who was i to watch you wilt?

Oliver chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he watched her try to defend her concoction. It was endearing, really, and Oliver was happy to entertain it if it brought a genuine smile to her face. Especially as how the lightness in her laugh gave way to something heavier. He nodded in a silence, accepting of her quiet plea, "Okay," he said just as quietly, respecting the boundary she set without making her feel the need to defend it like she had her sweet and spicy wine. "I won't." The look in his eyes made it evident he was telling the truth, a window to his soul as he spoke in honesty, also displaying the worry he'd felt for her. But if nothing else, he'd continue to provide her the amusement of being the taste tester, though deeper down he wished he could do more. His fingers tapped the glass in a slow rhythm he made up on the spot, still not yet allowing the liquid to pass the threshold of his lips before some clarification. "And... I really don’t think your drinks are bad. Even the... ones I didn't like." He laughs, bringing the playful tone back with the cue of her smile. He softens in a way that tells her she doesn't have to thank him. "They’re ambitious.” He grinned back, inching the glass closer until he took the very first sip.

Oliver squinted then flipped it around to show Sammie the cover with the flair of a magician revealing his final card. “I thought the cover looked like a cursed oil painting. Seemed kinda your style." A chuckle, then he turned the book to himself again, admiring some of the details. “I'm predicting it as... being one of those ‘everyone’s miserable and you end up with more questions than answers’ kinds of reads." When Sammie then agreed to a mystery, Oliver's eyes started to roam in a more focused manner, like he was solving one himself. "Let’s find you a new challenge, then. Something with a twist so wild it makes you audibly gasp in public?” He paused, lifting a finger as if to declare promise. “And none where the murder suspects fall in love."

Oliver blinked up at him with a smile that followed suit. His hands hovered above the pile like he was still caught in a deep thought, then he settled his palm on the yellow-covered book gently. "Yeah. I think I would start here." He lifted the book slightly and turned the cover towards Nic's direction, as if presenting it to him as something much more valuable than the sticker priced it as. "It's... I don’t know, it doesn’t pretend to have all the answers, you know? Feels human, not... like magic. It doesn’t talk down to you either. It’s kind. Sometimes kind books feel as rare as kind people." He slowly stood with the remaining pile, setting it on a nearby chair just in case the man still wanted to shuffle through. "But if it turns out to be terrible, you can blame me, and I’ll owe you the coffee and a five minute apology performed dramatically in the poetry section."

"Pleasure's mine." Oliver's softer laugh echoed Nic's own as he nodded a simple response to his next question, his head down as he eliminated books from his recommendation pile as if it was the most paramount task the bookstore has ever seen. He didn't make too much eye contact — not out of bad manners, but from just how focused and content he was to just be. It was the best of both worlds, helping others with the things he valued most in the world. It may have been a mundane assignment to just about anyone else, but as he added one more book to the pile, poor Nic probably had gotten more than he had bargained for. "So, these are the top contenders," Oliver finally announced from his spot on the floor, "Some of which I read in college, yes. I majored in journalism, so, it can go hand in hand. I know a few of these quite well." He knocked on the hardcover of one in particular, emphasizing his point.

The medals caught Oliver's attention. He was no stranger to Anouk's talent on the ice, and knew well enough she'd tack on more expertise in the kitchen. She had that aura about her, that she could accomplish anything she set her mind to — at least, that's what she had Oliver thinking as he opted for the white wine. He tapped his fingers against the edge of the countertop to the beat of the music as he let her take the lead, shaking his head at the mere idea of spinning it on him. They were in her space, after all. That much was obvious as he didn't see books scattered about and sticky notes painting the refrigerator door. "Oh no, no, that sounds lovely," a giggle escaped his throat just before he cleared it, taking the glass from her hand. "I don't come with many recipes. I'm guilty for take out and cereal for dinner, if we're being real honest." Maybe he should be ashamed, standing in the kitchen of someone seemingly much more put together than he was, but for whatever reason he felt comfortable letting his habits slip from his tongue. He hummed along to the tune the shuffle settled on, setting down the glass to clasp his hands together. "And where on Earth do we start?"

Oliver's expression softened at the mention of the woman, and he briefly wondered if he should pry, get the scoop like he knew just how to do on any other occasion — or if he should wait, let Lena admit what kind of thoughts she harbored for her on her own time. "See her again... like, in passing, in a group? Or like... 'there's something there between us' seeing her again?" And there he went, his nosy side winning the race as he looked at her almost apologetically for it. "I think if you weren't you, I'd worry too much. And, well, maybe intense isn't always the word. I like determined. You seem to be that, with this woman... a woman so mysterious she doesn't even have a name."

@wiltedflwer

Oliver hesitated with the wine glass in his hand, staring at it like it might hiss at him if his mouth got too close to the rim. “Chocolate and jalapeño,” he muttered under his breath, a laugh escaping somewhere in between as she gave him a trade off. “Why does this feel like the kind of thing that gets you put on a government watchlist?” When Pru spoke up again, he softened into something quieter. The jokes cut short. The lightness in his expression faded some and his fingers curled tighter around the base of the glass, met with questions he tried to fight off. He didn’t press, not when Pru didn't want to speak of it... but he couldn't keep himself from feeling, the concern behind his eyes spoke louder than anything he could’ve said. “I won’t push." The words came after a moment, eyes scanning her face like he was trying to study her like one of his stories, but the deep rooted worry stuck out more than he could hide. “Just know if I ever see that guy, this wine is going some place it shouldn't. I’ll weaponize it. Jalapeño juice in the eye sort of plan." He reached across the table for another glass, poured some of his helping into it and gently clinked his against hers. “To you, for managing to successfully keep dragging me into bartending purgatory. And for being brave, and... well, here."

Oliver had been roaming with no real destination, and that's exactly how he liked it. He made an effort to check out as many of the booths he could, to linger in safe spaces and gaze longingly at others. He stopped for his beverage at the trusty booth of The Siren and while he sipped, he was pulled from his daydreaming and turned to the direction of a familiar voice. The festival always seemed to pull people together, tourists and locals alike, and he smiled as he looked at the native and took in his invitation. "C'mon, you could still make something beautiful." He spoke with optimism lining his voice, accompanied by a nod of his head as his next mission found him. "I'll go. And if yours turns out as bad as you think it might, well, you can have mine. Done deal?"

Oliver's laugh echoed James, peering at him between looking at the new releases then jumping to the used records for any hidden gems. Clocktower had been one of his comfort spots, always eager to see what he could find to put on the turntable that evening. "No, not really, sometimes I hardly ever am." He said honestly as he picked up his head again to meet his gaze. "Often I just like to see what finds me. What about you, though? Got your heart set on a certain record?"

A bit of a late start made for an anxious Oliver, running through notes and taking down key points with one pen before switching to the next, carefully organizing his thoughts in a way others might have found chaotic. The café was a rather quiet place to settle, opting for a coffee and a nice atmosphere than the office. He was putting in overtime at this rate, anyway, eager to finish the project at hand. Nothing usually knocked him out of his zone too easily, but as soon as Ezra came over to his table and spoke, he pulled himself out of the haze and offered him the brightest smile he could, lips then falling agape in a gasp as the plate was pushed towards him. "For me?" He asked, as if he didn't just hear the other speak, as if the whole world didn't grow quiet as he sat opposite him. "Mhm. Fueled by your espresso." He hit his pen against the small cup, accentuating his claim. "But I must say your company's even better."

Oliver followed her lead, brown eyes accompanying her every move to make sure he cleaned the pole as perfectly as he could, both spotless and dry by the end of it. "Never ever, not even in my dreams. But maybe I can be an expert by the time I'm fifty." Smiling at her, he continued to watch on, eager to watch her teach him just where to begin. It was more for fun, maybe a skill he'd never use again, but with the assistance of his friend guiding the way it seemed like a new opportunity he couldn't turn down. If he was going to break the walls of his comfort zones, saying "no" wouldn't have been a great start. "Risk free? Simple? Do those words even belong in the room with us?" He teased, pressing his cheek to the metal as he leaned forward.

It might have been less awkward for Oliver if the other man uttered an apology for running into him without picking his head up, but the second the "hey" left his lips, he could sense what was coming. Luckily, he seemed less irritated than Oliver made himself believe he'd be — just a little comment that made him scoff, clutching his notebook a little tighter. "I'm not noisy... nosy, maybe, yes, but you keep your affairs loud enough for me not to have to ask." He wasn't angry, per se, more so sleep deprived that failed to keep the crankiness at bay. Running a hand through his hair, he brought himself down a bit, shaking his head at the other. "... Sorry."

Oliver hummed through the store as he eyed the displays, taking in anything and everything new since he last stepped foot in the shop. He wasn't one to judge a book by its cover, but always took in and appreciated the illustration, played the guessing game of what a novel would be liked based on it alone. The same could be said for people — never usually one to judge, and it was likely how he got along with all walks of life, Sammie a far cry from himself but someone he enjoyed his time with. He couldn't help but think a world full of people like him would be too much of a bore, anyway. He took a few steps back to revisit a section as she spoke, sweeping up a book in his hands and staring at it as if debating if it was the right one for her. "Did you finish the last one?" He asked, curious if she had the habit of picking it up only to put it back down. He brushed through the pages with his fingertips, heart not quite set on any decision. "We could go anywhere with this, though. Mystery, fantasy, romance," he turned from the shelves back to her, trying to pick up signals. "Or... maybe not romance?"

Oliver's features brightened with a smile despite being turned away from the man, welcoming his laughter as his eyes roamed the shelves. He clicked his tongue as he gathered his options, weighing the chances of him actually pulling the right book and accepted the fact that either way, maybe the other would leave with something. "Nic, then. It's nice to meet you. You can call me Oliver, or... whatever you want, really. Just don't call me late to dinner." His smile pulled at his lips again at his own dated joke, one of many that aged him years older than he really was. He created a small pile there on the floor, eyes brightening as he found a select few favorites, all ones he's read and can form a sturdy opinion on by himself. He looked at reviews, whether certain titles were considered a best seller, but always made the final judgement on the last page of a read. "Used to, not so much anymore, but probably always had one stashed somewhere back in college." Turning around, his brow furrowed in playful questioning. "Wait, is that surprising?"

There was something about visiting someone's abode that Oliver loved dearly. It felt like one of the truest ways to get to meet someone, to lean into what they loved and considered close enough to heart to have it displayed in their home. He took in his surroundings carefully, smiling to himself at a few pieces that caught his eye as he was lead out into the kitchen. It was already much more pristine than his own, like she didn't heavily rely on the same cereal boxes that lined his own cupboards. "A drink would be lovely, whatever you have." He nodded at the follow up, the idea of music always welcome in his book. He was always the type to have a record on, even when he needed peace and quiet — it was his peace. "Music is great, too, I'm less picky with my music than I am my drinks, even," a soft giggle, then his focus turned towards the ingredients at hand. "I think this is more than I have in my whole apartment right now."

Oliver only pulled back if he sensed she needed space, and although he was gifted at reading people, Lena could give him trouble — still, he hoped he read the signs right as he returned his soft touch on her as she told him exactly how she was doing. He listened as intently as he always did, in the only way he knew how. His eyes spoke when he didn't, expressive and forgiving, a true window to his soul as others described them. "Looking for yourself tends to be quite the journey." He noted, having been there himself one way or another, time and time again. "What's with the intensity?" He asked, more intrigued than anything, especially with how his conversations with Lena always seemed so smooth, peaceful, like connecting with someone who truly knew you or had genuine interest in wanting to. He brought his drink to his lips, taking a slow sip before speaking again, "Maybe it's for the greater good. Some conversations we need to have, even if we don't want to be having them."