Chapter Fifteen
Bill woke up from the best sleep he'd had in probably all his life, to a warm embrace. His lips curled up in an automatic content smile the second he smelled Oliver's homely scent of mangoes.
"You awake then, cutie pie?"
Bill wrinkled his nose at the pet name, and Oliver laughed. His eyes fluttered open to find Oliver looking down at him like he was the centre of the universe. His cheeks immediately grew warm and he looked away.
"What time is it?" his voice was hoarse with sleep.
Oliver reached across his chest so he could check his phone, which was resting on the bedside table. "Really early. It's four in the morning."
"Mm," Bill stretched like a cat, biting his lip with pleasure when everything ached.
Oliver's scent immediately thickened, which had his eyes flying open to see the alpha watching him with a gaze dark with lust.
"You look – and smell – like the cat who got the cream," he whispered, voice a low growl.
Bill shivered, feeling his cock stir. Some part of him felt like running away, like throwing all his walls up, because this was the part where he got comfortable. This was the part where he let himself be vulnerable and whatever alpha he was seeing proved themselves to be absolute trash.
The way Oliver was looking at him – Goddess, the way he'd felt last night – Bill wanted to tell him everything.
And that was dangerous.
Oliver's eyebrows furrowed. "Are you okay? You're doing a lot of thinking there."
"Risky, I know."
Oliver laughed, the sound warming Bill from inside out. Oliver was giving him that look – the look a few of the alphas from Bill's past had given him which said, 'You can tell me anything.'
But their reactions after had proven that he couldn't tell them anything.
"Hey, hey, stop it," Oliver scolded, immediately pulling him close and hugging him tight, making Bill realise he was on the verge of a panic attack.
"Sorry," he gasped. His eyes stung and he clenched them shut. "I want to tell you – I'm – I have – I'm not –" but the words wouldn't come, stuck in his throat like melted tar, cloying and choking.
"Stop," Oliver repeated. "You don't have to tell me anything. Not if it makes you uncomfortable."
Bill tried to control his breathing. "But I need to."
Oliver pulled back so he could meet Bill's eyes. "Not if it's going to push you into a panic." His fingers reached up to stroke Bill's cheek. "Whatever it is, you don't have to tell me. Spilling all your secrets is not a requirement for this relationship. If you could even call it that," he laughed awkwardly, his scent going bitter.
Bill reached up to clutch the fingers stroking his cheek. "I want to. Call it that, I mean. A relationship."
Oliver's eyes widened, and Bill heard his heartbeat stutter, his scent going warm. "Oh."
"That's why I want to tell you. I'm just so fucking scared," he whispered. He didn't meet Oliver's eyes, some part of him already resigning itself to rejection. Perhaps he wasn't meant to be loved. Perhaps he really was just fucked up and this was as close as he was going to get every single time before his heart finally shattered and he couldn't take any more.
"Bill," Oliver whispered.
He was silent until Bill met his gaze.
"Whatever it is," Oliver said, his voice filled with conviction. "I promise it won't change anything. Not for the worst, at least. I want you to trust me. I'd never do anything to hurt you."
"Not intentionally," Bill couldn't help but murmur.
"Oh Bill," Oliver said, and Bill immediately stiffened at the sympathy in his tone. "I won't. I won't hurt you. Look at me."
Bill met his eyes once more.
"I'm here for the long haul," Oliver confessed quietly, wearing his whole heart on his sleeve; in his expression and his scent. Bill wanted to fucking own him at that moment - he wanted to sink his fangs into the bonding gland in Oliver's throat so the alpha would belong to him forever. "I want to know everything about you. I want to take this out of the bedroom and treat you right. I am not leaving you. I promise."
For the few alphas who'd said that in the past, Bill hadn't really believed them, but he'd hoped for the best anyway.
But with Oliver, he believed his words like he believed nothing else.
This time, Trinity was completely right to fire the new head of kitchen she'd hired barely a week ago, because the guy had apparently been stealing.
"Incompetent asshole," Oliver muttered, eyeing the inventory list in his hands. The stealing had been very subtle. One less bottle of their most expensive liquor than the required amount. A pack of frozen chicken there. A bottle of frying oil. A pot. Some cutlery. What the fuck kind of criminal was he, even? Who just stole random shit like that? Last he checked, Trinity paid them well enough to feed and house themselves, so why had the guy been stealing little things like that?
Oliver sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He fucking hated doing inventory. The bar slash restaurant might seem small to some people, but their stock was actually fucking ridiculous.
He turned when the kitchen door popped open, to find Edward resting against the doorjamb, an amused smirk on his face.
"Fuck off. I hate you."
"Hey, you did this to yourself," Edward laughed. "I was happy doing inventory but you wanted to play rock, paper, scissors, even though you're complete shit at it."
"I am not shit. I just wanted it to be fair."
"You literally have a particular face for each move. You are shit at it."
Oliver blushed, turning away as he grumbled under his breath, "I do not have a particular face for each move."
Edward heard him of course, because the devil burst out laughing.
Oliver glanced at him again when the following silence became heavy. Edward smelled anxious, though his posture didn't give him away, casual as all hell as he crossed his arms.
Then he bit his lip and straightened, and Oliver automatically straightened in response.
"I applied to a college," he blurted.
Oliver's eyes widened. "That's – I mean, that's great! That's wonderful."
"Thanks, you sound really enthused."
Oliver blushed. "Shut up. I mean it. That's fantastic."
Edward shrugged. "It's a small college. Local. I'm taking an exam in the next month or two before I can start attending properly, since I've been out of education for a while. I mean, I don't need to – but I want to."
"Ed, this is great, I'm serious. I'm very proud of you."
Edward smiled helplessly, and then he looked anxious again. "I, um...I applied for culinary arts. You're always telling me I have magic hands with the drinks, so."
"And you've always made mum's recipes perfect from scratch, without reading from her special book," Oliver added with a smirk.
Edward blushed. "I don't know. I was thinking of doing something more science-y – I don't know."
"Ed, it's perfect. It's just so – you. You should do it. I know mum and dad would be proud."
Edward's eyes watered and he looked away. "Yeah, whatever. It's not cheap, so, the money from the bar will be very much needed. I'm writing the exam so I can try out for a scholarship because it's really expensive, and even though it's a small school, it's still apparently quite prestigious –"
"Ed," Oliver interrupted. "You don't have to defend yourself to me. I'm with you on this one hundred percent. If you want to go to the most prestigious school the world has to offer, then I don't mind getting ten other jobs to support you."
Edward sniffed, before stalking into the kitchen so he could pull Oliver into a tight hug.
"It feels so weird doing this. I feel guilty, just a little. Like I'm not allowed to have a life because they're gone."
Oliver felt his heart ache, his own eyes stinging as he hugged his brother back tightly. "I know exactly how you feel. Why do you think I didn't want to leave? But I understand it now, Ed. We deserve to be happy. It's what they'd want for us."
"Yeah," Edward sniffed. He pulled away. "Right. I'm going to go punch a wall now."
Oliver laughed, watching him go.
For once, the thought of leaving didn't make him feel like he was suffocating. He wanted Edward to be happy. Heck, he wanted to be happy.
Deep down, he knew it wasn't just wanting he and Oliver to be happy that made him feel like he could finally leave whatever safety the bar had once provided.
His cheeks and chest warmed as he thought about Bill. It would be nice to take him on proper dates and then bring him back to a place that felt more like home. Despite how long he'd lived in the bar, it had never really felt like that.
The thought of having his own place and Bill to share it with made Oliver feel ridiculously warm, his alpha hindbrain preening at the thought of providing for Bill, taking care of him in a space that was solely his – a place that could become theirs.
"Ugh," he groaned, slapping the clipboard against his face. Edward was probably done closing up, and Oliver was about ready to go to bed, so he sped up his inventorying.
Ever since Bill had left that morning, they'd started tentatively texting each other and awkwardly flirting, talking about things other than booty calls, and Oliver was falling so fast for him it hurt.
His movements became even faster at the thought of maybe calling Bill after he was done and falling asleep to his voice. Goddess he was in so fucking deep.
He was checking on the frozen goods when he spotted something that wasn't on the list.
He'd just about finished checking everything else, but he went through the items one more time to make sure he wasn't missing something.
And he wasn't.
Huh.
The carton was non-descript, seemingly innocent, laying at the bottom of the freezer. Curious, he dropped the clipboard on the counter next to him and hefted the carton out, which was surprisingly light, something made of glass clinking within.
He opened the carton, and found several little cylindrical tubes, stoppered shut. He pulled one out, and it was filled about halfway with what must have been clear golden liquid, now frozen and slightly opaque. Pulling out some of the other tubes revealed different coloured liquids, ranging mostly between yellow, blue, and green.
Oliver wrinkled his nose. Was this some kind of new mixer or something for the bar? Or the kitchen? Oliver wasn't sure, but to be safe, he wrote it down on the inventory, counting each cylinder and numbering them by colour.
There were more yellow than blue or green, the latter being the least.
He wondered if he should mention the cylinders to Trinity, and thought maybe that'd be a safe bet. She might've given them the deed to the bar, but it felt like she still pretty much controlled everything from behind the scenes, and if Oliver was going to take this seriously, then he needed to be aware of absolutely everything that went on in the bar, whether Trinity liked it or not.
The place was his now; it was best for him to start acting like it.