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Percy stares at the bottle of milk in the fridge. He takes it out to inspect it more closely, but it’s hard to miss the fact that it is empty. Emptied and then put right back into the fridge. Who does that? If Percy has three guesses, he only needs one.
When Oliver comes home, the empty bottle is sitting on the kitchen table in plain view, impossible to miss. And Percy stands there, hands on hips. “You’re lucky I don’t draft a Ministry regulation for this.”
“It’s just some milk, Perce.” Oliver kicks off his shoes, drops his dripping jacket on the floor, and Percy bristles. He storms over, scooping both up. He puts the shoes on the mat by the door and hangs the jacket on the hook next to the door so it will dry. “D’ye wanna head into the bedroom? I’ll suck ye dry after I remove that stick up yer arse.”
Percy scowls at him. “You’d be pissed off too if you wanted to have a bowl of cereal and there were no milk.”
Oliver shrugs. “Nah, I’d probably just make myself some eggs instead. Want some eggs?” Oliver heads to the fridge to pull the carton of eggs out. He’d just as soon keep them outside the fridge but Percy always insists they keep better inside. Same went with bread and peanut butter and fruit.
“No, I don’t want eggs!” He grabs the carton and thrusts it back inside. “I want cereal. And I want you to go buy milk when you finish it up. Or at least put it on the list so I know what I pick up from the store on my way home from work.”
Oliver stares at him for a few seconds, seeing the fire in his eyes. Then he goes for his shoes and damp coat. He leaves without another word, closing the door behind himself instead of slamming it because he doesn’t want to look like some petty kid; Percy’s got that covered for the both of them.
He intends to go to the store and get his boyfriend the milk. Hell, he had intended to pick some up after practice but it had slipped him mind in all his excitement. And all he’d wanted to do was to go straight home and tell Percy the good news: that he was going to get to start in goal in the next match. He’d waited a year for this shot, and now it was finally his. Given how damn ambitious Percy could be, Oliver had thought Percy would understand and be happy for him.
Instead of the grocery, Oliver heads straight for the pub on the corner. He needs a damn drink and if Percy cares at all, he would think to look for Oliver here.
*
“Last call, man. We’re closin’ in twenty.” Oliver looks down at the beer he’s been nursing for the past three hours. Every sip makes him feel sick. He doesn’t really want to go home, because he half expects to walk into the flat to find all his stuff boxed and labeled and stacked neatly by the door. But he doesn’t want to rent a room somewhere and give Percy a cause to be suspicious and another thing to criticize him about.
Oliver pushes the beer away and heads to the Quidditch pitch. It’s the only place he can think of going, the only place that he feels comfortable. Whenever he was angry as a kid, he’d go out onto the pitch and lob some balls at the hoops. Whenever he got a crap mark at Hogwarts, he’d hit the pitch to fly laps. Quidditch was something he could control. An obsessive compulsive boyfriend wasn’t. Besides, this would be his first time on the pitch since finding out he would get to start next game. The practice would do him good and get him smiling again. And then, maybe it won’t be so bad going home again.
He trudges into the locker room and gets changed into his practice clothes. They are broken in and comfortable, warm enough to withstand the wind and thin enough to let him sweat. He grabs his broom and heads out to the pitch. But he stumbles and trips and almost falls over something in the doorway.
He’s left his wand back in his locker, but the area lights up anyway because he’s tripped over a wizard. And not just any wizard. “I could have broken my ankle, Perce!” Percy Weasley lies across the threshold, long legs out straight, body hunched over and resting back against the door jamb.
“Sorry.” He pulls his legs up, hugs them to his chest. He buries his face in his knees and repeats it more quietly, “Sorry.”
Oliver stands there for a moment. Then he squats down. “What are you doing here?”
Percy doesn’t lift his head, doesn’t look up. He sniffs and his glasses bump his knees and he shakes. Oliver realizes that Percy is crying.
And Oliver decides it was a pretty stupid question to ask. He sits down beside Percy and wedges his arm in-between Percy’s face and legs, offering over his sleeve. “Dry yer eyes.”
Percy pulls off his glasses and presses his face to the arm.
“Nuh-uh. If I’m not allowed to be messy, you aren’t either. Wipe your eyes and nose and cheeks.”
Percy does, snuffling into Oliver’s arm. His breath hitches as he tries to control himself. Then he lifts his head. “Sorry.” He sniffs again. “You were right. It was just milk.”
Oliver shrugs. “No, I’m sorry. I finished it, so I should have replaced it.”
Percy looks into Oliver’s eyes. “Work has been getting harder now that Mr. Crouch has been owling in orders to the office. I wanted home to be somewhere I didn’t have to work. Only I didn’t expect to find the milk gone when I wanted to relax with a bowl of cereal. I can always get more milk, though. I can’t get another you.” He sniffs again and brushes a tear from his cheek. “I am sorry.”
Oliver forgives him in words and with a kiss. When Percy pulls back, he puts a hand to his back. He shifts, wincing. Oliver reaches over and pulls him up. “How long were you here waiting for me?”
They start to leave, by way of Oliver’s locker, where he grabs his clothes and stashes his broom. “When you didn’t come back right away, I got worried that you might never come back. I knew eventually you had to show up to practice. I guess I was here for…” He checks his watch. “About five hours?”
“Oh Perce… yer back will hurt tomorrow.”
“I deserve it.”
“Ye deserve a backrub. And I know just the person ta give one.” He beams. “The Puddlemere United starting keeper.”
Percy leans against the lockers. “Minnow? Why would I want him to… no.”
Oliver grins, nods.
“No! Oliver!” He jumps, throws his arms around Oliver. He grunts at the pain in his back but clings on tightly. “I am so proud of you!”
He doesn’t ask why Oliver gets to start, even though he was just a reserve player at the beginning of the season, because he knows that Oliver is damn good and something probably happened to Minnow and Rossi. He doesn’t ask why Oliver didn’t tell earlier, because he knows he didn’t give him a change to do so. He doesn’t do anything but hug him and kiss him and apparate them back to their flat to drag him into the bedroom for a proper celebration.