The Blind Date

Percy had to reread the same paragraph about International Floo tolls 3 times before he could actually comprehend it. Finally he sighed, and stretched his neck.

He was being quite unproductive today. Normally he got through the morning reports by 10:30, and he today wasn't even finished yet- and it was 11:30.

Percy wasn't about to admit to himself why.

It was just that- well, today was going be the first time he and Oliver would meet since the morning Fred and George had sprung that ridiculous practical joke on them.

After the twins had finally released them and returned their wands, Percy had certainly given them a piece of his mind. Fred and George had just smirked, of course. It was then that Percy had discovered that it was rather hard to look imposing and stern when you were in your boxers and the victim of a Weasley full body blush.

Oliver had just said, "You two are very, very lucky you didn't interfere with my Quidditch practice," and shunted them out the door- but not before Fred had called, "Oh, we'll just leave you two alone," in a tone of voice that had made Percy want to wring his neck.

Then Percy had pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose in the silence before saying, "I ought to get work, I suppose. I'm pretty late."

"Yeah," Oliver had replied quietly. "Are we still on for coffee on Thursday?" They'd regarded each other for a moment before Percy had just nodded and apparated away.

And today was Thursday. And it was nearly 12:00. And Mabel, his rather nosy secretary, had already asked him twice if he was feeling all right. Percy had told her that he was fine. He still wasn't certain if he'd lied or not.

Why did the prospect of meeting Oliver unsettle him so?

It never had before. In fact, he used to look forward to their weekly coffee meetings. Something was...different now.

Percy buried his head back in the report, making a concerted effort not to look at the clock; it was crawling and speeding along at the same time.

12:00 arrived soon enough, and Percy found himself at Grizzelda's. He ordered a cup of coffee (black, no milk, no sugar) and sat down. He looked down at his watch. In approximately 10 seconds, Oliver would come in through the door of the coffee shop and say, "Sorry I'm late, Percy." Only now it was...

Percy stopped himself from reaching for the napkin on the table. (It was a silly habit, anyway.) Instead he looked to the door, then down at his watch again.

3...

2...

1...

"Sorry I'm late Percy!" Oliver said, scooting his chair closer to the table.

"That's all right," Percy replied, hiding a small, if slightly nervous smile.

Oliver's equipment bag hit the floor with a thud. "I needed to talk with the coach about one of the plays for our first game." Percy only so much as nodded before Oliver was off. Any moment now, Oliver would begin demonstrating the plays using the sugar packets and coffee straws. Percy barely restrained himself from shaking his head with a smile. Instead, Percy settled back into his chair and took a sip of coffee, letting Oliver's words wash around him. It was almost normal- though Oliver was talking a little faster than usual.

"And that way," Oliver said, moving a pair of straws toward Percy, "if the beaters keep knocking the bludgers back and forth across the field, it clears the way for the chasers to- oh hell." Oliver had accidentally tipped over Percy's cup of coffee with the onslaught of two sugar packets.

"Are the chasers supposed to run into the goal post and knock it over?" Percy asked dryly.

"Oh shut it," Oliver said, making a face at Percy as he began cleaning up the mess.

"Here, let me help you," Percy said, reaching forward.

"Sorry about your-" Oliver fell silent mid-sentence when Percy's hand accidentally touched his own.

Their eyes met for an instant before Percy swallowed and went back to cleaning up the coffee, which was running toward the edge of the table.

They made small talk; Percy kept his hands quite firmly in his lap. There was even the mention of the weather before the conversation drifted back toward Quidditch. "And then Nancy comes up behind me," said Oliver, rolling his eyes balefully, "and starts making all of these comments, like she could've made that save, and maybe the wrong person was the reserve keeper." Oliver glared at nothing in particular. "Which is ridiculous," he added after a moment.

"Ridiculous," Percy echoed, nodding slowly.

Oliver took a sip of latte. "Yeah."

In the silence that followed Percy stared at his coffee and felt a tired twinge of anger towards Fred and George.

*~*~*~*

After coffee, Percy neared his office, still lost in his thoughts. He had decided to walk rather than apparate back to the ministry; the extra time had done little to clear up the lingering confusion and frustration Percy felt after coffee had turned awkward.

Mabel, his secretary, greeted him with a curious glint in her eye. "You're back," she said, in a strange tone.

"Yes," was all that Percy said, passing her.

"Um- there are two gentlemen here to see you, sir. They've been waiting for awhile," she added.

"Their names?" Percy asked. He stopped and turned to her.

"Oh...they said I should tell you that a Mr. Weatherby and a Mr. Stikuphisarse wished to speak with you."

"Oh did they, Mabel?" Percy deadpanned. Mabel shrugged not-so-innocently and sat down at her desk. Percy's eyes narrowed at the closed door to his office. His mouth set.

Percy opened the door to his office with a brisk, "Hello, Fred and George. What now?"

"Where were you?" Fred asked. His dirty shoes were already up on Percy's desk. That's going to leave a mark, Percy thought crossly.

"That's none of you business," Percy said. This time, Percy was determined not to let Fred and George get to him.

"Really?" George asked. "You didn't go anywhere for lunch?"

"No," said Percy. He looked down and began signing forms. "Get your feet off my desk."

Fred did, but not before he mentioned casually, "That's not what your secretary said."

"What??" Percy's eyes jerked up, glaring out his door toward Mabel, who abruptly began filing her nails. Damn. They had gotten to him again. Percy quickly composed himself. "Regardless of what my secretary may or may not have told you, it's-"

"In fact," George continued, "she says you've been going out to lunch rather frequently of late."

"You never used to do that, did you Percy?" Fred asked.

"That's still none of your business," Percy said, fighting the blush he could feel coming on.

"You wouldn't by any chance be...meeting anyone?" Fred asked, looking puzzled.

"Maybe a certain handsome Quidditch player that we all know?" George wondered.

Percy could see Mabel leaning eagerly towards his office out of the corner of his eye, trying to catch every word. Merlin only knew what Fred and George had told her before he arrived. "Out," Percy bit off. "Now." The expression on Percy's face was deadly serious, and for one reason or another, the twins actually listened to him.

"Fine," George sniffed, "We know when were not wanted. Let's go, Fred," he added in a choked voice.

Fred stood up. "No," he said to Percy, holding out a dignified hand, "Don't bother. We can show ourselves out." Fred abruptly turned to the door and walked slowly out, shoulders squared. Percy glowered at him from his seat.

"Besides," George said brightly, following Fred, "we have a letter to post." George winked just before shutting the door.

Percy barely managed to keep from burying his head in his hands.

*~*~*~*

That evening, around 9:30, Oliver approached the door to Percy's flat. He looked down at the letter in his hand for a moment.

Hopefully this would go better than coffee had today. He and Percy had, through some tacit agreement, decided to completely ignore whatever had been about to happen before Fred and George had walked in on them this Tuesday. A good thing the twins had, too, Oliver had decided later. After all, snogging your uptight friend who was, if Oliver's guess was correct, barely out of the closet (and didn't think about you like that anyway) was just a bloody stupid thing to do if you hoping to remain friends. Even if Oliver had really wanted to. Even if, at the time, he had really wanted to just flip Percy onto his back and...dishevel him. How was it possible for a person to look so neat and proper even when they were in the middle of a half-naked pillow fight? It was just- stupid. Bloody stupid.

Oliver could hear Percy's words now, the "sorry but I just don't feel that way about you" speech. It would be polite, Oliver was sure. Unfailingly polite.

Things were better this way, even if they were now, in fits, both more comfortable and uncomfortable than they'd ever been before. But at least they were still speaking to each other.

Oliver broke from his reverie and knocked on the door, which opened a moment later to reveal Percy, in pajamas and a robe that was coming untied.

"Oliver? Wha-what are you doing here?" said Percy with a little yawn.

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No," Percy replied, "I was just getting ready for bed." Percy stood back to let in Oliver.

Oliver didn't move. "At 9:30?" he asked, with a quirk of his eyebrow.

"I have a lot of work to do tomorrow," Percy said defensively.

"Workaholic," Oliver teased, walking through the door.

"Says the man who wants to be buried with his broom," Percy shot back.

Oliver chose to ignore that. "Look, I was just going through my afternoon post and-" Oliver turned back toward Percy and did a slight double-take.

His eyes locked on Percy's chest. Or rather, Percy's sparkly T-shirt. "Let go of my ears?" Oliver murmured to himself. A mischievous grin slowly spread across his face. "So, you do, do you?" he asked Percy.

"Beg pardon?" Percy asked.

"Know what you're doing?" Oliver prompted.

"What?"

Oliver pointed at the T-shirt twinkling out from the gap in Percy's robe. Percy looked down and gasped. Oliver could see Percy's face turning red.

"Oh...it's..." Percy sputtered.

"It's what?" Oliver said, raising his eyebrows.

"You see...um...Fred and George got it for me...I- never wear it, really. I just-" Percy hastily re-adjusted his robe, tying it firmly shut.

"Sure, Percy." Oliver's smirk seemed glued to his face.

"Oh, shut up," Percy huffed, turning away to go into the kitchen. He walked over to a cupboard and poured himself a glass of water as nonchalantly as possible.

"Anyway," Oliver continued, still smiling, "As I was saying, this came in my afternoon post." He walked over and handed Percy the letter.

Percy put down his glass; he took one look at the handwriting on the outside and sighed. "Of course they sent you a letter."

Percy unfolded it:

Oliver-

We just came back from a tender heart to heart with our dear brother Percy. Though he is quite shy, we can tell that Percy thinks that you are dead sexy. Percy would love for you to come to our family dinner on Sunday, but he would never ask you, as he has a stick up his arse. The dinner is at 6:00 at the Burrow. Percy will be waiting.

Signed,

Fred and George.

He watched Percy read the letter; Oliver could tell which part Percy was on by the emotions flickering over his face. First disdain, then embarrassment, then indignation ("I do not have a stick up my arse!"), then back to embarrassment.

"Merlin- I mean, really! Where do they come up with things like that?" Percy exclaimed.

"You mean you don't think that I'm dead sexy?" Oliver pouted. It wasn't until Percy's expression dropped off his face that Oliver realized what he had said. Why did stupid things like that just pop out of his mouth?

It was the only time Oliver could ever remember seeing Percy look confused. Percy half-shrugged and opened his mouth. "I-"

"Never mind," Oliver cut in.

And there was that uncomfortable thing again.

Percy cleared his throat and muttered, "I'm really getting sick of this."

Oliver's head turned toward Percy. "Of what?" he asked slowly.

"Fred and George. And their ridiculous schemes," Percy said.

Oliver let out a short laugh. "Well, that's too bad, because if I know your brothers, they won't stop until we get married and start adopting babies or something." Percy smiled a little at that, Oliver was pleased to note.

"I'm awfully sorry about this, Oliver," Percy said. "Maybe I can figure out a way make the twins stop all this before I see them at dinner on Sunday. Oh- and, um, you don't have to come if you don't want to- I mean, with Fred and George there, why would anyone-"

"I'll come," Oliver heard himself saying.

"Really?"

"What kind of friend would let you face those two all on your own?" he replied with a smile.

"Thank you," Percy murmured and looked away. He wandered over to the living room, and Oliver followed him. Percy pulled his robe more tightly around him, completely obscuring his sparkly T-shirt. Oliver smiled. Percy was sometimes full of surprises. You thought you had Percy pinned down, and then he would do something like shamelessly cheat at skeeball or wear a shirt like that. I wonder if he really does know what he's doing? Oliver thought absently. Wait-

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid.

Oliver was vaguely aware that he had made some sort of hacking noise.

"Are you okay?" Percy asked, taking a step towards him. "Do you need a glass of water?"

"I'm fine." Oliver sat down on Percy's couch. He ran a hand over his forehead. He really needed to stop this. Right now. Did he want to screw up his relationship with Percy? Was he hoping to completely blow their friendship to bits just because of a few unfortunate feelings that refused to go away?

"Are you sure you're okay?" Percy asked again.

Oliver lowered his hand slowly and turned his head to the left. He blinked. Percy was kneeling by the couch, looking concerned and rather fussy.

It felt very familiar.

"What did you say?" Oliver murmured. There was something in that- in the very back of his mind- what was it, what was it? Why was he suddenly thinking about that night a few days ago when they had gone to that bar and had met Ellen and Nancy- that night that was still...fuzzy?

"Are you sure you're okay?" Percy repeated, looking even more concerned.

Oh.

Oliver felt ill.

*Are you sure you're okay?* Percy had said.

And then he had said: *Percy, don't go.* And then he had-

Oh.

Holy effing hell.

He was so bloody stupid.

"Oliver? You really don't look well." Percy was frowning at him now.

Why hadn't Percy told him? Actually, he knew the answer to that one: Percy was nothing if not polite, and there was really no polite way to mention to a friend that they had drunkenly snogged you the night before. Still, it least he hadn't ruined-

"Oliver?"

What exactly happened when it turned out that you had already done the one stupid thing you'd been telling yourself that you weren't going to do?

"I'm fine, Percy," Oliver said.

Percy was now standing up over at him, hands resting firmly on his hips. "You are not. You look positively ashen," he said forcefully.

"I'm fine," Oliver said again.

Percy leaned over the arm of the couch and put his hand on Oliver's forehead, much to Oliver's surprise. "You do feel a little warm, though. Strange," he murmured.

"Why thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Oliver said, rolling his eyes.

"I am not acting like my mum," Percy protested. He removed his hand, fingertips brushing through Oliver's hair just a little.

Oliver swallowed. "No?' he asked, looking back up at Percy sardonically. "Just then you looked like you were ready to tuck me into bed and ladle fluids down my throat."

"Oh, shut up," said Percy. They smiled at each other, though Percy was obviously trying very hard not to.

Going after Percy was still an unbelievably bad idea. Oliver knew that (he did) - but it was getting harder and harder to believe it.

Especially when Percy was looking at him like that.

"So," Oliver said quietly after a moment, "what are we going to do about the twins?"

"I don't know," Percy said. "They won't listen to either of us and- wait." Percy looked quite pleased with himself.

"What is it?" asked Oliver.

"Well, there is one person I know of who can bend Fred and George to her will," Percy replied, titling his chin up. "My mother."

*~*~*~*

That Sunday, around 5:00, Percy apparated in the living room of the burrow. To his relief, the room was empty.

Normally Percy hated to ask anyone for help, but he had reached the end of his rope. And though Percy had made up his mind to talk to his mum about the whole thing, he was dreading it. Because explaining to Molly why Percy needed her to stop Fred and George's matchmaking antics might require explaining a few other things, namely the reason why the twins were trying to set him up with a guy.

He could just leave out that part, of course, but Percy was terrible at lying to his mum. Terrible. The scant few times he had even tried, it had only taken one mildly questioning look from Molly Weasley before Percy had broken down in an embarrassed trickle of stammering and blushing.

So, she had to know everything. All of it. Percy wasn't sure he was ready for that.

He took a deep breath anyway and called out, "Mum? Hello?"

"Percy! You're early!" Molly cried as she came out of the kitchen. She gave him a peck on the cheek and looked Percy over. "Have you been eating well?"

"Yes, Mum," Percy replied dutifully.

"Hmph. You're skin and bones." Molly shook her head. "Well, not to worry, I've got a big dinner planned this evening."

"Right. Actually I- I wanted to talk to you about something."

She looked him over again before replying, "Sure, Percy. Come into the kitchen." Percy followed her. "Here, fold these." she handed him a pile of sheets and busied herself with the rest of the laundry. Molly didn't press him; instead, they folded in silence for a while until it was nearly finished. Percy gathered his thoughts. Finally he opened his mouth.

"It's rather difficult o explain. I- I-" Why was this so hard? It was just a few words. But Percy couldn't seem to spit them out. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Molly put the last folded shirt in its pile and looked thoughtfully at Percy. "I think I know what this is about, dear."

"Y-you do?" How could she possibly-

"Mm-hmm. You're gay and dating that Oliver Wood boy."

Percy was dumbstruck.

"No! Well, yes to the first thing, but- I'm not- Oliver- we're just friends!" Percy gaped at his mum.

"Okay," she said, with an overly bland smile.

"How- where did you even hear about- I don't..."

"Well your father heard something at work, dear."

No.

Bloody, nosy, gossiping Mabel.

Merlin.

Fred and George knew. Oliver knew. His parents knew. And now everyone at work knew, and if they didn't, it would only take another day at most for the story to spread. Somehow, though, Percy wasn't as horrified as he would've thought.

"It's okay, Percy," Molly said gently. "Your father and I are fine with it. Are you going to stand there holding that sheet or are you going to fold it, dear?" she added.

Percy recovered himself and began mechanically folding the last sheet.

"Oliver is the boy Fred and George invited to dinner, isn't he?" Mrs. Weasley asked after a bit.

Percy only managed to nod.

"Good! Then your father and I will get to meet him."

"Mum- it's not like that. We're just friends." Percy protested. He finished folding the sheet and put it in the basket, carefully avoiding his mother's gaze.

Molly leaned over a patted Percy's hand. "It'll work itself out." She picked the basket of laundry up and left the kitchen.

Percy stared after her. "What do you-"

"Would you mind setting the table, dear?" Molly called over her shoulder with a smile, leaving Percy alone in the kitchen with his thoughts. Five minutes passed before he realized that he had never gotten around to talking to her about Fred and George.

*~*~*~*

It was nearly 6:00 when Percy managed to collect himself. He went into the kitchen only to find a pair of wicked grins greeting him.

"Hello, Percy," said Fred. He looked so irritatingly pleased that Percy wanted to-

"Hello," said Percy coldly. He adjusted his glasses for an optimal looking-down-one's-nose-at-one's-annoying-brothers position.

"Why Percy, aren't you just a little bit pleased to see us?" asked George. "It's been-"

"Before you say anything else," Percy interrupted, "you should be aware that I already know about that ridiculous letter you sent to Oliver." Ha, thought Percy.

Fred and George exchanged a look. "Really?" said George.

"He showed it to you?" asked Fred.

"Of course he did," Percy replied automatically.

"Of course he did, George!" Fred turned to his brother with an obviously feigned expression of amazement.

"Gee," said George. "Is he coming to dinner?"

"Actually, he is, but-"

"He is coming, George!" exclaimed Fred. "Isn't that cute?"

"That's not what it's like!" Percy was beginning to get the feeling that he was loosing control of the conversation.

"Sure, Percy," George said, patting him condescendingly on the shoulder.

Percy looked down at his brother's hand; his face turned to stone. Percy felt something snap inside. Suddenly, Percy had enough- enough of the manipulation, enough of the embarrassment, and especially enough of "Sure, Percy". His fists clenched.

"That is it." Percy said in a slow, deadly voice. "I have had it." Fred and George remained silent.

"I am sick and tired of you two thinking you know what's best for me, and whom I should date. Just because we're related doesn't give you the right to interfere with my life. And you certainly don't have the right to interfere with Oliver's! " Percy could feel weeks of frustration and tension pouring out of his mouth. "And the whole reason you're even bothering isn't because you actually care, it's because you have nothing better to do for entertainment than to humiliate me!" This wasn't exactly fair, and Percy knew it, but he was on a roll.

"Hi, Percy," said Oliver, who'd entered the kitchen sometime during Percy's rant.

"Hi, Oliver." Percy looked over. Oliver was leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, wearing a pair of jeans and a ridiculously endearing Puddlemere United polo shirt; it had bright blue and yellow horizontal stripes that were practically blinding. Percy turned back to Fred and George, who looked surprised, if not as cowed as he'd hoped. "And if...and..." Percy had completely lost his train of thought. His eyes drifted back towards Oliver.

"Sure, Percy," said George after a moment.

"Whatever you say," said Fred.

"We promise to behave ourselves," George said. They both looked nauseatingly angelic.

"You do," said Percy skeptically. "Right."

"Dinner, boys!" called Mrs. Weasley from the dining room. George made a beeline for the table, and Fred followed him, leaving Percy and Oliver alone in the kitchen.

"So I guess the whole 'talking to your mum' thing didn't work out," Oliver said, shooting an almost smug smile in Percy's direction.

"No," said Percy. "It didn't."

"Well then," said Oliver, "I guess there's only one thing left to do." He sighed dramatically.

"What's that?"

"We'll have to have a June wedding, so my Aunt Florence can come down from Scotland." Oliver nodded.

"Oliver." Percy rolled his eyes.

"What do you think we should name the first kid? I've always been partial to Oliver Jr., myself."

"Oliver."

"What?"

"You're an ass. Oh," Percy added, "and your shirt is hideous, by the way." He turned to go into the living room.

"It is not!" Oliver protested, quickly retaliating by reaching forward and ruffling Percy's hair. "Your hair is messed up, by the way," he said when Percy had stopped and turned around, mouth open in indignation.

"You have the maturity level of a five year old," Percy said as he stiffly fixed his hair.

"Thank you," said Oliver. He passed by Percy and went into the dining room.

Percy watched Oliver go with slight shake of his head. Percy was...pleased to see him. That was really the only way to explain the rush of nervous warmth he'd felt when Oliver had appeared. Percy walked into the dining room; his hair was still a little mussed.

Fred and George noticed.

Fred even mouthed, "Hey, hey," at Oliver. Oliver flicked a pea at him; Percy stifled a smile.

And as the family chatted over dinner, Percy managed the keep the smile off his face, but couldn't quite keep it from his eyes, which rested on Oliver more often than not.

Fred and George noticed again.

Dinner passed quickly. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sat at the ends of the table, with Fred and George on one side and Percy and Oliver on the other.

Fred and George bolted down their food, as usual. Ms. Weasley offered Percy seconds three times, making comments about how starved he must be and how he must miss home-cooked meals, as usual. Mr. Weasley talked a great deal about the latest incident at work, as usual (this time, a Muggle family had somehow purchased an enchanted toaster, which had gone berserk and started shooting bits of flaming bread at the family cat).

What was unusual was that during Mr. Weasley's story, Fred and George, who finished eating long before anyone else, began staring at Percy and Oliver.

They didn't talk (also unusual), just stared.

It was dashed uncomfortable.

"What?" Percy mouthed at them irritably.

Fred glanced at Oliver, back to Percy, and raised his eyebrows very slowly. Twice.

A pea hit Fred smack on the nose. Fred glared at Oliver, who was innocently eating some mashed potatoes. Fred returned to staring with an even more concentrated effort. Percy could feel himself starting to blush, which was just silly.

"Fred! George! What on earth are you about? Have your eyelids been glued open?" Molly was looking at them suspiciously over a forkful of chicken.

"No, mum!" they chorused.

And dinner went on.

Then, in a momentary lull in the conversation, George turned to Oliver.

"So Oliver, do you have a boyfriend?"

The twins were really rather sadistic.

Percy couldn't seem to stop his head from snapping to the left.

Oliver shot a puzzled look at the twins. "No," he replied then went back to his food- but for some reason, for just an instant, his eyes met Percy's on the way back to his plate.

Percy was unprepared for the cresting wave of confusion that assaulted him. It was not a feeling he particularly enjoyed.

Why did-?

What did that mean?

His brain began running a mile a minute, stuck in one place.

Why did it matter if Oliver had a boyfriend?

Percy had the feeling he didn't want to know the answer to that question.

Still blushing terribly, Percy frowned at his dinner and tried desperately not to think about it.

During dessert, though, it all became clear.

"Lovely pudding, Mrs. Weasley," Oliver said between bites. Molly beamed at him.

"Why thank you, Oliver. What lovely manners you have."

"Oh. Well, I was just-"

"You could learn a thing or two from him, boys." Mrs. Weasley glared at the twins.

"Yes, mum," they chorused again. Fred stuck his tongue out at Oliver when Mrs. Weasley wasn't looking.

"Fred!"

Oops.

Percy took a bite of his pudding but he didn't taste it.

Maybe he was coming down with something. That could explain it.

"We're just friends," he muttered to himself. Damn. It didn't even sound convincing.

"What was that?" Oliver was looking at him.

"Nothing," he said quickly. "Nothing." Percy flashed a quick smile at Oliver and almost managed to look away. But-

There was a tiny eyelash resting just below Oliver's eye. Just below Oliver's brown eyes which were exactly the same color as his hair except that Oliver's hair had a bit more red in it.

"Oh- Oliver, you have an eyelash on your..." Percy pointed to his cheek. "Right, um, no, over- here."

He never knew what crazed impulse made him reach forward and brush his thumb over Oliver's cheek. But when he pulled his hand away, the sensation of Oliver's skin still tingling on the pad of his thumb, Percy knew.

With a sickening snap of clarity, he knew.

He wanted Fred and George to be right. He wanted them to be right about the date, and all the raised eyebrows, and the "sure you're just friends". He wanted them to be right about everything.

And when Oliver said, "Thanks," and smiled at him Percy realized it was possibly even worse than that.

Dear. God.

"You know, Percy, if you keep your mouth open like that something unpleasant is bound to fly in there." George was grinning at him.

The spoon in Percy's right hand clattered to the table.

Oh.

"Are you okay, Perce?" Oliver asked softly, concern flickering in his eyes.

"Um...yes. Yes."

And it was wonderful and awful at the same time and somehow more than anything else he'd ever felt and he knew he was turning beet red again and he didn't care this time and the only stupid thought that popped into his head was:

That's the first time he's ever called me that.