WAR WITH YOURSELF.

A well-fitted suit and a tired face, Oliver loosens his tie like a noose around his neck. He didn’t have to attend his mother’s charity event tonight, but he did anyway. Something to feel normal again, mundane. Though he lingers on the edge of every single emotion making a home inside him this evening. His husband is quiet, unwilling. Telling him nothing of how he feels. Adrian is gone, somewhere unknown to Oliver and all he has is his dying cellphone and too many text messages with no answer. Then, there’s Hallen, an orchestra that makes his chest rattle. Too loud. But it did make sense with all the noise inside of Oliver. The banging pots and pans of his every feeling. 

On the way home, he stops here. At his home where they once had a subtle but somehow disastrous dinner. His hands grip the steering wheel while parked out front for what feels like ages. There’s regret circling him now, like a hawk surveying roadkill. Oliver might as well have been some dead animal on the street, lying out in summer heat to be devoured. With one mighty breath, he leaves his car, padding up the walkway and to Hallen’s front door. He tries not to picture anyone inside, as if his home has become a haunted house or an abandoned building where only rebellious teenagers and spiders play now. 

The same hand that pushed him away reaches up to knock at the door. Quietly, at first. But then a little louder. It doesn’t mend well with the too-loud orchestra. A couple seconds pass, then minutes, and Oliver feels strange for standing there, no longer knocking. Something turns inside him, brows furrowed, “Open the door.” His voice is quiet, barely there, but just enough. He knows he’s there. Somehow, he can sense him.

Every single word Ollie says sounds the same—your fault. You fucked up. You’re wrong. It’s your fault. And all Eli wants to do is nod and say he’s right, even if it’s not actually what his husband’s saying. He’s in his head again but this time he isn’t trying to run away—he’s looking for the right thing to say. But there’s nothing. Everything that comes to mind feels like it’s only going to make things worse. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s what they need to make things better again.

“Ollie, that’s not fair. Bringing the accident into this. I told you I fell and that needs to be enough for you, you know that.” He’s always operated on the less Oliver knows, the better rule, that’s the only way Eli can can sleep at night without feeling guilty about putting his family in potential danger. It’s always been like this and Eli’s always made it clear, that this is how he needs to handle these things. “And I told you what I needed. I needed you. Just you. To be there. That’s it. I don’t know what else you expected from me.” Eli still avoids looking at his husband as he talks but then he finally does look up at him and tries not to break down in front of him. Not again. 

“And I’m angry. I’m so fucking angry and that’s the problem,” he says; Eli sounds frustrated and his voice rises in volume just a little. He covers his face with his hands and groans, trying to piece his thoughts together. It doesn’t work, everything’s still a mess—what did he expect. “I don’t like me when I’m like this. I don’t like being angry because it reminds me of how I used to be when things were bad for me. And if I hate myself when I’m like this, I—I’m afraid you’d hate me like this, too.”

He turns to look at Ollie and at first, he wants to wave the apology away, say that Ollie shouldn’t be apologizing. Maybe he should just shut up and take it, though. Maybe he needs that. “Listen, I’m—fuck, I’m not keeping shit from you because I don’t think you can’t handle it, I do that because I love you. And that’s how I try to show it, by trying to give you as little reason for worrying about me as possible.” Too bad it backfired. “I can’t just talk to you about how I basically daydream about putting a hit on that motherfucker or how every fucking time I see him on the street, I have to try really fucking hard to make myself walk the other direction. Or how much I’d love to put him in the hospital.”

“That’s not the kind of shit you want to hear. And I don’t even like talking about this. I told you, I hate myself like this.”

☼

As his husband speaks, Oliver just listens. Brows furrowed, heart thumping. There’s newfound guilt pooling through him, a sudden tidal wave of regret for unleashing these untapped feelings that swarm him like a patch of bumblebees. He fucked up. Not Eli, not anyone else. Oliver messed everything up. 

He continues to listen, the nervousness making a home inside his stomach increasing by the second. His eyes dart between the wall and Eli’s face, watching as it scrunches into the familiar state of sorrow that he often tried to hide. 

When the premise of hating Eli comes in, the words moving out through the air and hitting Oliver’s ears in moments, his mouth opens a tad, about to say something. “What?” He asks breathlessly, his gaze now glued to Eli and only Eli. “I could never hate you. Never. You’re the only person I’ve ever really loved inside and out. More than anyone.” One hand swats the air as if to prove his point further, a look of true desperation cascading across his expression. “Why do you hate yourself when you’re angry? You’re supposed to be angry. You’re human, Eli. Everyday I get scared that you’re gonna pop like a balloon because you keep reverting into yourself. It scares me, especially since I don’t really know what you do everyday. In the club, at work. I’m in the dark.”

One hand reaches up to cup the side of Eli’s face then, Oliver moving himself closer to the other man. There’s more guilt plowing through him at the way he silently likes the idea of Eli wanting to hurt Hallen. Damn, Oliver, you’re really fucked up, is all he can think to himself now. It does still shock him to say hear Eli speak like this. So open, vulgar. Once again, Oliver is a little speechless. Silence comes once again. “I’ve...shit,” He says, “I’ve never heard you..talk like that before..”

After speaking, his hand travels, moving over Eli’s beard and then down his mouth and to his neck. “It’s the truth, though, isn’t it? I want the truth. No matter what it is. But, I — I won’t push it anymore, if that’s what you want..” Just as before, he swallows hard, also attempting to muster his thoughts in a coherent manner. 

For a moment, he removes his grip on Eli, turning back towards the front of their room, resting his hands in his own lap. “I could never be with anyone else. Or love anyone else. Ever. I hope you know that,” It’s another confession, one that scares him too. Loving someone so much sometimes seemed so futile. “Even when we broke up all those years ago. I just always thought of you. Always. I’d bring men home and I’d say your name by mistake and they wouldn’t even realize..” Oliver shrugs a little, “And then when Hallen kissed me, after all my stupid pleas for attention, I just wanted you there. I didn’t like tasting him. I wanted you to just — wash it off me somehow.” Now Oliver was crying. It wasn’t a wail or sob, tears just fall down his cheeks without a trace. “That fucking terrifies me sometimes. How much I love you. As I get older, it gets so scary..”

“No, it’s not,” he says; it feels like they’ve had this sort of conversation already, many, many times. It always goes the same, Eli shuts Ollie out, apologizes for doing that, his husband tells him it’s fine and Eli disagrees and apologizes again because he should’ve known better. They’ve done this so many times before, he should’ve know that it never gets them anywhere, if anything, it fucks things up between them; leaves them lost, confused; makes them fall apart and then piece themselves back together again, the comeback process always so long and exhausting. “You had every right to push me. You should always do that. It makes me talk. It helps, I think.” Maybe not this time around, but he’s trying.

“Oh,” a quiet sigh falls from Eli’s mouth. What Ollie’s just said feels like a punch in the face; his body suddenly gets hot and it feels like there’s something stuck in his throat. He lets go of Ollie’s hand and turns away, shifts just a little further away from him. His hands curl into fists, the only way he can keep them from shaking. 

So it’s his fault. Of course it’s his fucking fault. 

“I—I don’t…” he starts off but he struggles to get the words out; what does he even want to say? “What do you mean? How?” he finally asks; he doesn’t turn to look at the other, the panic bubbling beneath his skin doesn’t let him. He’s afraid it would make whatever Ollie has to say pack an even stronger punch. “I didn’t know I was doing something wrong.”

☼

When his touch is gone, his entire body feels like it’s been stuck inside a freezer. Suddenly, he’s cold all over, desperate. He just wants him. Oliver isn’t sure how to articulate that. It’s all lost in translation now, running ahead of Oliver no matter how much he attempts to catch up. By now, his legs are tired. Sore. 

“You — You didn’t, I was just —” His words catch in his throat, a sadness he’s never felt before devouring him whole. He feels as though he’s being swallowed by his own wrongdoing. Oliver crawls back over to Eli, wanting to touch him, but he refrains. Maybe Eli didn’t want him to. Maybe not he can’t stomach it, his touch or even the look of his face. The thought makes a lump form inside Oliver’s throat, the rhythmic thump of his heart increasing with each passing second.

In truth, Oliver tries to fight it. The crying. The hot tears that brim his now muggy blue eyes. But it’s hard, especially when you were someone like Oliver. He was all exposed nerve endings. One little touch and his senses spasm and all he could do was brace for impact, his joints and limbs betraying him. 

Silence envelops them again. They sit there like that for a few minutes, not facing each other, a little speechless. Finally, when Oliver feels like he’s relatively collected himself, he stands. He paces for a moment before positioning himself in front of Eli. “You don’t...tell me anything. You come home injured and hurt and I — I don’t know how to help because you don’t tell me where it hurts or — or how it happened.” His voice shakes then, a strange combination of sorrow and anger oozing from him. “You go away. When you’re upset, when you’re angry, when you’re nervous. I have to — hunt for it because you don’t tell me..” Another inhale, sharper than before, his throat burns. 

“You completely shut down and kiss my head and then things are just supposed to be okay when they’re not.” Oliver moves to sit beside his husband now at the edge of the bed, hands running up and down his tired face. “Jesus, another man kissed me and you just — God, I just want you to be angry because I know you’re angry.” A shaky sigh escapes Oliver now, “If another man kissed you I’d go fucking insane and I know I would. It makes me feel so stupid.” Finally, he looks to Eli again, eyes scanning the side of his face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. For everything.”

STARTER FOR: @olivcrstone​ WHEN / WHERE: friday night, hotel room in nola

They needed this—to get away from where all the chaos is happening, just the two of them. Weekends like this, it’s usually a treat, something fun, an adventure; never something they use to clear the air but as it turns out, there’s firs time for everything. Eli feels thrown off balance and has been for the last few weeks—not knowing what to do, how to feel or how to act has been driving him crazy; he has no idea how to handle anything and, worst of it all, he doesn’t know how to talk to his own husband about what’s bothering him. Eli thought he’s made progress; that he’s finally managed to get over the habit of keeping the bad from Ollie but it looks like he hasn’t. He needs to fix this. He’s fucked up, he needs to fix it.

“Can we talk?” he asks as he sits on the edge of the bed. All day long they’ve been mindlessly chatting and joking about anything and everything but there’s been tension, as if they both knew that it was just a build-up to this. “Actually, first of all, I’m sorry,” he apologizes as he reaches out to grab Oliver’s hand. “I’ve been doing it again. Shutting you out. I should’ve know better than to do that but I just—I don’t know what to do.”

☼

Quiet moments were rare for couples like Eli and Oliver. They were always bright, exuberant. Joking around came natural to them, their bond forged in deep waters, a red string of fate linking them to one another in every lifetime. But, just as any partnership, communication was where they hit a wall. You’d think that being open would be simple, an easy task for two similar beings. To their dismay, they struggled in this area. Oliver was always too open, while Eli was stranded somewhere in the midst of his own thoughts. Trapped in a strange abyss, a cycle of doubt. 

Though, they do what they can to enjoy this sudden trip. Oliver cracks his usual jokes, basking in the August heat as the sun begins to leave the sky as they head back to their little hotel room. Usually, they’d stay out. Dancing. Talking. Making memories, and everything in between. But there’s a tension brewing between them now. Something unspoken. Oliver knows this because Hallen comes to mind here and there. Sometimes he swears he sees him, lingering in the face of another or in a shadow on the pavement. 

Nonetheless, they arrive and Oliver swallows hard. The bed is the first place he lands, lying down just for the sake of doing so. To rid of the strange dizziness that plagues his mind. Perhaps it was more confusion than dizziness. Or maybe it was silent desperation. 

When his husband’s voice comes, breaking through the thick silence in the air, Oliver is unsure what to do. By whatever impulse is left inside him, he sits up, leaning against the wooden headboard behind him. “It — It’s okay,” The man says first, though he’s unsure if those are the right words. “You don’t have to apologize. I know it’s hard for you. I shouldn’t push it.” Blue eyes survey Eli’s face before averting his gaze down to his hands. One is free while the other is closed within Eli’s hand. He squeezes for a moment, mainly just to remind himself that Eli was still there and Oliver wasn’t thrust in some elaborate daydream. 

“I just wanted attention..” Oliver admits quietly, eyes still glued to their hands. “I liked that he paid attention me. Challenged me. I think sometimes you baby me. I hate it, Eli.”

-

Adrian has spent most of the afternoon in awe of Oliver and trying his best to knock the other boy down a peg. The accent, the pronouncing hand gestures, his best effort to mimic Emme’s sweet soft voice as he’s heard her read her own lines opposite him. Oliver shines like the sun and Adrian can only make jokes to compensate for the fact that he’s always standing in his shadow. 

“You want to what?” he sits up, folding his legs underneath him. The suggestion did to Adrian what he’d spent all night trying to do to Oliver. Knocked him off balance so efficiently that all he can do is look at him and sputter out an indignant laugh. “Man if you wanted someone to make out with you shoulda called Emme over. It’s not like it’ll be the same.”

The school play involving a kiss scene had been controversial enough. The rumors about it had swept the small southern town about a week after auditions and parents had calling in their complaints since the news broke through. But their teacher was determined to keep it in. And Oliver and Emme made a perfectly matched leading pair. Even if Adrian did feel just a twitch of something in his chest that turned his mood sour every time he thought about it. “Just start the next scene.”

☼

There’s certain desperation coursing through Oliver now, the fear of rejection. He hasn’t been able to keep track of the number of times he’s found himself sending second, third, fourth glances over to Adrian. Something to remind him that he’s real, that he’s real and he’s his friend, his friend that he admired. Probably more than he should.  

So, he wanted to do the kiss. Just to see, to witness if he still harbored that same nervousness that Adrian made him feel if this were to ever become reality. “To kiss. You don’t wanna kiss?” Oliver asks, scooping up all his charm and nonchalant behavior. He was always quite good at that, a nature at his own potential that made a home inside his stomach.

The boy sucks in a breath then, setting his script down and surveying his surroundings in thought. “Emme’s not here..” A lackluster excuse, though he tries. Sure, he and Emme had sparks of endless chemistry while on stage together. She was one of his closest friends and always will be. But Adrian was..different, to say the least. More. Enough to kick his desperation into high gear once more, though he does his best to remain casual. Smooth.

“Come on, you can trust me,” Oliver says now, voice quieter than before. Sincere. He holds his hands out for Adrian to take. 

A laugh escapes him then, something to lighten the load, “What? You think I’m ugly or something?” He jokes, shaking his head, “I’ll have you know my mom thinks I’m the most gorgeous man in the world and she’s never wrong, so.”

STATUS: open WHERE: the park idk

Though he idea to come here was hardly a whim, Danny still feels like everything happened way too fast. He was home in Chicago earlier this week and now he’s here and here’s about to be home as well—he wishes there was a switch, to make himself get used to the new normal as soon as possible. If only. 

His mom letting him stay with her makes him feel like he’s a kid again, especially that this is around the same time he’d be coming over for his usual summer holiday—the dog is a change, she never had one when he was a kid and Danny offered to start taking out Mouse for walks the second she saw her. 

He’s been sat on the bench for the past ten minutes, replying to a work email, the dog at his feet, peaceful—until not. Someone passing her by makes her particularly excited and Danny has to abandon his phone and try to settle her down. “Mouse. Mouse, come on,” he says, tugging at the leash. He turns to the other person then. “Sorry about that. Did she get you dirty?”

☼

A long walk. He needed a long, long walk. To think, to process, or to do whatever normal people did in ridiculous situations. The weather was nice, the kind Oliver preferred. Warm, humid, sticky. He loved the summer months, the ones that smelled like sunscreen and pool water. It made him happy and comfortable. Which is why it’s such a bummer that something has thrown a wrench in his usual summer good mood. It’s a mess now. A sticky, hot mess.

Oliver cuts his way through the park now, smiling politely at passing strangers. He looks to his right and sees a woman with her child, pushing them on the swings as they giggle with glee. The sound makes him feel more at ease, reminding him that not everything was made of garbage, crap, and confusion.

This is one of the things he enjoys the most; pure bliss when they’re like this, arms around each other, almost one body, the house completely silent around them—it always reminds him how right his life turned out. It’s probably really corny but that’s kinda how they’ve always been, isn’t it? Ridiculously cheesy or not, the sense of belonging he feels with his husband never fails to make everything better.

Still, there’s bumps in the road. Ollie, as usual, can tell that Eli isn’t telling him everything and Eli knows that it drives the other man crazy. He also knows that it isn’t fair. But then at the same time he’s got no idea how to talk about everything that he’s thinking, that he’s feeling. What happened, that’s uncharted territory for both of them—leaving his husband in the dark is probably the worst thing he can be doing right now, though. 

Eli puts his hands on Ollie’s thighs, fingers gently running up and down; there’s a small, tired smile on his lips as he looks up at his husband. “I don’t know how to…how to talk about any of this shit.” But he has to, he knows that.

So there’s really no prelude to what he’s going to say, they both know very well what all of this is about.

“I just—I hate how he put you in this shitty situation, knowing everything. I mean, I fucking met him, I was being nice to him and he just did…that.” He tries not to get riled up about this but it’s hard; whenever he thinks about the detective, he gets angry, so fucking angry. For messing with his family like this, for thinking that it’s okay. “He knew what he was doing and I—I really fucking hate him for choosing to do it. That’s just not right.”

☼

Sorrow. It plows right through Oliver, leaving a hole inside him. His hands reach down to rest on Eli’s as they settle on his thighs. There was a part of Oliver that desperately wishes for the truth, mainly because he can’t find it anywhere else. For once, in some daunting fashion, Oliver couldn’t read Eli and he couldn’t detect what was truly going on behind his eyes. It was a lot of vague anger, a reluctance to display anything but what he shows now. Maybe he should have left the whole thing alone. But that would be irresponsible, wouldn’t it?

“Forget what I feel,” Oliver finally says, surveying his husband’s expression once more, shaking his head a tad. “Forget what I feel for a second. You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to be upset. I don’t know why he did that..” Though, he does. A little. Not entirely. There was a basic idea but only by the way Hallen’s eyes lingered on him for too long or the way he suddenly touched him. At first, Oliver thought nothing of it, but as their interactions grew more intense, it seemed as though something was lingering under the surface. 

The man leans in closer then, resting his arms on Eli’s chest, his head resting on his arms. “You’re right..” Oliver clears his throat then, attempting to muster the right words to say next. In hindsight, nothing seemed right. It was all a mess of things that he can’t quite grasp. “I should’ve...known, I guess.” He says, moving to sit up again, still straddling Eli’s hips. “I guess I just — didn’t think he would..” Once again, he can’t find the words. Instead, he shrugs. “I should’ve known. I was being stupid. He showed signs of...I don’t know, feelings. Love. I don’t know. I should’ve known and I should’ve just backed away. You don’t deserve this.”

Even though TJ knows that Ollie crying at random isn’t out of the ordinary, this is making him worry, especially that his friend’s seemed off from the moment they started talking. “No, come on, what’s up? What’s going on?” he asks, concern visible on his face. Something must be bothering him if he’s not being the usual, ridiculous self so TJ’s not about to let it go. “And you guys can come, sure, would love the company,” he answers the question before going back to the matter at hand. “Seriously, you seem weird today. What’s going on with you?”

TJ takes a look at his phone, the shopping list pulled up, and looks around the shelves for all the other things he and Finn need which, in all honesty, isn’t all that much—his aunt is still very invested into not letting them starve, bringing by home-cooked meals every few days. She also refuses to take a no for an answer so TJ just lets her do it. “How’s he doing? Healing up okay?”

“Yeah, I had fun. Me, my aunt and Marco’s kids ran into her at the petting zoo, we hung out for a bit with her and Riley. Spent most of the day with the kids, had a few drinks. And Teagan convinced me to come to the barn dance. Wasn’t really my thing so I was only there for a little bit. What about you guys?”

☼

Embarrassment rushes through Oliver, a rare emotion for someone like him. Usually, he was shameless, aware of every single emotion that moved through him without a trace. There was never reluctance. But, here he was, ashamed and upset and unwilling to spew like a running faucet the way he usually would. Instead, he just inhales, the sound followed by a chuckle. “I’m good. Tired, maybe. I don’t know. I didn’t sleep very well last night, so..” Another chuckle, this time it’s more breathy. Regardless it’s still something to save face. Blue eyes look to TJ, “Do I really seem weird?” The man asks genuinely, seeking the truth for a moment. He’s never able to fully perceive himself when he’s like this because he was so consumed by his emotions. Most of the time he thinks he’s become an expert at protecting others from the shockwave of his feelings but, perhaps he’s mistaken.

“He seems better now, thankfully. He’s still got some aches here and there but he’s better..” Oliver looks to his shoes, “I wish I could put him inside a bubble or something. You too.” His words are paired with another laugh, then a shake of his head. Though it was the truth. 

The mention of the dance makes Oliver’s stomach twist and his expression to twitch, more nervousness plowing right through him. He wished he went. He wanted to dance, he wanted to dance with Eli. “How, uh, how was the dance? We didn’t end up goin’ because I wanted him to rest..” A lie. Oh my God, when has Ollie ever lied like this? “Oh, come on, I’m sure you were busting some major moves, TJ. You strike me as someone who’d pop and lock really well.” There we go, Oliver. He makes his way down the aisle then, signaling for the other man to follow.

With Eli planning to come back to work next week, he’s been milking the last few days as much as possible—he’s spent most of his day in bed, catching up on TV and reading and trying to distract himself from what happened the other week, with Ollie and the cop (Eli refuses to refer to him by his name, not after all this shit). He wants to let it go, for everyone’s sake, for the sake of his sanity—no matter how much Eli doesn’t want to admit it, he’s been obsessing over it ever since, his mind still preoccupied with the (very bad) idea of punching the detective in the face. 

Most of all, though, he worries about Ollie. Eli figured he should keep all that he thinks about the cop to himself, since it’s bound to make things even worse if Oliver were to know what’s actually going on in Eli’s head and frankly, it’s making him feel worse because he feels like he’s lying to his husband. Eli’s not sure if he should be giving Ollie space to figure things out at his own pace or if they should keep talking about it. And then there’s Adrian—Ollie’s been worrying over not hearing from him and so has Eli. 

It’s always like this, shit piling up onto them all at once when they least expect it. First his accident, now this.

He wakes up with a sigh, his arm immediately curling around Ollie’s body. “What time is it?” he mutters, blinking quickly a few times to wake himself up; he reaches his phone to check. Way too late. “Had me thinking it’s time to get up for a sec there,” he says and shifts around to face his husband. He leans in to kiss him on the forehead and pulls him to his chest. “Did you just get into bed?”

☼

Maybe that’s what truly gets to Oliver. How much he worries for his husband and how much he fears he may keep to himself. It’s needless to say, but Eli was not an open being. Not as open as you’d think. He’s a human with so much love to give and he certainly gives, but there was reluctance that came along with his sorrows. Fear of rejection maybe. Oliver wasn’t sure, but the prospect remains and he can’t help but question how much Eli hides. 

How did he truly feel about Hallen and the kiss? What did he want to do? Would he ever tell the truth?

Oliver reaches out then, smiling warmly as the kiss to his head comes. Once he’s resting on his chest, Oliver can’t help but squeeze, nuzzling his nose right under Eli’s chin. He always smelled so warm. A little woodsy, manly, but somehow sweet all at once. He sometimes wonders if Eli realizes how magical he really is. It pains him to think he might never fully recognize his own impact. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up. Only a little.” The man teases, adjusting his position so he can look up at his husband. The smile on his face fades a tad, turning into something more subtle. Quiet. Blue eyes survey his expression before he sits up, straddling Eli’s hips. “We worry about each other too much,” Oliver says, his voice still close to a whisper, “My mom says that’s what love is sometimes. Worry.” A chuckle weaves through his words, the sound paired with a careful shake of his head. Oliver inhales then, “Tell me what you’re thinking because I can’t tell.”

THE LOVERS QUARREL.

There’s always tomorrow, is what his mother said on the phone. I’ve had a terrible day, is what Oliver said initially but maybe he should have said a terrible evening. His day had started with a promising beginning, waking up right and bright. But it slowly descended into a trance of uncertainty and insecurity. He dropped his daughter at day camp, texted his husband, and carried on. Work was even worse, a client of his having checked into the hospital over the last weekend. Oliver knows there was no reason to blame himself but he can’t help but wonder if he could have done more. 

He spends his evening sitting out in the yard, smoking too many cigarettes to count. A habit he still can’t quite kick, especially while stressed out or upset. While he flicks ash from his cigarette he thinks of Hallen, hoping he’s okay. It’s silly of him to worry for someone who would kiss a married man but Oliver was always in too deep. He cared. Oliver worries for Adrian too, the smaller man having called or texted him back since the night of the festival. 

After a few more hours of hopeless sulking, he heads inside. Blue eyes survey the kitchen before landing on the clock above the oven. Two in the morning. With that, he pads into his and Eli’s bedroom, removing his pants and shirt before sliding into bed beside him. Oliver’s hand reaches out to trace aimless shapes against Eli’s skin before leaning in to kiss his neck. Oliver doesn’t want to wake him but another part of him wants Eli there with him. Present. It sounds trivial, but he couldn’t do this without him.

status: open where: the grocery store idk

Lately he kinda sounds like a broke record—always talking about his family, about the kids especially, though today TJ has a proper reason for it. “I’m good with kids and shit but I haven’t looked after a two year old since—Riley was that little,” he says, dropping a box of cereal into his cart. Carla’s getting her birthday present—the spa treatment TJ bought for her—tonight and he promised he’d watch her daughter as part of the gift, too. It didn’t hit him how much work it’s gonna be until after he offered, though, and he’s kinda starting to dread tonight. Carla deserves the break, though, and this is the least he can do. 

“Gonna be a whole circus, Pancake’s obsessed with the kid, he’s gonna go crazy,” TJ says with a soft chuckle. “How are you plans for the night? Anything fun planned?”

.

Feeling like a tired old loser while going grocery shopping was not how Oliver wanted to spend his afternoon. But something inside him was broken, struggling. He keeps lingering on the edge of his insecurities as if someone would be at the bottom to catch him. He knows it’s only sharp spikes down there, threatening to impale him upon impact. But it’s all he can think about while staring at the boxes of cereal. It was nice having TJ there with him, at least, having run into him while entering the store minutes ago. 

The words Riley and little being in the same sentence does something to Oliver. He starts crying a little, a knee-jerk reaction, “Shit, sorry.” The man wipes at his face before plucking a box of Cheerios from the shelf and tossing it into his cart. He looks to TJ, “Sorry. Jesus, sorry. Continue. What were you saying?” The social worker says sincerely, clearing his throat, “I can, um, I can help you if you want. Help watch the kid, I mean. I can bring Riley over too and they can hang out or something.” He hopes continuing the conversation would tear away from the obvious.

The topic of having any plans exhausts Oliver right now. All he really wanted to do was romanticize the idea of a quiet existence and lay in bed with Eli. “No plans, I don’t think. Maybe I’ll take Eli out somewhere later tonight.” Oliver wipes at his face again before making his way down the aisle with TJ, “Did you have fun at the festival? I saw you hanging out with my mom and the kids for a little bit.”

There goes the answer Eli’s been waiting for and for a second he wishes he didn’t hear it, he’d be so much better off without it, right? I’m tired was good enough, better than this. It doesn’t take long for Eli to turn from worried to furious. His hold on Ollie drops and he looks away from him, having to take a few deep breaths to make himself stay calm, or as calm as he can manage. There’s a string of curses going through his head, all directed a the fucking cop. Eli’s been so fucking nice to him and the motherfucker goes out and does something like this. What’s wrong with that guy?

“Can we get out of here? I can’t talk about this here,” he says; they’re still here, at the dance but the music isn’t making him want to join in anymore, it sounds annoying, it’s too loud.

Eli grabs Ollie by the hand again and starts walking them out of the barn and somewhere secluded; he tries to keep his pace slow and the hold not too tight but he isn’t sure if he’s succeeding with either. When they’re finally away from people, unnecessary eyes and ears, Eli sighs heavily. “Motherfucker,” he curses, louder than he planned to. He paces, a few steps left, a few step right and tries to find the right thing to say. 

“Are you okay?” he finally asks. That’s the right thing, because what matters here is his husband. Not the fact that Eli wants to smash Kane’s head into a wall, not how Adrian found his way into this entire equation, what matters to Eli is Ollie being alright. It’s a stupid question, after everything the other man’s already said, they’re both freaking out, they’re both far from being okay. “Fuck,” he curses again, unable to come up with anything else.

I’m not a person. It physically hurts Eli to hear this, it feels like another punch to the gut. None of this is Ollie’s fault, Eli thinks but he’s not sure how to say it; it feels like the words won’t make it out with how shaken he feels. He steps closer to his husband and wraps his arms around him—the only thing that can make him feel alright. “You’re not a bomb. You’re not a fucking bomb,” he mutters, his nose buried in Ollie’s hair. They stay like that for a moment and Eli prays to God that he isn’t suffocating Ollie. Now Eli’s risking feeling like he’s too much. 

“What happened?” he finally asks when they let go of each other. He’s asking against his better judgement—he’s going to get even more mad, he knows it. But he should know, right?

.

Before Oliver can comprehend anything, he’s being taken by the hand and walked out of the barn. It’s strange to look back to the crowd of smiling couples and strangers, and then to the crack in the wall. His eyes get one last look at the damage before they become envelope by the night air, all darkness and muggy humidity. 

Oliver expects anger, truth be told, and he doesn’t blame the other man for that. He would have been angry too, seething. While Oliver wasn’t a jealous or vindictive person, that changed when it came to Eli. The topic of his husband was more than personal, it was everything. “Am I okay?” He questions in responses, a sigh sounding from him, “Are you okay?” Is what he asks now, more worried about how Eli was feeling. “I’m — I don’t know how I feel. Sad, I guess. Angry, maybe? There’s a lot of things. This has never happened to me before, so..”

The moment he’s brought into Eli’s arms again, he can’t help but recall the kiss. The situation flashes across his mind in bright strokes of lightning and it’s all vivid. He’s not sure why it feels like a secret despite having just spat it out the way he did. Maybe because, in reality, he didn’t want to hurt Hallen. Or out him. Or become the villain in this story. Perhaps that alone was selfish, his intentions were a tad lost in translation currently. They’ll get back to him eventually.

Arms wrap tightly around Eli then, hoping his grip will somehow rid of the memory or make everything go away. It doesn’t, of course, but Oliver clings anyway. When the embrace is gone he wants to crumble but refrains. “We, um,” Oliver says, looking down at his shoes before up at his husband, “We were talking. He was smoking. In the back of the barn. I — I was telling him about my synesthesia. He seemed upset. I told him he was blue and gold to explain how my brain sees things like that. The colors and shapes and everything.” He shrugs, “Then, uh, I don’t know. Then he was just...there. Close. Kissing me.” One hand reaches up to touch his face again, the taste of Hallen’s cigarette still lingering on his mouth. “He messed up my face paint. I pulled away, he said something I don’t even remember, then he punched a wall..and left.” Another sigh, “I’m sorry.”

The suggestion doesn’t make sense—if anyone always looks forward to shit like this, it’s them, it’s Ollie. For his husband to suggest that they go home instead, it only confirms that something’s not right. The bright grin on Eli’s face immediately gets replaced with a frown. He’s confused but, most of all, worried. He wants to ask what’s wrong, as if something’s happen but then the I’m tired comes. To Eli, it sounds like a complete bullshit answer, but it also feels like he’s finally getting a taste of his own medicine. Circumstances are different, but isn’t it what he always does? Give Ollie a bullshit answer, just so he doesn’t have to worry? Being on the other side of it now, it makes Eli feel guilty. So instead of prying, he just nods and presses a kiss to the top of Ollie’s head, like he always does. “Sure, baby. We can go home if you want to,” he says. Eli grabs his hand and they start heading towards the exit.

When the questions fall, they feel like a punch to the gut, one after another and Eli doesn’t know what to do about it. “Ollie, what are you talking about?” he says and tries to keep his voice steady. He always jokes how Ollie’s going to make him cry when he says the corniest things he can come up with and never really does; tears are rare for Eli, reserved for when thing’s are really good or really bad. If he said he was going to cry now, he probably wouldn’t be lying. Oliver’s words are bouncing around in his head and he doesn’t know what to do about them. Where is this coming from?

He steps closer and puts his hands on either side of Ollie’s face; there’s people around them but it feels like it’s the two of them, in their little bubble—Ollie’s words are trying to burst it and Eli’s going to have to try really hard not to let it. “You could never ruin me. You make me better,” he says. He could’ve said you complete me, but it never really made sense for either of them. They’re full, complete people on their own and it’s the fact that they bring out the best in each other is what makes them so special. “Hey—look at me. I love you. You could never be bad for me, alright?” Eli says. “You’re not overwhelming, not to me. You’re perfect.”

.

Perfect is a word Oliver doesn’t anticipate. Despite all his confidence, he’s never considered himself perfect. Just okay enough, at best, which was enough for him to get by. Though it’s always bothered him, the prospect of being too much. To be frank, he was. Oliver Stone was too much and he was an overwhelming human being, but Eli was too. His heart understands his and that’s why it makes sense. 

But what about everyone else? How does Oliver get past that brick wall of casualties? “I —” He starts, opening his mouth further to say something but nothing comes. Just as it happened outside, he couldn’t find the words. Oliver’s lips seal once more, his eyes looking around them. He looks to the very distance, right where Hallen had done it. Where he kissed him and then punched the poor, fragile wood of the barn. From what he can see, there’s a crack there now. A crack in the wood, a crack inside him, a crack inside Hallen, and soon enough, a crack inside of his husband. “Hallen kissed me.” Oliver says, out of pure impulse and dreadful adrenaline. Eli needed to know. 

“Hallen kissed me and Adrian is...I don’t know. Saying I was the love of his life. Now I have no idea where he is and he hasn’t texted or called me back.” Oliver chuckles now, his hands reaching up to run over his own face. It’s a bittersweet sound, something ironic. Not even Eli’s hands cupping his cheeks could calm him. Only a tad. “I’m not a person, Eli, I’m a fucking bomb.” There’s obvious panic in Oliver’s eyes. For Hallen, for Adrian, for Eli. To him, he believes he might be the liability in these equations. 

‎

He’s never had to explain himself before, least of all to Oliver. He’s just always figured that anything he says goes and anything he does demonstrates itself with perfect clarity. Turns out, he might not know himself any more than Ollie knows him, and if there’s an explanation to be owed, it’s an explanation he doesn’t have.

“Christ…” he mumbles when he brings a hand up to his mouth and turns away like he’s about to retch all over the ground, anxiety pushing the bile up from his stomach to his throat. “Shit.” He squeezes his eyes, his other hand balled into a fist as it’s pressed against the wall. “Shit, Ollie-” When he turns, he finds the other frozen stiff, the paint on his face smudged and had undoubtedly stained Hallen’s skin, too, from the looks of it. 

“I didn’t mean to do that.” He lifts the hand from over his mouth to push his hair back. “That wasn’t… I- I wasn’t trying to…” And then Oliver starts to back away, starts to remove himself from this complete clusterfuck of a moment. Hallen was bleeding. Cut all the way open, and he’s bleeding. Or he might as well be, and it would be in Oliver’s best interest to leave now before he gets any of it on him. 

So is it selfish for him to not want Oliver to leave? To stay here and figure this out with him? 

“Fuck.”

His dormant rage comes alive.

“Fuck!” 

His fist hits the hard, wooden wall of the barn, and if it were any quieter inside, they might have heard it, they might have felt something break, like the wall or his bones, but he doesn’t stick around long enough to find out. He doesn’t even offer Oliver a glance when he leaves, disappearing when he turns towards the corner and heads for his car parked out front, and it’s only when he finally’s inside and can look at himself in front of a mirror that he thinks he really did start to bleed. 

It’s needless to say, but Oliver can’t find it within himself to comprehend Hallen’s words. They go into one ear and out the other, still shaken by what’s just happened. But, by some strange miracle, he stops backing away. He stands still in his spot a couple feet away from Hallen. Why? He’s wasn’t entirely sure. Maybe just to see what he needed to say or do. Would he kiss him again? Would he confess his love like some pleading, desperate protagonist like in the movies? Or would he simply vanish into thin air, suddenly a figment of Oliver’s too active and colorful imagination?

“Stop!” The word comes out of Oliver before he can even stop himself. It’s sharp and it’s loud, a plea into this frozen moment. But Hallen’s fist still collides with the wood, his poor knuckles clashing with a burst of sudden anger. But it doesn’t seem like anger, not completely. It’s all blue and gold again, it oozes from Hallen. All that blue-gold and purple-red mess of colors being splattered across the page. It’s all in front of Oliver and daunting him. Hallen’s desperation mistaken for anger, his sorrow mistaken for whatever else lived inside him. 

Oliver didn’t want him hurt. That much was simple.

But he walks away, he walks away from him into some vast darkness that Oliver can’t see anymore. No shapes and no colors. Hallen leaves him stranded. How romantic. Oliver stands there for longer than he should, clad in smudged face paint and a broken heart. You ruin people, Oliver. You ruin them. Was his next grand thought, the first sign of guilt seeping through him at this new thought. Or, this new insecurity. Oh, Oliver, you’re too much once again. Look what you’ve done.

Finally, he turns, “Fuck.” He says harshly into the empty air, starting towards the barn where music plays. Inside the barn is all yellow and shades of neon. The music adds to that impact and it almost makes Oliver feel sick. Hallen should be here. He should be here and he shouldn’t have kissed him. He should be here and Oliver should be teasing him. He should be here.

Going back home for a few hours has been a great idea—it got Eli the chance to take some more pain meds and get a quick nap in, much needed after spending the whole day trying to catch up with Riley. The festival has been a nice distraction and it lifted this weight off his shoulders that he’s been unable to shake since his accident. Thankfully, the night is still far from over and Eli’s definitely feeling excited for the rest of it—the dance with his husband is exactly what the two of them need; take a break for a while, worry about everything else later. 

He shows up to the dance all smiles, talking to everyone whom he hasn’t yet seen today—when people notice the way he’s a little hunched over and his slow pace, he gives them some bullshit story of a little home renovation related accident and hopes to fucking God that his husband haven’t served them with some other story earlier before. At the barn, he pesters a few of his friends. looking for Ollie in the crowd at the same time. He practically runs up to him when he finally spots him, all bright grin and a laugh ready to cut through the music. 

“Okay, I’m here and I’m ready to make a fool out of myself,” Eli says. A moment later his expression falls—something’s wrong, he can tell immediately. “You okay, babe?” he asks as he shifts closer, his arms circling themselves around his husband’s body. “Why the long face? Missed me too much?” he jokes, a smile back on his face in his usual manner.

.

The bright, beaming smile spread across Eli’s expression makes him want to cry and he’s not quite sure why. Maybe he did miss him. This sounds ridiculous but Oliver had too many ridiculous emotions to keep track of. For a moment, Oliver buries his face in Eli’s neck, squeezing him. The music around them doesn’t settle well with Oliver’s current mood. It’s upbeat and whimsical, all paired with the laughter from people’s bellies. “Maybe we should just go home,” Oliver says now, his words muffled by his husband’s skin. Carefully, he pulls away, though he keeps himself close. “We can go home and — be together there..” He says, voice quiet as he shrugs his shoulders. The music surrounding them almost swallows Oliver whole which was a strange sight. Usually, Oliver Stone was larger than life but right now he was...dim. Uneasy. 

One hand reaches up to wipe at his smudged face paint, the paint Hallen messed with his nose and cheeks. Oliver ruins it more, his face now decorated with the remnants of little hearts surrounded by red smears. “I’m tired, I guess. It might be all the dairy..” Truth be told, he’s not sure why he doesn’t tell Eli. He knows he will but something stops him right now. Oliver couldn’t figure it out and it was killing him. 

Finally, he backs away a tad, allowing his eyes to survey the dance unfolding around them. He turns to walk but stops for just a moment, “Have I ever — ruined you? Like, have I ever made you feel so much that you felt — not good? Am I overwhelming?”

ADRIAN: You think eli will hurt him?

OLIVER: Are you kidding? Eli once threatened to beat Ford's face into the curb after he said something mean about me

OLIVER: FORD, OUR LITERAL FRIEND.

OLIVER: Is it weird that a part of me kinda hopes he does....I love attention but also this is fucked up