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rivalry is dangerous, two thin tightropes that separate the three territories of enemies, friends and lovers. you and tobio rest one foot on each in a double balancing act, teetering in your attempts to one-up each other.
for everyone else, especially your respective teams, it’s more like a game of When Will They Stop Arguing and Start Snogging. because, they say, on the topic of tightropes, there really is nothing but air around it; there are no boundaries or territories, you’re both Idiots Denying Their Feelings.
but it’s called a balancing act for a reason, and sometimes you wonder when everyone else will catch on.
·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙
awkward.
it’s the moment before his game: slytherin vs. ravenclaw, and he’s already dressed in his quidditch robes as he eats breakfast. you’re just in your regular uniform, complete with the yellow tie, and it doesn’t seem as though you’re wearing anything that shows your which of the two houses you’re supporting. you make sure to cast him a glance, an obligatory semi-glare to keep up appearances.
but a few minutes before his game, you pull him into the corridor, safe in the knowledge that you cast a temporary invisibility charm.
he seems a little more nervous than normal, and you reconsider teasing him this time. for a while you both just stand there, a little awkward, eyes refusing to leave each other. you’re about to say something, wish him good luck, when suddenly, he leans in to peck your lips. it’s stiff, a little bit of teeth in the way that he pushes himself to you too quickly. but it’s oddly endearing in it’s own kageyama way.
“er, good luck today,” you say, breaking the silence.
“… thanks.”
nobody notices that you have an innocent detail on your person: a small green handkerchief displayed on the pocket of your robes and a thin silver necklace.
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tense.
you pull him into a quiet corridor, his surprise clear in his eyes when he sees you as the culprit of this sudden kidnapping. you kiss him suddenly, with no warning, and all the breath whooshes out of him. he’s stiff, unsure of where to put his hands or how to pucker his lips, and before he can process anything, you pull away. the air in front of him is suddenly cold.
“q-quit doing that!” his voice comes out breathy, a pitch higher than normal.
“no way.” you grin, pecking him again for good measure. a strangled noise escapes his throat as his blush deepens, cheeks burning so much that it hurts. you wink, and follow it up with “it’s fun.”
before he can retort with “we might get caught, moron!” you’ve already slipped away.
·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙
competitive.
you’re huddled up in the astronomy tower, having brought telescopes, parchment, quills, and ink for your assignment. you’ve also done the liberty of bringing blankets and chocolate frogs from your last visit to honeydukes, because it was beginning to get pretty chilly at night, and you’re hungry (he is too, though he’d deny it).
“i can’t believe people actually think you’re a good kisser.”
this comes after you hear the girls in your common room talk about how dreamy the slytherin seeker is: a picture of tall, dark, and handsome, extremely capable yet a real risk-taker despite his stoic nature. you don’t suppress the snort when you hear his name, for it’s common knowledge that the two of you are almost always at each other’s throats.
yet they don’t know that the noise comes not from a place of disdain, but rather amusement. kageyama tobio is more innocent than many would think, and the talks that say otherwise are incredibly amusing.
he frowns, defensive. “it’s not like i have any experience in this kind of thing, anyway.”
“just admit it, i’m better than you.”
“try saying that again.”
the fire of rivalry hasn’t been stoked for quite some time now, but it hasn’t died out yet. you see it spark to life when he bristles in indignation. there’s a challenging glint in his eyes, and you smirk, veins singing with the promise of an entertaining show.
his mouth does the talking, but not with his words. his lips meet yours all stiff and awkward, much like the kiss before the game. except this time it’s more forceful, filled with the desire to prove you wrong. you grunt in pain when his teeth clash with yours, and you pull away, wincing.
“idiot, don’t just go in like that!” he’s also holding his lip with a furrow in his brow, a quick sorry muttered under his breath as he looks at you in concern. you roll your eyes, leaning to him as if to say watch, loser.
you meet his lips slow; he’s a little surprised that you of all people would set this kind of pace, but it allows him to at least process what’s happening. your lips are a little chapped from the chilly night air, but they quickly warm the longer they’re pressed to his. your hands slither up his arms and to the muscles of his shoulders, and he relaxes. something wet prods at his lips. he realizes it’s your tongue, and he awkwardly parts his lips, hoping that’s what you wanted him to do. you taste like wind and pumpkin pasties, he notices, and all inhibition fly out the window when he registers the delicious friction of your tongue moving against his. sparks go off in his chest, and his stomach tingles with butterflies.
you’re surprisingly patient, silently guiding him through the kiss with gentle nudges and hums of approval. he ends up enjoying himself a little too much, unconsciously chasing after your lips when you pull away. when he opens his eyes, he finds that you’re grinning triumphantly.
“told you i’m better.” the moonlight does wonders, framing your features in an almost ethereal glow. he’s never taken it into real thought, but the longer he stares at you, the prettier you become. it’s not that he didn’t think you were pretty before, it’s simply not one of the thins that registered in his mind when he decided that he liked you.
you were so much more than just pretty: getting yourself where you are using sheer willpower and hard work (a hufflepuff through and through), with enough dedication to match his own (though he’d never admit that to your face).
he tugs you closer, blanket tangling between the two of you as you end up straddling his thighs to keep your balance. it’s too dark to make out his blown pupils from his dark blue eyes, but there’s something in the way he’s quiet that warrants a shiver. and it’s not due to the chilly evening air
“not for long,” he murmurs just before capturing your lips again, managing to tease you enough that you release a low whine when he parts. you spend the rest of the time stealing kisses, homework forgotten, competition burning through even in cases such as these. neither one of you has plans of backing down; you only stop when curfew is five minutes away, realizing he has to scramble to the slytherin common room. thankfully, people attribute his mussed up hair and slightly dazed expression to running from the astronomy tower all the way down to the dungeons (which is true, anyway, to a certain extent). thankfully, the common room is quite dark since he made it just as curfew started, so his swollen lips weren’t noticed.
as you turn over in your bed, your fingers come up to your lips, feeling them tingle with phantom kisses. perhaps the girls are on to something about his skills. at least, the boy has potential.
·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙
sudden.
the news of you and tobio emerging from the astronomy tower suspiciously close to curfew spreads like wildfire, and soon enough, you stop bothering trying to hide it after losing face. stupid paintings and their stupid gossip.
but then again, now you’re able to tease him publicly, without pulling him into deserted corridors. oh, and there’s another thing: a rare instance where you can brag and hold something over his pretty head.
“tobio! what’s up!”
you appear in a crack! and swirl of black robes. there’s a devilish grin on your face. something soft rests on his lips, and he tastes the faint trace of the pumpkin juice you probably drank this morning. you part from him, playfully pecking his nose this time, ignoring all the students currently staring at the scene. his teammates are all ready, matching slytherin smirks on their faces, ready to tease the daylights out of him.
before he can chew you out for embarrassing him in the middle of the courtyard, you’re already gone, another small crack! indicating that you’ve disapparated. you’re really milking your achievement for all it’s worth, and tobio is so ready to get you back for all of it. he glowers, cheeks burning red, mumbling profanities under his breath and vowing that he’ll master it soon.
·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙
wild.
it’s strange to be able to end your schooling in such a mundane manner given hogwarts’ long reputation of having disturbances and––to put it lightly––untoward events. but things have settled into peace, and thankfully your years in this school have passed without those kinds of hitches.
your NEWTs are going to start in a few days, which means it’s well and truly almost the end of the school year. hufflepuff lost to gryffindor by a narrow margin, so once again it’s red and gold versus green and silver for the finals. and this time, you’re cheering for him with all you’ve got.
“i’m… thinking of doing quidditch. professionally.” he blurts it out, face scrunched up slightly as he looks at you, and you sense the uneasiness in his voice.
“you’re gonna be wonderful, tobio,” you say, and you mean it with all your heart. you’re kind of in a shock, but at the same time, unsurprised; he’s always been the type to go after what he wants, and if that’s quidditch, then he’s going to be the best he can be. he already has the talent for it anyway.
“how about you?”
“i uh, have a job offer at the ministry,” you scratch your cheek, “i asked professor sprout to refer me.”
“… we’re gonna be adults.”
“yeah.” your voice holds your amusement at his declaration.
“do you… want to be adults together?“ the question catches you off-guard, and a fire lights up inside you, tender, at first, but a slowly growing flame until you can’t take the emotions bottling inside you at his offer. because yes. he’s all you could ever ask for and more. you may steal his kisses, but he’s stolen your heart, and for him to be the first to offer such a commitment… you’re absolutely blown away.
you press your lips, mouth slotting against his in a heated clash. your fingers wound a familiar path around his shoulders, creeping up his nape before proceeding to tangle themselves in his hair. his hands fist themselves in your robes, pulling you flush against his body.
you kiss him with little restraint, a flurry of tongue and hands and skin, a force of nature in itself: inferno and thunderstorm in equal measure.
he kisses you and it’s like quidditch: a whoosh as his heart drops to his stomach, his blood humming in tune with the wind that sings in his ears. except you’re the wind. his heartbeat is stolen by the slender fingers that weave through his hair, plucking them from his ribcage with an ease that rivals breathing itself. but of course, it’s you, and he doesn’t expect anything else.
it should be illegal, he thinks to himself, for someone to look so good. your cheeks are painted in sweetheart red, lips swollen from kissing. he’s leaning in again, and again, and again, and by the way you happily reciprocate, he knows you really don’t mind at all.
you’re the annoying hufflepuff seeker with an unhealthy habit of leaving him breathless, but he’s finding himself liking it a little more every day.