Written for the QLFC, Round 12, as Chaser 1 for the Falcons. Prompt was to have an argument, and optional prints were fine china, madman, and puppy. UuU
The handle of his broom was slick with sweat as he hovered in front of the goalposts. They were down fifty points thanks to that damned Ginny Weasley, but they had the better Seeker, and if she could just catch it...
The Quaffle came hurtling towards him, but he blocked it with almost methodical ease. "C'mon," he whispered. "You can get it."
His eyes were trained on the Seeker as she darted around the stadium, the Harpies's Seeker close on her tail. He held his breath, hoping.
One second she was chasing a glint of gold, and in the next she had her fist closed around it. She thrust it in the air, grinning. Oliver couldn't help but grin with her as the crowd roared. She slowly descended, and, right before she hit the ground, fell off.
When the rest of them hit the gound, they all converged in a great lump, patting the Seeker on the back and congratulating each other cheerily. At some point Oliver became distracted searching for Lee in the stadium. Where was he? He always sat in the second row, on the Puddlemere side.
He searched, but he couldn't find him. Lee wasn't there. Confused, his heart sank. He turned back to him teammates and half-heartedly continued the celebrations.
Later, when he got back to their apartment and opened the door, Lee was sleeping on the couch, one arm slung over his eyes. He was snoring loudly. Any other night Oliver would have waded through the sea of empty bottles and dirty laundry to wake him up, but he didn't. He left him there and slept right in the middle of the bed.
"What a great opening to the season! Two wins in a row!"
Their Seeker had drunk enough alcohol to drink a man twice her size under the table; she held it well, considering. Not well enough to be quiet, of course, but well.
"What's wrong with you, Oliver?" she said loudly, making him wince. "You were distracted the whole game! 'Course you didn't mess up, though, Wood's too much a madman about Quidditch to fu-"
"Shove it," said their best Chaser. "Either stop drinking or learn how to shut your mouth, Holly."
Oliver finished his beer and left. Lee hadn't made this game either.
"Ha! We woooooooon!"
For Merlin's sake, be quiet," snapped Oliver.
"Awww," pouted their Seeker, bowling him over. "You did great, Olly!"
Their best Chaser sighed. "Leave him alone. He'll be snippy and mean no matter how you treat him, and he sure won't be better if you giggle at him like that."
She giggled at the Chaser instead, and Oliver sighed, searching vainly for Lee's face in the crowd.
Five games this season, and Lee had missed every one of them. He was always there when Oliver got home, always sprawled on the couch or the bed like a sad tired puppy. At first, Oliver was so angry he didn't trust himself to speak; that was why he didn't say anything. But then, as time passed, he began to wonder whether he was going mad. Lee didn't seem to think anything was strange; he still talked about his job and Quidditch and even asked how the games went. So Oliver still didn't say anything.
"What's going on, Oliver?"
"Eh?"
Lee snapped his fingers in front of Oliver's face. "Hello? Oh, hellooooo! My boyfriend? You there?"
"Mmm."
Lee put his hands on his hips and huffed and puffed for a few seconds. Failing to have any effect by radiating annoyance alone, he swtiched off the radio with his wand and levitated Oliver's beer out of his grasp.
"You're like a nagging housewife," grumbled Oliver.
"At least nagging housewives get noticed," retorted Lee angrily. "What's up your arse? Lately, it certainly hasn't been me."
"Is that what's bothering you? We haven't been having enough sex?" said Oliver, eyeing the remote to their Muggle telly.
"That is not what's been bothering me. You haven't talked to me in weeks!"
"I'm afraid that if I talked to you, I might hit you," said Oliver savagely, meeting Lee's eyes for the first time.
"Then hit me," said Lee. "I'm not made of fine china, you know. Just know that I'll hit you back."
Olier didn't hit Lee. Instead, with a tremor in his voice that he hated, he said, "Why haven't you been coming to my games?"
Lee stared at him. Silence reigned for a few tense moments. Then Lee began to laugh, a high, hysteric laugh.
Was Oliver crazy after all? Or was it Lee?
"That's why you're angry?" he scoffed. "Do you ever listen to a thing I say?"
Oliver had not expected this response. "So you admit you're not coming to my games?"
"Yes, if that's what you want to hear," said Lee, sounding both hurt and exhilarated. Lee always did get off on conflict; it was a wonder they didn't fight more.
"FIne, then," said Oliver. "I guess that's-"
"Stop," said Lee, the laughter gone from his voice. "Just stop now, before you embarass yourself any further."
Oliver stopped. He took a good look at Lee. Lee was standing in front of him, in his sweatpants and an old t-shirt, arms crossed and dreadlocks in disarray. He was biting his lip as emotions Oliver couldn't really decipher passed over his face.
"I've stopped," said Oliver.
"I told you," said Lee, so quietly Oliver could barely hear him. "I told you I wouldn't be able to go your first five games. I was extremely sorry. I brought you those awful yellow flowers you like, even though you always forget to water them and sad bees come wandering in vain. We had dinner. But you, with your stupid one-mindedness that I usually love so much, were so focused on Quidditch and your stupid strategies that you didn't listen to me when I told you."
"Oh," said Oliver.
"Yeah," said Lee. "Oh."
"Why?" said Oliver.
"My radio show switched times for five weeks. That's it. I've been listening to the scores during breaks, I've cheered for you every single time you've won- amazing season, by the way, you're doing great- but you missed my goddamn explanation and so you've spent the last five weeks drowning in your own stupidity!"
"I..." said Oliver. "Wow. I'm sorry."
"So what do you have to say," said Lee. "About this whole situation. About ignoring me and causing all this because you were too stubborn to talk to me about it."
"I'm really sorry," he said, feeling foolish. "Really, I am. I promise I'll listen to you way more carefully from now on."
"Good," said Lee. "And I'll come to your game next week."
"I don't have one ," said Oliver, despite himself. "We have a BYE. How about...instead we do something..."
He hestitated on the word romantic. Not a very manly word, that.
"We can go out to dinner," suggested Lee. "At a Muggle sport's bar. I know you've always wanted to go to one of those. Then we can come home and..." Lee waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"We really haven't been having enough sex, have we?" said Oliver.
"No," confirmed Lee. "We really haven't."
It didn't say they couldn't make up! UuU