you watched your boyfriends whole quidditch match, but he eventually lost. you waited for him and his team to leave before you came down from the stands, standing outside the quidditch pitch since you were meant to be going to his dorm afterwards.

he walks out, walking towards you with an angry face. he’s all sweaty, carrying his broom carelessly, clearly in a foul mood. he shakes his head.

“don’t talk to me.”