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Tokuno Yushi knows everyone’s looking at them.
He can feel their stares physically burn into the back of his neck, the heat licking at his shoulders and running down his arms. He’s so used to going unnoticed, and this - this sudden visibility - feels wrong.
Really, he shouldn’t be surprised - it’s near impossible to be inconspicuous when you’re standing next to Kim Daeyoung.
Daeyoung moves like the hallway was made to accommodate him - tall, open-shouldered, the kind of presence that people naturally orbit. Every few steps, someone calls his name - another fourth-year Hufflepuff, a girl from the Herbology club, a passing Ravenclaw who waves like they’ve known each other forever.
Daeyoung’s smile is automatic, effortless. His replies are full of soft laughter and something a little too quick, too golden. Yushi doesn’t blame them for staring, he wouldn’t be able to look away either if he were on the other end of the hall.
Though it doesn’t quite help either that Daeyoung near towers everyone in sight - making him impossible to miss, or ignore, for that matter.
They pass under the final archway and step onto game grounds, the Quidditch Pitch ahead in the distance. Red and green banners whip in the wind; it’s the first match of the season - Gryffindor v. Slytherin.
“The weather’s great today, isn’t it?”
Yushi looks over to find Daeyoung tilting his face towards sunny skies, soaking in the warmth.
It’s a clear morning, unnaturally so - the kind of crisp, enchanted winter sun November only offers when it wants to be kind. A rare time to have such perfect weather, but then again, Yushi’s always been some sort of a good luck charm when it comes to things like these.
“Should we sit higher up in the stands?” Daeyoung goes on, already leading them into the section filled with Gryffindors
He doesn’t even think twice, just weaves through the sea of red, waving with both hands like he’s a renowned Quidditch player holding a rather exclusive meet-and-greet. His laugh carries, familiar to the people who welcome him with half-shouts and easy grins.
Yushi trails behind, fingers curled around the edge of Daeyoung’s cloak, grounding himself with the thick fabric.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, mostly to the back of Daeyoung’s head. Then, tugging lightly, “What about over there?”
He gestures toward a quieter corner near the edge of the section. Daeyoung hums in agreement and offers quick apologies as they slip between groups, climbing their way up until they find two seats side by side, wind brushing against their knees.
The stares follow.
Yushi feels them before he even sits. They crowd his shoulders, press behind his eyes.
Again, how could people not stare?
Daeyoung, radiant in his sunshine-yellow Hufflepuff cloak, has gone full Gryffindor today - red scarf, matching hat, gloves, and even a little lion charm pinned just beneath his house crest. Honestly, he looks like a walking campaign poster for House unity.
Or just plain old love, worn unapologetically on his sleeve - a certified beacon that screams: my boyfriend’s playing the match today!
It’s no doubt who he’s here for: Gryffindor’s favorite whirlwind - Chaser sixth-year Maeda Riku.
And he's absolutely, perfectly fine with the entire world knowing about it. Frankly, if he could broadcast this to another universe, Yushi’s sure Daeyoung would manage it somehow.
Daeyoung’s the kind of boyfriend who could be decently compared to a lovelorn golden retriever. He follows Riku through the castle like a shadow made of honey, plants himself in the stands during every practice, haunts the Gryffindor Tower for hours just to steal five minutes of Riku’s time.
Daeyoung loves to make his love known.
And everyone knows it.
Yushi, in comparison, loves a little quieter.
He loves with shy stares sent across the Dining Hall, heart rioting in his chest when he sees a certain head of gold over at the Gryffindor table, counting the seconds it takes for their eyes to meet.
With handwritten notes slipped into textbooks, folded intricately like origami and never once signed, tucked neatly in between pages he knows will be found.
With a thin necklace hidden under his layers of clothes, a tiny silver pendant that presses into his chest with every heartbeat
The size of a pea - the letter S.
Yushi loves in the ways he knows how - in his own time, in a quiet kind of manner that doesn’t ask to be noticed, only understood.
But there are days - like this one, when the stands roar for someone else’s name, when Daeyoung glows like devotion personified - when quiet feels like less. When silence feels like the wrong kind of choice.
“There they are!”
Daeyoung’s arm shoots out, pointing towards the pitch where two neat lines of players are emerging from the tunnel - red on one side, green on the other, a tinge of color cutting across the field.
But Yushi only sees one.
Oh Sion.
Seventh-year Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, all broad lines and clean precision. Sunlight skims along his hair, turning strawberry-blonde into something closer to gold. His features are sharp, regal even, like he’s stepped out of a fairytale, expression angled with determination.
He walks with a kind of gravity that pulls Yushi’s gaze in like a tide. Chin high, shoulders squared, every inch of him focused, honed - and still, impossibly pretty.
Yushi takes in Sion’s sharp features and slim physique - then swallows, hard.
That heat in his neck goes up a couple of degrees, crawling down his spine and settling low in his stomach. It’s unfair, really, how someone can look like that.
How someone can look like that and look at him.
“Riku! Riku hyung!” Daeyoung yells, hands cupped around his mouth, “Let’s go, Gryffindor!”
His voice pierces the buzz of the stands, sharp enough to draw attention, and Yushi feels the desperate need to sink further into his seat, but forces himself to keep still. Heads turn in their direction, including the players on the pitch, because it’s not hard to notice.
Two flashes of yellow in a crowd of scarlet? They stand out like ink on parchment.
Par for the course, Sion looks up too.
His gaze scans the stands, quick, calculated. Then it lands - locks, more like - on Yushi.
And just like that, the sharpness softens.
The corners of his lips tug upward, slow and sure, until his entire expression reshapes into something filled with affection. He raises a gloved hand in a wave, dazzling smile breaking open like a secret meant for just them two.
Yushi feels it like an impact - like something blooming too fast, too deep in his chest. His fingers twitch where they rest on his knees, threatening to melt into the wooden bench.
He’s looking at me.
They’ve been friends for years - dating for a few quiet months - and Yushi still can’t get over the fact that he ever gets the chance to command Sion’s attention, doesn’t know how to hold this feeling inside him without spilling.
The fact that in a sea of people like this one, Sion still manages to find him - every single time.
He waves back, small and clumsy, just barely lifting his hand.
But Sion nods once, precise and quick, a gesture heavy with familiarity. With knowing.
And that’s all it takes to bring the air back into Yushi’s lungs.
x
“How does it feel?”
“Hm?”
Yushi plucks a blade of grass free, fingers worrying the edge. He’s frozen stiff from the fact that Sion’s lying in his lap, cheek pressed warmly into his thigh like it’s the most natural place in the world to be.
Sion’s eyes are closed and his expression’s smooth, but there’s something about the way he’s breathing too deeply that Yushi knows the older boy’s not yet asleep.
“When you play Quidditch,” Yushi says. He clears his throat and it seems like a ripple into the dark evening, “You always look… happy.”
“Do I?” Sion hums. He doesn’t open his eyes, but shifts slightly, nose nudging against Yushi’s torso with enough pressure to make him flinch, “I guess it does make me happy.”
“You don’t get nervous?”
Sion pulls back far enough to let Yushi’s breathing resume. His lashes flutter against his cheeks as he moves - delicate and unfair. “I used to,” he says. “When I was just starting out.”
He reaches out blindly until the tips of his fingers find Yushi’s arm. When he gets a hold of it, his smile goes crooked, pleased.
“Even when you’re competing?” Yushi makes a face when Sion pulls his arm close, huddling it to his chest. He flicks the blade of grass away before it can fall into Sion’s face, “Isn’t it scary?”
“Sometimes.” Sion considers it, “Like when the weather’s bad or when the team’s condition isn’t too good.” He snuggles close, practically latching onto Yushi, “But that all goes away when I walk out onto Quidditch grounds.”
“Why is that?”
Sion shrugs against him, “Maybe it’s the cheers. Or the adrenaline, or -” he pauses. Then opens one eye, just barely. There’s a glint there, sharp and secretive, “Maybe it’s you.”
Yushi nearly throws up, “Eh?”
“Knowing you’re in the stands, watching me.” Sion’s grin grows madly, watching Yushi inch away with every word, “Cheering me on - you do cheer me on, don’t you?”
“Well,” Yushi tries to tug his hand free but Sion tightens his grip, “yeah. Of course.”
It’s ridiculous, how smug he looks about it. Sion’s practically beaming, letting Yushi retreat just a little but not too far. He lifts Yushi’s hand and presses it flat to his chest - where under layers of fabric, the shape of a small pendant bumps against bone.
The letter Y.
“Having you in the stands,” Sion murmurs, “just knowing you’re there - it puts me at ease.”
Yushi can’t comprehend it, “Why?”
“I don’t know,” Sion says honestly. He closes his eyes again and sighs, “But I’m sure it’s got something to do with how much I like you.”
Yushi’s heart skips so violently it might as well leap from his ribs.
And then, softly,
“This is the part where you say you like me back.”
“I like you,” Yushi blurts out. The words tumble out awkward and earnest, familiar but still strange on his lips. His fingers catch the edges of the necklace under Sion’s shirt and his cheeks burn at the reminder of its existence, “Of course, I like you.”
Sion lets out a small, high-pitched noise (something between a giggle and a strangled wheeze) - evidently pleased with Yushi’s tiny yet sound declaration. He moves about and wraps his arms around Yushi’s waist, like a scarf made of limbs and feeling.
With another sigh, he buries his face into Yushi’s side and carves himself a home there
The grass sways. The sky is soft.
And in the hush of the summer’s evening, just as Yushi starts to forget what time is, he thinks he hears it - faint and mumbled against his shirt, like a secret not meant for daylight:
I love you, Tokuno.
x
Gryffindor, as expected, wins.
“I think there’s going to be a party,” Daeyoung says over the noise, half-shouting as he tries to get them out of the stands without getting trampled on. “Should we head straight for the tower?”
Yushi tries not to flinch when a first-year near elbows him in the face. He grabs onto Daeyoung instinctively, “Are we… invited?”
Daeyoung gives him a strange look, like the question’s never crossed his mind, “Why wouldn’t we be?”
I don’t know, Yushi wants to say, but doesn’t. He lets go and settles for a mildly worried expression Daeyoung doesn’t understand.
Once they’re out of the mass of students still reeling from the game, Daeyoung takes the shortcut across the main courtyard. The winter air cuts cold against their cheeks. He slows his pace, matching Yushi’s smaller, uncertain steps.
“Would it be weird?” Daeyoung asks, adjusting his scarf, “If we went over?”
“I mean,” Yushi knots his fingers together, “we’re from a different House. It seems like it would - be a celebration for just them, wouldn’t it?”
Daeyoung gives it a thought, “But Sion hyung’s your boyfriend.”
Yushi feels like he’s been set on fire. He avoids Daeyoung’s curious eyes, yanking at his robes and hoping it might somehow swallow him whole, “He’s not - I mean, not - everyone - no one really. Knows. About that.”
“Don’t they?”
Daeyoung seems genuinely surprised, as if Yushi loves the way Daeyoung does - parading around in Riku-colored accessories for weeks. He starts tugging his Gryffindor gloves off, stuffing them into his pockets as they step through the castle archway.
“I’m sorry, hyung,” he adds, softer this time, “I didn’t know it was a secret.”
“It’s not,” Yushi rushes to say. He crosses his arms over his chest, “It’s not a secret. It’s just…”
Daeyoung lips form a small o. He gives Yushi a wry smile, “It’s not a secret, but it’s not something you want people asking about either.”
That’s not quite it. Yushi relents, “Something like that, I guess.”
“I get it,” Daeyoung says kindly, offering a half-smile. He exhales, without much feeling, “People love differently, don’t they?”
Yushi manages a weak, “Yeah.”
They walk in silence for a few steps, shoes crunching in the snow, letting the quiet settle gently between them.
It still surprises him sometimes - how easy it was, becoming friends with Daeyoung.
Both Hufflepuff prefects, just a year apart - Yushi in fifth, Daeyoung in fourth - and somehow the only two occupying their shared quarters. Technically, there should’ve been four, but the other prefects had chosen to stay in the regular dorms instead, wanting the company of longtime roommates. Yushi hadn’t argued; neither had Daeyoung. And now it’s just the two of them in a small, split-level room tucked behind a round, brass-handled door at the back of the Hufflepuff corridor.
Their room always smells faintly of parchment and peppermint - Daeyoung likes to charm the scent into the air before bed. His side’s a little chaotic, overflowing with scarves and notes and the occasional spread of piano sheet music. Yushi’s is neat, spare, with one well-kept bonsai on the sill and a soft fleece blanket folded at the edge of his bed.
On the other hand, Yushi’d only gotten to know Riku through a shared study group last year - both of them roped into tutoring first-years in Potions. It wasn’t a difficult task, but Yushi appreciated having Riku around; there aren’t many who know how to quietly share space without needing to fill it with chatter.
Riku was loud with everyone else, but around Yushi, he could just be.
They’d stuck to each other naturally after that, and somewhere along the way, that mutual comfort had opened a path for something more - Yushi to Sion, Riku to Daeyoung.
With their boyfriends on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, it had become something of a tradition to attend matches together. They didn’t say it outright, but both of them knew: it was easier, this way. To scream from the stands with someone else who understood what it meant to cheer like it’s their hearts on the line.
It’s something Yushi’s come to appreciate greatly.
“I think I’ll still head up to the tower,” Daeyoung says eventually, stretching his arms over his head, “just to give Riku hyung a hug. Maybe steal a butterbeer or two.”
Yushi huffs a small laugh, “Of course, you would.”
They pass a tall window where the fading sun casts golden rectangles across the floor. The warmth doesn’t reach Yushi’s fingers, but the calm between them feels comfortable enough.
“Do you want to come with?”
Yushi stomps on the urge to sigh, “I - don’t know.”
Daeyoung glances sideways after a beat, more casual than interrogative, “Then, are you still going to see Sion hyung later?”
Yushi glances away, “Maybe.”
“Riku says he’s been busy lately,” Daeyoung adds. “Exams and Quidditch training. Plus being Head Boy over everything else.”
“Yeah,” Yushi says softly. “I know.”
Daeyoung nods like he understands. Then, “So… have you guys talked about the Snowlight Ball yet?”
The Snowlight Ball is a school-wide celebration introduced to highlight the festivities of winter, held in the Great Hall with decorations of warm candlelight, snow-charmed garlands, and enchanted paper stars drifting from the ceiling. There’s platters of festive sweets and clusters of students gathered in corners, laughing over spiced cider and chocolate frogs dressed in little Santa hats.
Yushi’s never had strong feelings about the Ball before - he’s always gone, mostly out of obligation, mostly to keep an eye on first-years sneaking extra butterbeer.
But this year feels different.
A little more uncertain. A little more hopeful.
He doesn’t know what it is exactly - just that the idea of attending with Sion makes his heart feel like it’s balancing on a wire, somewhere between too much and just enough.
Yushi’s eyes drop to the stone tiles, “We haven’t really talked about it.”
Daeyoung doesn’t say anything at first, just looks thoughtful, like he’s sorting out how much to say. Then, carefully, “Do you want to go? With him?”
Yushi hesitates, teeth worrying at the inside of his cheek, “I think so.”
“Then you should ask him,” Daeyoung says, matter-of-fact and kind all at once.
Yushi doesn’t understand where Daeyoung’s confidence comes from, “Do you think he’d want to?”
“I think he’d want to if you did,” Daeyoung says simply.
And then - before he can sit with the thought too long - the hallway erupts with noise. Shouting, laughter, the unmistakable thrum of victorious adrenaline. The Gryffindor Quidditch team rounds the bend in a mass of red and wind-mussed hair, Sion and Riku leading the pact, broomsticks slung lazily over shoulders.
Yushi digs his heels into stone.
“Hyung!”
Daeyoung barrels over like he hasn’t seen Riku in centuries, topaz robes billowing behind him, sneakers squeaking as he goes. Riku, to his credit, meets Daeyoung halfway with the brightest smile on his face, leaping into Daeyoung’s arms without a second thought.
The team bursts into coos and whoops, though Yushi’s pretty sure they’re far too wrapped up in each other to care.
It’s like a scene straight out of a movie. He can’t take his eyes off the lovebirds, transfixed: the way Daeyoung cradles Riku’s face as if the world might crack if he let go; the way Riku blushes in return as he scolds Daeyoung for making such a scene; the way Daeyoung ignores it all, taking Riku into another crushing hug.
It’s so loud - all of it - and yet somehow Yushi can still hear his own heart.
Beating a little faster.
Not from jealousy.
Not quite.
When he finds the strength to tear his gaze away, Sion’s already watching him.
Watching him as if the rest of the castle’s fallen away and it’s just the two of them standing on the face of the Earth, as if only Yushi remains. Like nothing else matters, as if he's the only thing Sion has ever really wanted to look at.
He’s smiling, but only just. A quiet sort of smile that tugs at one corner of his lips, like he’s waiting for something - waiting for Yushi to move. To run. To close the distance and do something absurd and tender and real. To kiss him in front of everyone, just once. The way they’ve only done in empty classrooms and hidden alcoves.
Like he wants Yushi to make a stand - here, today, now.
No.
Yushi steps back.
I can’t.
Sion’s smile falters. Just slightly.
Yushi steps back again.
That’s enough.
“Congratulations,” he squeaks out, regretting it instantly; he wouldn’t have been noticed if he left quietly, if he’d just left the spotlight to the lovebirds. But Daeyoung and Riku are looking at him now, along with the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team - all of whom probably have no clue who he is, “On your win. Today.”
Sion glances at his team, then at Yushi, reading something in his posture that Yushi doesn’t mean to give away. He gives a deliberate cough, “Ah. Thanks.” Then, to Riku, “Didn’t you want to get some snacks from the Kitchens? Maybe Daeyoungie can help you out.”
Riku sniffles, “What snacks?”
“For the celebrations.”
“Oh?”
Daeyoung catches on fast, “Yes. Yes, of course. I can do that.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Riku slips an arm around Daeyoung’s waist. He smiles in appreciation when Daeyoung sweetly lifts the Firebolt from his hands, already herding the rest of their audience towards the stairs. “We’ll get the party ready for ya, hyung.”
In a minute or two, the hallway empties - leaving Yushi and Sion in silence with six feet of stone between them.
Yushi braves his fears and looks up.
That’s all it takes. Sion moves without hesitation, closing the space with a kind of nervous urgency, reaching for Yushi’s hand - eyes scanning every inch of his face like he’s looking for damage.
He smells like grass and sweat and something warm beneath it, like skin after being in the sun. Yushi feels his breath catch, lightheaded from nothing but his presence.
“I - I -” Yushi stumbles over the words, barely audible even to himself, “I should go.”
Sion frowns, “What’s wrong?” He laces their hands tight, “Did something happen?”
“No,” Yushi eats the dead rat in his throat, “nothing happened. I just - I just thought. I should go.”
Sion’s brows furrow together and Yushi feels his world start to crumble, “You look like you saw a ghost.” With a crinkle of his nose, “And not a nice one.”
“I’m fine,” Yushi mumbles. Another bubble of laughter erupts from the end of the hall and Yushi yanks his hand away; he doesn’t miss the flash of confusion that crosses Sion’s features, “Sorry.”
“Why are you -” Sion’s gaze darts down the seemingly empty hall before landing squarely back on where Yushi’s beginning to feel the startings of what must be a panic attack, “It’s just us here.”
It’s not that, Yushi wants to cry. It’s not about whether there’s anyone around them anymore, it’s about - it’s about whether it’s enough.
If anything he’s doing is enough, if anything he could ever do is enough.
“Congratulations,” Yushi says again, not knowing what else he could possibly say that will keep him from disintegrating into a pile of very, very fine dust. “You - played really well today.”
Sion doesn’t buy it, “Yushi…”
“Later,” he says quickly, feeling the panic cresting sharp in his chest. He doesn’t want Sion to worry, doesn’t want Sion to be upset, doesn’t want to ruin Sion’s day with his unnecessary thoughts - he just wants, he wants everything to go away for now. “I’ll talk to you later?”
“But -”
“Your team is waiting,” Yushi cuts in. He reaches forward, brushing a speck of lint from Sion’s shoulder. It’s a stupid, gentle thing - and Sion watches it like it means more than anything else, “And you have a celebration to get to.”
“Why don’t you come with me?” Sion whispers, as if he knows he’s a decibel away from scaring Yushi off. His grip tightens on his Nimbus 2001, “I want you there. With me.”
Yushi’s already shaking his head, torn by the disappointment etched into Sion’s face, “I’ll see you later.”
“When?”
“I - don’t know.”
Sion frowns harder, brows pulling together tightly as he continues to stare, determined to have Yushi give in; but Yushi stands his ground, tilts his chin up in a way he knows is enough as a small act of defiance.
“Tomorrow?”
Yushi hates the hopefulness so clear in Sion’s voice, as if he’s the one who’s been chipping at it for hours, “Okay.”
“After breakfast?” Sion presses, narrowing his eyes and assessing Yushi’s every breath, “Don’t change your mind in the morning.”
“I won’t,” Yushi promises. His hand itches to reach for Sion, but he tamps the urge down at the sound of yet another batch of students making their way round the corner, “Have fun tonight, hyung.”
“I would if you came with me.”
Yushi’s already stepping away, unable to bear Sion’s persistence for a second longer. He doesn’t say a word, just shakes his head again - something between apology and self-preservation - and turns on his heel. He doesn’t look back. He can’t.
He doesn’t see the way Sion stands there, watching him disappear.
But he feels it.
x
“What do you think about that?”
Yushi blinks back to reality, the haze of his thoughts slipping off like morning fog. The lake is still in front of them, calm and glassy. His lemon tart rests forgotten in his lap, a tiny bite missing. To his right, Sion is watching him expectantly, a croissant lathered in strawberry jam hanging loosely in his hand.
It’s their Sunday thing.
An unspoken ritual born out of habit and need - sneaking food from the Great Hall, wandering past the courtyard like they’re escaping something, and settling under their tree.
It’s always this tree, the one with roots that press against their backs and leaves that filter the sun just enough. They sit pressed together, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. Quiet and easy. The one pocket of the week where time bends just for them.
Yushi doesn’t remember when this became sacred. But he already knows he won’t survive the first Sunday without it.
Without Sion.
“Huh?”
Sion’s bottom lip juts out, “You weren’t listening to me?”
“No, I -” Yushi stares down at his tart like it could save him. “I wasn’t, I’m sorry.”
Sion sighs dramatically, “You never listen to me.”
“I do,” Yushi insists. He takes a bite from the lemon tart, halfway through before knocking his knee against Sion’s, “What were you saying?”
Sion shrugs, flicking away a rogue croissant flake - bait for ants that will inevitably swarm them. “I was saying… I was wondering if you wanted to come home with me for Christmas. If you didn’t already have plans.”
Yushi feels the lemon tart threaten to reappear, “What?”
Sion continues to pick at his croissant, “It’s just - I mean. We don’t really get to spend that much time together during the school term.” He lowers his head, fiddling with the flaky edge of his croissant like it might unravel all the nerves crawling up his spine, “I thought maybe - the two weeks together could be - fun.”
Yushi watches the top of Sion’s head like it might give him answers. His mind’s spiraling - tugging at loose threads of panic and awe and don’t ruin this and you can’t go. His fingers tremble around his lemon tart, its shape collapsing in his grip.
“You could stay with me in my old room,” Sion goes on, making himself tiny, resting his cheek on Yushi’s shoulder. “The farm’ll need a bit of work, probably. We could use the help. Not saying you’d be forced to clean the stalls or anything.” His laugh is small, uncertain. “Just thought you might like it.”
Yushi feels Sion hold his breath, waiting for an answer.
“Or you don’t have to,” Sion mumbles, misreading Yushi’s silence, “if it’s too soon, or if you think we’re moving too fast, I just thought it might be nice because -” the croissant in his hand nearly disintegrates, “because I just wanted to spend more time with you.”
Yushi doesn’t trust his voice. Doesn’t even trust the air around them.
Everything inside him is too much and too loud - like his heart’s pressing against bone, begging for space.
Three seconds.
Sion gives Yushi three whole seconds before he’s sitting up, brushing crumbs from his lap like he needs to leave. Yushi feels the loss like cold water down his spine.
“Forget I asked,” Sion says, half-laughing like it’s a joke. “That was stupid. I don’t know why I even -”
“I’ll go.”
The words burst out of Yushi’s throat before he can stop them. His lemon tart falls from his lap, lands face-down in the grass, forgotten. Sion goes still, like someone just cast a spell on him mid-motion.
“I’ll go home with you.” Yushi reaches for Sion’s hand. It’s cold - too cold - and he frowns as he laces their fingers together, grounding himself in the contact, “I’ll… have to figure it out with my family and make some arrangements. But I’ll go.”
Sion looks down at their hands, then up at Yushi, dumbstruck.
“I -” Yushi feels the highs of his cheeks scorch with heat, “I want to spend time with you too.”
“You do?” Sion asks, with such disbelief that Yushi would’ve taken offense if he wasn’t so desperately trying to keep his breathing steady, “You want to?”
Yushi nods, not trusting himself to speak.
Sion licks his lips, “As my boyfriend?” He sits a little taller, holding onto Yushi’s gaze tightly, like he’s afraid the spell might break if he so much as breathes wrong. “You’ll come home with me as my boyfriend?“
Yushi opens his mouth, but nothing comes. So, he just nods again, violently this time.
And then it happens - the croissant gets crushed under Sion’s palm, and they’re tumbling into the grass, Yushi’s back to the ground and Sion’s weight pressing down on him, all laughter and limbs and jam-sticky fingers.
“You promise?” Sion whispers, wrapping his arms around Yushi’s slim waist, “You’ll come home with me?”
”Yeah,” Yushi mumbles, hooking his chin over Sion’s shoulder and taking a few gaping breaths. He curls his fists against Sion’s chest, “Yeah, hyung, I promise.”
x
At one in the morning, Yushi gives up.
He’s tried everything in the past two hours - twisting himself into every possible position, curling under his deep yellow quilt like it could anchor him, counting spells and stars and every single second that’s passed since.
None of it works.
It’s on the brink of agonizing - miserably trying to ignore the blatant desire of wanting to see Sion tonight.
He told Sion he’d see him in the morning.
He promised.
So why does it feel like he’s being torn apart?
“What do I do?” Yushi whispers into the crook of his arm, rubbed thin from holding back on everything he couldn’t let himself say earlier, “What do I do, what do I do.”
He’s exhausted, but his body won’t listen. His thoughts are too loud, too tangled. Every time he closes his eyes, it’s just Sion - laughing under his breath, touching his wrist too gently, saying things like, I want to spend more time with you.
Yushi moans face-first into his pillow, self-aware of how pathetic he is on all levels.
Five more minutes pass. Then ten. And then -
He throws the covers off and sits up. The room is still, soaked in moonlight and sleep; Yushi’s eyes adjust to the darkness, and finds that Daeyoung’s bed is empty.
The rest of the room comes to life in a matter of heartbeats - stone walls softened by golden tapestries, corners cluttered with potted plants and old postcards and a shared stash of wrappers from Honeydukes.
It takes everything in him to move, but once he starts, it’s like he can’t stop.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Yushi grabs blindly for his slippers and tugs on the cloak draped over his trunk. In his haste, he nearly trips over Daeyoung’s pile of spellbooks by the foot of his bed. Every movement is quick, frantic, like he’s afraid the silence might try to pull him back under.
There’s no plan. No logic. Just this unbearable, ridiculous need to see Sion.
He scurries up the stairs and takes them two at a time, breathless by the time he makes it to the Hufflepuff Basement.
Golden lanterns float lazily across the ceiling, casting honeyed light on the round space. The hearth is just embers now, but heat lingers in the cushions tossed around the fireplace. Overgrown plants sway gently under the low-arched windows, some curling protectively inward at the cold.
Yushi pauses only once - hand on the barrel at the entrance - then knocks the rhythm in a blur. Beetle wings. The passage opens with a low creak.
And he nearly screams.
“Yushi?”
He stumbles, heart rocketing to his throat. One foot catches on the uneven stone floor and he almost trips, only just managing to grab onto a barrel to steady himself.
Then - a hand. Warm fingers close around his forearm, steadying. Familiar.
He breathes in, and there it is: strawberry jam and honey soap, the soft scent of summer, even in the dead of winter. It hits him like a freight train.
His eyes shoot up, and yet in the dim candlelight of the corridor, it’s undeniable. Tall nose. Clean jaw. Skin like candlewax, glowing gold. And those pink lips - soft, parted, like Sion had been on the verge of saying something else.
For a second, Yushi can’t breathe. His head starts to spin, suffocated by the sweetness curling around him.
“Hyung?” he croaks, barely audible, barely believing his own eyes.
Sion gives him a once-over, concern flitting across his face, “Are you alright?”
Yushi tries to answer, but the words get caught somewhere in his chest. “I - I’m fine, I’m just -” he tries to keep himself from sinking to his knees, “What are you doing out here?”
Sion rubs the back of his neck, sheepish in a way that makes Yushi’s stomach turn inside out. “I saw that Daeyoung was still in the Gryffindor Tower so I thought to come by and check in on you, but…” he shrugs with a small, guilty smile. “I forgot the password. So, I was just… waiting.”
Waiting.
Outside the Hufflepuff entrance, in the middle of the night.
In the cold.
“It hasn’t been long,” Sion rushes to reassure after Yushi’s jaw drops at the thought of his boyfriend waiting out here for hours, “and I - wanted to see you,” he adds softly. His fingers trail down to circle Yushi’s wrist, “I kept - thinking about you. I couldn’t stop.”
That’s all it takes.
The last two hours of spiraling, of desperate silence, of imagining and missing and aching - Yushi can’t take it anymore. He lurches forward, barely giving Sion time to react, near throttling him as he takes the older boy into a soul crushing hug.
Sion lets out a small groan, back hitting the brick wall with a soft thud.
“Me too,” Yushi whispers. He fists Sion’s ruby cloak in both hands, pressing his nose to the curve of Sion’s shoulder like he’s afraid the boy might disappear if he lets go, “I wanted to see you too.”
Sion wraps his arms around Yushi’s waist, slow and sure, like he’s been waiting for permission.
“You did?” he asks, breath ghosting over Yushi’s temple.
Yushi nods against him. He closes his eyes, braves the fear that’s been gnawing at his ribs, “I’m sorry. About today. In the hall.” He takes a steadying breath, feels Sion breathe with him, “I didn’t mean to - I just -”
“I know,” Sion sighs, pressing his lips lightly to Yushi’s crown.
Yushi’s eyes fly open, “You know?”
“Of course, I know,” he sinks his fingers into Yushi’s hair, a touch so unbelievably delicate, “I know you more than you give me credit for.” His grip tightens when Yushi stirs, like he can already feel him trying to disappear, “Not to mention,” he adds with a teasing lilt, “how it was written so very clearly across your face.”
“It was not !” Yushi’s adamance dissolves into soft folds of red and gold, “It wasn’t.”
Sion’s laugh jumps straight into Yushi’s chest, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Tokuno.” His hand slips down to cradle the back of Yushi’s neck, thumb tracing slow circles at the base of his skull. He hums when he says, “You know that, don’t you?”
“I just thought,” Yushi falters, and it’s a moment before he can continue, “maybe I should be more like Daeyoung.” He withers when Sion stills, but he keeps going before he loses the rest of his nerves, “I thought maybe if I - were the way he is with Riku, then maybe -” Yushi’s breath is too shallow, “I thought you might like it if I did. If I - showed you off. If I let people see us too.”
Sion whispers his name with a degree of reverence that has Yushi squeezing his eyes shut again, too embarrassed to face Sion’s disbelief. He only does when Sion pulls back, palm light against his cheek, thumb leaving featherlight brushes beneath his eye.
“I’d rather keep you to myself,” Sion says, a breath of laughter looping between them. He waits for Yushi to meet his gaze before breaking into a small smile, “Why would I want anyone seeing you like this?”
“W - what does that mean?”
“The way you look at me when no one’s around,” Sion goes on, “or the way your voice gets all soft when you say my name.” He takes a deep breath and leans in close, stealing the air straight from Yushi’s lungs, “Why would I want anyone to know you like that? The way I do?”
Yushi feels like he’s been struck clean through. The world goes quiet, save for the rush in his ears.
“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” Sion says, slowly, patiently, like he’s waiting for them to sink in, like he’s tucking them into Yushi’s chest individually. “Least of all me.”
There’s a pause - brief but trembling - and then:
“Hyung.”
“Hm?”
Yushi licks his lips, “Close your eyes.”
Sion’s eyes double their size, which is a feat of its own. The corner of his lips twitch, “Why?”
“Close your eyes,” Yushi only repeats, bouncing twice on the balls of his feet, impatient. He drops his hands to Sion’s waist, pinching the older boy when he refuses to listen, “Do it.”
Sion squirms under the touch but lets his eyes flutter shut, unable to keep his smile from growing into a full-fledged grin. He waits, already aware of Yushi’s wishes, very much intent on letting the younger boy come to him instead.
With Sion standing before him like this - eyes closed, grin threatening to spill off his lips, hands tucked obediently behind his back like he’s made himself into a gift - Yushi feels like he’s burning alive.
And yet, he takes a moment anyway.
Just a moment to memorize the soft fall of Sion’s fringe over his lashes, the flush high on his cheekbones from running in the cold, the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he waits, patient and expectant, like he already knows exactly what’s coming.
Yushi’s breath hitches.
It’s a little ridiculous, how someone can be so unbelievably beautiful even when they’re just standing by, doing nothing - but he is.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought you left me out here in the hall.”
Yushi rolls his eyes, knowing Sion can’t see, “I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Hm.”
“... Not tonight, at least.”
“Are you really going to -”
Yushi brushes his thumb over Sion’s bottom lip - half attempting to stop the older boy from talking, half fulfilling that innate urge to feel the softness of it. Sion stutters into silence at the touch, and it’s a second before he’s kissing Yushi’s thumb, lips smacking obnoxiously loud.
Yushi yanks his hands away like he’s been burnt, “You’re so -”
Sion provokes him with a self-satisfied, “Hm?”
But Yushi is already rising onto his toes, reaching, and then their lips meet - soft and searing and slow. It steals everything. The cold from the stone floor, the ache from earlier that day, the weight of everything unspoken. Gone.
He melts.
Absolutely, completely melts.
When he pulls away, it’s with a gasp - the kind that sounds like he’s waking up mid-dream. His consciousness catches up to what he’s just done: kissed Sion first. Kissed him first. His hands fly to his face, like instinct, like maybe he can shove the moment back into his mouth if he hides fast enough.
But Sion is quicker, catching Yushi’s wrists with ease.
“Not so fast,” he laughs, low and intoxicating. He leans in, holds Yushi close, close, so close it feels like the stone wall behind them disappears entirely, “Just once more.”
Yushi’s first instinct is to bolt. His brain fires off all the usual alarms - retreat, retreat - but they don’t stick. Not this time. The idea of running doesn’t sit right anymore, not when Sion is this close, not when he looks at him like this.
So instead, Yushi yanks his hands free and fists them in the front of Sion’s shirt, dragging him down with something between defiance and desperation. Sion barely has a second to register the motion before their mouths crash together again.
The kiss this time is messier - needier - and when Sion’s lips curve into a smile mid-way through, Yushi feels it. Feels it like a firework behind his ribs, like a pulse in his teeth. Sion crowds him back into the wall with such unthinking surety that Yushi forgets how to breathe, forgets everything but the fact that Sion is his.
And he’s never felt more ruined by anything in his life.
He only pulls away when the air runs out - chest heaving, head spinning - and hides his face again, but this time, he ducks into the space between Sion’s jaw and collar instead. Clings to him like he can’t afford to be anywhere else.
“... Don’t go.”
Sion chokes on an inhale, “What?”
“Tonight,” Yushi licks his lips, tastes the remnants of some strawberry candy Sion must’ve been munching on, “there’s - no one else in my room - and I don’t want you to go just yet.”
Sion grabs Yushi by the shoulders and sets him at arm’s length with a single, decisive motion, expression a cross between utter shock and something akin to delirium.
“Tokuno Yushi,” he says, sounding like he’s replayed the question thrice and still doesn’t believe it, “Are you - inviting me back to your room?”
“Not -” Yushi turns into a tomato, “It’s not what you’re thinking.”
Sion’s look shifts from stunned to smug in less than a second. The corners of his lips inch upward, all too pleased, “Oh?” He practically purrs, “What am I thinking?”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Yushi fumbles over the words as he says them, shaking Sion off as he tries to ground himself. Frankly, he’s still teetering on the edge of swooning from their kiss, “I just -”
Sion doesn’t let him get far, “I want to.” He closes the distance between them and tangles their fingers, pressing their palms together, “Of course, I want to.”
Yushi scowls at him - or tries to. He glares up at Sion like he’s trying to set him on fire with the sheer force of his embarrassment. But it’s hard to make it stick when his boyfriend looks like he’s just won the lottery and been handed the House Cup in the same breath.
Sion’s grin is insufferable. He looks like a boy who’s just been gifted every last thing he’s ever wanted - and he has the nerve to look grateful for it. Like he’s not just pleased, but devoted.
He squeezes Yushi’s hand, “Lead the way, please.”
They don’t say much on the way down to where the dorms are tucked away in the Hufflepuff Basement.
Sion stays close behind, fingers curled around Yushi’s, but he doesn’t say anything - not even when they pass a group of snoozing portraits or tiptoe past a snoring suit of armor. It’s the kind of silence that isn’t empty. Yushi feels it in his ribs, pulsing with every beat of his heart.
His heart hasn’t stopped racing since the moment their lips met in the corridor, and now, with the castle around them soft and sleeping, it almost feels like a dream.
Inside the room, the air is still and faintly sweet - the lingering scent of honeyed tea, and a faint trace of Daeyoung’s cologne. Sion lets go of Yushi’s hand to tug his cloak off and drape it over the back of a chair, eyes wandering as he takes in the space.
He picks something up from Daeyoung’s cluttered desk, a knitted red and gold beanie, fraying slightly at the edges.
“This looks familiar,” Sion says, amused as he turns it over in his hands. “I think I’ve seen Riku wear this all through last season.”
Yushi freezes, mouth dry. It is Riku’s - or was, at least, before Daeyoung took to stealing it every other week. But the words get stuck in his throat, jammed somewhere between please don’t look at me like that and I have never wanted anything more than I want this moment to last forever.
He makes a small sound in response - something noncommittal - and turns toward his bed instead, tugging back the mustard-yellow quilt. His palms feel damp. He doesn’t dare look at Sion.
He sits down first, feet dangling just slightly above the floor, and after a moment, Sion joins him. Their shoulders brush. The mattress dips gently beneath their combined weight. It’s innocent - it really is - but Yushi still feels like his skin is lit up like a scorching hearth.
Sion shifts to lie down first, careful with his movements like he doesn’t want to startle Yushi, and holds his arms open in silent invitation. Yushi follows after a moment of hesitation, curling into the space that’s already there for him - smaller, softer, back to Sion’s chest.
It feels like a nice kind of strange. Familiar and new all at once.
Sion’s hand finds his waist, tugs him just a little closer, and he noses gently at the back of Yushi’s neck before speaking - soft yet steady.
“I’ve been thinking a lot,” he murmurs, breath warm against Yushi’s skin. “About us. About how things are between us.”
Yushi grips the quilt so tight he’s made indents in the fabric.
“And I know,” Sion goes on, fingers brushing lightly where Yushi’s shirt’s ridden up, exposing just a sliver of flesh, “I know you probably aren’t ready yet. But I love you.”
Yushi stiffens, his entire body tensing in place. His back hits Sion’s chest like instinct, like safety, and he feels the words echo through him again - I love you.
“You don’t have to say anything back,” Sion adds quickly, like he can feel Yushi’s panic winding tight. “I’m not expecting you to in any way. I just -” He presses his forehead to the back of Yushi’s shoulder, quiet like a secret, “I needed you to know. If I didn’t say it, I think I might’ve exploded.”
Yushi’s heart is thudding so loudly he swears the bed might shake from it. His cheeks burn. His throat closes.
“…Hyung.”
“That’s all,” Sion whispers. “Just promise me you won’t say it until you’re ready. I can wait.”
Yushi nods, small and shaky, and turns in Sion’s arms, buries his face in his chest like maybe that’ll be enough - like it might keep him tethered if he clings to the hand on his waist, like maybe if he holds him tight enough, Sion will feel it too.
Will know without the words.
In the quiet that follows, Yushi thinks it again, hopes the words will find their way across the small distance between them.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Crawl out of his ribs and into Sion’s hands.
Settle there, patient, waiting for the day Yushi’s voice can catch up.