Archive of Our Own ^beta

Maeda Riku.

Sixth-year Gryffindor Chaser.

Sharp on his Firebolt, quietly loyal to his morning bowl of bland ramyun, and hopeless at sleeping unless his cat – a black, fluffy menace named Kkuri – is curled up tight against his chest.

At this moment, he’s holed up in a corner of the library, trying to make sense of a particularly dull Transfiguration essay.

The library is hushed and golden in the evening light. Shelves rise around, tall and heavy with books, and the only sounds are the occasional turning page or the distant, stern click of Madam Song’s heels.

Until:

“Hyung!”

Riku recoils, ink splattering, dragging a messy arc across a third of his scroll. He mumbles a quick cleaning spell, looking up just in time to see his loving boyfriend slide into the seat beside him, smiling like the sun followed him in.

“Sorry, I know I’m late,” Kim Daeyoung says, thankfully several decibels lower to something less library-offensive. Another outburst and Riku’s sure Madam Song wouldn’t hesitate to throw them out, “I got pulled into participating in some student survey on the way over here.”

“It’s fine,” Riku whispers. He pushes some of his textbooks and scrolls to make room, “A student survey?”

“Something about the food assortment from The Kitchens,” Daeyoung waves it off. He scoots his chair closer to Riku’s, satisfied only when their arms are brushing, properly shoulder-to-shoulder, “A classmate grabbed me when I was walking by. Said she’d give me a free cookie if I helped out – I couldn’t say no.”

That tracks.

Daeyoung could walk across the castle and get roped into three conversations, two favors, and a spontaneous hug from someone’s enchanted teacup. Everyone knows the fourth-year Hufflepuff Prefect – who’s somehow friends with nearly every student, portrait, and ghost on school grounds.

Riku’s used to that.

For the most part.

“And did she?”

Daeyoung nods, “But I told her it was fine – I was happy to help.”

“You’re too nice sometimes,” Riku says, reaching out to flatten out a tuft of Daeyoung’s wind-blown hair. It’s sticking up in all directions, “Did you run here?”

“No,” Daeyoung falters when Riku raises a brow, “... But I might’ve jogged.”

“Don’t, next time,” Riku nags. His hand lingers near Daeyoung’s cheek, brushing just barely against the skin. He stutters when the younger boy leans into the touch, “It – it’s just – we’re just studying.”

Daeyoung’s eyes shine even under the weak flicker of candlelight, “But I missed you.”

Riku short-circuits. Heat blooms across his cheeks, spreading fast and unmistakable. He can feel it coming, that traitorous pink climbing up his neck, and Daeyoung must know – must see it – because that grin of his starts to tug at the corners of his lips, slow and delighted.

Riku yanks his hand away, “You did that on purpose.”

Daeyoung laughs and reaches for him again, tangling their fingers together with ease, “I did miss you!” Someone two rows away shushes them, but Daeyoung offers a sheepish smile in apology. 

When he turns back, his voice drops into something sweeter, “You’re cute when you get all shy, hyung.”

Even after three months of dating – and a whole year of friendship before that – Riku still melts when it comes to Daeyoung.

Like snow under summer’s sun.

There’s just something about Daeyoung. The way he moves, long limbs and gentle lines yet light on his feet, like nothing ever startles him, like kindness is stitched into the way he walks – in how he carries himself, how he remembers people’s names, how he always offers the last biscuit like it’s instinct.

Sometimes, Riku thinks Daeyoung is sweetness made real – like if honey had a heartbeat and eyes that crinkles when he laughs.

And when those eyes are looking at him, it’s full of affection – like he’s seeing something good in Riku that Riku hasn’t quite found himself.

It’s almost overwhelming, being on the receiving end of that kind of devotion. Being loved in a language only Daeyoung speaks fluently.

Riku’s not yet used to it – the way Daeyoung loves in technicolor – bright, bold, and without hesitation. Sometimes, it catches in his throat, too much and too good all at once.

But it’s not that he doesn’t want it.

He just doesn’t always know how to hold onto it.

He thinks of Yushi, sometimes – steady, thoughtful Tokuno, who keeps his side of the room neat and his heart quiet. The two of them had grown close last year through Potions tutoring, and Riku had always appreciated the silence they shared, that comfortable quiet Yushi never felt the need to fill.

And when Yushi had fallen for Sion, it had been slow, cautious. A love with edges, learned over time.

Riku’s isn’t like that.

Not with Daeyoung.

Daeyoung is already here – all in, all heart – and Riku is still figuring out how to meet him without flinching from the light. 

“Everything alright, hyung?”

Riku blinks back to life, gaze blurred from where he’d been staring down at their hands, still weaved together, resting on Daeyoung’s knee. He finds Daeyoung watching him closely, grin fading into a small frown. 

“Yeah, no, I was just –” Riku clears his throat, sits up a little straighter as if it’ll help. “Lost track of what I was thinking of for a moment.” 

Daeyoung doesn’t look entirely convinced, brows pinching together as he evaluates Riku’s state: ink smudged all over his hands, tie barely hanging on, school robes slipping off a shoulder like they’d given up trying to stay on.

“How long have you been up here?” 

Riku glances at the window. The light’s shifted noticeably since he first sat down. He scratches the back of his neck, “Uh. Since after practice, I think?”

Daeyoung wrinkles his nose, “That was hours ago.”

“I had a lot to do,” Riku mutters, but Daeyoung is already reaching over to straighten his tie, gentle fingers brushing against Riku’s collarbone like it’s nothing. 

Like it doesn’t make Riku’s heart ricochet off the ceiling.

“I should’ve taken that cookie then,” Daeyoung murmurs, tugging lightly at Riku’s collar – completely oblivious to the way Riku’s gone still, freezing down to the bone yet heating up all at the same time. “Or at least packed something from The Kitchens.”

“I’m fine,” Riku huffs, limbs creaking as he shies away from the touch. Daeyoung’s hands hover mid-air awkwardly so Riku moves to lace their fingers together, “What about you? What’ve you been up to?”

Daeyoung returns to life at the question. He leans forward, propping his elbow on the table and resting their hands against his cheek. He sighs – long, dramatic, and just a little embarrassed. 

“Wonbin hyung roped me into helping with the Snowlight decorations. Said he only needed a second opinion. I didn’t think it’d be all that long but then he ended up taking the entire afternoon to choose between three shades of silver glitter.”

Riku snorts. He can picture it vividly – Daeyoung crouched patiently on the grass with his robes over his head, sun glaring down, expression caught somewhere between polite support and a slow descent into madness. 

“Did you at least get to help decide, or were you just there as moral support?”

“A little of both,” Daeyoung grins. “Chanyoung hyung kept jumping between choices just to mess with him.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “Wonbin hyung mentioned needing us to go over the menus with him tomorrow morning too.”

Riku stills.

Tomorrow. Sunday.

Their Sunday.

It’s never been a formal thing, not exactly. But ever since they started dating, Sundays had taken on a kind of rhythm – a thread of something steady in the ever-spinning chaos of school and Quidditch and Prefect duties. 

Some mornings, they’d meet early and wander through Hogsmeade with no real purpose, splitting pastries and pointing out dogs that looked like professors. Other times, they’d stay on school grounds, finding a patch of sun near the greenhouse or a quiet alcove by the Ravenclaw Tower, Daeyoung sketching patterns on Riku’s knee while Riku halfheartedly annotated his notes.

No matter the plan, it had always been the same underneath: time set aside. Time that felt like it belonged just to them.

They’ve never missed a Sunday together – ever.

“I know,” Daeyoung says, catching the flicker in Riku’s expression. “I tried to say I had plans, but –”

“It’s okay,” Riku interjects. He adds a smile to round the edges, like maybe if he looks easy about it, it won’t feel like something’s shifting. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

Daeyoung’s uncertainty is palpable, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Riku shrugs, “I think Sion hyung wants to run a couple extra training sessions anyway.”

“Again?” 

“We’re finally playing Slytherin next week and he’s – well, you know how he is when it comes to practice.”

Riku gives Daeyoung’s hand a light squeeze, hoping it’ll be enough to move them past this. He doesn’t want to turn it into a moment; not when he’s not even sure why it’s beginning to feel like one.

“I’ll be fine,” he repeats, firm.

“You sure?” Daeyoung asks. He licks his lips, “I could always –”

Riku shakes his head, “Seriously. It’s fine. You should go, it sounds like it could be fun.”

Daeyoung is unconvinced, “As fun as having to hold up three shades of glitter over my head under sunlight for fifteen minutes?”

Riku shrugs, “Maybe he’ll have you taste-test cake next.”

That earns him a soft laugh, “If he does, I’ll sneak you some.”

He says it so easily – like a promise, like a given. Like the thought of not bringing Riku something doesn’t even cross his mind.

Daeyoung corrects, “Even if he doesn’t – I’ll come find you after, alright?”

And just like that, Riku feels stupid for letting his heart twist at all.

“Okay.”

Their hands are still loosely joined. The library is still warm, lit by the flicker of enchanted lamps overhead. Nothing’s wrong. Not really.

But when Daeyoung turns back to the scattered scrolls and starts talking about a new spell he learnt in Charms, Riku lets his eyes drift to the window, where the sky is starting to dim – a darkening, dusky blue curling into the edges of late afternoon.

He’s still holding onto Daeyoung.

And yet, somehow, he already misses him.

x

The dungeons are always cold – even in the thick of the day, long after the morning frost has melted off the grass outside. 

Riku leans against the cool limestone, lets it seep into his robes. They’re coming into October now, with leaves turning brown at the edges and wind that tastes faintly of woodsmoke.

And with Autumn, comes Quidditch. 

The first match of the season is creeping up and Sion, all nerves and half-sketched diagrams, hasn’t stopped talking strategy since the brackets dropped. Naturally, Riku’s been deputized into listening to every overthought play and making sure Sion doesn’t spontaneously combust before mid-November, holding the ground while Sion paces around it.

At this very moment, however, his mind is far from the game.

He’s standing just out of view, tucked into one of the alcoves near the Potions dungeon, the kind of space that’s easy to miss. His bookbag digs into a shoulder but he doesn’t register it, focused instead on the door ahead, and has been for – what? Fifteen minutes? Maybe more.

It’s not entirely new, waiting like this.

He’s done it before – outside the Astronomy Tower when Daeyoung was stuck reading tea leaves in Divination (there had been a dramatic prediction about an abundance of chocolate fated for him; didn’t happen), near Greenhouse Three when Daeyoung emerged pale and windblown from a session with screaming mandrakes (he’d needed to lie down; and ended up napping on Riku’s lap for close to an hour), and once outside the Transfiguration corridor, where Daeyoung asked if he could borrow Kkuri to practice on (Riku hurled a crumpled parchment at his head in response).

But that was before.

Before they were – together.

The word knocks something loose in Riku’s chest.

Together.

It feels surreal. Like saying it too loudly might scare it away.

The classroom door opens, spilling out a flurry of robes and chatter. Fourth-year Hufflepuffs and Slytherins filter past in groups, a few of them glancing his way with the kind of curious recognition that comes with being a Gryffindor Chaser standing alone in the dungeons.

Riku ducks his head, fixes his gaze on the book open in his hands, to the page he hasn’t turned in that same fifteen minutes. 

“Thank you, Professor!”

Riku lifts his eyes just in time to see Daeyoung exiting last, still chatting animatedly with Professor Byun. He’s halfway through some impassioned explanation about Dittany uses, rambling with a kind of enthusiasm that makes Riku want to smile – even though his heart’s already racing for an entirely different reason.

Then, Daeyoung spots him.

His eyes widen, and a smile spreads across his face like dawn through fluffy clouds. 

Riku shoves the book into his bag, taking a second to gather himself. When he looks back up, Daeyoung’s already made his way over, standing so close, towering over him with ease; immediately, he’s enveloped by the soft, powdery scent of sweet fig leaf, all of it clinging to Daeyoung’s robes and skin and the faint curl of his hair.

Daeyoung adjusts the cauldron on his hip and Riku forgets what he was going to say.

“Hi,” he whispers, breathless.

“Hi, hyung.”

Daeyoung mumbles it, almost shy, like he’s afraid of startling the moment. He reaches out – fingers brushing barely against the back of Riku’s hand – so light it would‘ve been missed, if Riku’s heart wasn’t already echoing it with every beat.

Daeyoung tilts his head, “I thought we were meeting by the courtyard?”

“I had some time,” Riku says, swallowing around it. 

Daeyoung gives him a lopsided smile, a small quirk at the corner of his lips, “Did you miss me that much?”

Riku mutters something unintelligible, low and half-hearted, somewhere between no and maybe, and Daeyoung’s laugh breaks warm and bright through the corridor.

“I like it when you wait for me.”

Riku doesn’t answer. Just tucks the words away like a charm to hold onto later, when he’s alone and unsure and trying to remember how this all became real. He lets Daeyoung thread their fingers together, tugging gently; Riku follows without hesitation, the feel of Daeyoung’s fingers around his own anchoring him more than anything else ever has.

The light outside is different by the time they leave the dungeons – brighter, almost golden, the kind of mid-afternoon hue that makes everything look a little more sentimental. 

Riku squints against it, eyes adjusting slowly.

When he glances over, Daeyoung is radiant, light catching in the brown of his hair and the pink of his cheeks – and he realizes very belatedly that Daeyoung’s already watching him.

Smiling like Riku’s the loveliest thing he’s seen all day.

Immediately, Riku turns into a tomato.

He doesn’t know what he expected, but it surely isn’t this. It isn’t Daeyoung looking at him like this. Like he’s not quite real. Like he’s something Daeyoung’s still learning how to want out loud.

“What?” he manages.

Daeyoung stays silent. Just wets his lips, gaze flicking – slow, almost uncertain – down to Riku’s. His pupils are blown wide, edges blooming like ink in water. The air between them pulls tight, shivering with something Riku doesn’t know how to name but feels all the same – in his chest, his spine, his grip on Daeyoung’s hand.

Daeyoung glances down the empty corridor.

Then he steps closer, just a fraction.

“Hyung…” he breathes, wavering low and unsure in a way that makes Riku’s whole body thrum. “Can I – can I kiss you?”

Riku’s heartbeat picks up, fast and loud against his ribs like it’s trying to escape. He nods, sharp and clumsy. 

And then Daeyoung leans in – and kisses him.

It’s soft. Gentle. Their lips barely brush at first, and Daeyoung’s a little hesitant, like he’s worried he’s doing it wrong.

Riku closes his eyes and leans in, lets it happen. Lets himself feel every inch of it – the delicate press of Daeyoung’s lips, the tremble of his own hands, the way his chest aches in the way it does when something matters too much.

Daeyoung tastes like spearmint and patience, like something Riku wants to press himself into and never come back from. It’s not their first kiss, but it feels like a new one anyway – easier than the last, sweeter, sewn together with nerves and something soundlessly burning beneath.

Everything else dissolves.

When Daeyoung pulls away, Riku chases – instinctively, blindly, like his body hasn’t caught up yet. He wants more of it. More of Daeyoung. And Daeyoung laughs, and kisses him again, smiling like he can’t help it, like the moment’s so full it’s finally tipping over.

Riku’s just on the edge of tumbling forward – into Daeyoung, into the dizzy mess curling in him – when there’s a loud crash, sharp and jarring, echoing down the corridor like a spell’s misfired.

He jumps, and so does Daeyoung – though not far. Daeyoung’s still close enough to catch him, arm curling around his waist protectively like it’s instinct.

A beat of silence – then a sniffle.

They look up.

Near the far end of the corridor, a Ravenclaw – tiny, red-faced, possibly a first-year, on the verge of emotional collapse – is kneeling near a spilled pile of cauldron ingredients halfway down the hall. Half the contents are across the floor, a tin of powdered Hornroot slowly rolling away like a punctuation.

Of the three, Daeyoung’s the first to move.

“Hang on,” he murmurs, pulling away with a kind of tenderness that makes Riku’s breath catch all over again.

Daeyoung’s voice softens as he calls out to the boy, sliding into Prefect mode, calm and practiced. It’s the same one he uses when first-years forget their passwords or when someone bursts into tears over a failed Charms essay, the kind of tone he uses when the world needs him to be steady and kind and good – which he always is.

The boy – barely half of Daeyoung, eyes glassy with the threat of tears – looks up at Daeyoung like he’s something just short of miraculous. 

“You okay?”

The boy stammers something, clearly embarrassed, but the moment Daeyoung smiles – that class Daeyoung smile that lands like balm – it all seems to dissolve. 

His shoulders drop. His hands stop shaking. His eyes go soft in the same way Riku has seen in so many others before.

He’s seen it in corridors. In the Great Hall. After Quidditch matches and before exams and on rainy mornings when Daeyoung charms people’s cloaks dry without being asked.

Everyone loves Daeyoung.

Because this is who Daeyoung is – someone who moves through the world giving parts of himself away without even realizing it: a kind smile here, a compassionate word there, sweet attention offered to whoever needs it most.

And Riku knows that. He’s always known that.

But knowing doesn’t make it easier to hold.

Because even if Daeyoung is his, Daeyoung’s also everyone else’s.

Or at least it feels that way, sometimes.

Like Daeyoung’s made of sunlight and good intentions, passed from hand to hand, leaving behind something golden in everyone he touches.

Yet Riku wants Daeyoung to himself – wants him with both hands, wants him without having to share even the smallest piece. 

It’s not fair. It’s not rational.

It rises up all the same – quiet, heavy, shame-laced.

He swallows hard, eyes tracing the slope of Daeyoung’s back, the easy curve of his shoulders as he bends to retrieve the fallen tin, the soft lines of him that make even strangers look twice.

Riku’s chest flutters like a wing caught mid-beat, lips still tingling faintly, the imprint of Daeyoung’s touch lingering like heat that hasn’t quite burned off. 

x

On Sunday night, Riku waits in the alcove just beside the Prefect’s Bathroom on the fifth floor. 

Daeyoung’s always liked how quiet it was here. How hidden, tucked between staircases, far enough from where people normally pass. It became their place – there were no words needed for it.

Now, it’s just Riku.

The castle has long since gone to sleep. The air has shifted into the kind of stillness that only exists after midnight – faint groans in the walls, a low gust of wind outside, the occasional hollowed cry from the Owlery.

He brought his Transfiguration essay with him. Told himself he’d finish it while he waited. Every sound – every creak, every whisper of movement – makes him look up. Makes his heart stutter. Makes him hope.

But it’s never Daeyoung.

He’s busy.

Or they’re holding him back. Or he lost track of time.

He’s still coming.

The ache starts low, somewhere in his back from where he’s been curled up against the marble for too long. He stands slowly, movements careful, as if some part of him still believes Daeyoung might appear around the corner if he waits just a minute more.

He doesn’t.

The corridor stays empty. The silence presses in.

He wouldn’t forget.

The thought chases him down the halls, echoes with every step. He moves leisurely, like if he lingers enough, Daeyoung might still appear behind him, out of breath and smiling like he always is, apologizing for being late.

But the staircases shift without pause. The portraits stay asleep.

No one calls his name.

By the time he gets back to Gryffindor Tower, the common room has gone dark, fire reduced to faint embers casting long shadows on the rug. And upstairs, the dorm is quiet. Familiar. Suffocating.

Everyone’s already asleep.

The shower scalds. He doesn’t adjust it.

When he finally crawls into bed, his chest aches in a way that feels physical, like something inside him is caught and won’t loosen. He stares at the ceiling, breaths shallow, trying to will the feeling away – the sharp, curling thing in his chest that’s screaming: he forgot.

No, he wouldn’t forget, Riku tells himself. Over and over. He wouldn’t forget about me.

But the thought is there anyway – the possibility of it – simmering at the base of his ribs, crawling higher with every breath.

And worse – that it matters this much.

He pins his gaze at the ceiling like it might give him an answer, chest tightening as if something inside’s beginning to fold in on itself. He tries not to name the feeling. Tries not to feel anything at all. 

Just as he’s about to kick the covers off and stumble toward the trunk at the foot of his bed – nausea and panic clawing at each other – there’s a small sound.

Kkuri.

She jumps up without ceremony, tiny paws pressing directly into the center of his chest like she knows exactly where it hurts. She doesn’t curl up right away; just stands for a beat, looking at Riku with those sharp, unreadable eyes before finally settling down.

Riku reaches for her blindly, burying his hand in her fur like it’ll anchor him to something real. She lets out a soft purr. 

“What if he forgot,” he whispers. 

Kkuri makes a low sound in return, somewhere between unimpressed and reassuring.

“You’re right,” Riku mutters, willing his eyes shut. The ceiling’s starting to make faces at him, “He wouldn’t forget about me.”

She meows again. 

Riku nods, but his fingers curl a little tighter against her side.

“He couldn’t have.”

The silence that follows says otherwise.

And Riku, even as he clings to her, doesn’t quite believe himself.

x

It’s the middle of January when Riku first meets Daeyoung.

The sky hangs low over the Quidditch Pitch, heavy and still, clouds tinted with that dull blue-grey that always comes before snow. The frost hasn’t lifted all day, clinging stubbornly to the grass like lace. 

Most of the students are inside, huddled over fireplaces or buried under blankets in common rooms. But Riku is out here – wind stinging at his cheeks, nose pink, broom cutting through the air as he runs drill after drill.

He’s waiting for Sion, who had insisted – loudly and with far too much gesturing – that they needed to walk through at least a dozen new plays for the upcoming season. Riku had agreed, mostly because it’s Sion, and saying no to Oh Sion is like trying to argue with a hurricane.

So, Riku takes the air.

He flies tight arcs and clean dips, climbs into sharp curves that leave his stomach trailing behind him. 

The cold clears his head. 

It’s peaceful in a way.

Lonely, maybe. But peaceful.

It’s halfway through his third set when he notices someone in the stands.

At first, it’s just a flicker of movement – a shape he almost misses, tucked into the second row beneath the announcer’s tower. But then Riku circles again, squinting through the wind, and sees him properly.

A boy.

Tall, maybe a year or two younger. His hair’s dark, fringe windswept, and he’s got half his face hidden in a scarf the exact shade of late honey – like he’s trying to disappear into it. Even from a distance, there’s something unexpectedly solid about him – broad shoulders but a slim frame, like he’s still growing into himself.

At first he thinks maybe it’s Tokuno Yushi – Sion’s newest topic of conversation lately – but no, Riku’s met Yushi a few times before, and this boy’s taller. Softer around the eyes too. Not nearly as unreadable.

And when he notices Riku looking, he lifts one arm in an enormous wave, an exaggerated arc over his head.

It’s definitely not Tokuno.

(Yushi would’ve just nodded, or – honestly – not acknowledged him at all.)

Riku narrows his eyes, curiosity getting the better of him. Did Hufflepuff book the pitch today? Was he flying on someone else’s time? Or – and this is far more likely – was there something Sion forgot to mention?

He kicks forward, the wind sharp against his ears as he soars towards the stands. He hovers just above the railing, not more than six feet away, broom swaying slightly beneath him.

The boy hurries down the steps, boots landing unevenly on the frost-slick wood. Up close, he’s even taller than Riku expected. His scarf is looped loosely now, revealing flushed cheeks and a smile that looks both nervous and too open at the same time. 

“Hi,” the boy says, catching himself on the railing. “You’re – Maeda Riku, right?”

Riku blinks, “Yeah?”

“I’m – my name’s Kim Daeyoung.” His breath is visible between them, rising in bursts, “And I know this is going to sound kind of strange, but I – um. I’ve been watching you fly.”

That gets Riku’s attention. He doesn’t move, but the beginning of a question forms on his tongue, possibly followed by a cursing hex if necessary.

“I mean!” Daeyoung blurts out, too fast like he already regrets it. “I’ve been watching the way you fly. Not when you’re out here alone – I mean, I’ve seen you, sometimes, but mostly during matches. Especially during matches.” He tugs at his scarf, flustered, “You’re – really good.”

“Oh,” Riku says. “Thanks.”

It comes out flatter than intended. He coughs, just to fill the silence.

A gust of wind rushes across the pitch and he shivers; he’d expected to keep warm through movement, not by hovering mid-air making awkward eye contact with a boy he doesn’t know, a boy who somehow seems to know him.

Daeyoung glances at where Riku’s knuckles are turning white, then reaches into his robes and pulls out his wand. “Sorry – just let me,” he murmurs.

With a flick, he casts a Warming Charm. It settles in the space between them like a soft glow in the air, invisible but immediate. The chill in Riku’s bones fades gently, and he isn’t sure why that gets to him.

It’s nothing. A basic charm. Something anyone would do. But the fact that Daeyoung noticed – makes Riku’s cheeks heat in a way that has nothing to do with the spell.

“Um. Thanks.”

Daeyoung shrugs, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “You looked freezing.”

Riku grips the broom harder than he needs to. 

The way his whole body reacts to it – to Daeyoung – makes him want to fly straight into a cloud and never come back down.

“Sorry,” Daeyoung says, sheepish. “I didn’t mean to keep you out here.” He rubs the back of his neck, “I just – actually wanted to ask. If you had any flying tips.”

“Eh?”

“I’m… thinking of trying out for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team,” Daeyoung says quickly, like if he says it fast enough it won’t sound so ridiculous. His gaze is skittish now, darting everywhere – the pitch, the sky, the frost collecting on the railing – and anywhere but Riku’s face.

“And I don’t really know anyone else who flies as well as you do.”

Riku stares at him.

He doesn’t mean to. It just… takes a second to sink in.

He wants to ask why. Why not someone from his own House, from his own team, from his own year. There are better choices – more obvious ones. This feels like reaching, like choosing to walk the longer path on purpose. 

“You don’t even know me,” Riku counters.

Daeyoung smiles small, lopsided, “Not yet.”

And Riku… doesn’t have an answer for that.

So instead, he exhales through his nose and adjusts his grip on the broom. His fingers are starting to stiffen. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll help you.”

Daeyoung brightens instantly.

“But only,” Riku adds, “if you agree to sneak food out of The Kitchens for my cat.”

Daeyoung lips part in surprise, “Your cat?”

“She’s picky. She likes roast chicken. Sometimes salmon. Treacle tart, if she’s in the mood.” Riku sniffles, “She hasn’t been eating well lately and I don’t know that many Hufflepuffs with access to The Kitchens.”

That pulls a laugh from Daeyoung – genuine, a little winded, “That’s fair. I think I can manage that.” He offers his hand over the railing. “Deal?”

Riku hesitates just a breath before taking it – gloved fingers closing over Daeyoung’s. Daeyoung holds the handshake for a beat longer than necessary; then he pulls away with a smile that feels like a gift.

“Thanks again,” he says, already starting to back towards the stairs, scarf bouncing slightly with each step. “I’ll see you around, Maeda-sunbae!”

Riku hovers in place for a moment longer, watching until Daeyoung disappears from view behind the stands.

He’s still staring after the boy when a familiar voice calls out across the pitch.

“Oi,” Sion yells, jogging across the grass. He’s balancing a stack of scrolls hugged to his chest with one arm, and his Nimbus 2001 in the other. “Who were you talking to?”

Riku watches the space Daeyoung stood.

“I don’t really know,” he says after a moment.

x

When Riku sees Daeyoung again, it’s three days after he promised to find Riku after his meeting with Wonbin.

Three days longer than they’ve ever gone without talking since Daeyoung stood behind Honeydukes, gripping a box of Exploding Bon Bons like his life depended on it, confession yanked out of him in the smallest voice possible.

Three days of Riku hoping Daeyoung would come looking first.

Of silence that feels heavier each time he thinks about it.

Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s hurt.

Probably a little bit of both.

Now, he drifts through the empty corridors without real purpose, tired, distracted, and just – irritated. He’s torn between retreating into the safety of the Gryffindor common room – where at least the quiet will let him breathe – or dragging himself out onto the pitch – where Sion will no doubt be pacing back and forth, muttering under his breath about wind speeds.

Riku’s still weighing the two equally unappealing options when he turns a corner, passing a classroom that’s usually left unlocked after sixth-year Charms lessons. The door is ajar, voices filtering softly into the hall – and one hits him squarely in the chest, stopping him mid-step.

Daeyoung.

Riku’s heart gives a sudden, painful kick against his ribs, and he hesitates, caught halfway between curiosity and the stubborn ache he’s been nursing for three full days.

Before he can second-guess himself, he steps closer, carefully, peering through the narrow gap between door and frame.

Inside, Daeyoung is perched comfortably on the edge of a desk, robes loosened around his shoulders, tie slightly crooked. He’s smiling – that same, charming smile that makes Riku teeter on the edge of passing out.

But Daeyoung’s not alone.

Wonbin stands across from him, arms crossed, leaning forward slightly to say something meant just for Daeyoung’s ears. Riku can’t quite hear, just the low murmur of conversation and his boyfriend’s soft, easy laugh in response.

It feels intimate – more intimate than Riku’s ready to witness.

Because the classroom’s empty apart from the two of them, light spilling in through tall windows to catch warmly like a halo  – and suddenly, it feels like Riku’s looking at something he isn’t supposed to.

He pulls back quickly, breath shaky and vision swimming, embarrassment mixing uncomfortably with the ache in his chest. He feels stupid – hurt, frustrated, and most annoyingly, gravely embarrassed that he even cares this much at all.

Three days without Daeyoung. Three days waiting, silently hoping Daeyoung might notice his absence. Yet, here Daeyoung is, acting as if nothing has changed – and it’s all painfully clear.

Daeyoung hadn’t noticed in the slightest.

And maybe, Riku thinks bitterly, I’m the idiot expecting otherwise.

“Who’s there?”

Riku nearly jumps out of his skin. He has no time to step away or even consider hiding – Daeyoung’s already leaning out from behind the classroom door, confusion quickly melting into pure, unfiltered joy.

“Hyung!” 

And before Riku knows it, he’s swept into Daeyoung’s arms. The hug is crushing, overwhelming, and so full of warmth that it leaves him dizzy, resolve collapsing effortlessly at the comforting scent of fig leaves and cedar.

“I thought I saw you walk by,” Daeyoung murmurs, pulling back just enough to study Riku like he’s memorizing him all over again. “I missed you.”

Did you?

Riku tries not to let it show, but Daeyoung’s already pouting – bottom lip jutted out, words spilling gentle apologies.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around, hyung – I’ve been all over the place these past couple of days. First, with Wonbin hyung, and then Professor Choi roped me into helping the first-years with Charms, then I got pulled into some appreciation committee for the groundskeepers. I swear I haven’t even had a second to breathe.”

Guilt twists uncomfortably inside Riku. He wants to tell Daeyoung it’s fine, wants to erase the worry that’s now written plainly in Daeyoung’s eyes, wants to do anything that’ll take them back in time, far away from whatever this is turning into.

But a little voice on his shoulder tells him,

So, he did forget you.

And that stings. 

He floats back into reality just as Daeyoung prattles on, “ – and now Wonbin hyung even wants to hang banners in the Great Hall for Snowlight. Floating ones. But his sketches are so bad – he drew a lion with sunglasses and a wand and I told him it reminded me of you.”

He says it like it’s funny – like it’s something he thought Riku would want to hear. And maybe he would have, two weeks ago.

He can picture it too easily: Daeyoung and Wonbin bent over parchment together, heads close, laughter folded into the margins of something Riku wasn’t invited into.

Right.

“That’s… so you’ve – been spending a lot of time with him lately.”

Daeyoung looks up, “Huh?”

Riku doesn’t repeat himself.

“I mean, I guess so.” Daeyoung seems to only register it right at this very second, “I didn’t really… think about it.” There’s a pause before he reaches over, gently tugging the edge of Riku’s sleeve, trying to draw him back in, “Wait. You’re not jealous, are you?”

“Of Wonbin hyung?” Riku mutters, half a breath too late. “Don’t flatter him.”

Daeyoung huffs a laugh – but there’s a crease at the corner of his lips now, small and uncertain, like he’s trying to figure out if they’re still joking.

And Riku… doesn’t know either.

“Hyung… is everything – alright?”

Riku fidgets, forcing a faint smile he knows doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “Yeah.”

Daeyoung lets his hand fall away, “Are you sure?” He steps closer, and it’s nearly enough to send Riku doubling over, “You seem a bit… I don’t know.”

“I’m fine,” Riku chokes out. He gathers himself, inching away from Daeyoung, “Just tired – Sion hyung’s got us training extra hard for the match this Saturday.”

“Oh, right,” Daeyoung perks up slightly, relief washing over his features at the change of topic. “I promised Yushi hyung I’d go with him. He’ll be there for Sion hyung – but I’ll be cheering for you.”

It’s meant to be reassuring, to bridge whatever strange distance that’s formed between them – but instead it lands wrong, pressing sharply into Riku’s ribs. 

Riku looks away before the feeling crests. The bitterness slips out anyway.

“You don’t have to make a big deal out of it. It’s just another match.”

He doesn’t mean for it to sound like rejection, but it hangs in the air between them all the same. Daeyoung’s smile falters, surprise quickly replaced by uncertainty – something small and vulnerable, the exact kind of expression Riku had hoped never to be the cause of.

God.

Daeyoung starts softly, “Oh. Hyung, I didn’t mean –” 

“I have to go,” Riku cuts in, regret a storm that’s beginning to form, “Sion’s waiting.”

There’s a pause. Not long, but long enough for the air between them to shift. There’s a flicker of something in Daeyoung’s face – like he’s not sure whether to follow or let Riku go. He shifts his weight, then folds his arms over his chest.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Um. Good luck at practice, then.”

This is stupid, Riku thinks.

He’s not angry at Daeyoung. Not really. He’s angry at himself – for wanting too much, for not knowing how to ask for it, for twisting Daeyoung’s sweetness into something sharp just to make the ache quieter.

He turns away, but hesitates.

Then, “I’ll see you Saturday?”

Daeyoung brightens sadly – if that were even possible, and it breaks Riku’s heart all over again. “Of course,” he says, smiling small. “Wouldn’t miss it, hyung.”

x

The courtyard is nearly empty, sky tinged with that muted lavender that only appears for a few minutes each evening; the last bit of sun clings to the edges of the castle towers before slipping out of sight. 

Riku’s still in his practice gear, shoulders sore, hair damp with sweat and wind. Everything aches – his legs, his arms, the space behind his eyes.

He hadn’t expected Daeyoung to wait after yet another gruelling practice session. 

But here he is, sitting cross-legged on a blanket that looks like it’s been through too many wash cycles – worn, faded, unraveling slightly at its corners. A small lantern floats beside him, charmed to hover just above his shoulder.

Daeyoung looks up, and his face shifts the moment he spots Riku – something in it relaxing, then lifting, like a candle being relit, flickering back to life.

“Hyung,” he says, scoots over to make space. “Perfect timing.”

Riku blinks, still catching up. He goes, boots brushing against loose gravel, “What’s… all this?”

There’s a small container set between them, lid already off. Beside it, a folded napkin weighed down with two spoons. The smell is sweet, a little unfamiliar. The consistency – at a glance – is somewhere between caramel pudding and a thickened potion gone wrong.

Daeyoung rubs the back of his neck, sheepish, “You’ve been looking kind of… down lately,” he says, not meeting Riku’s eyes, “so I thought – maybe something sweet might help and so – I made pudding. Sort of.”

Riku eyes the container dubiously, “Sort of?”

“Don’t ask what’s in it,” Daeyoung says, mock serious. “I had help from two second-years and a cookbook from the library that might’ve been cursed. So, you know. Eat at your own risk.”

The lantern flickers beside them. 

He hadn’t realized Daeyoung noticed. The exhaustion, the worn edges. The way his shoulders have been sitting just slightly too low for days now, or the way he sometimes forgets to look up when people talk to him.

He didn’t think it showed.

There’s a part of him that warms at the thought, thinking back on Daeyoung’s confession from a week ago. And another part that flinches – unsure of what to do with kindness he didn’t earn.

“You didn’t have to,” Riku mumbles, before he can stop himself.

Daeyoung doesn’t react. He just meets Riku’s gaze for a moment before turning away. “I know,” he murmurs. “I just wanted to.”  He nudges the container, “You don’t have to eat it.”

Riku hesitates, then sinks down beside him. The blanket shifts under his weight, corners pulling, a soft rustle in the quiet. His limbs feel too heavy for his body tonight, like he’s running laps even while sitting still. 

He doesn’t reach for the pudding. Doesn’t reach for anything.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I’m just kind of… worn out.”

Daeyoung shifts beside him, adjusting the lantern with slow fingers, watches the charm float a little higher in the dimming light. Then, he fiddles with the container lid, checking it unnecessarily.

“That’s okay,” he says after a long moment, barely above a whisper. “I guess I got carried away.”

He says it like it’s just a fact. Like it’s not worth getting into. Not bitter – just small, tucked in around the edges like he’s trying to make himself take up less space.

Like he knows, or thinks he knows, what happens when people grow tired of too much care.

It hits Riku with a slow ache. He doesn’t know what to say – didn’t know days ago, doesn’t now – but something in him twists, tight and restless.

He reaches out before he can think too hard about it, fingers finding Daeyoung’s, gentle and tentative, tugging just slightly until their shoulders touch.

“No, you didn’t,” Riku mumbles, holding him close enough that the quiet feels a little less hollow. “Thank you. I appreciate it, Daeyoung-ah.”

Daeyoung goes still. Then, slowly, carefully, he leans into the space Riku gives him.

Daeyoung presses his cheek into Riku’s shoulder; Riku tips his head gently against Daeyoung’s. They stay like that. Nothing said. The pudding cools beside them. The lantern hums faintly overhead, its glow thinning with every flicker. 

Riku breathes slowly. He isn’t used to this part yet – the quiet closeness that comes after the noise. Daeyoung’s fingers brush lightly against his wrist, a light, absent touch that makes his throat go tight.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Daeyoung whispers eventually, barely breaking into the night. “I just wanted to be here.”

So, Riku closes his eyes and holds on tight. 

x

The match blurs around the edges – Sion barking out orders, Bludgers slicing through the air, cheers erupting at every goal – but his body feels far away from it all. He grips his Firebolt tight, not for balance, but just to feel something that won’t slip from his hands. 

Even the cold doesn’t reach deep enough.

It’s been a week.

Seven full days of saying nothing real to Daeyoung.

If three days of silence had left Riku wound tight and restless, the rest of the week has hollowed him out entirely. Just brief nods in the hallway. A wave across the Great Hall. A good morning that felt like it belonged to someone else.

Every time he catches sight of Daeyoung, he looks fine. 

Still bright. Still smiling. Still joking around like nothing’s out of place. 

Riku’s heart stutters painfully in his chest. From above, he can see them – Daeyoung nodding animatedly, Yushi smiling with a hand cupped to his lips as he leans over and whispers into Daeyoung’s ear.

And for a second, Riku’s vision blurs at the edges. 

He tells himself he’s imagining it – the way Daeyoung seems lighter without him. Like he’s already moving on, and Daeyoung’s just too kind to say the words out loud.

Because he’s convinced Daeyoung is going to break up with him.

Maybe not today. Maybe not this week. 

But soon.

Riku can feel it creeping closer – in the space between them, in the way Daeyoung doesn’t look at him quite the same. His chest aches in a way that’s hard to name – like he’s standing on the edge of something and refusing to look down.

He bites the inside of his cheek and leans forward on his Firebolt. 

The world rushes past.

It doesn’t help.

“Hyung!”

Riku barely registers it – a half-step forward, then another, like his legs remember something his heart hasn’t let him forget. And then Daeyoung is there, all wind-flushed cheeks and shining eyes, pulling him in like the world hasn’t cracked at the edges.

He doesn’t resist. Doesn’t even hesitate.

The hug lifts him slightly off the ground, Daeyoung’s arms tight around his middle, the force of it electric. Riku tells himself it’s normal. That this is just what Daeyoung does – warm, bright, open. That this is just what they do.

And it’s for show.

But then Daeyoung pulls him tighter, like he means it. Like it’s more than celebration. And Riku feels it all at once – the warmth of Daeyoung’s chest, the faint smell of sugar and wind in his hair, the familiar weight of his hands bunching at the back of Riku’s robes.

It‘s like a breath he hasn’t taken in days.

Around them, Gryffindors erupts into cheers. Shouting, laughter, someone smacking a broom against the stone for dramatic effect. Riku hears it all – and none of it. Not really.

Because all he can focus on is this.

Daeyoung’s arms around him. His smile pressed just shy of Riku’s jaw. The small, quiet sigh he lets out as if he’s been holding something in too.

Riku squeezes his eyes shut.

He wants to stay like this. Just for a second. Just until everything stops hurting.

But it’s already blooming beneath his ribs – that sharp, impossible longing. Because he knows this moment isn’t forever. Because he’s not sure if it even means anything anymore.

Because part of him thinks Daeyoung’s only here because there’s nowhere else to be.

When he finally manages to brave facing reality once more, he opens his eyes – just in time to catch the edge of Yushi’s gaze, watching them, unreadable. A flash of something – too quick to name – skims across his face before he turns away. 

And right on cue, Sion appears stiffly, clapping Daeyoung’s shoulder and fixing his gaze squarely on Riku.

“Didn’t you want to get some snacks from the Kitchens?” He has a bit of a crazed look in his eyes, “Maybe Daeyoungie can help you out.”

Riku blinks, “What snacks?”

Sion looks like he could light Riku aflame, “For the celebrations.”

“Huh?”

But Daeyoung, of course, picks it up effortlessly. “Yes,” he says, straightening like he’s just remembered something of great importance. “Yeah, of course. I can do that.”

Riku stares at him, then Sion, then back again, “Oh. Yeah, yeah.”

Daeyoung slides an arm around his shoulders and Riku responds automatically – one arm slotted around Daeyoung’s waist, the other surrendering the Firebolt without hesitation when Daeyoung reaches for it.

It’s all so familiar it hurts.

Like slipping into old clothes that no longer quite fit but still smell like home.

As they leave, Sion floats toward Yushi like a magnet – shoulders tense, lips pressed together tightly. Riku casts a glance back, only half-curious.

Daeyoung guides him forward with a hand at the small of his back, and the moment breaks. 

They walk in silence at first.

Not uncomfortable – just… quiet. 

Their hands are laced gently, Daeyoung’s thumb moving in soft, thoughtless circles over the back of Riku’s. The kind of touch that shouldn’t mean much.

But it does.

It means everything.

Daeyoung’s hand is warm in his, fingers soft and sure, like nothing’s changed. Like nothing’s ever changed. And Riku wants so badly to believe it. To believe that this is still real. That he’s not the only one feeling like they’re on the edge losing something, everything.

He glances sideways. Daeyoung isn’t looking at him, just walking along like usual, the curve of his smile easy, energy still humming from the match.

And Riku tries, desperately, to let himself fall into that rhythm. To believe, even for a second, that he hasn’t already fallen too far.

They round a corner, and the light shifts – cooler here, with the sun beginning to dip, casting gold against the stone walls. Daeyoung breaks the silence with a soft sigh.  

“I hope Yushi hyung’s okay.”

Riku turns his head slightly, “Something happen?”

Daeyoung shifts the Firebolt in his grip, fitting it into the crook of his elbow. He’s still not looking directly at Riku – just ahead, like he’s walking through the memory.

“We talked earlier. Just for a bit. He said he doesn’t think Sion hyung would go to Snowlight with him. Even if he wanted to.”

That makes Riku pause, “He told you that?”

“Yeah.” Daeyoung exhales softly. “I told him he should ask anyway. There’s no way Sion hyung would say no. I’d bet a thousand galleons on it.”

Riku hums, noncommittal. 

He hadn’t known they talked about things like that. He hadn’t even known they’d talked about anything outside of Quidditch.

There’s something strange about imagining Daeyoung being there for someone else in that manner – gentle and reassuring, listening closely to a silence that Riku has felt too many times in the past week.

And maybe it’s stupid, but he feels it again anyway.

That small, slow sting of being forgotten.

Daeyoung swings their hands between them, like he’s trying to keep the moment warm, “Everyone’s a little stupid about feelings, I guess.”

“You too?” Riku asks, light.

Daeyoung smiles, easy, “Me especially.”

Riku doesn’t return the sentiment. He looks to their hands instead – how naturally Daeyoung’s fingers curl into his – and wonders if Daeyoung even noticed how long it’s been since they held hands like this.

He wonders – again – what it means to be the person Daeyoung chose if it always feels like Daeyoung belongs to everyone else anyway. 

“Daeyoungie!”

The voice sails over like it knows it’ll be answered – ringing out like a charm in mid-cast. Riku turns just in time to see her appear at the edge of the corridor, dark hair caught in twin braids, green robes swishing at her ankles.

Yoon Jiwon, third-year Slytherin, all bright eyes and dangerous smiles. Her walk is light, almost a skip, but her gaze is sharp, calculating. Quick-witted. Always two steps ahead, sometimes just to see if you’ll trip.

“Jiwon-ah,” Daeyoung greets, cheerful and immediate; Riku steps a little closer to Daeyoung on instinct.

Jiwon stops in front of them, hands tucked neatly behind her back, eyes glinting with interest, “You disappeared after lunch. Wonbin hyung said you were going to catch the match, but you didn’t even come back to the table after!”

Daeyoung only laughs, already full of apologies, “Sorry, sorry. It’s been hectic – match day, as always.”

Why is he even apologizing, Riku finds himself thinking bitterly. He doesn’t owe her anything.

“Mhm,” she tilts her head, faux-sympathetic. “Anyway, you said you’d help me with my Arithmancy charts? Professor Choi’s going to bury me alive if I mess it up again and you’re the only one I trust to make sense of it.”

“Of course,” Daeyoung says, the promise already firm in his tone. “After dinner work?”

Riku doesn’t get a word in. Doesn’t try. The clatter of approaching footsteps draws his attention – the rest of the Gryffindor team finally catches up, loud and laughing, flushed from the match and still tangled in the afterglow of celebration.

They pass with a few curious glances. One of the Beaters lifts a hand in greeting; another raises a brow when they spot Daeyoung standing with a pretty Slytherin girl and Riku looking... well, like Riku.

The one off to the side. The one who doesn’t fit.

Riku’s stomach knots. He takes a small step back, like he should physically shrink out of frame.

“Perfect,” Jiwon says, and then finally her eyes slide over to Riku, curious more than anything else. “And you are?”

Riku goes stiff. He feels like he’s being held up to the light, appraised for something he doesn’t know he’s already failed. And for the first time in a long time, Daeyoung’s warmth beside him feels... borrowed.

Like it was never really his to begin with.

“Right – sorry. I didn’t think to introduce you guys.” Daeyoung doesn’t sound all that regretful, but he gestures between them, leaning towards perfunctory, “This is Riku hyung, my boyfriend.”

Jiwon’s brows rise with delight, and she grins like the pieces all fall into place, “Boyfriend, huh? So that’s why you’ve been glowing lately.”

Riku cheeks burn, but not from flattery. Not even close.

She turns to Riku and beams – bright, easy, in a way he can’t read, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

And that undoes it. The part of him that was miserably holding everything together, just enough, until now.

Because he’s been watching Daeyoung do this for days – offering pieces of himself to everyone else while Riku hovers on the edges, clutching at whatever scraps he’s given. He keeps telling himself it’s fine, that he would always wait for Daeyoung to come back. 

But every smile Daeyoung gives away, every gentle word he offers into someone else’s hands, chips at that resolve. 

Daeyoung did forget him.

Daeyoung keeps forgetting him.

And Riku is so tired of pretending he can’t feel the crack widening under his ribs, that hollow ache that grows every time he realizes he might be the only one who doesn’t get to keep any of Daeyoung’s light.

Daeyoung laughs, kind and utterly oblivious, “Don’t give him a hard time.”

“I’ll behave,” she tells him sweetly. “Kind of. Maybe.”

“Get outta here,” Daeyoung shoos her with a nod. “And try not to cause too much trouble, okay?”

She giggles, then mock-salutes him. “No promises,” she sing-songs, blowing him a dramatic flying kiss and turning away. “Thanks again, Daeyoungie!”

And just like that, she’s gone – her footsteps echoing down the corridor.

The silence she leaves behind is deafening. Not metaphorically. It’s real. Loud in the way empty spaces sometimes are.

Riku stands, still half a step removed, and it feels like every part of him is folding inward.

Wonbin. Yushi. Jiwon.

It’s starting to feel like Daeyoung belongs to everyone else – like there are pieces of him scattered across the castle, and Riku has to beg for the silence between them all. He tries to tell himself it’s selfish to want more, that he’s holding on too tight. That love means stepping back and hoping Daeyoung doesn’t forget to look.

“Y’know,” Riku says, almost just to himself.

He untangles himself from Daeyoung and his fingers twitch at his sleeves, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one you don’t actually care about.”

Daeyoung’s smile drops like it’s been cut loose, “Hyung?”

But Riku’s already turning away. He doesn’t want to look at Daeyoung, not when everything’s starting to show. He can feel it – how fast it’s happening. The spiral. The sting. The part of him that hates this fear but doesn’t know how to live without it anymore.

“Nevermind. Forget it.”

The Firebolt drops to the ground with a clatter. 

“No – wait. Hang on a second.” Daeyoung steps in front of him, hands raised slightly between them, not touching. “Where did that come from?”

Riku hesitates. He really, really doesn’t want to say it.

But when he meets Daeyoung’s eyes, something cracks open.

“You forgot about me,” he whispers. “Do you even remember? Or do you really just – not care anymore?”

Daeyoung’s eyes widen, and something akin to fear flashes over his features.

“I – what?” Daeyoung stammers. “Of course I care, I – when did I –”

“Last Sunday,” Riku says, the words rushing now, too fast to stop. “You said you’d come find me. After helping Wonbin hyung out. I waited. I thought – we were going to spend the evening together.”

Daeyoung blinks like he’s just remembering, like he’s trying to rewind time with just his eyes, “Hyung… I didn’t mean to. I swear, I didn’t know you were waiting for me and I – lost track of time.” He breathes, “You waited?”

“Of course, I did.”

Riku doesn’t mean to snap, but it comes out sharp anyway – not loud, just precise, the kind of harsh that slices clean before either of them can brace for it.

“It was a Sunday.”

He says it like that should explain everything.

“And if you didn’t forget, you’d have sent a note.” Riku forces himself to go on, swallowing the growing rock in his throat, “But you didn’t. Because you forgot. Don’t say that you didn’t.”

Daeyoung caves, softens into something helpless, “Hyung…”

“You didn’t say anything when I saw you three days after. And even after that – you didn’t – talk to me the entire week,” Riku shrinks further into himself, hating every second of this. He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated, “I felt so stupid – I feel stupid. You forgot about me. And you didn’t even care that you did.”

Riku lets his hands fall, “You don’t care.”

Daeyoung looks like he’s been winded, “Hyung, no, I – I’m sorry about that night.” He steps closer, desperate to bridge the gap between them, “But the past week, it’s not that I didn’t care – I just – after we spoke that afternoon, I thought –”

“That I’d be fine with it?” Riku cuts in, “That I’d just keep waiting around until you were done being everyone else’s favorite person?”

“That’s – not. I wouldn’t do that to you,” Daeyoung whispers, small. Riku has to look away, hating the way Daeyoung’s starting to collapse into himself, “Hyung, I –”

“What?” Riku exhales harshly, “You were busy?” A sour laugh slips out before he can stop it, “You’re always busy. You’re always somewhere else. With someone else. Saying yes to everyone who needs you.”

His breath hitches. The pressure behind his eyes burns.

“There’s always someone who wants you. And you – you always go.”

The words feel like they’ve been sitting in his lungs all week, steeping.

“ I wanted you.” Riku presses both palms over his face, heat searing across his back, tears threatening to spill over, “I wanted you and you couldn’t even look at me for more than two seconds all week.”

Daeyoung steps forward, stricken. His hands lift before he seems to know what to do with them – like he could patch this with touch alone. Like if he just reached far enough, held Riku tight enough, maybe none of this would slip through the cracks.

“Hyung, please,” he begs and Riku cowers at the sound of it. “That’s not true. I’m here. I’ve always been here, I just –”

“Yeah?” Riku doesn’t let him finish, bitterness sharp as a blade, ”Until the next person pulls you away?”

“No,” Daeyoung whispers, like it might undo what just happened. “I thought you needed space. I was – I was trying to give you space.”

“What?” Riku chokes out something that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so damned hollow, “I never asked for space.”

Daeyoung’s lips part, “But after the other day… in the hallway. You didn’t look at me. You didn’t say anything. I thought you didn’t want to talk. I thought I’d already – messed up.”

He swallows hard, “I kept thinking maybe I was too much. That if I kept pushing again, you’d get tired of me.”

Riku’s bottom lip trembles. “All I wanted,” he says, quiet and cracking, “was you.”

“Hyung –”

“I thought you were going to break up with me.”

That hits like a blow. Daeyoung moves instantly – his hands find Riku’s shoulders, gripping tight, as if he can hold the words in place and stop them from being true.

“Don’t,” he breathes. His eyes are wide, red-rimmed, like the severity of everything’s starting to crash into reality, “Don’t say that.”

Riku’s vision starts to blur, “And I thought maybe if I let go first, it would be easier on you.”

Daeyoung’s breaths shorten and he shakes his head, desperate now. His grip tightens like he’s afraid Riku might dissolve right in front of him. “I don’t want that. I’ve never wanted that,” he says. “Please, hyung. Please don’t do this.”

Riku reaches up and gently pries Daeyoung off. It’s not harsh, but it’s final. And when Daeyoung grabs onto his hands instead, Riku winces at the contact.

“Daeyoung –”

“No!” The word’s ripped out of him, “No, hyung, you can’t do this. Please.”

Riku breathes in sharply, jaw clenched. Then, softly: “I need some time to think.”

Daeyoung freezes.

The look on his face is pure devastation. Like Riku cut his heart clean from his chest and walked away with it still bleeding in his hand.

“About… us?” Daeyoung breaks, “You’re having second thoughts about us?”

“I don’t want to weigh you down,” Riku says, barely audible. “You’ve got everyone – everyone loves you. They all want pieces of you. I just… I don’t want to be the one holding you back.”

“You’re not,” Daeyoung says instantly. “Hyung, please – what are you talking about? Why are you –”

“I don’t deserve you,” Riku whispers. “And yet… I still want you.”

“You have me,” Daeyoung promises, shaking. “You have me. I’m all yours.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Then I’ll change. I’ll do better. I’ll –”

“That’s the last thing I want,” Riku interjects, firm. He moves to pick the Firebolt up, clumsy in his steps, “I don’t want you to change.”

Daeyoung falters, “Then… what should I do?”

“I don’t know.” Riku takes a step back, putting his broom between them like a shield he can’t quite lower. “I just… I need some time to think.”

Daeyoung pulls his sleeves over his hands like he’s trying to fold into himself, “For how long?”

Riku’s throat closes up. He forces the words out anyway, “A couple of days. Maybe.”

“And you’ll decide then,” Daeyoung mumbles, not quite a question. “If you still want me.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“I don’t know what this is anymore.”

Riku doesn’t argue. He can’t. He feels hollow, ribs aching like something might splinter apart if he breathes too hard.

Daeyoung looks at him – really looks – and Riku hates how soft his eyes are. Like he’s already grieving something he hasn’t lost yet. 

“Maybe you need time to think. But I don’t.”

Riku stares at the ground, blinking hard. He sees stars there, scattered faint and cruel across stone like someone dropped them just out of reach.

“Because I want this. I want you. I want you more than you could possibly imagine.” Daeyoung’s words are so soft; Riku closes his eyes to keep the tears from falling, “But if you need time – away from us, from me – then okay.”

Riku nods, because it’s the only thing he can do. Then he turns – forces his feet to move, forces himself to leave before he changes his mind.

He walks away, every step echoing in the hollow space between them. He doesn’t look back. He can’t. But as he rounds the corner, the weight of Daeyoung’s words crashes into him, raw and painful and so real it knocks the air from his lungs.

It’s over. Riku thinks, It’s really over. 

x

“You know, you really shouldn’t have too much chocolate.”

Riku looks up from where he’s half-buried in a towering display of gold cauldrons – each one overflowing with chocolates wrapped in silver foil. Daeyoung’s standing on the other side, cradling a box of Exploding Bon Bons against his chest, lips curled into a wry little smile.

Between them, Honeydukes hums with warmth and sugar, the checkerboard floor gleaming under shelves crowded with jars of candied fruits and stacks of bright boxes tied up with shimmering ribbon.

“Says you,” Riku shoots back. “What’s with the chocolates? You never have those.”

“They’re not for me,” Daeyoung says airily, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. He picks up a piece of candy, turning it over with absent fingers.

Riku frowns, “Who are they for?”

Daeyoung lets it drop back into the pile, and spins on his heel with infuriating ease. “That’s a secret,” he calls over his shoulder, already drifting off to another shelf.

Riku’s heart sinks, settles somewhere cold and sour in his stomach. He hates that it happens so easily – that one soft, teasing sentence could make him feel so brittle inside.

Because he knows he feels something for Daeyoung – something that’s been growing like a stubborn weed ever since that first afternoon on the Quidditch pitch when they struck their little deal. 

He taught Daeyoung all his flying tricks – the sharp banking turns near the northern goalposts, the way to dip low into the wind to pick up speed on fast breaks, the little tilt of the wrist that makes catching a high pass easy. He watched Daeyoung make the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, saw him go from wide-eyed and nervous to beaming and breathless, grinning so hard after every goal like he couldn’t hold the light in his chest.

And as promised, Daeyoung snuck food out for Kkuri in return – a task he took very seriously. He’d show up with tiny wrapped packets of shredded roast chicken, bits of grilled Hamachi still warm from the pan, little bowls of milk charmed to stay fresh until morning.

But every time, tucked alongside Kkuri’s treats, is a little something for Riku too.

Honey-soaked scones still soft and steaming, glossy apple tarts dusted with powdered sugar, handfuls of roasted nuts drizzled in dark chocolate. 

And Kkuri – suspicious, moody, prone to scratching anyone who so much as looks at her wrong – practically melted the first time she curled up in Daeyoung’s lap by the Gryffindor common room fire.

Riku still remembers the way Daeyoung had frozen, eyes wide when he whispered, “Is this normal?” 

It felt like a sign.

Like maybe the world was gently, quietly conspiring to give him exactly what he wanted.

Breakfast, dinner, late nights in the library – Daeyoung was always around. Always plopped into the seat beside him. Always looking at him like there was nowhere else he’d rather be, like Riku was the only thing in the room worth noticing.

“What are you doing?”

Riku jolts upright, nearly thwacking his head against a nearby shelf.

Daeyoung is by his side now, standing so close Riku goes cross-eyed, brain short-circuiting at the familiar scent of Daeyoung’s stupid cologne – something clean and faintly sweet, like pear blossoms and vanilla. He stumbles back, hand gripping the edge of the cauldron for dear life.

“Are you alright, hyung?” Daeyoung asks, lips curving like he’s trying not to laugh.

Riku nods stiffly, then points at the box still clutched to Daeyoung’s chest. “Those are my favorites, y’know,” he mutters, thin in his throat.

Daeyoung’s smile grows impossibly wide, “I know.”

That ugly irritation flares up again in Riku’s chest, “Who are they for?”

“I told you.” Daeyoung hums, already stepping past him for the counter, “It’s a secret.”

Riku gapes at him, then scrambles after the younger boy, practically nipping at Daeyoung’s heels like an angry cat, “Since when do you keep secrets from me? You’re really not going to tell me?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, what?” 

“Yeah, I’m really not going to tell you,” Daeyoung sings, stacking the chocolates on the counter.

“Well, why not?” Riku snaps. The words crack, humiliatingly, “Is it for someone important?”

Daeyoung answers softly, “You could say that.”

“Who?” Riku presses, watches helplessly as Daeyoung hands the clerk a few sickles and even pays extra for a little red bow. “At least tell me why you’re getting it. Is it – is it a gift?”

“Why does it matter?” Daeyoung asks, eyes still on the box as the clerk wraps it carefully, watching it like it’s something so unbelievably precious.

“Because – because you’re gifting someone chocolates,” Riku manages to say. He tries to breathe through the way his heart’s slamming into his ribs, “Doesn’t that mean you – you like them or something?”

Daeyoung doesn’t look up, “Yeah.”

Riku feels his entire world spiral out from under his feet, “What? You – you have someone you like?”

Daeyoung grips the counter, “Yeah. I do.”

“Why –” Riku can’t hold back, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Daeyoung does nothing, then shrugs - just the lift of a single shoulder, like he couldn’t be bothered to tell Riku. 

Like it isn’t something that should matter to Riku, like it has nothing to do with Riku in the slightest.

And it’s like the floor finally drops out beneath him. He can’t breathe. He can’t even look at Daeyoung, “I – I forgot I told Yushi I’d meet him for… something,” he lies, already making a run for it. “I’ll see you later. Bye.”

“Huh?” Daeyoung calls out after him, “Hyung, wait –”

But Riku’s already out the door, half-running, half-tripping as he goes.

It’s not cold yet – just the faint coolness of early autumn brushing against his cheeks, the afternoon sun still warm on his shoulders.

He can’t be near Daeyoung right now. He feels like an idiot, but he can’t possibly pretend he doesn’t want something more when clearly Daeyoung doesn’t feel the same.

Of course, he wouldn’t. Why would he?

“Hyung!”

Riku breaks into a run, tries his damndest to get away but then, there are hands on his wrists, wrestling him into the narrow alley behind Madam Puddifoot’s. The stone wall is warm, rough against his back as Daeyoung pins him gently there, breathing a little hard.

Riku curses Daeyoung and his stupid long legs.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Riku snaps, glaring up at Daeyoung with enough heat to have the boy flinch, “I said I have to go.”

“Why are you running away from me?”

“I’m not,” Riku grounds out, twisting uselessly in his grip.

Daeyoung huffs, “Given that I just chased you through half of Hogsmeade, I think it’s safe to say you were.”

Riku scowls, shoving at his shoulder, “Leave me alone.”

“Are you mad at me?”

Riku looks away, blinking hard, “No.”

“Hyung,” Daeyoung whispers, inching closer, “the chocolates –”

“I’m going back,” Riku cuts him off. He hates this, hates Daeyoung, “I don’t want to know, okay? Just leave me alone.”

“Wait – no,” Daeyoung says quickly, panic flashing across his face. He blocks Riku from making another escape, “The chocolates – they’re for you, hyung.”

Riku doesn’t move. Can’t.

“I’m sorry for – I just… I couldn’t help it,” Daeyoung says, breath hitching like he’s been holding it in for hours. “The chocolates are for you. You’re – the one I like, hyung.”

Riku stares at the box, at Daeyoung’s hands, at the way the little red bow quivers between them. His voice comes out small, “Are you… are you making fun of me?”

“No!” Daeyoung reaches out to take Riku’s hand, squeezing it so gently it makes something in Riku’s chest tremble, “No, I – I like you, hyung. More than just a friend – way, way more.”

“But… you were – teasing me,” Riku whispers, still not daring to believe it. “You – you knew?”

“I guessed,” Daeyoung says, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I hoped… maybe you might’ve felt the same. I didn’t think you’d actually run out on me, though.”

Riku’s cheeks burn. “I thought… they were for someone else,” he mumbles.

“No.” Daeyoung holds his gaze, unwavering, “They’re for you, hyung. They couldn’t possibly be for anyone else.”

Riku’s jaw drops, “Since… when?”

“Since before I asked you to teach me how to fly,” Daeyoung admits, looking away, almost shy. “I’ve… noticed you for a while now.”

Riku feels like he might melt on the spot.

“Would you…” Daeyoung starts, then falters. He takes a tiny breath. “Would you go out with me?”

Riku breathes out, the relief so big it almost hurts. “Yeah,” he clears his throat, “Yeah, yes.”

Daeyoung lets out a small laugh, like he didn’t think Riku would say yes either. He steps forward, wrapping his arms around Riku, pulling him close. Riku leans into it, burying his face against Daeyoung’s shoulder, feeling the solid warmth of him, the way Daeyoung’s heart beats fast under his ear.

After a moment, Riku murmurs, “You didn’t have to get me chocolates. I… would’ve said yes without them.”

Daeyoung pulls back just enough to meet his gaze. “I wanted to,” he says softly. “You demolished half of these last exam season, remember? I thought it might - I thought you might like them.”

Riku huffs, blinking fast, “I do. Thank you.”

They stay like that a little longer, wrapped up in the quiet of their own making as the bell by Madam Puddifoot rings faintly behind them. It’s not loud, not spectacular.

Just the steady thrum of something sweet beginning.

x

“There’s something wrong with you.”

Riku tries not to hurl his bowl at Sion’s head, “Good morning, hyung.”

“You’re eating gunk,” Sion points out, climbing into the seat on Riku’s right. His knee knocks into Riku’s, elbow nearly topples the milk jug, and he lets out a sigh loud enough to draw looks, “What even is that?”

“Oatmeal,” Riku says flatly. “Some people would call this a nutritious breakfast.”

“It would be,” Sion shoots back. He wrinkles his nose, “if it had, I don’t know, fruit. Or you know, any semblance of seasoning.”

Riku shoves his spoon into the beige goo, “I’m not that hungry.”

Sion helps himself to eggs and a beef patty, “No one would be if that’s what they were having for breakfast on a Monday morning.” He glances sideways. “So. Are you gonna tell me what’s going on, or are you going to just keep moping until your emotional decay spreads to the rest of the table?”

“You should be a therapist, hyung.”

Sion snorts, eyes fixed on cutting his eggs into even squares, “You must really be going through it.”

“I’m not going through anything,” Riku says. A beat. He stabs his oatmeal harder than necessary, “I’m fine.”

“It’s Daeyoung, isn’t it?” Sion doesn’t even bother waiting for Riku’s response, soaking a forkful of eggs into the dollop of ketchup, “He’s not in the stands anymore. Not even when practice runs late. I noticed.”

Riku finds it a little hard to breathe, “Well. Things have changed.”

“Have they?” Sion slows from where he’d been shoveling eggs past his lips, “I mean, figures. Yushi told me Daeyoung’s been miserable too. When are you guys going to fix things?” 

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Riku mutters. He wishes Sion would stop staring at him with those ridiculously big eyes, “It’s – over, okay? Let’s just… not talk about it.”

“Wait, what?” Sion jolts forward, catching Riku’s wrist just as he’s about to maul his oatmeal again, “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Riku sighs, tugging his arm back to no avail. “Because, like I said, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“It’s over?” Honestly, Riku doesn’t know why Sion even bothers – as if it’s got anything to do with him, “No way. You’re – you guys are the couple. You can’t be over.”

Riku pulls away fully this time, hating the way Sion’s hand falls to the table with a limp thud. It makes Riku feel horrible.

“Hate to break it to you then.” He nudges the bowl away, swallows when it threatens to come back up in some form of projectile, “Just drop it, hyung. Please.”

And for a moment, it seems like Sion might. He goes silent – genuinely, uncharacteristically silent – and Riku thinks that might be the end of their conversation.

It’s not a minute later, however, when Sion shoots up from the bench so fast he jostles the entire table, nearly upsetting the jug of pumpkin juice and a towering stack of pancakes covered in maple syrup.

“What are you –”

“We’re going to the Quidditch Pitch.”

Riku shakes his head, “I’m not in the mood to run drills, hyung.”

“We’re not practicing,” Sion rolls his eyes. He grabs Riku by the crook of his elbow, not particularly gentle but not rough either; Riku doesn’t resist. He goes easily, clamoring to his feet with all the grace of a paper doll in the rain.

“I’m not heartless,” Sion mutters, already marching them toward the exit. “You just – you need air. Before you drown in your own thoughts or explode or – I don’t know.”

Somehow, Riku’s senses begin to catch up only once they’re halfway across the Great Hall. Students glance up from their breakfasts as Sion barrels past with single-minded purpose, dragging the clearly reluctant sixth-year in his wake. As they go, Sion continues to loudly insist that nature heals and that sunlight has proven restorative effects on plants ; Riku jogs a little to keep up, ducking his head like that’ll stop the stares.

Maybe… maybe movement is good.

He’s been cooped up all week – skipping dinner, skipping class, hiding beneath towers of blankets while Kkuri curled against his chest, a small, warm weight he didn’t deserve.

Sleep had become his only safe place.

Because when he was awake, the thoughts started. Curling under his skin, echoing through the walls, leering down from the ceilings.

You should’ve held on. You should’ve kept quiet. You should’ve known.

And the worst one:

You were right.

He doesn’t want you anymore.

Riku’s read about heartbreak. The kind that inspired poems and songs, ones that turned great men into tragic ones. He used to think it was a bit indulgent, honestly. A little pathetic.

But this… this is like someone’s reached into his chest and replaced his heart with splinters. Like his ribs have forgotten how to open wide enough to breathe. There’s no dramatic violin swell, no grand romantic thunderstorm – just the quiet ache of every room feeling wrong without Daeyoung in it.

Just the suffocating stillness of being left behind.

Daeyoung, who lit up every space he entered, who always remembered Riku’s favorite jam and never once judged him for needing silence. Daeyoung, who smiled like summer and held him like he’d never let go.

And Riku let it all slip right through his fingers.

Honestly, he’s never going to recover from this. He’s had his once-in-a-lifetime, and it’s gone.

Gone. 

“Now that’s just dramatic.”

Riku startles, blinking back into the present just in time to realize they’re definitely not at the Quidditch Pitch.

Sion is crossing the threshold of a classroom in the dungeons – Potions. The air smells faintly of something metallic and burnt. A few feet away now, he starts rummaging through a half-open cabinet by the side of the classroom, muttering to himself as various bottles clink against each other.

“Professor Byun told me to fetch these ingredients for the NEWT-level syllabus meeting, but this is really – over the top,” he groans, lifting what looks like a jar of dried bat spleens.

Riku lingers by the doorway, arms folded tight across his chest, “What are we doing here?”

“I have to run an errand for Byun.” Sion groans again, this time more whiny than irritated, like a cat who’s found rain outside the window. “We’ll head to the pitch right after, promise. I – literally said that just now, didn’t you hear?”

Riku mutters something under his breath; Sion doesn't comment on it. Just keeps rummaging through the shelf before his movements slow.

Then, without looking up, “So… it’s really over?”

Riku eats the urge to slam his head against the empty cauldron in front of him, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I mean –” he lets out a frustrated breath. He enters the classroom, shuddering at the chill that runs through his veins, “I said things. Dumb things. And then I didn’t… do anything to take it back.”

Sion straightens halfway, “Why not?”

Riku shifts his weight. Then shrugs, “Because I’m afraid.”

Sion studies him, “Of?”

Riku looks down at his shoes, a pair of ratty black Converse that’s seen better days. The stone floor stares back up at him, “I… I want him all to myself.”

What else could he lose at this point?

“No, like – really,” Riku says, not meeting Sion’s bewildered gaze. Embarrassment colors his cheeks but he’s in too deep now and the words tumble come out ugly, sharp, and honest, “I don’t want anyone else to have him. Not like I do.”

Sion stills, “You’ve lost me.”

“He’s so – he’s always so nice. With everyone. And it messes with my head.” Riku grips the edge of a workbench like he needs something to keep him upright, “Seeing how he is, it makes me think, like – what if none of this means anything special? What if it’s just who he is? Being kind and sweet, being that way with me.”

“Everyone loves him.” Riku closes his eyes, “Isn’t he just… like that? With everyone?”

“Riku.”

“I know it’s irrational but – is it really? I mean, seriously think about it –”

“Riku.”

“What?”

Sion stares at him like he’s grown a second head, “Have you met Daeyoung?”

Riku frowns, “Yes?”

Sion gives him a look that could flatten walls, “Then don’t tell me you actually believe what you’re saying.”

Riku inches away, withering under Sion’s disbelief, “Don’t you ever feel that way? With Yushi?”

Sion hesitates. Then, to Riku’s surprise, says plainly, “Yeah. I do.” He goes on, “But Yushi knows it. I don’t know if it’d ever scare him off or if he even notices half the time, but I don’t… keep it a secret.”

Riku nods once.

“And Daeyoung’s not like that with everyone,” Sion says, dragging the word out. “He’s only like that with you.”

Riku doesn’t even blink.

Sion sighs and sets the jar back on the shelf, “Yeah, he’s a nice guy – sure – and maybe more willing to help others out than most. But the way he looks at you…”

Riku could make a dent in the granite tabletop trying to keep the tears where they belong.

“He looks at you like you’re the only person who’s ever mattered. The rest of us are just… background noise. Nothing.”

Riku’s face crumples.

Sion doesn’t let up, “He practically worships the ground you sulk on, Maeda. You have to admit to that at the very least.”

There’s a beat.

“I don’t know how to hold on to him,” Riku whispers eventually. “He’s too good. He’s everything, and – I keep thinking I’m going to ruin it.”

“You will,” Sion says, flat and unmerciful. “And you’re going to lose him if you keep this all to yourself. You’re not even giving him a fair chance right now.”

Riku presses a hand over his lips. For a second, he doesn’t say anything.

Then: “I don’t want that.”

“Then do something about it.”

Riku doesn’t answer.

Because his ears are ringing.

Because just outside, around the corner – clear and unmistakable – are two voices he knows better than his own.

Yushi.

And Daeyoung.

His body moves before he can think.

There’s a split-second where Sion hears it too – his expression twisting into something like horror – before Riku’s already shoving him backwards into the Potions storeroom. The door creaks as it swings open, and Sion stumbles, catching himself just short of knocking over a precarious tray of vials.

“What are you –”

Riku elbows him.

Not hard, but sharp enough to earn a soft grunt and a half-stumble against the shelves. Glass clinks dangerously. Riku winces, remorse flaring up even as he reaches out with a steadying hand, gripping Sion’s shoulder and pushing them both into a crouch.

And Riku, wand already out, murmurs a quiet Nox.

The closet goes dark.

The classroom door creaks open.

A dim light spills in from the hallway, slicing through the room in a pale, slanted beam. From where the storeroom door didn’t quite close all the way, Riku watches through the narrow wedge – thin as a letter slot – holding his breath without realizing it.

He sees him.

Daeyoung.

Daeyoung, stepping into the classroom with a familiar apologetic tilt to his head, ushering Yushi inside with a soft word Riku can’t hear. Daeyoung, who closes the door behind him with too much care, like it might shatter if he lets it go. Daeyoung, who turns around – and for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, Riku sees his face.

And it hits him, all at once.

Daeyoung looks awful.

There’s no other word for it.

His cheeks are thinner, eyes ringed with shadows, like he hasn’t slept in days – or worse, like he has, but only out of exhaustion. His shoulders hang low, robes bunched unevenly around his neck like he’d pulled it on in the dark. He looks like someone who’s been unraveling slowly, thread by thread.

And Riku.

Riku’s the one who’s done this to him.

The guilt sinks low and heavy in his stomach, dragging his breath with it. He wants to look away – but can’t. Because Daeyoung is speaking now, soft in the kind of way that’s always made Riku go still.

“I’m sorry I dragged you down here,” Daeyoung says, quiet enough that the two culprits in the storeroom have to strain forward.

That one sentence makes Riku shiver. It’s too much. Too familiar. Too close to the version of Daeyoung who used to whisper secrets into Riku’s scarf during walks back to the Gryffindor Tower.

In the dark beside him, Riku feels Sion shift. Even without seeing his face, Riku knows he’s glaring.

He leans in closer to the light, barely daring to breathe.

“I just – I wanted to catch you. You weren’t in our room this morning.”

There’s a small pause.

“Oh,” comes Yushi’s voice. Calm as ever, “Yeah, I spent the night with Sion hyung.”

Sion lets out a strangled noise – something between a cough and a squeak. Riku startles, casts a quick silencing charm with a muttered breath, just in time to catch Sion burying his face in his hands.

Riku doesn’t need light to imagine the color blooming at the tip of the older boy’s ears.

But he doesn’t say anything – too distracted by the ache in his chest, too focused on the way Daeyoung’s shoulders seem to slump more with every word.

“Right, Sion hyung,” Daeyoung mumbles. He swallows hard, hands twisting together in front of him until his knuckles pale, “Did he… did he mention if Riku hyung said anything about me?”

The question slices through Riku like cold water, clean and brutal. It steals the air from his lungs. He braces against the edge of a shelf to stay grounded.

“Eh?” Yushi picks up a copper stirrer from the table, turning it idly between his fingers. “Riku hyung?”

“Yeah.”

Yushi is quiet for a moment, still fiddling with the stirrer. Then, softly, “I don’t think he’s really been talking to anyone, honestly.”

There’s a pause, thin and tentative.

“…Did – did something happen?” 

Daeyoung doesn’t answer right away.

He shifts his weight, fingers tensing around the sleeves of his topaz robes. His eyes drop to the floor like the question’s too much to meet.

“I mean,” Yushi says, as gentle as ever, “I noticed you’ve been a little… off lately, Daeyoung-ah. Are you – are you okay?”

Daeyoung lets out a breath. It isn’t quite a sigh – more like a leak in something sealed too tightly.

“Yeah. No. I’m fine,” he says, and it’s the kind of fine that’s never convincing. “It’s just…” He trails off, hands falling uselessly to his side, “It’s just… things are complicated now. With me and… Riku hyung.”

Yushi doesn’t say anything. Daeyoung glances at him once, then looks away. The silence stretches – but it isn’t cold. It’s patient. Like an open door waiting to be walked through.

So Daeyoung steps into it.

“He said he needed space,” he murmurs. 

Riku goes still.

His own words echo back at him like ghosts – and suddenly, they feel monstrous. He didn’t mean to make Daeyoung wait like this. Didn’t mean to leave him with silence sharp enough to cut. But that day, in the hallway, everything had felt too big, too loud.

Riku had been terrified of the hurt he thought was coming – so he’d chosen to leave.

“I thought, okay. I can do that,” Daeyoung says, trying for steadiness and almost managing it. “I can give him time. I can wait.”

But his voice dips, and Riku can hear it now – the ache buried shallow.

“It’s been a week,” Daeyoung says, and Riku can hear his heart beating in his ears. “And I haven’t seen him. Haven’t heard a word. And every day, it just… it gets harder not to think the worst.”

Riku feels it like a brick to the face – because Daeyoung’s not wrong to think the worst. He left. He said he needed time, and then vanished into it. Left Daeyoung to twist in the in-between – still sweet, still hopeful, still thinking maybe it was his fault.

“And maybe…” Daeyoung breathes, like it’s been sitting in his chest too long, “maybe he just doesn’t want me anymore.”

Riku’s lungs feel useless.

“I don’t know how long I’m supposed to wait,” Daeyoung says, and this time it catches, just slightly. “Or how long I can.”

Riku moves before he thinks. He starts to stand – chest burning, hands trembling, mouth already parting to say something – anything –

But Sion grabs him hard by the arm and yanks him back down.

“What are you doing?” Riku hisses, panicked.

“You can’t go out now,” Sion whispers. His eyes flash all the more in the dark, “We’ve been hiding here the whole time – they’re gonna know we were eavesdropping!”

“I don’t care.” Riku swipes a sleeve across his eyes, breath hitching, “I can’t let him think – that I don’t want this anymore.”

Sion doesn’t let go. His fingers stay firm around Riku’s wrist.

“Do you?”

Riku blinks at him, “What?”

“Do you even still want this with him?” Sion questions. “Because from where I’m crouched over, it looks like you already made up your mind.”

“I haven’t,” Riku says, too fast. “What makes you –”

“You left him hanging for a week,” Sion doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to, “You didn’t mention that earlier.”

It’s not cruel. It’s not even sharp. 

“You didn’t try to fix anything. Not until right now – not until you heard how much he’s hurting.”

Riku opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.

“I’m just –” Sion exhales and lets go, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not saying you don’t love him. I know you do. I’m just telling you to think about it. Carefully. Before you go out there and hurt him all over again.”

“Do you want this?” he whispers. “Do you still want him?”

Riku doesn’t get the chance to answer.

“I just…” Daeyoung cuts through the stillness again – rougher now, like it’s fracturing in his throat. “I just miss him so much.”

Riku flinches.

It’s not the volume. It’s the way it breaks. Like Daeyoung’s been trying to hold it in this whole time, and it’s finally slipping through the cracks.

A pause.

Then, 

“And I don’t know if it’s better or worse that I still do.”

Everything happens at once.

Riku bursts out of the storeroom like he’s been shot from a wand – and in doing so, clips the edge of a shelf with his shoulder.

The entire rack wobbles ominously.

Several potion bottles teeter. Then tumble.

One of them bounces off his shoulder. Another whizzes past his ear. The rest head straight for Sion, still crouched in their hiding spot, wide-eyed and very much regretting his life choices.

Yushi, notably not a Quidditch player, reacts faster than all three who are. His wand is already out – the potions freeze mid-air with a soft shhhhk, suspended just inches above Sion’s head.

Sion doesn’t register it right away. He’s still mid-flinch, arms half-raised, clearly bracing for an imminent baptism in powdered lacewing flies and whatever’s sloshing inside that suspiciously purple bottle.

Sion blinks up at the potions.

Then at Yushi. Then at Riku. Then at Daeyoung.

They all stand in stunned silence – the kind that buzzes in the aftermath of something absurd – sans Riku’s heavy breathing, which fills the space like a metronome for the mess they’ve just made.

Sion’s the first to move.

With a flick of his fingers, the frozen potions drift gently back to their shelves, clinking into place like nothing ever happened. He straightens up, clears his throat, and brushes invisible dust off his robes – like he wasn’t just crouched in a cupboard like a feral cat caught stealing breakfast.

“Well,” he says dryly. “That happened.”

Then, with the casual air of someone who just survived a near-death-by-potion experience, he strides across the room, wraps an arm around Yushi’s waist, and tugs him close.

“Let’s go, Tokuno.”

Yushi protests gently against Sion’s grip as he ushers them towards the exit, “Wait – how long were you in there?”

They don’t get to hear the answer. Sion’s already dragging him out at an alarmingly efficient pace, muttering something about boundaries. The door clicks shut behind them.

Riku and Daeyoung are left alone in the silence they built.

There’s at least three feet of space between them and it feels like a chasm.

Riku doesn’t know where to look. The floor. The door. Daeyoung’s shoes. Anywhere but Daeyoung’s face.

The silence stretches. Presses in.

Daeyoung turns, slow like he knows it’s about to hurt. When he speaks, it’s soft. Not sharp. Not accusing.

Just… tired.

“You heard everything, didn’t you?”

Riku’s heart lurches so hard he feels it in his throat.

“I – I don’t want to break up.”

Daeyoung looks at him then – really looks. There’s something raw behind his eyes, like he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to hope yet.

“You… thought about it?”

“I didn’t need to think about it,” Riku breathes, barely above a whisper. “I just – I acted like an idiot because I thought….”

He’s shaking now, not visibly, but enough that he feels it in his chest.

“I thought… you didn’t care anymore. I thought you were going to leave me.”

Daeyoung blinks, lashes damp, “I told you I wasn’t. And I apologized for – forgetting, but I’ve never – not once stopped caring.”

“I know.” Riku exhales, the breath ragged, “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t trust me.”

“I was scared,” Riku says, raw and fast, aching in every way. “I could – feel you distancing yourself from me and I – I didn’t know what I’d do without you.”

Daeyoung’s gaze hardens, “But you were going to dump me anyway.”

Riku balks, “I wouldn’t have gone through with it.”

Silence blooms between them, heavy and thick.

“I just…” Riku draws in a breath that doesn’t go anywhere. “I wanted you all to myself. And that scared me. I’ve never felt something this big before. Never wanted anything this much. It’s stupid, but I thought – if I walked away first, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so bad. Maybe I could control it.”

Daeyoung picks at his sleeves, “And was it true?”

“No.” Riku shakes his head, “No, I – regretted it the moment I walked away.”

Daeyoung’s brows furrow, “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

Riku hesitates – admitting it makes it worse.

“Because I still think you deserved better than me.”

For a second, the toughness across Daeyoung’s features morphs into sadness, “Don’t say that.”

“I thought if I just stayed away long enough,” Riku goes on, stumbling over the words, “you’d forget about me. And you’d be okay. Better off. Because I was… too much. Too jealous. Too –”

“Hyung,” Daeyoung interrupts, and there’s something there that breaks a little.

“But I don’t want that anymore,” Riku whispers. His eyes burn, “I don’t want to stay away ever, because I want this. I want – you.”

“Hyung –”

“I just – please don’t forget about me again.”

Daeyoung reaches out slowly, like Riku might vanish if he moves too fast. The entire world, for a second, seems to move at the slowest possible pace. And when Daeyoung’s arms wrap around him, Riku collapses into it – like something in him had been waiting to fall apart only once Daeyoung was there to hold it.

“I’m sorry,” Daeyoung whispers, resting his chin against Riku’s shoulder, breath warm. “About that night. About everything. I never meant to make you feel like I didn’t want you. That’s… the furthest thing from the truth.”

Riku buries his face against Daeyoung’s neck like he’s afraid this is the last time he’ll get to do it, lulled by the scent of sweet fig. 

“The truth is,” Daeyoung tightens his hold around Riku’s waist, “I want you so much it scares me. And I didn’t say anything because I thought – if you knew how much, you’d run.”

“I should be the one saying that,” Riku laughs, but it sounds more like a sob. “Everyone loves you. Everyone gets a piece of you, and I – I don’t want to share.”

“Hyung…”

“But I don’t want you to stop being you either,” Riku adds quickly. “I just – I need to know that you want this. That you want me.”

Daeyoung leans back enough to look at him. His hands stay at Riku’s waist, but his expression shifts – something raw flickering across his face. Not surprise. Not relief.

Something quieter. Like he’s afraid to believe it.

“I’ve only ever wanted you,” he says.

And Riku feels it – not just in his chest, but all the way down to his hands, his knees, his throat. The relief, the regret, the wreckage they’re both standing in.

His hands move first.

Just a small shift, fingers brushing against Daeyoung’s collar, like he’s reaching to see if it’s real. 

Daeyoung doesn’t pull away.

So Riku leans in.

It’s hesitant. Their noses bump slightly. Riku pauses, eyes flicking to Daeyoung’s lips, and for a heartbeat he thinks – maybe he’s misread everything again.

But then Daeyoung tilts forward, breath catching, and that’s all Riku needs.

Their lips meet, soft and slow, like turning the pages of something beloved after too long. The kind of kiss that feels like starting over. Riku presses in gently, afraid of moving too fast, afraid of losing the moment.

Daeyoung answers him without words.

He kisses back, just once – slow and sure – before stepping forward, closing the space fully. His hands curl tighter at Riku’s waist, and the kiss deepens. He’s still gentle, but not hesitant now – like something’s snapped into place. Like the quiet has finally, thankfully broken.

He walks Riku backward until the edge of the worktable catches at his lower back. Riku gasps, startled, and Daeyoung takes the opening, lips pressing in deeper, tongue sliding against his like it’s instinct.

It’s still slow, consuming.

Riku makes a soft sound into the kiss, knees almost giving, fingers clutching at Daeyoung’s robes like they’re the only thing tethering him to the floor. Daeyoung kisses him like he never wants to stop, kisses him like the week apart never happened – like it did, and it nearly killed him.

Riku lets him – welcomes it – even as his thoughts blur out around the edges.

He can’t think. Not with Daeyoung pressed this close. Not with his hands slipping under the seams at Riku’s waist. Not with Daeyoung kissing him like they’ve been pulled apart by something cruel and this is the only way back.

Everything’s heat and hands and Daeyoung.

Then Daeyoung breaks the kiss, barely.

“I’ll never want anyone like I want you,” he breathes, hoarse. “Never.”

Riku’s vision goes a little fuzzy – not from the words, but from the heat of them. He hears them, but it’s like he’s underwater – disoriented and full of too much feeling to process anything. His body moves before his brain can catch up, nodding, and then he’s dragging Daeyoung back in, lips crashing into his like the only answer he knows is more.

Daeyoung kisses back just as hard, but this time he doesn’t let the moment slip. He pulls away again.

“Promise me.”

Riku blinks, dazed, “Huh?”

“Promise me you’ll never say you’re not good enough for me.”

It’s too much. Riku wants to curl into it and run from it at the same time.

This isn’t fair.

His brain’s static. He can’t think. Can barely breathe. Not with Daeyoung’s hands on him like this – skin against skin, warm and firm over the sharp lines of his hips. Every touch feels electric, too much, and yet not enough. 

Daeyoung doesn’t stop.

“Promise me,” Daeyoung murmurs again, lips brushing Riku’s jaw now, slow. “Promise me you won’t let me go so easily.”

Riku’s breath stutters. Something sharp and quiet unspools in his chest – because he sees it now, clear as day: the hurt in Daeyoung’s eyes, the way he’d smiled through it anyway.

Riku had been afraid of being left.

But Daeyoung had already been left behind.

“Promise me – you won’t just give me up like that again.”

Riku’s heart clenches, twisting beneath his ribs.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words ripping out of him. He presses their foreheads together, “I’m sorry. I promise.”

And this time, when he kisses Daeyoung, it’s not out of fear or desperation. It’s soft. Certain. Full of something quiet and real.

They stay like that for a while – pressed close in the dim Potions classroom, the dust and glass and stillness all around them. The world feels like it could shatter if they let go.

So they don’t.

They hold on, and hold on, and hold on.

And when Riku finally pulls back, cheeks flushed and lips tingling, he realizes something gentle and terrifying all at once:

I’ll never stop choosing you.

Not now. Not again.