#fukorodani

Three things are apparent in Tsukishima Kei’s life.

First, Tsukishima Kei purely despises you. Has been since first year. Has been when you two were sorted into opposite houses.

And has been since you bumped into him recklessly while trying to ride the Hogwarts Express, almost knocking him down with your lumbering suitcase and an apologetic smile on your face.

Second, Tsukishima Kei has endured you through all his classes. For some stupid reason, you two were always in the same class. Same period. Same time, for the past six years.

He has endured your cauldron bursting, your wand jabbing, and your mandrake screaming with grimaces and moans. You notice—how can you not when he makes his displeasure with you obvious to the entire world? Yet you do nothing but shoot him an amused look.

And finally, Tsukishima Kei thinks you're the most reckless being in the entire world. The way that you rush into things headfirst. The way that you speak before thinking. The way that your hair swishes in the air and the way that your eyes narrow in an annoyingly determined fashion. And don’t even ask him how many times you were sent to the infirmary because of your own actions.

He knows that it’s written in your DNA, that recklessness rushing through your blood. You breathe, eat, and speak it at this point.

But there’s another apparent thing. He doesn’t like to acknowledge it, though, so he doesn’t. But it’s there—for sure. Festering deep within him.

That even in first year, when you tackled him down with that grin, his heart had beat too wildly for him to like it. That his palms were sweaty and his neck was flushed when he slapped away your hand in defiance. That when you pouted, his stomach churned, and he almost looked sorry. Almost.

Not enough.

But enough for Tsukishima Kei to know that there was something wrong.

The involuntary gasp that Tsuki lets out from his nose is nothing against the thunderous claps that roar in the Great Hall. Stomachs full of the food that the elves in the kitchens have so graciously provided, the hall buzzes with energy at the slip that Dumbledore holds between his fingers. The slip that shot out of the blue fires that enveloped the inside of the cup.

The slip that he had just read out. The slip that contained your name.

You were stupid—Tsuki knows that. But he didn’t think that you were actually hit in the head by a broom as a kid, for you to place your name in the cup to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. A tournament in which many had died.

Inhaling a sharp intake of breath, he watches your shocked face in the sea of many. He was always able to scope you out, whenever it was and wherever you were.

You rise to your feet, stumble a little as your friends pat you harshly on the back, and your body spins—just a little, but enough to catch his eyes. He gives you a mean, old stare that you brush off.

And then you give him a smug smirk, eyes crinkled with joy, and your cheeks flushing... heavenly. It matches your red tie rather well, he points out. Tsukishima points out a lot of things about you.

“Told you I would get it,” you mouth to him. He blinks. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Then rolls his eyes, looking away, trying to ignore the lodge stuck in his throat. Suddenly, his uniform is way too tight on him, and he can’t breathe.

He watches your back get brutally petted by the headmaster himself, quietly chuckling at your wince before you disappear from sight. He then sighs and pulls at his green tie before setting his head in his hands. Boredom or contemplation. He doesn’t know.

Tsuki doesn’t dare to look at the Hufflepuff table because he can already feel his green-haired friend’s annoying smile, which the blond-haired next to him snickers at, catching on.

Nor does he pay any mind to the orange head that screams your name with a banner in hand in the Gryffindor section. Or the raven-haired, just a few seats next to him, who politely claps—albeit louder than he actually would—because it was you.

Tsuki’s brows start to furrow. It’s partly because the chaos ensues from all of the other names getting called. He recognizes one of them—Miya Atsumu, a famous Quidditch player, getting called up from Durmstrang. This time, the claps are louder, and his lips twitch into a frown.

But the real reason for his grouchiness is that he wonders what will happen to you. There’s this realization starting to set in.

For a competition so dangerous—risky enough that it got banned for a while... will you be alright? As much as he doesn’t like to admit it, you’re pretty much a genius when it comes to spellwork—better than himself, dare say—but there’s this pit in his stomach when his imagination starts to spew the worst.

Then the pit grows more—deep and consuming like a black hole—when he asks himself: why does he care? Why does he care if something happened to you? He doesn’t care. No—

There’s blood in his tongue from the constant chewing on his lips.

No. He’s only worried because if you get hurt, then he can’t tease you anymore. He has to pretend to be nice.

He nods in his hands—subtly—and he relaxes. Slightly. Just slightly.

When the whole ordeal is over, he waits by one of the corridors, nearest to the one that you disappeared into, along with Yachi, Hinata, Kageyama, and Yamaguchi.

Leaning against the wall, he scoffs at his friends' insistence on being the first people to congratulate you properly. His heart is racing in his chest, though, and he steps a bit away from Yamaguchi, scared that his friend could hear it.

“This is so stupid,” the tall blond groans. “We can literally do this tomorrow when we see her. I’m tired and it’s late.”

Hinata just pats him on the back, and Tsuki grimaces in disgust, wiping away at his robes in a prudent fashion. “That’s just ’cause you’re an old man!”

Yamaguchi, next to him, raises an amused brow. “Hinata, you’re literally the oldest.”

“Well, still—!”

Yachi’s loud gasp breaks the boys out of their rising tension, and they all whip their heads around, just peering down the hallway. Lit with torches, the dancing fire creates a glowing cast on your face, features contorted into pure bliss of happiness.

You’re skipping a little, laughing at your friends, and Tsuki’s in this state of unwanted adoration. He’s trying not to let the lines on his face melt, but he can’t help but let his eyes waver into pools of softness and his lips jut out.

He’s not oblivious—how can he be when it comes to himself? But can he let himself enjoy it—that question keeps him up at night.

“Oh god (Y/n), I knew that you would get it!” Yachi gets hold of your hands and spins you around into a hug. Hinata jumps up on your shoulders in excitement. “Did you hear me scream your name?!”

“I did, Shoyo! You were the loudest!”

Kageyama shoots you a smile—or rather, tries to—his grin terrifying. Yet you still take his palms and give him your own high-five, slapping it loudly against his that it wakes up some of the portraits who weren’t already woken from the cheering.

“Thanks, Tobio!”

Kageyama, pleasantly surprised, nods his head. You nod back, grinning so bright, it outshines the sun.

Yamaguchi himself tugs you into his chest, wrapping his hands around you playfully before shoving down a congratulatory chocolate frog into your mouth. Your favorite sweet.

Something bubbles in his chest. Green.

Then your wide eyes, warm and loving, look at him. And his heart stops. His eyes travel your face, from your hair to your chin. He drinks in the pride and beauty that you exude, and his breathing all of a sudden is labored, painful.

Because you’re so...

“Nothing for me, huh?” you tease, nudging him with your elbow. He just pushes you away with his finger against your forehead. “What am I supposed to say? Congrats on your stupidity?”

You just laugh and brush it off, giving him a cute look. And Tsuki has to clap himself on the back for not freaking out because of you. But then he turns to the green-haired when he realizes your warm palm is against Hinata’s shoulder. And he opens his mouth.

“Yamaguchi, how much do you want to bet that she loses her arm, first round?” Tsuki snarks. Everyone moans at his pessimism. Not you, though—you just punch his arm and bite back.

“The cup picks whoever is worthy... Tsuki. Are you saying that Dumbledore is wrong?!”

“No, I’m just saying that it might’ve been a fluke.”

You cross your arms and blow a strand of hair from your face. “Right. I’ll prove you wrong when I take home the thousand galleons.”

“Enough to buy your own Quidditch team!” Hinata pipes in. It’s thoughtful—his words—and Tsuki does not know if he was actually serious. But still, everyone giggles (he snorts), and now they’re starting to walk down the hallway before Ms. Norris catches them after curfew.

“Right, Shoyo!” you chirp. Tsuki tries not to look down at you or turn red when your fingers brush against his. Soft and inviting. And you smell nice like you always do—like daisies.

“Anyways, Tsuki, you’ll be cheering for me, right? You must. Everyone else is our opposition.” You pause and then add thoughtfully, “You’re my friend, so.”

The word friend isn’t very pleasant, Tsuki realizes. A crack shoots down his body, and his slim figure rather jolts against the ground. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like these feelings. With you. God. What the hell do you do to him? There’s anger brewing in his lips, and his tongue slips:

“We’re not friends.” He mockingly chuckles. He doesn’t notice how everyone goes quiet and the way that your lips purse, sadly. “Besides, everyone else seems way better than you. You’re not worth my cheering.”

He hopes that you take it as a joke when he says what he says. That your quietness is you thinking of something to say back, something meaner, because he deserves it.

You don’t. Obviously. And there’s a tremble in your lips and twinkling in your dimmed eyes, and a slap from Hinata on his back that makes him groan out in pain. “Yeah, thanks for your support,” you murmur, before walking off, with Yachi right behind you.

“That was a cold blow, Tsuki,” Yamaguchi sharply says. Kageyama shoulder checks him.

But that doesn’t scare him. Wound him. The disappointing look that you give him before turning into the next corridor does. And it haunts him for the rest of the night. And over breakfast. And it seeps into his heart for the next few days.

Tsukishima has had many fights with you. But he supposes that this might be the worst one. You’ve been ignoring him. And he’s going insane. Actually insane. For the first time ever, he receives an A in potions. Fucking potions.

You're like a drug—and he’s a man addicted, because he craves your presence, in the small things. In the big things. The smell of parchment paper, which you claim to be very comforting. McGonagall, because she’s your house head. Even your damn tabby owl that he sees in the morning makes him wilt back into his porridge.

He knows why. But tries not to understand it. He clearly reflects it—that indifference with his smug grin and scoffs at your name.

Yamaguchi is being sharper and colder to him. Everyone else too—but fuck! He doesn’t want to confront himself. He doesn’t know what to do.

But deep down, he wishes that you would know that what he said isn’t true. He will always praise you. Tsukishima doesn’t know how to—really. He will always be there for you, always defend you. In a heartbeat. In a single breath. Whether you’re friends or not. Or more.

Speaking of...

Jaw clenched, he watches a pair of girls a few seats down, giggling to each other. At first, he doesn’t know what they’re talking about, so he doesn’t pay any mind, but his sharp hearing catches your name leave their glossy lips, and he’s perked up.

It doesn’t take a genius to know that they’re bad-mouthing you.

He dares to go back to grading more essays for Professor Slughorn (the professor’s trust in him should be studied), but his quill is quivering too much between his fingers for him to even circle the rights and wrongs. He tries, but he ends up leaving a big hole in the parchment.

Tsukishima decides it’s enough when they start coming for your looks. ‘For someone so jealous, they don’t even compare to you,’ he thinks. His long strides are strong and confident as he stops by their table.

They look up. Exchange looks. And all the infuriating smiles that make his temple click.

“Ah! Tsuki, would you like to study with us?!” One of them slyly sighs, coiling her hair around her finger. The other nods eagerly.

And he’s disgusted.

“No, thank you. I don’t like to associate myself with embarrassments who don’t have the looks or the brains to back up their words.” He pushes up his glasses and hands them their packets with a big D circled in red. Dreadful.

“I’m sorry that we can’t all be smart.” He quietly says, enjoying their shocked faces. They’re on the verge of tears—he can tell, and he relishes in it. Tsuki doesn’t take a moment to spare them a glance, turning around with his bag in hand.

Only to momentarily freeze, when he sees Yamaguchi narrowly staring at him. There’s a smug smirk playing on his face, and his cheeks are contoured into one of amusement.

Obvious that Yamaguchi witnessed the whole interaction, and knowing well enough that he couldn’t defend himself, Tsuki brushes past his friend with no intentions to speak.

But Yamaguchi follows.

“You know you like her, right?” He says airily. He knows. Fuck.

Yamaguchi easily wipes off his friend’s deadly glare, already used to his antics. When the blonde doesn’t say anything, because his lips are too tight to even open, he prods once more.

“I hope you know that everyone can see it. You’re not very good at hiding it.”

Tsuki keeps looking forward, sharply cutting corners. No budge—to Yamaguchi’s disappointment. So, he tries one last thing.

“You really hurt her, Tsuki. Out of everyone, she was counting on your support the most. ...Make it up to her.”

Tsukishima freezes, and Yamaguchi almost crashes into his friend. He thinks that he’s about to get the scolding of his life, but is proven wrong when Tsuki slightly shakes from exhaling out a breath.

“I...I want to. But I don’t know how.” Tsukishima looks at his feet. “I really messed up this time, hm?”

Yamaguchi’s face shows nothing but pity and a calm smile, “I dunno, that should be her call. But...you really like her, huh? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go this soft for anyone.” This earns him another glare that makes him laugh, but at Tsuki’s silence, he encourages himself to go on.

“Be there for her. Show her that you like her. And lucky for you, she’s going to wait.”

“You said that I was being obvious at...her?” He swats at his friend’s face before walking away.

The green-haired boy snorts, “You are. I don’t think she believes it, though.”

Make her believe it.

And for the next week or so, Tsukishima finds himself on a mission that he does not want to do. Or rather, he’s forced to do on behalf of himself, you, and Yamaguchi. And soon Yachi.

He’s always known that Yamaguchi’s mouth was too big to keep this a secret. And he always knows that Yachi and Yamaguchi have their own gossip session deep in the Hufflepuff common rooms, so he isn’t too surprised when Yachi shoots him a thumbs up.

He’s rather irritated. But then it turns into small hints of admiration when they both help him apologize. Not outright, though.

Because he couldn’t force himself to say sorry to your face without messing up. Or sounding sarcastic and making everything worse; Yachi’s truthful words, not his.

Tsuki delivers a small package of chocolate frogs infused with strawberry syrup. And a little note with the drawing of the moon on it. He feels your pouty eyes stare him down as you scarf down your breakfast. He adjusts his collar so it hides his ruby neck.

Which only worsens when you grin so prettily and open the package, laughing when a smidge of syrup caresses your cheeks. And his heart is in his throat. Holy shit.

His mission doesn’t stop there, unfortunately for him.

Because you make him drag it out, not sparing him any of your sweet voice, but rather your soft looks that make him want to rip out his hair, or accidental brushes that make him yearn. Harshly. Softly. Warmly. Coldly.

Tsukishima is fucking hopeless. Such a romantic. He notices. And slowly accepts as the days turn into weeks. This time, with the help of the rest of his friend group, he slowly sends you more gifts. More apologies. And more advances to his heart.

As time passes and he’s subjected to what he calls psychological torture, he realizes two things. First, he’s a coward with no spine to talk to you at all. He’s quiet, though—no more snappy remarks, but that’s all. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Second is that his mean words must’ve wounded you deeper than he expected. He doesn’t think you’re dramatic because he deserves the shit that you throw at him. But he’s growing frustrated.

Because he just wants to be next to you. Talk to you. Especially before the games officially start, and you’re thrust into danger that he does not want you to be in. Reckless. He’s scared.

The night of the first game, he didn’t sleep at all. He walks by the fat lady subconsciously, with you running through his mind. He asks Hinata painfully how you are, and he is informed that you are doing quite well.

Except you have thrown up once in the past few hours because of nerves, and you can’t stop chewing on your nails, and you have been slathering your face in makeup because of the deep, dark circles being carved onto your face.

So, in theory, not well. Not at all. And he feels so guilty because he isn’t there for you when you need him.

Yet the next day, he refuses to see you in the great hall with the rest of your friends. He tells Yamaguchi to give his support to you, but he just stalks back to his dorm and lies in his bed, long limbs outstretched across the bed.

He just thinks—there’s too much in his head as of now, and he’s about to explode. He doesn’t want to. But he does.

Tsukishima is twenty-five minutes late for the games. He stumbles into his reserved seat, in the middle of Yamaguchi and another peer. No one asks him anything because they all know why from the cold sweat breaking out on his face and his lightly trembling hands.

He coughs to steady his voice, then asks, “I—I did I miss her? What’s going on?”

Hinata answers for him, quite cheerfully, “No, you didn’t miss her, you only missed the champion from Beauxbatons! Anyways, long story short, the champions must steal this golden egg from a dragon... I think. Right?”

He looks around in approval, which everyone gives, but Tsukishima doesn’t focus on that. He focuses on more serious matters.

Dragons?! He pales even more but doesn’t show it. He just slinks back into his seat and sighs. Throbbingly.

“Our next contestant is Miya Atsumu, from Durmstrang,” Ludo Bagman announces with his wand pointed at his neck.

Tsukishima recognizes the name, and he slumps back down, anxiety ridden. It’s not you. Not yet. He's glad that it’s not you yet, but then he’s plagued with the fact that you will be next. That’s the truth. Final settlement. He might as well jump off a broom and die.

The slight bit of relaxation of not facing the treacherous dragon whisks away when he sees the brute. And Miya Atsumu’s small stature next to it as he conjures different spells, different tricks to get to his end goal.

He gets burned, almost squashed, and is brutally harmed by a spell gone wrong, but he manages to get the sacred golden egg.

Then he’s gone away, the Chinese Fireball is being contained by trained specialists—and it’s too fucking quiet.

Not just him. The whole Hogwarts section because they’re waiting for you. He sees in the corner of his eyes that Yachi is squeezing the hell out of Kageyama, who looks like he’s squeezing back, eyes trained on the field. Yamaguchi is whispering prayers under his breath, and Hinata is jittering in his seat.

And he’s about to pass out. He thinks he does for a good second, when his vision blurs, and you’re being let out by Mr. Bagman. To face the dragon. God to face a dragon—is everyone fucking stupid?! How are they allowing this?!

Tsukishima immediately identifies the animal. It’s a Hungarian Horntail. The worst one to ever piss off. And of course, you’re going to go do exactly that. There are claps smattering, hoots loud and clear, and cheers for you. You’re smiling, it’s strained, but it’s still there, and he can tell just how nervous you are.

And he feels wrong for thinking this because it comes to him in a split moment—you look good in the uniform that you wear. His heart is pounding, and his blood is rushing.

Your eyes, which are fast and sharp, dart around the whole arena before they find your friends. And then he, who is not your friend. You nod, and then your shoulders tense and relax. He shakes his head lightly, and you give him a huge beam before continuing on. Reckless. Stupid. Idiotic.

He wonders how the hell he likes you.

What happens next in a series of events is enough to send him into a coma that he cannot be awakened from. There’s a bunch of clashing, fire, brutality, and yelling. You jump around from rock to rock, flames just missing the edge of your pants when you make a daring run against the dragon’s legs.

But you’re strategic, you know what you’re doing. He knows. He can tell. And he admires it. You distract the dragon with a charm that Tsuki had no idea even existed, before missing a planned tail swipe by throwing yourself to the side as you boost yourself towards the golden eggs with your wand.

And holy shit, you’re almost there! Tsuki stands up, leaning over the edge to watch you. You’re just a whisper away from the prize...just a little more...

Before thwack, and golden talons lodge themselves into your chest, scraping you deeply as the savage throws you into a wall.

Next to him, Yachi literally passes out from shock, and there’s an echoing gasp around the arena. Tsukishima is paper white now, limbs shaking at your limp figure.

He sees blood—red and ruby and he has half a mind to go down and save you and perhaps also knock some fucking sense back into you...If you weren’t dead.

Tsukishima finds out that he cannot think straight. Or rationally. Because he wonders, with his heart stopping in his chest cavity for a good few seconds, if you were going to be the second person dead in this competition.

But that’s before, you’re literally thrusting the egg into the air as you weasel back onto your feet. There are first mumbles because you are the fastest person to get the egg, then there’s an eruption into cheers and whistles.

He's going to kill you for scaring him like this.

Yachi is shaken awake by another professor, and Hinata is crying, and Kageyama is still frozen in shock, and Yamaguchi is hugging another student, and Tsukishima—

Tsukishima is already on his way to the little tents to the side. There’s a rush in his steps, he stumbles, he is not careful, he is reckless. Tsukishima pushes the others to the side, barely even able to form any apologies because, before anyone else gets one, it must be you first.

You deserve the first sorry from his lips. And his love...but that comes later.

By the time he reaches his destination, his hands are on his knees, and he’s panting. He is just outside, and the wind flaps the white sheets towards him, as if it were inviting him in. He doesn’t, not yet.

He needs to collect his thoughts before getting over himself for being such a coward. A spineless idiot.

Tsukishima painstakingly tweaks open the tent. He doesn’t see you at first, but then he steps in, slowly, and you’re in the very back, getting treated by Madam Pomfrey. You’re in agony, it’s evident on the way that you twitch and the nurse’s quiet coos, but you still hold this brightness on your face.

Your eyes catch his, determined and heavy. And everything freezes. He looks like a mess, hair unruly and ruffled, and his robes ripped, but you think he is the most gorgeous man in the world.

And you look like you just escaped death (you did), lips pale and bloody and shrouded with ugly scars and burns, but he thinks that you’re the most beautiful being that has ever graced this earth.

Madam Pomfrey leaves with a titter. And he’s already walking up to you.

“Are you fucking dumb?!” He cries, “You could’ve died out there?! You are so fucking reckless!” His breathing is rough as he scans your body, traces of the dragon scattered around you. There’s something that brews, and he’s just so tired and sad.

He gulps when you take his hand in yours and hold it to your chest, where your heart beats. You wait and let him hear it. Feel it. Because it’s for him. And it’s time that he realized that.

“I’m still here, Kei. For you.” You softly whisper, and he thinks that he’s about to cry. You’re not one to shy away from first names because you call your friends, except for him, by their given name. He’d always asked why so. Do you hate him that much?

“Too intimate...” You sigh, knowing exactly what he's thinking. He looks down at you before cupping your face tenderly in his hands. His fingers, dainty and long, brush away at your bandages, almost hesitantly, before they crawl up to your hair, tucking it behind your ear when you giggle and let your own hands hold his face.

You brush his glasses.

“Can I kiss you?”

You nod once. But it’s enough for him to let himself swoop in and capture your lips with his. Fuck, you’re so sweet and he just lets himself deepen the kiss even more, sighing when you play with the hair at his nape. You grin.

When you both break apart for air, he doesn’t let go. He’s scared that this isn’t real. His nails hover over your lips before pressing his forehead against yours.

“I’m so sorry.”

You pull him back into a kiss, “That’s okay. You can make it up to me with your love. But you are right, we aren't friends.”

Extra Bonus Scene:

Yamaguchi, Hinata, Yachi, and Kageyama almost trip and fall as Tsuki uses his wand to uncover the culprits who were silently chuckling to themselves.

You, on the other hand, just laugh out loud, giving them a bright twinkle, slowly melting into your lover's side. His hand is warm and firm against your back as you sit upright, and it makes you slightly dizzy.

But you’re having fun. Especially seeing him insult your friend’s entire bloodline with a deep flush on his face.

You decide that you like that he looks like a tomato. So, you kiss his cheek to make everything worse, before delving deep under the covers.

And all he can hope is that you will be worth the trouble. But he already knows the answer.

You're worth everything and anything.