Chapter 23: I Resist Heavy Bulgarian Charm

                                    

                                          
Chapter 23: I Resist Heavy Bulgarian Charm
"No," I mumble, fighting the urge to burrow deeper into Viktor's arms. "No, Viktor."
Viktor pulls away with that stupid look on his face, like he's so confused about everything I'm saying. I don't understand it. I don't understand why everyone is trying to treat me the same way that they did when nothing is the same. Nothing.
"I know that you don't listen to me," he says, "but I want you to know that I don't blame you for anything. No one does. And you cannot ask people to stop loving you. It does not work that way."
"This isn't what I came here for," I say and scoot away from him, crossing my arms over my chest to discourage both of us from making any more physical contact. "I just wanted to know if you could help me so I don't blow this tryout."
"What do you need me to do?" he asks with solemn eyes, pressing his hands together like he's supressing the same urges I am. I can't pretend I understand him. And I can't pretend I would do the same thing for me that he is.
We discuss my weaknesses, which are... plentiful, to the in the least. And like everyone else, he brings up confidence. The confidence I had, the confidence that I've lost, the confidence that he swears is right under the surface.
And then we make a game plan.
Practice, practice, practice.
He brings me to a pitch a few minutes from his house, which is empty.
"This is one of the smaller, lesser used pitches," he says to me when we arrive. "Most people use one a bit further away. Better hoops, closer to the national standard. I prefer this one so I can practice alone."
I'm not entirely sure I believe him when I see it because it's old and run-down. One of the hoops is leaning haphazardly to the side and the ground is uneven and muddy. But it's the only one within walking distance. 
So we don't have to apparate to it.
He has two brooms, one in each hand. Both are nicer than any broom I have ever used, with footholds and nice, polished handles. I'm carrying his case of balls.
Once we're in the middle of the field, he hands me a broom and takes the case, opening it and taking out the quaffle. He leaves the other balls and the bats in the case.
"They might test you with bludgers during the tryout," he says, "but I don't think I would like to try to hit you with them. The quaffle alone should be fine, right?"
I nod and watch as he begins to stretch his muscles, starting with his arms and moving downward.
"Come on," he says, "stretch. This is just as important as anything else."
I put the broom down on the ground and begin to stretch my shoulders, keeping an eye on him as he does the same. I was never much into stretching when I played at Hogwarts and Professor Sprout always gave me shit about it, saying that I was going to seriously injure myself one day. I never listened to her but, watching Viktor, I feel like maybe I should do everything by the books. Some of my strategies have always been a little eccentric and they worked before, but I don't know how well they'll be taken when I'm trying out for a professional league.
"You know," Viktor says, "there are more muscles than just your shoulders. This is especially important for chasers."
"I've never really stretched before playing," I admit and shrug my shoulders.
"It is a wonder you have never pulled anything," he says. 
Viktor shows me a couple of stretches and I try to ignore the way his muscles flex as he moves and the pale strips of skin that peek out whenever his shirt rises.