It all started during breakfast in the Great Hall. One of the younger students—probably trying to be funny—had whispered something loud enough for the table to hear:

“Did you hear? Oliver Wood has a crush on [your name]!”

You froze mid-bite, glancing around. The chatter had started, students whispering and giggling, and all eyes seemed to flick toward the Gryffindor captain.

Oliver, meanwhile, had gone completely pale. His fork clattered to the table, and he pressed a hand over his mouth like he could magically disappear.

You caught his panicked eyes from across the table, and your heart almost melted. Because, well… it was true. He did like you. And apparently, everyone else knew before he was ready to admit it.

“Uh… I—I mean… that’s not—” he stammered, words tripping over themselves. His usual confidence, the one that ruled Quidditch pitches, was gone. All that remained was a flustered, green-eyed Gryffindor captain, fumbling like a first-year.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, leaning closer across the table. “Is it?” you teased, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

Oliver’s eyes widened. “I… I mean… no! I—uh… maybe? I—look, it’s complicated!”