word count: 672
warning: mentions of depression
Snow falls as Oliver makes his way back inside, grasping doughnuts and coffee, a special treat for his boyfriend. Snowflakes cling to his almond-colored cardigan, but they melt as soon as he steps inside the warm living room where a fire roars in the fireplace. "Perce?" he calls, frowning. It's too quiet.
It's been too quiet for far too long. After the war, Percy never came all the way back. He's a haunted man, and there have been too many nightmares to count. Sometimes he can still see the man he loves there, despite the way the depression has shaped him and twisted him into a shell of his former self.
"Percy?"
Then he hears it. It's soft but distinct, and Oliver finds himself smiling. He sets breakfast down and follows the sound to the hallway. The bathroom door is cracked just enough for Oliver to see Percy standing in front of the mirror, and the melody he's singing actually has clear words now.
Oliver pushes the door open the rest of the way. "It's been too long since I heard you sing," he says.
Percy turns, and Oliver feels his heart melt a little. This is the man he loves. He's traded in baggy clothes for a clean Weasley jumper, that fits him well, and there's a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "I need to do something with my facial hair."
Oliver nods. Months of neglect has led to wild copper curls growing in a mess on his face. Hagrid could wear such a beard style without any problems, but Percy has always been better suited for a clean face.
"I don't want to shave it all off… That's all I've ever really done."
Oliver grins, brows raising. "Percy Weasley, entertaining the idea of trying something new? How thrilling! Alert the press."
Glaring, Percy adjusts his glasses and looks at the mirror once again. "I think it's time," he says. "The old me was…"
He doesn't have to finish. Oliver has been there on every bad day. He's listened to Percy cry, has taken in every insecurity and every imperfection. As much as it breaks his heart, Oliver knows all too well how much Percy hates himself, how desperately he's trying to make things right, even when those who love him have told him everything is forgiven again and again.
Oliver wonders if Percy will ever learn to forgive himself. If this is his way of healing, Oliver will do what he can. "Hand me the scissors," he says, holding out his hand.
"What are you? A beard magician?" Percy asks.
Oliver snorts and strokes his own tidy facial hair. The reporter for Quidditch Quest Quarterly had referred to his stylish beard as "the finest Puddlemere has ever seen", and he wears that comment as a badge of pride. "Just give me the damn scissors."
…
By the time he's done, Percy looks almost unrecognizable. The untamed beard is gone, replaced by a stylishly rugged display of copper. It isn't the sort of style he would expect to see on Percy, but he loves it.
"I suppose I am a beard magician," Oliver says.
"Well, I guess so," Percy agrees, turning. "Thank you. Not just the makeover, but… Well, you've stayed with me."
Oliver nods, an amused grin playing at his lips. "Yes, Perce. That's what boyfriends do," he teases.
"I don't just mean that. I mean… You didn't have to. I haven't been the best boyfriend lately." Percy sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I haven't been the best anything, if I'm honest."
Oliver leans in, pressing a quick kiss to Percy's lips. "Doesn't matter if you think you're good enough. People still love you. Just accept that, okay?"
"Grudgingly. Very grudgingly," Percys says with a soft chuckle.
"C'mon." Oliver wraps his arm around Percy, leading him out of the bathroom. "Breakfast is served. Lots of sugar."
"You are terrible at being a responsible adult."
Oliver just grins. "That's why we make such a great team, Perce."
