Round 7:
Team: Wigtown Wanderers
Position: Beater 2
Prompt: Halloween: Resurrection (2002)
Additional Prompts: 7. (dialogue) "Well, that did not go according to plan.", 14. (word) deplorable
Words: 2618

Warning: swearing and implied/referenced homophobia

Oliver bit his lip and leaned his head on the cool tile next to the showerhead.

Of all the fucking…

He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. Again. Again. He swallowed hard and clenched his jaw to silence a scream; clenched his fists and fought the urge to hit the wall. He couldn't—someone would hear and come, and he—

Freezing, Oliver focused his hears. A knock. A knock? He wasn't sure, and the blood was rushing too loudly through his ears for him to focus. No—there it was again. Oliver swallowed and turned away from the wall just in time to see the doorknob twist open.

His face stony—he hoped it was stony; visible distress would be a goldmine for the reporters—Oliver faced his doom. But the opening door didn't reveal clamoring reporters and shiny cameras. Oliver's face had only just split into a relieved grin before he was being wrapped in a warm hug, and the smile cracked as he buried his face into a suit-covered shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," a soft voice above him was saying. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know… you were amazing, I'm so sorry…"

Oliver didn't think he'd been amazing. He hadn't hit the director. He hadn't made the girls cry. Those were the only good things that had happened—

Oliver tried hard not to think of it, but his memory was good and his brain masochistic, and even as he continued calming down, he kept revisiting the shock he'd felt only half an hour previously.

Pius Thicknesse's smug face as he'd sat Oliver down for an unplanned interview—some director he was!—and the young girls that had been brought out when it had been revealed that it wasn't an interview at all, but a win-a-date contest…

Oliver would have sworn that it had been done on purpose, that he'd been targeted.

"I'm not fucking out, Percy," he mumbled, then lifted his head. "Did he know? Is that why?.."

"No. No, absolutely not! It's the rumors… he said, after you left, that he wanted to see if they were true and he didn't want the idea to leak in case you didn't agree to meet with him." A look of deepest loathing crossed Percy's face. "He didn't even have anything to say other than—and this is in his words, not mine—'Well, that did not go according to plan.'"

Oliver snorted humorlessly, then walked to his locker for a change of clothes. "Is that why he didn't tell you?"

"Of course. I'm gay, too, Oliver." Percy chuckled darkly. "You know how he gets when he has to deal with… 'those people'. He just wanted to give people something to watch. Again, his words, not mine."

"Rugby's perfectly watchable." Oliver wretched open his locker and pulled out his bag. "Especially if you're filming a" —the words tasted foul in his mouth— "reality TV show about it."

"I know," Percy said quietly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry you're so upset about it—not that you can't be upset about it! It's absolutely horrible, what they're doing, invading your team and now dragging up all this shit for views—"

"I'm not upset, though." Oliver began stripping, throwing a look at the clock over the lockers on the back wall; fifteen minutes until practice started. "I'm angry, yeah. Absolutely pissed. He's supposed to clear this shit with us! We barely agreed to the 'reality TV show' in the first place—"

"Because if someone doesn't find rugby interesting enough without making up ridiculous stories about the players, then they need to get their head examined or invest in something other than rugby." Percy chuckled lightly. "Yes, I know. There's only one entertainment to be gotten from rugby, and that is watching the game."

Oliver threw him a soft smile. "At least you listen."

"I have to listen, I'm dating you."

Percy had said so in a whisper as he'd walked closer, and Oliver felt pathetically grateful for it. He was about to say so when Percy lightly kissed him and left the room. They'd rarely been so affectionate in public—yes, an empty changing room qualified as 'public', because it was… it was in public. Not in the safety of either of their homes or some secluded restaurant. It was where he worked!

He supposed being out was different if one was the general assistive dogsbody of a production team than if one was a nationally-acclaimed rugby player. Oliver wasn't about to change his position anytime soon—though it would be nice not to hide himself—but he'd had enough of homophobes to last him a lifetime, and the farther away they stayed from him, the better.

He pulled on his clothes, changed his shoes, and stood in front of the door.

It had only been Percy the last time it opened. Percy, with a smile, a hug, a kiss, and words of non-quite-encouragement that Oliver had desperately needed. Now… the door would open and Thicknesse would be there with his cameras and underlings, no doubt trying to out him again—to give people something to watch.

But there was no one there.

Oliver peered around the corner; maybe they were hiding. Nothing. He didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this was the first time that the passage from the changing room to the playing field hadn't been crowded.

He proceeded in a similar fashion—worried, but gradually becoming more optimistic—until he met his team on the field. And then Oliver's problems were forgotten: he had the ball, an enthusiastic team, and—hopefully—a boyfriend watching him play.

.oOo.

But his boyfriend had never shown up to watch, and when Oliver returned to his flat, he was heavy with disappointment, unable to take joy in even the fact that he'd just come from the best practice the team had ever seen.

And nevermind his boyfriend—just for a moment—but one of his teammates hadn't shown up, either. Oliver wasn't about to pretend that Cormac McLaggen was a valuable player, or even a necessary one. He knew some people in high places, that was all, and Oliver was stuck with him. So, no: Oliver wasn't upset that he was missing. But there was such a thing as team loyalty and reliability; he didn't relish having a conversation with McLaggen—who was also, amongst numerous other flaws, a massive homophobe—when he got ahold of him, but being a captain was more than just playing.

Oliver put his bag down and went down the hallway for a quick shower. It felt good, but didn't improve his mood. Aside from Percy's and McLaggen's absences, he was still smarting from Thicknesse's idea of entertainment, still thinking of the apology Percy had cited: "Well, that did not go according to plan."

What had been the plan? Outing him? Humiliating him?

Oliver had never been a fan of reality TV. He'd had fairly limited interests when he was young, those interests beginning and ending with rugby—and a hidden attraction to other boys, though that had been hidden deep in the recesses of his soul—and the very idea of filming regular people's lives…

Had he known it would be this awful, he wouldn't have agreed to have his team filmed—except for the part where he wasn't the one in charge, that the team's manager had arranged for it all, that if he'd argued, he would have been kicked off.

With a groan, Oliver headed back to the kitchen. He'd wasn't hungry, but he'd grab an apple for dinner and have an early night, and maybe—

When the doorbell rang, Oliver knew that those plans were ruined.

He threw open the door, expecting his manager or the director—they were as bad as each other, really—but was met with Percy's sheepish smile and a soft, "Hey."

"Hey." Oliver couldn't stop himself gaping. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you. I just missed you after your practice, so I thought I'd meet you here." He lifted a small bag. "And I have food. Mum's made something, I thought I'd share it."

"Come in, of course."

Who was Oliver to say 'no' to Molly Weasley's cooking? He'd only had it once, the first and only time he'd been introduced to Percy's family—as nothing more than a friend. Percy's brothers had been awestruck, and Oliver had been observant enough to notice that Percy himself seemed a bit put off; they'd made their relationship official the next day after a talk about feelings and commitment.

"Can you plate it up?" Oliver asked. "You know where everything is, I'm going to put on a shirt."

The responding smile told him exactly what Percy thought of that idea, but Oliver went nonetheless, also checking the freshness of his sheets and whether it would be appropriate to invite Percy to stay.

When he came back, Percy was sitting on the sofa, the warmed-up food resting on the coffee table in front of him; Oliver didn't have a proper dining table because he rarely ate with others and preferred watching a quick film instead of sitting alone in silence. Oliver smiled immediately at the sight of Percy so comfortable, for Percy had shed his professional attire—his tie, blazer, even his shoes in favor of tucking his feet under himself on the sofa—and was looking at him with an openness that they didn't get to share during the day.

"Excellent." Oliver quickly made his way over and greeted Percy with a kiss before taking his plate. "Both you and the food."

Percy snorted.

If someone, when he and Percy had first met, had told Oliver that he'd be witness to Percy snorting, he would have laughed. Percy Weasley, uptight assistant to the reality TV show director, acting like a normal human being?—he'd looked like he'd had a rod up his arse, like the sort of person who hated rugby and everyone playing it!

Oliver waved a way a crude joke about Percy's arse and various rods in favor of eating—and stealing glances at Percy because they'd been dating for several months but Percy was as gorgeous as ever.

"I'm sorry I didn't make it to your practice today," Percy said after he'd finished eating, and Oliver looked at him strangely; he hadn't expected to discuss this. "I wanted to, especially after the deplorable way Thicknesse treated you—"

"Deplorable?" Oliver barely bit back a laugh. "Who uses that word other than teachers?"

Percy furrowed his brows and had something like a pout on his face. "I was a tutor in both school and university."

"Hey—" Oliver took his hand. "I'm not saying it's a bad thing, I think it's really cool that you're smart enough for that—yes, I know you're a fucking genius—but it's just a bit sudden to hear it used in a normal sentence." He pecked Percy on the cheek. "A bit cute, though. Continue, please."

"Well, as I was saying: he crossed the line, I think, with the whole… win-a-date nonsense, because it's has nothing to do with you playing rugby so it has absolutely no place in the show!—though, if you ask me, he crossed a lot of lines before then—and I know you never wanted him around in the first place, and it's not fair that you're the one that has to spend the most time with him—so I had a though—" Percy cut himself off to take a breath. "If we're interviewing—and otherwise bothering—non-essential players, we can't bother you."

"Non-essential…" Oliver's mouth fell open. "That's where McLaggen was!"

Percy grinned. "You like the plan?"

"Like it? I think it's fantastic!"

It was: if Percy was in charge of the interviews and stupid 'games', then Oliver could safely retreat to the playing field, to play. After all, that's what he was supposed to be doing, not giving in to Thicknesse's thirst for drama.

"I did say you're a genius," Oliver said after he finished kissing Percy senseless. "Thank you."

.oOo.

Like with all good things, the happiness didn't last forever.

Oliver had expected it to. It had been Percy's plan, after all, and Percy was a genius—not only because he casually used words like 'deplorable' or because he'd aced his A-levels and graduated at the top of his class from university, not even because Oliver was biased from being involved with him. Percy was sensible, easy to trust.

So when Oliver showed up to practice and was met with an empty changing room and a furious team manager, his heart dropped into his feet and he felt dizzy.

"You better have a good explanation for this, Wood."

Oliver barely made it through the ensuing conversation—oh-god-fuck-breathe he knows—before stumbling away and making it to his flat.

He supposed he should be happy that the filming would stop. No more rugby reality TV. He laughed hollowly before grabbing an apple from the bowl on the kitchen counter and worrying it between his hands as he threw himself down onto the sofa.

He needed to call Percy, needed to tell him—

Would Percy already know?

Oliver threw the apple onto the coffee table—it bounced and bruised and fell off onto the floor before colliding with the doorway into the kitchen—and ran for his cell phone.

"Percy!" Oliver yelled into the phone, squeezing it tighter as he heard Percy answer as if he was holding on to Percy himself. "Percy, listen, they've got a video—kissing—us, kissing, in the changing room—the show's cancelled, everyone… everyone knows, Percy—"

"I know."

Oliver felt his stomach drop to the vicinity of his feet. "Percy?"

"Thicknesse fired me this morning, right after he cancelled the show. He doesn't want to work with any of 'our people', and good fucking riddance."

Oliver swallowed. He'd never heard Percy swear before. Never. Not when Oliver had accidentally knocked him down the stairs the first time they'd properly interacted; not when he'd accidentally set Oliver's toaster on fire; not when his brothers had done their best to humiliate him during that first and only family dinner; not… Well, he probably did swear, but actually hearing it made Oliver want to hold him.

"Perce, where are you?"

"At home, I just got home." There was a loud sigh. "I was at my parents'. Thicknesse, he… he aired the video. Overnight. He's facing consequences, of course, but—Oliver, I'm sorry."

"Oh." His manager had said something to that effect, earlier, but Oliver hadn't made the connection. "They… they know?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Well… I…" A dozen things flew through Oliver's mind—fears, might-have-beens—but there was nothing to change now. "I don't quite know what to think."

"That's fine." Another sigh. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." Part of Oliver wanted to rage at the unfairness of it all—he knew he would, later, but he needed to see Percy. "Can you come over?"

"I'm on my way." There was a shuffling sound, as if Percy had started walking around picking things up. "And Oliver?"

"Yeah?"

"For whatever it's worth, people are taking it well: your unorthodox coming out, if you will."

Oliver hummed in understanding—yes, he had heard; no, he wouldn't be checking online—and hung up. He'd pick up the apple in time for Percy's arrival because Percy hated mess—Percy said that he hated lecturing his boyfriends, so it was a good thing Oliver had noticed; he would hate to fight about it—and then…

Well, he supposed they'd deal with it then.