Oliver Loves Carson | ✔️

chapter eleven

Oliver generally ignored awkwardness.

It was always lingering at the forefront of his mind, but he'd always pushed it down and left it as nothing more than a fuzzy feeling. His tactics had always worked--when he'd accidentally (or not so accidentally) talked shit about Joshua Weber while he was no more than a mere five feet away, when he'd liked his crush's year-old Instagram picture, when he'd walked in on....

Nevermind.

The point was, Oliver was a pro at handling awkward moments, mostly because he couldn't give a shit. He would just go along on his merry way, pretending as if nothing had happened. And, truth be told, it worked. It was almost like it caused a domino effect--the awkwardness would just dissipate into thin air.

So, when he sat at lunch with Holden, Nico, Celia, and Carson--and the awkwardness was not at all disappearing--Oliver had no idea how to handle it.

He drummed his fingers on the table absentmindedly. Carson, looking like he hadn't noticed he had said it, blurted out, "Do you play an instrument or something?"

Oliver froze. It was the first time they had spoken since being 'friends.'

Stupid fucking friends.

Oliver cleared his throat. "Not really," he lied, trying to keep his voice level, but it came out pinched.

Celia snorted. "Liar," she muttered, in between munching on her chips.

"I'm not lying," Oliver retorted, "I don't actually know what I'm doing half the time."

Celia smirked from next to him. "Wow. This is the first time I've ever heard you lie," she said.

"Who says it's the first time?" Oliver retorted boredly.

Celia ignored him and leaned over the table eagerly. "Oliver plays the guitar. He's pretty good." She turned to him. "Don't you play the piano too?" she asked.

"Knowing a chord or two doesn't mean I can play."

"Whatever," Celia said, "more than I could do."

Carson smiled, not surprised, more intrigued. "That's so cool! I played the violin for like, five years before I quit, but I wasn't any good." His eyebrows drew together. "I've always wanted to be good at playing an instrument."

Oliver tilted his head to the side. He could imagine it. Almost seventeen-year-old Carson, blonde head bent over a violin--a small, delicate, instrument coated in the color of deep umber; each of its crooks smooth and gleaming--a long bow in his head as he softly drew it across a string, producing a crisp, calming, adagio note. His hair would be spilling over his face, looking soft and silky. His face would be calm and passive and beautiful.

Like an angel.

"Why'd you quit?" Oliver asked, because this was something he didn't know, but wanted so badly to find more about.

Carson shrugged. "Between swimming and the violin--it was a lot of pressure, and I had to give up one. I was always a better swimmer, anyway. My parents agreed."

Oliver opened his mouth to speak, but Holden interrupted. "Speaking of your parents, are they holding that dinner this year?"

Carson rolled his eyes. It was extremely boyish. "Yeah, but I wasn't going to mention it. It's so stupid."

Holden smirked. "It's not stupid! I get to spend time with your sister-" he wiggled his eyebrows at that, "and your mom is a great cook. It's a total win for me."