#flufffffff

The dorm room reeked of unspoken tension. It also, as it so happens, reeked of the joint they’d just smoked through the window. The season was over and drug testing wouldn’t commence until August. This, Patrick had noted, was an opportunity only a fool would pass up. 

“Pretty sure we’re the foolish ones if you think about it,” Art retorted. Patrick rolled his eyes and gently shoved his knee into Art’s. Their twin beds had been pushed together at the beginning of their first semester and neither wanted that to change. 

“And look who’s already nonverbal,” Art teased his lack of response. 

A slight grin tugged at the corners of Patrick’s mouth as he turned his head to Art, eyes half-lidded. 

“I’m…taking in the moment.” 

Art smirked, rolling his eyes.

“Seeing sounds? Hearing colors?”

“Crazy shit. I’m seeing things nobody else can see.”

“What, like you being good at tennis?”

Patrick rolled his eyes and instead of a verbal response, gave Art’s foot a quick swipe. The sensation was enough to make Art jump like a startled cat. His body twitched, eyes wide with exaggerated shock.

“Wait!” Art protested, somewhere between a laugh and a yelp. There was a moment of tense but playful silence; the calm before the storm. And the storm came in the form of a very stoned Patrick seeking revenge. Before Art could remember how to defend himself, he pounced. He used one hand to hold down Art’s foot while the other hand began a relentless, ticklish assault. 

Art didn’t even have the strength to resist laughing. Giggles began to flow from Art. Like a river running, all he could do was babble helplessly. He found his words as Patrick found a particularly sensitive spot between his toes. 

“PAHAHTRICK!” Was all he could get out before his other foot inadvertently swung. Patrick dodged it, but barely. He gasped in offended shock as he removed his hands. Unfortunately, this pause was only so that he could adjust himself so he was sitting atop Art’s knees. 

“You could’ve taken me out right there,” Patrick tried to look as serious as possible, but his eyes gleamed with mischief. 

“I highly doubt a dorm room is the right place to take someone out,” Art sassed as if he weren’t at the mercy of Patrick’s fingers. “I’d take you somewhere nicer.”

Patrick, in a hurry to make sure Art didn’t notice the shade of pink he was turning, attacked. He was relieved that Art’s eyes immediately squeezed shut as he attempted to not laugh at the fingers fluttering over his ribs. 

“I’m gonnahaha get you BACK!” he tried to sound intimidating as the damn broke and laughter came spilling out. “TENFOLD!” 

“Mmhm, I’m sure you will,” Patrick smirked as his unforgiving fingers worked their magic.

“Yohohou assh—“ he was cut short as Patrick found a spot that made him shriek. A shark grin spread over his face and he squeezed his hips again, eliciting another squeal.

“There?”

“NO! Patrick I swear to God—“ the rushed plea for mercy (disguised as a threat) came out sounding more like a single word than individual ones. 

“Oh, to God, you say,” he held up his hands as if to surrender. 

“Fuck yohohou,” Art gasped for air. 

“Code violation! Audible obscenity,” was the only break Art received before Patrick brought his hands down again to attack his hips. Waves of electric tickles coursed through Art. The laughter that exploded from him was boisterous and uncontrollable. Patrick hoped the way his heart sped up was just a side effect of the weed. 

Art gasped and giggled as Patrick moved his fingers to claw at his belly. He kicked his legs and tried to grab at Patrick’s hands, but every movement felt like a slow, exaggerated delay. 

After what felt like an eternity, Patrick pulled his hands back but stayed seated there. He watched Art regain his breath with a lazy, satisfied smile. 

“You’re a dick,” Art breathed heavily. There was no malice behind it, only stunned appreciation for the mercy. 

Patrick snorted, clearly pleased with himself. 

“Yet you never once told me to stop.”

Art flushed pink at the observation. “You’re such a dick,” he rephrased, trying and failing to squirm out from beneath him.

Patrick looked like a cat that had just discovered the joy of knocking things over. There was that grin again, white teeth flashing. 

“That’s not a denial.”

He turned a shade darker and opened his mouth to protest, but the moment he sucked in a breath, Patrick’s fingers found that spot at his hip bones. He shrieked and twisted, half laughing and half wheezing.

“Ahahasshole—“

Patrick leaned in, lips brushing the top of Art’s ear.

“You gonna admit it?”

Art’s face was practically crimson colored, somewhere between being flustered and horrified and delighted. In a moment of weed-induced weakness, Patrick let the impulsive thoughts win. He took a tiny lick and bite of Art’s ear, which made the other shriek bloody murder. 

“Wait wait wait, that actually tickles?” He laughed delightedly and backed up as Art put his hands over his face. 

“I’m gonna kill you,” his reply was muffled as his hands still covered his face. “And it’s gonna be really slow, and really painful.” 

“Choice words towards someone who’s on top of you.” 

“And then I’m gonna kick your ass in the next match.”

“Maybe,” Patrick replied in a sing-song voice, “but that doesn’t change the fact that you like it when I tickle the shit outta you,” he added smugly. 

“Bold assum–” His retort was cut short as he broke into another helpless burst of laughter due to fingers clawing their way under his arms. Dirty blonde hair flopping, he twisted his face into his pillow to muffle the sound of laughter. Patrick paused long enough to let the silence stretch. He wouldn’t stand for anything other than the boy’s full, unbridled laugh. Art bravely dared to glance up.

Patrick struck again with ruthless precision, but this time he utilized a new weapon. Art’s shirt had ridden up in the squirming process and he’d quickly decided it was unacceptable to finish the onslaught without a raspberry. He blew one as hard as he could onto his belly button and by his reaction, this seemed by far the worst (or best) tactic. Art howled, loud and raw, unfiltered.

“OKAHAHAY!” Art laugh-screamed. “I-I don’t hate it!” 

Patrick eased up and beamed like he’d just won Olympic gold. Art lay panting like he’d just finished a marathon.

“I’ll get you to admit to loving it at some point, but I think if I kept going now I’d kill you.”

“Fuck off,” Art retorted playfully as he shoved Patrick off and onto the bed next to him.

“Mmhm, make me.”

When Oliver was finally allowed to leave the hospital, he didn't show the least bit of resistance towards his parents insisting that he finish his recovery at home.

He really only agreed so easily because he felt bad for how badly he'd scared them. If that were the case, he'd likely would have gone back to the dorms and gone right back to pulling all-nighters just to catch up with all the work class and newspaper work he'd missed, even if his mom insisted that she'd contacted the university to inform them of the situation.

So, three days after discharge, he now found himself in his childhood bedroom too tired to scroll on his phone and not really in the mood to watch tv. The aftermath of pneumonia was not pleasant. Several times, he had to put in more effort than he cared to just to take a few deep breaths that made his head spin from the oxygen. He'd been exhausted, his muscles so used to not moving while on the ventilator that it was almost painful to use them.

His doctor had explained how pneumonia recovery took a while. By next week, he knew that breathing would be less of a task, and his energy levels will go back up again soon.

I would kill for a cup of coffee, he thought. Then, he grimaced as he recalled that it was a cup of coffee that had put him in this situation in the first place.

Isaac had called Dan at the university's newspaper himself to explain why Oliver wouldn't be able to work on his assignments, only to hear from Dan that apparently Oliver was just one of several staff members who had called in sick with pneumonia. Ryan, the freshman who had been fetching coffee for the staff the night before Oliver got sick, had apparently not bothered to check whose mugs were whose, or even to rinse and/or wash before re-filling them. Felicity, the other staff member who had been coughing a bit while working, apparently had bacterial pneumonia herself, and her mug had been passed around to several people.

Long story short, Ryan left the Uni's newspaper staff.

But, despite being one of several, Oliver of-fucking-course had to have been the only one who had it bad enough to require a goddamn hospital stay and a goddamn ventilator. The unfairness made him genuinely mad. Fuck my fuck-ass-shit-quality immune system!

He let out an annoyed huff at his own thoughts, deciding not to think about it anymore. He thought about maybe sleeping, but although he was tired, he wasn't tired enough to actually sleep.

He thought about what he wanted at that moment. Honestly, he didn't have to think long.

I want my friends.

So, he grabbed his phone off his nightstand and sent a text in the group chat.

Me: Heyyy

Kei-K.O.: Hi, Oliver! How're you doing?

Issy 💕: Heyy, bby! What's up?

Bye-Bye-Birdie: Hiiiiiiiiiii !!!✌️✌️✌️

Jorrrr: Hey, pookie! You alr?

Spirit {Big sis}: Wassup, lil dude?

Eli-belly: Hi!

Aiden {Spirit's bf 👀👀}: How's it going, Ollie?

Queen_Amber👑🎭: Heyyy! Hru??

Oliver couldn't help but smile at just how quickly the messages rolled in. God, he loved his friends.

Me: I'm fine. Doing better. Tbh, just kinda bored 🥲

He knew they were probably all busy, but he missed them all too much to really care.

Me: Can u guys come over?

Me: 🥲🥲🥲

Issy 💕: Ofc!!!! I'm omw! 😙

Kei-K.O.: Sure thing! I'm finishing an assignment rn, but I'll head over right after. Do you guys want pizza?

Bye-Bye-Birdie: Bleh! 🍕🤮

Kei-K.O.: Besides you, Birdie 🙄. I can get you fries or something. Everyone else?

Eli-belly: Amber & Jor are both with me rn. They said pizza is good👍

Bye-Bye-Birdie: I'm coming over, too. With blankets. LOTS of blankets!!!!!😁😁😁

Spirit {Big sis}: I'll be there in 10.

Aiden {Spirit's bf 👀👀}: Oliver, you want anything?

Me: Not rlly. Just you guys.

Jorrrr: Awwwww!!😊😊😊

Spirit {Big sis}: 😁

Issy 💕: Love ya, bby! See u in a bit!!

Oliver smiled at his phone before deciding to actually try and get up from bed.

He'd only done it a few times in the last three days since he left the hospital, each time to go to the bathroom, and usually with at least a little help from his dad.

Sitting up was already physically taxing. He groaned as he managed to get his elbows beneath himself. His arms shook as he pushed himself up the rest of the way, having to push himself back against the headboard as he caught his breath. His chest still ached a bit.

He coughed a couple times before taking a deep breath, bracing himself to actually stand up. He kicked his covers aside and shifted his legs off of his bed. It took him a whole minute just to stand up, using his bedside table for support. His legs shook, though not as badly as they did on his first day after discharge.

He took slow, careful steps out of his bedroom. He kept a hand against the wall as he made his way through his house. Eventually, he found his way to the living room, which was right by the open kitchen where his mom was chopping something that looked like pickled beets on the kitchen island.

Her eyes widened when she saw him. She put down her knife, all but running to him. "Oliver, sweetie, what're you doing up? What's wrong?" She asked, worried, taking his hand. He smiled at her a little.

"I'm fine, mom," he assured her. "My friends are coming over to spend some time with me. Is that okay?"

The worry on her face morphed into something else. Something relieved and happy. "Of course it's fine, sweetheart. Are you guys going to want anything to eat?"

"Kei said he's bringing pizza."

"Well, our fridge is fully stocked with everything from cookies to fruit, so you and your friends can take what you want as you please."

"Thanks, mom," he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

She patted his hand, smiling. "Alrighty then. Were you heading to the couch?" She looked at his other hand that was still braced against the wall for support. "Want some help, or were you planning on taking the wall with you?"

He laughed a little, which made him cough a couple of times but just little coughs.

She helped him make the rest of the walk to the couch. Then she went back to the kitchen to keep making what he assumed was her favorite salad recipe, judging by what he'd seen her chopping.

He took the remote and began searching for a movie to watch. Upon trying to decide what all of his friends would most likely all be in the mood to watch, he settled on 'Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone'.

A knock came from the front door, and Oliver saw his dad emerge from his office to go answer it. The man did a double take when he spotted his son outside of his bedroom, a relieved and genuinely happy smile gracing across his face.

The man went to answer the door, and after a minute or so, he came back with Oliver's beaming boyfriend behind him.

"Hi!" Oliver said, his whole face lighting up upon seeing Isaac's smiling face. He hadn't realized just how badly he'd missed him until that very moment.

Isaac wasted no time walking over to the couch where Oliver was sitting, taking the spot beside him and embracing him in the tightest hug he could manage without having to worry about maybe accidentally hurting him.

Oliver hugged him back, relaxing into his warmth. There was something about Isaac that was warmer and more comforting than any bed or blanket could possibly be. He smiled when he felt Isaac press soft kisses to his hair.

Not long after getting cuddled up together on the couch (a fluffy sky-blue blanket tossed over them, courtesy of Oliver's dad), Birdie, Eliana, Amberlynn and Jordan all arrived together, all of them either getting settled on the other couch in the living room, or on the carpeted floor with couch-cushions and the multitude of blankets Birdie had actually brought.

Aiden actually got there three minutes before Spirit, explaining that they were coming in separate cars but he'd just narrowly made it past a red light, whereas Spirit couldn't pass it before it went red. She arrived and immediately went to give Oliver a hug. As she leant down to do so, she shoved Isaac's face in the opposite direction, making him yelp and try to turn his head. He settled for licking her palm, which she then wiped off using his perfectly-styled hair. They stuck their tongues out at each other, which made Oliver laugh, a sound that had everyone in the room smiling.

Keiko arrived last, carrying three pizza boxes and two extra boxes, one with fries and the other with chicken wings. In minutes, everyone had a plate and the movie was playing. Jordan and Eliana cuddled up on the other couch, Birdie burrito-rolled in about three blankets on the floor, Keiko and Amberlynn on Oliver's dad's armchair, and Aiden and Spirit cuddled up with several blankets and pillows on the floor as well.

Oliver looked at all of them, not focused on the movie. Every time they laughed or smiled, it made him smile. He felt like the luckiest person in the world to be surrounded by friends like this. Friends who showed up and cared about him.

Family.

He hadn't realized there were tears in his eyes till Isaac kissed one running down his cheek. "You alright, Olive?" he whispered so the others wouldn't hear. Oliver looked at him and smiled, kissing him softly. "Better than ever," he told him.

You had always been a bit of a light sleeper. Never one to fully let your body get to REM mode, always out of bed with eager footsteps-that use to drive Amelia mad when you were younger. God, the look of utter distain on her features had made it all the more joyful for your five year old self.

You use to jump on her bed and crinkle her sheets and drape yourself all over, till she would eventually give up and accept defeat. Stumbling over shaky legs and mumbling what an evil gremlin you were.

A cool chill ran over you-fast and violent. Causing you to lose the fragmented image of Amelia imprinted on your eyelids. Reality came bolting back like cold air. Stinging your lungs with every heave.

It also didn’t help that you were floating. The calm numb feeling of ripples as it rushed past your ears welcomed you. Opening your eyes you were met with dark overcast skies, Signalling rain. Although that was not hard to guess. It always rained in wales. You supposed that was why it was so green. Full of life.

You hated camping. Hated being dragged out from the cabins outside to spend the night laying under the cold harsh ground. Even with amenities like blankets and space heaters. ‘Bring a million pillows and stuffies’ you’d tell the campers, ‘but you are still sleeping on the ground’. Perhaps you deserved the ground.

But you hated it even more because family summer holidays often consisted of holiday camping. You use to love it-bunking with Amelia. Back when you were still kids-before the girlish hormones and time and distance had gotten to you both. When Amelia and you would giggle long into the night-sneak off into the night for a late night swim. Eat enough chocolate pasties you’d feel ill the next day.

It was a tradition.

Which was why you were swimming. Head thrown back to eye the skies.

You had told Pip you’d be back to camp later-you needed a minute to process everything. Because this was the campsite Amelia and you had used-just weeks before her accident. Granted you both had been in sour moods-had barely talked-had went to bed with cold backs to each other. Why-you couldn’t remember. A simple childish reason. Now when you’d think about it-about having Amelia safe and granted mad at you-in your tent-but safe-what you wouldn’t give to go back and apologize-just for a hug from your big sister. For one of her stupid eye rolls.

It was beginning to pelt now. Small rings of droplets falling from the welsh sky, finding a home in between your already wet brows. Your body chilled-and soon you were lifting yourself up to the pier, and watching as the lake stilled.

The cold always seemed to wake you up. Made the pain hurt less. Once you passed back to camp, finding everyone well into their tents, already getting ready for bed.

You must had swam for hours. Time seemed to still here. Like it was it’s purpose.

You waded past the burnt fire pit, ash clinging to the air, a certain smokiness that left your nose flaring. Past snorting children and giggles behind closed tents.

You could hear your parents as you passed their tent-your fathers cold voice-your mothers soft airy voice-and how it carried less and less of care these days-like she was on the cusp of forgetting it all. Grew tired of it-the hoping-the waiting-

“The hospital phoned me yesterday-the tests are coming back inconclusive. Her brain waves are-“ you walked past far too fast-heart beating loud in your chest. Fingers clenched white. You didn’t want to think about that. Anything but that.

You could hear your mother’s voice-inhuman and tired. Suddenly you felt tired-weighted down. Like all you wanted was rest.

You made it to your tent in record time-slipping inside and letting out a soft sigh-one that was perhaps a choked back sob. Tears threatened to spill as you wiped your eyes, red from the water. From opening them. Amelia use to dare you to open them. I reckon you can’t keep your eyes open for ten seconds! What a baby you are!

Amelia’s voice in your head as you slipped of your soiled swimsuit-grabbing fresh new cotton pajamas-your favorite. It clung to your skin a little too tight-but you didn’t mind. In fact you welcomed it. It was a hug. A warm much needed hug.

You hadn’t had one in a while. Not since-Amelia. Sure you had hugs-but not one born from actually wanting one-of wanting that closeness one craves.

You had the in between sob hugs-one where your mother would cling to you-one where your father would weep into your hair-but an actual hug-not since Amelia.

Amelia always gave the best hugs. The kind that made you close your eyes and let out a big breath.

A rhythmic rap against the tent made you halt-made you wipe the tears from your pale cheeks and ask in a small but what you hoped to be stable voice, “who is it?”.

Pip popped her head in, the zipper of your tent undoing in its rhythmic noise, pip’s kind eyes swept over you-leering to closely, the edges of her eyes crinkling in the same fashion the first day she had met you on the beach. Like she knew something-

“Just thought I’d check in. You’d been gone since we got here. Connor and Cara were getting worried” Pip spoke, lips moving in a grimace.

You nodded, making room for pip on your pillow, “that’s kind of them. I’m fine really-just needed to clear my head. This campground reminds me of a lot of things”.

Pip took the invitation, plopping down on your pillow-her cheeks close enough you could feel her breath against your cheek. She was quiet for a moment-ever observing.

Then quietly she spoke, like a whisper, “I heard you crying. It’s alright to cry” soft fingertips brushed against your cheek-ghostlike in nature.

But Pip’s eyes-they were adoring. Hurting. Like she herself knew pain. Knew how it haunted. Guilt so deep it manifested in anxiety and stomach pains.

And then a flicker of pip’s lips, like a candle coming to flame, flame quivering against the wick, “did you know that when you cry you release these things called endorphins? It’s a feel good hormone. It has an almost neruochemical substance that improves mood. Isn’t that wonderful? Quite amazing isn’t it.”

The observation made your heart race-because maybe it was the fascination in Pip’s eyes-or the way she looked at you.

“You can talk about her-if you’d like”.

An invitation.

“Becca tells me about Andie when I visit. We spend hours talking about her-as children-little things even. I let her because I know she’s hurting too-it’s very therapeutic if you can believe”.

You imagine it- Pip sitting with Becca Bell-eyes a sea of calm-of understanding-and you can feel yourself sniff.

“I’m forgetting things.” You utter into the air, into the softness of the tent.

You can’t see her expression anymore-it’s too dark-but you can feel her fingers-soft and full against yours-a touch that makes your heart spark.

“Like her laugh. And I hate myself for it. Because I feel guilty. I don’t know why-but I do. It’s this pit inside my stomach-whenever my parents mention her-it’s like-this pain. This guilt-“.

You don’t know who initiates first-but you feel it-Pip’s aching breath as she brings you to her chest-a full on chest to chest embrace. It takes you a moment-because how did pippa fitz Amobi know you needed a hug? Divine intervention?

You only hug back, feel her heart against your ear, feel the way she doesn’t speak-but listens. And think-maybe it will all work out in the end.

She held her own arms, arms tucked over her chest- they were yours. A face buried in the crook of her neck, drinking in the almost dizzying smell. Valeria often smelled metallic- like blood.

Freshly showered however? She smelled heavenly. Smelling of blood oranges and vanilla