of beaters and beating hearts

by archvd (velvetknuckle)

Summary:

Quidditch is everything to Kageyama Tobio. 

It is the blurred earth beneath his broom, the wind tangling with his hair, the oxygen in his lungs.

But Miya Atsumu still finds a way to make himself just a little more important.

Chapter 1: quidditch camp, first meetings and late nights

Quidditch is everything to Kageyama Tobio. 

It is the blurred earth beneath his broom, the wind tangling with his hair, the oxygen in his lungs. That is why he prides himself on his position as a beater. Tobio has always known he wanted to be a beater, but from the moment he mounted a broom in his first year at Hogwarts, bat in hand, beating bludgers away during tryouts, he fell in love with the sport irrevocably.

Hogwarts was full of surprises, and Tobio became enamoured from the moment he boarded the train at platform 9 ¾, all the way through the sorting ceremony, to the first time he stepped on the quidditch pitch. 

Yet the sight that enchanted him the most was the sight of a rival beater.

He was grace itself, piercing through the air at speeds others couldn’t even fathom. The deep blue of his fluttering gowns identified him as a Ravenclaw and a rather pretty one at that. The strength of his swing sent bludgers flying, causing a loud smack to resound through the air and Tobio's stomach to flip. 

He had never seen anything like it-- like him. 

The way his dainty fingers curled around his bat was distracting, and his skill alone was enough to make the first year dizzy, but on top of that, he just had to have a magnetic presence, drawing everyone to him. Tobio had never felt anything like this; heart hammering, cheeks heated, wholly captivated by one Oikawa Tooru.

He never fully understood the extent of his admiration for Oikawa, deeming it as a beater to beater appreciation. But it wasn’t long before he found it sorely unrequited, a one-way lane of praise met with pulled faces, and condescending remarks artificially sweetened with mocking calls of Tobio-chan. It was bad enough that his team seniors despised him for some reason, but, of course, the heavens weren't happy with him struggling to fit in with the Gryffindor team. That was clearly not enough suffering in their eyes. They had to make sure the one beater Tobio wanted to learn from hated him too, also for unknown reasons.

 If he could fight whatever deities were behind this, he would (more than enthusiastically). 

Requests for Oikawa to teach Tobio his killer swing were met with disdain, but he could live with that. He figured that he would eventually break down the walls Oikawa maintained so strictly, but what he couldn't stand was the moment his team turned their backs on him. 

A team of six, sneering down at the first-year beater they no longer wanted around. Utter rejection. Tobio had never been afraid of anything until that day, but from then on, seeing Oikawa shut him down stung in a new way, a way that reminded him of a team that had benched him for the foreseeable future. 

And so, Kageyama Tobio’s bright start at a quidditch career fizzled out. He could do nothing more than keep playing in team practice and free time, hoping desperately for the chance to be a regular once again. 

In short, his first year at Hogwarts was shit. 

(Yachi, a Hufflepuff first-year he somehow managed to befriend would say that only the Quidditch part of his school life sucked, but Quidditch was the only thing that mattered, so her point was irrelevant).

But it turned out he wasn't the only first-year Gryffindor with an insatiable hunger for the sport. 

Hinata Shouyou was short, loud and brimming with unlimited energy. 

Though he was what Tobio (endearingly but also not so endearingly) called a dumbass, he was insanely quick, moving at speeds that should have been inhuman. He was a challenge to keep up with, but when they trained together, Kageyama felt a rush like no other. Which only made being in reserve with him more frustrating. The team could use them, but the seventh-years didn't even entertain the idea of it.

(What he thought would only last a few months, spiralled into the entire year, then two years and then three, and Hogwarts began to look a little less magical than what he had thought it was).

So when they spent the next three years held back by a team that was ideally supposed to prop them up, it was Hinata Shouyou who played quidditch with Kageyama when no one else would.

It was also Hinata Shouyou who unapologetically unveiled to Tobio what the feelings he harboured for Oikawa were.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

"You've got a crush on him, don't you?" He asked the question so casually, leaning against the stands at a Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw match they were forced to watch one day in their third year.

(Instead of play, which is all they really wanted to do. They had been turned away from the tryouts yet again, and Tobio swore Hinata was moments away from using a forbidden curse on the assholes in charge. If he did, he wouldn’t have blamed him).

"W-what? What the fuck are you on about dumbass?" Tobio stuck his hand out, attempting to yank Hinata by those unnaturally ginger locks of his. The shorter boy ducked, escaping Kageyama's deadly grip by a fraction of a hair, and chuckled teasingly.

"Oikawa. You look at him with the most whipped look in your eyes. It almost makes me feel sick." Hinata mimed gagging, and then flinched, expecting his friend to call him a 'dumbass' and shake him violently by the collar. Instead, he was met with a rather strange outcome.

Tobio stood still, so still that Hinata was unsure of whether he was breathing. His face paled, mouth contorting into a lost and wobbly frown, and realisation began to set in his clouded azure eyes. A breathless exclamation of ‘oh’ slipped from his lips as his gaze locked onto the boy in question. Suddenly, everything made a lot more sense to Tobio.

He liked Oikawa-- like liked. 

What. The. Fuck. 

Why wouldn't the earth open up and swallow him? Why did it have to be Oikawa of all people? 

Sure, he was objectively one of the most gorgeous people he had run into. And yes, he was an astonishing beater with a shrewd sense of teamwork that Tobio could only dream of achieving. And of course, Tobio looked up to him in a way that he didn't look up to anyone else. And his smile was enchanting when it wasn't aimed at him. And his hair looked unbelievably soft. And his hands were probably calloused from years of Quidditch. And he wondered how it would feel to hold them. And-- Oh. 

Oh god. 

This wasn't good. Just how long had he felt like this about a guy who couldn't stand the sight of his face?

"Don't worry Kageyama-kun, your secret is safe with me." Hinata shot Tobio a wink and was rewarded with a smack across the back of his head. Which he admitted that he may have deserved. Just a little bit. (Not out loud though; he'd never let Tobio get the satisfaction of being right).

So the rest of Tobio's third year was filled with Hinata's relentless teasing, Oikawa brushing his requests for extra practice away by teasing him until Iwaizumi (a Gryffindor chaser with a liking towards the obnoxious Ravenclaw beater) dragged him away, and no place on the starting lineup.

Yet again.

Which sucked for the third year in a row. But his stupid crush on Oikawa made third year the worst year by far because no matter how unbearably bothersome he was, Tobio's eyes involuntarily identified him in every crowd and his brain proceeded to fawn over him. Which was totally shitty.

And that year, Kageyama was extra happy to get away from Hogwarts for summer break.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

By the time his fourth year rolled around, Tobio felt a little resigned about going back to Hogwarts and a quidditch team that quite obviously didn't want him. But he was met with pleasant surprises.

The first pleasant surprise was that the seniors who weren’t so fond of Tobio and Hinata were finally gone. (Hinata had screamed good riddance at the top of his lungs when they had learned that any remainders had quit to focus on their NEWTs). 

The second was that the new captain was Daichi Sawamura, a sixth-year keen on finally winning the house cup for Gryffindor after years of crippling losses and talent squandered at the hands of upperclassmen who didn't run the team properly. 

Another surprise was that his vice-captain was Iwaizumi.

And, Iwaizumi, Kageyama soon came to realise, was nothing like his Ravenclaw friend. He was considerate, strong-willed, and genuinely a marvellous chaser. But most of all, he didn’t hate Kageyama, which came as a bit of a shock. Though he didn’t take it for granted, especially when he and Hinata got released from reserves.

It took four years, but things were finally looking up for Tobio, and not even his increasingly irritating crush on Oikawa could ruin it. Practice matches became less difficult, the years of playing with Hinata at every occasion kept Kageyama’s senses honed, making quidditch second nature; it took as much thought as breathing did.

When the Inter-House Cup kicked off in the second week of November, Gryffindor beat Hufflepuff even though their chaser Bokuto proved to be a persistent hurdle. The score was way too close for comfort, and Gryffindor figured that without their speedy seeker, Nishinoya Yuu, their first game would have been a crippling loss.

Tobio savoured every moment of that game, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he struck bludgers and created paths for his chasers. He felt like he was on top of the world, finally playing- breathing- existing for the first time since he arrived at Hogwarts.

That was when he fell in love with quidditch all over again. It was the air in his lungs, the earth blurred at his feet, the wind tangling with his hair. And now, it was the dream of playing on the world stage -- renewed once again.

And his efforts did not go unrecognised. By the end of November, he was selected to partake in exclusive training with a coach for the national team, who was interested in reviewing the new generation of quidditch players. His dream was closer than ever, almost real between his fingertips, paths opening all around him. All he had to do now was keep playing, keep winning, and when he left school, there would always be someone out there who wanted him to play for them. Hopefully.

(And although Hinata showed his jealousy outright, Kageyama couldn’t blame him: this was a big deal).

He came to the conclusion that his fourth year was better than the rest of his time at Hogwarts by leaps and bounds.

Things were at an all-time high. They were so great that not even Oikawa glowering at him after their win against Hufflepuff could ruin it.

That was until he met Miya Atsumu, a fifth-year Slytherin beater, and his wave of pleasant surprises deserted him.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Miya Atsumu had heard a lot about the new Gryffindor beater, Kageyama Tobio.

Apparently, he was an aggressive player that might finally save his team from their streak of yearly losses. He came with a crowd of loud and dynamic characters but maintained a collected and blunt demeanour. 

Atsumu thought guys like that just needed a bit of fun in their lives. Seriously, how could anyone resist teasing the hell out of them? 

His twin brother had the gall to joke that this newcomer could possibly rival Atsumu’s position as the best beater in Hogwarts. That particular comment rubbed him the wrong way and he hadn’t taken it so well. Their conversation might have ended with uncivil insults exchanged along with explicit language before a Slytherin prefect, Kita Shinsuke, separated the two of them.

Nevertheless, if Atsumu was one hundred percent honest about it, a minuscule part of him fastened onto the notion of a real rival. He was not full of himself or anything -- which Osamu might have said was arguable -- but people who could come close to his skill were in short supply. And maybe, just maybe, he was excited to size up the competition.

That enthusiasm only amplified tenfold when he settled in the East Wing for the quidditch training camp and set his eyes on his supposed rival in the flesh. Because Jesus. If looks could kill, Tobio might have struck him down that very instant. His blackened stare was inviting, and not in the sense that he wanted to make friends and converse over tea. But, more so, that he would rebuke any competition without hesitation, and Atsumu, being Atsumu, loved a challenge.

And yet he was severely disappointed. 

Those intense glares, choppy bangs and forthright answers were all a front because the real Kageyama Tobio was a beater that had all the talent in the world and was still held back by something, much to Atsumu's dismay.

There weren't enough expletives in the world to even come close to successfully conveying Atsumu's frustration. To see the raw skill Tobio possessed squandered at his own hands made him nauseous. With the way he zoomed across the pitch at daring speeds and hit bludgers with pinpoint accuracy -- which was, frankly, magnificent -- he could have any opposition dancing to his tune. He did to some degree. But he played like he was scared of something. 

What the hell was up with that? How could a beater who was afraid protect the team around him? This is who Osamu thought could rival him?

There was nothing wrong with Tobio; he seemed like a good kid. But did he actually enjoy being a beater? That grimace on his face when he played said otherwise.

Maybe things are different with his actual team, Atsumu thought, eyes locked onto the Gryffindor beater who was politely asking if he needed to hit bludgers away in any specific style to clear the way for Sakusa, a Ravenclaw chaser.

Atsumu snorted to himself as the fourth-year sped past him on his broom, knocking the bludger off its trajectory. 

Tobio's swing reminded him of a certain Ravenclaw who had way too much of enmity with Ushijima Wakatoshi, captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. (It had to be unhealthy to want to defeat someone that desperately). 

For a guy like Oikawa Tooru's pupil, Kageyama was way too much of a goody-two-shoes. He had thought the first thing Oikawa taught would be his imaginative insults; Tobio, though, didn't have an agitating vibe around him. 

Pity, Atsumu thought, it could have been fun to try out-mock him.

He noticed a stray bludger heading in Hoshiumi's direction. With one clean strike, Atsumu sent it flying back towards the other side of the pitch. It was then that he felt as though he was being watched rather closely. Looking up, he caught his favourite little fourth-year Gryffindor staring at him and smirked. 

Is it that easy to impress him? How cute.

Despite his outward display of smugness, he would be lying if he said that voracious look Tobio was giving him didn’t make him want to observe him just a little more. The slight hint of wonder interspersed with the cerulean hues of his eyes sent chills down Atsumu's spine. He would be lying through his teeth if he said that his commitment to the game was not amusing (and perhaps just a little bit endearing). 

Kageyama’s natural talent was boundless, and that both pissed Atsumu off and entertained him to no end. In the end, he could do nothing more than stare back. What else were you meant to do with a pureblood prodigy?

Now, if only he didn’t play like he was afraid of something.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Atsumu was honestly stunned that he managed to go three whole days without opening his mouth. (Osamu always did say he had the patience of a toddler).

 It wasn't as if there weren't any opportunities to talk to Tobio: they had all been excused from lessons and were staying in the same hall as well. And it also wasn't as if Tobio was remarkably popular or talkative either, so was often seated with just a Hufflepuff keeper. It would have been easy to steal him away for a conversation or two. And yet it took Atsumu three whole days to approach him with the intent to say something. 

The younger boy was seated on the grass, legs splayed out as he stretched, recovering from the last game they had played. His broom, a Nimbus 2000, was haphazardly deposited in front of him. Beside him, Hoshiumi, a fellow Slytherin, was yapping on about something in a rather one-sided conversation with Sakusa, who looked like he was going to pass out from all the social interaction until Komori joined in to talk for him.

"Hey, Tobio-kun," Atsumu offered a casual wave before looking down at the black-haired boy, eyeing him avidly.

He seemed to tense up at the use of his given name but then relaxed again, not commenting on it. Atsumu shrugged it off, hooded eyes meeting confused ones.

“Y’know, I thought you were gonna be a bit prickly at first,” He couldn’t help the amused smirk that broke out on his face, “But on your broom...you’re a real goody-two-shoes ain’tcha?”

Tobio’s face contorted up into a frown, and from his unguarded expression, Atsumu could almost see the cogs turning in his pretty little head as he mulled those words over. Tobio was such an open book off the court, it was almost cute, and the older boy could pinpoint the moment in which what was once confusion caught alight, metamorphosing into pure provocation.

“Huh?” Tobio glared up at Atsumu, blue eyes eclipsed with agitation as his scowl deepened.

The fifth-year was a little taken back by the glower he had received but refused to let it register on his face. Who knew even goody-goody Tobio could give a look as dirty as that? His leer only grew with delight; maybe he had picked up a few things from Oikawa. He could see that bothering Tobio was going to be a fun pastime.

(Osamu had often said it was this dickish approach Atsumu took that made him intolerable. Atsumu really didn’t care. He didn’t see it that way at all: it was just a little fun).

In the distance, a whistle sounded, calling the group for another practice match, but neither boy moved even as the world around them fell into motion. The air between them suddenly felt heavy, thick with tension. Eyes locked into a stare. Eyebrows furrowed. Not a word was exchanged.

Their conversation was cut short, but Atsumu didn't mind. He just wanted to get under his skin, maybe tease him a bit. Even he didn’t really know the reason why. All he knew was that a certain Gryffindor beater was stupidly talented and just a little bit distracting. And it was starting to get on his nerves. 

He was the first to step away, fascinated.

 Maybe this whole rival thing could be a lot more fun than he had anticipated.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Tobio had been called a lot of things growing up, some kind, others not so much.

Pureblood. Genius. Prodigy.

From day one, his family heritage bestowed him a label in the magic world. Pureblood.

 He didn't even understand what that was supposed to mean. How could his blood be purer than anyone else's? Who gave a shit about who was muggle-born or who came from a long line of wizards and witches? In his eyes, if you could do magic, you had every right to be at Hogwarts. On the whole, things weren't so bad anymore. Yet every once in a while, there would be an overzealous pureblood, who stuck to the past. Tobio wasn’t one to hold grudges, but he couldn’t stand people like that.

He had been flying a broom since he could walk, watching Quidditch since before he could talk. The sport had been with him from the day he was born. It was familiar. It was home. Home for Tobio was workaholic parents that never came back for dinner, a grandfather, and a sister who taught him all about the sport that made him who he was. So, words like genius and prodigy didn't hurt at first. In fact, they felt an awful lot like praise.

That was until he said them.

When the words genius and prodigy left Oikawa Tooru's mouth, swaddled up in a sheath of his contempt, Tobio felt sick to his stomach. It felt like his entire identity was driving away the person he wanted closer than anyone else. The words he prided himself on were knives lodged in his chest, slowly piercing his heart. And it hurt. It ached like nothing else. It was the same feeling as being benched for three years, permeating his being, poisoning his every atom. And suddenly years of praise washed away in the embrace of unrequited love.

Goody-two-shoes.

But that-- this-- he was different. Miya Atsumu was not Oikawa Tooru. His hair was not a delicate brown that was easy on the eyes, but instead straw-blond, natural chocolate identifying itself in a sharply trimmed undercut that demanded recognition. He didn't offer phoney, saccharine smiles that made Tobio's heart twinge; he gave challenging smirks that made his sense of competition flare. And yet--

Goody-two-shoes.

And yet-- 

Smooth voice. Shit-eating grin. Provocation glinting in his eyes.

And yet, hearing those words leave Miya's mouth made Tobio's chest tighten the same way it did whenever Oikawa called him Tobio-chan, or genius, or prodigy, or king. And it wasn't a nice feeling. It was more like a whirlpool at the core of his being, sucking in all his energy.

He didn't understand. And it was gnawing at his sanity. What the hell did it mean? Was it an insult? A jab? Was it a joke? 

No. 

It was not a joke. 

That much even Tobio could figure out. The cold tint in Miya's light caramel eyes was enough of an indication of that.

Words were never Tobio's speciality, but he knew that in a situation like this, he had no choice but to use them, to ask for confirmation or he would never get any. He didn't understand why he was so scared, but he mused that it must have something to do with how Atsumu seemed a lot more candid than Oikawa. Where Oikawa would keep talking in circles to confuse Tobio, Atsumu seemed as though he would get to the point to perplex him in an entirely different way.

Tobio waited in his state of flux until the last day of training. That day seemed particularly good, and Miya was playing amazingly. When he cracked a bludger the resounding smack in the air rang in Tobio's ears for extra long. There wasn't anyone who hit a bludger quite like him. And when he cleared a path for a chaser? It was amazing. Tobio had been on the receiving end of that and almost felt like he had improved drastically at chasing.

So when Miya approached him at the end of practice, Tobio finally asked the thing that was on his mind all week.

"Yo, Tobio-kun, didja like the timing of that hit?" He crouched besides Tobio, wearing a tight-lipped smile, "I didn't leave it too late, did I? Wouldn't wantcha thinkin' the bludger was 'boutta knock ya’ off your broom."

"No- I mean- yes. Um-" Tobio cringed at his own awkwardness. If the rest of his team was here, they would have clowned him to no end -- especially Hinata and Noya. He gritted his teeth, trying again, "The timing was perfect, Miya-san. It was easy to score after you hit it away."

"Good. Anyone who can't score after I clear the way is nothin' but a scrub." Atsumu answered with a wave of intensity washing over his words, the ghost of first-year Kageyama lingering not so far from him. It made Tobio regret the conversation almost, but the fifth-year kept talking.

"Don'tcha think you'd be better off as a chaser, Tobio-kun?" Atsumu asked, tone reverting back to the casual one from earlier, but not failing to make Tobio shift uncomfortably. 

What was he meant to say to that? Chasers were necessary and all since they scored the points but-- He shook his head. There was no position like the position of the beater. Without them, the bludgers would knock away the chasers before a single point could be made. There were no chasers or seekers or points without the beaters; it was the most desirable position on the pitch.

"But...I'm a beater." Tobio answered simply, unsure of how to put all his reasons in words. How was he ever meant to encapsulate the feeling of utter joy being a beater provided him? He half expected a snide remark but was met with a genial look. Miya's eyes had eased, drooping slightly as a smile tugged at the edges of his lips.

"Yeah...that's what I thought you'd say." He didn't explain what he meant, instead opting for silence as he leaned onto the grass.

Tobio bit his lip; it was now or never.

"Uh...Miya-san?" Tobio was met with a grunt of acknowledgement, but couldn't speak, mouth feeling drier by the second. He moved his lips, trying to form a sentence, but no words came out. He must have taken an unnaturally long pause because Atsumu had propped himself onto his palms and was staring right at him. If that was meant to make it easier for Tobio, he was sorely mistaken.

"Ya’ gotta use your words, y'know?" Atsumu teased, awkwardly letting out a light chuckle when Tobio's expression didn't even twitch. He bit his tongue, leaning in. "Is somethin' wron--"

"What did you mean?" Tobio cut in -- perhaps a little louder than he should have, judging from the way Atsumu lurched abruptly -- hands raised to his chest. He relaxed as much as he could before elaborating. "When you called me a 'goody-two-shoes' -- what did you mean?"

"Literally that." Miya returned to lying on the ground, blond bangs falling back messily, revealing his forehead.

Tobio didn't really register the change in his face as he couldn't tear his eyes from their shared gaze.

"Someone who's diligent. Honest and obedient."

"Oh."

Tobio silently returned to stretching, not speaking to Miya again. 

Maybe he had judged him too harshly. Just because Oikawa didn't like him, didn't mean every beater he ever met wouldn't either. But then again, the look in Atsumu's eyes when he'd answered -- glazed over, burning holes in his soul -- made him shudder. The boy was a puzzle, somehow more so than everyone else Tobio came across.

He just shrugged it off; there was no point in holding a grudge.

———————————

 

Tobio stared up at the bed above his with heavy eyelids and red eyes that stung with every slow blink he took. This wasn't anything new; sleep often evaded him in the hours he needed it most. Now would definitely be one of those hours; body aching, head throbbing, entire being yearning slumber.

He didn't know how long he had been lying there, seconds melting into minutes into hours into god fucking knows what. He cursed that overactive and undecisive brain of his. Throughout lessons where he should have been attentive, it was easy to slip into dreamland, but now -- when it was necessary -- his mind just would not shut up, screaming about the most useless topics.

Defence from the dark arts homework due--

Need to use the backhand swing--

Goody-two-shoes-- 

Not a-fucking-gain.

He smothered a pillow against his face, suppressing the urge to scream. That jackass Miya Atsumu was still annoying him when he wasn't even awake. He had clarified what he meant by goody-two-shoes, but a part of Tobio had already fixated on the comment. Now, he could not stop it from tormenting his thoughts all night. Whenever he tried to close his eyes, Atsumu’s smooth voice snaked around his cognisance, cocky tone buzzing in his ears. It was unbearable.

 He was unbearable.

And then there was the way he looked at him. God. 

Did he want to go or something? 

Tobio really wished he didn't. He didn't think he could win a fight against someone older, taller and, on the whole, tougher than him. He would like to keep his bones intact and remain able to play quidditch. Plus, Atsumu looked like he knew some nasty spells, and Tobio...Well he was barely doing well enough in class to stay on the team.

Was he really that bad at making friends? He never really thought it was something he was particularly good at, given his blunt nature, but was he so bad that Atsumu hated him within three days of meeting him?

It wouldn’t be the first time something like that’s happened. Tobio thought bitterly, the image of Oikawa burning in his brain as he turned on his side.

Great. Now Tobio was thinking about a totally different type of headache.

This was no good. Tobio needed some fresh air-- Needed to think-- Needed to breathe. Quidditch. That was the only answer to his problems. 

He stepped out of bed, slipping on some shoes as he attempted to sneak out of their shared room without disrupting any of the other boys, who were currently knocked out from practice. Tobio honestly envied them. Peaceful sleep wasn't something that came to him quickly, and he knew it must get on the nerves of everyone in the Gryffindor dorms. Hinata had never been afraid to voice his annoyance. But he was a dumbass, so it didn't matter. 

Just as he reached for the door, a hand latched onto his sleeve, pulling him back. He jolted in surprise, almost letting out a yell, but luckily, he had retained the sense to cup his mouth in case a sound left it. A face that was all too familiar stole him from the privacy of his thoughts, and Tobio wished the gods would just give him a break.

Miya Atsumu stared up at him from the comfort of his bed, cheek squished against a pillow, bleached tresses slovenly falling over his face. Tobio gave him a crooked smile, apologetic for disrupting his sleep. Not really though. He had been disturbing his sleep all night. This was only fair. 

(Okay. He wasn't aware of that but still. Tobio would like to not have his dumb face permeating his thought-stream).

"Whatcha doin’ up at this hour Tobio-kun?" Atsumu murmured, raspy voice indicating that he had accidentally woken him up. Tobio thought that rough tone suited his dialect remarkably well -- not that he was overly focused on it or anything. The half-lidded expression he was shooting the younger boy caused him to stammer.

"I...I couldn’t sleep." He was met with a sympathetic tongue click.

"And lemme guess, you were off to play a bit of quidditch to get your nerves back to normal?" Atsumu lifted an eyebrow up at him, shifting into a seated position.

 Tobio could not lie and chose to nod, slightly apprehensive of how effectively the fifth-year could read his intentions. 

Atsumu let out a muffled chuckle, eyes lighting up, "You’re an absolute fanatic y’know?"

Tobio frowned instantly. A fanatic? Was that a good thing? He could never be sure with Miya. Was he trying to provoke him? How was he supposed to react? What would Nishinoya tell him to do? Fight most likely. Okay maybe following his made-up advice from his upperclassman was a bad idea. What would Hinata advise him to do? Something that would make him look like a dumbass probably. And Yachi would just collapse from nervousness. The only people from his team whose advice he should follow were Daichi and Iwaizumi. But none of the sixth-years were here. Fuck. What was he meant to--

"But then again, I'm a fanatic too." Atsumu grinned, dispelling Tobio's doubts. 

Okay, it can't be an insult; he would never insult himself. 

Despite coming to the conclusion that it wasn't ill-natured, he didn't know what to say. So, he spurred the conversation onwards. (And by that, he meant that he forced the attention back to Atsumu. A perfect plan since he didn't actually have to say anything too vexing). 

“What about you Miya-san? Can’t sleep either?”

“Yeah...How ‘bout I join ya’?” He threw off his blanket, jumping up to stand beside Tobio. That ever-present smirk of his returned yet again. (Tobio decided he didn’t particularly like that smirk; it made his stomach feel weird).

“Don’t think I coulda slept again now thatcha woke me.” Miya kidded, playfully elbowing Tobio in his side.

Tobio reddened with embarrassment, stumbling through a shaky apology that only made Miya chortle as he ruffled his hair. He stiffened. 

What the hell was that? What the fuck? People didn’t usually just touch him, let alone like that. The odd sensation in his stomach was back again. 

He really didn't like that feeling.

“Lead the way.”

Nodding wordlessly, Tobio twisted the door handle, stepping into the expansive hallway with Atsumu close behind him. The pair took cautious steps, careful to not awaken anyone, especially the ghosts and paintings. If they woke up, the noise would get the pair caught instantly. And a detention right about now would not be fun. Neither of them was particularly fond of the Forbidden Forest, and even though there was no guarantee that they would have to serve that sort of detention, the risk alone was far too much.

Tobio pulled his wand out from the side pocket of his joggers, gently flicking his wrist.

“Lumos.” His whisper echoed through the darkness enveloping them, transforming into a small light that emitted from the end of his wand, faintly outlining their surroundings in a pasty white. They followed the path highlighted by the minimal light and eventually found themselves outside.

An abrupt gust of autumn wind lashed at Tobio's body the moment he exited the building. He clutched at his arms, shaking and suddenly wishing he was wearing more than a thin t-shirt. He looked over at Miya who had it worse in his maroon shorts. And not so surprisingly, he wasn't afraid to show just how cold he was, dramatically chattering his teeth and grumbling his complaints. It was honestly entertaining, and Tobio felt a little warmer on the inside as a slight giggle escaped his lips.

"What? Ya’ think my sufferin' is funny, do ya?" The older boy stuck his tongue out at Tobio jokingly.

When they reached the broom shed, Tobio came to the damning realisation that it was bolted shut as he shook a rusted lock in his hand. The revelation that they would need the key from the coach in order to open it, only worsened the situation.

“Ah. It’s locked.” Tobio stated, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck as he took a step away from the shed, “Sorry, I clearly didn’t think this through, Miya-san.” He hung his head in half a bow and was met with an airy laugh.

“Jesus. I didn't follow ya out here in the freezin' cold to go right back." The older boy laughed again, tearing up at whatever the joke was.

Tobio was still waiting for the punchline.

“I was right when I called ya’ a goody-two-shoes wasn’t I?” He clapped Tobio’s back with his palm, before shooing him out the way. Hunching across from the shed door, he took the lock in one hand and pulled his wand out with the other, “You’re actin’ like we ain’t got plenty of spells to help us in a situation like this.”

Tobio swallowed hard, extra unsettled by the toothy grin Miya was giving him.

“Wait-- Uh. Are you sure we should be doing this?”

“Can’t exactly play quidditch without our brooms, can we?” He aimed his wand, wrist poised to cast a spell.

Tobio curled his mouth into a frown, teeth digging into his bottom lip. The wobbly expression seemed to catch Miya by surprise as his eyes widened ever so slightly. He relaxed his shoulders, looking up at the fourth-year, steeled appearance giving into a delicate gaze that made Tobio feel less on edge.

 “Don’tcha worry; S’not like you’re the one breakin’ in. I’ll take the blame if we get caught, ‘kay?”

“You don’t have to do that, seriously. I’m sure we--"

“Stop bein’ such a bloody wuss. Ya wanna play don’tcha?” The way Atsumu said it made it all seem so simple. And Tobio frowned even harder, because was it? Was it really that simple? 

He didn't even realise that he had begun fidgeting with his fingers. He didn’t want to get in trouble now that he had finally gotten onto the team starting lineup. If he did anything to mess up the dynamic, he might be benched all over again. The mere thought of that made him dizzy. He couldn't go back to reserves; he had to play on the team. 

But--

He found Miya staring back at him expectantly--

The team--

Hazel eyes glistening in the moonlight--

Reserves--

Hand outstretched--

This is a bad idea--

Just once--

I should go--

He could play--

No--

Just this once--

Say no--

Tobio was nodding before he even knew it. Fuck. He was weak.

Atsumu's smirk dissolved into a genuine smile for a fleeting instant, and Tobio’s chest constricted. 

Weird. It didn’t usually do that.

“Okay then. Alohomora.”

After a swish of the wand, the lock opened with a click, sending the shed door swinging open in a gentle blast of air. 

Tobio sucked in a sharp breath; maybe this wasn’t a good idea. It wasn't too late yet; they could feasibly turn back. It would be like nothing ever happened. But Miya was already grabbing his broom and indicating for Tobio to do the same.

So he did. 

Because Christ, he wanted to play some quidditch, and from the way Atsumu was looking at him, it was obvious that he did too.

Maybe they were fanatics after all.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Atsumu clung onto his broom, the late-night -- or was it early morning? -- wind running through his hair as he chased a quaffle down the pitch, aiming it at the hoop where Tobio was waiting to defend.

The idea of practising beating had been abandoned at the thought of tackling a wild bludger in the dark. Especially when the pair shouldn’t have been out in the first place. That would only result in broken bones and extra punishment. And although bones were easily mendable, pissing the nurse off was never a wise idea. So instead, they chose to repeat chasing and keeping in turns. 

The night ticked on at the hands of the clock, unbeknownst to Atsumu and Tobio. The blond only noticed just how long they had been playing when Tobio began finding it arduous to keep on his broom, head looking like it was too heavy for his body, sinking every few moments and giving him a start. 

Did this kid even realise how tired he was? 

Atsumu propelled the quaffle at the hoop, bewildered when the fourth-year stuck his arm out to block, despite his eyes struggling to remain open. What kind of monster was he?

He suppressed the entertained grin threatening to break onto his face when he scored because Tobio barely registered the point, yawning loudly. Maybe it was long past time for them to head back.

"C'mere Tobio-kun. I think it's time to go." He was answered with a whine of resistance. Atsumu rolled his eyes, pulling Tobio along by the broom, "Oi, quit your complainin' before I knock ya out with a charm."

The pair were back at the shed with their brooms put away before they even registered the ground against their feet. Atsumu fumbled in his pocket for his wand, finding it a little difficult to manoeuvre with a heavy, sleepy Tobio clutching onto him for dear life, half asleep already. He could have pushed him off, but it was nice to have something heated against him in the wintertime chill. And Tobio, as it turned out, was extremely warm.

“Colloportus.” Atsumu whispered, and the shed door locked itself again, sealing away their brooms for the night as if they hadn’t even touched them. He stepped back, looking over at Tobio who had his head resting on his shoulder, hands loosely holding Atsumu's shirt. “Tired enough to sleep now?”

Tobio gave him a silent nod, eyes weighted with dull bags. He attempted to smother another yawn, nose scrunching. Atsumu grinned at the sight, pulling the younger boy along by his wrist. He forced a stern tone when he addressed him again.

“You’ve totally knackered ya body. S’not every day we get to play quidditch all week long ‘n that still wasn’t enough for ya?” He scolded in a hushed tone, stopping only to cast the ‘lumos’ charm for some light to guide them down the hallways. “Seriously, ya gotta be a little more careful Tobio-kun. Wouldja have even noticed thatcha needed to sleep ‘less I said so?”

“Couldn’t sleep...’less I tired myself out...” Tobio let go of him as they neared the dorm again, flopping against the wall and grunting. His face was flushed red from the cold, the end of his nose almost crimson. 

Atsumu sighed, stepping past him and moving to open the door, but stopped when Tobio stirred, mouth opening as if he was about to talk.

“Playing with you is fun, Miya-san; I wanted to play more.” Tobio whined, so bereaved of much-needed rest that he must have barely registered the words tumbling from his mouth. He yawned again, not discerning how uncharacteristically quiet Atsumu had gotten.

He found himself staring but couldn't look away. Who was this pureblood prodigy? How dare he just waltz into Atsumu's life, show his zeal for the game and drive him insane? How dare he love being a beater just as much as him?

"But...I'm a beater."

What a simple answer. There was no long drawn, pre-rehearsed speech on the joys of Quidditch or the team spirit or whatever other bullshit dramatics people came up with. There was just the fact that he was a beater. No questions asked. That's just who he was. And it was unfair for him to just say it like that.

“Tobio?” Atsumu's voice came out a little more strained than he would have liked it to have. He didn't even know why. Someone wanting to play more with him wasn't that exceptional, he had Osamu to play with his entire life after all. And yet, hearing those words coming from Tobio jammed the cogs in his brain, thoughts scrambling helplessly.

“Hmm?”

His throat felt blocked. That couldn't be good.

It wasn't that he wanted to keep playing, or that he found it fun. It was-- It was-- Fuck; he didn't know what it was. And it made him want to scream. He didn't know what it was. It was just something; something annoying and burning and warm and sweet and nice and-- Fuck. He despised it.

"But...I'm a beater."

Osamu used to be a beater, but he gave that position up when Atsumu became a regular. And Atsumu was never particularly close with the seventh-year beater on their team -- he had that sneaking suspicion that he wasn't fond of his guts. That made him a scrub in Atsumu’s eyes. And he hated playing with scrubs.

(Osamu had said he shouldn’t say things like that either, but again, Atsumu didn’t give a flying shit. He didn’t play Quidditch to make friends and happy memories; he played to win).

But Kageyama was not a scrub, nor was he a beater for the sake of being a beater. And he cared. He cared about the position he played, so much so that it was part of his identity. 

And Atsumu was the same. He was a beater through and through. So the thought of playing with Tobio -- someone who was alike and yet so so very different -- was like fresh air to his deprived lungs. And Atsumu wanted to breathe it in, wanted to play with Tobio again.

“Let’s do that; let’s play more then.” He managed to blurt out, catching the younger boy by surprise.

“Right now?” Tobio lifted his head from against the wall, a new fire burning in his eyes. 

Atsumu felt speechless; was he seriously considering going back right now? At god knows what time in the night? After they had already played? Fanatic was not a strong enough word for him. Monster was starting to sound more accurate. Who in his team could keep up with him? Atsumu had Osamu; who the hell stuck around with Tobio, unsociable as he was?

“Course not. What the fuck do they feed ya in Gryffindor? Don'tcha sleep? Pretty much everyone has a train to catch tomorrow, remember? Some sleep would be nice, so I don't miss it." Atsumu pressed his back against the door, trying not to look at Tobio, feeling inexplicably bashful about it all, "I meant that we could play later, after winter break. Y’know. For practice.”

“You...want to practice with me?” Tobio gawked at him, mouth slightly agape. 

Atsumu felt a light crackle in his veins at the scene before him. What was with that look? Why was it-- Jesus. Why was he so adorable? Jesus. Was it normal to find your newfound rival cute? Thank god no one could hear his thoughts.

“I’m askin’ ya, ain’t I?” Atsumu recovered from his brief lapse quickly, wrapping an arm around a meek Tobio's shoulders, gladly teasing him, “Don’tcha get it twisted Tobio-kun, just ‘cause I wanna practice with ya for fun, doesn’t mean I won’t crush ya in the Inter-House Cup.”

“We’ll see about that.” Tobio let a little huff of air out through his nose.

Ha, he's confident, ain't he? 

“Countin’ on ya to play a fun match.” Atsumu let go of the younger boy, opening the door a smidge.

“I will as long as you keep up.”

An amused grin involuntarily burst onto the fifth-year's face; Tobio was fun. He was no Oikawa Tooru in terms of taunts, but damn, it was exhilarating when he snapped back, lips pulled into a little lopsided pout.

“Shut yer trap and go to bed Tobio.” Atsumu tousled his hair, raven strands like silk against his palm. Shit, what would it feel like between his fingers, intertwined with them? What would Tobio do if he just stroked it instead of messing it up like this? Should he-- Tobio relaxed into his touch a little, less tense than the first time Atsumu pulled something like this, and it felt like he had just been struck with a bolt of lightning.

Atsumu retracted his hand. He was probably just tired.

“Goodnight then, Miya-san." Tobio gave him a polite nod of the head, slipping into the darkness of the room.

“Yeah...night.” Atsumu wasn't even sure if the words made it out of his throat. He sighed, shutting the door behind him before getting back into bed. This rival thing was getting too complicated too fast. 

Whatever, it didn't really matter. He had to focus on winning the house cup. 

The first match after winter break was against Gryffindor and Atsumu refused to lose to Tobio.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

The day of the Slytherin versus Gryffindor match arrived faster than expected, with winter break ending in a flash.

Tobio stood with his teammates, clutching onto his broom and bat, enthusiastic for the game.

In the background, muffled by the wall keeping them inside, the drone of voices filled the air. He could identify it anywhere. The roar of the crowd was a drug to him, charging his system. It had nothing to do with the people themselves; Tobio was never one for large gatherings, after all. It was the atmosphere they provided, one that compiled his love for the sport. A sea of red and green parted neatly down the middle, separated by the pitch. It was beckoning to him -- hypnotizing.

He knew he should be focused, but his stomach was churning. To his right, Hinata returned from the toilet, having performed his ritual of being sick before a game. He ignored him, trying to hone his own nerves.

Tobio was not someone who got apprehensive before a game. Why would he? The pitch was there, his broom was there, his bat was there and so was he. People should never feel anything other than enthusiasm to play. But now, he understood where they were coming from. (Not to the extent of throwing up everywhere; Hinata was still a dumbass). 

He knew what caused this. It was rather obvious.

Before winter break and the training camp, Tobio was hesitant to voice any concerns. He wasn't good with words, nor could he tell when he was being harsh or rude. He was sure that was why he had been benched by prior captains for so long -- the image of a team turning away from their first-year prodigy of a beater haunted him. But ever since school started again, Miya’s stupid voice wouldn’t stop circling in his head; telling him to stop being such a goody-two-shoes, to let them know what was wrong, because anyone who couldn't score for him was just a scrub. And before he knew it, he had yelled at the team. 

The panic felt so fresh that he could still sense it in his chest; sweaty palms, racing heart, a clumsy attempt at an apology. They could have thrown him away -- rejected him, just like everyone else.

But no. 

The team-- his team had consoled him with smiles and laughs. They weren’t going to reject him because they knew how hard he worked, how difficult it was for him to talk to people, how he was trying his best. They were a team, a real one, and no one was getting left behind.

Tobio looked up to see Daichi give him a reassuring nod. He took a deep breath. It was going to be okay. The team believed in him; they weren’t going to bench him again. They weren't like the old team members, and Tobio wasn't the pain in the ass that everyone despised anymore.

And now, he felt nothing but excitement to step on the pitch.

"Iwa-chan!"

Or he did until Oikawa turned up.

Tooru’s voice echoed in the hallway, and Tobio felt a coldness claw at his spine. Fuck. Why did he have to show up when everything was going so well? It was decided: the universe really did resent him.

“Shittykawa what are you doing here?” Iwaizumi condemned but didn’t tell him to leave, even as he began leaning against his shoulder.

“I’m here to wish you and my precious little Tobio-chan good luck for today.” He made an obnoxious emoji-like expression, sticking his tongue out at Tobio. It made his heart hurt. Especially when Oikawa pinched his cheek causing a red-hot feeling to flush his face. (He could see Hinata snickering to himself at the side; he was dead).

“You’re up against Ushiwaka after all. You’ll need it.” A gloomy shadow fell over Oikawa's face, darkened stare making Tobio uneasy.

Ushijima Wakatoshi was Slytherin's captain and lead chaser. That guy was a monster. He towered over other sixth-years and executed his swing so ruthlessly that, apparently, all the keepers were scared to block him. Tobio thought that was only human of them. He was also the bane of Oikawa's existence, so much so that it was rumoured that the hat placed him in Ravenclaw to avoid them butting heads in Slytherin.

(Tobio thought that story checked out. Oikawa's drive made him the perfect Slytherin, but his hatred for Ushijima made it so they were a volatile explosion waiting to happen).

"What? You scared or something Tobio-chan?" Oikawa cooed, throwing his arms around the younger boy, the slightest indication of a taunt in his tone. Distant eyes locked onto Tobio and he panicked. 

“We’ll be fine.” He stated it a little gruffer than he had intended to, and an awkward stretch of silence was produced. 

Beside him, Hinata moved to speak, to say something— anything to distract from his friend. He knew how much seeing Oikawa messed with him and he couldn’t deal with this right before a match. A distracted Tobio meant a team without defence, and a team without defence could never win, let alone against the powerhouse that was Slytherin.

“Kageyama, let's get--"

“I see your confidence has skyrocketed.” Oikawa sneered, cutting Hinata off. 

He scoffed, and Iwaizumi shook his head at him as if to tell him to quit it. Oikawa let his expression completely change, eyes returning to that artificial playfulness they always possessed when looking at Tobio. The fourth-year gulped: this was not going to be fun. 

“Of course it has. You’re a little prodigy, aren’t you?" Oikawa squished Tobio's cheeks in his hand, treating him like a child. He held his breath for what was about to follow. "What have you possibly got to be afraid of? You’re the king after all.”

“That’s enough Oikawa.” Iwaizumi scolded, but Tobio couldn’t hear any of it anymore. The damage was done, wasn't it?

King.

His head was thrumming, ears obstructed with static as that name reverberated through his mind. King. He wasn’t that guy anymore. He didn't want to be angry, or lost, or alone. He had a team now. A team who trusted him. A team that would never reject him. A team that wanted him. The seventh-years were gone, he didn’t need to worry about them anymore. He had a fresh start. He tried to force those negative thoughts out, but instead, they began clogging up his throat, a nasty, repugnant taste filling his mouth. 

It stung -- ached -- pierced through his chest like the death charm. Oikawa could've put him through one hundred rounds of ‘Crutio' before that pain even came close to what he felt right now; heart torn into countless pieces. 

And as if the word itself wasn't bad enough, the person saying it only amplified Tobio's spiral. It hurt so much to hear Oikawa call him that. Oikawa who he looked up to, who was gorgeous, who he liked-- Fuck. Scratch that. Who he loved. Oikawa who hated him, who rejected him at every turn, who threw him away like he was worthless, and drew a clear line in the sand between them when all Tobio wanted was someone like him to accept him.

“I’m sorry about him, Kageyama. He doesn’t mean that.” Iwaizumi's voice pulled Tobio out from the waves that were drowning him. Oikawa was already gone, and the vice-captain patted him on the shoulder on his way back to Daichi. 

Tobio let out a shaky breath, all too aware of Hinata and Noya's prying eyes locked onto him, staring like some explosion had occurred where he stood.

“Is everything okay with you?" Nishinoya was the first to ask, tentatively reaching to rub Tobio’s shoulder.

“Um...Yeah. Everything is okay.” The way he had said it didn’t feel very reassuring, not even to himself. He sighed, “I’m going to the toilet. I’ll be right back.”

“What—?” Hinata squawked, “The game starts in fifteen minutes? And we still need to get to the Quidditch Gate? You never leave before a match.”

“Hinata dumbass, I said I’ll be right back.” He glared, flicking the shorter boy on his forehead, "Like I'd miss a match."

That seemed to be enough to get the two off his case, and Tobio didn't waste another moment, hurrying to the bathroom without another word.

His mind resisted resting, continuing to plague him with thoughts of Oikawa, a pissed-off team of boys much older than him and every mistake in between. The world was slowly fading in front of him, it must have been because the towering walls around him were becoming stifling, crumbling down on him. Or maybe it was just him who was wilting away. He couldn't tell; he couldn't even tell when he'd walked into the bathroom. His mind must have been too caught up in its own panic to register the change in scenery.

Tobio stumbled past a row of stall doors with chipped grey paint, his empty lungs burning, heart hammering his chest so hard he thought it would burst through his ribs and shred his skin apart. He leaned against a sink, the wet ceramic cold against his palms as he stared at his reflection in a mirror splattered with water droplets.

The king; demanding, angry, pushy...alone. 

The goody-two-shoes; polite, hesitant, pushover...afraid.

He squeezed his eyes shut, the sound of a lone dripping tap echoing against the expansive walls. Sunlight entered through the large window, reflecting off the marble surfaces all around him.

The image of his team was imprinted in his mind. Hinata Shouyou was there; they were all there. He had nothing to be afraid of anymore, so what if he was the king? They were okay with it; they were okay with him.

Tobio let out a shaky sigh. Something in between, not a tyrannical king, nor a wordless slave to his chasers. He was something in between. Splashing cold water against his face, he finally began feeling better, cold droplets dripping from his bangs, clearing the searing fire in his mind. He stumbled away from the sink, pushing back his hair, more at peace; ready to destroy Slytherin and their loud-mouthed beater.

But what he didn't expect was to run into said Slytherin beater on his way back to his team.

“Tobio-kun!” Miya Atsumu popped out the opposing hallway, slinging his arm around Tobio's shoulder as they both emerged in the courtyard, “I’ve been lookin’ for ya everywhere.”

Tobio tried to ignore just how close Miya had pulled him in, “You...you have?”

“'Course I have." He smirked, "I had to show up and tell ya that Slytherin -- especially me -- are lookin’ forward to kickin’ your ass today.”

Tobio rolled his eyes, half a chuckle escaping his lips, "Sure. Keep telling yourself that."

“Hope ya have the skill to back up that confidence." Miya lifted an eyebrow at him, a playful wink following, "I really hate playin' with scrubs."

The younger boy glared up at him, "Believe me, no one on our team is going to give Slytherin an easy game, so don't you worry Miya-san."

There was a stretch of silence, but Atsumu didn't stir, his hand still planted on his shoulder. At first, his face was unreadable, expression stuck in limbo as his eyes widened ever so slightly. But then came that lazy smirk Tobio was growing used to, only this time, there was something different about his eyes; brighter, focused, enthralled. He pulled away, bidding him goodbye but that look never faded, and it sent shivers down Tobio's spine.

He didn't know how long he had been watching the space where Miya had stood, but when he finally did turn around, he was met with the eyes of the entire team locked onto him. And then came the jeers and laughs and coos of 'Tobio-kun'.

Nishinoya pulled him down by his uniform, ruffling his hair like a proud mother, "Look at you Kageyama. I'd almost lost all hope, but you outdid yourself."

"What--"

"It's like you've grown up so suddenly. I didn't even know you could smile like that." Tanaka wiped away at a fake tear, somehow worse than Nishinoya.

Tobio tensed up, sending a confused and pleading frown in Hinata's direction, hoping to get some support in these trying times. (Or at the very least, an explanation on what the hell everyone thought just happened). Hinata just shrugged with a cheeky smile, leaving the beater at the mercy of their upperclassmen until Daichi yelled at them to focus.

That was when Tobio finally found some peace, following the captain onto the pitch, eyes locking with Miya Atsumu who was already on his broom.

Yeah, there was no way he was about to lose to him. Or anyone.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Atsumu felt the sound of the klaxon reverberate in his bones, the cheers of a carmine-clad crowd filling the air, drowning out the shocked and disappointed gasps from Slytherin spectators. A gust of mid-January wind made his emerald uniform flutter as he gripped onto his bat and gritted his teeth.

Losing sucked. It was the worst feeling on the planet, like an immovable anchor sat on the pit of his stomach, weighing him down as he lined up with the rest of the team, incapable of looking up from the obscured ground beneath his broom. The keeper was saying something in that cheerful voice of his, but Atsumu wasn't in the mood to listen.

That Gryffindor seeker was something else, and if Atsumu was honest, he was really fucking cool. Shit, the way he had gotten the golden snitch and ended the game was sick. There was no way anyone could have stopped him, not with Tobio knocking away the bludger even when Atsumu aimed them directly at shorty.

Atsumu was not one to dwell on the past. What happened last year, last month, last week, yesterday, hell, even what happened one fucking hour ago had already happened; it was in the past. What mattered was the now. That was what he had always told himself; that was what propelled him to push forward in every match. After all, those who dwelled too much on who they were, how they used to play, couldn't play to their full potential now. They couldn't savour the satisfaction of the game before them. And that was all that mattered: being able to play and relish in the present.

And win. 

But apparently, that wasn't a given, not even for a team as strong as Slytherin.

The thought of discarding memories helped to anaesthetize the pain of a loss. But now, with Kageyama Tobio on the pitch, he found himself surveying the entire match more than he had ever done before. He found himself looking back, wondering if this was a memory he would never forget, a moment passed by that he would think about even in-spite of an all-encompassing now.

Should he forget it? The astringent aftertaste of loss mixing with a post-match buzz. Could he forget it? The utter soul-crushing spectacle of the golden snitch in Gryffindor hands, blinded by the unrestricted smile that had broken onto Tobio’s face. Did he want to forget it? The booming applause from the opposing team’s crowd, almost loud enough to drown out his own breathless exclaim of ‘fuck’, because...fuck, what happened to goody-two-shoes Tobio?

As he shook the hands of the victors, he locked away the memory, piece by piece, barely conscious of what was happening around him. And began to concentrate on the future — the tomorrow that was not filled with loss, but with the potential of more, of winning, of Tobio who was not as hard-headed and serious as Atsumu had taken him to be, of a real rival.

And there he was, opposite to him, hand-stretched out, face unreadable as ever.

“Good game, Miya-san.”

Good game? Atsumu thought of the seeker that pushed on against him, the red-headed chaser that Tobio seemed to trust one hundred per cent, (he must have been the one who made Tobio so used to playing for so long, even in the depths of the night), the captain-keeper that kept his team together, the vice-captain that struck like a dependable lead chaser. But most of all, he thought about the challenging glares Tobio sent him from across the pitch—so intense, so hungry—and how they sent electricity crackling up his spine. Yeah, it was a good game.

Quidditch was a game of thrill, of whimsical desire in the face of danger, of unkempt yearning for a win. It was fast and dizzying and exhilarating. And Atsumu hadn't been sure if Tobio could feel that the way he did. He had wondered if that fire he had seen in Tobio's eyes back in their late-night rendezvous was a one-time thing, if he could keep that promise of not giving them an easy game, but he was wrong. His team had not only kept them on their toes, but Atsumu had also enjoyed every moment of the game. It seemed like Tobio had as well; it may not have been evident from that permanent grimace on his face, but the gleam in his eye and the provocative looks of challenge he had been sending Atsumu's way were enough to prove it. It sort of pissed him off.

"Yeah, good game, Tobio-kun." He squeezed the younger beater's hand lightly, half a smirk on his face, "But next time, I'll crush ya."

Tobio didn't say anything; he didn't need to. His eyes talked for him like they always did. And right now, the sudden flash in that cerulean sea was enough to let Atsumu know that he was going to fight back even harder next time. 

Good.

He wiped the sweat trailing down his forehead with the back of his forearm, That's what having a rival is for, right?

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

March was rainy that year. 

Tobio grew used to hearing the pattering of water droplets against the windows of Gryffindor Tower. They fell to their own tune, a natural melody every bit as comforting as his grandfather's absentminded humming when he cooked for him and his sister. 

He could have used that sort of comfort at a time like this; sore eyes, swollen cheeks, heavy heart.

Perching by the fireplace after class with Hinata and discussing quidditch strategies had become the norm, especially in the rainy weather. Every so often, they would invite Yachi over so she could help them out with classwork. (Charms Class was Hinata's worst subject, Tobio was worse at Transfiguration; seriously how the fuck was he meant to turn his pen into a cat? Or was it a frog? Was that even what they did in their last lesson?) At other times Tsukishima, a fourth-year Ravenclaw, would chew them out more than help. Gryffindor shared Transfiguration classes with Ravenclaw and Tobio wished they didn’t so he'd have never met the salty bastard, but Yachi and Yamaguchi seemed to put up with him, so he tried to remain civil. 

It didn't work.

(Tobio didn't even know why the stingy beanpole agreed to help if he was going to be such a dick about it. Then again, they needed as much help as they could get, so they didn't get pulled off the team for failing classes).

However, today was different. It wasn't a day to huddle around the fireplace as calming splatters of rain fell from the sky. It wasn't the sort of day Tobio would spend with his friends, or with the rest of the team either for that matter.

Gryffindor Tower was quieter; the room was vacated of any celebratory signs. And Tobio was not assembled downstairs with his upperclassmen, relishing in a win, as they had done in November and January. 

No. March meant thunderstorms and cold and losing to Ravenclaw, losing to Oikawa Tooru. So he curled up in his blanket, skulking away in his dorm, Hinata doing the same in his bed across from him. He craved for comfort, for support, but all he had was tears and thoughts of Oikawa that only made things worse.

Failing was depressing enough but losing to Oikawa was different. 

It seared through his skin like lava, leaving his scarred heart, a mere vestige of what it used to be, in the wake of its destruction. Tobio wasn't even sure if breathing was an option under the smug sneer that the older boy had shot him; bitter and contemptuous despite his win. Like Tobio was nothing but the dirt under his shoes. 

Surely Oikawa should be happy that he beat him? Why was that not enough for him? Why was Tobio not enough for him? 

Self-worth was a complicated notion, so Tobio didn't bother with it. As with many things, if it wasn't quidditch, he didn't want to discuss it. But when it came to Oikawa, self-worth and quidditch became tangled, the matters of his head and heart became inseparable. And it all converged on him, like an ardent firestorm, like he was seized in a dragon's breath, scorching away at its mercy.

Oikawa Tooru was that dragon; intimidating, imminent, heart-breaking. An elusive creature that was bound to break him, but slowly, like every second with him was another centimetre of skin burning. He was everything Tobio had to surpass, not just to become a better beater, but to feel some sort of recognition. To finally get a smile from him, a real one, an acknowledgement of them being equals. Oikawa was astonishing, calculating, in harmony with his team, and Tobio wanted to be like him, wanted to be accepted, wanted to not be kept an arm's length away. Just wanted to be his.

He scoffed. Like Oikawa would ever let him get closer, let him be his, accept him in any way. To him, Tobio would always be the bothersome first year he wanted to crush, to hate, to tease and throw away for his own gratification.

Now Oikawa was in every nook and cranny of Tobio's mind, overtaking any other thought that dared to spread, tainting every nerve with his taunting nature. The fourth-year begged for any way to switch his mind off. And as if in response to his silent cry for help, Ennoshita walked into the dorm.

"Kageyama? Hinata?"

Tobio swallowed hard, forcing down the Oikawa-fuelled anguish that was clogging his throat as he sat up, harshly wiping his eyes so they didn't look so glassy. Hinata burst from his blanket, ginger hair slipshod, bloodshot eyes. He hated losing, so Tobio was not surprised that Hinata was just as rundown as him. In fact, he was grateful; at least no one would pry too much into why he was so hurt.

"You two okay?" The fifth-year leaned against the doorframe, a sympathetic frown on his lips. The fourth-years just nodded. They were appreciative of his attempt to communicate but weren't really in the mood to discuss the game, "Okay, anyway. Kageyama you've got a guest." (Tobio frowned in confusion and Hinata squawked in his obnoxiously loud way, shocked that those words had left anyone's mouth) "It's one of those Slytherin twins, the one with piss-blond hair. Miya..."

"Atsumu?" Tobio helpfully provided.

"Yeah, that's the one. He's downstairs and Tanaka's pulling faces at him, so if I were you, I'd get down there." With that, the prefect left, leaving a confused Tobio at the mercy of his hyper and scarily pleased classmate.

"Soooooooooo," Hinata smiled, baring his teeth, a twinkle in his eye. Tobio really didn't like that look, "Miya Atsumu? In our dorms?"

Tobio creased his eyebrows, pulling a face that was meant to demonstrate a notion of duh that's what Ennoshita just said. Hinata began giggling uncontrollably, and Tobio felt like he was being left out of a joke. He hated that feeling, so he stormed over to the bed opposite to his.

“Hinata dumbass shut up.” Tobio pulled him by the hair, yanking it, “What are you being so weird for?”

The chaser let out a whine, kicking Tobio in the shin causing the release of his iron grip. He rubbed his head, pouting ever so slightly, "I’m not being weird Jerkyama. I'm just surprised you made a friend."

The emphasis on friend made Tobio agitated, so he rolled his eyes, "He's not a friend. He's a fellow beater, a really good one at that."

"Whatever you say, Kageyama-kun." Hinata announced in a sing-song voice, but that ribbing grin never left his face and Tobio fought the urge to strike him with the harshest spell he knew.

It was only the thought of Miya standing alone with his upperclassmen that got him to leave. It wasn't that he thought they would scare him away or anything, it was more that his snide comments mixed in with Tanaka's easily-riled nature was not a good idea.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

When Tobio entered the room, he was met by a collective glance in his direction; some of amusement (mainly from the one seventh-year that used to be on the team before this year), others of pity. It was then that he realised how disconcerted he probably looked with his red cheeks and puffy eyes. He contemplated turning back and washing up so he didn't look like such a mess, but a familiar cry of his name stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Tobio-kun, ya took your time, didn't ya?"

He spotted Atsumu lounging on the couch, smack in the middle of the room, a single drop of emerald in the red and golden mix of Gryffindor, sticking out like a sore thumb. He seemed to have been conversing with Iwaizumi, who was polite enough to engage him so Tanaka and Nishinoya didn’t try to assert their dominance as they had done many times before to other unsuspecting visitors. (Tobio didn't want to get started on how they went crazy when Yachi brought her friend Kiyoko over).

Miya was beside him in an instant, "I was startin' to think ya didn't wanna see me, but then I remembered what a delight I am." He chuckled at his own joke. Tobio found Tanaka scowling at him for that a little more entertaining. 

Then he went quiet, staring at Tobio, eyes flittering over his face and making the younger boy shift awkwardly. Miya's expression was unreadable; Tobio could not even hint at what was going through his mind. Though it wasn’t the first time he had been confused by the enigma that was Miya Atsumu. He sighed; this wasn't the time to be piecing out what the hell he was. 

"Did you want something, Miya-san?" He couldn't put up with him with the loss from Oikawa still stinging in his veins. Atsumu was too much for his system on a good day, on a shitty day like this he was scared that having him around might break down any remaining sanity he had left.

The older beater moved his mouth in an attempt to say something, but then stopped, looking around the room, "Ya’ looked like shit after the game." Atsumu bit down on his lip, his eyes reaming holes in Tobio's soul.

"Yeah." Tobio replied dumbly, unsure of what to say to something like that. 

Of course, he did. He had lost to Oikawa, of course he looked like he had been dragged backwards through a bush. Not that Miya would know the nuances of Tobio's pain and their history. He was honestly surprised he didn't say he looked like shit now. That would have been a fair observation.

"What are you tryna say about our beater?" Noya's voice sounded above Atsumu's attempt at a response. He pulled a face that was quite honestly impressive and the Slytherin boy chuckled, amused.

"Ya’ got some fun teammates." He diverted his attention back to Noya, "I weren't tryna say nothin'. S'not a bad thing. Just means he cares don't it?" 

He shrugged, not engaging Nishinoya any further, apart from letting him know how cool of a seeker he was. That was enough to win him over, and suddenly Atsumu was “the best person Tobio had ever introduced them to”. Although, there wasn't much competition when the only other contenders were Oikawa and Tsukishima (barely). (Yachi and Yamaguchi didn’t count; they were both Hinata's friends first, like most people).

“Tobio…” Miya scratched the back of his neck, looking as though there was something he wanted to say, but again, with one look at his surroundings his face relaxed into that same lazy expression he always fashioned. 

But his eyes never changed. 

His eyes remained clouded, darkened, holding something that Tobio didn’t quite understand, even when that jovial tone returned to his voice.

“I’ve been caught between studyin’ for my OWLs ‘n team practice, so I ain’t had the chance to follow up on that promise to play with ya.”

There was a little whistle from the sofa and Tobio glared at the perpetrator, who was Tanaka to no one’s surprise. Atsumu laughed it off, not seeming fazed.

“As I was sayin’, I was gonna offer to play now, but lookin’ at how it’s chuckin’ it down outside, that doesn’t seem like such a good--”

“It isn’t that bad is it?” Tobio stood by the window, peering out at the stormy weather with a desperation that he wasn’t sure he even possessed. Quidditch was everything; it was the way he breathed, the only thing that could even have a chance to dull the ache that had rooted in his chest. So if Atsumu was standing there, offering to take that pain away, who the hell was Tobio to refuse him? (Even if he wasn’t totally prepared to deal with his...layered personality)

Miya stared back at him with his mouth agape, clearly not sure where the conversation was going. Tobio just ignored him, grabbing his notebook from the depth of his gown, flicking through the pages to a spell he had begged Yachi to help him perfect.

“Daichi-san!” The fourth-year grabbed Atsumu by the wrist, running over to his team captain with a hopeful glint in his eyes, “Can I go play--”

“Absolutely not.” Daichi didn’t even look up from the book he was reading, remaining seated on the stuffed, vermillion armchair as the fireplace crackled in the background.

A sulky and befuddled pout broke onto Tobio’s face, “You didn’t even let me finish. How can you say no before you even know what I want?”

Daichi sighed, “Kageyama, I know you well enough to know you wanted to go play quidditch,” he paused, turning the page of his book, “and I gotta tell you, it’s not happening.”

“I know it’s raining but I know a spell--”

“No.”

“Please, Miya-san came all this way and I--”

“I already said no.” The captain finally looked at Tobio and the glare he was giving him, made him wish he had just kept his mouth shut, “You’re tired and bruised and drenched from the match this afternoon, go and rest.” Though the words he spoke were of concern, the tenseness of his speech let Tobio know there was no choice in this situation. 

He backed away, very aware that only a fool would try to argue with Daichi when he was adamant about something; he was the captain for a reason after all.

“Damn, guess your team captain ain’t that different from mine when it comes go shuttin’ plans down.” Atsumu chuckled, leaning against a couch as Tobio moped, not tearing his eyes from the window.

He wanted something -- anything -- to take his mind off of Oikawa, to numb the pain of losing. He just wanted to feel nothing; he yearned for an escape.

“Oi, y’know we could always discuss quidditch strategies instead of playin’.” Miya shrugged like it was no big deal but Tobio’s heart was thumping so hard that he could hear it in his head.

Fuck. Why was Atsumu like this? Why did he make Tobio’s stomach tighten into a knot and his head to spin? How the hell could he just ask him something like that when no other beater within a seventy-mile radius had ever even glanced in Tobio’s direction as an equal?

“Do you really mean that?” He was hesitant, afraid to have gotten his hopes up.

“Well ‘course I mean it; why? Ya’ never discussed quidditch with anyone before?” He was being sarcastic, pulling Tobio’s leg like he always did but that struck a nerve and the younger boy stood with slumped shoulders, lip twitching in an attempt at a coherent response.

“I have, with the team of course, but...other beaters...don’t like me.” Correction, other beaters didn’t approach him, and the only one he had ever worked up the nerve to approach first threw him aside like a broken toy. But that was all too much to explain, so yeah, he settled with other beaters not ‘liking’ him.

He expected a flummoxed look from Miya, but since when did that guy ever meet Tobio’s expectations? He practically snorted at his admission, tearing up like it was the funniest joke he had ever heard and all that rendered Tobio into an abashed, stuttering mess, desperately trying to come off as less of an emotional baby.

“Christ, Tobio-kun.” Miya heaved, finally taking in a proper breath as he doubled over, “D’ya think other beaters are all that fond of me? Please, even my teammates could barely stand me ‘til last year. Who gives a crap? They ain’t important.”

Again. Tobio couldn’t help but see the pale shadow of his past self outlining Atsumu and he wondered how different their lives must have been for him to not have had to change. He was almost jealous of that carefree attitude.

Miya straightened up, grinning cheek from cheek, “Plus ya’ got me now, so ya’ don’t need them other beaters anymore.”

Tobio paused. He hadn’t thought of it like that. Ideally, he would like to know all the beaters in Hogwarts, in order to analyse their style, learn from them if he could, no matter how small the detail. But for now, having Atsumu at his side was enough to observe, after all, he was the best beater in Hogwarts.

“Ah. I guess you’re right.” 

Tobio didn’t know what else to say; he wasn’t used to actually getting help from someone else, what with Oikawa shooing him away throughout the last four years without hesitation. Then he noted Atsumu searching around for somewhere to sit, finding none.

 “It’s really busy here right now; we could always go up to my room? It’s quieter and there’s space to sit.”

Miya stared at him with a bemused smirk, waggling his eyebrows, “Invitin’ me to your room already? How forward, Tobio-kun.” 

The comment elicited a few muffled chuckles from Tanaka and Nishinoya who were still listening in to their conversation. (Tobio honestly wondered how bored they must have been to listen for so long). 

But he paid little attention to them, instead looking up at Atsumu and asking, “Is it?”

The second the words left Tobio’s mouth the chuckles became guffaws and the blonde’s face had fallen. Was that not the right answer? Was it a stupid question? This is why Tobio didn’t like talking to people on his own.

“What--” Atsumu stared at him wordlessly for a few moments, taken aback, but he recovered quickly, “Nevermind, it ain’t important. Just lead the way.”

Tobio didn’t question it, just glad that they were moving past whatever the hell that was. He directed him up a twirling mahogany staircase, desperately hoping that this would be the remedy to his affliction.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Atsumu sat across from Tobio on his bed, legs crossed as he listened to the younger boy talk his leg off about the different types of swings with the same amount of gravity a real match would require. The little crease in his brows, the sparkle in his eyes, the trademark frown of his that was less so a frown and more so a pout; all of it made Atsumu’s heart twinge in an inexplicable way. Almost as inexplicable as the reason why he was here.

He didn’t really know why he had rushed to Gryffindor Tower, all he knew was once he had seen that devastated look on Tobio’s face after his match against Ravenclaw, his feet had moved at their own will. It was a decision made on a whim, a whim that burst forth the second the whistle had gone off and Tobio’s face contorted into something unrecognisable, a hollow look setting into his eyes -- the eyes that usually gave everything away for him. 

Losing sucked; Atsumu was very much aware of that fact. But that expression-- that pain -- cut so much deeper than quidditch, and he wondered what the fuck could hurt Kageyama Tobio more than losing a match, dedicated as he was?

“Miya-san?”

Atsumu hummed at Tobio’s interjection, looking up to find his gaze locked onto him, eyes softened. 

Fuck. 

Why did he look at him like that? Like he was the last person on the earth?

“Are you okay? You seem really out of it.”

And god fucking damnit. 

Did he have to speak to him in such a hushed tone? So gentle and genuine that it left a sweet, warm feeling in the back of his throat, as if he had swallowed a spoonful of honey. 

How could someone so uniquely aimable, in a way that he didn't even understand, have looked so distraught? What the hell could have caused something like that? Atsumu had to know, had to feel like he could stop it, had to peel away another layer of Tobio’s expansive personality.

“M’fine, promise.” He tried to muster up a smile, but his face didn’t seem to be in the mood to cooperate.

He was honestly thankful that Tobio had brought them up here because there was no way he would have been able to articulate what he really wanted to say in front of all of Tobio’s teammates. Usually he didn’t care for other people, but Tobio made him act weird, like a shell of himself, nervous for god knows what. It was even worse now that he wasn’t sure how to phrase his concern; how the hell was he meant to ask whether Tobio was okay? How the fuck-- Oh. Oh.

So that’s what it was: worry.

The realisation hit him like a tonne of bricks, and Atsumu was unsure of how well he knew himself all of a sudden. Because surely something like this should have been obvious to him?

He was worried about Tobio. 

When did that become a thing? Did people get worried over their rivals? Surely they would want them to lose at every turn? 

The twisting sensation in his stomach begged to differ, as the thought of Tobio’s dejected face flashed through his mind yet again, leaving an uncomfortable pricking in his chest. There was no way to deny a feeling as crystal clear as that, not once it had made itself so obvious. 

He pressed his nails against his palm, There isn’t really anything wrong with it, is there? I’m worried about him because he’s my rival and I need him to be at his best so I can be at mine. That’s it, right?

(Tobio had nodded slightly at his response and then begun staring down at his hands, mumbling on about a new broom trick that he wanted to try. And in that moment he looked so utterly small -- legs brought to his chest, head tucked over his knees, bottom lip sticking out -- that Atsumu decided to throw all doubt out the window).

Fuck it. He was worried and there was nothing he could do about it; he just had to trudge forward. 

So he did.

“What about you?” He carefully eyed Tobio’s expression, trying to discern any cracks in the stable facade he was putting up. Tobio didn’t seem to understand why he would ask that so Atsumu sighed, slanting towards his figure, hands naturally gravitating to his puffy cheeks.

The younger boy went taut in his embrace, half-slouching, legs dangling from the bed as he held his breath, but Atsumu was too preoccupied by the feeling of cracked skin against his thumb to notice. Tobio winced at the gesture, the area around his eyes irritated. 

He had been crying; Atsumu had noticed the second the younger boy stepped into the common room with filmy eyes and disarrayed hair. But he hadn’t noticed the inflamed skin before now and for some reason it made his chest tighten, grip on Tobio’s face fastening ever so slightly. 

Worry. With its unknown bounds and ability to make mouths uncharacteristically dry, it was a peculiar emotion reserved for family and close friends, but also shared with the strangers Atsumu saw in the corridors, especially the ones who had to go help out the groundskeeper. (Those animals were vicious if they didn’t like you). But as stretched out as it was, pinned from family to people who he would never see again to the exam paper that would be presented to him in the next few days, it never thinned where it mattered. The intensity of concern was bound to vary like all emotions did, but when Atsumu worried for Tobio it felt all too strong, too concentrated considering the little time they had actually spent together. It scared him honestly, because how could you feel so much in such little time?

“Are ya’ okay? ‘Cause like I said before, ya’ look like pure shit.” He drew his wand, aiming it at Tobio’s face. The younger boy flinched, but did not move away, and Atsumu offered him the kindest smile he could muster, “Don’t worry, I’m good at this. Episkey.”

The swelling around Tobio’s eyes began to die down, intense redness fading into the bronzed blends of his skin as he relaxed. He faintly felt his face, no longer grimacing at every little touch.

"Thank you for that Miya-san." He ducked his head a little because of course he did. It was Tobio after all, sweet, polite Kageyama Tobio that had managed to make Atsumu fret over him out of the blue.

“Forget thanking me, just let me know what’s up with you. I ain’t never seen ya’ so down.”

Tobio immediately froze, rounded shoulders brought up half an inch as he steepled the pads of his fingers against each other. He was no longer meeting the older boy's gaze, instead choosing to furrow his brows and glare at the blanket strewn over his bed as if it held the meaning of life amongst its delicate woollen fabric.

“It’s really nothing serious.”

“But there is something wrong, isn’t there?” Atsumu took the silence that followed as a yes. He stared at Tobio, hoping that he could will him into speaking, but subtlety wasn’t exactly the younger boy’s speciality. Eyes squeezed shut, he tried again, “Tobio...I’m just worried.” 

The words felt heavy on his tongue, and he hurriedly tacked on another phrase: “Y’know, thatcha weren’t enjoyin’ quidditch. Can’t have my only rival havin' second thoughts, can I?”

Tobio jolted at the accusation, frowning but at least not with a downcast look in his eyes anymore.

 “No-- I would never give up quidditch.” He said it with such unwavering confidence that it made Atsumu’s chest swell.

“Good...Ya’ better mean that.”

“Why would I say it if I didn’t?”

And Atsumu chuckled: because why indeed? The simpleminded honesty Tobio possessed made him feel all sorts of comfort, and he leaned against the headboard, a smile playing on his lips as he was reminded yet again of the Gryffindor beater’s affinity for quidditch.

”There’s really nothing to worry about, Miya-san.”

Atsumu wasn’t really convinced, but now that Tobio didn’t look like he had been sobbing for the last three hours, his chest felt a little lighter and he was prepared to let it go.

Muffled sounds of the world around them seeped into the stillness of the dorm. The dripping of rain against the windowsill, the boisterous conversations from the common room downstairs, the creaking of floorboards as people walked down the hallway outside. Everything was serene and Atsumu sighed, slouching onto his side as he stared up at Tobio who was filing his nails with the utmost concentration. He nudged his knee with his forehead, capturing his attention.

From this angle, with his head against the mattress, Atsumu could see the perfect slope of Tobio’s nose. His long eyelashes kissed the skin of his upper-cheeks as he stared at him with those unfairly large, bluebell eyes. Then there was his lips, pinched and plump, puckered up into a faint pout like always. 

(Did Tobio even realise that he did that? Atsumu wondered about it extensively, but didn’t ask in fear of making him overly conscious about it; he couldn’t risk him not doing it anymore.)

All of it birthed a fuzzy feeling in his stomach, and the thought that Tobio was rather beautiful invaded the shores of Atsumu’s mind. 

Holy shit he thought Kageyama was beautiful. 

Now it was getting weird. Beautiful? What the fuck? That didn’t seem like something just rivals would say. But then again, he was just objectively stating a fact: Kageyama Tobio had a nice face. There wasn’t anything odd about admitting that right? It only meant that Atsumu had functioning eyes. Besides, finding someone marginally attractive didn’t have to mean anything-- 

Atsumu came to the realisation that he had been staring for an awfully long time and blurted out the first question that came to his mind.

“What made you love quidditch, Tobio-kun?”

The question made the younger beater halt, and he set the nail file down, mouth twisted up in thought.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Tobio bit his tongue, taken aback by the sudden question.

What made him love quidditch?

No one really asked him about the reason for his love, they just accepted that where there was Kageyama, there would always be quidditch and vice versa. 

It wasn’t their fault, Tobio was aware of his perhaps unapproachable nature, and with his family being a long line of witches and wizards, it was safe for everyone to assume it was simply expected of him to be good at it. But Miya was the last person -- save for Oikawa, except for in the crush-induced reveries Tobio thought up  -- that he thought would ask him something like that. Yet here he was, unpredictable as ever, staring up at him expectantly.

Nostalgia swirled in the depths of Tobio's mind, and he could almost feel the wrinkled hand holding his much smaller one on the way back from a quidditch match. He remembered the story told over the dinner table on countless occasions, of little baby Tobio clutching onto his grandfather’s quaffle with an iron grip, remembered the way his sister retold her every match with vivid detail, and left him yearning for the day he would go to Hogwarts like her. The summers spent huddled around the telly, shouting and yelling and cheering as they watched every match they could, the advice his grandfather would give him on looking after his hands, the day he decided being a beater was all he wanted to do -- all of it came rushing back.

“My grandfather...he coached a local quidditch team, he used to let me and my sister go watch,” Tobio fiddled with his sleeve, unable to describe how much those years truly meant to him, so he settled with, “It was always fun and I decided I would play when I got to Hogwarts.”

“Hmm.” 

“What about you Miya-san?”

Miya shuffled a little closer, his head now resting against Tobio’s knee, “Ma’s a muggle, and Pa’ ain’t with her anymore, but when we were kids, he’d show ‘Samu ‘n me all these wizard sports, like Wizard’s Chess, and Shuntbumps or whatever. But Quidditch really stuck out, and after the divorce we kept watching it even when we moved to live with our Ma’. But when I saw a beater for the first time, it was crazy; that’s when I really got hooked.”

Tobio met his gaze and saw that all-consuming fervidity burning away in the bronze of his eyes.

“With the way he was playin’, it was like he was sayin’ ‘I’ll letcha score’.” Miya grinned, it was childish almost, “It was so cool; how could I not wanna be like him?”

That made Tobio smile before he could even stop himself. It wasn’t easy for him to explain why he loved being a beater so much, and even though the way Miya put it wasn’t exactly what he would have said, it was nice to have someone who appreciated the position as much as him around.

“Got any snacks? M’starvin’.” Miya swung his legs off the bed, clutching his stomach as he reached towards some drawers.

“Ah. I don’t but I’m sure Hinata does.”

Tobio walked over to the other bed, opening up Hinata’s top drawer to reveal a stash of snacks from Honeydukes, ranging from Chocolate Frogs to Fizzing Whizzbees to Every Flavour Beans and everything in between. It was like a jackpot of sugary, colourful junk that an athlete should never put in his body. Except for when his loud, ginger roommate wasn’t around to guard them.

“Holy shit...No wonder shrimpy’s so fast,” said Atsumu, crouching besides him, “Ya’ sure he won’t mind us muchin’ on his stuff?”

Now it was Tobio’s turn to huff, “Who cares? The dumbass owes me anyway. He took my last pack of Cauldron Cakes.”

Miya snorted, and an amused smirk spread across his face, “You’re mean Tobio-kun.” But that didn’t stop him from crossing his legs and grabbing the nearest snack.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Tobio didn’t really know how the afternoon ended up bleeding into twilight, rainfall subsiding and clouds parting into the ebony tenting of the night sky. He didn’t understand how he had ended up chatting about every topic under the sun with Atsumu either, straying from quidditch. At one point they had even begun discussing pets, and Tobio had bashfully admitted his fear of animals not liking him. To which Atsumu had chortled and teased, before likening him to a black cat and ruffling his hair. 

(He had been doing that a lot more casually and Tobio didn’t have the heart to stop him, nor did he want to, even despite the way it made his stomach flip.)

Sweet wrappers had been scattered on the floor of his dorm like rainbow confetti, as they had leaned against the bed frame, feeling sick from how much they had stuffed their mouths with. The two of them may not have even realised how late it had gotten if it weren’t for Hinata coming back to the dorm after hanging out with Kenma, and catching them red handed with his sweets. The screaming match between him and Tobio had rendered Atsumu into a chuckling mess, laughter loud and rowdy, but not failing to coddle Tobio up in its warmth.

And now, Tobio lay in his bed, wrapped up in his blanket, drifting away to sleep, not even realising that since Atsumu had stepped into Gryffindor Tower that afternoon, he hadn’t thought of Oikawa once.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

On the other side of the castle, behind a bare stretch of stone wall down in the dungeons that led to the Slytherin common room, Miya Atsumu lay on his side, unable to explain the smile on his face when Osamu pointed it out. (Though he had described it more as ‘an ugly fuckin’ smirk’.)

And that unexplainable smile was one of many, scattered between private quidditch practice, random occurrences of running into Tobio in the hallways and the way their eyes had met after Slytherin beat Ravenclaw in the final match of the year.

Despite it all, Atsumu went home that year with a heavy feeling in his chest that just refused to identify itself. 

And in the end, it took a joke from Osamu, a Triwizard Cup, foreign students, a Yule Ball and Oikawa fucking Tooru, for Atsumu to realise what the cause of those smiles was.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

aaaaaa so that's the first chapter! thanks for reading <33333

atsukage give me constant brainrot so me writing about them was bound to happen sooner or later. plus the sheer lack of atsukage fics makes me upset and so i just had to write SOMETHING y’know.

this was really just them getting to know each other and start to sorta like e/o but since they're CLOWNS they just don't realise it. stay tuned for the next chapter for Yule Ball Angst™, more quidditch, and realisations <33

also if you also want to scream about atskg with me follow my twt: kaikxge