Offside, ref!

Winter had to be on its way out. It just had to be. You know how I know? Well, take a look at Hogsmeade. It was the weekend and as a result it meant that the village was simply flooded with students. From third year upwards, students streamed into the village for leisure or to stock up on school equipment or just for pleasure’s sake. Importantly, though, it wasn’t just Hogsmeade weekend for the students of Hogwarts. For the sportier lads and ladies of the fine establishment, it was also the day when the football was going to be played and on the common, a fever was already beginning to rise. Though, that wasn’t how it was clear winter was on its way out. What made it clear, you ask? Well, the fact that the Quidditch players were wandering around topless but for a warming charm to keep the chill off, that’s how.

A five-aside had been set up while the boys who were there waited for the others, some trapped in a temporary detention for misbehaviour. All were trying to get down to the common as fast as possible but until they did, there was definitely some amusement for the spectators who had gathered – largely the result of a few of the guys’ girlfriends demanding that their boyfriends have a proper audience. All it really did was make them take more risks and there was, as a result, a physician on standby, though he’d come with his wife to enjoy the game rather than treat the bumps and bruises that the boys were going to get. The five-aside was brutal enough, though, and Frank Longbottom was in the midst of it, filled with uncharacteristic aggression as he put in another tackle, each one getting closer and closer to a foul – though his imposing captain scared the referee out of calling for one each time.

Getting up, Frank chuckled at the furious look on the face of Isaac Huntington, the boy he’d taken the back out of. He’d won the ball and it was their throw-in but increasingly the boy looked as though he was gearing up to really do for Frank. The Gryffindor welcomed the challenge. Though in his Hogwarts robes and especially in giraffe pyjamas he looked nothing to write home about, shirt off, covered in grass, mud and a sheen of sweat he was an imposing figure. His ropey muscles were wired with activity and the strength in his shoulders and arms was clear. The hair on his chest and the cool metal of his mother’s St. Christopher locket bouncing against his skin made him look roguishly adult. Gone was the shy boy, wary of mixing his words, in the Astronomy tower. Here was the athlete; the man.

“Got a problem, Huntington?” Frank teased, making to jog away as the boy scrambled to his feet, spitting out the dirt he’d dug up with his teeth upon his awkward landing. He flipped Frank off, muttering expletives under his breath at the Gryffindor. Frank was actually quite glad they weren’t allowed their wands and as he came into mark one of the opposition players as the throw-in got underway he was reminded of the physicality of the game. Bending his knees, he felt the other player shove into him as he tried to get up in the air. Frank stood his ground and turned, ducking out from underneath the other player and letting him clatter to the floor. He jogged off, back into the midfield and ignored the glare of the referee, holding his hands up as though to say ‘it wasn’t me.’ He was clapped on the back by his teammate as he went and play was taken up again.

Just before the closing minutes of the game, Frank trapped the ball having been chipped it by one of his sister’s friends. He turned, bashing into the other player coming up behind him, and then went, shooting down the flank he’d been dancing up and down all morning. He darted in, beating every player he came up against until someone got into the box, the lines of which they’d marked out with magic. His captain threw up his arm and Frank tossed it over with a sweet kick of his foot before darting across the penalty box. The captain shot and with a sickening twang the ball came off of the woodwork: straight to Frank. Coolly, he nudged at the ball and he watched as players came down trying to stop it. They failed, each one. And there it went. Back of the net.

Frank was tackled to the round as jubilation rang up. They’d won. They’d won! Then, soon enough, he was dragged off to the side as everyone began to take breakfast and wipe themselves clean again. Jerseys had been made for everyone in the team and people were pulling them on as now, finally, everyone had arrived. To get his second wind, Frank sat down on the grass and drank greedily from his water bottle, already in mind to just drop back into a central position instead of running himself ragged. It had been a fairly easy warm up game – just a physical one. What he didn’t want to do was overexert himself. He wanted to save his energy and keep up the pace so that he could blitz the other side in the last five minutes or so. That’d do.

Getting to his feet again, Frank took up his jersey and also, in amongst the pile, found Toby’s. He tossed both over his shoulder and loped over to find the other teenager, finding him in amongst the breakfast and the other guys. Frank leaned around Toby to take a banana off of the small table they’d pored over constructing that morning – the lines of the pitch had been easier to make. He grinned and pealed the banana from the bottom up, as it were, before biting off the end, managing a crooked, closed-lip smile for the other Gryffindor. After chewing and swallowing, Frank took the rest of the banana from its pouch and tossed it into the bin before handing over Toby’s jersey.

“I’m glad you came,” he told the blonde earnestly. “It’s going to be a good game, I think. I’ve pissed off the other team enough to make them come after our blood so it’ll be interesting, at the very least.” He laughed, shaking his head.

Toby had a problem. It was a rather big and problematic problem. His problem's name was Frank Longbottom.

So, Toby had pretty much accepted that he had something of a crush on his dormmate, fine. That was fine. Totally fine. He might've been spending a little more time in the shower after his runs than normal, but the whole situation was fine. Really, it was. Fine.

Or, well, it had been fine. It had been fine when Frank was cute and stuttering, and wearing blue pajama's with giraffe's on them. It had been fine when Frank was blushing and tentative and felt the need to apologize for something as small as hugging Toby.

Now? Now things were less fine. Things were not fine, actually. As un-fine as fine could get. And Toby knew that he wasn't making sense, knew that he really didn't mind that at all, and that was not fine. Toby's world had gone from fine to not fine, the moment he'd spotted Frank this very day. Because Frank, was shirtless.

Now, one may think this something of an exaggeration, that a little bit of skin could alter the mental state of a person so thoroughly. However, Toby had never been prone to dramatics. He just had it really, really bad. He blamed Frank.

The Gryffindor had know that his housemate was strong, he was one of the Gryffindor beaters for Merlin's sake, but Toby had not been prepared for this. The other teenager was covered in ropey muscles. They weren't the type of muscles that many boys built up in order to show off, bodies that had certain muscles overly defined and others that barely exercised at all. No, Frank's body spoke of use. If Toby hadn't known he was screwed before this moment, he certainly would have in this moment.

Then, of course, in order to rub in just how not fine Toby was, Frank came over. Frank had eaten a banana, and Toby was going to avoid thinking about that right not because he really could not deal with what would almost certainly follow until much, much later. But the other Gryffindor had tossed Toby his jersey as well, which was rather nice, so the werewolf had to force himself to get his tongue functional again long enough to say a quick, "thanks Frank."

Toby used the last few bites of his apple as an excuse to compose himself, and force himself to focus on Frank's face instead of his chest or his shoulders or anywhere else. Tossing the core carelessly into the bin, Toby smiled at his friend. And really, the two had better at least be friends now, because Toby would like to think that he was above spending this much time thinking about someone who was a mere acquaintance.

"My pleasure," Toby said with a smile, "been looking forward to it." Competitive grin sliding across his face, the teenager bounced on his toes a little. It really had been far too long since he'd been involved in any sort of game. Rolling his shoulders backwards a few times in a half-hearted attempt to warm up his limbs, the werewolf tugged his shirt over his head. Muscles rippling as he moved, Toby glanced down at the jersey that was in his hand. Snapping his wrists in an attempt to straighten the thing so he didn't accidentally put it on backwards, the teenager heard a snicker from behind him. Slowly turning around to face a Ravenclaw boy who was in a few of his classes, Toby sent him a rather unimpressed glance.

"What happened to you, Cooper? Loose a fight with the Whomping Willow?" Huntington asked tauntingly. It was pretty obvious what the other student was referring to. Toby was, frankly, covered in scars. Normally the only one visable was the small indent upon his face, unless one counted the subtle, fading nicks upon his hands. With his shirt off, however, most were easily seen. His back was by far the worst, with strips of tissue both too dark and too light. There were thin stripes and thicker gashes, caused from everything from tripping at the wrong time to a brawl with a rogue werewolf. While his back was certainly more damaged than anywhere else, the rest of him hadn't exactly escaped unscathed. His arms, too, had their fair share of oddly pigmented tissue, and his chest had been bisected by lines more than once.

"Naw," Toby replied with a short laugh, "the Willow wouldn't be fast enough to catch me." Pulling his jersey over his head, Toby headed out toward the lines decorating the common, purposefully keeping his eyes far away from Frank and any reaction the other teen might've had.

A smile lit up the face of the Longbottom man, making him look more familiar as the boy in the astronomy tower. With the heaving chest of the athlete, though, he was slightly juxtaposed to himself. He then donned his own shirt, somewhat regretfully as he’d been enjoying the air on his skin again, as though it had been summer. He fiddled with refilling his water bottle while Toby changed and it was then that Frank’s temper flared. Huntington made himself known again and immediately Frank’s stance widened a little bit. He stared at Huntington, waiting for him to make himself a nuisance and Frank wasn’t disappointed. Only, he really was. He knew it was done to unhinge Toby but really all it had done was chance Frank’s temper – which, it seemed, had unrepentantly flared.

Toby walked away but Frank couldn’t. He just couldn’t. He wanted to. His father would have wanted him too. Unfortunately he was a bit too much like his mother and he was ruled by passion rather than sense and he hated Huntington. The slimy Ravenclaw truly thought he was God’s gift and that somehow exempted him from having to be pleasant to people. In Frank’s eyes, everyone was equal. Everyone was deserving of respect – it didn’t matter how rotten they were, everyone deserved some sort of kindness. Huntington, opposingly, in Frank’s view deserved none of it. He didn’t have to be exempt from the Gryffindor’s rule. Looks like he was, though, and the fact that he dared to insult Toby in front of Frank only made him see red even more than he already did towards the other boy.

“Hey,” Frank snapped, striding around the table, thrusting his hands against Huntington’s chest. “Don’t you dare speak to him like that, y’hear?”

“Or what, Longbottom?” Huntington spat, pushing Frank back, his bright eyes sharpening behind his dirty blonde fringe. Frank’s upper lip curled into a sneer. “You’ll get your dad on me, will ya?”

Frank wasn’t particularly irrational. Nor was he reckless. As a Gryffindor, he was quite level-headed. He didn’t often get into fights and all of his aggression he exuded from himself on the Quidditch pitch. There was something about what the Ravenclaw said, though, that got to Frank. He wished, in immediate hindsight, that he’d washed it off of his shoulders and forgotten about it like Toby but he couldn’t and as he threw the first punch, he couldn’t help but feel quite satisfied to have done so, too. Huntington didn’t really have a reply, too shocked that the Gryffindor had done anything more than push him and by the time he mustered on, Frank’s captain slid in between them and pushed Frank back, preventing an more fighting from breaking out.

Allowing himself to be pushed away onto the field, Frank scoffed and made his way out, falling into formation on the wing while fiddling with his fingers, noting absently the blood on his knuckles which he wiped onto his shorts. He swallowed and watched as the referee shook his head in his direction and Frank glanced over to see Huntington hurrying onto the field, a notable cut and rapidly forming bruise on his cheek. Frank licked his lips as a smirk swept over them and he quickly stifled it by clearing his throat and jogging a bit on the spot. Then, of course, the game simply had to begin.

Toby was 80% sure he wasn't hallucinating. Only 80% because, well, Frank Longbottom was standing up for him. It's not that Frank wasn't a nice enough bloke for something of the sort to be expected from him, the teenager was plenty nice. Plenty. In more ways than one, Toby was extraordinarily well aware. Still, the Gryffindor was far from used to someone standing up for him. Truthfully, he couldn't remember that last time it had happened. If someone ever riled Toby, the werewolf was more than capable of taking care of the situation on his own. And if Toby was unfazed by whatever had happened, well, those who had cared about him had never seen the point of getting upset over something that clearly wasn't bothering Toby at all. That made sense to Toby, always had, but something about Frank slugging Huntington in the face made Toby's heart skip a beat.

Not only was it an amazing feeling to know that the other teenager cared enough to jump to Toby's defense, but Merlin was that an attractive sight. Not that Toby usually got off on guys fighting, or anything. It was just that, well, seeing this completely different side to Frank was a little overwhelming to the poor crush-stricken Cooper male.

If it had been anyone punching the Ravenclaw, Toby probably would have been more offended than anything else. He was more than capable of taking care of himself, thanks, and Huntington wouldn't have lasted half a minute in a brawl against Toby. Still, the Gryffindor did nothing more than eye Frank's hand, automatically checking for bruising. That didn't last long, however, as the game started only moments later.

It took under ten minutes for the first goal to be scored, and Toby winced in sympathy at the look of resignation on his goalie's face. Still, the teenager took the time to jog over towards Frank. Other than the occasional pass, the two'd had surprisingly little contact in the game so far. Toby couldn't decided if this was a good thing for his sanity, or something he should be sad about.

"You didn't need to do that," Toby said, as soon as he was close enough for Frank to hear him over the woops and jeers of the other students. "I mean, thanks and everything, but-" the werewolf paused, having not thought out what he wanted to say and struggling to think in eloquent sentences due to being face to face with a glistening Frank.

"Your hand okay?" he asked finally, not quite able to help himself. Still, it was a lot more socially acceptable than most of the other things which had been tumbling around in his head, so Toby was thankful for the words that had chosen to roll off of his tongue.

“Remember what Millie said,” Michael, the captain, hissed roughly in Frank’s ear. “We can’t disgrace our house, Frankie.”

That said, Michael jogged off and left Frank to furiously roll his shoulders and click at his neck, his temper registering in the dark glare he levelled at the striker on the other team who was hesitantly coming up to play the offside-onside game with him. Michael bit the inside of his cheek and decided to just leave Frank to it, praying that he wouldn’t do anything stupid. Well, it wasn’t that in its entirety. He was praying more that Frank didn’t do anything so stupid that he’d land himself in detention for a month. Michael definitely felt something was on the cards once Professor Hayes got wind of what had happened. She was tough but fair and she wouldn’t take kindly to any inter-house rivalries forming – and, besides, Huntington would tell.

The game shot off at a pace and Frank launched himself in with gusto in order to shake of some of the residual anger. He remained focused, channelling his irritation so that he didn’t lunge in at a great pace that would have jeopardised their chances of a win. Eventually it was someone else and there was a bit of injury time that allowed them to catch their breath. In between guzzles of water while he remained out wide, waiting for their doctor to work out what was the matter with one of the other players, when Toby made his way over and a part of Frank wished that he hadn’t. He didn’t want to have to apologise or explain himself or try and mitigate what he’d been feeling. It wasn’t something he could brush off in a bloke-y sort of way. He cared.

“Yes I did,” Frank shook his head, clenching his jaw as he flexed his hand down by his side. “My hand’s fine.” He added curtly.

Swallowing another mouthful of water, Frank threw the bottle away and drew his fingers through his hair. He looked at Toby, his brows knitting together as his expression turned down his lips. Frank sighed and licked his lips before jogging by, falling out across the other wing before moving back, trying to keep his muscles warm as decisions were being made over the player while jubilation from the goal was still ringing out. Frank slowed down as he approached Toby and he rubbed at his hair thoughtfully before bashfully flashing the other Gryffindor a smile.

“S’not every day I’d punch a Ravenclaw,” Frank nudged his shoulder against Toby’s. “I’m a gentleman,” he winked, laughing.