Miles Ahead + Miles Above

Callahan left an arrangement of possessions behind once moving to Aniva, but felt no loss. He maintained his traditional and resilient Firebolt. It was his prize, and his lonely dork side would argue it was practically his best friend.

He was a mess of a player, with a dream to play seeker by no experience whatsoever in changing around flightly, nearly invisible gold balls with wings. He was a long-time owner of a broom, but had never held a snitch before this day. Or seen one- neither retired nor in play. The Quidditch dreamer had not once seen a game live-action. He dreamed of that as well. And until now, hovering above a pitch with all the campus his to view, he took it in with a deep breath of sharp, clear air that he could not only have the chance to see a game or snitch, but play.

His head for years stuck in the clouds was now literally stuck in the clouds.

Like a muggle bikes, he closed his eyes and slowly loosened his grip on the broom, giving space between his palms and the wood. He drew them away slowly, relishing more in the moment than worrying about balance, and laughed with his arms out, wingspan-style.

He'd been saving the release of the snitch in his jacket pocket for after he'd warmed-up- see also: his humiliating little sky-high getaway- but it restlessly shook around a bit suddenly, and then whisked away, zipping straight in front of him and almost staring him down.

Hm. I don't belong to you, so I'll get myself lost, and you in trouble., it seemed to challenge.

He cleared his throat, and sent it off whizzing. He leaned forward, plummeting downwards after it.

Joke's on the snitch, I do this all the time.

Pulling upwards jerkily before he hit the bleachers, then raced after it furiously and intently. He could feel his blood pulsing with everything he'd hoped for- and he was the only one playing.

August had almost screamed when he saw the speeding blur of a Quidditch player heading his way. His inner New Yorker wanted to yell "HEY, I'M SITTIN' HERE!" He refrained from doing so, not wanting to offend whomever was on the broom, in case they were attractive.

"If you were striving to hit me, well, you failed!" He joked, waving a little at the barely visible player. He looked at the hand he waved with, which previously held a cigarette, which now rested below the bleachers in the grass. He shrugged, his motives were simple. He wanted to get caught.

"Mind flying down here so we can talk this out like civilized folk?" He laughed, standing up and shoving his hands in his pockets. "I might have to throw a rock at ya if you don't," he winked.

Even with his eyes trained on the snitch and his surroundings a streaked blur, the wind threatening to peel the skin away from his face, Callahan didn't have a one-track mind. As he was travelling through the bleachers, his head suddenly felt filled with smoke and he shook his head, exhaling and rejecting the smell, which ruined his balance and he spun upside down and back upright again. He heard shouting as he tumbled, and feared something was on fire, something had gone horribly wrong the second he touched the pitch.

Having lost any view of the snitch, and maintaining a thundering heart inside his chest and ears, he gave up, and dropped instantly off the Firebolt to a running stop on the bleachers, keeping one hand on the broom to pull it down with him.

He turned around, expecting something to be alight, but caught instead an amused boy, who seemed indifferent to any smell of smoke, if he noticed at all. Had he hallucinated?

"I'm sorry! What'd you say?" Callahan said loudly, assuming the source of the shouting and making his way over to him. His face became clearer as he came forward. Oh! Hm... August?

August's face light up with recognition."Hey, it's you! Feather boy!" He snapped his fingers, his name on the tip of his tongue. He had an eureka moment, "Cal, right? I guess we're even now, huh?" He laughed, finding the whole situation to be humorous.

"So, is this your idea of fun outside of school? Almost hitting your classmates while wildly chasing after a snitch?" He teased, gesturing to the entire field, then reaching into his pocket to grab another cigarette. He decided against it, and flopped his hands down at his side.

"Have you played on a team before?" He inquired, cocking his head to the side. "I mean, you can tell me the name, but I probably wouldn't know it. I don't really keep up with sports. Muggle or wizarding."

"Well, actually, it's wildly chasing after a snitch, the hitting students is optional and not preferable," He worked at not sounding defensive, because the teasing had taken him aback a bit. He didn't have to take it and it didn't matter much to him, but it was his idea of fun.

"No, I've never been on a team, I have-" He widened his eyes after catching a single point in his peripheral. A small trail of smoke rose weakly from the grass beneath their feet, and it tickled Cal's nose with a sickening smell that he realized then could never have been fire.

He realized he'd been quiet, and looked up at August. It didn't matter much to him... Simply that losing his new home at the pitch to a muggle addiction wouldn't please him, exactly. "Did you notice that?" He said, as if it were a curiosity, an animal curled up all soft beneath the seats or a rare herb- nothing to worry about.

August had noticed the smoke long before Callahan, but chose not to mention it in hopes it would just somehow disappear. Now that he had mentioned it, August knew he couldn't lie, truth was held very highly in Istina. "Oh yeah, that's mine," he nervously laughed, trying to just brush it off. He glanced down at the cigarette, which seemed to be almost completely out, and then back up at Cal's eyes. "Sorry, I didn't think anyone would be out here."

"Anyways," he cleared his throat, feeling ashamed for the actions he deliberately did, "tell me about yourself. What house are you in? I didn't get to ask in Spells, but I meant to."

He dismissed the whole situation, seeing as it wasn't a danger and that everyone had their obsessions. "It's alright," He nodded affirmatively. August seemed out of place, in the pitch, in Aniva, and Callahan couldn't place where he would fit. He was almost fidgety now, but was good at keeping it inside. Cal could tell.

"Well. My full name's Callahan Kyle, and I'm in Armonia," He smiled. "And you?"

"My name's August Kach, and I'm in Istina. Pleased to formally meet you," he laughed. "Are you considering trying out for the team?" He asked, knowing that if Cal was on the team, he might attend his first Quidditch game.

"Yeah, actually," Cal was internally trying to dampen his uncontainable-jump-around-scream-and-shout passion for the sport, playing it off cooly and indifferent. He would much prefer not to be the kid who was crazy about playing a sport they couldn't even play, or worse, the delusional one who believes their skills fuel the team when they really couldn't play to save their lives. It'd be the ultimate humiliation.

Judging from his cool, laid back personality, Cal perceived August as a thrill-seeker, definitely the type to adore quidditch. He was struck with an idea, "Do you enjoy quidditch, as well? The broom shed isn't far at all. It's probably fully stocked! The untouched pitch is just so inviting, right? Come on!" Cal motioned him to follow, nodding encouragingly and then taking a few steps towards the direction of the pitch's broom shed.

"U-Um," August stuttered, slightly alarmed by the fact that he was being dragged into a situation involving his biggest fear. "S-Sure, yeah," He faked a smile and shrugged, trying to act calm, when internally he was screaming, very loudly. So loudly that he actually formed a headache, which made it that much harder to keep up his "cool guy" facade.

As he watched Callahan enthusiastically jog (though August could've sworn he was skipping) towards the shed, he followed slowly and hesitantly. "Why are the cute ones always slightly insane?" He bitterly muttered to himself, feeling sick to his stomach with worry and guilt.

He reached the broom shed long before August, almost a curious time before, and smiled knowingly at the lock; despite the spell having not yet been even mentioned in Spells, Callahan had long since mastered Alohamora.

He waved his wand, spoke the incantation, and the door clicked. He opened the door, and the smell of well-worn brooms and untouched player's robes flooded the air before him. He breathed in deeply and contently, and heard the boy he was about to introduce to the thing Cal loved most catching up.

"Wait, sorry, did you say something?" He turned around, poking his head out from across the broomshed's threshold.

August's head shot up, and his cheeks slightly flushed, embarrassed he was caught. "Uhh...I was just asking which broom you're going to use?" He felt a little satisfaction in his quick recovery.

What August really enjoyed was Cal's passion. He could see it in his movements and his eyes how much he cared. It eased his nerves, but only for a moment because as he looked at the brooms, his heart did backflips. He gulped, knowing he would have to tell Callahan soon. He could not go through with it.

"Me?" He laughed a little, "My own, of course! I left it outside, remember?"

Cal looked about, humming quietly along with his thoughts as he looked around.

Comfortable Cleansweeps, trusty Comets, iconic Nimbuses and flashy new firebolts, the school had a collection enough to make Cal estatic. And confused as well, because the choice could make or break a positive outlook on quidditch from August. Plus, who knew which ones had gone rogue, broken, or aged past their prime?

However, a practiced judge on the topic, Callahan carefully picked up a Firebolt, having trusted the manufacturers with the hope of his future quidditch career since he was 7, and then presented it to the now curiously pale Istina. "This one," he grinned, "they're brilliant."

August nervously laughed, gently taking the Firebolt as if it were a highly explosive bomb. "Yeah, I've heard." Although he was wildly inexperienced in anything Quidditch (or anything that involved flying), he knew the basic facts. But, that wasn't enough to make using the broomstick any more appealing.

He gulped, facing Cal and finally speaking up. "I just want to warn you, I'm pretty inexperienced in the flying area. Actually, inexperienced is an understatement."

"That's the point!" He wanted to lift the weight on his shoulders of some of the enthusiasm he was trying to muffle onto August's back instead, because he appeared to be lacking. "There is no better time than now to get the first time over with! Honestly, you'll regret not doing it sooner. You don't even know if you're good at it or not. And hey, we're not in the same house, but we could make a great scrimmage team if you decide you're up for it!"

He was beaming, the passion lighting up his face like lights. "This isn't even the real game. It's relaxed. No rush," he left the broomshed, gathered his broom and was hovering a yard or two off the ground in what seemed like one motion.

Still a conversation-appropriate distance apart from August, he encouraged him gently, "Hey, come on, no worries," he smiled, now finding the boy less intimidating than he first imagined.

August found Cal's puppy-like enthusiasm for the sport to be way too cute to crush with his fear of heights. So, he just took a deep breath in, nodded and smiled at Cal, and followed his lead.

He put one foot over the broom, feeling very out of place, even though he had ridden many things before. He took off his beloved leather jacket, placing it gently on the ground where it couldn't get damaged. He closed his eyes again, trying to convince himself to do this.

"S-So, I just kick off now? Or what?"

"Yeah!" Incidentally, Cal's patience was limitless on most days, but especially with this topic; he was patient to the point of continuous encouragement. "Just do so, then lean forward."

Though he understood the fear of the whole thing, being brand new, he'd never actually gone through that himself. He was just deeply empathetic by nature. When he'd gotten his Firebolt, he'd flown high around the neighborhood for the entire night, sleeping the entire next day and not suffering a single mistake. He'd found his place, he'd known it. Yet still, he respected it didn't come so naturally to everyone- likewise how he felt about Arithmancy and Divination. Those didn't come to him without extremely hard work, much less naturally.

He frowned, his impatience to share the thrill with someone suddenly dissipating. He caught sight of the boy's closed eyes, and finally pieced together that this boy was not one to stutter on a regular basis.

"Are you ready?" He asked, a bit more reservedly.

August gulped and took one last deep breath, his hands shaking as he smiled and nodded a yes to Callahan. 'You can do this, it's just a f*cking broom.' He thought, shaking his head at how shamefully afraid he was.

He kicked off hesitantly, and soon, his feet could no longer touch the ground. The higher he flew, the sicker he felt, and the ground began to spin when he looked down. He clung to the handle of the broomstick, but his sweaty hands made it that much harder to hold on for dear life.

He looked down at the green of the quidditch field one last time, and immediately felt faint. "Sh*t," he murmured to himself, his grip on the broomstick loosen as his eyes closed. Soon enough, he was unconscious, and free falling towards the ground.

"Yes!" Callahan was thrilled, "Yes! Now,-"

The moment was short lived, ending due to August's unshared enthusiasm and then, his sliding right off his broom.

"OhmeGod," This was not chasing a snitch. This was whether or not there would be a death of a boy, and at his stupid hands.

His stomach was doing entire, full circle flips, he had only a second or two. He jerked his wand out of his windbreaker, finding it entirely fictional that people could fall and slow motion and that August might as well have been sped up, and shouted, with no volume control or awareness in his stress, "ARRESTO MOMENTO!"

He saw the boy halt only centimeters off the ground, and by then, Callahan was zipping back down to the ground after him, throwing any caution to the breeze jumping off his broom a bit early.