Liz's next few days at Hogwarts seemed to whirl by. After the nightly
trip to the library, Liz had been able to make her way back every day
since, heading for the same section every time. All of her classes were
with Oliver, which she thought a rather lucky plus, seeing as the dashing
reader was also and excellent tour guide. She was amazed at the stark
vastness of the school, the exquisitely decorated stairways and walls, the
paintings with subjects that moved about and offered advice, the school's
ghosts, even Peeves, everything was far beyond what her expectations ever
could have dreamed. What she loved most of all though, were the grounds.
She had always been a romantic at heart, and imagined herself like a
heroine in a Jane Austin novel, roaming through the well cared for lawns,
the vivid green grass blazing for miles until it hit the creamy blue sky
far off on the horizon.
Her first Friday afternoon found her sitting in Snape's potions class, just as every afternoon would find her. She sat in the back, where she preferred. People didn't notice you in the shadows as much, and from where she was sitting she could see everyone. She'd always liked people watching. It's far safer to watch then to be watched, she'd written in a journal some years ago, but it was true. She loved watching things happen, especially in the wizarding world.
For instance, Moira Combs, a seventh year from Slytherin, always held her pinky up when she poured whatever vile was needed into her cauldron. Very ladylike. And Katie Bell from Gryfindor, she always stuck her tongue out of the side of her mouth when she was measuring. Everyone had a quirk, and odd habit that was the gateway to a story. That's what her father had always told her. Pay attention to the details, Lizzie, it's in the details that all the fun happens.
"Miss Shakespeare" the cold voice of the potions master breathed down her neck. "I suggest you pay more attention to your work than to everyone else's. Cheating, although at times admirable, is not a very Slytherin virtue." He hissed.
"Oh, but sir," she replied meekly, "I wasn't cheating."
"You weren't? Then pray, tell me what you were doing? Because it certainly was not your assignment."
"I was… um…"
"You were what, Miss Shakespeare?"
"She was waiting for me to get finished with the scales, sir." Wood's strong voice cut through. The other two's heads snapped to look at the young man standing in front of Liz's desk, a pair of brass scales in his large, strong hands.
"And why would you have Miss Shakespeare's scales, Wood?" the professor sneered down at Liz's savior.
"Because I broke mine and she was kind enough to let me borrow hers. Thanks Liz," he said, putting the scales down in front of her, giving her a little encouraging wink. "Sorry I kept them for so long. Hope I didn't mess you up too badly."
"You didn't, thank you…" she squeaked her eyes gone dewy.
"Alright Wood, back to your seat, I think that's enough chivalry for one day, don't you think?"
Snape stared down at the boy who gave a short nod and walked back to his desk and began hurriedly chattering with his lab partners, Alicia Spinnet and Katie.
"I'd be more careful, if I were you, Miss Shakespeare. The captain of the Quidditch team never makes for good company."
"What… you mean, Oliver's the captain of the Quidditch team?"
"Yes, for Gryfindor at any rate. Just be careful, Miss Shakespeare." He warned, and Liz started a bit to hear such a strange warmth in his voice. Liz wondered at his words as she watched him fly past her, off to torment some other student. But, for all of the professor's prophetically cryptic warnings, one thought seemed to take hold of her mind; Oliver was the team captain. Her heart beat just a little bit faster in a sudden rush of excitement. Her mind was filled with memories of Quidditch at her old school, the cheering fans, all of it. She imagined what Oliver must look like in his Quidditch robes, flying about the stadium, the wind blowing through his honey colored hair… She shook herself out of her daydreams and turned her attentions to her class work, not wanting to attract Snape's attentions again.
That's when she noticed the folded slip of parchment resting on one of the scales. She furrowed her brow at the sight, pausing a moment in thought before she tentatively reached out and picked it up. She gasped when she opened it, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle her rising giggles. In splotchy, but non-the-less nice, but very boyish, handwriting, she found these words,
Liz,
Meet me after class in the library, please?
-O.W
He wanted to see her. She blushed so red she could feel her ears burning. Thankfully, the loud clang of the classroom's clock sounded, thudding out the end of classes for the week. Liz hurriedly grabbed her notebooks, stuffing the precious note into her pocket, and hurried out of the classroom with surprising speed, making sure she didn't run into anyone unnecessarily.
~ ~ ~ ~
He wasn't exactly sure why he'd done it, given her the note. He'd barely spoken to her that week. She was so, solitary, so afraid of people that she'd almost insisted she sat in the back of their classes, even though he'd offered to sit her with the Gryfindor team, his friends. She was such an odd bird. He'd never met anyone, let alone a girl, that hadn't wanted to sit with him. He was always, the "cool" guy; good student, captain of the Gryfindor team, and not a bad looker if he did say so himself. So why was this girl so… immune… to all of that? She was a puzzlement, to say the least, but a very welcomed puzzlement.
He smiled to himself as he gathered up his books and climbed the tiered classroom to the dungeons doors.
"Hey, Wood!" Alicia called after him. "We still got practice today?"
"Of course we do, what makes you think we wouldn't? Our first match is in two weeks."
"But, Wood, it's the weekend!" the girl moaned.
"And… your point is?"
"Come on, man, cut us some slack! We've been at practice almost every day this week! We need a break!" the girl stormed angrily.
"And you'll get a break, my dear Alicia. Tomorrow."
She stood there for a moment, toeing the line with him. Finally she let out a growl and threw her hands in the air, stalking off down the hall. Oliver smiled to himself. Poor Alicia, he thought. He shrugged as he finished climbing out of the dungeon.
The sunshine slanted through the tall windows pleasantly, throwing wide beams of butter-colored light across the sleek wooden floorboards. A few students wandered down the halls, their robes unbuttoned and their ties loosened. Ready for the weekend, Oliver thought. His own robes flared out behind him as he moved deftly through the halls, dodging the few students that had yet to make it to their common rooms. he jogged down a few small flights of stairs and rounded a corner, the tapestried hallway stretching before his eyes. The windows stopped in this part of the castle, and the dim lighting of the torches cast a midnight glow to the corridor. His footsteps clipped hurriedly down the cobbled floor as he made his way to the library, pausing just a moment before Prospero's tapestry, a smile creeping across his face.
He slipped into the library quietly. He was always awed at how this one place always commanded pristine, almost religious, silence. A hurricane could've been raging outside, but had it dared to enter the library, it would've silenced itself to a whisper. Maybe that's why he liked it in here so much.
He walked down the aisles of books, the faded labels on their leathery spines almost whispering with dust as he moved past. The faintest of noises caught his attention and he stopped moving just long enough to make it out. It was the quiet, but unmistakable sound of pages being turned. He smiled and sneaked about, following his ears. Soon enough he found Liz curled up in one of the library's large high-backed chair, a leather backed book siting opened in her lap. She was leaning on her hand, her eyes peering intently down at the script before her through her thick lenses.
"Look how she leans her hand upon her cheek," he found himself murmuring quietly, "Oh that I were a glove upon that hand that I might touch that cheek!"
"Ah me…" Liz sighed quietly, as she turned a page. Oliver just stared at her, almost dumbstruck. "She speaks…" he ventured, slightly awed at the remarkableness of the scene before him.
"Oh, speak again, bright angel," he said a bit too loudly. Liz started and turned, her face blushing slightly when she saw him.
"Oliver!" she panted in fading shock, her hand resting on her chest now. He watched as it rose and fell, slowing down to a normal breaths.
"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."
"No, you just startled me is all."
He walked over and pulled up a plainer looking wooden chair, swinging it around and throwing his legs over the back, straddling it.
"So, whatcha reading?" she closed the book, letting the brilliant gold lettering glimmering in the reading light; The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. Oliver chuckled throatily, like rolling thunder Liz thought. "I might have known." He picked up the book from her lap and set it down on the long table in front of them, opening it back to her book marked page. "Hamlet? Hmn…"
"Why 'hmn…'?"
"I just would've had you pegged for a romance girl. Romeo and Juliet, that sort."
"I hate Romeo and Juliet." She said making a face like she'd just eaten bad baby food. "Besides, there's romance in Hamlet."
"Oh, right, crazy Ophelia."
"She only crazy at the end. And Hamlet loves her."
He couldn't help but smile at her. 'Are you always so sure of yourself?"
"I am when I'm right." She smiled back. "So, why did you want to see me?"
'Oh, right." He fumbled, blushing a bit, or were her eyes playing tricks on her. "Well, you see I… ugh, you're gonna think I'm stupid."
"No I'm not. Honest injun."
Honest injun? He thought. Merlin, but she is American.
"Well, anyway. I just, hadn't seen too much if you lately,"
"But I'm in every one of your classes." She interjected.
"But I never see you. You always sit in the back."
"I like it back there." She said quietly. It seemed to him that entire body drew backwards into the chair, farther away from him.
"Anyway," he coughed a bit, not liking the sudden tension. "I just.. missed talking to you." Liz looked up at him, her eyes shy but full of something he could barely put his finger on. Hope? Maybe. Whatever it was, he liked it. "Besides, I had to ask how your first week was."
"Oh, it was wonderful." She said her face becoming dreamy. 'The classes are just, amazing! I mean, I never had lessons like these back at Salem! And the teachers are so, wonderful, well, with one exception." She said sheepishly.
"Don't worry too much about Snape. He's that horrid to everyone, even his own house."
"Thank you, by the way, for helping me earlier, I really appreciate it."
He smiled warmly at her. "No, don't mention it. Besides, you looked like you were need of some help, and I'm always happy to oblige a pretty lady."
He was inwardly slapping himself the minute he'd said it. Pretty lady? Who did he think he was? She, in turn blushed slightly. Pretty? Her? He must just be joking, she told herself, don't read too much into it. She found a nagging pain behind her eyes and she pulled her glasses off, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Oliver gasped silently. He'd often marveled at the sappy love stories Katie would read, where once the brilliant, but bespectacled spinster took her glasses off, the entire male population of the world was after her. He had some idea of what they were talking about now.
Saying that Liz was pretty was an understatement, bordering on lie. Looking at her made a thousand things rush through his head, remembering the way she smelled, how soft her voice was when she spoke, her eyes. He could really see her eyes now, wide and brown, like a frightened doe. He felt like a poet, with a thousand words and images running around his heart, fighting to burst out. He didn't want to take his eyes off of her, and that moment, such a miniscule second, seemed like forever to the young captain.
Then she put her glasses back on.
Strangely enough, though, the enchantment wasn't over. She was still lovely to him. And he didn't know why.
"So, when's your first match?"
"Hmn? My what?" he asked, breaking from his daze.
"You're first Quidditch match. When is it?"
"Oh, right." His face clouded a bit. 'You know about Quidditch?"
"Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?"
"No reason, it's just that I didn't think they had it in America."
"Of course we do. It's a wizarding sport, isn't it?"
"Yes, I suppose your right." She beamed proudly.
"Ravenclaw. In two weeks."
"Wow. That's awfully early, isn't it?"
He shrugged. "I guess it is. But I don't make the schedule, I just play."
"Well, you must play pretty well. Snape told me you're the Gryfindor team captain."
"Snape told you? Well, yea, I am." He said, blushing a bit. "Quidditch is my obsession, you see."
"Oh really? And here I was thinking it was Shakespeare." She grinned.
He put a finger to his lips. "Shh. Now don't go telling anyone my secret."
She laughed. "I promise I wont. Scout's honor." She pledged, holding up her honorary sign of three fingers. Oliver's puzzled scowl made her laugh even more. "Here," she said, reaching over and grabbing his hand molding his fingers in a similar fashion. "See? Now you're a scout too." She giggled. Then she noticed they were all but holding hands. It was Oliver's intent gaze on her fingers that drew her attention to it. She looked away shyly and moved to sit back in her chair, but his fingers closed around her, keeping her from moving. She looked up at him, finding his gentle brown eyes peering across at her. She didn't know what to do, whether she should pull away and leave or stay with him like this all night. Luckily for her, Oliver made the decision, and it was nothing of what she'd expected.
He moved quickly, assuredly, like every movement he made. Liz barely had time to think as the space between them grew smaller and smaller until there was nothing but breath between them. He hovered over her lips for a moment and his smell almost overpowered her.
"Did you know," he whispered throatily, his lips slightly brushing against her own. "That you smell like roses?"
She made a small, cooing noise that came out as something like a no and she shook her head excitedly. Her head stopped when she felt his hand slide across her cheek, cradling her face in his sure fingers.
"Well, you do." He whispered before gently pressing his lips against her own. He's so soft, she thought as the shock of the kiss slowly began to wear off. And to Oliver's surprise, she was kissing him back. Her lips were eagerly reaching for his own and he could feel her fingers trace his jawbone.
That's when he pulled away, leaving Liz to stare at him in wide-eyed shock.
"What…" she mumbled, flushing a deep pink. So pretty, he thought. No. Stop it Wood.
"I... I'm sorry… I shouldn't have… I'm sorry." He sputtered before bolting out of his chair.
Liz stared at his empty seat for minute before she picked up her notebooks from the table and started to leave. Leaving was the plan, until her knees buckled and she sank to the floor, her hands dropping her things as they flew to cover her weeping eyes.
The last thing Wood heard as he rushed out of the library was the pristine silence broken by her pained sobs.
Her first Friday afternoon found her sitting in Snape's potions class, just as every afternoon would find her. She sat in the back, where she preferred. People didn't notice you in the shadows as much, and from where she was sitting she could see everyone. She'd always liked people watching. It's far safer to watch then to be watched, she'd written in a journal some years ago, but it was true. She loved watching things happen, especially in the wizarding world.
For instance, Moira Combs, a seventh year from Slytherin, always held her pinky up when she poured whatever vile was needed into her cauldron. Very ladylike. And Katie Bell from Gryfindor, she always stuck her tongue out of the side of her mouth when she was measuring. Everyone had a quirk, and odd habit that was the gateway to a story. That's what her father had always told her. Pay attention to the details, Lizzie, it's in the details that all the fun happens.
"Miss Shakespeare" the cold voice of the potions master breathed down her neck. "I suggest you pay more attention to your work than to everyone else's. Cheating, although at times admirable, is not a very Slytherin virtue." He hissed.
"Oh, but sir," she replied meekly, "I wasn't cheating."
"You weren't? Then pray, tell me what you were doing? Because it certainly was not your assignment."
"I was… um…"
"You were what, Miss Shakespeare?"
"She was waiting for me to get finished with the scales, sir." Wood's strong voice cut through. The other two's heads snapped to look at the young man standing in front of Liz's desk, a pair of brass scales in his large, strong hands.
"And why would you have Miss Shakespeare's scales, Wood?" the professor sneered down at Liz's savior.
"Because I broke mine and she was kind enough to let me borrow hers. Thanks Liz," he said, putting the scales down in front of her, giving her a little encouraging wink. "Sorry I kept them for so long. Hope I didn't mess you up too badly."
"You didn't, thank you…" she squeaked her eyes gone dewy.
"Alright Wood, back to your seat, I think that's enough chivalry for one day, don't you think?"
Snape stared down at the boy who gave a short nod and walked back to his desk and began hurriedly chattering with his lab partners, Alicia Spinnet and Katie.
"I'd be more careful, if I were you, Miss Shakespeare. The captain of the Quidditch team never makes for good company."
"What… you mean, Oliver's the captain of the Quidditch team?"
"Yes, for Gryfindor at any rate. Just be careful, Miss Shakespeare." He warned, and Liz started a bit to hear such a strange warmth in his voice. Liz wondered at his words as she watched him fly past her, off to torment some other student. But, for all of the professor's prophetically cryptic warnings, one thought seemed to take hold of her mind; Oliver was the team captain. Her heart beat just a little bit faster in a sudden rush of excitement. Her mind was filled with memories of Quidditch at her old school, the cheering fans, all of it. She imagined what Oliver must look like in his Quidditch robes, flying about the stadium, the wind blowing through his honey colored hair… She shook herself out of her daydreams and turned her attentions to her class work, not wanting to attract Snape's attentions again.
That's when she noticed the folded slip of parchment resting on one of the scales. She furrowed her brow at the sight, pausing a moment in thought before she tentatively reached out and picked it up. She gasped when she opened it, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle her rising giggles. In splotchy, but non-the-less nice, but very boyish, handwriting, she found these words,
Liz,
Meet me after class in the library, please?
-O.W
He wanted to see her. She blushed so red she could feel her ears burning. Thankfully, the loud clang of the classroom's clock sounded, thudding out the end of classes for the week. Liz hurriedly grabbed her notebooks, stuffing the precious note into her pocket, and hurried out of the classroom with surprising speed, making sure she didn't run into anyone unnecessarily.
~ ~ ~ ~
He wasn't exactly sure why he'd done it, given her the note. He'd barely spoken to her that week. She was so, solitary, so afraid of people that she'd almost insisted she sat in the back of their classes, even though he'd offered to sit her with the Gryfindor team, his friends. She was such an odd bird. He'd never met anyone, let alone a girl, that hadn't wanted to sit with him. He was always, the "cool" guy; good student, captain of the Gryfindor team, and not a bad looker if he did say so himself. So why was this girl so… immune… to all of that? She was a puzzlement, to say the least, but a very welcomed puzzlement.
He smiled to himself as he gathered up his books and climbed the tiered classroom to the dungeons doors.
"Hey, Wood!" Alicia called after him. "We still got practice today?"
"Of course we do, what makes you think we wouldn't? Our first match is in two weeks."
"But, Wood, it's the weekend!" the girl moaned.
"And… your point is?"
"Come on, man, cut us some slack! We've been at practice almost every day this week! We need a break!" the girl stormed angrily.
"And you'll get a break, my dear Alicia. Tomorrow."
She stood there for a moment, toeing the line with him. Finally she let out a growl and threw her hands in the air, stalking off down the hall. Oliver smiled to himself. Poor Alicia, he thought. He shrugged as he finished climbing out of the dungeon.
The sunshine slanted through the tall windows pleasantly, throwing wide beams of butter-colored light across the sleek wooden floorboards. A few students wandered down the halls, their robes unbuttoned and their ties loosened. Ready for the weekend, Oliver thought. His own robes flared out behind him as he moved deftly through the halls, dodging the few students that had yet to make it to their common rooms. he jogged down a few small flights of stairs and rounded a corner, the tapestried hallway stretching before his eyes. The windows stopped in this part of the castle, and the dim lighting of the torches cast a midnight glow to the corridor. His footsteps clipped hurriedly down the cobbled floor as he made his way to the library, pausing just a moment before Prospero's tapestry, a smile creeping across his face.
He slipped into the library quietly. He was always awed at how this one place always commanded pristine, almost religious, silence. A hurricane could've been raging outside, but had it dared to enter the library, it would've silenced itself to a whisper. Maybe that's why he liked it in here so much.
He walked down the aisles of books, the faded labels on their leathery spines almost whispering with dust as he moved past. The faintest of noises caught his attention and he stopped moving just long enough to make it out. It was the quiet, but unmistakable sound of pages being turned. He smiled and sneaked about, following his ears. Soon enough he found Liz curled up in one of the library's large high-backed chair, a leather backed book siting opened in her lap. She was leaning on her hand, her eyes peering intently down at the script before her through her thick lenses.
"Look how she leans her hand upon her cheek," he found himself murmuring quietly, "Oh that I were a glove upon that hand that I might touch that cheek!"
"Ah me…" Liz sighed quietly, as she turned a page. Oliver just stared at her, almost dumbstruck. "She speaks…" he ventured, slightly awed at the remarkableness of the scene before him.
"Oh, speak again, bright angel," he said a bit too loudly. Liz started and turned, her face blushing slightly when she saw him.
"Oliver!" she panted in fading shock, her hand resting on her chest now. He watched as it rose and fell, slowing down to a normal breaths.
"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."
"No, you just startled me is all."
He walked over and pulled up a plainer looking wooden chair, swinging it around and throwing his legs over the back, straddling it.
"So, whatcha reading?" she closed the book, letting the brilliant gold lettering glimmering in the reading light; The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. Oliver chuckled throatily, like rolling thunder Liz thought. "I might have known." He picked up the book from her lap and set it down on the long table in front of them, opening it back to her book marked page. "Hamlet? Hmn…"
"Why 'hmn…'?"
"I just would've had you pegged for a romance girl. Romeo and Juliet, that sort."
"I hate Romeo and Juliet." She said making a face like she'd just eaten bad baby food. "Besides, there's romance in Hamlet."
"Oh, right, crazy Ophelia."
"She only crazy at the end. And Hamlet loves her."
He couldn't help but smile at her. 'Are you always so sure of yourself?"
"I am when I'm right." She smiled back. "So, why did you want to see me?"
'Oh, right." He fumbled, blushing a bit, or were her eyes playing tricks on her. "Well, you see I… ugh, you're gonna think I'm stupid."
"No I'm not. Honest injun."
Honest injun? He thought. Merlin, but she is American.
"Well, anyway. I just, hadn't seen too much if you lately,"
"But I'm in every one of your classes." She interjected.
"But I never see you. You always sit in the back."
"I like it back there." She said quietly. It seemed to him that entire body drew backwards into the chair, farther away from him.
"Anyway," he coughed a bit, not liking the sudden tension. "I just.. missed talking to you." Liz looked up at him, her eyes shy but full of something he could barely put his finger on. Hope? Maybe. Whatever it was, he liked it. "Besides, I had to ask how your first week was."
"Oh, it was wonderful." She said her face becoming dreamy. 'The classes are just, amazing! I mean, I never had lessons like these back at Salem! And the teachers are so, wonderful, well, with one exception." She said sheepishly.
"Don't worry too much about Snape. He's that horrid to everyone, even his own house."
"Thank you, by the way, for helping me earlier, I really appreciate it."
He smiled warmly at her. "No, don't mention it. Besides, you looked like you were need of some help, and I'm always happy to oblige a pretty lady."
He was inwardly slapping himself the minute he'd said it. Pretty lady? Who did he think he was? She, in turn blushed slightly. Pretty? Her? He must just be joking, she told herself, don't read too much into it. She found a nagging pain behind her eyes and she pulled her glasses off, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Oliver gasped silently. He'd often marveled at the sappy love stories Katie would read, where once the brilliant, but bespectacled spinster took her glasses off, the entire male population of the world was after her. He had some idea of what they were talking about now.
Saying that Liz was pretty was an understatement, bordering on lie. Looking at her made a thousand things rush through his head, remembering the way she smelled, how soft her voice was when she spoke, her eyes. He could really see her eyes now, wide and brown, like a frightened doe. He felt like a poet, with a thousand words and images running around his heart, fighting to burst out. He didn't want to take his eyes off of her, and that moment, such a miniscule second, seemed like forever to the young captain.
Then she put her glasses back on.
Strangely enough, though, the enchantment wasn't over. She was still lovely to him. And he didn't know why.
"So, when's your first match?"
"Hmn? My what?" he asked, breaking from his daze.
"You're first Quidditch match. When is it?"
"Oh, right." His face clouded a bit. 'You know about Quidditch?"
"Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?"
"No reason, it's just that I didn't think they had it in America."
"Of course we do. It's a wizarding sport, isn't it?"
"Yes, I suppose your right." She beamed proudly.
"Ravenclaw. In two weeks."
"Wow. That's awfully early, isn't it?"
He shrugged. "I guess it is. But I don't make the schedule, I just play."
"Well, you must play pretty well. Snape told me you're the Gryfindor team captain."
"Snape told you? Well, yea, I am." He said, blushing a bit. "Quidditch is my obsession, you see."
"Oh really? And here I was thinking it was Shakespeare." She grinned.
He put a finger to his lips. "Shh. Now don't go telling anyone my secret."
She laughed. "I promise I wont. Scout's honor." She pledged, holding up her honorary sign of three fingers. Oliver's puzzled scowl made her laugh even more. "Here," she said, reaching over and grabbing his hand molding his fingers in a similar fashion. "See? Now you're a scout too." She giggled. Then she noticed they were all but holding hands. It was Oliver's intent gaze on her fingers that drew her attention to it. She looked away shyly and moved to sit back in her chair, but his fingers closed around her, keeping her from moving. She looked up at him, finding his gentle brown eyes peering across at her. She didn't know what to do, whether she should pull away and leave or stay with him like this all night. Luckily for her, Oliver made the decision, and it was nothing of what she'd expected.
He moved quickly, assuredly, like every movement he made. Liz barely had time to think as the space between them grew smaller and smaller until there was nothing but breath between them. He hovered over her lips for a moment and his smell almost overpowered her.
"Did you know," he whispered throatily, his lips slightly brushing against her own. "That you smell like roses?"
She made a small, cooing noise that came out as something like a no and she shook her head excitedly. Her head stopped when she felt his hand slide across her cheek, cradling her face in his sure fingers.
"Well, you do." He whispered before gently pressing his lips against her own. He's so soft, she thought as the shock of the kiss slowly began to wear off. And to Oliver's surprise, she was kissing him back. Her lips were eagerly reaching for his own and he could feel her fingers trace his jawbone.
That's when he pulled away, leaving Liz to stare at him in wide-eyed shock.
"What…" she mumbled, flushing a deep pink. So pretty, he thought. No. Stop it Wood.
"I... I'm sorry… I shouldn't have… I'm sorry." He sputtered before bolting out of his chair.
Liz stared at his empty seat for minute before she picked up her notebooks from the table and started to leave. Leaving was the plan, until her knees buckled and she sank to the floor, her hands dropping her things as they flew to cover her weeping eyes.
The last thing Wood heard as he rushed out of the library was the pristine silence broken by her pained sobs.