If You Can't Be With the One You Love

When His World Fell Apart

"Fuck the speed force." Oliver moans as he slowly stands up to meet Barry upstairs.

Oliver picks up his phone, letting the memory of the last night they spent together fade. He knew full well the response he was going to receive from Barry, yet a little glimmer of hope seemed to shine through. The two had made plans to grab dinner tonight. For the first time in nearly a month, the two were going to spend time face to face as opposed to the diminishing number of calls and texts that went kn between them. He lets out a sigh as he lifts the phone from his nightstand.

"Duty is calling. Another murder tonight. . . Rain check?"

Oliver takes the phone in between his thumb and palm and squeezes it tightly, allowing his knuckles to turn white. He brings it to his lips, lightly pressing the device onto them as he tries to suppress his anger and sadness. He hesitantly begins to reply with a simple answer. "It's fine. Dinner tomorrow night?"

As he awaits a reply, he slips his phone into the pockets of the loose CCPD sweats that he was wearing. They were Barry's that he had accidentally left after one of their morning afters last month. He wore them on the days he missed him most. They still smelt like him. They made him feel like he was at home— but no, not the large mansion that felt emptier every time Barry left. Not the bedroom he had slept in nearly every day of his life. The person who made him feel at home. Barry had become his home. His safe place.

Feeling his phone buzz, he pours a fourth of a bottle tequila into a glass, ignoring the excessiveness of it all. He knew it's purpose. He swigged half of the glass down before removing the phone from his pocket, reading the text to himself, feeling a single tear set in as he finished.

I've got a lot of case files to go through. I'll try my best. Miss you.

He downs the rest of the liquor in the glass before tossing his phone onto his bed across the room. He refills the glass with the same amount of liquid he had just poured. He chugs it in a minute, forcibly setting it onto the table below him.

He understood the demands of Barry's employment. He has known many in the police department. He can be called at any minute. It's apart of his job. Barry also acts as a vigilante hero, which also happens to take a bulk of his time. His frustrations were not set on Barry. No. He couldn't blame Barry for being a busy man.

He blamed the world. This reality, this life, it was never made for him to be happy.

He spent the rest of the evening drinking until he couldn't see or even stand up straight. The thoughts still rang in his mind but the pain was numbed. Just how he wanted it to be. He couldn't feel himself slowly fall into the act of slumber.

Another night. Another day of a hangover— something Oliver had been getting used to. He went about his day normally. Woke up, showered to rinse the everlasting scent of alcohol off of himself, dressed for the office. He once again put on the facade that he was okay. Nothing bothered him.

Meetings, on top of more meetings went on. He long awaited the call from Barry saying he was leaving Central City to pick him up for dinner. He had texted him, saying dinner should come through tonight.

It was five o'clock. Nothing yet. Things had quieted down at the office, prompting Oliver to clock out earlier than usual. He gave the farewell waves to his colleagues as left the building. He took a long, hour detour before heading to the bunker. Felicity had called about a potential retcon mission, maybe even a drug bust.

He did the usual. Knocking lowlifes out with his bow. Shooting a couple of arrows. It was nothing to him. Just more repetition of a usual day in the life of Oliver Queen. He may have have thrown punches a bit harder and maybe pulled back his bow while closer to his target but the mission and actions remained the same.