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The Astronomy Tower always seemed to breathe differently at night. Its high, spiraling walls caught the faint silver of the moon, throwing it across stone like water. The air smelled of old parchment and candle wax, mixed with the crisp bite of late autumn wind that slipped in through arched windows. Far above, the stars scattered across the velvet sky, bright and untouchable.

Professor Sinistra’s voice carried over the low murmur of students shifting about with telescopes and rolled parchment. Her tone, as ever, was sharp but not unkind.

“As you all know,” she began, her cloak brushing against the flagstones as she turned, “this term’s project will not be a single-night observation. A rare opportunity has presented itself—one that will not come again in your lifetimes. A rogue planet, previously uncharted, is passing near enough to be tracked from our skies. You will be documenting its trajectory, brightness fluctuations, and any anomalies you observe over the course of the next several weeks. Partners will be assigned—”

A collective groan rose at the word assigned. Sinistra arched a brow, unimpressed.

“Yes, yes. I am well aware you would prefer to choose. Unfortunately, partnership teaches more than Astronomy—it teaches patience. And trust me, most of you need it.”

Laughter flickered around the room, quickly snuffed out when her quill scratched across the roll of parchment in her hand.

Do Kyungsoo shifted on his feet, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robes. His Gryffindor scarf hung loose around his neck, half-unraveled where it had snagged one too many times on his Keeper’s gear. He wasn’t bad at Astronomy—at least, he didn’t think so—but the thought of charting a rogue planet for weeks made his shoulders sag. He’d rather be diving for quaffles in the cool bite of night air than hunching over parchment under flickering candlelight.

Still, there was something about the Astronomy Tower—its hush, its view of the whole world below—that he didn’t entirely dislike.

“Kim Jongin and Do Kyungsoo.”

The sound of his name pulled Kyungsoo upright. His head snapped toward the Slytherin side of the room, where Jongin stood, tall and composed, his expression unreadable. His dark hair was immaculately combed, his uniform crisp as though the green and silver had been tailored directly onto him. There was a certain polish about Jongin, the kind that came from being born into old magic and wealth.

Kyungsoo had seen him around often enough. Everyone had. Jongin was one of those names whispered with a mix of admiration and irritation—brilliant in every subject, the sort who earned perfect marks as though it were his birthright. He carried himself like he already belonged to some higher sphere, as though Hogwarts was merely a stage he’d outgrow.

Their gazes met for a heartbeat.

Jongin’s mouth tightened almost imperceptibly, a flicker of annoyance he didn’t bother to hide.

Wonderful.

Kyungsoo clenched his jaw, refusing to look away first.

The professor continued, rattling off other pairings, but the sound had dulled in Kyungsoo’s ears. He could already hear the complaint waiting behind Jongin’s silence, Why him?

When class ended, students drifted toward their partners, gathering parchment and quills, muttering introductions or groaning at mismatches. Kyungsoo made his way to Jongin with deliberate steadiness, his Gryffindor stubbornness refusing to let him appear nervous.

Jongin didn’t so much as greet him. He regarded Kyungsoo the way one might regard a broom that was serviceable but not quite polished—a necessary tool, not a choice.

“You can keep the observation logs,” Jongin said at once, his voice low, smooth, and tinged with a cool arrogance. “I’ll handle the calculations.”

Kyungsoo blinked, then gave a humorless laugh. “Is that your way of saying I’m not smart enough to count stars?”

Jongin’s eyes flickered briefly, as if surprised Kyungsoo had spoken so directly. Then, with the faintest shrug, “It’s the fastest way to get through this without error.”

There it was. The infamous Slytherin superiority, wrapped in silk but cutting all the same.

Kyungsoo stepped closer, close enough that the edge of his Gryffindor red brushed against Jongin’s sleeve of green. “If you think I’m just going to sit there and scribble while you play genius, you’ve got another thing coming.”

The tension sparked like flint. Jongin tilted his head, his gaze sharp and assessing, as if he were measuring Kyungsoo’s worth on the spot.

Finally, he said, almost lazily, “We’ll see.”

It was infuriating—the calmness, the quiet dismissal.

Kyungsoo’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re loud,” Jongin replied smoothly, gathering his parchment under one arm. “Meet me tomorrow night here at the Tower. Midnight. Try not to be late.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned, dark robes whispering against stone as he strode toward the stairwell.

Kyungsoo’s heart drummed with irritation, his fists tightening at his sides. He’d worked with difficult teammates before—Quidditch demanded it—but something about Jongin made his skin prickle.

And yet, as he glanced up through the open arch, the moon gleamed bright against the tapestry of stars, bold and burning. The project would be long and impossible to avoid.

He told himself the flush in his cheeks was from the cold wind that slipped through the Tower’s high windows.

Not from the way Jongin’s voice still lingered, deep and unshakable, in his head.

The next evening, the Astronomy Tower was colder than the night before. A restless wind slid through the high arches, tugging at parchments and rattling the brass of telescopes until they hummed like restless bees. Moonlight spilled across the stone floor, pale and relentless, turning inkpots into gleaming shadows.

Kyungsoo arrived first, clutching his notes, bundled in his Gryffindor scarf. His breath misted faintly in the air as he dropped his things onto the nearest desk. He was half-tempted to sprawl in one of the worn armchairs pushed against the wall, just to spite Jongin and show how little he cared about their midnight appointment.

The thought barely settled before Jongin entered.

He walked like the Tower belonged to him—robes unruffled, steps measured, a stack of parchment balanced effortlessly in one hand. His dark hair caught the light, gleaming like ink, and his expression was coolly unreadable.

“Good,” Jongin said, setting his things down without so much as a glance at Kyungsoo. “You’re on time.”

Kyungsoo bristled. “I said I’d be here, didn’t I?”

Jongin ignored the edge in his tone and began setting up the star charts. His quill scratched across parchment with elegant precision, lines crisp, arcs deliberate. Numbers and notations spilled effortlessly from his mouth as though he were reciting poetry in a language only he knew.

“Magnitude fluctuating—dimmer tonight, nearly half a degree lower than yesterday. Trajectory bending five points westward… velocity irregular, it’s not keeping to predicted patterns—”

Kyungsoo tried to follow, he really did. But the words twisted into knots in his head, too fast, too exact. He was used to action, not endless calculation. His quill hesitated, blotting ink on the corner of the page.

Jongin’s eyes flicked up, sharp and assessing. “It’s fine,” he said finally, with a sigh that was heavier than it should have been. “I’ll just handle the calculations. You can… write the names neatly.”

The words struck like a slap.

Kyungsoo’s head snapped up, heat rising in his chest. “Don’t treat me like a quill-holder,” he snapped. His voice echoed too loudly in the hollow space, but he didn’t care.

Jongin raised a brow, as if he were mildly surprised at Kyungsoo’s bite. Then, with infuriating calm, “I’d rather not spend weeks correcting your mistakes.”

Kyungsoo pushed his chair back with a scrape. “Merlin’s beard, you’re insufferable. Not everything is a competition.”

“To me, it is.” Jongin’s voice was soft but cutting, his gaze hard.

For a moment, neither moved. The silence was sharp, the Tower’s cold air pressing between them like a third presence.

Kyungsoo finally huffed and sat back down, stabbing his quill into the inkwell with more force than necessary. Jongin returned to his charts, his hand steady, though his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

The following afternoon, Kyungsoo was back where he belonged—the Quidditch pitch. The grass shone damp with dew, touched here and there with the gold of fallen leaves. Overhead, the sky stretched in a pale autumn blue, cool but bright. His broom cut through the crisp air as he hovered before the goalposts, gloves stiff but familiar against the handle. Here, things were simple—defend the posts, trust his instincts, ignore the rest of the world.

“Oi, Kyungsoo!” Baekhyun’s voice carried across the pitch, loud and teasing as ever. He was circling above like a crow that had sniffed mischief. “How’s it going with your snake partner?”

Chanyeol, clutching a beater’s bat and grinning wide, chimed in, “Bet he spends more time with his telescope than with people.”

The Gryffindor team laughed, the sound rising into the open sky. Jongdae added from below, “Careful, Soo. If he stares at you the way he stares at the stars, you’ll be blinded.”

Kyungsoo groaned, tightening his grip on the broom. “You lot are insufferable.”

“Come on,” Baekhyun wheedled, leaning dangerously close on his broom, “tell us what it’s like partnering with the Slytherin golden boy. Did he bring his crown along to the Tower?”

Junmyeon, floating nearby with an indulgent smile, shook his head. “Leave him be. He’s probably suffering enough as it is.”

Kyungsoo rolled his eyes, but the tips of his ears warmed under the attention. “He’s a pompous arse,” he muttered. “Arrogant as they come.”

Baekhyun snickered, winking. “Sounds like someone’s paying close attention.”

Kyungsoo shot him a withering glare before throwing himself back into the drill, focusing on the quaffle sailing toward him. He caught it cleanly, the satisfying thud against his gloves grounding him. Still, as the laughter of his teammates faded into the roar of wind, a flicker of Jongin’s low, precise voice threaded unbidden through his thoughts.

And miles away, that same voice was quiet.

In the Slytherin common room, Jongin sat by the fire, parchment spread across his knees. Emerald flames crackled in the hearth, casting green light across his sharp profile.

Minseok lounged on the arm of the sofa, his expression calm but his eyes glinting with quiet amusement. Sehun sprawled beside him, half-asleep until he stirred, voice lazy but teasing.

“So it’s true,” Sehun drawled, smirking. “You’ve been paired with a Gryffindor? That Keeper who shouts all the time?”

Minseok’s lips quirked. “Do Kyungsoo. He’s decent at Quidditch, at least. But Gryffindors are all the same—loud, reckless.”

Jongin’s mouth curved, not quite into a smile. “Reckless. All of them.”

Sehun snorted, satisfied, while Minseok leaned back with a knowing hum. But as their attention shifted, Jongin’s gaze lingered on the fire, his hand tightening around the quill.

Reckless, yes. But there had been something in Kyungsoo’s glare last night—unyielding, as if he refused to be dismissed. Few ever stood their ground with him like that.

And though Jongin would never admit it aloud, it unsettled him.

The next study session was quieter. Their chairs scraped less harshly against the stone floor, their silence charged but not explosive.

Jongin spread another chart across the desk, pointing to the rogue planet with the tip of his quill. “Here. Its path dips unexpectedly here, sliding off the predicted arc before realigning—”

“Like a Chaser faking left, then cutting right,” Kyungsoo muttered under his breath.

Jongin’s hand stilled. “What?”

Kyungsoo looked up, slightly defensive. “That’s what it reminds me of. You think the Chaser’s going to the left post, but they veer to the right at the last second. The planet looks like it’s straying off-course, but it’s not—it’s just… faking us out.”

For a heartbeat, the Tower was silent except for the whine of wind against stone.

Then Jongin’s lips parted, the faintest flicker of surprise crossing his features. His quill tapped once against the parchment. “That’s… not inaccurate.”

Kyungsoo smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Glad my ‘average’ brain could keep up.”

Jongin didn’t respond, but his gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary.

And when he returned to the chart, his voice was just slightly softer.

The tiniest shift, but a shift nonetheless.

Midnight draped the castle in silence. Even the ancient stones seemed to rest, the corridors hushed save for the whisper of shifting portraits. By the time Kyungsoo climbed the spiral staircase, the torches below had thinned to sputtering embers, and the only light came from the swollen moon and the trembling scatter of stars above.

The Tower’s great windows framed the sky like cathedral glass, open to the bite of December wind. It smelled faintly of cold stone and brass, the metallic tang of telescopes catching starlight.

Jongin was already there. He stood with one hand braced on the telescope, the other holding a quill poised above parchment. His profile was lit silver by moonlight, sharp and still, as though he’d stepped out of some ancient portrait.

“You’re late,” Jongin murmured without turning, though his tone was more matter-of-fact than chastising.

“I’m three minutes early,” Kyungsoo muttered, tugging his cloak tighter.

They settled into their usual rhythm—if it could be called that. Jongin dominated the silence, rattling off figures, marking angles. Kyungsoo copied them down, his quill dragging in messy strokes that contrasted painfully against Jongin’s immaculate script.

For a while, the only sounds were scratching quills, the clink of brass adjustments, the occasional sigh of wind pressing against the high stone arches.

But something about the night—the vastness of the sky, the hush of it—began to seep into their edges.

Kyungsoo found himself pausing, gaze drawn not to the numbers but to the heavens. The rogue planet glowed faintly, its light shifting strangely from night to night, as if it refused to settle. Around it, constellations stretched like threads of an ancient tapestry.

“It’s confusing,” Kyungsoo said suddenly, voice low. His quill hovered uselessly above the page. “All these lines and numbers. But when you just… look up? It’s beautiful. Doesn’t make sense, but still beautiful.”

The words hung between them.

Jongin stilled, then slowly lowered his quill. His dark eyes flicked to Kyungsoo, unreadable at first. Then, as if against his will, his face softened.

“You’re not wrong,” he said quietly. He shifted, pointing with the feathered end of his quill toward the sky. “See there? Orion’s belt. The stars aren’t close at all—light years apart. But from here, it looks like a perfect line. Astronomy is… it’s not just numbers. It’s perspective. Knowing the distance doesn’t make the illusion less beautiful.”

His voice was different when he spoke of the stars—no longer cold and clipped but warm, edged with awe. The passion in it startled Kyungsoo, tugging at him in ways he hadn’t expected.

For a long moment, Kyungsoo only listened. Watched the way Jongin’s gaze shifted skyward, his usually sharp expression gentled by starlight. He thought, strangely, that Jongin looked almost fragile then. Human.

The sessions stretched across nights. Slowly, words began to fill the silences. Not often, not easily, but enough.

One evening, as their ink dried in curls across the parchment, Kyungsoo asked, “Do you always have to be the best?”

Jongin’s quill stilled.

His gaze remained fixed on the paper, but his jaw tightened. “I don’t have the choice not to.”

The fire in the small wall brazier hissed as if to fill the pause.

“My family… expects it,” Jongin continued finally, his voice low. “Every subject. Every score. Every… move. Perfection is survival. Anything less is failure. And failure…” He trailed off, eyes hardening. “Failure isn’t allowed.”

Kyungsoo swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. The arrogance he’d first bristled against suddenly looked less like confidence, more like armor.

“I get that,” Kyungsoo said after a moment. His voice was quieter than usual, stripped of its usual bluntness. “Not in the same way, maybe. My mum’s a Muggle. My dad’s an old pureblood line. Half the time I feel like I’m proving myself to one side or the other—never enough for both.” He gave a dry laugh. “Being Keeper makes it easier. No one cares about blood when you’re blocking goals.”

For the first time, Jongin looked at him fully. There was no smirk, no disdain—only surprise.

As if he hadn’t expected Kyungsoo to understand.

But Kyungsoo’s steady gaze didn’t waver.

And something in Jongin shifted, almost imperceptibly, like the slow pull of a star off its course.

Later that night, they bent over the same chart, shoulders nearly brushing as they traced the rogue planet’s erratic path across the sky. Kyungsoo leaned in to follow Jongin’s quill as it drew across the parchment.

Their hands touched—barely. Skin against skin, knuckles grazing.

Both froze.

The scratch of the quill faltered, the ink pooling into a dark blot. Kyungsoo’s breath caught in his throat. Jongin’s gaze flicked down, then up again, unreadable, though his ears burned faintly red against the pale curve of his cheek.

Neither moved for a heartbeat too long. The Tower felt suddenly smaller, the air thick, their silence louder than any words.

Then Jongin cleared his throat, shifting his hand back with careful control. His voice, when it came, was measured but not quite steady.

“Careful. Ink’s smudging.”

Kyungsoo let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, forcing his quill down again, though his hand trembled slightly as he wrote.

Outside, the rogue planet flickered faintly against the dark, like something alive, refusing to be ignored.

The following night, the Tower felt heavier than before. The rogue planet still glimmered faintly in the distance, a wandering light against the tapestry of stars, but instead of wonder, its shifting path only deepened the weight pressing between them.

Ink and parchment crowded the desk, numbers scrawled in neat columns under Jongin’s sharp hand. He leaned forward, jaw tight, eyes narrowed at the telescope. His quill scratched without pause, as though the planet’s erratic course demanded speed, demanded perfection, as if falling behind by even a moment would unravel everything.

Kyungsoo tried to keep up, but his notes were a mess—ink blotted where his quill had hesitated, lines skewed from Jongin’s relentless pace. Finally, frustration bubbled up and spilled out.

“Do you ever let anyone else think for themselves?” Kyungsoo snapped, tossing his quill down.

Jongin’s head turned slowly, his dark gaze flashing in the candlelight. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t trust anyone to match you, do you?” Kyungsoo pressed, heat in his voice. “You take control of everything—like the rest of us are too incompetent to breathe without your supervision.”

The words hit harder than he intended, but Kyungsoo didn’t flinch.

For the first time, Jongin’s composure cracked. His lips curled—not in a smirk, but in something rawer. “You think this is about trust? This isn’t a game, Kyungsoo. I can’t afford mistakes.”

“You mean I can’t afford mistakes,” Kyungsoo shot back. “Because you think I’m dragging you down.”

Jongin’s chair scraped sharply against the stone as he stood, tension coiled through his frame. His voice was low, vibrating with something colder than anger. “You don’t understand what it means to carry everything on your shoulders. To be perfect, because anything less isn’t enough. You don’t know what it’s like to have your family waiting for you to fail.”

The words hung heavy, ringing against the Tower walls.

Kyungsoo froze, caught by the sudden crack in Jongin’s armor. But the sting of his pride was louder than empathy in that moment.

“Maybe I don’t,” Kyungsoo said, voice hard, “but I know when someone’s being a controlling bastard.”

He shoved his parchment aside and stood. His footsteps echoed like thunder as he stormed out, the Tower door slamming behind him.

For a long time, Jongin stood in the silence, chest rising and falling too fast. The rogue planet flickered unsteadily beyond the window, its light shifting like something alive. But for once, the stars did not calm him.

He wasn’t used to being seen so clearly. And he wasn’t sure he liked it.

The next night, Kyungsoo lingered at the base of the spiral staircase for a long time before climbing. His pride told him to stay away. But the project—the damn project—required his presence.

When he entered, Jongin was already there, of course. He sat at the desk, parchment spread neatly, quill poised. He didn’t look up when Kyungsoo closed the door behind him, but the air was thick with tension, heavy and unspoken.

Minutes passed in silence, broken only by the scratch of quill and the distant howl of wind against the Tower arches. Kyungsoo shifted uncomfortably, his stubbornness warring with the weight pressing against his chest.

Then Jongin spoke, his voice quiet, almost foreign in its hesitation.

“I don’t… usually apologize.”

Kyungsoo’s head snapped up, surprised.

Jongin’s eyes remained fixed on the parchment. His hand trembled faintly around the quill, but his voice steadied. “But I was wrong. Yesterday. I—” He exhaled sharply. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

The admission seemed to cost him something, as if the words themselves scraped raw on the way out.

Kyungsoo blinked, caught off guard. He had expected defensiveness, icy silence, anything but this. Vulnerability.

Slowly, he sat down across from Jongin. “You’re not easy to work with,” he said, the edge in his voice softened. “But I… get it. About your family. About having to prove yourself.”

Jongin’s eyes finally lifted, meeting his. There was no arrogance there, no sharpness—just the quiet surprise of being understood.

For the first time, the silence between them didn’t feel suffocating. It felt like space.

They returned to their work, though the air between them hummed differently now. Jongin explained more slowly, his voice less clipped, and Kyungsoo listened without bristling.

At one point, they bent together over the same chart. Jongin leaned forward, his quill tracing the rogue planet’s irregular path, the curve jagged where its velocity had shifted again, while Kyungsoo leaned in to follow his notes.

Their shoulders brushed.

Neither moved.

Kyungsoo’s breath hitched, the warmth of Jongin’s body seeping through the chill of the Tower air. Jongin’s hand stilled on the parchment, quill poised mid-line. His heartbeat thudded too loudly in his chest, betraying the calm mask he tried to hold.

The air thickened, the world narrowing to that single point of contact—shoulder to shoulder, skin to skin through fabric.

Kyungsoo dared a glance at him, catching the faint flush creeping up Jongin’s neck. Their eyes met for the briefest second, and something unspoken sparked, sharp and bright as lightning.

Then Jongin cleared his throat, pulling his quill back. “You’re smudging the ink again,” he muttered, voice low, betraying the unsteady rhythm beneath.

Kyungsoo only hummed, settling back into his seat, though his pulse refused to slow.

Outside, the rogue planet shimmered faintly against the stars, its light unsteady, as if it too had been shaken.

The Gryffindor Quidditch pitch was alive with movement, broomsticks streaking through the twilight sky. Kyungsoo’s focus was razor-sharp—eyes locked on the Quaffle, muscles tense as he defended the hoops. His friends shouted encouragement from below, their voices faint under the rush of wind in his ears.

Then it happened.

A Bludger whistled past—so close that Kyungsoo felt the sting of air bite his cheek. The impact missed him by inches, but the shock jarred his broom, nearly knocking him sideways. Gasps erupted from the stands. His knuckles went white on the handle, heart thundering as he righted himself.

Practice ended in chaos after that, with the Captain scolding the Beaters for their carelessness. Kyungsoo brushed it off with a laugh, saying he was fine, but the sting on his cheek told another story. His teammates herded him to the infirmary regardless, muttering that Madam Pomfrey would hex them all if they let him walk away untreated.

He sat on the bed, rolling his eyes at the fuss, until the door swung open with more force than necessary.

Jongin strode in.

His Slytherin robes were immaculate, but his expression wasn’t—eyes blazing, jaw tight, every line of him wound taut. It was the most alive Kyungsoo had ever seen him outside of the Astronomy Tower.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Jongin’s voice cut sharp across the room.

Kyungsoo blinked, startled. “What are you—”

“That Bludger nearly took your head off.” Jongin’s voice rose, rougher than usual. “And you just—just stayed in the air like nothing happened!”

Kyungsoo’s jaw dropped. “How do you even know about that?”

“I was there,” Jongin snapped, then faltered. His gaze flicked to the faint bruise on Kyungsoo’s cheek, and something raw flickered in his eyes before he looked away. “I was walking by.”

For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them. Jongin standing there, furious and… worried.

Too worried.

Kyungsoo’s temper flared. “You don’t even care about Quidditch.”

“I don’t.” Jongin’s reply was instant, but the crack in his tone betrayed him. “But I care about you being reckless.”

The words stung more than the Bludger. Kyungsoo shoved off the bed, standing toe-to-toe with him now. “Oh, so now you get to care? Only when it’s convenient for you? When it fits into your perfect little schedule?”

Jongin’s mouth opened, then closed, as if he couldn’t assemble the words fast enough. His eyes blazed. “That’s not—”

“No,” Kyungsoo cut him off, chest heaving. “You don’t get to swoop in, scold me like a child, and pretend like you haven’t spent weeks acting like this project is the only reason I exist to you.”

Jongin’s breath caught. The anger between them wasn’t clean—it tangled with something else, something heavier, hotter.

Kyungsoo could see it now in the tightness of Jongin’s fists, the way his throat worked as if swallowing words too dangerous to speak. His own pulse hammered in his ears, and suddenly he wasn’t sure if he wanted to shove Jongin away or drag him closer.

And then Jongin cracked.

“Do you know how distracting you are?!” The words burst from him, ragged and raw.

Kyungsoo froze.

Jongin’s eyes widened as if he hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but the silence had already swallowed it whole.

Distracting.

The air between them shifted, electric. Kyungsoo’s lips parted, breath unsteady, his heartbeat slamming against his ribs. Jongin stood so close now—too close—and the mask he always wore had slipped entirely. His face was flushed, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths, and there was nothing cold or distant left in him.

Kyungsoo’s voice came low, hoarse. “Say that again.”

Jongin didn’t. He couldn’t. His restraint shattered instead.

It wasn’t gentle.

Their mouths collided like a storm breaking, all teeth and heat and desperation. Kyungsoo’s back hit the edge of the infirmary bed with a muffled thud as Jongin’s hands caught his face, his jaw, holding him as though afraid he might vanish.

Kyungsoo gasped into the kiss, then bit back with equal fervor, fisting the front of Jongin’s robes. Anger bled into need, every unsaid word sparking into fire between their lips.

It was messy, too much and not enough, but it tore the breath from them both.

When they finally broke apart, foreheads pressed together, their breaths tangled in the charged silence.

Jongin’s eyes searched his, wide and shaken, as though he’d just broken every rule he’d ever lived by.

Kyungsoo swallowed hard, his lips still tingling, voice unsteady. “You’re an idiot.”

Jongin huffed a laugh, hoarse and wrecked. “So are you.”

And then he kissed him again.

The Astronomy Tower was quiet in the way only midnight could bring. Moonlight spilled through the high, arched windows, silvering the stone floor and bathing the telescopes in a cold glow. The stars above burned sharp, scattered across the velvet dark, but neither of them was paying much attention to the constellations tonight.

Jongin was already there when Kyungsoo arrived. He stood near their usual table, back to the window, hands braced against the wood as though it were the only thing keeping him grounded. His silhouette was cut from shadow and moonlight, shoulders tense, jaw tight.

Kyungsoo shut the heavy door behind him, the sound echoing in the cavernous chamber. His heart gave a hard thud.

For a moment, neither spoke. The memory of the infirmary hung between them—the way their lips had clashed, the breathless fury, the impossible hunger that had burned straight through their restraint.

It should have been awkward. It wasn’t.

It was unbearable.

Kyungsoo crossed the room first. He tossed his satchel onto the table, not bothering with parchment or quills, his eyes fixed on Jongin. “So,” he said, voice low, a little rough. “Are we pretending that didn’t happen?”

Jongin’s head lifted slowly, his gaze locking on him. His eyes were darker than Kyungsoo had ever seen them—shadowed, smoldering. “I tried.” His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried across the tower like a spell. “I can’t.”

The next heartbeat shattered the fragile distance between them.

Jongin moved, swift and sharp, closing the space in three strides. His hands caught Kyungsoo’s waist, shoving him back until his shoulders hit the cold stone wall. Their mouths crashed together, all teeth and desperation, the kind of kiss that tasted of restraint finally breaking.

Kyungsoo groaned against him, fingers twisting into Jongin’s robes to drag him closer still. The stone bit into his back, but he barely noticed over the press of Jongin’s body, the hot slide of his mouth.

“Still think I’m a distraction?” Kyungsoo whispered against his lips, taunting, breathless.

Jongin growled, low and wrecked, and kissed him harder, devouring.

The world narrowed to the clash of lips, the scrape of teeth, the desperate press of hands. Jongin’s mouth left Kyungsoo’s only to trail down his jaw, hot and relentless, to the junction of his neck and shoulder. He bit down, hard enough to make Kyungsoo gasp, then soothed the mark with his tongue.

Kyungsoo’s nails dug into Jongin’s shoulders, sharp even through the fabric, urging him closer, deeper. His voice came out in a broken whisper, trembling between need and defiance. “Don’t—don’t stop.”

Jongin didn’t.

With a rough pull, Jongin yanked Kyungsoo’s robes open, fabric spilling down his arms until they dangled uselessly at his wrists. His fingers fumbled at the buttons of Kyungsoo’s uniform jacket, too impatient to work them properly, tugging until the threads strained. Kyungsoo laughed breathlessly against his mouth, then shoved Jongin back just enough to tear at his own robes in retaliation, dragging them down over his shoulders.

“You’re impossible,” Kyungsoo muttered, but his tone was wrecked with want.

“And you talk too much,” Jongin shot back, before crushing their mouths together again.

Layer by layer, cloth gave way to heat—robes falling in crumpled heaps, ties pulled loose and tossed aside, shirts tugged half-free from trousers. Jongin pushed Kyungsoo’s shirt off his shoulders, hungry eyes roaming the pale stretch of skin revealed, before ducking down to drag his tongue across a collarbone. Kyungsoo arched into the touch, his gasp tearing free when Jongin sucked a bruise into his chest.

Kyungsoo shoved back, hands finding Jongin’s belt. His fingers worked with unsteady urgency, tugging it open, dragging down his trousers until they pooled around his knees. Jongin bit out a curse when Kyungsoo’s hand brushed against his hard cock straining beneath, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.

“Impatient,” Jongin muttered, breath hot against Kyungsoo’s skin.

“Hypocrite,” Kyungsoo snapped, before kissing him again, rough and messy.

They stumbled together toward the desk, parchments scattering under their weight as Jongin pressed him down against the wood. He dragged Kyungsoo’s trousers down with a swift tug, and Kyungsoo kicked them off blindly, desperate for the friction of bare skin against skin.

Jongin’s hand wrapped around Kyungsoo's cock, sure and unyielding, and Kyungsoo gasped, clutching at the edge of the desk. His hips bucked helplessly into Jongin’s palm, every stroke dragging another sound from him, raw and needy.

But it wasn’t enough. He wanted something else.

“Now,” Kyungsoo ground out, teeth clenched, eyes blazing. “Just—fuck me, Jongin.”

The words punched the air from Jongin’s lungs. His control snapped. He pushed Kyungsoo forward over the desk, spreading him wide, robes falling forgotten to the floor. His own trousers were shoved down with frantic haste, and he pressed in close, chest to Kyungsoo’s back, breath hot against his ear.

“Tell me you want this,” Jongin rasped, voice broken with the effort of restraint.

Kyungsoo shoved back against him, trembling with need. “I want it. I want you.”

That was all Jongin needed.

His hand fumbled for his wand, a whispered charm spilling from his lips. A shimmer of magic pooled in his palm, thick and warm, slick that glistened in the candlelight. Jongin swallowed hard, coating himself quickly before sliding his hand lower, fingers brushing between Kyungsoo’s thighs.

Kyungsoo jolted at the first touch, hips twitching as Jongin’s fingers smeared the conjured slick over his entrance. “Fuck,” he gasped, nails digging into the stone.

“Relax,” Jongin murmured, his mouth close to Kyungsoo’s ear, his breath hot and ragged. “I’ll make it good.”

One finger pressed in, slow and steady, breaching the tight heat. Kyungsoo hissed, back arching, but Jongin’s free hand steadied him at the hip, grounding him. He worked carefully at first, twisting and curling his finger, coaxing Kyungsoo open.

A second finger followed, sliding in beside the first with a stretch that pulled a groan from Kyungsoo’s throat. He shifted restlessly, torn between pushing back and shoving away. Jongin soothed him with a kiss against his neck, murmuring soft nothings as he scissored his fingers, stretching him wider, slick coating every motion.

By the time the third finger pressed in, Kyungsoo was panting, his thighs trembling, his forehead pressed to the cold stone wall. “Jongin—” His voice broke, somewhere between plea and demand.

“I know,” Jongin breathed, his own restraint hanging by a thread. He crooked his fingers just right, earning a shuddering cry from Kyungsoo, his body clenching around him. “You’re ready. Let me in.”

Only then did Jongin withdraw his fingers, slick still glistening on his hand as he guided himself into place. He pressed a kiss to Kyungsoo’s nape, whispering hoarsely, “I’ve got you,” before lining up and pushing forward, slow only at first, until the stretch swallowed him whole.

Kyungsoo hissed, fingers gripping the desk hard enough to hurt, knuckles white against the dark wood. The first push burned, sharp and searing, but the pain melted quickly, spreading into something heavier, aching, unbearable in how good it felt to be filled so completely.

Jongin froze once he was buried to the hilt, his chest pressed to Kyungsoo’s back, their bodies locked together. His breath came fast, hot against Kyungsoo’s ear, as though the act of holding still was more difficult than the thrust itself. For one suspended heartbeat, they hung there—shaking, gasping, their bodies struggling to adjust to the shock of finally being joined.

Then Jongin moved.

Slow at first—agonizingly slow—Jongin pulled back, the slick drag of his cock pulling a sharp gasp from Kyungsoo’s lips. The stretch throbbed deep inside him, and then Jongin pushed forward again with deliberate care, filling him inch by inch until Kyungsoo’s knees nearly gave out against the desk. His cheek pressed into the wood, breath fogging against the cold surface as if bracing against the flood of pleasure searing through him.

“Fuck, Kyungsoo,” Jongin groaned, the sound raw and reverent all at once. His hands clamped tight around Kyungsoo’s hips, thumbs digging deep into bone as though anchoring himself, holding him exactly where he wanted him.

The next thrust was firmer, steady but harder, driving deeper than before. Kyungsoo’s fingers curled into claws against the desk, nails scraping across the wood as his body rocked forward from the force. His mouth fell open on a broken moan, his voice frayed thin around it.

Jongin set a rhythm, hips snapping forward with sharper intent, each stroke sliding smoother, deeper, harder. The desk groaned across the stone floor with the impact, an inch at a time, the wood creaking under Kyungsoo’s grip. The sound of skin on skin echoed through the high Tower arches, obscene and unrelenting, clashing against the silence of the night.

Kyungsoo’s body gave way to it, straining back to meet each thrust even as the intensity wrung him raw. The burn was gone now, drowned under pleasure so sharp it pulled helpless cries from him, each one louder than the last. He tried to bite them back, but they spilled out anyway—choked, breathless, shivering through the stone-cold air.

Jongin leaned over him, chest pressed to his back, his breath hot against Kyungsoo’s ear as he fucked into him harder still. His grip shifted, one hand sliding up to clutch at Kyungsoo’s chest, dragging him up off the desk just enough to cage him against his body. The angle drove him deeper, punching the air from Kyungsoo’s lungs with every snap of hips.

“Say my name,” Jongin growled, his voice jagged with need, teeth scraping the slope of Kyungsoo’s shoulder.

One of his hands slid from Kyungsoo’s hip, gliding up over his ribs, his chest, until it wrapped firm around his throat. The sudden pressure made Kyungsoo’s breath stutter, eyes flying wide as his back arched helplessly into Jongin’s grip.

“Jongin—” The name cracked out of him, hoarse, strangled, even more desperate for the restriction cutting at his voice. His nails dug harder into the desk, shoulders trembling under the weight of it.

Jongin tightened just enough to make every gasp a struggle, his thrusts pounding deeper, sharper, each one timed with the flex of his fingers at Kyungsoo’s throat. The choked syllables of his name spilled out anyway, wrecked and broken.

“Jongin—fuck—Jongin—”

The sound only spurred him on. Jongin pressed closer, lips at his ear, voice low and rough. “Louder. Let everyone hear who you belong to.”

The name tumbled from his mouth again and again, half-moan, half-prayer, broken worship that spilled between the sharp slap of bodies and the scrape of wood.

Jongin’s lips chased every sound, as though addicted to the broken noises spilling from Kyungsoo’s mouth. He dragged open-mouthed kisses down the nape of his neck, each one hot and frantic, branding. His teeth sank into the tender skin of his shoulder, hard enough to leave crescents, and Kyungsoo cried out, the sound muffled against the desk. Jongin soothed the mark instantly, tongue laving the sting, his breath coming ragged, lips trembling against the damp curve of skin.

“Fuck—Kyungsoo,” he groaned, the name torn from his chest, half-snarl, half-plea.

Every thrust grew harsher, sharper, but still his mouth never stopped moving. He kissed across the column of Kyungsoo’s throat when his grip slackened, then pressed reverent kisses at the shell of his ear, down again to his spine, worship written in every touch of his lips. His teeth scraped, his tongue soothed, his mouth shaped Kyungsoo’s name over and over like it was a prayer he couldn’t stop chanting.

Kyungsoo shuddered beneath the devotion, the desk groaning with the force of each thrust. His voice cracked, strangled and raw, but Jongin caught it all—catching every cry with his mouth, swallowing every plea, grounding himself in the sound and taste of him.

And even as Jongin’s pace turned brutal, relentless, merciless—hips slamming forward in punishing rhythm—his mouth told a different story. Every bite was tempered with a kiss, every harsh growl softened by the hushed reverence of Kyungsoo’s name whispered against his skin, as if Jongin could carve it into him from the inside out.

Kyungsoo’s whole body arched with it, caught between pain and ecstasy, his voice ragged as the desk rattled beneath them.

The edge came rushing too fast. Kyungsoo shuddered, his whole body trembling, thighs quaking as the relentless rhythm built pressure until it snapped. His release tore through him like lightning, a choked cry spilling from his lips as he came hard across the desk, his body clenching tight around Jongin in aftershock.

The sudden squeeze dragged Jongin under with him. With a final, staggering thrust, he buried himself deep, his own climax ripping through him. His groan broke raw against Kyungsoo’s ear as he held on, clutching him close like letting go would mean falling apart entirely.

For long moments, the only sound was their breathing—harsh, ragged, slowly finding steadiness again.

Jongin stayed pressed against him, chest heaving against Kyungsoo’s back, their sweat-damp robes clinging awkwardly where they hadn’t been pushed away. Kyungsoo’s arms trembled, his grip on the desk loosening as his body sagged under the weight of release. His legs shook, barely able to hold him upright.

“Easy,” Jongin murmured, voice low and hoarse, his lips brushing the damp curve of Kyungsoo’s shoulder. He slid one arm around his waist, steadying him, holding him against his own shaking frame.

When Jongin finally eased back, pulling out slow, Kyungsoo gasped at the loss, the raw ache left in the wake of his withdrawal. Heat spilled down the insides of his thighs, slick and unmistakable, and he bit back a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper.

Jongin’s gaze dropped, dark and unreadable, watching the mess he’d left behind. His hand moved almost instinctively, sliding down to Kyungsoo’s hip, fingers brushing along the curve of his thigh as though he could catch what slipped out, as though he hated letting any part of this go.

Instead of wiping it away, his fingers gathered what dripped, slow and deliberate, smearing the wetness back against Kyungsoo’s skin. He rubbed it into the tender flesh of his thigh, dragged it higher until his slick-coated fingers pressed at Kyungsoo’s entrance again, teasing, circling.

Kyungsoo shuddered, his breath breaking into a startled gasp, torn between oversensitivity and the molten pulse of want that still lingered in his veins. “Jongin—” His voice cracked on the name, half-plea, half-warning.

Jongin’s mouth curved, dark and wrecked, as he leaned close. “Don’t waste it,” he whispered, low and possessive, his fingers pushing just enough to spread the mess back inside him, slow and careful, as if trying to brand him with every drop.

Kyungsoo’s knees trembled, nails scraping at the edge of the desk, head tipping back as heat curled in his belly again. It was obscene, overwhelming—being filled even after the act was done, Jongin’s hand making sure he stayed claimed, marked, ruined just the way he wanted him.

Jongin caught him, turning him gently so his back rested against the desk instead of the cold stone wall. His hands were careful now, guiding him down to sit on the edge, steadying him like something fragile.

Neither spoke. The Tower was too quiet, the air thick with the smell of sex, the faint rustle of robes, the distant howl of wind through the arches.

Jongin’s forehead dipped to Kyungsoo’s, still trembling with aftershocks. His breath ghosted over swollen lips, his voice rough but steady. “You drive me mad.”

Kyungsoo let out a small, shaky laugh, the corner of his mouth quirking up despite how wrecked he felt. “Good.”

That simple word landed heavier than any taunt, and Jongin’s chest tightened, his hands still trembling where they held Kyungsoo’s waist, unwilling to let go.

By the time their Astronomy project was complete, it was no longer clear where Jongin’s meticulous charts ended and Kyungsoo’s sharp insights began. Every late night, every clash of tempers, every scribbled correction in the margins had built something far more seamless than either could have achieved alone.

The project had centered on the rogue planet, a wandering body the entire class had been assigned to observe. Most groups had treated it as just another charting exercise—marking its faint light across the weeks, recording its lonely drift—but when Kyungsoo and Jongin stepped up to the front of the classroom, it was immediately clear theirs was different.

A flick of Jongin’s wand sent their star-map blooming across the enchanted ceiling. The constellations shimmered into being, the slow, pale glow of the rogue planet sliding across the dome of night. His voice was smooth, steady, carrying to the back rows.

“Here,” he said, gesturing as the projection shifted. “The trajectory we traced over the last three months. Its movement is unpredictable, but not without pattern. It threads between constellations, never tied to one, yet always carving its own path.”

Kyungsoo stepped in, his tone quiet but cutting through the hush. “Unlike the planets bound to a star, the rogue planet drifts without an anchor. Many dismiss it as insignificant. But we argued it tells us something different—that even without a sun, it still belongs to the night sky. It still matters.”

The enchanted ceiling pulsed as if in agreement, the wandering planet’s glow lingering a heartbeat longer.

A murmur rippled through the room. Students leaned forward, caught between the numbers Jongin had laid out and the unexpected weight of Kyungsoo’s words.

Professor Sinistra’s expression was unreadable at first, her sharp gaze fixed on the projection, then on the two boys standing shoulder to shoulder. She folded her hands behind her back. “Continue.”

Jongin’s eyes flickered to Kyungsoo before he nodded, expanding the chart. More constellations bled across the ceiling, every line and point drawn with painstaking precision. “Together, the data and interpretation give us a new picture. The rogue planet isn’t a failure of the cosmos—it’s proof of the sky’s complexity. It exists outside the rules we expect, and that makes it worth studying.”

When silence followed, it wasn’t the restless kind of students waiting for the next group. It was reverent, as if the whole class had been pulled into their orbit.

Only then did Professor Sinistra’s eyes gleam, her lips curving in the faintest of smiles. “Brilliant work,” she said, her voice carrying. “You’ve set a new standard.”

For the first time, they didn’t glance at each other out of rivalry. Pride flared in Kyungsoo’s chest—not just for himself, but for Jongin. And when Jongin’s lips tugged into the smallest of smiles, Kyungsoo felt something far more dangerous than victory. He felt together.

Kyungsoo sat in his usual place at the Gryffindor table, spoon hovering over his porridge as he skimmed the Daily Prophet one-handed. Across from him, Baekhyun was mid-story, gesturing with a slice of toast, crumbs scattering.

“—and then Filch turns the corner,” Baekhyun was saying, eyes wide with theatrical horror, “and there I am, halfway out the window with one leg stuck, robes caught on the bloody hinge—don’t laugh, Chanyeol, I nearly died—” He slapped the table with the back of his hand for emphasis, nearly toppling Chanyeol’s goblet.

“You didn’t nearly die,” Chanyeol muttered, rolling his eyes, though his mouth twitched.

Baekhyun barreled on, ignoring him. “So of course Filch is wheezing like he’s about to keel over, but his bloody cat is hissing and spitting like I’d kicked her. I’m dangling there like some tragic hero, praying to Merlin himself, and guess who saves me?” He paused dramatically, toast raised like a conductor’s wand.

“Not you,” Chanyeol said dryly.

“Me,” Baekhyun declared, jabbing himself in the chest, scattering crumbs across the table. “I twisted, I pulled, I executed the most graceful dive you’ve ever seen—”

“You landed on your arse,” Chanyeol interrupted, smirking into his goblet.

Baekhyun scowled, his ears pink. “Details. The point is, I escaped certain doom.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “And not a single detention to show for it. I am, in fact, untouchable.”

Kyungsoo hummed absently, more absorbed in the newspaper than Baekhyun’s dramatics, though the corner of his mouth tugged upward at the familiar exaggeration.

The doors to the Hall opened again, and Kyungsoo glanced up automatically—just in time to see Jongin stride in with the Slytherins. He was flanked by Sehun, Minseok and a few others, green ties sharp against their black robes. Nothing unusual. Kyungsoo dropped his gaze back to his porridge.

Except Jongin didn’t stop.

Kyungsoo’s head snapped up as Jongin veered away from the Slytherin table without hesitation, cutting a straight line through the Hall. Conversations dipped, the shift subtle but noticeable—like a ripple moving across water. Sehun’s brows furrowed. A few Ravenclaws turned in their seats to watch.

Baekhyun, oblivious, was still mid-story. “So then I rolled, very deliberately, into the shadows—like a cat, very sleek, very—” He broke off with a strangled noise as Jongin slid into the empty space at Kyungsoo’s side. The bench creaked softly under his weight. Jongin reached immediately for a slice of toast, leaning back with infuriating calm, his shoulder brushing against Kyungsoo’s as though it had always been his spot.

The air around them changed. Conversation slowed, hushed whispers spilling up and down the table. Gryffindor and Slytherin. Oil and water. Rival Houses.

Baekhyun froze mid-bite, eyes darting between them. “Uh—so, yes. Sleek. Very sleek,” he muttered, words faltering as though he’d lost the thread of his own tale.

Chanyeol cut him off smoothly, smirking into his goblet. “Don’t choke, Baekhyun.”

Across the Hall, Sehun’s head had tilted, his brows arched in sharp question. From the Gryffindor side, more stares followed—some curious, some incredulous.

Kyungsoo’s pulse thundered in his ears. His spoon clinked against the rim of his bowl as his hand trembled, the porridge suddenly forgotten. He could feel the weight of every eye on them.

And then Jongin turned his head slightly, meeting his gaze with that steady, unbothered calm. “Pass the jam?” he said, like nothing at all was strange about where he sat.

Kyungsoo swallowed hard, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. He shoved the jar toward Jongin wordlessly, his heart racing.

The whispers would spread. They always did. But with Jongin beside him, shoulders brushing, his presence warm and grounding, Kyungsoo found—for once—he didn’t care what anyone thought.

That night, the Astronomy Tower felt less like a battleground and more like a secret haven. The telescopes sat unused as the two of them lingered near the windows, the vast night sky stretching endlessly overhead.

They didn’t speak at first. The silence wasn’t tense anymore; it was companionable, easy. The stars glittered, steady as always, yet somehow altered—warmer, brighter. Their eyes both drifted upward, toward the faint trace of the rogue planet they had mapped together, still wandering alone in the sky.

“Funny,” Kyungsoo murmured. “Something so lost can still be worth noticing.”

Jongin’s gaze lingered on him rather than the heavens. His voice was a soft murmur. “The stars seem different with you beside me.”

Kyungsoo turned his head, meeting his gaze. The honesty there made his chest ache. Slowly, he smiled. “Maybe you were right all along. Astronomy is beautiful.”

Jongin’s lips curved in answer, and before the words could fade, he leaned in. The kiss they shared was nothing like the frantic desperation of before—it was slow, unhurried, the kind of kiss that promised more tomorrows.

The night wrapped around them, endless and quiet. No longer rivals. No longer divided by House colors. Just Jongin and Kyungsoo, beneath the same stars—and the same wandering planet—beginning something new.