FicWad

DISCLAIMER: I'm not rich, so what does that tell you?
Author's Note: I'm a HUUUUUGE fan of King of Queens (the TV show). I was watching it one day and saw an episode where Doug and Carrie make a list of their favorite things, trying to find common ground. If you've seen the episode, this fic is a lot like it, just with a different ending and a longer trip. This is definitely one of the fluffier things I've written, and I had a lot of fun writing it. I really hope you like it!

The Top Ten
“We really have nothing in common, do we?”
Oliver Wood looked up from polishing his broomstick to see that his boyfriend Percy Weasley had, in one of his rare moments, set his book aside. Oliver immediately dropped his broom. “What do you mean?”
Percy shrugged, looking somewhat miserable. “We don’t seem to have anything in common. You have your sports, I have my books. You’re a future professional Keeper, I’m a future, as you call it, Ministry Rat.”
“You love saying ‘I’ and ‘Ministry’ in the same sentence, don’t you?” Oliver smirked.
Percy smiled proudly, but swatted Oliver’s arm. “I mean it, Ol. How are we supposed to have a relationship if we aren’t anything alike? I mean, I can’t have a future with someone that I don’t understand.”
Oliver’s heart sped up. Percy looked both anxious and slightly guilty for voicing his thoughts.
“What are you talking about?” Oliver laughed nervously. “We have plenty in common!”
Percy snorted and turned back to his book. “Just forget it. If you’re going to joke about it…”
“Who’s joking?” Oliver snapped, stung. “I’m serious!”
Percy raised an eyebrow. “Well, then, you’re mental, aren’t you?”
“No, no, come on!” Oliver implored, tugging on Percy’s wrist. “Come on. There has to be something we have in common. Like, what’s your favorite color?”
“Black,” Percy replied without hesitation. “Yours?”
Oliver shrugged. “Black is close enough.”
“No, not ‘close enough’! What is it?”
“… Light blue.”
“How in God’s name is that ‘close enough’?”
“They’re both colors.”
Percy rolled his eyes. “Wow, Ol. Those are some strict standards you’re using.”
“Come on, Perce, don’t give up. Let’s try another one.”
“Oliver, give it up, okay? It doesn’t matter. I was being stupid.”
“No, you had a good point.” Oliver snatched Percy’s book and whipped it across their dormitory, ignoring Percy’s cries of indignation. “What’s your favorite Muggle movie?”
“I’ve only seen about twenty, Oliver, if that.”
“So what? You must have a favorite.”
“Fine. Suicide Kings with Christopher Walken.”
“Oh. Mine, uh… Mine’s Nutty Professor with Eddie Murphey, but that’s okay, that’s okay!”
Percy groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Oliver, forget it. This whole thing is stupid.”
“Oh, I’m not stopping! Not till we find something.” Oliver jumped up and started pacing around the room. “Favorite band?”
“Matchbox Twenty. They’re a Muggle band my dad listens to.”
“Eminem, Muggle rapper. They’re sorta like each other, right?”
“You go ahead and tell yourself that, Ol. Now give me my bloody book back!”
“Not yet, don’t give up!” Oliver snapped his fingers and grinned. “I got it. We make a list.”
Percy cocked an eyebrow, thoroughly annoyed and becoming increasingly more so. “A list. Of what?”
“Of our top ten favorite things.” Oliver scrounged through his book bag and pulled out some parchment, two quills, and a pot of ink.
“Oliver, this is ridiculous!” Percy attempted to shove the parchment away. “I didn’t mean it, all right? Everything’s fine.”
“Percy.” Oliver looked at him seriously. “It’s either make a damn list or admit that you were wrong. Which’ll it be?”
Percy sucked in his cheeks and averted his eyes. “Oh, fine, give me the stupid parchment,” he finally growled. He glared at Oliver’s grin.
“Anything specific?” Percy asked, dipping the quill and neatly titling and numbering the parchment.
“Nope. Your top ten favorite anything will do.” Oliver was already scribbling hurriedly, biting his lip in thought. Percy shook his head at the unbelievable situation he was in and started to write.
Within ten minutes, the both of them were done writing and had settled for staring anxiously at each other. “So… What if we don’t have anything in common?” Percy asked quietly.
“I…” Oliver stared down at his list as if it was a death warrant. “I don’t know. We break up, I guess.”
Percy’s thumbnail flew to his mouth and he set to work chewing on it. “Oliver, it’s not too late to turn back. We can just rip them up, you know. I didn’t mean for this to go as far as it has.”
“Percy, don’t you think we should know?” Oliver argued. “I mean, you were right earlier when you said that no one can be with somebody that they have nothing in common with. Even if we do break up – “ here his voice cracked – “it’ll be for the best.”
Percy sighed. “Okay, I guess you’re right. So, what do you have for number one?”
“Quidditch,” Oliver replied automatically.
Percy rolled his eyes and smiled. “I have reading. But I guess that’s no surprise, right?”
“Right.” Oliver gave him a watery smile. “Okay, number two. My broom.”
“What?” Percy stared at him. “Isn’t that basically the same thing you put for number one?”
“No. A broom is a noun, and Quidditch is a verb!”
“Oh, come on, now, Oliver. They’re opposite sides of the same bloody stick.”
“Are not!”
“Are… Oh, forget it. I have rainy nights.”
“’Rainy nights’? Are you serious? This isn’t a Jane Austen novel, it’s a list!”
“Well, that’s my list!”
“You yell at me for putting my broomstick, and you put rainy fucking nights?”
Percy smacked him in the shoulder. “Do you want to hear the list or not? We still have eight things to go.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right, I’m sorry.” Oliver checked his list. “Okay, number three. Beanie Weenies.”
Silence followed. Finally, Percy sighed. “Oliver, pardon my language, but what the fuckshit are Beanie Weenies?”
“They’re only the best food probably ever!” Oliver answered, stunned by Percy’s suddenly tragic lack of knowledge. “Beanie Weenies are cans of baked beans and slices of hot dog.”
“Oh God! And you eat that?”
“Hey, they’re delicious. I can’t imagine you have anything better than Beanie Weenies.”
“Actually, yes, I do. Writing reports.”
Percy seemed less than thrilled when Oliver broke into peals of laughter. “What? What’s funny?”
Oliver waved his hand, apparently too overcome by howls to speak. He eventually managed to choke out, “You… Are such… A… Freaking… D-Dork!”
Percy went red. “Oh, piss off!” he snarled, slapping the list down on the bed.
Oliver stifled his snickers and grabbed Percy’s hand. “No, no, no. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It was just… Well, it was kinda funny. Just so typical…”
Percy huffed quietly. “All right, now, calm yourself. Okay, number four: bagpipes.”
“Oh, whaaaaat?” Oliver groaned in disbelief. “Dude. Bagpipes? That’s just flat-out wrong.”
“What is so wrong about bagpipes?” Percy argued.
“Uh, you mean besides the part about them sounding like the bodily functions of an immensely fat, bald man? Nothing.”
“Oh, shut it. What do you have?”
“Little Debbie snack cakes. Any kind, doesn’t matter.”
“Snack cakes. Right.”
“What? What? I can see the judgment in your eyes, Percival Ignatius Weasley, and I’m not liking it.”
Percy held up a hand, looking exasperated. “God, I’m not even going to comment. Number five, please, and quickly.”
“Okay. Pie.”
“Oh, hey, me too!” Percy was practically squealing with joy. “Thank God, I was so afraid it wasn’t going to happen. Something in common, finally!”
“Yup,” Oliver laughed, relieved. “Good ol’ pie. Chocolate, cherry, apple…”
“Wait.” Percy cut him off, looking not only crestfallen, but somewhat incredulous. “You mean pie? Like the kind you consume?”
“Yeah.” Oliver frowned. “Why? What’d you mean?”
“Oliver!” Percy groaned. “I didn’t mean the edible pie! I meant pi! The number!”
Oliver’s face fell. He grabbed a pillow, slammed it over his face, and screamed into it.
“It’s your fault, you bloody gastronome!” Percy shrieked. “Jesus Christ! Do you ever think about anything other than sports and Quidditch? It’s ridiculous! Pie! Little Debbies! Beanie fucking Weenies! You don’t have an ounce of intellectual substance in your body, do you? You are a total food-obsessed, meat-headed glutton!”
“Well, I’m sorry if I don’t have a Goddamned nerdgasm every time I see a really long number!” Oliver roared. “Pi? The number pi? Who the hell are you? I always knew you were a dork, but this is way over the line!”
“Oh, just shut up!” Percy hissed. “This is the stupidest thing we’ve ever done. Let’s just tear up the damn lists before we kill each other!”
“If we kill each other, we’ll at least die knowing whether or not we have anything in common!” Oliver barked. “We are doing this. Never accept defeat!”
“It’s not defeat if we just quit!” Percy pleaded, but Oliver shouted over him.
“Number six! I have the color blue!”
“We already established colors at the beginning! You already know I have a different favorite color!”
“I WAS RUNNING OUT OF IDEAS, PERCY!”
“Fine! Don’t snap at me! I have Valentine’s Day.”
Oliver stopped dead, his face losing the red color it had taken on. His grimace of frustration was replaced by a small smile. “V-Valentine’s Day? Really?”
Percy’s cheeks flushed pink. “Yes, really. So what?”
“Nothing,” Oliver replied, still smiling. “It’s just kinda… Cute, that’s all.”
Percy pursed his lips and glared. “Ol. I am in no mood. Okay? Now let’s go on to number seven, and I swear to God, this had better at least be close.”
“I’m golden, Perce. I’m sure of it.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yup. I have rugby.”
Percy threw his hands up in the air. “Why the hell would I put rugby? I hate rugby and everything it stands for! I hate everything that you can possibly associate with physical activity, you dumbass!”
“Well, sorry! I thought maybe you had some sort of drive to make yourself a better person. But I’m sorry for just assuming that you had ambition.”
“Oh, don’t start with me!” Percy shouted, smacking Oliver sharply on the shoulder. “Don’t even get me going on the subject of ambition. Now then. I have Jake Gyllehaal for number seven.”
“Jake Gyllenhaal?” Oliver was dumbfounded. “That stupid pretty boy in that weird movie about the bunny?
“Donnie Darko is arguably the greatest movie my dad has brought home, and besides, Jake is hot and sweet. So just read number eight and leave me alone with my fantasies of Jake.”
“I’ll pretend not to be completely offended. Now, number eight… I wrote summer.”
“I wrote winter.”
“Oh, well then, that’s bloody fantastic!” Oliver seethed. “We can’t even agree on a season!” He grabbed Percy’s shoulders and shook him. “How are we going to raise children together if we can’t even agree on a season?”
“Oliver, calm down!” Percy squeaked, frightened. “Good lord. We still have another two things. So. Number nine.”
“Right.” Oliver cleared his throat. “Number nine.”
They stared blankly at each other for several moments before Oliver said, “Well?”
“What do you mean, well?” Percy asked nervously. “Read it.”
“I…” Oliver’s eyes widened in quiet panic. “I thought you were gonna read yours.”
“Oh, absolutely not,” Percy whispered, his breath ragged with anxiety. “You read yours.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re braver than me.”
Oliver heaved a great sigh. “Okay. I wrote… The fresh smell of lilies.”
“Oh, come on!” Percy yelped. “You pansy!”
Oliver looked positively gobsmacked. “Pardon? Why am I a pansy?”
“The smell of lilies,” Percy mocked in a deep, dreamy voice. He faked a gag. “It’s not as romantic as you might think, you know.”
Oliver flushed. “Well, what’d you put, Mr. Rainy Nights?”
Percy threw his head back proudly. “I put down sex.”
Oliver’s jaw dropped. “But we’ve never…”
Percy smirked. “I know.” He looked at his nails haughtily. “I already told you who I’ve been with.” He looked up at Oliver with fluttering bedroom eyes. “Marcus Flint is pretty good, you know.”
Oliver flung his list in the air. “That’s it! That’s absolutely it!” He started pacing angrily. “We really do have nothing in common. You’re a horny nerd and I’m a compulsive-eater jock. How the hell did we ever think this was going to work?” He stopped and ran his hands through his hair. “I can’t believe that this is all it took to turn us against each other. Look at us! We’re bitching and yelling at each other, and why? Because we can’t even agree on one fucking thing. I really thought we could make it. I thought we could do something great together, make a life together. I thought that…”
“Oliver, shut up,” Percy whispered hoarsely. He held his list up in shaking hands. “We still have number ten.”
“Perce, please,” Oliver sighed. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be…”
“Oliver, listen.” Percy stood and gripped Oliver’s shoulders, staring into his eyes. Oliver shifted uncomfortably, feeling as though he was suddenly naked. “Listen,” Percy repeated. “I know it’s scary, and I know the odds are against us, and I know that we are really, really different. But at least give it a shot, Ol. If you were losing on the Quidditch pitch, would you stop trying? No. If you lost after giving up, would you be satisfied? Of course not. Because you wouldn’t have done all you could. This is no different, Ol. Take the chance. Even if things don’t work, at least you tried.”
Oliver closed his eyes, feeling far older than seventeen. He opened them to see Percy, biting his lips with a furrowed brow. Oliver took a deep breath.
“Yeah. We’ll try it.”
Neither of them had to look at their lists. They stood face to face, breathing raggedly, each knowing that they were teetering on the edge of loveless oblivion.
“Number ten,” Percy mumbled.
“We say it at the same time,” Oliver nodded. “On the count of three. One… Two… Three.”
In unison, they both blurted out the one thing that meant the very most to them, the one thing that they loved the most in the world.
In unison, they both said, “You.”
Dumbstruck, they stared at each other, neither quite believing their ears. Percy managed to pull himself together enough to jump into Oliver’s arms and sob with relief.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Oliver muttered into Percy’s neck as they embraced. “We do have something in common.”

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