For not the first time in his career as a Championship Quidditch player, Oliver Queen found himself standing at the edge of an ornately decorated ballroom, glass of Firewhisky in hand, watching the high society of Starling City mingle. He wondered, idly, if any of the heiresses he had seen hovering around him throughout the evening would help him in making a quick escape. It was likely they would.
Downing the last of his Firewhisky, Oliver placed the tumbler on the tray, catching the eye of a redhead across the room. As he was about to move, Oliver was stopped by a hand coming down on his shoulder. He turned, expectantly, only to find the face of Walter Steele - head of the Starling City Quidditch Association - who seemed to be trying to make an introduction.
"Oliver, this is Felicity Smoak," Smoak? He recognised that name. "She'll be taking over as commentator for the championships this year. I thought it would be a good idea to introduce her to the city's star players. Felicity, this is Oliver Queen, captain of the Starling City Arrows," said Walter, who stepped aside to reveal the woman in question.
She was considerably shorter than the two men, and Oliver guessed she was about his shoulder height. For all the lack of height, she was slender and brightly dressed in fitted fuchsia robes. Perched on the end of her - dare he say it - cute, button nose sat a pair of large, rectangular glasses in an equally vivid red.
"Smoak? Daughter of Jonathan Smoak?" Oliver asked, to which the young woman, Felicity, reluctantly nodded. "Can I just say your father was, is, a legend. He set the record for youngest Captain, and with the Las Vegas Kings. He really inspired me as a kid."
Throughout the praise, Oliver watched as Felicity's mouth twisted into a frown, a small crinkle appearing on her forehead. She crossed her arms, huffing, only to uncross them again and push her glasses back up her nose. "Nice to see I'm recognised for my own accomplishments, Mr Queen," the young woman muttered, obviously offended.
Grinning, he rested his hand on the crook of her elbow, drawing her gaze back up to him. "Please, call me Oliver. I feel like you're talking to my Father."
Felicity stepped away from the touch, standing back next to Walter before blurting out "Yes, but he's dead." All three pairs of eyes widened. "I mean, he crashed. In a Quidditch accident. Someone stop me, I'm going stop talking in three…two…one…"
The group stood in silence for moment, just taking in what Felicity had said. The woman herself raised a hand to her mouth, looking increasingly mortified with every passing second. "You know what? I'm just going to go," she started again, pointing at the slightly open, oak doors across the floor. "Maybe reflect on this mortifying experience, okay? It was nice talking to you, Oliver. Walter." Felicity nodded, before turning on her heel, disappearing into the crowd and - Oliver assumed - out the door.
It was the day after when Oliver recounted the previous night to his best friend - and chaser for the Arrows - Tommy, and his unusual encounter with Felicity Smoak. They had just finished practice, and whilst Diggle and Sara had gone ahead to Big Belly Burger for lunch, Tommy and Oliver were left packing away the practise equipment.
"So let me get this straight, last night you met Felicity Smoak, daughter of the Jonathan Smoak, and you didn't think to tell me earlier?" Tommy exclaimed, waving a leftover beater's club around.
"Yeah. She was kind of odd, though. Babbled a lot." Oliver said, putting the Quaffle back in the large trunk. With the movement, the Bludgers - which had been strapped down - began to violently shake.
Tommy snorted. "And you said she's a commentator? With her dad's career, I wonder how she's not a Quidditch player herself."
Oliver walked over to a broomstick, picking it up and handing it to his friend. "No, the babbling wasn't odd. She completely froze up when I mentioned her dad. And then she just left! She didn't even want to talk to me."
Tommy let out a dramatic gasp, clutching the broomstick in mock horror. "What's this? A woman isn't interested in the Oliver Queen? Say it isn't so."
"You're hilarious, Tommy. Really, my sides are splitting," Oliver deadpanned.
The Chaser sobered up briefly before giving Oliver a lopsided grin. "Seriously, though. What was she like? Was she hot? Was she Smoakin'?"
Rolling his eyes, Oliver lifted up the trunk of Quidditch equipment, jerking his head so that Tommy would follow. "Yeah, I guess she was. Not my usual type, though. She had blonde hair in a kind of high ponytail, glasses too. They were red, I think."
"Oh man," Tommy crowed from behind him, "she sounds like a sexy librarian. And don't think I didn't notice how into detail you went there."
"I did not," Oliver argued, dropping the trunk in the equipment room and turning to his friend.
The Traitor - Oliver dubbed Tommy - waggled his eyebrows. "I'm on to you, Oliver Queen. I know you too well."
Yeah, yeah.
The second time Oliver Queen met Felicity Smoak, it was the day before the start of the championships, and Felicity was up in one of the top booths of the stadium, setting up for the opening match.
As Oliver stepped into the booth, he watched from a few benches back as Felicity began to pull a number of objects from a case on the floor, gently placing each of them on the desk in front of her. First was a pair of Omnioculars, and though they looked a lot like the ones many of the fans carried, he could tell her set was much more complex. Quicker to keep up with the game, he supposed. What also set them apart was the fact that they were an intense pink, something Oliver would come to learn was kind of a trademark of Felicity's.
Next placed on the table was an old looking microphone, which Oliver thought to be an odd tool to use. Curious, he decided to ask her. "Why don't you use a spell to make your voice louder?"
At the sound of his voice, Felicity jumped, letting out a small garbled sound. Oliver couldn't help but smile as she whipped around, looking for the source of the sound before spotting him, and narrowing her eyes. She had teal glasses on this time.
"Damn it, Oliver. Don't sneak up on me like that," she complained.
Oliver's smile grew, she remembered his name. "You remembered my name."
"I'm Quidditch commentator, Oliver," she said, "It's my job to remember the players' names."
He ignored her jab, choosing instead to make his way down the stands towards her, climbing over five or six rows before he was finally by her side. Pointing to the desk behind her, he continued: "You didn't answer my question. What to do you need that thing for, surely there's a spell you can use?
"There is," Felicity agreed, turning around and picking the device up, "but the Sonorus charm can take a toll on the speaker's throat after a while. So this, allows my voice to sound like a Sonorus charm is being used, but without the painful side-effects."
"Ah. Why did you become a commentator, anyway?" Oliver asked abruptly, taking a step towards her.
Felicity looked down, fiddling with the aged microphone in her hands. Her hair was tied back again, he realised, and Oliver wondered if this was another trademark of hers, along with the pink Omnioculars. "I just liked it, I guess. If you hadn't already noticed, I talk a lot. I thought maybe I could put that skill to use, and I just have to keep on hoping that I don't say something embarrassing."
"Like at the gala, for example?" Oliver teased.
Felicity shoots him a quick glare, and it has him smiling again. "Yes," she grits out, "like the gala."
Oliver reaches over to Felicity, gently taking the microphone from her hands and placing it back on the table. It brings them much closer than before, and Oliver can't help but notice how her cheeks have taken on a faint blush. It's charming, Oliver notes, just like the rest of her.
Then he had to open is damned mouth. "Why didn't you like it when I mentioned your father the other night? At the gala, I mean."
As soon as those words had left him, Felicity took a step back, eyes fixed on the ground between them. She was scowling again, and Oliver overwhelmingly wished that he had said something different; something that wouldn't have ruined the moment - if he could call it that - between them. Felicity picked up the rucksack lying at her feet, the line of her shoulders tense as she flung the bag across her back, quickly adjusting the straps.
The sky across the stadium was a murky grey now, thick ominous clouds blocking the sun from view. It signalled impending rainfall, and Oliver hoped that the Arrows could get at least one practice left in their home stadium before the championship fully begins. The storm was across Felicity's brow now, too, and Oliver cursed his curiosity.
"Why are you so interested, Oliver?" Felicity sighed, rubbing a hand across her forehead. Oliver couldn't help but notice her nails were also a bright teal. Like her glasses.
Oliver closed the space between them, gently touching her elbow (like he had done at the gala), coaxing her to look at him. "Felicity..."
"What, Oliver?" She snapped, jerking from the contact. She finally looked up at him, blue eyes blazing in defiance.
She's beautiful.
Conscious - for once - of her deteriorating mood, Oliver murmured "Your father is an idol of mine, Felicity. I just want to know more about him, that's all."
Oliver could tell he was losing her. Felicity pulled away from him, grip tightening on one of the straps of her bag. He watched as Felicity glanced over his shoulder towards the exit. He turned to see Diggle - the Starling City Arrows' goal keeper - standing by the doorway, watching the exchange unfold in front of him.
"Look, Oliver, I've got to go," said Felicity. "Your team will be here any minute and I don't want to interrupt your schedule. So I'm just going to…go." Felicity waved her hand vaguely at the exit.
Oliver stood to the side, disappointed. He knew Felicity was uncomfortable, and as insensitive as he may have been called previously - which many of his past girlfriends and flings could attest to - Oliver let her leave.
He watched her retreating back, studiously ignoring Diggle's raised eyebrow. The man in question stood from his leaning spot against the doorframe and made his way over to Oliver, Quidditch gloves in hand.
"Tommy told me you were smitten," Diggle started, clapping Oliver on the shoulder. "Good to see that he was right."
Oliver grits his teeth, cursing his friend for being such a gossip. "Tommy doesn't know what he's talking about."
"You look like a kicked puppy, man." Diggle replied, shaking his head, "What's her name again? Felicity?"
Oliver nodded.
"What'd you to do to upset her, anyway?" asked the goalie.
Oliver gave him an incredulous look, picking up the Omnioculars Felicity had left on the table. "What makes you think I did something?"
Now Diggle looked at him incredulously.
"Fine," Oliver sighed. "All I did was ask about her dad." He continues to fiddle with the buttons of the Omnioculars, avoiding Diggle's judgemental gaze. His fingers caught on one of the device's switches, a low whir beginning as it turned on.
Diggle steps forward, taking the Omnioculars from Oliver's hand and flicking the same switch, turning the device off, and along with it, the whirring. Gingerly, he puts them back on the table, nudging Oliver out the way.
"This was after the gala in which she had shown genuine discomfort at being asked this question before, by you, no less?" Diggle assessed.
"Yes," Oliver grumbled, scuffing his (rather expensive) shoes against the stadium floor.
"Oliver." Diggle chastised.
Oliver pulled himself up, shaking off his guilty posture and donning a mask of indifference. This was his method for coping with guilt, sweeping it all under the rug and hope that no one called him out on it. Oliver knew, however, that Diggle was never fooled by it, though he never mentioned it. Felicity probably saw it as well, Oliver thought, she's not stupid. This fact somehow made him feel worse.
The sky had begun to clear now, the clouds a paler grey and the threat of rain passing deeper into the city. Oliver looked over the stand's railing and out on to the pitch. Tommy, Sara and Roy were all out there, unpacking equipment and waiting for both himself and Diggle to arrive. Tommy looked up and saw him, waving briefly before childishly flipping him off. Oliver rolled his eyes at the gesture.
The Starling City Arrows' first match was tomorrow, and they were playing against the Central City Stars. Their Seeker (and captain) Barry 'The Flash' Allen was - if people had such things - Oliver's nemesis, and he'll be damned if he allows the Stars to have their victory.
Oliver pushes Felicity's frown to the back of his mind, intent on training as hard as he can before the real event tomorrow. As he ducks and dives, passing the Quaffle amongst his friends and teammates, his thoughts can't help but rest on those teal glasses, and the sadness lingering in the bright blue eyes behind them.
It's bright and early when the Arrows arrive back at the stadium again. Each of them is stood in a number of positions throughout their tent at various stages of restlessness. Oliver watches as Sara's knee jiggles up and down in anticipation, whereas in the opposite corner their youngest team member Roy is pacing back and forth, trying to burn out his excess energy. Tommy is sat on one of the benches, broom laid out across his knee, and besides Oliver, he looks about the calmest in the group. Like Oliver, however, Tommy has learned to hide his insecurities behind wide smiles and brittle laughter. It comes as no surprise to him that Tommy looks as calm as he does.
Through the fabric of the tent, Oliver can hear the cheers of the fans in the stands and around the stadium. Not long now, Oliver observes, jolting when he hears a member of staff telling the team to line up and get ready.
With a burst of static, Felicity's cheery voice echoes across the stadium, welcoming everyone to the first game of the Quidditch Championships. Oliver knows he has to keep his head in the game, to separate his relationship - if he can even call it that - with Felicity from his professional Quidditch career. She's just another commentator, Oliver repeats, like a mantra.
"Here comes the Starling City Arrows!"
Adrenaline washes through him at Felicity's announcement. Oliver leads the team into the air above the field, leading them in their famous arrow-head formation. They glide around the stands, absorbing the cheers from their supporters, psyching themselves up and grinning at each other all the while. Oliver relishes the atmosphere, allowing it to rush over him.
The Arrows finish their circuit around the stadium before stopping at a hover in front of their goalposts. It wasn't long before Felicity's voice once more started across the field, introducing the Arrows' number one rival.
"Playing against them today are…the Central City Stars!"
Oliver glared as the opposing team did their circuit of the stadium, moving the opposite way round this time. He watched in horror as one of the casted projections of the game showed Barry (The Flash, Oliver snorted) slow down to where Felicity was stationed, sending a wink her way before shooting off again to join his teammates. Oliver's glare intensified as the projection showed Felicity's flushed cheeks, her hand covering the microphone to save the audience from her babbling. Walter, beside her, looked as cool and collected as ever. On the projection, though, Oliver could see the tiniest hint of a smile.
Following tradition, both teams switched sides, setting up in their chosen positions before the referee walked out on to the field. Everyone both around the field and on it seemed to be waiting for Felicity's cue, to declare the game begun and put an end to everyone's impatience.
"On your marks…get set…play!"
At her signal, the referee tossed the Quaffle into the air, and Oliver was swooping down, lost to everything put the game.
Oliver awoke to the sound of hushed voices. His head was throbbing, and his mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. The more he seemed to have gained consciousness, the more Oliver became aware of the fact that he was lying on a cushy bed, rather than bantering with his teammates in their tent after the match.
The match.
Without thought, Oliver rapidly sat up, clutching at his head when he felt the sudden rush of wooziness. "What happened?" He asked.
He blinked hazily, realising that he had been asleep his room at the Queen Mansion. At his words, Tommy and Felicity rushed towards him, asking questions at a hundred miles per hour. "Wait, wait, wait."
Abruptly both of their mouths snapped shut, concern still etched on their faces. Felicity reached out to him, pulling down one of the hands from his head and clutching it tightly in her grasp. Thumping headache aside, Felicity was touching him, and Oliver was in heaven.
To his left, he heard Tommy snicker, and Felicity's face turned beet red in embarrassment.
"I said that out loud, didn't I?" Oliver asked, trying to sit up again. "Did we win?"
They both nodded.
"It was close, man," said Tommy, "Roy caught the Snitch right before you got hit. We were damned lucky."
Felicity's hand tightened once more. "The team are waiting outside; they all want to see you, if you're up for it? Tommy can fetch them."
Tommy - ever the jokester - takes a dramatic bow, holding his hand out to Felicity. "As my lady commands," He grinned, before turning towards the door and leaving the room.
Now it was just the two of them, Oliver had the chance to get a good look at Felicity. She had let go of his hand now (much to his disappointment) and had begun flitting around the room, straightening Oliver's sheets, fluffing up his pillow, all the while avoiding his eyes. She was quite pale, which Oliver guessed was from the shock of his accident. Dark rings circled under her eyes, and adorably, her (now yellow) glasses were askew.
"Hey," Oliver started.
Felicity rushed over to him, gingerly sitting on the edge of the bed. She lifted her hand up to his forehead, fingertips brushing across the skin there. "Hey," she murmured.
Oliver gave her a lopsided grin. He felt giddy, being cared for like this by Felicity. At least that was half the cause of this feeling. The other half, Oliver suspected, was a side-effect from a potion the medi-wizards had given him. "You and Tommy seem chummy now."
Letting out an exasperated sigh, she gently swiped a thumb against his temple. It was a soothing action. "We both watched a Bludger knock you out of the air, Oliver. And we both watched as you were treated by the medi-wizards. Believe me, it was a bonding experience."
"Wait," Oliver protested, groaning again as he sat up too quickly. "I can still play, right? I'm captain, I have to play."
Felicity hushed him, delicately guiding him back down on to his pillow and ignoring his protests of being fine. "You are fine, Oliver. The medi-wizards told the team that there was no serious damage. You just need to rest for a few days and you should be well enough for your next game. And I mean relax, no going out and practicing or being reckless."
"Aw, you do care," Oliver teased, taking her smaller hand in his calloused one.
"Oliver, I had to commentate to an audience of thousands telling them in detail what had happened when you had been knocked off of you broom. Please, don't make me do that again," Felicity explained, lips wobbling with repressed emotion.
Reassuringly, Oliver tightened his grip on her hand, raising the knuckles to his mouth for a soft peck. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" Felicity asked, sending him a tremulous smile.
"For scaring you," replied Oliver, "and for what I said yesterday. I wanted to know about my idol and I didn't think about how you would feel when I pressed for answers. I won't ask again, I'm sorry."
At his words, Felicity's smile becomes more genuine, and Oliver is relieved to be on the receiving end of that smile once more. She pulled a pocket watch out of her robes, grimacing when she saw the time. Oliver's heart sank, knowing that she's going to have to leave him again. She stood abruptly, grabbing the bag that had been by the side of his bed and slinging it over one of her shoulders.
"I'm so sorry, Oliver. I've got a meeting with Walter about another gala he wants to discuss with me. Cra…ckers, I'm late enough as it is. I'm so, so sorry!" Felicity babbled, clutching the handbag to her chest.
She starts striding towards the door, heels clacking against the wooden floorboards before abruptly stopping. Oliver watched as Felicity turns, walking back towards him. He followed the movement with rapt attention, right until she's stood over him, looking down.
"Bye, Oliver," She murmured, before leaning over and pressing a gentle kiss to his brow.
Felicity leaves with one last glance towards him, and before long the room is bustling again with his friends, family, and teammates. His mind, however, is occupied with thoughts of Felicity. Oliver tries desperately to recount the feeling of her plush, pink lips on his skin, missing the number of questions asked by the people surrounding him. I'm okay, he reassures them all.
Tommy was right. He was smitten, and he never thought it would feel so good.
The week following Oliver's accident passed by sluggishly. Many people and visited him, asking how he was, what he was spending his time doing, and whether he was looking forward to the next game. He had spent the week - more or less - watching TV and reading the Daily Prophet, catching up on the scores from the other matches, and assessing the Arrows' competition for the season.
Felicity had stopped by a couple of times, brightening Oliver's week to no end. They sometimes had lunch together, talking about anything and everything. This often prompted some embarrassing anecdotes from Oliver's teenage years, most of them caused by Tommy in some way. Felicity laughed at those a lot, and Oliver horded all of those sweet sounds, treasuring them.
It turns out that Felicity had some interesting stories of her own, often the result of her lacking a brain to mouth filter. "I said all sorts of inappropriate things," she explained. "Unintentionally, of course! Some of the professors thought I had been cursed or something."
She then went on to talk about Walter and the Quidditch Association's plans for tomorrow's gala. Felicity mused about why she had been brought in to help planning; it was clear to Oliver that she had no need or care for how these things worked. "I just like commentating, that's all."
When Oliver had received his invite for the Quidditch Association Gala, he had immediately decided he was going to invite Felicity to go with him as his date. He couldn't wait to see her in a beautiful ball gown this time, rather than the sweeping (yet bright) wizards robes she usually wore. The sheer number of possibilities entertained Oliver for hours, imagining what it would be like to see her for the first time all dressed up, to enter the gala together as a (potential) couple, to talk and laugh and enjoy each other's company for the evening.
It was then, sat on the couch with Felicity, watching a recap of one of the games, he decided now was the right time to ask her.
"So, are you looking forward to the gala tomorrow night?" Oliver asked, leaning towards her as he snatched a Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean from the packet sat between them. He tossed it into his mouth, a picture - he hoped - of complete nonchalance.
He watched as Felicity nodded, picking up the packet herself and rummaging around for her favourite flavour. "Yeah, it looks pretty fun. I mean, sometimes these things can be so stuffy - oh my God, please don't tell Walter - but if everyone's going I'm less likely to be stood being awkward in a corner somewhere. So that'll be a bonus."
Oliver chuckled, reaching into the bag for another candy. This was it, he thought, now or never. "Hey, Felicity?"
"Yeah?" She replied, picking through a handful of jelly beans.
"I was wondering…if you wanted to go with me to the gala tomorrow. As a date, I mean?" Oliver asked, sounding hesitant and shy even to his own ears. What happened to suave, charming, irresistible Oliver Queen?
All of a sudden Felicity looked crestfallen, and a smile - no matter how tentative - has never dropped from Oliver's face quicker. His pulse quickened now with nerves, and he felt the impulsive desire to escape from the room, dignity in tatters.
"I'm sorry, Oliver, I really am," Felicity apologised, "but I've already agreed to go with a friend of mine."
A friend? Oliver could work with that.
"Really," she continued, oblivious to Oliver's thoughts, "it's not that I don't want to go with you, because I really do. Want to go with you. On a date, that is. But I made a promise. So, rain check?"
Oliver could tell Felicity had always been nice. Always making sure her friends came first, supporting them when she could, and making good on the promises she made. This is was Oliver liked - no, loved? - about her, she made him want to grow and improve. To put all those toxic mistakes and past relationships behind him, starting again with her, to be an honest, responsible, better person. With Felicity, Oliver was sure it could be done.
"Yeah, yeah," Oliver conceded, "some other time, then."
Felicity beamed at him, patting his hand before reaching back into the box of jelly beans. "Thanks for understanding."
Silence fell between them as Felicity's attention was drawn back to the TV. Oliver watched, amused, as she cringed whenever she spoke on-screen. He thought every one of her quirks were endearing, and Oliver found himself thinking that he could spend a long, long time getting to know each and every one of them.
Yes, he put their plans for a date on hold, but Oliver found that as long as he could spend time with Felicity - no matter what the reason - he was content.
The amount of relief Oliver felt when he actually managed to apparate to the Quidditch Association Gala was quite staggering. The thought of Felicity, who he had no doubt looked as beautiful as ever, mingling amongst the socialites with a mystery date made his stomach churn. For a brief moment, he had actually thought he would splinch himself.
Confidence (bordering on arrogance) in place, Oliver walked into the centre hall, eyes already darting around and looking for maybe a flash of pink or a spark of teal. Anything bright he could associate with Felicity.
Making a circuit across the room, Oliver glanced around at some of the couples, assessing if any of them contained the petite blonde he was looking for. At the same time, he was purposefully avoiding the appreciative - and sometimes a little predatory - looks from some of the heiresses mixed around the room. Once upon a time, Oliver would have sought them out with a slow smirk and a lingering look, all in an attempt to make his evening worthwhile.
But then Felicity had barrelled into his life. With her startling wardrobe, kind smiles and a heart of gold, she had utterly charmed him, and Oliver couldn't imagine spending his time - his life - with anyone else. If only he could find her amongst this crowd.
Without realising it, Oliver found himself back at the entrance, watching everyone filtering in wearing their finest eveningwear. That's when he saw her.
Stark against her milky, pale skin, Felicity was clad in a silken, green - Arrow green, his mind supplied - dress. The light material flowed down her body like water, clinging gracefully to her curves in a way which appeared both tantalising and tasteful. Many eyes had been drawn towards her, to a plunging neckline accentuating her delicate collarbones, and at the same time, teasing down towards her cleavage. His gaze swept downwards as he saw on her feet a pair of chunky gold heels, seemingly giving her both height and a sense of presence amongst the (now envious) women in the room.
As Oliver's eyes were drawn back up, he could see that her hair was down in loose, tousled curls, a great contrast to the usual ponytail she always wore. They fell down her back and across her shoulders, framing the elegant shape of her face. He looked closer at Felicity, and he could see that her eye makeup was much darker this time around, a soft grey.
And those lips. Oh, those lips, Oliver thought. Those soft, pink lips which had once tenderly brushed against his forehead were now painted in a deep, glossy, blood red.
Oliver felt his mouth go dry, hesitant to pull his gaze away from her for even a second. Out of the periphery of his vision, he saw a lot of the men in room were having a similar problem. This once babbling, quirky, playful girl was now a seductress, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. She looked the complete femme fatale, and she was wearing his colours.
When he did manage to drag his eyes away from her, they then landed on to her (friend) date. Bile rose up in his throat as he realised who it was. Stood in a plain, black suit and a red tie, an arm slung familiarly around Felicity's waist, was none other than Central City's own - Barry Allen.
This was her friend?
"Oliver, hey!" Felicity called out, noticing him nearby. "You know Barry, right?
Reluctantly, his eyes flicked over to the man (Oliver scoffs) in question. Barry was slouching, boyish grin in place, looking exactly like his place is by Felicity's side. However as Oliver watches Barry look towards her, he can see that none of the affection in his eyes is romantic. Oliver can tell it's purely a platonic love, and that they really are just good friends.
Still, that doesn't stop Barry from being his rival.
"Allen," Oliver nodded.
"Queen," Barry returned, nodding back.
Beside them Felicity rolls her eyes, exasperated by their stubbornness. She tugged playfully at one of the sleeves of Barry's suit jacket, silently chastising him. Oliver couldn't help but stifle a grin, relishing the opportunity to watch his rival get told off, and by Felicity no less.
"Barry's here because he has a crush on the Daily Prophet's sports reporter. You know the one, Iris West?" Felicity explained, laughing at Barry's embarrassed groan. "I'm just a prop really. Barry thought me being here with him would somehow make her jealous, but I'm not sure how that works with me."
"You're beautiful," Oliver reassured her. "No one here but you has any doubt about it."
Felicity sent him a bashful smile, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The apples of her cheeks were a rosy pink, and Oliver had a difficult time not just reaching out and touching them. "Thanks, Oliver."
When they leave their own little bubble and realise that Barry isn't with them anymore, they scan the crowds for him, finally spotting the Seeker with a young woman across the hall. That must be Iris, Oliver concluded.
He looked at the couples swaying in the centre of the hall - on the dancefloor - and wondered what it would be like if he was out there with Felicity. Could she even dance? He imagined her stepping on his toes, her eyes widening in shock as a stream of unrefined apologies poured from those dark red lips.
"Felicity," Oliver started, drawing her attention. "Would you like to dance?"
Her head tilted slightly, as if assessing him, before nodding. He held out his hand for her to take, before leading her out into the middle of the dancefloor. Oliver moved so that one of his hands was on her waist, whilst the other still held her hand. He felt her other hand on his shoulder, clutching the material of his jacket tightly. They began to move in a lazy sway, taking in the comfort of being close to each other.
It could have been ten minutes or an hour, and Oliver wouldn't have cared. Being with Felicity like this, when she was decidedly not on a date with Barry Allen, and getting the chance to be this close to her. He quickly spins her, receiving both a gasp and a giggle. She stumbles and steps on his toes like he had predicted.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry! I'm such a klutz, oh my god, I knew dancing would be a bad idea, I should be quarantined off for everyone's safety, I swear."
She's interrupted by Oliver who laughs, holding her tighter against his rumbling chest. "Don't worry about it Felicity, klutziness is one of your many charms," He reassured her with a disarming smile. "Why don't we go get something to drink?"
Leading Felicity away from the floor this time, Oliver wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her close. At the contact she smiled up at him, one he feels he must return. Together they move to the edge of the room, close to where Barry is stood chatting amiably with Iris.
They all talk for about half an hour more before they realise that everyone around them has begun to mutter frantically, magical camera flashes increasing in both intensity and rapidity. Someone incredibly famous must have shown up, Oliver guessed, or they weren't expected to have shown up at all.
Beside him Felicity's face turned an ill-looking grey colour. Her expression, he noticed, was stuck between nausea and abrupt shock. It's then when he hears over the din of the gala who exactly has arrived.
"Mr Smoak, Mr Smoak!" Reporters called, eager for the man's attention.
Felicity's hands cling desperately to Oliver's arm as she looks towards Barry, who seems about ready to get her out of the building. He knows why she doesn't like talking about her dad, Oliver comprehends, and he feels a slight twinge of jealousy.
He can tell she's about to ask to leave when an older voice drifts over from the right.
"'Licity?" Asked the man. He sounded heartbroken, even to everyone around him.
Oliver looked over towards him and sees none other than Jonathan Smoak - retired captain of the Las Vegas Kings - standing there looking dumbfounded. Oliver looked back down Felicity and sees her flinch at the voice. She takes a step back, putting herself more behind him.
"'Licity?" The man - Jonathan Smoak - asked again, taking a staggering step towards her. "I saw in the Daily Prophet how you were a commentator now. I watched all the recaps and heard your voice. I'm so proud of y-"
"Stop." Felicity interrupted, voice wavering. "Just stop."
"But -"
"I can't do this." She said, before ripping herself away from Oliver and fleeing the ballroom.
Barry looks like he wants to follow her, but he's stopped by a concerned looking Iris. "Let her be for a while. She's got a lot to process, and I'm sure she won't want to be mothered as well."
Oliver watched the man supposed to be Felicity's father. He looked a lot like he did in the prime of his career, though it's clear that he'd aged a fair bit.
What was different, however, about Jonathan Smoak was that his presence (like Oliver's) had once oozed arrogance and charisma, but now looked awkward and small amongst the gossiping socialites. Oliver would have felt bad for him, had he not been the reason why Felicity had left his side.
Oliver was honestly as war with himself. On the one hand, his idol was stood before him, making his first public appearance in a decade at an event Oliver was actually attending. It seemed like some sort of miracle. On the other hand, a woman he had grown especially close to, who had spent time with him and learned all his flaws, liking him all the same, had left, close to tears.
If Oliver had any chance at making sense of this, he'd have to find out what the actual problem was.
Turning to Barry, Oliver moved forwards, intent on asking him about Felicity's aversion to talking about her father. People had gone from their blatant staring to now muttering amongst themselves, and Oliver would wager money on the fact that they were talking about what had just transpired.
"Barry, I need you to tell me why Felicity won't talk to her dad." Oliver urged, anxious for answers.
The young seeker glanced at Iris a second before replying. "Why do you want to know?"
Oliver huffed, moving closer towards the couple. "Look, she'd never tell me about it but I want to understand. How am I supposed to help her if I don't understand?"
Silence fell between them for a moment, and Barry was clearly considering whether or not Oliver was trustworthy. When Barry spoke again, his voice was low, hushed, as if he didn't want the information to leave the three of them.
"Oliver," he began, "Felicity hasn't seen her father since she was a kid."
Oh.
Giving Felicity a few days to herself was one of the hardest decisions Oliver had ever made. All he ever seemed to think about was her, and with his first ever game since the accident coming up, he really needed to focus.
That's how Oliver found himself outside a small cottage right on the border between the Glades and the inner city. The building itself looked small but cosy, the exterior made of rough cobbled stones. Each of the windows held a box filled with fresh, pink potted flowers, a sharp contrast against the dull rocks.
The front door was a deep raspberry colour, and Oliver found himself walking towards it, past the gate and the small - yet equally bright - front garden. He paused for a second, before reaching up and knocking on the door.
When it opened, Oliver took the chance to get a look at Felicity, to see how she really was. The first thing that struck him was that her face was devoid of makeup, lips unusual in their pallor, eyes gloomy rather than their usual perkiness.
"Oliver?" She asked, opening the door wider.
"Felicity, hey."
"What're you doing here?"
"I wanted to see how you were, make sure you're okay." Oliver explained, scrubbing a hand through his hair.
She looked at him with considering eyes before acquiescing. "Barry gave you my address, didn't he? Come on in, then."
Oliver nodded before passing through the threshold, looking in wonder at the place Felicity calls home. The walls were painted in a number of vivid colours, each dotted occasionally with posters of various Quidditch teams. Books are piled up everywhere, some wizarding, some muggle. It's an interesting mix of the two worlds.
In the centre of the room sat a wooden coffee table, and behind that a large, purple couch. A pyjama clad Felicity shuffles over towards it before flopping down, making herself comfortable. Oliver follows her, sitting down and holding out his arm, encouraging her to curl into him. She does so, tucking herself against his side, enjoying the company.
"You know, don't you?" She mumbled, face smushed into his shoulder.
Oliver thought it was quite endearing.
"Yes."
"And?" Felicity asked.
"I think you had a perfectly reasonable response to seeing your father for the first time in decades, Felicity."
"Really?" She snuffled. "You don't think I overreacted? I mean, he wanted to focus on his career, which I understand to some extent…but still, he didn't have to leave."
Oliver pulled her tighter towards him - meaning to comfort her - but as he looked down, he saw that her glasses were wonky. He huffed a laugh, drawing Felicity's attention back towards to his face. She squints at him with suspicion from behind her lenses, and he laughs again.
"What?" Felicity said, sitting up. The movement draws her away from him slightly, and he holds back the urge to bring her closer again.
"Nothing," He snorted, reaching out to push the glasses back up her nose. "Except for the fact that your glasses might be a bit crooked."
Carefully, Oliver moved his hand from her glasses to cup her cheek. He brushes a rough thumb against her temple, just like she had done when he was hurt. Leaning in towards her, Oliver brushed their noses together, taking in the soft hum Felicity makes. Her eyes drift shut, and as their lips are ever so close, Oliver hears her speak.
"You have a match tomorrow," She teased, and Oliver swears he feels her lips brush his.
"I do."
"So when you win…"
"Yeah?" Oliver asked, his thumb now moving across her cheekbone.
"You should take me on a date."
Oliver pulled back, eyes shimmering with playfulness as he takes her hand in his, linking their fingers together. "Oh, really?"
"Yes, really."
Ducking into Felicity's space again, Oliver draws her forward for a quick kiss. The light touch sends a tingle through his lips, and if he could see himself through Felicity's eyes, he was sure he looked absolutely besotted.
"I think I'm okay with that."