Author's Note: Well it's been a while, and I'm really sorry. This was supposed to be 200 words exactly, but apparently it's only 180 (my word counter said 200). Would someone like to count for me? XD
Disclaimer: Usual applies.
Harry loved flying. When he was up in the air, it was just him and his broom and the sky all around him. All of the rules that applied on terra firma disappeared like mist before the sun when Harry mounted his broom. The sense of freedom when he kicked off made him want to laugh, although he usually managed to contain himself. He could go as fast as he wanted, as far as he wanted, no one would stop him or slow him down, and Harry loved that. But what he valued most was the sense of weightlessness that only came with bubble baths, dancing in the rain, and flying. He was careless, carefree, and absolutely blissful. There was no way to really explain how Harry felt in the air, but he didn't have to—
Oliver knew. Oliver always knew, and that was what Harry loved about him, besides the priceless accent. Oliver knew how Harry felt without him having to clarify. The older boy had a sense of contained excitement and capability around him that made Harry smile, even as he kissed him. Harry loved Oliver like he loved flying—completely and without being able to explain it.