a hard day's night [cord]

"There's no waking them now—" Oliver mirrored Cordelia's whisper despite the fact that it would probably make no difference. Everyone was out— as expected, after the night that they had.

Somehow they were last two standing, left awake as the sun crept up to cast shadows over the water, drenching the dark green cliff around them. The cabin the band had rented was nothing like Liam's house. In fact, it was almost the opposite. It was small, compact, and seemed to be completely made out of wood. So much that it felt unwise to have a fire burning out the back, the last of the embers dying in the pit they surrounded for a good portion of the evening.

There was something about California. The breeze, the scenery, the people. It was enough to inspire him to get everyone together, to finish their album. He could think of nowhere that made more sense. They had hit a block in the road those weeks before, cooped up in London, and they needed a change of pace.

He tiptoed around a few sleeping bodies in the living room, a few new faces, with his glass held precariously in his hand. "C'mon," He led the way to the sunroom in the back, that overlooked everything, before flinging himself onto the couch. With one hand rested against his chin, he smiled as she followed after him. It felt strange to be seeing her here, not at Hogwarts, not in London. America suited her, he thought.

"Yeah?" He held up the pipe he procured from his front pocket. It didn't seem that sleep would come anytime soon, so why not enjoy the sunrise?

Cordelia stifled a laugh as she watched Oliver stomp around the cabin. “Shh - you don’t know that!” It came out half a whisper, half a giggle as Cordelia moved through the chaotic aftermath of the night before. Her glass was empty - maybe it was time to refill it? Nah, better put it down, next to all the other empty glasses and cans and bottles.

She felt so alive out here in the cool forest morning. The sea breeze filled her nose with salt and pine. How could she have hesitated to accept the invite? This was the most fun she had had on a work assignment in a long time. However nominal that assignment was, however, empty her notebook was. Cordelia was just having a good time with friends, old and new.

Dancing through the maze of bodies, Cordy made her way after Oliver into the sunroom - what a brilliant idea, sunrooms - and made her way to the window. The light was just starting to break through the dark, the black sky slowly adding streaks of blue. “The sky seems clearer out here, you know?” She posed the question to empty air, her hands and nose pressed to the glass.

At Oliver’s call she turned, tilting her head. “Ooh, yes please.” Cordelia bounced onto the couch, tucking herself next to her host in America. Maybe too close? Cordelia was way too sleep-deprived, among other things, to care. It was America, it was early, what was the harm in a friendly cuddle? She pulled the offered pipe to her, raising it to her mouth. “Light me up?”

Oliver sank into the dated plaid couch that was clearly a victim of a lot of use over the years. At least it had a view, he thought to himself as his wide green eyes canvassed the coast before turning back to Cordelia. Her skin was pink— he assumed from the sunrise— but it could just as easily been the result of staying up all night around the fire, drinking, and singing, and telling stories.

What he liked the most about the strange band of people he had surrounded himself here was that they had meaningful conversations. And that was in no part related to the drugs, of course.

"It does, doesn't it?" He agreed, shifting to accommodate her as she tucked in beside him. Everything about it felt different. For anyone else, it might be strange, but for Ollie, he preferred to be so close. In both a platonic and romantic way he always found himself gravitating to people physically, though most of the time without knowing.

"Aye, aye," He pulled the wand from the front pocket of his torn-up faded denim jeans and held the tip to the bowl. The end ignited with a subtle white flame and engulfed the end of the pipe as she breathed in. He watched her closely, half of a lopsided grin across his lips.

Just like old times.

Before taking the pipe to his own mouth, Ollie paused, suddenly curious again. "Have you enjoyed it here, in California?" He wasn't clear why he was unsure that it might not have been the case (all signs pointed to the opposite). He was strangely protective over the place now. It felt like his little secret home away from home. Finally, he took a drag, watching smoke expel lazily from his mouth up to the ceiling of the sunroom.

Warmth. She was always craving warmth. Cordelia naturally ran a little cooler than was normal, her bed in London covered with blankets and quilts year-round. Her face was warm from the drinking, but just stepping away from the fire in the den and a chill began to creep through her bones. Slipping in under Oliver’s arm, resting her head on his chest, staved off the cold for another moment. It felt like those moments in the Hufflepuff common room again, sitting by the fire with homework lying on the ground forgotten.

In a more sober moment, maybe Cordelia would have realized that the weed, the vodka, the men all had something in common. In a quieter state of mind, maybe she would have noticed that in running toward that whited warmed her body, she was running from something colder inside.

Too bad she wasn’t sober.

She inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill her lungs and warm her from the inside. Grinning, she passed the pipe back to Ollie and tilted her head back before exhaling. “Thanks,” she murmured, feeling light as the smoke surrounding them. He was smiling at her, one side of his mouth pulled higher than the other. She elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “What are you staring at, Mister Rigby?” She giggled - Michael had told her she was a giggly drunk, a while ago, which had just made her laugh harder.

“I think I like America. California.” Cordelia dragged out each syllable of the state’s name, as if it were a foreign word she was pronouncing for the first time. “It’s a shame to write about it - can you imagine all the English tourists mucking about here in their robes? It would ruin the whole -“ what word was she looking for? Cordelia made a wide circle with one hand, gesturing to the whole room. “Y’know. Everything.”

Letting her hand drop, she looked back up at her host. “You reckon you’ll settle here? With whatshisface? The Banshee boy?” She would have had to been blind to not pick up on something happening between the two of them at the party, but Cordelia hadn’t wanted to ruin her trip and her host’s mood by bringing it up then. But now, her inhibitions and filters well to bed, it slipped out from her lips.

The closeness was nice. Ollie had been buzzing from person to person all night like a moth in search of that feeling, yet still he was somehow not quite satisfied. It was probably the drugs, or maybe it was the lack of sleep, but the hunger felt neverending— his desire for something more. Still, he settled into their position on the couch with a grin.

He hadn't been aware that he'd been staring but he didn't mind when it was called out for it. "You!" Ollie procliamed matter-of-factly (as if that sort of thing was was common practice). Delia's laugh reverberated off the all-glass windows behind him and settled into the wood panels of the cabin opposite. Oliver himself all too easily mirrored her grin as he took the pipe back into his own hands, ready to hear her thoughts on California.

As it turned out the American city sounded just as strange on her tongue as it had his. It was like they were speaking about some alien kind of planet. He frowned slightly at his friend's mention of writing about it and the idea pulled upon him at once. "You're right..." He mulled over his thoughts through a pull and slowly blew out the smoke over their heads, green eyes cast overhead.

"Write about me instead," He grinned, flashing a wink before turning serious. "Maybe you should say how terrible it is here?" He rationalized. There were two parts of Oliver at odds with each other— one that wanted to show this place off, and the other that wanted to keep it a little secret. It was perfectly fine the way that it was, no one else needed to come. "Food's terrible, views are shit," He gestured to the otherworldly coast beyond them.

Settle here, with Liam. Thankfully, Oliver had already handed the pipe back to her and his lungs were clear or he might have choked. "Was it that obvious?" He peeked out from one eye, a smile pulling at his mouth. He thought that they had kept things pretty low key for the night, but apparently Cordelia knew him better.

It’s so easy to laugh with Oliver. Had she ever seen him tense, or stressed, or anxious? Cordelia couldn’t recall. It could be frustrating, she remembered, when it felt like he wasn’t taking things seriously. But what was there to take seriously here, in such a blissed out time and space? America? Hah. As if.

Write about him? Cordelia laughed, a full bodied chortle this time. “Stop giving interviews to other people and I will. Just tell them,” She sat up straight, imitating his voice with mock seriousness. “I’ll only speak to Cordelia, she’s the only one of you with any sense of art. Also, give her a raise.” She couldn’t keep a straight face and burst out giggling - again- halfway through the last sentence. “When you all get big, I call dibs on the retrospective.”

She was still on the giggles when the next suggestion came. “What, lie? To the great and learned readers of The Daily Prophet? Perish the thought!” Cordelia threw her hand to her heart in mock outrage, that once again she wasn’t able to sustain. Impressions weren’t normally her wheelhouse - what was in that green? It was delightful. “I was gonna write about Disneyland, mostly, and how if they wear robes they will get asked for…. Pictures, autographs, to hug small children, et cetera. Nothing about the views. Pinkie swear.”

Ah, so he didn’t know how smitten the both of them clearly were. Cordelia shrugged, nestling in closer to Oliver. “Well, maybe it wouldn’t have been obvious to like, a homophobe?” She said, slowly considering her words as best she could. “Or someone that doesn’t know you very well, sort of thing. Or someone who’s just, you know, clueless. But I’ve got that keen eye for details.”

With one finger, she lightly traced circles on Ollie’s shoulder. “Besides,” she said quietly, “I remember what love looks like on you.”

Oliver opened his mouth to protest— stopped when he realized that she was right, as usual— he had given the one radio interview that she so graciously put forward for the Prophet. "I hereby knight you... my official future interviewer" He touched a hand to her shoulder in mock formality. "Honestly...." He paused to sit back and look at Cordelia. "I don't think there will be that many," Interviews, that was. If he were being honest, he was just trying to not get his hopes up. Of course, it was what he wanted.

As if The Prophet hadn't lied before, he thought to himself, through mirrors of her laughter. It was hard not to when she was. At once, everything seemed a lot funnier. The weed, and being up all night, and everything else, seemed to have hit him at once. It dawned on him in that moment that he hadn't even been to Disneyland.

Cordy tucked in closer— close enough that he could smell her hair. Somehow under the cover of the campfire, floral something met him. Apparently, scent really was the closest sense tied to memory because he could have sworn he'd been transported to the Hufflepuff common room.

"Hmm," He thought out loud to himself, trying to recall the details. Surely all "friends" were that touchy? Then again, with he and Liam it was different. Without even thinking, they found some way to anchor onto each other. Perhaps it was because they were so used to be able to do just that in the privacy of the little bubble they'd created. Thankfully, it seemed that Liam was like that with his actual friends, so with any luck, no one else had caught on.

"You think?" Ollie shifted to look down at her, half on his chest, arm clung tightly around his torso, and he tightened his own grip on her back. He fought a full smile and was instead left grinning, dimples at either end of his mouth. "I don't know if that was looove," He teased, giving her another affectionate squeeze. Had it been love? He was never sure. Lust and love seemed always to blur together. Even now.

"I don't know..." He continued, mulling over the idea of settling anywhere, with anything. That had never really appealed to him. "And you—" He suddenly perked up again. "—what mysterious writer have you settled down with?" Presumptuous, but he didn't mind. Absentmindedly he rested his free hand (now absent of the pipe) atop her knee that had pulled up toward him.

She shrugged the hand off her shoulder as he ‘dubbed’ her with the honour. “Sure, there will be plenty of interviews. You guys, I think, you’ll be bigger than Banshee. Bigger than the Weird Sisters, even.” The Weird Sisters were technically her first concert, if playing the Yule Ball in second year counted as a concert. Cordelia genuinely liked Oliver’s band’s sound. “I’m rooting for you.”

The squeeze on her back was - it was a squeeze of memory, of late nights in the Hufflepuff common room. A blissful moment before everything had gone straight to hell in a hand basket. The last good year, if it could be called that.

“I don't know if that was love,” Ollie said, his voice teasing, his hand tightening on her back again. Was that meant to ease the sting? Cordelia had known this, of course, plus it had been such a brief moment in time, so long ago. Still, it hurt a little to confirm what she had already known, that she had been more into him than he had been into her. Such a childish complaint, but wasn’t that why she had run away from the other men? Ryan had been so disgusted with her, and Brennan, well, it was too fast, it couldn’t have been real.

“Well, whatever it was,” Cordy finally managed, her consonants dropping from her words as the new high hit, “you had the same look with me, with, uh, whoever was after me, and Liiiiiiiiam.” She drew out the celebrity’s name. “It’s like, more, though, with Liam, so that’s great, for you, that’s probably love,” she stopped. Her mouth felt dry. She should pull away, go get some water, but Ollie was so warm, and this felt so nice.

“Mmm, he’s not a writer.” How to describe Michael Corner? “He’s Ministry, you know, like half of Wizarding Britain is, but he’s nice.”  Ollie’s hand was on her knee, now - why get up now? “He was, he was a year ahead of you? I think, in school, he’s really smart and his nose is a little broken but it’s really quite nice that way, and -“ She caught herself rambling, and she flushed. “It’s been six months, about, so that’s exciting - how long have you and Liam been - “ she mimed two people with her hands, making the sock puppet type figures kiss. “You know!”

Bigger than the Weird Sisters— Ollie's eyes rolled at the bold proclamation. That was unlikely. Quite frankly, he'd be happy with any fans at all, and he kept reminding himself of that of every turn in the journey. Though, the article and the upcoming album launch parties were making that easier said than done. He wanted to keep his feet planted firmly in the ground but he could see how easy it was to float away from it all— from what was the real world.

Maybe he was just high.

He could feel Cordelia's energy shift. Did he fuck up? She paused before speaking, taking in a small breath of air, while Ollie wracked his brain for the words he'd only just said, frowning when he landed on it. He fucked up. Instead of making things worse, though, he simply listened. Thankfully it seemed that all was back to normal, and he could relax again. Conflict of any sort did not bode well for him.

"You think?" His eyebrow quirked as he scanned through the memories of that night to think of the exact moment that had given him away, given them away. The fact that there were so many options should have told him something.

For anyone else, it might have seemed strange to be so close— talking about their respective love lives— but Oliver (and Cordy, it seemed) hadn't taken the time to mind. This was perfectly normal for them, both as friends and when they had been something more. He watched intently as she spoke about this Michael, her face alit again. It was nice to see. "The name is familiar..." he looked up in thought, but couldn't quite place him.

"He sounds lovely," Ollie said, genuinely. He had to be if he made her look like that. "Six months, you're practically married!" He laughed. "We've been, kissing, since—" Again, green eyes shot to the ceiling in thought, a reference to her hand motions. Had it been that long, since his first trip to California? "—the end of January," It surprised even him how quickly time was moving.

"Look at us, growing up..." At the mention of that, he lit up the pipe again, blowing the smoke overhead, his hand touching a strand of her hair without thought. Growing up had been all that he wanted to do, yet somehow it still felt like he should be worried about something.

Ollie frowned, briefly. Cordy caught the small change in his lips from the corner of her eye. It felt petty and juvenile to be glad of that reaction, and yet. Even if they had both so clearly moved on from fourth year (oh Merlin, had it really been that long?) Cordelia still wanted to get a reaction, even if it was just from a friend. She squeezed his arm, silently reassuring him that they were all good.

Images from the party flashed through her mind. “Of course, don’t you remember? He’s clearly smitten, too.” A moment, captured in her mind like Camm had been here with his camera, of the Banshee bassist smacking a wet one on Oliver’s cheek, right in front of the other band members. Cordelia had only her small notebook with her, hidden in her bra, but she had kept a respectful distance most of the night anyway. It was obvious, but it wasn’t her scoop to tell. She found someone with an contact at Disneyland, instead. “You made a valiant effort to hide it, but your beau, not so much.”

Talking about Michael made her… happier, then she expected. They had fallen into dating so easily, it felt strange to be this giddy, this honeymoon-y about him. They hadn’t even said ‘I love you’ properly to each other yet. Sometimes she felt the urge, but managed to hedge it in something else. “No no, not married,” she corrected Oliver, with a laugh. “And hey, that’s -“ she paused, counting on her fingers, “Yeah, that’s just as long as us! We probably like, have our anniversaries close to each other.”

She made a grabbing gesture at the pipe, pulling it from Oliver and taking another hit before the ember burned out. His hand twisted her hair. God, it was good to have Ollie back in her life. Reluctantly, she pulled herself away - the dry mouth was getting unbearable, and she was getting maybe too comfortable. Try not to do anything she’d regret when she was sober. “Water?” She offered, shuffling back to the main kitchen area. The sun, rising behind her, made her brown hair seem to glow. Ollie’s face looked so soft, and bright in the early morning light. Don’t make bad decisions, Cordy tried to remind herself, and walked around the sofa.

"Ohh, he's like that with friends— people he doesn't know, even," He explained with another stupid grin on his face, knowing full well that it was different with them. Ollie imagined that most people at the party hadn't read into it too much, but now that he'd allowed himself to indulge in his own thoughts, he figured someone would have been daft to not have. It was easy to see with the way they looked at each other.

Oliver studied his friend, her face softening, lit up when talking about this Ministry man, Michael. It was nice to be around— intoxicating— and in no way related to his actual intoxication. Ever since he could remember, he'd been a sucker for love in all its various forms, bordering obsessed with the idea. "Perhaps we should double date," He wiggled his eyebrows jokingly before handing over the pipe as demanded.

As Cordelia got up for a drink, Ollie shifted on the couch to rest his arms back against the worn fabric that felt much softer than it had when he first sat down. He pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged, exposed knees through his torn jeans catching his eye. Was that? He touched a finger to the little heart etched on his skin and he remembered that Liam had drawn on him with quill that morning, after the party.

He could keep that for a while, he thought.

"Please," He sang out after Cordy. "There may be clean cups in the cabinet... to the left?" He tried to recall, pointing to the wooden door next to the sink before falling back onto the sofa. "Don't you want to just stay and finish the album with us?" Oliver watched the sun as it crept up, changing from purple to pink, and illuminated the coast and left the room in an otherwordly glow. He knew that she would have to be back soon, to real life, but it was nice to have her around.

“I noticed he didn’t drape himself over me,” she quipped back, teasing Ollie. Of course, that hadn’t happened on purpose - Cordelia had actively tried to keep her distance from the birthday boy. It seemed unlikely that Liam would have know who she was or who she worked for, but it had been kind enough for Ollie to get her on the guest list. She didn’t need to make an enemy of Liam Thompson by ambushing him on his birthday. That was such a Rita Skeeter move, and, by god, that woman annoyed her.

She raised an eyebrow in return to his little look. A double date? She wondered what Michael would think of that - she had met his work friends, albeit unintentionally, and he hadn’t really met her chums yet. It could be nice to go on a date with Ollie and Liam, even if she wasn’t quite sure if Michael would get along with their huge personalities. “I’ll ask my beau if you ask yours,” she settled on saying as she stood up.

Neither Oliver or Liam had been at school during… that year, which meant that they might not know what Michael did, too. It was a chance for a more normal double date than going out with Ari and Prosper, for example. Ari had been there, and so did most of her other friends. Maybe that was why she loved to see Ollie so much - he was one of her only close friends that didn’t remind her of -

Water. She needed to concentrate on getting water for her and for Ollie. There were not, in fact, any clean cups in the cabinet to the left, but there were some mugs in the one on the right. She filled both from the tap, drinking from hers deeply and refilling it before heading back to the couch. The sunrise was unreal, the whole room felt like the inside of a crystal or something else beautiful. “Here.” She passed one mug to Oliver. Still standing, she faced the sun and took another sip.

“I’d love to, Ollie.” She sighed wistfully. “I’d love to stay here with you all forever.” She really meant it - Senna and Rheya and the others had grown on her. But music didn’t pay her bills. “Portkey’s are expensive to reschedule,” she managed, a flimsy and sad excuse. Cordelia sunk back into the couch. “Let’s not think about leaving. We still have today, and tomorrow - we should go to Disney before I leave!” The idea cheered her up immensely.

His beau? Oliver rolled it around in his mouth, the way that sounded, then grinned to himself, only just catching the sound of Cordy rummaging through the cabinets.

The label had found a place much nicer, a lot like Liam's now that he was comparing the two, but Ollie had stumbled upon the little cabin tucked away down the road and knew it was where he wanted them to finish the album. It was homey— a polite way to compliment something less than grandiose in most instances— comfortable. The band could relax here. Truly relax. It felt like they were on their own private island, nothing around them but greenery, and cliffs, and the sound of the ocean.

Ollie figured he could stay this way forever.

Cordelia was back in what felt like a blink of an eye. He was easily lost in his own daydreams but that was, of course, exacerbated when any kind of drug was involved. "Merci," He ducked his head in quiet appreciation and took a sip. It had to have been the best drink of water he'd ever tasted. For a moment, he looked down at the mug in appreciation but then turned up to Cordy as she stood beside the couch, facing the coast.

The sun had shifted from deep purples, pastel pinks, to a bit more orange as it hit the water, illuminating the white caps in the distance, and in turn Cordy herself. "Ahh you're right," Oliver let out a sigh, agreeing that it was best that they just live in the moment for a bit longer. "Disney?" He faced her as she sat back down. He'd heard of it, in movies maybe, but he hadn't realized it was here, in California.

"How did I not know that was here?" The question was more rhetorical, for himself, his face lit up at the realization.

Cordelia had to laugh at that. “California is where Mickey Mouse was born, silly.” She couldn’t remember if Ollie had any Muggle relatives, and with the way her thoughts had just been spiralling, she didn’t really want to ask. “I got American money with me and a good excuse to expense the tickets. We’ll go today.” She felt a little dizzy all of a sudden, and found herself leaning on Ollie’s shoulder. Drink more water, that was a good idea. Cordy drained her mug again.

Today, tomorrow, yesterday. When was the last time she had slept? The adrenaline and the drugs and the alcohol were finally fading. Her eyelids felt heavy, like they were made of lead, like each eyelash was a burden to hold up. “Maybe… maybe tonight,” she amended her previous statement. “Or all day tomorrow. I’ll figure it out.” A yawn escaped her, betraying the part of her that desperately didn’t want to sleep. Only a couple days left here - couldn’t she stay awake for all of it?

Who’s shoulder was this? She let her head fall onto Ollie’s shoulder, sleep overtaking her. “It’ll be… it’ll be fun, like a date, or whatever,” she mumbled. This shoulder felt like Michael’s - comforting, like her head was made to rest here. The two men, Oliver and Michael, blurred together as her vision blurred and she fell into dreamless, blissful sleep.

[[out]]

Ollie watched carefully as his friend spoke, teetering back and forth with her words to the very cadence of her eyes opening and closing, more slowly with each blink. He grinned. Something like pride— or was it happiness?— swelled in his chest and crept up his throat, he swallowed it with another mouthful of the best water he'd ever tasted. There was something soothing about watching someone drift asleep. Cordy was comfortable, she felt safe, and that was a nice thing to have bestowed upon one's self.

Nothing to do with the whole being up all night and testing out every combination of substances lying around, of course.

"Tomorrow, I think," He agreed thoughtfully, his own eyes feeling heavier by proxy as she tucked in beside him on the couch. "We can get those—" Oliver gestured with his hand, resting his chin atop her head. Feebly, green eyes scanned the coast which was now fully drenched under the sun. Impossibly, a new day had officially begun. "— lemonade things..." He read about it somewhere, maybe.

He wasn't sure when he fell asleep but before he knew it was dreaming again.

fin