•December, 24th•
"Move," Oliver said.
"Make me?"
He scoffed, "You wish. Just move it, Tweety." He brushed passed her and she stumbled a bit. The hallway had plenty of room, and for some reason he felt the need to walk in her way everywhere they went.
It wasn't like she went many places either. Nor he.
"You've finally resorted to name calling?" She retorted angrily. How dare he act as if he was better than her by default. All because he had a 'title,' whatever they were.
"Robin," He looked over his shoulder at her. Robin only crossed her arms and steadily raised her chin in defiance.
"I will– I—"
"I was only going to say that you had a twig in your hair," Oliver said. And suddenly she was graced with one of Oliver Roscoe's rare smiles.
If only she had stuck around long enough to see it.
•December, 25th, 00:04 am•
"There's never air to breathe,
There's never in-betweens,
These nightmares always hang on past the dream.
There's no sunshine.
There's no you and me.
There's no good times.
This impossible year,"
"Happy birthday, Oliver." He whispered to himself in the mirror that night. He felt the need to say it to himself.
Finally sixteen years old.
His reflection didn't look any different though. Still the same dark circles around his eyes. The same freckles that plagued his skin like a disease. His ribs too bony, digging out from beneath his skin. And his hair too bright. Ridiculous even.
Another year.