#redair

Here’s a lil mini fic i wrote of them if anyone fancies it :

The match had barely ended, and they were already at it.

“—you pushed him!”

“I checked him,” Renn snapped, still a little breathless, Slytherin green stark against the fading light. “Maybe if your team could stay on their brooms for more than five seconds—”

Adair let out a sharp laugh, dragging a hand through his hair, Gryffindor red practically glowing on him like a challenge. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from someone who thinks playing dirty counts as skill.”

Her eyes narrowed instantly. “Playing smart, actually. You should try it sometime.”

“I don’t need to,” he shot back, stepping closer without even realizing it. “We win without it.”

“Congratulations,” Renn deadpanned. “Do you want a medal for losing gracefully this time?”

“We didn’t lose because of grace,” he snapped, voice tightening. “We lost because someone decided fouls are just… suggestions.”

“Maybe if your Beater hadn’t been hovering like a lost ghost—”

“Don’t—”

“—he wouldn’t have—”

“—talk about my team like that—”

“—cost you the match—”

“—Renn—”

“—what? It’s true.”

That did it.

He stepped in, closing whatever space was left between them, jaw set, eyes sharp. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re biased,” she shot back immediately, jabbing a finger into his chest. “God, you Gryffindors think just because you play fair you automatically deserve to win—”

“We do deserve it when we actually play properly—”

“Oh, so now I don’t—?”

“You cut corners—”

“I take opportunities—”

“You break rules—”

“I bend them—”

“You—”

“God, you’re insufferable.”

“And you’re wrong.”

There it was.

That same moment. Every time.

Too close. Too loud, and then suddenly—too quiet.

Her hand was still pressed against his chest. His breath hitched—just barely—as his gaze flickered down for a second too long before snapping back up. Like he’d said something he couldn’t quite take back. Like he was waiting for her to do it for him.

Renn exhaled sharply, irritation flaring—at him, at the argument, at the way he always needed the last word like it was some Gryffindor birthright.

She hated that.

Hated it enough to end it.

“Say that again,” she muttered.

His expression didn’t soften. If anything, it sharpened. “You’re wro—”

She grabbed the front of his robes and pulled him down.

And just like that—

Silence.

Not the empty kind. The kind that overwrites everything else.

Adair froze for half a heartbeat—just enough to register it—before his hand came up, firm against her jaw, steadying her like he wasn’t about to let her win this easily either.

Typical Gryffindor.

Renn almost pulled back just to spite him.

Almost.

Because he kissed like he played—intense, relentless, like backing down wasn’t even an option. And she met him there, because of course she did. Because if this was another kind of competition, she wasn’t about to lose it either.

When they finally broke apart, it wasn’t by much.

Still close. Still stubborn.

Still them.

“…You still fouled,” he murmured, quieter now, like the argument had just slipped into a different tone instead of ending.

Renn let out a breath that was almost a laugh, pushing lightly at his chest.

“And you still lost,” she shot back.

He huffed, something dangerously close to a smile tugging at his mouth.

They were going to start arguing again.

They always did.

—————