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“Bo, I swear to Merlin-”
“Just give me a minute, Kuroo! You’re pressuring me. You know I can’t work under pressure.”
“Apparently you can’t work at all! You said you could do this!”
“I can do it! Just shut up and let me think!”
The two of them were huddled in the shadowed corner of a second-floor corridor, Kuroo gripping a broomstick in each hand, Bokuto staring so intensely at his wand that it appeared he was trying to make it burst into flame. The only light came from the glow of the half-moon beyond a nearby window, barely bright enough for Bokuto to see the exasperated look on Kuroo’s face.
“Here,” said Kuroo, thrusting one of the brooms toward Bokuto. “I’ll do it myself.”
“No! You haven’t mastered it yet. Last time you tried I could still see you. You were like a blur, like a ghost, only opposite.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” said Kuroo, “and at least it’ll be better than what you’re going to do, which is apparently nothing.”
“I can do the charm, Kuroo. I did it on Komi yesterday and he was almost completely invisible.”
“Almost,” hissed Kuroo. “Almost isn’t good enough. Komi is a lot smaller than us, Bo. If you can’t disillusion him then you definitely can’t disillusion me. I don’t think I trust you to do it, anyway. You’ll probably turn me into a crup.”
“I’d like you better if you were a crup,” said Bokuto. “You wouldn’t be such a jerk.”
“You take that back.”
“Never.”
Kuroo shoved the broomstick at Bokuto, who grabbed it only to keep it from clattering to the floor. They were already making too much noise; if they weren’t careful, they would be noticed, and neither of them fancied getting caught out after curfew.
Again.
Kuroo dipped his free hand into his robes and pulled his wand. He scowled at Bokuto as he reached out and tapped it against the crown of his pale hair, with a touch more force than was strictly necessary.
Bokuto made a low sound of protest, shivering as the sensation trickled down his scalp and washed down to his feet. He blinked a few times, then held his fingers out in front of him. He could see straight through his hand; technically. The floor beyond them was fuzzy and distorted, like a scummy film coated his flesh.
He raised his head, and judging from Kuroo’s wince, he could still see the heat of Bokuto’s glare despite the incomplete invisibility.
“You’re supposed to be smart,” said Bokuto, scandalized.
“I am smart!” said Kuroo. “The ability to cast a disillusionment charm is not directly correlated with intelligence.”
“You’re a moron.”
“I am not! You’re being dramatic. I think it looks alright.”
Bokuto’s mouth was open to argue, but a third voice chimed in and made both of them whirl around.
“I think you need more practice.”
The voice was deep and cool, like the still lake waters at midnight. Bokuto whipped his head back and forth, searching the corridor. Then he looked up at the ceiling, just in case, but there was nothing floating around overhead, either.
He looked back down just as the air rippled a few yards away, like a stone dropped into the middle of a pond. Then the ripples sank, and suddenly there was a person standing there, looking at the two of them with disdain.
Bokuto’s heart stalled, then skittered so quickly that he briefly feared the possibility of cardiac arrest. He recognized the new arrival, and he couldn’t think of a worse person to run into at this time of night.
His name was Akaashi Keiji. He was a fifth-year Ravenclaw, newly appointed prefect, and potentially the love of Bokuto’s life.
They’d never spoken to each other, but Bokuto wasn’t bothered by that. It was his choice, actually. He’d always avoided Akaashi because he knew he would sound like an idiot if he tried to talk to him. Akaashi was too attractive. It was distracting.
“Remove the charm from your friend,” said Akaashi. He murmured a quiet lumos under his breath and his wand shone a bright light directly into Bokuto’s face. “I fear if it lingers for too long there may be detrimental side effects.”
“It’s not that bad,” complained Kuroo, even as he rapped the top of Bokuto’s head with his wand.
Bokuto yelped in protest, rubbing at his hair as a wash of warmth chased the fuzzy spell away from his body.
“It’s half past eleven,” said Akaashi, studying the pair of them. “I would ask why you’re roaming the halls this late, but the answer seems fairly obvious.” His gaze dipped down and Bokuto belatedly tried to hide his broom behind his back.
“Just trying to squeeze in a little extra practice before the game tomorrow,” said Kuroo. He gave one of his winning smiles, the ones that sometimes got him out of trouble. Kuroo was polite, charming, and came from a fairly prestigious wizarding family. Many of the professors had a soft spot for him, and he’d managed to slip out of trouble more times than Bokuto could count.
It seemed Akaashi wasn’t susceptible to Kuroo’s brand of charm.
“Fifty points from Slytherin,” said Akaashi, inflectionless. Kuroo sagged with a defeated sigh, and Akaashi turned his attention to Bokuto. “And fifty from Gryffindor.”
“Fifty?” repeated Bokuto, appalled. “Come on, that’s so much! Can you just do, like, ten? Or hey, just give us a warning? We won’t do it again, I swear! Right, Kuroo?”
“Alright,” said Akaashi. Bokuto swelled with delight, but then Akaashi continued, “Seventy-five points from Gryffindor, then. If you continue to argue, it will be more.”
“No, no, wait!” said Bokuto, waving his hands between them. “I’m sorry! I was just… wait, you’re a year below us. Are you even allowed to take points from your upperclassmen? That seems sort of weird, right?”
“One-hundred points.”
“No! Please, just-”
Kuroo slapped a hand over Bokuto’s mouth. “As much as I want to destroy Gryffindor for the House Cup, watching you throw points away like this is painful. Get ahold of yourself, Bo.”
Bokuto slapped him away, but kept his complaints to himself. He nearly smacked himself in the face with his broomstick as he folded his arms, scowling down at the floor.
“We’ll just head back to our dorms,” said Kuroo. “No more midnight adventures. We’ll be good students. Right, Bo?”
Bokuto huffed, not looking at either of them.
“See that you are,” said Akaashi, unimpressed. “If I catch either of you out again, I’ll report it to your respective head of house. I’m certain those consequences would be much worse than losing a few points.”
“A few points?” repeated Bokuto, affronted.
Kuroo jabbed him in the ribs hard enough to make him wheeze.
“Like I said, back to our dorms,” said Kuroo. He gave Bokuto a shove toward the stairs and hissed in his ear, “Get back before we get detention, you idiot. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“But what about extra practice?” said Bokuto. He tried to whisper it, but subtlety was not one of his talents.
“Shut up, Bo.”
“You’re so overly confident in your abilities that I don’t know why you believe you need extra practice,” said Akaashi. “Go. Now.”
Kuroo gave Bokuto another shove and they started toward the stairs, Akaashi watching after them with emotionless speculation.
Bokuto looked over his shoulder, then said, “Did you hear that? He thinks I’m such a good chaser that I don’t need extra practice!”
“That’s not exactly what he said, but whatever,” said Kuroo. They reached the stairs and he nudged Bokuto toward the ascending staircase. “Just try and get some sleep, alright? If you lose to Hufflepuff tomorrow I’m never speaking to you again. The final match is going to be Gryffindor and Slytherin, no matter what.”
Bokuto nodded. “Right. Of course we’ll win. I’m the best chaser in the whole school.”
“Yeah, sure, of course you are,” said Kuroo, patting him on the shoulder. “Goodnight, Bo.”
“’Night, Kuroo.”
They parted ways, and Bokuto spared only one last, lingering glance at Akaashi, who hadn’t moved from his spot in the middle of the corridor. Bokuto offered him a small, hesitant wave that wasn’t returned before climbing the stairs, his broomstick over his shoulder and a slight smile on his face.
Gryffindor won the game, and no one was very surprised. Despite his proclivity toward grandiose bragging, Bokuto truly was an excellent Quidditch player.
“Did you see that last score?” he said, voice booming in the high-ceilinged corridor. “That little guy thought he was gonna save the quaffle but I got in there and-”
“If I were you,” said Kuroo, cutting him short, “I wouldn’t call Yaku a little guy. He might be a Hufflepuff but he’ll still kick your ass.”
Bokuto brushed off the advice. “Whatever. I still beat him. I beat all of them, even their captain. I swear when we shook hands before the match he tried to crush my fingers. I’m not even joking, Kuroo.”
Kuroo snorted. “Yeah, I know. He did the same to me. Sawamura’s too competitive for his own good. Much like you.”
“It’s impossible to be too competitive,” scoffed Bokuto. “The only people who say that are the people who lose. Which will be you during our next match.”
Kuroo skipped a step and stuck his foot out in front of Bokuto, who tripped and nearly fell flat on his face. “We’ll see about that.”
“Hey! Don’t be such a-”
“You’re tracking dirt everywhere, Bokuto-san.”
The two of them went still, Bokuto’s hands fisted into the front of Kuroo’s robes. They looked at one another for a moment, then slowly turned their heads toward the end of the corridor.
Akaashi was there, frowning at the footprints Bokuto had left in his wake.
Bokuto’s grip slipped away from Kuroo, hands falling limply to his sides. His post-victory bravado was washed away, replaced by uncertainty.
None of them spoke, and Akaashi finally looked up at them, one brow raised. “That was your cue to cast a scourgify charm and clean up after yourself.”
“Oh,” said Bokuto. He reached for his wand, abandoned the motion halfway through, and let his arm fall again. “I, uh… I mean, of course I can do the charm, I’m not an idiot, but… Well, my mom always does all the housework, so I don’t really-”
“So you expect someone else to clean up after you,” said Akaashi. “That’s unsurprising.”
Bokuto’s indignation was punctured by a twist of shame. “Well no, that’s not what I… Okay, yeah, you’re right. I’ll clean it up.” He reached for his wand, more slowly this time, and slipped it out of his scarlet Quidditch robes. He glanced at Kuroo, who was far too smug, before frowning down at the floor. “Scourgify.”
Some of the dirt disappeared. A very, very small amount of the dirt. Most of it remained in place, mocking him.
Kuroo burst into ugly laughter.
Bokuto felt his face getting warm, grip tightening around his wand. “Shut up, Kuroo.”
Akaashi approached, stepping carefully around the trail of dirt. His own wand was in his hand, held lightly by long, pale fingers. “It’s fortunate that you’re skilled at Quidditch,” said Akaashi. “Perhaps you can make a career of it and employ someone as a full-time assistant to clean up after you. Scourgify.”
At once, the corridor was pristine. The stone floor appeared freshly polished, and the only evidence of Bokuto’s mess was the dirt still caked on the sides of his shoes.
“Wow,” said Bokuto, awed. “You’re really good at spells, Akaashi.”
“Thank you.”
Bokuto started to say something else, stopped, then blurted, “I’m sorry about last night! I didn’t mean to argue with you, I just didn’t want to lose any house points. I just really want to win the House Cup this year.”
Akaashi considered him, and although his face didn’t change, Bokuto felt his own tension easing away.
“You shouldn’t be concerned about that, Bokuto-san,” said Akaashi. “I’m certain your win against Slytherin in the final match will tip the points in your favor.”
“Hey!” said Kuroo, his complacency melting into offense. “What’s that supposed to mean? Slytherin is totally going to win.”
Akaashi raised a brow. “Whatever you say, Kuroo-san.” He continued down the corridor, tossing one last glance over his shoulder at Bokuto. “Good luck in the final match.”
Bokuto stared after him until he was out of sight, then he turned on Kuroo with a grin so wide that it threatened to split his face. “Did you hear that? Akaashi told me good luck! He thinks I’m going to win!”
“Clearly he has bad judgment,” said Kuroo. He pushed Bokuto back a step and started down the corridor again, Bokuto following on his heels. “I don’t know why you’re so happy about this. He just knocked one hundred points away from Gryffindor last night. Did you forget that already?”
“Of course I didn’t forget! But you heard him just now, right? He’s thinks I’m the best chaser ever! He said I’m going to win!”
“You’re making up at least half of that.”
“Do you think he likes me?” said Bokuto, a little more quietly. He glanced around, as if making sure Akaashi hadn’t suddenly reappeared. “Kuroo, does he like me?”
“I doubt he likes anyone,” said Kuroo. “He doesn’t seem very friendly.”
“Of course he is! He told me good luck.”
“He was probably being sarcastic.”
“He was not!”
“Whatever, Bo,” said Kuroo. He stretched his leg out again, but this time Bokuto hopped over it. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
“Shut up. I think he likes me.” Bokuto slid him a narrow-eyed glare.
“Alright, fine,” said Kuroo. “Maybe he does.”
“You bet he does. He’s my soulmate. We’re going to grow old together.”
Kuroo snorted. “You’ve only spoken to him twice in your entire life.”
“So far,” said Bokuto. “We’ll talk more soon. Because he likes me. You’ll see.”
The following morning, Bokuto trudged down to the Great Hall, as usual. The only difference was that he was twice as tired as he was on most mornings. He’d stayed up too late celebrating their victory. He’d known it was a bad idea, and he’d noticed the time around midnight and thought to himself that he should go to bed, but someone (probably Hinata, their highly enthusiastic seeker) had prompted him to start the sixteenth retelling of his last amazing score. Before he’d known it, the clock had struck four a.m. and he was left with a bare three hours of sleep.
His shoes scuffed against the polished floor as he dragged himself through the towering doors. The warm chatter of voices flowed around him as he moved forward with the approximate awareness of a zombie. His body took him to the Slytherin table on autopilot, where he plopped down next to Kuroo, folded his arms on the table, and buried his face in them.
“You stayed up too late again, huh?” said Kuroo. He didn’t sound even a little sympathetic.
Bokuto gave an incoherent grumble.
“I think it’s good that Gryffindor had a big celebration last night.” That voice was sly and smooth, and even through his tired haze, Bokuto recognized Oikawa immediately. “It’s good for them to enjoy the small things now, since they’ll suffer a crushing defeat when they play against us.”
There was a weight across Bokuto’s back, which was probably Kuroo resting his elbow on him. “True,” said Kuroo. “You’re my best friend, Bo, but we’re going to stomp you.”
“Shut up,” said Bokuto, the words muffled into his sleeve. “You guys suck.”
Kuroo snorted, and the weight on Bokuto’s back disappeared. “Then why’d you ask me to practice with you the other night?”
Bokuto mumbled something that even he didn’t understand. A few minutes later, when Kuroo shook his shoulder, he realized he’d dozed off.
“Here,” said Kuroo, pushing a goblet of pumpkin juice into his hand. “You’ll be more awake after you eat. Just don’t fall asleep with food in your mouth again. If you choke and die I’m going to make fun of your ghost for all eternity.”
“You’re a jerk,” Bokuto said, even as he sipped at the pumpkin juice. When he’d drank half, he started picking at the plates closest to him, until his appetite finally stirred and he began to eat with more enthusiasm. Kuroo and Oikawa were still talking, but Bokuto blocked them out easily.
He’d just reached across the table to grab more toast when movement from the Ravenclaw table caught his attention.
Akaashi stood, murmured something to his friend, and started toward the door.
Bokuto stood up so fast he nearly toppled backward off of the bench.
“What’s your problem, Bo?” said Kuroo, reaching out to steady him. He followed the direction of Bokuto’s stare. “Oh. That’s your problem. Go get him, then. Try not to say anything stupid.”
“Akaashi Keiji?” said Oikawa, leaning forward. “Really? Please don’t tell me you think you have a chance with him. The Akaashis are nearly as prestigious as the Oikawas. He can trace his ancestors back hundreds of years.”
“Shut up, Oikawa,” said Kuroo. “Keep your elitist bullshit to yourself.”
“I’m not an elitist, Tetsu-chan. I’m just stating a fact.”
“Well if all that is true, then it’s also a fact that you shouldn’t be best friends with that Gryffindor mudblood.”
“Don’t you dare call him that,” snapped Oikawa, voice dripping with venom.
That was the last that Bokuto heard of their argument. He was jogging past the long table, fiddling with his hair, wishing he’d taken the time to fix it when he’d crawled out of bed that morning.
He reached the arching doorway just as Akaashi was turning toward the stairs.
“Akaashi!”
He stopped and looked over his shoulder, raising a brow when he saw Bokuto rushing toward him. “Yes?”
Bokuto opened his mouth to speak, but realized he hadn’t yet thought of anything to say. He hesitated, aware of Akaashi’s expectant stare, and finally said, “Uh, hey.”
“Hello.”
“How, uh… how are you?”
“I’m fine, Bokuto-san. And yourself?”
“Great!” said Bokuto, a little too loudly. “Good. I’m, uh… I’m good.”
Akaashi watched him for a moment, and when it seemed Bokuto would say nothing else, he again turned toward the stairs.
“Hey, wait!” said Bokuto, following. “Where are you going?”
“To get my books before class.”
“Can I go?”
Akaashi’s brow rose again. “You want to go to my dorm?”
“Huh? No! I mean, uh… Can I walk you there? To your common room, I mean. I know I’m not really supposed to go inside.”
He expected Akaashi to say no, or at least ask why Bokuto was suggesting such a thing, but Akaashi gave in with a simple, “Sure.”
He started walking, and it took Bokuto a few seconds to pull himself together and catch up.
He walked alongside Akaashi, extremely aware of his arms swinging limply at his sides. He crossed them, but that felt worse, so he let them drop again. “So what class do you have this morning, Akaashi?”
“Divination.”
“I never took that. It sounded kind of dumb.”
Akaashi hummed. “That depends on the student.”
“I have potions,” said Bokuto, though Akaashi hadn’t asked. “I’m supposed to get really good grades so I can take it next year, too, but it’s hard. Sometimes I blow stuff up and the professor gets mad. Kuroo is in that class with me. You know Kuroo. But he won’t be my partner anymore because he says I’m a safety hazard.” Bokuto huffed a sigh and chanced a glanced at Akaashi. He hoped he hadn’t said too much. He didn’t want Akaashi to think he was stupid.
“I’m good with Potions,” said Akaashi. “I can help you, if you’d like.”
Bokuto stopped walking. When Akaashi realized he’d fallen behind, he stopped, too.
“Really?” said Bokuto. “You’d really help me?”
“It isn’t a big deal, Bokuto-san,” said Akaashi. “It would help me prepare for next year, also. We can meet up sometime and go over some things.”
“Okay!” said Bokuto. His smile split his face. “That would be great! Thanks, Akaashi!”
Akaashi’s stare lingered on him before he turned away. “Of course, Bokuto-san.”
Bokuto walked with him up to the Ravenclaw common room, and he felt like he was floating.
Akaashi stopped a few paces away from the door. Bokuto stopped with him, belatedly realizing that Akaashi was waiting for him to leave.
“Oh!” said Bokuto. “I guess I should go. I’ll talk to you later, though? About potions?”
“Yes, Bokuto-san,” said Akaashi. “We can meet in the library after dinner, if you’d like.”
“Yes!” said Bokuto, a bit too loudly. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice to add, “Yeah, that’s… that’s good. I’ll see you there.”
Akaashi nodded, and Bokuto turned to retreat back the way they’d come. He looked over his shoulder only once, but Akaashi had already gone inside the common room.
Bokuto loped down the stairs toward the Great Hall to find Kuroo. He was smiling so widely that his face ached.
Study sessions with Akaashi weren’t quite what Bokuto had anticipated.
In his head, he’d imagined sitting so closely beside Akaashi that their knees touched, a couple of candles on the table to set a romantic mood, Akaashi’s hand brushing against his as he corrected his work.
Instead, Bokuto felt like he was sitting through class again. Only this time he couldn’t hide behind his classmates and hope the professor didn’t notice he was slacking off.
“You’re still doing the conversions wrong, Bokuto-san,” said Akaashi, pointing at the parchment with tip of his quill. He was across the table from Bokuto – not beside him – and even upside-down, he never failed to miss one of Bokuto’s mistakes. “I explained this to you already. Do I need to go over it again?”
“No,” mumbled Bokuto, sinking a little in his chair. “I remember.”
“Then why are you doing it wrong?”
“I don’t know,” said Bokuto. He sank lower. “I guess I’m just dumb.”
Akaashi sighed, and though Bokuto could feel his sharp eyes, he didn’t raise his own. He stared at his parchment, the black letters blurring as he refused to blink.
This was the third week of their tutoring sessions. Akaashi was only a fifth year, but he still breezed through Bokuto’s homework without effort. He was intelligent, and attractive, and it was becoming more clear to Bokuto that Oikawa was right.
Bokuto didn’t have a chance with someone like Akaashi.
He slumped over and rested his forehead against the table, nearly tipping over his ink well.
Accepting Akaashi’s help with Potions was stupid. There was no way Akashi would ever like him now, when he’d witnessed Bokuto’s inadequacies firsthand.
“Bokuto-san?” said Akaashi.
Bokuto acknowledged him with a grunt.
“Would you like to take a break?”
“Doesn’t matter,” mumbled Bokuto. “I won’t be any smarter after a break.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” said Akaashi. “Pack up your stuff. Let’s go for a walk.”
Bokuto didn’t want to go for a walk, but he didn’t want to stay there and soak in his own failure, either. He shoved everything into his bag, tossed it over his shoulder, and dragged his feet as he followed Akaashi out of the library. He kept his head down, watching the end of Akaashi’s robe flapping about his feet as he walked. He only realized after they’d ascended a flight of stairs that Akaashi wasn’t taking him outside, as Bokuto had expected.
“’Kaashi?” he said. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
It wasn’t a satisfactory answer, and it only made Bokuto more curious, but he was still so bogged down by his bad mood that he didn’t bother prying. Akaashi was probably going to take him up to Gryffindor tower, drop him off at the door, and tell him that he never wanted to see him again.
Instead, Akaashi veered toward the Ravenclaw common room, and Bokuto’s interest rose.
“Curfew is soon,” said Bokuto quietly. Akaashi tapped a door with his wand and it swung inward.
“I’m a prefect,” said Akaashi. He waved Bokuto through and locked the door behind them. Beyond was a spiraling set of stairs that rose beyond Bokuto’s range of vision.
They climbed the stairs together, and before they’d reached the top, Bokuto had already forgotten about his trouble with Potions. They emerged onto a landing that overlooked the grounds. The lake was a distant smudge to the east, the forbidden forest looming like a vast shadow. Stars were scattered above them like a sea of diamonds.
“Where are we?” asked Bokuto, rushing to the waist-height wall and peering over the edge. “I’ve never been in this part of the castle before.”
“That’s because it’s off-limits,” said Akaashi, stepping up beside him. He propped his elbows on the ledge and raised a brow at Bokuto. “We would both get detention for being up here, despite my prefect status. I trust you won’t tell anyone.”
“Of course not!” said Bokuto. “I would never get you in trouble, Akaashi. I’m good at secrets.”
That wasn’t entirely true. Whenever Bokuto was excited about something, it tended to spill out of his mouth, whether he wanted it to or not. The year before, he’d accidentally told Kuroo’s mother about the time they’d sneaked out into the muggle city when Bokuto had stayed over during summer break. The year before that, he’d unintentionally told one of his professors that he’d copied Kuroo’s homework because he had no idea how to complete the assignment. A month after he’d become friends with Kuroo, he’d accidentally blurted out his half-blood status, and had feared that Kuroo would no longer wish to be friends with him.
All of those things had worked out, but Bokuto wasn’t taking any chances this time.
He could keep a secret for Akaashi, if no one else.
“Why’re we up here?” asked Bokuto.
Akaashi shrugged his bag off of his shoulders and placed it on the ground. He followed it down, sitting with his back against the wall and his head tilted back, studying the stars. Bokuto quickly dropped down to join him.
“The reason you have trouble with your schoolwork,” said Akaashi, “is that you’re too high-strung. You’re trying to do your work, but at the same time there are fifteen other things going on in your head. You need to relax, and breathe, and learn how to focus. You’re smart enough to make at least an E in Potions, Bokuto-san. You need to have more confidence in yourself and stop worrying over every little mistake.”
Bokuto heard everything he said, but forgot it all immediately, fixating on one particular word. “You think I’m smart?”
Akaashi sighed, but smiled, just barely. “Yes, I think you’re smart. Often in an unconventional way, but you are certainly smart.”
Bokuto thought his chest would burst beneath his swell of joy. “Thanks, Akaashi! You’re smart, too. Like, super smart. You’re probably the smartest person I’ve ever met.”
“Thank you, Bokuto-san.”
Bokuto felt the urge to say more. He always felt the urge to say more. But Akaashi reclined back against the wall to gaze up at the stars, and Bokuto stayed quiet to mimic him.
It was peaceful, beautiful. The only sounds were those of the wind through distant trees, the occasional rustle of their shifting clothing, and Akaashi’s soft breaths beside him. Bokuto fidgeted, and their shoulders bumped.
Akaashi glanced at him, and Bokuto murmured a low apology.
Akaashi huffed a breath, and leaned slightly into him. “Hush, Bokuto-san.”
Bokuto smiled, his cheeks warming, and relaxed against Akaashi to watch the stars.
Bokuto earned an E on his exam. The grade was nice, but telling Akaashi that he’d passed was even better.
Akaashi gave him a genuine smile and said, “Good job, Bokuto-san.”
Bokuto glowed for hours afterward.
With his most dreaded exam out of the way, the following weekend was the final quidditch match that would determine that year’s winner of the House Cup. Bokuto was looking forward to it, because he saw no feasible way that his team could lose to Slytherin, but he wasn’t as obsessed over the match as he normally would have been.
He spent a good portion of his time thinking about Akaashi instead, and the fact that he now had no good reason to spend time with him since his tutoring sessions were over.
Akaashi was busier than ever, cramming in a mass of last-minute studying sessions in preparation for OWLs the following week. He looked as if he wasn’t sleeping enough, but Bokuto didn’t know if Akaashi would get angry at him for mentioning it. In fact, he wasn’t sure if Akaashi even wanted to talk to him at all.
Bokuto spent three days worrying over it, half-convinced that Akaashi had only been helping him out because he felt sorry for him, half-convinced that Akaashi secretly wanted Bokuto to approach him. In the end, the latter voice in his head won out when he was slumped over at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, the morning of the quidditch match.
“You should eat.”
A plate was pushed in front of Bokuto, so piled up with food that it threatened to spill over onto the table. He looked up to find Ushijima watching him.
Ushijima Wakatoshi was the captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team. Bokuto liked him because Ushijima was an excellent Chaser, but also had a childish grudge against him because if Ushijima hadn’t been chosen as captain, Bokuto knew he would’ve been the next best choice.
Besides, Bokuto was a really good Chaser, too. He didn’t like thinking anyone was better than him, especially not someone on the same team.
“Don’t really feel like it,” mumbled Bokuto, pushing the plate away.
“You will perform better if you are well-nourished,” said Ushijima. He looked pointedly to the side, where Hinata was stuffing his face with black pudding.
It was a nice sentiment, but Bokuto knew all of that food would probably reemerge in the few minutes before the match started. Hinata had gotten better with his pre-game nerves, but he still got antsy before important matches.
“Let him be,” said Iwaizumi, eyeing the pair of them over a forkful of eggs. “He’ll eat if he wants.”
Iwaizumi was the final member of their Chaser trio. The three of them had scored more points that season than any other team combined. Their beaters could use some work, and their keeper wasn’t spectacular, but Gryffindor had the best Chasers of any team in decades.
In Bokuto’s opinion, anyway.
He looked away from Ushijima’s disapproving stare in time to catch sight of Akaashi entering the Great Hall. He took his usual spot near the end of the Ravenclaw table, and Bokuto was on his feet before he’d even decided to stand.
“I’ll be back,” he said, waving vaguely as he shuffled away from his teammates.
Akaashi didn’t look up as he approached. He didn’t acknowledge him at all until Bokuto plopped down beside him. Bokuto tried to smile, but it fell flat. “Hey, ‘Kaashi.”
Akaashi studied him, dark rings lurking beneath his eyes from a night of studying. Bokuto figured he sported the same rings, but his sleepless night came from a different source. “Have some toast, Bokuto-san,” said Akaashi, pressing a piece into his hand.
Bokuto stared down at it, considered, and munched on one crunchy corner. Akaashi slid a bowl of jam toward him, and the two of them ate in companionable silence.
“Your last match is soon,” said Akaashi.
“Yeah,” said Bokuto, his stomach swooping with dread.
“There is no need to be nervous, Bokuto-san,” said Akaashi. “Slytherin has good players, but overall, Gryffindor is better this year. It is likely that you will win.”
Bokuto’s worries eased, just a bit. “You really think so?”
“Of course,” said Akaashi. “Your team is excellent. Their best asset is you, Bokuto-san. If you play as well as you have during the other matches this year, you will win for sure.”
Bokuto’s stomach swooped again, but this time it wasn’t with dread. “’Kaashi,” he said. His face felt hot. “Do you really mean that?”
Akaashi smiled. It made his eyes softer. He covered Bokuto’s hand with his own, just briefly, before standing. “I mean it. Good luck, Bokuto-san.”
He walked away, and Bokuto felt like he was floating.
That happy, content feeling followed Bokuto out of the Great Hall, down to the quidditch pitch, and up to the unsteady moment before the match began.
He stood on the field, breath fogging in the unseasonably cold air. His fingers shook, but he couldn’t blame the weather for that. It was a mixture of nerves and excitement and the quick glimpse he’d caught of Akaashi up in the Ravenclaw section of the stands.
Ushijima stepped out of their lineup to shake Kuroo’s hand. Kuroo grinned, wide and confident, and his eyes slid sideways to Bokuto. He gave him a wink that was both playful and competitive before turning back to his team. Oikawa murmured something to him, his sharp eyes slicing to Bokuto’s left, where Iwaizumi stood with his arms folded, and beside him, where Hinata bounced in unbridled enthusiasm.
Slytherin had a good team. Bokuto couldn’t deny that.
Kuroo and Oikawa were excellent, but their beaters – Matsukawa and Tendou – were impressive in their own right. Bokuto had taken a hard fall from a well-placed bludger stricken by Tendou the year before, and he’d spent several hours in the hospital wing after that lost match. From the way Tendou eyed them now, speculative gaze lingering on Ushijima, Bokuto thought they were in for a rough game.
He looked up to the stands again, seeking Akaashi, failing to find him again in the mass of students.
But he was there, and once Bokuto was in the air, maybe he would see him.
A whistle sounded, and Bokuto mounted his broom. He took a breath, waited for the signal, and then he was flying.
Once the match started, he forgot to be nervous, and he forgot the possibility of being injured by a well-placed bludger, and he forgot that Akaashi would see any mistakes he made.
The only thought in his mind was winning, and it was exactly what he intended to do.
The match dragged on for two hours. It was the longest one of the year, and the longest one of Bokuto’s short quidditch career.
It was brutal. Tendou was a constant presence, wielding his bat with a flourish and a leer, flinging bludgers every time someone let their guard down. Bokuto dodged them all, some with only centimeters to spare. One had ruffled the side of his hair as it had shot past and he’d nearly been startled off of his broom.
Kuroo was the Slytherin captain, but it was Oikawa directing their plays, sidling up to his teammates to whisper in their ears, orchestrating maneuvers that left Bokuto’s head spinning.
More than once he thought they were going to lose. More than once he felt the inevitable pull of hopelessness, of a mood swing that would leave him all but useless to his teammates. Each time the dread began to settle, he swooped nearer to the stands, searching for a glimpse of Akaashi among the spectators, using his presence as a shield against his own black thoughts.
Bokuto pushed through, and after two hours of sweat and strain and struggle, the crowd erupted into a deafening cheer that could only signal the conclusion of the match. Bokuto spun in the air, dipped low to dodge a belated bludger, his heart in his throat. His breath was so loud in his ears that he couldn’t hear the commentary, couldn’t hear who’d won. Their scores had been nearly even. It came down to who had gotten the snitch, which seeker had bested the other.
He searched through his teammates, floating near him, and the other side of the pitch, where the Slytherin players were still suspended midair. Then he dropped his search to the ground, where Hinata sailed around in circles with his arms raised in triumph, the golden snitch fluttering between his fingers.
They had won the match. They had won the House Cup. Gryffindor had won.
Bokuto shot toward the ground so fast that his stomach lurched. He nearly knocked Hinata off of his broom as he sailed into him, seizing him in an awkward embrace, their shouts of victory lost among the louder shouts of the spectators.
The rest of their team descended to join the huddle, and everything after that started to blur.
Ushijima congratulated them in his typical unruffled manner, though his eyes were bright and his mouth wasn’t quite as stern as usual. Hinata bounced more than he walked, still brimming with energy even after the grueling match. They lined up in front of the Slytherin team, and though Kuroo smiled ruefully, his teammates did not. Oikawa was furious, and when Ushijima tried to speak to him, it seemed Oikawa barely restrained himself from lashing out.
Normally, Bokuto would have been concerned. Even though Oikawa had a tendency to pester him and he was a bit intimidating at times, Bokuto still didn’t want to see him upset.
But glee sang so brightly in his blood that he didn’t have much worry to spare.
The post-game rituals were a rush of motion and voices and triumph, and soon Bokuto was walking back toward the castle, a skip in his step, golden eyes scanning the students who trekked away from the quidditch pitch.
He didn’t have to search for long. Akaashi waited by the mouth of the path, blue scarf bundled at his neck, hands tucked into his pockets, breath fogging in the cold air.
“Akaaashi!” Bokuto hustled toward him, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. “We won, ‘Kaashi! You were right!”
“I usually am,” said Akaashi. His mouth quirked to one side, and his eyes softened. “You did well, Bokuto-san. Congratulations.”
“Thanks!” said Bokuto. His heart did a quick somersault. “Did you see that really tough point I scored, when I dove past Kuroo and had to do a barrel roll to not get hit in the face?”
“I did,” said Akaashi. “I saw all of the points you scored.”
Bokuto grinned, and a blur of motion in the corner of his eye pulled his attention away. Specks of white danced in the air, a light scatter of snow falling much too late in the season. There was something comforting about it, something that was worth the numbness of Bokuto’s fingers.
“Anyone could tell just by looking at you that you played a rough game,” said Akaashi, Bokuto’s attention immediately snapping back to him. “Your hair is a wreck, Bokuto-san.”
He reached between them and combed fingers through Bokuto’s hair, arranging it away from his forehead, lingering longer than was necessary.
Bokuto didn’t complain. He couldn’t have, because he’d stopped breathing.
Akaashi dropped his hand away but Bokuto caught it, pressing Akaashi’s cold fingers against his face, cherishing the contact.
He thought Akaashi might pull away, but he only took a step closer.
“Thanks, ‘Kaashi,” said Bokuto quietly.
“For what?”
“For telling me I could win,” said Bokuto, leaning into Akaashi’s touch. “For helping me out so much. You’re a good friend.”
Akaashi raised a brow, mouth curving. “Just a friend?”
Bokuto’s cheeks felt warm, despite the arctic air. “No. Well, maybe. Whatever you want to be.”
“I want to be your friend,” said Akaashi, the words a low murmur. They were so close now that the fog of their breath mingled in the air between them. “But also something more.”
“Yeah,” said Bokuto, his voice only a thin whisper. “Yeah, me too.”
Akaashi smiled, and it stole the cold breath from Bokuto’s lungs.
Akaashi kissed him, and though his face was cold, his mouth was warm.
In that moment, with the springtime snow swirling around them, with Akaashi’s lips on his and the scalding heat of victory in his chest, Bokuto had never been happier.