Sweet

She tasted sweet, somewhat minty, and then she was gone. I saw a flash of her eyes as she crashed away into the night. They were wild. My lips felt cool and kind of tingly as I watched her run away, faster than I'd ever seen her. Bloody Hell. I just stood there, watching like a prat, watching her disappear. It was like she'd short circuited me and every nerve ending, every pore in my skin was on fire.

I could still feel her crushed against me.

Then I started screaming for her, so loud I thought my lungs would bloody burst. I knew she couldn't hear me, but it was something to do. I needed her to come back. I needed her to explain. To explain what the fuck was going on. To explain why the hell I felt like I'd just run a marathon. I needed her to explain why she tasted and felt so god damn good.

Fuck, I realized. My chaser just kissed me.

Fuck, I think I liked it.

Fuck, Fuck, no I didn't. No, no no, I did not.

I ran in the direction she'd left, knowing full well I'd never find her. Not now. It was dark, she was quick, and now she was…

Distraught?

Livid?

In the mood to rip my guts out and sacrifice them to heathen gods?

Probably the last one. But I had no bloody idea. I didn't even know what I was, except a monumental, colossal idiot of the first order. I couldn't believe I shouted at her. I couldn't believe I'd been so stupid. So fucking stupid.

I ran down the street, calling out for her, not even bothered that I looked insane. Because I was.

I failed. First with the game. And now-

I peered through the buckets of rain, but couldn't find her. I don't know what I would have said if I had. Especially since my brain and mouth don't seem to be connected properly. Plus, she might kill me. She might kick and hit and punch me. Or she might kiss me again. (I couldn't decide which would be scarier.) She was liable to do fucking anything. I couldn't even begin to read her mind.

In the end, I shouted after her for nearly half an hour. Then I started to get worried, because it was freezing out and she could have tripped in a puddle or broken an ankle or been kidnapped or mugged or any number of horrible things. That girl, honest to Merlin, could injure herself in a completely hypoallergenic safe room, let alone in that shitstorm. She was reckless.

It made her dangerous. And interesting.

But mostly dangerous and frightening. I kept expecting to find her crumpled on a street corner, leg bent at an unnatural angle, covered in blood, swearing up a storm and plotting my murder. It would have been better than the other thoughts rampaging through my skull. Voldemort was on the loose for god sake. She couldn't just be wandering round at night alone.

I decided to swallow my bloody pride and get Red Barten. Sure, he'd tease me for all eternity, but I didn't care. I didn't care if I had to tell him everything. About how, yeah, sometimes I do like it when she wears spandex to practice. And how, yeah, sometimes I'm irrationally jealous of everyone in the fucking room with her. And yeah, I want to rip Jet Orlow into pieces for even thinking about her. And just for breathing, really.

I'd tell him everything if I had to.

She needed to be found and she needed to be safe. Or we'd never figure any of this shit out and I'd never, ever forgive myself. I could always smack Red around later, if I had to.

Plus, that Peter kid isn't nearly as good as Kate. Not even close.

We needed to get her back, even if I meant dragging her ass kicking and screaming out of the rain. I needed to get her back, god damn it.

I took the hotel stairs 5 at a time. I tore down the length of the Puddlemere hallway, past the silent, closed doors of Ed and Josclind's rooms. I'd wake them all up if I had to. I dashed past my own room past Katie's to-

Wait. I pulled up, sharp.

On her door handle hung a "DO NOT DISTURB" sign. Which meant that there was somewhere in there to disturb. And that someone was my fearless, crazy brave chaser. Alive, and presumably fully intact.

I exhaled, long and low. I had to check if she was okay. If she'd broken her legs or an arm it'd all be my fault. I raised a hand to knock and then realized: firstly that injured or not, if Katie was asleep and I woke her she'd kick my ass to Bristol and back. I'd probably let her. I deserved it. And secondly, I realized I didn't know what I wanted to say.

So instead of adding to the list of dumb ass things I did that night, I got out my key, and let myself into my own dark room. I looked at the bed, which was carefully made and realized I wouldn't be able to sleep if I tried, because my mind was running suicides. Also, I probably smelled like a wet dog. Into the shower I went.

Usually I feel a little better after the hot water, but I just felt tight and bruised and really fucking confused.

I flopped down on the floor and stared up at the ceiling, trying not to think about the girl one door down. But it was like trying to ignore a flashing sign. This was serious shit. I closed my eyes and felt her grip me, hard, and felt her crushing her lips against mine. I felt myself respond. I opened my eyes again. It was inappropriate, it was wrong. She was my chaser. She was my friend. It could not happen, it should not happen.

Inter-team relationships never, ever work. The players start missing shots and just generally screwing up and it's just a mess for everyone. I could list a bunch of examples, but Katie's informed me that no one cares about my statistics.

Damn. Even thinking her name hurt.

I probably slept maybe 2 hours tops, because I remember falling asleep and then a few minutes of waking up to absolute silence, then waking up to more silence, and finally sunlight. I stretched, and heard every vertebra in my body pop into place. I sat up, bleary eyed. I felt like complete and utter shit. I could hear someone moving around next door. Katie. I realized I had to go somewhere. I couldn't think. So I laced up my running shoes, and just like her, I left.

I took off down the street, faster than I probably should have considering my muscles were full of lactic acid. It felt good to hurt because I wanted to. Some idiot spotted me and shouted "Wood! Good game, Wanker!" The bastard laughed. I resisted the urge to flip him off and shout obscenities. Then I took a right and left him behind.

I was fine, just running. I hurt enough that I could almost forget about Katie. But then I turned again and came upon a newsstand. Over and over again pictures flashed of my chaser kicking Dirk Springer round the face. I stopped. In slow motion, I watched the beautiful arc of her kick and the fucking amazing contact with his face. It was solid, and blood and spit flew from his mouth like an amazing explosion. I smiled in a strangled sort of way.

Not going to lie, I was really, really proud of her.

And I could be proud of her, right? I mean, she was my friend, one of my best friends, really. Being proud of her didn't mean that I wanted to throw her up against a wall and kiss the shit out of her. Or that I liked it when she kissed the shit out of me. Being proud was a safe feeling, right?

I couldn't decide, so I kept running.

I passed people wearing shirts for their quidditch teams and they shouted at me. Some proposed marriage. Others told me I should go die in a hole. I kept running. I ran until I'd circled back to the hotel. Nothing had magically solved itself. I was back to where I'd started. Literally and figuratively. Bollocks.

I trudged up the stairs and decided the only rational course of action was to act like everything was normal. Then it couldn't get weird and we wouldn't miss shots and maybe I'd forget when she tasted like. Yes. I convinced myself it was a completely rational plan.

So I barricaded myself in my room until practice the next day. So I could get ready to act normal.

That was normal, right?

I'd never dreaded practice before, but I did the next day. I got there almost late, and just sort of showed up and slipped into the huddle around coach. Then I made the mistake of looking at Katie, who was situated across from the huddle. She had her hair back and she had those spandex shorts on again. I groaned low in my throat. This was going to be harder than I thought. Coach sent us out on laps and I bolted. She hung back with Red. Each time I turned the corner I saw her trotting next to him, happy as could fucking be.

Fuck.

I finished laps almost half a field ahead of the happy couple, but I still wasn't happy. I was breathing hard and it didn't hurt enough. Coach came over and asked for chasers. Thank god. I figured he'd probably have me doing dodge practice with the beaters. I don't think I'd ever said 'thank god' in conjunction with that idea, but there you go. I was positively pleased about the prospect of Red hitting balls at my head.

"Wood!"

Bloody hell. I turned and coach beckoned to me. I tried not to look at Katie as I jogged over. But I did. She was examining her gloves. She'd managed to get her bracers on by herself that morning, Usually I had to help her, because she was completely hopeless and got all frustrated and then her nose did that little crinkle thing and –

FOCUS. I mentally slapped myself. I couldn't go thinking about shit like that. I had quidditch to play. I tuned back in.

Coach was trying to console us, and I just felt miserable all over again, because I suck and the loss was my fault and I don't even deserve to be here and Katie Bell kissed me and I'm really confused and I have no fucking idea what to do and-

FOCUS. Coach clapped me on the shoulder and held awkward eye contact for a while. He was trying to pump us all up. Usually I'd be completely into it, but to be honest I hadn't heard a word he'd said. I just mounted my broom and shot up to the hoops. Hopefully it hadn't been anything too horribly important.

FOCUS.

I sat straighter on my broom and scowled. I had to do this. I had to save these passes or I needed to resign. Now or never. Get over Katie. Get over this shit. I'm Oliver Freaking Wood and I can do this. I felt almost better. Like I could do it. Then:

I believe in you, dipshit.

She drew level with me, and wouldn't meet my eyes. She was adjusting her grip on the quaffle. I couldn't look at her- not straight, anyway. So I focused on the red ball in her hands. She drew back, hair fluttering in the wind. I made another mistake, and our eyes synced up. Shit. She threw way off, her elbows out of alignment like some first year playing on a toy broomstick.

I darted after the ball, happy for something to do other than look at her. Coach told her to relax.

"Sorry," she murmured, cheeks pink. I tossed the ball back to Coach, who, at least, was safe to look at. She most definitely wasn't.

"No sorries," he said, catching the ball and pressing it back into her palms. She was still pink, and I stared at my knuckles, because I felt a little heat on the back of my neck. Fuck. I can't do this.

She missed again. She was playing like she'd never seen a quaffle in her life.

So was I.

I missed all but 4 of the shots they threw at me. I touched down feeling like complete and utter shit. I was such an idiot, such a failure. I couldn't even focus around her. She quickly packed her things, hurrying around to pick them up, cheeks still pink. I stood there, once again. She glanced at me twice. I decided to tell her. I would tell her, and if it didn't get better, I'd resign.

She swept past me.

God damn it.

I had to stop her. I couldn't let her slip away again. I made to follow, but Coach stopped me. "You alright, Wood?" He asked, stepping in front of me. I shrugged, staring over his shoulder as she disappeared behind the building. "You seem… off," he said, turning out to see what I was staring at.

"Just working through some stuff, sir," I said, staring at my shoes and feeling like I was a bloody third year being given detention. "I'll sort it out, I swear." Or I'll resign. What the fuck is a keeper who can't bloody keep?

"That game wasn't your fault," he told me firmly. "Eh?" I said nothing. "Shake it off," he said. "Or I'll put you in counseling." I faked a quick smile. "I'm serious Wood."

"I know, Coach."

"It'll be better tomorrow."

I nodded but didn't believe it, and shifted my bag on my shoulder. He left me alone. I started down the path, picking up speed as I got closer to the building. If I'd missed her, I'd never have the courage to do it. Do what, I didn't know exactly, but I had to do something.

I got to the locker room door and realized winging it wasn't such a good idea. Plus the shower was on in there and the last thing I needed was Katie Bell in a towel or less while I was trying to formulate rational, coherent thoughts. I was having issues forming coherent thoughts just thinking about it, god damn it.

I sat down and tried to shut that part of my brain off. Which, if you're a guy, you understand is some tough shit. Because Katie's, well… she's kinda hot in her own weird-ass way. She's got these big green eyes with the longest freaking eyelashes I've ever seen. And she's tough. She'll punt you to the pacific if you give her a good enough reason. I can respect that. She's an amazing quidditch player. She's funny, she's smart. She says stupid things sometimes. She makes fun of me when I do.

I wondered why the fuck I hadn't seen all this before.

She appeared in the doorframe, freshly showered, and slightly pink. I stood up. "Katie." I took two steps toward her, still not sure what I'm going to say. All the color drained from her face and my stomach twisted. She tried to slip behind the door. I stopped it with one hand. I can't. I can't let her disappear again.

"I know, Oliver, alright?" She said my name. Her eyes were hard, and she looked at me like she'd quite like to set my pants on fire. "I made a big bloody mistake the other night." Her jaw tightened and her eyes closed. I could hear my own goddamn heartbeat. "I never should have kissed you. It was a really stupid thing to do." I opened my mouth to tell her it wasn't, that it was probably the best kiss I'd ever had, but she cuts me off. I shut up. "I just-"she stopped, fuming as she searched for the right words. She smelled really, really good. "You-"she began again, looking up at me. Her eyes darted away again. "We can't do this. We can't keep dancing around this. I screwed up, I get it."

No you didn't. I did.

"I think we should talk about this," was all I could manage. I immediately regretted saying it, as she got all huffy and shirty.

"Oh, how convenient," she said in a voice colder than ice. "Now you want to talk about feelings and shit," she snapped. "Who the hell are you, Witch Weekly?" I snorted. Another mistake. Her face folded into a very fierce, very scary scowl. "We don't ever have to talk about this. Any of it." She ground her teeth. "As far as I'm concerned, it never happened.

But you kissed me.

"But it did." She tried to slam the door shut, but I pulled against her and the door stayed.

"No it didn't," she insisted. Each word hurts. She'd like to forget me. I sighed.

"You know that's never going to work," I said. Not for me at least. You fucking live in my head. Every second.

"You never know," she said tartly. "I'm a very good pretender."

She isn't. I scoffed.

"Apparently not," I pointed out. "We both played like absolute shit today." And you know it. She growled.

"Would you just yell already?" she demanded. I was surprised by her.

"I'm not going to yell at you." Never again.

"Yeah, well, you should," she snapped sourly. I sighed, because she was impossible. I went to rub at the throbbing growing in my temple, and she ripped the door shut. I stared at the knots in the wood grain, and sighed. "Katie," I called, defeated. I was so tired, I was so done. She didn't answer. "Katie," I said again, a little louder. I rapped the door with my knuckles. Still no answer. "Would you just come out here and talk to me?" Or look at me. Anything. I counted to five, and then opened the door a crack. She was nowhere to be seen.

"Look," I said, voice coming out ragged. I cleared my throat. "We can't go on like this." I waited again, listening. I knew she hadn't apperated. She couldn't have. She was waiting. And listening, I hoped. I sat down on one of the benches. "I'm missing shots and you're throwing like a girl," I said. That should have gotten a rise out of her. I listened again, and heard nothing.

"This would be a lot easier if I could see you," I offered. "No?"

Nothing.

"Okay then," I said, pulling in a big, deep breath. I'd need it. "Kate," I said, "I'm sorry about the other night." I laid it all out. "I was exhausted and pissed and feeling sorry for myself and I dumped a lot of shit on you that you didn't deserve." I sucked in another breath. "I was a real asshole." I paused. That should have gotten her to speak, too. "What?" I tried. "No witty remark, no sadistic agreement?" I smiled twisted and snort, more at myself than her. I was being so stupid. She didn't want anything to do with me.

"I guess I deserve that." I laughed at how fucking stupid I was to even be there. "I didn't even go after you." Another laugh, because I'm a useless prat. "I had absolutely no idea what to say to you-"I admitted, laughing again. "You confused the shit out of me, Katie." Saying her name felt like a dull blow. "Again."

"And you're really bloody scary sometimes," I added, before my censor could kick in. I winced.

"But look," I said before I could stop. "We can't do this. I mean, it's screwing both of us up. And relationships are messy. They're distracting, they hurt, and I don't have the time or energy to deal with this. Neither of us-we-we just shouldn't." As soon as I said it, I knew it couldn't be. I felt and tasted her again. Fucking god, I'd walk through a swamp of U-No-Poo to feel that again.

"The truth is-"I laughed. "The truth is, I kissed you back last night. I didn't want to believe it, because of what it meant, but I did." I heard a little sniffle. I hoped she wasn't crying. I couldn't stand it if she was.

"And Katie," I said, tasting her name again, "It wasn't a mistake." I smiled. "Things would be a lot easier if it was, but it wasn't." Not at all. Not one second of it. "I like you," I said the words out loud. "A lot more than I should, and it scares the hell out of me."

I realized something.

"It's already messy. And distracting as hell. We definitely shouldn't. I took one more breath. She sniffed again.

"But I think we should try," I said quietly. It hung in the air, after. I could literally feel my heart in my toes. Two, Three, Four seconds, then a clang. I scrambled to my feet.

"Katie?"

"We're the biggest pair of idiots to ever live," she declared. She said we. As in the two of us. I hurried round the row of lockers to find her. She was sitting, balled up at the foot of them. Her eyes were closed. They opened. I stared back at her.

We. I felt like some stupid little girl thinking it, but she said we. As in she and I. Together.

I smiled. She smiled back.

"Yes," I said, crossing that invisible line. "Yes we are," I said, back to the lockers. I sank down next to her. She smelled really, really good. I didn't. I hoped she didn't mind. Her eyes were sticky on my face. There were two little streams down her cheeks. I hated myself for them. She tilted her face up at mine.

And, for real this time, I kissed her. As quietly and as softly and as gently as I could. Because I'd made her cry and it'd be a while before I forgave myself. And she kissed me back.

She tasted sweet.

A/N- This was a toughie for me. I'm not used to Oliver's voice and for a while there he came out sounding a bunch like Katie. Hopefully I did him justice. hopefully you like it.