see if you can spot this one [ollie]

In the safety of his bed, Liam felt like far more of an idiot than he had running away. There was no other way to describe it, was there? Ollie had made eye contact from behind the microphone, spoken of him—not even by name! And Liam had bolted like a frightened deer.

Gross. He readjusted his comforter and took another swig of gin.

He couldn’t have explained this panic to anyone. Not his mates, who had an idea but couldn’t empathize—not even Ollie, who it hadn’t ever seemed to worry even if he understood. All Liam knew himself was that he felt it. He couldn’t imagine how it could still be here choking him after all of this, the months upon months of tenderness and baby steps and euphoria. Ollie had tried so hard to reassure him and Liam still couldn’t meet him halfway.

The door opened in the other room, and familiar footsteps tumbled in. After a second Ollie called his name. Liam made a vague grunting noise and dragged himself up from his pillows. He had no idea what he was going to say, but...probably he should quit being passive-aggressive about this. Even if Ollie should know what was up, running away from the conversation as well as the concert could only make things worse.

Ollie appeared in the doorway, with a bemused grin in the light from the living room. Liam was struck with another twinge of guilt. He wanted to feel bad, still being bothered when Ollie looked so happy… But his boundaries deserved respect, didn’t they? Even if they were stupid, they were still there.

“The hell was that?” he snapped hoarsely. “You couldn’t ask me first?”

@Oliver Rigby

At some point in the night, he wasn't sure when exactly, Ollie felt a chasm, the familiar, ominous sensation sinking in his chest that lingered just beyond the top of mind. It wasn't one particular, earth-shattering, all-knowing moment—but something quieter, subtle— a series of moments that reminded him of the lack of presence of the person he was looking for. Maybe he was just being selfish, he reminded himself, riding the high of the show, but he expected something different from Liam who was usually so loud in every single thing that he did.

Yet, nothing. He was nowhere to be seen.

Green eyes scanned the room again, just in case, half-expecting to find the familiar curls of brown hair in the corner chatting someone up, making them laugh, as he did. Oliver brushed those thoughts aside. The little drops of potion from a tiny vial placed casually in his drink by someone he knew vaguely from the label (with a wink) was a welcomed distraction.

The rest of the night was a blur— he was fairly certain he'd cried— if only just his eyes welling up with tears as the emotions hit him all at once. With Ollie, he felt things in extremes which was both a good a bad thing, he was learning.

He wasn't sure how long it had been, or even what time it was when he turned up at Liam's after hazardously apparating right into his living room. It was quiet, as usual, clinically uninhabited, the decor showing no sign of the person he figured he knew so well. It was almost like a hotel, Oliver thought to himself as he made his way to the bedroom, the light under the door drawing him forward like a moth to the flame.

"Liiiiiam," He laughed to himself, rapping his knuckles on the door, only for show, before striding right on in like he owned the place. His gaze faltered, but it took a moment for his grin to get the memo. So there he was, standing there like an idiot with a smile and that god damn knowing look in his eye. "Ask you?" He repeated as he a hand through waves of hair, catching his balance against the doorframe. "Ask you, what?" If he weren't so under so many influences he would have had something more succinct to share, but alas.

Liam would have been charmed if he hadn’t already been so busy being disapproving. He took another sip. “Do you really not know?” he asked. “Or—are you just being—” The word took him a second. “Obtuse?”

Anyone would have told him it was no big deal—that Ollie had done nothing anyone who didn’t already have it on the brain would have picked up on. Some sensible part of Liam was telling himself that, or trying to—but the rest of him was too panicky and unsettled for it to matter. The last few months had been a lot of that. Frankly… Liam hated being in love. Everything had been easier when there was so little to hide. Now there was everything. He’d spent months waiting through the day, eager to stay home, eat in, write secret letters and hide away.

He didn’t feel like himself.

Liam would admit that Ollie could have been getting mixed messages. Half the reason he’d wanted to get so high on his birthday was the freedom of it—but he wasn’t ready to be that open all the time. There’d been a miscommunication, that was all.

“You look like you’ve had a good time,” Liam said. He’d been looking forward to having that time with him, at least in part—and then coming back here to stay home. A shame he’d been such an uptight son of a bitch tonight. “Well deserved,” he added, tenderly.

It took a moment for Ollie to register Liam's words.

He frowned, softly, briefly, opening his mouth to respond before he'd heard the adjective of choice. Obtuse? That was a blow. Even in his state, he felt it. But then again, he'd always been sensitive— too sensitive, perhaps. He tried to imagine what he missed from that night, what Liam was referring to, but nothing came to mind.

Maybe he was just that— obtuse.

"S'pose so," He thumbed the keyhole of the doorframe purely as an attempt to keep himself busy, casting his eyes to the bed for a moment. Ollie had tried to keep the feeling (the same feeling that permeated somewhere in his chest) from meeting his voice.

Then Liam softened and stupidly he smiled in return, his cheeks dimpling at either end. "I did," He could hear his voice, like a kid on Christmas morning betraying his resolve. Fuck. Unsure of what he was supposed to do with the whiplash of a conversation, Oliver lingered in the doorway. "I—" Noticing the bottle of booze in Liam's hand, coddled amidst the white comforter, he paused.

Green eyes shifted to his hands, fingers adorned with chipped black nail polish courtesy of Rheya. "Did something, happen?" He was hesitant to ask— the bottle of gin in bed and the comments were enough to know that something had— but the part of Ollie that hated to let people down had shrunk him.

He’d confused Ollie, clearly. Liam held back a sigh, watching his fool boyfriend’s gaze drift around in discomfort as he tried to work out what he’d done. He held out a hand, the one not holding the bottle, and used it to pull Ollie into bed. The smell on him far overpowered the gin.  “Oh, mate, you’re such a lightweight,” mumbled Liam fondly. “Sorry I missed it, really—it was just that…” There was still no way to say it other than to sound like a shithead. “Dunno if you remember this,” he began with a heavy sigh. “You said something about someone special, and you looked at me, and then other people looked at me, and…”

Liam stretched his neck back over the pillow and stared at the ceiling.

“Look, Ol, I wish I was like you.” In any number of ways, Merlin, he wished. “I keep wanting to be ready, to, y’know...” Grow some bollocks? Come out, or whatever the sort of person he was supposed to be now said? Not let Charlie write lyrics to a woman over the melody he’d written to Oliver? “I just can’t shake it, yeah? I’m not ready for you to start… I dunno, making people think…” Why had he started drinking before trying to say this? Neither of them were sober enough for this in the least.

Too late now. Liam brought the bottle back to his lips. He drew his hand up and down Ollie’s back, hoping the closeness would ease him up a bit. “I know, obviously I’m a catch,” he said, with a nervous little chuckle. “Sorry to keep you from bragging.”

Oliver stumbled forward, into the bed, taking the proffered hand that wasn't held around the bottle of gin. Whatever questions he had could be asked from there, anyway. He landed roughly on his stomach and his arm wrapped around Liam's torso out of habit, chin resting under the other hand to look up, awaiting the explanation for leaving, for the gin in bed, for that god damn morose look in his eye that betrayed the hand running course up and down his back.

"Oh—" Ollie began but shut his mouth so Liam could continue. He had done that, hadn't he. He tightened his grip on the other man's side without thinking, a physical manifestation of bracing himself for his racing mind. He had done that, and he hadn't even thought twice about it. Not even once. He hadn't once considered what implications that held for anyone other than himself.

Him and his god damn inability to not love so loudly.

"Shit, Liam," Oliver fought with his tongue that was lazy from the booze and the potions, but his mind was a few steps ahead, working furiously. He knew deep down that not everyone had the same experience with who they were— most hadn't— but it was hard to bring himself down to the ground, to remind himself of that when he got going. "I'm sorry..." He said, more clearly now, intently studying the fabric of the duvet, avoiding looking up just yet.

"I don't know if I can—" He began, taking in a breath and shaking his head at the feeling of his cheeks heating up. "—I don't know if I can not do that," He struggled to shrug from his position, finally looking up to Liam. That was being subtle about the way that he felt. More than anything he didn't want to put him in the position of coming to terms with something that he just wasn't ready to. "I'd like to brag about you," He added with a little grin that felt more sad than anything.

Ollie’s big dumb eyes looked up at him, brimming with guilt, and now Liam felt like an even bigger tool. “It’s not your fault,” he mumbled. “I know I’ve—told you it wouldn’t bother me. I’ve got no right to get angry—I’m not even angry, not at you, just…” I’m angry at myself. Gross. There was a reason he didn’t write lyrics. He could put together an unorthodox melody but in words, he thought in clichés.

"I mean... Can you try?" he asked.

He had to bring a hint of comedy back, here. Serious conversations were only for comedowns. Maybe they could do that when Ollie started sobering up. “You can brag to that mate of yours at the Prophet now, I s’pose,” said Liam for now, with a thin grin. He hated to remember what a tit he’d made of himself with Ollie at his birthday. “Tell her what a great arse I’ve got, I dunno. Lord knows I should find myself some girl to talk to; the band doesn’t want to hear much about yours.”
 
This was something else Liam missed about heterosexuality. He considered it as he drew his fingers through Ollie’s sweaty curls. Discussion with the lads had been more exciting than the act itself, and now that the act was even better the lads had no appreciation. He wondered vaguely what @Mary Hunt was up to.

He kept waiting for Liam to get to the point. With every thought started, the wizard stopped and began again, never quite reaching the conclusion. Maybe it was the drugs, or maybe it was the unfamiliar weight on his chest, but Oliver was having a hard time focusing.

"I thought I was," He replied without thinking, a laugh escaping the unintentional grin of his half-open mouth. He had, truly, he thought. For almost half a year (where had those months gone) he ignored the desire to be open with Liam, to be in public. Privately, it was different— tucked away in the safety of their homes, hotels, and unknown bars, masked by the cover of ocean waves in the middle of the night on the other side of the world.

Those places alone were where their comfort existed.

Chewing the inside of his lip, Ollie vaguely listened to the words that floated from somewhere above him, his mind still buzzing. It stung a bit but he wasn't surprised that Liam's friends weren't all that interested in hearing about him. This whole thing, by all accounts, was new to them, but he, perhaps naively, thought they might be more open-minded. How different could it be to all the times they talked about their relationships? The women they were with.

Shaking the thought, Oliver tried to hold onto the feeling of Liam's fingers pushing back his hair. "I guess—" Now was his turn to stumble over his words. "I don't want to put you in a place where you—" Green eyes that were glazed over from the night studied the ceiling then flicked back to him. "— a place you don't want to be in," He settled on, Scottish accent laced with the drink.

He meant to say that it was not his place to rush Liam into anything, but he wasn't sure how long he could not rush himself— if only he could articulate that.

Ollie was quiet. He made no response even to Liam’s attempt at humor, and it made him coldly nervous in the pit of his stomach. Come on, say something. Liam twirled a finger around a lock of Ollie’s hair, waiting. Please, mate. He was halfway to asking for it out loud when Ollie finally spoke, stumbling over his words.

“Then don’t!” replied Liam at once. He was being flooded with every feeling at once now, indignation and fear and love and a sickening guilt. Despite the bitterness in his voice he held Ollie more tightly. “Is it really that damn hard not to say anything?” he asked helplessly. “Fuck’s sake, Ol, I just need some more time.” If you really loved me, you’d respect that.

Merlin’s tits. Thank goodness he wasn’t drunk enough yet to say that aloud. He picked up his bottle and set it on the floor, nudging it away with his fingertips to remove the temptation.

Even in his stupor, Liam's voice, and the unfamiliar feeling behind it, registered between his ears, then down to his chest where it made his breath hitch. Oliver blinked. He made a halfhearted move to sit up but stopped when he felt the other man's arms tighter around him, betraying what was coming out of his mouth.

He needed more time. Of course, Ollie understood (well, he was trying his best, he thought) that something so deeply personal had no set time frame. There was no one right way to come out and be open. For Liam, he imagined, dealing with so many years of doing the opposite could only make it more difficult. His chest tightened at the thought all over again and sat up enough to roughly rub his knuckles over his eye to push away the hot tears that he could feel forming at either corner.

"Sorry—" He said finally, again, his voice out loud sounded different to the one in his head. "— I guess, I'm just, I'm just being, selfish," Ollie shook his head before reluctantly unwrapping his arm from Liam's torso. He figured for anyone else it would be strange to have this kind of conversation while cuddled up. Yet, he wanted to be more than ever.

Slowly and with some difficulty, Ollie flipped over to sit up at the side of the bed. It seemed that all at once the show, and the drinks, the potions, and this, hit him. "It is, you know? Hard," The not saying anything. His voice was quiet despite trying to speak up. Most of him knew that it had nothing to do with him (in fact it was selfish to think it at all), but then there was the nagging, subtle paranoia that plagued him. The thought that perhaps, just maybe, Liam didn't feel that same unavoidable need to shout about him from the rooftops.

“You’re not being selfish,” said Liam at once, before realizing that was exactly what he’d been thinking. “Well, I mean—” But he couldn’t say it. Was he being any less selfish himself? Liam didn’t even know what he feared. How much could he lose? He’d used his fame as an excuse for so long, but if anything it might inoculate him from the worst of it. And if anything, it made it more important to speak out. On top of what he owed to Ollie, Liam felt somehow that he owed something to the world at large—to the other kids out there wondering how it would feel to kiss their best mates, anyway. Would he be here, feeling so sick to his stomach, if a couple of the Weird Sisters had been in love?

Maybe that was what he feared, or part of it, anyway. Liam had never wanted to be that kind of icon. He couldn’t be. He wanted to be exactly who he had been, and this wasn’t it.

Ollie dragged himself out of his arms, and Liam pulled the covers back in a futile attempt to suppress the empty chill against his chest. He glanced up toward the end of the bed. Fuck, Ollie was crying. Liam looked away.

But Ollie spoke, then, and sudden, sharp fury engulfed Liam’s stomach. He could fuck right off with that. This was upending his entire life Ollie was talking about here, and he still couldn’t find the strength to keep his mouth shut? “If it’s such torture, then maybe we shouldn’t be doing this,” Liam snapped.

A second passed, and then he regretted it.

“You know I love you,” Liam said, more gently, voice breaking. “I don’t want to put you through anything you can’t take.” He paused. “And I can’t take what you’re putting me through.”

Elbows to knees, Ollie cast a glance back briefly just as his words hit. He deserved that, he figured.

"I—" He began to speak his thoughts, one of the hundreds that plagued him, but stopped when Liam continued. However nice it was to hear it, that he loved him, it was immediately trumped by what came next— the sound his voice made as it broke, though, he thought he might not ever be able to forget.

What he was putting him through. Oliver let out an involuntary breath from deep in his chest as he pressed his palms into his eyes roughly to hide the tears, shaking his head in the process. That, he knew he wouldn't forget. If he could have just been patient, let things take their course naturally, allow Liam his space, maybe they wouldn't be in this situation. Hindsight, as people said.

Rubbing his eyes, Ollie made an attempt to stand. "I'm going to go," His accent was languid, drunk, and entangled with emotions that he hadn't yet been able to work through. Patting at his pockets once he was finally upright, the wizard found his wand eventually and reluctantly looked to Liam in the bed with his duvet pulled up over his chest. His heart lurched with a million different emotions.

"I am, sorry," He said, again, looking away, though it did little to fill the pit in his stomach.

Maybe all of it was a dream and everything would be okay in the morning.

Ollie truly was crying, face in his hands, and Liam’s stomach twisted in a way that made him almost angry. Did he have to be such a girl about this? Certainly Liam would break down himself later on, but Merlin’s sake, he’d have the good grace to do it alone like a man instead of making anyone watch. Any other time he might have admired this about Ollie. Like the rest of the openness, the lack of shame. But right now it unsettled him, jolted him uncomfortably back to every woman he’d ever disappointed. Liam looked away again.

“Is that—are we over, then?” he asked, stiffly. He snorted weakly and picked at a thread in the bedspread. “Don’t know if I’ve ever properly split up before. I’m not sure how to tell.” Liam realized he’d done a lot of explaining to Ollie in that vein—he hadn’t ever been a real boyfriend, didn’t know what he was doing, so on and so on. And yet all this time he’d been picturing himself as the mentor, the sage elder… He’d been mad to think it.

Ollie stumbled up, and Liam gave him a scoff. “Oh, like fuck you’re going to go.” He swung his legs out of bed, knocking over his bottle, but it had been half empty when he started and there wasn’t enough left now to bother. He stood and took a step toward the  “Apparate like that you’ll splinch yourself in half; I’ll take you.”

Everything in him wanted to ask Ollie to stay, take care of him one more night—but that, Liam thought, would make it nigh on impossible to let him go. They’d sleep on it and it wouldn’t matter so much in the morning, they’d apologize and shag and sleep in some more, and the stalemate would keep going on. And it couldn’t. As much as he wanted it to, it couldn’t.

Was that it? How novel an idea, that just being it. Somewhere amidst the flurry of emotions, for a moment, there was anger. Fueled by sadness, he knew, but anger nonetheless. Ollie looked away from over his shoulder defiantly and pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes if only for an excuse for a moment to think. He had never been one to speak irrationally and the better part of him knew that this was the last place that he should, but—

"Well, I don't know what you want," His voice went up an octave while trying, and failing, to keep it from breaking just as Liam's had moments before. One hand finally secured around his wand (after some difficulty), he pushed the half-damp waves of his hair from his forehead with the other, taking a step to the door.

"Just leave it," Oliver pressed a hand against the frame of the door to steady himself. Just focus, he commanded himself with another breath, not daring to look at whatever Liam had knocked over in the process of getting out of the bed. "Just leave it, okay?" He said, more softly, trying desperately to think of the place that he needed to be, his home, but could think of nowhere else but the very place that he was.

“You know what I want,” replied Liam, trying his hardest not to let Ollie’s leap into hysterical falsetto move him. “If you don’t want to give it to me, then I reckon yeah, this is it.” He swallowed hard and clenched his teeth, unsure what he was holding back, keeping in—but it sure felt like something.

Ollie was barely steady on his feet, and for the first time Liam wondered how he’d gotten here at all. And that had been before all this. “Bloody hell, Ol—" he started, the end of the sentence on his tongue: I’m not going to leave it! He threw out a hand—and stopped it, abruptly, and shut his mouth.

It was like it had been months ago in his house in California, keeping Ollie at arm’s length for fear of losing control. For fear of pulling him in, kissing him and not being able to stop. He’d feared it as much then as he feared it now, and now that he’d known the feeling the pull was that much stronger. Liam curled his toes on the cold hardwood floor, digging in.

He gestured weakly with his outstretched, frozen hand. “Walk, if you’ve got to,” he said in a gruff, pathetic rasp. “Merlin’s sake. You’re plastered.”