For the second time in a twenty-four hour span, Oliver Kent pulled Declan Aletrick's card out of his wallet and summoned the electric blue haired PR agent.

Oliver was at home again, pacing nervously about his own living room, which was just as scarce of personal effects as the tent had been - save for one thing: a framed photograph on the mantle of himself, Wally, Dexter, Macy, and Declan Aletrick at the final WHAM! concert in 1985 at Wembley Stadium. One of the last times that he and Wally had been to an event together. In the photo, all of them were wearing t-shirts with George Michael's face plastered across their chests and Oliver had his arms sprawled over both Wally and Declan's shoulders in what had to be one of the most ironic moments ever captured on film.

Now, He stood staring at that photo now, remembering the night. One of the best of his whole life.

There was a flash of the floo and Declan appeared out of the hearth, dusting off. He wasn't dressed in his usual smart clothing but more comfortably in a pair of jeans and one of Oliver's old number jumpers, the Chudley Cannons logo emblazoned over his chest, the orange of the team colors clashing terribly with the cyan of his styled hair. He grinned, peering at Oliver through a pair of glasses that were a bit larger on his face than was strictly fashionable. 

"I'm sorry... Were you busy?" Oliver asked.

"You can't seriously think I wasn't busy?" Declan asked with a smirk. "You know what happened at the bloody World Cup. You were there. I'm just glad you're not hurt. I was going to stop by when I wrapped up my work - you realize they found the wand that cast the Mark and it was done by a house elf? Barty Crouch's house elf, no less! The entire PR world is on FIRE right now, darling. If it was anyone but YOU who had summoned me, I would've told them to fuck right the fuck off but you get special treatment." 

Oliver bit his lip.

Declan noticed he was staring at the photo. He hesitated, then came over closer and looked at it, too. "God, my hair was so ridiculous in 1985." He shuddered. "You always looked incredible."

Oliver looked down at his feet.

Declan turned to him and touched his bicep. He paused a long moment, then, "What's the trouble? If you're worried about what happened earlier, I think you've got nothing to worry about, 'ey? The Death Eaters sort of took on the spin for me, didn't they? Nobody cares what caused a cancelled luncheon when there were bleedin' Death Eaters about, right? I mean, not that it's a good thing, but - good for you, in a way, eh?" Declan paused. Then, "Bloody terrible for Crouch. I would not want to be Jess Malloiris right about now, working THAT PR nightmare..." Declan shook his head. "The Prophet already had a load of reporters crawling all over that campground. Including that insufferable Skeeter woman. GODS - I loaaaaathe her." Declan shook his head.

Oliver still hadn't spoken. He was staring at his feet still.

Declan's eyes folded into worry. "Babes?"

Oliver looked up, his eyes met Declan's. "I have - another - issue. Bigger than the luncheon. And I'm going to need you to make it just - just go away completely."

Declan grinned. "You know that's the magic I work, babe, what are you looking so worried for? Deccy's got it all worked out. You know I'll move mountains for you."

Oliver took a deep breath. "You're going to hate this."

"I already do if it's making you so sullen. Tell Deccy and I'll make it better." He winked playfully, trying to cheer Oliver up, but honestly there was something about Oliver's attitude that was really unnerving. Declan glanced at the photo again, then turned back to Oliver. "Babe?"

Oliver said, "Alright. Now. Listen for a moment as - as my PR and not as my --" 

Somehow boyfriend wasn't the right term. They'd been so much more than that - on again and off again, turbulent as waves of the sea, but rather serious for the past five years or so most especially - and guilt suddenly swelled up in Oliver's stomach. What kind of arsehole kisses another man then asks his rather serious boyfriend of five years to cover it up for him?

The sort that Oliver Kent had found himself rapidly becoming in the last twelve years, he supposed.

"Not as your...?" Declan asked, leaning on the leading, hanging sentence.

"My whatever you are," Oliver muttered.

Declan took a step back, blinking, and stared at Oliver, hand dropping away from his bicep. The too-long sleeves of Oliver's number jumper covered up Declan's hands and for a moment Declan Aletrick looked like he might be sick. This was serious stuff, and Declan could see it on Oliver's face and it was very, very mortally important that whatever it is go away. Immediately. Declan's heart pinched and he took a deep, centering breath.

"What is it?" Declan asked, and all air of joking dropped him his face. "What happened?" 

God... if he kills me on the spot, forgive him because he has every right to do it, Oliver prayed.

"I sort of --" Oliver paused, then, in one great breath to get it out of his mouth and into the air between them, he gasped out, "Kissed with Wally Grant in front of Rita Skeeter at the World Cup in the middle of all the Death Eater stuff that was going on."

There was an impossibly long and heavily silent pause as Declan and Oliver stared at each other, Declan's normally ruddy complexion slowly paling as the words sank in, one little bit at a time. His hands flew up to his temples and he pressed upon them, staring at Oliver with an expression of shocked horror. He shut his eyes and murmured, "No, no, no, no," as though saying "no" might stop it from having happened.

He looked like he was about to have an anyeurism. "Dec...?" Oliver ventured tentatively.

Declan's eyes flew open, and his face grew suddenly quite red and his voice climbed and rose with passion as he cried out, "Oh. Ohh. OH - OHHHH my God. What have you done? I am LITERALLY about to lose - lose my mind. I am LITERALLY about to lose my mind! Oliver. Kent. What - WHAT have you done?!"

Oliver flushed. "I -" But he couldn't get any more of an explanation out, for Declan carried on.

"Kissed you! Kissed him! He - he - he kissed you! You kised him! You kissed - each - eachother! you kissed each other. You kissed each other! And you kissed each other... in front of - of ALL PEOPLE... Of all people! OF ALL PEOPLE! In front of RITA SKEETER! Why didn't you just - just - just just kiss him in front of - of his wife? Just -just -just made out in front of - of his wife?!"

Oliver swallowed nervously, staring at Declan, who stared back - daring Oliver to speak. Oliver gathered his breath and, as Declan's eyes widened, already knowing the answer just by Oliver's awkwardness, he whispered, "Actually --"

"You did. You did! You did. Oh my God. It was in front of his WIFE? It was - in front of - his - his bloody wife?"

"I mean, we both sort of... forgot... that - that she was there," Oliver murmured.

"Are you insane? Are you insane? Are - Do you KNOW? Do you have any idea what kind of publicity nightmare you've made for me? I - I don't even know how I'm going to spin this! HOW AM I going to spin this? No matter how I spin it -- and no matter what I do, you've got a bloody WOMAN that's going to be combatiing me! You know she's not going to keep quiet! YOU KNOW SHE'S NOT! Unless you've got some kind of... of martyr woman who wants to just - just throw her marriage away.. which have you met women? Have you met a woman Oliver? Have you ACTUALLY MET a woman? Because - I swear! They - they - they - There's a REASON I like men, Oliver, there's a reason! Ther'es a REASON! and this - this is it! This is it! This - this - it - OH. Oh. Oliver. Oliver. OLIVER. Olllliiiiiver Ol-i-ver! Oh. My God.... and with WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLY GRANT! OF ALL PEOPLE!"

Declan was on a roll now, there was no stopping him. His arms were flailing like a muppet and Oliver took a step back - not that Declan would ever strike him, but he felt he might just get in the way of the theatrics and end up struck on accident.

God not the word accident.

"It had to be Wally Grant! YOU - You could'nt just go and find yourself some -- I don't know -- a handsome, blue haired PR agent for example, to go kissing at the World Cup... in front of Rita Skeeter... and his WIFE. Not that I have a wife nor would I ever but if I DID! -- I -- I-- Oliver what were you THINKING? You clearly were not thinking. I don't know why I even asked what you were thinking because you weren't thinking. You weren't thinking. YOU WEREN'T THINKING AT ALL! You weren't thinking 'oh what a nightmare Declan's going to have trying to fix this'.... Noooooooooo.... it doesn't matter about Declan - Declan will fix it all, Declan will - because Declan -- well Declan's DECLAN... I - I mean Oh my GOD OLIVER. You have no idea what I'll have to do in order to SAVE YOUR REPUTATION as a good, good family man - You have NO IDEA. Oh....God.... GODDDDDDDSSSSSSSSSS! Not to mention might I add Oliver how... how bloody... fucking much... you are..."

And Declan began to cry, the next words coming out in a sob that shook him.

"You are BREAKING MY HEART RIGHT NOW OLIVER!! You're breaking my heart because --- because five years is NOTHING to you apparently when... Wally Grant comes around and... gives you.. a .. kiss... and suddenly... I -- and all of the work that I have done for you -- clearly doesn't amount to -- just amounts to nothing!" He hissed the last of this, trying to pull himself together, and he wiped a hand across his forehead and breathed, as though this were the absolute and most final straw that broke his proverbial camel's back. "And in front of - of Rita Skeeter... of all people. God it had to be Rita Skeeter, didn't it? Damn it. Damn it."

Oliver stood in the silence, half waiting for Declan to get a third-fourth-or-however-many winds it had been already. But Declan seemed quite finished and he turned away, covering his face, keeping his back to Oliver, shoulders rising and falling with the breathlessness of all that he'd said.

Oliver looked at his feet. "Sorry," he whispered, because, honestly, whatever else could he possibly say?

Declan stared at the picture on the mantel, stared into his own eyes of years ago - years before Oliver and him started seeing one another as anything more than a friend. He'd still been with Wally Grant at the time, still impossibly in love, waiting for approval for the Ministry for the adoption of that dear, sweet little boy... Before all the world fell apart and Oliver had fallen into the depths of living nightmares, all on the public stage, only protected by what Declan was able to spin and weave to make better for him, to give him cushioning...

Declan turned, looking down at his trainers. "Are you... getting back together with... with Wally Grant?"

Oliver murmured, "I don't know, Declan."

Declan wiped his eyes with the jumper sleeve. 

"But I think that you and I are - are on a break for sure, at very least until I get it figured out," Oliver's voice shook.

"Oh you think so, huh?" Declan snapped emotionally. 

"Sorry," Oliver murmured, face flushing. Of course they were on a break. Of course. What an idiot to even think he had to say it. Or even had the right to be the one that called the break.

Declan drew a deep, shaking breath, gathered everything he could together of his professionalism, the poker face he reserved for the hardest reporting assignments - the ones where he would arrive and want to throw up more than gather details or investigate - and he looked up to stare into the face of Oliver Kent with a steady gaze.

"I need every detail, Oliver, from the moment we parted on the pitch 'til right this moment, so I can figure out how I'm going to do this. And I need to know how to get in touch with Wally Grant -" he paused a moment on the name, then finished, " -and his wife in order to figure out - exactly - exactly what I can possibly to do to distract Rita Skeeter from writing a literal tell-all about you two. And bloody hell, I don't know how I'm going to wrangle it out of her, she's a bleeding pain in my arse, that woman is, I hate her - I hate her, you know I hate her! But for you - FOR YOU - and only you, mind - I will do what I can."

"Thank you, Dec... That's all I can ask."

Declan nodded. "It's more than you ought to, but I'm a professional." He sniffed and wrapped his arms around himself, covering up the Chudley Cannon's logo with his crossed arms. "God, I hate you right now." He stared at Oliver.

Oliver said, "I don't blame you."

Declan sighed. "That doesn't help."