Dean grins as he kicks the black and white ball past him, sending it into the goal. "What's the score now, Shay? Six to zero, right?"
Seamus rolls his eyes. "It's a stupid game," he grumbles.
"It'd be more fun with more people," his boyfriend points out.
"It'd be more fun with brooms. And more goals and balls," Seamus insists.
"That's Quidditch."
"Exactly! That's a proper sport!"
Dean sighs and shakes his head. "Stubborn bastard," he mutters, moving closer. "You said you'd try."
Seamus squirms guiltily. He had promised, and he hadn't really tried. He'd just gone in, assuming it was a bloody waste of time. "It's silly," he says, the protest sounding flimsy.
"Only because I'm beating you. I could get Nancy out here. My sister is five, so maybe you can take her."
The other boy scowls, raking a hand through his sandy hair. "Funny."
"Come on," Dean says. "One more go. I'll ring some old mates, and we'll have a proper match."
Seamus considers for a moment. For Dean, he'll do anything. Finally, he shrugs and heaves a defeated sigh. "Fine. But only if I'm on your team." The thought of losing to Dean in a real match is humiliating, and he's too proud for that.
Dean chuckles, lacing his fingers with the other's. "Partners through and through."
