1 YEAR LATER

Being with a Quidditch player was the strangest thing. During the season they were off doing an insane amount of training consisting of hours-long training sessions, a ridiculous exercise routine and a very strict diet. It was hard enough being with a Quidditch player but to be dating one who for the majority of the year was stationed in a different country was even more ridiculously difficult. Long-distance was a pain in the arse, and during the Quidditch season, it was much worse. And now with the Quidditch World Cup upon us again, it was even worse. Viktor had offered for me to tag along like a groupie, but he insisted that other player's families often did that to deal with not seeing each other for so long. But I had work, and not the sort of work I could abandon to spend the time with me. (And there really was such a thing as too much Quidditch, regardless of what Viktor said).

Although, I did make a point to attend his games to cheer him one. And Salazar, the British media had picked up on it all too quickly, claiming that I was disloyal to the English team. I'd long since abandoned entertaining the British sports reporters who often camped outside of my home to get an interview out of me - as if practically barricading me into my flat was going to get me to speak to them. I told Viktor this would happen - that everyone would stick their noses into our business and yet -

Raucous cheers brought me from my thoughts, making me look up in surprise. Searching the stadium from the warded and guarded friends and family booth, I realised that the teams were beginning to make their entry. The Bulgarian team had yet to make an appearance and yet, I was already on the edge of my seat and waiting for Viktor to arrive. I had to keep an eye on him, to make sure that he wasn't injured because during his last game he'd taken a bludger to the head and despite the Healer's insistence that he was safe to play, I wasn't so sure. In fact, I was certain he'd commandeered the Healer into giving him the all-clear. His team were certainly glad he was playing. Once he made his mind up about something, there was just no stopping him.

"Miss Takahashi?" the call of my name had me looking away from the pitch for only a second, spying one of the team member's husbands as he walked towards me. Shuffling down the bench, I made space for the French man who settled easily next to me and handed me a drink, "I thought you might be thirsty."

"Thank you," I said with a smile, realising that I'd been stuffing my face with salty pretzels to appease my anxiety and really could do with some water. Offering the french man some of my pretzels, I set the bag between us and opened the water bottle and took a much-needed sip. "Nervous?"

"Perhaps more nervous than the team," he laughed, rubbing his hands together nervously as the Bulgarian team finally made their entrance.

The team who was widely regarded as the front runners brought an even larger round of cheers from the spectators. My companion leapt from his seat, watching his wife with such a big smile that I would've believed that he wasn't one of the people who had abandoned his life to follow his wife on this journey. Looking away from him, my eyes sought out Viktor who brought up the rear and was flying with such ease that it brought a relieved smile to my face. Maybe I was worried for nothing, maybe he hadn't needed to strong-arm the team's Healer after all.

The team's lap of the stadium brought them near the booth full of their loved ones and everyone was on their feet, anticipating them and showing their support. I was one of the less flamboyant members of the packed booth, simply clapping as I stood whilst others around me actually screamed and shouted as if their lives depended on it. But I knew, without having to check, that Viktor knew I cared for him and I supported him. I just didn't need to make a scene about it.

Sitting down once more, I crossed my legs at the ankle and waited for him the game to begin. For now, the two teams had descended to the floor, standing in front of the referee and listening to a speech that I knew Viktor could recite off by heart - he certainly mumbled it sometimes in his sleep.

"You feel out of place as well," he started, eyes on the pitch and not looking at me as he spoke. When I said nothing, he finally glanced at me and gestured to the booth around us, "Among zhe ozzurr family?"

"Is it that obvious?" I asked hesitantly, glancing around the booth towards the other friends and family members of the team - all Bulgarian and all conversing with one another in Bulgarian as it was natural for them to do.

But I couldn't help but wonder if sometimes they were talking about me, given the way I'd catch glances thrown my way from the corner of their eyes. Apparently, Viktor was a well sought out bachelor, and people had taken their chances to try and set him up with their cousins, sisters, nieces etc. I was not an easily welcomed addition to the so-called family.

"I was in your position two months ago," he confessed, leaning in to give me a secret smile. "It's why I started to learn Bulgarian so I could learn what they were saying about me."

"And you're fluent?"

"Nowhere near," he snorted, and we turned our eyes to the pitch when the whistle was blown. "It'll get better. They just need time to get to know you and realise that you're here to stay."

"Well, that can't come quick enough," I said and then we were silent, focusing on the match.

My eyes refused to stray from Viktor who was involved in a two-person race to catch that snitch because I knew that was what the Bulgarian team had planned - to get the snitch as soon as possible. Viktor was all too willing to comply with the wants of his captain and coach, throwing his body and pulling out a range of dangerous moves in his bid to reach the snitch first. My hands, clutched together in my lap, had long since turned numb from how tight I'd clenched them because he was throwing his body around as if he was bloody immortal.

When he finally caught the snitch, I was the most grateful and relieved of all the spectators in the booth. Dropping my head and rubbing my tired hands over my face and breathed out shakily. One of these days, he wasn't going to be able to pull away from the ground in time - whether it would be because of him, or because of his broom didn't matter to me. He did.

Lifting my head and watching as the team took a victory lap around the stadium, I finally let myself smile wide. Some of the team approached the booth, hauling their significant others or their children onto their brooms to do another round of the stadium. Viktor, who approached the booth, having spied me and knowing exactly how I would react to him trying to get me onto his broom in front of thousands of people, simply clambered over the railings and into the booth. Resting his broom against the railings, he approached me.

Drawing me into his chest with an arm around my waist, he dipped his head down to kiss me before I could say a thing. The kiss, perhaps a bit too enthusiastic given the age of some of the people in the booth, had me drawing back from him with my hands braced on his chest.

"Did you enjoy the game?" he asked, grinning widely.

"You and I need to talk about the importance of your body," I despaired, hearing his coach call out for him from the bottom of the pitch. They still needed to take their victory photos. Reluctantly pulling away from him and giving him a final kiss on his lips, I said, "Go, we can talk later."