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fic advent: day nineteen
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maayacola ♥
kris/zico (fml)
pg-13, 5.5k words
harry potter au. kris x zico. zico teaches him how to play quidditch c'mon.
a/n: this is literally the most self-indulgent thing i have ever written, i hope you like it boo!!
maayacola ♥kris/zico (fml)
pg-13, 5.5k words
harry potter au. kris x zico. zico teaches him how to play quidditch c'mon.
a/n: this is literally the most self-indulgent thing i have ever written, i hope you like it boo!!
Yifan hits the ground hard, shoulders hitting grass and skidding for a few feet before he finally comes to a stop. There's mud all over his yellow robes and high above him he can see the Gryffindor seeker circling, arms raised in victory. Grimacing, Yifan pushes himself to his feet, wiping at the mud smeared across his face. It was a fair game, and a close one, but that doesn't mean that Yifan's shoulders don't slump in disappointment. Just once, he thinks, it'd be nice if Hufflepuff could have a win. It's his last year, after all. Wouldn't it be great to go out with a bang?
“Alright, duizhang?” Zitao lands as gracefully as he always does and slings an deceptively casual arm around Yifan's waist. “You took that bludger pretty good. Did you want us to take you to see Madam Pomfrey?” His voice is light, but there is concern in his eyes. As keeper, he's gotten just as much of a workout as Yifan has, but he's definitely less muddy and bruised. It would add to Yifan's irritation, but Zitao is leaning over him, prodding at his shoulder, looking for damage.
Yifan bats his hands away. “No,” he says. “I'm fine.” The Gryffindor team swoops down to the group, all of them rowdy and laughing and cheering. With a sigh, Yifan straightens his robes and pushes his hair into something resembling order. Time to go congratulate them.
The Gryffindor captain is this infuriatingly energetic seventh year called Zico. He's fairly tall and leggy, his hair is this horrifying streaky mess, and his skill as a chaser is impressive and irritating. “Good game,” he tells Zico, and he holds out his hand to shake. It was a good game, and Zico didn't get his position without reason. “You played well.”
“Yeah,” Zico says. His grip is surprisingly firm, even if his fingers are mostly swallowed up by Yifan's large hand. “You too. Nice catch at the end of the first hour.” He grins at Yifan. “You've got something, like –” He gestures at Yifan's whole face. “Everywhere.” His smirk is good-natured as he moves on to shake Zitao's hand next. Yifan can't decide whether or not to be insulted.
As they head back to the dressing rooms, Zitao hangs companionably off of Yifan's neck. “Next time, duizhang,” he says, and his optimism pulls the corners of Yifan's mouth up. “We'll definitely have it next time.”
“Definitely,” Yifan agrees, squeezing Zitao in return. There's still time before the Cup. Next time.
-
“Gryffindor kicked your asses,” Chanyeol tells Yifan through a mouthful of pastry. “What a disgrace.” His long legs kick against the legs of the wooden table he's sitting on in the vast warm kitchen. “To be expected, though. Do Hufflepuffs do anything right?” His grin, broad and toothy, is completely unrepentant.
It makes it easy for Yifan not to regret slapping Chanyeol's hand and grinning as the last of his pastry goes flying. “They didn't kick our asses,” he argues. “It was pretty close, up until they caught the snitch.”
Chanyeol looks down forlornly at his fallen food, even as a house elf is scooping it up and running off to dispose of it. “Details,” he says, and he shrugs. A house elf scurries up and carefully places a new plate next to him, and Chanyeol acknowledges her with a nod. “Maybe you were distracted by their new team captain.”
Yifan looks at him sidelong, a cookie halfway to his mouth. “If that's a joke, it's a poor one,” he says darkly. Zico is no distraction. He's just his competition on the field, that's all. He doesn't even know the guy.
“Of course,” Chanyeol agrees airily. He stuffs a cookie in his mouth, crumbs raining down the front of his sweater. “It's not like he'd be interested anyway.”
Not for the first time, Yifan regrets making friends with a pure-blood Slytherin. “What is that supposed to mean, anyway?” He know Chanyeol is trying to rile him up, but he still feels faintly offended. What's not to be interested in? Yifan is tall, incredibly handsome, and a prefect in good standing. He's a catch.
Chanyeol seems distracted by picking at the crumbs stuck to his front, but he's still grinning, and Yifan isn't fooled. “Nothing,” Chanyeol says. “I mean, I don't think you're his type.”
Yifan frowns at him. “I'm everyone's type,” he says.
He's not sure what to make of the way that Chanyeol's eyes get sharp and mischevious, but the way he throws his head back and laughs makes Yifan grimace. “Did you want to make a bet?” Chanyeol asks, and Yifan's stomach drops.
They take bets very seriously around here. He has a vivid memory of the day that Joonmyun had very bravely marched down to breakfast wearing nothing at all. Jongin had been mournful when he'd picked up the bill on their next trip to Hogsmeade, but there was no arguing that Joonmyun had earned it.
“About what?” Yifan asks warily.
Chanyeol leans back on one big hand, his heels kicking. “I bet that you can't pick him up.” His smile is so sunny and evil. With the way that his soft blond hair is pulled up, he looks like some kind of malevolent elf. Yifan is struck with the temptation to slap a leash on him and drag him in for show and tell in their Care of Magical Creatures class.
“And just what would I get if I win?”
Chanyeol raises his eyebrows. “Laid?” he says, confused, his tone saturated with duh, Yifan, are you an idiot?
Yifan is already shaking his head. “No,” he says. “I want a real prize,” he says. “Not a cop out.” He'd get that anyway, it's not fair for that to be what he won.
“Fine.” Chanyeol's nose wrinkles. “Divination homework for a week.”
Yifan scoffs. “A week?”
“Two?” More cookie crumbs spray everywhere as Chanyeol raises his eyebrows. “That's fair.”
Fair is subjective, really, but Chanyeol has always had a better grasp on that airy fairy nonsense than Yifan has. A couple of weeks break from having to write up made up readings of tea leaves and a boost in his grades would be handy. “Alright,” he agrees. “And if I lose?”
This one is easy, apparently. Chanyeol grins. “You have to confess your undying love and affection for Professor Song.”
Yifan blanches. The Arithmancy professor is young, pretty, and intimidatingly smart. “You can't be serious.”
“Deadly,” Chanyeol tells him, that blindingly mean smile pasted on his face. “Come on. What's a dare if there's no risk involved?”
He hates to admit it, but Chanyeol is right. Yifan's pride refuses to let him back down. He finishes his pastries and flicks the crumbs in his lap in Chanyeol's direction. “You know,” he says. “Slytherin is just where you belong.”
Chanyeol tips his head. “I know,” he says smugly. He straightens up, hands clasped in his lap, waiting.
Yifan's mouth twists, but he sticks out his hand. “Deal,” he sighs.
He's not sure how Chanyeol manages it, but his grin as they shake on the dare is somehow both bright and sunny and kind of scary.
Zico had better not be a tough nut to crack.
-
He starts early the next morning, stopping by the Gryffindor table as he's leaving after breakfast. “Nice playing the other day,” he says, fingertips resting against the long table. Zico leans back in his chair, a faint smile playing at his lips. Next to him, his friends eye Yifan curiously. What is the Hufflepuff prefect doing talking to him? “I was impressed.”
Zico's eyes narrow and he looks at Yifan thoughtfully. It's to be expected, really. In seven years of school together, Yifan hasn't really said anything to him other than 'good game'. “Impressed, huh?” he says, and he smirks, all cocky. Next to him, his big friend elbows him repeatedly in the ribs, grinning. “Well, I did score double what you did.”
Irritation rises in Yifan's gut, and he presses his lips together. “Congratulations,” he says, and the dry edge of his voice makes Zico smile wider.
“Hey, you did good too,” Zico says. “If it weren't for that bludger, I'm pretty sure you would've tied things up.” He shoves a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “And you got right back up, too, now that was nice. Bet you're hurting today, huh?”
“I'm fine,” Yifan says, even as his hand came up unconsciously to touch his bruised shoulder. Zico's friend snorts and covers his grin poorly with his sleeve. “Hey, listen, I was thinking, maybe we could train together?” He does his best to make it sound casual. “Since we're both chasers and all. I thought it might be good practice.”
“But you're the enemy,” Zico says. His amusement is written in the way that his eyes curve up into crescents, and Yifan fights off the burn of embarrassment.
“Well,” Zico's friend says, elbowing him again. “He's just a Hufflepuff.” He beams.
Zico licks his fork and glances at his friend. “Dude, Jihoon, weren't you nearly a Hufflepuff?” The table around them erupts in laughter and Jihoon waves his hands and tries to deny it, smile still pulling at his lips. He finally settles for burying his head in his hands, bleached blond hair hiding his face from view.
Waving ineffectually, Zico tries to quiet his friends, to no avail. “Sure, why not?” he calls over the din. “Tomorrow night after dinner? I've got Transfiguration tutoring tonight.”
That feels a lot like the first step to victory. Yifan nods. “See you then,” he says.
Zico jerks his chin up in answer, and Yifan walks to his first class feeling like he's got things under control.
-
Yifan waltzes into Potions and slides into his seat next to Chanyeol. While their professor drones on about the value of rat's tails, he scribbles a quick note on a scrap of parchment and slips it to Chanyeol. phase one: initiated
It takes Chanyeol a few seconds to decipher Yifan's handwriting, but when he does, he flashes Yifan a quick thumbs up. It's too bad it's not fast enough to escape the sharp eye of Professor Cho. They end up 'volunteering' to demonstrate the effects of a hair-raising potion. The sight of Yifan with his hair makes Chanyeol double up, shrieking with laughter, even though his own curly hair is standing on end. He looks like some kind of deranged troll doll, but Yifan doesn't bother to mention it. Too much work to explain what a troll doll is.
Yifan spends the rest of the day desperately trying to comb his hair down and glaring at anybody who dares laugh. He's a prefect. Doesn't that role command any respect any more? Another first year scurries past him giggling while he's on the way to dinner, and Yifan sighs.
-
Zico is late. When he finally sidles onto the field, it's already getting dark. “Sorry,” he says cheerfully. “The cherry pie is my favourite. I went back for seconds. Are you ready to go?”
He doesn't wait for an answer. He flicks open the Quidditch trunk and grabs the quaffle and in a second, he's already in the air. Yifan begrudgingly admits to himself that Zico is good. He's a natural, streaking through the air with unerring grace, despite the evening light. He scrambles to catch up, kicking off and flying up.
“Let's keep it short,” Yifan calls as he circles near Zico. “We don't have much light left. First person to fifty points wins it.”
The setting sun catches on Zico's flash of a smile. “That's not even a challenge,” he shouts back. He hefts the quaffle at Yifan and draws up quickly. It's sheer luck that Yifan even catches it. He'd meant to get some time getting to know Zico, figure out what angle to take, not embarrass himself. Get it together, Wu. “You're on.”
Yifan hovers for a few seconds, blinking, before he realizes that's as close as he's gonna get to a 'go', and then he shoots off to the other end of the field, ball tucked under his arm.
Zico follows in a flash, darting ahead of him to throw him off. Yifan growls and banks, keeping the rings on the field in his line of sight even as he moves. Zico may be a bit of a prodigy when it came to flying, but Yifan has always been the better marksman. Another feint from Zico and Yifan has to spin away and circle back, grip tight on his broom as he tries to get at the rings. “C'mon, Wu,” Zico calls. “Give me a challenge.”
If it's a challenge he wants, it's a challenge he gets. Yifan dodges away from Zico, swooping down low and then bombing straight up behind the rings. The score is easy and he circles lazily, arms in the air as Zico darts down to catch the quaffle. “How's that for a challenge?” he asks.
“It's a start,” Zico tells him, and then he's off like a shot to the opposite end of the field. His laughter echos across the empty seats and Yifan groans. He's so fast.
Zico scores quickly, but Yifan makes it up with an improbably accurate shot from midfield. “I don't think that's fair,” Zico shouts as he swoops low to catch the quaffle again. “You have freakishly long limbs, that's an unfair advantage.
Hovering easily in front of Zico, legs tight around his broom, Yifan spreads his arms and laughs. “Don't hate the player,” he says.
It's almost dark now, but by the light of the torches on the stands, Yifan can still see the way that Zico raises one eyebrow and shakes his head. He hefts the quaffle and bounces it off Yifan's forehead. It knocks him backwards, sending him wobbling towards the ground. “That was stupid,” Zico tells him. Before Yifan can even respond, Zico darts down and grabs the ball, off towards Yifan's rings again.
The game is close, but in the end, Zico wins it. He crows his triumph, doing ridiculous loops in the air before finally pulling up next to Yifan. They're both sweaty and a bit dirty from the time after Yifan's third goal, when Zico had been a bit overzealous with his goal keeping and had slammed them both into the pitch. “You're a terrible winner,” Yifan tells him, but Zico's grin is infectious, and he finds himself smiling anyway even as they fly back down.
“Whoa,” Zico says as they land. He touches down neatly and Yifan's heels drag against the ground for a few paces before he stops.
“What?” Yifan wipes the sweat off his forehead and pushes his hair out of his eyes.
Zico tosses the quaffle back into the trunk and snaps it shut with a resounding click. “You have like, the weirdest smile.”
It drops off Yifan's face immediately and he ducks his head, suddenly self-conscious. “Oh, thanks,” he says dryly. He hopes it covers up his genuine embarrassment.
“Hey, no.” Zico nudges him with an elbow and shakes his head. “I mean, it is weird. But it's kinda nice. You're like, the least smiley Hufflepuff I have ever met.” He gestures at the Quidditch trunk and Yifan gets the hint. He grabs one end and Zico hoists the other. “You should try smiling more. It makes you look less intimidating.”
Yifan would never admit it, but something stirs in his chest. He smirks. “And who says I want that?”
He raises an eyebrow and it startles a laugh out of Zico. He points at Yifan with the hand holding his broom. “I like you,” he says decisively.
They make their way into the dressing room and Yifan stows away the trunk. “Thanks,” Yifan says. “I'm so honoured.” Honoured, no. But Yifan is starting to think that maybe even if this bet doesn't work out for him, it kind of paid off anyway. Zico licks his thumb and wipes at the dirt on his chin, grimacing when it comes away dirty, but he still has a grin for Yifan. And that's pretty great.
-
Hogsmeade is nice, in the spring. The air smells fresh and green and getting out of the castle and away from thick stone walls and Sehun's irritating rat (it chewed through everything and Sehun still took it everywhere and just sat back and laughed), most of all. It's got a little freedom, an escape from school, and a pub.
It's also got Zico, it seems. “Oh look,” Chanyeol says, delighted, as he spots him. Zico is standing around the door to Three Broomsticks. Chanyeol tightens his grip on Yifan's arm. “It's your target.”
Yifan isn't sure that being seen with Chanyeol hanging off his arm is going to help his case. He gently tugs his arm out of Chanyeol's hand. “I saw him,” he says nonchalantly. When Chanyeol unconsciously reaches for him again, though, Yifan gives him a look. “Don't sabotage me,” he scolds. “You made the bet, you're not allowed to interfere.”
Chanyeol sticks out his bottom lip. “I'm not!” he grumbles. Yifan pats his head. “Hey, look, he's waving.” So he is. Yifan waves back. “Aren't you going to go talk to him?” Chanyeol frowns. “You're not even trying.”
Yifan shoots him a dark look. “I'll show you trying,” he says. He shoves Chanyeol a little and then picks up his pace, making his way over to Zico and his friends.
“Hey, Wu.” An easy smile is already spreading across Zico's full lips. “How's it going?” He tucks his hands in his pockets and next to him, his big friend Jihoon smirks, eyes darting between the two of them. “Nice save at last week's match, man, Zitao definitely owes you for that one.”
“You're not the only one with moves,” Yifan says, although Zico's compliment has sent a rush of warmth up his spine. Zico's other friend, a handsome but slightly gangly Hufflepuff named Jaehyo, snorts loudly into his hand. When he catches sight of Yifan's glare he shrinks, eyes wide, and tugs Jihoon away.
Zico watches them go. “Damn,” he says. “That is handy.”
Yifan shrugs. “Hey, you wanna go get some butterbeers?”
“Hell yes,” Zico beams. He hooks an arm around Yifan's shoulders and steers him towards the door of the pub. “You're paying, right?” Yifan lets out a surprised noise but he doesn't protest. A couple of butterbeers is a small price to pay for winning the bet, he tells himself. It's got nothing to do with the comfortable weight of Zico's arm at all.
-
Yifan is coming out of Transfiguration when a hand catches his elbow. “Hey,” Zico says. “Do you have anywhere to be?”
He does, actually. He's got Divination in the afternoon, and he'd been hoping to get a bit of work done on his Arithmancy homework at lunch. This is just a bet, he reminds himself. Nothing worth going out of his way for.
Thing is, Zico has this look on his face that Yifan can't read and he kind of wants to know what he's suggesting. “No,” he finds himself saying. “Why?”
Zico's smirk says that he knows that Yifan is lying. “C'mon. I've got a better use of your time.”
Zico drags him up several flights of stairs until he pushes open a door and gestures for Yifan to go in. It's an unused bathroom, Yifan finds, dusty and poorly lit. “No one comes up here,” Zico says.
“That's a good thing?” Yifan asks, tossing his bag in a corner. He hops up on one of the chipped old sinks, looking around. It's disgusting in here. If Zico wanted to hang out in some part of the castle no one bothers with, fine, but why couldn't he clean it up a bit? Damn.
Zico holds up a little bag, and he grins. “It's definitely a good thing,” he says, and Yifan swallows. He must've stolen it from the Potions store room. That is definitely not something he should be involved with. He's a prefect, after all. Joonmyun may have been the one that ended up making Head Boy, but Yifan still has responsibility.
“Well,” he says. “Aren't you a rebel.” His mouth feels a bit dry. He's not sure how to get out of this, now. The way that Zico watches him is a dare, and Yifan has always been loathe to turn those down.
Pulling a joint out of the bag and wand out of his pocket, Zico snorts and rolls his eyes. “Calm down, bro. I promise you, breaking the rules once won't hurt. Didn't your friend run around the Great Hall naked? He still made Head Boy, didn't he?” The way that Zico fits the joint between his lips and lights it is practiced and assured. Yifan doesn't know what to make of that.
“I'm not really one for...all of this.” Yifan gestures with a hand and watches the way that Zico holds it in his chest for a few seconds and then exhales, the smoke forming a lion's face before it dissolved. He looks pleased. “Not all of us get our kicks stealing things from the potions room, Zico.”
“Jiho,” he corrects, and Yifan looks up at him. “Zico's just a nickname, my real name is Jiho. You can call me that, if you want.”
Seven years he's gone to school with Zico, five years he's played Quidditch against him, and he never once knew that Zico wasn't his real name. “Jiho,” he corrects himself.
Jiho rewards him with a smile and holds out the joint. When Yifan balks, shaking his head, Jiho's eyes widen. “No way,” he says. He sounds excited. “Don't tell me you've never tried it.”
Straightening his robes, Yifan clears his throat and does his best to pretend he doesn't notice the flush that creeps up his cheeks. “No,” he admits reluctantly.
Jiho jumps up on the sink next to him. “I'm corrupting you,” he crows. “This is awesome.” He shrugs his robes off and tosses them on the floor, careless of the dust. “I'll teach you.”
Yifan feels utterly out of his depth. Jiho looks completely relaxed out of his school robes, his striped sweater stretching across his shoulders and the joint between two fingers. In sharp contrast, then, is Yifan: a little bit sweaty from the climb up, the hem of his robes all dusty, eyeing Jiho with poorly disguised apprehension. “No, it's fine,” Yifan says.
Jiho takes another drag and watches Yifan fidget, eyes sharp. “Then what exactly did you come here for?” he asks, and Yifan finds his reply caught in his throat. “That's what I thought. Here, let's make this fun.” He reaches out and gently curls his fingers around the back of Yifan's neck. “When I exhale, you inhale. Got it?”
Seems easy enough. Yifan tries to ignore the voice at the back of his head reminding him of all the rules they're breaking by being here today, and the one that was enjoying the pressure of Jiho's hand on his skin. He nods.
“Relax,” Jiho tells him. He takes a long drag on the joint and then leans in close, lips parted. It takes Yifan a few seconds to remember to inhale as instructed, but that probably has something to do with the way that Jiho's lips brush against his. It's incredibly distracting.
He imitates what he'd seen Jiho do, trying to take the smoke deeper into his lungs. It makes his head spin a little, and when he finally exhales again he coughs, the smoke twisting into little dragons around his face. “Not bad,” Jiho says. “For a first-timer.” His hand falls from Yifan's neck to land on his knee. “There's hope for you yet.”
“Hope for what?” Yifan retorts, and Jiho lets his head fall back against the mirror, laughing.
“For you becoming an interesting person,” he tells Yifan. Yifan scoffs and nudges him, making Jiho rock on the sink and laugh harder. He turns to Yifan, and his eyes darken a little. “Want another go?”
Yifan pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, but it doesn't stop the corners of his lips turning up. “Oh yeah,” he says, and he leans in.
-
After that day in the seventh floor bathroom, every time he passes Jiho in the halls, he gets this companionable jerk of the chin in greeting, like they're part of some secret club. Every time, it makes Yifan grin to himself. Chanyeol happens to be with him after Potions one day when it happens, and he catches it, and Yifan's smile. “Well?” he asks impatiently. “Did you seal the deal?” He wiggles his eyebrows.
“No,” Yifan admits, and Chanyeol makes this odd face, like he's torn between groaning in frustration and cheering in victory. “I'm working on it.”
Chanyeol's grin is broad and amused. “Is working on it code for 'not getting anywhere and totally gonna lose this bet to Chanyeol'?”
“I'm not going to lose,” Yifan protests as they enter the library. “Jiho's just...it's complicated.”
“Jiho? Complicated?” Chanyeol cocks his head, confused. “What's complicated about it?” He swings his bag onto a chair and then suddenly whirls around eyes wide. “No way.”
Yifan very pointedly doesn't look at him as he takes a seat and pulls out his textbooks. “It's nothing,” he tells Chanyeol. Chanyeol makes an unconvinced sound, but from the corner of his eye, Yifan can see him grinning. This is embarrassing.
Digging his knuckles into Yifan's side, Chanyeol starts singing under his breath. “Yifan liiiiiiikes him,” he sings. “Yifan wants to suck his diiiiiiick.”
The librarian is already eyeing them suspiciously, and Yifan shushes him. “I am going to hex you into next year,” he mutters.
Chanyeol just beams. “We both know you don't have the creativity for hexes,” he says, and Yifan lays his head down on the table and moans. “He seems nice, though.” Yifan can see Jihoon two desks down with a stack of books, and he hopes desperately that he hasn't heard anything. It's too bad that Chanyeol doesn't know the meaning of 'indoor voice'.
Patting his head, Chanyeol leans in to smile right in Yifan's face. “I'm pretty sure that this means I win, no matter what happens. You know that, right?”
Yifan pulls his robes over his head and sighs.
-
It's nearly a week later, at breakfast, that Jiho throws himself down on the bench next to Yifan in the Great Hall, leaning over the table and resting his chin on his hand. “A dare, huh?” he says.
Yifan looks over at him, startled. “What?”
Jiho helps himself to the last of Yifan's bacon. “Your Slytherin friend,” he says through a mouthful. “He's not very quiet.” Across the table, Zitao watches them warily, and Yifan shakes his head a little. “Jihoon filled me in.”
“It's – ” Yifan stalls, unsure of what to say. Jiho's face is oddly unreadable.
“Complicated,” Jiho says. “So I heard.” He munches on the rest of Yifan's bacon, but the casual expression on his face doesn't quite fit right.
Yifan twists to face him. “Look,” he says. “I'm sorry.” He looks around at the crush of people and Zitao's curious eyes. “Can we go somewhere and talk about this?”
Jiho just shrugs and lays a hand on Yifan's shoulder, climbing to his feet. His smile is a bit sour. “Nah, it's cool,” he says. “You could've just told me, y'know? I'd have been more than happy to help you out.” Yifan feels obscurely disappointed, his fork drooping in his hand as he watches Jiho turn to go. “Go ahead and tell him we hooked up, I don't mind.”
“What was that about?” Zitao whispers as Yifan stares down at his plate.
“Nothing,” Yifan tells him. “Don't worry about it.” He won the bet, sure, but suddenly, his appetite is gone. He pushes his plate away. “I'll see you at practice, alright?” Maybe if he's early for class, he can keep his mind of this odd, sinking feeling in his gut. Maybe if he's lucky.
-
The next time they meet, Gryffindor has just soundly trounced Hufflepuff in the Quidditch Cup tournament. Yifan is once again covered in mud and feeling embarrassed. At least, he supposes, he hasn't had to do Divination work for weeks. It should feel like a win, but somehow, it feels a bit empty.
“Good game,” Jiho tells him, and it's like the past spring never happened. His smile is friendly, but distant, and Yifan bites back his disappointment.
When Jiho goes to pull away, Yifan holds his hand tight. “Hey, can I see you for a second?” he asks. He keeps his face carefully blank. “I have to talk about some team captain stuff.”
Jiho's eyes are skeptical, but he nods. “Yeah, sure. Dressing room?”
“Sure.” Jiho jogs to catch up with the rest of his team, noisy with their victory and celebrations.
Yifan's team is still in good spirits as they clean up and get ready to head back to the common room. After all, there's still a shot at third place. Zitao leads them back to the castle, all of them laughing and chanting “we're number three, we're number three”, and Yifan sees them off.
Yet again, Jiho is late. He's still muddy when he pokes his head into the dressing room. “Sorry,” he says. “Had to talk to Professor Hooch about the final. What's up?”
“I'm sorry,” Yifan says, immediately. Jiho frowns with confusion as Yifan stumbles on. “Just because it was a dare doesn't mean I didn't like hanging out with you.” Jiho doesn't say anything, and Yifan squirms under his gaze. “I mean, if I'm honest, it was mostly an excuse.”
There's a smile growing on Jiho's mouth. “Yifan,” he says. “You're a Hufflepuff. Of course I know you didn't mean any harm.”
Yifan blinks at him, momentarily lost for words. “Should I be insulted?” he asks.
Jiho throws his head back and laughs. “No hard feelings, Wu, I promise.”
“What if...” Yifan clears his throat. Now or never. “What if maybe I kind of want hard feelings?” He regrets saying it as soon as the words leave his mouth, and he cringes.
Jiho's eyes narrow for a second before he understands, and then his mouth twists in a vain effort to hold back his laughter. “That was terrible,” he tells Yifan. “Like, has that ever worked? Ever?” He shakes his head. “Damn, dude. It's a good thing you're handsome, because when you open your mouth, you're like, the most awkward guy I've ever met.”
“Give me a little credit,” Yifan groans.
When he moves to turn away and hide his face, Jiho catches his wrists in his hands. “I did,” Jiho says. “Didn't you hear? I called you handsome.”
Slowly, carefully, Yifan shifts until his fingers are curled around Jiho's. “I heard. That's just fact.”
Jiho looks at him for a second, incredulity written all over his face. His hands are warm in Yifan's. “Yifan,” he says. “I'm gonna shut you up with my mouth now.” Yifan is more than pleased to oblige Jiho by leaning down to kiss him.
His mouth is just as plush as it looked, soft and inviting enough that Yifan can ignore the fact that he's getting the mud from the pitch all over his pants. Jiho's hands find their way to Yifan's hips and he leans up, licking insistently into Yifan's mouth. It's making him even feel even dizzier than he did the day in the seventh floor bathroom.
“Why didn't we do this earlier?” Yifan says, breathless. Jiho has backed him up, step by tiny step, until his shoulders hit the wall. He's finding that he kind of likes it here, pinned by Jiho's hips.
He also likes the red, well-kissed look of Jiho's lips right now. “You didn't say anything dumb enough?” Jiho suggests. He cuts off Yifan's indignant reply with another kiss, hands pressing firmly against Yifan's ribs and Yifan gives in. It's the easiest thing he's ever done.
“Alright, duizhang?” Zitao lands as gracefully as he always does and slings an deceptively casual arm around Yifan's waist. “You took that bludger pretty good. Did you want us to take you to see Madam Pomfrey?” His voice is light, but there is concern in his eyes. As keeper, he's gotten just as much of a workout as Yifan has, but he's definitely less muddy and bruised. It would add to Yifan's irritation, but Zitao is leaning over him, prodding at his shoulder, looking for damage.
Yifan bats his hands away. “No,” he says. “I'm fine.” The Gryffindor team swoops down to the group, all of them rowdy and laughing and cheering. With a sigh, Yifan straightens his robes and pushes his hair into something resembling order. Time to go congratulate them.
The Gryffindor captain is this infuriatingly energetic seventh year called Zico. He's fairly tall and leggy, his hair is this horrifying streaky mess, and his skill as a chaser is impressive and irritating. “Good game,” he tells Zico, and he holds out his hand to shake. It was a good game, and Zico didn't get his position without reason. “You played well.”
“Yeah,” Zico says. His grip is surprisingly firm, even if his fingers are mostly swallowed up by Yifan's large hand. “You too. Nice catch at the end of the first hour.” He grins at Yifan. “You've got something, like –” He gestures at Yifan's whole face. “Everywhere.” His smirk is good-natured as he moves on to shake Zitao's hand next. Yifan can't decide whether or not to be insulted.
As they head back to the dressing rooms, Zitao hangs companionably off of Yifan's neck. “Next time, duizhang,” he says, and his optimism pulls the corners of Yifan's mouth up. “We'll definitely have it next time.”
“Definitely,” Yifan agrees, squeezing Zitao in return. There's still time before the Cup. Next time.
-
“Gryffindor kicked your asses,” Chanyeol tells Yifan through a mouthful of pastry. “What a disgrace.” His long legs kick against the legs of the wooden table he's sitting on in the vast warm kitchen. “To be expected, though. Do Hufflepuffs do anything right?” His grin, broad and toothy, is completely unrepentant.
It makes it easy for Yifan not to regret slapping Chanyeol's hand and grinning as the last of his pastry goes flying. “They didn't kick our asses,” he argues. “It was pretty close, up until they caught the snitch.”
Chanyeol looks down forlornly at his fallen food, even as a house elf is scooping it up and running off to dispose of it. “Details,” he says, and he shrugs. A house elf scurries up and carefully places a new plate next to him, and Chanyeol acknowledges her with a nod. “Maybe you were distracted by their new team captain.”
Yifan looks at him sidelong, a cookie halfway to his mouth. “If that's a joke, it's a poor one,” he says darkly. Zico is no distraction. He's just his competition on the field, that's all. He doesn't even know the guy.
“Of course,” Chanyeol agrees airily. He stuffs a cookie in his mouth, crumbs raining down the front of his sweater. “It's not like he'd be interested anyway.”
Not for the first time, Yifan regrets making friends with a pure-blood Slytherin. “What is that supposed to mean, anyway?” He know Chanyeol is trying to rile him up, but he still feels faintly offended. What's not to be interested in? Yifan is tall, incredibly handsome, and a prefect in good standing. He's a catch.
Chanyeol seems distracted by picking at the crumbs stuck to his front, but he's still grinning, and Yifan isn't fooled. “Nothing,” Chanyeol says. “I mean, I don't think you're his type.”
Yifan frowns at him. “I'm everyone's type,” he says.
He's not sure what to make of the way that Chanyeol's eyes get sharp and mischevious, but the way he throws his head back and laughs makes Yifan grimace. “Did you want to make a bet?” Chanyeol asks, and Yifan's stomach drops.
They take bets very seriously around here. He has a vivid memory of the day that Joonmyun had very bravely marched down to breakfast wearing nothing at all. Jongin had been mournful when he'd picked up the bill on their next trip to Hogsmeade, but there was no arguing that Joonmyun had earned it.
“About what?” Yifan asks warily.
Chanyeol leans back on one big hand, his heels kicking. “I bet that you can't pick him up.” His smile is so sunny and evil. With the way that his soft blond hair is pulled up, he looks like some kind of malevolent elf. Yifan is struck with the temptation to slap a leash on him and drag him in for show and tell in their Care of Magical Creatures class.
“And just what would I get if I win?”
Chanyeol raises his eyebrows. “Laid?” he says, confused, his tone saturated with duh, Yifan, are you an idiot?
Yifan is already shaking his head. “No,” he says. “I want a real prize,” he says. “Not a cop out.” He'd get that anyway, it's not fair for that to be what he won.
“Fine.” Chanyeol's nose wrinkles. “Divination homework for a week.”
Yifan scoffs. “A week?”
“Two?” More cookie crumbs spray everywhere as Chanyeol raises his eyebrows. “That's fair.”
Fair is subjective, really, but Chanyeol has always had a better grasp on that airy fairy nonsense than Yifan has. A couple of weeks break from having to write up made up readings of tea leaves and a boost in his grades would be handy. “Alright,” he agrees. “And if I lose?”
This one is easy, apparently. Chanyeol grins. “You have to confess your undying love and affection for Professor Song.”
Yifan blanches. The Arithmancy professor is young, pretty, and intimidatingly smart. “You can't be serious.”
“Deadly,” Chanyeol tells him, that blindingly mean smile pasted on his face. “Come on. What's a dare if there's no risk involved?”
He hates to admit it, but Chanyeol is right. Yifan's pride refuses to let him back down. He finishes his pastries and flicks the crumbs in his lap in Chanyeol's direction. “You know,” he says. “Slytherin is just where you belong.”
Chanyeol tips his head. “I know,” he says smugly. He straightens up, hands clasped in his lap, waiting.
Yifan's mouth twists, but he sticks out his hand. “Deal,” he sighs.
He's not sure how Chanyeol manages it, but his grin as they shake on the dare is somehow both bright and sunny and kind of scary.
Zico had better not be a tough nut to crack.
-
He starts early the next morning, stopping by the Gryffindor table as he's leaving after breakfast. “Nice playing the other day,” he says, fingertips resting against the long table. Zico leans back in his chair, a faint smile playing at his lips. Next to him, his friends eye Yifan curiously. What is the Hufflepuff prefect doing talking to him? “I was impressed.”
Zico's eyes narrow and he looks at Yifan thoughtfully. It's to be expected, really. In seven years of school together, Yifan hasn't really said anything to him other than 'good game'. “Impressed, huh?” he says, and he smirks, all cocky. Next to him, his big friend elbows him repeatedly in the ribs, grinning. “Well, I did score double what you did.”
Irritation rises in Yifan's gut, and he presses his lips together. “Congratulations,” he says, and the dry edge of his voice makes Zico smile wider.
“Hey, you did good too,” Zico says. “If it weren't for that bludger, I'm pretty sure you would've tied things up.” He shoves a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “And you got right back up, too, now that was nice. Bet you're hurting today, huh?”
“I'm fine,” Yifan says, even as his hand came up unconsciously to touch his bruised shoulder. Zico's friend snorts and covers his grin poorly with his sleeve. “Hey, listen, I was thinking, maybe we could train together?” He does his best to make it sound casual. “Since we're both chasers and all. I thought it might be good practice.”
“But you're the enemy,” Zico says. His amusement is written in the way that his eyes curve up into crescents, and Yifan fights off the burn of embarrassment.
“Well,” Zico's friend says, elbowing him again. “He's just a Hufflepuff.” He beams.
Zico licks his fork and glances at his friend. “Dude, Jihoon, weren't you nearly a Hufflepuff?” The table around them erupts in laughter and Jihoon waves his hands and tries to deny it, smile still pulling at his lips. He finally settles for burying his head in his hands, bleached blond hair hiding his face from view.
Waving ineffectually, Zico tries to quiet his friends, to no avail. “Sure, why not?” he calls over the din. “Tomorrow night after dinner? I've got Transfiguration tutoring tonight.”
That feels a lot like the first step to victory. Yifan nods. “See you then,” he says.
Zico jerks his chin up in answer, and Yifan walks to his first class feeling like he's got things under control.
-
Yifan waltzes into Potions and slides into his seat next to Chanyeol. While their professor drones on about the value of rat's tails, he scribbles a quick note on a scrap of parchment and slips it to Chanyeol. phase one: initiated
It takes Chanyeol a few seconds to decipher Yifan's handwriting, but when he does, he flashes Yifan a quick thumbs up. It's too bad it's not fast enough to escape the sharp eye of Professor Cho. They end up 'volunteering' to demonstrate the effects of a hair-raising potion. The sight of Yifan with his hair makes Chanyeol double up, shrieking with laughter, even though his own curly hair is standing on end. He looks like some kind of deranged troll doll, but Yifan doesn't bother to mention it. Too much work to explain what a troll doll is.
Yifan spends the rest of the day desperately trying to comb his hair down and glaring at anybody who dares laugh. He's a prefect. Doesn't that role command any respect any more? Another first year scurries past him giggling while he's on the way to dinner, and Yifan sighs.
-
Zico is late. When he finally sidles onto the field, it's already getting dark. “Sorry,” he says cheerfully. “The cherry pie is my favourite. I went back for seconds. Are you ready to go?”
He doesn't wait for an answer. He flicks open the Quidditch trunk and grabs the quaffle and in a second, he's already in the air. Yifan begrudgingly admits to himself that Zico is good. He's a natural, streaking through the air with unerring grace, despite the evening light. He scrambles to catch up, kicking off and flying up.
“Let's keep it short,” Yifan calls as he circles near Zico. “We don't have much light left. First person to fifty points wins it.”
The setting sun catches on Zico's flash of a smile. “That's not even a challenge,” he shouts back. He hefts the quaffle at Yifan and draws up quickly. It's sheer luck that Yifan even catches it. He'd meant to get some time getting to know Zico, figure out what angle to take, not embarrass himself. Get it together, Wu. “You're on.”
Yifan hovers for a few seconds, blinking, before he realizes that's as close as he's gonna get to a 'go', and then he shoots off to the other end of the field, ball tucked under his arm.
Zico follows in a flash, darting ahead of him to throw him off. Yifan growls and banks, keeping the rings on the field in his line of sight even as he moves. Zico may be a bit of a prodigy when it came to flying, but Yifan has always been the better marksman. Another feint from Zico and Yifan has to spin away and circle back, grip tight on his broom as he tries to get at the rings. “C'mon, Wu,” Zico calls. “Give me a challenge.”
If it's a challenge he wants, it's a challenge he gets. Yifan dodges away from Zico, swooping down low and then bombing straight up behind the rings. The score is easy and he circles lazily, arms in the air as Zico darts down to catch the quaffle. “How's that for a challenge?” he asks.
“It's a start,” Zico tells him, and then he's off like a shot to the opposite end of the field. His laughter echos across the empty seats and Yifan groans. He's so fast.
Zico scores quickly, but Yifan makes it up with an improbably accurate shot from midfield. “I don't think that's fair,” Zico shouts as he swoops low to catch the quaffle again. “You have freakishly long limbs, that's an unfair advantage.
Hovering easily in front of Zico, legs tight around his broom, Yifan spreads his arms and laughs. “Don't hate the player,” he says.
It's almost dark now, but by the light of the torches on the stands, Yifan can still see the way that Zico raises one eyebrow and shakes his head. He hefts the quaffle and bounces it off Yifan's forehead. It knocks him backwards, sending him wobbling towards the ground. “That was stupid,” Zico tells him. Before Yifan can even respond, Zico darts down and grabs the ball, off towards Yifan's rings again.
The game is close, but in the end, Zico wins it. He crows his triumph, doing ridiculous loops in the air before finally pulling up next to Yifan. They're both sweaty and a bit dirty from the time after Yifan's third goal, when Zico had been a bit overzealous with his goal keeping and had slammed them both into the pitch. “You're a terrible winner,” Yifan tells him, but Zico's grin is infectious, and he finds himself smiling anyway even as they fly back down.
“Whoa,” Zico says as they land. He touches down neatly and Yifan's heels drag against the ground for a few paces before he stops.
“What?” Yifan wipes the sweat off his forehead and pushes his hair out of his eyes.
Zico tosses the quaffle back into the trunk and snaps it shut with a resounding click. “You have like, the weirdest smile.”
It drops off Yifan's face immediately and he ducks his head, suddenly self-conscious. “Oh, thanks,” he says dryly. He hopes it covers up his genuine embarrassment.
“Hey, no.” Zico nudges him with an elbow and shakes his head. “I mean, it is weird. But it's kinda nice. You're like, the least smiley Hufflepuff I have ever met.” He gestures at the Quidditch trunk and Yifan gets the hint. He grabs one end and Zico hoists the other. “You should try smiling more. It makes you look less intimidating.”
Yifan would never admit it, but something stirs in his chest. He smirks. “And who says I want that?”
He raises an eyebrow and it startles a laugh out of Zico. He points at Yifan with the hand holding his broom. “I like you,” he says decisively.
They make their way into the dressing room and Yifan stows away the trunk. “Thanks,” Yifan says. “I'm so honoured.” Honoured, no. But Yifan is starting to think that maybe even if this bet doesn't work out for him, it kind of paid off anyway. Zico licks his thumb and wipes at the dirt on his chin, grimacing when it comes away dirty, but he still has a grin for Yifan. And that's pretty great.
-
Hogsmeade is nice, in the spring. The air smells fresh and green and getting out of the castle and away from thick stone walls and Sehun's irritating rat (it chewed through everything and Sehun still took it everywhere and just sat back and laughed), most of all. It's got a little freedom, an escape from school, and a pub.
It's also got Zico, it seems. “Oh look,” Chanyeol says, delighted, as he spots him. Zico is standing around the door to Three Broomsticks. Chanyeol tightens his grip on Yifan's arm. “It's your target.”
Yifan isn't sure that being seen with Chanyeol hanging off his arm is going to help his case. He gently tugs his arm out of Chanyeol's hand. “I saw him,” he says nonchalantly. When Chanyeol unconsciously reaches for him again, though, Yifan gives him a look. “Don't sabotage me,” he scolds. “You made the bet, you're not allowed to interfere.”
Chanyeol sticks out his bottom lip. “I'm not!” he grumbles. Yifan pats his head. “Hey, look, he's waving.” So he is. Yifan waves back. “Aren't you going to go talk to him?” Chanyeol frowns. “You're not even trying.”
Yifan shoots him a dark look. “I'll show you trying,” he says. He shoves Chanyeol a little and then picks up his pace, making his way over to Zico and his friends.
“Hey, Wu.” An easy smile is already spreading across Zico's full lips. “How's it going?” He tucks his hands in his pockets and next to him, his big friend Jihoon smirks, eyes darting between the two of them. “Nice save at last week's match, man, Zitao definitely owes you for that one.”
“You're not the only one with moves,” Yifan says, although Zico's compliment has sent a rush of warmth up his spine. Zico's other friend, a handsome but slightly gangly Hufflepuff named Jaehyo, snorts loudly into his hand. When he catches sight of Yifan's glare he shrinks, eyes wide, and tugs Jihoon away.
Zico watches them go. “Damn,” he says. “That is handy.”
Yifan shrugs. “Hey, you wanna go get some butterbeers?”
“Hell yes,” Zico beams. He hooks an arm around Yifan's shoulders and steers him towards the door of the pub. “You're paying, right?” Yifan lets out a surprised noise but he doesn't protest. A couple of butterbeers is a small price to pay for winning the bet, he tells himself. It's got nothing to do with the comfortable weight of Zico's arm at all.
-
Yifan is coming out of Transfiguration when a hand catches his elbow. “Hey,” Zico says. “Do you have anywhere to be?”
He does, actually. He's got Divination in the afternoon, and he'd been hoping to get a bit of work done on his Arithmancy homework at lunch. This is just a bet, he reminds himself. Nothing worth going out of his way for.
Thing is, Zico has this look on his face that Yifan can't read and he kind of wants to know what he's suggesting. “No,” he finds himself saying. “Why?”
Zico's smirk says that he knows that Yifan is lying. “C'mon. I've got a better use of your time.”
Zico drags him up several flights of stairs until he pushes open a door and gestures for Yifan to go in. It's an unused bathroom, Yifan finds, dusty and poorly lit. “No one comes up here,” Zico says.
“That's a good thing?” Yifan asks, tossing his bag in a corner. He hops up on one of the chipped old sinks, looking around. It's disgusting in here. If Zico wanted to hang out in some part of the castle no one bothers with, fine, but why couldn't he clean it up a bit? Damn.
Zico holds up a little bag, and he grins. “It's definitely a good thing,” he says, and Yifan swallows. He must've stolen it from the Potions store room. That is definitely not something he should be involved with. He's a prefect, after all. Joonmyun may have been the one that ended up making Head Boy, but Yifan still has responsibility.
“Well,” he says. “Aren't you a rebel.” His mouth feels a bit dry. He's not sure how to get out of this, now. The way that Zico watches him is a dare, and Yifan has always been loathe to turn those down.
Pulling a joint out of the bag and wand out of his pocket, Zico snorts and rolls his eyes. “Calm down, bro. I promise you, breaking the rules once won't hurt. Didn't your friend run around the Great Hall naked? He still made Head Boy, didn't he?” The way that Zico fits the joint between his lips and lights it is practiced and assured. Yifan doesn't know what to make of that.
“I'm not really one for...all of this.” Yifan gestures with a hand and watches the way that Zico holds it in his chest for a few seconds and then exhales, the smoke forming a lion's face before it dissolved. He looks pleased. “Not all of us get our kicks stealing things from the potions room, Zico.”
“Jiho,” he corrects, and Yifan looks up at him. “Zico's just a nickname, my real name is Jiho. You can call me that, if you want.”
Seven years he's gone to school with Zico, five years he's played Quidditch against him, and he never once knew that Zico wasn't his real name. “Jiho,” he corrects himself.
Jiho rewards him with a smile and holds out the joint. When Yifan balks, shaking his head, Jiho's eyes widen. “No way,” he says. He sounds excited. “Don't tell me you've never tried it.”
Straightening his robes, Yifan clears his throat and does his best to pretend he doesn't notice the flush that creeps up his cheeks. “No,” he admits reluctantly.
Jiho jumps up on the sink next to him. “I'm corrupting you,” he crows. “This is awesome.” He shrugs his robes off and tosses them on the floor, careless of the dust. “I'll teach you.”
Yifan feels utterly out of his depth. Jiho looks completely relaxed out of his school robes, his striped sweater stretching across his shoulders and the joint between two fingers. In sharp contrast, then, is Yifan: a little bit sweaty from the climb up, the hem of his robes all dusty, eyeing Jiho with poorly disguised apprehension. “No, it's fine,” Yifan says.
Jiho takes another drag and watches Yifan fidget, eyes sharp. “Then what exactly did you come here for?” he asks, and Yifan finds his reply caught in his throat. “That's what I thought. Here, let's make this fun.” He reaches out and gently curls his fingers around the back of Yifan's neck. “When I exhale, you inhale. Got it?”
Seems easy enough. Yifan tries to ignore the voice at the back of his head reminding him of all the rules they're breaking by being here today, and the one that was enjoying the pressure of Jiho's hand on his skin. He nods.
“Relax,” Jiho tells him. He takes a long drag on the joint and then leans in close, lips parted. It takes Yifan a few seconds to remember to inhale as instructed, but that probably has something to do with the way that Jiho's lips brush against his. It's incredibly distracting.
He imitates what he'd seen Jiho do, trying to take the smoke deeper into his lungs. It makes his head spin a little, and when he finally exhales again he coughs, the smoke twisting into little dragons around his face. “Not bad,” Jiho says. “For a first-timer.” His hand falls from Yifan's neck to land on his knee. “There's hope for you yet.”
“Hope for what?” Yifan retorts, and Jiho lets his head fall back against the mirror, laughing.
“For you becoming an interesting person,” he tells Yifan. Yifan scoffs and nudges him, making Jiho rock on the sink and laugh harder. He turns to Yifan, and his eyes darken a little. “Want another go?”
Yifan pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, but it doesn't stop the corners of his lips turning up. “Oh yeah,” he says, and he leans in.
-
After that day in the seventh floor bathroom, every time he passes Jiho in the halls, he gets this companionable jerk of the chin in greeting, like they're part of some secret club. Every time, it makes Yifan grin to himself. Chanyeol happens to be with him after Potions one day when it happens, and he catches it, and Yifan's smile. “Well?” he asks impatiently. “Did you seal the deal?” He wiggles his eyebrows.
“No,” Yifan admits, and Chanyeol makes this odd face, like he's torn between groaning in frustration and cheering in victory. “I'm working on it.”
Chanyeol's grin is broad and amused. “Is working on it code for 'not getting anywhere and totally gonna lose this bet to Chanyeol'?”
“I'm not going to lose,” Yifan protests as they enter the library. “Jiho's just...it's complicated.”
“Jiho? Complicated?” Chanyeol cocks his head, confused. “What's complicated about it?” He swings his bag onto a chair and then suddenly whirls around eyes wide. “No way.”
Yifan very pointedly doesn't look at him as he takes a seat and pulls out his textbooks. “It's nothing,” he tells Chanyeol. Chanyeol makes an unconvinced sound, but from the corner of his eye, Yifan can see him grinning. This is embarrassing.
Digging his knuckles into Yifan's side, Chanyeol starts singing under his breath. “Yifan liiiiiiikes him,” he sings. “Yifan wants to suck his diiiiiiick.”
The librarian is already eyeing them suspiciously, and Yifan shushes him. “I am going to hex you into next year,” he mutters.
Chanyeol just beams. “We both know you don't have the creativity for hexes,” he says, and Yifan lays his head down on the table and moans. “He seems nice, though.” Yifan can see Jihoon two desks down with a stack of books, and he hopes desperately that he hasn't heard anything. It's too bad that Chanyeol doesn't know the meaning of 'indoor voice'.
Patting his head, Chanyeol leans in to smile right in Yifan's face. “I'm pretty sure that this means I win, no matter what happens. You know that, right?”
Yifan pulls his robes over his head and sighs.
-
It's nearly a week later, at breakfast, that Jiho throws himself down on the bench next to Yifan in the Great Hall, leaning over the table and resting his chin on his hand. “A dare, huh?” he says.
Yifan looks over at him, startled. “What?”
Jiho helps himself to the last of Yifan's bacon. “Your Slytherin friend,” he says through a mouthful. “He's not very quiet.” Across the table, Zitao watches them warily, and Yifan shakes his head a little. “Jihoon filled me in.”
“It's – ” Yifan stalls, unsure of what to say. Jiho's face is oddly unreadable.
“Complicated,” Jiho says. “So I heard.” He munches on the rest of Yifan's bacon, but the casual expression on his face doesn't quite fit right.
Yifan twists to face him. “Look,” he says. “I'm sorry.” He looks around at the crush of people and Zitao's curious eyes. “Can we go somewhere and talk about this?”
Jiho just shrugs and lays a hand on Yifan's shoulder, climbing to his feet. His smile is a bit sour. “Nah, it's cool,” he says. “You could've just told me, y'know? I'd have been more than happy to help you out.” Yifan feels obscurely disappointed, his fork drooping in his hand as he watches Jiho turn to go. “Go ahead and tell him we hooked up, I don't mind.”
“What was that about?” Zitao whispers as Yifan stares down at his plate.
“Nothing,” Yifan tells him. “Don't worry about it.” He won the bet, sure, but suddenly, his appetite is gone. He pushes his plate away. “I'll see you at practice, alright?” Maybe if he's early for class, he can keep his mind of this odd, sinking feeling in his gut. Maybe if he's lucky.
-
The next time they meet, Gryffindor has just soundly trounced Hufflepuff in the Quidditch Cup tournament. Yifan is once again covered in mud and feeling embarrassed. At least, he supposes, he hasn't had to do Divination work for weeks. It should feel like a win, but somehow, it feels a bit empty.
“Good game,” Jiho tells him, and it's like the past spring never happened. His smile is friendly, but distant, and Yifan bites back his disappointment.
When Jiho goes to pull away, Yifan holds his hand tight. “Hey, can I see you for a second?” he asks. He keeps his face carefully blank. “I have to talk about some team captain stuff.”
Jiho's eyes are skeptical, but he nods. “Yeah, sure. Dressing room?”
“Sure.” Jiho jogs to catch up with the rest of his team, noisy with their victory and celebrations.
Yifan's team is still in good spirits as they clean up and get ready to head back to the common room. After all, there's still a shot at third place. Zitao leads them back to the castle, all of them laughing and chanting “we're number three, we're number three”, and Yifan sees them off.
Yet again, Jiho is late. He's still muddy when he pokes his head into the dressing room. “Sorry,” he says. “Had to talk to Professor Hooch about the final. What's up?”
“I'm sorry,” Yifan says, immediately. Jiho frowns with confusion as Yifan stumbles on. “Just because it was a dare doesn't mean I didn't like hanging out with you.” Jiho doesn't say anything, and Yifan squirms under his gaze. “I mean, if I'm honest, it was mostly an excuse.”
There's a smile growing on Jiho's mouth. “Yifan,” he says. “You're a Hufflepuff. Of course I know you didn't mean any harm.”
Yifan blinks at him, momentarily lost for words. “Should I be insulted?” he asks.
Jiho throws his head back and laughs. “No hard feelings, Wu, I promise.”
“What if...” Yifan clears his throat. Now or never. “What if maybe I kind of want hard feelings?” He regrets saying it as soon as the words leave his mouth, and he cringes.
Jiho's eyes narrow for a second before he understands, and then his mouth twists in a vain effort to hold back his laughter. “That was terrible,” he tells Yifan. “Like, has that ever worked? Ever?” He shakes his head. “Damn, dude. It's a good thing you're handsome, because when you open your mouth, you're like, the most awkward guy I've ever met.”
“Give me a little credit,” Yifan groans.
When he moves to turn away and hide his face, Jiho catches his wrists in his hands. “I did,” Jiho says. “Didn't you hear? I called you handsome.”
Slowly, carefully, Yifan shifts until his fingers are curled around Jiho's. “I heard. That's just fact.”
Jiho looks at him for a second, incredulity written all over his face. His hands are warm in Yifan's. “Yifan,” he says. “I'm gonna shut you up with my mouth now.” Yifan is more than pleased to oblige Jiho by leaning down to kiss him.
His mouth is just as plush as it looked, soft and inviting enough that Yifan can ignore the fact that he's getting the mud from the pitch all over his pants. Jiho's hands find their way to Yifan's hips and he leans up, licking insistently into Yifan's mouth. It's making him even feel even dizzier than he did the day in the seventh floor bathroom.
“Why didn't we do this earlier?” Yifan says, breathless. Jiho has backed him up, step by tiny step, until his shoulders hit the wall. He's finding that he kind of likes it here, pinned by Jiho's hips.
He also likes the red, well-kissed look of Jiho's lips right now. “You didn't say anything dumb enough?” Jiho suggests. He cuts off Yifan's indignant reply with another kiss, hands pressing firmly against Yifan's ribs and Yifan gives in. It's the easiest thing he's ever done.