𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐦

     charlie had never appreciated seeing her friends as much as she did after getting attacked. “going, oliver !” the young woman greeted through the door, limping over to the door – she didn’t bother using her crutches to go get the door. she opened it and smiled at her friend. “that’s really sweet of you ! oh, wow, what did you get me ?” charlotte asked, hoping she didn’t look all that rough. “come on, let’s go sit on my bed.”

𝙵𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙸𝚂  𝚆𝚈𝙼𝙰𝙲𝙺  𝙷𝙰𝙳  𝙽𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁  𝙵𝙴𝙻𝚃  𝚀𝚄𝙸𝚃𝙴  𝙰𝚂  𝚂𝙴𝙴𝙽  𝙰𝚂  𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽  𝙾𝙻𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚁  𝙶𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙸𝙰-𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚄  𝚂𝙰𝚆  𝙷𝙸𝙼  ,  an  intensely  horrifying  ordeal  to  be  known  by  someone  coalesced  with  the  chilling  gratification  that  oliver  looked  at  him    —  saw  all  his  demons  ,  the  grotesque  layers  of  his  psyche  ,    the  errors  and  the  scars    —      and  oliver  still  liked  him  in  spite  of  everything   .  and    although  he  would  never  admit  it  or  never  give  it  even  more  than  just  a  split  second  thought  ,  francis  loved  oliver  more  than  he  loved  himself  at  this  point  .   it  was  a  love  neither  platonic  or  romantic  ,  or  maybe  it  was  both  ,  or  maybe  it  was  all-encompassing    ;  like  a  religion  where  words  were  not  the  prayers  but  attention  that  came  before  it    —  the  way  he  looked  at  oliver  ,  the  way  he  understood  him  ,  the  way  he  could  call  him  home  .

❝        it’s  a  shit  memory  ,        ❞  he  retorted  with  a  slight  snarl  ,    a    shoulder    shrugged    as  to  make  his  irritation  more  nonchalant    .    his  gaze  flickered  from  scene  to  scene  of  the  bonfire  ,  every  microcosm  of  interactions  ,  how  they  danced  and  scream  ,  how  people  exchanged  spit  and  spilled  their  beer  ;    each  reminding  of  the  freedom  he  lost  ,  how  so  much  of  his  life  was  built  around  the  distractions  for  his  pain  .  and  now  ,  all  he  was  left  with  was  that  :  pain  . well  ,  and  oliver  .   ❝   it’s  exhausting  ,  being  in  a  constant  state  of  recovery  .  i’m  tired  of  thinking  of  how  i  need  to  do  this  for  the  rest  of  my  life  and  i  don’t  know  how  ,      ❞  and  from  the  bonfire  ,  his  gaze  flitted  towards  oliver  ,  a  hand  placed  on  the  other’s  shoulder  and  gave  him  a  light  squeeze  .  

❝    but  then ,  i  see  you  and  i  say  ,   who  needs  drugs  ?  i’ve  got  you  .   ❞     and  despite  the  lighthearted  tone  of  his  voice  ,  francis  knew  how  selfish  of  him  to  say  that  ,  to  tell  oliver  that  he  was  only  one  that  had  always  talked  him  off  the  ledge  .  but  at  the  center  of  him  had  always  been  a  need  .  never  knew  what  to  do with  it  ,  never  learned  how  to  put  it  down  .   but  the  only  thing  he  knew  was  that  he  needed  oliver  more  than  anything  ,  and  more  than  anything  ,  he  needed  him  to  be  his  anchor   —  until  francis  could  do  it  himself  ,  which  might  not  even  be  in  this  lifetime  .  he  didn’t  deserve  oliver  ,  he  knew  this  well , but  he’d  do  anything  to  have  him  in  his  life  for  as  long  as  oliver  would  take  him  . 

❝       vescere  bracis  meis   ,      ❞     he  laughed  ,  rolling  his  eyes  at  oliver’s  dismissal  of  his  proposal  .  the  offer  to  kiss  was  a  joke  and  it  wasn’t  at  the  same  time ;  always  wanted  to  feel  oliver  with  such  close  intimacy , to  touch  each  other  even  in  the  most  platonic  ways  —  but  of  course  ,  he’d  pass  it  off  as  a  simple  jest  when  turned  down  .   ❝       i’ll  have  you  know  that  all  my  pick-up  lines  don’t  work  as  of  late  .  i  haven’t  been  touched  in  so  long  that  i’m  basically  a  fucking  born  again  virgin  .  only  action  i  got  recently  was  a  sex  dream  about  clyde ,     ❞   he  snorted  before  letting  out  a  long  ,  defeated  sigh  .    ❝             maybe  ,    i’ll  convert  to  be  a   good  christian  celibate  now  and  only  go  down  on  my  knees  for  jesus  .  i  mean  ,  have  you  seen  the  crucifix  ?    he’s  got  a  tight  body  .         ❞ 

oliver  supposed  some  part  of  him  knew  this  already  —  that  francis’  recovery  was  an  on-going  thing,  that  this  road  would  never  end  —  but  he’d  never  quite  registered  it  before,  not  like  this.  hearing  it  out  loud  made  it  real  in  a  way  it  hadn’t  been  before. his  heart  ached  with  a  sympathy  so  strong  it  felt  as  though  he  was  the  one  suffering.  sometimes  he  wished  that  was  the  case;  he’d  gladly  switch  places  with  francis  if  it  would  lighten  his  burden  (  it  scared  him,  sometimes,  how  far  he’d  be  willing  to  go  to  make  francis’  life  even  a  little  easier,  how  quickly  he’d  set  himself  on  fire  if  it  meant  keeping  francis  warm  ).  but  he  was  once  again  powerless,  the  only  help  at  his  disposal  being  words  of  comfort  that  went  unspoken.  oliver  could  see  the  way  francis  tried  to  downplay  his  displeasure  at  the  scene  before  them,  and  the  future  ahead  of  him;  he  wasn’t  looking  for  pity  and  oliver  wasn’t  about  offer  it. at  francis’ touch,  oliver  turned  to  meet  blue  eyes.  he  snorted  out  a  small  laugh  at  francis’  words,  which  sounded  both  absurd  and  too  real  at  the  same  time.  they  stirred  something  inside  him,  though  he  wasn’t  sure  what.  all  he  knew  was  that  the  hand  on  his  shoulder  felt  inexplicably  heavy  all  of  a  sudden.  ❝   good  thing  you’re  not  getting  rid  of  me  anytime  soon,  then,   ❞  he  said,  matching  his  friend’s  light-hearted  tone.   god,  what  a  coward  he  was.  what  kind  of  a  friend  doesn’t  point  out  how  unhealthy  this  kind  of  reliance  is  ?  oliver  was  bound  to  fuck  up  sooner  or  later;  it  was  only  a  matter  of  time  before  he  let  francis  down.  but  he  couldn’t  say  any  of  this  because  a  part  of  him  —  a  selfish  and  ugly  part  —  actually  felt  giddy  at  the  knowledge  that  francis  valued  and  relied  on  him  this  much.  he  felt  sick  at  himself.

he  was  almost  disappointed  that  francis  didn't  insist  on  the  kiss.  almost.  he  wasn't  stupid  enough  to  have  actually  thought  it'd  happen,  but  still.  he'd  hoped.  he  always  hoped.

🧦 a half-asleep text.

earth: where’s your home?

first of all: rude. second of all: nowhere. the closest he ever got to thinking of somewhere as home was barcelona, speaking his mother tongue and being best friends with benny, though that also didn’t last.

mars: what’s your sexuality?

neptune: when’s your birthday? 

june 20th, the last day of gemini season and therefore on the gemini-cancer cusp. yikes.

cygnus: favourite weather?

mild. having experienced both russian winters and brazilian summers, oliver has found that he’s fine with any weather as long as it isn’t extreme.

wormhole: what’s something you wish would happen, but know won’t?

      they  felt  a  sense  of  relief  wash  over  them  as  soon  as  he  opened  the  door.  it  was  something  about  even  being  in  his  presence  calmed  them  to  their  very  core.  ❛  i  was  going  to  ask  if  you  were  okay,  but…  ❜  they paused and sighed,  ❛  i  feel  like  the  answer  is  no.  ❜  they  finished  as  they  made  their  way  into  his  room.  it  was  a  familiar  space  to  them,  as  it  was  one  of  the  rooms  that  they’d  spent  most  of  their  time  in,  outside  of  their own.  

      there  was  so  much  going  on  in  the  world  around  them,  and  currently  they  didn’t  want  to  think  about   it  anymore.  they  walked  over  to  oliver’s  bed  and  sat  down  on  the  edge, running  their  hand  through  their  hair.  ❛  i’m  so  tired,  oli.  ❜  they  hadn’t  planned  on  saying  that,  they  were  so  used  to  keeping  their  feelings  to  themself,  but  something  about  oliver  made  them  more  willing  to  being  open.  ❛  i  didn’t  mean  to say  that.  ❜  

    oliver  has  yet  to  learn  how  to  answer  truthfully  about  how  he’s  doing,  and  there’s  just  no  way  he’d  be  convincing  in  his  current  state.  but  halo  already  knows  he’s  not  okay,  and  he  didn’t  have  to  say  a  word.  he’s  immensely  grateful  for  their  straight-forwardness,  and  already  feels  more  at  ease  than  he’d  thought  possible  mere  minutes  ago.  he  keeps  quiet,  at  an  unfamiliar  loss  for  words;  what  could  he  say  without  giving  away  how  desperate  he  felt?  he  just  sits  down  next  to  halo  in  bed,  keeping  a  few  inches  between  them.  the  earnestness  with  which  they  speak  catches  oliver  off-guard,  though  not  unpleasantly.  for  some  reason,  knowing  halo  feels  like  he  does  makes  it  easier  to  breathe.  

        ❛  i’m  glad  you  did,  ❜    he  says,  turning  to  face  them  with  a  small  smile.  then,  with  the  excuse  of  offering  reassurance,  he  lets  himself  slump  back  against  the  wall.  the  sigh  he  lets  out  feels  like  it’d  been  trapped  deep  inside  his  soul.    ❛  i’m  really  fucking  tired,  too,  ❜  he  says,  with  uncharacteristic  honesty  (and  profanity).  ❛  at  least  we  can  be  tired  together.  that  must  count  for  something.  ❜ 

bellatrix: have you ever been forced to lie/keep a secret? 

basically his entire childhood was spent being forced to lie until it became second nature. still, it’s never been anything major.

cigar galaxy: how’s your flirting skills?

it depends a lot on the person. if it’s with some rando (either for flirting’s sake or to get something out of them), he’s more than adequate. when it comes to someone he’s actually interested in, though, that’s another story. his crippling fear of rejection results in a flirting so subtle he’s probably the only one who’d call it flirting at all or, if he feels the need to impress the other person, he might also make a complete fool of himself.

quasar: if you could spend the rest of your life with only one person, who would it be?

      halo  was  stressed,  how  could  they  not  be–  they  were  only  at  the  bonfire  for  a  short  amount  of  time,  but  knowing  that  it  could  of  been  them,  that  ended  up  hurt.  they  aren’t  close  with  either  sam  or  charlie  but  it  still  got  to  them.  they  found  themself  in  decker  house  at  the  door  of  room  202.  they  always  found  themself  here  when  they  were  stressed–  oliver  was  just  comforting,  he  didn’t  expect  anything  from  them  and  it  was  incredibly  relieving.  they  lifted  their  hand  and  knocked  on  the  door,  ❛  oliver  are  home?  ❜  @darkagcs​

truth  be  told,  oliver  hadn't  paid  much  mind  to  the  polaroid  killer  up  until  now.  of  course  he  was  nervous  about  the  idea  of  a  murderer  on  campus;  but  it  hadn't  felt  real  until  not  one  but  two  of  his  friends  were  the  ones  to  be  attacked.  now  it  felt  too  real  and  so  incredibly  wrong.  it  felt  like  being  stuck  inside  a  lovecratian  tale,  in  a  warped  world  where  things  no  longer  made  sense.  so  he'd  stayed  holed  up  in  his  room,  knowing  he  wouldn't  be  able  to  pretend  to  be  fine  that  day.  he'd  been  deep  in  thought  when  a  knock  on  the  door  startled  him;  he  panicked  for  a  moment,  feeling  wholly  unprepared  for  human  interaction,  until  he  heard  halo's  voice  coming  from  outside.  if there was one person who would understand how helpless this thing made him feel, it was halo.  so,  after  kicking  a  bit  of  clutter  under  his  bed  to  make  the  place  seem  a  little  tidier,  he  opened  the  door  for  them.  as  soon  as  he  saw  his  own  distress  reflected  on  their  face,  he  felt  an  uncharacteristic  urge  to  hug  them. “hey,” he said instead, trying to sound casual and stepping aside to let them into the messy room. “come in.”

“well, being isolated away from the main gathering may seem like the ripe moment for a killer, but if they –” on the word they skye pointed at oliver with a smirk. “– were smart, they wouldn’t try anything. disrupting me during one of my favourite activities? super dumb. i would be enraged.” she finished the joke as they entered out of the trees to the edge of the lake, a perfect distance away from where a group of people already were. “oh, you’re onto me are you? that just means i have to keep an extra close eye on you.” skye situated themselves on the ground, propping themselves up with their elbows. “just don’t try anything that requires me to exert too much energy, i’m running out.”

✈ Holloway Library @darkagcs​ ◌ starter //

It was rare to ever find Conner in the library, unless it was to have fun betwixt the stacks. Not to mention he just preferred to study in his dorm or a coffee shop. But when push comes to shove and either you or your roommate locks you out of the dorm, the high cathedral-esque ceilings and dark wood grain would just have to do. With a laptop tucked under one arm and two redbulls crammed into his other hand, he makes his way down the long hall looking for a spot to sprawl out his belongings.  A few students occupy the massive oak tables but one particularly curly head of hair he approaches catches his eye. ❝ Holy fuck, Oliver? ❞ he says far too loudly for a library. He drops his things across from the other boy before falling into the seat without asking first. ❝ Do you even remember me? I’m soup from like all that stupid benefit shit when we were kids. ❞ He pops his energy drink with a loud hiss. earning the pair a loud shush from a student two tables away. ❝ How’d I not know you go here, ❞

oliver jumps in his seat at the sound of his name being called way too loudly for a library. his first instinct is to look around for people’s reactions, check if anyone’s staring at him. he shoots some students an apologetic look for the noise, only then turning to face whoever it was that had just disturbed the peace and made him look like an asshole. his annoyance is short-lived, however, as he’s met by a pair of strangely familiar blue eyes. he can’t place them at first, though as soon as the boy introduces himself, he can’t believe it took him so long to recognise... ❝ soup?! ❞ it’s his turn to talk too loudly. ❝ holy shit, what are you doing here? it’s been ages, ❞ he says, stage whispering now, but smiling widely at the boy who’d so often kept him company during some of the most boring events he had to attend as a kid. how strange it is to only realise you’ve missed someone once you see them again. ❝ you can’t have that here, ❞ he adds automatically, pointing at the redbull in soup’s hand, though he doesn’t avert his eyes from the boy’s face or even change his tone, still awed by his presence here.