hint: a one is a perfect score in marching band competitions and if you don't get one, everyone is sad and your band director hates everything


It's a known fact that everyone in the band hates away competitions. Even the freshmen figured this out after their first one, and as always, they came to hate them almost as much as the upper class men.

There's one good thing that comes out of the competitions though-and it isn't getting a one.

It's the bus rides, Black thinks as fingers brush through his hair. He rests his head against the shoulder next to him with a sigh.

"Are you alright?"

"Mm," he answers, "Just tired."

N laughs softly and the sound is beautiful. "I think we all are."

It's dark and the bus is quiet aside from the murmurs from the other students.

A warm weight settles on top of Black's head and a mass of hair falls over his face, tickling his nose. He sneezes and N laughs at him.

"You sound like a kitten when you sneeze."

"Thanks," he replies with a roll of his eyes.

"It's cute," N says and Black feels his face heat up.

"Shut up."

The boy beside him breathes a laugh and reaches down to take Black's hand, weaving their fingers together.

Black smiles under N' hair and tightens his fingers around the others.

"You need a haircut," he murmurs absently and N snorts.

"I do not. My hair is the perfect length."

"You look like a tree." Then he pauses for a minute, thinking. "I like trees, though."

"And I like kittens, so I don't see the problem."

Black buries his face deeper into N's shoulder and grins. "Me neither."