Written for QLFC Round #1
Team: Wigtown Wanderers
Position: Beater 2
Prompt: Percy/Oliver (Beater 1's NOTP)
Additional Prompts: 1. (word) lovely, 3. (colour) sky blue, 11. (word) attractive
Words: 2982
Thanks to VanillaAshes, RawMateriel, Kage Kitsune, and AelysAlthea for betaing, and to CUtopia for the title!
The fun thing about being an overworked and underpaid government employee is that Percy Weasley is doing what he's always wanted to do. The less fun thing is that he's always tired and hates his job. The even less fun thing is that he can barely afford to get coffee in the morning, and that the only café he can afford—because he can't afford a coffee maker—is about half an hour in the opposite direction from his office.
On that particular morning, the least fun thing is that it's Monday. It's raining. Percy doesn't have a car because he can't afford city parking. He doesn't have a raincoat because he gave it to his brother, who's camping in Brazil and is in more need of it.
He has his umbrella, but it doesn't do him any good; it's too windy.
He gets to the café ten minutes later than he usually does, soaked to the bone and in dire need of hot chocolate. Hot chocolate won't cut it, though. He has to stay in the filing office until eight that evening because he's been volunteered by his boss to help organize a new department.
For all Percy idolizes Mr. Crouch, he also hates him.
If he's going to survive the day, he needs caffeine, so he reluctantly orders it and moves off to the side to wait. It takes a long time.
While there aren't that many people in the café, there's only one barista, which hardly seems fair. Percy of all people knows what it's like to be overworked and undermanned. He came into his job with glowing grades and recommendations from teachers, and is constantly given too many tasks.
It takes another ten minutes, but Percy gets his coffee. On the cup, there's a note written in a messy scrawl: sorry for the wait.
The barista is busy with someone else and he's dangerously close to being late for work, so Percy doesn't get a chance to thank him. He holds the cup tightly in his right hand, shoves his left hand into his pocket, sets his face into a determined scowl, and marches out of the café onto the cold, rainy, busy street.
He wishes he got the hot chocolate, but it's not even eight in the morning. He can't afford another drink. He wastes too much money buying coffee as it is, and sweet drinks are a luxury he rarely indulges in.
Gritting his teeth, Percy drinks the bitter beverage. It warms him up and by the time he arrives at the office he's already feeling more energized. He's still wet and cold, but there's not much he can do about it except wait for his clothes to dry and his body to warm up; the clerks' offices don't have heating.
Percy wants to rush past his boss's office, but he's stopped by a yell of "Weatherby!"
Percy wants to hit something. He approaches the office, pauses in the doorway, and says politely, "Yes, Mr. Crouch?"
"You couldn't do these extra forms for me, could you? Bagman's department is supposed to standardize football balls, but he's just finished his shift and forgotten them. I can't do it; I've got to go take my good-for-nothing son to court again." Crouch rolls his eyes. He's already packing his briefcase.
No answer from Percy is necessary. Percy nods even though Crouch isn't looking at him. "I'll do them, sir."
"Good man, Weatherby," Crouch pats his shoulder on the way out, but doesn't look at him and gets his name wrong. Again.
Percy is left standing there holding the files. It's not like he expected any different, but still. He's allowed to be a little petulant—but he isn't, not really. With a newfound determination that stems only from his desire to prove Crouch wrong—and force him to learn his name—Percy marches to the basement.
His office is there, as are the rest of the clerks' offices. They're small cubicles with little available light. During his short time in the building, Percy has seen five people ruin their eyesight by poring over files. His own vision is atrocious, too, but it's been bad all his life.
He sits down at his rickety desk and attempts to make himself comfortable. He's still wet and cold and the coffee's barely working anymore, but the sooner he starts working, the sooner he's going to finish.
For all that he tries to be an optimistic, however, there are several factors constantly weighing Percy down: his job, his boss, his flat, his relative poverty, the amount of unpaid work he's doing, and his hopeless crush on the barista he sees every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning.
.oOo.
Tuesday morning is even less fun than Monday. The weather is even worse, Percy's work clothes have hardly dried, and his umbrella is broken. He wakes up earlier than necessary because his neighbor's alarm blares too early, but the good thing is that he gets to the café earlier than he planned.
This means he can't be late for work, so he orders his usual drink and sits in one of the armchairs, putting his briefcase on the table for safekeeping.
Percy closes his eyes and inhales the warm vapor of the coffee. Bitter. Hot. Lovely. It may not be his favorite drink, but right now it seems heavenly.
He's just about to take a sip when a plate is set in front of him. He looks at it just as he's swallowing, accidentally inhales in surprise, and ends up snorting hot coffee up his nose and coughing for a good three minutes. By the time he recovers, there's no sign of whoever put the slice of chocolate cake in front of him, just a messy note: you look like you could use it.
Percy smiles and takes the treat. For all he knows, his brothers have travelled to the city just to prank him, but it's not that likely. No, he's probably on the receiving end of someone's altruism. The thought makes him smile, and the cake tastes so good, he feels like he can make it through the day.
On his way out, Percy catches the barista smiling at him; it's Monday-Wednesday-Friday guy.
It's Monday-Wednesday-Friday guy's handwriting.
Percy smiles back.
The day seems better and better.
He's cautiously optimistic until he gets to work, but soon the world rights itself: he has wet clothes, no heating, too much paperwork, and a squeaky chair. Still, there's a thought at the back of his mind: the attractive barista. Tall, brunet, brown-eyed, and always smiled at Percy and asking after his day. Of course, Percy knows that working in the customer service industry is grueling and that the barista probably hates him and the rest of the customers, but even so...
Percy pushes the barista out of his mind and focuses on the task at hand. He's attempting to complete the report on ball regulations for professional football games. Truthfully, he knows nothing about football—his brothers and sister have all played, but he hasn't—so he starts on the research.
Hours later, he's nearly done with the draft, and gets to work on his actual job: rearranging the filing system into something resembling… well, a system. It's a few other people and himself working together, and between them, they almost manage to finish.
Percy goes home again in the pouring rain, looking forward to an early bedtime.
.oOo.
Lightning strikes the top of his building and cuts out the power, which wakes up the tenants and keeps them up for half the night. All in all, Wednesday's awakening isn't that great, especially because it comes around at three in the morning.
It greatly improves, however, when Percy goes to the café for his morning coffee. Monday-Wednesday-Friday-suddenly-Tuesday guy is there. He offers Percy a warm smile despite looking tired and annoyed, and gives him an even warmer drink.
Percy stands a few feet away from the counter and drinks quietly, watching Monday-Wednesday-Friday-suddenly-Tuesday guy deal with the other customers. Unlike everything else in his life, the barista isn't a daily thing—sure, Percy thinks of him often, but he sees him only every other day. He's a break from the monotony and that makes him seem even better.
Percy has good taste, so the thought that the barista is a secret asshole doesn't even cross his mind. With his drink finished and the rest of the customers gone, Percy approaches the counter again.
"Oh, hey," Monday-Wednesday-Friday-suddenly-Tuesday guy says in his usual Scottish brogue. He gestures to the empty cup in Percy's hand. "Want another?"
"No, thank you," Percy says. "I was just wondering, what's your name?"
"Oliver," comes the answer. "It's right here on the tag, see?"
Sure enough, he's pointing to the tag on his standard-issue polo shirt. He doesn't look hostile, so Percy allows himself a small smile. "Sorry, no, I didn't—er… I'm Percy."
"I'm pleased." He smiles in return. "Did you like the cake yesterday?"
Percy's brain dances a happy little jig. "I thought that was you! Yes, I did, thank you." He wants to offer to pay for it, but he doesn't want to offend Oliver.
"In that case, what do you say about getting another bite to eat? Somewhere else? You and me?"
Percy blinks. It's still raining—the third day in a row—but everything suddenly seems much brighter. "Yeah, I'd like to. Here's… er, let me write down my number."
He takes the hastily-offered pen and scribbles the number onto his empty cup. As he hands it over, grinning, his eyes glance over at the clock on the opposite wall.
He's late.
Percy Weasley has never been late to work before, has never missed a day, not even in school.
That Wednesday, he's the last one into the office.
.oOo.
The fun thing about being on a date with a gorgeous guy that he likes is that Percy is on a date with a gorgeous guy that he likes. Said guy also likes him back, which is even better. The bad thing about that is that, for the seventh day in a row, it's raining.
The theaters are packed. So are the restaurants, pubs, and cafés. They've ended up in a hotel restaurant with sky-blue walls and purple carpet. It's a bit gaudy, and not at all first date material—more so like the location for dubious business meetings—but the food isn't half-bad.
They realize as they're looking at the menu that neither one of them can afford anything big, and end up sharing.
"I'm afraid I haven't got the most glamorous job," Oliver says as they wait for their food. He has a deeper voice than Percy's, but quieter. "Coffee shop employee isn't that great for going out to eat."
Percy shrugs. "I'm a disillusioned government worker, so I can't really talk. My job doesn't have heating and my umbrella's broken."
"So the reason we shared one was for convenience? Not 'cause you wanted to get close to me?" Oliver laughs.
Percy shrugs again. "Maybe a bit of both. But I'm afraid we're going to have to lower our standards for later dates."
Oliver nods. "I'm afraid so."
.oOo.
Despite the financial ruin the first date left Percy in, he knows it was a success. He doesn't doubt that Oliver is facing the same difficulties, so they tone it down for their second, third, fourth, and fifth dates.
Percy works long hours at the office, and his early completion of the extra paperwork Crouch gives him makes Crouch give him even more. He hates his idol more and more every day.
Furthermore, Crouch gets a new boss, a man called Thicknesse, who fires Ludo Bagman but is still interested in the football report. Thicknesse passes his work onto Crouch. Crouch in turn passes the work onto people like Percy who need the experience in order to get anywhere in life.
No matter the opportunities for improvement, Percy still thinks he's in a dead end.
Most days, he's way too tired to even lock the door to his flat, and Oliver takes to texting him a reminder. He knows Oliver isn't any better off, what with having to take on more shifts at the coffee shop—"I'm supposed to tell people it's not a café," Oliver said once, "because we don't sell much food, just coffee and coffee products."—and despite seeing each other every morning, they only get to spend time together on the weekends.
They talk about their jobs, sometimes, but usually try to avoid the topic. Percy hates his job because he's disappointed: he's worked there less than a year, but he knows it's going to be years—or possibly never—before he gets out of the filing room.
The only way people get ahead is with money and connections. Percy has neither.
Oliver talks about his early dreams of moving on from school football to playing professionally. Given that he's a full-time barista, it's a bit of a dead dream.
The bad thing about having destroyed dreams is that they're broke and miserable. The good thing about a relationship is that they're in the same situation and can laugh at themselves as they cuddle.
Not this weekend, though.
Percy's laboring over his seventh final draft of the football regulation report, and he's beyond tired. He's twenty-five and feels about fifty. That may be an exaggeration, but he's allowed hyperboles from time to time.
The problem with the report isn't that he's doing it with no understanding of the sport or its regulations. The problem is that Crouch is going to get the credit.
It's one of Crouch's many shortcomings: he has no problem doing his own work, so people give him their work to do. Crouch in turn gives that extra work to people like Percy. That's just how it works.
That doesn't mean Percy has to like it. He doesn't, in fact. Not one bit.
He's about to give up and head to bed when his phone rings. He didn't think it worked well enough to ring, so it's a surprise, but he picks it up.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Perce," says Oliver on the other end of the line. "I need a favor."
Percy quirks an eyebrow at the turn of phrase. "Yes?"
"I need you to let me stay with you for a few days. They're doing plumbing in my building without notice, so I'm evicted for the next week or so." Percy imagines him pouting—the way that makes him look adorable, silly, and oddly attractive at the same time. "I'll stay out of your hair, I promise."
Percy takes a look around his small flat. It's far, far from perfect, but Oliver's his boyfriend. "You really don't need to ask, Oliver. We've been dating for months."
"Thought I'd ask just in case. So when can I come?"
"Anytime, I think."
Percy knows he doesn't have any food in, but that doesn't seem to matter, because then he hears a knock on the door.
It's Oliver.
.oOo.
Mornings are horrid. Percy hates them almost more than he hates his job and boss.
He hates his alarm, hates the position of his bed and windows, hates the lack of curtains in his flat that make the sun shine directly into his face. He hates his shower and the fact that it doesn't have hot water and hates being so far away from the coffee shop and having to wake up early to go there.
He hates himself in the morning, because he's tired and petulant, and because he hates Oliver in the morning. The bad thing about his boyfriend is that he's even more of a morning drama queen than Percy. The good thing is that they live somewhat together now, and get a chance to see each other some mornings.
The bad thing of that particular morning is the Percy misses his alarm. The worse thing is that Oliver is still sleeping when he wakes up.
That never happens because Oliver's shift at the coffee shop starts earlier than Percy wakes up. The previous night, Percy stayed too late with Crouch, finally turning in his report—the eleventh version of it—on football ball regulations in professional games, so he and Oliver didn't get a chance to talk.
He looks sideways at his boyfriend, pondering whether to wake him. In the end, he decides on 'yes'.
"Psst!" he says into Oliver's ear.
Oliver turns over and buries his head into the pillow. "No."
"No?" Percy echoes. "You have work."
"No." A pause. "I quit. Yesterday. Sorry, meant to tell you, but I think I reached my limit of being yelled at for things that aren't my fault."
Percy gapes and wants to question him more, about the future and other important things, but he's already late. He doesn't buy a coffee on the way into the office that morning—which isn't the best idea because it's raining again—and shows up to see Crouch talking to Thicknesse in his office. He catches a few words: "Thank you, Mr. Crouch, I knew I could give over Bagman's report to you. You did me such a favor. You're a tremendous writer!"
It's not like Percy expected anything different, but he was the one that researched football regulations as far back as the nineteenth century! He thinks he's at least a little justified in being indignant.
The good thing about being in a relationship is that he has his partner's support and love for most of his decisions. Maybe it's the knowledge of Oliver's resignation, but Percy marches into the office, throws open the door, and states, "I wrote that report." He waits a minute, then adds, "And I resign!"
He leaves his employee identification card on the visitors' desk and storms outside into the rain.