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𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐈 𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀 ：（優大）
──── [ head boy ] [ slytherin ] [ 7th year ] [ t's: jun ] [ 2525 words ]
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Life was difficult for upper-class, pure-blooded wizards these days.
They were a dignified breed of diminishing numbers, tapering slowly into extinction in what was──by all means──the most leisurely, well-funded die-out to date. And all the while, they were the target of constant judgment. Granted, there was a well-documented history of inbreeding within the population, and just a minute, inconsequential smattering of prejudice against muggles and the like──but it was all in good fun, I assure you. [removed]
Especially recently appointed head boys, standing at around 178 cm, with espresso tresses draped just past their shoulders, and double-lidded eyes the color of treacle, with a sly, almond shape that came to distinct feline points at their respective medial canthi.
Those guys? They were utterly screwed.
Besides the whole privileged since birth thing, anyway.
Perhaps, if the aforementioned ill-fated persons had examined the smile on the blonde's lips for an instance longer──took in just one additional frame of that outrageous, simpering smirk──they would have been more appreciative of the incoming disaster's severity.
Disaster walked in knee-high leather boots, lacquered and polished to a reflective lambency. He had auric fastenings up his chest, and a slick onyx belt cinched at the waist. Disaster looked unreasonably stunning in his austere, high-collared coat and disheveled honey fringe, and Song Jun-soo was not only aware of that little factoid──he luxuriated in it.
The Durmstrang student was redolent of self-satisfaction, all too confident in the way eyes around the room trailed after him like a shadow on a summer day, in how Yuta's own eyes had reacted to his performance. There was urgent demand for an ego reduction on aisle Jun, but the Slytherin was not quite in the correct mindset for pride-shattering comments at the present juncture. If Yuta was just slightly less... entirely occupied──by the gentle pressure of fingertips playing across his hair, the dulcet, crystallized syrup sound of laughter humming from within his boyfriend's chest, the soft, hickory eyes that never wavered──he would have most certainly done something about it. A shame he was otherwise engaged, really.
Continuing on as he pleased, the blonde had the audacity to persist in threading fingers through the Slytherin's hair as he provoked him, interrogating and taunting as Jun wondered just how much he'd been missed.
"Missed you," Yuta echoed gingerly on the end of a breath, briefly entertaining the radical notion of honesty. It felt outlandish──exposing a tender vulnerability, one that could have so easily been patched with lies.
Candidness never really was his modus operandi, and with an almost frantic clearing of his throat, the man made a wee alteration to his statement, "No dearest, I was clearly just taking time out of my severely packed schedule in order to frequently remind you just how much I never thought of you." His voice still carried an undertone of vacillating uncertainty as he grumbled──punctuating the all-around insincerity of the sentence with a pointed, sullen look up at his companion. Of course, he missed Jun-Soo. As a flower longs for sunlight amidst the frigid stretch of winter, he missed that man. In the same aching way a wanderer yearns for home, he truly did. But forming sweet words on parchment was distinctly incongruous with directly voicing such thoughts. Here, in this very moment, there was no distance to separate them, to conceal every little tick and reaction the Slytherin had to his partner's vocalizations. The ripostes from his partner were immediate and altogether unfiltered, and after accustoming himself to letters, Yuta was having a difficult time of it. The lingering memories of Jun's infernal, scorching performance was most assuredly not facilitating his situation.
Yuta took a preparatory breath before resuming his little charade, playing down his appreciation of Jun's little display despite the tight constriction of his chest at the mirth in his boyfriend's expression. At the low, breathy giggles on the Dane's tongue, even if they were at his own expense. The Durmstrang student hung back patiently while Yu spoke, contemplating his next words with aching leisure, frustratingly deliberate in the way he stalled. Expressive chocolate eyes churned with vainglorious sentiment as they took in Yuta's increasingly tempestuous expression. The Brit returned his gaze warily from behind dense lashes, observing passively as those kaleidoscopic pools of warm cognac and shards of smug self-content inched inexorably closer to his own eyes.
It was an open secret that what the Snake Prince lacked in forbearance, he countervailed with more volatile impatience. It was not in Minasaki Yuta's nature to wait. The blonde good-for-nothing was superlatively well-acquainted with this aspect of Yu (by virtue of his approximate decade of experience in snakey affairs). Knowledge which appeared to make leaving the Slytherin to anticipate him, all the more delectable.
The incorrigible little crap.
Yuta held his breath behind a bitten lip, a shiver running the length of his spine with the hand playing down the base of his neck, an index finger holding his jaw in place. The long-haired man obediently allowed for the tilt of his head, offering only a silent scowl in perfunctory resistance before their lips brushed together. But the contact wasn't a resolution, and it was never intended to be, skin briefly skimming over skin as the presumptuous twerp resumed his dumb-ass gloating. Heated puffs of Jun's breath teased his cheeks with each calculated word, his petite nose scrunching at the ticklish sensitivity. All I need to do is ask, he scoffed inwardly. Makes it sound easy, the boy sulked, temper flaring as their lips grazed against each other again.
Yuta's fingertips trailed upwards to grip his date's collar, delicate brow set in frustration, one more teasing peck away from initiating a kiss himself. His stupid boyfriend, with his dumb smile, making him suffer insults like this. But thoughts like these──along with every other conviction in his mind──were brought to an abrupt halt as Jun-Soo concluded his mocking rhetoric, and the conniving, neglectful man finally bothered to kiss him properly.
The Slytherin's figure tensed visibly──shoulders drawn taut in nervous exhilaration, his grip at the man's collar falling away with a startled intake of breath as their lips connected. Eyes flickering shut, the Snake Prince's unceasingly volatile thoughts settled into a tranquil repose, his head filled with cotton clouds and daisy petals. A sugarcoated, satisfied hum overflowed from a throat replete with honeyed praise and candied compliments.
Disaster tasted faintly of the sea.
Feeling the loss of him, Yuta's vision drifted open, wide and disconcerted as he registered the retreating visage of his lover──grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Taking a shuddering breath in, Yu filled his chest with saccharine air, the world sweeter for having Jun near. His expression dazed and increasingly mortified as the world sunk in, cheekbones dusted with a faint rose, he forced his vision down into his own lap. The head boy couldn't even fathom the amount of damage control this was going to require, or how in heaven and hell he was going to complete said control when he was so damned soft for his best friend. The same companion that was still simpering as if he'd bet against the gods and won.
His eyes hesitantly wandered back up to the hooligan, vaguely wondering if it was commonplace to want to kick your dearly beloved and alter ego──with as much force as the time space continuum afforded you──directly in the shins.
Oh, he loved him. As sure as the blue velvet of twilight shadows and the flaxen morning sun that would replace them. Jun just so happened to provoke a kind of love that left Yuta unsure as to whether he should punch something or just melt and give in. And the Snake Prince did not like to give in──not when they were alone, and certainly not when they were surrounded by peasants in his kingdom.
He could not. Would not be defeated again. Even if his prior loss had been... particularly gratifying. It was no excuse for further ones.
The man pressed nervously at his bangs, half-listening to his friend's request for a seat as he attempted to collect himself, tucking a gingerbread strand behind his ear. The appeal for seating felt like a facile opportunity to regain his footing. All he had to do was deny him a place, right? And then all was well and even? Casting hopeful glances in the direction of the fire-breathing fiend, the Slytherin was gradually emboldened by the (false) assumption that this was Jun silently offering him a respite. He smiled fleetingly, eyes narrowing as he began the familiar task of being as haughtily insufferable as possible──indicating exactly how inappropriate it was to ask for a place at his bench, and beside him, no less! Almost unforgivable.
Of course, Jun-Soo was entirely undeterred by Yuta's snobbish accusations, lazily flaunting his most recent performance as evidence of being "quite a positive addition to the table". He was──in Yuta's perspective──entirely correct in this strand of logic, and to be entirely frank the boy had been desperately repressing the better part of two dozen questions on the subject. Since when could he do that? What the hell? Could Jun teach him how to do that? What the hell? Would he perform again? Could he watch him perform again? What the hell? But sentiments such as those were not of the character Yu shared──of course not──as the Slytherin continued his comprehensive inspection of the blonde. Despite all the precursor blustering and tight-lipped scrutiny, it goes without saying that Jun passed his test, the Brit sliding over on the oaken bench with fresh confidence.
It was beyond belief when the Durmstrang boy began settling in quietly, swinging a leg over the bench without a single contrary word. A prizewinning grin threatening to pull at his lips, perhaps a less elated Yu would have recognized the risk in courting disaster, but it felt marvelous and the temptation of gloating was all too strong a magnetism.
"Good. Now was that so hard?" he praised in an approving hum. His tone dripped with self-righteous triumph, eyes narrowing with affection and the unexpected glee of having the final say. Even then he wasn't satisfied, tacking on an additional little quip, subtly daring the man to settle in his lap. He was pushing it. He knew that.
So it was then that things collapsed.
Hips and shoulders came in gentle contact, pressed against each other in what seemed to be a happy accident due to lack of space, although Yuta couldn't be certain. And that alone would have been fine, enough to spark a timid, pleased smile from the Slytherin as he took in the freshly conjured feast that burdened the table with its heavy volume and filled the air with viscous aroma.
But the Durmstrang boy had not quite concluded his dialogue.
No, he just couldn't let Yu have this moment of satisfaction, that would be far too much to ask. Turning the Snake Prince's words on their head, Jun not only disregarded his companion's forward proposal but offered himself as a 'throne', the complete, excruciatingly afflictive experience culminating in a fulsome wink.
He winked.
It was tragically demoralizing.
The Head Boy could only groan to himself initially, hiding his expression behind cupped palms as he mourned the feeling of victory.
Their time together had been so short. And it was entirely, unequivocally, positively, Jun's fault.
Peering out from between his fingertips, the Slytherin glared pointedly at his dreadful boyfriend. "YoU mEaN, yOu'RE nOt iN thE vIP sEaT, rIgHt?" the seventeen-year-old mirrored beneath his breath, voice modulating obnoxiously in a mocking imitation of the blonde.
Yuta had, in that moment, visited the dilapidated, war-weary territory often frequented by obnoxious eight-year-olds on the losing side of arguments.
He was resorting to copying.
"I know what I meant, don'ttellmewhatImeant," he continued to grumble in hushed tones, words running together into an indignant, incoherent clutter of sounds as he shifted over into his friend's lap with all the acrimonious dignity he could muster. Grandeur is fairly difficult to maintain when your cheeks are painted with the emblematic rouge of embarrassed resignation, but he gave it his utmost.
The boy adjusted himself fussily, swiveling his hips in persnickety indecision before settling in at an angle to the table, determined to pout for the duration of the feast. Oh, certainly he (and he alone) had made the decision to take his seat there, but minor details like that never stopped him from complaining before. It was the only way to maintain a certain aspect of his very fragile pride──feigning disapproval and dramatic lamentation──because admitting to wanting Jun's closeness was a direct analogue to admitting defeat. Something he could never do.
Yuta endeavored to avoid any form of enduring eye contact with the confident Dane, gaze flickering fitfully between the soft blonde fringe that fell into cocoa eyes, and the table. The lips still reddened from pressure he was responsible for, and back to the table. Jun-Soo was devastating and he probably knew it too.
Inhaling fumblingly through parted lips, the Slytherin finally managed to put words together, "If," he paused briefly to correct himself with a wincing expression: "when, this whole thing gets around school, you're the one who has to fix it, okay?" he muttered faintly, hastily pressing a chaste peck on the corner of the Durmstrang boy's petal pink lips before pulling away in an abrupt retreat, studiously hiding his expression by examining the table with false fascination. The good, blameless table that had never once kissed him in front of the whole school and then proceeded to be obnoxious, unlike a certain other in his life. The table that didn't leave him behind and go to some stupid institution that nobody knew the location of, or look so damned cute whenever it came parading back into his life. By these... admittedly accurate chains of reasoning, it was beginning to appear that the table would be a more satisfactory suitor than the present love of his life. A conclusion only mildly hindered by the table's inanimate nature and the trifling, inescapable truth that Minasaki Yuta was desperately and irrevocably enamored with an idiot by the name of Song Jun-Soo. (But other than that the table would have made for quite the steadfast companion).
Almost frantic with the urge to avoid any conversation on the subject of what he'd done, Yuta immediately forewent the savory meats and breads (or any even approximate substitute for dinner) for a round confection with liberal quantities of icing sugar sifted among the top of its golden crust surface, the interior filled with Bavarian cream for good measure. He offered only a stubborn glance in his boyfriend's direction before taking an unwieldy bite, confectioner's sugar sticking to his lips and his now bulging pair of chipmunk cheeks.
Yuta hoped everyone in the Great Hall knew the wrath they'd face if he heard a single word about this.
He'd dock House Points. From the whole lot of them if he had to.
Life really was difficult for upper-class, pure-blooded wizards these days.
