No Such Thing as Perfect

Toby awoke feeling better rested than he had in months. Floating pleasantly in the comfortable state between sleep and proper consciousness, the teenager let out a contented moan, and rolled slowly from his back onto his side. Snuggling down into the mattress, Toby had almost fallen back asleep when his memories of the previous night came flooding back to him. Jolting awake, the wizard sat up abruptly, only to slam his eyes closed due to the head rush that had accompanied his sudden movement.

So he was slightly dehydrated, the male automatically though to himself. Really, he shouldn't have been surprised. He hadn't drunk enough beer to give himself a hangover, but alcohol was hardly the most hydrating liquid out there. And then, of course, there was all that he'd gotten up to the previous night with Frank. It was no wonder than his body was a little low on water.

Frank. Hell. Blue eyes darted uselessly around the room, as if the other man would appear simply because his name had been spoken inside Toby's mind. Finally positive that the Quiddich player wasn't anywhere nearby, the werewolf sunk back into his pillows. Frank's bed was far more comfortable than his own. Whether that was because it truly was a better bed, or the fact that it was Frank's was playing with Toby's mind, the teenager couldn't help but think that he really didn't want to leave.

But then, where was Frank? Toby had never really been an early riser. He could wake with the sun when necessary, but he'd never been the type to actively enjoy waking before the sun could dry the morning dew. That wasn't to say that he didn't ever awaken early, however. At least once a week the ex-Hogwarts student would find himself laying awake at four or five in the morning, unable to continue his slumber after hours of nightmares. He'd go for a run, then. There was little that a good run couldn't fix, in Toby's opinion. It was something of a cure-all for the wizard, something that was always an option and always there.

But of all the things that were there, Frank wasn't one of then, and Toby was unable to prevent the tiny bubble of panic that was starting to form inside his chest. The wizard had never done anything like this before, going home with a practical stranger, leaving him completely clueless to the proper etiquette for such a situation. Was he just expected to leave? Toby really didn't like that idea. Actually, he kind of hated it.

His mind automatically flitted to the tales of awkward morning-after's that he'd heard from friends, and hoped that he and Frank would be nothing like that. Even if they were, Toby doubted that he'd be capable of regretting the previous night. The connection between the two of them had been amazing, and Frank even more so. A small piece of Toby hoped that this might become something of a regular thing. The night before had been one of the best nights of Toby's existence, as far as he was concerned. Unless explicitly told not to, Toby would be more than happy to grab a hold of the other wizard and cling tight for all eternity. That was something of a large assumption, considering that Toby knew very little of Frank's actual personality, but he just couldn't see the man being a bad person. It simply wasn't plausible.

Toby had just begun considering clambering out from beneath the covers, when a delicious sent reached his nose. Inhaling deeply, the male smiled upon recognizing the scent of breakfast food. So that's where Frank was, cooking. All intention of leaving the comfort of Frank's blankets disappeared in a instant. He was useless in the kitchen, and would be sure to get in the way more than anything else. And now that he knew where the other man was, all doubts drained from his mind like a wave had swept up the shore and washed them all away. Snuggling deeper into the soft mattress, Toby closed his eyes and began to drift.

What seemed like only seconds later but was almost surely minutes instead, Toby felt a hand land upon his shoulder and shake gently. Cracking open his eyelids, the blonde was rewarded with a slightly fuzzy image of Frank, leaning over him with a small smile and greeting him with an almost tender murmur. Returning the smile, Toby propped himself up on one elbow and pressed a lazy kiss somewhere between Frank's jaw and cheekbone.

Eyes roaming over all the food that Frank had brought up, Toby felt his smile widen lightly. "Wow, someone prepared a feast," he said automatically, voice still rough with sleep. "Thanks," he added a moment later, cheeks pinking slightly at the awkward phrasing of his words.

Sleep abandoned Toby in an instant, it seemed, and Frank’s eyes found the pale blue ones that were bleary with dreams. For a moment Frank wondered whether Toby remembered who he was. But when the younger man moved, familiarity registered in his gaze and Frank’s quaking heart settled a little bit in his chest, leaning into the kiss offered to his cheek. Much to his embarrassment he felt heat rise in his cheeks and Frank dropped his gaze to the food, releasing his hold on the tray. He focused instead in pouring the orange juice which had finally caught up with him. Breakfast in bed had always been his favourite thing. He just hoped that Toby appreciated the gesture. Frank had no idea what the man would have preferred otherwise.

If only one lesson made it through with Frank then it was that everyone who passed through his home needed to be fed. Growing up amongst the Potters and Weasleys meant that he never had to suffer a rumbling stomach. His mother’s penchant for cooking was matched with equal fervour from all of the Weasley women and subsequent friends of the family also shared an enthusiasm for large meal. Being around food meant that he couldn’t not pick something up and so he found himself, aged eighteen, in a Quidditch camp with all of his friends: the only one who could cook. Naturally, Frank revelled in it but it had created something of a complex for him. He wanted to feed anyone and everyone – from his family to the electrician who came every six months. It would’ve been a cardinal sin to let Toby starve.

“I wasn’t entirely sure what you’d like,” Frank admitted hesitantly, setting down the glasses of orange juice. “I should’ve asked.”

It was asinine for him to make breakfast in the first place. It wasn’t lost on Frank that it had been an oversight that many of his previous lovers had made. Frank had a nasty habit of dating women for the sake of the newspapers but going home with me. He’d successfully convinced the Daily Prophet that he had a penchant for busty blondes. Blonde was a correct assessment but breasts didn’t hold the key to life for Frank like many of his teammates believed. They just looked like oddly shaped Quaffles to him and weren’t nearly as exciting as they were all cracked up to be. Nonetheless, breakfast was something he’d always wanted when sneaking out. He wanted to take a moment to get to know the person he’d slept with. In his rush, he’d never given them time. No wonder he was still alone but for the harem the newspapers thought he had.

“Do you want to stay for lunch?”  Frank asked, finding the words arriving easily in the air. He didn’t know what his master plan was. In truth he felt utterly ridiculous. He had no clue what on earth would motivate Toby to stay for lunch. They’d slept late. Certainly, lunch was closer than breakfast but that wasn’t a good enough reason to stay.

“If you don’t have to rush off that is,” Frank amended with a smile. “Oh, Merlin! Do you have work? Don’t let me keep you.”

Although he didn’t mean that, Frank conceded that he didn’t have a real job. Training would be the following morning, the lads being left to sleep off the alcohol. Later that afternoon, Frank was expected to go and play football with some of his Muggle friends in the park. Then he’d cook dinner for them and see everyone home before popping a movie on and settling down for the evening. If he was particularly unlucky he’d get a visit from his mother to check that he was alive. If he was even unluckier then it would be his sister, demanding that he let her stay because she’d had a falling out for the aforementioned maternal figure. Frank expected Toby to have a far more respectable job. Perhaps in an office. And with that notion, anxiety set in.

((OOC: It's short and awkward. Forgive me.))

"No, this is great," Toby was quick to reassure as soon as he'd swallowed the bite of crumpet he'd been chewing. "If the rest of this tastes half as good as it smells-" the teenager continued, before shaking his head with a smile. This meal was going to utterly spoil him. Toby was more often than not in charge of making his own breakfast, meaning that it was rare for him to have more than cereal and toast with the occasional egg.

Toby was sure that there was a pink flush to his cheeks. The knowledge that Frank had gone to all this effort for him was dumbfounding, but elevated his heat rate all the same. For Frank to have worried, even for a moment, that Toby wouldn't like it was absurd. It made the werewolf all the more fond of him.

Toby wasn't one for salads, or much that was green really. He'd eat them, because he knew that vegetables were important in a diet, but he rarely enjoyed them. But Frank's salad? That was good. There was watercress and bacon with an egg on top, and Toby had really only tried some to be polite. He hadn't expected to want to go back for more.

The blonde had just been about to reply that he'd love to stay for lunch, when Frank spoke again, cutting him off before he could even open his mouth. Now Toby had no idea what he was going to say. He'd figured that Frank thought he was seventeen, legal to be drinking but still in school. He hadn't even considered that Frank might assume he was older, and had a job. Toby briefly considering going along with it, before deciding against it. The werewolf wasn't the type to lie unless he felt he needed to.

If he had been a normal teenager, he would still be in Hogwarts. However, he had been kicked out due to what he turned into every full moon. Toby wanted to keep that a secret, and therefore figured he should say something that implied he was still at Hogwarts.

Taking another delicious bit of food, Toby swallowed and then shook his head. "I don't have to be anywhere," he said with a smile. Then, completely forgetting that he was supposed to be seventeen, added, "It's a weekend, so no classes, and revision sessions for OWL's don't start for a few more weeks."

O.W.Ls.

School.

Classes.

Revision.

Part of Frank David Percival Longbottom died in those moments. The happy smile slipped from his lips, the flush of roving around the kitchen drained away like water down a plughole and all warmth evaded the tips of his fingers. The food no longer looked appetising, hunger abandoning him immediately and in its place wormed a deep guilt that he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life. He hadn’t even thought to ask. He’d only considered Toby’s youth that morning in the watery light that the windows had let in through the curtains. He’d not thought much on it. He’d merely thought it was part of the man’s charm and good looks. He didn’t realise that the case was that he truly was a youth. Sixteen, maybe, if Frank was lucky. He wanted to excuse himself on the basis that a man that young shouldn’t and couldn’t have been in Eli’s. He knew that was a pipe dream. The very person who opened the club hadn’t allowed his age to be a factor when it came to choosing lovers. Frank didn’t know whether he was in the wrong or whether he’d been played, himself. All he knew was that nausea was quickly making its way up his oesophagus.

Frank swallowed back the bile and pushed himself back off of the bed. His hands looped together and he started to wring them feverishly, his eyes darting about, wondering whether burning the bed to the ground and the house along with it would atone for his sins. He knew better than to take someone home. He knew better than to go home with a stranger full stop. He’d never ever considered being with anyone so dramatically younger than himself. What he’d failed to do was to conduct himself as a gentleman. He’d been a lusty so-in-so who did, unfortunately, hold himself in a higher regard than that. What had he done? New information in the light of day made him doubt everything that had happened the night before. He felt desperately like the bad guy even though it was Toby who had been the most eager to kiss him. Frank had adhered to the will of his teammate. He hadn’t expected things to pan out the way they did. It wasn’t on him. Surely it wasn’t on him? Was it?

Darting out of the room, Frank stumbled along the hallway and burst into the bathroom, curling himself over the sink. Yet, despite the way his stomach lurched, he found himself pouring water on his face, no evidence of his physical revulsion at his actions swirling away down the drain. Frank gasped, water flicking into the basin, and he ran his hands over his face, ignoring the way the rings on his fingers grazed at his skin. He let the air empty from his lungs and finally he shut off the water, his other hand groping out to pull a towel over to dab at his face. There was no quelling the sickness he felt within him. All he knew was that it had been a god-awful mistake bringing Toby to his home, going to the club in the first place.

What could he even say to this? He couldn’t shoo Toby out now regardless of however much he wanted to. He needed to make things right somehow.

Resolved, Frank dropped the towel and straightened himself up. He glanced at himself in the mirror and pinched at his cheeks, hoping to get some colour back into his cheeks. With a sigh he made his way back to the room.

“Where’s your mum, Toby?” Frank asked hesitantly, leaning on the door frame. “We need to get you home.”