Work Text:
A trickle of sweat slips down the side of his face as he dives, plunging straight towards the ground. There’s a collective gasp from somewhere to his right, but he ignores it, focuses on beating the bludger that’s chasing after him. It’s a risky move, one that Hoseok has berated him for in practice before, but they’ve got no choice; the other Hufflepuff Chasers have been marked by Ravenclaw, and Jeongguk’s got no other choice but to bring the quaffle home.
So he dives, pummels for the ground. There’s a small chance of success and an even lower chance of making it out without greatly injuring himself, but the bludger is getting closer, and it’s gaining speed, and Jeongguk’s spiralling down, down, down toward the green grass, seconds away from colliding and—
He snaps his wrist up, guides his broom upwards, and shoots for the sky. Behind him, he hears the heavy thud of iron against earth, and he smirks, the crowd breaking into a roar below him.
“He did it! He did it! Jeon Jeongguk of Hufflepuff escapes the bludger using a difficult dive trick—I don’t think I’ve seen anyone perform with such skill before! I say five points for Hufflepuff!”
There’s another roar and a loud complaint of incredulity, but Jeongguk’s too busy laughing as he swoops down again to throw the quaffle through the goal. It flies right through the centre as the Ravenclaw Keeper wrongly dives left, and the Hufflepuff supporters begin chanting, their cheers echoing through the pitch.
Jeongguk feels alive.
“Good job, Gguk!” Hoseok screams from somewhere above him, and Jeongguk looks up to see the captain sporting a thumbs up. He grins back and watches as the older Hufflepuff flies away, probably to go bat away more bludgers at Ravenclaw again.
He doesn’t know how long they’ve got until the game’s over—even though he’s a Chaser, he’s made it a habit to keep an eye out for the snitch as well, but he hasn’t seen the golden, walnut-sized ball anywhere in the past hour. It doesn’t seem like their Seeker’s had much luck either; Katie Fenwick’s still hovering fifty feet above him, squinting at a distance. He clicks his tongue, starting his broom in the direction of his other teammates. As long as Ravenclaw doesn’t catch it first, he doesn’t care.
The quaffle is being passed to him when a flash of gold shoots past, and Jeongguk blinks, eyes darting to meet Katie’s eyes. She seems to understand immediately and shoots in his direction, just missing Jeongguk’s outstretched hand as he takes the quaffle into possession.
And the real game starts.
“Is that—bloody hell, Fenwick’s spotted the snitch! It doesn’t seem like Plunkett’s seen it, though; he’s just using Fenwick as a guide, which still isn’t great for Hufflepuff.”
Jeongguk grits his teeth, passing the quaffle over to another Hufflepuff Chaser down the pitch. Right now, they’re evenly matched—a solid 80 to 70, Ravenclaw—which means the snitch is going to be the defining point. And while Jeongguk is confident in Katie’s abilities, the small gap sets him on edge.
He breaks through two Ravenclaw Chasers and catches the quaffle from his teammate and throws it into the goal.
It narrowly misses the Ravenclaw Keeper’s fingers and hits against the pole—but it still falls right through the hoop, adding another ten to Hufflepuff’s score.
Now, they’re really matched.
“Jeon scores for Hufflepuff once more, making it an eighty even—wait, never mind, Fenwick’s just got the snitch! It’s a victory for Hufflepuff with a final score of two-thirty to eighty!”
The crowd roars again; the disappointed groan from Ravenclaw’s side of the stadium is barely audible in between the screams and the stomping of feet. Jeongguk feels a grin break onto his face as he flies towards his teammates, gathering them into air-hugs and giving well-deserved pats on the back. Hoseok winks at him as he passes by, ruffling his hair affectionately.
He turns to look at the crowd and gives a shy wave, their cheers fueling the pride blooming in his chest. His eyes trail right, greeting every single fan as best he could, until he finds the single speck of green in the sea of yellow—and freezes as Park Jimin brings the microphone-like object to his lips with twinkling eyes.
“And, might I add, Jeon Jeongguk looked mighty fine on the pitch today.”
The comment has Jeongguk turning red all over, heat pooling in his stomach as he quickly tears his gaze away. There’s a sort of smirk adorning Jimin’s lips now, an almost pleased gleam in his eyes; Jeongguk darts for the ground before his heart could leap up into his throat. He focuses on exchanging pleasantries with Ravenclaw instead, and then immediately books it for the changing room once he’s done.
His ears burn, and he covers them, pushing the door to the changing room with urgent force. It’s not the first time Jimin’s made a comment like this; he doesn’t do it every match, but Jeongguk’s noticed it’s becoming more frequent in recent years. At first, Jimin was an exemplary commentator, narrating the game to the audience almost perfectly and in great detail—but by halfway through their fourth year, his comments has suddenly taken a sudden interest in Jeongguk and his, well, appearance.
And it’s flattering and all, but Jeongguk finds it hard to focus during a match when Jimin’s constantly making casual remarks about how Jeon dodges the bludger so perfectly, and did you see his thighs, by the way? That’s a whole meal or Here comes Hufflepuff now! Oh, how I’d love to kiss Jeon in that uniform.
It’s a little distracting.
He takes a deep breath and rises just in time for the rest of the players from today’s match to start filtering in, Hoseok rearing the end. He catches Jeongguk’s gaze and wiggles his brows, and Jeongguk groans as he pulls himself towards the team, broom in tow. Ravenclaw manages to change and store their brooms away first, congratulating Hufflepuff once more before exiting the changing room altogether. And then it’s just a small sea of yellow and a beaming Hoseok, who claps his hands with pride.
“Great job, team,” he praises, eyes curling upwards. “I think today we played the best we’ve ever played, and I’m feeling good enough to ignore Jeongguk’s careless dive in that second half.”
“It was that or get a bludger to the head,” Jeongguk mumbles in protest, but he’s ignored, Hoseok purposely avoiding eye contact.
“The rest of the house wants to celebrate in the common room,” Hoseok announces, shoving his shin pads into the closet on the far right—it’s the one designated for Hufflepuff and unfortunately the smallest. None of them mind, though; between the four houses, they’re the bunch that’s more than happy to share. Besides, they only keep their uniform in there—their brooms are stored safely in their own dorm rooms, away from klephtic hands. “I think Doyle Midgen said he’s managed to smuggle some Butterbeer from when we went to Hogsmeade last weekend.”
“Fucking brilliant,” Marin Bagman, the other Hufflepuff Beater, comments, and then they’re all hurrying to strip their jerseys off in favour of their standard uniform.
Jeongguk’s the last to pull his shirt over his head, dumping the Quidditch standard black, long-sleeved shirt onto the pile in the closet. There’ll be a House-elf that’ll come by sometime later that evening to wash them and fold them into their proper compartments, but Jeongguk sometimes secretly wishes he could just do his own laundry. It’s kind of therapeutic for him, and he feels like he needs it right now.
Jimin’s words ring in his head again, and he sighs deeply, trying to push it away. At least this time, he’d saved it until the end of the match.
He finds the school-issued white blouse in the little section he claimed his own and slips that on before tossing on the jumper and loosely adjusting the tie on his neck. Hoseok’s waiting for him outside the changing room when he’s done, his broom tightly gripped in his hand as they make their way into the castle and towards the kitchens, where their common room is located.
“So,” Hoseok begins, nodding at a passing Gryffindor who congratulates them on their first win of the season. “Park Jimin, hm?”
Jeongguk burns bright red as he speeds ahead. “Oh, shut up.”
“So let me get this straight,” Namjoon begins, frowning in confusion as he completely discards the Potions essay he’s been working on. “You want me, as Head Boy, to report to Professor McGonagall Jimin’s comments as highly, uh, distracting?”
Jeongguk nods frantically, leaning forward a little. They’re seated at the foot of stairs in the courtyard, munching on some Pretzel Wands—Jeongguk’s on his fifth one now while Namjoon’s barely on his second. Around them students quietly converse with each other as others opt to study in more secluded areas of the courtyard; Jeongguk thinks he recognises a couple of people from his N.E.W.T.-level Care of Magical Creatures class and makes a mental note to ask them for their notes before he leaves. “I can never concentrate when he’s commentating a match.”
“Because of his, uh, choice in commentary?” Namjoon clarifies, and Jeongguk nods again.
“It’s embarrassing.”
“What’s embarrassing?” a new voice asks, and Jeongguk turns to find Kim Seokjin hopping down the stairs with a small bag of Chocoballs in hand. He’s sucking on one now, the sweet pushed into one cheek so that he resembles a hamster. Jeongguk would’ve thought him cute if Seokjin wasn’t such a demon.
Unfortunately, Namjoon seems to not have caught on to Seokjin’s demonic capabilities, because he immediately answers, “Park Jimin’s commentary.”
Jeongguk groans, glaring at Namjoon with a pout. “Namjoon.”
“What?” Namjoon asks innocently, and Seokjin just cackles as he drops into the space next to Jeongguk.
He gives the Hufflepuff a little ruffle of the hair, biting down on the Chocoball in his mouth. Yep. Demon. “Aw, does little Jeonggukie have a crush?”
Jeongguk sputters and angrily snaps a Pretzel Wand in half. He shoves the frosting-covered bit into his mouth first, chewing in annoyance. “I do not have a crush.”
“You literally went red at the end of the match yesterday,” Seokjin comments, finally swallowing the chocolate in his mouth. He doesn’t waste time to pop another one in, though, and Jeongguk just watches as he chews again, scrunching his nose in disgust. “And you ran away as soon as you were done shaking hands with Ravenclaw. That screams crush to me.”
“I don’t have a crush on Park Jimin!” Jeongguk protests—a little too loudly, apparently, because a sixth-year Slytherin turns to look at him in curiosity, the smallest smile on her lips. Oh, Jeongguk is so fucked.
Seokjin, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to care, grinning widely as he licks his fingers clean of chocolate. “The fact that you’re denying it this much just proves otherwise, but sure, I’ll take it. Although I have to say, having a crush on Park Jimin isn’t at all that bad. There are worse people to have crushes on.”
“Like who?” Namjoon asks curiously, and Seokjin looks at him blankly for a few seconds before sighing rather heavily.
“Anyways,” Seokjin continues, ignoring Namjoon’s offended squawk, “even if Namjoon did speak to McGonagall about Jimin’s commentary, I highly doubt she’d fire him from the job. He’s not technically breaking any rules, and Slytherin’s Head of House doesn’t seem to have a problem with it. There are little grounds to fire him for.”
This time it’s Jeongguk’s turn to sigh, chewing at the other end of his Pretzel Wand rather slowly. It’s not that he desperately wants Jimin to be removed from the commentator position; the questionable remarks aside, he’s actually excellent at his job. When Jeongguk finally made it to the Hufflepuff lineup his third year, Jimin was already one year into his commentating career. He remembers, flying through the pitch during his first-ever match, Jimin’s voice booming in the background, a guide Jeongguk often used when he became disoriented by the pace of the game. Jimin’s descriptions are known for their vivid accuracy, after all, and Jeongguk found it an easy tool to use to picture the match in his head. Jimin speaks with a certain zest as well, voice lively and bright and never biased—unless it came to Gryffindor versus Slytherin, during which he’d outright disregard all morals and shower Slytherin with only praises.
So no, Jeongguk doesn’t exactly want Jimin to stop acting as the primary Inter-House Quidditch Cup Commentator. But his extra commentary has become more than distracting, and Jeongguk can’t afford such diversions with the House Cup on the line. After all, the winner of a Quidditch match gains about fifty points towards their house, varying on whether they caught the snitch that day. And, well, Hufflepuff’s thirst for victory is strong—they’re done giving the House Cup to the other houses. It’s time for yellow to engulf the Great Hall for once.
Namjoon pats his shoulder comfortingly, gathering his things as his seventh-year N.E.W.T.-level Potions class is starting in less than a few minutes. Seokjin rises with him as well, Accio-ing his essay and textbook from his dorm.
“Sorry I can’t help,” Namjoon apologises, but Jeongguk shakes his head, giving his friend a smile.
“I’ll figure something out.”
“You could always flirt back,” Seokjin suggests with a suggestive smirk on his lips, and Jeongguk moves to kick him in the shin only to miss when Seokjin simply takes a step back. The glint in the Gryffindor’s eyes is still present when Jeongguk glares at him, and Seokjin shrugs, turning to follow Namjoon to the dungeons. “Who knows, maybe he’ll like you back!”
“Fuck you!” Jeongguk shouts after him, grabbing the two sticks of Pretzel Wands left and shoving both into his mouth. He turns to stomp into the castle, probably sulk in his dorm before he has to head to Transfiguration, only to freeze when he sees the Slytherin girl is still watching him with a coy smile on her lips.
He runs into the castle before she could make a single comment, cheeks burning once more.
Honestly, screw Park Jimin.
Jeongguk makes it to December, week two—between the rigorous classes and heavy homework load, Jeongguk’s barely had time to blush over Park Jimin’s comments during the last Quidditch match. The event is now more or less a blur, another memory he compartmentalises under Things Park Jimin’s Said About Me, which, conveniently, he’s tucked into the back of his mind. Even the sight of Jimin, who actually shares Charms with him every Monday, Tuesday and Thursday for a total of four hours, doesn’t stress him the way it used to.
It also helps that Hoseok’s been pushing for more and more practice before the Christmas holidays officially begins next week. The last win left the team in a sort of high, and Hoseok’s determined to utilise it to push them all just past their limits. It’s worked so far; Jeongguk’s muscles ache every time he comes back from the Quidditch pitch, but he does feel lighter when he flies, and his reflexes have definitely sharpened with the last few practice sessions. They’ve started rehearsing more complex plays, braving the moves they’ve only seen professionals execute before. No one’s managed to pull one off yet, but at least their teamwork’s gotten increasingly better.
He groans as he tilts his neck to crack it, spinning an arm as he trails after the rest of his team into the changing rooms. The girls had retreated from the field first and are fully dressed in their school uniform again, their Quidditch gear thrown to the bottom of their cabinet.
“We’ll be heading out first,” Katie says, waving goodbye as she tugs Verna Runcorn out of the room. The Chaser whines when the motion causes her broom to whack against the doorframe, and Katie laughs, apologising lightly.
Hoseok yawns as he tugs off his cape, letting it drop to the floor. He gives them a nod and stretches his arms. “Don’t forget practice on Friday.”
“Will do!” Katie promises for them both, and then they’re gone, turning the corner to wander back into the castle.
Jeongguk groans as he rests his broom against the wall on the far right, making a mental note to drop by the Hospital Wing to see if they’ve got anything for his muscles; he must’ve pulled them badly today because he feels a strain every time he moves his shoulder. It’s not the worst injury he’s gotten, though. Back when he’d just started, he somehow managed to fall off his broom in the middle of the match, causing him to break several bones at once. The injury would’ve cost him more than a few months off the team had he still lived in the Muggle world, but luckily a simple healing spell mended them right back. In comparison, a pulled muscle should be nothing.
The other Hufflepuff players move quickly after that; Marin and Jordan Moore, another one of their Chasers, are the first to leave, followed closely by Hoseok after he realises he’s late for Creature Care. Jeongguk, on the other hand, takes his time—he has nowhere to be in the next hour or two, and he isn’t too keen on tackling the Transfiguration essay he’d just been assigned that afternoon. It isn’t due until next Tuesday, anyways.
He’s in the middle of pulling off his trousers when the door opens again, and he flushes bright red as Gryffindor begins to fill the changing room. They give him a small nod as they turn to their house’s cabinet, pulling out their own red and gold uniform from within. Jeongguk hurries to tug on his school trousers, embarrassed that he’s been caught halfway through changing, even though it isn’t uncommon for different teams to share the room at a time.
What’s uncommon, though, is the way the Gryffindor Chaser drops his trousers right next to Jeongguk despite there being plenty of space elsewhere, and Jeongguk turns to look at him in half confusion and half terror as the Gryffindor simply stands there in his boxers, unmoving. He gives Jeongguk a grin and a raised brow, eyes glittering with mischief.
“Jeon Jeongguk, right?” he asks, and Jeongguk nods dumbly before finding his voice.
“Kim Taehyung,” he greets back—not a question, but more of an acknowledgement. Everyone at Hogwarts knows Kim Taehyung; other than the fact that he’s Park Jimin’s best friend, he also gets along with almost anyone, instantly making him popular company. Jeongguk used to be fairly acquainted with him in their second and third year, until Park Jimin began taking a special interest in him during Quidditch. Since then, he’s been more or less avoiding the duo—the less he sees them, the less he’ll explode into different shades of red.
Taehyung just grins wider at Jeongguk’s response, shedding off the rest of his clothes so he’s really just standing there in his boxers. He doesn’t move to start changing into his uniform, and Jeongguk wonders how he could feel so comfortable just standing there almost naked. A quick glance at his thighs more or less solved that mystery, though.
“You’re Muggleborn,” Taehyung says simply, and Jeongguk blinks, surprised by the statement.
He nods again, slowly this time. “Um, I am.”
“Great.” Jeongguk watches as Taehyung finally pulls on his Quidditch trousers. Behind them, the rest of Gryffindor have already started piling onto the pitch; their captain gives Taehyung a warning to hurry, which Taehyung happily ignores. “You play Overwatch?”
Jeongguk blinks again. This is strange—he’s never talked to anyone about videogames, at least not at Hogwarts. Most students at the school didn’t even know what a videogame was, and those who do know it as “Muggle magic.” He’s heard a couple of people mention some of the popular titles here and there, but the Muggleborns he’s friends with have moved onto more exciting things. Like Accio-ing every possible object they could think of. “Sometimes?”
“We should play together over the holidays, then,” Taehyung suggests, suddenly buzzing excitedly. Jeongguk guesses he’s in the same boat. “I’ll send you an owl with the details? Or wait, I can just text you. Which is easier?”
“Either is fine,” Jeongguk answers lamely, and Taehyung nods, securing the pads to his shins.
He grabs his broom from the other end of the wall—a Moontrimmer X, Jeongguk notes with envy—and gives Jeongguk one last smile. “I’ll send you an owl first, and then maybe we can switch to Discord or something.”
Jeongguk nods, finally moving to tug both the inner long-sleeve and jersey off at once.
“Oh,” Taehyung calls as he’s exiting, and Jeongguk realises Taehyung’s held the mischievous glint in his eyes the entire time, “tell Jiminnie his essay’s in the pocket of my cloak. Thanks!”
Then he’s suddenly gone, leaving Jeongguk just standing there processing the message alone with the remainder of his uniform in his hands, when suddenly the door opens for a second time, and a single blob of black and green and silver enters his peripheral.
And he turns, still half dazed as he furrows through Taehyung’s request, when it suddenly clicks as he makes eye contact with the one person he’s been avoiding the past two weeks.
Park Jimin stares back at him, cheeks flushed, and Jeongguk notices how pretty he looks like that. The pink makes him look younger, softer, and he finds himself moving a little closer in response.
It’s only when a smirk appears on Jimin’s lips does Jeongguk snap back to reality, eyes wide as the situation finally sinks in—he’s here, standing in the changing room shirtless with Park Jimin staring at him with nothing less than sultry eyes.
Jeongguk wants to flee.
“Jeon Jeongguk,” Jimin greets; his voice sounds smoother like this, when it’s not filtered by layers of amplifying magic. It’s only the slightest bit deep, melodic, a nice tenor—something Jeongguk wouldn’t mind falling asleep to every night. The thought deepens the blush on his face, and he instinctively brings his discarded uniform to his chest, hoping to retain some decency.
He tries to tear his gaze away but finds that he can’t. “Park Jimin.”
There’s a silent pause as Jimin continues to stare at him, an unreadable cloud over his eyes. His eyebrows furrow for a moment before his gaze drops downwards onto Jeongguk’s lips, and then south again to his neck before finally falling onto the arms over Jeongguk’s chest, and Jeongguk’s mouth parts at the way Jimin’s licking his lips. He swallows when Jimin looks at him through his lashes. “You have tattoos, Jeon Jeongguk?”
Jeongguk’s eyes widen at the question, and he glances down at his arms holding the shirt to his chest, and yep, there are tattoos there. Heat engulfs his entire face as curses flood his mind at his stupidity. He can’t believe he forgot the tattoos inked across his forearm.
Jimin’s eyes darken as he takes a step closer; Jeongguk hesitantly takes a step back, feeling like prey. “Didn’t know you were the type.”
“They’re cool,” he says weakly, and then clears his throat. “My brother suggested them.”
“Your brother has taste.” Jimin’s gaze falls on his arms again. “Did you know I like tattoos, Jeonggukie?”
“Uh. No. But now I do.”
“Well, I like them a lot,” Jimin supplies, glancing at Jeongguk again, and Jeongguk shifts awkwardly, feeling the heat flush downwards. He hopes Jimin doesn’t notice; it’s embarrassing enough to be caught shirtless. He doesn’t need the boy to know how he’s making him hard. “I actually have a tattoo of my own.”
Shit.
“It’s on my ribs,” Jimin adds, as though the information’s helpful when it really isn’t. Jeongguk swallows thickly. “It’s even got magical properties—heightens sensation and all that, you know? Super fun.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Jeongguk gasps as he pushes his Quidditch uniform into the cabinet and grabs his shirt and jumper from his compartment.
“I gotta go,” he excuses quickly, throwing on the shirt but not bothering to button it up—instead he pushes past Jimin and yanks the door open, dragging his broom with. “Your essay’s in Taehyung’s cloak pocket, by the way!”
The door closes behind him, and he sinks to the ground, pressing his face into the soft wool in his hands.
When he looks up, Seokjin’s standing above him with amusement in his eyes.
“Wow, Jeonggukie,” he begins, laughter on his tongue. “I didn’t know you were such an exhibitionist.”
“He’s the devil, Jin. The devil.”
“Ah, you ran into Park Jimin, I’m presuming.”
Jeongguk groans. “I was shirtless, and he saw my tat, and he started saying these things and made me kinda hard—”
“I didn’t ask,” Seokjin interrupts, then clears his throat, raising a brow. Jeongguk just stares back. “Are you buttoning your shirt or…?”
A pause. “Do you think he noticed?”
“I’m leaving,” Seokjin announces, and Jeongguk buries his face into his knees again as Seokjin’s shadow disappears.
He tries not to let the conversation affect him much, but it’s a little hard—Jimin’s implying so much, and Jeongguk isn’t even ready to stomach it all. A small groan escapes him as he struggles to his feet, fingers finding the buttons on his shirt and fixing them. He’s really looking forward to the holidays since it’ll be the only real break he’ll have from Park Jimin. When school starts again, he won’t have any liberties.
Hopefully, though, some sort of Christmas miracle’ll happen. But he knows the chances are slim; if Jimin hasn't stopped his teasing the past three years, Jeongguk doubts he’ll suddenly relent. He tries not to think of doom.
Turns out he’s right—as soon as the holidays are over, the world decides to present Jeongguk with the best possible way of humiliation: Charms.
It’s not that he’s terrible at the subject—he managed to get into the N.E.W.T.-level class, after all—but they’ve been covering a majority of non-verbal spells this year, practising old and new ones until they’re comfortable with a decent-sized repertoire. And while Jeongguk’s managed to successfully perform a decent number of spells non-verbally, there were a few that he still struggles on, especially when he’s doused with nerves.
Such as the simple Concealing and Revealing charms, unfortunately.
Jeongguk stares at the chalkboard at the far end of the classroom, feeling his face grow white. They’re rather easy charms to pull off when the incantation’s spoken aloud, but for some reason, Jeongguk finds them difficult to execute non-verbally. The last few times he’s practised them he’s managed to either change the words or translate them into a language he doesn’t even know. On a good day, he would manage to get the Concealing charm to reveal the hidden message and the Revealing charm to conceal.
So, still not ideal.
He huffs in his seat, sinking a little lower as Jordan groans beside him.
“We literally just got back,” his teammate whines, though he still obediently pulls his wand out from his pocket.
“Wish we’d just practice Accio,” Jeongguk mumbles back. In front of them, Flitwick reviews both charms and the theory behind non-verbal spells. Neither Hufflepuff pays attention. “I’m already really good at that.”
Jordan nods. “Think we can change the board to say Summoning spell instead?”
Jeongguk snorts. “And lose house points? Too risky.”
“You’ll work in partners,” Flitwick announces once he’s done with the quick review, “and perform each charm three times for a total of six incantations. It’s a simple assignment—conceal your message to your partner, and reveal theirs for yourself.”
Easy in theory, Jeongguk thinks, but harder to successfully perform. Still, he doesn’t have much of a choice but to follow directions; as resistant as he is, he’ll admit he isn’t too against the assignment. Hopefully, by the end of the lesson, he’d have something cool to show Namjoon.
“I’ve partnered you up in advance, so don’t think about finding your friends and working with them,” Flitwick continues, eliciting a collective groan from the class. Jeongguk frowns at the news. He doesn’t have that many friends in this class, and the idea of working with a stranger floods his system with nerves.
The professor doesn’t seem to care for the complaints in the room because he simply swishes his wand, and the entire chalkboard changes to present a list of names and their pair. Jeongguk’s eyes immediately wander across the board in search for the name Jeon—and finds it paired directly with the name Park at the bottom corner.
He lifts his eyes and somehow finds Jimin’s on the other side of the room, blanching when Jimin smiles brightly back.
Oh, no.
“Feel free to utilise any space in the classroom,” Flitwick finishes, and then suddenly the room is alive, students scrambling over desks to reach their partners, wherever they may be.
Jeongguk simply stays where he’s seated and watches Park Jimin make his way across, a parchment, his quill and his wand in hand.
“Hi, Jeonggukie,” he greets softly, and Jeongguk swallows, offering what he hopes to be an equally nice smile back.
“Hi.”
“Should we get started?” Jimin asks, spreading his parchment on the surface between them; Jeongguk notices how small his fingers are and wonders how they’d look like against his.
Jimin picks up the quill and begins drafting his message, and Jeongguk’s eyes follow his movements, tracing every curve. It seems the Slytherin picks up on the action quickly enough because he abruptly stops, covering the words with his small hand.
“No peaking,” he says teasingly, and Jeongguk blushes, forgetting the purpose of the assignment.
“Right. Sorry.”
They work in silence for a moment; Jimin seems to be putting extra care into what he’s writing, while Jeongguk’s scrambling to find anything at all to write. It takes a while, but he finally comes up with one—Quidditch is great—and then grabs his wand and concentrates on concealing the message.
Nothing happens for a while, but then the words begin to disappear, and the parchment looks as though nothing’s been written on it at all. When he turns to Jimin, he finds the Slytherin beaming with something of fond and pride, cheeks bunched upwards as he cups his face in his hands.
Cute.
“You ready?” Jimin asks, and Jeongguk nods, sliding him his message. Jimin hands him the parchment he had been writing on and gives a little wink. “I think you’d rather like my message.”
Jeongguk squints his eyes. “What did you write?”
“Only one way to find out,” Jimin teases, then points his wand at Jeongguk’s parchment. The ink begins to resurface again, and Jeongguk’s handwriting makes it back onto the page, three simple words decorating brown. Jimin stares at it for a moment and giggles. “Of course you’d write something related to Quidditch.”
A deep blush sinks into Jeongguk’s cheeks. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Jimin assures him. The smile on his face is soft, gaze melting as he looks at Jeongguk with twinkling eyes. “It’s cute, is all.”
Jeongguk blushes deeper and clears his throat, turning away from Jimin to focus on the parchment before him. The words Jimin wrote aren’t legible—of course, it isn’t—and Jeongguk takes a deep breath as he waves his wand over the paper in an attempt to conjure the Revealing charm. He feels something tingle at his fingers, but there’s no response. An embarrassed huff escapes him as he tries again, forcing his imagination to think harder of words resurfacing above the brown.
“Slowly, Jeongguk,” Jimin cautions, stilling his hand when moves it too wildly. “You don’t have to think about it too hard; if you feel a burst inside you, that means you’re doing something right.”
The words aren’t exactly helpful; Jeongguk doesn’t know what burst he’s supposed to feel, but he nods nonetheless, concentrating quietly. By some miracle, nothing strange happens to the parchment when he points his wand at it. Instead, the words Jimin’s written across the brown paper slowly materialises again, the black ink deep and dark against the aged background.
He reads the words quietly and wants to slam himself into the nearest wall.
Miss me, baby?
When he looks at Jimin again, there’s a shift in his eyes, and an almost predatory glint shines on their surfaces—so similar to the look he received in the changing room before Christmas break. It kicks Jeongguk’s heart into motion, and he follows Jimin’s tongue, tracing the gloss it leaves over his lips. “Did you read my message well, Jeonggukie?”
“Um,” Jeongguk says, glancing down at the writing again. Every time he reads it he can feel his face growing hotter—if that were even possible. “Yeah.”
Jimin pulls his parchment over and picks up his quill again. He begins drafting his next message, and Jeongguk scrambles to do the same. “So, what’s your answer?”
“Not really,” Jeongguk immediately replies, nonchalantly too, but there’s a smirk on Jimin’s lips that tells him he’s not quite convinced. Even Jeongguk’s kind of unsure, too—he hasn’t really been thinking of Jimin much during the holidays, too focused on the multiple Overwatch matches he and Taehyung played. The rare occasions Jimin’s face did cross his mind lasted quite a while, though; one time, it even led to a dream, and Jeongguk doesn’t want to think about that. He clears his throat, nodding at Jimin’s finished and concealed message. “Your parchment, Jimin.”
The Slytherin hands it over with an easy stretch of his lips, while Jeongguk focuses on concealing his second message. It takes a while, but he’s starting to get the hang of it, he thinks—at least, he’s figured out what burst Jimin was alluding to moments ago.
Once again, Jimin reveals his message with ease; this time, there’s a quickly scrolled My dog’s name is Cloudie, which elicits a tiny coo.
Meanwhile, the message Jeongguk receives does nothing to calm his already racing heart, because written in pretty font is Jimin’s playful tone hidden beneath deep lust: Remember how I told you about my tattoo before break? Well, I got a new one. On my hip :)
There is nothing smiley about the damn message, and Park Jimin knows it because he’s leaning close, hot breath tickling Jeongguk’s neck as he retrieves his parchment again. From across the room, Jeongguk could feel his teammate’s look of concern over the rapid crimson bleeding towards his torso. He musters a smile at Jordan. He’s fine.
He picks up his quill and proceeds to cover his entire parchment with AHHHHHHHHHHHHH STOP IT.
Jimin laughs when he reveals the message, his body tossing over his chair and almost flinging onto the floor. He catches himself before he could fall and properly embarrass himself, fingers gripping onto the edge of the table, and runs a hand through his hair as he leans forward until his chest is touching wood and his chin is touching hands. “You’re cute, Jeonggukie.”
“I suddenly don’t want to read your last message.”
Jimin laughs again. “You kind of have to if you want points for completing the assignment.”
Jeongguk groans internally at the reminder, damning Flitwick for giving Jimin so much power in the first place. He really wishes they had focused on the Summoning charm; at least in that way, Jimin wouldn’t have been able to abuse his power. Maybe.
He glances up from his desk and spies Flitwick going around, creeping closer to where they’re seated as he surveys everyone’s performance. There really isn’t much Jeongguk can do but simply get on and finish the task; with luck, Jimin was merciful on him and didn’t bother writing anything that’ll cause him to explode into flames.
Luckily, Jeongguk doesn’t burn; he’s quite alright, really, almost unscathed and untouched. But the parchment in front of him is, very literally, on fire the minute he finishes reading the message Jimin’s left for him:
We should test my tat’s magic properties together after your next quidditch match ;)
“Oh, my gosh, Jeongguk!” Jimin yells, and Jeongguk snaps back into the present, remembering there are glowing embers right in front of him. Flitwick’s already made his way over with a flustered Aguamenti, followed by a Jimin who copies to do the same. Between the two of them, Jeongguk feels rather useless.
Flitwick clears his throat once the fire’s died, leaving Jeongguk’s face burning in embarrassment. He can hear the giggles from the Slytherins around him, and some of his fellow Hufflepuffs, but most of his housemates look mostly concerned.
“Mr. Jeon,” Flitwick pronounces, and Jeongguk slowly drags his eyes over to his professor. Beneath the table, he feels Jimin grab his hand and squeeze in support. It feels nice. “Please be more alert and focused when casting non-verbal charms. They’re rather dangerous.”
“I—I’m sorry, Professor.” He gulps. “I’ll do better?”
His answer seems satisfactory because Flitwick turns then just as the hour’s up, announcing to everyone the homework they’re to submit the following class. Jeongguk breathes a sigh of relief from the mercy Hufflepuff’s given; he would’ve felt ten times worse if even five points were deducted from his house. They’re trying to win this year, really trying to. After all, that’s why they’re practising twice as hard this Quidditch season.
The thought of Quidditch only reminds him of Jimin’s last message, and he turns to the boy who’s still standing beside him, eyes unsure. They wander across his body for a second, searching—for what Jeongguk’s not sure, but it makes his heart race and his fingers tinggle and he suddenly needs to leave.
“Um,” he begins as the next class begins to pour in; Namjoon’s slowly striding next to a shorter Slytherin, blushing at something he’s probably rambling about. Jeongguk recognises the Slytherin as Min Yoongi, a half-blood seventh-year Jeongguk hasn’t had the pleasure to meet yet but with whom Seokjin, Hoseok and Namjoon are rather close. He’s laughing at Namjoon and blushing too, and Jeongguk gets distracted momentarily before Jimin’s calling his name again.
He blinks, remembering where they are.
“Thanks for putting out the fire,” he mumbles, shifting his things in his arms.
Jimin gently tugs him out of a seventh-year Ravenclaw’s path and out into the corridor, where it’s just as chaotic but not as enclosed. His smile is gently but slowly moulds into something akin to sinister. “Well, I wasn’t expecting such a… burning response from you.”
Jeongguk groans. “You sound like my hyung.”
The laugh that bubbles out of Jimin is sweet and melodic; it’s something Jeongguk’s heard often, but it’s such an antonym to his devil-like personality that Jeongguk usually blocks it out of his mind. Each time, though he feels his heart sing along.
“Hm,” Jimin begins, stepping closer to Jeongguk, and yep, this is where the Devil reemerges. Jeongguk takes a step back. “Maybe we should test out my tattoo after your match. It’s similar to the one on my ribs, but since it’s lower, it should make the sensations even stronger, more heightened, like—”
“I have to go,” Jeongguk interrupts and immediately flees again.
Behind him, Park Jimin laughs again. “The Great Hall’s the other way, Ggukie!”
Jeongguk turns on his heel and walks back towards Jimin and down the hallway as directed, muttering curses against the Slytherin under his breath. All throughout his walk, his cheeks burn bright red.
Jeongguk doesn’t like it.
What Jeongguk likes, though, is this—zipping through the sky on his Cleansweep Twenty-One, plunging towards the ground only to pull upwards last second in order to kick bludgers and Chasers off his tail. He tosses the quaffle into the air and into Jordan’s hand, leaning forward to gain speed as the duo zigzag through the Gryffindors stationed on the other end of the pitch.
They’re doing decently well, all things considered; they’re almost tied, with Gryffindor only leading by twenty points. If they can just score two more goals and even it out, Jeongguk would feel a little better.
Overhead, he hears Jimin’s echoing voice. “And Moore barely dodges the bludger there—could’ve been detrimental to Hufflepuff. Gryffindor’s so serious today, and—oh, Kim just stole the quaffle midair while it was en route to Runcorn! They’re heading back towards the Hufflepuff goal!”
Jeongguk grits his teeth as he immediately turns the broom around, going up-and-under a Gryffindor in front of him in an attempt to catch up with Taehyung. Ever since Christmas break, there’s been some sort of competitive streak between them. A part of him guesses this is Taehyung’s way of evening out the score since Jeongguk beat him four to three in Overwatch. The other part knows it’s because Gryffindor’s got a reputation to keep.
After all, they were the Hogwarts house, the house of the Harry fucking Potter, the house that won the Quidditch and House Cup for the past seven years or so. Jeongguk doesn’t blame their thirst for victory, understands it even. Hufflepuff’s just as desperate to break their eleven-year losing streak.
“And there goes Jeon, rounding Tuttle and passing Nettles easily. I’d say he looks really hot like this, don’t you agree?”
Jeongguk ignores the comment and ducks at Hoseok’s shout, lets the captain use his bat to hit the bludger elsewhere. He thinks he hears a Gryffindor shout in surprise, and Jimin’s voice confirms a near hit seconds later.
In the distance, Taehyung raises his arm to shoot.
He picks up speed.
“And Kim goes for the goal—he’s aiming right, but it looks like Deverill’s blocking left—”
His body slams in Taehyung from his right—not hard enough to knock him over, but just enough to throw his shot of course. The quaffle flies somewhere in between two hoops, and Hufflepuff’s Keeper, Glenn Deverill, is quick enough to change course that direction and take the quaffle into his arms.
Taehyung glares at him, offended but amused as well. “Didn’t take you for a rough player.”
“It isn’t against the rules,” Jeongguks shoots back. From the corner of his eye, he sees Verna take the quaffle and fly home.
“True. And,” he begins, looking over Jeongguk’s shoulder, “I think Jiminnie liked it.”
“What do you mean—”
“Ooh, that was a bold play from Jeon Jeongguk. Risky, even? Either way, I’m sure you all got to see his lovely jaw and the veins on his neck. He’s so hot, don’t you think?”
Taehyung laughs when Jeongguk’s face bursts into pink. “Told you,” he says before darting away.
Jeongguk turns towards the stands to where Jimin’s standing and glares hard.
Jimin just grins, waves his little hand, and sends him a wink.
The blush that covers his face is ten times worse, and it takes a shout from Hoseok to pull him back into the game. Jeongguk blinks, looking at his captain in alarm.
“Focus, Jeongguk!” Hoseok yells as he zooms through the pitch, chasing after a bludger to hit into a Gryffindor attempting to steal. “Don’t start daydreaming about your lover boy now!”
“I’m not—He’s not my lover boy!” Jeongguk yells back.
Hoseok’s too far to hear him, already leagues away; Jeongguk chances a glance back at Jimin, whose face is now soft—a stark contrast to the sly grin he wore earlier, sultry and lustrous. This only kicks his heart further into motion, and Jeongguk speeds down the pitch, racing after his teammates.
It gets harder to focus after that. After every goal Jeongguk makes, Jimin’s cheering on him hard, making a comment here and there about how good he looks while scoring or simply floating there. For every steal, Jimin’s prepared some sort of innuendo, one that’s light but just dark enough when paired with his deep gaze. These are what makes Jeongguk’s hands sweat and his knees buckle as he swerves around a Gryffindor Chaser for the umpteenth time.
His eyes dart around the pitch, begging for the snitch to come out. They’re tied now—a whopping one-hundred-twenty even. The game's gone for long enough, and Jeongguk’s starting to feel exhaustion.
“There’s the snitch!” Jimin’s voice suddenly shouts, booming across the stadium thanks to the amplification charm, and Jeongguk’s head shoots upwards with a sudden burst coursing through him. He looks for the Snitch through his peripheral as he catches Verna’s toss and tries to make the goal—it’s blocked by the Gryffindor Keeper, and Hufflepuff’s forced to retreat again.
He’s halfway to the pitch when Jimin makes the comment; it’s strategic in its wording, targeted only and specifically at Jeongguk. “It’s about time the snitch’s made its way to the pitch—it’ll be a good change of pace, won’t it? Gives both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff room to fix tip the scale.”
The words immediately act as a trigger—he remembers the parchment from last week, burning under his gaze, words scorching themselves into his skin despite the fire leaving him untouched. The image of Jimin slowly peeling off his shirt in the changing room come to mind, unveiling the tattoo hidden on his ribs and somewhere on his hip. Slowly drawing closer to Jeongguk, who’s still sweaty from the match.
“It’ll be sensational.”
And he falls—he loses concentration for a minute and starts plunging downwards, sinking closer to the ground and only stopping when he collides into something—some one, he realises too late, decked in black and yellow, with her hand just centimetres away from the snitch. A flash of red passes them that second when Katie’s hand shifts to grab Jeongguk and right him again, and then there’s the sound of the end of the match.
Gryffindor’s cheers quake the entire stadium, and Jeongguk feels tears sting his eyes.
His fault.
“Are you okay?” Katie asks immediately, and he feels the rest of his teammates gather around him in concern. Hoseok’s the most worried, immediately voicing something about seeing Madam Pomfrey, but Jeongguk’s already shaking his head, sinking to the ground. When his feet touch the grass below them, he feels empty.
They shake hands. Congratulations are passed, and then Hufflepuff leaves for the changing rooms first. His teammates’ chatter fade into the background, melding into one giant ring of laughter and useless conversation, but the disappointment is clear despite their attempt to conceal it. Jeongguk grips the edge of his jersey tighter, rips it from his torso.
He lets the tears fall.
Hoseok’s immediately there to hold him, and the rest of his team whisper words of affirmation in his ears, but they only echo dimly, almost inaudibly. In between their words are gentle pats and Hoseok’s soft kisses, but when the team realises they’re ineffective, they begin to retreat again.
“Do you want us to stay?” Jordan softly whispers when Jeongguk’s hand finds his. Jeongguk shakes his head, suddenly wanting to disappear.
“No,” he croaks, squeezing his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Verna takes his other hand and squeezes. “Not your fault.”
It is.
“Winning would’ve been nice, but at least you’re safe,” Hoseok agrees, but Jeongguk just shakes his head again, tuning everything out.
He strips himself from his shirt, and the rest of his team takes that as their cue to leave. He feels them exit the room one by one, leaving him entirely alone until Gryffindor comes in to gloat.
The time comes sooner than expected, but not in the way he expects; Gryffindor isn’t the one to open the door to the changing room seconds after his housemate’s departure. Park Jimin is.
He stands there, tiny and with an even smaller smile on his face, hair brushing just above his eyes. And Jeongguk scoffs, tossing on his white shirt without care and buttoning it up quickly. The guilt inside of him has shifted to anger, and it’s ugly.
“Hey,” Jimin starts, voice soft in comparison to the booms he delivered moments ago. Jeongguk ignores him and tugs his cloak on while turning his back towards the Slytherin. He pulls off the rest of his uniform, using the robe as a curtain of privacy, and switches into his school-issued trousers. “You played really well today.”
This time, Jeongguk responds; a laugh stumbles out of him, humourless and empty. He turns to fix Jimin with his cold eyes. “Yeah, really well. Did you enjoy helping me with that?”
Jimin recoils, flinching backwards. His hand moves to grip the sleeve of his robe, the bit that dangles just past his fingers. “I didn’t mean—”
“Of course you didn’t,” Jeongguk bites, shrugging his robe off momentarily to pull the jumper over his head. Somewhere beyond the doors is the quieting residues of the match. Gryffindor will be back soon, and Jeongguk doesn’t want to face that. He quickly gathers his things. “You never mean to do anything, Jimin. All you know is to push and push and push.”
“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers, and momentarily, Jeongguk feels remorse; he knows what he’s implied, and the small part of his brain knows that it’s far from the truth. But his anger is too great, and his time is running out, so he merely pushes past Jimin and leaves out the door.
The chatter of Gryffindor fills the room just before the door shuts behind him, and Jeongguk runs until his lungs can no longer breathe.
He doesn’t see Jimin anymore, not even during Charms; it’s like the other boy has disappeared completely, has cast an Obliviate on the world to erase his every trace. Jeongguk almost believes Jimin’s gone completely, has vanished from the world or at least from Hogwarts. It seems unlikely, though; despite being nothing more than maybe acquaintances, Jeongguk finds that he knows Jimin rather well, and the pureblood Slytherin would never willingly leave school, even for something like this.
Or maybe, Jeongguk has him figured out wrong. He probably does; after what happened in the changing room, Jeongguk’s not quite sure of anything anymore.
The only traces Jimin leaves are in the form of whispers cloaking the entire castle, each one uttered by a student drenched in green. Jeongguk feels their eyes as he walks by with quickening footsteps, the Slytherin becoming an unwelcome ghost. His name is always followed by the word sad, and Jeongguk feels himself curling in more and more every time.
Quidditch helps, somewhat. Hoseok pours exhaustion over their bodies as they increase their already rigid practices; as a result, the team’s usually wearing bags under their eyes, the seventh year even more. With N.E.W.T.s just weeks away, the pressure is on for Hoseok—he’s expected to lead Hufflepuff to victory in their match against Slytherin, but also ace every single one of his own exams if he hopes for even a glimmer of a future. Jeongguk sympathises with him and suggested they cut down team practice and increase individual training instead—not the best strategy, but the best fix for now.
It’s how he ends up here most nights, on the quidditch pitch way after dark, past curfew and time to ensure a reasonable sleeping schedule. Jeongguk grips the broom in his hand and tiptoes to the changing room, searching for the practice gear a Hufflepuff had donated years ago before her graduation.
The quaffle is rugged from years of use, and the black balls they use as pretend bludgers aren’t as heavy or nearly as dangerous, but Jeongguk thinks that’s okay. It’ll lessen the chances of him running into any big accidents, especially since he’s practising alone.
He mounts his broom and charms the fake bludgers, letting it fly and zip through the common room for a while before guiding them onto the pitch. They chase after him almost immediately, and Jeongguk spends the first couple minutes perfecting his dodges and plunges, his skewers and shoots.
He imagines Jimin’s voice booming in the background, his ever-present compass. And Jeon dodges the bludger with an upwards spiral—do you see the veins on his neck? Delicious.
A blush coats his cheeks at the thought as a chuckle stumbles out of him. It’s definitely a Jimin thing to say, and he finds himself flying faster, liberated somewhat. The fake bludger shoots towards him, and he tumbles down to dodge it, reigning his broom a couple of metres away.
If you look closely, you’ll be able to see Jeon’s tattoos, Jimin would say. Kind of wish the uniforms were sleeveless—his biceps are delicious, especially since they’re coated in ink.
Jeongguk rounds a bludger and lands on the ground.
He’s pretty, don’t you think?
“Jeongguk?” a voice asks, and he snaps his head up towards the sound. His breathing is ragged but the atmosphere is silent all the same; Jimin stands in front of him with a furrowed brow and a hesitant gaze. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Neither are you,” is the immediate retort back, but Jeongguk knows once again that he’s wrong.
Jimin snorts, agreeing with Jeongguk’s thoughts. “I’m a prefect; I’m allowed to be here this late, at least while I’m doing my rounds.” He narrows his eyes. “You, on the other hand, are breaking rules.”
“It’s a one-time thing,” Jeongguk promises, looking down at the gear. “I’ll be done in a second, just—give me a few more minutes.”
“Rules, Jeongguk,” Jimin reminds with a shake of his head. “I can deduct points from Hufflepuff, you know.”
At this, Jeongguk’s eyes widen at the same time his heartbeat bursts; he has already cost them the recent match. He can’t burden his house any more than he already has. “No. No, please don’t. I—I’ve already hurt my housemates enough by losing the match. Please don’t take any more points away.”
It’s quiet for a moment, and a part of Jeongguk wants to pull his gaze upwards to find Jimin’s, but he’s afraid. If there’s one thing he’s sure about the other is that Jimin takes his prefect job seriously, definitely more than he does his commentator job. He won't be surprised when Jimin does strip Hufflepuff of ten or even twenty points, even after Jeongguk’s plea.
Which is why it comes as a shock when Jimin’s reply ripples off in whispers coated in clouds, soft to the ear and even softer to his heart. “I’m sorry.”
Jeongguk pulls his eyes upwards then, but this time Jimin has his gaze fixed on the grass below. “For what?”
“For the match,” Jimin mumbles. He shyly glances up, unsure. “For pushing all those remarks without ever checking if you were okay with them. Especially for saying such things so publicly—you never gave me consent, and that’s not okay. So, I’m really sorry, Jeongguk.”
There’s a pause between them, a momentary silence that’s uncomfortable and tense, and Jeongguk bends to stow away the practice gear before heading into the changing room to safely store them in the Hufflepuff compartments again. Jimin hesitates before following, and the door closes behind him, leaving them alone once more.
It seems a lot happens in this room, at least, when it comes to them. Jeongguk takes a seat on one of the benches and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”
“What?” Jimin asks, frowning in confusion.
He swallows, quickly searching for the words. He has practised them before, before Jimin disappeared and he started to lose all hope. Now, though, they come up shaky and unrehearsed, a bumble of words that Jeongguk hopes explains his side of the story well enough. “I—I don’t mind your comments, you know. It’s embarrassing, yeah, but they’re, um, they’re nice.”
“But you got mad,” Jimin reminds him, moving to stand a few feet in front of him. The movement is subtle, timid even. Jeongguk brings his knees to his chest. “You don’t have to make excuses for me, Jeongguk.”
Jeongguk shakes his head. “No, that’s not—that’s not what I meant. I mean, I really—I really didn’t mind the, uh, flirting? It’s cute, but I just—I get really flustered. So, um, during the last match, I kind of—you were super bold that day and—I got really embarrassed. Lost my focus and all that. So I yelled at you, even though it wasn’t really your fault.”
“But it was. Even if you don’t mind it, you never really told me you were okay with it, and I also made that comment at a really inappropriate time—”
Jeongguk laughs, bright and airy. “Jimin, are you protesting against not being blamed? You sound more Hufflepuff than I do right now.”
The tiny giggle that escapes Jimin is nostalgic; Jeongguk finds himself smiling longingly, wistfully. Jimin moves to sit next to Jeongguk, a couple of inches apart. “I was wrong, though. I’m only owning up to my mistakes.”
“Okay, we're both wrong, then.” Jeongguk sighs. He bites on his lip and stares at the ground. “Why do you do it, though? Um, the flirting and stuff.”
He feels Jimin freeze beside him at the unexpected question, a tiny gasp swallowed by his throat. “Oh, um.” Another pause, but this time, the air moves familiarly, nervously. It’s like Charms again, when Jimin’s exuding confidence and Jeongguk's looking to flee. Only this time, it’s the other way around.
But Jimin is brave—brave enough to be a Gryffindor, really. Jeongguk thinks he might’ve been sorted into the infamous house had Jimin not sported too many Slytherin qualities to be considered otherwise. He hears the other boy inhale deeply then exhale lowly, fingers moving to play with themselves. “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? I like you, Jeon Jeongguk.”
And once again, Jeongguk’s air is stolen out of his lungs; he hears himself gasp and feels his head turn to Jimin with wide eyes, searching, searching, searching for something that would say otherwise. In the back of his mind, he thinks he knew; anyone with a pair of eyes could see how much Jimin liked him, and for so long, too. It’s only Jeongguk’s reciprocation that Jimin’s waiting for, but it’s been repressed by embarrassment and fleeing legs, Jeongguk’s head burying every heartbeat that wakes in response to Jimin’s advancements.
But, after the days he’s spent quietly shrouding himself in guilt, he understands. He’s allowed his head to listen to the rhythms against his chest, to dream of things freely without a second doubt. It hasn’t fully sunk in yet, but at least he knows the truth. “I like you, too.”
The words act as a heavy trigger—Jimin’s eyes are widening in large alarm, the possibility never seeming to have crossed his mind before. He opens his mouth to respond, his voice stuck somewhere in the back of his throat, and light engulfs his eyes while his cheeks bear the softest hues of pink.
But then there are footsteps coming from the corridor, and now Jimin’s looking at him in fear; in his hurry, he pulls Jeongguk by the sleeve and pushes him into the nearest closet. Jeongguk scowls when the odour hits him; the red in front of him tells him it’s Gryffindor’s and it doesn’t smell pleasant in the slightest.
“Park,” Jeongguk hears Filch say through the closet door, voice narrowed in suspicion. “What are you doing here?”
“Rounds—patrols,” Jimin elaborates quickly. “Thought I heard someone on the quidditch pitch, so I came to check it out.”
“This isn’t the pitch.”
“It isn’t,” Jimin agrees. “But the pitch was empty, so I guessed the person could’ve fled here. But it’s empty, so I was just about to leave.”
“Hm.” Two seconds, and then three. “Well, hurry up. Your time’s almost up. Don’t let me catch you lying or I’ll give you detention worse than what I’ve ever given Potter.”
Jeongguk can hear the smile on Jimin’s face. “You won’t. I’ll make sure the place is really clear now. Maybe you could check the corridors headed for the towers?”
There’s a grunt and then the creak of a door, and a minute later, Jimin’s pulling him out of the closet. Jeongguk practically stumbles into him, but Jimin catches him before he could push them both to the ground.
“We should go,” Jimin mumbles, eyeing the door. “Filch can come back at any moment.”
“Wait,” Jeongguk protests as Jimin tugs him in the direction of the pitch; it’s safer to exit this way, where Filch hasn’t been. “What—What does this make us?”
Jimin tilts his head. “What do you mean?”
He purses his lips. “I mean, well, uh. I like you. And, um, you like me. So…”
Jimin’s smile is gentle. “It can mean whatever you want it to mean.”
“Oh,” Jeongguk breathes. He thinks about dating Jimin and holding his hand to class. That sounds nice. “Okay.”
There’s a twinkle of a laugh as Jimin guides them out, cautiously pulling him along to the stairways just beyond the Great Hall. The corridors split at the foot, one rounding off to the kitchen, the other to the dungeons. Surprisingly, Jimin guides them towards the Hufflepuff common rooms, and Jeongguk blushes again. It’s kind of like Jimin walking him home, and he likes the thought of that, too. Maybe next time, he can walk Jimin to the dungeons.
Well, that sounds a little unromantic.
“Can we—are we boyfriends?” Jeongguk asks timidly.
“We can be,” Jimin concludes, just as shy; again, Jeongguk realises the different planes Jimin carries, the pieces that make up Park Jimin. It’s a cute mixture, one that’s sort of everything, and Jeongguk feels himself leaning closer.
He giggles, wrapping his arms around Jimin—a moment of bravery he’s stolen from the other, leaving Jimin flushed to the core. “I’d like that.”
They both go for the kiss at the same time—it’s sweet, slow, short. Savouring. Jeongguk pulls away with blown eyes and his face burning red, while Jimin laughs as quietly as he can, ears tinged pink.
They don’t pull apart.
“Your match is this Sunday, right?” Jimin asks, and Jeongguk nods, feeling time tick by. He’s reluctant to let go, but at this rate, they’re both going to get caught. “Good luck.”
“Thank you,” Jeongguk whispers, finally releasing Jimin from his grasp. Jimin slowly peels himself away as well, feet slowly backing up into the corridors and towards the dungeons.
Behind him, Jeongguk makes out a blur of green and blue—Yoongi and Namjoon, hands interlocked and quiet laughter trailing after them as Namjoon walks Yoongi home. His mind replaces the image with him and Jimin, and he smiles wide.
“You can keep doing it,” he calls back last minute, just before tapping the password onto the second barrel at the bottom. The large barrel pressed into the wall swings open, but Jeongguk doesn’t enter.
Jimin raises an eyebrow in question. “Do what?”
“The, uh, comments,” Jeongguk elaborates lamely. “Just—don’t be too lewd? Or if you are, um, please don’t be too obvious.”
Jimin laughs. “Okay, Jeonggukie. Sleep tight.”
Jeongguk smiles. “Thank you. Goodnight.”
“And Jeon scores another goal, making it one-thirty to one-ten Hufflepuff!” Jimin’s voice booms across the quidditch pitch, and Jeongguk grins, basking in the cheers from the sea of yellow. He finds Jimin in the crowd of green, eyes proud and mischievous at the same time. Beside him, a fellow Slytherin loudly protests against the obvious favouritism.
“You’re a bloody Slytherin, Park! Why the fuck are you fucking with Hufflepuff?”
“Because his thighs are delicious!” Jimin says loudly, and thanks to the amplifying magic, the declaration echoes all throughout the pitch. Jeongguk immediately flushes bright red while his teammates burst into cackles, the other team chuckling as well.
The match is lighter than the previous ones, both sides relaxing with Jimin’s light teasing, which has only been drastically sultry when they’re mostly alone. On the pitch, he’s a little more tame, praising Jeongguk’s body every moment he can but never indulging in the things they’re bound to do alone.
Well, except for right now, but Jeongguk finds that he doesn’t mind things like these. He sends Jimin a shy smile, which his boyfriend—boyfriend!—returns, and then soars upwards in a chase for the quaffle.
They win that day with a whopping score of three-hundred-thirty to one-seventy, and Hufflepuff screams in pure joy—the difference means that they’re the winners of the entire Quidditch cup, and Hufflepuff gains a whole fifty and something points to their name. The cheers that erupt from the yellow crowd is louder than ever, and Jimin greets him right in front of the changing room door.
He presses a kiss onto Jimin’s lips, not caring about the world behind him; when they part, Jimin’s eyes sing.
“By the way, we never got to test out my tattoos,” Jimin teases, voice dropping to a whisper. He gestures pointedly to the pitch behind them, at how empty it is without any Slytherins or Hufflepuffs to occupy it. Jeongguk understands the message clearly: they’ll be alone. “So, changing rooms?”
It’s amusing somehow, and he laughs, face painted in pink and red. He takes Jimin’s hands. “Sure, since you’re so obsessed.”
“What can I say,” Jimin says nonchalantly, pushing the door open; both teams have disappeared now, leaving them completely alone. “My boyfriend’s kind of really hot.”
“I’ve been told,” Jeongguk whispers back and presses his lips onto Jimin’s again.