max // oliver
Inwardly, Max groaned as Oliver mused over the question. It was supposed to be polite small talk. Oliver should have said he was also very well and then Max could have made his excuses and returned to the group of girls who were still waiting for their drinks. But no, such simple rules were evidently lost on Oliver Wood who, instead, thought it appropriate to raise the spectre of a recent break-up with a mere acquaintance. This was exactly why Max disliked him so much, of course. Now he was going to have to pretend to be sympathetic, because anything else would be rude to their host. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Max said, trying to think of some socially acceptable words to ease their way out of this conversation. “Best not to dwell on it, hm?”
Had Oliver’s alternative topic been anything else, Max would have taken it up with gusto. Even quidditch would have been better than Oliver’s breakup - but a Naked Quidditch Calendar was not something Max wanted to think about, let alone discuss. His shoulders tightened, and he turned to focus on mixing the most perfectly balanced vodka-lemonade that had ever been produced. “Which charity?” he asked, because it seemed to be the only question he could safely ask.