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“Ollie?” a quiet voice spoke up from behind him.
Oliver tensed. He turned to find Percy standing by the threshold of the open door. “Everything all right?” he asked lightly, as if he hadn’t been lost in his own headspace.
Percy raised an eyebrow as he walked out onto the balcony and slid the door shut. “You weren’t in bed. Besides, I should be asking you that question. What’s wrong?”
There was no use in making up excuses. When Percy frowned and eyed Oliver as if he could read his mind, honesty was always the best way to go.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Are you still thinking about the match?”
“Um, maybe?”
“You played well.”
“Puddlemere should have won though,” Oliver sighed, his shoulders heavy with exhaustion. Suddenly, everything he had been holding in spilled out of his mouth. “I don’t know what made Griffiths fuck up so badly where he had to crash into two of the Arrows Chasers. It’s not like the Arrows needed that penalty shot! And who knew Cotton would catch the Snitch when he’s been rubbish at it before. We were so damn close! 20 points behind. If I had just blocked two more goals, maybe—”
His rambling stopped as soon as long slim fingers gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. And when Oliver looked up to see those fierce yet sincere blue eyes trained on him, his heart fluttered in his chest.
“I meant what I said,” Percy murmured, moving his hand up to cup Oliver’s face. “You played your very best. And your best is more than good enough. That’s what you always tell me.”
“This is different, Perce.”
“No, it’s not.”
“But—”
“One loss won’t negate all the wins Puddlemere already has for the season. Beat the Wanderers in two weeks time with those game plays of yours, and you’ll be locked in to compete for the Cup. If you want to see the stats, I can show you.”
Oliver’s eyes grew wide. “Wait, you’ve already made calculations?”
“Of course, but that’s not the point—oh!”
The moment his arms wrapped around Percy, Oliver let his body melt against the solid lithe frame he loved so much. The anxiety somehow dissipated, replaced with a familiar warmth that flowed through him instead.
Merlin, there was no way he could ever let this man go. Not that Oliver wanted to anyway.