Everything- Oliver Wood

𝟛𝟙. ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕠𝕟 ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕕

------

AN: im in a big slump rn but lorde came back from the dead today so ig if she can do it, so can i

------

"Ow-"

"Sorry!"

It's very early in the morning and I've just been smacked in the nose. 

I rub my eyes open and sit up. Oliver is sitting up on the beanbag next to me, whispering profuse apologies. 

"I'm alright," I grin, shaking him off. 

"Oh- good; I just tend to move around a lot when I sleep-" 

"God, I'm feeling congested," I frown rubbing my eyes again. 

"Me too," he nods. 

"I wasn't sleeping well anyways," I say. 

"Maybe we should go upstairs so we don't get anyone else sick," he proposes. 

I nod; I doubt I'd be able to go back to sleep due to my early bedtime the night before and my stuffed nose. 

We both quietly creep up the stairs. It's still dark outside; the first rays of sunlight just barely beginning to peek over the horizon. 

"I'll put some water on the stove for tea," Oliver says, sounding a bit hoarse. 

"Oh, God, I hope we're not sick," I groan, my throat feeling sore, too. 

"We shouldn't have stayed out in the cold so long yesterday," he nods. 

"Awfully early, isn't it?" I ask, enjoying the morning stillness. 

"Yeah," Oliver, "I've always been a morning person." 

"Of course you have," I grin. 

"I'll take it you're a night owl?" 

"I love sleeping in," I nod. 

"Well, sorry to take that away from you."

"Yeah, I haven't gotten my beauty sleep now." 

"I can tell," he grins. 

"You're one to talk!" I laugh, slapping him on the shoulder. 

"No, I'm always strikingly handsome," he says in a matter-of-fact tone of voice, turning around to tend to the kettle. 

"You're not wrong," I mumble, under my breath. 

"What was that?" he asks, turning around. 

"What?" I ask, leaning against the counter. 

He just smirks and shakes his head, pouring the hot water into mugs and steeping the tea bags. 

"Want to drink our tea on the porch like grandparents?" he asks. 

"It's bloody cold out there." 

"We're already sick," he shrugs. 

"True," I nod. 

We steal some slippers and coats by the door and find a spot on the porch with a bench that's been covered by the roof overhead. 

The steam from our tea floats into the air, fogging up my face every time I take a sip. 

"I feel like this is a glimpse into my future." 

"What, the two of us sipping tea together in the mornings?" Oliver quirks an eyebrow. 

"Not necessarily," I say, taking another sip. 

"You want to grow old with me," he grins. 

"Ew, I could never," I say, miming gagging.