It’s late after practice. The sky’s soft pink, the pitch almost empty. You’re lacing up your shoes when you feel familiar arms scoop you off the ground.

Oliver spins you around with a laugh, rain-slick and breathless, Quidditch robes still clinging to him.

“Told you I’d save all ten,” he murmurs, grinning. “Now, about my reward…” His forehead leans into yours, and the world disappears except for his lips and the butterflies