transatlanticism | liam

"Change of plans—"

Ollie rounded the corner of his dressing room as he distractedly adjusted the collar of his flowy white button-down shirt. It was open a few too many buttons to be warranted inside, in November, but he went along with it. The entire night was the culmination of what felt like a hundred other people's decisions%u2014 from his hair to his outfit, down the song the band was performing, and even how it was set. Very little was left to their own volition.

He tucked the old bar mat shakily into his front pocket as he pulled away from George's ear just as Rheya and Senna emerged from their dressing room as equally bright-eyed and nervous as the pit in his stomach. Ollie was careful to hug each of them slowly, leaving just enough time to explain that they wouldn't be playing their single at the show. He had something else in mind.

------

Best New Artist. The night was a blur from the moment their name was called out. It was enough to make him forget that he could have singlehandedly ruined all of their careers by going against the label and singing a cover, enough to make him forget about the stupid fucking bar mat stowed away in his pocket. That is until he saw Liam.

Somehow Ollie had floated to an afterparty without knowing. Not just any afterparty, either,  the afterparty. A glass of champagne hadn't left his hand the whole night, even as he came face to face with all of the artists that had inspired him%u2014 many of whom actually approached him. He wasn't sure at what point that it would all start to feel real but then again he didn't really want it to. Though, a face he hadn't seen in a lifetime (the same that had been always looking for) had begun to change his tune.

Whatever air Oliver had left was knocked right out of his chest.

"I can't believe you kept it," He began, having feebly weaved through the crowd to where Liam was dancing alone in the middle of the room, not one of whom seemed to take care of the man's antics. "You know— The confusion, or some kind of emotion, on Liam's face had registered. Ollie struggled to pull the bar mat from his pocket, waving it in front of him idly. "Don't suppose you rigged it just for the theatrics of it all?" He grinned, though there was an unmistakable hint of sadness in his eyes.

Though Liam had always loved dancing—and dancers—he still wasn’t much of one. But this was a party and he’d been here far too long to mind. He swayed amid the others with a drink in his hand. Music started feeling like he could take it in through his pores at this point in a night, and Liam had every intention to indulge.

When he opened his eyes he couldn’t stop himself from yelping in surprise. He had no idea how long F.A.M.E.’s Best New Artist had been watching him.

Frankly, he’d been hoping to hide. Perhaps that was expecting too much of himself. “Brilliant,” said Liam loudly, tipping back the rest of his thin-stemmed silver cocktail and waiting still in the middle of the dance floor for Ollie to approach. Loudness didn’t count for much here. Even if it did, he was feeling too dramatic to care. He kept going. “Just after I’ve drunk my weight in—these.” There’d been a clever name, but he’d forgotten. They were very strong and shimmery and matched his robes.

At least the lads were no longer lurking to make the obvious joke that his weight wasn’t very much of anything. Liam didn’t trust their tact where Ollie was concerned. Liam didn't even trust himself right now, but in a different way: "Why wouldn't I keep it?" he replied. "You think I wasn't smitten from day one?"

Thankfully, loudness still didn't count for much.

Ollie half-accused him of rigging the results. Liam laughed, mixing up his words as he replied. “Could that I would, Ol—but obviously I knew I wouldn’t need to.” Not really, of course. Liam believed in Oliver Rigby with his whole heart, but he couldn’t say the same for the F.A.M.E. voting committee. He’d just figured if they’d have lost it might have been even sweeter: You’re the winner to me. Sickening but honest.

Looking up at him on stage had been one sort of pride, but now that he was much drunker and making eye contact it was quite another. Liam stepped forward and took Ollie’s face in his hands. He had to dangle his cocktail glass awkwardly between the last couple fingers on one side—but there was no going back once he’d given in to the momentum. “I am so proud of you,” he said, seriously. “So proud.”

He gave Ollie’s cheek a sharp pat and broke the trance. “So, Cover Boy—You can’t tell me Ms. Mitchell was supposed to be on the program.” Liam grinned. “There’s some theatrics of it all, yeah?"

There was a lingering need to maintain a distance between the two of them despite the muscle memory that was telling Ollie otherwise. He took another step forward, then paused, his arm still hanging in the air with the goddamn bar mat pinched between his fingers. It was the same hand that had been shaking for most of the night and it was strange to feel it so steady then, particularly given the circumstances.

"You ought to keep it," He insisted, nudging it forward with a wry smile. It had been for him, after all. Ollie glanced around briefly. There was a sea of reporters in their midst, over and above the general wizarding music industry who weren't actively being paid for their insatiable nosiness, and Ollie knew better than to test the boundaries. Not there, and not with Liam.

The palms slapped across his jaw startled him. It wasn't that the action hurt— he wondered if it might have if he hadn't had all the champagne, those potions, whatever the fuck it was George was smoking backstage. Ollie was more surprised by how easily they fell back into a pattern, the natural way in which they moved together after however many months was alarming at best.

As far as anyone knew, they were colleagues. Labelmates. Forget the comment about being smitten, though, Ollie absolutely had not.

He pulled up a palm to squeeze atop Liam's that was still planted on his cheek, careful of the glass held precariously between them. "Thank you," It felt like the millionth time that night that he'd said it, but somehow it was more profound, and he could feel the heat of water brimming in his eyes. He owed Liam a lot, both professionally and personally, but he chose to not dwell on it for long enough to dive into the question too far.

Another pat on the cheek and he was back on Earth, his feet on the ground.

Oliver groaned, slapping his free hand over his eyes as he winced. "Merlin, if we hadn't won, I reckon I'd be removed from the label already..." He let out a tentative laugh, his smile faltering when he caught Liam's eye again. The song had been for Liam, and there was no semblance of subtlety about it. "That was not on the setlist, I'll say that," He shook his head and finished what was left of his champagne in an attempt to keep himself from saying too much, too openly.

Ollie grimaced in embarrassment. Oh, Merlin, Liam had missed him. “The band did pretty good on such short notice, I thought,” he said, smug smirk spreading across his face. Did you practice just in case you needed a romantic gesture someday? The thought put Liam briefly in better spirits. Look at the pair of them, passive-aggressively trying to out-romance each other. Ridiculous, but it meant Ollie had missed him too.

Someone passed with a tray and Liam dropped his cocktail glass on it, sideways and rolling precariously.

“You been well?” he asked, less smugly. If it were him being asked he’d have lied to Ollie’s face, that was just the proper break-up maneuver. But Ollie was more honest than Liam had ever been. There was a chance he’d get an honest answer. Of course, he wasn’t sure now how he’d be able to tell the difference. Ollie could have been doing brilliant without him, and Liam would just have to trust it if he said so.

“I’ve been miserable,” he shouted over the music. The word down to three syllables on his graceless tongue. “It’s been miserable. Being…” He searched for a word. Closeted was what he meant, he knew, but even after all this the terminology felt too foreign to even think. “Safe,” he said. There’d been a significant pause while he’d considered, so he repeated himself. “Being safe. Now that I can’t—be it, and be with you.”

I love you felt too desperate, and he wasn’t drunk enough yet for that. “I’m sorry!” he said instead.

"A prerequisite to being in the band—" Oliver had to raise his voice over the music and the growing crowd. It felt unnatural given his normal tone. As the night went on it seemed that everything just kept getting louder. It didn't help, of course, that he was trying desperately to catch everything that Liam was saying. He wasn't sure when he would get the opportunity again. "Joni, I mean," A smile pulled at his mouth distractedly.

He didn't catch the roll of the glass, or even the waiter who had to fumble with the tray to avoid it all from crashing to the ground.

Had he been well? Ollie paused. Just then a hand snaked around the front of his neck, the other on his chest, and he leaned back into a sloppy kiss to his cheek. It was Rohan from the label, congratulating him again. At one point during the party, the man mentioned something about it being the start of the rest of his life and Ollie couldn't quite shake it. "Very," His glassy green eyes canvassed the room before landing back on Liam, filled with disbelief.

There was a part of him, though, that felt guilty admitting it, to him. And Liam said as much— he was miserable.

Ollie's smile faltered, there was a sinking feeling in the back of his chest. He knew it wasn't his fault, hoped it wasn't anyway, but hated that he contributed in some way. His eyebrows raised and he bit into the side of his cheek in thought. Anything that he wanted to say he knew he couldn't say in front of a crowd. Though it seemed that most were far too distracted to notice the two men standing in the middle of the room, looking at each other the way that they were.

"That's alright," He grinned, though it didn't quite meet his eyes. Ollie placed his palm on Liam's upper arm and gave an affectionate squeeze. "Tonight we'll have fun," He learned the hard way not to push Liam's boundaries as such. "Sorry about the—" He replaced his empty flute. "You guys deserved to win," He leaned in so that his voice could be heard.

The music was louder and faster now; Liam was reading Ollie’s face more than hearing his words. They stared at each other across the careful couple feet of dance floor. Liam gave him the same tight, reminiscent smile back.

Ollie wasn’t taking his grand opening-up to heart. He stepped forward and squeezed his arm, as casually affectionate as Liam had taught him he was allowed to be. It made his stomach flop. What the fuck had he done to this kid? What had he made him scared of? Was he making his appeal now to someone who feared showing his own feelings, or someone who just couldn’t believe Liam had changed his? They were going to have fun. Liam opened his mouth and helplessly shut it again.

Banshee had been up for Best Cover of a Muggle Artist which was up in the air at the best of times. Liam snorted weakly and shook his head. “You’re just saying that ‘cause you’re a Bowie fan.” They’d touched on that the first night, of course. Ollie on his knees on the piano bench, Liam with that flashy guitar on his hips. He remembered losing himself for a second and grabbing Ollie just to stare at him in awe, grabbing him like he might kiss him until he found the sense to push himself away. Liam looked up through the pulsing music and the drunken haze into Ollie’s thoughtful face. He couldn’t help but see that young man with the stars in his eyes.

Pushing himself away wasn’t sense anymore—even if it were he didn’t have any until tomorrow. Liam wrapped an arm around Ollie’s neck and kissed his champagne-soaked mouth.

He was just saying it because he was a Bowie fan, but Ollie wouldn't admit it. Not that night, anyway.

Banshee should have been up for something more given the year they'd had, and really the entire career they built over the years. Their music was hard to avoid, as Ollie had found out the hard way in the weeks and months that blurred together after everything that had happened with Liam. How someone could come into his life out of the blue and never quite be able to leave, he figured he might not ever be able to wrap his head around fully.

"Perhaps the Prestige Award next year?" Oliver teased, taking a turn for the light before he went too far down a line of thought that would be difficult to navigate his way out of. That award was reserved for the legends. And usually, that came with an age bracket. With a good-natured grin, he gave Liam's shoulder a second squeeze, running his fingers appreciatively over the silvery fabric of his shirt, that, by the looks of things wasn't at all buttoned.

If it were anyone else, he might have figured it was a wardrobe malfunction. But it was Liam.

As he pulled his hand back to himself, Ollie was surprised to find that the distance between them had become nonexistent. Liam draped an arm around his neck and kissed him. It took a moment, or several, he couldn't be sure, to comprehend. Eventually, he pulled back to look him in the face, a question clear in his eyes. For a moment, he stayed like that before finally breaking into a grin. "If I'd've known all it would take was a Joni Mitchell cover..." He gave a playful slap to his cheek. Of course it was much more than that.

As far as he could tell, not a single person in the room had seemed to bat an eyelash.

Nothing else existed until they pulled apart, and then it all seemed to exist very hard and loudly. The music and the voices shook through Liam with force. Elbow still resting on Ollie’s shoulder, he buried his head in his hand, his fingers in his hair. He couldn’t look at anyone when his face was burning like this. He was very drunk and barely standing up and he couldn’t make sense of how he’d got himself into a relationship that hinged so heavily on tender Joni Mitchell covers.

“Shut up,” Liam mumbled in embarrassment. It took him a few seconds to summon the courage to glance up into Ollie’s eyes again.

They stood there in the middle of the dancing crowd. Not many seemed to have taken notice, but some clearly had. Liam’s spine straightened tensely, defensively. “’S done, then,” he said, voice thin. “I guess I’ve just been so sick of it…not being done.” The privateness of their relationship was so ingrained in him that he hated the feeling of this, being soft and sweet and madly in love somewhere other people could see. It felt like he’d broken the laws of the universe somehow. But fuck, Liam was tired of it feeling like that. Hopefully in time he’d rewrite the laws of the universe in some freer and easier way.

He drew his fingers dazedly through Ollie’s hair now. “What now, then?” he asked. He was feeling desperate for something to do, and far be it from him to spirit Ollie away from the night of his first award so he kept himself from suggesting the obvious. “Did you come here for anything besides hunting me down?”

His eyes only briefly scanned the crowd.

Oliver was far more interested in what was happening in front of him; the way Liam hid his face, the way his hand pushed roughly through his hair, and eventually the way that he looked back up to meet his gaze. There was a profound moment of still that Ollie inherently knew he would want to remember, he did all that he could to burn it into his memory. For Liam, it was a moment that would likely change the course of the rest of his life and there was a significance in playing any kind of role in that.

Though, he did have the tendency to romanticize things.

Another moment passed and as did another pause for hesitation. Grinning, Ollie nodded. It sure was done. Well, done enough. Whatever they kept in the confines of their rooms, or in those shitty hole in the wall pubs where no one knew them (really just Liam) was out in the open.

Ollie tried not to make a fuss of it despite whatever feeling was coursing through his chest. There was a lingering, nagging, voice in the back of his head that Liam might regret it in the morning. "We have fun," He repeated in answer to the question, what now, as if it were just that easy.

"Here?!" He gestured vaguely around them as his shoulders moved naturally to the funky blues-adjacent song that had started pumping through the hall. "This is a party for the winners, you know?" Ollie was obviously teasing, an attempt to lighten the atmosphere a little. "Want a drink?" He asked. It didn't look like Liam necessarily needed one but it was an excuse to wander over to the abandoned corner booth nestled away that was, for some reason beyond him, set aside for him and the band, and their people.

Ollie figured he would hate himself if he weren't so god damn over the moon.

Liam finally lifted his heavy head. Ollie looked proud of him. In a soberer state he might have found it infantilizing but as he was Liam felt madly loved. Letting his arm drift back down to rest around Ollie’s neck, he choked out a laugh. “Really hope someone’s noticed—don’t want to have to get up the nerve again.”

While the nerve was still up, he gave Ollie another firm kiss for good measure.

And then it was done, and they were teasing each other again like they might have months ago, swaying vaguely to the music like they’d finally remembered they were on a dance floor. Liam grinned and affected a tone of faux annoyance. “You give a bloke one award and he gets all cocky, does he?” He certainly does, and Liam would happily let him.

They floated off the dance floor. Liam sat down on the booth bench and lay back on it without a thought, bending with the curve of the seat. “Gin fizz, you think?” he asked Ollie. “And pick up a bottle for home.” He was far drunker already than he’d been that first night, and far too close to falling asleep. But that was no reason to stop the thread of reminiscing they’d done tonight.

Had he thought it would come to this, the first time he’d looked up and seen Oliver Rigby in the grubby pub lights? When was the first time he’d wanted it to? Liam looked up at the flickering shadows on the ceiling and tried to consider.

Brain too fuzzy. Didn’t matter.

[out]

He knew that the teasing was in good nature, but there was some truth to— for him, anyway. The swell of pride much like the ocean pushing and pulling at his chest all night, filling him up, had started to make it hard to think of anything but the future. The idea that the band might make it in any capacity was no longer just a pipeline dream. It was happening. In fact, it was happening so fast that he could already feel himself losing touch with the person he figured he had been before.

With a satisfied and half-drunk grin, he watched Liam fall back onto the couch after him as easily as they had fallen back into step.

"Home?" It was less of a question and more of a thought. Oliver would have done just about anything to keep riding the high of the night— gin fizz, and Liam, and wherever home was, seemed like a promising option. Forget the fact that his own home for the last few months had been a glorified hotel suite the label had been putting him up in, even after the tour. Following Liam's eyes to the ceiling, he affectionately gave the back of his neck a squeeze.

"C'mon then," The organizers had planned for everything, having portkeys and various modes of safe magical transportation set up to get their drunk entertainment home in one piece. Again, the thought crossed his mind as to just where home would be. Oliver swept up to his feet and grabbed a bottle with one hand, holding the other out for Liam as he stood in front of him. The finer details of whatever it was they were getting themselves into, he figured, they could work out in the morning.

fin