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It’s not that nobody wants them to win. There’s an entire quadrant of yellow cheering them on, willing the team forward. Yukhei wants so badly to embrace them all, he wants to look each and every one of them in the eye and say, “We can do it.” But, nobody actually expects them to win.
They’re against Gryffindor, against a seeker with an unbreakable record, against a team that had been so impressive they’d prompted several national squads to scout them out. Yukhei isn’t putting himself down, not really; he knows he’s got talent for flight, had proven it to his year mates the first time he got up on a broom, how easily he’d glided around tight spaces, how intuitively he’d shifted his weight to manoeuvre, how fast he could go. But again, it’s Jaehyun he’s up against. The youngest seeker to make the team in over a century when he’d first arrived at Hogwarts; the Red Streak, as they now call him, because there’s just no keeping up.
They spy the snitch at roughly the same time, flitting delicately about. Yukhei narrows his focus down to the deft, tiny object, and takes off. Ten had reminded him right before the game, “If you want a chance at beating Jaehyun to the snitch, you can’t afford any distractions. Leave the rest to us.” What makes Jaehyun such a brilliant seeker is his single-mindedness and intent. He locks on, and never lets go. Yukhei has to match that.
So when a bludger comes careening towards him, Yukhei suppresses his reflexive instinct to jerk away, and continues straight down his path. There’s a yellow flash in the corner of his eye, and a dull thump, and the bludger hurtles away from him.
He hears the announcer’s cry, Close save by Hufflepuff’s captain, the encouraged roar of their crowd, and Yukhei feels the corner of his mouth curve up. Both teams sense the pending culmination of the match, seeing the seekers fly in an almost penned out trajectory, following a lead that only the two of them can see. More red-clad players zoom towards him, trying to shove him out of position, but Yukhei ignores them, trusts, trusts in his teammates as they clear the path for him.
He pushes forth until he’s toe to toe with Jaehyun. They’re leaning forward now at full speed, the wind cutting at their faces, and dimly, Yukhei can feel the line of heat running shoulder to calf from where he’s pressed up against Jaehyun. Yukhei stretches his arm out, straining, but the snitch dances just out of reach.
He’s not going to give this up. And neither, for that matter, will Jaehyun. The Gryffindor seeker is jostling forcefully against him, trying to tip his balance. What Yukhei has over Jaehyun is a slightly longer reach, and he’s got to use that to his advantage. Now, before he loses this window of opportunity. He reaches forward again, and in a split second decision, launches himself off his broom, toward the snitch, in a last ditch attempt to capture it before Jaehyun.
For a terrifying second, he thinks he’s lost it. But his heart stops when his hands close around something small, metal, and cold.
It doesn’t even matter that he’s tumbled off his broom, and that he’s fast approaching the ground—what are a couple of broken bones anyway? Compared to the way the announcer is completely losing his shit, Hufflepuff’s seeker has got it, he’s beaten the Red Streak I don’t believe it, they’ve done the impossible, they’ve won!
Jungwoo, bless him, swoops down and catches him, one arm wrapped securely around his waist, saving him from a painful visit to the infirmary. And then he’s on the ground, his team converging around him, yelling themselves hoarse, along with the yellow multitude of supporters erupting in a frenzy. Ten brackets his face, “You’ve done it, you’ve done it Yukhei,” and Yukhei wants to return, No, Captain—we did it. Their team has their arms around each other, and Yukhei doesn’t want to let go; he wants to immortalize this moment, be sure that he’ll never forget the way Ten looks with his eyes crinkled toward the sky, or how Jungwoo looks pumping a fist high in the air, or how Donghyuk looks with his arms stretched out toward the crowd, as if saying, “Yes, yes, we’ve got it.”
The whistle pulls them apart for a second, and they line up to shake with the Gryffindor team. Yukhei stops a little at Jaehyun, nervous all of a sudden. The seeker’s shoulders slope with disappointment. But he nods at Yukhei, and says quietly, “Good game.”
“You too,” Yukhei returns instantly, sincerely, because he hopes for Jaehyun to understand that the only reason why he managed to pull off something so spectacular was because Jaehyun had given him no choice but to do so.
Jaehyun gazes at him, assessing and intent, and Yukhei tries not to shrivel away. It happens in a second, the way Jaehyun’s features soften, just a fraction, to give Yukhei a small smile. And then he turns, and Yukhei is left with his chest tight, the feeling almost as acute as when he’d pushed off his broom into thin air, with nothing below to break his fall.
--
The euphoria carries Yukhei through the week in a daze. He singes the beetle he’s supposed to transfigure into a button, sets off a minor explosion in his cauldron, and lets loose an entire pen of Bowtruckles in his carelessness.
He’s made to stay behind after class to recapture them. “You should stop spacing out,” Mark chides, watching as Yukhei stumbles over his robes chasing after the feisty one he’s not-so-fondly christened angry-branch. “You might actually notice some things you should probably be aware of.”
Yukhei huffs, out of breath and still nowhere close to catching angry-branch, who’s waving its twig-like arms smugly in Yukhei’s direction. “Like what?”
Mark grins, mischievous. “Like all this new attention you’re getting.”
Since their win, he’s been asked out to Hogsmeade three times, and he’s got a mini first-year fan club now, headed by an overenthusiastic Chenle. He doesn’t think it’s anything out of the extraordinary. After all, Ten’s got a fan club in every cohort. And don’t get him started on Jaehyun, who has a fan club in the teaching department.
“Hm,” Mark only says, in that infuriating manner that makes it clear he thinks he knows something Yukhei doesn’t, “speaking of which.”
Yukhei jerks his head up, and feels his face redden when he catches Jaehyun watching him amusedly from the sidelines. “Accio Bowtruckle,” he calls, accomplishing what Yukhei had been meaning to for the better part of the afternoon in two seconds.
“His name’s angry-branch,” Yukhei says indignantly, “and I totally had him.”
Jaehyun has the gall to raise an eyebrow at him. “Oh yes, sure looked like it.”
“Oh-kay,” Mark cuts in with exaggerated casualness. “I’ll just leave the two of you alone.”
Yukhei glares, but Mark ignores it and makes a show of exiting, snapping not-so-discreet finger guns at him. Jaehyun saunters up to him, still holding his wayward Bowtruckle like a trophy. “You’re better at catching snitches than you are at these.”
Yukhei scowls, but it’s half-hearted. “You’re probably better at catching snitches than you are at giving compliments.” He’ll take it though, and pretend it doesn’t make his pulse jump with mildly suppressed glee.
“You got me,” Jaehyun admits. He deposits angry-branch back into the pen, cooing ever so slightly at the disgruntled creature, and Yukhei has to try hard not to stare. “It’s tough for me to acknowledge that there’s someone out there who’s just as good.”
“Maybe even better,” Yukhei suggests.
That earns him a smirk. “You wish, I’ll snatch the snitch right out from under your nose the next time.”
Jaehyun looks friendly like that, with his lips curved up and a glint in his eyes. It’s disarming. “You can try,” Yukhei says in a fit of daring, because that’s a challenge if he’s ever heard one, and he’s not about to back down. “Game?”
--
Yukhei isn’t sure what to expect when he shows up at dusk. Maybe the whole Gryffindor team will be there for a hazing, and they’ll toss him up in the air and pelt bludgers at him. Or maybe Jaehyun’s a lot nicer than people make him out to be, Red Streak and all, and he’ll just give Yukhei the smack down he deserves. He’s not sure which one’s worse.
It turns out the training grounds are deserted save for Jaehyun. He’s shed his robes, leaving his shirt rolled up to his forearms. Yukhei blinks slowly, and forcibly swivels his attention to the snitch enclosed in Jaehyun’s palm. “How d’you get that?”
Jaehyun grins at him. “Nicked it. Don’t tell Taeyong.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Yukhei says dryly. At the back of his mind, he hears Jungwoo in his prefect voice chiding him for hanging out with rule breakers, but Yukhei can’t find it in him to care.
“So?” Jaehyun says, challenging and playful all at once. “Best of three?”
He opens his hand. The snitch hovers uncertainly for a moment, and then as if sensing freedom, zips off into the air. They give it a ten second head start, and take off after it. It’s like the match all over again, except without the overwhelming expectations, pressure, and adrenaline that come with it. Yukhei finds himself laughing as Jaehyun shoves light-heartedly into him, trying to knock him off course. He shifts his weight and pushes back against Jaehyun, feeling the oddly familiar heat of his body as they chase the golden ball. There’s no time limit this time either, so Yukhei watches with barely concealed awe as Jaehyun performs trick moves mid-air, and then swerve back into position with seemingly no effort.
Jaehyun catches the snitch first. They go again, and he wins again. And again.
Yukhei can’t find it in him to be annoyed. He’s a little star struck, to be honest.
“Did you beat me by a fluke?” Jaehyun asks after the third time, but Yukhei doesn’t detect any spite in his question. In the dim glow of the lamps, the seeker’s sharp features look gentle.
“Please, I’m just afraid you wouldn’t be able to handle another loss. To a rookie, no less.”
Jaehyun flops down on his back on the grass, letting out a bark of laughter. “You’re not bad, for a rookie.”
Yukhei watches him, the satisfied tilt of his mouth, the rosy glow in his cheeks that comes after vigorous play, the relaxed curve of his shoulders. It’s tempting to reach out and touch, so he settles himself a careful distance away. “Yeah?”
Jaehyun sits back up, sensing in Yukhei’s question an uncertainty he hadn’t meant to let show. “Yeah,” he says. “Not as good as me, mind,” he clarifies, causing Yukhei to roll his eyes.
“Teach me.”
Jaehyun blinks. “What?”
“That last trick you did? Teach me.”
“The Plumpton Pass?”
“The what?”
“Named after Roderick Pumpton, who employed the move in his record breaking catch in 1921. He scooped the snitch up in his sleeve.” Jaehyun has a smile playing about his lips. “Most people thought it was too good to be true.” He looks meaningfully at Yukhei. “They thought it was a fluke.”
He says that the same way he might say, those people didn’t know shit. So Yukhei asks, “What do you think?”
“I think Plumpton was one of the greatest players, ever.”
Yukhei pauses uncertainly. There’s a heavy implication in Jaehyun’s tone that he can’t decipher. “So,” he ventures, “are you gonna teach it to me?”
Jaehyun gets up, dusting himself off. He tilts his head, considering. “My Captain won’t be pleased to know I’m fraternizing with the enemy. And helping him, no less.”
Yukhei falls to the ground, clutching his heart. “I’m wounded,” he whines. He’s pretty sure he’s only half pretending. “An enemy? Surely not.”
Jaehyun laughs, expression soft, fond almost, and Yukhei allows himself to hope. A part of him had come into this expecting for Jaehyun to be arrogant, condescending even. For someone who had the record to show for it to act like such. But here he is, extending a hand out for Yukhei to take. “Come on, I’ll show you how it’s done.”
--
Somehow, the one-time challenge turns into a weekly thing, and then a bi-weekly thing, and then an every other day thing. Jaehyun even waits for him outside Potions, his last class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, which gives Mark and Donghyuk reason to embarrass him with increasingly creative ways each time. Their latest attempt involving the use of the Orchideous charm to conjure a bunch of flowers into Yukhei’s hands, just as Jaehyun arrives, tops the list.
“Your friends are—”
“Annoying,” Yukhei finishes for him, shoving the tulips (declaration of love, as they were taught in Herbology) hastily away. “Please ignore them.”
“I was about to say amusing.” Jaehyun slips an arm around Yukhei’s waist, so casually it almost seems practiced. “Shouldn’t we give them a show?”
“What,” Yukhei sputters, red filling his cheeks, “no, why should we—what?”
Jaehyun only pulls him closer, walking them both out of the classroom amidst Donghyuk’s strangled gasp. He keeps the arm there until they get to the training grounds, with Yukhei fighting his heart down the entire way.
Sometimes they don’t even play. Yukhei takes Jaehyun to the kitchens, where the house elves prepare them snacks in secret, and Jaehyun sneaks him into the Gryffindor common room. Sometimes they lie on the grass and argue tactics, and Jaehyun tells him about the formation Taeyong’s developing, and how it’s going to be a game changer, and that all the other Houses should just give up while they can.
Yukhei will snort, and respond with how Ten’s basically a genius, and how he’s got a counter-strategy to every strategy, and it’ll take him a game, maybe two at most, to deconstruct Gryffindor’s so-called ultimate game plan.
Jaehyun will laugh, and they’ll stare up at the stars for a while longer, before Yukhei’s closing eyes prompt Jaehyun to walk him back to the Hufflepuff basement.
But Ten finds him after training one day. He looks upset. “I don’t like it,” he says abruptly to Yukhei.
Yukhei freezes. He’s not sure if Ten means, I don’t like him, and he doesn’t know what to do if he does.
Ten runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “It’s not my business, or my place. But I see what he does on the field sometimes, and how he is, and I worry, you know?”
He gets it. Ten’s always looked out for him, since he stumbled onto the Quidditch team so lost and unsure of himself that the Captain had to take him under his wing. But Yukhei doesn’t know how to help Ten reconcile the difference between the image Jaehyun usually projects and the one he shows Yukhei when they’re alone. And in any case, Ten’s reading this wrong, because he hangs out with Jaehyun, but beyond the mutual love for Quidditch and the rivalry they’re brewing, he’s not even sure if they’re friends.
“We’re not—the two of us—it’s nothing,” he blurts out, but Ten doesn’t look convinced, and that doesn’t seem quite right either, not with the growing desire he has for something.
So he says, “Don’t worry,” and follows it up with an assurance, just to ease the pinch in between Ten’s eyes. “I’ll be alright.”
--
They’re gearing up for the showdown against Slytherin. With their latest win, Hufflepuff’s got a massive chance for the cup this year, so practice becomes a daily necessity. Between Quidditch and classes and homework, Yukhei barely has time to breathe. He stumbles into the Great Hall with his eyes half-closed, and returns back to his dorm in a similarly devastated state.
It happens the week just before the match; training goes terribly, he nearly slips off his broom during a tackle, he misses an easy catch, and he crashes into Donghyuk when swerving around the post. Bruised and shaking, he steps off the training field before his legs give out. He doesn’t think he can face a sympathetic face right now.
He waits outside classroom 3C, where he knows Jaehyun will be finishing up his Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. If Jaehyun’s surprised to see him there, he doesn’t show it. All he says is, concerned and quiet, “Are you alright?” Which should be odd, because Yukhei hasn’t said anything, and they don’t even know each other very well. Jaehyun shouldn’t be able to read him so easily.
And yet, he reaches out and touches Yukhei’s elbow softly, as if he were a statue that might suddenly crumble. “Yukhei?”
Yukhei opens his mouth, but can’t quite find the words to describe the tautness in his chest that’s threatening to unravel him. All he can do is look at Jaehyun helplessly.
“Okay,” Jaehyun says. “Okay.” He tugs Yukhei away from the classroom gently, and starts to lead him along the corridor. Yukhei follows behind blindly. Jaehyun doesn’t ask for explanations, and perhaps that shouldn’t be surprising; if anything, whatever pressure Yukhei feels he probably experiences tenfold.
It takes a while before Yukhei finally recognizes where they’re going. “The Astronomy Tower’s out of bounds,” he hisses, panicking a little.
Jaehyun only chuckles, taking his hand so Yukhei can’t escape. “I thought you’d be used to bending the rules with me by now.”
No doubt, he has a point, and Yukhei’s somewhat relieved that the mild thumping of his heart’s blotting out the rest of his thoughts. They continue up the never-ending stairs, until a blast of wind swipes at their faces.
“Amazing, huh,” Jaehyun breathes, as they look out from the tallest tower. The distance to the ground stretches; they can barely see the bottom. “Almost like you’re flying.” He turns to Yukhei, quirking an understanding smile. “But with your feet still on the ground.”
Yukhei clutches the railing, following the stretch of buildings breaking the landscape, their lights winking in the distance. He shifts his gaze down, and gets the same tumultuous feeling in his gut when he does a particularly swift dive in the air. And yet, Jaehyun’s right. His feet’s on the ground. Or is it Jaehyun’s presence anchoring him?
“Sometimes,” Jaehyun hums, “you just need to come back down.”
“I’m tired,” Yukhei whispers.
“Yeah.” Jaehyun shifts closer, curling his arm around Yukhei’s shoulders. The line of heat is now familiar; so comforting it makes Yukhei’s knees weak. They’re silent for a while, and then, “I was tired after you beat me, too.”
Yukhei almost flinches, but Jaehyun runs a soothing hand along his bicep. “Why did you come find me?” he has to know.
Jaehyun looks away. “At first, I wanted to dislike you.” He sounds guilty. “I thought it’d make me feel better.”
“And then?”
“And then, I saw you trying to catch angry-branch.”
“Not my best moment.”
“No,” Jaehyun agrees, lips curved up. “But I couldn’t dislike you.” He leans in, and presses his lips to Yukhei’s temple, the simplest, softest thing.
--
Hufflepuff wins. Yukhei watches Ten lift the cup into the air. He looks for Jaehyun in the stands, and savours the image of the Gryffindor seeker smiling and clapping, branding it into his mind. He carries that with him when school breaks for the summer, and Yukhei has to return to the muggle world, whereas Jaehyun goes to spend two months training alongside a national team.
There’s a subtle ache that follows him in those weeks, but Yukhei’s missed his parents, and Hong Kong is as bright and beautiful as she always is.
--
And then all that time blinks by, and he’s back at the platform, and then in his robes, and third-year hits him like the Hogwarts Express. He passes Quidditch tryouts with ease, after insisting to attend because favouritism should not be tolerated, to which Ten rolls his eyes and says, “Well, that’s a Hufflepuff for you.” Chenle makes the team, and they celebrate with butterbeer, and Yukhei assures him that it’d only be a matter of time before he gets his own fanclub. In the hustle of the first few months, easing back into magic and class and old school rivalries, Yukhei doesn’t see Jaehyun much.
It’s not a big deal, he knows it’s Jaehyun’s fifth year; a particularly trying one at that, having to take his O.W.L.s and all. The dull ache only returns when they pass each other by in the busy corridors, and Jaehyun shoots him an apologetic but fond smile, and Yukhei tries to tell himself that should be enough.
And then it’s Quidditch season again, and they’re facing Gryffindor once more.
“We did it before, we can do it again,” Ten urges them in their huddle, and Yukhei thinks, yes, yes. He’ll break them.
“You ready, rookie?” Jaehyun offers, just before they take off.
“Are you?” Yukhei retorts, maybe slightly stung. It’s both the best and worst place for his emotions to come bursting forth, on the hectic pitch where bludgers and players alike come hurtling his way, all with the intention to hurt. It’s easy to channel his anger and shove back, like prodding at a bruise, teasing out his broken blood vessels.
Maybe when the field clears and it’s quiet again, Yukhei will be able to confront his longing for this victory over any other endeavour; maybe he’ll be able to acknowledge his desire to eclipse the Red Streak for reasons he’s not sure he’d be proud of, but now, he just wants to see a conclusion. The game only ends when a seeker catches the snitch. So when the golden ball flits by in a careless arc, Yukhei meets it with his palm outstretched, and—
A fluke, surely, but the crowd of yellow decides otherwise, jumping and hollering in the stands, and—
Donghyuk grabs him by his robes and shakes him, exuberant and at a loss for words, and—
Jungwoo trips off his broom in a hurry to meet him on the ground, grin as bright as the sun overhead, and—
Chenle throws his arms around him, eyes wet and voice choked, and—
Jaehyun says stiffly to him, “Good game,” just like last year, but there’s something different this time, something final and bleak, and Yukhei can’t help but think, is this it, is this the end of something I haven’t even had the chance to put a name to, and—
Ten pulls him away, murmurs into his ear, “This is yours. Don’t give it away,” and—
Yukhei tries to smile, even as the ache in his chest returns, jagged and painful.
--
If Jaehyun was elusive then, Yukhei doesn’t even see him now. Not even on the routes they should surely cross, like when the third-years pour into Transfiguration just as the fifth-years are done. He’s never there. Yukhei returns to the training grounds at dusk alone, trying to convince himself he isn’t waiting forlornly for a certain seeker to show up, but it doesn’t matter, because he never does.
He just wants to apologize, now that the anger has dissipated. I’m sorry for beating you, maybe, but he doesn’t think Jaehyun would appreciate that.
Quidditch seems duller now that he doesn’t have someone to match him blow for blow, and flying leaves him raw and unsatisfied. Ten frowns at him, concerned, and is gentler than ever with him in training, but Yukhei supposes he should be thankful he doesn’t push, or worse, say I told you so.
Even the house elves sense his melancholy when he visits the kitchens, and they load him up with pumpkin pasties before sending him on his way. Yukhei tries to find places in the castle that don’t remind him of last term, but fails because of just how many forbidden nooks and crannies Jaehyun’s managed to convince him to sneak into.
“He was a jerk,” Mark says finally, prompting Donghyuk to try and elbow him quiet. It’s the first time anyone around him brings it up. “And a bad friend.”
“He wasn’t,” Yukhei begins, stepping up to defend Jaehyun without a second thought, but the words dry out. It’s hard to try and be someone’s friend when that person so clearly doesn’t reciprocate. “I... thought he wasn’t.”
Donghyuk pats him sympathetically on his shoulder. They drag Yukhei out to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, where they divide their allowance and purchase a box of dragon-roasted nuts, a dozen fireworks, and a fanged Frisbee. The nuts they finish in half an hour, and the afternoon passes with them trying to catch the Frisbee without losing their hands. At night, Yukhei leads them up to the Astronomy Tower, where they set off the fireworks and watch the signature Catherine wheels, sparklers, and fire-breathing dragons shoot out against the dark backdrop of the castle.
The wind tosses his hair softly, and the ground feels solid under his feet. The ache in his chest eases. He'll be alright.
--
Yukhei now has Charms as his last period on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and he’s not sure what to expect when Jaehyun shows up outside classroom 2E. Mark pops up next to him, ready to hiss at the intruder like a Basilisk, but Donghyuk thankfully pries him away.
“We’ll be outside if you need us, Yukhei,” Donghyuk calls cheerfully, but Jaehyun takes that as the warning it was meant to be, shifting nervously at the entrance of the room.
“You should come in,” Yukhei says awkwardly, when the silence grows. “I’m pretty sure Mark has Extendable Ears he uses for eavesdropping.”
Jaehyun does, refusing to meet his eyes. It’s so unlike him, who’s usually all confidence and assertiveness and importance. And despite the past few morose weeks, Yukhei feels a pang of sympathy. “Somebody had to catch it,” he says softly. “It just so happened to be me. Probably a fluke.”
“It wasn’t,” Jaehyun snaps instantly, and Yukhei blinks, taken aback. “Stop selling yourself short like that. You caught it because you were good. End of story.”
Yukhei doesn’t know what to say in return.
“You keep winning,” Jaehyun continues, sounding angry, but at himself, “and I keep wanting to dislike you, but I—I can’t.”
Yukhei’s confused, and upset, and Jaehyun really isn’t helping. “I don’t understand,” he says, a note of hurt in his voice. “You’ve made it clear that you do.”
Jaehyun flinches. He looks at Yukhei, stricken. “That’s not true," he pleads. "I couldn't.” He drops his head, ashamed. “And I didn’t think that I could leave, or hurt you either. Over something as small as a game.”
He pauses, and Yukhei feels his gut drop when he realizes that Jaehyun’s eyes are wet.
“But I did, and I’m sorry,” he finally says. Jaehyun reaches out and hesitantly touches Yukhei’s elbow, the same way he did the last time when Yukhei was close to crumbling. “I messed up. Yukhei, I’m sorry.”
Yukhei’s quiet for a moment, and Jaehyun looks away again, almost as if he can’t bear the rejection he would surely receive. But Yukhei thinks back to how Jaehyun had patiently guided him through the trickiest moves, how it had felt flying next to him in the air, pushing himself to be faster, better, stronger, just because Jaehyun was, how he had looked at Yukhei in the Astronomy Tower and said, come back down, and finds it’s easy to say, “Okay.”
Jaehyun jerks his head up, disbelief clear on his face. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
Jaehyun exhales, the tension bleeding from his shoulders, but he worries his lip as if still unsure. “I know I’ve got a lot to work on. I know I’m not perfect.”
“Neither am I,” Yukhei says. “But we can give this a try.”
Jaehyun smiles at him then, so soft and so fond it makes Yukhei’s chest tighten. They'll get to play against, with each other, they'll push each other and figure each other out, they'll pull each other back to the ground, and the thought of that alone makes Yukhei inexplicably happy. Jaehyun takes Yukhei’s face in his hand—Yukhei sucks in a breath, trying to immortalize the feel of his palm on the curve of his cheek, callouses and all—and kisses him gently.
“Pfft,” comes Mark from the door. “You should’ve made him work for it, at least.”
“Orchideous,” Donghyuk proclaims, waving a bunch of Ambrosias (mutual love, why does he even remember this from Herbology) in their faces. Yukhei wants to despair.
“Your friends are—”
“Annoying,” Yukhei concludes.
“Yeah,” Jaehyun agrees, taking his hand in a bold move that has Donghyuk sighing happily and Mark reluctantly impressed. “I guess it’s something I’ll just have to get used to.”