Today's line: "STRIPES!"
It's odd not being recognised in the restaurant. Oliver can barely remember the last time he went out in public without at the very least people's eyes following him wherever he goes. No-one watches them now apart from the waiters and the couple at the table beside theirs sending furtive glances in their direction. They must make a strange couple, he supposes; they'd even toyed with the idea of assuming some kind of non-romantic relationship as a disguise before realising he'd never be able to keep up the pretence.
The Polyjuice makes it even stranger; every look is twofold, familiar but from strange eyes. It seems wrong to look at this person the way he looks at Aidan, to reach across the table and fondle with his fingers the way he touches the Seeker's shorter, smaller ones. It seems more wrong to think that Aidan is really looking at someone else the way he usually looks at him, even when he knows he can't rationally be jealous because that someone else is him.
The waiter knows who they really are – the booking was under Lynch and practically the whole staff of Leviosa had been standing there to greet them, their faces falling as their next customers turned out to be some other ordinary-looking couple.
"Aidan Lynch," Aidan had muttered over the counter. "We have a reservation. We've been getting a bit of unwanted media attention lately, so we thought we'd come like this to keep ourselves private, if you don't mind."
Naturally the staff didn't mind, and so there they were; sitting over a positively unearthly prawn risotto and staring at each other because they look so weird.
"You know," Aidan voices after a while, "I could almost get used to you like this."
Oliver looks up sharply, the firmly not-jealous part of him snapping. "How do you mean?"
The former Slytherin smiles at him. "Not like that," he says. "I just mean… your person looks a lot more like you than I think you realise. And then with your mannerisms… it's recognisably you, but older. I think I like you with the salt-and-pepper hair and the little lines around your eyes."
"Well, that's comforting," Oliver replies, not sure himself whether he's being sarcastic. "Good to know you won't go off me in my old age."
Aidan hums appreciatively. "I think I'll like you in your forties," he comments idly.
It's a throwaway comment, but it makes Oliver's blood hum in his ears. They've known each other for just over a month now and Aidan is already picturing them together in their forties as though it's read that they'll still be together. Which it is, because Oliver feels the exact same way.
Slightly overcome, he stands up in order to bend over the table and press their lips together. "I think that's fantastic," he whispers against thin lips that kiss like Aidan's full ones.
Someone at the next table makes a noise of faint disgust. Oliver breaks away from Aidan to look at her. She's staring at them with a vaguely nauseated expression, as though watching something perverted and terrible. Oliver raises an eyebrow at her. "Something wrong?" he asks.
"Look," the woman replies boldly, and Oliver is not surprised to hear the American lilt to her voice. "I've got nothing against gays. I just don't want to have to watch your little public displays while I'm trying to eat my dinner."
Oliver frowns at her. "You've got nothing against gays? So you'd react like that if we were a man and a woman, would you?"
"Well, no, but –"
Still standing, Oliver's blood runs unusually hot with anger as he rounds on her. "And you don't have to watch our public displays. You could just as easily turn your head the other way. You could even look at your date – although maybe that hurts more, doesn't it, knowing that even though we're gays we're still happier with each other than you are."
He notices savagely that the woman's smile has slipped and her date looks slightly murderous. He also notices that Aidan is tugging on his sleeve and pleading quietly with him to sit back down and leave it, but he ignores him. "And just a tip, for future reference. When you're pretending not to be a bigoted little –"
"STRIPES!"
Startled, Oliver looks down at his lover, at the pink tinge high on his unusually sharp and pale cheekbones. "Sorry," Aidan apologises. "Oliver, sit down. It's not worth it."
He pauses for a moment longer, glaring at the woman. Then he sighs and sits down. "Sorry," he echoes. He knows he'd be embarrassed if the person he was with acted like that. "I just… I've been teased about being gay since Charlie Weasley's friends found out. It's something of a soft spot for me now." Aidan shrugs gently and takes another bite of his risotto, closing the conversation.
Oliver snorts. "Stripes?" he asks after a moment's reflection.
Aidan chuckles. "First thing that came into my head," he admits. "I was just trying to get your attention."
"You wanted to get my attention and the first thing that came into your head was stripes?"
The Seeker chuckles. "I like stripes."