Word Count: 615


Percy looks so ridiculously precious that Oliver can't help but stand in the doorway of their dormitory and admire his boyfriend. Percy sits on his bed, long legs crossed, hunching his back, his attention fixed upon the book. Knowing him, he's been like that for hours. Most people prefer the comfort of the library, but Percy will study anywhere if it's quiet.

"If you even think about interrupting my routine," Percy says without looking up, "we will have a problem, Wood."

Oliver resists the urge to roll his eyes. Percy must be hyper-focused if he's reverted to addressing Oliver by his surname. He snorts, offering Percy a mock salute; his boyfriend is too busy studying to even notice.

Oliver lingers a moment longer. Maybe he should join Percy. Their final exams are swiftly approaching, and McGonagall has stressed again and again that Oliver needs to apply himself more. Still, Oliver knows a Quidditch career is waiting for him once he leaves Hogwarts.

But isn't this the perfect time to get a little closer to his boyfriend? It seems like he and Percy so rarely have time together. Both are so caught up in their own lives and interests. It's healthy, but it's so bloody lonely sometimes.

"Be right back."

He isn't Percy even hears him. He sees the gentle movement of copper curls, but it's probably from Percy moving his head as he reads, not from acknowledging Oliver. It's okay though. Oliver knows all too well that when Percy starts studying, he's too far gone. At least Oliver can help.

By the time Oliver returns to the dormitory, holding two cups of coffee (he can never thank the twins enough for teaching him how to get into the kitchens), Percy looks exhausted. Oliver wonders how long he's been at it, but he doubts even Percy knows. It's easy to lose yourself while doing something you enjoy. How many times has Oliver gotten so lost in Quidditch that he only realized hours had passed when Angelina lobbed a Quaffle at his head? Maybe he isn't the academic type, but he can relate to the clear obsession.

"I brought coffee," Oliver says in a sing-song voice.

He doesn't wait for an invitation before kicking his shoes off and climbing into bed with Percy.

"You're an angel," Percy mutters, accepting the cup. "I could bloody kiss you."

Oliver smirks and raises his brows, a clear challenge in the air. Why don't you?, his eyes seem to say, but Percy is now too caught up in his caffeine fix to notice. Oliver sighs. He tried.

"I'll take that kiss whenever you're ready," he says, deciding a more direct approach might be best.

"Remember what I said about routines?" Percy grumbles, but there's a softness in his voice. He isn't irritated this time, and Oliver takes that as a good sign.

"Yes, but you've been at it for hours," Oliver counters. "I promise the books will still be there if you pause and let yourself live a little."

"Not a good case."

"I don't recall entering into a debate."

He doesn't expect it to work; Oliver has often joked that Percy is married to his work and simply having an affair with Oliver. But Percy closes his book and pushes it aside. "I suppose a quick break won't hurt," he says, setting his coffee on his bedside table, then Oliver's cup.

Their lips meet, and Oliver finds himself melting so easily into the kiss. Maybe Percy's been just as maddened by his self-imposed isolation, not that he'd ever admit it.

It doesn't take long before books and studying are pushed out of their minds, unimportant things so easily forgotten.