This was worse than the previous weekend. If Oliver hadn't been so confused, he might have even appreciated the fact that somehow, this had managed to get even worse. Of course, instead, he just felt confused and, really, quite hurt as he stared at the space where his best friend who had kissed him back had been just seconds ago. Oliver was pretty sure no amount of hair pets by Celia were going to fix this mess. His whole friendship with Charlie was doomed. It had to be, right? Because Charlie had left. He had just... gone. Leaving Oliver standing alone in the cold, what a fantastic metaphor.
"Fuck this," Oliver muttered to himself, before turning to go back in the pub. It might have rang last orders but it was doubtfully going to refuse Oliver Wood of the Puddlemere fame a very, very deep glass of whiskey.