanks, Bella, but I don't even know what a horcrux is." He placed his hand on the top of the book to lower it again, deadpan in spite of Bella's disappointment.

"Okay. Fine. I'll play your game." Bella haughtily turned around, waltzed over to the magazine rack, and returned with the latest issue of Time. "Here! Zac Efron! Those abs always cheer you up."

Voldemort gazed down at the cover, almost feeling a spark of interest. Zefron had such a nice smile and pretty eyes and perfectly kissable lips—but you know who else had all of that? Quirrell. Just the thought of Quirrell with his brown eyes and his mousy hair and that delectable mouth of his had Voldemort shoving away the magazine.

"Bella, I'm just not in the mood, okay? Not for Zefron or horpluxes—"

"Horcruxes."

"Whatever the hell they are! I don't care, all right?" With a sigh, Voldemort rested his elbow on the counter and stared at the clock. Six hours. Bella would be with him for four hours, and then he could spend the rest of his Saturday afternoon reflecting about what a moron he was and maybe get around to digging that hole he was always talking about.

He wondered if holes had good wi-fi signal.

"My lord, I'm concerned about you."

It probably depended on the size of the hole.

"Lately, you've been listless, disinterested, and, quite frankly, boring."

How deep he made the hole, definitely. Too far down, and his signal would be shit. How was he supposed to get caught up on Queer Eye if he had bad service? That also raised the question about how he would charge his phone in this hole….

Bellatrix slapped her hand down on the counter, and Voldemort nearly toppled over. "There are pieces of you missing!"

"Pieces of me missing?" Voldemort repeated, his voice high and raspy. "What does that even mean? I'm all right here!"

"No. No, you've been acting fishy. What happened with the peasant to cause this? What did he do to you?" Bellatrix demanded, looking like she was about to go on the warpath. Voldemort had to be careful, otherwise he might put Quirrell in serious danger. Voldemort himself wasn't entirely sure what Bellatrix could be capable of.

"He didn't do anything! It was me, okay?" Voldemort deflated, leaning on the counter again. He glared down at his smudgy reflection and sighed. "It was all me."

Bella looked like she wanted to say something, but the door opened then. Finally. A distraction to get away from Bella's incessant nagging. Both of them turned to greet the customer, but the words died in Voldemort's throat.

Quirrell stood a few feet away from the doorway, already looking like he regretted his decision to come inside. Voldemort scrambled to straighten up, slipped on the counter, and just managed to catch himself before his chin hit the surface. Smooth.

He still looked wonderful, Voldemort decided. Still unfairly adorable, despite the mild animosity he wore on his face. Voldemort deserved that.

Voldemort deserved that and more.

Quirrell opened his mouth, but then his eyes flickered to Bellatrix. Of course he would want privacy during this… whatever this way. Voldemort looked at Bella and put on his best pleading expression. Sighing, Bellatrix took her book on horcruxes and vanished into the children's section. Voldemort still wasn't sure what horcruxes were, but he didn't think they belonged with the kid's books.

But now he was alone with Quirrell—which was the opposite of what he wanted, now that he was thinking about it. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to say it? Hey, Quirrell, sorry I'm such a fucking moron! Here for more Jane Austin?

That was probably it. Quirrell came back for her. Jane fucking Austin. How was Voldemort supposed to measure up to her?

But Quirrell didn't ask about Jane Austin. He just approached the counter and stared at Voldemort like he couldn't figure him out. Voldemort got that often. Usually followed with the question, What happened to your nose?

That wasn't Quirrell's question, though.

"Wh-why did you st-stand me up?"

Voldemort swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. He couldn't remember words.

What he could remember was that evening a little over a month ago. Standing outside the Starbucks, watching Quirrell from afar as he sipped at some kind of iced tea. Quirrell had definitely made an effort to look nice; he was wearing a crisp, white-button up instead of a sweater or jacket like Voldemort was used to seeing. He looked so amazing, Voldemort was pretty sure he was having another gay awakening.

He had a book with him, too. The Stephen King one that he'd bought to read. For Voldemort. To determine if Voldemort would like it or not.

All at once, Voldemort had felt a debilitating fear sour his stomach. What was he doing? This was Quirinus Quirrell, the guy Voldemort had been pining over for the better part of the year. The reason why Voldemort flaunted his bisexuality so loudly just to make sure that Quirrell understood that he was into guys. His first thought in the morning and his last thought at night.

What was he doing? Voldemort could never be good enough for this guy! Not Quirrell, who liked books and flowers and had the sweetest smile and the brightest eyes and made Voldemort's heart beat until he was breathless. Quirrell probably had some. Some big life plan or some shit, and Voldemort? Voldemort's main aspiration in life was to work at this bookstore until he died. He didn't even like books, and that just made it worse.

He was moody. And had a temper. And a strangely intimidating reputation. He and Quirrell were just too… just too different.

Now Voldemort realized he'd been the biggest fucking idiot for having a panic attack over getting coffee with his crush, but all of that had made enough sense to make him turn around and run the other way.

He hadn't even texted Quirrell. Just left him sitting there. Man, Voldemort was a piece of work.

Voldemort sighed and gripped the edge of the countertop, his sweaty palms leaving even more smudges for him to clean. He opened his mouth twice to speak, but he couldn't seem to get words to come out. What good were words, anyway? Words weren't going to get him out of this. Oh, no. Voldemort knew his mouth. Words were just going to make this situation worse.

Quirrell huffed, realizing that Voldemort wasn't going to answer him. "You kn-know, I ah-ah-agonized about whether I sh-should even ask you out. I th-thought you were going to be suh-such an asshole with all the things people s-say about you. Buh-but you were always so-so-so nice when I came in, so I tuh-took a chance. Thanks for proving me right."

Voldemort cringed at every word, feeling worse and worse with each passing syllable. "Yeah," he replied quietly. Shit. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Yeah, I'm a real asshole. You caught me."

Quirrell sighed again. Voldemort risked a glance up and saw Quirrell wearing a melancholy frown. His brow was furrowed too, as if he wasn't getting the reaction he anticipated. Shyly, he stepped closer until he could grab the countertop opposite of Voldemort. He hands were so close, Voldemort wanted to just reach out and slide his fingers through Quirrell's, pull him closer, lean across the counter and—

Bad idea. For one, Quirrell was royally pissed at him. For two, Voldemort's hands were really sweaty.

"I didn't come here to yell at you," Quirrell said quietly, his forefinger rubbing at a scratch on the countertop. He deflated a little, his eyes downcast and his shoulders slumped. "I ju-just wanted to know why. Wh-where you just playing around wi-with me from the start?"

Voldemort gaped at him, astonished and this horrified at himself for doing this to Quirrell. He hadn't just done something stupid—he'd hurt Quirrell. Hurt him more than he'd ever thought he could. All because Voldemort was an insecure little shit.

"Quirrell, man, listen, I—" Voldemort swallowed. This wasn't going how he'd hoped. Best to just be straightforward. The only kind of straight he knew how to be. Yeah. He opened his mouth again, looked up at Quirrell's disheartened expression, and everything he wanted to say evaporated from his mind.

Instead, he started babbling. "Okay, I screwed up, I get that. I don't even know why you're giving me a chance to explain myself because I'm a piece of shit and don't deserve it. I just—I got scared, okay? I saw you sitting in there drinking your tea and—and you looked so great—and you were reading that book just because you wanted to see if I'd like it—and I fucking panicked because everything I wanted was right there. Man, I've liked you for months. It's actually really pathetic; my friends were even betting about whether I had the balls to ask you out. They probably should've been betting about whether I had the balls to go to the date in the first place, and now I've fucked up my chances with you because I was so dumb, and—"

A hand wrapped around his, effectively cutting off his rambling. Voldemort gasped for air, his heart hammering wildly, and the realization that Quirrell was holding his hand only made it race faster. He looked down at Quirrell's fingers curled around his wrist and then back up at the man himself, whose expression had softened into something unreadable.

"I looked okay," said Quirrell with a shake of his head.

Voldemort shook his head right back. "You looked wonderful."

Quirrell gave a small nod. "So did you. I wuh-was upset I didn't get to have a closer look."

"What?" Voldemort tilted his head to the side. That couldn't be right. He'd been outside. No way Quirrell saw him!

Quirrell smiled fondly. No, that couldn't be right. Yeah, that was definitely fond. Voldemort didn't know what was happening. "Windows work buh-buh-both ways, Voldemort."

Voldemort swallowed. "Oh."

"Oh?"

"Right. Windows. Right. So, uh… so you saw me." Voldemort tried to pull his hand back, but Quirrell wasn't letting go just yet. Which was fine! Fine. Totally fine. Voldemort's heart would definitely still work after this.

"I did. You looked te-te-terrified, and then you r-ran. I didn't want to th-think the worst of you, but…."

"Yeah. My reputation." Voldemort was going to kill Bellatrix.

Quirrell shook his head patiently. "Not that. You're so… you're so cool, Voldemort. You h-have all these friends, and you're really—uh…." Blushing, he trailed off, his hand trembling. "You're really uh-uh-attractive."

Now was Voldemort's turn to blush. His whole face felt red. Compared to the sickly pale color of his skin, he doubted he looked very attractive now.

Quirrell looked down sullenly, his voice quiet as he said, "How could you ever be interested in me? I'm nuh-nuh-nothing."

No. No, no, no. Quirrell couldn't possibly think that about himself. Voldemort couldn't let that happen.

He turned his hand over to grip Quirrell's in return. "Quirrell. You're everything."

Quirrell's head snapped up in shock. His eyes frantically scanned Voldemort's face, searching for a lie that he'd never find. Voldemort was head over heels, more than whipped, and it was about time Quirrell realized that.

Then Quirrell leaned over the counter, grabbed Voldemort by the shoulder, and kissed him.

And that was the moment where Voldemort realized he would never recover.

Kissing Quirrell was everything that Voldemort had hoped it would be—soft, incredibly soft, and saccharine. Quirrell tasted like tea and honey, and Voldemort pressed closer to chase that flavor. He didn't even like tea, but he liked it on Quirrell. And so what if the counter was crushing his abdomen? Quirrell was smiling against his lips. Internal bleeding was worth it.

Quirrell leaned back, creating a small space between them where their breaths mingled in warm puffs that caressed Voldemort's cheeks. He was laughing, giddily, and so was Quirrell. This close, he could see the shades of brown that made up Quirrell's eyes, see them alight with excitement, happiness, and Voldemort was the reason why.

"I'm an idiot," he murmured, trying very hard not to kiss Quirrell again. He failed, leaning back in for another chaste press that Quirrell hummed into.

"Yes," Quirrell replied against his mouth, the word rolling sweetly from his tongue and onto Voldemort's. He stretched a bit, kissing Voldemort again, and man, if that wasn't addicting, Voldemort didn't know what was.

"Can you forgive me?" Voldemort bumped his nose against Quirrell's, delighting in the way Quirrell smiled at the gesture. "Will you give me another chance?"

Quirrell hummed again, considering, and leaned in for one more kiss that broke with his huge smile. "Yes."

"Yes?" Voldemort repeated in disbelief.

Quirrell laughed and leaned back, reaching up once to poke Voldemort's nose. They were still holding hands, and Voldemort was sure he never wanted to let go. "Yes! You owe muh-me a coffee."

"I owe you more than a coffee," Voldemort debated with a slight frown. "More like dinner and a movie of your choice."

Quirrell hummed, his expression suggesting he was unsatisfied with such an arrangement. "Sounds sh-short. Coffee after the movie?"

"Just name the day and time, and I'm yours," Voldemort decided, wondering if this was all a dream. Just earlier, he hadn't thought that Quirrell would ever speak to him again, and now they were discussing date plans and kissing and—

No. None of Voldemort's dreams would've ever measured up to this.

"What time do you get off today?" Quirrell asked, hope flickering in his eyes.

Voldemort frowned, his thumb rubbing against Quirrell's skin. He had nice skin. "I have to close the store tonight."

"No, you don't!" said Bellatrix from beside him. He jumped, dropping Quirrell's hand in the process. It was a good thing he did, too, because Bellatrix was shoving him around the counter then.

"I don't?" he repeated dumbly, his heart acting nuts again. One of these two was going to kill him. Voldemort would put his money on Bellatrix.

"Nope!" Bella answered, popping her p. She gave Voldemort a good shove in Quirrell's direction, and he only just managed to keep from falling right into the guy. "You, my lord, have plans. I can watch the shop until closing."

Voldemort frowned. This sounded incredibly irresponsible. "You won't light the place on fire, right?"

"Nonsense! You handled the traumatic event all on your own! I'm so proud of you," she cooed and clapped her hands delightedly.

"Now wait a damn—"

"I'll clock you out at close. Go have fun, boys!" Bellatrix waved to them dismissively, still grinning like a maniac. So like normal.

Swallowing, Voldemort turned around to face a rather bewildered Quirrell. "Uh… so about tonight. Looks like my schedule's free? So. Uh. Dinner, a movie, and then coffee?"

Quirrell blinked once. Then again. He looked over at Bellatrix then back at Voldemort. And he smiled.

Man, Voldemort didn't think anything could compare to that smile. He looked forward to kissing it off him once they had some privacy.

"Okay," said Quirrell and took Voldemort's hand. His eyes were warm and excited in anticipation.

And Voldemort grinned right back, squeezing Quirrell's hand. "Wonderful."