Catch My Breath
Summary: Oliver just wants to be left alone but life has other ideas
Rating: G
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Confessions. Enemies to Something
Words: 913
A/N: HIPPY BATHDAY @oliverwvvd!!! sending u all my love >3<
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AO3
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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.
For now, Oliver has to visit Harry in the hospital wing and he hopes he won’t be put through several minutes of questioning from his team like last time.
