“fuck, i mean... i put so much into that game, y'know? i pour my whole life into it, and for what?" frank rants, pacing around his dorm room as you watch him with sympathetic eyes.

your boyfriend is not in a good state. he never is after a loss on the quidditch pitch.

and he's right. he does put his everything into quidditch. at the expense of a lot of other things.

so the wins are... high. they're like the world's best drug to frank. you think potter is obsessed with quidditch? you clearly haven't met frank longbottom.

but then the losses are hard. the losses are felt like a punch to the fucking gut.

they leave him feeling worthless. which is... stupid, he knows. who would let a sport make them feel so bad about themselves?

so guilty, so ashamed, so... insignificant.

“just to fucking lose. over and over again. and with each loss, i get worse and worse. and i feel like everyone can see right through me. they can see how meaningless i feel." he continues, ragging his hands through his soft brown hair.

you perch your chin on your palm and watch. this isn't the first time this has happened, of course. unfortunately, you're used to it.

“and that? that is my biggest fear. my worst fear.”