The Blind Date

As Percy walked home, he was only able to put aside a small part of his mind to ensure that he actually got there, as the rest of it had been knocked upside down and was still desperately trying to right itself.

If he had been thinking clearly, Percy would have noticed that he was being followed. He would have noticed the pair of bickering redheads in nondescript trench coats and sunglasses, who were about a block behind him on the other side of the street.

"Fred!" George hissed. "Let me go first. I can't see."

"Shut it!" Fred whispered. For good measure, Fred reached back and whacked his brother, as there was nothing George could do in retaliation that wouldn't give them away.

The pair trailed Percy, George trying to act as normal and unnoticeable as possible. Fred, on the other hand, pressed himself against the sides of buildings and made sneaking dashes through the pools of light under the streetlamps.

"How is it that I'm supposed to be identical to someone with a sock for brains?" George muttered.

"Piss off," Fred whispered, stopping to whack George again.

"Stop that! Look, he's obviously going to back to his flat."

"So?"

"Let's just apparate into his apartment and wait until he goes to sleep."

"But...no more sneaking?" Fred halted mid-skulk with a crestfallen look.

They popped into Percy's living room seconds later. "I wonder if he has any food?" George said, turning toward the kitchen. "I'm starving."

"Wait-" Fred put a hand on his arm. He was looking toward the door. "He's back." The sound of footsteps outside the door was getting louder.

"Shite." They scrambled around the apartment for a hiding place. George made it to the linen closet before his brother, and closed the door in his face.

"Let me in!" Fred hissed, tugging at the knob.

"Too small," came a smug whisper from inside.

"You bastard." Fred whipped around in a panic.

"That's what you get for hitting me," George answered sweetly.

Fred only barely made it behind the braided ficus plant when Percy spelled the door open.

Fred tried to breathe quietly and look like a small tree. He was failing on both counts. When Percy walked by him, and stopped, Fred held his breath.

Percy muttered something to himself and went into his bedroom.

Fred stayed concealed behind the ficus, listening to the sounds of Percy getting ready for bed. Finally, a half and hour later, Percy seemed to be asleep. The linen closet door creaked open and George poked his head out.

"Let's go get him," said George, with a grin.

And they did.

*~*~*~*

Oliver awoke the next morning and sat up in bed. Ooh. Hangover.

Wincing, Oliver began rubbing his temples. He must have gotten pretty smashed last night, though could only remember up to meeting his mates with Percy at that bar. After that, his mind was a-

Someone sighed.

Oliver stopped, hands frozen to the sides of his head. His eyes snapped open. He turned to his right.

There was someone there.

Someone with red hair, freckles, and a pair of glasses that were slightly crushed into Oliver's pillow. Someone who stirred a little and sighed again.

That someone was naked, from what he could see. And Oliver was only in his boxers.

"Holy hell," he croaked.

What in God's name was Percy Weasley doing naked in his bed?

"There's no way..." He laughed, just to assure himself.

Unless-

Unless, of course, last night he had gotten blind, stinking drunk (well, that was actually a given), ended up back at his flat, and had tumbled into bed with a person who was quickly becoming one of his closest friends. Percy, of course, would've been drunk too (unlikely) or completely off the deep end.

What other explanation was there, though?

He was never getting plastered again. It only led to extraordinarily stupid things- like that unfortunate tattoo of "I Luv Cornelius" on his lower back, or apparently sleeping with Percy. (Oliver was holding on to the "apparently" for dear life.)

Percy. Who was currently curled toward Oliver, his usual pristine appearance sleep-rumpled. Whose expression was actually unguarded for once and whose pink mouth was open just a little-

Oliver's head reared back.

Why did Percy's mouth give Oliver the feeling of déjà vu? A fleeting thought of "Mine," surfaced from the aching sludge of his mind.

He almost remembered...something. Oh, shite.

"I'm such a moron," Oliver muttered, looking down at the sleeping figure next to him. There was no surer way to terminate a friendship with someone than by shagging them. It would be awkward. And uncomfortable. And slowly, they would stop talking to each other. Oliver turned his head away. He felt more hungover than ever.

He needed a cup of coffee. And a tiny cowardly part of him really didn't want to be there when Percy woke up. After all, as long as Percy was sleeping, everything was fine. They were still friends. Friends who were currently sharing a bed, but still friends.

Oliver climbed out of his bed. "Hey!"

Or rather, he tried to. Because every time Oliver made to put his foot on the floor, the hardwood slipped out of reach. After a minute of awkwardly hanging over the end of the bed, feet flailing, Oliver gave up.

He couldn't get off of his own bed. And where was his wand, anyway?

What the bloody hell was going on here?

"I must be going mad," he muttered. "That's it. I've gone off my trolley. That's the only explanation for why I seem to be trapped, nearly naked, in bed with Percy..."

Wait a minute.

"Those bastards." He had always known Fred and George should've been committed to St. Mungos at birth.

Oliver felt a rush of relief. For a second there he had actually thought that...

He settled back to his place, thinking. He was trapped, naked, in bed with Percy. And they hadn't shagged. Aha.

Okay then. It was a little strange, but oh well. Fred and George would die later.

Shrugging, Oliver grabbed a Quidditch magazine off the nightstand and sat up against the headboard, idly leafing through the pages. Percy had moved closer to Oliver's side of the bed during the failed escape attempt. Oliver looked down at his friend and wondered if he should wake him. No sooner had the thought occurred to him when suddenly Percy stirred again and burrowed up against Oliver's torso with a satisfied murmur. Oliver's eyes widened.

It was now a little stranger.

Percy's hair was tickling his stomach; Oliver could feel the redhead's shallow breathing against his skin.

Disturbed on some level, Oliver figured that this was definitely the time to push Percy away, wake him up and figure out a way out of there.

But he didn't.

After all, his bed was nice and warm, as was Percy, and it wasn't like he had anywhere to be until later.

Oliver calmly turned the page of his magazine. Somewhere, in between the article on the latest racing broom and the one on Scotland's new keeper, the warmth against his side stopped being so strange. It was almost...nice. When Oliver began absently stroking the soft red hair at his elbow, he didn't notice. And when Percy's arm somehow found its way around his waist, he didn't mind.

*~*~*~*

There was a hand on his head. That was the first sensation Percy registered as he stirred from sleep. Odd. And he didn't hear the sound of the alarm clock that usually woke him. Very odd.

Percy looked up.

A pair of brown eyes and a familiar face with an expression that Percy was certain he'd never forget.

Oliver. And he was- Percy yelped.

It was at that point that Percy suffered a brief, temporary mental meltdown.

He sprung away as though Oliver was on fire. "I- I- I-" Somehow that was the only thing coming out his mouth.

He sat, pressed against the headboard, face flushed, sheet wrapped around him, and tried very hard not to look at Oliver, who seemed to be of a similar mind. After a random thought, he took a hesitant peek under his sheet. Percy had never been so glad to see a pair of boxers in his life.

Still, this was really quite embarrassing.

He had nearly forgotten all about last night. Really. By the time he had finished brushing his teeth, Percy was prepared to meet Oliver the next time with perfect equanimity.

So much for that, Percy thought, blushing as he never had before.

The silence was so awkward and Percy was so mortified that- maybe if he stared at it hard enough the ceiling fan would come crashing down and put him out of his misery.

Percy cast about for something to say to break the silence.

"I-" There it was again. "Sorry," was all he could finally manage.

"It's okay," Oliver said. The tone of his voice suggested the opposite.

"I was-"

"I know."

"Oh. Right." Percy pulled his sheet up to his neck, blushing, if possible, even more.

Had he and Oliver actually...? And why didn't he remember it? Sleeping with Oliver wasn't exactly something that would just slip his mind.

Besides, after the incident that never happened last night, Percy had gone home and to bed. Alone. It didn't make sense.

"Um- Did we...?" Percy ventured.

"I don't think so."

"Then why-"

"Try getting off the bed." Oliver was being almost calm about this, which didn't make Percy feel any better at all.

"What do you mean?"

"Just try it."

Percy wrapped his sheet around him with as much dignity as he could muster and swung his legs over the end of the bed. His left foot reached for the floor- and kept going. "It's like the floor is always a few inches away," Percy mused.

"I know."

Something was very wrong here- well, besides the fact that Percy didn't normally wake up practically on top of a naked Quidditch player every morning.

Percy looked around the room. "And where are our wands? And our, um, clothes?"

"I'll give you a hint. They have red hair, twisted minds, they're related to you..." Oliver stopped, as realization dawned on Percy's face.

"I'm going to kill those two," Percy said, scowling.

"You always say that." Oliver almost smiled.

"I always mean it!" Percy snapped angrily. For a second there he had actually thought that-

"I mean where do Fred and George get off pulling something like this?" And embarrassing me like this, Percy thought, fuming. "Oh- and it's Tuesday and I have a meeting at work today, and I'm going to miss it, and they probably didn't even think of that in this stupid, ridiculous, misguided attempt to-"

"Hey, calm down," Oliver said, moving over and putting a hand on Percy's shoulder. Percy's rant halted instantly.

He stiffened and Oliver jerked his hand away. Percy saw that expression creeping back into his face.

Abruptly they moved back to opposite sides of the bed, very carefully not touching. An awkward silence descended again.

They had to get out of here. As soon as possible.

*~*~*~*

"Have you tried just jumping off?" Percy asked after a moment.

"No." Oliver turned to Percy. "You want to go first?"

Percy looked over the edge. "Not really."

"Fine." Oliver wrapped the comforter around his waist and readied himself. Suddenly he froze on one knee near the edge. Oliver threw the end of the comforter over his shoulder with a dramatic air; his chin titled up. "Percy?"

"Yes?"

"If I don't come back, tell my mum I love her." Oliver turned bravely back to the edge. "Farewell. I do not regret the things I've done, but those I-"

"Oh, shut up." Percy pushed him off the bed.

"Hey!" Oliver squawked.

A strange thing happened. No sooner had Oliver gone over than a flash of bright while light filled the room. The floor spit Oliver back up. With a yell, he flew into the air, limbs whirling, and crashed back onto the bed.

Or rather, onto Percy.

Torso to torso.

Without the comforter.

Which meant there was only a thin sheet separating them.

If that wasn't bad enough, the flushed, almost breathless look on Percy's face made it worse. Much worse. Especially since Percy's glasses had been knocked off somehow and Oliver could actually see Percy's eyes for the first time. He couldn't move. Oliver had the odd feeling that this would all make sense if he could only figure out what was in Percy's eyes.

And for a moment, the only sound in the room was their breathing.

"Oliver?" Their faces were so close that Oliver could feel Percy say his name in a warm brush of air.

"Hmm?"

"Your elbow is on my glasses." Percy's eyes flickered away.

"Oh."

The bed creaked as Oliver quickly pushed himself off. He handed Percy back his glasses and retrieved the comforter in the unnerving silence that hung in the air.

It stretched forever.

There had to be a way to make this better- some funny comment to get rid of the tension; to get rid of that closed expression on Percy's face.

Suddenly his mouth quirked. Really, in such a situation, there was only one thing to do. And Oliver really wanted to do it.

"Percy?"

Percy swallowed, adjusting his glasses. "What?"

"You aren't by any chance, oh I don't know, ticklish?"

"Um...no?"

Oliver rounded on his friend with a wicked smile. Perfect.

"No...Oliver, wait- don't." Percy scrambled back and Oliver came closer. "You don't want to do this. You don't. I'm not- I'm not even ticklish," Percy pronounced, in what Oliver was beginning to think of as his 'Head Boy voice'. Oliver pounced.

"Oh, get off," Percy said as Oliver tickled his chest. Percy didn't move, trying very hard to maintain his dignity. "See?" he coughed. "I'm not...ticklish." He tried to push Oliver away.

"Really?"

"Yes. You can stop now." Percy was tensed up, face firmly under control, obviously fighting the urge to squirm under Oliver hands. Then Oliver found Percy's hips. Percy yelped.

"Oliver! Stop! St-stop!" Percy was soon the victim of a full fledged tickle assault, and Oliver had the pleasure of hearing Percy laugh, really laugh, for the first time.

He should do that more often, Oliver thought absently. He paused and pulled his head back.

Oliver paid for the moment of distraction. Percy's hands shot forward and grabbed Oliver's wrists. He pulled Oliver over with a yank. "Hey!" Suddenly Oliver found himself flat on his back, a smirking Weasley looming over him.

Who sat on him and crossed his arms.

"Come on, Percy, geroff." Oliver struggled to get away.

"Hmph. You deserve it." Percy didn't move from his position.

"Aren't you going to do anything?" Oliver asked after a moment.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it would be immature," Percy said, as though it was obvious.

"Ah. Then why are you still sitting on me?" Oliver asked, hiding a smile.

"Because I know what will happen if I don't."

"What if I were to promise not to tickle you anymore?" Oliver said, with an innocent expression.

"I wouldn't believe you."

"Good. Because I'd lie." Oliver smiled.

"I know you would." Percy smiled back.

"Percy," Oliver said after a moment, "Do you ever think you might have been a pirate in a previous life?"

"What??" Percy sat back, confused.

"Gotcha." Oliver surged forward.

"Hey! You- hey!" Oliver fingers found Percy's sensitive sides and Percy was off gasping and laughing again. "You cheated!" he choked out.

"All's fair in love and war, my friend," Oliver said as he continued tickling and Percy let out another burst of laughter.

"No- let go! Stop! I- I can't take it," Percy finally managed to push him off.

After shooting a glare at Oliver, Percy straightened his glasses. He stopped, staring just below Oliver's waist. A smirk almost emerged.

"What?" Oliver asked. Why was Percy looking...there?

"Of course you have an ugly pair of Quidditch boxers." Percy shook his head at the busy whirr of quaffles, bludgers and snitches zooming around Oliver's thighs. "I should have known."

"Ugly?" Oliver exclaimed, glancing down in an offended way.

"Well, hideous is a better word."

"I'll have you know these are very stylish," Oliver said airily.

Percy snorted.

"They are! The woman at the shop said so." Oliver lower lip jutted out. It was clear he was rather attached to them.

"They're neon yellow with balls flying all over them." Percy's mouth twitched. He looked so bloody insufferable that Oliver couldn't help reaching to his left. Really, the nerve of some people- insulting his underwear.

Percy didn't see it coming- the pillow hit him smack in the nose. Percy's face settled into a very calm, very annoyed expression.

"Oliver?" Percy said, not moving a muscle.

"Yes?"

"I'm going to get you for that." Percy lunged for the pillow on his right.

*~*~*~*

Percy had never been in a pillow fight before. Later, he decided that he had definitely been missing out.

"Ow!" Percy, on his knees, picked up the pillow that had glanced off his head and chucked it back at Oliver, who caught it. There was a menacing glint in his eye; Percy was now unarmed.

"Wait-" Percy squeaked. He was in for it now.

"Take it back," Oliver intoned.

"What?"

"Repeat after me: Oliver's Quidditch boxers are not hideous. In fact, I think I will go out and buy a pair I like them so much."

Percy snorted again, more derisively this time.

"Say it, Percy," Oliver said, advancing closer. He raised the pillow above his head.

"Wait!" Percy tried to stand up to get away, only to get tangled in the sheets. "Woah!" He pitched forward and landed in an inelegant heap on the bed. "Oof."

He was all twisted up in the sheets. Percy tried to get away again, but it he kept getting tangled. And Oliver kept laughing, the great prat.

"Walk much?" Oliver said, after Percy stopped struggling.

"Shut up," Percy smiled, his voice emerging from the pillow his face was pressed into. Percy had somehow ended up face down on the bed, his elbow next Oliver's head, their legs jumbled together.

"Now who's wearing the hideous boxers?" said Oliver smugly.

Percy turned his head to the right, where Oliver was still almost laughing at him. "That makes absolutely no sense at all."

"You shut up," Oliver said. And he whacked Percy with a pillow again.

"Stop it." Percy made an irritable grab for Oliver's pillow. Oliver pulled it out of reach.

"Let go!" From there it escalated into tangled game of tug of war over the pillow. Oliver finally wrenched the pillow away from Percy's surprisingly iron grip. Percy sprung for the pillow, lunging over Oliver to get at it.

"I don't think so," Oliver said with a grin, waving the pillow back over his head with one hand while the other found its way to tickle Percy's side.

Percy gasped and tried to swat him away, reaching for the pillow.

And then Percy looked down at Oliver (to say something, he didn't remember what), and, as though by an unspoken accord, they both stilled. It was then Percy realized a few things: it was really quiet and he was actually lying on top of Oliver and Oliver's hand was still on his hip and Oliver's face was only a few inches away and-

And that was how Fred and George found them.

"Wait. I know," said Fred with a grin. "It's not what it looks like, right?"