L E O
three weeks later
The sound of the six am alarm blares, effectively pulling me from my third nightmare-less slumber of the week. I groan, twisting my body to bury my face in the soft pillow that was previously under my neck, overly eager for at least another hour or ten of rest.
With my eyes fixated on nothing but the darkness of my pillow fibres, I prepare to lull myself back to dream land; counting invisible sheep and whatnot, for as long as I can before Beth comes knocking. But, of course, as always, my hopes of getting more rest are well and truly shattered as my ears pick up Oliver's tired voice, listening intently as he mutters colourful words under his breath.
At least he's talking...
I hear him practically wrestle with his blanket as he scrambles from his bed, making a b-line for the bathroom. His foot steps are harsh and heavy against the thick carpeted floor of our shared room, making me assume that he's not in the best of moods. Less than a second later, he slams the bathroom door behind him with so much force, that an echoing thud reverberates in the air- confirming my assumption to be true.
Not again.
For the past week or so, he's seemed pretty down in the dumps. Whilst I've been in the best head space in, well... weeks, maybe even months, Oliver seems to be in a bit of a spiral.
My stomach churns with unease, my mind blank as I try and think of the best possible way to help my friend. Oliver's been a great friend to me- maybe even one of the best friends I've ever had. He doesn't push me into anything, he can tell with just one look whenever I feel overwhelmed. He comforts me through any... episodes? And never makes me feel bad for putting him in a position that I know makes him uncomfortable.
I want to do the same for him. I want to be a person he feels safe around, someone he can trust when it feels like his world is falling apart. I want to be for him, what he is to me.
His best friend.
Ten minutes pass before the bathroom door opens. Oliver steps out, dressed in his usual black attire. He doesn't look at me, eyes downcast as he strolls towards his guitar. He picks up the instrument and I hold my breath, he hasn't played all week.
Six silent seconds pass. Oliver's grip loosens on the guitar as the instrument descends to the floor with a low thump.
"Oliver," I call to him, watching as his shoulders tense. He does this sometimes, too. He gets so lost in his own head, that it seems like he forgets we share a room. His eyes are guarded as he turns to me, lips pulled down as he frowns.
What do I do now?
I try to think of something to say, but my mind falls to abyss as words fail me. Are you okay is a little too cliche. I'm here if you want to talk seems forced. And play me a song is just plain fucking useless.
Fuck.
Frustrated with myself, I begin cracking my fingers- needing something to keep me grounded. I've never been the friend people would come to for advice, I've never really been a good friend to anyone in my life- not even Emilio. Heart to hearts, long conversations about favourite things or crushes- it all seemed pointless to me in the past.
In some ways, it still does. But the difference between then and now? I don't want to be that pathetic kid again. I deserve more than that.
"Uh," I stammer out, pathetically, cracking my fingers for the forth and final time before reaching up to scratch the back of my neck.
Oliver's face remains blank as he rolls his eyes, but I know, without a doubt, that deep down, he's very amused by my tongue twisting.
Fuck you rests at the tip of my tongue, but I don't say it. If this had been any other day, and Oliver was in his "normal" mood, I wouldn't hesitate on saying anything mean to him- that's just how our friendship worked.
Oliver coughs, the sound drawing me back from my mindful worry.
"Oh, um," I click my tongue, embarrassment and sadness evoking me at the realisation; I can't even find the right words to comfort my best friend.
I blow out a sigh, and mutter out a pathetic excuse. "I was just gonna say that it's breakfast time."
Oliver knows that's not what I was going to say.
—
The amazing scent of freshly baked pancakes floods my senses as we enter the food court.
I glance over my shoulder and smile at Oliver. They have his favourite today. He doesn't look at me, as usual, too busy scanning the main hall in search for our friends. Rolling my eyes at his lack of acknowledgement, I walk ahead of him towards the food counter.
"Morning, Lia," I happily greet my favourite cook.
Shelia, or Lia as she's told both Oli and I to call her, in claims that Shelia makes her sound older than she is, happens to be the nicest old lady I've ever met. She's also one of the very few workers here that actually care about the well-being of the kids.
"Oh, Leo, my little sugar," she beams at me, southern accent thick as her green eyes glisten under the heated lights. "Where's your little side kick today?"
"He's somewhere," I shrug and twist my head, trying to search for Oliver among the sea of teens. When I fail to spot him, I turn back to Shelia and order for us both, as usual. "Could we have two orders of the chocolate chip pancakes please?"
Hopefully these will cheer him up.
She smiles as she nods, obviously knowing how much Oliver loves her pancakes. "Coming right up!"
As Shelia sorts the food, I look around for Oliver again. When my eyes spot his shaggy raven locks, I have to hold back a smile. What an idiot. He's standing at the end of the food line, completely oblivious to my stare, heel tapping against the linoleum impatiently as his eyes linger on every plate of pancakes that pass.
"Here we go," Shelia's voice snaps me from my amused trance. Blinking, I turn to her, accepting the two plates from her outstretched hands. "I added extra chocolate chips for Oliver and some blueberries for you, since you lack his sweet tooth."
"This is why you're my favourite," I grin at her, mouth watering at the sight of the heaped pancake stack. "You're for sure gonna be Oliver's favourite, too." I lie. Oliver hates every worker here.
"Mhm, that's what they all say."
"Yeah, yeah, sure they do, Shelia." I wave her off with a cheeky smile, stepping back before she can smack me with her kitchen towel.
As I predicted, the white towel misses my shoulder by an inch.
"I'm joking!" I hold my pancake filled hands up in surrender. "I'll bring you a new book at lunch," I rush out, taking another step back, and another, and another, until I'm a safe distance from her and the fabric.
"Bye, Lia!"
—
"Leo!" Felix yells, hand cupped around his mouth as if I'm not less that three feet away.
Idiot.
"I'm not deaf, Felix." I mutter, taking the spare seat next to Arlo. "There's no need to yell."
He blinks at me, twice, thrice, before he shrugs and stuffs one whole pancake between his lips. Melted chocolate smears across his mouth all the way to the base of his cheeks, as he smacks his lips together with every arrogant chew.
"You disgust me," Rowan tells him, staring at the mess in horror. "Seriously, go wash your face. I can't sit with you if you're gonna eat like a pig."
"Calm your tits, Ro." Felix rolls his eyes, words muffled by the mountain of pancake dough between his chocolate covered teeth. He picks up one of the napkins from the centre of our table and attempts to wipe his face.
Key word being: attempts.
"Give me that, idiot." Presley snatches the napkin from between his sticky fingers. She holds Felix's chin in between her thumb and forefinger, in a strange motherly way, before proceeding to do a much better job than he did as she cleans the remaining food from his face.
"Hi," Arlo whispers to me, lips tilted shyly.
"Hey, Lo," I smile back at him, my eyes lingering on his cheeks as pride fills me. "You're not blushing," I beam at him, lifting my hand to ruffle his platinum curls.
He blushes.
"You just had to mention it," he mutters under his breath, ducking his head away from my view.
"Where's Oli?" Rowan asks, eyes drifting from my two plates as he looks around the hall in search for our final friend.
"In the breakfast line." I say simply, hiding my smile as I pick a blueberry out of my pancake.
"You're eating two breakfasts?" Arlo whispers, something looser in his tone, maybe it's awe or maybe it's fear, I'm not sure which. I tilt my head at him, taking in his doe eyed expression. "Well done—"
"Oh, no, Lo." I shake my head immediately, swallowing as I clarify. "They're not both mine."
Whilst I've gotten a lot better at eating- specifically this week; having consumed at least two of my three meals per day, I could never eat so much in one sitting. Little and often, just like Alex said.
"This," I point to the second plate, "Is Oliver's."
"So why's Oliver in the line?" Arlo's green eyes fill with confusion as he tilts his head.
"Oh," Felix whistles, lips lifting into an arrogant smirk as he leans back in his chair. "You're so cruel," he laughs, hazel eyes drifting to where Oliver is still waiting. "I love it."
"He's almost at the front now," Presley provides the commentary.
"Yeah, and there's no pancakes left." Rowan snorts. "He's gonna be so pissed."
"Oh," Arlo's mouth forms into an 'o' shape as he finally puts the pieces together. His lips thin, mouth twisting downward as his blue eyes narrow on the four of us. "You guys are mean."
"Look at his face," Felix ignores Arlo and laughs loudly, head tilted back as he stares at a very unamused Oliver. "He looks like an angry little goth."
"We can't all be as colourful as you, Fe." Presley runs her eyes over Felix's attire, taking in his navy pants, bright pink shoes and rainbow coloured sweater; a very stark contrast to Oliver's dark pants, hoodie and sweats.
"Don't look at me like that, El." He puffs his chest arrogantly, lips lifting into a shameless smirk as he looks her up and down in distaste. "You're just jealous that I'm this hot."
"You look like a Walmart version of Harry Styles."
Felix grins, wide. "Is that your way of calling me daddy, El?"
I roll my eyes as the pair continue to bicker, my gaze unintentionally meeting Shelia's. I smile at her, the wrinkles at the tips of her cheeks becoming more pronounced as she winks at me. She sends Oliver a smile filled with false sympathy as his shoulders sag in disappointment.
"I can't watch this anymore," Arlo stands from his seat. "Sad Oliver makes me sad."
Felix snorts. "You must always be sad then."
Arlo glares at him, huffing under his breath as he stomps towards the front of the food line. He reaches our friend in less than three seconds, cheeks flushed a bright shade of red as he taps Oliver's left shoulder. I can't hear what he says, his voice to soft for me to pick up his words, though, judging by the way Oliver turns to glare at me, I'm guessing he's told him I've had his breakfast here this whole time.
I smile bashfully, lifting my left hand to send him a small wave.
"Asshole," he signs, hands falling to his sides as he matches Arlo's short strides towards our table.
Arlo reclaims his seat to my left, whilst Oliver sits directly ahead of me, hands extended towards me as he nods towards the chocolate chip pancakes.
"I got you your favourite." I grin, handing the plate to him.
His lips thin, though I can see the way his right dimple shows as if he's trying to hold back a smile. He sits the plate on the table, huffing lightly as he raises a hand to the base of his chin, just beneath his lip before he lowers it again; thank you.
"Why the long face, Oli?" Felix's obnoxious voice fills my ears. I turn my eyes to him, the smug smirk on his lips is somehow even more annoying than it was just moments ago.
Oliver ignores him, as always.
"You know," Felix continues, eyes drifting to mine once he realises Oliver won't respond. He takes a long pause to stuff, yet another, whole pancake in his mouth, smacking his lips like a two year old as he chews. "I'm kinda annoyed that you never fetch my food for me, Le. It makes me feel undervalued."
"The fact you're still breathing makes you more valued than you deserve." Rowan states, not lifting his eyes from his plate as he cuts his food into identical pieces.
"I'm going to fart on your pillow later," Felix mutters in response, which makes Rowan's eyes lift to his in an instant.
"You wouldn't."
"Bet?" The smirk returns. Rowan grumbles inaudible words under his breath, accepting defeat as he fails to respond to Felix's words.
"Yeah, that's what I thought." Felix flips his head to the side, clicking his tongue. He looks at Rowan, taking in his grumpy expression , he sighs, loudly. "God, you're so easily annoyed, Row. Lighten up, yeah?"
"I dislike you."
Felix waves Rowan's words off as if they were nothing more than a speck of dust, face turning more serious than I've ever seen it before.
"Yeah, yeah, my mother disliked me, too, so join the que."
My eyes momentary widen at the past tense. Felix has never really mentioned his family to me, or to any of us for that matter, no one bar his little sister. I know the six of us are fond of dark humour, but the nonchalance in his tone when he speaks of his mother is almost bone chilling. Felix has never been anything if not bubbly and boisterous.
"Anyway, what was I saying again?" Felix wonders aloud. He purses his lips, staring at me with narrowed eyes as he remains deep in thought.
"Oh yeah!" He slaps his hand against the table, grinning at me like a maniac. And he's back. "My favourite food is cheese pizza, just incase you wanted to surprise me with my favourite meal whenever I'm a little down in the dumps." His smile dims, face turning serious as he leans across the table, our faces merely inches apart.
"Just plain cheese. No meat. Zero meat. I do not kill innocent little animals." He tells me sternly, as if I'm actually going to go out of my way to fetch his food. "Especially not cows, like who the fuck could kill a little cow? They're so freaking cute- I can't."
Out of all the animals on earth, he picks a cow?
"You're vegan?" My eyes widen. I don't know why this surprises me so much, everything about Felix, as I've come to realise, is very unpredictable.
"God, no." He scoffs, disgusted at the thoughts. "I love cheese too much to be one of those freaks. Cheesing whatever animal makes cheese won't hurt it, so I still eat cheese. If making cheese does, however, hurt the animal, then I won't eat cheese. Like I'll be sad and all, but animals are everything." He pauses, taking a large breath. "So, yeah, I just don't eat meat."
"Oh-kay," I blink, still somewhat overwhelmed by the information that's just poured from his mouth. Cheesing? I have the urge to correct him, however, when I remember that it would mean conversing more with Felix, that urge quickly dies. "Good to know."
"You're so fucking weird." Rowan blinks at him, clearly disturbed by whatever the fuck Felix tried to explain.
Felix rolls his eyes, unfazed by Rowan's statement, as if he'd expected nothing less. "Okay, and? I'd rather be weird than be anything like you. You're so fucking serious, all the time, that it makes me feel physically- mentally- emotionally unwell."
"Can we please just have one nice meal together?" Arlo sighs sadly, glancing at our two friends with the cutest puppy dog eyes I've ever seen. "I don't like all this animosity."
Felix blinks, twice, thrice. "Anime who?"
"I was willing to try, Lo." Rowan tells him sincerity, pausing to stare at Felix with a blank expression."And then he says stupid shit like that. I can't."
"It's not his fault that he's mentally challenged, Row." Presley pats Felix's shoulder, offering him a sympathetic smile. "It's okay, Fe."
"Bitch, please." Felix smacks her hand away. "Look at where we are, we're all fucking mentally challenged." He nods towards Row. "Even Mr. Perfect himself."
"I despise- no loathe you."
"Thank you, sweetheart." Felix beams at him, making Rowan deadpan. "I'm glad you care about me enough to feel that way."
—
After the train wreck of a breakfast, Oliver and I head back to our bedroom.
The six of us would normally spend our hour of free time together, but Rowan claimed to need a break from Felix's voice for at least an hour. I don't blame him in the slightest. Presley had to leave breakfast early for her one on one session with Charlie, and Arlo, poor kid, has been left in-charge of keeping Felix company; considering he's the only one who can spend more than an hour with Fe without wanting to strangle him.
"My brother's on his way here," Oliver signs to me, after placing his phone on the nightstand. His face is downcast, as if he's bothered by this.
"Don't you want to see him?" I ask, remembering the few times he's mentioned his older brother. As far as he let me believe, Oliver and his brother are very close.
Oliver slumps onto his bed with a sigh, offering me nothing more than a tense shrug.
"Do you want me to go to Arlo and Felix's room to give you guys some privacy?"
He shrugs again, signing a short. "No."
"Oh, ugh, okay," I nod slowly, unsure of what else to say or do.
Judging by his closed off body language, it doesn't seem like Oliver wants to talk about his brother. But, I'm still unsure, I mean, I've never been great at reading other peoples emotions- heck, I can barely understand my own, let alone anyone else's.
What the fuck do I do?
"Wanna listen to an audiobook with me whilst we wait for him?" I offer, voice hesitant, as I awkwardly wave my phone at him.
Whilst all our phone apps; social media apps and such, have been blocked by Beth, reading -even if it's listening to books- is something they actually encouraged here.
He stares at me, blankly.
"It's a new crime thriller that Killian told me about." My voice ranges a little higher as I try to entice him, eyes a little wider in some kind of plea. He's been a fan of everything my brother has recommended so far.
Oliver rolls his eyes, suppressing the smallest of smiles as he nods. Pushing himself up the bed, he rests his back against the headboard before patting the space beside him.
Showing almost every single tooth in my mouth, I smile at him and grab my stuffed Charlie dog from my bed before plopping down on the space beside him, eager to take his mind off whatever's bothering him.
"Ready?" I ask, pressing play as he nods.
—
Just as we reach the middle of chapter three, there's a knock on our bedroom door.
Oliver's previously relaxed body tenses, his shoulders pulling inward as his eyes scrunch shut. I glance at him, eyebrows furrowed. I can't help but wonder why he's so uneasy, his clear discomfort makes me tense with him. My body growing ridged with nerves as the knocking continues.
"Do you want me to tell him to leave?" I ask, my eyes leaving his for a moment to pause our book.
He waits until I look up at him before he shakes his head. "It's okay, I'll be okay." He signs, his hands twist together as he finishes, knuckles cracking loudly.
"Okay, just... give me a signal if you want him to leave, alright?" His face twists in amusement as he raises one of his raven brows. "Don't look at me like that," I mutter out, shuffling off the bed.
Before I reach the door, I turn back to Oliver, voice low so his brother doesn't hear. "Clap your hands twice and I'll get him to leave."
He snorts, but the gratitude in his expression is clear- no matter how hard he tries to hide it.
Blowing out a breath, I bite on my inner cheek and open the door.
The teenager, who looks to be around Alex's age doesn't say anything as he studies me. His head tilted to the left as his lips push out into a pout. He stares for at least thirty very odd seconds before he smiles at me, teeth and all.
"Oh hello," he greets, his British accent is surprisingly much thicker than Oliver's. "You're not Oli."
"No shit." I deadpan.
He rolls his eyes, unfazed. "I'm guessing you're Leo?"
I blink back the surprise I feel, turning to Oliver with a raised eyebrow. He mentioned me?
Seeing my dumbfounded expression, just like his brother, Oliver rolls his eyes, too, only difference between the two being; he adds the addition of his middle finger.
What an asshole.
I open the door wider, allowing Oliver's brother to enter the room. He stares at me, waiting for a response that won't come. I'm not going to answer a question that's beyond obvious, he clearly knows who I am. Plus, judging by the way Oliver has been acting this last hour, I'm going to assume that Sebastian has played a role in his discomfort.
"Okay then." He scratches the back of his neck, no doubt feeling the tense atmosphere. "Well," he extends his hand to me. "I'm Sebastian, Oliver's brother."
I look between his outstretched hand and face, expression blank. "I know." I say, stepping away from him, heading towards my bed.
"Alrighty," he clears his throat, as he lowers his hand to his side, wiping his palm on his grey sweats.
I sit on my bed, grabbing a random book from the nightstand, I try to focus on that as Sebastian greets his brother.
"Hey, Oli." He says softly, taking hesitant steps towards Oliver's bed. He sits on the edge, leaving ample space between them. He's jittery, his body language screaming out; telling me he wants nothing more than to pull Oliver into his arms and hug him tight.
Oliver nods at him in response, eyes drifting away from Sebastian as he looks out the window.
Everything feels so familiar and I struggle to swallow past the growing lump in my throat. The softness of Sebastian's voice- the longing it holds. The way his eyes glisten as he swallows thickly, unable to remove his pleading gaze from his little brother.
It's like deja vu as the images of my own siblings slam into my mind. I've seen this all before; the same tone, the same plea, the same look.
Every. Little. Thing. Every. Single. Time.
I force my eyes back to my book, my heart pounding as this atmosphere hits a little too close to home.
These past three weeks, I've refused each and every one of my siblings attempts at reaching out. Once in a blue moon I'll speak with them on the phone, mostly Jack, but other than that, I can't allow for anymore more contact.
I haven't been ready for that.
I can't put their needs before mine, not right now. I need to think of myself, think about what I want and what will help me.
Visiting home all those weeks ago made me realise that my siblings are struggling, too. I can't put all my weight on their shoulders and rely on them to keep me afloat when they're slowly sinking themselves. I have to do this on my own, I have to fix whatever my fucked up mind claims is broken. I have to try and make peace with my feelings and find some sort of clarity to figure out who I am without them.
It may be selfish, it may be unfair, but that's life. I can't be the person they want me to be — the person I want me to be, without having the space to do so.
I just hope they understand that I'm not avoiding them in order to hurt them, I'm doing this because I love them and it's that love that is giving me the push I fucking need to kick my legs and swim with everything I have.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Oliver!" Sebastian's voice booms off the walls, snapping me from my thoughts in an instant. I flinch violently, my back pressed firmly against the headboard as my body trembles with apprehension, my eyes wide as I watch the scene unfold before me.
"Why can't you just fucking talk to me?" Sebastian is pacing the room now, whilst Oliver remains unfazed as he sits on his bed with his hands clasped and legs crossed.
"Calm down," Oliver signs to him, a loud sigh leaving him as he sends me an apologetic look.
I smile shakily in return, hoping to somehow convey without words that it's fine, after all he's seen his fair share of my family drama.
"Calm down?" Sebastian repeats, clearly exasperated. He raises his arms, fingers gripping his raven strands of hair like a vice as he glowers at his brother.
"I just want to hear your voice, Oli." I can hear the sadness and longing as his voice cracks.
"You haven't spoken to me since we moved here, since she..." he blows out a staggering breath, shaking his head as he presses his left palm over his eyes. When he removes his hand, his eyes are red rimmed and glistening with tears. "I just... I miss your voice. I miss you."
Silence follows his words. Oliver looks deep in thought, brows furrowed in frustration as he opens and closes his mouth, thrice. Like Sebastian, his eyes are teary, too. He clenches his hands into firm fists as he grips the edges of his comforter between his skin.
Just when I think Oliver will speak, he closes his mouth for the final time and averts his eyes from Sebastian. His dual gaze remains on the window as he begins to sign.
"I think you should go."
I think my own shoulders sag just as much as Sebastian's do. Turning away from Oliver, I lift my anxious gaze to his brother, watching as the light that shone through his honey toned eyes only minutes ago, slowly dims.
His sorrow fills the air like thick smoke from a cigarette. I feel each cloud of grey as it seeps into my lungs, suffocating me in a way that makes it feel like the pain he feels is slowly invading my own chest.
"If that's what you want." Sebastian manages to choke out, voice raw and hoarse. "I- I'll come see you next week," he whispers weakly, dull honey meeting damp blue as his eyes drift to mine.
"It was nice to meet you, Leo." He lifts his hand in a half wave motion, side eyeing his brother -who's still paying no attention to him- as he takes a step closer to me, lowering his voice as he reaches my bedside.
"Oli's mentioned you a lot whenever we text, you know?" He tells me, sad smile on his lips as he twists his hands together almost nervously.
"This is uh really hard for me to say..." he stammers, biting the inside of his cheek as he rubs a hand over his jaw. "Look, all we've ever had is each other and from what he's told me, I know you're a good mate. And I guess... what I'm trying to say- or, well, ask is..."
"Spit it out." I blurt, unable to listen to his endless stammering. As much as I find his accent alluring, the pointless words are slowly becoming my thirteenth reason.
Sebastian's eyebrows raise as his cheeks flush. "Oh, yeah, so, uh..." for fuck sake. "I guess, I'm just wondering if you could... look out for him?" He scratches the back of his neck, seeming almost embarrassed. "He's never really had any friends before and I'm, you know, worried and I just—"
"— I'll always look out for him." I cut him off, my words laced with nothing but sincerity. "I've got his back, as do our other friends here. You don't have to worry, Sebastian. He's in good hands."
I don't know why I'm reassuring him, I guess deep down, a small part of me empathises with Sebastian. Like my siblings, he doesn't understand the safety this place provides kids like us with.
Here, we're surrounded by people who are on the same journey as we are. Who are battling similar demons — suffering with the same fear, the same exhaustion, and the same distrust those demons bring.
Unlike our siblings, our peers here acknowledge and understand our boundaries because they know just how much of a downward spiral one overstep can cause.
"Thank you," Sebastian whispers, voice choked.
He doesn't say anything else as he leaves the room, eyes lingering on Oliver with every forced step.
—
Seven silent minutes pass and I finally force myself to move from my bed.
Pressing my hands against the mattress, I push to my feet and head towards Oliver's side of the room. He's still lay on his bed, eyes glued to the window, just as they had been when Sebastian was still here.
"You good?" I ask him, nudging his shoulder with my elbow as I squeeze onto the bed beside him.
He nods, absently.
I hum and lay flat on my back, my shoulder brushing his as my eyes focus on the cracked cream ceiling.
"You know..." I pause, unsure if what I'm going to say is the right thing to say.
I need to buy a book on how to be a friend.
Cracking my knuckles, I take a deep breath, pushing past my unease as I attempt to force the words to come.
I don't know how he'll react to my statement, I've never asked Oliver why he doesn't speak. I don't know if his silence is trauma related or if it's something else entirely, but I hope the sincerity of my words mean something to him.
"I really like the sound of your voice, Oli."
He glances at me, dual eyes brimming with tears.
I hold my breath as I stare at him, solely entrapped by his gaze alone as I anxiously wait for him to sign something — anything.
With his lack of response, I take the time to fully analyse his dual gaze. In the months I've known him, Oliver's eyes have never failed in fascinating me.
Each colour seems to tell a story, both of which reminding me of Oliver's personality. Like, right now with his left eye, how the light pours in from the window, showcasing the flecks of rich gold hidden beneath endless layers of amber, as bright as the sun; filled with power and radiance.
This is the story of carefree Oliver; who dances in the rain without a second thought. Of courageous Oliver; the boy who's unafraid when it comes to using his voice. Of happy Oliver; the boy who gets lost in a world of his own as he plays guitar, softly humming along with each strum, who smiles without meaning to.
Then there's his right eye, the one that carries his deepest and darkest emotions, remaining guarded and fearful. Multiple shades of blue that hold more depth than the Atlantic Ocean, more strength than the tallest wave, icier than snow drops in the midst of a frosted winter.
The story of his stormy blue is sad compared to his molten gold. This story shows his loneliness, his sorrow, his grief and fear. But beneath all the pain and agony, it shows me the story of his resilience, his bravery and strength. It gives me sight of everything Oliver can't see for himself.
"You shouldn't," Oliver's hoarse voice floods into my mind. My eyes dance with his for a moment, shock consumes me when I realise he's spoken.
"Well," I try to smile at him, struggling as my heart constricts at the sadness in his tone. It's the powerful kind of sadness, the one that drowns you in pain before your arms have the chance to swim against the currents of your own mind. "I do, Oli, I really do."
He doesn't respond, his eyes twitching as he struggles to hold my gaze.
"You know, if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm always here for you." I tell him, a plea in my words. "Talk, sign, silence. Whatever you need, I'll be here."
"I- I don't—" he stammers, tears falling from his eyes harder than raindrops from the sky.
There's something else in his tone now, something similar to terror — something that I can't find the words to describe, other than bone chillingly terrifying.
His eyes lock to mine, fear and agony clear. "I don't want you to get hurt, Leo." He whispers, tone quieter than before.
Slowly, I take his hand in mine, lacing our fingers together as I squeeze his palm. I want to show him that nothing he says- nothing he does- nothing about him could ever hurt me.
"Your voice won't ever hurt me. It won't hurt anyone." My fingers grip his tighter, praying that the strength behind my words will somehow reach him through our skin.
"It killed her." He chokes out, eyes falling shut as his bottom lip quivers. "I- I don't... I- I can't."
"Sh," I unlace our hands, wrapping my arm around his shoulders as I pull him into a hug. "Sh, Oliver," his body tenses in my hold.
"Please don't say that." He whimpers against me. "Don't say it, please don't say it."
Sh?
Confusion hits me like a lightening bolt, my own arms stilling around him. "Okay," I nod slowly, "I won't say it." I promise him, "You're okay, fratello. You're safe."
I pull my head back, keeping my arm in place as I hug him tightly. My eyes meet his again, dual eyes both telling only one story; a story of horror and dread.
"You're allowed to speak. I don't know who drilled this into your head, but your voice will never hurt me — it'll never hurt anyone. You can laugh, you can scream, you can whisper — you can do it all and nothing bad will happen."
"P- promise?" He stammers, voice a meek whisper.
"I promise," I reassure, holding my pinky towards him. He locks his finger with mine, uncertainty still clear as he stares at me.
"You don't have to be scared anymore, Oliver." I hug him tighter, feeling my own eyes burn. "Your voice is yours, and yours alone. Don't let anyone take that away from you."
Ten silent seconds pass before I feel him nod against me, his voice hoarse as he speaks.
"I'll try."
—
end of chapter 78
I hate this whole chapter but hey ho
thoughts?
Felix, Row, Arlo, Presley?
Leo?
Oliver?
Sebastian?
I need a friendship name for Leo/Oli
ps, sorry for the delay.
I've been in a weird depressive mood this week and my writing sucks when my mind can't focus. I don't know when the next update will be, just whenever this mood passes x
6100 words