Chapter Text
Damp grass squeaks under his sneakers when Baku lands almost perfectly in the middle of the Quidditch field, hand running through his messy outgrown hair to clear the view. Red cheeked and panting, he stops and inhales as much air as his lungs can take, and for the first time in two months it feels like it tastes sweet, feels like he’s breathing with every cell of his body.
Permanently marked by the smell of fried chicken and burning oil, these summer holidays turned out to be the busiest, which his father made sure of, claiming that he “could finally do something real and useful for a change”. Making strategies for his Quidditch team didn’t really fall into the category of something real and useful, and considering the fact that this very team used broomsticks and performed exclusively in the air, it more likely leaned into a category of “woo woo nonsense”. And his muggle father wasn’t exactly a fan of any nonsense. Especially if it was woo woo.
The outskirts they lived in didn’t offer anything better to do than work anyway, especially since their tiny family restaurant became surprisingly packed in the evenings. So, for two months Baku’s entertainment was limited to mundane duties like frying chicken wings, running a few kilometers a day, doing push-ups, casually flipping though “The History of Quidditch” and – quite unexpectedly – writing letters.
It’s not like he would pass as someone who enjoyed the process of writing that much. His school notes resembled a parade of dancing scribbles which Baku himself struggled to understand sometimes. But if you knew, you knew – Baku was the one who turned their summer letter routine into a nonnegotiable tradition, a significant one, to the point where every received envelope was stacked somewhere carefully and never thrown away.
His longest and most emotional rants on paper went to Gotak, along with all types of Muggle sweets stuffed into the envelope till it was close to exploding. Coming from a pureblood wizard family, Gotak has always had a weak spot for anything Muggle produced, and Baku was quite literally feeding his curiosity in all ways possible. No surprise his letters were so anticipated. In return Baku was getting precious moving photocards, where cheerful and smiling Hyuntak seemed to be surrounded by at least three generations of Go family, always travelling to only God knows where.
With Suho it was different. Suho matched Baku’s freak about sports so perfectly that their conversations always slipped into something Quidditch related within the first week of holidays. And also, he was simply fun to compete with. Part of Baku’s physical stamina definitely resulted from the attempts to beat each other in anything that could be considered training. They dived into new training routines and planned strategies, especially now that they had Sieun on the team – it’s been only a few months since the boy joined them as Seeker, but he’s already shined so brightly in the final game of the year, that a mere thought of his yet undiscovered potential made Baku shake with excitement.
Speaking of Sieun, his replies hardly ever varied from “Hello. I’m doing okay. Thank you for the advice. How’s your summer?” (the last one was very optional). Which was hardly a problem for Baku who, first of all, believed him to be very practical (“Our Sieunnie, so economical on ink!”), and second of all, had way too much enthusiasm about making Sieun the greatest Seeker of all time. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have come up with at least twenty new methods for training his reaction and speed.
They also stayed in touch with Juntae, of course. How could he forget to send a letter to the only person, who actually agreed, that Sakuragi was the coolest name for Baku’s enormously huge clumsy owl? Juntae wrote simple and nice notes, and then just surrounded these with as many doodles, as would fit into one page. Jokes aside, he was actually really good at this, expressing emotions with drawing.
Halfway through the holidays Baku sent his owl to one more person. He wanted to write something simple and short, something that went like “Today I saw a cat with very smart eyes and it reminded me of you. You would’ve loved it.” Something that could count as an ice-breaker letter. Something that would sound like “I miss you” without actually saying “I miss you”. Then he added a sentence, and then another one, and another that helped to understand the context of the previous one better. And then he couldn’t stop himself until both sides of the paper were covered with his messy writing, finishing it with a small doodle of a mentioned cat. After delivering the letter, Sakuragi came back with nothing, and in the end, Baku never got his reply.
And just like that, covering a shift after shift, jogging around the town, he literally counted days, minutes, second till this moment. Baku looks up, makes another deep inhale and then shouts at the top of his lungs.
“Let’s wrap it up!”
Two small figures hanging in the air on brooms start getting closer to earth. Baku already knows that Gotak is rushing to tell him that half of the school has probably had a heart attack because of his screams, and Sieun is going to give him a long and tired stare – he’s obviously not a morning person, and by all means not a morning training person. But knowing these simple things only makes Baku’s heart swell with something very warm. After spending half an hour up there in the air, holding his broom tightly, he feels energy pumping through his veins, he finally feels himself.
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When they make it to the Great Hall for breakfast, Gryffindor table is already buzzing with agitation. A bunch of fourth-years is crowding around two boys, clearly upset and irritated.
“The worst part is that we didn’t even start it, but their Prefect took points from us anyway,” complains one of them.
“What did we miss?” Baku squeezes himself between Suho and Juntae. Their plates are already empty. Gotak and Sieun take places across the table and start wolfing down toasts without any further questions.
Juntae leans in a bit. “I don’t know all the details, but seems like Slytherin fourth-years were looking for a victim, to try out some creepy hex or something. And they got in a fight with our guys. Or almost got in a fight,” he adjusts his glasses, fidgeting in his place. “Anyways. Baekjin caught them and took points from both houses.”
Baku pauses his chewing for a few seconds. “What does Baekjin have to do about it?”
“Well, it’s his duty?” Seeing no sign of understanding on Baku’s face, Juntae continues. “Baku, come on. Baekjin is their new Prefect, remember?”
Another pause that followed indicated that Baku doesn’t remember anything. In fact, he isn’t even familiar with this information.
“You guys didn’t talk much during summer?” Gotak asks carefully, but the boy’s face tells him more than any words do.
Baku shakes his head and swallows the last piece of food with much more effort than it should take. He doesn’t mention that he did write Baekjin a letter, a ridiculously long one. It’s just that Baekjin decided to ignore it. As well as he decided to avoid Baku, apparently – since everyone from their group have somehow already met him during the first week of studies. Everyone except Baku. The realization gives him a sharp bite.
“Well, he’s a busy guy now,” comes a lazy commentary from Suho.
“Yeah, right. Is he preparing to become a Minister for Magic or something? Merlin’s beard.” Gotak turns back to his plate and continues to grumble with his mouth full, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “I’ve heard girls whispering about him in our common room three times yesterday. 'Smart and handsome' they say. And he’s taller than me now, we ran into each other after the Sorting Ceremony and – that’s embarrassing – I had to look up to actually say hi.”
Baku’s mind lingers on this. If Baekjin is taller than Gotak now, maybe he’s even taller than Baku? It’s difficult to say for sure. They haven’t seen each other all summer after all. And barely spent time together at the end of the fifth year.
“At least he’s not the Quidditch player of the year.” Suho says, and all five of them start nodding slowly.
“Could’ve become one though.” Baku notices.
“Guess he decided to spare us when he left the team.”
They all chuckle, but there’s no intention to mock anyone in it. Baku leans back in his seat to see Slytherin’s half-empty table better and spots Baekjin instantly. There he is, at the center of it, calm and concentrated, posture upright, gaze fixed on a book.
It’s been his usual spot and activity for years – reading a couple of pages after finishing his meal quickly, but still, seeing him so nonchalant is always so… relieving? Baku thinks about their first year, when Baekjin used to be embarrassed because of his books and robes, shying away from everyone. Even though the boy looked neat, it was obvious that his things once belonged to someone else. Other kids picked on it pretty fast and ugly snickering behind his back eventually slipped into bullying, where Baekjin had to deal with even more ugly consequences from poorly performed hexes. And then he met Baku, and everything changed.
Baku’s thoughts are drawn back to his stupid long letter, and he feels something turning in his stomach, clenching, tugging on his heart, all his limbs are suddenly cold and tingling, as if all blood in his body rushed to his face. It’s so hard to put into words what he feels when he’s looking at Baekjin, especially after the summer of silence, after that ridiculous so-called fight they had. It’s just something, all too much.
As if someone unfreezes him, Baekjin closes the book with a swift motion, stands up, getting ready to leave. And just before disappearing from the Great Hall – dives his hand into a bowl with candies wrapped in red shiny paper. Stuffs a few in his pocket. And off he goes.