#puffleri

it wasn’t often that yixing shirked responsibilities. his attendance record, up to this point, was stellar, and avoiding someone and going on a self-destructive spree weren’t usually causes for him to even turn up late to any of his classes and extra-curriculars. yet the past week proved trying enough, and yixing, unfortunately, had fallen ill ( because, to be fair, alcohol wasn’t suitable medicine for an oncoming fever ), which meant that his already-stained record was dashed to pieces. 

the thought of giving less than a perfect image made him nauseous enough.

instead of throwing up, however, he simply burrowed deeper under the sheets, gaze trained on the floor. he caught a glimpse of the feet heading in his direction, and new that they definitely did not belong to krystal, which baffled him enough. looking up, however, clarified everything else. 

“you came to visit,” he mumbled, already feeling an even stronger headache coming on. “did you miss me, or something?” 

"popular mongrels" who

i don’t kiss and tell. oh, wait, i didn’t kiss them gladly.

this is his justification: that he’s just a little bit more than uninterested in the current yule ball festivities, and that mia wouldn’t mind very much, given her rather coquette repute. it’s with these unduly thoughts in mind that he stands lumberingly with his eyes fixed to the shine of his shoes. sometimes, they end up drifting towards her.

it’s not like he’s setting himself on fire, right?

@puffleri

there was the entrancing scenery of the entirety of hogwarts transforming into a different world completely. out of plain, ordinary clothes -- uniforms. stresses of the long class days gone, it was something else entirely, the castle, and everyone in it.

his attire wasn’t as fancy as everybody else’s, but he’d like to think he could account for it with his face. and a wicked smile.

“hey there,” one mate of his interjected amidst his cringe-tastic wallowing, with a smirk and a curious thing in his hand that might’ve given him the stench in his breath peter was ever so familiar with. “drink up, soldier.”

that probably occurred more than a dozen times that night, evident in the warmth in his cheeks and the easy way he carried himself. everything then was easy and fine. until he saw them. his formerly beloved krystal with none other than yixing.

of course.

the color in his face drained. he threw his cup on the table and wandered to the other side of the room, looking for other company. easily, he spotted a certain someone he met at a quidditch match once and approached her with a wayward smile.

this, on its own, is finality. how apt for this celebration at the end of the year; and the end of his time, here, in a way -- his last. if there’s anything good about being alone it’s in the retrospect. yixing dances because he’s obliged to. yixing talks because it’s polite. but no one seeks him out when he’s hanging out by the drinks, or taking a swig from the flask hidden in his pocket, or stepping out for a moment for a breather from the present,

only to find that his chest collapses when the past awaits him. 

he hesitates, but only for a moment. it’s his hesitation that ended them. yixing pauses, still, feet together, hand calmly turning the cap on his poison and tucking it into his pocket again. his steps are quiet, and sure, and he doesn’t remember the last time he’s tried to catch her off-guard with no ill intentions.

palms curve around familiar shoulders. he’s only slightly tipsy; he’s sober enough to wonder how often he’s made them carry the weight of his world. “boo,” he tells her quietly, mouth beside her ear, stepping back just as quickly. he doesn’t mean to be mean tonight. 

“aren’t you cold?” he asks because he’s concerned, only half a witty remark on his tongue. he swallows it quickly. “come back inside. they’re playing a good song.”

starter for @puffleri.

she brings a glass to her lips, punch refreshing her after spending so much time on the dance floor, alec enjoying the music alongside her. time seems so much faster when one is having fun, that much nina is aware of, and she wishes the night would move on slower— she wishes nothing more than to dance her troubles away.

that’s when she spots the other, as beautiful and as charming as ever, and nina can’t help the grin that spreads across her lips as she makes her way through the crowd to jinri. she taps the tallers shoulder lightly, her brows raised in merriment.

♡ -- yixing shouldn’t have followed jinri outside during a thunderstorm. it isn’t as if she’d appreciate him being there, but one of them has a wand and it certainly isn’t jinri who does. there’s some comfort to be had in that she, too, is being pelted by rain: the wind isn’t in their favour when they’re walking back to hogwarts huddled together under an umbrella.

“i didn’t ask for you help, you know,” jinri tells him, acid on her tongue, fingers clutching onto the arm of his wet robes. “you could’ve gotten my wand instead, imbécile.”

yixing said nothing. this was their last spring together on familiar ground. come summer, it would end again. next week, they would have to try and beat each other to death on the quidditch pitch again. the sun would shine and would have to bear witness to their anger: fire pitted against each other, meaning to swallow the other whole, or burn the other to cinders. whichever one it was, as long as the other one didn’t exist --

but now the sun hid, and fires had a chance of being put out. yixing took the hand that held onto his robe, and didn’t direct it anywhere else, and held it as he would any deadly plant: gentle enough to keep it alive, firm enough to keep it from hurting.