Author's Notes: Although the story sort of places it in time, I wanted to let everyone know that this short piece takes place during Book 3 time. :D The prompt for this one was "Look over there". I realize, however, I gave it a different name than the prompt. And majority of them, at that rate. So, the chapter name is the title of the story, not the prompt. Oops. XD

Never before had Oliver felt like such an idiot. They had lost the game. Lost the game! How had that happened?! Harry was doing fine, despite the rain. Sure, a goal or two more had gotten in than usual, but Oliver had done his best, and it seemed like it was almost going to be enough when paired with the girls' excellent chasing skills. And Harry! Harry was a surefire win…he was made for catching the Snitch.

Well, that was what Oliver used to think. Now all he was thinking about was what in the world would get this miserable feeling out of him. Though deep down he knew it really didn't do him any good to be so worked up over a game, he couldn't quite help himself. After all, he was Oliver Wood. Quidditch was his life, and everyone who was anyone knew that. So, of course, it made sense when he said he was going to drown himself in the showers after having lost.

Thankfully no one followed him to make sure that he didn't do it. Despite the fact that he said such seriously morbid things whenever he lost (this was nothing compared to the fiasco of him having wanted to kill someone after a certain game in his fourth year), it was clearly known that he wouldn't act on them, for as angry as Oliver could get sometimes, he wouldn't ever actually act on those feelings, especially when the threats were self-inflicted.

After all, how could he play Quidditch anymore if he drowned? Honestly.

It had taken a lot of effort to actually get himself into the shower and washed off. He was freezing when he came into the locker room and had felt so all the way up until he slipped out of his drenched gear and hopped into one of the shower stalls. Granted, he hadn't really felt the water at first; when his body warmed up, it felt pretty good. He almost hated leaving it, but he needed to get back to the castle and deal with having lost. He didn't feel ready yet. This was a severe blow to him. Yes, he was worried about Harry, but he was mostly selfish this time around. How could they have lost?

Perhaps the worst part about it was dealing with Marcus. That damned arse loved rubbing things in his face whenever he got the chance. Oliver probably wouldn't be seeing him, since he had been in the locker room for well over an hour and everyone had probably gone back to the castle to go about their regular activities for the day. With any luck, Oliver would be able to slip up all those flights of stairs without having to worry about things.

Things had been odd enough between them lately as it was, what with Marcus staring at him all the time during classes and him always ending up choosing the same subject as Oliver in their courses. Granted, they only had two together, but it was getting irritating. They had had to do a pair project twice now over the year, and that was just so incredibly odd. Marcus couldn't keep his big feet to himself, always knocking them into Oliver's, and his clumsy oaf hands continuously bumping into his as well. Honestly, it was a wonder he managed to fly sometimes.

Suddenly he had the random thought as to why he had bothered to shower, since he was going back out in the rain. Oh well. It was too late to worry about that now, wasn't it?

Just as Oliver placed his hand on the door handle to tug it open he felt it being pushed in his direction. Surprised, he jumped back and furrowed his brow. Was it Fred, George? Was it one of the girls? After the door opened and revealed a soaked figure, Oliver quickly realized it wasn't any of them. No, in fact it really was…Marcus.

Why him?

"What're you doing in here?" the Gryffindor asked, sounding perplexed.

Marcus shook his head suddenly and sent water flying in every which direction, some of which splashed the other captain and caused him to sputter slightly. When he looked back up at Oliver he had a ridiculously wide grin on his face. "Saw what happened at the match today."

Oliver's expression quickly turned irritated. "So? Did you come here to gloat, or something?"

"Not quite," the older one said. "I just thought I'd make sure you hadn't actually drowned yourself. Heard from one of those Weasley blokes you were going to when they were walking past."

"And you would care because?" That was strange. Why did he care?

Marcus snorted. "I can't have my best competition dying on me now, can I?"

It wasn't that hard to confuse Oliver outside of that which he understood (which was restricted mostly to Quidditch), that he had to admit. But this was absolutely baffling him. He scratched his head. "Since when was I your best competition?" He hadn't noticed Marcus' moving somewhat closer. "I don't get it."

"Well, you're the only one who gives me any competition these days," he stated simply. "Diggory's a real dolt sometimes, so he doesn't know what's going on half the time…Davies is too busy going out with all sorts of girls. You're the only one who understands, you know?"

Yet one more thing that made no sense to him. Oliver was the only one who understood what? Was he talking about Quidditch? Well, he had to be. He had thrown Diggory and Davies in there, so that made it clearer. He hoped he was on the right trail, anyways.

Marcus had yet again moved closer. This time the younger one noticed. Oliver furrowed his brow once more.

"What're you talking about—"

"Look over there," Marcus interrupted him, pointing just over the other's shoulder.

Having made the mistake of looking in the direction the other boy had pointed him in, Oliver felt Marcus move in on him and reach out, gripping his rough, smaller hands. His head swung back towards Marcus with a quizzical look in his eyes. He would have tried to pull away, but something in him was distracting him long enough not to.

"What're you—"

But this time, Oliver didn't even have a chance to fully react before Marcus kissed him.