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Chapter Text

Tine is eleven years old when he first steps into Hogwarts.

He sits amongst the other first-year students, nervous about doing magic, actual magic like the stories he'd read when he was younger, and being so far away from home. He had had a mere week to comprehend the fact that magic existed and he apparently had it, which was then quickly followed up by rushed days of packing his bags before finding himself onboard a train in England, waving goodbye to his parents.

Nonetheless, no matter how anxiously his stomach clenched, it could not overcome the absolute joy of being able to peer upwards at the Great Hall's ceilings, expecting, at most, intricate old stone carvings, and instead, seeing the night sky indoors. Thousands of stars twinkle above him, splattered across a canvas of swirling blue and black, so unbelievable that his hand had instinctively moved upwards, yearning to touch it.

"Eh, Tine. I know the ceiling is very cool and all but you're the only one still looking at it. Doesn't your neck hurt, you shortie?"

Fong jabs him in the arm with a chuckle and Tine feels his smile widen further, reminded of his profound luck that he was not alone in Hogwarts. Out of all the people his age in Thailand, it just so happened that Fong, his bestest friend in Primary School, would have magic too. And what were the chances that his parents had chosen to send him to Hogwarts instead of Mahoutokoro?

Tine simply shoves Fong back in response, craning his neck backwards further to admire a star that literally shot across the ceiling. He must have leaned back too eagerly because the next thing he knows, with the help of a small unexpected nudge from Fong, he's stumbling backwards, foot curving around something definitely not the floor. Fortunately, he manages to catch his balance in time before falling any further, turning around to apologise profusely. The words die on his tongue when he meets the heavy gaze of the boy behind him.

It wasn't quite an angry look, but the way his large eyes had sharpened on Tine, concentrating so vividly like he was studying a hundred different ways to commit a murder, made Tine's cheeks heat up, opting for a nod as an apology instead of what would have been a ramble of stuttered 'sorry's. Fong, the little shit, just muffles his laugh with a cough and is saved from a punch from Tine when the headmistress clears her throat, silence immediately settling over the room. She looks ancient, with deep wrinkles set into her face, but the moment she opens her mouth, she commands the rapt attention of everyone, her voice clear and crisp, as she welcomes the students.

"Is she speaking Thai?" Tine whispers a minute into her speech, after realising with a startle that he could understand every single word she spoke.

"It's a spell. Some dude named Cho Chang made it when she was student in this school. Isn't that fucking superb--" A boy next to Tine blurts out, who is then quickly cut off by a person with pierced ears next to him.

"You can't call a chick a 'dude', dude!"

"Yeah, you can! Dude is a gender-neutral term, I just called my grandmother 'dude' the other day."

Fong does another one of his half-laugh, half-coughs, which turns the two bickering boys' attention back to him and Tine. The four make quick introductions to one another and by the time Headmistress McGonagall finishes her welcome address, Tine feels as if he's known Ohm and Phuak his entire life, all of them settling into an easy atmosphere of poking fun and bickering at each other.

Suddenly, a hat similar to those he'd seen on witches in cartoons is brought onto the podium, placed on top of a stool. And kid-you-not, the weirdly face-like hat seemingly wakes up and begins singing out an explanation of the housing system in Hogwarts, the older students cheering when the name of their houses are echoed around the room. Thankfully, Phuak, who was apparently something called a 'pureblood', translates some of the more complex metaphors and terms used in the hat's song that could not be conversed from English to Thai successfully.

'Bravery and chivalry,' Tine thinks to himself, looking over longingly at the table full of students adorning cloaks embellished with crimson outlines, raucous bursts of laughter erupting occasionally whilst the First Years are called up one by one to get tested by the Sorting Hat. "I wanna be in the red house!" He exclaims quietly to his three friends, eyes no doubt shining full of hopefulness, that is instantly diminished by a snicker from behind.

He only manages to catch a glimpse of the same boy he had stepped on earlier, face now alight with what was surely mocking glee, before his name is boomed around the Great Hall. Fidgeting all the way up the steps to the stool, he sees Fong give him an encouraging smile whilst Ohm and Phuak alternate between shooting glares at the smug student behind them and giving Tine a thumbs up. The next thing he knows, a disgruntled hat is poking around in his head, humming happily while contemplating which house to sort the First Year into. 'The red house-- Ah, what's it called?' Recalling the way Ohm had said the word in English, he visualises what he hopes is the correct spelling for the house, praying that it will influence the hat's choice.

"Ravenclaw will fit you well, rather oblivious in certain aspects but definitely not lacking in academic intellect. The thirst for knowledge is missing though..."

'Gryffindor.' He concentrates on pushing forth the word in his head.

"How about Slytherin?" The hat muses for a mere five seconds, then declares, "No, not cunning enough."

'Gryffindor!'

"Ah! An interest in Gryffindor, huh?" The Sorting Hat shouts, to the relief and embarrassment of Tine. "There is bravery in you, no denying it but--"

'Gryffindor. Gryffindorgryffindorgryffinor--' He chants eagerly.

"There is an abundance of kindness in you, a lot of loyalty and resilience as well."

'No...' Tine thinks.

"Yes!" The hat laughs, muttering an apology only the boy can hear, before bellowing out, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

As the Sorting Hat is lifted off his head, Tine blearily blinks into the crowd, adjusting his eyes to the bright hall, the loud cheers fading into the background. He sees his friends offering sympathetic looks that make his insides twist uncomfortably but is then distracted by the expression on the rude boy's face behind them. One side of his mouth is upturned, piercing eyes still trained onto Tine, and the newly sorted Huffleputt feels a flood of shame which slowly fades into anger as the rest of the sorting ceremony goes by. He sits slumped at his house's table, still managing to offer too large smiles and exchange jokes with others, all the while remembering the stupid look that had been on that shit's face.

Classes begin and from then on, it's a whirlwind of beautiful chaos, learning magic and nonstop fun. The other muggles' boundless excitement simmer down by the end of the first month, whereas Tine continues to be starry-eyed at the start of every new day. He grows to love Hufflepuff and its people, although he sometimes still gazes wistfully at the Gryffindor table and their red-gold ties. He makes friends quickly and easily, becomes one of the top scorers in his year, and is fortunate enough to have a fair number of his classes with Fong, Phuak and Ohm, despite all four of them hailing from different houses.

Life had never been better.

Except for one glaring, obvious thing, that was really, more of a someone than a something.

Since their encounter on the very first day of Hogwarts, Tine had steadily grown to despise the boy he’d almost crashed into. He was obnoxious, arrogant and annoying, always having a frown on his face as if he found everything around him below him, and his only other expression was a smug, mocking look. Despite that, within a week, almost everyone was fawning over him and a large crowd of admiring students had begun to trail after him wherever he went. His name was whispered during lessons, sung as he strolled down the corridor, green robes swishing behind him, and it took only a day for Tine to learn it -- Sarawat.

The guy was a jerk but Tine seemed to be the only one with a working pair of eyes in the entire school. What made it worse was the fact that no matter how much Tine tried to deny it and change his mind, he could sort of, maybe, kinda see the appeal of the bastard. He was handsome, with his fringe barely brushing across his eyebrows, near his set of wide, toffee coloured eyes, and although Tine had yet to see a proper smile on the boy, he could begrudgingly admit that even his smirk was good-looking.

Even in moments such as now, where Sarawat jogs into the classroom, just a mere minute before the lesson starts, he still looks like a celebrity out of a photoshoot, beads of sweat collecting near his hairline and all. The Slytherin looks around the room before his eyes settle onto Tine, who barely has time to react as Sarawat swaggers over to him, gaze never wavering.

“Can I sit here?”

Tine wants to say ‘no’, wants to explain that his usual partner, Fong, is just late when in actuality, he’s lying sick in his bed, but Tine was never capable of lying.

He gives a nod instead and Sarawat slides easily onto the stool next to him, to the utter despair of many students around them who had pushed their partners off their seats in hopes of sitting next to the popular Slytherin. Tine ignores the glares he can feel piercing through him, opting to focus on doodling in the corners of his parchment papers, angling his body away from Sarawat.

The lesson begins and after a quick tutorial of the set-up, the class begins to work in their pairs. Tine and Sarawat move smoothly and quickly together, navigating their way through the potion making with an uncomfortable silence hanging over the air. Tine darts his eyes to the side a few times to check if Sarawat feels as awkward as he does, but the bastard looks seemingly indifferent, as per usual.

“Stop looking at me.”

Tine nearly cuts his finger, startled by the sudden statement that immediately slices through the silence into a clean half. He splutters indignantly, avoiding Sarawat’s pointed stare and chooses to concentrate on chopping up the necessary ingredients.

“I wasn’t looking at you, I--”

“Wrong.”

“Huh?” Tine looks up at this and feels a twinge of annoyance as the other boy slouches against the table, another one of his stupid smirks fixed in place whilst he nods in the direction of Tine’s hands. Confused, the Hufflepuff continues cutting the ingredient, barely sinking the blade into the root before he’s interrupted.

“Wrong.” Sarawat repeats, this time with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Tine grips the knife tighter and moves it downwards again.

“Wrong.”

A beat of silence.

“Wrong.”

Another movement.

“Wrong.”

Tine takes a deep, shuddering breath in and moves his hand--

“Wron--”

“Shut up!” The knife is slammed down onto the table and a few nearby students shoot the pair disgruntled or interested looks. “Just, shut up!”

Tine finally looks up, directly meeting Sarawat’s eyes and a part of him is pleased to find shock coloured in them. “Just because you’re freaking popular and people trip over themselves all day to simply look at you, doesn’t mean you get to be an asshole! Every single time I see someone trying to talk to you, you’re-- You’re just standing there, with no reaction, barely moving and either glaring or looking disinterested. You treat others like shit but I seem to be the only one that realises that!”

The Hufflepuff feels his fist clench by his side and begins to shake angrily at the lack of reaction from Sarawat, who continues to stand in the same position, schooling his expression back into one of boredom with only the slight tightening of his arms across his chest indicating he had heard Tine. Although still annoyed at him, Tine immediately feels bad after his outburst and searches for something to distract himself with to avoid the other’s piercing gaze, trembling hands then reaching for the beaker.

He moves towards the bubbling pot in the centre of the table and just as the beaker clutched in his hand hovers over it, somebody knocks the glass out of his grip, sending it smashing onto the ground and breaking into hundreds of tiny pieces. Tine stares at the stars of glass sprinkled around him, slowly peering up to see Sarawat drawing back his arm from where it had shot out.

“You idiot!” The Slytherin still has the capacity to admonish him loudly, drawing the attention of all the students to the commotion between the pair. Tine distinctly catches the gleeful whispers exchanged between his classmates, whispering about him, whispering about his faults, no doubt wondering what he did to anger their crown prince, their perfect, amazing Sarawat.

A hot, red flush climbs up to Tine’s cheeks and he ducks his head in shame, silently allowing himself to be subjected to more stares that follow Sarawat’s glare at him. Trembling in embarrassment, anger, and so many ugly emotions he can’t name, Tine feels himself choking up and finds his feet pounding against the ground, feeling detached from his own body as it moves own its own, sending him running back to his dorms, to the safety of solitude, away from looks and judgement.

And when he lies down, curled up on his bed, knees tucked under his chin, he lets himself cry alone and finds himself missing home for the first time since he had arrived.

Chapter Text

Tine is twelve years old when he first plays quidditch.

He spends every moment he gets practising on the broom, flying across the large expanse of grass Hogwarts has to offer, training alongside his three best friends for the upcoming team trials. He isn’t some sort of protege, but he proves to be better than the average player, quick enough on his borrowed broom and excellent at accurately throwing and catching the quaffle.

To no one’s surprise apart from his own, he is chosen to be a chaser.

After months of intense training consisting of Tine practically breathing, living and bleeding quidditch, the Inter-House Quidditch Championship arrives. Thanks to their Hufflepuff quidditch Captain, Air, and her insistent sessions of never-ending drills and painful practice games, Hufflepuff wins both matches against Ravenclaw and Gryffindor.

Unfortunately, the match that decides the overall house that wins the Championship Cup is between Hufflepuff and Slytherin, with both teams having won an equal number of two matches thus far. When Air found out about this, she had demanded twice the usual number of practices and by the time the match rolls around, Tine is confident in his team’s capabilities and is sure they have a good chance at winning.

They march onto the pitch and line up opposite of the Slytherin team, and Tine immediately hates his entire existence. Sarawat stands in front of him, his sharp stare in full focus for the first time in months and Tine averts his gaze, opting to check over his school loaned broom.

After the Potions lesson incident about a year ago, Tine had steered clear of Sarawat, making sure to always have a partner in every class to pair up with and never be alone.

On several occasions, the Slytherin seemed to have tried to approach him, most probably to chew his head off again. Not wanting to be subjected to another round of sure embarrassment, Tine either escaped before Sarawat could reach him or quickly sought out people around him to surround himself with and appear busy. He knew he was acting like a coward but Sarawat made him nervous and admittedly, small.

“Let the match commence!” The roar from the spectators in the stands jarred Tine back to attention and he swiftly swung his leg over his worn-out broom, kicking off the ground and instantly shooting up into the air once the quaffle was thrown. He got into action quickly, dodging the bludgers and chasing after the quaffle, shooting goal after goal and feeling his grin widen after every point he earned.

Fifty points in the lead, with a fair number of wins coming from himself, Tine felt more confident than ever and was beginning to sense the underlying aggression from some of the Slytherins coming into fruition. Catching the quaffle, Tine speeds through the air, heading towards the goal, about to score for the fourth time in a row when suddenly, he feels his whole body jerking backwards, the sharp motion making him lose his one-handed grip on his old school-issued broom.

The echoes of the commentator pound in his head, “Sarawat seems to have spotted the Golden Snitch! He races after it, extremely close-” At the same moment, Tine slides off his broom and stretches towards it to catch himself but he misses, fingers brushing against the wood.

‘I’m falling,’ He thinks to himself, too shocked to manage a shout or flail about. His eyes simply widen as he distantly hears the commentator through the loud sounds of the air rushing past him.

“He’s changing direction towards- Fuck! Someone’s fallen off-”

Time seemingly slows down and Tine feels like he’s watching his own self plummet to the ground. He braces himself upon impact, moving an arm in front of him, and only has enough time to consider, ‘This is gonna hurt like a bitch.’ Time speeds back up and he lands onto the pitch, distinctly hearing a loud, sickening ‘crunch’, before he rolls across the grass, stopping when his back is flat against the ground.

Tine watches through fluttering eyes, watches the clouds drift by, unaware of the events happening below them, watches his teammates race towards him, watches the crowd jump out of their seats in shock, watches as Sarawat jumps off his broom and stumbles towards him, reaching Tine’s side with shaky breaths. Trembling hands push back strands of Tine’s sweat stricken hair away from his forehead, lifting his throbbing head off the grass and onto a lap.

Tine’s eyelids flicker but he manages to catch a glimpse of Sarawat looming over him, looking imperfectly distressed for the first time ever, and the Hufflepuff is giddy with satisfaction. He feels himself slipping in and out of consciousness, snatching snippets of moments: His friends crowding around him, someone casting a floating spell on his body, a warm hand clutching his, guiding him to the infirmary.

He’s placed gently on a bed, urgent voices gradually sounding further and further away, and he finally blacks out, giving in to the unbearable pounding of his head.

When he wakes up, the headache has receded but a silent thrumming still lingers behind, not painful, just rather irritating. He shifts upright into a seating position, letting out a hiss of pain right as he had been propping himself up on his left arm. A nurse rushes to him, forcing him to sip some ghastly bitter potion that was meant to help with the injuries he had gained. Suddenly, his friends and teammates flock to his bed out of nowhere, cooing sympathetically at him or shooting out questions practically faster than the speed of light.

“Come on, give the guy some space. He just dropped down to the ground from like five metres up in the air. He’s bound to be feeling a bit sick.” Fong politely reminds the crowd and they immediately back away, sheepish.

“Are you okay?” Ohm asks and upon seeing his nod, Tine’s three best friends collectively smack the back of his head, albeit softer than usual.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?”

“We told you, didn’t we?” Phuak says sternly, “We fucking told you, months ago, to not use the school’s old, basically half-broken brooms. But no, you wanted to save up and wait for the release of the next Firebolt.”

“I mean, it’s mostly that Slytherin’s fault but this wouldn’t have happened if the broom you used wasn’t so unstable!” Ohm chides and his three friends collectively sigh pointedly at him, at the same time.

Unbelievable.

“You would’ve been in worse shape if it wasn’t for Sarawat,” At this, Tine instantly straightens up from where he had been slouching shamefully, listening with rapt attention as Fong continues, “He cast some sort of healing spell that works best within like five seconds of getting an injury. Good thing he’s quick on a broom!”

“He would’ve caught the Golden Snitch. Lucky for us, he left to follow you to the Hospital Wing and their substitute seeker wasn’t as fast as he was, so we won!” Air cheers and the rest of the Hufflepuffs follow suit, whooping and hollering in the middle of the Hospital Wing.

Just then, the same nurse comes back, strictly demanding Tine’s visitors to go back to their dorms immediately as it was almost time for curfew. His friends reluctantly wave goodbye, leaving behind gifts of snacks and cards. Not tired considering the fact that he had recently woken up from a long nap, Tine sits back against the soft pillows, flicking through cards and munching on a large Chocoball that Air had snagged from the kitchens.

“Are you feeling better?” Someone suddenly whispers, breaking the silence of the Hospital Wing Tine had been drowning in. He lets out a surprised yelp, dropping his Chocoball onto the ground and watching it roll miserably across the floor, slowing to a stop next to the newcomer’s foot. His eyes shift upwards and Tine instantly feels uncomfortable, fidgeting in his seat to sit up properly.

Sarawat approaches him cautiously, clutching a bottle in his hands so tightly, his knuckles had gone white. “Uh... Here. For you.” He slowly extends his arm, jerking the drink impatiently when Tine simply stares at the gift in astonishment for a few seconds, too surprised to move. Tine ducks his head apologetically, reaching out to take the bottle from Sarawat’s hands, murmuring out a ‘thanks’.

He hesitantly takes a sip under Sarawat’s watchful gaze and immediately brightens up, the familiar sweet drink leading to a sense nostalgia blooming in his chest, reminding him of home. “This is a Blue Hawaii mocktail!” He gasps cheerfully, taking another gulp, then continuing, “How’d you know this is my favourite?”

Sarawat rubs the back of his neck, not quite meeting Tine’s eyes as he mumbles, “I guessed. Loads of my friends in Thailand used to like it as well.”

“So, why are you here?” Tine manages in between slurps, too distracted with his drink to bother with pleasantries.

“I just… Wanted to see if you were alright.” Sarawat responds, shifting his weight from one foot to another, looking as bored as ever, contrary to his slightly concerned tone.

Tine recalls his earlier conversation with his friends and his memories before crashing down onto the pitch, and feels an embarrassingly large surge of gratitude towards Sarawat. Confusingly, despite the blatant hatred Sarawat expressed towards Tine, he had still gone out of his way to make sure the injured Hufflepuff was brought to the Hospital Wing properly, giving up the opportunity to win the House Cup and have another achievement under his already full belt.

Weird.

“Thank you. For, y’know. Bringing me here and casting whatever spell it was that helped with minimising the extent of my injuries.” Tine blurts out awkwardly, feeling self-conscious, yet again, under Sarawat’s calm, concentrated gaze. The latter simply nods in response after a few beats of silence, stuffing his hands into his pockets and continuing to linger at the side of Tine’s bed.

‘What the hell is he still here for?’ Tine thinks uneasily. He waits for any further movement or another monotone statement from Sarawat, but the other boy just stands there, looking intensely at Tine, who had long ago finished the drink. ‘Shit, does he wanna kill me or something?’

“You better go soon, before Madam Pomfrey or some Prefect catches you,” Tine finally musters up the courage to say, holding out the bottle stiffly. “Er… Thanks for the drink and everything.”

Sarawat silently nods again and something similar to disappointment flashes across his face, but it’s gone just as quickly, so Tine glosses over it. The Hufflepuff smiles politely at the door, in a discreet show of dismissal, and Sarawat gracefully moves towards the entrance. Just as Tine is about to crash back into the mountain of pillows, Sarawat swiftly turns around and he jolts back upright.

“You’re even better than I thought you were.” He cooly states.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Tine admits, surprised to find that he truly means it and he didn’t just say it out of some common courtesy. Sarawat seems to realise the sincerity behind his words and the corner of his mouth tilts upwards into one of his familiar, rare smirks. “Take care. Don’t be so clumsy again, you buffalo.” He offers, not giving Tine a chance to fully process his words before disappearing around the corner.

“Saraleo,” Tine retorts, although he’s now the only one in the room. He’s once again shocked by himself, a smile unwittingly stretching across his face instead of a scowl, upon hearing Sarawat’s insult.

Left alone to just his thoughts, he wonders what Sarawat meant behind his ambiguous statement and gradually, floats back into a peaceful state of sleep, dreaming of fingers carding through his hair and a warm hand in his.

Chapter Text

Tine is thirteen years old when cracks start appearing in his family.

At the start of the new school term, instead of either one of his parents following him through the floo network Ohm’s family had helped them install after his First Year, his older brother does so in their place. Upon seeing the impressive, sleek train and actual spells being cast all around him, Tine looks up at Type, hoping for a look of fascination or a smile but the same tired expression is fixed on his face.

“Will you be alright?” Tine asks, the unsaid words of ‘alone with them’, floating in the space between them. Type must sense the overwhelming concern his brother has for him as he pats Tine on his head, demonstrating a rare show of affection. He nods his head, mustering up a half-smile simply meant to console Tine, and lets out a long sigh, just as the train does too.

“I better go,” Tine chews uncertainly on his lip, before abruptly flinging his arms around Type, pulling him down into a tight hug. “Call me whenever it’s all too much, okay?”

A weight seemingly lifts off Type’s chest as he settles into the hug, leaning on his brother for support. “Have fun, don’t get into too much trouble,” He breathes out shakily, sounding a bit choked up, “I’ll miss you.” At this sudden display of sincere vulnerability, Tine becomes even more emotional, burying his head into Type’s chest, repeating the same words back.

Finally, the train blows out another drawn-out whistle and the two siblings pull apart from each other reluctantly. Offering one another similar wobbly smiles, Tine only starts to move after an encouraging, gentle shove from Type. He lifts his bags and boards the train, immediately finding an empty compartment and crashes down onto the seats.

He peers out the window, waving sadly at his brother who stands on the platform, clearly out of place amongst the crowd of adults beaming cheerfully at their kids on the train. The last few passengers begin to board and with one final whistle blow, the train starts to tremble harder and suddenly shoots off, leaving behind emotional parents and a single, lonely older brother in its dust.

Guilt weighs down on Tine’s chest as he thinks about Type going back to that house alone, with no one to turn to when the shouting starts, when the arguing reaches its climax, when their parents continue to pull their family apart.

Before all the fighting, their family used to be perfectly happy, spending their nights after dinner squashed together on the worn-out couch in the living room, watching films and laughing. Now, returning to his home during the school breaks consisted of him tiptoeing to Type’s room at night, squeezing next to his older brother on his bed as they listened to music or whispered under the covers, distracting themselves from the shouts downstairs.

Just when he’s contemplating stopping the train to rush back to the platform, the sound of the compartment door sliding open interrupts his thoughts. He doesn’t bother looking, suddenly feeling too tired by everything, and simply presses his forehead against the window.

“Tine?” A familiar voice asks and Tine lets out a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes shut, counting the train bump over the tracks three times, before turning around, a too-wide grin plastered across his face.

“Hey, Sarawat! Are you looking for Man and Boss? I haven’t seen them yet but if I do, I’ll let you know. They’re probably in one of the hundreds of compartments on this train. That’s actually quite ridiculous, imagine having to try and find your friends and opening and closing every compartment door--” Tine prattles on, knowing he’s rambling but he doesn’t stop, he can’t stop, too afraid of what would happen if he does.

After a few minutes of talking continuously, without even pausing for a break to breathe, he finally exhausts himself and halts in the middle of a sentence, crumpling down in his seat. He’s surprised to find that Sarawat has since moved from his spot by the door, sliding into the seat next to him probably sometime during his ranting. The other boy offers a bottle of water wordlessly and Tine nods his head in thanks, sipping from it slowly.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, the two of them simply looking out the window at the landscape that rushes by, mixes of blue from the lakes and green from the rolling hills and slopes blurring together. Unexpectedly, Sarawat is the one that breaks the tranquillity of the moment, asking in such a soft whisper that Tine almost misses it amongst the distant sound of the train rumbling.

“Are you okay?”

Hearing those words, for the first time in months, without feeling the pressure of it being asked by Type makes something inside of Tine slowly untwist out from its knot and he breaks. He’s a sociable, loud individual, having no qualms about speaking in front of large crowds, enjoying and feeding on the attention from others, thriving under compliments that motivate him more than anything.

However, when it comes to crying, he’s quieter than the normal person. There’s no loud wailing or big gasps that echo around the compartment. Instead, he sniffles faintly as tears start to gather in his eyes, shakily hanging off his lashes before proceeding to slide down his cheeks, splattering onto his lap. He lets himself cry openly in front of Sarawat, someone who he had somewhere in the middle of the previous year started considering as an acquaintance on the edge of being a friend.

The Slytherin doesn’t mock him or make any movements implying he’d rather leave. Instead, Tine feels Sarawat’s fingers hesitantly graze the side of his own, slowly edging closer until their hands are finally intertwined. Sarawat squeezes his hand gingerly and this silent little action strangely comforts Tine more than words ever could. He focuses on the warmth of the hand and the indistinct motions of the train thudding over the tracks, allowing them to lull him into a state of sleep, exhausted by everything.

The next thing he knows, he’s being woken up from a light shake, his sore eyes making it slightly painful to blink. Tine blearily takes in his surroundings, still groggy from his nap, and realises, with a startle, his whole world view is sideways. He shoots up from where his cheek was resting against Sarawat’s shoulder and apologises profusely, scrambling up from his seat, scooping his bags in his arms.

“Ah, it’s fine. I didn’t know whether to wake you up or not,” Sarawat drawls, still looking composed despite the awkwardness Tine feels for having essentially slept on the other’s shoulder for the whole ride. “Besides, you looked tired, so… I thought it’d be better if you got some rest.”

Sarawat’s voice sounds unusually shaky and Tine hesitantly peeks over his luggage, curiously spotting a flush on Sarawat’s cheeks that only seems to make him look more good looking and once again, inwardly bemoans the unfairness of it all.

‘Shit, he must be mad!’ Tine thinks, immediately offering another muttered apology. Sarawat simply waves him off, refusing to meet Tine’s eyes as he looks down, taking far too long to just grab the handle of his luggage bag. ‘Oh man, he’s so mad, he can’t even look at me.’

Forcing down the heat rising to his face, Tine focuses on checking over the compartment for any possible items left behind before the two head out, joining the line of students squeezing out of the doors. Being in the crowded aisles, with elbows constantly jabbing his sides and everything and everyone around, suffocating him, Tine is reminded of the quietness of the moment in the compartment with Sarawat, and the other’s display of genuine concern and consideration to Tine’s space.

Appreciation blooms quickly in Tine’s chest and his hand involuntarily seeks out the familiar warmth of Sarawat’s, despite the rising heat he feels just waiting for the crowd to slowly edge out of the train. Tine feels the Slytherin’s eyes on his, but surprisingly, doesn’t feel tense, welcoming the questioning gaze on him.

He slowly peers over to where Sarawat is squashed next to him, their arms pressed tightly against one another, faces incredibly close. A shy genuine smile, the first in a long time, tugs at Tine’s mouth and he gives Sarawat’s hand a squeeze, holding it there for a beat before releasing the pressure and letting it lay limply in his fingers.

“Thank you.” He whispers and in the loud sea of noise, voices crashing all around them, Sarawat still manages to hear him. Something similar to his usual smirk but not quite, flashes across his face, and a relaxed look then settles across his handsome features, a nice difference from his usual moody expression.

Instead of a response, Sarawat repeats Tine’s action, wordlessly giving a small pump to their joint hands, letting it linger for a few seconds before releasing the pressure.

From that moment onwards, their relationship falls into a new area. They take the final step from acquaintances slash friends, shifting into full, proper friendship that is unlike any other Tine has shared with anyone before. It starts off slow, waving at each other along the corridors and choosing seats near one another in classes, to sitting together during mealtimes when their friends are missing and often poking fun at one another.

Soon enough, others start to notice this new development and the questioning looks Tine’s friends shoot at him completely go unnoticed. One day, unsurprisingly, Fong is eventually fed up with Tine’s obliviousness, and finally bluntly voices the question on everyone’s minds.

“Since when were you and Sarawat such good friends?” Fong picks at his food, voice still rough from only having recently woken up.

Tine slides into a seat opposite of him, waving at a few Ravenclaws, who were used to the Hufflepuff often joining their table to sit with his best friend. He turns his attention fully to Fong, lifting a brow while he begins piling a plate with the steaming breakfast options.

“Huh? Whaddya mean?”

Just then, he feels someone flick their fingers against the back of his head and he jerks slightly forward from the motion. He whips around to catch the culprit, eyes immediately falling upon the retreating back of Slytherin robes, swaggering down the row to his friends.

“Saraleo!” He curses, a stark contrast to the grin weaseling its way onto his face. Sarawat doesn’t even turn around, giving a flick of his wrist in a lazy salute and Tine just knows he has that stupid smirk on him again.

He turns back to his food with a shake of his head and looks up after a few seconds when he feels Fong’s pointed stare on him, reminded of the question he had yet to answer. “Oh! I guess since around the end of the year? We weren’t really friends at first but we started hanging out a bit more this year and I realised he’s not as bad as I thought,” Tine shrugs, spreading a generous layer of butter over his toast. “He’s a good person to talk to.”

Fong hums thoughtfully and after a few minutes of tense silence, where Tine somewhat feels like he’s waiting for his friend’s approval for something, the Ravenclaw nods firmly and Tine strangely sags down in his seat from where he had unknowingly straightened up, rapt at attention.

“If he hurts you again…” Fong threatens, coincidentally brandishing the knife he had been using to cut up his food at the same time, referring to the incident that happened two years ago, where he had stumbled into Tine’s room to discover him staring blankly at the ceiling, eyes rimmed red.

A few alarmed looks are thrown their way and Tine fumbles with his friend’s arm, pushing it back down onto the table and patting it half-gratefully, half-jokingly. “Don’t need to be jealous, man. You’re still my best friend. Who else am I gonna steal answers off of?”

Fong jerks the same hand holding the knife towards him, accompanied by one of his usual half-smiles and Tine knows everything is fine again. They joke around cheerfully, complaining about teachers and throwing their leftovers at Ohm and Puak, who fall into the seats next to them ten minutes before the first lesson of the day with their hair mussed up and teeth left unbrushed. The four of them laugh, chattering non-stop, and as Tine sits there, looking at his friends silently, he feels something brighten in his chest at this family he has found in Hogwarts.

And he knows, with all of his friends by his side, he could face anything life threw at him next.

Chapter Text

Tine is fourteen years old when he starts to really notice girls.

The swish of their silky hair that billows in the wind, their curls that bounce when they run, the sway of their skirts, and the fit of their pants. Skinny or curvy, tomboyish or feminine, tall or short, everything about them is enchanting. He could say, with absolute certainty, he loved girls.

Sighing, he watches dazedly as Pear, a Hufflepuff in his year and his most recent crush, giggles prettily with her friends from further down across the table. There’s a smudge of powdered sugar at the corner of her mouth and Tine thinks she can’t get any cuter, with her crescent-shaped eyes and her wide, embarrassed smile.

She tucks her hair behind her ear and Tine involuntarily sighs yet again, getting knocked out of his dreamy state, literally, when Phuak connects his palm against the back of Tine’s head with a loud smack. Tine rubs at the spot where Phuak had hit him, not painful but just stinging with irritation. He hisses and in typical fashion, his friends merely laugh at him.

“What’s going on?”

Tine peeks up from where his head had been tilting downwards, watching Boss lazily swing one leg over the bench, reaching over to steal one of Phuak’s toasted pieces of breads he had been studiously spreading an even layer of sangkhaya on.

Ignoring Phuak’s indignant squawk, Boss stuffs the entire thing in his mouth at one go, crumbs spewing everywhere. As expected, Man follows closely after him, jumping onto the bench before plopping himself down right on top of the table. He snatches another one of Phuak’s toasts, swiftly dodging out of the way of a thrown piece bread.

“We’re laughing at Tine. Cupid’s struck another arrow through his heart, yet again,” Fong explains, patting Phuak’s arm sympathetically with one hand while sneakily shifting the other behind the Gryffindor to grab one of his famously delicious toasts with sangkhaya.

Upon hearing Fong’s words, Man and Boss shoot each other identical looks of concern that makes Tine feel apprehensive. Ignoring their intense, silent discussion with just their eyes, Tine groans dramatically, moving to drop his head against the table, expecting his forehead to meet the hard, polished wood and instead, feels something soft cushion the blow.

He jolts up just as Sarawat slides into the spare seat next to him, snagging the last piece of Phuak’s toast, who now looks like his head is about to explode. He moves his other hand back to his side from where it had stopped Tine’s head from colliding painfully against the table, an obvious white mark gradually fading smaller in the centre of his palm.

Guilty, Tine grabs his injured hand and begins to rub circles on it, Sarawat initially anxiously moving to draw it back but gradually, stops squirming, slowly relaxing under the carefully added pressure of Tine’s fingers. “What’s going on?” Sarawat unknowingly repeats, still looking annoyingly handsome despite him hungrily wolfing down on the piece of bread, attention trained on his hand currently being massaged by Tine.

“Tine has a crush. Again.” Ohm groans out, looking pointedly over at Pear, who’s in the middle of a story, cutely gesturing with her hands as she recalls a tale.

Suddenly, Sarawat’s choking on his toast and Tine instantly drops his grip on the other’s hand, thumping it against his back to help him breathe again. After taking a big gulp of water, Sarawat turns back around to look at Tine, eyes alarmingly wide and questioning.

Tine leans back uneasily, dropping his arm away from where it had lingered on Sarawat’s back, feeling nervous under the hard stare he had not been subjected to in a while. “She’s cute, okay?” He sputters, fidgeting under Sarawat’s unwavering gaze. “Besides, I haven’t dated in a while and I want to again!”

“Again?” Sarawat echoes, looking angrier by the second.

Tine looks desperately to his friends, confused by Sarawat’s frankly dramatic reaction, while Fong hums in reply to Sarawat’s question. “Yup. But his girlfriends never last long. He’s dated, what? Two people already?”

“Two?” Sarawat exclaims.

“Maybe three? I’m losing count,” Fong adds, ignoring Tine’s pleading looks while trying to count on his hand.

“Three?”

Sarawat’s head whips towards Tine, mouth hanging wide open and looking completely shocked, accompanied with a shade of anger. Tine fumbles with an excuse, gesturing wildly at nothing, too nervous under Sarawat’s piercing eyes to think properly.

“Why’re you so mad anyway?” Tine finally settles on asking, masking his anxiety with indignation, “It’s not like you haven’t dated anyone before!”

“I’m not mad!”

“Then why are you angrily asking me all this?”

Man and Boss look between the two in the midst of their argument, eyes flicking back and forth anxiously, and if Tine wasn’t so wrapped up in bickering, he’d laugh at their expressions. “Look, I’m just--” Sarawat sighs, scratching the back of his head, finally tearing his glaring eyes away from Tine while he continues, “I’m just surprised, okay? I didn’t think-- Didn’t know this about you. It’s just, kind of a shock.”

‘Oh, I get it,’ Tine thinks, taking in Sarawat’s strange behaviour: him refusing to meet Tine’s eyes, his flushed cheeks, his fidgeting hands, and his unusual loud display of anger upon hearing Tine’s romantic past from Fong.

“You’re jealous…” Tine voices out loud, breaking the silence between them.

Two loud gasps are heard from his left and he doesn’t need to look to know that Man and Boss are making another pair of comedic expressions. Tine’s too concentrated on studying Sarawat’s reaction, who’s now adamantly refusing to meet his eyes, looking what seems to be nervous, real, actual, nervousness, for the first time.

“You’re jealous,” Tine repeats, relishing in the uneasy shifting of Sarawat’s eyes, that was basically considered squirming for the usually composed guy.

“It’s not what you think--”

“You’re jealous of Fong!” Tine cuts Sarawat off mid-sentence, grinning winningly at the dumbfounded look on the Slytherin’s face.

“Huh?”

“Just because Fong knows about my past relationships and you don’t, doesn’t make you any less of my friend,” Tine teases, crossing his arms confidently against his puffed-out chest.

The table is completely silent for a few seconds before noise erupts, Ohm and Puak nodding their heads along with Tine’s clearly intelligent observation, pointing their fingers admiringly at him, whilst mockingly making cooing noises of pity at Sarawat. Man and Boss are smacking each other on the backs, crying with laughter at the fixed look of astonishment on their Slytherin friend’s face. Fong, however, is quietly thoughtful, probably figuring out a way to maintain his spot as Tine’s best friend, in the Hufflepuff’s humble opinion.

“You’re so stupid,” Sarawat takes a deep breath, looking at Tine in disbelief. “I can’t believe I like you.”

As Sarawat shakes his head, Tine feels a strange thump in his chest and suddenly the Great Hall is all too hot for him. Ignoring this, he chooses to laugh at Sarawat instead, scooping the other’s hands into his and patting them condescendingly, letting out a little snort of laughter at the embarrassed flush on the Slytherin’s cheeks, who looks desperately over at Man and Boss.

Suddenly, Boss topples over from his seat on the table, doing an unnaturally perfect roll forward before groaning loudly, sprawled out on the floor, clutching his leg as he rocks himself back at forth. Sarawat wrenches his hand out of Tine’s grip, vaulting himself smoothly over the table and appearing at his friend’s side.

“I’m gonna bring him to the Hospital Wing. See you, guys.” Sarawat hoists Boss up by his arm, supporting the other boy as he hobbles towards the doors, his noisy complaints and wails echoing around the entire hall. Boss follows behind them, looking weirdly unbothered for his supposed injured friend.

Fong squints at them suspiciously, in the middle of raising his spoon to his mouth, still looking thoughtful. “Wasn’t he gripping his right leg on the floor?” He asks and the rest give his affirming nods. “That’s weird… He was clearly favouring his left leg while walking.”

The rest of the group brushes it off, used to Boss’s weird antics by now, simply considering it as another one of his over the top jokes, returning back to their food. Between bites, Tine peers up at Fong, to spot him still looking deep in thought, until finally returning back to normal when Ohm almost tries to bite into an entire raw egg upon Phuak’s issued dare.

A few weeks later, the entire interaction is no longer at the forefront of anyone’s minds, pushed to the back of their heads and stuffed onto a shelf alongside other memories. Their big group of seven friends manage to snag a table big enough to fit all of them at the recently reopened Three Broomsticks, which had spent the past few months closed for renovations. The inn was now bigger and sporting a cleaner look, booths lining the walls and long tables stretching across the spare space in the centre.

They have tons of fun, laughing while drinking their varying assortments of drinks and trying to see who can catch the most number of snack pieces thrown into the air with their mouths. As Ohm and Boss bicker over who won their mini-competition, a seriously pretty girl squeezes through the crowd towards their table, waving excitedly in their direction.

She shouts out Sarawat’s name and Tine thinks she’s probably just another girl infatuated with the unattainable, ever cool, always popular Sarawat Guntithanon. To the Hufflepuff’s utter surprise, Sarawat shoots out of his seat where the side of his body had been pressed against Tine’s, easily walking through the crowd of students that part for him, and sweeps the girl into a tight hug.

Something drops in Tine’s chest, like a huge weight being dumped from the top of a cliff, hurtling down to slam against the pit of his stomach as he stares at the pair. They look good together, really good, like something out a romance movie, with their perfect skin, perfect hair, perfect eyes and perfect smiles. Others seem to notice this too as a few bystanders turn to watch the two of them walk through the crowd effortlessly, their combined beauty standing out even in the dim lighting of the inn.

The girl slides into the seat opposite of Tine, greeting everyone with a charming smile with Sarawat sitting next to her. Their shoulders brush continuously against one another and Tine is suddenly hyper-aware of the absence of a familiar body by his side. He doesn’t know why he’s so disturbed by the image in front of him. Usually, he would either be busy making a new friend or already head over heels for the attractive girl.

Instead, he’s left sitting there alone with his conflicting thoughts and the uncomfortable hammering against the bottom of his chest. He snaps back to the present when Man and Boss cheer rowdily, Boss pulling her into a hug with Man flinging his arms around the both of them from behind. She laughs and even her laughter is beautiful, and when she introduces herself as the trio’s primary school friend, Tine feels another load of weight falling to the bottom of his stomach.

“What are you even doing here, Pam?” Man leans forward, a questioning brow raised.

“It’s the school holidays over at Mahoutokoro and my family decided to have our vacation in England. So, I thought, why not visit my friends I haven’t seen in years?” She declares, snagging Sarawat’s drink and taking a big sip, giving him a bright smile as he chastises her with a shake of his head, complaining about her good-naturedly.

The easy familiarity between the two of them adds another boulder to the pit of his already uncomfortable stomach. They’re comfortable with one another, invading each other’s personal space with relaxed grins and recalling their years together with clear nostalgia. Tine knows he’s not the most observant guy but the lingering looks and frequent touches they share are a clear sign of something having existed, or even still existing, between them.

Pam places her hand on top of Sarawat’s and suddenly, everything around Tine feels like too much. He feels suffocated looking at them and out of nowhere, someone coincidentally calls out his name and he practically falls out of his seat in relief, excusing himself hurriedly with a trembling smile, rushing in the direction he heard the voice.

“Tine, over here!”

He collapses onto the bench with a loud sigh of relief, a string of grateful words tumbling out his mouth, too fast and jumbled for anybody to make out what he said, but Pear seems to get the gist of it, smiling sweetly at him, waving off his thanks. “You looked a bit uncomfortable and I wanted to help you out,” She shrugs, looking bashful from Tine’s stream of compliments and blunt gratitude. “Besides, you’ve helped me a lot with my homework before.”

“You’re still my saviour,” He exhales, eyes no doubt shining in clear appreciation of the other Hufflepuff. She flushes even harder, gently hitting Tine’s hand good-naturedly, before peering at him curiously and politely asks, “What was bothering you, anyway?”

“That’s the thing,” He sighs, fidgeting with his hands, “I’m not sure.”

She gives him a reassuring smile, encouraging him to press on further and some stiffness bleeds from his shoulders as he finally confesses, “Sarawat and that girl over there, Pam, just look really close and-- I don’t know? I just felt…”

“Weird.” They both say at the same time, whispering for some unknown, mutually agreed reason, the conversation now feeling heavier. She reaches across the table to wrap her small hands around his own, giving a comforting squeeze as she continues, “You had a tight feeling in your chest, right? Like the walls were pressing you in from all sides and you couldn’t breathe.”

She smiles sadly at Tine’s look of astonishment, their shared moment of empathy and exchange of similar emotions making them feel closer to one another, both suddenly feeling able to trust the person sitting opposite them completely.

“I get the same feeling too,” She sighs, gazing longingly at the bar counter, where Tine spots one of Pear’s friends she always hangs around. Confused, Tine looks between Pear and her friend ordering at the counter, and slowly but surely, begins to recognise the wistful look on Pear’s face directed towards the other girl.

“You like Earn,” He gasps softly, giving Pear the same reassuring smile she had used to comfort him a mere few minutes ago. “You two would make a cute couple.”

By now, Pear’s cheeks are bright pink and she ducks her head shyly, hands going limp on top of Tine’s. “Really?” She whispers, looking all too cute while blushing, a tiny wobbly, hopeful smile spreading across her cheeks.

Strangely, Tine doesn’t feel bothered by his supposed crush having feelings for somebody else that isn’t him. He genuinely, completely means what he says and recalling the number of seemingly mere friendship moments that in actuality, were startingly sweet moments he’d witnessed between the two, he’s truly rooting for their relationship to come into fruition.

He voices this thought out loud and Pear slides down her seat further, lips still quirked upwards. “I’m happy for you but, sorry, I still don’t understand what those feelings mean for me…” He trails off self-consciously, face unconsciously scrunching up in concentration.

“Don’t you have feelings for Sarawat?”

“What?” He practically shouts, choking on a deep intake of breath, doubling over whilst Pear instantly stretches over the table to hit his back. He screws his eyes shut, avoiding the stares from those around him, cursing lightly under his breath. He prays that the inn’s overwhelming noise was loud enough to cover his shout from his table of friends, specifically Sarawat, but just in case, he refuses to look behind, lest one of his friends were looking over at him.

“I don’t have feelings for… Sarawat!” He whispers sharply, burying his face between his hands in embarrassment, feeling warm cheeks beneath. “I’m sorry, I thought-- From the way you looked at him-- And the two of you seemed so close--” Pear stutters, looking so incredibly guilty that Tine immediately calms down, feeling as remorseful as she looks.

“It’s okay, Pear. Seriously.” He soothes, mustering a consoling smile that falls flat.

The two of them sit in tense silence for a few lingering beats before Pear hesitantly breaks it, accompanied by her tiny smile that had the power to remove anyone’s and everyone’s fears as she inquires softly, “But… Don’t you?”

Maybe it’s the way she said it; genuinely full of confusion, softly with reassurance, and no trace of judgement. Maybe it’s the fact he’s not that close to her and therefore can’t be scared of saying something that results in him losing her presence in his life. Maybe it’s his desperate need to recognise and put a label on his recent weird emotions that have the ability to consume him entirely.

Whatever it is, he sits still, soaking in her words and truly thinking about them. Yeah, he’s always thought Sarawat was handsome, even when he had that dumb, short, spiky haircut in their first year, only had two expressions in total, and was a huge asshole. More importantly, he thinks of the way Sarawat has a large presence in his life.

He thinks of the way his body warms up whenever Sarawat brushes his hand against Tine’s or pats his hair. He thinks of the way Sarawat’s become the person whom he confesses anything and everything to, telling him his problems and worries, knowing the other will listen fully with no judgement. He thinks of the way Sarawat makes him feel lighter, makes him feel happier, brighter, more excited about life itself.

‘Oh,’ He thinks.

“Oh,” He says aloud, distinctly feeling his hands trembling on the table and barely noticing Pear scooping them up to hold gingerly, too absorbed in his thoughts of Sarawat as he shakily, disbelievingly repeats, “Oh.”

“I like Sarawat.”

Chapter Text

Tine is fifteen years old when he starts to really notice boys.

The shine of their sweat-ridden hair messily slicked back in the middle of rough games, their curls that are never run through with a comb but only with fingers, the flutter of their haphazardly knotted ties, and the fit of their shirt sleeves around biceps. Muscular or lanky, rough or sensitive, tall or short, everything about them is enchanting. He could say with absolute certainty, after nearly a year of studying and finally noticing how not straight some of his thoughts are about guys, he loves boys too.

More specifically, one Sarawat Guntithanon.

Ever since his jolting realisation of his crush on Sarawat the previous year, it was as if a veil he’d been unknowingly drowning in had been lifted. He was suddenly hyper-aware of Sarawat; every lingering touch between them, their knees brushing as they sat side by side, the long looks they sent one another, and the private moments that just the two of them shared. Every single time Sarawat looked, spoke, touched or even breathed in his direction, Tine could feel the flips in his stomach and the warmth spreading across his entire body, and he hated it.

“Oi, nuisance!” A familiar voice rang across the expanse of the field, interrupting Tine from his thoughts and his peaceful moment of simply gazing out at the lake. Immediately, he jolts up from where he had been lazily leaning against a tree, hurriedly grabbing his scattered papers and pens before--

Worn out shoes he’d seen hundreds of times propped up on his lap appear in his lane of vision, with its laces tied sloppily as per usual and a well-known tiny smiley face he had doodled himself on the front of the right shoe. “Doing homework?” Sarawat bumps the same shoe against his knee, throwing his bag onto the ground.

He gracefully collapses onto the grass, positioning his head on top of his bag as he peers lazily at Tine. Realising he’s been silent for a while, Tine simply nods his head in reply, inconspicuously placing all his belongings back onto the ground, no longer able to make a safe escape without being bombarded by an endless list of poking questions by Sarawat.

They spend the next few minutes in each other’s company comfortably, Tine gradually losing the tension in his body, becoming lost in his work while still vaguely aware of Sarawat napping less than a metre away from him. It’s totally silent, apart from the sounds of the Giant Squid splashing around in the distance and the scratching of Tine’s pen against the parchment propped up on his thighs, knees drawn up near to him.

The sun shifts after a while, a bright beam now falling upon the area near Tine and when the Hufflepuff gazes up from his work, eyes now tired and strained, he instantly drops his pen. Sarawat’s glowing, the sunlight bathing him in a beautiful hue, casting shadows down the planes of his perfectly sculpted face and his slightly unbuttoned shirt, turning the rest of his skin golden.

‘He’s beautiful,’ Tine thinks.

As if sensing someone’s stare upon him, Sarawat suddenly shifts in his sleep, long lashes fluttering open slowly before his piercing, soulful eyes are once again revealed to the world. He winces at the sun’s rays shining directly on him and raises a hand up, groaning when he barely manages to block much light. He tiredly looks around for a spot where the sun hasn’t forced its glare on and finally, turns a searching gaze upon Tine, who’s leaning against the trunk of the tree, in the only place near them with shade.

Sarawat slinks towards a confused Tine, still blinking blearily as he gingerly grabs the Hufflepuff’s ankles, staggering backwards to slide Tine’s legs down flat before moving the homework off his lap. Tine, too bewildered to do anything, simply watches as Sarawat gives himself a tiny smile of satisfaction, breath hitching in his throat when the Slytherin then proceeds to collapse messily onto the grass, a contrast to him carefully lowering his head onto Tine’s lap.

“H-hey, get off,” Tine commands, mentally patting himself on his back at how composed he thinks he manages to sound. “I can’t do my work like this.”

Sarawat, the bastard, just smiles lazily, peeking out of one eye to peer upwards, making it seem like he’s winking at Tine, whose face only heats up further under this observation. “C’mon, you’ve been at it for basically an hour. Time to rest,” He grunts out, voice thick and low with sleep, making Tine’s insides squirm uncomfortably.

Knowing the other’s stubborn nature, Tine finally relents, forcing himself to lean back against the trunk, flicking Sarawat’s forehead when he notices the Slytherin smirking triumphantly. Tine laughs while Sarawat threatens him, trying to look scary with a scowl but failing miserably, instead looking cute with his shut eyes and scrunched up face.

“I can’t sleep,” Tine whines after a while of squeezing his eyes, trying to force himself to fall asleep under the bright conditions of his surroundings. Sarawat hums questioningly and Tine’s body involuntarily jerks, having thought the other had already fallen asleep. Tine continues to fidget restlessly until he hears the lyrics of his favourite song being sung, at which he freezes.

With his palm lying against Sarawat’s chest, he feels the Slytherin’s chest rise and fall, a rumble beneath his fingertips that accompanies the enchanting voice attached to the same body. Sarawat sings softly, beautiful like the rest of him, letting his voice wrap around Tine in a comforting hug, making everything else around him fade into the distant background. Slowly but surely, Tine finally manages to drift off to sleep, lulled by Sarawat’s low, whispered singing, and eased by thoughts of a golden boy, basking in the sun peacefully.

Suddenly, his dreams of lying in a warm glow in the middle of a field with his hand intertwined in another with a familiar set of guitar calluses and lines, is hastily interrupted by somebody desperately shaking him awake. He jolts up with a surprised yelp, his neck stiff and knees groaning painfully.

Still blurry from his nap, it takes him a moment to come to terms with his surroundings. The sun had since settled into its own nap whilst he’d been taking his, the sky now an overwhelming shade of dark blue, with hints of light peeking over the horizon of the lake. Tine feels light splashes against him and realises, with a slight startle, that it’s raining.

“C’mon!” Sarawat urges him from where he’s been sitting dazedly, helping him scoop up all his belongings, haphazardly stuffing them into Tine’s bag. “We’re gonna get soaked if you don’t wake up soon, nuisance.”

Sarawat swings both his and Tine’s bags over his shoulders, letting out a huff as he leans back down to grab Tine’s hand, heaving the Hufflepuff up into a standing position before breaking out into a sprint, dragging the other behind him. He’s grumbling complaints the entire time and Tine can’t seem to mind that a few of them are directed at him, too absorbed in the rain and his hand slotted comfortably in Sarawat’s.

By the time they reach the castle, bent over on the steps, catching their breaths, Tine begins to laugh at the absurdity of the entire situation, the fact that he’s been itching to hold Sarawat’s hand for months and finally got to, all thanks to some rain. It’s not particularly funny but he’s worn out from this week’s hectic schedule of quidditch training and studying and tests and mountains of homework, that he’s a bit delirious, he’ll admit.

It bubbles forth from his throat, starting off as some loud breathing through his nose before erupting into full on laughter, the kind that moves him to throw his head backwards and clutch at his chest. Soon enough, Sarawat joins in and Tine wonders how strange the two of them would look to anyone passing by, two boys clearly in disarray, shirts soaked through with water, hands still clutching onto one another, and just laughing happily for no apparent reason.

The laughter slowly dies down, turning into slight chuckles, then into complete silence that settles over them. “We better head in soon before the Prefects do their rounds. We’re way past our curfew,” Sarawat muses and yet, continues to stand rooted in place, simply watching the world fall dark and the rain splash against the ground, with Tine by his side. Tine makes a noncommittal sound in response and they spend another few minutes just looking out at nothing.

“I’m glad we’re friends,” Sarawat suddenly says, squeezing Tine’s hand that still lays in his.

“Same here,” Tine replies, throat feeling choked up as he gives another squeeze back.

They both coincidentally turn to one another at the same time and Tine almost falls over at how close Sarawat and him had unwittingly been standing next to each other. This near Sarawat, Tine is privy to every bump on his skin, every lash that frames his eyes, every splatter of toffee coloured dots surrounding his pupils, every strand of hair that barely falls over his forehead. And when Sarawat smiles, not one of his smirks or his half-grins, but a tiny, full one that tugs both sides of his lips upwards, Tine feels a warmth spread from his chest, curling and dancing throughout his entire body until he’s no longer trembling in the cold.

Tine’s heart thuds loudly in his chest, so loud that he’s afraid even Sarawat can hear it, from the mere few inches he’s away from Tine. However, the Slytherin seems to remain unaware of the pounding sound in Tine’s chest, that drowns out the noise of the rain hitting against the Earth, flooding his ears. Instead, Sarawat continues to stand there, looking stupidly handsome with his stupid hand wrapped around Tine’s and his stupid eyes so bright in the moonlight and his stupid surprisingly adorable smile and his stupid, stupid, stupid face looking so earnest and happy.

Tine knows that if he doesn’t move away soon, he’ll lose the control he has over his eyes from doing something stupid like looking down at Sarawat’s lips. He musters a wobbly grin back instead, forcing himself to swallow his feelings and shove his less than platonic thoughts about Sarawat down into the tunnel of his head, to the very back of his mind.

He knocks shoulders against Sarawat, smoothly and discretely putting distance between the two of them in such a way, and barks out a loud, exaggerated chuckle, taking his hand out of Sarawat’s grip and shoving it into his pockets. He twists his body away, not wanting to meet the other’s piercing gaze, and jogs up the steps into the castle, the two of them shoving one another the entire time.

‘Just like normal friends do,’ Tine thinks and wishes the word didn’t send such a pang through his heart.

When Tine waves goodbye to Sarawat at the doorway of the kitchens, he realises with slight surprise that the Slytherin had walked him back to his dorms, Tine too distracted by their conversation and the fun of sneaking past the Prefects on duty, to even realise what Sarawat was doing. Watching Sarawat’s retreating figure, Tine forces himself to stomp on the tiny spark of hope that lights at the very bottom of his stomach, until the entire pesky little thing is extinguished.

‘Friends walk each other back to their dorms,’ He chastises himself, chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully as he comes up with reasonings behind Sarawat’s action. ‘He doesn’t like you like that,’ He reminds himself, over and over, throughout the entire time he spends showering, brushing his teeth and changing into his pyjamas.

‘Who’d like you?’ A part of himself suddenly whispers and keeps repeating the question again and again, until it pushes away all his memories of the day, tainting his encounters with Sarawat, crawling across every inch of space in his brain. He falls asleep like that, eyebrows furrowed and eyes prickling, the question pounding in his head even in his dreams.

A week or so passes, yet the question remains to linger at the back of his mind, feeding on any insults, whether said in jest or not, and twisting compliments into jabs at his character. It’s parasitical, leaves Tine feeling as if there are bugs swarming around in his head, and he wishes for nothing else except to lie down and take a long nap. Something’s building up in him, something ready to lash out at any moment, and he just prays that when it does, no one gets hurt.

He finally erupts a few days later. He’s walking along the corridor to his next class with Sarawat, trying to deflect the concerned glances the taller boy keeps shooting his way with well-timed jokes and smiles. Sarawat laughs, well, more like snorts, along with him, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t fade one bit, no matter how much bantering or how many quips are exchanged between them.

The hallway is crowded, swarms of students leaving their lessons and hurriedly rushing to the next, bags smacking into bodies, shoulders bumping into backs, and Tine struggles to even hear himself over the noise. Suddenly, a sixth or seventh year slams his shoulder against Sarawat, and the Slytherin staggers backwards, lightly wincing at the pain that no doubt shot up his arm.

“Outta my way,” The older student yells and just as Tine is about to whisper a snarky complaint about the guy under his breath, he unexpectedly turns around on his heel, eyes narrowing onto Sarawat’s face. “Aren’t you that fifth year kid? With some Chinese name or whatever?”

Sarawat doesn’t respond, simply asks Tine to continue his retelling of the prank war between Boss and Ohm he witnessed in the middle of class yesterday, completely ignoring the fuming senior standing three feet away. The other guy’s worryingly red in the face, veins practically throbbing out of his neck, and Tine feels the urge to drag Sarawat along before things get out of hand.

They manage a few more steps, tuning out the senior’s curses, who they now know evidently holds a grudge against Sarawat because apparently, way too many girls were interested in him, and this Gryffindor jerk did not find it fair. ‘Boo hoo hoo,’ Tine thinks condescendingly as he rolls his eyes in unison with Sarawat. Both of them are chuckling at this point, slightly amused by the extremely whiny, immature behaviour of this senior, merely finding his insults more comedic and annoying than hurtful.

“You fuckin’ fag, I’m talking to you!”

Tine immediately stills.

“Slut!” The older student jeers, spitting out the same few derogatory words over and over again.

Tine likes to think of himself as a pretty level-headed person. Although he’s performed the common theatrics here and there, some spontaneous outbursts once or twice, he’s never been one with a preference for violence. Every time he witnesses a fight, he admittedly has, from time to time, cheered the opponents on for a few seconds but eventually, he always ensures to go straight to a teacher to break it up.

He’s not a violent person, doesn’t have the greed for it nor the stomach for when it gets too heated, so he’s not particularly proud of what he does next.

One moment, his feet are stuck to the ground, as if the floor itself had sensed the foreboding danger and decided to crawl out of its foundations to wrap around Tine’s feet, attaching him to the earth. He can vaguely feel his own fists trembling at his sides, fingers curling inwards so that his nails are piercing into his palms, and he twitches involuntarily.

He doesn’t exactly know what happens, isn’t even clear of what his own body is doing until it’s too late. It doesn’t feel like he has any control over his body, he just watches helplessly as he stalks forward, twisting his arm back before slamming his fist into the senior’s face, sending him staggering backwards, yowling as he clutches his face in pain.

“You fuckin’ bitch! Filthy mudblood!” The Gryffindor roars.

Before either of them can do anything, Sarawat appears in front of Tine, swinging his own arm backwards before sending it flying into the older student’s face, in the exact same spot Tine had just landed a punch on. The sixth year lets out another guttural yell, desperately holding his nose as blood seeps through the cracks between his fingers.

“Don’t call him that.” Sarawat’s voice is as hard as steel, so similar to how he had been in his first year, that Tine feels an overwhelming sense of unease.

Weirdly, the corner of the senior’s mouth slithers up his face and when Tine hears heavy footsteps behind him, a sinking feeling crushes down on his chest. “Hold them,” The older student commands and Tine instantly feels two burly hands holding him back, painfully twisting and pinning his own arms to his spine. He kicks behind him blindly, struggling against his restraints but he’s still only a rather short fifth year, with gangly limbs and barely any muscles, as compared to the students holding him now.

The Gryffindor approaches him menacingly, a slight spring to his step as he turns around to aim a chilling laugh at Sarawat. “Watch closely,” He bares his teeth in a smirk before Tine feels something solid strike his face, a bursting pain flooding over his cheek as he lets out a surprised groan.

His ears are ringing, laughter and shrieks of alarm bouncing around in his head, but he forces himself to focus blearily on Sarawat, who now looks absolutely livid. Something washes over Sarawat, something sinister and different and dark, something that sends Tine’s toes curling, distracting him from the throbbing pain as he gets punched in the face again, repeatedly.

Sarawat had been struggling previously, pushing angrily against the arms holding him back to no avail, but now, there’s something more hysteric, more desperate to his actions. He jabs his elbow backwards which hits one goon in the eye, and then knees the other in the gut. He’s quick, ferocious and almost deadly as he beats up three older students, merely grunting whenever one of them manages to hit him successfully, barely offering his injuries any care.

The next thing he knows, there is an absence of the suffocating grip around his arms and Tine is sent sprawling onto the floor, all six seniors and Sarawat suddenly levitating in the air. Professor Longbottom appears, looking angrier than he’s ever been, and calmly yet sternly calls for several Prefects to escort the levitating students to the Headmistress.

“But sir, Sarawat didn’t do anything wrong!” Tine protests fumingly while a few students surge forward to help him up.

“Sorry, Tine, but he participated in the fight as well,” Professor Longbottom explains patiently, looking apologetic. “He’ll have to report to the Headmistress with the rest of that lot. It might take a while, so why don’t you head to the Hospital Wing and I’ll try my best to help you get checked up first?”

Tine shakes his head, fists still balled up at his sides, not angry at Professor Longbottom or the seniors but at himself, for getting Sarawat into this mess in the first place. He staggers away from the crowd, in the direction of the Headmistress’s office, ignoring the concerned calls of Professor Longbottom and several students.

He doesn’t know how long he spends waiting outside the office. He sits there cross-legged, mind completely blank, fingers fumbling uneasily with the straps of his bag, peering over his shoulder frequently to check if there was anyone leaving the room, despite hearing nothing. The sky’s beginning to darken just as the gargoyle statue in front of the entrance rumbles to the side and the staircase shifts into position, allowing a single student to hobble down the steps shakily.

“Sarawat!” He gasps in relief, stumbling forward into an upright position, ignoring the soreness of his legs from waiting for so long, before flinging his arms around Sarawat, burying his head in the crook of his neck. The two of them stand lingering there in the hallway, bodies pressed comfortingly against one another, shaky breaths filling the air as they tremble, whether in exhaustion or relief or a little bit of both, in each other’s arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” Tine chants, his apologies muffled against where his mouth is pressed against Sarawat’s shoulder. He finally pulls away, eyes slick with tears, embarrassed by his actions, refusing to meet the other’s stare. “I don’t know what came over me-- I shouldn’t have done that, I shouldn’t have punched him and I shouldn’t have gotten you into trouble. I just-- I just got so mad when he called you that. You don’t deserve that, you’re not any of those mean things he said.”

Tine’s chest heaves heavily, shuddering breaths stilling when Sarawat unexpectedly places his palm against his tear-stained face, swiping away at a persistent droplet lingering on the bottom of his lashes. Sarawat’s warm hand then moves to the top of Tine’s head, where he pats his head gently, a stark contrast to his usual flicks and light smacks.

“Thank you, for defending me.” Sarawat whispers and Tine’s head whips up from where it had hung shamefully.

“What? If anything, I should be thanking you,” Tine stops, looking Sarawat directly in the eyes, not wanting to leave any room for argument, wanting to show his profound sincerity and gratitude, and continues, “Thank you, for defending me.”

Sarawat does one of his loud exhale laughs, shaking his head whilst withdrawing his hand, and Tine instantly misses his touch. “We’ll be going around in circles at this rate,” The Slytherin jokes, suddenly wincing in pain as his tiny smile stretches an injured portion of his face.

“Hey, come on,” Tine urges softly, grabbing their bags off the floor and curling his fingers around Sarawat’s wrist. “Let’s get those injuries checked up.”

When they arrive at the Hospital Wing, a sign hangs on the door, declaring all the medical professionals absent and to report to the nearest adult instead. “Shit, I forgot,” Tine curses, about to turn back around, offering to head to one of their rooms as an alternative but thinks about the gossip that’s probably already spread and the eager groups of students no doubt waiting for each of them back at their dorms, full of questions and prodding.

“Alohomora,” He whispers instead and the large, looming doors crack open. He proceeds to manoeuvre Sarawat into the room, flicking on a bedside lamp and sitting him down on the edge of a bed. Neither of them has enough expertise to properly cast a healing spell without it backfiring on them, so, refusing to take such a risk, Tine recalls the basic medical facts he knows, grabbing one of the standard first aid kits from the many lining a shelf.

He hops onto the bed next to Sarawat, sorting through the box’s contents with a calculated gaze, taking out the appropriate materials. Holding a swab, he leans forward from where he sits cross-legged on the sheets, and Sarawat shoots backwards. “What the hell are you doing?” The Slytherin looks slightly panicked, cheeks tinged pink.

‘Cute,’ Tine thinks but outwardly, scowls at Sarawat and chastises, “Don’t move, I’m cleaning up your wounds.”

The taller boy hesitantly leans back forward and Tine tries to ignore the thrill that shoots up his spine at how close their faces are. To distract himself from his own traitorous drumming heart, he focuses on gingerly dabbing at the dried blood and infections on Sarawat’s face before applying the cream to areas flared all sorts of colours, ranging from red, purple to blue.

“Y’know how you said you got angry because I’m not the things that asshole said?” The question is sudden, the tone so worryingly stiff that it snaps Tine out of being drawn in by Sarawat’s big chocolate-coloured eyes. Cocking his head to the side, Tine hums in affirmation, drawing his hand back when he realises that Sarawat looks nervous, his usual headstrong attitude gone and replaced with unnatural fidgeting.

“What’s wrong, Saraleo?”

“What if…” Sarawat licks his lips, pauses and looks down at his bruised hands. “What if he’s right about one of them?”

“You’re not a slut!” Tine shouts, balling his fists in his lap and body jerking forward. Sarawat gives a surprised chuckle and causes Tine to short-circuit when he mutters, “Cute.”

Pushing aside that remark, considering it as a side effect from getting hit in the head too many times, Tine watches with concern as Sarawat shifts uncomfortably, waiting patiently while silence falls over the two of them. When Sarawat finally opens up again, Tine has to strain his ears to hear him. If there’d been any other noise at that moment, he would’ve missed Sarawat’s next statement.

“I mean... The other one,”

Which other--

Oh.

‘Oh.’ Tine thinks.

Tine knows he’s not always the smartest person when it comes to anything other than academics, too oblivious to even the most obvious signals, but this time, he’s pretty sure he’s got it right. However, looking at Sarawat studying his hands way too hard, for once, dodging Tine’s gaze instead of the other way around, Tine knows he needs to say it out loud on his own, wants to, he can feel it in his very core.

So, Tine places his hands over Sarawat’s bruised knuckles, touch feather-light as he covers them with his own purple-blue painted skin. A calmer look appears across Sarawat’s face and he hesitantly peers up, meeting Tine’s eyes headfirst, now bright with that usual confidence and Tine’s heart bursts with pride.

“I’m gay.”

A dimpled smile stretches across Tine’s face in response and all the tension immediately bleeds out from Sarat’s hunched up shoulders. “Thank you for telling me,” Tine swipes his thumb softly over Sarawat’s knuckles that are still in his light grip and a relieved sigh seemingly escapes from the very pit of Sarawat’s throat. He looks lighter, as if a heavy weight that’s been pressing against his chest, suffocating his entire being, was finally lifted, carrying along all the stress lines and tight knots with it.

Tine wonders if he’ll ever get that, get to have that similar feeling, get to have that same look, get to have that crushing weight disappear from his life.

The parasite in his brain wiggles back to the forefront of his mind and Tine instinctively squeezes his hands together, accidentally crushing Sarawat’s bloodied knuckles in. The Slytherin’s sharp hiss of pain jolts Tine out of his stupor and he snatches his hands back, face ashen with guilt as he apologises profusely, curling into himself.

“It’s fine, you little buffalo,” Sarawat clicks his tongue, irritation fading into worry when he takes note of Tine’s distressed frown.

“Hey,” He whispers, “You know you can tell me anything too, right?”

‘Everything except this,’ Tine thinks.

“Yeah,” Is what he says aloud instead.

Grabbing the first aid kit, Sarawat begins to patch Tine up now, their roles now completely reversed. Sarawat’s scolding Tine for his injuries, offering to teach him how to throw a proper punch, joking around with his signature smirk in place, looking relaxed and free and light. Now, Tine’s the one stewing in silence, offering unnaturally wide grins and too loud laughs, mind conflicted with thoughts that run rampant and quick around in his head, punching against his skull, worsening the pain he already feels from the weight pressing against his chest.

He hates the persistent thumps in his chest, hates the way Sarawat makes him feel, hates the fact that no matter how many times he admonishes himself, he can never stop the way he feels around Sarawat and how this close, with their faces inches apart, all he can think about is pressing his lips against Sarawat’s.

Tine is fifteen years old and he loves girls and boys.

He wishes he didn’t.

Chapter Text

Tine is sixteen years old when he finally learns to start loving himself.

It all begins during the holidays. He spends his break in a remote cottage by the beach, phone and wand snatched away by his overzealous parents the moment he sets foot into the front door, so that he’s unable to get into contact with anybody, apart from his three family members he has for company.

Although he misses sneaking out of the house for impromptu night flying sessions with his friends, he has to admit, it’s rather nice being disconnected and away from everything. He watches his parents dance around the kitchen, looking happier than they have in years, he spends time teaching his brother how to fly on a broom, and he makes immense progress on his guitar lessons, practising daily with the help from the sheets of music provided by Sarawat.

Sarawat.

Just thinking of his name makes Tine’s insides squirm excitedly. Even on a holiday, miles and miles away from Sarawat, he can’t help but be reminded of him wherever he looks. He strums his guitar and remembers Sarawat’s singing, he eats his breakfast and wonders if Sarawat skipped his again, and he watches countless sunrises alone, all the while wishing for Sarawat to be by his side, experiencing it with him.

He misses him. He misses him a lot.

“You missed the ball, stupid!” His brother’s voice jolts him out of his thoughts and Type’s raucous laughter follow after Tine as he fumbles in the sand clumsily. The two of them end up crashing down onto their beach towels a while later, panting under the scorching sun after a long game of volleyball. They’re chugging down on some blissfully cold water when a sudden shadow is cast over them, alerting them of a stranger’s presence.

The man is tall, with windswept hair and a warm nervous smile, and he fidgets relentlessly with a pair of suspiciously familiar keys in his hand. “H-Hi! Um, is this yours, by any chance?” Type’s eyes go round upon seeing the outstretched keys and he gingerly takes them from the stranger, turning them over in his hands and exclaiming in surprise upon recognising them. “Yeah, they’re ours. Thanks so—”

“Sorry, but is he your boyfriend?” The stranger abruptly blurts out, immediately slapping his hands over his mouth. “I mean— Are you single— Wait! I mean—” He stutters messily over his words, before finally giving up and letting out a long sigh, chuckling anxiously. “I’m so bad at this. I just wanted to ask if I could have your number, that is, if you haven’t been completely put off by my embarrassing stutter just now.”

Tine gapes openly as Type merely reaches out to pluck the stranger’s phone out from his trembling hands and keys in his number swiftly. He watches his brother talk to the boy for a while longer, his stomach clenching weirdly but not unpleasantly the entire time. When the two of them are left alone once again, Tine stews in silence, forcefully biting back down on the question right at the tip of his tongue until he’s unable to hold it in any longer.

“Do you like… Boys?” Tine asks quietly, fiddling with the bottle in his hands with far too much concentration. There’s a beat of silence between them, with nothing but sounds of the waves crashing against the shore and excited shouts from other people on the beach filling the air, until Type breaks it with an affirmative hum.

Tine’s head instantly shoots up and he’s surprised to see a confident, relaxed smile on Type’s face as he looks out at the sea. “I guess you could say that I just like people? It doesn’t matter to me how they identify themselves,” Type says with a shrug, turning to look at Tine with a knowing but gentle glint in his eyes, “How about you?”

Despite the casual way in which he phrases it, there’s a deep understanding in Type’s gaze, filled with so much patience and love, that Tine is reminded of the fact that this is Type. This is his older brother, whom he’s spent countless nights burrowed under the covers with, exchanging stories and giggling as softly as possible to prevent waking up their parents. This is his older brother, who’s shielded him from as many harsh realities as he could, who grew a sharp tongue to protect him from mean bullies, who has always been a constant by his side.

If he can’t trust him, who else can he trust?

“I like girls,” Tine squeezes the bottle in his hand and it’s like the wait before a plunge, feeling the air build up in your chest as you edge yourself closer to the peak, just about to tip over and hurtle all the way down to the bottom, but not quite yet. He peeks up hesitantly and the moment he catches the open look on Type’s face, all his worries dissipate and he finally falls from the edge, experiencing a freeing sensation as he confesses, softly but strongly, “I like boys too.”

Type wordlessly slings an arm around Tine, pulling him towards his side with a slight jostle and a proud smile that makes Tine’s eyes well up with tears. With only the two of them left on the beach, watching the array of colours sink into the horizon and listening to the birds chirp, the boulder that rests at the pit of Tine’s stomach rises just a smidge, and he’s pleasantly surprised to realise that the plunge wasn’t so bad after all.

The holidays pass by in a blur and the next thing he knows, he’s back on Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, ready for a new school term. He bids a quick farewell to his family, the train blasting out a shrill whistle as a warning, and he hurriedly climbs onboard, excited at the prospect of seeing his friends again after so long. He stalks down the aisle, peeking into various cabins until he finally comes to a halt in front of the one that holds six familiar faces.

Sliding the doors open with a flourish, Tine announces himself loudly with a cheer and is immediately tackled into a seat by Ohm. Laughing, he scoops his arms around Ohm’s waist and easily throws him off his body, letting the other sprawl across the floor with a yelp. His name echoes excitedly around the compartment and it’s nice to know that his friends have missed him as much as he missed them.

A wide grin spreads across his face as Phuak slings an arm around his shoulders and lugs him towards the spare seat next to him, rubbing his knuckles affectionately against the Hufflepuff’s head. After he wrestles out of the grip of his friend, Tine starts to joyously greet everyone but fumbles over his words the moment he turns to face the front, only to meet a pair of familiar piercing eyes that have lingered in his dreams for countless sleepless nights.

“Sarawat,” He whispers and he’s aware that he sounds breathless, like one of those ditzy, obsessed fans that follow the Slytherin everywhere he goes, but he can’t help it.

Sarawat looks good. He’s always looked good, even with his shitty spiky hair in their First Year and even when he was a lanky preteen, all disproportionate limbs he hadn’t quite grown into yet. But he looks really, really good after their break. His eyes seem impossibly bigger and his rolled up sleeves stretch over his arms far more tighter than Tine had ever remembered them being. He’s grown out his hair even longer so that the soft brown strands now flop over his forehead, pushed carelessly to one side so that it slightly covers one of his brows, and Tine wonders how it would feel to run his fingers through them.

Realising he’d been openly gawking at the other for far too long to be considered appropriate, Tine snaps out of his stupor with an embarrassed flush, ignoring Sarawat’s heavy and strangely bewildered stare being directed his way. He tunes back into the conversations erupting around him when he hears his name being repeated, managing to catch the end of several overlapping lines that are messily thrown towards him.

“—look better!”

“Did you get—”

“Huh?” He simply responds and if his friends are bothered by his complete lack of attention to whatever they’ve been saying the past few minutes, they don’t show it. Instead, this only seems to encourage them to be louder than before and by the time Fong shushes everyone with a loud clap, Tine’s ears are ringing uncomfortably.

“They were just saying you look a bit more… Different,” Fong says pointedly, “As compared to the last time we all saw you, right before the break.”

“You’re a lot tanner!” Man interjects, ensuing another round of loud comments being thrown his way, except this time, the words are able to sink in properly.

“You seem taller?”

“Your hair looks a lot better!”

“Did you buy a shirt in a size too small or something?”

“...Handsome,” At this, Tine’s head uncontrollably snaps back towards Sarawat, who looks completely nonchalant, apart from the fact that his eyes are still widened in alarm, the same as they’d been the moment Tine had stepped into the compartment. “You look more handsome,” The Slytherin repeats, louder this time, and Tine feels a rush of heat spread from his neck across his cheeks.

“Um,” Tine answers dumbly and is relieved to find that his friends’ ever short attention spans have led them to move on to the next topic of interest, which involves seeing how many ‘Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans’ they could mix together before either giving up or throwing up. “Wanna see some pictures I got developed of my trip?”

It’s a sudden question that’s clearly meant to evade giving a proper response to whatever it was that Sarawat meant behind his statement — because surely, it must have been a mistake, Tine probably misheard or maybe his ears were still ringing from earlier — but the Slytherin wordlessly stands up, getting rid of the distance between the two of them in two easy steps and plops himself down next to Tine, their sides fully pressed together.

They spend the entire trip to Hogwarts like this; squashed against one another, absorbed in their own little world as they catch up with each other, sharing their respective holiday stories, heads ducked near as they chuckle softly, careful not to wake their other friends who had dozed off some while ago. They laugh and talk and smile and when they both begin to nod off, about to succumb to sleep, Tine tries not to overthink.

He tries not to think too hard about the fact that despite Sarawat’s complaints about what a tight squeeze it was for them to sit together, he had never once gotten up to return back to his own spacious spot right across from Tine. He tries not to think too hard about Sarawat snuggling closer to his side, closing the already nonexistent gap between them even further, gingerly dropping his head down onto Tine’s shoulder with a satisfied hum and a tiny quirk of his lips.

He tries not to think too hard about it all, forcefully chants to himself to remember that Sarawat is just a Friend, does not and never will think of him in that way.

And if he gently lays his own head to perch on top of Sarawat’s, inching just the tiniest bit closer, amplifying the amount of warmth he can feel exuding from the other and from his own chest, well, it’s nobody’s business.

He continues this pattern every day for the rest of the term: Sarawat does something small, something that requires little energy, something that’s meaningless to him but sends Tine’s insides doing cartwheels and rolls and flips. Every single time Sarawat slings an arm around his shoulders, strokes his hair down as they separate for their different classes, or grabs his hand to lug him to the fields, Tine just falls harder and faster.

It’s excruciating. It’s painful. He knows Sarawat is unattainable, way out of his league, and he’s just hopelessly pining after him. He knows it would be better for his heart if he distanced himself away a bit, nipped the problem at its roots right now before his crush gets any worse but he just can’t seem to control himself around Sarawat, guiltily sinking under the touches and blooming under the attention.

“I don’t know what to do!” He groans, burrowing his head into his arms whilst Pear simply pats his back in sympathy. “He’s so— He’s everywhere and—” He lets out a muffled scream into the sleeves of his sweater and thumps his forehead against his knees, finally releasing all his pent up frustration and simply deflating in tiredness. “I just really like him.”

He feels Pear nudge something cold against his arm and he peeks up with a huff, and they exchange their respective tubs of ice cream wordlessly. They continue lamenting about their own unrequited crushes, nursing the pain with two tubs of ice cream that is swapped periodically between them.

They’re huddled near the fireplace wrapped in their blankets, Pear in the middle of recounting a story involving Earn in hushed whispers, when the common room door is flung open with a resounding ‘bang’. Ohm and Phuak stumble into the area, shoving one other and making shushing sounds that are so loud that they essentially defeat their purpose.

“Dude, did you forget we were meeting up tonight—” Phuak stops short, eyes flickering between Pear and Tine sitting closely together, despite there being ample space in the common room, and Tine realises with a groan how this will look like to any outsider. He opens his mouth to explain but it’s too late. The two of them rush out the door, hooting exaggeratedly and yelling boisterously all the way down the corridor.

He hurriedly waves goodbye to Pear who giggles sweetly, shrugging on a sweater before running after his annoying friends, following the sounds of their bellowing laughter with muttered curses under his breath. However, the moment he reaches the Quidditch field, Tine screeches to a halt. Craning his neck upwards, Tine gawks openly as he admires the lanterns enchanted to float in the air, bobbing up and down in the wind like boats in a sea.

The moon has barely even risen, yet the party’s already in full swing. Hundreds of students from across all levels are already celebrating, some swaying along to the music that blares from the speakers usually used to commentate on matches, while others nurse drinks in their hands, talking excitedly with their friends. Tine is just about to start searching for his own friends in the crowd when he immediately spots Sarawat, eyes narrowing in to that familiar relaxed pose and confident, magnetic air around him.

He shoulders his way through groups of partygoers, reaching his own group of friends just as Ohm and Phuak do as well. The two instantly break out into cheeky grins upon seeing Tine, slinging their arms around his shoulders and crowding him on both sides, rubbing their knuckles affectionately against the Hufflepuff’s head as they snigger obnoxiously.

“Where’s Pear, loverboy?” Ohm snickers as Tine struggles under their combined weight.

“Must be going well between the two of you, eh?” Phuak coos, fluttering his eyelashes and puckering his lips dramatically. “You guys looked real close, all cozied up next to the fireplace.”

Tine finally manages to shove the two off him, sending them stumbling backwards and falling onto the grass with surprised yelps. Back straightening in triumph, he laughs victoriously and kindly flips them his middle finger as they spit out mouthfuls of grass, cursing him heatedly. He spins around to greet his other friends but his grin promptly dies down when he realises Sarawat’s face is completely devoid of emotion.

“‘M gonna get a refill,” The Slytherin turns on his heel, stalking off to the long table that stretches across one side of the field, holding various assortments of food and drinks.

He looks around at his group of friends questioningly but no one seems to have noticed anything out of the ordinary with Sarawat’s behaviour. He’s faintly aware of their bombardment of teasing and questions about Pear but all he can focus on right now is Sarawat, hysterical worry yanking at his chest, urging him to follow after the other boy.

“Hold on, I’ll be right back,” He absentmindedly excuses himself, never taking his eyes off Sarawat’s back as he chases after him. He keeps his vision trained on the Slytherin the entire time, shuffling and squeezing through the tiny, almost invisible gaps between groups of dancers.

“Hey!” He yells, stumbling over his feet to catch up. Sarawat doesn’t seem to have heard him, continuing to walk at the same quick pace as he leaves the Quidditch pitch through one of its dimly lit exits. He anxiously tears through the crowd, breaking out into a sprint the instant he escapes from the suffocating sea of students, following after Sarawat with even more urgency than before.

He scours along the sides around the Quidditch stands, blearily squinting in the dark with nothing but the glow of the moon to help him see. Finally, his eye catches on a distinctively human shaped figure near the riverbank and he approaches quietly, a breath of relief shaking from his chest when he spots the recognisable slope of Sarawat’s shoulders and artfully mussed up hair from behind.

“Hey,” He whispers, hesitantly sitting down next to the other boy when he makes no sound of protest. The two of them stew there in silence, a palpable tension in the air that Tine is desperate to cut but doesn’t know how to. He waits there uneasily, twisting his hands nervously in his lap, too afraid of speaking up first and saying the wrong thing that’ll send Sarawat running off again.

“So… You and Pear, huh?” Sarawat’s voice abruptly fills the air, jolting Tine to peek upwards from where he’d been wringing his hands uncontrollably, staring at the grass beneath him.

Sarawat purses his lips, as if he’s sucked on something terribly sour and Tine worriedly glances at how he’s clutching the cup in his hand, crinkling the plastic and turning his knuckles white. “What about us?” He asks slowly, back straightening as he wiggles a bit closer to the Slytherin.

Tine watches Sarawat take a shuddering breath, lashes flickering downwards to brush against the top of his cheeks for a moment before returning back upwards. Sarawat shifts so that his body is more angled towards Tine and offers an emotionless smirk, so jarringly similar to the one he used in his First Year that Tine can’t help but feel even more troubled.

“Why didn’t she come with you to the party? Since you were, y’know, already hanging out… Together.” His smirk falters as he forces out the last word, looking like he’s in pain. Tine desperately wants to chase that anguished frown away but instead, settles for answering Sarawat’s question, though he’s confused as to why he’s so interested in him and Pear.

“Uh… She’s coming later? She wanted to get ready with Earn.”

Sarawat purses his lips even harder, nodding absentmindedly, seemingly not processing any of Tine’s words. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The question rushes out from Sarawat’s lips and he looks faintly surprised, as if he hadn’t meant to say that outloud. Suddenly, he’s all hardened lines, anger washing over his stormy eyes in big, incoming tides. “I mean, we’re friends, for fuck’s sake!”

“Huh?”

“Do you not trust me or something?”

“Wha—”

“I thought we were close—”

“Sarawat!” Tine snaps, hands curling around the other’s shoulders and jerking his body sideways to face him. He searches Sarawat’s face, tries to look into his downcast eyes that refuse to meet his. “What are you talking about?” Tine asks softly, kneading his fingers into Sarawat’s tensed shoulders. “We are friends, in fact, you’re one of my best friends! I do trust you. We are close. Where is all this even coming from?”

With each word that comes out his mouth, Sarawat steadily deflates and slowly, the anger bleeds out from him, along with all the rigidness in his expression and his posture. “I… I don’t really know,” He looks lost now, so Tine nudges him gently, giving what he hoped was an open, non-judgemental expression. It must work as Sarawat gives a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully, and Tine can’t help but think, ‘Cute.’

“I guess I was just kind of upset that you didn’t feel like you could tell me about your… Relationship with Pear,” Sarawat finally confesses after a few beats.

“Huh? That we’re friends?”

“No,” Sarawat says sharply and immediately draws back into himself again, ashamed by his outburst. “No, that you two are dating.”

“What?” Tine falters, taken aback by such an idea that he starts to laugh. “Me and Pear?”

The dip in Sarawat’s brows as his mouth parts slightly open in confusion is all so adorable, a stark contrast to his usual varying looks of hot, handsome and cool, that Tine’s laughter slowly fades away. “Are you not dating her?” Sarawat questions incredulously, abruptly poking his head forward to intrude into Tine’s personal space that the Hufflepuff starts choking on his breath in shock and barely manages out, “I don’t like her like that.”

Sarawat’s eyes widen and there is that sparkle again, the one that flashes ever so occasionally, whenever he gets to play his guitar, eat his favourite dish of green curry, and sometimes, strangely, when he’s talking with Tine. The corner of Sarawat’s lips quirk upwards and Tine’s so glad that he’s sitting on the floor and not standing, or he’d been toppling over his own two feet to sprawl across the grass right now.

“Good,” Sarawat hums cheerfully and despite Tine determination not to, hope soars in his chest, confident wings flapping under the sun of his thudding heart. He refuses to misinterpret that in the way he wishes it was, chants inwardly to himself, ‘He doesn’t like you like that’, but those thoughts fade into the back of his head the longer he stares at Sarawat’s tiny, pleased smile.

Afraid he wouldn’t be able to shake himself out of the entrancing pull from Sarawat and do something absolutely stupid like lean forward, Tine flops back down on the slope of grass haphazardly, containing his blush as well as he can as he opts to admire the stars instead. “So,” He coughs, still flushed from Sarawat’s smile, “What made you even think of us that way?”

Sarawat falls backwards onto the grass with a drawn out sigh, pursing his lips in careful consideration. “I noticed you hung out together alone with her quite often… Always whispering and sitting close to one another,” The Slytherin chews on his lip, giving a shrug, “When Phuak and Ohm said those things earlier, I just connected the dots and assumed that was it. It was the most natural conclusion and it kinda explained all those moments I walked in on the two of you and you would suddenly stop talking.”

Sarawat says it all so nonchalantly and any other person would have thought him perhaps uncaring, but after years of friendship, divulging secrets and sharing hundreds of moments with, Tine wasn’t just anyone. He observed the way Sarawat’s eyes were glassy, the slightest downward tick of his lips and the clench of his jaw, and Tine could immediately tell he was more upset than he had let on.

“We were talking about kinda private stuff. I’m sorry but I can’t really tell you about it.” Sarawat gives the smallest of flinchest and Tine ruffles his hair in frustration. “I mean—”

“Hey,” Sarawat murmurs, taking Tine’s hand in his and giving it a squeeze, “I know you trust me. And I trust you. But, I know that sometimes, there will be things you can’t talk to me about and some things I can’t talk to you about. And that’s perfectly fine. As long as at the end of the day, you know that I am always ready to listen, no judgements given or questions asked.”

Tine feels his eyes prickle and involuntarily gives a small sniffle, huffing in embarrassment when Sarawat chuckles and immediately stilling when the other begins to stroke his hair. It’s incredibly calming and he sinks into his touch, a smile stretching across his lips shakily. Catching himself, Tine swats Sarawat’s hand away and the other merely snorts, looking the lightest he’s been the entire night.

They lie against the soft grass with nothing but the sound of chords and crooning of a voice echoing from the Quidditch pitch, Sarawat’s silence relaxed and peaceful, whilst Tine’s pensive. He watches Sarawat smile at the moon with his upturned eyes instead of his lips, listens to him hum along to the faint lyrics of the song in the background, and thinks about how well they know each other.

‘“Do you not trust me or something?”’, Tine recalls Sarawat’s question a few minutes ago, how his tone was accusatory, angry but his face twisted in sadness.

He then recalls how he’d opened up to Sarawat in a way he’d never done with anyone before: told him about the fights his parents had that wrecked their family, the insecurities that tore at the strings of his overconfident facade, and the gaping loneliness that filled his chest in moments he was left alone to his own thoughts. He had always listened, never judged or questioned him, simply offering a shoulder to lay on when all Tine needed was silence or providing a new perspective to relieve at least some of the weight that chained him down.

They talked about things others weren’t privy to together. They experienced the highs and lows of one another’s lives, both rejoicing when one grinned and both hurting when one cried.

‘I trust you.’ Tine thinks, ‘I trust you so much, it scares me.’

There’s no wait this time. He doesn’t teeter on the edge of a cliff, doesn’t feel the air that builds up in his chest, doesn’t experience the overwhelming fear of the fall. That’s how it is with Sarawat, to have someone he trusts so deeply that there’s no need to wait, he can simply just take the plunge without sparing a second thought worrying.

“I’m bisexual,” The words come out easily and Tine can feel the weight lift from his chest. Sarawat’s head whips over to the side, thumping against the ground but he barely seems to notice any pain. “I’m bisexual.” Tine says again more happily, just because he can. “That’s part of what I was discussing with Pear.”

And oh, Sarawat’s face is filled with so much wonder and his already wide eyes widen further and his lips wobble upwards into a tiny beam. He reaches over what little space exists between them and slots his hand into Tine’s, giving a little squeeze. “Thank you for trusting me, for telling me.” There’s nothing but pure happiness for him in Sarawat’s expression that Tine can’t resist the grin that stretches across his face, eyes prickling with tears.

“This means you like girls and boys, right?” Sarawat clarifies, weirdly eager. “Boys are— You wouldn’t mind dating one?”

“Yes, Saraleo,” He laughs at Sarawat’s earnest but peculiar question, heart soaring in gratitude for this boy right in front of him. “That’s what bisexual means, doesn’t it? I’d more than ‘not mind’ dating a boy, I’d be happy to!”

‘Too bad the only person I’m interested in dating is you,’ Tine thinks.

If it’s even possible, Sarawat’s lips pull upwards even more and Tine takes a moment to gather himself, taken aback by what probably was the largest smile he’d ever seen on the Slytherin. Sarawat watches as Tine continues to chuckle, suddenly stilling, a serious expression overtaking his previous happy one.

“I’m gonna flirt seriously from now on,” Sarawat states in a voice no louder than a pin drop, that Tine struggles to even hear amongst the silence they’re in. Tine’s sure he heard wrong, confused either way by what that statement even means, but his heart still squeezes in false hope as he urgently asks, “What?”

“Nothing,” Sarawat replies cheekily, to the immense irritation of Tine. The Hufflepuff groans out complaints, poking Sarawat’s sides repeatedly until short bouts of huffs escape from the writhing boy. They begin rolling around in the grass, dodging each other’s attacks while simultaneously trying to tickle one another. Tine’s sure he’s never laughed this hard, wheezing and grinning like an idiot, and finally, they both give up, exhausted and letting out gasps into the cold night air.

Tine looks over at the shimmering glow of the moon Sarawat bathes in, that permanent tiny upturn at the corners of his lips regardless of whether he smiled or frowned, those obsidian eyes that captured any emotion he hid and the smooth outline of his jaw.

‘I love him,’ He realises, swallowing hard, and it’s astonishing how easy he comes to terms with it. There’s no sudden emotions of surprise or shock, the realisation simply washes over him like soft tides that crash onto the shore. It’s purely a fact, a natural thing that comes to Tine. The sun is hot, the moon is cold, Tine loves Sarawat.

And Tine will probably fret about this later on, stress about it in between the moments without Sarawat, toss and turn in his bed, dreaming about Sarawat, thinking about Sarawat, Sarawat, Sarawat, Sarawat.

But for now, he allows the pure happiness to blanket over him, over this very moment, lying under the shining moonlight, a hand warmly intertwined with another’s, with the boy he loves by his side.

Chapter Text

Tine is seventeen years old when he falls in love, truly and fully and unapologetically.

He starts off the year with forced enthusiasm, an unsettling feeling of pre-nostalgia churning in the pit of his stomach as he steps into the Great Hall for his last ever introduction to Hogwarts. He listens to Headmistress McGonagall make another brilliant speech, fondly watches the fresh-eyed First Years fidget with excitement, and mourns the lack of the night sky magic that graced the ceilings in his First Year, nonetheless still appreciating the hundreds of candles that float and twirl in the air in its place.

Pear jostles his shoulder from where she sits next to him, pointedly flicking her eyes to the left with an excited smile. Following her line of sight, Tine bites down on a grin when he spots Sarawat fiddling with the brand new, gleaming Head Boy badge pinned on his cloak, back straightening and mood soaring instantly as the Slytherin peers up to meet Tine’s eyes, a half-smile stretching across his handsome features.

Suddenly, he catches something in the corner of his eyes and turns to find Fong looking between the two of them knowingly, a smug smirk on his face, and notices Phuak and Ohm making exaggerated, kissing faces at him in the background. Although embarrassed, Tine doesn’t regret confiding in them over the holidays, remembers how easy they took to his news, how simply they accepted him with wordless hugs and playful tackles to the ground.

“So,” Pear leans over to whisper, in between the raucous cheers that erupt periodically each time a First Year’s house gets announced, “Did anything happen on the way here with Sarawat?” Tine shakes his head with a drawn-out sigh, looking over forlornly at where Sarawat is in deep discussion with the Head Girl and groans, “He had to meet for the Prefects’ meeting on the train. We didn’t even get a chance to catch up at all.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure the workload for Head Boy isn’t that heavy after a while,” Pear says, patting Tine’s shoulder sympathetically. Tine merely offers a grunt in response and sulks, mood worsening when he remembers that inter-house mingling during the feast was prohibited, leaving him forced to glance longingly over at the Slytherin table.

Finally, the dinner comes to an end and the younger students shuffle back to their rooms, identical exhausted but dizzyingly jubilant smiles stretched across their faces. Alternatively, the older students continue to chatter excitedly, some heading back to their dorms to most likely hang out in their common rooms and others lingering in the Great Hall to finish their meals with their friends.

Immediately, Tine stumbles out of his seat with an encouraging wink at Pear, whom he happily leaves at the table with Earn who had plopped herself down and exchanged lingering touches and excited hugs with a flushed Pear. Before he can even start searching for that familiar head of tousled brown hair, his attention catches on Sarawat himself, who jogs eagerly across the hall towards him, the crowd automatically parting for him.

“Nuisance,” He greets with a softened smirk, the edges around his mouth having gradually faded away since his First Year, now less sharp and more relaxed. “I missed you.”

Tine’s heart stutters in his chest, envious of how easy words seem to spill out of Sarawat’s mouth, how easy it must be for a boy as beautiful as him to be able to say what he wants without needing to stress over it in his mind. He’s distantly aware of the mumbled response he gives back, too stunned when Sarawat takes his hand in his and guides him out of the Great Hall’s doors, into the blissful silence along the corridors.

“I hate being Head Boy, there’s so many duties. I'm not looking forward to organising the Graduation Ball,” Sarawat grumbles, hand still holding Tine’s as they walk along the cobbled floors, moonlight streaming through the windows that stretch from the floor to the ceiling, lighting up the otherwise dark hallways. “I just wanted to sit next to you on the train.”

Tine’s traitorous heart skips a beat against his own will and he slips his hand out of Sarawat’s, pretending to adjust his hair with it, missing the warmth of the other’s palm all the while. “There’re so many perks though!” Tine forces a smile, shoving his hands into the pockets of his cloak.

“Does it matter? I’d rather hang out with you,” Sarawat looks at the ground, a strange twist to his tone that urges Tine to duck his head, spotting a sulk on the Slytherin’s face to his most pleasant astonishment. Taking in the pout that slightly curves his lips downwards, along with his downcast eyes, Tine can’t help but inwardly coo at the rare sight.

“We’re gonna be so busy this year,” Tine sighs, counting his fingers as he begins to list, “We have NEWTs to deal with, which means tons of studying, and you have your Prefect duties while I have my Quidditch Captain duties.” He comes to a halt when the realisation dawns unto him, unable to restrain the disappointment from seeping into his voice, “That means… We’ll hardly get to spend much time together.”

Suddenly, Tine feels a weight on top of his head and peers up from where he’d been staring unwittingly at the ground, heart stuttering in his chest as Sarawat begins to pet his hair, smoothing down the strands repeatedly in such a way that makes Tine’s insides warm and eyes flutter close. “I don’t care, I’ll make time for you either way,” Sarawat states, so full of determination that Tine instantly believes him, rampant nerves now simmering to a pause.

“I will too,” Tine replies, biting down on the smile that wobbles across his face. Chuckling, Sarawat pushes Tine’s head away from his gently. They continue strolling through the winding corridors for the rest of the night, catching up and talking even when the moonlight begins to fade, taken over by the strands of sunlight flitting through the windows.

For the next few months, they’re basically attached to the hip. When they’re not attending their different lessons and respective Quidditch training sessions, they spend almost every waking moment together. In the library, their seats are pushed next to each other as they study in silence; In the Great Hall, they rush to sit at the same table, teasingly stealing food from each other’s plates and chattering endlessly; In their shared classes, they’re always partners, arms brushing where they squeeze onto one shared desk, heads ducked as they exchange notes and quips.

They naturally gravitate to one another, where one goes, so does the other. Every moment Tine spends with Sarawat purely feeds his growing adoration for the other. Regardless of whether the time is spent in complete silence or bickering or endless talking, Tine can’t help the way his heart seems to expand against his ribcage. He had an inkling that he loved Sarawat the previous year and now, he’s only made even more sure of this with every second he spends in the other’s company.

“You like him and he clearly likes you!” Fong shouts one afternoon after Tine finishes lamenting about Sarawat’s impossibly large eyes. Face scrunched up in tired frustration, Fong balls up sections of his hair with an iron-tight grip that’s almost concerning. “Just confess to him, get together and live happily ever after. We’re finally done with our NEWTs and I do not want to feel stressed right now, so I cannot take another second of this nauseating pining shit any longer!”

“Wait, I thought the two of you were already together?” Ohm asks, so vividly confused that Tine knows he’s being genuine to his utter astonishment. “Yeah, same! I didn’t mean to intrude but I saw the two of you in the kitchens a few weeks ago and thought you were on a date,” Phuak chimes in.

“W-We aren’t together! He doesn’t like me that way,” Tine splutters with an awkward cough, sliding a little further down his seat, ignoring the scratch of the stone wall through his robes and against his back. He watches as his three friends give each other identical incredulous looks in sync, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he was completely filled with embarrassment at this point, Tine would’ve pointed it out and started laughing at them.

“Tine, he couldn’t make it any clearer that he likes you,” Fong says, with barely restrained impatience.

“He’s constantly flirting with you,” Ohm points out.

“He does that with tons of people!”

“He’s said, on multiple occasions, that he likes you,” Phuak groans.

“He means as friends.”

“Okay, look!” Fong shouts over the group’s back-and-forth bickering, shooting up onto his feet from where he’d originally been seated on the grass. “The graduation ball is coming up and lots of Seventh Years make their moves on their crushes then. Sarawat will naturally ask you out before it, which means he likes you as more than friends.”

“How are you so sure—”

“Just wait and see.” Fong states with so much conviction, Tine’s protests die down on his lips.

Considering that they’re done with their final examinations, the majority of the Seventh Years are allowed to spend their last few moments at Hogwarts however they’d like. Some take extra classes offering learning opportunities for a variety of different skills, others simply hang around the castle grounds, but most venture out with their friends to Hogsmeade.

Similarly, Tine finds himself being reluctantly dragged along to yet another trip to said village. Contrary to what his friends have been insisting, he has absolutely not been moping the past few days. He’s simply sadly thinking, every minute of the day, how much he misses Sarawat’s company. From being joint at the hip to rarely catching a glimpse of the Slytherin throughout the day no matter where in the castle he looks, Tine just feels lost without the other’s easy teasing and half smiles.

Sighing, Tine silently stares at the snowflakes drifting down outside the window, coating the cobbled grounds with a blanket of white. Nursing the butterbeer in his hands, he miserably sips at the drink, sighing to himself as he watches his friends ask out their respective crushes to the graduation ball.

“What’s got you miserable like that?” A voice suddenly interrupts his silence, jolting him out of his thoughts spiralling around Sarwat. Tine’s head snaps upwards, taking in the vaguely familiar thick brows and slicked back hair, and forces himself to try and recall where he’d seen this stranger before. “Mind if I sit?”

Before he can answer, the other boy slides into the seat opposite of his, his close lipped smile never wavering. “Sorry but, who are you?” Tine asks politely, shifting further up his seat and drawing his legs back from where they’d been stretched lazilyunder the table. Unravelling his green scarf, the Slytherin chuckles in a way that makes Tine feel a bit stupid. “I’m Mil. I’ve been in a couple of classes with you, even played Quidditch against your team a bunch of times?”

“Oh!” Tine gasps, finally connecting the stranger’s face to all the little snippets of moments they’ve detachedly shared, as well as to all the complaints Sarawat has rambled about over him. “I think I’ve seen you around. I’ve definitely heard about you from Sarawat.”

Mil chuckles again, in that same unsettling way that makes Tine feel like he’s laughing at him. “Speaking of which, where is your boyfriend?” He asks.

Tine chokes on the butterbeer he’d been nervously gulping and discreetly moves away from the arm that stretches out to thump him on his back. “Wha— He’s not my boyfriend!”

Surprise flashes across Mil’s face, eyes widening bewilderedly, and just as quickly as it appears, the shock disappears instantly without a trace. “This makes it much easier then,” Mil’s smile remains fixated on his face as he begins to drawl on about something, but Tine’s only distantly aware of what he’s saying.

After weeks of desperately searching for Sarawat in every nook and cranny of Hogwarts, and only getting quick, singular word greetings whenever he found him running along the corridor, Tine spots the Slytherin across the street from the Three Broomsticks. He’s clutching what seems to be a list, surrounded by a small group of Seventh Years that mostly consists of girls, no doubt rejecting a fresh batch of confessions and invitations to the graduation ball as partners.

Forcing down the ugly jealousy that twists its claws around him, Tine chooses to focus on the excitement that soars up in his chest. Rightfully, he should be hurt or angry upon seeing Sarawat, who had been practically ignoring him recently, but the happiness that simply consumes him when he sees the boy he loves is far more overwhelming than any other feeling.

As if sensing his stare upon him, Sarawat’s head whips towards Tine’s direction and just as the Hufflepuff is about to send a grin his way, a weight suddenly rests on top of his hand that’s on the table. With restrained discomfort, Tine turns to watch as his hand is wrapped confidently under Mil’s, the warmth of his contact uncomfortably too hot in the crowded pub.

“What I’m saying is… Will you come with me to the graduation ball as my date?”

“I’m sorry,” Tine blurts out, bashfully stuttering out some form of clarification to ease both the guilt from delivering such a quick rejection and the embarrassment that Mil probably feels on his end. “I— I can’t. I mean—”

“Tine, it’s okay,” Mil reassures, patting Tine’s hand that’s still wrapped in his. “You don’t have to give me an explanation, a ‘no’ simply means no.” Mil laughs, and suddenly, it doesn’t sound as mean to Tine as it did before.

Shooting the other a relieved smile, Tine suddenly hears a commotion of confused shouts outside and immediately turns to notice the now distinct absence of Sarawat. He hurriedly bids Mil farewell, apologetically slaps enough money on the table to pay for both their drinks, scoops up his coat and dashes out the front door, all in record time.

He chases after the head of thick brown hair that bobs amongst the throng, attempts to squeeze between the crowds of students stumbling through the cobblestone streets with drinks in their hands and their laughter in the air. He shouts after Sarawat, has the faint pang of remembrance of a similar event occurring the previous year when the other ignores him. Unfortunately, he soon gets caught in the centre of a large, rowdy group and by the time he shoulders through them, he’s lost sight of Sarawat.

He spends the rest of the afternoon scouring Hogsmeade and then Hogwarts for the Slytherin before unsuccessfully slumping back to his room after dinner, where even then, Sarawat hadn’t made an appearance. He’s exhausted, yet he somehow can’t drift off to sleep. Even when the snores of his roommates fill the night air, the never-ending thoughts of Sarawat swim around in his head.

Sarawat is avoiding him, but why?

Soon enough, the night of the Graduation Ball arrives with a flurry of excitement from everyone apart from Tine. He tries to be excited, reminds himself of the fun he’s sure to have with his friends, but the gaping hole where Sarawat should be weighs heavily in his mind. As such, he makes a feeble attempt to prolong getting ready, even when all his Year’s Hufflepuffs have left the dorms, he’s still in his room, shuffling his feet over to the mirror to adjust his dress robes once again.

He’s debating whether or not to simply feign illness, pondering if the guaranteed nagging from Fong would be worth it, when he hears a loud commotion from outside his door. The next thing he knows, Man bursts into his room with fervour, falling flat on the ground as Boss runs headfirst into him. Ignoring the shouts of pain from beneath him, Boss remains sprawled across Man’s back, peering up with a frazzled frown. “What are you still doing here? Let’s go!”

“I don’t know, guys. I don’t really feel so good, I think I might just stay here and rest—”

“Not you too,” Man groans, wiggling underneath Boss’s weight until he manages to get him to roll onto the floor. “I’m so sick of Sarawat moping, I can’t deal with you doing it too!”

“Tine,” There’s something different in Boss’s usual carefree, easygoing tone, something surprisingly serious. He clambers to his feet, a foreign expression of desperation souring his regular smile. “You have to come and see what Sarawat did for you. He was so busy the last few weeks preparing it. At least give him a chance and hear him out before you decide to reject him.”

“Reject him?” Tine looks up sharply, stalking forward and gripping Boss’s arms. “What’re you talking about?”

Uncertainty overtakes Boss’s features and he looks over to Man, blinking rapidly with confusion. “He was lamenting about you going to the Ball with some other Slytherin? Mil, I think?”

Choked laughter musters its way out of Tine’s throat as he runs a hand through his hair disbelievingly. “Wait, does that mean he going to ask me?” He’s fully aware of how embarrassingly eager he sounds but upon seeing the other two’s shared looks of guilt at accidentally betraying their friend’s secret, Tine can’t find it in himself to be ashamed.

The realisation shoves past his layers of doubt and insecurity, and he finally lets himself have a smudge of hope that Sarawat might actually reciprocate his feelings. All the unnecessary turmoil from the past few weeks catches up to him, and he recalls the endless sleepless nights and the days he spent drifting about trying to find the Slytherin. Sarawat wasn't avoiding him, at least not initially, he was busy doing something for him. Once again, miscommunication had driven a wedge between him and Sarawat, and the frustration boils up in him, giving him an unknowing push of determination.

Man must recognise something in his expression as he pats him on the back happily, wordlessly stepping out of the way. Tine walks briskly out of his dormitory, along the winding corridors, down the stone staircases and towards the Great Hall, his mind blank the whole way, solely focused on finding Sarawat.

However, the moment he pushes open the looming doors to the Great Hall, he falters to a stop. The candles that used to twirl in the air are now replaced by a blanket of the blue-black night sky with bright twinkling dots splattered across it all, constantly shifting and changing. It reminds him of the memory that first made him fall in love with Hogwarts and magic as a whole way back in his First Year, but looking at the night sky transported indoors once again, he finds it even better than before.

"He's been working on that for you." Man says from beside him, unaware of how his words quicken Tine's heartbeat.

The abrupt shatter of a glass crashing onto the floor and a familiar, dear voice gasping his name instantly snaps him out of his fascinated stupor. He immediately spots the person standing a few metres away and everything else melts away into the distant background. It’s like he can’t comprehend anything else around him as he strides forward, all he can focus on is Sarawat.

He clasps the other’s hand and gently but firmly pulls him out of the noise of the Great Hall, so concentrated on every roughened bump on Sarawat’s palm pressed against his own that he doesn’t realise he’s brought them both outside to the steps that lead to the field near the lake.

“Where were you the whole evening?” Sarawat demands, his worried tone betraying the furrowed brows and anger on his face. “Are you okay? I didn’t see you at the Ball but I did see Mil. Did he do something? I swear I’ll—”

“Sarawat,” Tine says steely, recalling the maddening exasperation he’d felt minutes ago in his room, which reminds him of all the stupid misconceptions he wants to end. “I did not accept Mil’s invitation to the Ball. He asked me to be his date and I said no.”

“But I saw you and him that day in Hogsmeade when I went to get supplies for the Ball. You were laughing and smiling and holding hands with him, I thought… I thought you liked him.” Sarawat shakes his head, still so visibly confused and on edge.

Seeing how unusually frazzled Sarawat was, with the hints of dark circles set under his eyes and the uneasy way he shifted his weight from one foot to another repeatedly, all of Tine’s previous frustration ebbs away along with the bravery that had come with it, until all that’s left is the plain, overwhelming affection he has for the boy in front of him.

“Mil’s actually pretty okay, I do like him. But,” Tine pauses, suddenly too overwhelmed by the piercing stare of Sarawat’s large eyes. He cranes his neck upwards, looking at the real, never-ending night sky floating above him that reminds him of the Great Hall's own night sky that Sarawat had made for him and breathes out shakily. “But I don’t see how I could accept his invitation when I’m already in love with you.”

Silence fills the air between them and Tine screws his eyes shut, clenching his fists by his sides. Although the massive weight that had been drowning him for years finally unlatches itself from its chains around his heart, doubt slowly creeps out from nowhere, gripping him with fear. Maybe Sarawat had only wanted to ask him to the Ball as friends, maybe he’d read Man and Boss’s revelation all wrong? He counts his heartbeats, feeling more dread and less relief with every passing thump, until finally, a strangled sound definitely not coming from him breaks the quietude.

His concern for Sarawat outweighs the approaching pain of rejection that’s sure to hit him soon, and so, Tine slowly tilts his head back down, peeking hesitantly through one eye. Instead of discomfort, Sarawat simply looks incredulous, almost lost. Before Tine can utter anything, Sarawat’s intense gaze is back onto him.

“You love me?” Sarawat asks urgently, mouth slightly agape.

Tine looks away again, too afraid of the pitying look that will definitely be pointed his way soon, and wordlessly nods his head, not trusting his voice to wobble halfway through even a word. Suddenly, he feels his fingers being uncurled from where they'd been balled up by his sides, and his palms being pressed against two others.

“Can I kiss you?”

At this, Tine’s head shoots upwards and he finally looks properly back at Sarawat. He searches for anything that suggests that Sarawat is pitying him, or in a more crueler scenario, joking with him. But all he can see is an honest earnestness that makes his cheeks heat up and without fully realising it, he’s nodding his head in agreement.

And then, oh. Sarawat’s lips are pressed softly against his.

He’s hyper aware of Sarawat’s every touch, sinks into the warmth of his hands that moved from covering his hands to holding his face ever so tenderly. His own arms wrap themselves around Sarawat’s waist, pulling him closer until there’s barely any space between them.

Tine gets lost in the moment, wishes it’ll never end but soon, they’re pulling apart. Sarawat’s hands still remain on Tine’s face, as well as Tine’s own arms on Sarawat’s waist, and they simply stand there giggling softly with their faces mere inches apart. The laughter gradually fades until they’re left staring into one another’s eyes, and this close, Tine finds himself wandering around lost in the pools of glittering obsidian that are Sarawat’s eyes.

“I love you.” Tine unknowingly murmurs, too consumed in this moment to even realise the words had escaped from his lips.

Any embarrassment he might’ve felt completely dissolves from his mind and he can’t find himself regretting it one bit as he watches the corners of Sarawat’s mouth slowly move upwards, until he’s almost positively beaming. It’s the biggest smile Tine’s ever seen on the other and he takes his time to drink the sight in. He had thought the night sky in the Great Hall was the most magical thing he’d seen, but looking at Sarawat now, with his dopey large grin, upturned crescent eyes and the tips of his ears burning red, Tine thinks Sarawat’s magic itself, more incredible and more stunning than anything that can even be imagined.

His face almost mirrors Sarawat’s, his own too-wide beam tugging his lips upwards. He can’t resist moving forward so that their smiles are pressed together in another kiss. This time, when they pull apart, Sarawat’s smile is more bashful and less wide, but still just as brilliant.

“I love you too.” Sarawat whispers, hands still on Tine’s face as he strokes his thumb on the left side of the other’s cheeks. “I’ve loved you for a long time, and I’ll continue loving you for the rest of my life.”

Tine knows his cheeks are aflame but can’t find it in himself to move away, breath hitching in his throat as Sarawat’s adoring gaze roams all over his face. “Are you proposing?” He jokes weakly.

“Nuisance, you know I’m not proposing,” Sarawat rolls his eyes fondly, leaning forward so that their foreheads rest against one another. “At least, not for now.” He adds cheekily and Tine’s splutters are instantly cut off by a peck on his lips.

Tine is seventeen years old when he’s in love and is loved. He knows that no relationship is without its own ups and downs, knows there will be more to come in the future, but tonight, standing outside on a worn out staircase, with no one else but the stars and the moon smiling down on them, he knows he’s capable of getting through anything with Sarawat by his side.

Giggling into their kisses, wrapped in one another’s embrace in the starlight, Tine’s heart beams for Sarawat, filled with a love only privy to them that continues burning undyingly for years and years to come.