the sound was a controlled hiss, the faucet exhaling air out and the first drops of water into the tub. which soon turned into the faucet rushing out water. quiet splashes punctuate the fast stream as the water finds its suited level for him, a distinct platter coming from the bathroom.

you knew he wasn’t happy, the harsh splashes of the water as he dropped himself loudly into the tub. a reminder of just how upset he was, the action acting as if he was making sure you could hear him. he didn’t want to have to be cooped up in his room.

a bolt of lightning tore across the sky and a clash of thunder followed. a harsh reminder of what got him into this mess. the weather had been extremely terrible the past few weeks, and oliver being oliver, soon ended up getting half of the quidditch team sick.

he didn’t care for the weather, which led into this mess. he made them train hard in the rain, snow, sun, everything. he was overly too obsessed with training and winning. and you knew it, it was an addiction.

he soon stepped out from the bathroom as you heard the bath draining. his hair letting water droplets drip down his shirt. he had already changed in the bathroom, having common decency.

“you’re being dramatic. i’m not sick. i can keep practicing!” his voice croaked out, followed along by a cough. so much for being dramatic.