#interhouseunitynet

Oliver has since moved from the showers.

Sitting on a bench with a towel wrapped around his waist, he stares into the lockers as shivers take over his body. None of this was supposed to happen and Oliver’s thoughts rage with the acceptance that this is all his fault.

He doesn’t turn to the sound of the door opening, fed up with yet another person wanting to offer their condolences.

“Shame about Potter,” a rough voice speaks and Oliver closes his eyes, willing them away. “You’d think they would’ve checked the pitch over for dementors but…”

Unable to listen any more as Marcus drawls on, Oliver shoots up, slamming him against the lockers.

“What the hell are you here for, Flint? I’m not putting up with you today,” Oliver spits out, his nails digging into Marcus’ shoulders.

What he doesn’t expect is Marcus’ shocked face, his hands put up in surrender. As Marcus lowers his hands, he pries Oliver’s off of him and steps out of Oliver’s reach.

“No one’s seen you for hours, Wood.”

“And?” Oliver shrugs, screams clawing at the back of his throat. “I need time alone. I’ll be up.”

A huff from Marcus and before Oliver knows it, he’s the one stumbling back as Marcus approaches. “This isn’t your last shot at the Cup, Wood. Why you’re having this pity for yourself I have no idea. It’s almost mad the way you obsess over this.”

“I’m not pitying myself,” Oliver cuts in, a sharp shake of his head. “It’s...my team. Harry.”

Dragging his hands down his face, Oliver doesn’t know what makes him speak. To reveal so much to Marcus. There’s been nothing beyond contempt between them, but Oliver can’t stop the words from spilling out.

“I run them to the ground exhausted, tell them to risk their lives for this....I just want to win, but I keep forgetting about my friends in the process.” Oliver turns from Marcus and sits down on the bench, his back to him. “I’ve seen horrible injuries, maybe some of the worst here, but watching Harry fall…”

Oliver lets out a shaky breath, one hand running through his hair. “Why are you here, Flint?” Oliver asks again, this time, his voice small and almost frightened.

When there’s no reply, Oliver glances over his shoulder and watches Marcus fidget around. He opens his mouth several times, but nothing comes out as if his voice has been taken from him. Oliver stands then, to even themselves out, and in two broad steps, Marcus moves to stand in front of Oliver.

The room has shifted, Oliver struggling to catch his breath with Marcus so close. He waits for a slap on the head, reprimanding words as he turns his gaze down. The hands on his face freezes Oliver’s body, his eyes going wide as Marcus captures his mouth in a firm kiss.

Then it’s gone and Oliver finds Marcus at the door of the locker room.

“I care about you, Wood. I’ve…” Marcus laughs, bitter and small. “God, I’ve liked you since the beginning. I hid it under envy and spite, trying anything to stop my feelings.”

Oliver blinks, his mind a flurry as Marcus shifts. He doesn’t know if he should feel sick to his stomach or flattered with this revelation.

“I understand if you want nothing to do with me, I’ve been horrible. Just didn’t want to see you giving up so easily,” Marcus continues, his hand on the door handle. “If you talk to Potter, I’m sure he and the rest of your team will understand. They’ve been loyal to you for years.”

He waits and Oliver does too. This is supposed to be Oliver’s chance, the one time he can scream his frustrations at Marcus, tell him he’s out of his mind. The words sink in, the realization that maybe Marcus does understand him, better than himself almost, and Oliver pushes his thoughts away despite how much he wishes to say it all. A part of themselves have been laid out, fresh for the taking, and Oliver holds on tight.

“I need proof of your feelings,” his voice is strong, all his anger and pride rolled into one. “I’ll show you I’m more than a Quidditch fanatic. In return, you show me that there’s someone underneath that cold face of yours.”

Marcus’ laugh is sharp, his eyes a gentle shine. Oliver rolls his tongue around in his mouth, a bit taken aback.

“All right. We have until the final match to do so, right?” Marcus nods. His stern look doesn’t match the lightness of his voice and Oliver has questions.

“Yeah, sure,” he shrugs, ignoring his raging mind.

There’s going to be plenty of time to ask Marcus all he wishes and Oliver watches as Marcus leaves. The locker room is too quiet, but with a quick change of clothes, Oliver is out in time to see Marcus’ figure disappear over the hill to the castle.

The storm has let up now and Oliver takes his time along the path. His mind is abuzz, his heart being pulled every which way as he remembers the kiss. He laughs to himself, the absurdity of it all, especially when he wants nothing more than to feel those chapped lips on his own again.

The winter air is fresh, lifting Oliver’s spirits as he lets the breeze envelop him whole. He reckons it might be a nice day for flying and turns around as he walks, gazing up at the clouds beginning to break. A change of scenery from the usual grey, Oliver breathes out, the small cloud wisping away into the sky. He can’t help but grin and continues on his path towards the owlery.

Running up the icy steps of the tower, Oliver is eager to see if his owl has returned from his parents. She didn’t fly over during breakfast, but Oliver isn’t worried. Letters from his family come at random times, though not inconvenient, and really, he just doesn’t want to stay inside anymore.

Stepping into the room, Oliver’s movements pause when he sees a figure looking out one of the windows, holding a crumpled letter. They turn to him and Oliver steels himself at the presence of the all too familiar face.

“Flint,” Oliver nods, shoving his hands into his sweater pockets.

While there’s plenty he could egg Marcus on about, Oliver keeps his mouth shut. It’s so unlike Marcus to turn away slowly, his gaze on the ground. It must be a trick of the light, but Oliver is sure there is some redness to Marcus’ eyes as well.

Turning to the cubbyholes, Oliver tries to look for his owl. He tries and tries, except his mind keeps dragging him back. Marcus hasn’t left and the atmosphere is stiff, nearly suffocating.

Oliver has to ask, if only to alleviate his distracted mind.

“You okay?”

Marcus’ head ducks and Oliver edges closer. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this. He shouldn’t care, shouldn’t worry. Then again, he’s never been very good at keeping his nose out of someone’s business.

When he’s standing next to Marcus, Oliver waits, watching the scenery sway with the chill wind. It just starts to bite at his nose and Oliver turns to Marcus.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he presses again, glancing down at the white knuckles, the paper jutting out between cracks of fingers.

Marcus’ head is slow to shake, his jaw clenched tight. His mouth moves as if to say something, but no sound comes and Marcus turns his head away.

Now is the time to leave, but Oliver ignores his protesting body. There’s a need bubbling to the surface and Oliver just wants to help.

“Walk with me.” A demand more than a request, Oliver winces at his harshness.

Nothing else seems right and Oliver doesn’t hide his surprise when Marcus motions him to lead the way. Heading out of the tower, Oliver glances over his shoulder to see Marcus shove the paper into his pocket before trailing after him.

It’s quiet, their trek down. Oliver almost thinks he loses Marcus several times only to look behind and see Marcus with his head hung. Oliver can’t help the small sighs that leave him, a worry gnawing at the back of his mind.

Of all things, Oliver had never prepared for this. He doesn’t have a plan or a cohesive thought. His mind is just screaming singular words at him. Help. Try. Understand. Oliver’s afraid of what he might do physically if his brain is acting this way. He attempts to focus on his footsteps, the crunch of snow under his shoes until it turns into the crackling of rocks. At the exposed shores of the frozen lake, Oliver stops, staring out at the never ending white.

Oliver bends down, picking up a rock and tests it in his hand before skipping it across the lake. The echo of the rock, the skittering across the ice brings his thoughts to zero and he sees Marcus in his peripheral.

“Sometimes, skipping rocks helps me think.”

The seconds trudge by before Marcus picks up a rock, mimicking Oliver’s movements. His rock collides with Oliver’s own and Oliver purses his lips at this. Grabbing another, Oliver starts again, amusement creeping onto his face when Marcus glances at him. It’s not long before the two are in a steady rhythm, throwing one rock after the other.

Running out of good rocks near him, Oliver steps away to search for more, letting Marcus continue with his tosses with little thought.

Oliver almost pays no mind, content with their silence, until Marcus’ pace picks up, his throwing disoriented.

Marcus hurls object after object at the lake, his hands unable to keep up with the momentum as he tries to break the ice. Oliver shifts, almost wanting to intervene and then, he notices the tears running down Marcus’ face, his gritted teeth. Grabbing a large piece of wood, Marcus flings it at the ice, a scream tearing from his throat.

Then, nothing.

The air is still, their movements paused in fragile suspension. All Oliver sees is the heaving of Marcus’ chest.

“Fuck.”

It’s the first word Marcus has spoken and his face is buried in his hands, his body shaking. For Oliver, there’s only one option. His steps slow, Oliver approaches Marcus, stopping before him as if Marcus will flee.

He remains and Oliver wraps his arms around him, resting his cheek on the corner of Marcus’ shoulder. It’s just enough to hear the soft sobs, the sharp breaths. Oliver squeezes tight, waiting for Marcus to push him away at any moment but they stay as they are. Oliver doesn’t know how much time has passed, not that it matters, and he lets his arms drop once Marcus’ breathing has evened.

Marcus is slow to pull his hands down, wiping at his face with his sleeve. His face is flush, eyes puffy, and he still refuses to meet Oliver’s gaze.

“I suppose I owe you an explanation…” Marcus begins and Oliver shakes his head.

“No. You don’t have to share anything if you don’t want to.” All Oliver cares about is Marcus’ wellbeing.

A nauseous wave hits him, but he welcomes with a fierce pride. Rivalries have taken too much of his time, he wants something else to replace it.

“Then, I owe you thanks,” Marcus speaks, his voice gaining strength with every word. “I’ve never done this before. I didn’t even think someone like you would care. It’s...it means everything.”

Marcus’ words are sincere, a bittersweet taste on Oliver’s tongue and he struggles with his own response.

“You shouldn’t have to suffer alone,” is all that Oliver manages out, his nerves creeping up on him.

It doesn’t help when Marcus looks at him with an intensity that’s comparable to being struck by lightning. Oliver hears himself blabber on, his words making no sense and he clamps his mouth shut. Taking a deep breath, Oliver steadies himself, a better speech in the making.

“Whatever it is, I’m sorry it’s happened to you. Everyone tells me I care too much but I can’t help it. Even if we’ve been on bad terms, I want to believe that you’re...I’m...we’re more than that.”

Oliver clenches his eyes shut, pushing away intrusive thoughts. This is a chance for something better, whatever that may be.

“I won’t tell anyone about this, you don’t even need to talk to me again afterwards. I just want to know you’ll be okay.”

Oliver’s stomach twists with Marcus’ eyes boring into him, the icy wind almost a better companion. Marcus’ gaze swallows Oliver whole and he finds himself drawn in, as if being lured.

“I think I will...eventually...” Marcus’ eyes flicker away for a moment. “I wouldn’t mind talking to you again, though.”

With his heart skipping a beat, Oliver can’t help straightening up, the corners of his mouth turning upwards. He hopes it’s not enough to scare Marcus off and he relaxes into a small grin.

“The owlery?” Oliver asks, his voice soft and almost unrecognizable.

“I’ll be there on Saturday,” Marcus responds, then turning back to look at the castle. “Suppose I better be on my way then.”

Oliver ignores the disappointment and instead holds his hand out to Marcus with a nod. “See you around, Flint.”

There is a pause, an invisible line crossed as Oliver stumbles back with Marcus’ arms holding him close.

“Thanks, Oliver,” Marcus whispers before letting him go and speeding away to the path.