Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter one

The sun rises from a pale gray mist over the english countryside, and the shadows reach long and wanting toward the west. A castle crests the horizon, shining opulent ivory on one side, and cloaked in sleeping darkness at the other. In that darkness Felix’s eyes open, and he feels dead. 

The early chill of autumn has come on biting winds, soaking cold all the way to the bone. His hands shake and violet blue stains his fingertips. The rough ground below him has stolen any warmth,and the smell of wet dirt is clogging his head. His mouth is dry and his eyes feel so puffy and sore it hurts to keep them open. 

There's a thunderous pulse in his head, like the worst hangover he’s ever had. In harmony, there's a hollow clanging in his chest, where he knows something should be. 

Felix drags himself from the dirt and shivers rack all the way down his spine. The low morning light makes the earth shimmer with little green shards of glass, and the sticky scent of champagne greets his churning stomach. He tumbles forward and retches whatever he had eaten the night before. Not much evidently, plenty of booze though. The smell is vile. 

When he can lift his head again, he’s kneeling at the feet of a minotaur, and everything comes rushing back. 

You said you loved me-

Felix vomits again, empty gut heaving as bile and spit drip down his chin. His eyes sting but the tears don’t come, they’ve run dry. He’s cried enough in a day to last a lifetime. 

The winding path of the hedge maze is a familiar journey, he hasn’t gotten lost in it since he was a child. The brambles catch on his wings and after a halfhearted struggle he just shucks them off and leaves them there.

With every step the damp ground clings to his heels, and it feels like he’s sinking. Like it would subsume him, if he stood in one place too long. Like the earth will open wide and swallow him whole. Like a grave. 

The courtyard is still scattered with tattered decorations and empty cups, The gardeners will have their hands full with the mess. The maids too, when he finally takes an exhausted step into the manor. The stench of food and wine and body heat is stifling. A few hangers-on have stayed the night on the settees or parlor floor, and they’ll be ushered out with the rest of the rubbish. 

It’s just barely dawn, a few glinting stars still holding out hope as the sun creeps up over the trees, and the earliest house staff will be up soon. Everything will be set back to order before breakfast is called. 

Felix feels like a specter, passing through walls. 

By the time he gets back to his bedroom, Felix is ready to sleep for another day, at least. He’s cold and wet and sore, and just wants to lie down in his bed and never get back up. Wants to close his eyes and let it all drift away. Wants to crawl under the blankets and curl up around a warm body and be held-

No, he puts a stop to that thought before it can start, because he knows exactly who’s warm skin and strong arms and tired smirk he’s thinking about and fuck he’s thinking about him right now-

Just go to sleep, he tells himself. 

He wishes the earth really did swallow him, into somewhere dark and empty and silent. Somewhere he didn’t have to think. 

The bed is cold under him, and that disappointment is one more crack in his very fragile heart. His bottom lip wobbles and he really thought he was done crying? How stupid could he be? 

Just as his heavy eyes close to probably cry himself to sleep for a few fitful hours, he sees something gold and shiny winking at him from his night stand. It takes him a moment to recognize it, which is ridiculous, since it’s been in his family for like, ten generations. 

It’s his signet ring, just sitting there. 

And his heart shatters into a thousand little pieces. 

In an instant he’s on his feet again, with hot, raging sobs bubbling out of his chest. He slams the dressing room door open and goes stomping through their shared bathroom, ready to break the other fucking door down because he needs to talk to Oliver, right fucking now-

That fucking lying bastard thinks this is over? Thinks he doesn’t owe Felix more than a drunken argument? Thinks he can just leave him like this-

Oliver’s door isn’t locked and Felix comes crashing into the room with such chaotic force that he almost bashes his skull open on the floor. He catches himself on the wardrobe, turns toward the bed to start shouting something angry and incomprehensible, but Oliver’s not there. 

The bed is empty and unmade, the costume from the night before tossed on the edge. There’s no book or glasses case on the nightstand. No cheap trainers tucked neatly under the bed. Even the wardrobe is empty.

It takes a moment for him to understand.

“I think you need to leave tomorrow,” he had said. 

Felix puts his fist through the wall, because he doesn’t know what to do with all the anger and regret and hurt. He’s lucky it wasn’t made of stone, but electric pain still shoots up his arm and that makes him even angrier. He punches another hole through the wallpaper and this time he feels a sickening crack. He catches sight of his hideously red face in the mirror, wet with tears and snot and spit, and chucks a Tiffany lamp at it. There’s a satisfying shatter and an awful, haunting silence after. 

Clutching his bleeding hand to his chest, Felix sinks to the floor as his head falls back and he screams-

In the midst of his tantrum there’s a polite knock at the door-

“ Fuck off!” he shouts, and then cries harder at how bloody unhinged he sounds. 

Duncan must linger for a second, but then he obeys and quiet steps disappear down the hall. 

Felix feels incredibly rude and kicks the bedframe in frustration, and fuck it hurts, it’s solid oak for god’s sake. That hurts and his hand hurts and his head still hurts and his chest feels like it’s been ripped open-

He grabs a pillow from the bed and buries his face in it to scream this time, which is much more considerate. The lush fabric smells like Oliver, and that only makes it worse. 

This time there’s a less polite knock at the door. 

“ Please go away, ” he says this time, his voice gone all hoarse and tight. It’s stupid , she won’t listen, and the door isn’t even locked.

“Felix? What is going on?” His mother comes striding into the room in her nightgown and dressing robe, hair rumpled and collagen patches under her eyes. Just from bed, obviously, told that there was an emergency-

Their eyes meet and Felix ducks his head down into the pillow again, racked with more sobs at the embarrassment. 

“Oh, sweetheart, ” she says, her tone going soft and sorry. Her dainty slippered feet pad across the floor and she crouches down beside him, a gentle hand on his back. “What’s wrong?”

Felix whimpers and sniffles and tries to hold it together.

“Ollie left,” he mumbles, and then starts blubbering all over again.

“What?” she says, aghast. “When? Why?”

“Last night,” Felix says, trying to wipe away the tears that just keep coming- “I told him to.”

It’s then that Elspeth seems to notice the holes in the wall and the broken glass on the floor, and the way Felix’s aching hand is leaving blood stains on the pillow. She doesn’t say anything at first, just sits down beside him on the floor and guides his head to her shoulder, her elegant fingers combing through his hair.

“Can you tell me what happened?” she asks after a moment, when he’s settled enough to speak.  

“He-” Felix begins, chest hiccuping for gasps of air, and then doesn’t know what else to say.

He’s an arsehole who lied to me every day-

He went fucking crazy when I found out-

He left without even fucking talking to me-

He couldn’t just tell me the truth for one goddamn minute-

He was my best fucking friend-

I was in love with him, and he fucking lied to me-

I’m still so fucking in love with him and he just left-

His mother doesn’t press him to answer, just soothes him with her hands in his hair and shushes the worst of his sobbing. 

“He just-” Felix says miserably, “He wasn’t who I thought he was.”

“Oh my darling,” Elspeth heaves a great sigh and tugs Felix closer, puts her arms around his shoulders and hugs him tight. Surely he’s ruining her favorite silk robe with all the tears.

“They never are,” she whispers in his ear, as if that might make him feel better. 

Felix cries in his mother's arms like a child until every tear has been wrung out of him, and he feels empty and filthy and useless. She ushers him off to bed then, his own bed she insists, but he takes Oliver’s pillow with him because he really doesn’t know what’s good for him. 

Just as morning starts to settle into the sky, Felix falls into a dark, dreamless sleep, and wishes to never wake up again. 

Chapter Text

Chapter two

A few hours later Felix wakes up curled around a pillow that smells like Oliver, and he still feels dead. He stares at the ceiling until his eyes go blurry. 

“Felix,” his mother calls from behind the door. She sounds well-rested, with that lovely posh ting in her voice. “Time to get up darling, it’s almost lunch.”

Felix doesn’t move. 

“I’m not hungry,” he answers in a groggy croak, like his chest is filled with sludge. 

He feels disgusting. He needs a bath. He doesn’t move. 

“Now sweetheart, you can’t spend all day in bed,” She insists, all light and sweet and aloof. “Life is for the living of course.”

What a thing to say. 

She doesn’t wait for him to answer, steps tip-tapping down the hall, leaving no room for argument. Felix thinks about putting up a fight, but he doesn’t really see the point. 

Lunch is served in the family dining room, and Felix is sat facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the courtyard garden and hedge maze. It’s a beautiful, sweeping landscape framed in red curtains, like a still frame from some artsy foreign film.

A plate of mince pie with buttered potatoes is placed in front of him, along with a glass of wine beside it. 

Everyone is looking at him, he can feel it as their silverware clink on the fine china. Even Duncan is watching him from his post at the edge of the room. 

They all know, Felix realizes. His mother never could keep anything to herself. And now he feels like he’s come to the table naked and they are all too polite to say so. 

After a few agonizing minutes of silence his father clears his throat and says, “It was a wonderful time last night darling, you always plan the most impeccable events.”

“Oh thank you dear,” his mother preens. “I had always said we should do a midsummer celebration, in the classic fashion of course, but by the time the dates come around I grow so bored with city living and just want a quiet house. It was nice to have an occasion though.”

His father hums his agreement, and no one mentions what that occasion was. 

Venetia is sitting to Felix’s right side, which is unusual, because that’s where Ollie sits-

Stop it, Felix grits his teeth. Just stop thinking-

There’s a subtle nudge on his foot under the table and Felix jerks away from it. When he looks over his sister is making those eyes at him above her glass, trying to use their twin telepathy.

What happened? she asks between sips of wine. 

Felix feels like he’s swimming in quicksand. He must have that far-gone look on his face, because Venetia just blinks at him in silence until her glass is empty and she has to go back to nibbling at her lunch. 

“That cake was amazing too,” Farleigh chimes in when the conversation starts to taper off.

“Was it really? I never had the chance to sit the entire night,” Elspeth says. “Isn’t that the way it always goes though? I’m glad it was acceptable.”

“Yeah,” Farleigh grins at her in that classic kiss-up way of his. “So light, best chocolate cake I’ve ever had.”

“Yes, they can be quite cloying,” she agrees. “Felix you must have had some? It was your favorite of course.”

Felix is watching a dreary grey cloud drift across the otherwise flawless blue sky. It takes an unfortunate amount of time to realize he’s been spoken to. 

“Uh- what?” he mumbles, and it sounds lifeless. 

His mother stalls for a moment, considering her words carefully, and then waves the topic away. 

“Nothing dear,” she says, looking back down at her plate. “Do eat something though, it’s getting cold.”

Felix doesn’t move, his hands lying limp and useless in his lap. This is the longest fucking lunch of his life. He glances at the grandfather clock, it’s been nine minutes. 

His chest hurts, like his lungs are filled with barbs and brambles. They’re climbing up his throat and stinging in his eyes and ears. He tries to breathe less, like that might keep them contained. 

“School is starting up soon, isn’t it boys?” Sir James asks. “Two weeks or so?” 

Felix is busy trying to count how many seconds he can go without air while also trying not to cry, so Farleigh answers for them both. 

“Yeah, on the 25th.” 

Felix doesn’t even know what today is, and then he does-

The day after Ollie’s birthday-

Stop it stop it stop it-

“Well summer’s end surely did creep up on us,” his father nods. “Felix, who’s your advisor this year?”

Say something, his tongue feels like a brick in his mouth. 

“I- I don’t know,” he shrugs and wants to bash his head on the table.

“Of course, I’m sure you’ll find out soon,” his father says with a kind smile, but Felix can’t look at him. “Second year though, that must be exciting-”

“I don’t want to talk about school right now,” Felix says in a big rush of air, and then he digs his knuckles into his eye sockets until he sees stars. 

The headrush that follows is nice, quiet, empty, and then he blinks and he’s right back at the table. 

“Alright then,” his father concedes and doesn’t scold his rudeness. “Eat your lunch my boy, it’ll make you feel better-”

Elspeth cuts him off with a terse ahem and does a very minute shake of her head. Venetia and Farleigh go still as their eyes dart back and forth across the table. Felix feels like he’s watching a bad Ibsen production.

Everyone puts on a show for Felix-

His stomach twists. He’s stopped fighting the quicksand, now he’s just sinking. 

“We should go on a holiday,” Farleigh suggests.

“Oh yeah,” Venetia tries to sound cheerful. “Felix, you said you wanted to go to Ibiza right?”

Felix doesn’t answer her. His head feels like it’s bound to explode. 

“No doesn’t that sound lovely dear, a holiday before school?”

“A couple days by the beach Felix?”

“Chat up some of the local girls maybe?”

“Yes, go have some fun, you’re only young once.”

“Felix, please eat something, there’s no use in moping-”

Felix grabs his plate and chucks it at the wall. The delicate porcelain shatters and it leaves an ugly stain of peas and gravy on a Vermeer portrait.

Everyone falls silent all at once.

Felix wants to scream. 

Elspeth is the first to speak, because she can’t help but to tsk and mutter “this is your grandmother’s china, now the set is incomplete.”

Felix shoves his chair back and stalks away from the table before he really does scream. 

Duncan has already dispatched a maid to clean up the mess. 

That one dreary cloud from earlier has spread across the whole sky, and Felix sits on the rooftop smoking a whole pack of cigarettes in the pissing rain. It’s stupid, and cold, but this is his sad artsy foreign film, and he’ll sit in the rain if he wants to. 

Everybody wants to make you happy-

Felix grinds a cig between his fingers until it falls apart. He feels so dumb, to just now see the fucking doll house he lives in. Everything that looked so pretty and real seems now like painted set pieces, gilded and over embellished. Every word is a fawning, cloying performance, written for an audience of one. 

I’m sorry that I’m not a very good actor -

No, Felix wants to say. You were the best fucking fake of them all. 

After a while he runs out of cigs, and the rain turns to just gentle pitter-patter.

Venetia comes up the stairwell and sits beside him at the edge of the patio, looking out over the drenched field of golden grass. She drinks straight from a bottle of wine and then passes it over to him. Felix takes a long pull from the bottleneck and it burns bitter all the way down his gullet. 

“Good show at lunch,” she says after a while. “I always wanted to do something like that.”

Felix just shrugs and drinks more. His empty stomach threatens to revolt. 

“Are you gonna tell me what happened?” she looks him in the eye this time. “Or are you going to keep shutting me out?”

And he wants to tell her. Wants to commiserate with his sister over a stupid boy who kicked him in the emotional teeth. Wants to spill every little deceitful story Oliver spun for him. Wants to hear her agree, how fucking weird, who does that? But Felix can’t put the words together, he’s too fucking angry.

He wants to cry again, but fuck, his ego can't take it. 

“I don’t know Vee,” he grouses. “How’s it feel from the other side?”

It’s mean, he knows it. She flinches like she’s been struck.

“Fine,” she says bitingly, not looking at him anymore. She snatches the bottle out of his hand as she walks away, saying “Be pissy if you want.”

A few meters away he can hear her hiss “ your turn” before she goes stomping through the door. 

Farleigh appears in her place, waiting in the wings, and goes sauntering over to Felix to offer him another cig. Felix takes it, because why not?

“So…” Farleigh starts, resting his chin in his palm. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he butts in, and hopes that will be the end of it. 

It’s not, of course. But he tried to be nice. 

“Oh c’mon Felix,” Farleigh levels a sardonic look at him. “You gotta spill, I missed all the good shit.”

Felix remembers just then that Farleigh had been kicked out just a few days ago, but today it’s like it never happened. How often does that happen? Something unpleasant swept under the rug, Felix none the wiser, entertained by some shiny distraction. He flicks the burnt end of his cig off the roof.

“Fuck off,” he mutters, crossing his arms on the ledge and resting his heavy head there. He never should have gotten out of bed.

“Jeez, you are pissy,” Farleigh tries to laugh it off. “C’mon, cough up. Vee said you and the parasite went for a drive yesterday, and then you came back all mopey and started binge drinking. Like, what the fuck?”

Instead of answering, Felix looks out over the misty horizon and sees a perfectly lovely brick row house, with flowers and fucking garden gnomes. And then he sees Oliver beside him in the car, shaking, crying, terrified, begging Felix not to go inside.

Felix wishes he didn’t. 

Farleigh heaves a put-upon sigh and changes tactics.

“Listen, I know you two had some weird fucking psycho-sexual thing going on. It happens to the best of us-”

Felix does not dignify that with a response. 

“But what kind of asshole would ditch you like this? Like, you’re a fucking catch Felix, and he’s a nobody-”

“Shut up,” Felix grumbles, but there’s no heat in it. He’s a cigarette, smoked down to stubbed out smudge. 

“And right after your Mom throws him this epic party, how ungrateful can you be-”

Felix has to laugh, “That’s rich coming from you.”

That makes Farleigh falter, just for a beat, but he takes it on the chin and then keeps talking. 

“Hey, you see this,” he taps his lip and Felix sees the gnarly split running down the middle, scabbed over and swollen. It looks like it hurts. “That’s what your little boyfriend did when he found out I was coming back. Punched me in the mouth, fucking psychotic right? I would’ve beat his ass but then he ran off. Can you believe that little shit-”

“Yeah,” Felix cuts in. He can picture it now. “You probably deserved it.”

Farleigh’s jaw hangs open and then he turns toward the door and calls “Venetia, he’s still being bitchy. I'm tagging out.” 

Felix looks over his shoulder and sees her there, a nearly empty wine bottle in her hand. 

Fuck this, he’s not a child for them to entertain. 

In a huff Felix stands and ducks past her toward the door. 

“Where are you going?” Venetia makes a move to follow, but he stops her with an icy glare. 

“Bed,” he says, but sounds more like leave me the fuck alone. 

“Fine,” she sneers, but he can tell she’s hurt, he just doesn’t care right now. 

“Have fun Sunshine,” Farleigh calls after him, rolling his eyes. 

Felix slams the door behind him. 

In his room the bed has already been made up with new sheets and pillows. Everything smells like lilacs and fresh linens now. He cries about that and it’s just getting fucking embarrassing.

The ring is still sitting on his night stand and he can’t look at it without a lump in his throat, so he hastily swipes it into his desk drawer. 

The adjoining guest room has been cleaned as well. He ducks his head in out of morbid curiosity, and finds the holes in the walls gone, perfectly smoothed over and repainted within a few hours. The mirror has been replaced and there’s an identical Tiffany lamp in the corner. The bed looks as if no one’s ever even slept on it. 

There’s not even a dent left in the wall, no mark of Felix rage. There’s no consequences, never has been. When he was sixteen he crashed his dad’s Bentley into a streetlamp and besides a stern talking to, Felix never heard about it again. They just got another Bentley. It makes him feel sort of disgusted with himself, and he can’t really place why. 

He wants to leave marks. He wants to make someone mad. He wants something that’s not so sweet and placating.  

He wants Ollie. Even if they fight. Even if it hurts.

He deserves a some fucking answers . 

Before he can talk himself out of it, Felix pulls out his cellphone. There’s some messages from his school mates. Some desperate late night texts from India and Annabelle. Nothing from Oliver. He opens their text messages and finds that the thread has been silent for the whole summer. Obviously, why would they text each other when they basically shared the same skin for three months. 

Felix types out a few messages with varying levels of outrage but deletes them all. 

Fuck it, he’s already at a new low. 

He dials up Oliver’s number and waits for the ring, and it never comes. There’s an odd tone and then silence as the call cuts. No voice mail either.

Oliver blocked him. 

Felix’s phone snaps in his hand.

Chapter Text

Chapter three

Felix doesn’t sleep that night. He cries for a bit and then takes a bath and cries in there too. He fucks around on his laptop and gets frustrated when it doesn’t distract him. He fights back the urge to throw another tantrum and break more expensive shit. He strums a few cords and tries to channel his feelings into music, but that just makes him want to bash his guitar on the floor. He tries to jerk off and can’t even get hard until he thinks about Oliver, and then he starts crying all over again and just gives up. 

He watches the sun rise through his window and still, still feels dead. 

The shattered pieces of his cellphone glint at him from across the room, accusingly. He’ll need a new one soon, before school starts. 

Fuck, school. Felix can’t even wrap his head around going back to Oxford. 

Ollie will be there, he thinks. It puts a twisted sort of dread in his belly. 

How the fuck is he supposed to be normal after all this? Go to class and walk just past Oliver in the hall? Don’t look at him or talk to him or scream at him “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He thinks about sleeping in his dorm room, or drinking at the King’s Arms, or revising his shitty notes in the library, without Ollie. 

The big open wound in his chest aches fiercely, his heart still beating merely out of obligation. 

They need to hash this shit out, Felix decides, before school. It would be too humiliating to do it on campus, because Felix is liable to cry and say something that the whole school will gossip about. Even if they can’t be friends, even if they can’t-

You said you loved me-

That miserable, broken voice is still haunting Felix like a fucking poltergeist. 

They just- they need to talk.

He needs to yell and cry and tell Oliver he hates his guts but also that he loves him but doesn’t really know him because Oliver’s a fucking liar and Felix is so fucking confused-

But Oliver doesn’t want to talk to him. Clearly, that’s why he blocked Felix’s number.  

He just fucking left, Felix’s head thumps back against the wall as pale golden light fills the room. After everything, he just fucking leaves? Without even saying goodbye?-

There’s a landline phone in the main hall, a relic of the early 90’s, complete with a curly cord and a boxy answering machine. It’s tucked away in a corner, because it’d be an eyesore otherwise, and mostly only used by Duncan to call a car around or berate solicitors. Felix has never even touched it before. 

It’s still early, a few maids are bustling around with laundry baskets and feather dusters, but everyone else is still asleep. Which is good, because Felix really doesn’t want to be seen right now. Couldn’t even stand to look at himself in the bathroom mirror. 

He can almost feel the bags under his eyes. His skin feels tight and itchy, as if it might split open like an overripe fruit. Sweat is beading along his hairline and his palms and under his arms, and he must smell like an old gym bag, he should have changed-

It’s just a phone call, he reminds himself. 

His clumsy fingers press each little button and his pulse jumps at the sound of the dial tone.

There’s a chirping ring as the call connects, and then another, and Felix practices what he’s going to say.

Oliver we need to talk about this-

And then the line cuts to silence, and an electronic voice greets him-

“This voicemail is full and cannot receive messages at this time. Goodbye-”

Felix slams the phone back down on its receiver. At least this one doesn’t break. The 90’s obviously knew how to make something ugly and durable. He rubs his clammy hands on his joggers and tries to talk himself down from another rejected crying jag. 

It’s okay, deep breath in, it’s fine, he’s an arsehole, you don’t need to talk to him, you don’t need him-

When he turns around Duncan is standing there, hands behind his back dutifully, just watching. Felix feels like he’s been caught with his hand in the biscuit tin.

“Oh, uh, I-” He stutters, and then says the first thing that comes to mind. “I broke my cell last night.”

Duncan doesn’t even raise an eyebrow, he probably already knows, all the maids are fucking snitches. 

“I’ll put in an order for a new one post haste Sir,” the butler responds.

“Thank you,” Felix nods, feeling dumb and childish as he ducks out of the room as fast as he can.

There’s a clunky old wall phone mounted in the kitchen. It’s a sickly green color that matched the decor about thirty years ago, and the bulbous buttons make an annoying beep-beep-beep under his fingers. 

Felix promised himself he wouldn’t call again today. It’d just look desperate. His resolve lasted about twenty minutes. 

Right between one number and the next, there’s a surprised squeak from the other side of the room. Felix freezes with the phone tucked pressed to his ear, and sees Annie at the stove, blinking at him. 

She’s a lovely older lady that has been running their kitchen since he was a child. During their mother’s especially boring dinner parties, she used to put extra sweets on his and Venetia’s plates. She must have been about to start breakfast when she came across him here. 

“Hi,” He mumbles, chewing his bottom lip. 

“Good morning,” she answers back, with a polite dip of her head. If she thinks it’s strange that he’s here, using the kitchen phone, she does not say so. 

Felix doesn’t really want to explain himself, so instead he tucks the phone into his shoulder and asks “Can I have a cup of tea, please?”

“Yes, of course,” She says swiftly, like it’s a relief to be given a task. 

She turn to the kettle and Felix tries to pretend she’s not there, which only makes him feel worse as he dials the last few numbers. 

Oliver, quit being a fucking prick and talk to me- he rehearses.

This time the call only rings once before it cuts out-

“This voicemail is full-”

When Annie turns around with a steaming mug in her hand, Felix is already gone. 

There’s an antique rotary phone in the library. Felix skips breakfast and flicks through an old novel in solitude, acting like he’s not going to try again.

Who's he trying to fool? Probably himself

God Oliver’s such a liar, this isn’t a love story at all, Felix thinks as he skims through Wuthering Heights. It’s mostly just an old loon raving about some fancy estate and his dead ex-girlfriend. And it’s fucking boring too. 

After a while Felix sets the book aside and eyes the phone. It’s displayed like a polished piece of decor, made of gold and ivory and pink crystals. It belongs on a movie set, or some sexy boudoir vanity, not in his parent’s library. Felix doesn’t even know if it works.  

It does. Felix listens to the dial tone hum as he struggles to wind the rotary numbers correctly. It takes him three tries before the call connects.  

You owe me a fucking explanation- he whispers. 

By the first tentative ring Felix already knows that Oliver’s not going to answer. He’s probably laughing every time his phone rings, and when he presses the little red button he must know it’s another fucking stab right in Felix’s back. 

Felix leaves the phone off it’s cradle, because it's so delicate he doesn’t trust himself not to break it. 

There’s a phone in his father’s office, because his father of course refused a cell phone at the turn of the century. 

“Business is to be done over a proper telephone my boy,” he had told Felix. “This world’s moving too fast, whatever happened to penning a letter?” Felix had just shrugged and chose not to tell him about email. 

And while there’s not an explicit rule that says Felix shouldn’t be in here, it does feel like he’s doing something wrong when he slips into the empty office. But as the hours ticked by into the afternoon, he’d gotten desperate. 

There’s a mess of documents across his father’s desk and as Felix sits in the leather swivel chair he tries not to peak, because fuck he already feels like a naughty child, he doesn’t need to act like one too. The grandfather clock in the corner chimes at the half-hour and it makes him jump.

Just do it fast, he tells himself. It doesn’t matter, he’s not going to pick up-

The all too familiar dial tone hums in his ear-

Felix mutters Fuck you fuck you fuck you- under his breath.

“Felix?” 

He almost drops the phone when he jerks around to see his father is standing in the doorway-

There’s a few more pathetic rings and then that awful voice answers “ “This voicemail is full and cannot-”

“What are you doing in here?” Sir James asks, peering over his spectacles as his darling boy shakily sets the phone back on its receiver.  

Felix squirms in place and studies the diamond pattern on the rug. 

“I’m sorry Dad, my phone broke,” he mumbles, chewing on his thumbnail. “I should have asked-”

The patriarch of the Catton family hums and his face softens, he was never one for scolding anyway. 

“It’s alright,” he waves the matter away, coming over lean on the desk beside his son. “Though there is another telephone in the hall.”

“I- I know,” Felix says, and then doesn’t elaborate. 

Sir James doesn’t press, just puts a firm hand on Felix’s shoulder.  

“Who were you calling?” he asks, and Felix wants to be mad because his father certainly knows already. 

But Felix can’t really get angry with his father, the old man’s just too nice, and Felix is just so tired.

“Oliver,” he says miserably. There’s a hollow pang in his chest when he speaks. 

His father squeezes his shoulder in an act of old-school british comfort. It’s something at least. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” he offers. 

Felix heaves a heavy breath and mumbles, “Not particularly.”

They sit in silence for a bit, until the grandfather clock chimes again and Felix decides he’s too old to cry in front of his dad. He can do that in the privacy of his bedroom like an adult. 

A few hours later lunch is sent up to his room, probably because no one would like an encore of yesterday’s performance. Felix somehow feels both like he’s been grounded and also relieved to be left alone. Instead of wallowing on that thought, he takes some inspiration from his father and starts to write a letter. 

A letter to Oliver, obviously. 

This is better than a call though. He can get all his stupid spiteful confusing desperate pitiful needy feelings out all at once, and then they will be gone and he never has to think of them ever again. 

Dear Oliver, 

You are a lying fucking snake and I never want to speak to you again 

I hope your happy because I’m fucking not 

You played with my feelings and then just fucking left

What was the point of doing this? What did you fucking want

I know I told you to leave, but you know this isn’t what I meant

Did you even really love me? Or was that a lie too

I hate you, you fucking bastard

How could you do this to me

His penmanship gets all sloppy toward the end of the page, and a few tears may have fallen on the paper and smudged the ink into a splodgy mess. Felix rips the letter up into tiny little pieces and starts again. 

Dear Oliver,

I love you 

This time Felix burns the paper with his lighter and almost sets his bedsheet on fire in the process. 

There’s a knock at the door just as he is patting out the last of the embers. 

“Felix?” his mother calls, and Felix tries more frantically to brush away the ashes. 

“Uh, yeah?” he answers, and that apparently means come in, to his mum. 

She stolls into his bedroom like there are birds singing in the air.

“Darling I’ve heard your cellphone is broken, what happened?”

Felix’s eyes dart over to his desk, but the evidence has already been cleared away. 

“Uh, I dropped it?” he shrugs. 

He’s always been a poor liar, unlike some people, but his mother doesn’t call it out. 

“What a shame, be more careful next time,” she says, as if the cost of a cellphone isn’t a pittance to them. “Duncan has already arranged a new one for you, it should come in the post in a few days.” 

“Cool,” Felix chokes out. “Thank you.”

It’s futile to hope that is the end of this conversation. 

“You’re welcome,” she smiles. “Now, we should talk about yesterday-”

Felix groans and wants to crawl under his bed and never come out. 

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Elspeth chastises. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I don’t know Mum,” he scrubs his hand over his face. “I’m sorry about the Vermeer, but it was one of the ugly ones anyway-”

Elspeth doesn’t argue with that, she’s been wanting to replace that painting for a while. 

“-I just, I’m having a hard time,” Felix admits, and maybe he just needs to get it off his chest. “I’m really upset about Oliver-”

“Still?” Elspeth asks, blinking at him incredulously. 

Felix immediately regrets opening up to her. 

It’s been two bloody days-

“Yes,” Felix says.

She at least has the decency to realize her misstep, and this time her eyes go soft and sympathetic. 

“I’m sorry darling, I’ve just never seen you like this before,” she says and strokes his cheek gently. “You were always my happy little boy, I hardly know what to do when you’re upset.”

Felix gives her a weak smile and a shrug, he doesn’t know what to do either. Nothing’s ever hurt like this before.  

“Can I tell you something?” she asks gently.

“Sure?” Felix says, and then Elspeth sits beside him on his bed. 

The same bed where he and Oliver had done some of the most depraved, kinky shit he’d never even heard of, and he can’t think about that right now his mother is here-

“When I was your age I was engaged to an Italian emissary,” Elspeth begins one of her many stories, hands fluttering about as she sets the scene. “He was older, very rich of course, and Daddy hated him. He was the heir to some banking dynasty, his great grandfather was a pope who’s mistress was the daughter of-”

“Mum,” Felix hums, just to keep her on topic.

“Right, anyway. We met when I was summering in Florence and it was a whirlwind romance. I had just started modeling and I could still fit into children’s clothing Felix, could you imagine-”

This is what you get for ruining one of her paintings, Felix tells himself. Imagine if it had been one she actually liked.

“I was so in love with him. I only knew french at the time and his english was horrid so we could barely speak to each other, but it was like he just looked in my eyes and knew my very soul -”

And all at once Felix can see icy blue doe eyes gazing at him, like they could see right into the marrow of his bones and the chambers of his heart, and he understands-

“We were going to get married as soon as his wife died, the old crone, she had something, polio I think-”

What fucking year is this?

“He said he would give me the world and then…” Elspeth trails off, her eyes going glassy and distant. 

Felix gives her a moment before asking, “Then what?”

Elspeth gives a wistful sigh and twirls a loose bit of cashmere thread from her cardigan between her fingers.

“And then she died, and he flitted away in the breeze,” she says. “It had all been a farce. He found some other pretty young thing to make promises to, and I was old news. And then I found out all his inheritance was tied up in debts and war bonds-”

She looks sad, and older than Felix is used to seeing her. Still beautiful, no one could ever accuse her of not being beautiful, but somehow more human. Felix reaches out for her hand like he’s a little boy, trying not to get lost at the shops. 

“What did you do?” he asks, when her dainty fingers curl around his. 

“Oh, I burned his house down and left the country,” she says with a laugh. “By then my career was taking off, and I met your father at a social function in Wimbledon. He was quite the charmer, asked if I was even old enough to be drinking.”

Felix deflates like a popped balloon. 

“Thanks Mum,” he says, voice gone dull. “I’ll uh- I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I hope you do sweetheart, it’ll all be alright,” she says, not noticing his melancholy. She pats his hand and nearly applauds herself, “Oh, it’s so fulfilling to be a mother.”

And Felix should just let her go off and feel proud of herself while he wallows in solitude, but he just can’t help it-

“Uh, Mum? Do you have your phone?”

The smile on her face falters, but she forces it to stay. 

“Why?” she asks.

She already knows. Felix hates it. 

“Can I use it? Just for a minute,” he asks.

She should say no, Felix knows she should, and so does she.

“Of course you can, dearest,” she agrees, because she can’t deny him anything, and her sleek little flip phone is pressed into his open hand. 

Felix should change his mind, should laugh at himself and say it’s okay, nevermind, I’ll be alright-

But he can’t. 

Elspeth stays exactly where she is, and Felix realizes it was stupid to expect privacy. As his trembling fingers press each little button the humiliation sets in under her watchful eye. 

Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry-

The phone rings twice this time-

Pick up the goddamn phone Oliver-

“This voicem-”

Felix flips the screen down before he has to hear anymore, and passes the phone back to his mother. 

“He didn’t answer,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. 

Felix can’t look at his mother right now, because he’ll just fucking burst he knows it , so he watches little flecks of dust move in the evening light. 

Elspeth doesn’t speak for a long moment, like she is measuring the worth of every word. 

“I’ll have your dinner sent up,” she finally says, and lays a gentle kiss on the top of his head. “Get some rest darling.”

When the door finally shuts behind her, Felix falls back on his bed and doesn’t move for a few hours. 

Long after sunset Venetia coaxes him out of his sadness pit and drags him to her bedroom. Felix is in no state to put up a fight. 

But she orders up some chocolate ice cream and red wine and puts on a sappy movie that gets Felix crying and then laughing and then crying again. 

“It’s your first break up Felix,” she says between glugs of wine. “You gotta just ride it out.”

On the telly Bridgette Jones is in a duvet cocoon and Felix believes they are kindred spirits. 

“I’ve broken up with people before,” Felix grumbles, shoving another spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. He’s had girlfriends since before grammar school. 

“Yeah, but you’ve broken up with them , not the other way around,” she explains, and it hurts right in the gaping wound of his chest.

Except Oliver didn’t "break up" with him. Breaking up requires a modicum of respect, or at least a fucking it’s been fun, see you never text. It’s not just fucking leaving-

“And you’ve never been in love before,” Venetia says, snapping Felix back from whatever dark path he was going down. 

You said you loved me-

I thought I did.

Felix knocks back a long gulp of wine. 

I think I still do. 

“Have you been in love before,” he asks, passing the bottle back to her. 

She tilts her head, considering. 

“I don’t think so,” she muses. “What’s it feel like?”

Felix sees a movie montage of the best six months of his life flash before his eyes, and then it ends on the worst fucking day of life .

“It hurts, in like, the good way,” he says, flopped back on her floor, looking at the ceiling. “And then in the bad way.”

“Hm, you have such a way with words.”

“Fuck off,” he says, but he doesn’t mean it. 

Venetia pets his hair until the film ends. 

“What really happened Felix?” she asks as the credits roll. 

“I-” Felix tries, but he comes up short. “I don’t even know.”

And that’s the worst part.

“Okay,” she says softly, and that little bit of grace is all Felix can ask for. “Do you want to watch Pride and Prejudice next?”

Felix sniffles back more tears.

“No,” he mumbles.

“Why not? It’s your favorite.”

“Ollie and I were gonna watch that-”

“Oh Jesus Christ.”

Another movie ends and Venetia has fallen asleep beside him on the floor, the empty wine bottle rolling across her carpet. She drank most of it, Felix was more invested in the ice cream and now his stomach hurts. 

He should go to bed. 

Her cellphone is on her nightstand, just sitting there. 

He should really go to bed. 

Felix feels the buttons move under his fingers, he can’t see the numbers, just a blur of blue light from the screen.

It starts to ring-  

Please don’t hang up-

“This voicemail is full and cannot receive messages at this time. Goodbye-”

Felix sits in the darkness, tears rolling down his face. Venetia is still asleep, Felix can hear her slow, even breathing. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep quiet.

On the way back to his bedroom, Felix literally runs into Farleigh. 

“Wh ao-oh shit Felix,” Farleigh catches himself on the banister and grabs the back Felix’s shirt before he goes arse-over-teakettle down the stairs. “Walking with your eyes closed?”

It takes Felix a moment to get his feet steady again, and he must look especially pathetic doing it, because Farleigh doesn’t even laugh at him. 

“Hey, you wanna head outside for a bit?” his cousin asks, flashing the joint tucked into his palm. 

Felix thinks about it for precisely half a second.

“Yeah,” his voice cracks. He must really be in a state, it looks like it physically pains Farleigh not to tease him for it.

Out in the garden Felix takes a few puffs off the joint and it makes his head spin, so he lets Farleigh have most of it. They don’t talk for a while, just cough up smoke and bat the mosquitoes away. 

In the distance Felix can see the dark entrance to the hedge maze, looming like a mausoleum. Or a great big yawning maw, ready to swallow him whole.

He might be alive, despite every indication, but his dignity is already buried six feet underground. So he’s only a little ashamed when he says-

“Hey, can I use your phone?” 

Farleigh stalls with the burnt roach glowing between his fingers. 

“Felix,” he groans, head tilted back to the starless sky. “Don’t do this.”

He sounds exasperated, and that just makes Felix angry because he’s having a bad fucking day and Farleigh invited him out here so he could at least pretend to give a fuck-

“Don’t what?” he snaps, a little too loud. 

“Don’t make me be the bad guy here,” Farleigh snaps right back, tossing the joint to the ground and crushing it beneath his shoe.

Felix feels a vein in his temple beating an unforgiving rhythm on his brain.  

“What are you on about?” he spits like there’s venom on his tongue. 

“Fuck, and here I was trying to be nice,” Farleigh says, like it was a fucking favor. “Everyone else coddled you all day. So you got played by some upstate trash gold-digger. Get over it.” 

Every word knocks Felix’s head left and right, so fast he might get whiplash. 

“ What?”

“Jesus Felix, open your fucking eyes!” Farleigh shouts at him and gestures around them. “All this? The castle? The influence? The fucking family fortune? It’s all going to be yours one day, and you can’t just go hand it over to the first pretty face that fucks you good.”

“Shut up,” Felix growls, but Farleigh doesn’t heed the warning.

“I know everything is peachy-fucking-keen in Felixland, but in the real world? With the rest of us? You’re gonna get eaten fucking alive-”

“Fuck you-”

“You’re so lucky Oliver left before he bled you fucking dry-”

“Shut up!” he says again, seething. He shoves Farleigh hard in the chest and says, “Ollie’s not like that-”

“Oliver is fucking crazy,” Farleigh shoves him back. “He stalked you all around Oxford with that sad little face, and you fucking felt bad for him-”

Felix tries to walk away before he does something he’ll regret.

“Oh no no no, get back here,” Farleigh grabs his arm and tugs him over. “He's fucking dangerous Felix. He’s probably one of those psychopaths that can’t feel human emotion or something- He got his fucking succubus claws in you-”

Felix fists his hand in his hair to keep from punching his cousin in the face. 

Shut up shut up shut up-

“You don’t know what you’re talking about-”

“See! You’re still fucking defending him after he dumped you-”

“Just give me your fucking phone!” Felix barks, shocking Farleigh to silence. “He fucking blocked me and won’t pick up and I need to talk to him because I need some fucking answers!”

“And you think he’ll answer a call from me?” Farleigh asks incredulously.

Felix's mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

God, he's so fucking stupid.

His legs wobble underneath him, and he takes two staggered steps before he falls on his arse in the flower bed. And then he just buries his head in his hands and pretends he doesn’t exist. 

Farleigh heaves a sigh, “God dammit Felix, get up.”

“Fuck you,” Felix mutters. “Leave me alone.”

“You’re really gonna make me come down there?”

“...”

“ Fine.”

Farleigh sits down beside Felix in the dirt and pats his back. The tulips will never recover. 

“Listen, I don’t know what’s wrong with Oliver, or what kind of crack house or looney bin he came from, but he’s not fucking normal,” Farleigh says, like it’s sage wisdom. “He’s a user Felix, and you got used.”

Felix wants to argue, what’s to scream that’s not true, he loved me, but he can’t. He doesn’t know Oliver at all. 

“And it sucks, because you are legitimately the nicest person in the world. You’d like, rescue puppies off the highway-”

“Wouldn’t everyone?” Felix says, head still hanging down.

“Fuck no,” Farleigh laughs. “But anyway, you’re in the pits right now. You got your balls stepped on and not in the fun way. We’ll get dunk, smoke some weed, do some blow, I can get you a hooker?”

“No,” Felix groans. 

“You sure? Like whatever you want, it’s out there. You like creepy little guys with pussies now? I can get ten of ‘em here tomorrow-”

“Farleigh,” Felix says, getting annoyed quickly. 

“Okay, got it. Not the time,” he concedes. “But, we’ll get you out of this. One day you’ll look back and laugh. It’ll be alright.”

“Okay,” Felix says, mostly because he wants this conversation to end. He rubs the stinging out of his eyes and grumbles “I’ll be alright.”

“That’s the spirit,” Farleigh grins at him and Felix can’t even muster a smile. “And hey, if you want to kick Oliver’s ass at Oxford, please let me film it.”

Felix lies awake in his bed and he is not alright. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with Oliver, or what kind of crack house or looney bin he came from-”

Except Felix knows Oliver came from a perfectly nice home with perfectly nice parents and so what the fuck happened?

What happened Ollie?

Please answer me-

At a little after midnight, Felix makes a rash decision. It’s not like he’d be sleeping anyway. 

An hour later he’s speeding down the empty highway, flicking cigarette butts out the window as the road signs fly past him. 

I just need to talk to him- 

One sleepy little street turns into another, and before he knows it, Oliver’s childhood home sits before him. All the lights are off, surely everyone is asleep. Felix cuts the engine and sits there, gripping the steering wheel as he tries to make his pulse slow down. 

I just need to talk to him-

At the door Felix bounces on the balls of his feet and debates which is ruder, knocking or the doorbell? He settles on the bell and a melodic little chime rings behind the walls. 

He waits, and nothing happens. 

Go home, this is stupid. 

Felix rings the doorbell again, and this time a light flickers on through the curtains. 

A tense moment passes before the lock clicks , and Felix almost runs in the other direction.

I can’t do this-

I need to talk to him-

I hate him-

I love him-

It feels like he’s being pulled apart at the seams-

“Felix?” a sleep gruffed voice asks, and standing in the doorway is Oliver’s very confused father. Over his shoulder, just an arms reach away, is Oliver’s mother in her nightdress and slippers. 

Everything Felix intended to say goes flying right out of his head.

“Hi,” he says, almost breathless. He’s sweating too, it must look like he bloody ran here. “I’m sorry it’s so late. I just, um- I need to talk to Oliver.”

The both of them just stand there for a moment, until the elder man says, “Oliver’s not here.”

Felix feels the earth stop moving under him. 

“What? Where is he?”

“We thought-” Oliver’s mother starts to say, coming closer. Her lip wobbles between each word. “Isn’t he with you? At your family’s house?”

A cold chill sweeps through the air.

“Uh, no he left-”

“When?” she interrupts, distress coloring her voice. “When did you last see him?”

“Like, two days ago?”  

Oliver’s father puts a hand to his brow, and he sounds so tired as he says “And he hasn’t been answering calls, has he?”

Felix'a throat runs dry and he can only shake his head. 

“Oh God Jeff, it’s happening again,” Oliver’s mother cries.

“What?” Felix asks and it’s like he’s been punched in the gut. “What’s happened?”

“I’ll call the hospital,” Oliver’s father says, dashing toward the kitchen.

“ What?”

“And the constable,” she calls after him, tears brimming in her eyes. 

“What’s going on?” Felix asks, and it feels like his throat is lined with broken glass.

What the fuck Oliver-

Chapter Text

Chapter four

At half-passed two in the morning, Felix is standing in the homey little kitchen of the Quick family, and he doesn’t feel dead. 

He feels like he’s dying. 

The furious pace of his heart hammers in his chest, until it feels like his ribs might crack open. There’s a splitting ache in his head that’s crawling down his neck and back. It hurts to breathe, like a vice is tightening inch by inch around his throat. And his veins feel like ice-

You make my fucking blood run cold-

Oliver’s father, Jeff, Felix tries to remember, is on the phone, giving a detailed description of Oliver to someone on the other end. 

“Where abouts did you last see Oliver?” he asks, and it takes Felix a minute to realize he’s talking to him. 

“Uh, my house?” Felix says, and then he feels stupid. “Near Kettering, I guess. About a twenty minute drive from the railway station.” 

Jeff repeats that into the telephone and then turns back to Felix, “And when?”

“Around midnight,” Felix fists his hands in his pockets, God he needs a cigarette. “What’s going on-?”

“Did he say anything? Where he was going or what he might-” the person on the call must say something, and Oliver’s father takes a long minute to answer, “Yes, a few times before.”

Felix grits his teeth and cuts in, “No, we um- we had an argument and then he left that night I think. I didn’t know until the morning-”

Just then Oliver’s mother, Paula, Felix reminds himself, his brain feels like scrambled eggs, comes around the breakfast nook with a cup of tea in her trembling hands.

“Here sweetheart,” she says, pressing the warm mug towards Felix. 

“Oh, um- thank you?” Felix takes it, because he doesn’t know what else to do. 

It doesn’t seem like she does either, because she just hovers there afterward, brushing tears away as her husband’s voice goes hushed and tight. Felix takes a drink, just to be polite. 

“Do you know if he’d been taking his medication?” the elder man asks, and Felix almost chokes on steaming hot earl grey. 

“Um, you mean the shots?” he asks, and he fucking hopes that’s what he means.

Oliver’s parents share a petrified look, somehow more color draining from their faces, and Felix is afraid they might both drop dead right there. 

“No,” Jeff says, choosing his words very carefully. “It’d be some pills he was meant to take every day.”

Every day?

Every fucking day Ollie?

“No, I uh- I never saw anything like that,” Felix says, and he feels ridiculously guilty for not knowing any better.

Paula puts her face in her hands, and her shoulders shake with every breath. 

After a tense silence Jeff finally says thank you to whoever’s on the phone and hangs up. 

“No reports in the area,” he says, eyes on the linoleum floor. “I’ll, um- I’ll call the hospital in Kettering-”

“Yes, please,” Paula says, hands clasped in front of her. 

She looks like she might be praying. It goes against all the manners that have been ingrained into Felix to interrupt, but he has to-

“Can- can I please know what’s going on?” he asks her, when the anticipation might strangle him. 

She looks up at him under the dim fluorescent light, and she seems so afraid and so very tired. 

Felix feels about the same, mixed with a chemical sort of panic that’s trying to crawl out of his gut. 

“Yes, I’m so sorry Felix, of course,” she says, and he feels bad for even asking. “Come sit down, you must be knackered.”

Her hand rests on his arm as she leads him over to the living room, and there’s something so motherly about it that Felix has to bite back tears. Not like his mother obviously, but like those mum’s on the telly who bake biscuits and make roasts for Sunday dinner. 

They sit on the overstuffed floral couch and Paula dabs her eyes with a handkerchief. 

“I’m sorry for all of this,” she says. “But thank you for coming all this way, I don’t know what we would’ve done if you hadn’t.” 

“It’s alright, I just-” came here to scream at your son like a lunatic in the middle of the night, “-got worried. Oliver hasn’t been answering any of my calls.”

Paula gives him a watery smile that doesn’t meet her eyes, “Yes, he can be quite hard to reach when he wants to be.”

Felix thinks of the calls he watched Oliver ignore, dozens, nearly daily, all from this sweet old lady that bloody made him tea when her kid is missing -

“He’s done this before then?” Felix asks, leg bouncing anxiously. “Just go off without a word?”

“Yes- well, a few times,” she says. “He’s always come back though, or we find him… eventually.” 

She’s trying to sound positive even as more tears brim in her eyes. 

Felix feels a lump in his throat. 

“I’m guessing Oliver hasn’t been very honest with you?” she asks. 

You have no fucking idea, Felix bites his tongue and says, “I’d say so.”

She sighs, her fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on the arm of the sofa, and says, “Well, he is a very private person, I shouldn’t say too much-”

“Please, I- I-” flies out of Felix’s mouth before he can think better of it-

Private person? Tell that to the bastard who licked my asshole-

Thankfully Felix does not say that aloud. 

“-I really care about Oliver,” he says, because it seems like a poor occasion to say more. “And I just need to talk to him, so whatever you can tell me, please, I need to know.”

The desperation is scratching at the door, and Felix is near ready to get on his knees and beg. 

Paula doesn’t make him though, she’s so bloody nice it could give you a toothache. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” she pats his knee. “You’ve been worried sick, haven’t you?”

There’s a heavy ache rattling around in his skull as Felix nods his head.

“Oliver was always-” she takes a breath, and her gaze drifts far away, “ Unhappy. And as he got older, it just kept getting worse. He didn’t make friends or even really speak to anyone. He was just always alone.”

Felix remembers the Ollie he met at Oxford, before Saltburn, before they were consumed with each other constantly. How quiet he was, how his eyes always stayed to the ground, tucked into some table at the library. Always alone-

“Around then he started, um,” Paula makes a vague gesture and Felix understands. 

He racks his brain for that word, the one Ollie used-  

“Transitioning?” he guesses. 

“Oh- you know about that?” she asks.

Intimately, Felix hopes he’s not blushing. 

“Y-yeah, he told me like, ages ago.”

Paula puts a hand on her chest in relief, “God, this would have been a much different conversation.”

Felix gives her a feigned chuckle, and his bouncing knee rattles the coffee table. 

“I have to admit, his father and I didn’t really understand at first, we could've done better I'm sure, but he just kept shutting everyone out. I thought it was just a vulnerable time for him, and he’d start getting better…" She trails off, looking far off and away again. Felix wants to scream. 

“He started staying out late and fighting at school and he’d just be so angry. And then the lying started, he would say the most horrid, vile things. Things that could never be true- You couldn’t even believe it-”

Felix bites his tongue and tastes blood. He feels so fucking stupid, and so fucking hurt-

“One day he didn’t come home after school, and I just had this awful feeling that he might hurt himself-” 

The world turns sideways, Felix goes crashing through the floor. 

No. No? No. no no no no-

“The next morning we filed a missing person’s and, well, Oliver was found out on a bridge in Liverpool in the middle of the night. Someone had called the police when they saw him, they thought he would-”

She doesn’t say it, for the better. Felix would thank her, if he could speak. 

  In the kitchen, Oliver’s father hangs up the phone again and the silence lingers. He does not come to join them in the living room. 

Ollie wouldn’t, couldn’t, and yeah he gets sad sometimes, in that tortured artist sort of way, but not like that, no, no-

Felix hears that awful voicemail message ringing in his head, over and over and over-

This voicemail is full and cannot receive messages at this time. Goodbye-

You said you loved me-

I thought I did-

No no no no no no-

Everything’s turning cold now, seeping out of him like he’s an open wound. If he looks to the floor, Felix expects to see a puddle of blood at his feet.

“Felix, Felix-” Paula puts her hand on his knee and it’s like an electric shock right to his brain. 

“Please tell me you’re joking,” he says in a big rush of air. His lungs hurt, he must have stopped breathing. “This is- this is another lie right? Ollie put you up to this, he’s just lying to me again-”

And Oliver’s poor mother looks heartbroken. 

“I’m so sorry love-” she whispers.

 Felix is not going to fall apart. He’s not. Because if he does he won’t be able to pick up all the pieces afterward. 

“What happened?” he says, digging his knuckles into his eyes until it hurts too much to cry. 

“He spent a week in the hospital.” she continues. “He was so upset, wouldn’t speak to anyone or take calls. He’d fight with the doctors when they wanted to put him on medication, I think he bit someone-”

Jesus Christ Oliver-

“When he came back he was on this medication that made him sort of, not there , if you know what I mean,” she says as she wipes her eyes again. “The doctor said he would adjust to it, but after a while he’d stop taking it. He said it didn’t work, just made him feel daft and tired. We took him to therapy and he’d just lie to them too, and then he’d stop going. Then it would all start up again. He’d disappear for days, we could barely leave him alone for more than five minutes and then he’d be gone-” she takes a withering breath and Felix suddenly hates Oliver. 

For everything. The lies and manipulation and making Felix fall in love with him, but also for all the heartache he’s caused this perfectly lovely woman.

The things he said about her, Felix feels like shit just for swallowing it. 

“This went on until he got accepted to Oxford. We didn't even know he had applied. His therapist at the time said he should defer, and my God, he said some terrible things to her. It was horrifying.”

There was always something, under that mousy little facade, something that would only come in flashes of sharp violence. Something Oliver didn’t want Felix to see, and Felix, like a bloody idiot, thought it was exciting. 

“When he left he wouldn’t answer calls, but he promised he would take his medication if we didn't get involved. Are you sure he wasn’t taking it? Maybe when you weren’t around?”

Not a second did they spend apart. Felix knew Oliver like they’d been forged in the same fire. Like they were made for each other. 

“No, I’m sure,” he says. “We, um- we were really close."

I thought we were-

Felix sinks further into the sofa. He’s near the end now, going numb, the darkness is closing in. 

Paula looks at him, like she can see through all the glimmer of him, to the dullness of his bones.  

“What happened Felix?” she asks, and it all flashes before his eyes.

“He lied to me,” he chokes out. “About a lot of things you shouldn’t have to hear. And I wanted to help him, to know him better, and he was like, my best friend. This whole summer we spent together was the best I’d ever had. I’ve never known someone like him before. When I found out about all of it, we had a awful fight and it was like he was a different person-”

The walls of the hedge maze grow around him, a brass minotaur standing above, Oliver bearing his fucking teeth-

Felix was almost too drunk to stand, and he thought he was going to die.

There’s a soft touch to his shoulder and Felix is back in the present. 

“I, um- I told him to leave,” he says, ashamed. “But I didn’t know he might do this, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry -”

“Don’t say that,” Oliver’s mum hushes him, like a real mum would. “It’s not your fault. He’s going to be alright, he always has been.”

You said you loved me-

I thought I did-

Felix hates Oliver, but he hates himself more. 

A while later Felix has spent a terribly long time in the guest bathroom quietly crying his eyes out, and then some more time trying to pull himself together in front of the mirror.

The bags under his eyes are a bruised purple, stark on his ashen skin. His eyes have gone perpetually red and tender. Overused.  

When he comes back out, Oliver’s parents are at the kitchen table, waiting for the phone to ring. Felix is an intruder, looming in their doorway. 

“What um- what now?”  he asks, swaying on his feet.

They share a look and Felix has never felt so alone. 

“You should probably go home Felix,” Oliver’s father says. “You need some rest.”

“I’m okay,” he says. “I can help? Or something?”

Oliver’s mother purses her lips, like she’s letting him down gently, “You’ve done so much already love, we can’t do more until at least the morning.”

Felix doesn’t have the nerve to argue.

“Okay, um- Can you call me if-?”

“Of course, as soon as we hear-”

Their empty sentences hang in the air. 

“My cellphone is broken, I’ll leave my house number,” he mumbles, and his hands shake when he puts pen to paper. 

Paula sees him to the door. 

“Thank you again Felix, for everything. I’m sorry it’s gone like this,” she says.

“It’s okay,” it’s not, nothing is okay, but Felix isn’t selfish enough to say so. 

“No one-” she starts, and almost doesn’t finish. “No one’s ever come looking for Oliver before. I think he really cares about you too. The few times he did call, all he talked about was you.”

It cuts right through Felix, razor thin and fatal. The killing blow. 

“That was all I wanted for him, to be happy,” she says softly. “To find someone that made him happy.”

Felix walks to his car in a haze, turns the key and pulls away from the pavement like he’s drifting through the fog. Oliver’s mother watches him from the doorway, setting him out to sea. 

He needs to sleep. He needs to not have to move or think or breathe for a few hours. He probably shouldn’t be driving. 

On the highway exit, he sees a sign. 

I used to have to take the train an hour to Liverpool twice a week-

-found out on a bridge in Liverpool-

Felix takes the turn.

Fuck it.

What’s one more sleepless night?

Chapter Text

Chapter five

Daylight is just starting to push through the darkened sky, casting the Liverpool skyline in a blueish morning haze. Felix pulls over to the side of the road by the river, the iron skeleton of a bridge looming above him. 

Who knew there were so many bridges in Liverpool? Probably someone smarter than him. 

Felix taps out his last cigarette from the box and tries to savor it on the walk up. He couldn’t see anyone from below, just the passing lights of a few early commuters. But he has to check. 

First he went to the local hospital and was met with tired night-shifters saying no one by that name has been admitted- . Felix lingered around in the emergency room parking lot, just in case, until a put-upon security officer told him to leave. The police station was less patient with his ramblings, and told him nothing had been reported in the area, and then they asked if he’d been drinking. 

For the rest of the night Felix drove aimlessly through the backstreets. He stops at every bridge he can find. He stops at the railway stations and scans the few faces passing through. He ducks into a couple hole-in-the-wall pubs until the locals glower him out the door. He even stops at the bloody library, and shouldn’t have been surprised that it wasn’t open at four in the fucking morning. He just doesn’t know where else Oliver would be.

If he was even here. 

If he was even alive-

Shut up, Felix whispers. Don’t even think that-

They were supposed to be in love. That kind of star-crossed romance bullshit that Felix tears up at in old books and Hollywood movies. Now he can’t even find Oliver in one bloody city, because he doesn’t know him anymore-

How much of it was all a lie-  

Every breath is a labored, tortured thing. He’s delirious with grief and exhaustion. Felix just wants to lie down and never get back up. Wants to feel the earth swallow him whole, one spade of dirt at a time, until he is entombed. It’d be so quiet, so peaceful. Being alive just seems like too much work. 

Something he and Oliver might agree on, apparently. 

The bitter sting of smoke fills his throat, and Felix thinks, get over yourself. 

It’s all pointless, he’s chasing shadows, he’s going mad. 

If Oliver wanted to be found, he’d have made it easy. He knows Felix isn’t smart enough for the mind games. 

The bridge is just wide enough for two lanes of traffic. The metal frame creaks under Felix’s feet, not a great sign of industrial age innovation, but it’s held up this long - 

No one is there. It’s just Felix, standing there alone, staring out into the last bit of darkness before morning comes. It wouldn’t be easy to get over the edge, with the beams and cables and safety notices, but someone could do it, if they really wanted to. The water seems so very far away. 

The sun rises at Felix’s back and he wishes he were dead. He wishes he never woke up in the maze. Wishes it all could have ended there. Wishes he wasn’t too late. 

A pair of blinding lights come careening towards him, car horn blaring, and Felix barely has barely a second to step out of the way. The wind whistles past him, followed by a pissed off voice yelling, “Get off the road you bleedin’ idiot!”

The pounding beat of his heart in his throat is a painful reminder that he is still very much alive.

He crushes the last bit of his cig beneath his heel and walks back to his car in silence. He should go home. His family will be worried about him. He’s not the kind of prick that could just disappear without a trace, no care for whoever might still fucking love him-

Just when Felix has his key in the car door, the glow of a neon sign catches his eye from across the street. It’s a 24-hour clinic, tucked into the corner lot of a block of brick buildings. There’s some flyers in the windows, something about free tests and counseling referrals, and posters for community events written in technicolor font. 

Felix blinks at it, and the open sign flickers back at him. 

It’s just a few minutes walk from the railway station, right near a quiet bridge over the river. 

There’s a nagging tug at the back of his mind. 

I used to have to take the train an hour to Liverpool twice a week-

Felix crosses the street. 

A little bell jingles when he steps through the door, and a head pops up over the desk. 

“Hiya,” the lady calls. “Can I help you?”

Between the too-bright buzzing lights and the shiny tile floor, the whole place glows in a fluorescent, sanitized white that makes Felix’s eyes hurt. There’s a set of ugly upholstered seats in the far corner, accompanied by out-of-date magazines and pamphlets about safe sex. Behind the front desk is another door, probably leading back into some exam rooms.

No one else is here, thankfully, besides the woman at desk. She’s wearing nurse's scrubs and her pinned-up hair is streaked with blue. She seems nice at least, tired too, and a bit concerned, because Felix surely looks worse. 

“Hello, uh-” he says, still standing in the doorway until he thinks better of it. He takes two more nervous steps into the clinic and tries not to fidget too much. “Can I um- can I ask an odd question?”

She cocks her head to the side and Felix has to fight the urge to gnaw on his fingernails. 

“Sure?” 

Her guard is up, there must be plenty of headcases and junkies that come through here at all hours of the night. 

“Is this a place where you can get the, like-” Felix mimes giving himself a shot, “-hormone things?”

Whatever she expected him to say, it wasn’t that.

“Yeah, we do hormone therapy here,” she says, her nails skittering across a pile of paperwork. “With a prescription or referral, are you a patient with Dr.-”

“Oh, no,” Felix interjects. “It’s not for me. I’m actually looking for someone, and I think he used to come here? He’s about this tall, dark hair and blue eyes, name’s Oliver-”

“We can’t give out patient information,” she firmly cuts him off there. 

Of fucking course they can’t, Felix drags a hand through his hair and tries not to cry. 

“I understand, but, but-” the desperation clogs up his throat, and it all comes spilling out. “Please, I- I think my boyfriend used to come here and I think he’s in danger and I can’t find him and I don’t know what else to do-”

The room goes blurry as the first few tears fall, and even if it’s embarrassing the nurse’s face softens right away. At least he’s a pretty crier. 

“-So please, if he’s been here or you’ve seen him around, I just need to know he’s okay.”

The clock above the door ticks for an agonizing few seconds of quiet, or as quiet as Felix can be when he’s blubbering like a baby, and the nurse takes pity on him. She leans over the desk to offer him a box of tissues. 

“Okay, listen hun, I really can’t do much for you,” she says, kindly at least. “I don't think anyone like that has come through here recently. But I can take down your name and number, and if I see this Oliver chap I’ll tell him to reach out, alright?”

No, it’s not alright, Felix wants to tell her, if Oliver wanted to speak to me he fucking would, that’s the fucking problem-

Instead Felix wipes his face and mutters “Thank you.”

She takes down his information on a sticky note and Felix feels everything go numb.

It’s another dead end. He’s still in the maze, and there's no way out. 

It’s time to turn around and go home. Let the door swing shut behind him and never come to Liverpool again, because it will always remind him of Oliver-

“Can I use your phone?” he asks out of the blue, surprising even himself. The nurse looks taken aback by the question, so he forces a smile and says “My cell’s broken, I just need to call my mum, please?”

Maybe it’s charm or pity, but she folds easily. 

“Okay, be fast though, I need this line open for patients,” she says and takes a quick glance toward the door behind her. “And if my boss comes through we’ll both be in trouble.”

“Thank you,” Felix breathes in relief as she twists the desk phone around toward him. “Super fast, I promise.”

Call home, his last living brain cells say. Tell Duncan you’ll be home by breakfast, no reason for Mum to be cross-

Felix does not call home. 

The dial tone rings in his ear-

This is stupid. So bloody stupid-

It rings again-

Just give up already, you’ll never find him-

“ Hello? ” a sleep gruffed voice answers. 

That voice, dark and lilting like an old world lullaby, that’s been haunting his every waking moment-

Felix chokes like he’s been struck in the throat.

“Ollie?” 

“Felix?” echo’s back at him, like Oliver’s just waking up. “What are you doing in Liverpool-?”

Trying to stop you from killing yourself you lying fucking prick-

“Where the fuck are you?” Felix snaps, far too loud, almost frothing at the mouth with white hot rage. 

The nurse flinches back, but Felix doesn't even notice. 

Oliver flinches too, Felix can almost see it as he mumbles, “M-my parents house-”

Fuck you fuck you fuck you-

“No you’re not, I was just fucking there,” Felix says, furious and unhinged. He isn’t entertaining the lies anymore. “Try again.”

“...”

“Don’t you dare fucking hang up on me Oliver, you owe me a real fucking answer-”

“Oxford,” Oliver finally says, like the truth needs to be twisted out if him. Like it hurts .“I’m at a shitty motel near Oxford.”

Oxford? Why didn’t I fucking check Oxford-

“Why?” Felix asks, all the heat rushing out of him.

Why did you do this? What was the fucking point?

“Dorms don’t open for another week,” Oliver answers, like it’s obvious, and Felix could just fucking punch him right in his pretty fucking face.

The line goes silent but for the heaving, wet sound of Felix’s tired lungs. He’s trying to stay angry, but the solid impact of it all being for nothing, leaves him in a shattered mess on the ground. 

“Felix,” Oliver whispers, don’t fucking say my name like that, “Are you alright?” 

I hate you. I never want to see you again. Stay the fuck away from me-

“No I’m not fucking alright!” Felix almost screams into the phone. “Call your parents, they think you’re fucking dead!”

He doesn’t give Oliver the chance to respond, doesn’t want to hear anymore honey sweet fake naive bullshit, and he slams the phone back down on the receiver. 

With a shuddering breath Felix wipes his eyes on his jumper sleeve. When he looks back up, that nurse that was nice enough to help him has her back against the far wall, clutching what looks like a can of mace and watching him with wide eyes. There’s a bustling noise behind the clinic door, like someone’s coming to see the commotion. 

Well you goddamn lunatic, you fucked that right up-

“Sorry,” Felix says quickly, wiping his clammy palms on his trousers. “Thank you, sorry again, thanks!” He calls over his shoulder, rushing out before the cops get called on him. 

His hands shake as he puts the key into the ignition, and he peels away from the curb like he’s fleeing the scene of a crime. In the rear view mirror, he sees the iron trusses of that bridge fading into the distance. 

The sound of Oliver’s voice turns over on itself in his head. It sounded so familiar, but it felt like talking to a stranger. Like coming home, but all the furniture has been moved to the left. Like a film you’ve seen a thousand times, but you’ve just noticed the shadow looming in the background. 

Who are you Oliver? Who the fuck are you?

The morning radio greets him with the melody of Strawberry Fields . Felix turns it off. 

It’s almost noon when Felix finally gets back to Saltburn. The night that once seemed to stretch on forever, ends in a dull, exhausted slump. He walks in through the staff door and heads directly up to his room, hoping he won’t have to see anyone. 

His hopes are in vain, but at least it’s only Duncan. 

“Sir, your mother has been asking for you-” he says as they pass on the staircase. 

Felix sighs and mutters, “Tell her I’m fine, just want to be alone for a while.”

The butler gives him a nod, and then looks as if he might say something else before thinking better of it.

Felix pauses at the top step and looks back over his shoulder, “What?”

“There was a call earlier this morning,” he begins. “A ahem- Mrs. Quick asked to leave a message for you, but I told her she must be mistaken-”

“Oh, right,” Felix cuts in, rubbing out the ache between his eyes. “When my new phone comes in can you pass my number along to her? Tell her to call me if they need anything.”

“Really?” Duncan says, in a way that seems a bit presumptuous for his station. 

And that might be the privileged dickhead coming out of Felix, but it gets his temper hot in a split second.

“Yes, really,” he sneers. “And while you’re at it? Keep my business out of everyone else’s ears.”

Duncan has been with his family, with Saltburn, since before Felix was even a thought in someone’s head. If it insults his ego to be spoken to in such a way, he’s had decades of practice to not let it show on his face. 

“Yes Sir, of course.”

Felix stomps away with his head down, trying not to feel bad about being such a fucking prat. 

Finally in the sanctuary of his own room, Felix drops onto his bed and sleeps through the day and into the night, and then into the next day as well. It’s a deep, dark, dreamless rest. Almost as if he’s dead.   

Through the thin motel walls, Oliver can barely hear his own thoughts over the drunken townies and arguing neighbors. It’s a miracle that he even heard his own phone ring. 

He blocked Felix’s number in his phone the night he left. It was easier that way. The sound of Felix’s hatred was still ringing in his ears-

“You make my fucking blood run cold-”

He couldn’t have taken anymore vitriol, any more desperate questions like “what the fuck is wrong with you?” He doesn’t need to hear it, the voices in his head are already berating him for the gall, the foolish arrogance , to believe someone could have loved him- 

To be so close, to let it all slip through his fingers-

His pillars crumbled into sand. All of his carefully laid plans washed away. He’s just a house made of matchsticks, ready to ignite. 

The way Felix looked at him, so fucking scared- 

Like Oliver really was the fucking monster he always felt like, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

And this way if Felix didn’t call him, Oliver would have never known. If Felix just forgot him in the blink of an eye, tossed out with rubbish, never to think of again, Oliver wouldn’t ever have to know. He can live that brief, blissful fantasy where Felix calls a thousand times, where Felix still loves him-

He also blocked Farleigh. Couldn’t have dealt with the gloating honestly. 

Every time his cellphone buzzed with an unknown number he just ignored it. Let the voicemail pick it up, unless his mother has filled it up again. She calls too, over and over. Oliver just lets it ring. 

It doesn’t matter anyway-

Whispers skitter along the shadows of his mind, and he can’t chase them away this time. 

Last night he bought a set of razor blades and a liter of vodka from the corner store. The clerk didn’t even look up from the register. Oliver might as well not have existed. 

Wouldn’t that be nice? he hears. 

He drinks to work up the nerve, because deep down he’s a coward. If he were brave he would have just fucking ended it when he was fifteen like he wanted to. It would have spared the world the suffering of his presence. Could have spared Felix the fucking heartache. 

Half the bottle sloshes down his throat before he passes out on the filthy rented bed, and he only rouses hours later to the sound of his phone vibrating on the nightstand. One bleary eye open, he’s just about to chuck the thing at the wall, but the name on the screen catches him off guard. 

HRT Clinic blinks at him, with a Liverpool area code. The same clinic he used to get his shots at, by a steady handed nurse who told him, It’ll get better hun, don’t you worry. He could beg to fucking differ-

Why are they calling? 

It’s so fucking strange, and Oliver never can just leave well enough alone. 

“Call your parents, they think you’re fucking dead!” 

The call ends and the phone slips out from Oliver’s trembling hand and tumbles to the floor. 

Felix went to Liverpool? Felix was at his parents’ house? Felix was looking for him? Felix knows about-

From his vantage on the bed, Oliver can see right into the cramped little bathroom across the room. On the sink is that case of razor blades, glinting at him in the early morning light. They'd been having a silent negotiation all night. How much blood they could take, how long Oliver would have to wait before it fades all to black.

What if-

Oliver fishes the bottle out from the tangled bed sheets and spills a good bit down his front before it gets between his lips. 

What if-

It’d be quite a mess, if he really did it this time. The poor motel maid would have to scrub his blood from between those ugly little tiles. The whole place would look like a fucking crime scene.  

What if it’s not too late?

The thought coils around Oliver like a snake with it’s prey. 

Maybe he’s just a glutton for punishment, but Oliver really wants to know how the story ends.

Chapter Text

Chapter six

The last few days before school starts up pass in a dull rut for Felix. He wakes up late and then fucks around for a while in solitude before spending the minimum amount of with his family to prove he’s still alive. Venetia and Farleigh try to engage him in their usual summer revelry, and then they get sick of him moping about the whole time. His parents are kind, in their own overbearing way, but after a few one-sided conversations they decide to leave him be. 

It’s fine. Felix is- what’s the word?- coping. He eats at least twice a day, even if everything tastes like dust. He takes a bath in the evening and scrubs himself until he’s raw and bristled pink. He goes to bed early and tells himself, it’s fine, you’ll be better tomorrow-

He’s never better tomorrow. He’s not worse, at least, but he’s just the same. 

His brand new cell phone arrives in the post and Felix has to get used to all the sleek, shiny little bobbles under his fingers. He does not call Oliver. 

Coping, he tells himself. He’s fine. 

Because of course he is. He’s Felix fucking Catton. He’s not some love-sick little schoolboy crying into his pillow. He’s a perfectly fine adult man, smoking a whole pack of cigarettes every day and sleeping for twelve hours every night. He’s the picture of health. 

And then he looks up into the canopy of his bed, surrounded on all sides by a lonesome sort of darkness he’s never know, and he thinks I’m not fine-

The night before they leave for Oxford, Farleigh is enjoying a pleasant high on the rooftop patio, feet kicked up on a jutting buttress, looking out over the sprawling landscape, until Venetia comes and snatches the joint from between his fingers. 

“Hey,” he whines. “Get your own.”

Venetia sits down beside him and sings-songs “Finders keepers,” as she takes a drag. 

He rolls her eyes and lets her have it. It’ll do her some good, she might actually eat something and be less of a bitch.

“So what are we going to do?” she asks, smoke curling from her pink mouth. “About Felix?”

“ We? ” Farleigh parrots back incredulously. “I doubt you’ll be putting in the leg-work, unless you want to come to Oxford too.”

Venetia rolls her eyes and passes the joint back to him. See? She’s already 10% nicer. 

“Fine, what are you going to do about Felix?”

“I’m gonna sick the girls on him as soon as we get to campus,” Farleigh taps off the ash and takes another hit. “And if he doesn’t want girls then I’ll call up one of those London boys I used to party with. The sooner Felix gets his dick wet the sooner he’ll be back to normal. Best way to get over someone is to get under somebody else.”

Venetia huffs a laugh and mumbles, “And what about our dear friend Ollie?”

Farleigh stubs out the burnt roach with more force than necessary. 

“Pfft, the second I see that little twerp he’s gonna be a smear on the fucking pavement-”

“Oh please, you’re as delicate as a duchess, Oliver will put you on your arse all over again.”

“Hey!” he objects, and then Venetia grabs his wrist and twists it backwards, just to make her point. “Ow- ow- owww- stop it-”

She releases him and he takes it back, weed makes her more bitchy.  

“Besides, you don’t really hate Oliver,” she says. “You just want to shag him.”

Farleigh rolls his eyes at her this time. 

“I can hate him and fuck him Venetia,” he declares. “I contain multitudes. A postmodern Walt Whitman, if you will.”

“Who?”

“Jesus Christ, how’d that gap year go for you? Really expand your horizons?”

“Fuck you.”

“ Fuck you.”

Oh it’s so nice to have someone to banter with. Felix just looks straight through anyone who tries to talk to him, and God, then the waterworks start - 

They sit in companionable silence for a bit, their last night of summer, regretfully without Felix. It’s a damn shame.   

“You can’t let Oliver get to him at Oxford,” Venetia says quietly. “He’s a fucking mess right now, one look and Felix will be right back under his thumb.”

“I’ll do my best,” Farleigh sighs. “If he’ll listen to me, that is. We aren’t on the best of terms right now.”

Venetia hums her agreement and offers, “I’ll keep in touch this time. Maybe he’ll start to open up once all the mopey shite is out of his system.”

“He still hasn’t told you what happened?”

“No,” she says, like it stings. “It’s something about Oliver lying to him, and then he went on some tangent about Liverpool and I couldn’t follow the rambling. He was pretty wasted.”

And you weren’t? Farleigh doesn’t say that. 

“So what’s in this for you?” he asks instead. “I thought you liked Oliver?”

There’s a little twitch of her hand at the accusation, like she’s reaching for a wine glass that isn’t there.

“I did,” she says carefully. “But then he hurt my brother, so now I want to hit him with a fucking car.”

Farleigh blinks at her. 

“ Mhm, sure.”

Her eyes snap over to him, nearly murderous. 

“ What?” 

“Oh, nothing,” he laughs. “You’re very convincing.”

She sticks her tongue out at him, and he does it right back. 

“Besides, when everything goes to shit Felix will be all, but Daddy I love him, and we’ll all just give in like usual,” Farleigh grouses. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. “Before we know it Oliver’s gonna own this place.” 

“Not if you don’t let it go to shit,” she jabs her manicured nail into his chest. “And maybe it’ll do Felix some good, not getting what he wants for once.” 

“ Ooo-,” he teases, batting her hand away. “What happened to nice big sister Venetia? I thought we didn’t want little baby Felix to be sad?”

“Shut up,” she scowls. “Felix doesn’t know what’s good for him.” 

“Yeah, and it sucks that what’s bad for him is just so pathetically cute and fuckable.”

She doesn’t rise to the bait, but her face goes a damning bashful red.

“Oh c’mon Vee,” he practically begs her to play along. Why isn’t anyone fun anymore? “You know you would’ve let that fucking gargoyle dick you down in a second-”

There’s a flash of something behind her eyes, and then it’s gone. Must have been a trick of the light.

“And you wouldn’t have?” she snarks right back, deflecting. 

“Oh please, everyone wanted to fuck Oliver. Even your mother was making eyes at him-”

“ Eww- you’re fucking sick, shut up!”

The next day the boys don’t leave for school until the early evening. They would have left in the morning, but someone wanted to lay in bed ‘til noon and then cry in the bathroom for forty-five minutes, and by then Elspeth insisted they have lunch as a family and the whole day flitted away on the breeze. 

Felix is still dragging his feet even as the car comes round to pick them up. Farleigh finds him in his bedroom, toying with something at his desk. 

“Hey,” Farleigh calls from the doorway, making Felix jump. “You ready?”

“Yeah, uh-” Felix shoves his hands in his pockets and turns around. His face is red and weepy, but Farleigh doesn’t call him on it. “Just um- packing up.”

Their bags were packed for them and already delivered to Oxford earlier that day.

Felix seems to know it’s a shit excuse but can’t come up with anything better. 

“Alright then, let’s get going before Aunt Elspeth makes us stay for dinner.”

That at least gets a breathy laugh out of Felix as he scrubs the tears off his face. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, sniffles, and then says “sorry I’ve been such a shit lately.”

Oh jeez, Farleigh can already see that lip wobbling, please don’t cry. He’s so out of his depth, and it’s so hard to be actually mad at Felix. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s alright,” he says, a little desperate. They’ll never fucking leave at this rate. “Do you need, like, a hug or something?”

Felix looks up from the floor.

“Really?” he asks, with those big puppy dog eyes. 

Fuck, Farleigh really backed himself into this corner. 

“Yeah,” he sighs and opens his arms. “C’mere.”

Felix loops his arms around Farleigh and puts his face into the shoulder of his jumper. Farleigh pats his back and counts the seconds as they pass.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” Felix mumbles.

“Yeah, a little,” Farleigh agrees. “You need to get laid.”

Felix doesn’t laugh, but he also doesn’t punch his cousin in the face. So, progress? 

They finally pile into the back of the town car after they’ve bid their goodbyes to the rest of the family. Felix put on a brave face for it thankfully, insisting to his parents I’ll be alright, yes I’ll call, don’t worry about me-

Venetia wraps him up in a tight hug that seems to never end, because neither seems to want to let go. 

The ride to Oxford is near silent. Farleigh spends it on his phone, texting their friends from last year, arranging parties and drinking nights. Felix mostly just stares out the window.

They arrive in the late evening, the campus lit by glowing street lamps as they round the corner toward the dorm halls. Whether by luck or influence, they both have great rooms on the first floor. Farleigh finds his near the common room, a perfect social hub, and just down the hall is Felix’s, tucked into the back corner, quiet and relatively private. 

When Felix flicks the light on he finds the room already prepared, bags unpacked, bed made, desk and shelves set in the style of his bedroom at home. Last year it had been just the same, and Felix had just waltzed right in like it was normal. 

It’s not normal, is it? To have a maid and a footman sent ahead to do up your college dorm? Probably not.

Something about it makes Felix feel like a child. Catered to, maybe. Spoiled, but not in a good way. 

God, Oliver really fucked his head up. Felix never had to toil with self awareness and existential dread before he came along. 

Ollie Ollie Ollie Ollie-

Shut up shut up shut up-

Farleigh comes round the corner just as Felix starts to feel claustrophobic. 

“Hey, everybody who’s anybody is down at the Kings Arm, you coming?”

Felix blinks at him for a moment, like he’s forgotten how to speak english. 

“Uh- I’m- I’m not really feeling it tonight,” he says, dragging his fingers through his hair. “Sorry, I’m just need to get settled in-”

“You’re joking right?” Farleigh deadpans. 

There’s a hot anger that rises up in Felix’s throat, no matter how hard he tries to swallow it back. He’s never had such a short fuse before either. 

“No,” he says sharply, and hopefully Farleigh will take it as a warning. “I just need to get some sleep-”

“Seriously? You slept all day,” Farleigh does not take the hint. 

“Yeah, well the only time I don’t feel like utter shit is when I’m asleep,” he snaps. “So could you just leave me the fuck alone?”

Instead of snapping back, Farleigh’s shoulders shrug in defeat and Felix immediately feels bad. 

“Felix, c’mon,” he says, but his usually sardonic flare is absent. “You can’t keep on like this.”

And Felix bites back any bitter response, because it’s true. 

“I know,” he huffs. “I just need the night, alright? There’ll be parties all weekend before classes start, I’ll come out tomorrow.”

Farleigh eyes him skeptically before saying, “Promise?”

“Yeah, I promise.”

When Felix falls asleep he expects that pleasantly quiet numbness to sweep over him, as it has for the past week. It’s his refuge, where he doesn’t have to think or feel or cry or exist for a little while. 

Tonight is different. 

Tonight his head hits the pillow and he tosses and turns and gets used to the different mattress under his back, until exhaustion pulls him under like the tide. His eyes close on the sloped ceiling, and open to the dark depths of a forest. 

Felix looks to the impossibly tall trees, and the canopy above blocks out the sky. The earth beneath his feet is soft and wet and clutches at the back of his heels. The air is frigid, and he can see the white smoke of his breath curling from his mouth. 

Every direction is plagued by thickets of brambles, except for the thin, winding dirt path he finds himself on. It goes on endlessly in front of him, into the dark oblivion.   

Without much else to do, Felix takes one step forward, and then he knows-

Something is chasing him. 

Something big, the ground shakes, and loud, snarling, and hungry .

 Felix runs as fast as he can, which seems just so fucking slow-

The slick mud almost takes him to the ground more than once, and he fights to keep his balance. Thorns catch on his skin, tugging him back, leaving drops of blood like breadcrumbs in his wake. His chest heaves, lungs aching from strain, heart hammering, eyes going blurry

The thing behind him is coming closer, and he’s too afraid to look back.

It huffs and growls and Felix can feel the hot breath on his skin as huge, razor sharp fangs skim over the back of his neck, just barely missing-

A rouge tree root crawls out across the path and wraps around his ankle, and Felix goes tumbling toward the ground. His eyes shut as he falls through the air, and then the beast pounces-

But instead of the harsh impact of the earth, or the rending of his skin from his bones, Felix falls into something soft. A bed, with sheets that smell like sex and sweat and lilacs.

“Go back to sleep love,” whispers in his ear. “It’s just a bad dream.”

“Ollie?” he asks, just as those glinting teeth sink into his neck-

Felix bolts up in bed, a river of cold sweat running down his back and his pulse thump-thump-thumping in his ears. He takes a ragged breath and his eyes dart around his dorm room. 

Everything is exactly in place. The alarm clock on his nightstand shows 2:37 in glowing red numbers. The window is propped open an inch, just to let the air in. Outside is pitch black, with clouds covering the moon and stars. 

No one’s out there, Felix tells himself, even though he’s still shaking from his nightmare. 

Apparently even sleep isn’t safe anymore. 

He looks down at his lap and finds that his cock is rock hard. 

Great. 

With a petulant groan Felix drags himself out of bed and goes to shut the window, hoping the uncanny feeling of being watched will go away. He pulls the curtain closed too, and the room gets somehow even darker. 

A chill crawls up his spine and still his cock bobs impatiently between his legs. 

Yeah, I’m getting to you, Felix rolls his eyes. 

Back in bed, he considers pulling up some porn on his laptop, but the light and sound would probably give him a headache. So he spits in his palm and drags it over his shaft, tingling pleasure crawling over his skin. 

He thumbs over the head as his foreskin pulls back, and already precum is dripping from the slit, and the touch is an electric spark right to his heavy bollocks. His sex drive has been dead the last few days, he’s probably just pent up. Maybe Farleigh’s right, he does need to get laid. 

Just as he sets and indulgent rhythm, fucking his fist in harsh, desperate thrusts, his head falls back and behind his fluttering eyes he sees Oliver.

Don’t-

He sees Oliver spread out on the bed, legs open and wet and gazing up at Felix with those impossibly pretty eyes. 

Stop it-

Felix tries to shake the thought out of his head and instead he sees Oliver above him, hips rolling at a languid pace, cunt squeezing his cock just right.

Fuck.

In his hand Felix’s cock pulses and spurts but it’s not enough. He’s still hard and aching and wants more-  

Desperately, Felix shoves two fingers in his mouth and gets them wet with drool, until they are dripping with it. He keeps tugging at his cock as he pressed a fingertip to his asshole. It’s a strange angle, and it doesn’t feel exceptionally pleasant, but he keeps at it. Each touch teases and tests his hole until he can sink his fingers in with only a little discomfort. 

God dammit, he should have made Oliver teach him how to do this right. 

Through sheer stubbornness Felix fingers himself sore, until finally he can just barely press on his own prostate, and that delightful zing shoots up his spine. 

Okay, his cock twitches in his grasp again. He can do this, he doesn’t need Ollie-

Now when he closes his eyes, Felix can feel Oliver behind him, pressed against his back, fucking him slow and steady, in just that perfect way he could. Felix rolls his fingertips against that special spot and sparks fly in his brain. 

“Ollie,” he moans, and he’s too far gone to catch himself. 

He feels Oliver smile against his neck, and then he bites-

Cum streaks up Felix’s belly and his hole goes painfully tight around his knuckles. He bites his own lip to stay quiet, and it’s not until he slumps in the aftermath that he tastes his blood. 

With a distant sort of disgust with himself Felix wipes up his mess with a blanket and then tosses it across the room. His ass feels tender and it hurts to sit up too quickly.

Fuck it, Felix reaches for his laptop and orders some high quality lube online.

Because if life is going to fuck him over, it might as well feel good.

Chapter Text

Chapter seven

The last weekend before the semester starts is marked by plenty of drinking nights and house parties across campus. The first years get to show themselves off and scrounge for social capital. The second years get to feel better than them. The third years can get off-their-tits drunk before they have to commit to graduating on time. 

As he promised, Felix goes with Farleigh to a house party the next evening. Before they leave, Felix spends an agonizing amount of time in the bathroom mirror, blasting music and trying to hype himself up. 

It’s just a party, he’s been to hundreds of parties. Thousands, maybe. And this isn’t even one of the fancy parties with european aristocrats and six different forks at dinner. It’s fucking college house party. Felix just needs to show up, get drunk, laugh at everyone’s stupid jokes, and take a trashy girl back to his dorm to shag.  Easy-

The idea of fucking someone else makes his stomach hurt-

In the mirror he can see the cracks showing through his reflection. 

No, he tells himself. No more fucking crying about Oliver. 

You’re going to have fun tonight.

And get a blowy from one of the girls-

Or maybe a cute bloke? Who cares?

It’s fine.

You can do this.

“Felix!” Farleigh bangs a fist on the door. “Hurry up!”

He splashes some cold water on his face and plasters on a dashing smile.

You can do this.

In the late evening they walk down the block and around the corner, to an off-campus society house that has a reputation for wild parties and drunken slags walking out in the early morning. Already the pavement is shaking with thumping bass music that only gets more grating as they come closer. The lawn is populated with groups of first years chatting and edging toward the door, trying to get in the good graces of the hosts. 

Farleigh pushes past them like they’re just set decorations, and as Felix follows he gets wanting gazes from most of the girls and some of the guys. Inside is packed to the walls with warm, writhing bodies, passing drinks and cigs and blunts around and shouting over the blaring music. 

Everyone seems to turn when Felix appears in the doorway, classmates and friends from the year before nearly tripping over themselves to talk to him. India and Annabelle flank him on both sides, with eager smiles and glittered make-up, trying to keep the younger girls away. 

It’s all overwhelming in a way that Felix has never known before. Like he’s been tossed into the deep end of the pool but he’s forgotten how to swim. 

A cup of sugar sweet alcohol is pushed into his hand and he clutches it like a lifeline. 

One drink becomes two, and it gets easier to smile and laugh and talk. Then a joint goes round the circle and no one argues when Felix smokes most of it. A few shots slip down his throat and he’s almost enjoying himself. The girls try to bait him into dancing with them and he shrugs out of their grasp. 

“In a minute,” he says, with that paper thin smile on his face. 

He finds a half-empty bottle of tequila in the kitchen and drinks straight from it. 

You can do this, he thinks again. And then the whole room spins-

I can’t do this.

A while later Felix finds himself in one of the upstairs bedrooms. He went up for a cigarette and now he’s sat on arse by the window, trying to sober up in the cool night air. Hopefully no one comes looking for him. 

He’s way too fucking drunk. And Felix has been hammered before, but like, the fun hazy sort of hammered, not this sad sickly lump he’s now. His head hurts and he’s not even hungover yet. He’d have been sick already if all the bathrooms were full of people doing coke or shagging, and it’s just too incredibly rude to vomit in someone’s house plant.  

And most of all, Felix knows he’s too drunk when he fishes his phone out of his pocket to text Oliver. 

The little buttons click under his clumsy fingers and Felix wishes he’d just put his head in a toilet and blacked out. 

hi

The little chat bubble lights up the screen and he waits. 

And waits. 

And waits.

And then he realizes that Oliver doesn’t know this number. 

its felix

Still nothing.

this is a new phone , he types out feeling stupid and small and tired. 

Felix sets his phone aside and lights another cig with his shaking hands, head tilted back toward the ceiling. Below him the party rages on, the bubbling laughter and shouts beat down the door to his self respect. 

Don’t text again, it’ll just look desperate. Don’t do it. 

Some drunken sods come crashing through the bedroom door, already snogging and tugging at their clothes. When the girl sees Felix camped out on the floor she shrieks and yanks her skirt down. 

Like this isn’t embarrassing enough already. 

“Get the fuck out,” Felix snaps and flicks his cig at them, can’t you see I’m having a breakdown? 

“Jesus mate, sorry,” the bloke calls as his bird goes scampering out the door. 

Great, hopefully those two are too horny or wasted to go tell everyone that he’s being a shut-in weirdo crying over texting his ex-

That thought is like a punch to the gut. Felix might puke in the plant after all. 

Oliver still hasn’t responded, and it makes Felix so angry he can’t see straight. His fingers fly over the buttons, and, well, impulse control has never been his strong suit. 

oliver im off my face pissed right now so if youre gonna ignore me just fuckin say so

The message sends and Felix almost throws his cellphone at the wall. How shitty would that be, to break two phones in as many weeks?

Felix stares at the screen until it goes dark and then wishes he brought another bottle of booze up with him. Why is he even bloody conscious right now? He should have blacked out ages ago. 

His phone vibrates in his hand and he almost jumps out of his skin. 

hey, glints back at him. 

That’s so fucking Oliver, to wait for Felix to beg. A festering resentment burns in his chest, met by the soothing relief of actually being answered. It’s a confusing push-pull of emotions that boggles Felix’s brain. 

Felix types out a hundred messages that range from nonplussed to desperate to unhinged, and then deletes them all. He’s too fucking drunk for this. 

can we talk soon? He finally settles on. 

Not now, because he’s liable to say something he doesn’t mean, like I hate you or I can’t live without you-

But Felix doesn’t know how long he can wait. 

Soon, please?  

Please?

Ollie, please?

Felix doesn’t care about his dignity anymore. He’ll get on his knees and grovel if that’s what it takes. 

Like Oliver can hear his miserable thoughts, a message appears right before his eyes.

okay

Something tight unwinds inside Felix, and it’s like he can breathe again. Not until this very moment did he realize that he’s been suffocating, slowly, tortuously strangled, since that night-

He tilts his head back against the wall and all those angry, confused, tender feelings are still swimming around in his mind, but the urgent panic of it all is receding. It’s a solace to not be driving blind through fog anymore, that he can see a horizon in the distance. 

Felix doesn’t text to Oliver again, mostly because he doesn’t trust himself not to fuck it all up with something spiteful or needy. Instead he lights up another cigarette and congratulates himself for facing his problems like a grown up. 

There’s still a party going on, and now that Felix feels less like shit he might actually enjoy it. For a bit at least, he can go do shots with the other blokes and not be a pouty little dickhead all night. And then he can go back to his dorm, sleep it off and text Oliver in the morning. 

With a bit of a struggle Felix gets to his feet and thinks maybe he doesn’t need more shots. Maybe just a drink and another joint. He’ll have to find Farleigh, he always has the best hookup for weed. That would be so nice, to be high and relaxed and not have the ten ton weight of doubt on his chest.  

Don’t tell Farleigh you texted Oliver, he thinks. He’d have a fucking conniption. 

Just as Felix opens the door one of the girls comes stumbling through the doorway and he can barely keep himself upright when he catches her. 

“Woah, hey are you alright?” he asks, polite to the very bone, even when he’s still shit-faced drunk. 

She looks up at him and in the low light all he can see is the sparkling sheen over her eyes.

“Felix?” she says, slurring and swaying on her feet. “Everyone’s been looking for you.”

  Fuck, he must have been up here longer than he thought. 

“Oh, yeah I just needed a moment by myself,” he tries to shrug it off.

“By yourself?” she laughs, all loose limbed drunk and shoving her trussed up tits towards him. “Surely you’d like some company…” 

“No,” he says too quickly and then feels rude. She leans too far forward on her precarious heels and Felix has to catch her again. “I mean- I think you should lie down.”

Felix is drunk, but she’s wasted , so he steers her almost limp body toward the bed before she ends up face-down on the floor. 

“Oh, what a gentleman,” she coos, throwing herself at him. “I’d love it if you'd join me.”

“No- I should go-” Felix says, but the back of his knees hit the mattress and he lands flat on his back. 

The dizziness rushes into his head and Felix can’t think straight as the girl crawls over him and puts her tongue in his mouth. It’s not a terrible kiss, sloppy but enthusiastic, and it tastes like gin and juice. Felix’s eyes flutter closed as he slips into the familiar feeling of drunken snogging, of someone else’s lips on his. If he just ignores the lipgloss, it’s almost good. 

Felix drifts deep into his imagination, where he’s lying on his bed at Saltburn, with strong arms pinning him down and thick thighs bracketing his hips, and that deep, rough voice moaning as a clever tongue delves into his mouth, trying to eat him alive-   

There’s a fumbling hand at his belt and when it finally slips into his trousers the touch is far too soft and dainty, and that snaps Felix back to the present. 

“Hey, no-” he twists his head to the side. “I don’t-”

Just as her fingers curl around his cock she whispers, “You can do whatever you want, I promise.”

Felix needs to get out from under her, or else he might actually vomit if she keeps touching him.

“I want you to stop,” he says sharply and she flinches back. 

When her hand slithers out of his trousers Felix propels himself three feet backwards and falls off the bed. He hits the floor with a heavy oof and just has to lie there until the room stops spinning. 

The girl looks down at him and asks, “Are you alright?”   

“No,” Felix groans miserably, slowly trying to get upright without spilling his guts on the floor. 

When he looks back her hazy eyes are shining.

“Is it me?” she asks, so very drunk that the tears come easily. “Am I not good enough for you?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck-

“What? No, no-” Felix says. “Really India, you’re a lovely girl-”

She only sobs and says “I’m Annabelle.”

Felix wants to bash his head into the wall. Great bloody job idiot. 

“Jesus, fuck, sorry-” he stammers. “It’s just fucking dark in here, I’m sorry-”

That makes her cry harder and with lack of anything else to do, Felix rubs her back until she settles a bit. 

“Listen Annabelle, it sounds stupid but, it’s not you it’s me,” he says, and it certainly does sound stupid, like a fucking tween drama on channel four. “I’m just going through a rough time.”

Annabelle wipes her eyes on her sleeve and streaks of mascara stain her cheeks. 

“Because of Oliver?” she asks, lip quivering like she might start bawling all over again. “Farleigh said you two broke up.”

There’s a twinge of fierce anger in Felix, sharp like a stab in the back. What fucking business of Farleigh’s to go off and tell everyone that? 

“Yeah well, it’s complicated,” Felix grumbles, unable to even look her in the eye when he says it. 

Complicated? What a fucking understatement. 

A moment of tense silence passes before she asks softly, “Do you still love him?”

Felix can only feel his heart thumping in his chest, fragile and aching but still there, still alive. 

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah I do, but he doesn’t make it fucking easy, I’ll tell you what.”

This time she rubs his back and says, “I’m sorry.”

Get it the fuck together-

“It’s alright, not your fault I’m a fucking mess,” he tries to laugh it off. “But we need to stop talking about it now or I’m going to cry too, and that’s just embarrassing.”

“Okay,” Annabelle says and offers him a sympathetic half-smile. 

She is rather pretty, sweet and not a bad kisser, Felix can admit. Too bad that all Felix wants is Oliver. 

Besides, there’s something about the drunken tears that remind him of his sister, and that absolutely kills any sexual attraction he might have for her. 

“Alright,” he stands up and offers her a hand. “Let's go get you some water and then I’m probably going to head out.”

She nods and lets him guide her out of the bedroom, her heels left carelessly on the floor. 

“Do you think Garreth likes me?” she asks. “He’s rather cute, right?”

Felix racks his tired brain to remember which one of those tossers downstairs is Garreth. 

“I guess so,” he says, those blokes will fuck anything that moves . “You need to sober up a bit before you go talking to the boys though, alright?”

They come down the stairs and whatever she was going to say is drowned out by loud music and some kind of commotion. Just as Felix looks over, his gaze meets a pair of terrified blue eyes across the room .

Oliver is having what a medical profession might call “an episode”. 

This is the kind of thing you’re supposed to call a&e for, he thinks deliriously. Too bad that Oliver’s the type of crazy that would rather drive off a cliff than ask for directions. 

After that night that Felix called and Oliver did not slit his wrists in a motel bathroom, he’s been in a constant sort of wired, manic frenzy. When dorms at Oxford opened up he’s sure he was the first one to move in, shoving aside his meager belongings and burrowing into the bed to barely move for three days. He hasn’t slept or eaten or showered the whole time, keeping himself alive with just handfuls of water from the tap.  

Despite the rabid energy crawling under his skin, he feels paralyzed, because he knows Felix is near. On campus, maybe in this very building. Just an arm’s reach away, really. Oliver can feel it in his very bones, like gravity pulling him out of the sky. 

Felix Felix Felix, sings in his head like a twisted nursery rhyme. 

He’s going to hit the ground soon, he just knows it. 

But Felix sounded so upset on the phone-

“No I’m not fucking alright!”  

Oliver’s never felt guilt about wanting to kill himself before. Usually it’s an indigent sort of anger, like he just wants to scream at his parents and the doctors and everyone else can’t you see I’m doing you all a fucking favor-

“Call your parents, they think you’re fucking dead!”

It’s puzzling, in a way that even his clever mind can’t untangle. Like he’s just realized he’s been doing the puzzle wrong this whole time. 

And then Felix texts him.

He’s just starting to drift into a fitful half-sleep when his cell phone vibrates with a new message. In an exhausted haze he flips it open, squinting at the garish blue light, and a single word greets him. 

hi

It’s from an unknown number, but no one texts Oliver. 

No one, except Felix.

There’s a rushing in his ears like he’s just been plunged in freezing cold water. All his bones lock in place and he can’t move, can’t think, can’t breathe-

His phone buzzes twice more as the messages roll in. Oliver reads them as if he’s floating out of his body, like a fucking ghost on the ceiling. 

After an agonizing four minutes and eighteen seconds, the screen lights up again-

oliver im off my face pissed right now so if youre gonna ignore me just fuckin say so

And that bratty fucking attitude, sincerely demanding attention like he’s entitled to it, is just so Felix that it snaps Oliver out of his trance. 

hey , he types up, and then feels stupid.  

There’s a long pause before Felix responds again. Oliver spends the time thinking of throwing himself out the window. He really shouldn’t have been assigned a dorm on the fourth floor, it’s quite the liability. 

can we talk soon?

We are talking, Oliver thinks, but even he isn’t daft enough to say so. He knows what Felix means, he just doesn’t want to think about it. Doesn’t want to dig all of the vile fucking lies he told out of the ground. Doesn’t want Felix to see how disgustingly pathetic he is under all the bullshit. Doesn’t want to hear him say what’s wrong with you again.

His skin prickles and Oliver wants to claw it off. 

But for Felix? Could he slit his belly open and let Felix see how broken he is inside? Could he stand to see the revulsion, the pity, in his eyes?

Just to have that gaze upon him again? To be more than a tragic shard of nothing, just for one more moment?  

Oliver would do anything for Felix. Anything. 

okay

Even in this state, Oliver knows soon does not mean now. 

So why is he suddenly rushing out of the dorm hall like there’s rabid dogs snapping at his heels? 

Who fucking knows-

But Felix wants to talk to him-

Why why why would Felix want to talk to him-

So Oliver needs to find him-

It’s not over yet, you can fix this-

It makes sense-

Really, it does-

And it seems like Oliver’s internal compass is permanently set to Felix, his fucking north star, because he finds himself outside a house party just off campus. He shouldn’t go in, that might be his worst idea ever. 

But Felix is in there, whispers in his head. 

Felix is in there and he’s drunk and obviously not having a good time, if he’s texting Oliver of all people. Oliver can just sneak in, stick to the shadows and tug on Felix’s sleeve and say-

I love you-

I’m sorry-

I can’t live without you-

And Felix will grin and his eyes will shine and they’ll slip out through the backdoor to  never be seen again-

You’re losing it Quick, he thinks, not like there was much to lose anyway. 

With his head ducked down Oliver skirts along the edge of crowded lawn, unnoticed by the tipsy first years trying to act cool in front of the upperclassmen. There’s some bloke at the door acting like a big shot, so Oliver waits until he’s distracted by some fit bird in a miniskirt, and then he slips inside. 

The music and bustling bodies fill the hall and spill out into the living room, crowded and dark and easy to hide within. No one even knows he’s there.

It’s a boon to be inconsequential sometimes. To be invisible. To be as memorable as the dust that settles on neglected bookshelves. He’s barely even a person, just some woeful chill passing through the air. 

But it’s just his luck that the only person who does see him is Farleigh. Their eyes meet across the room and Oliver already knows it’s too late. 

Get out, the only sane thought he’s had all night. 

Farleigh is having a perfectly lovely evening. The underbelly of Oxford University is a hotbed of vice and indulgence. Even these puerile little house parties have something to offer, expensive alcohol, all the fun drugs you’d expect from trust-fund brats, and plenty of eager hands and mouths under the cover of darkness. 

He loves it here. He belongs here, unlike some people. And yes, he might not look the part of modern aristocracy, people still eye him dubiously when he says something that’s too american, but he learns quick. Whatever he lacks is made up for ten fold in charm and wit and fucking tenacity.

Felix doesn’t really appreciate how easy he has it. Everybody loves Felix. He’s never had to work for a goddamn thing in his life. But Farleigh can’t blame him, who could? If he had the luxury of being the favorite, Farleigh wouldn’t give a fuck about what anyone else thinks either.

But Farleigh has to give a fuck, at least for now, because destiny thought it fit to make him the cousin of somebody more important . The understudy, practicing lines behind the stage, fingers always crossed. He only resents it a little bit, just a smidge. 

So like a good cousin and friend, he gets Felix to come out tonight and tells everyone to show him a good time. The drinks pour easily, high quality joints are passed around, there’s plenty of coke, if you know who to ask for it, and the girls are flaunting their best assets. He also has a couple cute boys on standby, just in case Felix has fallen head first into his bisexual awakening. 

It starts off well, Felix is drinking and smoking and chatting. The smile on his face is a little forced, and he keeps skirting around the girls, but he’ll loosen up soon. The shots go round and one of those cute boys tugs Farleigh into the bathroom, and well, he’s only human.  

A delightful, hedonistic hour passes before Farleigh realizes he hasn’t seen Felix for quite a while. He does one more bump of coke before he grabs India and Annabelle off the dancefloor.

“Where’d Felix go?” he asks, and they blink drunkenly at him. 

“I don’t know-”

“He was in the kitchen a bit ago-”

Useless, Farleigh rolls his eyes. 

“Well get to finding him then,” he says. “The first person to get on his cock will be the apple of his fucking eye for the next six months.”

Who knows, Farleigh wants to sneer. He might propose to you too. 

They both go scampering off into the crowd, and Farleigh snaps his fingers at one of the lackeys. Seconds later, a drink is in his hand. 

Jesus Christ , do I have to do everything around here?  He better get a good chunk of the inheritance one day, for all his efforts. Or at least a yearly stipend and the beach house in Barbados and a fat diamond to flaunt on occasion. 

All of the mess settled for now, Farleigh goes back to enjoying the party. 

Or he tries to, at least.

But his eyes must be trained to find rat-faced little fucks, because who does he see sculking around in the shadows? 

Oliver fucking Quick.

Farleigh sees him first, edging around the crowd, peeking up from the floor to scan the faces, so obviously looking for a certain person. 

Not on my watch-

With a few hissed commands to his more brawny schoolmates, Farleigh slinks through the undulating masses until Oliver has backed himself into a corner. When their gazes meet, it’s already too late for him to escape. 

Perfect.

“Oliver!” Farleigh says loud and enthusiastic, making the poor boy jump nearly out of his skin. “I didn’t know you were here.”

The people nearby turn and look and whisper behind their hands. 

Farleigh comes closer and Oliver shakes his head, stepping back until he hits the wall. 

“No- I’m not-” he stutters. “I’ll leave-”

Up close Oliver looks fucking rough, filthy and trembling, with greasy hair and purple bruises under his eyes. And Farleigh thought he was pathetic before, but this is a new low. 

“Nonsense, it’s a party,” he says with a grin and grabs Oliver by the scruff. “Let’s have some fun.”

The boy stumbles forward and Farleigh yanks him toward the kitchen. He can feel the hammering pulse and clammy skin under his palm. It’s honestly a little concerning, like Oliver’s been smoking meth or something. He tries to struggle but he can barely even stay on his own feet, so Farleigh has the upperhand. 

“Please, please don’t,” Oliver whimpers, and people are fucking staring, how mortifying. “I’ll go I promise-”

“Don’t be like that,” Farleigh sneers, leading his graceless little friend to the kitchen. “What happened to the cheeky debutante that socked me in the face?”

Oliver somehow goes more pallid under the flashing lights and he shifts from fighting to fawning, blinking his sad blue eyes up at Farleigh.

“I’m sorry, I- I-” he mumbles. “Felix was-”

In a snap any sort of soft-hearted guilt Farleigh may have felt goes right out the fucking window. ‘Cause Oliver might pretend to be a feeble little worm, crawling along on his belly, but really he’s a parasite, just looking for someone to sink his teeth into. 

And there’s no fucking way Farleigh is letting him anywhere near Felix right now. 

“Well Felix is a little busy right now, so you’ll have to play with the rest of us.”

With a hard shove Oliver goes falling forward and Farleigh’s improvised henchmen grab him by the arms and pin his back against the counter. He puts up a bit of a struggle, but he doesn’t stand a chance. Party goers peel out from the dancing crowd and gather round to see the show. 

Farleigh stands over Oliver and snickers at the way he’s shaking, either with fear or rage, and reaches over him to grab a bottle of vodka. 

“Having fun yet?” he asks idly, unscrewing the cap. 

“Fuck you,” Oliver spits and tries to break away again. Those meathead rugby boys don’t let him have an inch. 

“Oh please, you wish,” Farleigh laughs. “Here, have a drink. It’ll make you less of a fucking bitch.”

Farleigh roughly pushes the bottle against Oliver’s mouth and it clacks painfully on his teeth as alcohol goes flooding down his throat. Oliver chokes and sputters and and tries to turn away, so Farleigh smacks the heavy glass against his jaw and he goes still and pliant, probably seeing stars.  

Only when Oliver is heaving and kicking does Farleigh pull the bottle away, and then pours the rest of it down his front, until Oliver looks like a drowned rat and smells like the floor of a pub.

Tears are streaming down his red face as he gasps for air, and only Oliver could look so pitiful and so pretty at the same time. 

“Be careful Ollie, ” Farleigh sneers. “If you puke on my shoes, I’m gonna make you lick it up.”

People laugh and Oliver twists in humiliation. 

“Now don’t be like that, this is your party Cinderella,” Farleigh jokes, and then turns to one of the blokes holding him back. “Hand me another one. No not the patrón, don’t waste the good shit, he wouldn’t even know the difference-”

Just when he’s distracted does Oliver rear back and kick Farleigh hard in the groin. 

Farleigh doubles over and Oliver slips out of hold on him, nearly yanking his shoulder out of the socket in the process. His eyes dart across the room for the quickest escape, but instead they land on Felix, coming down the stairs with Annabelle.

For a petrifying second neither of them move, and then Oliver makes a break for the door, nearly bowling over a dozen people in the way.

“Ollie?” calls after him.

It must just be in his head. 

It’s all in his head-

Felix doesn’t have the time or living brain cells to make sense of what he sees downstairs. Farleigh is on his knees, clutching his bollocks and heaving, with some confused rugby players and a ring of spectators gathered round. And there’s Oliver at the center, red-faced and shaking, and then a second later he’s gone. 

 Of course Felix goes running after him, even if his feet don’t cooperate, and he almost knocks Annabelle down the stairs on his way out the door. 

Into lamplit night Felix dodges passed tipsy first years toward the street, just barely able to see Oliver’s silhouette fade into the darkness.

“Ollie!” he cries, and if anything it makes Oliver run faster.

The adrenaline pulses in Felix’s head, making his burning lungs and aching limbs feel like anchors weighing him down. He almost goes careening into the pavement more than once, but with sheer fucking determination he puts one foot in front of the other and keeps running. 

He’s not letting Oliver get away again. 

Ollie stop- Come back-

He looked so scared-

Ollie please-

Seconds later- or maybe hours, it sure feels like it- Felix comes to a stumbling halt and has to bend in half to catch his breath, spitting a few stinging threads of bile out of his panting mouth. 

When he can lift his head again, he sees a huddled lump of a person crouched down in a dark alleyway. 

“Ollie?” he asks, like a prayer. 

The person trembles at his voice, head buried in their bent knees, fists clutching at the roots of their hair, and Felix just knows.

“Hey, Oliver, Ollie-” he takes a careful step forward, like he’s approaching a feral animal. 

The gravel beneath his feet crunches and Oliver flinches in a way that makes Felix’s heart hurt. He doesn’t care about the lying or bullshit right now, he just wants to bundle Oliver up in his arms and never let him go.

“Ollie, it’s me,” he says softly and puts a gentle hand on his arm, and that’s the wrong fucking move.

Oliver’s head lifts and Felix sees a flash of piercing ice blue, his only warning before he is suddenly shoved up against the brick wall, with a pair of rough hands clutching his throat. His breath catches in a panic as Oliver’s lips curl over his teeth. 

“Ah- Oliver,” Felix chokes, a thumb pressing cruelty into his jugular. “Pl-please let go.”

Then Oliver fucking growls and slams Felix harder into the wall, knocking the wind out of him. Felix blinks and struggles, desperately clawing at Oliver’s arms for just a few gasps of air. In the meager light he can see Oliver’s eyes, bleary and unfocused, shining back at him. The heady stench of alcohol wafts between their bodies. 

“Ollie,” Felix gasps, wedging his fingers into Oliver’s grasp. “Can you hear me? Please Ollie, it’s alright-”

There’s a flash of recognition in his eyes, but Oliver stays locked in place. 

“Felix?” he mumbles, like he’s out of his own body.

“Yeah,” Felix huffs with relief, and Oliver’s still got him by the throat, but, baby steps. “Yeah, it’s me sweetheart, are you okay?”

Obviously not, Felix feels the fingers tightening around his neck. That cold feeling rushes into his veins, and then he’s slipping through the ground, back into the hedge maze. 

“I- I don’t know,” Oliver says, and he sounds so scared.

“O-okay,” Felix sees lights dancing behind his eyelids as he fights for every ragged breath of air. “I think you need to go to the hospital-”

“ No!” Oliver roars and his grasp goes strangle tight on Felix’s neck. “ I’m not going back.”

Felix’s head bobs as the darkness starts to close in. He can almost see the shadow of a minotaur looming above them. 

At the very last second Oliver’s grasp goes limp, and Felix can fill his lungs again. 

“Felix? Felix-” Oliver calls, quiet, fading away.

When Felix can see more than just shifting black and glittering lights, Oliver is there, holding him upright. His vision is doubled, quadrupled, and there’s a dozen Olivers all around him. 

“Ollie?” he asks dizzily. He doesn’t know which one’s real.

“I’m sorry,” they say, with just a bit of clarity in their many eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”

It’s okay, Felix wants to say. I’m fine. He’s not. 

“Y-you hav’ta stay away from me Felix,” comes slurring from their mouths. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“ No,” Felix says, still sinking away into the earth. 

“ You have to!” Oliver nearly screeches. “Don’t you understand? I don’t want to fucking hurt you!”

Felix digs his nails into Oliver’s arms. 

No, please-

But he can’t make the words come out. 

Oliver goes running off into the dark again, gone in an instant. 

Felix doesn’t follow him this time.

A few minutes later Farleigh comes round the corner, rehearsing some penitent speech about practical jokes getting out of hand, and finds Felix in that same alleyway. Whatever he was going to say dies on his tongue when he sees him, crumpled on the ground, a thousand yard stare in his eyes and bruises on his neck. 

“Felix? Are you okay?” he exclaims.

 It takes a moment for Felix to even gather the energy to shake his head.

No, I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again. 

Farleigh crouches down beside him, wincing at his tender pull on his balls, fucking Oliver, and says, “What the fuck happened?” 

“I-” Felix strugles, like a hand is still wrapped around his throat. “I don’t know.”

And then he keels over and vomits all over Farleigh’s shoes. 

Yeah, I probably deserve that, Farleigh thinks. 

Chapter Text

Chapter eight

The forest never changes. The consuming darkness, the reaching trees, the cold, moist air that smells of ozone, like a single spark could set it all ablaze. It’s the same every night, every single night-

And Felix still runs, he runs and runs and runs and runs-

The beast is still at his back, snapping its jaws, turning up the dirt beneath its claws, breathing heat on his neck, so close-

Felix isn’t brave enough to look at it, because surely the very sight would make his heart stop. 

So he keeps running. He looks for any escape, a forking path or a dip in the earth or just a big fucking tree to hide behind but there’s nothing-

And this time when those vicious fangs sink into his skin, Felix is suddenly back at Saltburn, but not in his bed. Instead he feels the wet earth beneath his back and a heavy weight on his chest and hands around his neck-

“Ollie- Ollie please-”

“You hav’ta stay away from me Felix-”

“Please-”

“I don’t wanna hurt you-”

Felix still can’t look. Can’t bear to even open his eyes. 

“Ollie-”

Felix is shocked awake in an instant, his heart beating in time with the ringing of his alarm. He can still feel that phantom grasp on his throat.

The sheets are caked in sweat and he’s kicked the blankets to the floor in the night. A garish stream of sunlight shines right through the window and into his eyes. No matter how often he closes the curtains they always seem to fall open by morning. He slaps around on his nightstand until he can shut off his alarm clock.

The silence that follows seems to hum, haunting and empty and crawling under his skin. 

His cock throbs impatiently against his belly, like he has the bloody time to beat off to his nightmares every morning. He’s missed three lectures this week alone, he can’t really afford to skip another. 

So Felix hefts himself out of bed with the enthusiasm of a cat going for a bath. And speaking of bathing, he doesn’t have time to shower either, so he scrubs his face in the sink and pretends like that’s good enough. 

He makes it to class on time by some good grace, but it doesn’t fucking matter anyway because a killer headache is blooming between his temples and Felix can’t focus for shit the whole hour. All he can do is grit his teeth and daydream, drawing aimless patterns where his notes should be. 

There’s a creeping itch over his shoulder, like somebody’s watching him, but when he looks back there’s no one there. The distant sound of footsteps disappear down the hallway. He watches the open door of the lecture hall, waiting, hoping-

At the end of class the professor’s assistant hands back their last test and Felix shouldn’t be surprised that he failed miserably, but it still makes frustrated tears burn in his eyes. He should have just stayed in bed. Who the fuck cares about economics anyway? It’s just math dressed up as something more important. 

The rest of the day passes much like they all have this semester. He can’t pay attention in class for the life of him, and his professors lost patience for his woe-is-me pretty boy charm after a month. Now his grades are shit and his attitude is worse and everyday he thinks who are you kidding? Oxford? You’re a bloody idiot-

The sky goes gray as he walks himself back from the library after a futile attempt at revising. He spent most of the time sitting at a back table, watching everyone who walked by, just in case-

There’s that chill crawling up his back again. A rustling of dry leaves on the pavement. When Felix looks around, he’s under the arching branches of a willow tree, exactly where he had busted his bike tire last spring, and his heart hurts. It must just be the wind. 

Farleigh texts him asking if he’s coming out to the pub tonight, and Felix agrees because there’s really nothing better to do. It’s not like he’d even understand his homework anyway. 

Getting drunk is easy though. Four pints and three rounds of shots later, he’s almost having fun. 

“Fe lix, ” India says, twirling her hair. “A couple of us are going to a club later, do you want to come?” 

A vague shadow passes by the frosted window and Felix just catches it in the corner of his eye. No one else seems to notice, maybe he’s had one too many drinks. 

“Huh?” he blinks at her. “Uh- not tonight, I should turn in early. Can’t miss class tomorrow.”

The alluring smile on her face flickers, and then she leans in closer and puts her hand on his thigh. Felix tries not to roll his eyes, it just seems rude.  

“Well, maybe I could walk back with you?” she murmurs, soft and sweet and tipsy. 

And God, Felix can admire the persistence, but he’s turned her down nicely nearly every night all semester. She has to get the hint sometime. 

“Look India, I appreciate the offer,” Felix says, slurring a bit and carefully squirming away from her touch. “But I spent all summer having, like, the best sex of my life, so a toothy blowjob in the loo isn’t really doing it for me anymore.”

Her mouth drops open, dumbfounded. A seat away, Farleigh cokes on his beer and Annabelle stifles a sputtering laugh behind her cocktail.

Oh, that was mean, wasn’t it? Felix cringes and tries to recover.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he insists. “Plenty of blokes are totally into it. I’m just like, on different fucking planet right now. Like, do you even own a strap?”

Her plucked eyebrows climb even higher on her forehead. 

“A what?” she says, aghast.

“See?” Felix huffs. “That’s what I mean.”

If Oliver was premium uncut cocaine, the rest of the world is like, powdered sugar -

It’s not even a fucking competition.

“O-Kay,” Farleigh says, slapping a hand on Felix’s shoulder. “I think it’s time we head back, right Felix?”

“ Fine ,” Felix grumbles, finishing off the last gulp of his pint before Farleigh steers him out the door. “You don’t have to play babysitter every night.”

Farleigh shoots him a look that says the fuck I don’t when you act like that.

Felix kicks a few pebbles across the pavement and feels bad, because he knows it’s true. He’s a fucking mess. 

They don’t talk much on the way back to campus. If Farleigh’s peeved about having to turn in early and not go clubbing, he doesn’t say so. He’s taken on the duty of being Felix’s late-night chaperone with only silent resentment. Venetia must have put him up to it. 

“Do you ever see Oliver around?” Felix mutters when they come toward the dormitories. 

Farleigh’s mouth twists up with barely repressed angst, thinking of something biting to say, but after a moment he sighs and lets it go.

“Not at all,” he says, and Felix is 95% sure he isn’t lying. Farleigh enjoys lying too much to have that sourpuss look on his face. “I’d go so far as to say he’s avoiding me.”

He and Oliver have the same major, it’d be unlikely to not share a class or never pass each other in the hall. Unlikely, but not impossible.

“I wonder why that would be,” Felix says bitterly. 

“Jesus,” Farleigh rolls his eyes. “You can’t still be mad about that.”

After Felix found out about what happened at the party he didn’t speak to Farleigh for nearly three weeks. It was only after some mediation from Venetia that he gave up the grudge, mostly because it just started to feel pointless. 

Felix certainly can still be mad about it though. Just fucking watch me.

“You should apologize,” he says.

“Seriously?” Farleigh groans. “I told you I was sorry like, fifty times-”

“No, not to me,” Felix says. 

Really, who can be so obtuse? 

Farleigh stops right there on the pavement. When Felix turns to face him, he is livid.

“No.”

“Farleigh,” he whines. “ Please-”

“No Felix,” Farleigh says. “I’m drawing the fucking line.”

“C’mon Farls,” Felix tries again. “Just if you see him around-”

“I just told you I don’t see him around-”

“But if you did-”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. You’re the smart one, figure it out-”

“No, this is stupid Felix,” Farleigh huffs and starts walking away. “I’m not your fucking errand boy-”

And that just fucking stings. Felix has to weigh his guilt up against his desperation, with all the shame burning up in his throat. 

The chance of finding Oliver wins though. Oliver always wins-

“Please,” Felix asks at Farleigh’s back, and his voice cracks pathetically. “Please Farleigh- I’m trying but no matter what I do, I can’t sleep and I can’t focus and I feel like shit. I just- I just need to know if he’s okay.”

The most Felix knows, from rumors from friends of friends, is that Oliver still goes to school here. It’s not nearly enough to put his darkest fears to rest. 

Farleigh stops walking away, his shoulders slumping as he looks back at Felix.

“Fine,” he says. “ If I see Oliver, I’ll check up on him.” 

Felix takes a couple long strides to catch up to his cousin and tries to muster a smile.

“Thanks,” he says. “It means a lot to me.”

The moment passes and Farleigh says “Have you considered like, going to therapy or something?”

Felix blinks at the night sky.

“For what?”

I don’t get paid enough for this, Farleigh thinks, storming out of the english hall toward the library. 

Really, he shouldn’t have given in to Felix’s melodramatic pleading last night. He should have dug his heels in and told him to fuck off. Should have kept his dignity in the face of all the stupid pouting bullshit. 

But instead Farleigh spends his day digging up whatever gossip he can in the english department for any trace of the allusive Oliver Quick, antisocial extraordinaire. 

To think that Farleigh thanked his lucky stars when the semester started and he didn’t have a single fucking class with Oliver. He couldn’t have tolerated the morose, glowering stares from across the room in the fallout of their last interaction. 

Farleigh doesn’t exactly feel bad about what happened at the party, but looking back, it was kind of petty and childish. He should have just had Oliver thrown out on his ass at first blush and then went on with the evening, avoiding all this drama with Felix. 

And clearly Oliver was going through some kind of crisis, he's not even half the man Farleigh started to begrudgingly like at Saltburn. And not nearly as fuckable, what a shame. 

So Farleigh walks along the many shelved aisles of the library and ducks his head into the study rooms. Then to say he tried, he goes up the stairs and across the balcony to check the lesser known archives. 

Absolutely nothing. Just a few nerds skittering about like cockroaches, and not even the nerd he’s looking for. What a waste of an afternoon-

“Ey, you that tosser looking for Quick?” someone calls out. 

Farleigh turns to see the absolute fucking loser that dared to speak to him.

“What makes you think that?” Farleigh quips.

Someone a few rows away shushes them. 

The guy pushes up his glasses and shrugs, “People talk. Besides, what else would an arsehole like you be doing in the library on a friday night?”

Excellent point, Farleigh can admit, but certainly not out loud. 

“So what, he’s around here?” Farleigh huffs. “Or are you just wasting my time?” 

With a sneer the nerd jams his thumb toward the back hallway.

“He goes up the fire shaft to smoke on the rooftop, is a real prick about it too if anyone bothers him.”  

Finally, some fucking answers. Farleigh does not say thank you. 

“Who the fuck are you anyway?” he asks instead, thinking there was only one resident gremlin at Oxford. 

“Michael Gavey,” he says, like Farleigh should know who that is.

It doesn’t even ring a bell. 

“We have two classes together.”

Farleigh almost laughs, “If you say so.”

He walks off toward where Oliver’s hiding, up a dubious set of stairs that end at a door propped open by a brick, letting in the brisk chill of the outside. 

“ Fucking cunt ,” Michael Gavey mutters under his breath.

Oliver feels like he’s one big bruise. Tender, swollen, pulsing. The cold air helps a bit, wind nipping at his fingers until they go numb, and he wishes it would spread all the way into his bones. 

He stubs the burnt filter of cigarette into the ancient stone battlements, and then goes to light up another. They’re his only solace, because they taste like Felix.

Behind him the door hinges creek, and Oliver counts the seconds as they pass. 

“Hey,” Farleigh says, coming right up beside him on the far ledge of the building. 

What a fucking fool. 

Oliver breathes out a stream of smoke and then responds in kind.  

Farleigh drums his fingers across the ivory stone, playing at aloof impatience. 

“You’re quite hard to find, when you want to be,” he says, daring Oliver to look him in the eye. 

“Thanks,” Oliver finishes his cig and finally turns his head. “What do you want?”

The smirk on Farleigh’s face is reprehensible as he says,“A certain someone wants to me to apologize to you.”

Oliver forces himself to laugh, “Fat fucking chance of that.”

Felix Felix Felix Felix-

He has to just ignore it, has to repress every little neurotic twitch that shocks through his body, at just the fucking thought of-

“Well, that’s what I said, but that pretty face is hard to argue with,” Farleigh explains, taking some sick pleasure in how tense Oliver has gone. It’s so predictable. And then he slips a joint out of his sleeve and twirls it between his fingers. “So I thought I’d come with a peace offering.”

That’s a bad idea, Oliver thinks, and then he pulls out his lighter.

They sit on the roof with their backs to the battlements, passing the joint back and forth like old friends, until the high settles in warm and snug and Oliver finally feels like his skin isn’t made of itching wool. He hasn’t been stoned in a while, since Saltburn.

“Felix is really worried about you,” Farleigh says when the spliff is burnt down to almost nothing. “Even though he’s the one that left with a purple collar last time.”

Every time Oliver closes his eyes, he sees Felix’s crying face, struggling for air against Oliver’s unforgiving grasp. It plays on repeat, over and over and over, his own personal horror film.

“He shouldn’t be,” Oliver says, and for once he doesn’t have to pretend to be ashamed. The weed has gone straight to his head, making his voice go thick as he divulges, “I told ‘im to stay away, I’m no good for him-”

“Obviously,” Farleigh snorts, cutting off Oliver’s self-deprecating ramblings.

The sky shifts to pale orange as the sun begins to set behind the clouds. Oliver squints at the horizon dubiously, not trusting if it is really there. 

“He’ll get over it soon,” he finally says. 

Of course he will. Felix deserves so much better than a broken little wind-up toy, stumbling about until it dies.

Oliver just has to keep out of sight, it’s easier that way. 

Farleigh blows a ring of smoke toward the sky and agrees, “God I hope so.”

Felix Felix Felix-

Oliver would do anything for Felix. 

I don’t want to hurt you-

Even if that means letting him go. 

God, this weed is strong. Oliver can feel his teeth vibrating in his mouth, just aching to bite-

“You can tell him that I’m fine,” Oliver says, no use in making him worry. “If he really wants to know.”

“Okay, I will,” Farleigh flicks the last bit of the joint off the edge of the roof, its embers swept away by the wind. “But you’re not.”

Oliver looks over and is met with a level, no-nonsense glare. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies.

“Oh please Oliver, you’re cracking the fuck up,” Farleigh laughs again, mean this time. “You’re one breakdown away from being a story on Dateline . I mean, just look at you.”

He waves his hand to gesture to the pronounced slump of Oliver’s shoulders and dark circles under his eyes, and then to dramatic brooding on rooftops and how he can’t even handle half a fucking joint without getting insufferably melancholy. Oliver can’t even argue with him, he’s in a dark fucking pit . 

What he can do though, is pull Farleigh down with him. 

“Yeah Farleigh, look at me,” he mocks, and then eyes the tent in his trousers. “You want a hand with that?”

Farleigh tosses his head back laughing, pretending like his face isn’t turning a healthy shade of red. So he gets horny when he smokes weed? I t happens to like, everybody. It has nothing to do with Oliver’s stupid face and mouth and bad posture. Nothing at all .

“You think I’m dumb enough to let you anywhere near my cock again?” he asks, incredulous. 

Oliver doesn’t answer, he just waits.

Apparently Farleigh is dumb enough, because it takes less than a minute before he starts unfastening his belt. 

Oliver smirks at the filthy rush of bending someone to his whim. It’s not as good as with Felix, it doesn’t even come close, but when he takes Farleigh’s cock in a too-tight grip just to hear him squeal, it’s something .

Every brutal yanks of his hand pulls a whimpering moan out from between Farleigh’s bitten lips, and Oliver watches with vague disinterest as his hips twitch at every aborted thrust. When the friction borders on unpleasant, Oliver leans over Farleigh’s lap and spits down into the channel of his fist. 

“Fuck, and I almost felt bad for you,” Farleigh huffs, cocky and breathless, settling in for a decedent handjob like he's earned it. “You’re still a fucking headcase. One call and I could have you thrown in a padded fucking room.”

Whoever said don't put your dick in crazy never met Oliver fucking Quick. 

Oliver twists his wrist at a sharp angle that makes Farleigh grit his teeth.

“Yeah, I’m no stranger to a psych ward,” Oliver says casually, like he’s not teasing at breaking Farleigh’s cock in half. “But I’m sure Felix has told all about it.”

That startles something in Farleigh, just the smallest flinch when he realizes that they’re not playing anymore. 

“No,” he says, eyeing Oliver carefully. “Felix hasn’t told me shit.”

“Oh, really?” Oliver says disdainfully, digging his thumbnail into the slit of his cock until Farleigh yelps at the sting. “That must just drive you mad.”

“I- I don’t fucking care,” Farleigh lies, and tries to edge away from each painful touch. 

His cock is still so hard, leaking spunk all over Oliver’s knuckles. He’s such a hedonist, blind to danger when pleasure is so easily offered to him, until it’s too late. 

“Well I’ll tell you something Farleigh,” Oliver says, and then his grip goes strangle tight around his cock. Farleigh gasps like he’s been socked in the gut, and his hands claw uselessly at Oliver’s arm, trying to make him stop. 

Too late for that, Oliver almost cracks a smile. This is the most fun he’s had in weeks. 

“I’ve seen more doctors and therapists and fucking quacks than you’ve even heard of. And isn't it so nice that they just want to help? Until they pump you full of fucking benzos and you’re strapped into a hospital bed every hour of the day. And if that don’t work, who knows? Last resort, they could always shove a bloody scalpel up your eyelids until your brain bleeds out your ears, like they did in the old days.”

Oliver squeezes hard and tears brim in Farleigh’s eyes, his back bending in startling pain. 

“But I learned fast. You play the game, cry when they want you too, shut up the rest of the day, play obedient and spit the pills out when they’re not looking. Then they send you on your way and call you cured.”

“ F-fuck fuck stop-” Farleigh begs, squeeling like a bloody fucking pig.

Oliver grabs his face with the same merciless grasp he has his cock in, blunt fingers digging into the give of his jaw, forcing Farleigh to look him in the eye. 

“ Shhh, I’m speaking,” Oliver hushes him. “Mind your manners-”

“ You’re fucking psychotic-”

He just doesn’t fucking learn, does he? The tip of his cock is already turning a deathly pale from blood loss. 

“Yes, exactly,” Oliver chuckles. “And I’ll stay away from Felix because I love him, but you Farleigh? You want my attention? I’ll fucking ruin you. Try and get me committed, I dare you. I could be out in a fucking day. Come for me again with your bullshit and lackeys and I’ll get to you back in ways that will haunt your fucking nightmares.”

They are so close, Oliver can feel every panicked breath against his mouth, and the fragile pulse of his heart in his cock. Farleigh shakes with fear, ice running up his veins. 

You make my fucking blood run cold- Oliver hears, circling around his rotted mind like vultures. 

“Are you going to come for me Farleigh?” he asks. 

“N-no, no I won’t-”

Oliver can almost taste the rich heat of his terror. 

“I think you are,” he says, just as the vice of his grip goes loose.

Farleigh is nearly screaming as he finishes, the orgasm choked out of him in a blinding rush of pain. Streaks of cum run in rivets down Oliver’s hand and stain the expensive fabric of Farleigh’s trousers. 

In the aftermath Farleigh is left shaking from head to toe, with a lovely imprint of Oliver’s hand on his shaft. Since he was so jealous of Felix’s bruises, he might as well have one for himself. 

The buzzing high that has nothing to do with the weed crests in Oliver’s bloodstream, and then it fades to just an acrid tang in his mouth. 

It’s not good enough-

Oliver knew it wouldn’t be. 

He needs more-

He’s fucking starving.

He needs Felix-

No, he can’t have Felix. He can’t hurt Felix again.

The voices in his head threaten to revolt. 

Go ahead and try, he tells them. You lot couldn’t last an hour. 

“What’s to stop me from telling Felix all of this?” Farleigh says spitefully, his voice shaking. “You think he’s still gonna want you-”

“I think that I don’t have much to lose with Felix anymore,” Oliver cuts him off. “But you do, and this all looks very bad on your part. Especially after that show you put on at the party. Then you go hunting me down all day, cornering me up here, with no one around. I’m a very good liar Farleigh, just try me.”

Farleigh finally seems to put together how utterly fucked he is. 

“Is- That’s why you were up here,” he says.

“No I was up here to kill you,” Oliver says, and pats his cheek with a handful of tacky spunk. “But that’s rather messy. Maybe next time. Tell Felix not to worry about me.”

Farleigh squints at him, eyes still red rimmed and glassy. 

“You’re full of shit,” he says, like he’s trying to convince himself. 

“Yeah? Go tell that to Michael Gavey,” Oliver says, then wipes his messy hand on Farleigh's shirt before he gets up. 

Farleigh sits there in shock for as he walks away, until the rooftop door swings shut and he has to do up his trousers in a haste, running after Oliver. 

“Hey, you think this is fucking over you little-” he says, staggering down the stairs. 

Coming back into the library, he hears that nerd from before say-

“Ey, you owe me ten quid, I sat here all bloody day-”

Just as Farleigh rounds the hall he sees Oliver flip the bird to the guy before he disappears into a labyrinth of bookshelves. 

Farleigh watches him go, rumpled and cum-stained and beaten  at his own fucking game-

“What a fucking arsehole, am I right?” Michael Gavey says, like they are compatriots. 

“Don’t fucking talk to me,” Farleigh sneers in disgust as he stomps away. 

After an unknowable amount of time in a boiling hot shower, scrubbing away the phantom touch under his skin, Farleigh goes back to his dorm room. It’s a fucking friday night and he’s just sitting there, alone, staring at the wall for hours.

He can still feel Oliver near him somehow, lingering like a malevolent aura, pulling strings that Farleigh can’t even see. 

He understands now how Felix has spent weeks on end in a dazed stupor.

Speaking of Felix, there’s a cautious knock at his door, and when Farleigh opens up he’s there, all twisted up in impatience. 

“Hey, did you um-” Felix says, chewing pensively at his fingernails. “Did you get the chance to talk to Oliver?”

Farleigh feels a pulse in the air, like a summoning-

“Yeah,” he says quickly, just to have it over.

Felix’s eyes light up with relief and he asks, “Really? Is he alright?”

No, Farleigh wants to say. No he fucking isn’t-

“He said he’s fine,” Farleigh mumbles, looking past Felix. “Says you shouldn’t worry about him.”

There you fucking creep, he thinks, and for all he knows, Oliver might be able to hear it. I gave him your message, now keep the fuck away.

“But- but did he seem, um-” Felix stutters and makes some sort of gesture, his hands grasping futility at the air. 

Farleigh doesn’t want to know what he means.

“Felix I don’t think I can help you with this,” he says with a lump in his throat. “You just- you’ve got to just move on.”

He shuts the door then, leaving Felix standing there in the hall, still reaching for something elusive as it slips through his fingers.

Chapter Text

Chapter nine

Fall semester ends just as it began for Felix, terribly. He’s given up by exams, can hardly bother to put pen to paper anymore, and subsequently flunks two of the classes he needs for his major. Even the barely passing grades he receives feel like pity points from his other professors. He receives a notice of academic probation the day before winter break, and it sits on his desk, mocking him. 

You bloody fucking idiot, how stupid could you be?

At least it wasn’t delivered to the house and Felix is spared a disappointed phone call from his father. 

How the fuck am I going to tell Dad? He thinks as he shoves his laptop and a change of clothes in his bag. Farleigh already called the car around and as is typical, Felix has put off getting ready until the last minute. They are flying out to the family beach house in Cabo for the holidays, and his mother only flies private so they’re all meeting at the hangar in London for the twelve hour flight. 

Twelve hours alone with his family, Felix would honestly rather fly coach. Well, maybe business class, let’s not be ridiculous .

With his bag slung over his shoulder Felix comes out of his dorm with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’ll have to put on a happy face for the family soon, so he might as well get all his stroppy pouting out now. 

There’s a quiet noise at the end of the hall, by the stairwell. Felix falls still like a deer in the woods, ears perked up as the leaves rustle. 

He can almost see Oliver there, in his mind’s eye, sitting on the bottom step, waiting-

Felix doesn’t know whether to chase after him or run in the other direction. Doesn’t even know if he was there in the first place. 

Outside the cold, wet air of winter soaks right through Felix’s skin and into the hollow core of him. He shivers and flexes his fingers until they’re red, trying to breathe some heat into his hands. At least Mexico will be warm, Felix doesn’t remember the last time he saw the sun out from behind the clouds. 

Felix stops for a cigarette, his back against the brick of the dorm hall, the rest of campus nearly empty already. The last party of the semester was the night before, so everyone is either sleeping off hangovers or have already left on holiday. A few seconds pass before he pulls out his phone. 

The texts between him and Oliver ran dry after the incident, as Felix calls it. On good days he can think of it as an accident, Oliver was having a breakdown, and Felix was drunk and got too close. It was nothing, just a misunderstanding. On bad days Felix can still feel that grip on his throat. 

I don’t want to hurt you, Oliver said, like he couldn’t fucking help it. 

Felix’s thumb hovers over the keys, head spinning with all the words he wants to say.

I hope you’re okay-

Can we talk next semester-

You said we’d spend my birthday together-

What did you mean you don’t want to hurt me-

His phone starts ringing right then in his hand, Farleigh calling, telling him the car’s been waiting for fifteen minutes. 

“Are you even coming?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Felix says, is there another option? “Just having a cig, I’m walking over right now.”

The call disconnects and Felix shoves his phone into his pocket before he does something stupid. 

You’ve got to just move on , Farleigh said.

He does. 

I can, Felix tells himself. I will. 

It’s time to move on. 

Seeing the sun again does help. The beautiful Mexico beach is a perfect 26°, with white sand and clear blue water and fruity little cocktails Felix is drinking by the dozen. 

He’s smiling more, laughing and even playing along with Farleigh and Venetia’s revelry. He’s having dinners with the family and making small talk. He’s going clubbing at night and chatting up locals. He’s moving on. 

He’s drinking almost constantly. No one says anything about it. 

At a packed tourist club one night some guy, cute and shorter than Felix’s shoulder comes up and tugs on his belt loop. He’s got big, dark eyes and three delicate piercings in each ear, wearing an almost sheer tank and the shortest shorts Felix has ever seen on a man. A twink Farleigh would say, when he was giving Felix a crash-course in queer hook-up culture. 

He says something in heavily accented english, and between the pulsing bass of the music and the tab of molly he took an hour ago, Felix has no fucking clue what’s going on.

“Yeah, sure?” he says anyway.

The pretty boy smiles and leads him by the arm over to the bathroom, and Felix gets lost watching the flashing lights. 

His back hits the stall and suddenly the guy is yanking his shirt down to kiss him. He’s got a tongue ring and Felix is too distracted by it to think clearly. 

The snogging is nice for a bit, something to keep his needy mouth occupied, and until a hand slips into his trousers and starts palming at his cock. Felix’s shoulders go tense for a moment until he forces them down, eyes closed and trying to just fucking relax-

The touch on his cock is far too soft, and after a frustrating few pulls Felix puts his hand around the twink’s and shows him what he wants. Rough, fast, mean.

His unnamed tryst chuckles and whispers something that would surely be alluring and scandalous if Felix knew spanish, and then he leans in to kiss his neck. Felix jolts like he’s been stuck with a needle and ducks his chin down.

“No- no don’t do that,” he mumbles, guarding his neck. They guy seems to understand, probably thinks that Felix has a girlfriend and can’t come home with hickeys. 

So instead he sinks down to his knees on the filthy tile floor and jerks Felix’s cock back to hard and dripping. Felix takes one glance down at him and then has to look away, because all he sees is blue eyes looking back at him. 

Relax, just relax-

The guy taps him on the hip and Felix has to get a hold of himself. 

“Sí?” he asks, and that’s nice of him at least. 

“Yeah,” Felix bobs his head. “If you want to.”

It’s a pretty good blowjob in Felix’s book. Farleigh had said guys do it better, not so worried about looking pretty, and Felix could agree. The tongue ring is a novelty, cold metal against the slit of his cock turns out to be much more appealing than it sounds. 

Felix keeps his eyes shut or on the ceiling, trying to just let himself feel good. 

Sometimes at Saltburn Oliver would make Felix lie back and put his mouth on him for hours. He’d keep Felix on the tightrope’s edge of cumming over and over again, lapping at the leaking tip like it was his favorite fucking flavor. If Felix would start to get pushy or impatient Oliver would flash that icy glare up and nip the inside of his thigh cruelly. If Felix kept on being a brat then Oliver would turn him over and spank his arse red, and then go right back to sucking the life out of his cock. And Felix was a brat quite often. 

When Oliver finally did let him cum, only when he was shaking and crying and whimpering please please please Ollie, he’d swallow him down to the back of his throat and moan at just the fucking taste of him. Felix would see stars burst behind his eyes and think, there’s nothing better than this-

Oh shit, he’s thinking about Oliver again. Moving on sucks.

Felix groans and grits his teeth through a perfectly adequate orgasm, and then his stomach turns with all the alcohol and anxiety. 

The boy below him with the dark eyes and lovely tongue piercing wipes his mouth and says, “Qué?”

“Uh- I’m okay,” Felix says, scrubbing the sting out of his eyes. “Um- Uno momento-”

Surely Felix is supposed to reciprocate with his hand or his mouth or something, and he just feels even more sick and guilty at the disappointment on the guy's face. But he seems to take pity on Felix and does up his trousers at least before leaving him to spiral in privacy. 

Felix comes out of the bathroom after his stomach settles and he’s splashed some water on his face, the sounds of several other people hooking-up in the stalls beside him. 

Farleigh is there, conveniently close to the door Felix disappeared into. 

“So how was it?” he shouts over the music, and Felix can feel the headache thumping on his skull. 

He needs another drink, like he wasn’t just fighting the need to empty his guts in the bathroom. 

Felix squints at him and says “Please don’t send people over for me to fuck.”

“It’s called being a wingman Felix,” Farleigh rolls his eyes. “And the correct reaction is thank you.”

Felix rolls his eyes right back and flags down a scantily dressed server. 

“But anyway, was he any good?” Farleigh asks. “Worth me taking a turn on?”

Felix gags as tequila burns down his throat. 

“Naw mate, too weird,” he refuses to answer. “We can’t share hook-ups.”

Tell that to your crazy fucking ex that can’t keep his hands to himself- 

Farleigh does not say that. It would be, with no exaggeration, the end of the fucking world. 

Felix’s world, at least. He’s trying to move on, so Farleigh is here to help. 

The twins were unlucky enough to be born in the late hours of December 24th. Elspeth had tried to hold them in until at least the new year, but it was a futile effort. She was outraged that her babies would be upstaged by anything, but especially by the fucking church and their “sacred traditions” . 

As children the birthday parties were enormous events with treats and entertainment and hundreds of people, and they usually resulted in the kids passed out on a sofa while all the adults kept drinking into the morning hours. 

When Felix and Venetia got older and spent most of the year at boarding school, the family had rededicated the time to holidays and leisure and spending time together. It’s a tradition that Felix learned to appreciate after the moody teen years had subsided, but now it’s just a little suffocating. 

Everyone is walking on glass around him, with placating smiles as they offer any attention or indulgence he might crave. He really just wants to feel normal again. 

After their birthday dinner and a couple drinks and a very decadent cake, Sir James calls Felix out to the back patio for a chat. 

“Come my boy, have a seat,” he says.

The view of the waves crashing on the shore under the starry sky is near picturesque. 

“Is everything alright?” Felix asks as he settles into a reclined adirondack chair. 

His father gives him a quizzical look and says, “Does something need to be wrong to want to have a drink with my son on his birthday?”

An unseen servant comes by and delivers two iced tumblers of scotch on the table between them. 

“Cheers to you,” he says as their glasses clink. 

Felix smiles softly and says, “Thanks dad.”

He tries not to make a face when the alcohol hits his tongue. Surely everyone is just pretending to like scotch, for like, propriety’s sake.

They sit in companionable silence for a while, as the tide comes in and glitters under the moon. It’s nice, Felix feels that horrible knot in his throat starts to loosen. 

“I know we don’t really do this anymore,” Sir James says, pulling a black box out from his jacket pocket. “But I’ve wanted to give you this for a while.”

Presents aren’t really done in there family, besides grand gestures and family heirlooms, as they each can really have anything they desire with a snap of their fingers. 

So Felix takes the box with some confusion, and opens it to see a very tastefully expensive watch glinting up at him. 

“Now it may not be to your style and I certainly don’t expect you to wear it often,” his father explains. “But it would mean something to me for you to have it.”

“Oh,” Felix hums, running his thumb over the shining band. “Was it Grandad’s?”

“No, your grandfather found things like this far too gaudy and impractical,” Sir James chuckles. “That watch was the first thing I bought when I graduated from Oxford, with money that was my own. I was going to save it for the end of next year, but you know I just couldn’t wait. I’m just so proud of you Felix.” 

That knot goes impossibly tight around Felix’s neck again. Guilt swirls around in his gut as he thinks of his terrible grades and binge drinking and sleepless nights hung up on Oliver, so thick and potent that he can’t swallow back the tears in his eyes. 

“You- you don’t have to be proud of me,” comes unbidden out of his mouth. The watch feels so heavy in his hand that Felix has to put it down, or else he might drop it.

His father looks over at him with concern, blinking over his glasses.

“Well of course I do,” he says. “Are you alright?”

And Felix almost tells him about flunking his classes and how he might not graduate and how he's probably not smart enough for Oxford or any university really and how his favorite person in the world ruined his fucking life-

But that would spoil this lovely moment, wouldn’t it? And Felix isn’t selfish enough to take that from his dad. 

“Yes, I’m sorry,” he shakes his head, hoping his face is mostly hidden in the dark. “I’m just a bit out of sorts I suppose. Thank you Dad, this means a lot.”

Sir James looks like he might say something else, but must think better of it. He pats Felix’s arm and gives him a smile. 

That night Venetia and Farleigh want to hit the bars, and even though Felix wants to bury his head into a pillow and cry, he comes along with them.

Not very many places are open on Christmas Eve, but eventually they find a cantina where the drinks pour easy and no one else wants to go home sober either. Him and Venetia try to do 21 shots to celebrate, but by thirteen Farleigh is pouring them water so he doesn’t have to roll them out the door in an hour. 

A pretty local girl with red lips and tattoos on her arms makes eyes at Felix from across the bar. She doesn’t speak english, but that’s fine. Felix takes her back to the beach house and lets her bounce on his cock for as long as she wants. 

With his head tossed back on the bed, Felix lets himself float away. Her cunt is warm and tight and he’s so drunk that putting on a condom was an accomplishment, so who can blame him for feeling good? Even if it’s a shallow sort of goodness that he can only get when he’s half blacked-out. 

He must cum at some point, and hopefully she does too, ‘cause he’s not staying up to keep her company. The last thought he has before sleep takes him under is, See? Moving on is easy-

Felix feels safe and warm and like he’s made of stardust. He’s in a bed that smells like home, with the burning heat of another person all over him. 

“ That’s it ,” they whisper against his skin, kissing over his jaw and down his neck. “ There’s my good boy .”

The jagged pain in his chest is slowly soothed away, like the tide washing over a cliff side. 

“Ollie?” he asks, voice trembling and small. 

It’s so dark, or maybe Felix just can’t open his eyes. 

“ Yeah sweetheart ,” the voice murmurs, the warmth of their mouth playing along his ear. “ I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

Felix slumps back in relief, his head falling back, throat bared like a sacrifice. 

“I missed you,” he whimpers, because he can’t help it. 

Coldness drips down his cheek and Felix starts to wake up-

“ Shh sh sh, it’s okay love, I’m not going anywhere.”

Felix tries to move and finds all his limbs restrained. 

“Ollie,” he says, breath catching. “What’s going on?”

“ It’s alright, don’t worry, I’m gonna take care of you Felix.”

When Felix tries to open his eyes a heavy, calloused palm covers them.  

“ Now don’t do that, I thought you were gonna be good for me?”

“Please let me go,” Felix says, and he can feel his clammy palms scrambling against the bed sheets. “Ollie please-”

“ I did let you go, don’t you remember? But you just keep coming back-”

The voice doesn’t really sound like Oliver anymore, it sounds like the person Felix met in that driveway in Prescot, when everything came crashing down. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m trying, I really am.”

“ It’s okay, it’s not your fault-”

A little bit of light peaks in under his eyelids.

“I just love you so much,” he says, because he might not be able to ever say it again.

“Felix-”

Felix wakes up screaming, with cold chills running down his back and heart hammering against his ribs. Everyone in the beach house is woken by it, and the girl from the bar goes running half-naked out the door. 

Venetia finds him on the floor of his ensuite bathroom, after he’d thankfully pulled on a pair of joggers and jumper, trying to fight off the cold beneath his skin. His back is against the edge of the bathtub and he’s clutching a pillow to his chest as he's trying to stop hyperventilating. 

“Hey,” she says, sitting down beside him. 

Felix just blinks his glassy eyes at the floor. 

She pushes a bottle of water into his hand, and it’s a marvel that he can make his grasp close around it. 

“Drink some of that,” she says, and he obeys. “Go slow, so you don’t choke.”

He chokes anyway, just a bit, drips of water rolling down his chin, but then he swallows a few gulps down and it stops feeling like he’s having a heart attack. 

“I d-don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he gasps as she rubs his back. 

“Right now, or just in general?” she says, in a way that might be mean if it wasn’t so sincere. 

Felix just shrugs and puts his face back into his pillow while trying to breathe like a normal person. 

“Well right now you’re having a panic attack.”

Oh , so that’s why it feels like his lungs are trying to crawl out through his mouth. 

“Well it sucks,” he says miserably. 

“Yeah,” Venetia huffs a sympathetic laugh. “Yeah they do.”

She rubs his back for a while until he settles.

“What about everything else?” he asks, the fabric under his cheek wet from tears. “Why do I feel like shit twenty-four fucking seven?” 

Venetia takes her time answering, like she’s stepping around a minefield. 

“You’re grieving,” is what she settles on.

“I thought that was, like, when somebody dies,” he says. 

It’s you dummy, he thinks. You’re dead. This has all just been one long fucking funeral. 

“Yeah, sort of,” she says, snapping him out of another spiral. “But it’s also if you’ve lost something important. Your brain doesn’t know how to handle it, so it acts like someone’s dead.” 

Felix can still hear that voice in his ear, the one that almost sounds like Oliver.

“What do I do to make it stop?” 

He’d fucking reach into his own chest and yank his heart out, if it meant this would all go away. 

Venetia sighs, like she knows what he’s thinking.

“Mostly you just have to wait, it goes through, like, phases or something.” 

He turns his head to look at her. 

“I did some reading into it, when you left for school,” she explains.

When was the last time his sister read anything that wasn’t a magazine or a Harry Potter book? She must have been really worried about him, and Felix feels bad for it. 

“First it’s denial,” she ticks off with her fingers, and Felix thinks about how it seemed like the whole world turned upside down when Oliver left.

“Then anger,” he remembers his tantrums, breaking furniture, pushing people away, gritting his teeth until they ached.

“Bargaining,” all the calls and texts and useless begging at the sky.

“Depression,” his shit attitude, never wanting to get out of bed, crying over every little thing, yeah, that tracks.

“And then acceptance,” she finishes. “When you let all the other stages run their course, you’ll start to accept the loss and get past it. And it takes some time, but you’ll be okay in the end.”

“What if,” Felix sniffles and wipes his face. “What if I don’t do that?”

Venetia wraps him up in a tight hug and says, “You will Felix, it’s going to be okay. You’re almost there.”

And Felix has to swallow back what he wants to say, because she’s trying so hard to help.

But what he really meant was, What if I don’t want to?

The rest of the holiday is a more relaxed affair. Felix cuts back on the drinking and Farleigh and Venetia don’t go out as often. Most of his time is spent soaking in the sun and lounging about, letting his mind drift far out to sea, where all of his problems don’t exist. 

His mother joins him one morning out on the deck, just as the sun is rising and the tide is coming in. No one else awake. 

“Good morning darling, you’re up early,” she says, kissing the top of his head before she sits down on the beach chair beside his. 

“Good morning Mum,” he responds. “I went to bed right after dinner last night, so I’ve been up for a while.” 

She hums and adjusts her sunglasses as one of the house girls sets two mugs of tea at their table. 

“Well I have a massage scheduled in a bit, if you’d like to join me?”

Felix tries to roll out the twinge in his neck and says, “Thanks, but that’d be a little too naked to be around my mother.”

“ Pshaw, ” Elspeth flaps her wrist at him. “This is why I wanted you to go to grammar school in France, the English are far too prudish for my tastes.”

“Next time,” he concedes with a mirthful smirk. “With like, a curtain between maybe.”

“If you say so darling.”

He watches the waves rush in over the beach until the guilt is bursting out of his chest.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks. “I um- I haven’t figured out how to tell Dad yet.”

Elspeth peers at him over her sunglasses to say, “Now you do know I’m a terrible person to confide in? If you’d like to keep something private, that is.”

Well, at least she’s honest about it.

“Yeah, well he’s going to find out soon anyway,” Felix says, resigned. It’s probably better if she just tells him, Felix won’t have to see the disappointment on his face. “I- I really did poorly at school this year. Like, I failed two really important classes I’ll have to take again, and I don’t think I’ll do any better this semester.”

“Oh, is that all?” she says with a sigh. “You had me worried for a moment, I thought it was something important.”

“It is important Mum,” he says, like he wants her to scold him or something. “I spent all last year fucking around and I can’t understand the lessons and I don’t think I’m even smart enough to go to Oxford-”

I’m not smart enough for anything, he almost says, trying not to cry again. He’s just sad and childish and so fucking gullible. 

“Felix, stop that right now,” his mother says sharply. “I will not hear anyone speak of my son that way, even himself. Understood?”

He nods and pushes back the lump in his throat. 

Elspeth levels a steely look at him and for once acts like a mother. 

“Now, while I firmly believe that further education is a waste of time, you clearly do not. If you insist on attending Oxford it is not a matter of brains or aptitude or whatever, it’s because you want to. For some reason you want to revise Aristotle and take exams or what have you, because you wouldn’t do it otherwise. It’s just the way people are.”

Felix barely skimmed Aristotle and missed half his exams this year, but when he tries to say so she hushes him. 

“What’s more important darling, is that I did not raise you to settle for anything less than you deserve. You could have spent all your days in leisure and luxury and I wouldn’t blame you, but you didn’t. You wanted to go to Oxford, and you wanted to put the work in. So if you want something Felix, then you must go out and get it,” she finishes with a concise snap of her jaw. 

Felix has never seen her focus so intense. 

“What- What if I don’t know what I want?” he asks. 

“Well of course you do,” she almost laughs. “You just think you can’t have it for some reason. Get that out of your head.”

For the first time in a long while Felix doesn’t feel so lost.

You know what you want-

Chapter Text

Chapter ten

At the start of the new semester Felix commits himself to actually trying this time over. He doesn’t skip lectures and turns in most of his homework on time. He actually raises his hand and asks questions in class, even when it makes him sound stupid. He makes Farleigh sit revise with him for tests. 

It’s quite a bit of effort for how little it helps. His law and government grade is barely above water, and whoever invented statistics must just have a personal vendetta against him. He does have one elective class with his old history professor that counts for nothing in his major, but it’s the best marks he gets all year. It’s something, at least. 

By early March Felix can feel the motivation waning. 

You can do this, he tells himself, when all the numbers and statues and referendums make him want to quit. Just get through it. 

Midterms are coming soon, with spring break is on its heels. Felix can feel the time slipping away. 

You know what you want-

Sometimes he lingers outside the library, smoking cigs as the sky turns from gray to black. Or he’ll walk slow up that path to the dorms and stop for a time at that haunting willow tree. He listens in the hallways, watches the shadows in the corners. Just- just in case.

He can only do so much at once though. And it’s not like schoolwork is the one fucking hiding from him. 

Fuck, Oliver- 

You can’t make it easy, can you?

Farleigh invites him out to the pub one night, and even though Felix is trying to only go out on the weekends he ends up caving anyway. But he got a C+ on a stats quiz, and for Felix that is something to celebrate.  

The King’s Arms is packed that night with grubby freshmen and drunken rugby players. Felix knocks back a few pints and buys a round of shots for the table, because he hasn’t been out much lately. The girls are giggly with thank you’s but they’re mostly harmless now. India hasn’t tried to grope him under the table since winter break and Annabelle is on her third new boyfriend in as many weeks. 

“Hey,” Farleigh whispers conspiratorially. “My dealer got me some good shit, you wanna go smoke?”

Felix cringes as he chugs a jaeger bomb and the alcohol rushes into his belly too fast. 

“Ugh- No mate, I’m trying to cut back,” he says. 

Farleigh raises a brow at the array of empty glasses on their table. 

Well, good point, Felix must admit. He’s never been good at moderation. But caring about school is hard, he needs a reward sometimes. 

“Okay,” he gives in easily and leaves a few bills on the table before they slip out the back door. 

They light up a thick joint in the alleyway and three puffs in Felix feels like his head is full of cotton. 

“This shit is like, the shit,” Felix says, his tongue rolling around like marbles in his mouth. 

Farleigh laughs at him and says, “You’re buggin’ the fuck out dude.”

Felix squints and the air looks purple. 

“No I’m not-” he whines. 

“ Shhh , be quiet asshole,” Farleigh says, stubbing out the joint and slipping it back into his pocket. “C’mon, you can have more at the dorms.” 

“Can we get pizza too?” Felix asks, and then he remembers his homework. “And I have an essay I need to work on tonight.”

“I think it’s a little late for that Felix,” Farleigh says, steering him back into the pub. “But I’ll proofread it for you tomorrow. Lemme grab a shot for the road and then we can go.”

“Fine,” Felix says, bouncing in place as Farleigh walks off toward the bar. 

The pub is only more loud and stifling than it was before, and now Felix feels an itch under his skin and anxiety brewing in his gut. He hasn’t been so high in a while, but is weed supposed to make you feel like ants are crawling up your legs or too many people are breathing near you? 

He should ask Farleigh.

Where’d Farleigh go?

Felix takes a sideways step and bumps into some girl who gets all pissy about her drink spilling. 

“S-sorry,” he mumbles and staggers back.

He needs to sit down.

He needs a cigarette.

He needs to finish that essay.

He needs-

Felix turns round and comes face to face with Oliver.

Oliver spends holiday break holed up in his dorm room, the dark and cold of winter leaching into the walls, surrounding him on all sides. His mother begs him to come home, just for a bit, not even for Christmas if he doesn’t want to celebrate, but he turns her down every time.

She’s crying on the phone. He hangs up and sobs harder than he ever has before. 

Truthfully he just can’t get out of bed, hours and hours spent staring at the ceiling. Answering her calls takes nearly all of his effort. 

But he does it anyway, because Felix told him to-

Call your parents, they think you’re fucking dead!

So Oliver spares the bare minimum to prove he’s still alive. He can’t be arsed for much more really. It must be bad if even suicide feels like to much work.

He thought he’d gotten used to the highs and lows. The sharp manic focus that could keep him on edge of mountain tops for weeks, before it dips into that vast empty chasm beneath the earth, and he’s falling, and falling, and falling-   

But this is new. This is worse. 

Leave it to Oliver to miss the plotting and the spite and the bloodthirsty ache, because now that it’s all gone he just left with the guilt.

He thinks about Felix a lot too. It’s not helping. 

This is what you deserve. 

He can feel the fight draining out of him, like it’s slowly spilling out through that hole in his chest.  

You aren’t meant to get better.

The voices are closing in, pecking out his eyes like eager crows.

You’re nothing.

Nothing but lies and violence, just wilting away. 

Felix, is all he hears when everything goes black.

...

But somehow, like the roaches after the atom bomb, Oliver survives. The new semester starts and he drags himself out of hibernation, growling and listless. He’s slipping in his classes, dozing off, missing deadlines, his clever brain atrophied by the all consuming self-pity. 

He doesn’t even have time to follow Felix around anymore, like that was somehow “productive” or “ healthy”. Sometimes he just needed to see him, even from a distance, just to be sure he’s really there. Like it wasn’t all just a trick of the light. 

Now Oliver only goes to class and then straight back to his dorm, waiting for the hours to tick by. He hasn’t seen Felix in weeks, and he’s almost sure now it was all just an illusion. 

You can’t even be happy in your own fucking fantasies, he thinks. How pathetic.

Clearly he’s not going to last much longer, so why bother even trying? What else is there to do? 

He can’t go home. Because home isn’t in Prescot or Oxford or Saltburn, it’s in Felix’s arms, with his face pressed to the slope of his neck, listening to the slow rhythm of his heart. 

The same neck that Oliver wanted to tear into with his teeth. 

The memory makes his blood burn hot.

God, he’s fucked up. Can you still get a voluntary lobotomy in this country? 

One night Oliver is in a fucking bind, because he has a partnered research project due on Monday and the fucking prat that he got paired with hasn’t done shit. A research project that counts for nearly half their grade. 

Finally he has to just text the arsehole-

look either finish your section or give me my notes back and i’ll do it myself  

He spends the next few minutes pacing around his room until his downstairs neighbor beats on the ceiling. 

im at the pub just come get them - The prick responds.

Fuck fuck fuck, Oliver considers beating his head into the wall. 

He doesn’t really need those notes, right? As he skims over his annotations, he can’t even remember writing half of them. In a fit of frustration, he bites into his pillow and screams until his throat is raw. 

Whoever has the dorm below must really hate him. 

Okay, get it the fuck together-

He puts on an oversized hoodie to hide under. 

Just be fast, in and out-

The echo of his steps on the pavement sound like an infantry. 

It’s easy, no one will notice-

Through the frosted windows he can see the place is packed to the gills. 

Maybe Felix isn’t even here-

The air inside of the King’s Arms smells of stale beer and body heat, and with it rushes in all the memories Felix pushing drinks into his mouth, that giddy smile baiting him, just one more Ollie-

With his head down Oliver flicks his eyes up to scan the room. No sign of Felix or Farleigh thankfully, Annabelle and India are here but they look tipsy and occupied by cheeky freshman boys. Oliver shoulders his way past the rugby team and finds his project partner drinking at the corner table with a bunch of his mates. 

With his hands fisted in his pockets Oliver ducks over and says, “Hey, gimme my shit.”

The guys jumps at his sudden appearance, almost spilling his pint down his stupid polo shirt. 

“Jesus Quick, what’s the rush for?” he asks, pawing through his bookbag. “Late for your shift in the fuckin’ bell tower?”

The arseholes around the table laugh and Oliver has just take it. That is, until he can snatch his notebook out of the guy’s hand and turn to leave. 

“And I better get an A on this Quick, or it’s your fuckin’ arse,” his partner calls at his back. 

Oliver shoves his notes into his hoodie pocket and doesn’t answer, making his break toward the door. 

Okay, it’s okay, he tells himself. Just get back-

He dodges around a group of giggly girls and can see the door swinging, just a few meters away.  

And in one wayward step and mumbled “sorry-” Felix is suddenly right in in front of him. 

Fuck. 

They don’t move for a moment, the noise and bustle of the pub fading away around them. Felix blinks a dozen times, his eyes red and dialated and lost. Oliver feels quite the same, his feet stuck in the floor like quicksand, heart thudding in his ears. For once the voices have gone quiet, how fucking convienent-

“Ollie-”

“I hav'ta go-”

Oliver makes a sharp turn for the door.

“What? No- Wait, no Oliver stop-” Felix dashes after him, and in one long stride he grabs hold of his arm. 

Oliver stumbles back and nearly lands on his arse. 

“F-Felix don’t,” he scrambles and tries to yank himself free. “I- I can’t, please-”

It looks like Felix can barely keep himself upright as well, but there's no chance is he letting go now.

“No, no Oliver you have to talk to me,” he says, loud and slurring, breathing hard through his open mouth. “You can’t keep fucking running away from me.”

People around them turn to look. 

“Felix not- not here please?” Oliver tries to squirm away, but Felix grabs him by the front of his hoodie. “Later, I- I promise I will-”

“No you fucking won’t, ” Felix growls and yanks him closer, Oliver pulled up on his toes so they are face to face. “ Stop fucking lying to me!”

There’s a hush over the crowd and Oliver could just melt into the floor. 

“Felix, Felix please-” he says, so soft only he can hear it.

There’s a flicker of something in those dark eyes, something scared and hurt and desperate. Oliver almost gets lost reaching for it. It’s like looking in a mirror. 

“Please calm down,” Oliver whispers, trying to pry Felix fingers off. “We can’t do this-”

“Why not?” Felix shouts, not caring who can hear. “You owe me a fucking explanation!”

Oliver twists and claws at Felix’s arms, the panic setting in. Too many people around. Too much fucked-up bullshit he’s got to face up to. Too much gut-wrenching hurt in Felix’s voice.

“ Let me go,” he says, like it's a warning. 

“No!” Felix says, his voice thick and shaking with hysteria. “Not until you fucking tell me how you could say you don’t want to hurt me, when you broke my fucking heart!”  

Everything goes still and quiet. Felix’s lip wobbles like he might burst out into tears, and something dark and viscous rattles out of Oliver’s brain. He just wants to bite down on that tender flesh and make Felix bleed.

Fine, you fucking brat. You really want to do this?

“You didn’t really love me,” he hisses, and Felix flinches like the venom stings. “You loved who I pretended to be.”

The color drains from Felix’s face and his grip loosens by a fraction in shock.

“Shut up- That’s not-” he stutters.

“I was exactly what you wanted, a fucking charity case to put your cock in,” Oliver says, loosing that delicate thread on his self control. All the buried bitterness and resentment come bubbling up in his chest, and for the first time in a while, he feels alive. “And you fucking fell for it.”

Felix seethes and drags Oliver closer, their noses almost touching.

“No! You-” he says through his teeth. “You’re such a fucking liar-”

“Yeah,” Oliver cuts in, with wicked spite on his tongue. “Did ya’ just figure that out?” 

Like he’s been singed by white hot iron, Felix shoves Oliver back and right into one of the thick wooden pillars that holds up the roof. Oliver hears a sickening crack and goes dizzy as motes of light twirl around his head. 

He staggers, reaching back to touch where his skull burns like it’s been lit on fire, and his hand comes back glistening and red. 

“Jesus, fuck-” Felix gasps at the sight, his hands trembling out in front of him. “Is that- I didn’t mean-”

Felix takes one step forward, reaching out cautiously, and Oliver just can’t help himself. He surges up and plants his fist right in Felix’s beautiful fucking face. 

At least he didn’t bite, Felix is lucky he didn’t loose a couple fingers to Oliver’s teeth. Next time, who knows?

Instead of feeling grateful, or any sort of goddamn self preservation, Felix clutches his bleeding nose and shouts, “You fucking prick-”

“I told you to stay away from me ,” Oliver spits right back, still dizzy and panicked and fucking vicious-

You really want to do this Felix? Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

And before anyone sober or half-decent can step in, Felix lunges and punches Oliver hard in the cheek, snapping his head to one side. Oliver puts his knee in his gut and takes Felix to the ground. 

It’s a bloodbath. 

The barman shouts at them, but he’s drowned out by all the drunken students whistling and laughing and chanting “fight fight fight-” .  

Farleigh comes over to see the coomation, two shots of tequila in his hands. 

Which of those meathead bastards are starting shit now, he thinks. It better be entertaining at least-

“What the fuck?” he says, when he sees Felix and Oliver rolling around on the filthy pub floor, beating the ever loving piss out of each other. 

Someone calls the police.

Farleigh knocks back both shots, one after the other.

A pair of very short-tempered officers end up pulling Oliver and Felix off each other, but not without a good struggle from them both. They get dragged out to the street as students go scattering and the barman yells that they’re banned from the pub. 

It’s not until the slap and cinch of metal around his wrists that Oliver comes out of that violent mania, gasping and confused and fuck his head hurts-

He’s shoved into the backseat of a cop car and nearly topples over when the vertigo hits. The flashing lights and siren fill up his head like smoke, and in the distance he can hear a voice making an awful racket-

“Would you bloody watch it?” Felix says as he is strong armed into the other seat. “Do you even know who my father is-”

“Jesus fucking Christ Felix, shut the fuck up,” pops right out of Oliver’s mouth, because fuck, could you be anymore of a stereotype?

Felix’s head whips around and he spits “You shut the fuck up! This is your fault-”

“I told you to let me go-”

“And then you fucking hit me! I just wanted to talk to you-”

“Yeah, ‘cause that went so bloody fucking well the last time?”

“Fuck you!”

“ Fuck you!”

One of the coppers slams his broad palm on the roof of the car and both boys fall silent.

“Both of you’s knock it the fuck off,” he bellows, climbing into the driver’s seat. “Or lock-up’s gonna be real unpleasant for ya’.”

The officer beside him scoffs as the car pulls away from the curb.

Despite all of his entitled rich kid urges, Felix takes them at their word and bites his tongue, still shaking with rage. Oliver deflates beside him, head lolling back to thump against the window. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, as it hits him all at once. 

At his side, Felix squints at him in the low light. 

“Are you still bleeding?” he asks, the buzz of booze and weed and adrenaline slowly wearing off.

Oliver ducks away from him and his head spins like a fucking carnival ride. There’s a river of blood running down his neck and back.  

“I’m fine,” he says. He’s not fine.  

Felix rolls his eyes and huffs a wet, painful sound. 

“I think you broke my nose,” he mutters, with the gall to sound uppity about it. 

“It’s not broken,” Oliver grumbles, trying to ignore Felix’s spoiled bullshit. He’s not doing a very good job of it. 

“How would you know?”

“‘Cause you wouldn’t have to fucking think about it if it was.”

One of the cops up front cracks a smile. 

“So’s this a domestic dispute?”

“ No-” Felix and Oliver say at the exact same time. 

The cop cackles and says “Really? ‘Cause I haven’t heard bitching like this since I lived with my parents.” 

The two officers laugh at their pissy little scowls in the rearview mirror.

In due time Felix and Oliver are standing under the flickering fluorescent lights of an ugly grey jailhouse.

“Now are you two gonna play nice?” the officer asks as he signs them over into custody. “Or do the cuffs need to stay on?”

They both mutter agreements and their hands are released, and then they get patted-down swiftly before they are told to empty their pockets. A meager collection of wallets, keys, cigarettes and lighters, and a tattered book of english notes are collected by a tired chap behind a glass barrier. A nightguard leads them back into the dim confines of a holding cell, with a few drunkards and petty criminals. 

“I thought we were supposed to get a phone call,” Felix says, when the officer locks them in. 

Oliver just has to roll his eyes, even though it makes his headache worse.

“This isn’t a goddamn film Felix,” he says, dropping down onto a bench in the corner, as far away from everyone else as he can manage. “You can call your posh fucking lawyer in the morning.”

Felix’s face twists up with an angry sort of embarrassment, but he just grumbles, “Whatever.”

My bad for never being arrested before, he thinks, and then the severity of the situation seems to catch up to him. Fuck, Mum and Dad are going to have a fucking conniption. 

After a moment of standing around like an idiot, he goes to sit beside Oliver. Not because he wants to or anything. It’s just- well, better than the other options.

The electric buzz of the lights is a special sort of torture, especially accompanied by the tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall and the snoring of some passed out drunk across the way. 

Now that everything has settled, the absurdity of it all swirls in Felix’s head. Seeing Oliver for the first time in months, only to get bated into fucking schoolyard fight that got them fucking arrested. On a bloody Thursday night of all times. 

You loved who I pretended to be, Oliver said, and even the thought of it is like another knife right in Felix’s chest.

He cringes at the pain, and then even more of it blossoms across his face. Nevermind his heart, Oliver really fucked up his nose. I t better not be broken, Felix thinks, the taste of half-dried blood sticking to his lips. His side hurts too, and his shoulder from when they hit the floor. And are those scratches on his inner arm? Or is a fucking bite mark?

A glance over at Oliver reminds Felix of how hard he hit him back. There’s an ugly bruise already turning blue on his cheek, and by tomorrow it will probably be a full blown black eye. He must have hit the ground hard too, because one of his knees buckled when they were pulled out of the cop car. And that fucking gash on his head must be wretched- 

“Such fucking bullshit,” Oliver mumbles under his breath, his heavy head tilted back against the cold stone wall. 

Felix has to agree. But he’s too petty to say so out loud.

“Well you could’ve just talked to me like a fucking adult,” he sneers, like he’s just begging to start this argument all over again. 

Maybe he is. This is the first time Oliver has talked to him in so long, and now there’s no dark alley to escape into.

Oliver grits his teeth and tries to resist, but he’s dizzy and exhausted and so fucking pissed-

“And you could have fucking listened to me,” he says sharply.

I fucking told you. I tried so fucking hard to stay away. Why can’t you just fucking do what you’re told?

“I told you I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Every minute away from Felix was like being boiled alive, the flesh rending from his bones, bit by agonizing bit. But he did it for Felix , to keep him safe, to let him be happy, because Oliver would fucking ruin him-

But then Felix comes and spits in the face of all that work and sacrifice, because he’s too spoiled to know that some toys aren’t meant to be played with. 

Oliver is starting to sink, the shadows around his vision closing in. Perhaps he hit his head harder then he thought. 

“Oh, so this is my fault?” Felix says incredulously, shocking Oliver back into focus. “Or is it because you keep running away from your fucking problems.”

You don’t have any fucking clue what my problems are, Oliver could almost laugh, if it didn’t make him nauseous. If only he could outrun them. 

“You told me to leave, what more did you want?” he says, with a shrug that sends pain rushing down his arm. 

That day in Prescot is still the nightmare that stands over Oliver in the night when he can’t move. And then everything that follows is a blur of memories that feel like someone else was in his body. 

I think you need to leave tomorrow, Felix said, and it fucking shattered him. Oliver left with all the pieces he could pick off the floor, but surely, he left some behind. 

I tried, he wants to say. He wants to cry and scream until Felix understands-

I tried to fucking hard.

There’s that darkness, creeping in again. Like it means to keep him this time.

“You know that wasn’t what I meant,” Felix mumbles, and Oliver has to blink himself back from the brink. 

When he looks up Felix has his hands in his lap, fidgeting like he does when he wants a cigarette, but he’s looking right back at Oliver. His eyes are like a deep dark well, echoing back at Oliver. 

“And you knew I was fucking worried about you,” Felix says, more sure of himself now. “After everything, you don’t think you owed me a fucking call back?”

The heavy pendulum of guilt swings in the pit of Oliver’s stomach, making his throat go tight.

“Felix-” he says softly, like a safeword or a lullaby. 

Please, he begs silently. Don’t make me do this-

“Stop it,” Felix snaps when he doesn’t have an answer for himself. “Don’t do the fucking mind games shit. I want the truth Oliver.”

Maybe the darkness isn’t so bad. Oliver would love to be swallowed by the floor and never emerge again. Why hasn’t he just fucking bled out already?

But Felix is there, unflinching and serious, hardened in a way that steals nothing away from his beauty but speaks so much to his resilience. Oliver put him through the fucking ringer, but Felix never gave in. 

Oliver thinks of all the calls and texts and searching glances. Thinks of the way Felix gripped his arm, like he was terrified to let Oliver slip through his fingers. Felix could have anything he wants, just a snap of his fingers and it would appear, everything except-

He fought tooth and bloody nail to just get Oliver to talk to him. So fuck it, he’ll talk. Felix fucking earned it. Oliver never could deny him much, no matter how he tried. 

“Fine,” he says with a heaving breath. “The truth is that I’m not fucking good for you Felix. I lied and bullshitted my way into your fucking head, and made you think you loved me. It was all fucking fake.”

Felix looks like he was bracing himself to hear it, hands clenched and shoulders tight, and still it hits him harder than any fist could. Oliver has to look at the floor. 

The little diorama he spent so much time and effort making comes unglued. The set was someone else’s home, full of things Oliver tainted with his touch, and the pretty paperdoll at the center was never as good as the real thing. It was nice to look at though, when everything else was grey and empty.

He’ll miss it dearly, being able to pretend that things were good. That he was happy, even if was just for show. Oliver won’t let himself cry in a fucking drunktank at eleven p.m., but it’s a struggle holding it back. 

“No,” Felix whispers. “That’s not fair.” 

Yeah, Oliver thinks. Tell me about it.

When he looks up again, Felix is teary-eyed and angry, but not for the reasons Oliver thinks he would be.  

“You-” He says, and then stops. 

You liar, you fraud, you worthless fucking wretch, Oliver’s heard them all before, battering around in his own head. 

“You don’t get to decide whats good for me,” Felix says instead, when he’s found the words. Oliver goes to interject but Felix doesn’t give him the chance. The unbridled indignation rolls off him in waves as he speaks. “And you absolutely don’t get to fucking tell me how I feel. Everyone treats me like I'm a fucking child and I'm sick of it. And you can pretend to be so fucking above it all now, but even you have to fucking admit that even your not that good of a liar Oliver. So look me in the eye and tell me what we had was fake, you fucking arsehole. Tell me you didn’t really love me. ”

For once all the little voices that plague his mind go silent, and Oliver doesn’t know what to do with all the space. What’s left when they’re gone? He feels like the ground slip out from under him.

“I-” He stutters. “That’s not what I said.”

And fuck, it’s the truth. 

Felix watches his face, searching for something, and he must find it.

“Okay,” he says in a rush of air, his shoulders dropping an inch. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Oliver wants to laugh, but if he does he’ll cry, ‘cause that was like pulling fucking teeth.

“Can we have a break,” he asks, an exhausted humor bleeding into his voice. “Before you wrench another confession out of me officer?”

Felix laughs a bit, and then cries a bit too. 

“Sure,” he says, and knocks his knee against Oliver’s. 

It’s just a little touch, barely anything at all, and still it sends sparks all through Oliver. It’s so very Felix, those little touches, just a reminder that he’s there. No one’s ever touched Oliver like Felix does, like he’s a real person , and fuck, did he miss it. 

“How’s your head?” Felix asks, when Oliver starts to sway to one side. 

Oliver catches himself before he topples over, and then he can’t help but chuckle. 

“I’ve heard good things,” he quips.

It takes Felix a second to get it. 

“ Ollie ,” he rolls his eyes. “C’mon let me see, that’s a lot of blood.”

“Head wounds bleed a lot,” Oliver says, wiping his bloody hands off on his trousers. “I’m fine.”

Felix makes a face and says, “I don’t want to know why you know that.”

It takes some prodding but Oliver finally bends his neck and let’s Felix have a look. The choked-off noise he makes is not a good prognosis. There’s a two inch gash running up the ridge of his skull, blood weeping slow and steady from it. 

“ Fuck mate, ” Felix says, nearly green. “You- you need to go to the hospital, like, now-”

“I’m fine,” Oliver puts his head up again and the rush almost makes him vomit. 

“No, Oliver, you really aren’t,” Felix insists. “We should tell somebody-”

He looks down the hall they came from, like he’s just about to call out to the nightguard. 

Oliver tugs him back by his collar. 

“Felix, no,” he hisses, eyes darting around to the people that might overhear. “I don’t want a fucking medical exam here, do you understand?”

There’s at least two things that could go very wrong with that. Oliver’s not going to test his luck.  

Besides, it can’t be that bad. He’s still conscious, isn’t he?

Felix is still worried, but he nods and swallows back the concern for now. 

The next time Oliver almost hits the floor, Felix catches him. 

Oliver gets his balance back and blinks up at him in the terrible light. 

“Lemme see your face,” he says.

Already the bloodied arch of Felix’s nose is turning dark violet, and he tries to dodge Oliver’s scrutiny. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “Don’t worry about it.”

Without thinking Oliver takes him by the chin and makes Felix turn his head. 

“C’mon,” he murmurs. “I thought we were playing doctor?” 

The red in Felix’s face must be just bruises waiting to bloom. Surely. 

He lets Oliver look at his nose from different angles, rough but steady hands turning his head each way. When he runs the very lightest touch over the bridge of his nose, Felix can’t help but flinch. 

“Quit making that face,” Oliver hums. “Well, it’s not broken, but it won’t be pretty tomorrow.”

He’s still holding Felix’s face in his hands. 

“I think I’ll survive,” Felix says with a tired half-smile. 

Oliver runs a thumb over the crest of his cheekbone. 

“God willing,” he mumbles. 

No one knows who leans in first, but a second later they are kissing, the taste of blood spreading between their lips.

Chapter Text

Chapter eleven

As Farleigh steps into the local police station nursing a needle-sharp irritation headache, he thinks, well this couldn’t get any worse. 

He’s immediately proven wrong when he sees Felix and Oliver in a holding cell, trying to eat each other’s faces.

“Are you fucking serious ?” he shouts, voice bouncing off the cement walls. 

They jump apart then, their mouths painted red with blood and spit, fucking disgusting. Oliver licks his lips when he thinks no one is looking. Some jittering meth head in the corner complains about the show being over. 

“Hey,” is all Felix has to say for himself, still slightly drunk and dazed. 

“Hurry up,” Farleigh says, rubbing circles into his temples. The shit I fucking put up with. “I paid the fine and the cab’s waiting.” 

The nightguard unlocks the cell and gestures to Felix, telling him to collect his things at the front and get lost. 

Felix gets to his feet and says, “Wait, Oliver too.”

“What?” Farleigh asks, incredulous. “Fuck no-”

“It’s my fucking money Farleigh,” Felix cuts him off, with a spiteful edge to his usual flippancy. “Just pay the fucking bill.” 

Oliver’s eyes dash back and forth between them, like he’s having trouble following. Why is everyone so fucking loud? It feels like his brain is getting kicked around like a football. 

That’s probably the head injury. 

Oh yeah, he’d almost forgotten. The taste of Felix on his tongue is so distracting

“Ollie, c’mon,” Felix tugs on his sleeve and Oliver has to put all his energy into not falling face first to the floor. 

One step at a time, he tells himself. He can’t think about the heat of Felix’s grasp or the furious scowl on Farleigh’s face. 

The cold night air helps a bit, snapping his eyes up and alert again, blinking under the streetlamps, smearing blood all over his english notebook. Felix and Farleigh are having some kind of hushed argument at the curb that he can only catch snippets of. 

“I can’t fucking believe you-”

“Will you just relax, it wasn’t a big deal-”

“Really? I had to bail you out-”

“Yeah and I don’t want to fucking talk about it right now-”

Oliver sees the bruises on Felix’s face and remembers the awful, satisfying crack of his fist on that pretty face. It swirls up inside him, hot and thick and bittersweet. The blood on his lips is dry and flaking, and he savors it like a delicacy.

More, his belly aches for it. 

He’s like an addict about to relapse. 

The need to flee strikes him then, while Felix is distracted, when he might just get away with it. Oliver turns and almost runs headlong into a telephone pole. 

“Ollie?” Felix catches him by the wrist. “What are you doing?”

“I- I-,” Oliver stutters, delirious and right on the fucking edge- “I’m gonna walk back to campus.”

He takes a staggered step back and nearly pulls Felix off his feet.

“What? No the car’s waiting,” he explains, trying to blink the fog out of his eyes. “Ignore Farleigh, he’s just being an arsehole-”

“Excuse you?” Farleigh sneers.

When Felix turns to shush him, Oliver slips out of his grasp before the temptation to dig his nails in gets too great. 

“I- I’ve gotta go,” Oliver says, even though his feet feel like cement blocks. 

Felix’s head snaps around, and he looks fucking gutted-

“No, no- I just,” he searches for the words but finds his tongue heavy and dumb in his mouth. “I can’t keep chasing you Oliver, I’m going fucking mad- please-”

Oliver can’t take his eyes off of him in the milky half-light, his head full of static and gruesome lucid dreams. He wipes his face with his sleeve, not knowing if it’s blood or tears or drool dripping down his chin. 

I’m not fucking good for you, he had said. Why won’t Felix just believe him?

“I can’t be around you right now,” Oliver forces out of his mouth. “You want the truth? That’s fucking it. I need to go right now. ”

Before I fucking kill you, goes unsaid. But maybe Felix hears it, because he goes still and quiet, like a deer staring down a blinding pair of headlights. 

And fuck, that shouldn’t get Oliver all hot and bothered. He has to get away. What the actual fuck is wrong with you?

Oliver is halfway down the block before Felix calls after him, “Are you going to be okay? I mean- you’re not gonna do anything, right?”

What a lovely reminder of all the dirty secrets Felix has dug up out of the ground. Oliver almost turns back around. 

“What are you talking about?” Farleigh asks, but no one answers. 

“I’m fine,” Oliver says, just loud enough for them to hear. He’s not fine, but he’s more likely to hurt somebody else than himself tonight. 

“Can we talk later?” Felix calls back, and if he wasn’t so sincerely worried Oliver would think it was bait. “When you’re feeling better?”

Someone in the counsel flats above yells at him to “ shut up, it’s bloody midnight-”

Oliver shouldn’t answer, but there’s a stubborn tug in his chest, that little string that pulls him back to Felix every time he tries to stay away. 

“Yeah,” he says, and it’s a marvel that Felix can hear him. “I- I’ll text you. I just need some time.”

Just go, Oliver tells himself. The bounce of his steps on the pavement makes his head bobble painfully. Just get out of here-

“And you really should go to the hospital-”

“Felix just fucking go! I’ll be alright.”

Between one streetlamp and the next, Oliver disappears, the hazy white lights like a trail through the dark city. 

“What was all that about?” Farleigh asks, more confused than annoyed now. 

Felix holds his own head in his hands, as if it might just roll right off his shoulders. 

“It’s complicated,” he mumbles and sniffles back some tears. Fuck, his nose hurts. Oliver sure has a mean right hook. 

“C’mon, let's just get back to school,” Farleigh leads Felix by the shoulder into the car. 

The cabby is none too pleased with them, but the meter’s been running this whole time, so he can keep those complaints to himself. 

When the car moves Felix feels a bit seasick and drops his head onto Farleigh’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

Farleigh rolls his eyes but doesn’t shove him off. 

“It’s alright. Just don’t bleed on me, this is a nice jacket.”

Felix doesn’t really sleep that night. He mostly just lies about in bed and dozes, until he rolls over onto his face and the pain shocks him back awake. In the morning he looks in the mirror and almost vomits. 

Those bruises aren’t going away anytime soon. No way is he going to class today. He looks like the little girl who turned into a blueberry in that old children’s book. 

Besides, the gossip from the pub fight would be intolerable. Already there’s a dozen messages on his phone that he doesn’t want to read. None from Oliver yet, and he’s trying not to cry about it. 

Just wait, Felix thinks. He said he needed some time. 

He’s so sick of fucking waiting-

Maybe it was just the punch-drunk delirium, but Felix really thought they had a breakthrough in that filthy jail cell. He remembers the way that Oliver squirmed, like the truth had to be twisted out of him by the very root, but it was there. 

And then after, there was just the smallest, almost invisible change. Something about his shoulders didn’t slump so low, his grasp wasn’t so desperately tight, his eyes were just a tinge less hauntingly sad. Felix saw it happen, from one fluttering frame of film to the next. So subtle that someone else would miss it, but not him, and it was as if his heart started beating again. 

He wonders if Oliver could feel it too.

Who are you Oliver Quick? Felix asks his reflection. 

Across the room his phone buzzes on his desk and Felix throws himself toward it. 

On the screen isn’t Oliver’s name, but some unknown number glinting back at him. Felix swallows back his disappointment and puts the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” he says, voice thick with groggy. 

“Felix?” a woman’s kind, familiar voice asks. “Is that you, dear?” 

“Yes, um-” Felix prods around in his memory for a clue, but his brain is made of mush right now. 

“Someone from your household gave us this number,” she says. “This is Oliver’s mum.” 

“Oh-” Felix says, and then his blood turns to ice in his veins. 

Oh no. No no no no-

He should never have let Oliver walk away last night. 

“What’s happened?” he asks, breath caught in his throat. “Is he- Tell me he didn’t-”

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” Paula asks with genuine concern. 

It’s all my fault, he thinks. I’m sorry.

“Is- Is Oliver alright?” he asks desperately, chest heaving with the effort. 

“Well, I think so?” she says. “I just spoke to him a moment ago.”

The tangle of guilt and fear and grief dislodges from his throat and Felix can breathe again. 

“Oh- Fuck, really?” he asks, and then regrets his language immediately. “I mean- sorry-”

“It’s alright,” she says calmly. “Take a breath.”

Felix drops to his arse on the bed, relief and embarrassment sweeping over him. 

“Sorry. I’m fine, really,” he says, trying to quell the panic attack that almost just tore him in two. “I thought this was like, a bad news kind of call.”

He sounds so dumb and childish, but Oliver’s mum is so nice when she says, “Oh sweetheart, you sound scared to death. I’m sorry I made you worry.”

“It’s okay,” he says hastily. “I- I overreacted, I just had a long night.”

“Well I’m sorry to call on a school day, I just wanted to ask you about something,” she explains. “Early this morning, Oliver’s father and I got a courtesy call that Oliver went to an a&e clinic in Oxford late last night. The nurse there said he was treated for a minor head injury, and was discharged a few hours ago. Do you know anything about that?”

Felix has to really work to process all of that at once, most of all that Oliver actually did go to the hospital. 

“Oh, yeah- Yes, I’m glad he saw a doctor,” Felix says. 

“Do you know what happened? I called and he said he was fine, but- you know Oliver. He has been answering his phone more though, which is a blessing. But he didn’t seem to want to talk about it.”

“Um- Well, it was kind of my fault,” Felix says without thinking about how bad that sounds. “I mean- I didn’t do it on purpose. We got in a bit of a spat at the pub and Oliver hit his head. I’m very sorry. It got out of hand, but I really didn’t mean to hurt him.”

The line goes silent for a moment and Felix cringes. 

Great bloody job idiot, he surely sounds like some drunk, abusive maniac. 

“Are you alright Felix?” she asks, when he’s in the midst of wallowing in his own vitriol. 

“Me, uh- I’m fine?”

“I’ve just never known Oliver not to hit back,” she says, like she already knows his face is four shades of violet. 

“Oh, well-” he thinks about lying, for her sake, but that’s not very fair. She already puts up with too much dishonesty. “Yeah, he got me pretty good.”

He tries to laugh about it. She does not.

“I’m sorry Felix,” she says.

“It’s alright,” he says again. “I think we needed it, really. We’re going to talk later, it was just a bad night.” 

Paula makes a sympathetic noise and Felix feels it deep in his chest. 

They are going to talk later, right? Oliver wouldn’t lie to him again. 

Felix is such a fucking fool. 

“Can- can I ask you something?” he says, fighting back an earthshaking sob. 

She doesn’t hesitate, “Of course. What is it Felix?”

“Do you know-” he almost hangs up. “Do you know why Oliver’s like this?”

It feels like just the height of impoliteness to ask a mother, what the fuck is wrong with your child? But Felix just has to know. 

She takes a long time to answer. Felix can almost see her, beside the landline in her homey little cottage kitchen, cup of tea going cold on the table, worry etched permanently into her face. 

“Felix, I’m sorry but- I really don’t,” she whispers, and his heart breaks for her. “I used to think that a better mother would know, but the doctors said so many things and nothing ever stuck. I don’t think even Oliver could tell you, even if he wanted to.”

Felix knows he should say something. That he’s sorry for asking. That he didn’t mean to upset her. That she is good mother because she’s still trying, despite how fucking hard Oliver makes it. The lump in his throat won’t let the words out. 

“But what I do know,” she takes a troubled breath, “is that for as long as I can remember, even when he was just a wee little thing, Oliver has just never been happy . And I think that does something to a person. It’s just- not how we’re meant to live, you know?”

Felix feels like a heavy stone, sinking to the bottom of the ocean. 

“Yeah,” he chokes out. “I know what you mean.”

Over the phone she sniffles and tries to sound less sad, “When he started spending so much time with you, he really didn’t say much, but he sounded different. For the first time, I really thought he might be getting better.”

The summer sun shines down on Felix’s memory, Oliver splayed out beside him, bare skin glowing under the hazy light, tall golden grass swaying with the breeze, adoring blue eyes staring up at him.

“What are you looking at?” Felix asked, head full of heat and sex and love.

“You,” Oliver answered, the edge of his mouth curling, as if to say what else is there?

That’s the Oliver that Felix knew, and he’s been fooled so many times before, but is it naive to think that’s not the kind of thing you can fake-

“Felix? Are you still there?”

“Huh?” he comes back to the present like he’s rising from the dead. “Um- sorry. Got kind of lost for a moment.”

“It’s alright dear,” she said. “I won’t keep you much longer. I just wanted to thank you again for looking out for my boy, even when he causes you such trouble.” 

“Don’t worry, I’d rather have trouble than nothing at all,” he tries to joke, even if it’s tasteless. “If anything comes up, call me please?” 

“Will do, have a good day dear. I hope things are going well for you.”

She’s so nice. His own mother would find her dreadfully dull, but Felix likes her. 

“You too. Goodbye-”

The call ends and Felix flops back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling for a few hours. 

  Who the fuck are you Oliver Quick?

It’s not until the next day that Oliver finally texts him. Felix just is leaving his last lecture and almost drops his books and laptop when the notification lights up his phone. 

i’m behind the library if you still want to talk 

Felix has to juggle all of his shit to under one arm so he can respond, dodging past people in the halls and taking the stairs two at a time. By the time his fingers hit the keys Oliver has already sent a few more messages. 

if you don’t thats alright

sorry to bother you

and sorry i fucked your face up

Jesus Oliver, Felix could almost laugh. At least he’s not the only one spiraling. 

on my way he responds. 

You better still fucking be there, he doesn’t say. It sounds a little too threatening. 

As he crosses campus a few people try to catch his attention, girls wanting to coo over his bruises, blokes wanting to hear first hand about the fight. Felix waves them all off with an air of get the fuck out of my way. 

The pavement path around the library leads to a neatly kept little terrace, with holly bushes and birds fluttering in the trees. And thankfully Oliver is still there, sitting on the stoop of the back staircase, smoking a cigarette, tapping an anxious rhythm on his knee. 

Oliver doesn’t look up, but he knows Felix is there. And Felix knows that Oliver knows he’s there. And Oliver knows that Felix knows that- fuck this fucking two moves ahead bullshit. Felix doesn’t even know how to play chess. 

“Hey,” he says, sitting down beside him, a perfectly respectable arms-length away. It feels like a thousand mile trench. 

“Hey,” Oliver repeats, offering his pack of cigs across the gap. When he moves Felix can see the far ridge of his cheekbone is dark blue and swollen, and he tries not to stare as he takes a cigarette. 

Smoke fills his lungs and really doesn’t make Felix feel any better, but at least it gives him a moment to put his thoughts together. 

“Long time no see,” is the terribly clever thing his brain comes up with, and Felix almost crushes the burning fag into his hand.

Stupid, he berates himself. This is exactly why you should have learned to play chess. 

But the absurdity of it makes Oliver snort and he finally looks at Felix, brows high on his forehead as if to say are you serious? And maybe it’s worth it to be stupid sometimes. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Oliver agrees, stubbing his cig out underneath his shoe. 

Felix takes another drag, just to keep his hands busy. 

“So I heard you went to a&e.”

Oliver tenses up and Felix holds his breath. 

“Mhm,” he hums after a moment. Obviously he knows how Felix found that out, but if he’s upset about it he doesn’t say so. 

“Did you get stitches?”

“A couple.”

Felix imagines Oliver in a bright white emergency room, head bent over as a needle passes through his skin, grinding his teeth at the pain. It makes him feel vaguely sick and so very lonely.

“I would have held your hand,” he mumbles. “If you had let me come with, that is.”

“Felix,” Oliver huffs like he’s exhausted. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“Says who?” Felix scoffs, and he’s only half pretending to be so petty. “The guy who lied to me our whole relationship? Why would I fucking listen to him?”

Oliver flinches like he’s been socked in the stomach. Felix feels somehow even worse. 

After a moment Oliver hangs his head and mutters to the ground, “A better question is why would you even want to be near him at all?” 

“Because I love him,” Felix says, without a second thought. “It’s a thankless fucking job, but it’s mine goddammit.” 

“You shouldn’t,” Oliver says, in a way that could be laughing or sobbing. Felix can’t tell. “You should fucking hate me.” 

“Well sometimes I do. But fuck Ollie, I still love you,” comes tumbling out of Felix’s mouth as he’s struck by that same sort of deranged, miserable humor. “What’s that thing Farleigh says? I contain multitudes?” 

“That’s a Walt Whitman quote,” Oliver says, dragging his palms over his eyes. “Don’t give Farleigh that kind of credit.”

Felix can’t help himself but to poke Oliver in the leg. 

“Nerd.”

He can’t see it, because Oliver’s got his face in his hands,but Felix thinks he might be smiling. Maybe just for a minute. The thought does something to Felix, like a drink of cold water in the desert. 

That is, until Oliver says, “Sometimes I hate you too.”

Felix bites too hard on his thumb nail and it makes him jump. Hastily he pulls his fingers out of his mouth, he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

“But you love me?” he asks tentatively. 

Oliver finally puts his head up and levels his gaze at Felix again. His eyes are red and glassy, with a special sort of sadness that Felix can’t look away from.

“Yeah-” Ollie says, burnt to ashes. “I love you so fucking much Felix.”

The wind comes whistling through the trees, and Felix wants to scream right along with it.

“Then if I ask you something, will you promise not to lie to me?” he says instead, before he loses the nerve.

Oliver blinks at him in that way he does when Felix surprises him.

“I can try,” he says, in a way that could be snarky or cruel, if Felix didn’t think Oliver really meant it. 

“When we were together,” he says carefully, so each word can’t be misunderstood, “were you happy?”

Oliver doesn’t answer right away. Felix can almost see the gears turning in his head, eyes far off passed the skyline, hands shaking ever so slightly. This is Oliver just trying to be honest, and Felix wonders if it’s as painful as it looks. 

“When I was with you is the only time I’ve ever been happy,” Oliver finally chokes out, and like that the dam bursts. “ You made me happy Felix. Just being near you, even just being your friend was enough for me. I would have done anything not to lose you. But you would have gotten bored of me eventually-”

That hits Felix like a slap in the face.

“No I-” he tries to cut in.

“Lemme finish,” Oliver snaps, shoulders arched like a feral cat. “This is my personal fucking hell, so you better fucking listen.”

You fucking asked for this, is what he means, and Felix bites his tongue.

“You’re a really good person Felix, and I’m not,” Oliver says with a conviction that won’t be argued with. “I’m nothing fucking special, no one fucking wants me, half the time no one even knows I exist. So I lied to you, and I took advantage of you, and I hurt you , okay? So you don’t have to feel bad for me, it’s my fault. I fucked it up.”

Oliver’s voice cracks at just the last second, like it all finally breaks him. Felix has to look away.

They don’t talk for a while, sitting still and as quiet as they can be as the sky shifts above them. 

“Okay,” Felix says, when he’s stopped stifling his sobs into his fist. “So what do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” Oliver shrugs and wipes his jumper sleeve under his eyes. “I didn’t count on you coming back. I don’t see how I’m worth the effort honestly.”

Felix doesn’t take it on the chin this time. 

“Well maybe I’m not as shallow as you think I am.”

With a heavy breath Oliver says, “I don’t think you’re shallow Felix-” 

“Yeah, but you think I need to be fucking entertained all the bloody time,” Felix states plainly. 

Everyone puts on a show for Felix- Oliver said, and fuck wasn’t it true? 

“And maybe I did before,” Felix admits, because now that he sees it, he can’t pretend like its not fucking embarrassing. “But I don’t want to be like that anymore.”

Oliver doesn’t answer him. 

“And I want to be with you again,” Felix says, because he can’t stop talking. “But like, for real this time.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Felix can see Oliver fold inward like a house of cards.

“What if you don’t like the real thing?” he asks with a voice so small and scared that Felix can hardly recognize it. “No one else does.”

“So what, I just don’t get the chance to find out?” Felix asks, not expecting a real response. “That’s not fair.”

“We can’t just pretend like nothing happened Felix,” Oliver says, and this is one of those times that Felix hates him and loves him.  

“I know,” he says, when the dogfight in his stomach won’t settle. “But I wish we could.”

The library clock chimes above their heads, sending all the birds around scattering up into the sky. 

“I um- I should go,” Oliver mumbles, stiff and skittish as he moves to leave. 

“Do you actually have to be somewhere?” Felix asks flatly, watching Oliver’s back go tense. “Or are you doing that thing where you leave and don’t talk to me for a few months?”

Oliver doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t take another step, stuck in place like his feet are bolted to the ground.

“Ollie,” he says, half angry and half desperate. “If you really want me to leave you alone, I will. But you have to tell me it’s what you want. Not like, what you think is best for me.”

“Felix-”

“So just say it,” Felix demands, gritting his teeth. “If that’s what you want, tell me right now.” 

Lie to me, I dare you. 

Oliver hears him, he really must, because he shutters like he’s been shot right through the chest. 

“Bye Felix,” he says, and nearly runs away. 

Felix waits until he’s far, far out of sight, and then puts his face in his hands and screams. It’s cathartic, at least. That’s what he’ll tell the librarian when she comes out to shush him.  

When his head hits the pillow, Felix opens his eyes into the same forest he’s come to dread like the frigid hand of death. 

Like always, he’s terrified, heartbeat like a air-raid siren in his chest. And he’s running, chasing the light at the horizon, but it never gets any closer. 

That thing is at his back again. Growling, snarling, gnashing its teeth. Felix can feel its breath on his neck.

He’s running and running and running and running and-

And what’s the fucking point anymore?

Felix forces himself to stop, feet skidding over the damp ground, arms flailing for balance. Everything falls still, and he just waits to be eaten alive. 

…

But nothing happens. Felix is absolutely consumed with fear, but still he doesn’t move. Something is behind him, just a hair’s breadth away, but suddenly it doesn’t seem like a monster anymore. 

Shaking, Felix still can’t turn around, so he reaches one hand back, palm up and open, please-

A few calloused fingers curl around his own. They feel very human.

“Ollie?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know. 

“You’ve got to keep going Felix-”

“I know,” he says, breathing hard. “I’m just really fucking tired.”

“...I’m sorry.”

Felix wants to cry, but there’s no time for that now.

“Are you coming with me?” he asks.

Oliver doesn’t answer for a long time. Felix keeps hold of his hand, like it’s a lifeline. 

Who’s saving who? Or maybe they're both just sinking.

“If you want me too,” Oliver says. 

Yes, yes yes a thousand times yes-

So Felix braces himself and takes one more step, and then another, and then another, never letting go of Oliver. It’s not quite so scary anymore. 

That morning, Felix wakes up feeling rested and alive for the first time in a millennia.

Chapter Text

Chapter twelve 

The next week is packed with midterm exams, with the sweet relief of spring break waiting at the end. Farleigh and Venetia are planning an all-out holiday in Monaco, at some exclusive party resort that only celebrities and royalty can get into. When they ask, Felix just says it sounds fun, which isn’t technically a lie. 

Don’t get ahead of yourself, he thinks. One day at a time. 

This could all just blow up in his face. 

Felix is in some kind of post-crisis enlightened inner peace, like the kind yoga teachers talk about. He finishes that essay that made him want to tear his hair out the week before. He revises his notes until the words are stamped into his brain. He goes for a run in the mornings. He even cleans his own dorm room. 

By Thursday night he’s almost crawling the walls, hyping himself up in the mirror.

You’ve got this-

No distractions-

Don’t fuck it up-

The bruises on his face have almost healed, just an ugly shadow across the bridge of his nose. Oliver was right, it wasn’t broken. 

We can’t just pretend like nothing happened-  

Well, surely Oliver can’t be right about everything. 

Earlier that day Felix told Farleigh, “Hey, my gov exam got pushed back to Friday morning.”

Which is true, but it’s also a really good alibi. 

“You’ll still make the flight though, right? We leave at like, noon-”

“Oh, yeah- Probably,” Felix said, feeling a little bad. “If not I can just catch the next one.”

Farleigh looked him up and down.

“You want me to hang back? I don’t mind,” he said, like he very much did mind. 

“No, no don’t worry about it,” Felix laughed with a shake of his head. “You and Vee go have fun, I’ll be there as soon as possible. After I bomb that fucking test I’m sure I’ll be on the first plane out of the country.”

Farleigh smacked his lips skeptically.

“If you say so.”

Venetia texted him later, Farleigh must have told her Felix was acting weird. 

you’re not dogging out right??

Felix is going to owe her a big fucking apology.

no way- just need to wrap up some school shit. pour one out for my grades lol

She didn’t respond after that. Felix lies awake feeling like a bad brother, but it’ll all work out in the end. 

Or maybe it won’t. Maybe this is the worst mistake of his fucking life.

Only one way to find out. 

They’ll have more fun without him anyway, he’s sure of it. Felix was a pain in the arse the whole of last holiday, stroppy and drunk all the way through Christmas. They’ve spent too much time already being his emotional babysitters, he should let them have their fun. 

And Felix needs to do this on his own. His family is wonderful and doting and definitely a little fucked-up, and he loves them, but Felix needs to start standing on his own goddamn feet. He needs to stop letting everyone cater to him. He needs to know what he wants and go fucking get it. 

That night Felix is too wired to sleep so he chain smokes by the window, trying to recite all the prime ministers in the commonwealth. Eventually the names all start to run together, and it just sounds like-

Ollie Ollie Ollie Ollie-

The next morning Felix sits down and takes the worst test of his life. When he goes to turn it in he can’t even look his professor in the eye. It’s a real gut-punch to his ego. 

Fuck, you’re so stupid. Even when he tries is fucking best, it’s just not fucking good enough. 

It’s almost bad enough to make him call a cab to the airport and drown at the bottom of an expensive bottle of whatever he can get his hands on. He still could just make it, could be sitting in a first-class seat beside Farleigh and Venetia within the hour, if he left now.  

No-

Felix knows when he wants, and it’s not that. So he walks the winding path through campus until he gets to that same willow tree where he popped his bike tire last year. And he waits.

That afternoon Oliver leaves the library with an armful of books to keep himself occupied over the break. All of Oxford basically shuts down during the spring holiday, all the students flocking to spanish beaches and affluent parties. Even the nerds and losers and scholarship kids find something better to do than sit in their dorms all week long. 

Not Oliver though, apparently he’s got a begrudging commitment to lying about and feeling sorry for himself. Hopefully it won’t be as bad as winter break, when he didn’t see the sun for almost a whole month. He should at least remember to eat this time, and drink more water than vodka. 

You’re so fucking pathetic, something says, cruel laughter echoing around in his head. 

Yeah, but you’re stuck in here too, he answers back.

The madness is really setting in, isn’t it? Like a sailor out to sea too long, Oliver has forgotten what solid land feels like under his feet. A psychotic break would make spring break more interesting at least. He could be headlining the evening news by Tuesday. 

Mum and Da will be so proud-

And that thought isn’t going to eat him up all night, not at all. 

Campus has already gone silent and stranded, and Oliver tries to appreciate the solitude. It makes feeling lonely seem like more of a circumstance than a personal defect. So what he least expects, coming down the path from the library, is for Felix to appear right in front of him. 

Oliver didn’t even notice anyone around, he must really be slipping. That, or he’s started hallucinating. 

“Hi,” Felix says, standing in the middle of the walkway, under the sloping branches of a willow tree, its ivory white buds just starting to bloom under the early spring sun. 

Oliver blinks up at him and repeats “Hi?”

A warm smile spreads across Felix’s face, beautiful and glimmering in the dappled light. It takes Oliver’s breath away. 

“I’m Felix,” he says, taking a step forward and holding out his hand. “Felix Catton.”  

And social cues have never Oliver’s strong suit, but he’s pretty sure he’s not the one being weird for once.  

“What are you doing?” he asks.

The look on Felix’s face flickers, revealing the unsure glint in his eyes, the slight tremble of his hand, the tension in his shoulders. Oliver catalogs every little anxious tick, and then in an instant Felix has hidden them again behind that easy charm and pretty face. 

“Oh, I just wanted to introduce myself,” he says with a casual shrug, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve seen you around campus and you seem interesting. So I wanted to meet you.”

Alarm bells are kicking off in Oliver’s head, loud and jarring as his thoughts scrabble around, searching for a foothold of sense in this conversation. He’s absolutely flummoxed, with no plans or contingencies or angles to twist around. And Felix is just there, watching him squirm with the uncertainty, waiting-

We can’t just pretend like nothing happened, Oliver hears echo in his memory.

Oh-

“I thought I was the one who hit his head?” he asks, and it’s a little mean. 

Leave it to Felix to knock all the pieces off the chessboard, and then decide to make up his own rules. And he thinks Oliver is the one playing mind games? Please-  

Oliver should not find it so annoyingly endearing. 

To his credit, Felix doesn’t miss a beat.

“I have no idea what you mean,” he says, tilting his head to the side. “But that is quite a shiner you’ve got there. How’d that happen?”

The last bit of that bruise on Oliver’s cheek looks like an ugly purple kiss smudged across his skin. It would heal faster if he would stop prodding at, chasing the sharp and thrilling sting of Felix’s fist. 

“Uh-” Oliver stutters, and then words spill out of his mouth before he can overthink them. “I had a disagreement with some posh tosser at the pub, and it got a bit outta hand.”

Felix tosses his head back and laughs, and Oliver is fucked.

Maybe he does like this game. 

“Sounds about right,” Felix agrees with a wink. “But I’m sure you gave him what for.”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Oliver mumbles, warmth spreading across his face and down his neck.

The banter lulls for just a second, breeze rustling the leaves above their heads. Felix takes a step closer, lip caught between his teeth, looking so nervous and smitten and hopeful-

Don’t, something tells Oliver. You shouldn’t-

He doesn’t listen.

“I’m Oliver,” he says, before he loses the nerve. He takes Felix’s hand in his and gives a poor attempt at a handshake that’s really just an excuse to touch him. “Oliver Quick” 

He can feel Felix’s pulse skip a beat through his fingers.

“Well it’s very nice to meet you Oliver Quick,” he says, sincerity bleeding into every word. He squeezes Oliver’s hand tight and makes no move to let go. “Can I call you Ollie?”

Oliver has to duck his head down, because he must be the most embarrassing shade of red right now. From hand-holding and nicknames for fuck’s sake - Like they’re in fucking primary school or something. 

“If you want,” he says bashfully, his stomach fluttering in a strange but not unpleasant way. 

Felix grins and tilts his head, “Walk with me?” 

Oliver can’t even remember why he put up such a fight before. He never stood a chance. 

“Sure.”

Felix leads them down the stone walkway, shoving his hands in his pockets so he doesn’t fidget too much. Oliver shuffles along beside him, arms crossed over his belly like he’s bracing for a hard and sudden impact.

“So where are you from?” Felix asks, holding his breath.  

Oliver tenses up immediately, like a rabbit with its foot caught in a snare. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, looking vaguely ill. Felix nearly calls it all off.

It almost worked, he thinks, swallowing back the frustrated tears. We were so close-

“Prescot,” Oliver mumbles, just when Felix thought all was lost. 

He’s looking at the ground, taking every breath slow and steady like it’s a practiced skill. 

But he doesn’t run, and he doesn’t refuse, and he doesn’t say Felix this is stupid-

And he doesn’t lie.

“Hm, that’s up north right?” Felix says, feigning cheerful nonchalance while his heartbeat is galloping in his throat. “I’ve never been, what’s it like?”

Oliver stifles a scoff at that. Yeah, it’s a little hypocritical, but Felix isn’t the pathological liar here. 

“Um, normal?” he says, scuffing his trainers on the cobbled pavement. “Just a regular town I guess. ‘Cept everyone talks like this.”

“How charming,” Felix muses, because as much as Oliver doubts it, he actually does like his accent. Especially when it gets all hushed and hoarse and rumbling.

“Fuck off,” Oliver growls, and yeah, Felix loves it .

The next question doesn’t come so easily. Felix almost gives in and settles for good enough-

But he doesn’t. 

“You’re family from there?” Felix asks, ripping the bandage off that sore fucking subject. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Felix can see the flex of Oliver’s jaw, teeth clenched, trying to hold something in. 

Finally he bites out a single word.

“Yeah.” 

Felix shouldn’t push. Felix shouldn’t be doing this at all. It feels like pushing someone with a fear of heights out of a plane. Unethical, is the word he’s thinking of. 

But fuck it, they’re already here. Ethical isn’t really their style anyway. 

“Tell me about them,” he says.

Oliver stops in his tracks. Felix almost trips and busts his chin on the pavement. That's what he gets for jumping without a parachute. 

When he turns, Oliver is leveling an ice cold stare at him, like a challenge, and says, “There’s not much to say.”

Felix should be scared. Felix is scared, of so so many things right now. But he presses on. 

One step at a time- 

Keep moving forward- 

Don’t look back- 

And he’ll drag Oliver kicking and screaming right along with him if he has to. 

“Try me.”

Whatever Oliver expected him to say, it wasn’t that. The frosty demeanor melts off his face and there’s something soft and sad and vulnerable underneath. 

“It’s just um- my Mum and Da, and my older sisters,” Oliver chokes, like he’s pulling sharp pins out of his flesh. “They’re pretty normal, I guess?”

Felix has to resist every screaming urge to take Oliver in his arms and whisper, it’s okay, I’m right here, I’m so proud of you-

“And what about you?” he says instead.

Oliver peeks up miserably from beneath his lashes, feeling like he’s full of holes, blood spilling out around their feet. Still, he endures it, because he owes Felix that much. 

“The same, I suppose,” he starts to babble, feeling like an idiot. “I’m not very interesting all really. Nothin’ special. Boring- ”

Felix has to cut in, before he starts to spiral.

“Now that can’t be true Ollie,” he says.

It’s not true, there’s no fucking doubt in his mind. Felix doesn’t know much in this great wide world, but the one thing he’s sure of is that Oliver Quick is not fucking boring.

Oliver himself seems unconvinced.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he shrugs, shoulders arched up by his ears, like he’s trying to hide in them. 

It’s a real fucking tragedy that Oliver can’t see what Felix sees.  

“Well, I’d like the chance to prove you wrong,” Felix says, trying not to sound as desperate as he feels. “If you’d let me get to know you?”

“Felix-” Oliver mumbles, his voice cracking painfully high and tight, and whatever else he might have said is lost.

“Please Ollie,” Felix asks, blinking back tears, palms sweating in his pockets, heart like a firing squad in his chest. “Just a chance?” 

Please-

Oliver would really do anything for Felix.

“Okay.”

A great weight lifts off Felix’s chest, and everything is right in the world again. 

“Really?” he asks, a grin splitting across his face.  

“ Fuck - Yes, sure,” Oliver huffs, feeling a bit delirious. “Jesus Christ Felix, you look like you’re ‘bout to have a heart attack.” 

You have no idea-

“Yeah, I just might mate,” Felix says, breathless and fucking giddy. “But can I take you out for a pint in the meantime?” 

It sounded smoother in his head, but Oliver still laughs in a fond, adoring sort of way.

“But aren’t you going on holiday?” he asks. “You’re flight-”

And then he stops himself, jaw snapping shut. Felix almost doesn’t catch the slip.

Now how do you know about that? Felix almost asks. Maybe those times he felt someone over his shoulder, it wasn’t always his mind playing tricks on him. 

You sneaky little bastard, Felix shouldn’t be so charmed by it. 

“Nah, I wasn't feeling it,” he says, tossing his head carelessly. Then he bats his eyelashes and muses, “Thought I’d just hang out in the dorms. All by myself…”

“That doesn’t sound very fun,” Oliver says, nearly licking his lips, eyes so intense that Felix feels them burning right through him.

“Well, maybe I just need somebody to keep me company,” he says, because he’s the master of subtlety. 

“That’s awfully presumptuous,” Oliver smirks. “We only just met after all.”

Felix could just kiss him right there, right then.

They are still banned from the King’s Arms, so they walk down the road to some townie pub that the uni students think they’re too good for. It’s pretty stranded in the early afternoon, so Felix and Oliver sit in the back corner, talking about everything and nothing. 

Don’t get your hopes up, Oliver thinks. You’ll ruin him. Just like last time.

Felix reaches across the table and takes Oliver’s hand in his, thumb tracing over the dips of his knuckles.

And Oliver had almost forgotten how it feels to fly so close to the sun. 

What good has thinking ever done for him anyway?

One pint turns into two, and then a couple cigarettes, and somehow Oliver ends up on his back in Felix’s bed, his tongue getting reacquainted with the taste of Felix’s mouth.  

He denied himself this for six fucking months, for what? His fucked-up morals? Decency? Self hatred? What a fucking waste of time-

Their clothes come off in record time. Oliver rips a few threads loose while tugging off his jumper. Felix still has his fucking shoes on when he finally gets his cock out. They’re a mess, grinding like fumbling teenagers, snogging sloppy and uncoordinated, gripping on to every inch of skin they can reach. How they even got back to the dorms is a mystery.  

But when Felix finally, finally, sinks that perfect cock into his cunt, Oliver shatters into a million billion sharp little pieces. His belly aches with the heat and the stretch and the sick fucking need he’s repressed for far too long. All too fast, Felix turns the dying, flickering light inside him into a raging bonfire, burning Oliver to ash.

Their kiss breaks and Oliver takes a breath that sounds more like a sob.

“Hey, Ollie, Ollie-” Felix calls, from what seems like so far away. “Can you look at me sweetheart? Please?”

Oliver feels his eyelids flutter as the tears fall, and Felix is right there, so close that Oliver can feel the very atoms of his skin vibrating against his own. 

When Felix rolls his hips Oliver only cries harder for how good it feels. 

“I’m sorry,” comes unbidden out of his mouth, all the wires in his brain tangled and malfunctioning. They’re barely even fucking and he’s already ruining it. “ I’m so sorry Felix- ”

“ Shh shh, it’s alright,” Felix shushes him, rubbing circles into the dip of Oliver’s waist, where it feels like he’s unraveling. “You don’t need to be sorry Ollie-” 

But he is sorry. For everything. For so many many things that it might split his skull just thinking about them all.  

“I’m not angry, I promise-”

You should be, Oliver wants to say, but if he speaks he’s just going to scream.

“Please just breathe darling-” Felix begs him.

As soon as Oliver swallows a hiccuping breath of air he suddenly doesn’t feel like he’s drowning any more. And when he blinks through the lightheaded fog, he sees that Felix is crying too.

“Are you okay?” Oliver asks, like he's not on the precipice of a full scale meltdown. 

Felix seems wholly unprepared for the question, his face tinged flustered pink, shaking nearly as bad as Oliver is, worry swirling into the dark pools of his eyes.

“Yeah Ollie, I’m okay,” he says softly. “Are you okay?” 

“Mhm,” Oliver sniffles, his chest heaving. “C’mere.” 

He takes Felix’s face in his hands and thumbs the tears away like it’s an act of worship. Felix lays a wayward kiss on the inside of his wrist. 

“You need a minute?” he asks.

Oliver takes another shuddering breath and loops his arms around Felix’s shoulders, pulling him down for a real kiss. 

“No,” he murmurs between their mouths. When he wraps his legs around Felix’s waist his cock slips even deeper inside him. It’s everything. Oliver never intends on letting go again. “Keep going.”

Felix puts one broad palm under Oliver’s back and the other squeezes into the plush give of his thigh, and he holds Oliver closer as they’ve ever been before. 

What started as eager and clumsy and desperate turns to slow and sweet and soothing . Their bodies rock together in this perfect, lovely rhythm that could put the sea to shame. The sounds of sex and snogging fill the air, moans muffled by the need to touch each other at every angle. 

Only when they damn near suffocate do they break apart, and Felix puts his swollen mouth to use on Oliver’s neck, replacing every single love-bite that faded away a lifetime ago. Oliver digs his blunt nails into Felix’s back and tries not to scream each time all his nerves light up with pleasure.

He stifles a groan into Felix’s shoulder and it feels like he might just break in half. His cunt spasms and slick runs in thick rivets down his thighs and onto the bedspread. Forget a puddle, he’s making a fucking ocean. Felix moans and digs his knee’s into mattress and just fucks him harder. 

“C’mon Ollie,” he says, almost too breathless to tease. “No one’s around, I want to fucking hear you.”

“Fuck, fuck Felix, please-” Oliver gasps, the earth shaking under him. 

Felix slips a hand between their sweat soaked bodies and rolls his thumb over Oliver’s swollen dick, playing his body like it’s an instrument and he’s a fucking musical prodigy.

Oliver cums right then, screaming Felix at the sky. The electric rush of pleasure shoots up his spine and sends him soaring right off that cliff’s edge of madness he’s been on for so long. Felix fucks him through the cresting waves, until Oliver is gasping and shaking and seeing colors he didn’t even know existed.  

“Ollie, Ollie Ollie,” Felix moans, chasing his end like he just can’t help himself.

When he cums Oliver can feel the heat of it burning him from the inside out. It's a marvel, a relief even, satiating that craving Oliver has tried so hard to kick. It’s honestly sick how much he likes it, but Oliver doesn’t fucking care. 

They fall into a heap of tangled limbs, breathing hard as the buzzing endorphins start to quiet down and the aftershocks fade. Felix shifts to pull out and roll over, but Oliver doesn’t let him move.

“ Don’t- ” he tries to say, but a knot twists up in his throat. He clutches onto Felix like a lifeline. 

His head and heart and body are all tangled up right now, and if Felix stops touching him, Oliver might not believe he’s ever coming back. He might also cry again. 

But thankfully, Felix understands. He mewls and nuzzles into the soft spot behind Oliver’s jaw and stays there for as long as Oliver needs. It’s no hardship, there’s nowhere else Felix would rather be. 

A while later they fuck again, the discomfort of drying spunk and slick seeming so unimportant in the heat of the moment. After that Felix makes Oliver drink some water because he’s been crying on and off for a few hours now. Then Oliver pushes Felix up against the headboard and bounces in his lap until Felix is the one with tears streaming down his face. And then they go to the adjoining loo to clean up and end up fucking on the floor, making a mess all over again. 

By the time the sky is dark they’re in bed again, a towel thrown over the wet spot because changing the sheets seemed like such a bother. 

Oliver rests his cheek on Felix’s chest, listening to the beat of his heart with that far-off gaze that means he’s turning over troubled thoughts. Felix traces the ridges of his spine and just waits. 

Finally those guildless blue eyes turn up to Felix. 

“Hi,” Oliver whispers, his voice gone all rough and gravelly. 

Felix offers him a tired half-smile and answers, “Hi.”

“My name’s Oliver Quick,” is how his soliloquy begins, and Felix is an enraptured audience. “And- I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.”

He sets his chin on Felix’s sternum and lets out all the thoughts he’s never dared to say out loud.

“For as long as I can remember, everything just seemed pointless. I hated everyone around me, but most of all I hated myself. When I started transitioning, I thought it would fix me. And it helped, it really did. Like, I didn’t want to peel my skin off anymore and I could actually go out in public without having a fucking breakdown. But the stuff in my head didn’t change, and I realized it wasn’t going to. My brain’s just fucking broken or something. So I lie to people, to get what I want, or just- because, I guess? And, um- I think about hurting people sometimes. And when my parents took me to the doctor, I didn’t listen or take my meds. It just made me more angry really, ‘cause I knew it wasn’t going to work. So I kept getting worse, and eventually I thought it’d just be better if- if I wasn’t alive anymore.” 

The feather light touches on Oliver’s back halts for a moment, but Felix doesn’t let anything show on his face. He just listens.

“It didn’t happen that way, obviously,” Oliver says, like he might consider it a personal failure. “I just kept on the way I was, walking through life feeling like a fucking ghost. It didn’t make me happy, but it was easy at least. Easier than putting up a fight anymore, I suppose. And then I saw you- ”

Oliver stumbles there, grasping at something in his memory, but it slips right through his fingers. Then he blinks himself back into the present with a resigned huff of air.  

“You need to understand that I’m not exaggerating when I say this,” he states assertively. “But I am fucking obsessed with you Felix. Every single thought in my head is about you. I just wanted you so fucking bad, I loved you- I still love you- But I knew you wouldn’t love me. No one even likes me, and I don’t fucking blame them. So, I tried to become the kind of person you would love- And well, you know the rest.”

Oliver waits on bated breath for the curtain to drop, because this little game has to end sometime, he’s been spinning on the stage for too long. Surely, any second now Felix will throw him out on his arse or call him a freak or something- 

“So when you say that you want to know the real me,” he spits out, coming apart at the seams, “ this is it, Felix. I’m not worth the fucking time. And I can’t take waiting for you to realize that, so could you just fucking say something- ”

“Ollie- Oliver,” Felix says gently, holding him by his trembling shoulders. “It’s alright-”

Oliver makes a strangled sort of noise and drops his forehead onto Felix’s chest and lets the silence subsume them. It feels like he's just put a hook down his gullet and pulled himself inside out, all of his guts glistening and disgusting and exposed, leaving him hollow. 

"Hey sweetheart," Felix taps him on the burning red nape of his neck. "You still with me?"

God, is there anything worse than being let down gently? He’d rather Felix call up the whitecoats and have him committed. 

"Mhm," Oliver hums, his face tucked into Felix's shoulder, unwilling or unable to move.

Felix makes a fond noise and says with a good humor, "So how much of that was true?"

Oliver feels his breath catch. 

Fairplay, he thinks, feeling a little deranged and very very in love.

"Most of it," he admits after a struggle not to swallow his tongue. It was mostly the truth, he just left some stuff out-

Felix doesn't seem angry though, still holding him, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head where his aching migraine is the worst.

"Would you believe me if I said I still love you?" Felix asks, speaking softly now. 

Are you joking? Oliver could almost laugh. Are you fucking mad?

"Not really," he says, but it sounds wet and ragged and not at all like laughter. 

Felix tilts his chin up with a gentle hand until those watery blue eyes are looking up at him again.

"Well, then I guess I'll have to prove it to you." 

After a brief catnap Felix wakes to the feeling of a lovely warm mouth on his cock. He scrubs his fist over his eyes and peeks down to see Oliver smacking wet kisses along his shaft. 

“I missed you so much,” Oliver murmurs, tonguing at the weeping slit. 

Felix has to laugh. 

“Are you talking to me or my cock?” 

“Huh?” Oliver hums, eyes hazy and dilated as he takes Felix into his mouth. 

“Mmm, fuck- ” Felix moans, his head falling back against the pillow. 

The glint of his phone catches his eye from the nightstand. There’s a dozen messages and missed calls from Farleigh and Venetia, getting progressively drunker and more irate by the hour.

Woops, looks like Felix missed his flight. Better luck next time. 

sorry i can’t find my passport better just stay back you two have fun-

Just as he’s hitting send Oliver swallows his cock as deep as he can take it, the clutch of his throat pulsing around Felix’s cock. His hips buck and Oliver gags and it’s so filthy that every thought goes flying right out of Felix’s pretty head. His phone gets tossed somewhere between the bedframe and the wall, easily forgotten. 

“Jesus Ollie,” Felix groans. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Oliver flashes a sharp look up at him, drool dripping down his spread lips, teeth just barely grazing the head of Felix’s cock. It sends a shiver up Felix’s spine, and more importantly, he likes it. 

“Have at it then,” he says, lying back and letting Oliver eat him alive. “But it’s my turn next.”

After an agonizing and indulgent orgasm spills down Oliver’s throat, Felix needs all of five seconds to recover before he flips their positions. If he’d waited any longer Oliver would have insisted on an encore. 

He shoulders those thick, gorgeous thighs apart and his mouth waters at the sight of that pretty pussy, fucked pink and tender and messy with slick, and the swollen bulge of Oliver’s dick, just begging to be in his mouth. 

Felix smacks a kiss on the jut of his hip, and Oliver brushes the sweaty curls back from his forehead. 

“Did you cum while sucking my cock Ollie?” he asks, trailing his lips over the sopping cleft of his cunt. 

“Maybe,” Oliver grins, sated and relaxed and happy-

“What do you mean maybe?”

“I don’t know, I had other things on my mind.”

Felix giggles like he’s stoned and gives a few kitten licks around Oliver’s dick. Slick is already smeared across his lips and he’s barely even started. 

“Well I hope you’ve got a few more in you,” Felix teases. “‘Cause I’m going to live down here for the next few hours.”

“Hours?”

Felix drags his tongue across his hole and all the way up to his dick, making Oliver shriek. 

“You’re right, let’s make it days.”

Oliver laughs and then throws his head back when Felix wraps his lips around his tender dick. 

“You’re filthy,” he whispers, irreverent, his grip on Felix’s hair going tight. 

This time when Felix moans, it makes Oliver keen and grind against his eager mouth, and it’s everything.

Chapter Text

Chapter thirteen 

“So what do you mean, when you say you’re obsessed with me?” Felix asks with his head resting on Oliver’s stomach, watching the pale morning light crawl across the wall. 

Oliver cards his fingers through Felix’s hair and says, “I just sucked your cock, I’m not gonna stroke your ego too.”

“ Ollie ,” Felix whines, putting on his best puppy-dog eyes. “C’mon, I’m serious.”

The whole room smells like sex and smoke. Their hours are wasted away fucking and snogging and sleeping only when they absolutely have too. They are subsisting almost entirely on cigarettes and tap water and whatever sweets Felix has stashed in his dorm. The bed is filthy with body fluids, and every other flat surface around isn’t much better. They’ve fucked on the floor and over the desk and pushed up against the wardrobe. Their sleep cycles are fucked beyond repair by the constant, ravenous need for each other. Felix doesn’t even know what time it is, because he’d have to turn his eyes away from Oliver to check.  

In the brief moments of rest they still can’t keep their hands off each other. Even now Felix has draped himself over Oliver, getting pet like a spoiled cat. Oliver has one leg hooked over him, his blood hot cunt dripping with the messy evidence of sex and pressed against Felix’s hip. 

They might die here, for lack of food or physical exhaustion or godless hedonism, but Felix never wants to leave. 

“Have you ever heard of Plato's cave? ” Oliver asks, which is just so typical of him. 

“You know I haven’t,” Felix rolls his eyes, and pinches him on the side. 

Oliver tugs his hair in retaliation and Felix thinks about biting him, but that will be far too distracting.

“We took the same philosophy class-”

“ Ollie,” Felix whinges dramatically. “Tell me about the cave. Plato, like, lived in it or something?”

Oliver huffs and taps his fingers across Felix’s scalp.

“No, it’s not a real cave. It’s an allegory. A thought experiment,” he explains. “Imagine there are people chained up in a cave, but they can’t see the outside. They can only see the shadows moving across the wall and that’s all they’ve ever known, so that’s what they think the world is.”

Felix folds his arms under his chin, looking up at Oliver with more focus than he’s ever shown in the classroom. Philosophy had never seemed so interesting, but also he didn’t get to lie in bed naked with the professor. Maybe the ancient Greeks were onto something. 

“Then one day, one of them escapes. When he gets out of the cave, he sees the sun and the sky and the whole world before him. And it’s beautiful, and overwhelming, and it’s just so much more than shadows moving on a wall. So he returns to the cave to rescue everyone else but he gets captured and chained back up. He can’t see in the dark anymore, and all the others laugh at him when he says there’s more to life than this.” Oliver finishes, looking far away into the ceiling. 

Felix waits for a few seconds for more, because it surely can’t end like that, right?”

“Well that’s fucking sad,” he says, and it startles a melancholy laugh out of Oliver. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, rubbing the sting out of his eyes. “Yeah, I would’ve done anything not to go back in the cave.”

And Felix finally gets it.

Oh-

Oliver still has his face hidden in his hands, like he can pretend this conversation isn’t happening. It takes some effort to escape the coiled hold they have on each other, but Felix crawls up the bed and drops down beside him on the pillow. He tugs at his wrists until Oliver finally looks at him with a put-upon glare.

You’re really gonna make me do this? His eyes say. 

Felix knocks their foreheads together. 

You fucking know it, he answers back.

Finally Oliver scrubs that pissy look off his face and huffs a great heave of air.

“You're the light I was running towards Felix,” he says quietly, and Felix can feel every word skim across his cheek. “You're the sun that I didn’t know was there. You’re my whole fucking world. Every minute of the day I’m thinking about you. I followed you around for half of first year and you didn’t even know I was there. I lied about shit to get near you, to get you to be interested in me. I’d say things that I knew would make you feel bad for me. Because when I’m with you, everything is perfect-”

Felix remembers the blistering heat of the summer, and the way that Oliver would look at him like there was nothing else in the world. And it was perfect, until-

“When I’m away from you it feels like fucking torture,” Oliver admits, biting his tongue between words, out of guilt maybe. “I can’t eat and I can’t sleep and I have to keep under control or else I’m gonna set myself on fire or something . ”

And fuck, doesn’t that sound familiar?

“When I see you with other people I wanna hurt them, because you’re mine ,” Oliver growls, edging at that sharp-toothed madness that haunts Felix’s dreams. “It doesn’t help that I’m fucking horny 25 fucking hours a day, like I can’t even bloody think straight with how much I wanna fuck you. When I’m upset I need to be near you. When I’m angry I wanna fucking kill you. And then when I want to kill you I also want to fuck you, and then I’m angry again because I’m going fucking insane.”

That thought puts a confusing cocktail of feelings into Felix belly. Not in an entirely bad way though. 

“So that’s what I mean, when I say I’m obsessed with you,” Oliver finishes, shaking with what Felix now recognizes as deep, deep shame. “It’s not fucking romantic. It’s sick. I’m sick. ”

Yeah, he probably is. Felix thinks it might be contagious. 

“Okay,” he says.

Oliver blinks at him.

“Okay?” he parrots back, his voice rising a pitch. “I just told you I’m a stalker who fantasizes about killing you, and that’s okay? ‘Cause what? The sex is good?”

And Felix can’t help himself but to quip, “Well first of all, you’re really underselling how good the sex is-”

“ Felix-” Oliver growls at him again, and fuck, Felix is too into it.  

But that can wait. Oliver needs to hear him out first.

“I don’t mean okay like it’s fine or anything,” Felix explains. “I just- I guess I don’t care?”

“What?” Oliver says, brow dipping in a deep crease. 

“I mean, I care that you need help and I don’t want you to feel like that Ollie. But, I just don’t care that you’re obsessed with me,” Felix says with an easy certainty. “Because I think I’m a little obsessed with you.”

Felix feels a rush of relief so say it out loud. Oliver looks less than pleased.

“That’s not funny,” he mumbles, sinking into his own shoulders, like Felix is taking the piss or something.

“It’s not meant to be,” Felix says, more serious as he tugs Oliver closer, their mouths almost touching as he speaks. “The last few months have been the worst of my fucking life, and the only thing that kept me going was you. I’m a fucking mess without you. I’m barely fucking functioning Ollie. So if the choices are we be miserable and apart, or we fucking work out our bullshit together, then that’s not a hard decision.”

It’s a pill that seems hard for Oliver to swallow. He fiddles with his hands in the scant space between them, like he’s afraid to touch Felix.

“But- What if I want to hurt you again,” he mumbles miserably. 

And Felix can almost feel those hands on his throat. Can feel the blinding, heart stopping, paralyzing terror of it all. But he’s spent so long feeling scared and stupid and useless and fuck it- Felix isn’t wasting his time standing in one place any more. 

“Um, maybe fucking talk to me first? If that’s never crossed your mind,” he says, a bit hysterical. We could have solved this ages ago you fucking prick-  “Or, Jesus Ollie, next time you want to kill me, just fuck me instead. I won’t complain.” 

He says it so seriously that it shocks Oliver speechless. For a tense second, Felix thinks he might have crossed the line. And then Oliver’s face goes red all the way to his ears and, yeah, Felix would know that look in his eyes anywhere. 

“Felix,” he whines, burring his face in the pillow and squirming with the embarrassing rush of arousal. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

God, they’ve fucked twice in the last hour and Oliver still gets wet like he’s fucking gagging for it. Felix has never been so in love.  

“Too late,” he teases, nipping the warm pink skin along his jaw. “Are you angry at me?”

“No,” Oliver bites, not lifting his head, refusing to acknowledge the wandering touches across his skin. 

Felix pinches him hard on the arse and it makes him jolt.

“How ‘bout now?”

Oliver turns his head over with a scowl but he doesn’t resist when Felix slots their legs together and grinds his cock against his hip.

“Stop it,” Oliver says, a warning that makes Felix’s blood run hot and eager. “I know what you’re doing.”

“How would you do it?” Felix whispers against his mouth. Maybe it’s too far, but he’s always been too curious for his own good. “How would you kill me Ollie?”

Quick as lightning, Oliver fists a hand in Felix's hair and yanks his head back, teeth bared and snarling, “ I’d fucking eat you alive .”

This time it’s Felix’s turn to go red, whether it’s from the tingling pain in his scalp or the deep, dark rumble of Oliver’s voice, or the thought of those sharp teeth pressing into his neck-

“ Ah-” he moans, darting his tongue out over his lips and catching the taste of Oliver’s skin. “What a coincidence.”

A full body shiver runs through Oliver, his eyelashes fluttering prettily as Felix’s mouth wanders down his jaw and chest and stomach. Before he gets to the hot apex of his thighs, Oliver takes Felix’s jaw in his hands and makes him look up again. 

“Anyone would tell you that I’m not safe to be around,” he says, voice shaking, his thumb digging into the soft give of Felix’s cheek.

“And I would tell anyone to mind their own fucking business,” Felix says, before making a meal out of Oliver’s dripping cunt. 

By the evening they’ve fucked and slept and woken up again in a dreamy daze that’s just so easy to get lost in. They’ll need to eat eventually, and shower too, the scent of sweat and sex is worse than a teen boys’ locker room. But they just get so awfully distracted-

When Oliver sits astride Felix’s hips and sinks down on his cock, his eyes roll back and he groans like it’s a relief. Like the first sip of tea in the morning or a stubborn pain that finally relaxes. Like he hasn’t been fucked a dozen times in as many hours. Like his cunt isn’t tender and sore. Like Felix is all he needs-

Felix watches with bated breath, his back flat on the filthy bedspread, letting Oliver roll and grind on his cock for as long as he wants. He’s fucking gorgeous, all thick thighs and corded muscles and blushing all the way down his chest, lips bitten raw and eyes glowing in the half light.   He’s a painting that should be framed in gold and hung in the national gallery, just to put all the great artists to shame. Felix commits every fine detail to memory, because he’s far too selfish to ever let anyone else see it. 

Oliver twists his hips in an indulgent grind that makes him keen and Felix has to grab hold of his hips to keep him steady. And don’t his hands just fit so perfect right there? 

“What are you doing?” Felix asks when another sharp swivel tests his self control. 

Oliver chuckles all breathy and lightheaded, and mumbles, “Writing my name.”

He rolls his hips in a languid motion that Felix thinks must be a Q-

“ Fuck,” he gasps and can’t help but to thrust up into the molten heat around his cock.

Oliver grins through grit teeth and twists one of Felix’s nipples meanly, a reminder to stay still. 

Felix can feel each deliberate swoop and curve as Oliver grinds on his cock, and he swore he’d never get a tattoo again, but he’d let any ragged needle etch Oliver Quick permanently onto his skin. His belly aches with restraint to not let himself cum at just the very thought. 

After writing what must be a declaration of ownership on his cock, Oliver takes some pity and actually starts to ride Felix in a slow and deep roll of his hips. Every bounce catches just the perfect angle to make his head fall back and his cunt squeeze so tight that Felix can’t think straight.   

“Did you fuck other people?” Oliver asks, when Felix feels like he’s just about fall over the edge. 

It takes a moment for his pleasure doped brain function, especially when Oliver moves like that, but the question puts a lump of shame in Felix’s throat. He could lie, but really he doesn’t want to.  

“I got really drunk in Mexico and let a girl ride me,” he admits, voice catching high and tight. “And I got a blowy in a toilet from a twink.”

From this angle, Felix can’t read Oliver’s eyes, and he just gives a rueful smirk that asks, “A twink?”

Felix’s head drops back with a groan, his bollocks aching to cum as he says, “Farleigh taught me gay slang, so I wouldn’t embarrass him at the clubs.”

Oliver slows their pace to a gentle glide, the pulsing muscle of his insides fraying the threads of Felix’s sanity.

“Anyone from school?” he asks, rough fingers tracing the dips of his abdomen. “Annabelle and India?”

“No,” Felix bites, wanting to just dig his heels into the bed and fuck Oliver like he means it.

“Not for lack of effort though, on their part at least,” Oliver counters. 

Felix has to laugh at how fucking ridiculous it is to be having this conversation right now-

“Well, I’ve been out of sorts lately,” he huffs, and then trusts up to knock Oliver off balance. “The only person who I wanted to have sex with wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

Oliver catches himself with a hand on Felix’s shoulder, his thighs flexing as his dick is caught between them. Up close he's still so pretty, but under all those sharp edges is something soft and desperate and teary eyed. He tries to duck away, but Felix holds him there.

“You could’ve fucked them though,” Oliver mumbles, still rutting his cute little dick against Felix. “I wouldn’t have been mad.”

Now that’s a lie, Felix knows better by now.

“Bullshit,” he says, and catches Oliver’s panting mouth in a sloppy kiss.

“Well, I wouldn’t have blamed you,” he tries instead, while Felix is sucking on his plush lower lip.

“Fuck Ollie, ” Felix groans, holding Oliver by his hips and bouncing him on his cock. “I don’t want anyone else, is that what you want to hear?”

Oliver twists and squeals and a rush of slick drips from his aching cunt.  

“...No,” he mutters, like the evidence isn’t stacked against him. 

This is definitely a symptom of Oliver’s crippling self esteem, and Felix is just so excited to break him of it. 

“Mhm, sure,” he hums, his big hands groping over Oliver’s hips and waist and ass to pull him closer. “Get the fuck down here.”

Their mouths meet and Oliver lets Felix steer them into a sharp rhythm that lights up all the sweet spots inside him, until he’s arching back into every punishing thrust.

“You’re the best I’ve ever had,” Felix tells him. “You’ve ruined sex for me, ‘cause you’re just too fucking good at it.”

Oliver’s red face screws up and he hides in the crook of Felix’s neck. He’s still leaking slick like a sieve. 

“Shu- shut up-, ” he says, or tries too, because Felix won’t give him a moment's respite.  

“No one takes my cock as good as you do, or looks as fucking gorgeous taking it,” Felix says, mouth curved around his ear. “No one even compares to you, and if you need to hear that just fucking tell me. I’ll tell you over and over and over, Ollie I fucking love you-”

When Oliver cums he bites hard into Felix’s collar bone to stifle a scream, leaving an distinct set of toothmarks and a puddle of slick on his abdomen. He shakes through the cresting waves of it, grinding maddening circles on Felix’s cock, dragging it out for ages until the overstimulation catches up to him. 

Oliver slips off his cock with a squelching pop, his cunt clenching around nothing as the cold remains of his orgasm drip down his thighs. Felix is so satisfied to have beaten Oliver at his own game, that he almost doesn’t notice his cock is still hard.  

“That was a dirty fucking trick,” Oliver gasps out, sort of annoyed, mostly impressed.

“Well, I learned from the best,” Felix chuckles, and wraps a loose fist around his cock. 

He really won’t need much to cum, just looking at Oliver right now is doing most of the work. 

Of course, Oliver seems to disagree, smacking Felix’s hand away and crawling down between his legs. 

“Fuck off,” he grumbles before swirling two fingers through his cunt until they're wet and glistening. 

And that’s all the warning Felix gets before there’s an demanding pressure on his asshole, bullying inside and right up against his prostate. 

A howl is punched out of Felix’s chest, his back bending at the suddenness of such sharp pleasure, skating the edge of too much and just fucking right. Fuck Ollie and his perfect fucking hands, Felix has been fingering himself nearly to carpal-tunnel syndrome and Olive just makes it look so simple. 

“You didn’t let anyone do this to you, right love?” Oliver asks, shit-eating grin on his face as he hammers at Felix’s prostate, the wet slide of his own slick easing the way. 

“N-no,” Felix stutters, his toes curling in the bedsheets.

You smug fucking bastard, he would say, if he could right now. But Oliver seems to hear it anyway and snickers. 

“Good,” he says, tilting his head down to flutter his tongue against the stretched rim of Felix’s hole. “‘Cause this is mine,” and then he sucks wet kisses all the way up his bollocks to the weeping slit of his cock, “And so is this.”

Felix feels his own pulse in the tip of his cock and the spasming clench of his hole around Oliver’s knuckles, his orgasm twisting up inside him like it might snap him in half. 

Oliver sucks a dribble of precum off his cock and Felix will never recover from the sight.

“That pretty face is mine too,” Oliver whispers, looking at Felix like he’s a masterpiece. “And that mouth too, Jesus Christ Felix-”

“ Ollie- ” Felix mewls, just so close it might kill him. “ Please-”

“Say it Felix,” Oliver prods, his fingers rolling in cruel circles over that special spot inside him. “I’ll be yours, but you have to be mine.”

Felix doesn’t even have to think about it. He would sign his name in blood on any contract that could keep him and Oliver together. 

“Yes! Fuck Ollie, yes! I’m yours, anything you want I promise-”

Oliver makes Felix cum so hard he sees stars burst behind his eyelids, ears ringing with his own tortured voice as Oliver swallows down every pulse of his release, and then milks him for more with each demanding press on his prostate. 

That night their other bodily needs seem to finally catch up with them, lying in bed languishing away in hunger and exhaustion. 

“We could order take out?” Felix mumbles, his eyes too heavy to open.

“Hmmm,” Oliver hums back, tucked into Felix’s side and unwilling to move. 

Maybe they should just sleep it off for now. It must be what? Four in the bloody morning?

“In the morning we could go to that cafe down the road,” Felix says, almost drifting off, the heat of Oliver’s skin too good to pull away from. “They do brunch on Sundays.”

He thinks Oliver must already be asleep, because he doesn’t even scoff at the very posh suggestion of brunch, but then his head suddenly shoots up. 

“Tomorrow’s Sunday?” he asks urgently.

Felix squints at him in the darkness and says, “Uh, yeah? Or today is, if that’s what you mean-”

“I hav’ta go,” Oliver slurs and bolts upright, nearly falling out of bed. 

“What?” Felix asks, getting tangled up in the blankets as Oliver escapes his grasp. “ Why- ”

Don’t go-

When Felix finally gets his limbs to obey he reaches up to turn on the lamp beside his bed, and the harsh yellow light hurts his eyes. Across the room Oliver is grabbing his clothes from the floor and shucking them on as fast as he can, muttering “ shit shit shit-’

“Wait Ollie-” Felix says, jumping out of bed on unsteady feet. “What’s going on?”

“I got an essay extension for my midterm and it’s due before the end of the weekend,” Oliver says, beating his palms against his aching head. “ You fucking idiot-”

“Hey, hey, just relax,” Felix comes over to hold his shoulders. “You can still finish that-”

“I haven’t fucking started it,” Oliver spits, more angry at himself that anything. 

And while a minute ago Felix was ready to sleep for ten hours, now he’s wide awake with anxiety. 

“Alright, um- we can do that,” he says. “Just please don’t leave, please Ollie-”

Oliver stops scrambling for wherever his other sock has gone and looks up at Felix with confused, worried eyes.

“But I- I need my laptop,” he says.

Felix shrugs, catching him by the sleeve of his wrinkled jumper, “Then we can go get it?”

Oliver bounces on his heels, trying to burn off the stress as he hurriedly agrees, “Okay.” 

Relief sweeps over and Felix can breathe again. Ollie’s not leaving, he tells his overreacting heart, beating like a drum in his chest. It’s okay, you’re not going to lose him again-

“Felix, you gotta put clothes on,” Oliver reminds him, before he goes walking bare-arse naked into the hall. 

“Oh, right-”

Oliver’s dorm room is on the fourth floor, which seem so hauntingly empty with everyone gone for spring break. At the door Oliver fumbles his keys in his shaking hands, taking nervous glances over at Felix every few seconds. 

“I just need to grab my shit real fast,” he mumbles as the lock clicks open. 

“Yeah, no problem,” Felix says and takes a step forward, until Oliver puts himself between Felix and the door.  

“Can- Can you wait out here?” he stammers, back hunched as he tries to slip into the smallest gap in the door possible.

Felix furrows his brow and tries to see into the dark sliver of Oliver’s dorm room.

“Why?” he asks, because this is strange even for Oliver.

“I um- just haven’t tidied up in a while-” Oliver says, trying to shut the door swiftly behind him, but he trips over something at his feet and lands hard on the floor. “ Fuck-”

Taking his chance, Felix shoulders his way into the room and asks “Ollie, are you alright-?”

He slaps around the nearest wall until he finds the lightswitch.

“No don’t-” Oliver says, a second too late.

The room fills with light and it takes Felix’s eyes a moment to adjust. What he notices first is the putrid smell of old alcohol and unwashed laundry, the floor a mess of papers and clothing and empty bottles. The bed isn’t just unmade, there’s not even a sheet on the mattress, and a heavy suitcase Felix remembers from Saltburn is laying about, halfway unpacked. On the desk is a stack of books that look like they’ve sat there all semester untouched.

And Oliver, who in first year would squirm at the idea of germs and complain about Felix’s messiness and neurotically organize his desk, is sitting on the floor, looking like he might just curl up into a little ball of shame and die. 

Felix feels a tug at his heart and takes a wary step forward, a half-full bottle of vodka rolling past his foot.

“Ollie,” he says gently. “What’s- what’s all this?”

“Um-,” Oliver sniffles, head stooped over his lap, eyes clenched shut. He racks his mind for an excuse, a lie, something, but all he can think of is, “The cave?”

Oliver knew it was getting bad, the filth and the drinking and the all consuming sadness , he just couldn’t really find the time to care. He’d just never thought Felix would have to see what the inside of his fucked-up brain looks like. He’s fucking disgusted with you, rings in his head. You’re so pathetic-

There’s a soft touch on his back, like a tether pulling him up from the deep.

“Hey, c’mere,” Felix whispers, coaxing Oliver into his lap. “I’ve got you.”

Not until he’s in the safety of Felix’s arms does Oliver realize he’s crying, big fat tears rolling down his face as strangling sobs rise in his chest. Felix holds him through all of it. 

“It’s just been a bad couple months,” he mumbles the understatement of the century into Felix’s shoulder. 

“Yeah baby, I know,” Felix says, voice aching with sincerity. “Never again, okay?”

Never again-

Oliver feels insane, but he believes it. 

One emotional breakdown later and a scuffed-up computer retrieved, the boys return to Felix’s dorm downstairs. While Oliver’s nimble fingers fly over the keyboard, Felix lays beside him as the hours tick by, his head tilted on Oliver’s bent knee.

“You don’t have to stay up with me.”

“I know.”

Just as the sky is turning pale orange through the glossy window, Oliver sends off an email with a resigned huff and finally closes his laptop. 

“Wow,” Felix says. He should have set a timer, that must be a record. 

“It’s mostly bullshit,” Oliver grouses, scrubbing the tiredness out of his eyes. “Maybe worth a C, at best. I’m already getting docked 10% for it being late.”

He says it like he’s trying not to care, but Felix knows it bothers him. Knows that Oliver holds himself to impossibly high standards, because he didn’t work his arse off to get to Oxford just to settle for mediocre. 

“Better than my midterms at least,” Felix mutters, half trying to make Oliver feel better, half just feeling sorry for himself. “I flunked two courses last semester, and this one isn’t going any better.”

Oliver gives a little tug to his hair at the self-deprecation and says, “You should change your major.”

Felix has to twist over to look him straight on.

“What?” he asks.

“You hate political science,” Oliver says, like its a fact. 

And when Felix considers it for more than two seconds, he realizes it’s true. Law and government? Boring. Economics? Fuck off. Foreign policy? Who is he fucking kidding?

“Well I didn’t know I was supposed to like it,” he says, just now realizing he’s missed the fucking point the whole time.

“What, you think I’m in English ‘cause it’ll pay well?” Oliver asks with a flippant shrug, tucking his computer away in is bookbag. “Why’d you even pick it anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Felix says. “It sounded like something smart people do.”

It seemed like something his dad would like, is what he means. Something to impress the Henrys with. Now it just feels stupid and childish to even think about. 

Oliver laughs and it makes Felix prickle with the novel feeling of insecurity.

“I don’t know if you’ve seen the news in the last few decades,” Oliver snarks. “But smart people and politics don’t really go together.”

Felix makes a sullen expression and mutters, “By that logic, I should be better at it.”

It’s then that Oliver realizes that they’re not just joking around, catching the flash of hurt on Felix’s face before he tries to hide it.

“Felix-” he says, soft and placating, and it makes Felix want to start kicking up a tantrum.

“Ollie, please,” he interrupts. “I know I’m a bit thick. It’s not a big deal.”

What’s that thing Farleigh says? Good thing you’re pretty-

Oliver doesn't drop it.

“You are smart though-” he insists. 

I thought we were done lying Oliver? But Felix doesn’t say that, it’d just be spiteful.

“No, you’re smart,” Felix corrects him. “That’s why you’re here. I’m here because the fucking east wing is named after my great-grandfather. I’m fucking stupid Ollie, there’s no way around it.”

Too stupid to even realize it apparently, Felix feels like such a joke. Oliver lives in a fucking depression pit and he can turn out grades better than Felix’s best effort.

But he’s not going to cry about it. 

“Felix-”

Nope.

“Hey, love c’mon-”

Not at all-

In a matter of seconds those frustrated tears spilling over and Felix puts his face in a pillow to hide it. 

You’re such a fucking child-

“Felix, look at me,” Oliver says in a commanding tone that makes Felix’s head snap around. He takes Felix’s face in steady hands and wipes those tears away. With no doubt in his voice, Oliver says “I know every single fucking inch of you. I know things about you that you’ve never even said out loud. If I could crawl inside your skin and live there I would-”

“Um?” Felix cocks his head at that, but Oliver pays it no mind.

“So when I say, that you are not stupid, you better fucking listen,” he says with a razor sharp clarity. “Okay? Fuck political science, it’s just a bunch of arseholes bullshitting their way through the world, and you’re fucking better than that. You don’t waste you’re time on the shit that makes everyone else miserable. And fuck anyone who’s ever made you feel stupid. You are smart, and you are beautiful, and you are kind, which is something I didn’t believe was real until I met you. You are perfect Felix Catton.”

Until this very moment those sorts of platitudes have always felt overly flattering and shallow. Plenty of people have called him beautiful, and kind, and even perfect, and anyone could say he was smart, just to be polite. But Oliver says it in a way that pierces Felix to the very core, like it’s the truth. 

“So find something that makes you happy, because if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you,” Oliver whispers, pressing a tender kiss to Felix’s wobbling bottom lip. “And I know you’ll do it well, because I know you, fucking inside out.”

Felix can’t answer him with words, so he puts all of his fragile little feelings into a ravenous kiss. One kiss turns into two, and then everything else just falls away.

They’re so fucking tired, but evidently not too fucking tired.

“Do you still want to go to brunch?” Felix asks, basking in the afterglow.

Oliver smiles against the cords of his neck and mumbles, “Maybe we can just order take-away.” 

Chapter Text

Chapter fourteen

There’s a shitty american film playing on Felix’s laptop while they eat a dinner of greasy pub take-out on the floor, and a thought has been spinning around Felix’s head all evening. 

“Did you really have to go to the hospital?” he asks, prodding his fork in a to-go box, attempting to walk the line between curious and overstepping. 

Oliver goes unnervingly still, cloaked in the evening darkness, the computer light reflecting off the blue of his eyes.  

Felix immediately feels bad for bringing it up, and tries to excuse it by saying, “You’re mum told me-”

“I know,” Oliver says. 

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“Yeah, we do.”

So the food gets shoved aside and the movie forgotten, as the pair sit cross legged on the floor like a fucked-up slumber party seance. Pull out the ouija board-

“The first time, I was put under an emergency psychiatric hold,” Oliver explains, choosing every word very carefully. “Which is when the hospital thinks you’re an immediate danger to yourself. I don’t really remember most of it. They put me on some really strong psych meds, and it felt like I was living underwater for a week. I must have been a fucking nightmare to deal with though, ‘cause in they put me down as highly uncooperative in my medical file.”

Felix does his best to keep his face still and neutral while he picks at the rug fibers under them, his hands itching for something to do.   

“How old were you?” he asks. 

“Fifteen,” Oliver says. “It was right after I started transitioning, so I was already in a state. I mean, you try to contain a hormone-addled teenager with no fear of death to a hospital bed. I’m sure I put up a fucking fight.”

He tries to laugh it off, but Felix gets an anxious twist in his stomach at the idea. He really wants a cigarette. 

“What happened next?” 

Oliver seems to recognize his fidgeting and takes a more solemn tone.

“I went home with a prescription and a therapist referral,” he says, with a thousand thoughts behind his eyes. “And then I didn’t get out of bed for three weeks. My parents were really worried.”

Felix can’t help but to remember Oliver’s lovely family and their lovely home and all the fucked-up things Oliver said about them.

“Of course they were,” he says, more defensive than he probably has the right to be. “Your parents are really nice, you know?” 

You fucking arsehole, goes unsaid. But Oliver hears it anyway.

“I know,” he admits. “They did their best. Dragged me to every doctor and specialist they could find. I was a total dickhead the whole time, wouldn’t fuckin’ listen, wouldn’t take the meds, told them it was a waste of time.”

I’m a waste of time, he means. They’re having an entire conversation just in subtext.

No you’re not, Felix would say.

“What kind of meds?” He asks instead. “Your dad asked me if you were taking them everyday.”

Oliver looks morosely amused by the idea. 

“There were a lot, mostly mood stabilizers, anti-psycho-benzo-bullshit,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand. “The latest ones were some really strong anti-depressants.”

“Do they work?” Felix asks, because that seems like exactly what Oliver should be taking. 

“Sort of, in the you can’t kill yourself if you’re a vegetable kind of way,” Oliver jokes miserably, but Felix doesn’t find it very funny.  “I haven’t filled that script in months, they make me fucking braindead. I need to be able to actually think during school.”

And Felix doesn’t know what to say to that, because Oliver is far too smart to waste away in a drugged up stupor, but he quite clearly is suffering under the hand of something overwhelming and all consuming. It’s not a fair trade either way, in his opinion, not fair at all-

“After a while I ended up in an inpatient program on and off for a few months,” Oliver goes on, when the silence lingers too long. “They did like, the intensive shit, testing and medical intervention. It’s the kind of place you’re not allowed to have shoelaces, if you know what I mean.”

Felix doesn’t know, but he gets the idea.

Jesus Christ, he’s so out of his depth.

Oliver gives him a nudge on the knee, tell me about it. 

Instead of reaching for a cigarette, Felix takes Oliver’s hand in his. 

“What was it like?” he asks, rolling his thumb over the back of Oliver’s hand. 

“Boring. Irritating,” Oliver says, mouth quirked to the side, looking off into the far corner. “Lonely. I took my A-level exams there.”

And Felix has to stifle a laugh at that, just ‘cause it’s so Oliver.

“Of course you did,” he mutters, and Oliver squeezes his hand. “Did you ever get diagnosed with anything?” 

“Oh yeah, tons of shit,” Oliver states plainly, and Felix doesn’t know whether to be concerned or impressed as he ticks them off on his fingers. “Bipolar, ocd, bpd, mdd, autism, every doctor had their own little pet theory. The same shit, just packaged different. Low empathy. Self-isolation. Compulsive lying-”

“You’ll have to give them that,” Felix cuts in, and that makes Oliver laugh a bit too.

“One psychiatrist said I was gender confused and sexually manipulative,” he says salaciously, and Felix is appropriately scandalized.

“He didn’t last long, I’m sure,” Felix says, his throat gone dry. 

Oliver smirks and taps his fingers along Felix’s wrist. 

“Someone made an anonymous call that he was offering drugs to teens in exchange for sex,” he muses. “Put an end to his career. And his marriage I think.”

“Ollie,” Felix chides.

Oliver blinks those impossibly blue eyes, cocks his head and puts on his best poor-thing face.

“What?” he feigns. 

Fuck, Felix has to admit, he’s good. 

“Knock it off with that,” Felix says, seeing behind the curtain and still more charmed than he should be.

Oliver drops the act in an instant, just a subtle shift to his face that seems disturbingly easy. 

Felix has to put the duplicity out of his head, because it makes his stomach hurt in a not wholly unpleasant way. So he turns back to the subject and says, “Besides that, do you think there’s merit to any of it? Like, if you got the right diagnosis, would it help?”

“Maybe, it just seems unlikely at this point,” Oliver says with a resigned huff. “I could go to ten psychiatrists and they could all say something different, and half of ‘em would put me in a padded room. It’s all a fucking shot in the dark, and I’m sick of getting shot at.”

There’s something twisted up in that, with all the put-upon woe-is-me and practiced nonchalance, something real and battleworn and bloody- And Felix is left with the bitter tang of how helpless it makes him feel.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. For what, he doesn’t know. 

It just seems like Oliver should hear it. 

“It’s fine,” Oliver replies quickly, but his voice cracks like it is decidedly not fine. He beats that emotion back into his throat and goes on to say, “It’s kind of my fault. I was never a very good patient. After a while I just started fucking with them. Once I convinced a psychologist to prescribe me ketamine and she got her license revoked.”

“ Ollie-” Felix should really stop being surprised at some point. 

“I know, I know,” he says emphatically, because he does know how fucked up it all is. He tried to tell Felix a thousand times-

I’m a fucking trainwreck, and you’re standing on the tracks. 

“But, like, you go to a dentist they’ll say you need braces, you go to an optometrist and they’ll say you need glasses,” Oliver tries to uselessly rationalize. “Therapists make a shit ton of money off keeping you crazy. People see what they want to see. I just give it to them.”

Felix hasn’t answered the frantic excuses with anything besides a calming grip on Oliver’s hand, turning that phrase over and over in his head. 

I was exactly what you wanted, a fucking charity case to put your cock in-

I tried to become the kind of person you would love-

I’d say things that I knew would make you feel bad for me-

“Have you always been able to do that?” Felix says suddenly, when the last piece finally slots into the puzzle. “Knowing what people want to see, I mean?”

Oliver seems flummoxed by the question, a deep furrow in his brow as he answers, “Can’t everyone?”

“I don’t think so,” Felix says, trying to imagine what it would be like. “Not like you at least.”

It sounds exhausting honestly, to always know what people want out of you, to have to bend and break yourself into shape, to never just be enough-

Torture almost, Felix thinks. Would drive anybody mad. 

“Oh,” Oliver looks like he’s just been dropped on his head. “I guess so.”

This doesn’t seem like a pleasant revelation, so Felix tries to lighten the mood. 

“It’s like, you’re super villain power, to go with all that tragic backstory,” he jokes with a pleading half-smile, hoping it doesn’t fall flat.

But Oliver levels a sardonic look at him and quips right back, “And what, that makes you Batman?”

“If Batman and the Joker were fucking, then yeah.”

“Aren’t they, though?”

Felix laughs so hard he snorts in a very unattractive way, but it makes Oliver laugh even harder, and then Felix just has to kiss him. They end up wrestling around like horny preteens, snogging and slobbering and trying to pin the other to the floor.

“You sure you’re not too freaked out by all this?” Oliver asks, his mouth on Felix’s neck.

“Maybe I’m just adventurous,” Felix answers, groping the thick thigh hooked over his waist. 

“Or developing a fetish?” Oliver says, with a bite that will surely leave a pretty purple mark on his jugular.

Felix can feel his vein pulse under the pressure of Oliver’s teeth, and it does things to him that no one could ever replicate.

“For you?” he whispers, dragging his tongue over his lips. “Definitely.”

“Shut up,” Oliver says, blushing all the way to his ears, and then he bites harder.

The nice thing about having the dorm hall empty is that they have the showers all to themselves. With only a little bit of coercing Oliver finally relents in letting Felix pamper him for the evening, with fancy soaps and conditioner and plenty of indulgent petting. 

“How’re you feeling darling?” he asks, rubbing sudsy circles along Oliver’s back as the tiled room fills with steam. “I know all that was hard for you.”

Oliver hums his answer, eyes half-lidded and dark hair swept off his face, looking very pleased.

When Felix leans in for a kiss on those bitten red lips, Oliver murmurs, “I know what you’re doing.” 

Felix stalls with his hands tracing the lines of Oliver’s chest, the scent of lavender and bergamot filling in the air between them.

“What?” he asks.

Oliver tilts his head up and slips his arms around Felix’s back, a rueful smirk on his glowing face.

“You’re trying to fuckin’ Pavlov me into an honest person,” he accuses, with Felix’s half-hard cock pressed right against his belly.

“I think I know that one,” Felix says, sliding his slick touch along Oliver’s shoulders to the planes of his back. “Was it the cat in the box that might be dead?”

“No, that’s-” Oliver almost goes on the nerdy little tangent that Felix was baiting him into, but stops himself. “Nevermind, you’re rewarding me when I tell you the truth about shit, trying to trick my brain into doing it more often.”

The shower rains down around them, water drops pitter-pattering around their feet, and Felix cocks his head to the side, considering. 

“Oh, sure I guess,” he admits without any hidden intentions, easing Oliver back until he’s up against the tile wall. “You make it sound so nefarious.” 

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Oliver mutters petulantly, but his cunt is hot and pressed right into Felix’s thigh. “It’s just a little manipulative.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Felix scoffs, and kisses him soundly before Oliver can shy away. 

It takes only a few seconds for Oliver to forget his suspicions and fall into a lazy grind between their hips. The hot water soothes the rough edges of his attitude, making him limp and pliable and so very responsive to Felix’s touch. Just when his head is full of perfumed steam and the taste of Felix’s tongue, there is a persistent thumb swirling around the tip of his dick.

“ Ahh- ” Oliver moans, and then bites his lip when his voice comes echoing back at him.

Felix kisses across his mouth and cheek and down his jaw, tracing maddening gentle circles in just the way that makes Oliver melt. 

“But have you considered,” he muses, grinning at how overwhelmed Oliver looks already, “that you might deserve a reward once in a while?”

“Felix,” Oliver groans through his teeth, like the sound has been punched out of him. 

The look on his face is doubtful, but when Felix teases his fingers across his slit, he finds Oliver sopping wet and eager, trilling with little noises that make him blush. Felix loves it. If this is half of what Oliver felt playing his games, he can understand how it was so addictive. 

“C’mon Ollie, I know this tortured poet mystique is kind of your thing,” Felix goads him, just as he sinks two thick fingers into his cunt to make him squeal. “But there’s no rule anywhere saying you have to do this shit alone.”

Oliver turns his head to catch Felix’s neck in a mean bite, growling out his frustrations at being made to talk about his own goddamn feelings. He’s ridiculous, Felix is so in love with him. 

“So I’m going to spoil you sometimes, and you’ll just have to put up with it,” Felix goes on to say, the touch on Oliver’s dick turning more insistent, until he’s arching up into every press.  “And I’m going to be there for you when it’s hard. And I’m going to do that thing with my tongue that you like-”

“ Felix-” Oliver gasps, right on the edge. 

“And if that makes it easier for you to tell the truth sometimes, well I’d call that progress,” Felix chuckles, but not in a condescending way, more in the I’d give you the whole fucking world way, kissing Oliver’s temple and breathing in the scent of his skin. “And when I open the box, the cat better still be alive.”

“It’s not a real cat,” Oliver can’t help but to say, even when Felix is making his knees weak. “It’s a thought experiment-”

Felix laughs hard with besotted stars in his eyes, “It’s a metaphor Ollie, Jesus-”

Oliver falls face down on the bed with a groan, buffed rosy pink from and hair still damp from the shower. Felix trails after him, ruffling a towel through his hair and admiring the way Oliver’s back dips into the lovely curve of his backside. 

“You alright?” Felix asks, dropping the towel to the floor.

“‘M fine,” Oliver grumbles into a pillow, twisting his hips around, trying to get comfortable. “Just sore.”

Felix makes a soft, sympathetic sound and crawls up the mattress on his knees. They’ve been fucking non-stop for what? Four days? Maybe five? And no matter how randy Oliver is for it, his poor little pussy is tender and red, blood pulsing under the skin like a big swollen bruise. Felix feels a little bad, even if his cock is hanging heavy between his legs. 

“You want a night off?” he offers, perfectly content with a good cuddle and some snogging, and maybe he can convince Oliver to sit still through a massage- 

“Nah,” Oliver interrupts any thought of a peaceful evening and says, “just want you to fuck me in the arse instead.”

The needle scratches in Felix’s brain with a ear splitting zing- leaving him startled and dumb with his mouth hanging open.

Oliver turns his head to give him a piercing look from the corner of his eye, an absolutely devious smirk playing across his lips. 

The only words Felix can put together at that moment are, “I bought real lube.” 

“Aw,” Oliver coos, like it’s cute. “What’s next, a little rainbow pin on your bookbag?”

Felix feels his whole face go hot and his cock bobs impatiently against his hip. 

“Fuck you,” he scowls, belly churning in anticipation. 

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Oliver taunts. “ Fuck me .”

And dammit, Felix doesn’t need to be told twice. 

Oliver’s skin is warm to the touch, and he’s even warmer inside when Felix glides a one slick finger after another into his pliant body. Lube drips down Felix’s wrist and the crease of his ass Oliver grips the pillow and breathes through the prep. Felix doesn’t know where to look, at the way he drags his teeth over his red lips or the tremble of his shoulders or the stretch of his pretty pink hole. 

“Hurry up,” Oliver grumbles, when it seems that Felix has been staring too long.

Bossy, Felix wants to say, but his tongue feels thick and heavy in his mouth. There’s a string of drool running down his chin. When he pulls his hand away it’s glistening with lube. Far too much lube really, but Felix wanted to be thorough. 

He slicks up his cock with that same hand and asks, “You’ll tell me if you don’t like it, right?”

Because as much as Felix likes getting fucked, loves it honestly, certainly it isn’t for everyone. Takes some getting used to, to say the least. And anatomy differences aside, they’ve never done it this way in the first place. So maybe Felix is just a little nervous- 

Oliver rolls the tension out of his shoulders and arches his back just a bit more, making all those trepidatious thoughts fly out of Felix’s head. 

“Yeah love,” he mumbles, surely hiding a grin in the pillow, knowing exactly what he’s doing. 

Without another thought, Felix moves to straddle the back of Oliver’s thighs and that perky ass fits perfectly in his hands as he eases his thick cock into him. The first fattest inch of him sinks inside and Oliver takes a sharp inhale of breath, his insides fluttering around Felix’s cock.

“ Fuck Ollie,” Felix groans, his head falling back, sweat dripping down his brow, feeling like he’s being boiled alive in his own skin.

Olive makes a needy sort of noise in agreement, his toes curling in the sheets. 

“You alright?” Felix asks, bearing down on one arm and going as slow as he can stand. “Does it hurt?”

“No- ah-” Oliver tries to say, but he chokes around a gasp. 

God, fuck Felix and he big fucking cock, Oliver thinks, when he feels an impending pressure in his stomach. His head is buzzing with static like an old telly, stuffed full and stupid already. 

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Felix murmurs, feeling delirious as all of his cock gets swallowed up by that greedy little hole and a shiver runs up Oliver’s body. 

Oliver winces through the last bit of it, flexing his ass around the backbreaking girth of Felix’s cock, and that makes Felix howl in sharp pleasure.

“Maybe I like it when it hurts,” he mutters back, a cheeky glint in his eye. 

The look on Felix’s face is priceless, flushed and sweating and so fucking eager to please-

The drag of his cock pulling back makes them both moan, and then when Felix fucks back into him, Oliver makes a noise so high and startling it surprises even himself.

“Never heard you do that before,” Felix teases, getting a firm grasp on Oliver’s asscheek and drilling into him harder, trying to hear it again. 

“F-fuck off-” Oliver stutters, breathless and squirming as Felix’s cock bullies at the thin wall between his asshole and cunt, sending shocks of intense pressure right where he’s tender and fucking dripping-

He shrieks again, and again, and again, each time Felix’s hips slap against his ass, the bed beneath him getting wetter by the second. They should’ve laid a towel down.  

“C’mon Ollie,” Felix whispers, bending down to kiss the rigid arch of his spine. “You don’t need to act so tough all the time-”

Quick as lightning, Oliver reaches back and grabs Felix by the hair, holding him there. From the inside, he can feel his cock twitch and pulse hot and wet into his guts. 

“Hiya love,” Oliver says, like they’re having afternoon fucking tea. “You having fun?”

Felix nods right away, his eyes blown wide and eager, squirming with the pressing need to keep rutting into Oliver, like a fucking dog-

“Good,” Oliver huffs, and tilts his neck as far as he can to lick into Felix’s open mouth. “‘Cause I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you next time. Understand?”

This time it’s Felix who mewls out an embarrassingly sweet noise, but his hips jerk with bold impatience.   

Oliver just chuckles and lays an off center kiss on his lips, and then growls “ Now make me fucking cum brat.”

Felix feels the telltale ache in his bollocks and almost finishes right then, barely staving it off just by the force of Oliver’s demand. So he digs his knees into the mattress, puts his head down and gets to work, thrusting into the tight grip of Oliver’s body like it’s his fucking job.

Every thrust ends in a deep grind that makes Oliver squirm and thrash and moan, chasing it each time. When they get too desperate and the rhythm falters, Felix’s cocks slips out and precum drips over Oliver’s ass. 

“ Jesus Christ ,” Felix whispers, mostly to himself at the sight of Oliver’s gaping hole wet with spunk, feeling like his brain is melting through his ears. 

Oliver shakes with the ache of being suddenly so empty, and at the way that Felix’s gaze burns across his skin like a brand. 

“Fe lix-, ” he whines, bending a knee to kick him in the side.

“Yeah, yeah sweetheart, just a minute,” Felix promises, scrambling up for better leverage. “Can, can you like,” he grips Oliver’s hips in his wide grasp and tugs him up onto his knees. “Just like that, fuck darling-”

This time when he thrust his cock in Oliver can feel it nearly split him in half, so impossibly deep that it pushes the air out of his lungs. Felix sets a furious pace that makes the bed frame smack against the wall, chasing that back bending pleasure like it might just escape if he lets it. He slips his hand around Oliver’s belly and rolls his fingers over his ruddy little dick.

“ Felix-” Oliver groans, grinding into that touch like he wasn’t just complaining about how sore he felt down there. It must be just right though, because he cums then, slick dripping down his swollen folds and screaming into the pillow under his head. 

“ Fuck Ollie-” Felix moans, feeling all the muscles inside Oliver go strangle tight around his cock until he can’t stop himself from cumming. 

He pulls his cock out between the pulsing waves of his orgasm, because it seems quite presumptuous to cum in someone’s arse without asking first, and thick strings of cum splatter across Oliver’s skin. With nothing holding him up anymore, Oliver flops down on his belly and lets Felix paints his back like a fucking Jackson Pollock. 

Felix catches himself on his hands and knees, helpless until his cock hangs limp between and his brain comes back on like a dial-up modem. It’s still hard to put a thought together though, because Oliver’s skin glistening with his own cum is very, very distracting.   

Oliver smacks his heel into his side again, faux annoyance written on his face.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” he goads, unable to keep away a grin. “Clean up after yourself.”’

If Felix didn’t know it already, he’d say they were soulmates. 

That night Felix drifts in and out of a shallow slumber, toiling on some itching thought that he can’t seem to shake. He’s curled around Oliver’s back, one arm draped over his waist, the slow rise and fall of his breath against Felix’s chest. 

He should go back to sleep, no use in bothering Oliver when they’re both so tired, just leave it alone-

“I can hear you thinking,” Oliver mumbles, when it must get annoying.

Feeling suddenly very vulnerable, Felix wraps both his arms around Oliver’s middle and buries his face in his shoulder. In turn, Oliver laces his hand into Felix’s grasp and lets himself be held. 

“You wouldn’t really kill yourself, right?” Felix mumbles into the warm skin between his shoulder blades.

If the question surprises Oliver, he doesn’t give it away.

“Well I haven’t so far,” he shrugs, a little too flippant for Felix’s fragile heart right now.

“Ollie,” Felix says miserably.

Oliver twists over in his hold to look him in the eye.

“Sorry,” he says, and he means it.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Felix says, chewing anxiously at the inside of his cheek, pretending like his lashes aren’t already wet. “I just- I’ll listen if you do.”

Oliver blinks at him, and somehow the blue shines through the darkness, his gaze frighteningly sharp. Felix thinks those eyes could pierce right through him, if Oliver really wanted to. 

“I don’t know if I’d really do it,” he admits after a long contemplative moment. “All the times I was gonna, something always stopped me.”

Felix swallows the lump in his throat and asks, “Like what?”

“I got the cops called on me, my mum caught me with a bottle of sleeping pills,” Oliver says softly, like the safe little bubble they’re floating in will break at any second. “I got my acceptance letter from Oxford. Or, you know, last time.”

“What do you mean last time?” Felix asks, clutching Oliver to him as if he might just slip away. 

Oliver cocks his head and says, like it’s obvious, “You called me.”

In a flash Felix sees the Liverpool skyline and a thousand dead ends over bridges and the whole world falling apart-

“Oh,” he breathes, because it’s so strikingly different to think something terrible and to know it could have happened.

“Felix?” Oliver says, holding his face in his hands like he’s holding Felix together. 

“All I-I d-did was yell at you,” Felix stutters out, and then he just crumbles. 

Call your parents, they think you’re fucking dead, echos over and over in his head, whiping up all that guilt he’s sat with for six months into a frenzy. Oliver holds him through it, guiding Felix’s cheek to rest on the curve of his neck, where his skin is warm and so very alive. 

“Yeah, I probably needed to hear it,” he responds, pressing a kiss to Felix’s temple. “Please don’t feel bad.”

“Just- stay,” is all Felix can force out of his mouth.“Please-”

“Okay,” Oliver answers, petting down the slope of his spine. “Okay.”

Chapter Text

Chapter fifteen

Felix wakes up in the early afternoon of whatever day it is, with his cheek resting on Oliver’s bicep and the golden sunlight warming the whole room, and he feels like he’s too small for his own skin. It’s a terrible contrast to how content he was a moment ago, with his eyes closed and muscles lax and mind far off and away. Now his head feels too heavy and his shoulders too tight and like he’s sinking into the earth -

Just then Oliver’s eyes flutter open as he rolls his neck, and he takes one look at Felix and just knows.

Of course, Ollie knows everything, rings in Felix’s aching head. 

“Hi pretty baby,” Oliver says, his voice rough with sleep. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Felix can’t remember how to speak and from his throat comes a pathetic sort of whimper that makes him feel dumb and sad and scared. 

“ Shhh sweetheart, it’s alright,” Oliver soothes him, dragging a light touch up the nape of his neck. “I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

Oliver guides Felix over to lie on his back, with gentle hands that trace over the planes of his body like he’s made of the most delicate glass. 

“Breathe for me love,” he whispers as his thumb skims over the taut cords of his neck. 

Immediately Felix obeys and takes a shuddering, sniffling breath,  and another miserable whine escapes as he exhales. 

“Poor baby,” Oliver murmurs, holding Felix’s face in his palms. “You’ve been so pent up, haven’t you?”

Felix doesn’t know what that means, and couldn’t even say so if he did. But it feels like he’s scaling a mountain without a harness, and one by one his fingers are slipping. Then everything goes dark and blurry and cold tears are running down his cheeks and into his ears.

“Stay with me Felix,” Oliver hums, wiping the tears away. “Can you hear me?”

Even though it feels like his head is full of water, Felix finds the wherewithal to nod and blink his eyes back open. Oliver is still there above him, moving slow and careful as he eases Felix into position.

“Gimme your hands,” he asks softly, and it takes all of Felix’s effort to make his limbs cooperate, but it’s an instant relief when Oliver grips his wrists in a firm hold over his head. “That’s it, now I need you to keep them right here, okay? Can you do that for me?”

“ Mhm, ” Felix whimpers, still feeling the weight of Oliver’s hands on his wrists after they leave. 

He’d do anything right now. He’d walk right off a cliff, if only Ollie told him to.  

But Oliver wouldn’t do that, not when he’s looking down at Felix like he’s the most precious thing in the world, and those gentle touches feel like a balm on his tender skin, and he whispers, almost to himself, “ There you are, that’s my good boy.”

An electric shiver rushes up Felix’s spine, so sharp and potent and perfect that it makes him moan, tingles buzzing under his skin all the way to his fingertips. Oliver watches him shake with it, face flushed and dewy with overwhelmed tears, and cock quite the same, laying in the groove of his hip. He settles himself over Felix’s chest, so that all of their skin is touching and Felix is braced between his knees and elbows. 

“Missed you so much,” Oliver says, kissing all over Felix’s open, eager mouth. 

“ Ollie,” Felix whines, still crying a bit, but in a good way this time. “ Please-”

“Just relax sweetheart, let me take care of you,” Oliver says, and finally all the anxious energy rushes out of Felix. 

He flops back on the bed with a relieved huff, his arms still over his head, letting Oliver kiss him slow and sweet and indulgent. Be good, he reminds himself, almost too giddy to stay still. Ollie’s going to take care of you, just be good.   

Oliver kisses him until all the thoughts have floated out of his pretty head, that clever tongue tracing the ridge of his teeth and tasting the back of his throat. And then he’s kissing over the bridge of his nose and his fluttering eyelids to the tear tracks on his cheeks and the pink shell of his ears and down the curve of his neck to the dips of his collar bones. Not a single inch of him is left unloved and Felix lies pliant and glowing under the attention. 

“Always such a good boy for me,” Oliver whispers into his skin, glittering pleasure left in his wake. “Never should have let you go.”

That makes Felix twitch, just slightly, like a mean pinch to the side. Every time he blinks there’s a glimpse of those dark, terrible memories of being so alone-

“It’s okay,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse and small. 

It is okay, he thinks. Ollie’s here, Ollie’s going to make everything okay-

“You’re too sweet, my baby, my good boy,” Oliver coos, just as his tongue swipes over Felix’s nipples and teases them to peaks.

It’s so lovely that Felix goes adrift again, head tilted back and moaning softly, no worries or fears, nothing to be scared of-

“But I wasn’t very good to you,” Oliver says, taking a somber tone as he nuzzles into the soft spot under Felix’s sternum. 

Felix feels his muscles scrunch up in tight cramps at the sound of disappointment, even when he knows it’s not aimed at him. All he can think about are long nights looking at the ceiling and reaching futility across the bed and running for his life-

“ No- ” he whines, tossing his head back and forth. 

He doesn’t want to think about that right now, he doesn’t want to think about anything right now. He just wants to feel soft and small and loved, and he doesn’t want Oliver to be upset-

That sweet, shimmery place he was coasting towards starts to disappear. 

“Shh, hey it’s alright,” Oliver tries to sooth him again, his voice smooth and deep like the sound of blood rushing in Felix’s ears. 

But now that Felix is sinking he just keeps fighting the tide, getting pulled even further under with every ragged breath. Oliver seems just so far away.

“I’m gonna make it up to you,” Oliver promises, kissing Felix’s trembling lips. “Gonna make you feel so good sweetheart.”

Just then the softest touch skims over his cock and Felix jolts like it hurts, so sensitive right now that everything feels like too much. Why doesn’t it feel good? He takes his aching head in his hands and wants to scream. What’s wrong with me-

“Felix,” Oliver’s voice comes drifting in through the haze. “Didn’t I tell you to stay still?”

Something squirms inside his guts and Felix can’t make himself obey, even though he really really wants to. 

“I can’t-” he tries to say, but it comes out like a strangled groan. 

“Yes you can, I know you can,” Oliver hums, still trying to be gentle as he coaxes Felix’s arms upwards. “C’mon, be good for me.”

You’re not being good, rings in his muddled thoughts. Ollie’s going to the be upset, you have to listen-

But it feels like a thousand spiders are crawling under Felix’s skin and he can’t stay still, no matter how hard he tries. There’s something he’s supposed to do, he knows it, he just can’t remember-

If you need to stop-

On instinct Felix retches his wrist out of Oliver’s grasp and thrashes beneath him, heart pounding a deafening beat in his hollow chest. Unable to hide, Felix blinks under the stinging sunlight and is met with an icy glare. 

“Are you trying to make me angry?” Oliver asks, biting back an ire that makes Felix want to crumble into tiny, insignificant pieces. 

No, no Ollie- Felix thinks, but his body won’t listen to him. 

“Piss off,” he spits, and kicks his heels in the bed, trying to throw Oliver off of him. 

Oliver catches himself on the bedpost and quick as a snake reaches toward Felix, growling, “You fucking brat -”

Felix braces himself to be struck, anticipates the snap and heat of it, but instead Oliver’s hand wraps around his throat. It doesn’t even squeeze, but Felix feels that lightest pressure on his windpipe and screams.

That shocks Oliver out of the scene they were in and he jumps backwards, right off the edge of the bed, hitting the floor with a thump. But Felix doesn’t notice any of that, because he can still feel that tight grip on his neck and he can’t breathe and the cold dirt beneath him and he can’t move and behind his eyes he sees the looming shadow of a minotaur-

“Felix?” Oliver says, standing to see him kicking and thrashing wildly. He sets a steady hand on Felix’s shoulder and he flinches away from the touch, gaze far away as he chokes on every panicked breath. “Felix, stop-”

Felix can barely hear him, can barely hear anything at all over the thunderstorm in his head. 

“Listen to me-”

Oliver touches his side and it burns-

“You’re gonna hurt yourself-”

Just then Felix tosses his head back and it smacks hard into the wooden headboard. The pain and dizziness rush in and take the fight out of him, stars spinning around his vision. Oliver takes the chance then to wrap his arms around Felix’s shoulders and chest and grip him in a tight hold that his clumsy thrashing can’t escape. Those strong thighs catch his legs next, and Felix is held fast and rolled onto his side with Oliver at his back, breathing so hard that the air tastes like blood. 

“Felix,” Oliver says softly, unyielding in his hold. “Breathe with me love, in and out, in and out-” 

Oliver flexes his biceps in time with his instructions, so the vice around Felix’s chest constricts and loosens in a steady rhythm, until his lungs catch on. The rapid beat of his heart bounces under Oliver’s wrist, and he holds him still until it starts to slow. 

“Can you hear me Felix?” he asks, when the fit starts to subside, and the tears start to fall in great hiccupping gasps. 

Felix nods and the dizzy ache in his head makes him whine and cry even harder. 

“It’s okay,” Oliver hushes him, pressing an offhand kiss to the edge of his jaw, still holding him tight. “Can you look at the desk for me love, over there?” 

It’s a herculean task to open his eyes, but when he does Felix finds himself not in the dark bowels of the hedge maze, but in his own dorm room again, lit with a soft morning glow. His eyes adjust to the light and scan across the room. 

He makes an affirmative noise when he finds his desk, and tries to sniffle back another wave of tears. 

“Good, you’re okay,” Oliver says, even though Felix feels anything but okay . “Can you tell me what you see on it?”

Felix swallows the broken-glass feeling in his throat and really puts his mind to it. 

“Um, my bag, and a text book,” he mumbles, everything slowly coming into focus. “And your computer, and a pack of cigs.”

“Do you want a cigarette Felix?” Oliver asks when the silence stretches on between observations. 

“Mhm,” Felix hums, his mouth gone dry. 

“I’ll get you one in a second,” Oliver promises, not moving yet. 

It’s a relief. If he lets go now, Felix will surely just fall apart.

“Okay,” he says, and with one last heaving breath he finally falls limp in Oliver’s arms, the tension bleeding out of him in one big rush, leaving him feeling like a deflated parade balloon. The ache in his head has gone dull now, and it’s only a little painful to ask, “What’s wrong with me?”

Oliver loosens his grip just a bit to pet a clammy palm over Felix’s arm as he says “Nothing’s wrong with you Felix-”

“ Pfft-” Felix huffs, like quit taking the piss outta me-

“ Nothing is wrong with you,” Oliver repeats himself firmly, and then his tone takes a bitter turn. “I took you down too fast. I should have noticed you weren’t alright. ”

Felix retraces these last few minutes and it feels like hours have passed, a great chasm of darkness between when he was feeling so good and when everything went to shit. It comes back to him in flashes, the itching discomfort, the sinking feeling, the sharp, sudden fear-

“I forgot to say stop, or to do the thing,” Felix admits, his fingers twitching against Oliver’s elbow. 

“I shouldn’t have let it get that far in the first place,” Oliver mumbles. 

When Felix feels less like a cracked open egg, he twists over to look him in the eye. 

“Not everything is your fault Ollie,” he says, his heavy head nuzzled into the crook of his neck. 

Oliver snorts but lets him come in for a cuddle, and then he mutters darkly, “Hard to say that when I’m the one who grabbed you by the throat.” 

A pinprick of fear catches Felix off guard, but as he untangles his thoughts and feelings it becomes a much more manageable idea to be dealt with. There’s still a lingering unease swirling around inside him, but it doesn’t put Felix into a panic again. 

“I didn’t know that would make me freak out either,” he says quietly. 

Oliver skates his blunt nails over the curve of Felix’s back. It makes his skin prickle and his chest rumble with a purr. 

“I won’t do it again,” Oliver promises, his cheek pressed to the crown of Felix’s head, sounding miserably upset with himself. “I’m sorry Felix.”

And Felix’s heart can only take so much right now, so he presses a kiss to Oliver’s collarbone and says “I forgive you, so stop feeling bad about it, okay?”

Oliver makes a soft noise that could either be a laugh or a sob, Felix can’t tell from down here, but he agrees, “Okay, I will.”

“Can I have that cig now?” 

“Sure.” 

Oliver releases him slowly and Felix doesn’t break into a bunch of disparate pieces, but he does avidly watch Oliver climb out of bed and walk across the room, just to be sure he doesn’t disappear. Seconds later Oliver returns with a cigarette and a lighter, but also with a half-full bottle of water and a lolli from Felix’s sweet stash. 

“Drink some water first,” Oliver says, and Felix finds his throat so much less thrashed and sore after he does. 

Next Oliver pressed the lolli into his wet mouth, and the tart sugar taste helps wake Felix from his post-panic daze. Something to suck on is nice too, even if it makes him feel a bit like an infant with a dummy. 

Fuck it, if he’s going to feel like a baby he might as well make grabby hands at Oliver and get some more cuddles out of it. 

Oliver obliges, because of course he does, and lets Felix curl against his chest while brushing those sweaty curls off his face. They split a cig and swap a few strawberry flavored kisses until Felix feels like a person again. 

“I usually like it when we do stuff like that,” he says, stubbing out the fag on his bedpost. “What gives?”

“It’s been a long time, and you were really keyed up,” Oliver huffs. “We should talk about boundaries and stuff though, so it doesn’t get out of hand again.”

Felix flips over to drape himself across Oliver’s chest.

“Like what?” he asks.

“A safeword, for one,” Oliver answers, and yeah, that makes sense. “And I should tell you what I’m gonna do first, before you get all sweet and agreeable.”

Felix pinches the soft skin of his side and cuts in with, “Excuse you, I’m always sweet,” 

Oliver tugs a lock of his hair in retaliation. 

“Of course you are,” he concedes, but then turns back to his usual melancholy stewing. “But, I really should have been more careful-”

“ We , Ollie. We should be more careful,” Felix corrects him. God, is there no limit to how self-deprecating Oliver can be? “Just ‘cause you get to be all dom-y and mean sometimes doesn’t make you the bad guy.”

Oliver smirks at that and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but he doesn’t argue at least.

Instead he says, after a long moment of quiet, “What do you like about it?”

Felix thinks the question over with his face smushed into Oliver’s ribs, nosing at the half-moon scar along his chest, breathing in the scent of his skin. A year ago he never would’ve considered himself a submissive person, and the idea that he would crave it sometimes would have made him balk. But now that he’s had a taste of it, Felix is sure that he didn’t have a clue about what good sex was before he met Oliver.

“Well, that control thing you do it’s pretty fucking sexy Ollie-” he says first, which makes Oliver face scrunch up and go red.

“Shut up,” he complains, ducking into his shoulders. 

“It is though, especially when you do the voice, like Jesus Christ, ” Felix insists, because it’s just so cute to see Oliver squirm at compliments. Then he takes a more serious account of himself and says, “But also, like, when my head’s full and I can’t focus, I like the way you make it all go away. All I have to do is listen and then when you call me a good boy, it’s like- Well, I’ve never done heroin, but that’s what I assume it feels like.”

His blood turns hot at the very thought of it, but Oliver still seems unconvinced, with that sullen look on his pretty face while he draws aimless patterns across Felix’s back. 

“Why do you like it?” he asks softly. “Certainly you’re not doing it only for me, right Ollie?”

Clarity snaps back into Oliver’s eyes, and it only looks a little painful for him to put words to his thoughts this time. Baby steps.

“No, I do like it,” he says, shifting uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “I love it, really.”

“Why?” Felix presses, and Oliver heaves an uneasy sigh.

“I mean, I like everything I do with you Felix, but, um-” he shrugs, counting the wooden planks in the ceiling. “You know I’m sort of, uh-”

Neurotic, self-destructing, unmedicated-

Felix takes a generous guess and says “Riddled with anxiety?”

One day that big defensive wall Oliver puts up will tumble, and dammit Felix is going to take it down brick by brick. 

“Sure,” he finally concedes, quirking his mouth to the side, contemplating his next move. “But like you said, when my mind won’t sit still and everything feels like shit, I get you under me and it all fades away. All I need to think about is taking care of you. And you listen to me, and you trust me, and you look at me like- like you need me- ”

Oliver’s voice breaks there, and Felix’s heart breaks a little right along with it. How long could a person really stand it, not being seen, not being heard? How long before you start saying anything, just to get someone to listen?  

“I do,” Felix says, with all of his misguided faith. I need you Ollie- “You know I do.”

Oliver holds his sincere gaze for one long second before he has to look away.

“But then I do something to fuck it all up,” he says morosely. “I shouldn’t want to fucking hurt you Felix-”

Oh no, they can’t go down this dark alleyway again. Felix has done enough spiraling for the both of them today. 

“Even if I like it to hurt sometimes?” he quickly interrupts, changing the tone with a cheeky smirk and hopeful glint in his eye. “You know, what’s the word- consensually?”

Oliver levels a stubborn look at him and makes a vague gesture to the state they’re in now, but Felix isn’t backing down.

“Today is a bad example,” he says. “But I really do like it Ollie, we just have be in the right place for it. Boundaries and shit, like you said. Like, you know I’m down for a spanking anytime.”

“Fe lix- ” Oliver complains, scrubbing his hands over his face, but his ears are turning pink as his heartbeat stutters under Felix’s ear.  

“I really am, I mean it,” he insists, biting his lip. “Even now-”

Oliver peeks at him from between his fingers, looking one part annoyed and another endeared, even as he says, “No.” 

“Fair,” Felix relents, mostly just grateful that Oliver isn’t being eaten up with self-hatred any more. 

But he’s never been one not to push his luck. 

“Later?”

Oliver huffs a laugh.

“Maybe.” 

Later ends up being after they take a nap and then raid the vending machine down the hall. There’s a saccharine pop song humming from his alarm clock radio as Felix licks the chocolate biscuit crumbs from his lips and puts on his best pleading pout.

“ Ollie,” he calls from across the bed, splayed out on his belly. “ Please-”

Oliver almost chokes on a swallow of sugary sports drink.

“Are you serious, right now?” he asks, wiping blue dribbles off his chin. 

Felix just bats his eyelashes and juts out his bottom lip a fraction more.

Oliver’s eyes go wide and dark in an instant, and then he mutters, “You’re such a brat.”

A soft moan slips through Felix’s lips in anticipation. 

“Well maybe you should teach me a lesson then?” 

“ Jesus Christ,” Oliver huffs, but he crawls up the bed and sets a broad palm on Felix’s covered ass. 

They’d thrown on the bare minimum of clothing to be decent enough to venture out into the hall, just in case some poor custodian is lurking around. Oliver is wearing some pants and one of Felix’s t-shirts, even though it keeps slipping off his shoulder. Felix just has joggers on, with nothing underneath. He would have taken them off already, but it’s more fun if Oliver does it for him. 

“Pick a safeword,” Oliver instructs, snapping the elastic band against Felix’s hip.

Right, boundaries-

Felix puts a whole two seconds of thought into it before he says “Saltburn?”

Oliver gives him an unreadable look.

“What?” Felix asks.

“It’s not- Nothing, just most people just say like, dolphin or banana, not their fucking ancestral castle,” Oliver says, because he’s a bit allergic to posh bullshit. 

“Most people? Like who?”

“On the internet,” Oliver shrugs. “I did research while you were asleep.”

Felix rolls his eyes dramatically. 

What a fucking nerd, he can’t wait to get his arse beat. 

“Well we’re not on the internet Ollie,” he drolls, kicking his heels idly. “And you told me to pick, so I did.” 

“Fine,” Oliver sighs, sounding so very put-upon. “You say Saltburn if you want to stop, and what else?”

Felix leans on one elbow and reaches back to pinch the soft skin under Oliver’s ribs. It’s a little obvious how hard he’s trying to rile Oliver up by acting out. But it is working, because Oliver pinches him right back in the sensitive crease between his thigh and asscheek. 

It makes Felix squeal and flush bright pink. 

“Brat,” Oliver smirks, teeth dragging across his lip. 

That lovely headrush comes in, sending tingles down Felix’s back as he whimpers, “Ollie-”

“Shush, we’re not done talking yet,” Oliver says, voice gone thick and deep as he rubs the dip of Felix’s back. “I’m gonna tell you what I have in mind, and you’re gonna tell me if you want something different, okay? And if I change something, I’ll tell you before I do it.”

“Okay,” Felix agrees, laying his head on the bedspread, watching the shape of the words on Oliver’s lips. 

“So I’m gonna put you under first and lay you out exactly where I want you,” he says, and it already sounds so lovely. “And then warm you up a little first, make sure that everything feels good before we really start. And you’re gonna stay still and be good for me, right?”

“Yeah,” Felix breathes, his eyelids fluttering like he’s listening to a lullaby.

But then Oliver cocks his head and asks, “How many spankings do you want Felix?”

The question catches him by surprise, and Felix gnaws at the inside of his cheek pensively.

“I- I don’t know,” he admits, cringing, but Oliver rubs soothing circles across his back.

“Let’s start with ten then, and see how you feel,” he settles on, and it makes Felix shiver. “Does that sound alright?”

Felix nods eagerly, his head bobbing like the hinges are loose in his neck. 

“Use your words Felix,” Oliver reminds him.

“ Yes- ” he gasps. “Yes please.”

“Good boy,” Oliver says with a smile, the sharpness of his teeth catching the light. “Do you want to cum during, or after?”

Felix can hardly put a thought together, especially when his cock is fattening up in his trousers.

“Um,” he tries to speak, his mouth watering like fucking dog. “I like- I like when you decide.”

A soft growl rumbles out of Oliver’s chest, and Felix feels his cock throb against the mattress. 

“Alright, we’ll see how well you behave then,” Oliver hums, like that doesn’t make Felix feel like he’s combusting. 

Oliver makes him go over the rules again, just so they don’t have a repeat of this morning.

“What do you say if you want to stop Felix?” 

“Saltburn.”

“And if you can’t talk?”

“I’ll touch you, on the side, like we practiced.”

“Mhm,” Oliver shifts a bit, to be behind Felix, dragging his thumbs up the column of his spine. “And I’m gonna check in on you sometimes, and I expect you to be honest with me about how you’re feeling, do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Felix answers, trying to keep his mind from slipping away too soon.

“Tell me you understand Felix.”

“I do,” he says, a little clearer. 

“Thank you,” Oliver praises, dropping a kiss on his shoulder. But then he says, “I’m not going to touch your neck, alright? But if anywhere else doesn’t feel good, I need you to tell me.”

Felix swallows the lump in his throat and takes a deep breath, just to remember that he can.

“Okay, I will,” he agrees, once the idea has settled in his mind. “But you can still like, give me hickeys and stuff. I just didn’t like being, um- grabbed there.”

There’s a slight pause, and Felix is afraid he’s said something wrong, but then Oliver pecks a soft kiss to the side of his neck, right where his pulse stutters. 

“Okay love, I understand,” he says quietly. “Thank you for telling me.”

Something about that somber tone makes Felix say, “And you can use the safeword too, if you want.”

Oliver doesn’t respond to that, but Felix can almost see the furrow in his brow. 

“I don’t like it when you get upset with yourself,” he explains, with a desperate hitch in his voice. “I’d rather we just like, take a break until you feel better, you know?”

The seconds tick by as still Oliver doesn’t answer, contemplating Felix’s words like they are a poem to untangle. Another song is playing quietly on the radio, something soft and longing this time. Felix tries to be patient, even if it’s hard.

But finally Oliver takes a deep breath and says, “Yeah sweetheart, I will. I promise.”

The sincerity touches that soft spot in Felix’s chest. 

“You ready?” Oliver asks.

“Mhm,” he hums, a giddy smile playing across his lips. 

Felix is feeling half-way dazed already, but then Oliver grabs him by the hair and in a snap Felix is gone-

“Mmm, my pretty baby,” Oliver coos, tugging his head this way and that, just because he can. 

Felix groans a pathetic noise at the prickling pain in his scalp, just the perfect amount to turn him into a quivering puddle of goo. 

Oliver puts him into place with firm, sure hands, and Felix feels no need to resist. He ends up on his wide spread knees, with his chest to the bed and arms stretched out above him, his head turned to the side, watching their shadows move on the wall. The arch of his back looks insane from this angle, and the stretch is nothing to scoff at, but Oliver hums appreciatively as he palms over Felix’s upturned ass. 

His joggers are still on, a little itchy on his too hot skin, and uncomfortably tacky where his cock is leaking precum, but it’s not bad enough to say so. Besides, Ollie will take care of it-  

The first slap comes suddenly, but it’s more like a tap, so limp wristed that Felix almost complains. He barely felt it, especially through a layer of fabric, but then Oliver’s hand lingers and squeezes the ample flesh hard and the blood rushes in around his grasp. 

It’s just the warm up, like Oliver told him. Warm up, Felix could laugh, he's already boiling inside his skin. 

Oliver smacks him around a few more times, throwing in a couple pinches and indulgent gropes just to keep Felix on his toes. He doesn’t talk through it, honestly it just seems like he’s entertaining himself by making Felix wait, and that shouldn’t be as exciting as Felix finds it to be.

Only when his sensitivity is at its height and Felix feels a bead of sweat rolling down his back does Oliver stop playing around. He settles behind Felix’s bent knees and tugs the band of his trousers down slowly, letting the fabric slide across his pink tinged backside until it bundles around his thighs. His cock pops up and smacks against his abdomen, making Felix whimper and squirm. 

“Stay still love,” Oliver says, dragging the lightest touch across Felix’s asscheeks. 

Felix immediately settles, breathing a shaky sigh at the command, curling his fists in the blanket beneath them. 

“ Good boy, ” Oliver praises, just to make him moan. “So fucking good for me Felix.”

Felix feels like he’s going to snap in half at any moment, but in an addictively pleasant way. 

“Alright love, I’m gonna give you ten, and you’re not gonna cum until I tell you too, okay?”

A whimpering little sound comes from Felix’s throat, and it sounds like “ Please-”

The first real slap catches him hard on the side of his flank, radiating stinging heat all the way up his spine. Felix groans and his toes flex and his cock jolts. He takes back his earlier doubts, Oliver does not fucking play around. Hopefully there will be a couple perfect handprint bruises on his arse to look at in the mirror. Maybe it will even hurt to sit on them.

Oliver slaps him again on the other side and it’s like an earthquake in his bones. Not cumming will be a marvel at this rate. 

“And if you cum before I say so,” Oliver muses, like he can hear Felix’s thoughts, “then I guess we’ll just have to start over. Does that sound fair?”

Felix can’t help the desperate noise that rolls off his tongue, drool dripping down his lip as he slurs, “ I love you- ” 

“I love you too Felix,” Oliver answers, and Felix can’t see him right now, but he can hear the way his mouth curves into a grin. “Now be a good boy and scream for me.”

The blows rain down on Felix’s perky asscheeks and he does scream. He screams and moans and begs for more, even when he’s twisting up inside trying to stay still. Every slap lights a fire across his skin, and when he shakes through it Oliver rewards him with a dark chuckle as he hits the same spot again. There’s an especially mean smack to the tender crease of his thigh that makes Felix jolt involuntarily.

He expects a reprimand for moving, but Oliver just waits until he settles.  

“Was that too much?” he asks softly. “You need a minute?”

“No,” Felix says, realizing that he’s started crying when the word catches around a sob. “Just surprised me.”

He’s on just the right side of overwhelmed with the mind bending swirl of pleasure-pain. If they stop now, Felix is sure he’ll never recover. Thankfully, Oliver seems to understand.

“Okay,” he says, rubbing an apologetic thumb over the spot he just hit, where the flesh is still buzzing. “You’re doing such a good job sweet thing, I’m so proud of you.”

Any other time those words would sound cloying and condescending coming out of Oliver’s mouth, but here, now, they make Felix light up like a a sky full of stars. 

“Just a few more good boy,” Oliver says, before laying another hard smack that makes Felix’s cheek ripple. “And then you can cum.”

Felix moans and his spine dips just an inch more, the elastic ache in his thighs long forgotten. 

Three more slaps catch him at different angles, so that not a single inch of his poor arse is left unmarred. Felix lost count far too long ago, but there’s something about the budding anticipation that tells him this is the last one. He groans and weeps and begs Oliver not to go easy on him, even if the words sound like garbled nonsense. 

So Oliver puts a fraction of his strength into this one, letting his wrist snap as it comes down, right in the very place he started. The already sore skin goes white hot and Felix chokes on a wet scream, a jet of precum splattering on his quivering belly. 

Right after the explosive pain washes over him, the pleasure comes in shaking aftershocks, the push and pull battering around Felix’s head until he’s dizzy and gasping. Oliver drapes himself over Felix back then, nosing at nape of his neck, running those rough hands down his sides, bare thighs pressed to his blood-hot asscheeks. 

“ Fuck, Felix,” he groans, kissing the slope of his neck and down his back. “My good boy. You were good for me, right?”

It still feels like his brain is bouncing around in his skull, but when Felix shifts just slightly and yep- he hasn’t cum yet. His bollocks ache like a punch in the fucking gut, but it’s nothing compared to the rush Oliver’s mumble praise.

“Yeah,” Felix moans, and it sounds so light and breathy that he hardly recognizes his own voice. Well-fucked might be the word for it. “ Ollie, please-”

Oliver trails his mouth down every knob of Felix’s spine, until he can drag his tongue over the blistered flesh of Felix’s ass, like he can taste the blood right beneath the skin. 

“ Ollie- ” Felix shrieks, because he’s set to break at any moment.

Oliver has the fucking gall to laugh, setting the ridge of his teeth right into the tender skin, not quite biting, just showing that he could-

Felix twists and moans and begs. For what? He doesn’t really know. 

But Oliver pulls away and curls over his back again, slipping one hand under his belly to grab his dripping cock. Felix groans and his eyes roll back and Oliver lays another indulgent kiss on his neck. He squeezes the base tight, testing the rigid girth in his grip just to make Felix squirm. 

“Alright Felix,” Oliver breathes right by his ear. “Make yourself cum.”

Felix’s hips stutter and and thrust into the tight circle of Oliver’s fist, and fuck it’s mean and worse he fucking loves it. He digs his knees into the bed for some terrible leverage and fucks Oliver’s fist like he’s a horny fucking dog, the friction and strain like fireworks going off in his head. 

Oliver’s other hand finds the worst spot on his ass, where a big purple bruise will be tomorrow, and rubs his thumb into it, skating the edge of cruel and soothing. His knuckles are dripping with precum already. Filthy brat, Oliver’s mouth waters. 

“Go on love, be a good boy,” he growls, right as he sinks his teeth into Felix’s neck. It’s a little more than a hickey, but Oliver has always been greedier than he has any right to be. 

And Felix comes with a strangled shout, head bowed and shoulders tight, shuddering until he falls limp and heavy. Oliver managed to keep most of his release off the bedspread and, like the freak he is, licks every bit of it off his fingers. Slow and easy, he tilts Felix over onto his side, watching the deep rise and fall of his heaving chest and feeling the steady thump-thump-thump of his heart.     

Felix is floating up over the clouds, a choir of endorphin pleasure chemicals ringing in his head. He’s still alive, but barely. 

“You alright?” Oliver asks softly, wiping the tears and drool off his cheek.

It takes a thousand years before Felix can speak, but Oliver just waits, and listens. 

“Yeah, fuck-” Felix breathes, a dazed grin splitting his face. “Ollie, Ollie- fuck-”

Oliver huffs a laugh at his eloquence but can’t help but agree with the sentiment, fuck-

“So fucking good Felix,” he murmurs, pressing messy kisses to his panting mouth. “Just perfect sweetheart, I love you so much.”

Felix glows under the praise, his hazy eyes glittering like a galaxy as Oliver gives him all the cuddles and kisses that he deserves. The only problem is that Oliver’s still wearing clothes for some reason, and those joggers are bunched up around Felix’s knees. So he whines a petulant noise and tugs at Oliver’s shirt, until he gets the message and tugs it off. He strips them both down efficiently and then lets Felix snuggle into his chest for as long as he needs. 

When Felix stops trembling and pouts for a cigarette, Oliver takes the time to rub some expensive lotion into his tender, red-stained arse. The marks are a bit swollen, and will be very sore in the morning, but the sight of his handprints on Felix’s skin does something irreplicable to Oliver’s brain. 

“Ollie, get back down here,” Felix groans when Oliver has been staring too long. 

He’s still such a brat, Oliver wouldn’t have him any other way.

Chapter Text

Chapter sixteen 

It’s the dead of night when Felix feels a sudden shift against his side, and then the bed jostles as Oliver launches himself across the room. Still half-asleep, Felix rolls over just as the loo door slams shut, and he is overwhelmed with the feeling that something’s wrong. 

He squints at the darkness and his alarm clock reads 3:56 in glowing red numbers. The blankets are in a tangled heap around his legs and spilling onto the floor. There's a warm indent in the mattress, from where Oliver just was. Felix waits for the length of a heartbeat, the room completely silent, no water running or floorboards creaking, and Oliver still does not return.

There’s also something wet sticking to Felix’s thigh, not to unusual given their 24 hour fuck-fest these last few days, but odd in a way he can’t place. Felix touches it and tilts his fingers up towards the meager moonlight streaming in between the curtains. It’s red.

It smells like blood.

Fuck-

Felix scrambles out of bed and almost eats shit on his dorm room floor. 

“Ollie?” he calls, stumbling across the room, trying not to sound as panicked as he feels. “Are you alright?” 

The closed door doesn’t answer him. 

“Darling, did something happen?” he tries again, racking his brain for some sense and reason. “Are you hurt?”

There’s a shuddering, ragged breath in response, so quiet that Felix can barely hear it over his own racing heart. He can almost see Oliver now, sat on the tile floor, head bowed over his lap, stifling sobs into his fist, trying to be as quiet and small as possible. It does nothing to make Felix feel better. 

“Ollie, please can you answer me?” he asks, twisting in desperate anxiety. “It’s just a lot of blood-”

From the other side of the door is a sharp, painful noise that sounds less injured and more ashamed. 

“Oh-”

It’s frankly embarrassing how long it takes Felix to put it together. One of his more glaring airhead moments for sure.

“I uh-” he says without thinking, sounding as daft as he feels. “I didn’t know you, um- had that-”

As soon as it comes out of his mouth Felix wants to beat his head into the wall.

Stupid stupid stupid-

“”M not supposed to,” Oliver finally answers, voice muffled behind gritted teeth. “That’s what all the fuckin’ hormones are for.”  

He sounds so angry that it makes Felix flinch, but mixed up in that is all the distress and anguish and unyielding self-hatred. 

Felix sinks down to the floor, somehow sensing that he and Oliver are just a few inches apart, even with a slat of wood between them. 

“Are you alright?” he asks again, softer this time, even though he knows the answer. 

There’s a long stretch of silence that follows, and Felix tries not to drown in that vast pit in his stomach. 

“ No ,” Oliver mumbles, heartbreaking honesty shining through the cracks in his voice.

And Felix doesn’t know what to do, but that won’t stop him from trying. 

“Can I help? Is that okay?” he says gently, knowing that admitting vulnerability makes Oliver nearly break out into hives. 

“You don’t have to,” Oliver answers, and if he didn’t sound so miserable it might make Felix laugh. 

Of course I do, he wants to say, but that would only make Oliver twist up with guilt. 

“I know,” Felix says instead, trying to stay calm and think practically. “But you need like, um- stuff, right?”

Felix cringes at how childish he sounds, but based on the mortified sound Oliver makes in response, being vague might be the best they can do. 

“Okay, uh-” Felix keeps on, just because Oliver hasn’t said no. Practical, he thinks, and an idea strikes. “I’ll be right back Ollie-”

“Huh-?”

“Everything’s fine, just stay right there-”

Felix wrestles on a pair of trousers lying on the floor and grabs his wallet off the dresser before Oliver can say not like I’m going anywhere-

Across the dark hall and up the stairs is the girl’s showers, and beside the door is a coin slot machine with a variety of- well, stuff.

When presented with too many choices, Felix blinks at his own fundamental ignorance and shrugs. Might as well get all of them, he thinks, clearing all the change out of his wallet. Good thing no one is around to see him now, frazzled and shirtless and buying tampons and pads by the handful. It’d certainly raise some questions. 

On the walk back to his room, Felix tries to put his head together. This isn’t a big deal, Felix was raised in a very enlighten household after all, but obviously to Oliver it is. That iron gripped hold he has over himself rarely falters, but when it does Oliver just goes to pieces, either in unhinged violence or in silent, imploding agony. 

Control issues, you could say, if you were being obtuse. But Felix kind of understands, or he thinks he does from what he’s pieced together. It doesn’t seem like Oliver has had much control over his life really, between the hospitals and the hormones and whatever is going on in that head of his. Surely the little things start to add up. When something slips out of his grasp, it must feel like everything else is going right along with it. 

Felix wonders why this all feels familiar, and then he remembers the way Oliver shook with fear when they pulled up to that driveway in Prescot, pleading, begging Felix not to go inside. As if the world might end if he did. 

And well, he was right. The world did sort of end for a while, but Felix can’t think about that right now, or else he might also implode and that would be so unhelpful right now. 

At the threshold to his dorm room Felix snaps himself back into focus. His job right now is to take care of Oliver, ‘cause God knows Ollie isn’t going to do it for himself. 

“Hey Ollie,” Felix calls as he eases the door open, trying not to startle him. “I didn’t really know what you prefer, so I got some options-”

He is answered by the sound of rushing water and the curious sight of all his blankets tossed to the floor and his mattress stripped bare. Brows quirked, Felix sets his haul down on the desk and comes round the corner to find Oliver in the same pants and shirt from the day before, furiously trying to scrub a dark red stain out of the bedsheet. 

Their eyes meet as steam rises from the faucet, the hot water blistering Oliver’s knuckles as red as his poor, stricken face.

“Ollie,” Felix says, a sympathetic pang in his chest.

“’M sorry,” chokes out of Oliver’s bitten-raw mouth. “I’ll get it cleaned Felix, I promise-”

“What? No,” he interrupts, stepping over the trailing sheet and into the too-small bathroom. “It’s nothing, I get my washing picked up next week anyway-”

Oliver hunches in on himself and mumbles, “The laundry room’s right downstairs-” 

“Don’t worry about it-”

“Please, just let me-”

“Ollie it’s fine really-” 

“No it’s not fucking fine!” Oliver snaps, seething through the frustrated tears that dare not fall. 

Felix stops arguing, and the small tiled room swells with the sound of running water.

Telegraphing his every move Felix extends an open palm, and while Oliver doesn’t quite flinch he does go rigidly still, like a rabbit when the leaves rustle. In the mirror his eyes are glassy, and the stained fabric is bunched up in his fists. He only breathes when Felix reaches around him to turn the tap off.

“Ollie,” Felix says carefully, and he only gets a shallow exhale in answer. “Can you let go of that for me?”

It takes a few seconds, like a current is running down from Oliver’s brain and through his nerves and into his hands until his fingers uncurl from the sheet, and then all of it slips to the floor with a wet smack-

“Thanks,” Felix breathes, crouching down to bundle all of the fabric up and toss it in his hamper. 

The entire time Oliver doesn’t move, and that’s probably not a good sign. 

“Um- Give me one second,” Felix hums, as if Oliver is going to argue. 

Quickly he ducks out of the loo and strides over to his dresser to pull out a clean pair of pants and joggers and also an overly plush jumper from his wardrobe. On top of the pile of clothes he grabs up the wide array of menstrual products. 

When he turns back around Oliver is hovering in the doorway, holding the edge of the wall like it’s helping him stay standing. He sees the things in Felix’s arms and looks like he might vomit. 

Don’t drag this out, Felix reminds himself. They can talk about feelings and shit later. 

He presses the pile towards Oliver firmly but not unkindly and says, “Go get changed and do whatever you have to do. Just come out when you’re ready, alright?

Direct, to the point, very practical, Felix would be impressed with himself if he could think of anything besides the emptiness in Oliver’s face. 

Oliver doesn’t look up from a spot on the floor, but after a moment he gives a jerky nod in response. 

In an uncomfortably mechanical movement Oliver takes what’s offered to him and then steps back into the bathroom. Without a word the door shuts again, and Felix just stands there, waiting to here the sound of tears or anger or something- 

It’s quiet for quite a long time. Felix chews at his nails and considers saying something, but can’t think of what. 

Finally the tap starts running again and there's the quietest sound of clothing rustling. Only when he hears the crinkle of plastic packaging in shaking hands does Felix realize how absurdly rude it is to be listening and turns away to grab his pack of cigs from the desk. 

There are only two left. Felix sits on his window sill as he lights one up, trying to savor it as the night sky turns murky gray with the approach of morning. By the time the cig is just a bit of burnt end at the filter, the door opens and Oliver emerges. 

He’s rolled up the trouser legs but the jumper sleeves spill out over his hands as he dumps the clothes he was wearing in the hamper. Felix catches a glimpse of his bloodshot eyes and sullen expression and tilts his head to the side to pretend like he wasn’t looking. Oliver sits beside him at the window and goes back to looking at the floor. 

Felix offers out the last cigarette and thankfully Oliver takes it. It looks like he needs it, honestly.

There’s the clink and snap of a lighter and the smell of nicotine settles in the empty space between them. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Felix asks, because he’s practicing being direct.

Oliver breathes out a plume of smoke and flatly says, “No.”

“Okay,” Felix agrees, but he can only help himself for so long. An approximate six seconds pass before he says, “But you know this isn’t something to be ashamed about-?”

“ Felix, ” Oliver interrupts with a sharp tone, snapping that icy gaze up.

“Right, sorry,” he says, and then swiftly shuts his mouth.

They don’t speak for a while, just sitting at the window as Oliver smokes and Felix fidgets idly. It’s still dark outside, a milky fog rolling in with the spring morning. As the minutes tick by Oliver slowly relaxes in small, almost imperceptible movements. Felix tries to steal glances from the corner of his eye when he thinks Oliver won’t notice.  

When the cig is halfway gone Oliver takes a deep breath and his head thumps back against the glass. 

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, sounding burnt at both ends.

When Felix really looks at him, the vast distance is gone from his eyes and he seems at least a bit more present.

“Ollie, it’s really nothing,” Felix responds, setting a careful hand on his thigh. Oliver doesn’t flinch or freeze this time. “I’m not upset-”

“Not about just this, about everything,” Oliver interrupts, scrubbing his fists into his eyes where all the tears had left them red and irritated. He takes a withering breath and mumbles, “You wouldn’t have to put up with all this bullshit if you were with a normal fucking person.”

Jesus Christ, Felix thinks.

“Normal people are fucking boring Oliver,” he says too loudly. It makes Oliver jump in surprise, but Felix keeps on anyway. “And you have never ever ever once been boring. I like you this way Ollie, you hear?”

Oliver doesn't answer but his mouth screws up in a sulky expression that he’d never admit is a pout. 

“Not this way like, upset, obviously,” Felix corrects himself when Oliver refuses to participate in the conversation. “But you know what I mean. I love you the way you are, even if you have a meltdown sometimes and need some help, okay?”

Oliver huffs and his shoulders slump as he levels a sour glare at Felix, pouting on purpose now. Felix thinks he’s ridiculous, and also wants to kiss him. 

“Look, you told me you wanted to kill me and I stuck around,” he says, getting a bit too mouthy for his own good. “You really think a little bit of blood is going to scare me off?”

Suddenly Oliver’s eyes goes strikingly sharp and his jaw tightens like he wants to bare his teeth, and Felix knows he’s crossed the line. But then a few seconds pass and Oliver visibly gets hold of himself again, flexing his fingers one at a time and probably rehearsing lines of poetry in his head. At last he settles again and Felix can take a relieved breath.

Oliver tries to take another drag of his cig and finds that he’s crushed it between his fingers, so he ruefully stubs it out on the window sill.

“It’s gross,” he finally grumbles, either in explanation for his shit mood or disdain for Felix’s attempt at making him feel better. 

“Meh,” Felix shrugs. “You’ve licked my arsehole.”

He was going for nonchalant and it might have come out more insensitive than he meant, but it makes Oliver snort and drop his head onto Felix’s shoulder.

“I love you too,” he says quietly, teeth dragging over the raw bits of his bottom lip. 

Felix puts an arm around him and presses a kiss to the top of his head, where he’s probably nursing a waning migraine. 

Outside the earliest of birds start singing, and Felix can only ignore Oliver glaring at his hamper for so long.

“The sheets are really going to bother you, aren’t they?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Oliver admits.

“Alright,” Felix says as he stands. “Show me where this alleged laundry room is,”

That puts a crease between Oliver’s brows and Felix just wants to smooth it out with his thumb.

“What?”

“Well, it’s bothering you Ollie,” he says, grabbing his full hamper in one arm and offering out his free hand. “So let's go fix it.”

Down the furthest flight of stairs is the basement level of the dorm hall, which is darker and danker than Felix thinks a prestigious institution should aspire to. Oliver leads him down the corridor and into a room with a dozen washers and dryers stacked against the walls. There are thin windows lining along the ceiling, and the first rays of sunlight stream in and bounce off the linoleum floor. 

“How long has this been here?” Felix asks. 

Oliver blinks at him.

“Always?”

Felix finds that hard to believe, but he also gets his laundry picked up every other week and within the day it is returned, pressed and neatly folded into his drawers. Not until he really thinks about it does Felix realize that’s probably not normal.

Oliver tugs him by the wrist over to a bulky white washer and opens the porthole door as Felix sets his hamper down. Felix tries to help but Oliver seems intent on absolutely not letting him touch the sheets as he piles them into the machine. 

“Here, unroll your socks,” Oliver instructs when Felix whines for something to do. 

With a harrumph Felix obeys and unbundles all of his socks and then makes a game of slingshotting them into the open washer door as Oliver fetches a bottle of detergent from a shelf. 

“Don’t we have to separate the lights and darks?” Felix asks, his only reference being old telly programs.  

“Not since the turn of the century,” Oliver says with a dry humor. “Though my mum might disagree.”

“Well maybe I’ll ask her then,” Felix teases, flinging a sock at Oliver this time when he’s met with a glare. “I’m kidding, she only called the one time.” 

Oliver rolls his eyes and doses up a capful of murky blue detergent and dumps it into the washer before he closes the door. 

“Turn that dial to regular,” he says. 

Felix twists it a few clicks over and wonders why there are so many options. 

“Now press the start button.”

When he does the machine makes a dull tone and rumbles to life, the drum spinning as water rushes in. The glass door shows the way soap suds bubble up as the fabric starts to tumble over itself, and Felix watches with a novel sort of fascination. 

“Cool,” he mumbles.

Oliver hoists himself up to sit on the top of the machine and says, “That’s debatable.” 

“How long does it take?”

“‘Bout twenty minutes,” Oliver answers, kicking his heels idly as he hunkers down to wait. “You can go back up to bed if you want.”

Like fuck Felix is going to leave Oliver alone right now, and he probably wouldn’t be able to sleep without him anyway. 

“I’m alright,” he says as he slots himself between Oliver’s spread knees and slouches enough to look him eye to eye. “How are you feeling?”

Oliver scowls again and this time Felix does rub his thumb in the crease of his brows. Oliver endures it with poorly hidden fondness. 

“Not great,” he answers, chewing at his inner cheek as he navigates the still uncharted waters of emotional honesty. “But uh- better, I think. Thank you for making all this, um- easier, you know?”

Felix hums in response, because of course he wasn’t going to just let Oliver sit on that bathroom floor, twisting up in anguish and trying to stay quiet about it. Oliver just needs some time to really understand that. 

“I think it’s because of stress,” Oliver goes on to say, and it’s probably the closest he’ll get to really talking about it. “Or my testosterone dosage has to be adjusted.”

“We can go down to the clinic if you want,” Felix offers, and then second guesses himself. “Or you can go by yourself, if you prefer-”

“Maybe later, I kinda can’t think about it right now,” Oliver cuts in with a heavy lump in his throat. “But you can come, if we do.”

Felix gives him a lopsided smile and nudges his nose against Oliver’s.

“Thanks for teaching me how to do laundry,” he mumbles.

“Oh you’re so welcome,” Oliver says sarcastically.

“No, really,” Felix insists. “If I’ve learned anything recently, it’s that I need more survival skills.”

At last something puts a smile on Oliver’s face, bittersweet though it may be, and he grumbles, “Join the club.”

As the sun rises the whole room glows with golden light, and the boys pass the time snogging as the washing machine shakes through the rinse cycle. Then there are a few soft footsteps coming down the hall and they break apart just in time to see a young woman standing in the doorway with her laundry basket. She makes a startled squeak and goes running as suddenly as she appeared. 

“Felix licks his kiss-swollen lips and asks, “Who was that?” 

They haven’t seen another person around the hall all week. Honestly, Felix liked pretending that he and Oliver were the only people left in the whole world. 

“I think that’s the girl with agoraphobia,” Oliver says, head cocked to the side, his ankles still crossed behind Felix’s back. “We probably just set her recovery back a couple months.”

“Oh- sorry!” Felix calls after her, but she’s long gone by now. Oliver snorts and Felix scolds him, “Don’t laugh, that’s mean. She’s probably had to listen to us fuck all week.” 

Whatever quip Oliver was going to say is interrupted when the machine under his arse goes still as it makes an annoying beep-beep-beep . They disentangle and Oliver hops down onto his feet. In short order all the laundry is loaded into a dryer. 

“This one’s gonna take more like an hour,” Oliver says as the wet fabric starts to tumble around in the machine. 

Felix quirks his lips and considers how to fill the time. A nap would be nice, or just a good cuddle if they can’t fall asleep, but something tells him that Oliver isn’t in the mood for anything too touchy. 

“You want to go get something to eat?” he asks instead, and then they are off into the early morning fog after fetching their shoes and jackets from the dorm room. 

They walk down the row of pubs until they reach the 24 hour cornershop where drunks and uni students come for greasy chips and kebab. Along with their food Felix gets a new pack of cigarettes and grabs two pint cans of ale from the cooler. 

Oliver gives him a look, so Felix shrugs and says, “Well I didn’t think you’d want chocolate.”

That makes Oliver go a little flustered and Felix immediately feels bad, but he only gets a sharp pinch in the side for it. 

“Brat,” Oliver huffs, and all is forgiven as he reaches past Felix’s arm to grab two cans of Guinness. 

They leave with arms full of their breakfast, plus a bit of chocolate as well, mostly for Felix. One of the beers gets cracked open for the walk back to campus and they pass it back and forth. Five a.m. is a bit early, Felix could concede, but fuck it, who cares? 

Oliver makes him try the Guinness next, and he full on cackles at the way his face screws up. 

“ Hardy, ” Felix calls it, the thick and bitter taste sticking to his tongue. 

It’s not so bad really (except it is), but Felix can get used to it, if Oliver keeps laughing like that. 

After they’ve eaten and lounged about on the dorm floor for a while it’s time to go fetch the laundry. Felix is actually quite proud of the first chore he’s ever really done, wait ‘til the maids back home hear about this, until he realizes how tedious the folding part is. He whinges his way to the bottom of the hamper until he’s got a not very tidy pile of shirts and trousers on his dresser. It will be nice to have some fresh clothes at least, these trousers have spent several days on the floor and have more than a few suspicious stains on them.

When he turns away from the task he watches Oliver make up the bed all nice and neat, stains erased from the pure white fabric as he smooths down the corners. Felix comes up behind him and slips his arms around Oliver’s middle with a kiss on the cheek. 

“Can’t wait to get them all filthy again,” Felix tries to joke, but it falls flat.

“I, um-” Oliver stutters pensively, skimming his thumb over the back of Felix’s hand as the words form. “We can still do other stuff, but I just don’t- don’t want to be touched down there for a while.”

Oliver’s obviously not happy about it, and even less so to have to say it aloud, but to Felix it’s a fucking breakthough. 

“Alright sweetheart, whatever you need,” Felix breathes, squeezing him close, hoping not to jinx it when he says, “I’m sure you’ll make it known when you’re ready, you’ve never been very subtle about it.”

Oliver reaches back and swats him on the flank of his arse. The perfectly folded bedspread gets terribly rumpled when they start wrestling around on it like preteen boys, and then predictably, they start snogging all over again.   

Throughout the rest of the day the boys waste their time away watching films on the computer and napping in the languid sunlight. Felix clears out all of his desk drawers, swearing it’s somewhere, I know it is, no I didn’t already smoke it Ollie- Until he finally digs out a hidden baggie of weed and holds it up triumphantly.

They put on some music while they smoke and soon this morning feels like a distant memory, Oliver relaxed and giggling as Felix sings along to pop songs and tries to blow smoke rings up at the ceiling. 

“You have to put your lips together, like this,” Oliver tries to demonstrate, but Felix gets distracted by his gorgeous mouth and catches him in a sloppy, off-center kiss.

In the evening they settle down into a more mellow high and decide to venture down the hall for a shower.

“You can go first,” Felix says casually, so Oliver doesn’t have to ask to go in alone. 

There’s a tender sort of understanding on his face at the offer, and he whispers a relieved thank you as he ducks through the doorway. Felix just stands in the hall as the pipes creak and the water comes raining down, waiting, listening, just in case-

Oliver reemerges after not too long, scrubbed a flushed pink all over and wearing a fresh set of pajamas. Felix thinks he looks adorable, shaggy hair and sourpuss expression and all.

“Shut up,” Oliver grouses when he says so. 

Felix pokes his dimpled cheek and says, “Meet you back in the dorm in a minute, okay?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, snapping his teeth at Felix’s prodding finger. “Don’t take too long.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it Ollie,” Felix laughs, and then proceeds to take the quickest shower of his life. He scrubs off a few acrid layers of sweat and other body fluids and only conditions his hair once, because he’s not an animal thank you very much. He doesn’t even make time to have a wank, because if Oliver’s not here it seems sort of pointless. In minutes he’s buffing his head with a towel and slipping into some clean pants and a jumper, and then he’s almost sprinting down the hall. 

Back to Ollie and that shitty dorm room bed that feels like their own private oasis. How dreadfully romantic. 

“Darling, I’m home,” Felix calls as he’s coming through the door, just to be funny. 

He’s met by Oliver sitting on the edge of the bed, tapping a tentative rhythm on his folded knee.

“Hey,” he says softly, a million thoughts behind those pale blue eyes.

“Hey,” Felix repeats, tossing his towel to the side and shaking the last drops of water from his hair. “Something up?”

“Can I-” The words all tangle up in Oliver’s mouth, and it takes a him a few seconds to put them back together. “Can I ask you to do something for me? But if you don’t want to, that’s fine.”

Felix finds this vagueness like a slippery plane of ice over a lake, unknowable in when and where it will crack. 

He sits down gingerly beside Oliver “What is it?” 

“I wanna suck you off,” he rushes to say all at once.

Felix blinks at him.

“Oh, okay,” he shrugs, not quite getting the punchline. “Is that all? You don’t really have to twist my arm for that Ollie-”

“N-no,” Oliver cuts in, looking at Felix with a serious sort of dread in his eyes. “While I do it, I want you to treat me like- like I’m not a person.”

The frozen lake splits under Felix’s feet, and he’s plunged into deep, frigid water.

“What does that mean?” he says with sharp surprise, before he can think better of it.

Instantly Oliver winces and curls in on himself like a frightened animal. In his lap he’s bending his fingers backwards in a painful sort of self-soothing habit. 

“Nevermind,” he says quickly, looking anywhere but at Felix. “This was stupid-”

Fuck, Felix thinks. 

“No, hold on-” he tries to say.

Oliver starts to sink away from him, eyes to the floor even as he insists, “I’ll still suck you off Felix, just forget about it-”

“Oliver get back here,” Felix catches him by the wrist. “Tell me what you meant.”

“Felix, you don’t have to-”

There’s a bit of a struggle, because Oliver seems intent on disappearing into the floor and Felix won’t let him get away so easily. 

“I haven’t even said no yet Ollie, because I really don’t know what you want,” Felix says, when he’s mostly pinning Oliver’s writhing body down on the mattress, with one leg hooked around his side and arms around his belly. “So talk.”

Knowing he’s caught, Oliver goes disturbingly limp, head lolling like the fight has been knocked out of him. Felix almost thinks he’s taken this too far, until Oliver gathers up the nerve to speak again. 

“Like…” he whispers, face smushed into the comforter. “If you’d grab my hair and make me choke and um- not care if I was crying or something. Not talk to me at all really, just use me , I guess.”

Felix lets his grip loosen slowly as the words fill up all the empty space in his brain. When he goes to roll off Oliver’s back, Oliver whimpers and grabs his jumper sleeve. 

“Don’t move,” he pleads quietly, so Felix doesn’t. 

“That doesn’t sound like it’d be very nice for you,” Felix finally says, because it’s the first thought he can put together that’s not a big mismatch jumble of horny and frightened. “You know we don’t have to do any sort of sex things while you’re not feeling well?”

“I know,” Oliver nods, and thank fuck it seems like he’s telling the truth. “It’s just a thing I think about sometimes.”

Felix shifts just a bit to the left, still blanketing Oliver with most of his weight, but also so he can look him in the eye. Oliver seems to breathe a little easier when he realized that Felix is still there.  

“A thing? Like a kink?” Felix asks.

“Mhm, sort of,” Oliver mumbles, eyelashes fluttering as his gaze drifts far away. “When my head hurts and everything feels like shit, I wanna just not think about anything. I don’t wanna exist for a while- and I also want your cock in my mouth.”

And while the phrasing hits Felix upside the head, he finally understands what Oliver really needs. 

“You are a person though. My favorite person in like, the whole universe,” he says, just because he needs to. Needs Oliver to understand that he is a person. “So it’d be kind of hard to be mean to you.”

Oliver twists onto his side, so he can nudge his nose against Felix’s cheek.

“You don’t have to be mean,” he promises. “Just not as nice as you usually are.”

There’s a hint of a hopeful smile curling the edge of his lip, and Felix can’t help but to kiss him there. 

“And that’s what you want?” he double checks, because if they’re doing this, they’re doing it right. 

“Not always, but right now, yeah”

“It seems a little unfair for you to get nothing out of it,”

Oliver almost laughs as he says, “Felix, trust me, I have no trouble getting off while sucking your cock.”

Felix is very quickly losing his ability to think clearly. If Oliver keeps talking like that, there won’t be any blood left in his brain.

“How are you going to tell me if you want to stop?” he asks, when he snaps out of that very tempting suggestion. 

“Um,” Oliver hums, and then two of his cold fingers tap on Felix’s hip in that oh-so familiar tempo.

“Fairplay,” Felix concedes with a grin. “And you are going to do that if you need to, right?”

“Yeah, I will,” Oliver says, his tongue swiping across his bitten lips, gazing up at Felix like he’s kneeling before an altar. “Please, can I Felix? Please, please-”

And Felix has never been able to say no to those lovely, pleading eyes.

Oliver settles with his belly down on the bed, looking right at home between Felix’s spread thighs, mouthing at the waistband of his pants. Felix’s cock presses up under his chin, tenting the thin fabric, demanding attention. But Oliver doesn’t move from where he’s been put.

His hands are clasped behind his back, waiting patiently for Felix to put him to use. 

When Felix looks down at him, he feels like his brain is melting through his ears. 

He puts one hand in Oliver’s hair and gives the lightest tug, just as a test, and Oliver groans softly.

Jesus fucking Christ, Felix doesn’t know if he’ll survive this. 

“You ready Ollie?” he asks, and Oliver answers him with a desperate little noise that sounds like-

“ Please-”

Felix’s cock twitches and a pulse of precum wets his briefs. With Oliver looking up at him like that, this might be over before he even gets his cock out. 

“Okay,” Felix murmurs, mostly to himself, and then he takes Oliver by the jaw and drags his thumb over his plush bottom lip. 

Oliver’s mouth falls open easily, wet and willing as his tongue skims over the ridge of Felix’s touch. His face is the loveliest shade of pink, flushed all the way to his ears and down the cords of his neck. Behind those heavy, fluttering lashes, his eyes are subsumed by dark, heady want.

“You’re so pretty darling,” Felix whispers without thinking. 

Oliver nips the bit of flesh in his mouth and whines, “ Felix-”

“Oh, right,” Felix rolls his eyes.

Not nice, he remembers. 

“You’re so pretty, you filthy fucking slag,” he teases, and Oliver bites him even harder this time. “Alright, alright, just be patient.”

Still holding Oliver’s chin, Felix tugs the band of his pants down until his hard cock slips out. He wraps his free hand around it, stroking slow and easy like he’s having an indulgent wank, drawing back the foreskin on each pull, and Oliver watches the glistening head bob like it’s his favorite treat. Felix lazily drags the tip over Oliver’s open lips, his hot, panting breath sending chills up Felix’s spine. 

Daringly, Oliver darts his tongue out and swipes over the weeping slit, and even though it feels good, Felix yanks him back by the fist in his hair.

“Hold still,” he huffs, and Oliver groans like it’s exactly what he wants. 

His jaw falls slack in pure obedience, and Felix didn’t know how good it would feel to be on the other side of this. Without wasting another second, he takes his cock in hand and feeds it into Oliver’s pliant mouth, until the thick head is pressing to the back of his throat. Oliver gags and draws a shallow breath through his nose, fists curling behind his back, and Felix has to remind himself not to care. 

This is what Ollie needs right now . Oliver rarely ever asks for something, so goddammit Felix is going to give it to him. He’d give Oliver the heavens and earth and everything in between. 

He sets a choppy pace that walks the line between cautious and punishing. Deep but not too fast, teasing at plunging down his throat each time, pulling Oliver along his cock like a fucking toy. 

Is this what you wanted? Felix asks with his eyes. 

The next time he thrusts in, Oliver swallows around the head of his cock, drawing him even further into the tight vice of his throat. And then he moans at the distended ache of it all. 

Yes, he’d say, if his mouth wasn’t so occupied. Don’t you fucking dare stop now-

When those adoring eyes gaze up at him, Felix feels like a god. 

He pulls Oliver even further onto his cock, until his nose is pressed to the wiry curls at the base, and Felix holds him there until the tension bleeds out of Oliver’s arched back. His open mouth gapes when he draws him all the way off, letting Oliver catch a breath as strings of drool and precum still tie him to Felix’s cock. The tears are just starting to glint along his lashes, and Felix can’t wait to see them fall. 

Reservations forgotten, because Ollie always has the best ideas, Felix thrusts right back into the dark channel of his throat, with little care for Oliver’s comfort. He chases his own pleasure like he’s fucking entitled to spill his seed in any pretty, braindead slut he fancies. It’s exhilarating, it’s probably a sign of latent narcissism, it’s the best fucking head he’s ever gotten, even if he’s doing all the work. 

The whole time Oliver doesn’t use his sign to stop, doesn’t move his hand or make any sort of sound of distress. Even when he chokes painfully hard, he pushes through the discomfort until his brain goes hazy like static in an old television. The entire world narrows down to a fine point, where the only thing that matters in the stretch of his throat and the taste of Felix on his tongue. It’s heaven.

Suddenly Felix pulls him off again and his rigid cock pops free of Oliver’s mouth and smacks into his own stomach. As Oliver’s lungs fill with air, he glances up to see Felix stroking himself again to the sight of his messy, desperate face.

“You’re just fuckin’ gaggin’ for it,” Felix whispers, a bit mean, but mostly in awe as his cock throbs. 

Oliver feels the twinge in his jaw already, a bright spot of pain to go with that terribly addictive pull on his scalp. He wants more. He wants everything-

“Please,” he begs.

Felix slaps his cock against Oliver’s cheek, leaving a splodge of cum on his face. 

“I didn’t fucking tell you to speak,” he growls, rubbing his own spunk into Oliver’s skin.

Overcome with the white hot humiliation, Oliver’s eyes roll back and he gasps, his toes curling as his hips roll against the edge of the bed. 

“Did you just fucking cum?” Felix asks incredulously, and Oliver doesn’t answer because he knows better now. 

But, yeah, these pajama trousers are fucking ruined, what feels like a gallon of slick rushing out of his cunt and down his thighs. 

“Fucking filthy baby, ” Felix moans, and Oliver is floating so far out of his head that he probably misses the slip up. But maybe Felix can use a couple pet names sometimes, he’s the one in charge here after all. 

He guides Oliver back onto his cock and races towards his own finish, thrusting up each time like he’s jacking off with Oliver’s mouth instead of a hand. He’s never worked up a sweat getting a blowy before, but maybe he’s been doing it wrong this whole time. Oliver hums in content even when Felix gets rough and reckless with it, and the soft vibration on his cock is a fucking revelation. His head falls back against the pillow, so very very close-

Only then does Oliver move. Felix doesn’t notice until a hand curls around his wrist and tugs it downwards. Those bucking hips falter, but Oliver refuses to be pulled away, making it very clear that he’s not asking Felix to stop. 

No, instead Oliver has something much more devious in mind, because he always has to have the last laugh. 

He draws Felix’s touch to his neck and presses it into the soft spot under his jaw. Felix has to twist onto one shoulder to be able to reach, and then when Oliver swallows again, Felix can feel the bulge of his own cock in Oliver’s throat. 

“Fuck, Ollie, fuck-” he gasps, and it’s all over. 

He cums with a bitten off groan, straining both toward and away from the sharp, blinding pleasure. His cock pulses on Oliver’s curling tongue as he sucks down every drop of hot, bitter spunk. It must actually be his favorite flavor, no one slurps on your cock like it’s a fucking straw just for show. 

After waves and waves of prolonged orgasm, Felix finally flops back down onto the bed with a huff, stars dancing in front of his eyes for more than a few seconds. When he can think clearly again, the first thing he notices is the wet heat still around his softening cock. 

He glances down and finds Oliver still there, flushed cheek resting on Felix’s thigh, just holding his cock between his bruised lips. 

“Ollie,” Felix calls softly. “Time to come up now.”

He gives a gentler tug on Oliver’s hair, because surely after that his scalp is tender by now, but Oliver just whines and shakes his head, suckling lightly at Felix’s limp cock. An overstimulated shiver crawls up Felix’s back, but Oliver doesn’t try to get him hard again. He seems to just be so content right there, gone still and peaceful, eyes just barely-there slits as he breathes slow and even through his nose. 

“You want to stay down there?” Felix guesses. “I need a real answer sweetheart.”

“Mhm,” Oliver hums after a moment, curling around Felix’s leg like it’s a body pillow.

It’s cuter than anything having to do with his cock has any right to be, but Felix isn’t going to complain. 

“Okay,” he murmurs, one arm bent behind his head, and the other hand petting through Oliver's hair. “Just lemme know when you’re ready to come up,” 

Quite a while later Felix blinks himself awake to find his cock neatly tucked away and Oliver not in bed anymore. There’s a line of glowing light along the bottom of the bathroom door, and Felix gets deja vu. 

But before he can really start to worry, Oliver appears with his face washed and a new pair of pants on. Felix holds his arms open wide, and Oliver falls right into them. 

“It’s mostly just spotting now,” he says, his face hidden in Felix’s neck. “I think I’ll be okay tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Felix says, rubbing circles into the small of his back. “But if you’re not, that’s alright too.”

Chapter Text

Chapter seventeen 

The end of spring break comes around faster than they are ready for. Already the steady sound of hungover students returning to campus comes rumbling through the walls, growing louder as the hours tick by. They have a night and a day and another night before classes begin again bright and early Monday morning, and they’re not going to fucking waste it.

Felix and Oliver try to ignore the impending end of their reunion, try to pretend they don’t have to leave their little sanctuary, like the rest of the world isn’t just on the other side of the door. They can only drown out the bustling footsteps and muffled voices with the perfect sound of their bodies coming together. 

At the moment, Oliver is straddling Felix, riding his thick cock until his eyes roll back and his skin is shining with sweat. When his punishing pace falters, inner thighs burning from the effort, Felix grabs him by the hips and holds him upright. Deliriously, Oliver hopes the bruises left by Felix’s hands never fade away.  

“You good?” Felix asks softly, when Oliver is still catching his breath.

“ Mhm, ” Oliver hums, lip caught between his teeth as he grinds his hips and all those lovely nerves inside him light up like christmas. 

He starts up the rhythm again, not as ambitiously fast but deep and indulgent, the slickness of his cunt dripping each time he drops down. There’s a sharp push in his abdomen when he takes Felix to the hilt, so deep it almost makes him gag. It must be bashing against his cervix, and that thought is as horrifying as it is addictive. He’s going to have bruises on the inside too. 

Just then Felix chooses to swirl his thumb over the very tip of Oliver's swollen dick. The hot, electric touch makes him keen and cum gushing slick down Felix’s shaft, making a sticky mess out of both of them. Oliver gasps out a harsh noise and trembles through the aftershocks, stars spinning around his head. 

“That’s four,” Felix huffs with a very self-satisfied grin, even if his cock is still hard. “You’re falling behind Ollie.”

“You’re a cheat,” Oliver says when he can speak again, and meanly twists Felix’s nipple for emphasis. “And a scoundrel.” 

Felix keens at the sharp pinch on his chest, but that doesn’t stop him from bucking his hips up and taunting, “Oh, you know I got you good when you start with the classic-lit insults.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Oliver growls, even with a smirk tugging at his lips as his bends down to catch Felix’s mouth in a languid kiss. 

The rules of this game they made up an hour ago are ill-defined at best. And technically unfair in Oliver’s opinion, because someone needs a break between orgasms or else they get all stroppy about it. But there's not really a prize besides bragging rights, so maybe it’s just a poorly thought out excuse to make each other cum as many times as possible. Though that doesn’t mean they aren’t competitive. 

Once Oliver gets his head settled again, he starts arching back into Felix’s cock in a slow and easy grind that makes Felix moan into his mouth.

“You sure you’ve got another in you darling?” Felix teases as his big hands drag up Oliver’s plush thighs and squeeze until the flesh bulges between his fingers. 

Oliver bites his lip hard for his mouthiness, a few drops of blood welling to the supple surface. 

“Let’s see if you’re still laughing when I put my fucking fist up your arse,” Oliver says, lapping at the sweet, metallic taste of Felix’s blood. 

Felix groans and thrusts upward at the threat, far too eager for his own good as he knocks Oliver off balance. His cock slips out of that slick little pussy and the ache and chill make them both shiver. Within seconds Felix rolls them onto their sides and coaxes Oliver’s knee over his hip, thrusting into his hot center as their mouths fall together again. 

This round they luxuriate in the slow, almost maddening waves of pleasure, games forgotten, trying to relearn the feel of each other’s skin for the thousandth time over, and then over again. 

“I’m gonna miss this,” Oliver whispers, kissing across Felix’s cheek.

You don’t have to, Felix wants to say, wants to keep playing pretend, but he knows they can’t. 

Because in a day or so, they have to go back outside. They have to go to class and talk to other people and not spend every single second with each other. Oliver has to go back to being ignored, Felix has to go back to acting like he’s okay. 

It sounds like torture, and Felix would know. He’s spent the last six bloody months doing it. 

Plus, he’ll have some serious explaining to do with Farleigh and Venetia. The excuse of missing his flight won’t really cover it, especially since he’s been m.i.a. for the whole week since. His phone is still somewhere under the bed, buzzing with messages every few hours. Felix dreads reading them. 

Oliver holds his face and kisses him sweetly, right where his teeth broke his skin minutes before, his thumb tracing the curve of his ear, and all of Felix’s worries melt away. 

“We can-” Felix tries to say between their lips, but the words don’t come out. 

“I know,” Oliver whispers, those eyes bluer than any sky Felix has ever seen. “It’s just going to be more complicated.”

The unhurried pleasure is mounting. Felix can feel it in the ache of his bollocks and the flex of his abs and the starry shimmering of his mind, and sees no reason to resist it. 

“Yeah,” he huffs, laying another clumsy kiss on Oliver’s mouth as he thrusts in deep and cums inside him. 

Oliver groans at the rush and heat of it, arching his back and grinding his dick against Felix's pubic bone until his insides clench and flutter with another orgasm. 

It’s so perfect, Felix wonders if it was all a dream after all. If he’ll wake up alone again, forever reaching for something that just slips through his fingers. 

All those morose thoughts seem very dramatic in the afterglow. Especially with Oliver lying across his chest, face tucked into the slope of Felix’s neck, so relaxed and warm and very very real.

“We could run off and join the royal navy,” Felix says out of the blue, craving a cigarette but not wanting to move a single inch.

Oliver tilts his head up with a perplexed look. 

“Well, they just bum each other all day, right?” Felix shrugs, like it’s an adequate solution to not wanting to go back to school. 

It sounds more ridiculous coming out of his mouth than he intended, but it makes Oliver bark with laughter, so it’s worth it. 

“I can think of at least two problems with that,” Oliver chuckles, nosing at the hinge of Felix’s jaw. “Between the physical exam and my non-existent respect for authority, I don’t think I’d make it past bootcamp.”

Felix considers the idea for more than a second, and then admits, “And I’ve been seasick on every yacht I’ve ever been on.” 

Oliver rolls his eyes in a very smitten sort of way.

“Then we can call that Plan B.” 

“Where’s some place we just fuck all day and not answer to anyone?”  

“Maybe a cave in the woods.”

“Hm… is it a nice cave?”

Oliver leaves a smarting bite on his neck. Felix thinks he belongs in a cave, he is a wolf after all. 

The silence settles over them and Felix can’t keep the more upsetting questions confined in his head anymore. 

“Should we like, tell people?” he asks in a small voice.  

Oliver doesn’t move, the heat of his breath skimming across Felix’s skin. 

“I don’t really have anyone to tell,” he says, like Felix didn’t already know that. “But you can if you want.”

And Felix would rather Oliver just decide for him, but that’s not really how being an adult works. 

“I don’t want to go back to the way it was,” he finally says, imagining walking past Oliver on campus and not even acknowledging his existence. It fills him with a festering sort of shame. “But I also don’t want a bunch of people in our business.”

I don’t want to share you, is what he means, with the gossips and naysayers alike. Oliver hums in unspoken understanding. 

The argument in his head won’t settle itself out, and Felix gets sick of fretting over it fast. Oliver was right, this is more complicated. 

“Maybe we just, I don't know, play it cool?” he shrugs after a moment. "It’s not like we’d be very good at sneaking around."

Oliver huffs and says, “We’ll probably get caught fucking between the library shelves.”

Oh, Felix likes that idea. There are so many places on campus they haven’t desecrated yet. 

That's like, the opposite of playing it cool. 

“Not if someone can stay quiet we won’t,” he pokes Oliver in the side. 

“Please, Farleigh will have us figured out within the day,” Oliver grumbles with a bitter sort of humor. 

Felix thinks about denying it, but it’d be pointless. Whatever else he was going to say is cut off with an impatient, pounding knock on his dorm room door that makes them both jolt.

“Speak of the devil, ” Oliver murmurs. 

It could be anyone, Felix thinks. There’s no reason to think-

“Felix open the fucking door,” Farleigh shouts. “I know you’re in there.”

God damn it.

“Uhh, be right there!” Felix calls back, untangling himself from the blankets

Oliver twists over onto his back and raises his eyebrows pointedly. 

“ Shhh, ” Felix hisses, hastily pulling on a pair of pants from his dresser. “I’ve got it, just stay quiet.”

That skeptical look on Oliver’s face tells him that this is a bad idea, but he doesn’t say a word. In fact he settles back into the pillows with a smirk, ready to enjoy the show. 

“ Felix!” Farleigh hammers on the door again. 

“Fuck, one second! ” as Felix passes the mirror he notices how his chest is spotted with lovebites, and there’s a perfect impression of Oliver’s teeth right at the base of his neck. He pulls a jumper over his head and it might be on backwards.

He’s a frazzled but mostly decent mess when he finally opens the door, just a few inch gap with his shoulder blocking the rest of the room, so casual, nothing to see here. On the other side, he is met with the most seething glare he’s ever seen on his cousin's face. 

“H-hey,” Felix says as he puts on a blasé grin. “You’re back early, how was Morocco?”

Farleigh isn’t fucking buying it.

“Monaco,” he corrects sharply. 

The smile on Felix’s face flickers, be tries to recover quickly, “Right, of course-”

“Where the fuck have you been?” Farleigh asks, every word punctuated with anger.

“Oh, I- uh- I was here,” Felix tries to shrug it off. “I just needed the time to myself, didn’t think you and Vee would want to drag my miserable arse everywhere on holiday-”

“And you couldn’t answer your phone the whole time?” Farleigh interrupts his ramblings. “You’re sister was really fucking worried about you.”

Felix cringes with guilt, yeah he’d been kind of a shit to them. 

“I- I told you guys I was fine, really,” he says emphatically, putting all of his charm into those puppy-dog eyes. “I’m sorry, I just needed the break-”

“Alone?” Farleigh snaps incredulously, arms crossed over his chest. “The whole time?”

“Yeah,” Felix says too fast. He’s such a bad liar. “Totally.”

Farleigh sneers and gives a hard shove to the door, almost knocking Felix backwards. 

“And certainly not with Oliver then?” he muses, not so subtly trying to get a glimpse inside the dorm room. 

Play dumb, Felix tells himself

“Oliver who?”

Not that dumb you bloody idiot. 

That seems to be Farliegh’s last straw. 

“Jesus fucking Christ Felix , move- ” he growls and shoulder checks his way through the door.

“Uh, you don’t have to come in,” Felix tries to say, but his stalling falls on deaf ears as Farleigh pushes past him. “It’s a real mess in here Farls-”

Now or never, he thinks, thumping his forehead against the wall. He wishes it was never. 

Farleigh takes all of two long strides into the room before he sees Oliver, barely covered by a just the duvet over his lap, smoking a cigarette and lounging in Felix’s bed like he owns the place.  

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Farleigh shouts, his hands thrown up in a mix of frustration and horror. Like he didn’t already know what he was going to find. 

Oliver gives him a little wave as a stream of smoke escapes his lips. It’s not helpful. 

“No, no, it’s not what it looks like,” Felix comes bounding up beside him, gritting his teeth at the tension, trying to find the first excuse he can come up with. “We were just- uh- just talking. ”

Farleigh drops his arms and levels an exasperated look at him, mouth open at the foolish fucking audacity, like seriously?

The room goes quiet for just a moment, until Oliver snorts at the absurdity and poorly stifles a laugh into his fist. 

Farleigh can’t seem to decide who he hates more, eyes darting between Felix’s sheepish fidgeting and Oliver’s deranged cackling. 

“I can’t believe you,” he finally says, rolling his eyes at Felix’s pleading pout. 

“Really! We’re just talking-” Felix insists again, and it only makes Oliver laugh harder. “Ollie stop-”

“You’re fucking hopeless,” Farleigh grumbles, his burning rage dying down to smouldering contempt as he turns on his heel and starts walking towards the door.

Felix doesn’t know why he’s still trying to make excuses, besides that it’s really all he knows how to do in the face of conflict. It’s always worked before-

 “Farleigh c’mon, I can explain,” he says, but when he tries to follow him out there’s a yank on the back of his jumper.

“Don’t bother!” Farleigh shouts, just as Oliver tugs Felix back to the bed, stubbing out his cig so he can paw at Felix’s covered crotch like a cat in heat. 

The door hasn’t even shut before Oliver is pulling at the band of his pants, mouthing his way down Felix’s shaft.

“You’re a menace,” Felix huffs, getting hard despite his best efforts. “And I thought you needed a break?”

Oliver laughs again, darker this time, all teeth as he grins up at Felix. 

“Yeah,” he says, mouth red and wet and eager. “But I just really like making Farleigh upset.” 

“Go fuck yourself Oliver,” Farleigh spits, lingering a moment too long, startling Felix with the reminder that he’s still here.  

“I’m just about to,” Oliver taunts, tongue swiping over the head of Felix’s cock. “Why, you gonna stay and watch?”

Felix doesn’t dare turn around. Not with his cock out and Oliver kneeling before him, naked and glistening pink between his legs, and fucking cousin still in the room. It makes his stomach swoop, caught like a pawn in a power play amongst kings. Fuck, he hates chess. 

Without another word Farleigh slams the door, stomping away down the hall.

Felix tugs Oliver back by his hair and says as sternly as he can, “That was uncalled for.”

It’s not much of a scolding, but it’s the best he can do while his cock bobbing impatiently between his legs. 

Oliver acknowledges it with an admonished huff. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, at least a little sincere. “Got a bit carried away.”

And maybe Felix is easily won over when he’s horny, or he’s got a soft spot for even Oliver’s most manipulative bullshitting, or he just can't stay mad at that pretty face. 

“Cat’s out of the bag I guess,” he finally shrugs, like what can you do?

Oliver blinks up at him pensively. 

“Well, what are you waiting for, Ollie?” Felix asks with put-upon annoyance. “You’re the one who can’t go ten bloody minutes without my cock, get back to it- Oh fuck- ”

 Oliver takes him all the way to the back of his throat and swallows, blistered lips stretched wide around the base, eyes fluttering with budding tears, and Felix stops caring about anything else in the world. 

They don’t end up joining the royal navy, which is probably for the best, but that Monday morning Felix would do anything to not get out of bed. Eventually they have to crawl out of that warm nest of blankets and bare limbs they’ve built and get ready for class, the earliest bell set to ring across campus at any minute. 

“I’m done at two,” Oliver says, when they realize their schedules keep them apart all morning. 

Felix finds a pretty clean shirt to wear and then passes his jumper over to Oliver. They should do laundry again, and Oliver should probably grab some of his own clothing from upstairs. 

“Alright,” Felix mumbles, even though two p.m. seems like a thousand years away. “I’ll be getting out on the east side-”

Oliver slips on his shoes and then gets up on his toes to interrupt him with a kiss. 

“I know where you’ll be,” he says, and Felix is counting down the seconds already. 

At the door they kiss again over mumbled have a good day’s and I love you’s, and then Felix gets awfully distracted.

“We’ve gotta go Felix,” Oliver reminds him. 

“Just one more,” he promises, smacking his lips against Oliver’s cheek. “C’mere-”

They aren’t late for class, but they cut it real close. 

Felix’s classes are just as dreadful as he remembers, and when his midterms are passed back he doesn’t have the guts to look at the scores. The shame is a shadow looming over his shoulder, but Felix keeps it at bay with Oliver’s words running through his head. 

You are smart-

And fuck anyone who’s ever made you feel stupid-

So find something that makes you happy-

“Hi Felix,” some light, cheery voice calls after class has ended. 

When Felix turns, bag slung over his slumped shoulder, he finds himself cornered in the hall by India and Annabelle and a gaggle of other giggly girls. 

“Uh- hey,” he says, with a halfhearted grin that still makes them all swoon. “What’s up?”

“We were all in Ibiza for spring break,” India says, overly tanned from the spanish sun and leaning provocatively into his space. “We thought you’d be there.”

“Oh, no I wasn’t feeling up for a holiday,” He says, edging away from her advances. “I just stayed in-”

“All by yourself?” one of the other girls says, jutting out her glossy bottom lip. “That must have been lonely-”

“No, I mean- it was fine, I was with-” Felix starts, but then his sentence falls flat and unfinished. 

Play it cool, he reminds himself.

What the fuck does that even mean?

After an awkward second of curious silence, Annabelle pipes up.

“With Oliver?” she guesses, her cheeks pink with sunburn. 

India elbows her in the side. 

The group of girls start buzzing with whispers, until one of the first years asks, “Who’s Oliver?”

“No one-” India says with a scowl, but Annabelle cuts in. 

“He’s Felix’s boyfriend from last year,” she explains, and that really sends them into a chittering frenzy. “Did you two get back together?”

At once all those eyes turn back to Felix, and all he can’t think of anything but that word flying around his head-

Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend-

“Y-yeah,” his voice cracks. 

India sulks with a sullen look of defeat and Annabelle actually squeals with excitement as the other girls all gasp and start talking over each other-

“Aww-”

“Which Oliver is it?-”

“The short one that sits at the back of the Ware’s class-”

“Ohh-”

“He’s cute though, you’ve got to see him without the glasses-”

Felix sees a small gap in their fortress and makes his great escape.

“Well, I’d better be off,” he says as fast as he can, slipping past the group with an off-hand wave.

“ Bye Felix!” they all call after him, chirping like birds as they go off and spread that juicy gossip to everyone in sight.   

And he should be annoyed, or upset, or anxious at the turn of events, but as he makes his way down the hall, Felix feels a rush of giddy school boy delight fill his chest. 

Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend-

He can’t wait to see Oliver again. His boyfriend-

“I hooked up with Felix twice last year, and made out with Oliver when we were drunk,” he hears Annabelle whisper to her scandalized friends. “So we basically had a threesome-”

Felix is flying way too high on the clouds to give that a second thought. 

Instead of going to his next class, Felix makes a split-second decision to turn around and walk into the history department, right up to the open office door of his first year professor. 

He knocks on the door jamb out of politeness and trepidation, and she looks up from her computer with a smile on her face when she sees who it is. 

“Felix Catton, how nice to see you,” Professor Luman says, gesturing him in with an open hand. “How have you been?”

She’s younger than a lot of Oxford professors, and kinder too, Felix has found. Her history class was the only A he got last year. 

“I’m alright, and you?” he asks, resisting the urge to chew his fingernails as he drags his feet across the carpet. 

“I’m well, thank you,” she says, setting her work aside. “What can I do for you?” 

Felix takes a breath and all the words come tumbling out at once.

“I want to change my major.”

Her brows climb up over the arch of her glasses. 

“To what?” she asks, a bit bewildered with the request. 

“...I don’t know,” Felix says, twisting with his own indecision, sounding as stupid as he feels.

You’re not stupid, Oliver said. 

Luman purses her lips, and she looks quite a bit like Felix’s mother like that. 

“What makes you want to change then?” she asks. 

“I- um-” he stutters as he gets his thoughts together, and no, he’s not going to cry. “I don’t think I’m going to graduate with a poli-sci degree, I’ve already failed two classes, and maybe more by the end of this semester. And my-” he pauses, thinks about this for one single second, and then barrels right on through. “My boyfriend said I should study something I actually like. Which I guess I should’ve known, but your class was the only one I enjoyed last year, so I thought I’d start here.”

It might be his family name or his charming face, or maybe Luman really is that kind, because her eyes soften at his explanation. 

“Have a seat Felix,” she says. “Let’s take a look at your transcript.”

Relief washes over him as he sits down, and the professor passes a box of tissues across her desk towards him. He must be crying, just a little bit. 

When he leaves her office a while later it feels like his shoulders are ten tons lighter. He’ll have to finish this semester as is, but Luman assured him that she has a few tricks up her sleeve for the next. it’s not a definite yes, but also not a no. It’s something, at least. 

The bell tolls as Felix hurries down the stairs and out into the sunny spring afternoon, and he shouldn’t at all be surprised when he turns and Oliver is right there.  

“Ollie!” he grins, nearly bouncing on his heels. 

“Everyone’s been staring at me all day,” Oliver says, his tone slicing through Felix’s excitement. “Why?”

Felix looks around and he does notice eyes on them from all the way across the quad, people whispering behind their hands and trying to peek around stone columns in their way. Wow, God works fast but uni girls work faster, at least when it comes to spreading gossip it seems. Strangely, Felix finds that he doesn’t really care.

“Well maybe you look fit today,” he says with a wink, and he can see Oliver trying to scowl at his charm. 

What did you do? His eyes say.

Felix gives him a playful smile and tugs Oliver closer by the collar of his shirt. 

“C’mon Ollie,” he says, looping an arm around Oliver’s back. “Let’s give them something to stare at.” 

He steals a kiss right there in the middle of campus, with everyone and their fucking roomate watching. Playing it cool is overrated anyway. 

That night Farleigh is still too angry to even go out drinking. He’s going to need to call in the big guns. 

“Venetia, I need you to get down here,” he says ominously, cellphone pressed to his ear. “We have a code red.”

There’s a high pitched slurry of words from the other end. 

“Remember, we went over the colors? They were your idea-”

…

“Yeah, I know you were drunk. You’re always drunk. Do I need to start writing this shit down for you?”

…

“Fuck you too,” he rolls his eyes. “Just get your ass on the next flight to London.”

Chapter Text

Chapter eighteen

By the end of their first week back to class, Felix and Oliver have a routine of sorts. It takes a circuitous route of ducking through hallways and slipping through back doors just to catch the fleeting moments between classes. Sometimes they can only spare about three minutes for snogging behind the library before they’re off again, riding that high through the rest of the day like junkies getting their fix.

But on Friday Oliver has morning classes and Felix has his at noon, leaving a precious gap in their schedules. As soon as his last class gets out Oliver is out the door, taking the steps two at a time as the clock tower rings on the half hour. He cuts around the back of the dorm hall and finds Felix’s door unlocked.

“Tonight? Like, tonight tonight?” Felix says, his cellphone pressed to his ear, pacing the length of the room and dragging a hand through his hair as Oliver comes in. “That’s kind of last minute Vee-”

There’s a pleading whine from the other side of the call just as Felix turns, head tossed back, looking frazzled as he chews on his thumbnail, but when his eyes land on Oliver his whole face softens. He must stop listening to whatever Venetia is saying, just for a second, because her muffled voice raises to an ear splitting frequency. 

“Huh?” Felix snaps back into the conversation, trying to keep up with whatever his sister is talking about. “I know- Listen I’m sorry, I am-” he insists earnestly, but as she prattles on he gives Oliver an exasperated look and tilts his chin toward the bed. “There’s just been a lot going on with school and- stuff. I need to tell you-”

Oliver sets his book bag aside and sits on the unmade bed, kicking his shoes off and slouching back into the pillows. The sheets still warm from Felix’s late morning lie-in, when he pouted please, Ollie five more minutes- as Oliver got ready. The bed still smells like sex too, from this morning and the night before and probably for the rest of time. This mattress will have to be burned by the end of the school year.  

But Oliver can’t think about any of that right now, because the electronic chatter of whatever Venetia is bitching about is setting his teeth on edge. From the anxious look on Felix’s face, it’s nothing good. 

“I know I promised-” he says, shuffling his heels across the floor. 

Oliver watches the shape of his mouth pulling to one side and the other, caught in the pressure of indecision.

“Alright- I’ll make it happen,” Felix finally concedes, his shoulders slumped, head tilted back toward the ceiling. “I just have class ‘til three-”

They have twenty-six minutes before Felix needs to be in class. Twenty-six minutes, just slipping away as Venetia goes on and on about whatever whim she’s bent Felix too this time. Oliver just wants to snatch that phone from his hand and chuck it out the window. 

“No, I do want to see you! I was just caught off guard,” Felix says, putting on a smile to sound more convincing. “Totally, I’ll take you out, we’ll have a great time- you can ruin some poor first year bloke’s life.”

Oliver twists his fist up in the duvet, flexing his grip until his knuckles turn white, but he keeps his face blank and impassive, like he’s not even listening. Felix knows he is, but old habits are hard to break. 

“Pick you up?” Felix asks incredulously, shooting an apologetic look at Oliver. “I guess I can, I’ll call a car and meet you there, when does your flight land?”

Venetia babbles some sort of confirmation and Oliver remembers when he had the chance to kill her, in vivid, violent clarity. He rehearses a few lines of a Robert Burns dirge in his head to stay calm. 

To wander forth, with me to mourn 

The miseries of man-

“Yeah, alright sounds good, I’ve got to get to class-” Felix finally says, ending the tedious conversation with, “Love you, see you soon!”

At last Felix snaps his cell shut and then flops face down onto the bed.

“ Ughhhh ,” he groans, lying mostly on top of Oliver, not that he minds. 

And Oliver wants to ask about the call, wants every single fucking detail of whatever backhanded trick Venetia is playing, but with such limits on their time, Felix’s plush, bitten-red mouth is so much more important.

“ Felix- ” he calls softly, nosing along his cheek until he gets that kiss he’s pleading for. 

Soon they’re sharing the taste of heat and want and whatever lolli Felix was sucking on a moment before, cherry something, Oliver would guess. It’s almost embarrassing how easily worked up they both are, they fuck in the mornings and grope each other between bells and then fuck as soon as classes let out and then choke down their suppers just to fuck again and then do homework together and fuck all through the night, until their eyes are too heavy to keep open and they collapse in an exhausted heap. It’s a frantic, strangling, all-consuming need for each other, every hour of every day. They’ve just got so much time to make up for. 

“Wait,” Felix murmurs when Oliver starts unfastening his trousers. “Just let me hold you for a minute.”

Even though his blood is running hot and he’s soaking through the seat of his pants, Oliver can’t deny Felix a single thing. So their kisses turn slow and sweet as those strong arms wrap around his back, tugging him in for a cuddle. 

Felix lays a kiss under Oliver’s ear and then stays right there, breathing in the scent of his skin like he needs it more than air. 

Oliver can’t help but to ask then, “What was that about?”

Felix groans again, all put-upon like the drama queen he is, and he refuses to move from his hiding spot.

“Last year I invited Venetia down to campus, to show her a good time, you know? That uni isn’t all revising and term papers,” he grumbles into Oliver’s neck. “And she’s decided to cash that in tonight.”

“Seriously?” Oliver asks, as if he didn’t already have a sneaking premonition. 

There goes their weekend plans of, who could guess? Fucking, lazing about, pretending to do homework, and more fucking. A damn shame for sure. 

“Yeah, out of fucking no where too,” Felix huffs, nibbling on Oliver’s ear to entertain himself. “She hasn’t even texted me all week, and now she’s flying in at five.”

Oliver hooks one leg around Felix’s hip and clutches him impossibly closer, curling his fingers into the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. 

“So you’ll be playing doting big brother for the weekend?” he surmises, more than a little annoyance coloring his tone. 

“Yeah,” Felix says with a tired sigh, voice turning soft and small as he admits,  “And I haven’t really told her- I mean, Farleigh’s probably said something, but-”

He doesn’t have to say it. Oliver gets the picture. 

“I take it she wouldn’t want me tagging along?” he says when Felix just keeps shuffling around the subject. 

A damning silence is his answer. 

“She doesn’t have a great opinion of you at the moment,” Felix finally says, laying an apologetic kiss to the hinge of Oliver’s jaw.

“Can’t blame her for that,” he concedes, but he doesn’t loosen his hold on Felix a single fucking inch.

“I’m going to talk to her though,” Felix promises. “She means well, really. And Farleigh and her are going to bitch for a while about it, but they’ll get over it. And if you need anything I can-” 

“Felix, it’s alright,” Oliver cuts in when Felix starts twisting up with anxiety. Too many people to please, poor baby . “I can handle a couple nights on my own.”

Bullshit, Oliver will be climbing the walls by Saturday morning.  

Felix turns his head with an impressively spoiled pout. 

“But what if I can’t Ollie?” he whines, only half joking. “How will I go on?”

Their codependency is reaching critical levels. Oliver wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You’ll have to sneak upstairs when they’re not looking,” he whispers, catching Felix’s bottom lip between his teeth. 

“I’ll never survive,” Felix grumbles between kisses as his hands wander their way under Oliver’s shirt. “How much time do we have?”

Oliver glances over to the clock on the nightstand. 

“Twenty-one minutes.”

Their impending separation looms in the corner of the room, the time tic-tic-ticking away. If Oliver doesn’t get fucked sometime between right now and Monday morning, he’s going to make it everyone else’s fucking problem. 

Thankfully, Felix seems to share his sense of urgency, locking their lips with renewed fervor and reaching for his belt.  

“Alright, you want it in your mouth or your cunt?” he asks, because they don’t have the time for guessing games. 

Oliver quirks his mouth to the side and pretends to think.

“Hmm, how ‘bout both?” he says, a cheeky smirk on his face when Felix’s eyebrows shoot up.

“In twenty minutes?” Felix says, but his cock sure seems willing to try, pressing insistently against Oliver’s hip.

“You can do it,” he murmurs, giving Felix’s hair a demanding tug. “For me, right?”

“You’re a nymphomaniac, you know that?” Felix says, even though his mouth is wet and his eyes have gone all shiny and eager. 

A dark, rumbling laugh rises in Oliver’s chest. 

Nympho, that’s a new one. Maybe the first diagnosis Oliver would give some credence to. 

“And you’re my good boy, aren’t you?” he asks, just to hear that hitch in Felix’s breath. 

“ Fuck, ” he whispers, face that lovely shade of pink, lips blood red, eyes dark as the night sky. 

Nineteen minutes later Felix struts into his lecture, still smoking the cigarette he plucked out of Oliver's pleasantly bruised mouth.    

That evening Felix calls a car to take him to pick up Venetia, but of course Oliver doesn’t let him go so easily. 

“Ollie, baby, I really- fuck- I really have to leave now- ah-” Felix tries to say, still shivering through the post-orgasm headrush, not made any easier by Oliver continuing to suckle at the tip of his cock as he rolls Felix’s sore bullocks in his palm.

At last Oliver pulls his mouth away with a wet pop, strings of drool hanging off his lips. He gives Felix’s balls one more good squeeze, just for the road, and when it makes him gasp Oliver surges and catches him by the chin. With his thumb digging into Felix’s cheek, Oliver gathers up the spunk sticking to his tongue and spits right into his open mouth. 

A high, desperate noise escapes Felix’s throat right as his cell phone buzzes on the nightstand, probably the driver just pulling up to the curb. For a brief moment, Felix really looks like he’s considering telling Venetia to get her own fucking ride. Oliver smirks and pecks the corner of his panting mouth. 

“Have fun love,” he whispers. 

“You’re fucking evil,” Felix moans, his tongue darting out to catch the last taste of spit and cum sticking to his lips. 

On shakey legs Felix finally drags himself out of bed, grabbing his jacket and keys and phone and definitely not lingering like he doesn’t want to go. He gives Oliver a kiss goodbye, and then another, and then another.

“I’ll text you when we’re at the club, or wherever Vee wants to go,” he says with his mouth to Oliver’s cheek. “Please call me if- if something comes up?”

“I’ll be fine.” 

“Ollie-”

“Felix,” Oliver hums, more endeared than anything. “Go play big brother for a few nights. If I decide to burn the building down, I’ll give you a heads up.”

Felix snorts and pinches him in the side. 

“I love you, you fucking maniac.”

“I love you too,” Oliver calls as he watches Felix walk out the door with a dark hickey on his jugular and that starry gaze in his eyes. He might as well have Property of Oliver Quick stamped on his lower back. 

After Felix is gone Oliver has to entertain himself for the evening, the whole bloody weekend actually, so he sets his mind to a chore he’s put off for far too long. 

Cleaning his fucking dorm room. 

But on the way out he grabs one of Felix’s shirts from the laundry hamper, and since no one is around to see, he takes no shame in holding it to his face and huffing the scent of sweat and fancy body wash until it makes him lightheaded. He’ll need something to help him sleep anyway, Felix won’t even notice it’s gone. 

Up three flights of stairs Oliver finds his shitty room just as he left it, a vile fucking mess. The scent of booze and sadness has soaked into the walls, so bad that Oliver wonders how his neighbors don’t complain, but if they do he hasn’t been around to hear it. 

What did Felix call it?

“You’re not going back to your depression pit Ollie,” he said, when Oliver felt like he’d overstayed his welcome after spring break. “‘You can stay with me as long as you want.”

Forever, Oliver almost said.

“I can have my cleaning lady take care of it for you? She still comes twice a month for my and Farleigh’s rooms.”

“I thought you were doing your own chores now? Survival skills and all that.”

“One thing at a time Ollie, I’m still mastering this laundry business. It’s all about balance-”

Oliver looks at his dingy little room littered with months of crumpled homework and empty bottles and unwashed clothes and sick stains and terrible, wretched thoughts etched into the walls. Balance has never come easy to him. 

The pull is there, like the tide, steady and subtle as it lulls him out into the familiar depth, until the undercurrent sweeps him off his feet and drags him under. That darkness that only Felix can drive away is already creeping back in around the edges of his vision. For a moment he forgets that he ever had escaped in the first place. 

He still has Felix’s sweaty t-shirt in his clenched fist, so when that sinking sensation feels far too real to just be in his head, he buries his face in the butter-soft fabric and takes a breath. The scent fills up his head and suddenly everything seems okay again. Hysterically, Oliver thinks it might just be enough to keep him sane, or close enough to, for the weekend.

Trading one psychosis for another, something says in the back of his head. 

Not like I’ve been offered a better deal, Oliver counters. If he has to be clinically obsessive and prone to violence, he might as well find something to enjoy about it. And getting dicked down five times a day is just a bonus. 

He already wants Felix back. He wishes he had told Venetia to fuck off. Wishes he had dug his claws in and never let go. 

It’s been maybe fifteen minutes. 

It’ll be fine- 

The worst layer of the mess gets bagged up and tossed into the rubbish shoot at the end of the hall, the echo of empty bottles clinking all the way down, until they shatter in a satisfying crash-

Under the hot tap Oliver washes the sticky residue of old vodka off his hands. Then he scrubs all the filthy tiles in his bathroom until they gleam and those many nights he spent emptying his guts into the toilet are a distant memory.

He opens the thin, creaky windows and the crisp air comes rushing in as he lugs his overflowing hamper all the way down to the basement. Certainly he’ll piss off plenty of people by hogging most of the washers. Fuck ‘em, he huffs and just tries to keep moving. 

Sharks die if they stop swimming. Oliver has never known if that’s really true, but he understands how it feels.  

Keep going, keep breathing, keep your head above the surface, don’t let it pull you under-

Oliver finds a pretty clean set of sheets in his dresser and makes up the bed for real, sick of the ugly bare mattress glaring at him. Then he puts one of his pillows into Felix’s shirt and clutches it to his chest like it’s a teddy for a very emotionally unstable child. It’d be embarrassing if anyone saw him like this, but especially if Felix did. He’d get that sad, tender look in his eye that makes Oliver’s skin crawl, and then probably ask if he needs a fucking hug or something. 

God, you’re so fucking repressed, Oliver thinks.

Then he thinks about humping the pillow until he squirts spunk all over Felix’s favorite t-shirt.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

At least it’d be something to do, idle hands and devil’s playthings and all that-

He starts chipping away at the monstrous pile on his desk next, sorting through the half-written notes and torn up papers for anything he can salvage for the rest of the semester. Amongst the school work clutter is his own sloppily hand written ravings, jotted down on assignments and napkins and ripped-out novel pages-

I can still taste your flesh between my teeth and your blood pours like ambrosia down my throat-

Do you ever hear me at your window, howling, mourning, nightly, morning-

I think you do-

If I ever say I hate you, it’s just another lie-

Please don’t believe me-

Just as Oliver is starting to circle the drain down into the pitch black depths of his own mind, there’s a sudden knock at his door. Instinctively he crumples the tattered paper in his fist, as if the words aren’t spinning around his head in a sick, twisted melody. A shameful reminder of how truly pathetic he is, when left to stew in his own morose poetic bullshit. 

He stares at the blank face of his door, waiting long enough that he almost believes he imagined it, until it happens again. This time the pounding fist on his door makes the air shake and an ache bounce around his head. 

Who the fuck could that be? And what’s their fucking problem-

And really, Oliver should not be surprised when he opens the door to find Venetia Catton on the other side. 

Hell hath no fury, or so they say.

“Hi Ollie,” she says, so sugar sweet it makes his teeth hurt. “Mind if I come in for a quick chat?”

Oliver glances over his shoulder at the half-way decent state of his room, and when he finds no good excuse he turns back. She’s still there. Damn-

“Sure,” he shrugs. “Make yourself at home.”

With more confidence in her entitled little finger than Oliver could ever aspire to, Venetia glides into his dorm room and sits herself at his desk chair, one leg crossed over her knee demurely, hands gracefully folded in her lap. If the clutter or grime offends her sensibilities, she doesn’t say so, though Oliver suspects she’s expecting to be offered a glass of wine. 

He lets the door swing shut in her wake, tracking her every step, not sure yet whether he’ll be playing the predator or the prey this evening. 

“How have you been?” he asks, hands shoved into his pockets.

“Don’t do that,” she scoffs. “Your politeness is so grating.”

Oliver huffs, testing the sharpness of his canines against his tongue. 

Might as well have it out now, between her nails and his teeth only one of them will make it out alive.

Instead of apologizing, he says “I thought Felix was picking you up at the airport?” 

“Hm, that’s strange,” Venetia purses her lips quizzically. “Must have been a miscommunication.”

How convenient. 

“You and Farleigh really put your heads together on this one,” he says, sitting at the edge of his bed. “Should I be flattered?”

Hopefully she hasn’t noticed his sad little pillow or scraps of melodramatic poetry. 

Venetia laughs in a way that pierces right through his ego. Surely she was the meanest girl at all her fancy boarding schools. 

“Listen Ollie,” she says in a mocking tone. “I won’t waste your time, I’m sure you have better things to do than this-”

He doesn’t , and she knows it.

“But I just really need to know, what the fuck you think you’re doing?” she asks, sheer contempt in her dark eyes. They look so much like Felix’s, but just not the same.

Oliver swallows the bile rising in his throat. 

“Surviving,” he bites. “Something you might not understand.”

She grits her teeth beneath her glossy lips. Quite dolled up for a friendly chat, isn’t she?  

“Oh, I just wouldn’t get it, would I?” she says the bitter spite bleeding into her voice. “You think you’re so fucking special Oliver. You're just so sad and so clever, and just cute enough to not get left out in the gutter. And what else? You really think you love Felix?” 

“Yeah,” Oliver cuts in. “I really fucking do.”

Enough that anyone who comes between them should be scared.

Venetia cocks her head and asks, “Did you love him when you left?”

Yes, Oliver would say, if he could make himself speak. 

“He was a goddamned wreck when you did,” she seethes, her perfectly manicured nails digging into her palms. “We had to fucking drag him off the floor, drunk, high, sobbing, what have you. He’d wake up screaming from nightmares. I had to talk him down during panic attacks. If anyone asked what happened, he’d get this look on his face, like he was fucking terrified. You did that Oliver. You fucking broke him.”

The guilt swirls in his belly, hot and painful and not at all helped by the way she paints such a lovely, horrid picture. His mouth waters, teeth just aching to sink something tender and bloody. 

“So what, you’re here to tell me to stay away?” Oliver huffs. “It’s a bit late for that.”

I tried, he thinks. I would have let him go-

That’s one of those lies he tells only himself, over and over and over , as if he might start believing it. 

“No, I’m here to tell you that I’m not cleaning up your mess again,” she says, like she has all the right to crush him beneath her expensive heel. “You hardly know him Oliver. You have nothing to do with him, or our family, with our home. Nothing at all. Your just a stranger, a fucking stray we let in from the cold. It’s only a matter of time before you break his heart all over again. So I’ll make myself fucking clear, we can ruin your life Oliver. Between my parents, Farleigh and I, do you have any idea the people we know? The things we could say? You’ll be the fucking dirt under our feet when I’m done with you.”

A well made threat, Oliver must admit. He can just see her now, practicing lines in the mirror like a fresh faced ingénue.  

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he responds, not letting a single thought show on his face. “And I’m sure Felix will appreciate you all deciding what’s best for him.”

Venetia huffs at that like she might try to deny it, but that would be just so boring-

“What are you even after?” she asks instead, twirling a blonde curl around her finger. “Money? No that’d be too droll. Attention, more likely. Can’t write a check for that, though Daddy might try.”

She tries to bait him into laughing, but Oliver won’t play along.

“Just him,” he answers. All he’s ever wanted- “Always him.”

That turns her smile into a grimace, her lips curling in disgust. There’s no use trying to bribe him, because there’s no other Felix in the world. So she changes tactics.

“You know, Farleigh always called you a spider,” she says, her voice going soft and airy. “”Cause your always just skulking around, weaving your spidery, Oliver-y web, just waiting for something to catch ,” as she speaks, her delicate fingers wander along her bare thigh, the hem of her skirt creeping upwards.

Oliver watches with candid interest, just to see how far she’ll go. 

“But don’t be upset Ollie, I don’t think you’re a spider,” Venetia goes on, wetting her full lips, heavy lashes fluttering. “I think you’re a moth. I’m right, aren’t I? Quiet, fragile, drawn to shiny things. Chewing little holes in every goddamn thing you touch. Always beating your wings against the window, just so desperate to get in-”

Yeah, that’s far enough. Oliver let her have her fun, now it’s his turn.

“Why didn’t you ever tell Felix about that night in the garden?” He says, interrupting her monologue.

For a moment nothing comes out of Venetia’s open mouth, the shift in tone so sudden it could give you whiplash.

She recovers a second too late with an unconvincing, “It never came up.” 

Oliver is the one laughing this time. 

“Oh really?” he huffs, standing from the bed in one fluid motion as he takes a few idle steps towards her. “Certainly not to protect my character. Would it have made Felix angry? Or just hurt him more, to know how much of a fucking bastard I really am? Was that it Venetia, were you protecting him all along?”

Her eyes follow as he approaches, the fair hair on her arms standing on end and her voice gets catching in her throat. He crouches down beside her, just close enough to touch, if she dares. 

“Or would he be angry that you couldn’t just play with your own toys?” Oliver asks quietly, watching as chills crawl up her bare legs. “You always have to get your hands on his, don’t you? Would he finally see how fucking jealous you are?”

“Shut up,” she hisses, but it lacks all the venom she had before. 

Oliver doesn’t obey, those haunting blue eyes gazing up at her, drawing her nearer still, just waiting for his chance to strike.  

“Or maybe he wouldn’t care, and that’s the worst part, isn’t it? That it wouldn’t change a goddamn thing?” he whispers, like it’s their little secret. 

“You’re fucking delusional,” Venetia spits, enraged tears prickling in her eyes. “You- you're a fucking freak. A nobody . You don’t care who you hurt, just to get what you want. You ate Felix up and then licked the fucking plate-”

“Yeah, I did,” Oliver grins, leaning in close like he might kiss her. For a moment, it seems like she’d let him. “And then he came back for seconds.”  

Venetia jerks away from him like she’s been struck by lightning, blinking the sting out of her eyes like she can hide the desperate, devastated look on her face.

“Honestly, you read like fucking paperback novel,” he says, watching her squirm under his scrutiny like a vulture picking meat off the bone. “Coming here, trying to intimidate me with some rich kid bullshit. Admit it, you’re not here for Felix, you just want something you do to matter. You’re on what, your third gap year? Have all the parties gotten boring? No one interesting left to talk to? Or maybe they won't talk to you. You waste more money a day than some people see in a year, and still your un-fucking-satisfied. Really Venetia, if you want to stop feeling like second place , you should stop acting like it-”

He must really touch a nerve with that one, because before he speaks another word she slaps him hard across the face. The pain is sharp and vibrant, grounding in a way that Oliver probably needs right now, or else he might go right off the deep end.

Venetia is shaking, her hand poised in the air. It's probably still burning from the impact.

She’s terrified , Oliver realizes. When he licks the ridge of his gums, he tastes blood. She should be.

“I’ll let you have that one, for old time’s sake,” he says generously, rolling the ache out of his jaw and flashing a steely glare up at her. “But don’t doubt it when I say, my whole fucking life is Felix. So if you want to see me fall, I’ll fucking drag him right down with me. And I know you won’t ask him to choose between us, because you know he already has.”

Venetia chokes down what looks like a sob and says in a shaking voice, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

How I’d love to know-

“That’s a million dollar question right there,” Oliver chuckles, standing again. This game sure got boring fast. “You should ask Felix, he seems to like it.”

Under that cracked veneer, she just seems so very very bitter. And shallow. And gilded. Reflecting light, not creating it. No wonder she’s trying to keep Felix close, she looks so much better beside him. Oliver isn’t stupid enough to underestimate her, but that doesn’t mean he’ll placate her stupid little games.

“Well, it’s been lovely to see you,” he says, when she can’t come up with something new to keep his attention. “But you should probably call your brother. Tell him you caught an early flight and are already on the way to campus, so he can tell the driver to turn around. Now have a good night, and get the fuck out of my room.”

He opens the door for her, like a gentleman would, and he watches her bottom lip quiver as she stands on her unsteady heels. 

“Oh, and you better put on a nice smile for Felix, or else he’ll know something’s up,” Oliver says as he sends her off. “He’s not quite as dense as you and Farleigh think he is.”

Before she can muster any sort of response to that, he slams the door shut.

A few hours and a confused phone call later, Felix and Farleigh have taken Venetia out to all their favorite spots in Oxford. They pregame at the King’s Arm, which Felix is no longer banned from after a fistful of bills is passed to the bartender-

“It was just a little scuffle,” Felix says when she asks. “No big deal.”

“You don’t want to know,” Farleigh whispers. “But I’ll tell you later.”

The trio knock back a few rounds of shots and the pub is buzzing with students, all eager to float in their orbit. The whole time Felix is beaming, joking around, giving all his time to his sister, getting her drinks and introducing her to classmates, waving off all the girls who try to catch his attention. 

As promised, the uni boys are tripping over themselves to catch her eye, and Venetia finds an addictive glee in being the centerpiece of the room for once. No wonder Felix likes it here. 

When they go clubbing there’s even more alcohol and more pretty boys and even some coke getting passed around in the shadows, if you know who to ask. And of course, Farleigh does. Soon Venetia is swept away in the revelry, wondering why she ever refused to go away to school with them in the first place. If she had, maybe Felix never would have met-

Stop it, she tells herself, Oliver’s words haunting her mind like a phantom in the shadows.

If you want to stop feeling like second place, you should stop acting like it-

She takes one of those eager boys into the loo and lets him fuck her. If he has big, blue doe eyes, that’s just a coincidence. When she’s pulling her miniskirt back down, she tells him to get lost before she gets her brother and cousin beat the utter shite out of him. He’s quite confused, but he doesn’t stick around to argue. 

Afterwards she steps outside for a cigarette and Felix escapes a hoard of tipsy slags to join her. 

“Hey,” he says with a dopey smile on his face. He didn’t want to do any rails, but he did smoke a fat joint at Farleigh’s behest-

“You know, since you left the ball and chain at home-”

“Shut up Farleigh-”

“Are you having fun?” Felix asks, his head lolling to the side, relaxed and happy and so much like his old self that it makes Venetia’s heart hurt. 

“Yeah,” she breathes out a cloud of smoke. “A lot less homework than I remember you whinging about.”

Felix just laughs, “Well, that’s monday’s problem.”

She stomps out her cig under her heel but doesn’t go back inside yet, the thumping bass music vibrating through the wall as she drops her cheek on his shoulder. 

“I missed you,” she says softly. 

He puts his arm around her and kisses the top of her head. 

“I missed you too,” he says it like an apology, and he means it too. She knows he does, which is why it stings even worse when he says, “I have to tell you something Vee.”

“No,” she mutters. “You don’t-”

“Yeah, I know Farleigh has said something or another, but I wanted to tell you in person,” he goes on, more direct than she’s ever heard him before. The Felix she used to know always shrugged off arguments, just to keep her happy. Not anymore it seems. “Me and Oliver are talking again. And I’m sure you think I’m stupid for it, but we’re working through some stuff. Taking it day by day, you know? I just couldn’t let him go, I guess. There’s no one else like him.”

Venetia wants to scream. At her brother. At Oliver. At the sky. She feels like she’s shown up to a surprise funeral. 

And I know you won’t ask him to choose between us, because you know he already has-

“You’re a big boy Felix,” she says, gazing out into the dark city street, unable to look him in the eye. “You can make your own decisions.” 

He finds her hand and laces their fingers together, giving it a comforting squeeze. It’s something between an I’m sorry and a thank you.

It’s well past midnight when Oliver finally gets his dorm room clean to his neurotic standards, and he actually does feel a modicum better after it’s done. The memories of drinking until sun-up and writing half-legible suicide notes and not getting out of bed for days on end seem just a bit further away, no longer nipping at his heels. 

He settles in for the night with his face buried in his Felix scented pillow, trying to remind himself that he’ll have the real thing back soon enough. He won’t sleep easy alone, but it won’t be as bad as it was before. For the first time in a long time, Oliver almost feels like he’ll be alright-

And then there’s a knock at his door.

Tossing his pillow aside, Oliver glares up at the vaulted ceiling. 

Really? He asks the universe. If it’s Venetia again, he can’t be liable for what he might do. 

But when he opens the door, Oliver is met with a flushed and tipsy Felix, trying to stifle his giggles with a finger to his lips. 

“ Shhh, Venetia and Farleigh are in my room, ” he slurs, whispering like they might hear from three floors down. “I told them I was going for a shower.”

Oliver can’t keep the grin off his face, even as he asks, “What are you gonna do when you go back still dry, with the same clothes on?”

Felix blinks at him.

“Umm- I’ll figure that out later,” he laughs, much more pressing matters at hand as he comes stumbling in for a kiss. 

Chapter Text

Chapter nineteen

“Stop talking to my mother,” is the first thing Oliver says as he sits down across from Felix in the dining hall one spring afternoon. 

Whatever happened to “Hi, how are you?” Felix thinks. 

“I just gave her your post box number,” he says, picking at his lunch as he revises notes for his new classes. Notes he took himself that are actually legible, for classes he actually understands. Revolutionary. “She wanted to send you a care package. What’s the harm Ollie?”

Oliver levels a no-nonsense glare across the table and Felix might feel just a little bad. He wasn’t trying to meddle, really- But as soon as that sweet lady rang him up one morning, asking how the new semester was going and if Oliver was doing alright, well, Felix folded like a cheap suit. 

As if to prove a point, Oliver reaches into his bookbag and pulls out a square tin with a note taped to the top. He pushes it over and Felix gets a look at the thin, curly script-

Hope you’re doing well lovie, we’re so proud of you!

Give our love to Felix too, he’s been such a dear-

~Mum

When Felix glances back up at Oliver and is met with a stroppy glower, like a moody fucking teenager. Fuck, it’s so cute, Felix absolutely does not feel bad now, especially when he opens the tin and finds it full of homemade shortbread biscuits. 

“Oh my God Ollie, you’re so dramatic,” Felix huffs fondly, taking a biscuit without asking. It’s so good, he’s sure his own mother has never baked a single thing in her life. “She’s just being nice.”

“I know,” Oliver grumbles, putting his head in his hands, rubbing circles into his temples. He looks like he could use a biscuit, in Felix’s opinion, but he knows Oliver won’t take it. Might just bite the hand that offers it, honestly. “It’s not- I’m just-”

“Allergic to people being nice?” Felix says, with a little more attitude than necessary. But if Oliver really expects sympathy for his perfectly lovely mother baking him biscuits, then that’s fucking ridiculous. “I know you have issues about your family, but really darling. What’s the big deal?”

“The big  deal Felix,” Oliver says, keeping his voice low with his lip curled up over his teeth, “is when you talk to her, I have to talk to her. ‘Cause last time you did, she told you I was gonna fucking off myself-”

You were, Felix wants to say. But that really wouldn’t make this any better-

“And when I do call her, I get the fucking guilt trip and do something stupid like agree to come home for Easter,” Oliver growls, knotting his fingers in his hair like the pinpricks of pain will keep him under control. 

It takes Felix a moment to follow that swerving logic. 

“You’re going home?” he asks, a piece of shortbread crumbling between his fingers. 

When is Easter again? Felix racks his brain. Soon?

Oliver drops his forehead to the tabletop, landing with a hard thump that makes Felix cringe. 

“Yeah,” he huffs, his cheek smushed into the polished wood grain. “Leaving on Sunday, I’ll be back Monday morning.”

That’s right, Felix remembers now. There’s the three day weekend as a courtesy for the holiday. They were going to spend it celebrating Felix’s new classes with weed and sex and not leaving the bed for seventy-two hours straight. 

“Oh,” Felix deflates, the taste of butter and sweetness turning cloying in his mouth. He might feel a little bad for meddling now, if only for the loss of their long weekend together. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. 

Oliver takes a slow, even breath and sets his chin on his crossed arms. 

“It’s not your fault, I'm just being a prick,” he says. “I ditched Christmas anyway, should’ve known that’d come back to bite me.”

Felix reaches across the table to brush the shaggy hair off Oliver’s face, dragging his blunt nails over his scalp to soothe the migraine budding behind his eyes. 

“Where’d you go for Christmas?” he asks softly, his thumb tracing the curve of Oliver’s cheek.

“Nowhere?” Oliver mumbles, leaning into the soft hand like an alley cat coaxed out of the shadows. 

“You were at the dorms? The whole month?”

“Yeah.”

“Doing what?”

“Nothing.”

“ Ollie,” Felix breathes.

Oliver just blinks at him with those big, sad blue eyes. 

Felix thinks back to getting a lackluster blowjob in Mexico and having a panic attack in the bathroom on his birthday. At least someone was more miserable than him, but that does not make him feel better. 

Then the best idea Felix has ever had pops into his brain, like a cartoon lightbulb has just appeared over his head. 

“Oh, how ‘bout I come with you?” he proposes, a bright smile on his face. 

Problem solved-

“Where?” Oliver asks, crease dipping between his eyebrows.

“You’re house, for Easter,” Felix explains, and then he watches all the color drain out of Oliver’s face. 

In an instant Oliver jolts backwards, away from Felix’s touch to look at him with wild, naked fear in his eyes. He looks like a hare caught in a trap, ready and willing to gnaw its own leg off to escape.

“Why would you say that?” he says, a shallow hitch in his breath like Felix has just offered to stick hot pokers in his eyes. 

Fuck fuck fuck-

“I just thought-” Felix scrambles for words, “maybe we could go up together. You know, for fun-”

“No,” Oliver snaps, curling his fists in his jumper sleeves. “What the fuck Felix? No-”

“Jesus, alright. No need to bite my fucking head off,” Felix says, set on edge by Oliver’s sharp tone. “I’ve already met your parents anyway-”

Then Oliver, who looks somehow deranged and angry and petrified all at once, has the gall to fucking laugh, “Yeah, and that went so bloody fucking well, didn’t it?”

Sick, hot ire burns in Felix’s belly and rises up into his throat. 

“Well maybe it would’ve if you hadn’t told me your mum was a drunk, and oh yeah, that you’re dad was fucking dead-” he says, spiteful as all hell. 

“Shut up,” Oliver hisses, baring his teeth like a fucking animal. “I told you why I said that-”

“Yeah, after I chased you down for six goddamn months,” Felix cuts him off, because he’s not going to be the fucking bad guy for just offering Oliver some company. “And I was pretty fucking chill about it Ollie, so I think you owe a chance to do it right this time-”

“I said shut up!” Oliver says again, too loud this time, slamming his hands on the table.

A hush falls over the dining hall as a couple dozen students trying to enjoy their lunch hear the outburst, glancing out of the corner of their eyes, whispering questions behind their hands.

The ringing silence is enough to snap Oliver back to the present, and there’s just the briefest flash in his desperate eyes that Felix recognizes. Like he really is about to chew off his own leg.

Don’t you dare-

“Ollie,” he tries, one second too late.

“I need to go,” Oliver says, bolting for the door. 

He’s gone before Felix can even get his feet under him. 

“God-fucking-dammit,” Felix breathes, dropping his head into his hands, wondering how he cocked that up so bad in a matter of seconds. 

Bloody fucking hell Oliver, are you ever going to let me in? He miserably asks the universe. Nothing answers him. Typical, one step forward, two steps back. 

A few curious onlookers don’t seem to get that the show is over, so Felix waves off their intrusive gawking with an air of mind your own fucking business as he packs up his book bag. 

He also takes the biscuit tin with him. They shouldn’t go to waste. 

After his afternoon classes get out Felix trudges back to his dorm, wanting nothing more than to drown the sorrows of his ruined weekend at the bottom of a bottle. But that just seems so, what’s the word? Dysfunctional. 

So he gets high instead. And then he eats that whole tin of shortbread, because he has the munchies and the love of his life is a fucking arsehole sometimes. 

By the time it’s dark out Felix is feeling vaguely ill from all the sugar and very sorry for himself while watching dumb videos on his laptop. 

What the fuck is Easter anyway, he thinks. Some creepy fucking bunny comes ‘round and shits out chocolate eggs, and then something about Jesus?

Maybe he’s too high. 

Or not high enough, because when there’s the faintest, most timid knock at his door, Felix feels his stomach swoop as he scrambles out of bed. 

Chill the fuck out, he tells himself, swiping crumbs off his trousers. They just got in a bit of row, nothing worth crying over-

Except when he opens the door it’s very clear that Oliver has been crying, and Felix’s tender heart breaks into tiny jagged pieces. 

“Hi,” Oliver says with a harsh crack in his voice, like he’s surprised that Felix even opened the door.

He looks like he’s spent the last few hours curled up in some deep, dark hole in the ground, and knowing Oliver, he might have. His eyes are misty and bloodshot and his mouth looks sore and bloody, bitten between anxious teeth until the skin puckered and cracked. He’s also wearing a t-shirt of Felix’s, one that he hasn’t seen in a few weeks now that he thinks about it.  

“Hey,” Felix answers, every single atom in his body screaming to pull Oliver into his arms and never let him go.

Before he can though, Oliver speaks. 

“I’m sorry that I yelled at you,” he mumbles, raw, painful sincerity on his blotchy red face. Between each word Oliver twists and flexes his knuckles at sharp angles. It’s a thing he does when he’s trying not to fall apart, Felix has noticed, and it looks like it hurts. 

“Ollie, c’mere,” he murmurs, reaching out to tug him into a hug. “It’s alright-”

“ No it’s not ,” Oliver insists, a wet gasp bursting from his chest and a fresh wave of miserable sobs clawing up his throat. When he’s upset like this, his accent gets so thick and warbled that it’s almost indecipherable. “You fuckin’ bend over backwards for me and then I treat you like utter shite-”

He’s spiraling down into that terrible darkness again, so Felix does the only thing he knows for sure will help. 

Without a second thought, Felix takes Oliver’s jaw in his hands and plants a kiss right on his open mouth. A surprised sound escapes Oliver, and then he all but collapses into Felix’s chest. Felix slips an arm around his back and deepens the kiss, dragging his tongue soothingly across Oliver’s bitten lips, the taste of blood and sugar and weed and tears spreading between their mouths. 

Only when they absolutely have to breathe do they break apart, and Felix takes the chance to say, his chest heaving with every word, “I’d bend over backwards for you any time, any day.”

It sounded smoother in his head, and a lot less like a slimy pick-up line, but it makes Oliver’s eyes go wide and dark as they gaze up at him. 

“ Felix, ” he says softly, like it’s a relief as he buries his face in Felix’s shoulder.  

“ Ollie, ” Felix hums back, kissing the top of his head and his temple and his cheek and anywhere else he can reach. 

They stay there for a while, either not knowing or not caring that they’re still out in the hallway, until Oliver finds his voice again. 

“Were you serious about coming with me?” 

“Yeah,” Felix answers, rubbing slow circles along his back. “Of course.”

“Why?” Oliver asks, his mouth pressed to the soft skin at Felix’s pulse. 

Because I love you. And I don’t want to be away from you, even for a day. And I want to know you. And I don’t want you to be so afraid of that- 

“I- I just didn’t want you to have to go alone,” Felix says instead. “If you don’t want to, I mean.”

“We’d have to take the train up,” Oliver says, like that’d be a deal breaker. “And stay the night, ‘cause they stop running early on Sundays.”

“Mhm,” Felix hums. “Your Mum making a roast for supper?” 

“Probably,” Oliver huffs, sounding unenthused.   

Felix shouldn’t find his surliness so charming.

“Sounds lovely. Should I bring something? Wine?”

Oliver bites him on the collar bone, not too hard, but enough to leave a mark. Felix pinches the perky cheek of his arse. 

Some bloke from down the hall walks past with a towel thrown over his shoulder and says “Could you two get a bloody room?”

Oliver snaps around and actually  growls, “Get fucked-” 

Felix snorts and yanks Oliver into his room, throwing the door closed as he starts to laugh. 

Yeah, the love of his life is a total arsehole sometimes. He wouldn’t have him any other way. 

“What are you going to tell Farleigh?” Oliver asked that night, sometime between sucking Felix’s soul out through his cock and riding him until they passed out. 

That’s why Felix finds himself walking down the hall to his cousin’s dorm the next morning, not at all stressing about what he might say. 

“Well I’m not going to lie,” is what he told Oliver pointedly. “I’ll just- uh- think of something.”

He hasn’t thought of something yet, and just casually mentioning oh, I’m having dinner with Oliver’s perfectly normal family, seems ill-advised. It’d definitely dig up some drama Felix is not ready to deal with yet. 

For a second he thinks about knocking, but they’ve never done that in this family, so Felix pops his head through the doorway and hopes he doesn’t catch Farleigh in bed with someone again. 

“Good morning,” he calls, far too cheerful for the hungover glare he gets from the bathroom sink.

“What do you want?” Farleigh says, spitting a glob of toothpaste at the drain. 

That’s kind of also the problem. He and Farleigh haven’t been talking much lately. Or at all really, since Venetia’s stay a few weeks ago. Honestly, Felix will take some of the blame for that. He hasn’t been around much anyway, what with all the time he’s spending with Oliver, and Farleigh wasn’t just going to sit on the sidelines and scowl about it. He’s been keeping tabs though, whether he likes it or not, because Farleigh has always gotten the best gossip whispered in his ears. If Felix just disappeared from campus for a day, it wouldn’t go unnoticed. 

The bright smile on Felix’s face flickers, just for a second, and he feels even worse for not wanting to tell the whole truth. Fuck, how does Ollie do this-   

“I was just letting you know that me and Oliver are uh-” he says, biting at his nails, pulling a thought out of thin air, “-going on a day trip tomorrow, and we’ll be back on Monday.”

See, not technically a lie. 

Take that Ollie-

Farleigh finishes washing his face and glares at Felix through the mirror.

“And?”

The contempt is radiating off Farleigh in waves, chipping away at Felix’s sunny disposition. 

He still tries to keep it up, muttering something like, “And I just didn’t want you to worry-?”

“Pfft- yeah, whatever Felix,” Farleigh huffs, bitterly amused by the concern as he pushes past Felix toward his dresser. “Do whatever the fuck you want.”

“Farleigh,” Felix whines, his shoulders slumping. 

Is it too much to ask for everyone to just be happy? Felix thinks, feeling dumb and naive and annoyed all at once.  

Farleigh just rolls his eyes at the whinging and says, “And if he takes you out to the moors to murder you, at least I get to say I told you so-”

That’s a bit below the belt, even for Farleigh. But Felix has always been a lover, not a fighter. 

So instead of falling for that obvious baiting, Felix takes one long stride across the room and wraps his arms around Farleigh, nearly lifting him off his feet in a very forceful but loving bear-hug. 

“Hey-! What the fuck-” Farleigh shrieks, trying to twist out of the hold. “Let me go-”

“No,” Felix insists, and they might be about the same height, but it’s no question that he has the advantage in bulk and strength. “Not ‘til I tell you that I wouldn’t be here without you. And I know I don’t listen to your advice as much as I should, but you’re like, my brother and I love you.”

Farleigh pauses his struggling to gag at the saccharine sweet sincerity.

“Jesus Christ Felix-” he groans. 

But Felix quickly adds on, “And I’m leaving my credit card with you for the weekend. So whatever trouble you get in, you can blame on me when Dad gets the bill.”

That certainly gets his attention, just like Felix knew it would. 

They’ve all got their weaknesses, Farleigh’s is partying, Venetia’s is attention, Felix’s is Oliver-

“ Fine, I love you too,” Farleigh finally huffs with a half-hearted pat on Felix’s shoulder. “Now will you put me down? You’re getting all your gross, lovey-dovey germs on me.”

Felix laughs and sets him back on the ground, but he can’t help but to tease, “No, I showered. I promise, Ollie helped-”

“Ughh- sick,” Farleigh gags again, for real this time, and Felix laughs even harder.  

“Have a good time Farleigh,” he says, leaving his card on the edge of the dresser. 

Farleigh waves him off with a put-upon sneer.

“Yeah, yeah. Go have fun with your creepy little boyfriend, you two deserve each other,” he says, which is the closest thing to his approval that Felix could hope for. 

Sunday comes around and Felix is ready right on time, with an overnight bag and a nice bottle of merlot he picked up from the liquor store around the corner. Oliver comes down the stairs with his own bag slung over his shoulder, looking like death warmed over. 

“We’re really doing this?” he asks.

“Yep,” Felix answers him with a grin. 

They walk down to the train station and settle in for the long haul in the furthest corner seats, so they can play footsie and snog without bothering anybody. 

“Is it just going to be us and your parents?” Felix asks as the cityscape outside the window blurs into rolling countryside.

“Nah, my sisters are gonna be there too,” Oliver grumbles. “Mum is thrilled.”

Oh yeah, Felix had almost forgotten that Oliver isn’t the only child he claimed to be, back before all the lies started to unravel. 

“Tell me about them.” 

“We don’t really talk,” Oliver says after a moment, looking out into empty space. “They hate me.”

Felix curls his pinky around Oliver’s, like a tether to keep him from floating away. 

“Why?”

“A lot of stuff,” he admits. “I wasn’t easy to live with, and they think I put Mum and Da through too much bullshit. Which is fair, I guess.”

In the faint reflection of the window, Oliver recalls the last time he actually spoke to his sisters.

“Are you fucking happy with yourself?” One of them said, he can’t remember which. “ Mum nearly had a heart attack. You’re going to drive her into an early grave-”

“I don’t know why they still bother,” the other chimed in. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself-”

And Oliver, having just gotten released from an emergency visit to the psych ward, said “ That’s not true, I don’t care about me either-”

Felix nudges him gently, and the illusion fades away. 

“Well give me something to work with, so I’m not walking in blind,” he says. 

Oliver heaves a sigh and drops his cheek onto Felix’s shoulder.

“Sarah is thirty, still lives in Prescot,” he concedes. “She’ll be bringing her kids, though Mum said something about her and her husband havin’ issues, so he might not be there.”

Felix blinks at him with his brows arched up high as he says, “Kids? You have like, nieces and nephews?”

“Two girls, I think.” 

“You don’t know?”

“When she had ’em I was in and out of the hospital, and I don’t blame her for not bringing them around much,” Oliver shrugs, and then goes on to say, “My other sister, Aisling, is like, twenty-eight? She’s a nurse over in Manchester. Had tons of opinions about where I should get institutionalized.”

Felix does some quick math in his head.

“That’s a big age gap between you and them,” he notes.

“Yeah, I don’t think my parents were planning on another kid,” Oliver says, a rueful little smirk pulling at his lip “But here I am.”

Felix stops asking about Oliver’s siblings then, because it’s making his stomach ache with the tense anticipation. Suddenly he understands why Oliver didn’t want to come home.

He changes the subject and asks, “So what’s Easter about anyway?” 

Oliver squints at him.

“It’s when Jesus got resurrected,” he says, like it’s obvious.

“Oh, but what are the eggs for?” Felix is still confused. “And the bunny?”

“That’s some pagan thing that got co-opted,” Oliver explains. “It’s all fake anyway, just a thing to make money off of bad chocolate and wicker baskets.”

Bad chocolate? Felix thinks, no such thing-

“Did you have to like, go to church as a kid?” he wonders aloud, because Oliver’s never mentioned it before, and everything Felix knows about religion is very, well- not Oliver-

“For a bit, but when I got older my parents couldn’t make me do shit if I didn’t want to,” he says, more than a little smug about it. “My mum still goes though, teaches Sunday school and everything. She says it makes her feel better to know someone’s listening.”

There's a strange way Oliver says that, trailing off into contemplative quiet, like it’s something she said that stuck with him all these years. Something he still thinks about.

“You don’t buy it?” Felix guesses.

“No, I mean- she can do what she wants,” Oliver elaborates, knocking his forehead against Felix’s jaw. “But I’ve got enough voices in my head, I don’t need to start believing they’re real.”

Fair, Felix will give him that at least, lacing the rest of their fingers together.   

“My mum went to some crazy strict catholic school in France,” he mentions, since they're sharing. “We were barely allowed to say Merry Christmas.”

Oliver chuckles and pecks a kiss on his adam’s apple. They pass the rest of the train ride swapping kisses and trying not to get caught smoking by the car attendant.  

The call for the Prescot station comes over the intercom and Felix has to pry Oliver out of the seat. 

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I can just say we missed the stop.”

“And then what? Dick around Glasgow for the night?”

“Sure, if you want-”

But eventually they catch a cab and soon they’re turning down a street of lovely brick row houses that haunts Felix’s memories. Oliver looks vaguely sick and not all there, being led along by his wrist after Felix passes a few bills to the driver.  

The sun is just beginning to set as they walk up the driveway. Hanging on the door is a festive wreath with pastel flowers and little speckled eggs tucked into the loops. 

“You told them I was coming, right?” Felix asks, bouncing from one foot to the other as his nerves start to catch up with him. 

It takes Oliver a moment to answer, staring into the dark shadow cast by his childhood home like it will swallow him whole.

“No, I didn’t think we’d actually get this far.”

Felix blinks at him.

“What?” 

He must have misheard, because surely Oliver didn’t just bring him home for a family dinner unannounced.  

… Right?

“I was hoping the train would crash,” Oliver says, like that’s just a totally normal thing to hope for.

“ Ollie, ” Felix hisses. 

“We could still ditch,” he offers, a pleading look on his face. 

“ Ollie!” Felix says again, loud enough to catch someone’s attention.

“Oliver, is that you?” His mother’s voice calls as she eases the door open. “You’re early- Oh! Felix?”

She finds the two boys on the stoop, definitely not right in the midst of a whispered argument.

“Um- Hello,” Felix says, because he just has to say something. “I brought wine.”

Chapter Text

Chapter twenty

Oliver makes him suffer on the front stoop of his parents’ home for three agonizing seconds, watching Felix and his mother exchange surprised glances with a petty, poorly-hidden smirk on his face. 

You’re a prick, Felix wants to say, if it wouldn’t be dreadfully inappropriate. 

“Felix’s family doesn’t do Easter,” Oliver finally cuts in, ducking his head with a penitent look up at his mother. “So I told him he could come, if that’s okay Mum?”

Immediately her face softens and without question Oliver gets his way. It’s honestly impressive. And Felix thought he was the spoiled one. 

“Oh of course, ” she says emphatically, shuffling them both through the door. “Felix, dear we would love for you to join us. I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you.”

“No no, I’m sorry,” Felix recovers with his most charming smile. “Thank you for having me, I just thought Oliver would have called ahead-”

When she’s not looking, Oliver shoots him a peevish little glare that makes Felix want to either smack him or kiss him. Or both, in that order. 

“Don’t even worry over it dear, we’ll have plenty. I went a bit overboard this year for supper,” Oliver’s mum pats his cheek fondly, and then before Oliver can scurry away she wraps him up in a warm embrace that he can’t politely escape. “Thank you for coming lovie,” she coos as Oliver does best to tolerate the hug. “It’s so good to see you. How have you been?”

“I told you Mum, I’m fine,” Oliver mutters, looking deeply uncomfortable as Felix stifles a chuckle into his fist.

Payback, he thinks, and Oliver seems to hear it. 

Paula pulls back a fraction just to look at her youngest with a tender sort of understanding.

“Of course you did,” she says softly, too gently, too forgiving. “Just don’t blame me for wanting to be sure.”

God, she’s so bloody nice it makes Felix’s heart ache. Oliver you fucking ungrateful twat, he says with his eyes, say something-

“Okay Mum,” he says, without the petulant little curl in his voice and that seems to be good enough. Or her standards are very low. 

So she smacks a kiss on his forehead and says, “Sarah and the girls are in the den with your Da, go on say hello. Aisling just called, she should be here any minute. Felix go ahead and put your bag anywhere, and I can take that to the kitchen,” she says as he passes over the bottle of wine. “Would you like a glass now? Or maybe some tea? Oliver?”  

Her delight is palpable and a little overbearing. It reminds Felix a bit of his mother when she’s hosting some dinner party with royalty and controversial politicians, nearly salivating for the scandal. It’s kind of refreshing to see such joy without all the nefarious scheming. 

“Anything’s fine,” Felix says, and Oliver doesn’t answer, which will be typical for their evening at this rate. 

As Paula walks away to the kitchen, she looks at the label on the wine and mumbles “ oh my,” under her breath. 

Oliver kicks off his shoes by the rack in the entryway and leaves his bag at the bottom of the stairs, so Felix follows his example with a huffed “Ollie-”

“What?” 

Felix levels a don’t give me that shit look at him and Oliver sighs as his shoulders slump. 

“I just didn’t want to get her hopes up if- if this doesn’t work out,” he mumbles, and then he takes a desperate glance up the stairway. “You wanna go hide in my room ‘til supper?”

“Huh? No,” Felix says, a little lost and annoyed by the flippant change of topic. “What do you mean-”

Before he can finish that thought there’s a rumbling of little feet on the linoleum floor, and two young girls come round the corner giggling, until they freeze at the sight of two strange men in their grandparents’ house. 

“Jesus Christ,” Oliver visibly recoils, like the twins from The Shining have just appeared.

Felix kicks him lightly in the back of his heel.

“Hi there-” he starts to say, just a voice comes down the hall. 

A woman strides through the arched entrance to the family room, calling “Mum, who was at the door- Oh my God- ”  

She stops in her tracks, face going white like she’s just seen a ghost as her wide eyes fix on Oliver.

The girls and Felix seem equally confused by the sharp change in tone, looking back and forth between the two siblings, tension so thick in the air it’s stifling. 

Oliver rolls his eyes at the dramatics of it all and breaks the silence with a terse “Hey.”

“Ol-Oliver,” the woman stumbles, as if she might’ve said something else, but caught it at the last second. She blinks at him like her eyes are playing tricks on her and says, “You look so- different.”

“I know,” Oliver snorts, shuffling his feet on the ground, unable to carry more than a few seconds of eye contact at a time.

That’s what the hormones do, is something Oliver has said before, and Felix thinks that’s what she means.

Just when the awkwardness is at its peak does Oliver’s father decide to join them, ducking in from the den with a cup of tea in his hand. Very much alive, Felix has to remind himself. The thought still gives him the chills sometimes. 

“Felix? I didn’t know you were joining us,” he says, paying no mind to the uneasy glares his children are trading. 

Without any other options besides standing there like an idiot, Felix is relieved to have someone else to talk to.  

“It was a bit last minute,” He grins, hoping the light panic isn’t reading through the cracks in his face. “Sorry to impose, but Oliver offered-”

“No, it’s good to have you. The more the merrier, they say,” Jeff waves off his worries kindly, and then comes over to put an arm around Oliver. “Good to see you. Your mum’s been looking forward to this.”

“I noticed,” Oliver grumbles and then subtly shrugs his way out of the embrace. 

The little ones seem to have gotten over their trepidation because the older one pipes up.

“Mummy, who’s ‘at?” she says, looking curiously at Oliver, her cute little accent so thick Felix almost can’t understand her. 

Oliver’s sister, Sarah, Felix remembers, seems to have just remembered that there are other people in the room and turns to her daughters with a very fake placating smile.

“Uh- Well, this is you’re, um- uncle-” she says, choosing her words carefully.

“We don’t have to do that,” Oliver interjects, deadpan as ever, and all at once she drops the act.

“Nice to see you too,” Sarah huffs, with equal amounts of contempt as she starts again. “This is Oliver. He hasn’t been around much since you both were little.”

Oliver ignores the dig and tilts his head to one side. 

“This is Felix, we go to school together.” 

“Hello,” Felix greets when prompted, giving a little wave at the children, who just blink up at him with big blue eyes that are eerily familiar.

And as if the family reunion wasn’t bad enough already, the front door opens and another woman comes through, wearing nurse's scrubs with her hair pinned up. 

“Hiya, sorry I’m late, the motorway-” she calls, until she sees Oliver and halts in her stride. “ What the hell-”

“Aisling! Language,” their mother comes shuffling in with a steaming cup of tea that she presses into Felix’s hands. 

He takes it, for lack of something better to do, feeling like he’s sitting front row to a terrible mash up of a cheesy family film and a horror movie. Between the three siblings he takes notice of their round features, the slight quirk of their mouths, the pissy expressions that Farleigh might call resting bitch face, those crystal clear, uncanny blue eyes-

“We told you Oliver was coming to dinner,” their father says, still not quite acknowledging the friction between them all. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t think he’d actually show up,” she says with a hefty amount of snark, so very much like Oliver that Felix could almost laugh. 

“That makes two of us,” Oliver quips right back, rolling his eyes all over again, the very picture of an annoying little brother.

Nevermind the earlier discomfort, Felix is actually enjoying himself now.  

But Paula seems to have had enough of their behavior already, and even her scolding motherly voice is light and sweet as she says,  “Now that’s enough of that, from all of you. We’re having a lovely family supper, and Oliver brought a guest-”

All eyes turn to Felix then, who cringes behind his mug and gives a nod to Oliver’s other sister. 

Aisling looks him up and down like she’s just noticed him, and then turns to her sister with a look of what the fuck is going on?  

Sarah gives her a shrug, as if to say, I know, right?

Oliver glares at them. Fuck off, both of you-

“ So, I expect no more quarreling for the evening,” their mother says pointedly, like they’re all still little children in her eyes. “Understand?”

“Yes Mum,” they all say at once, with varying amounts of scowling sincerity. 

“Now, the roast is coming out of the oven soon,” she goes on. “Oliver, will you help me set the table?”

“Gladly,” he huffs, following her into the kitchen for an easy escape. 

The two sisters exchange a cryptic glance and then scurry off toward the den, one of them muttering something like “who does he think he is- the prodigal son?” and the other says, “prodigal areshole, more like it-”. 

Jeff squeezes Felix’s shoulder, jolting him out of his eavesdropping.

“Thanks again for coming Felix,” he says cheerfully. “With you around, there probably won’t be any fights to break up. Last time they were all together- well, let’s say we’re lucky Aisling knows her way around a tourniquet.”

He laughs and doesn’t elaborate, heading to the den as he takes another sip from his cup. Felix is beginning to suspect there is something stronger than tea in it. 

But just when Felix stops standing around like messy family drama is a spectator sport, ready to go sit down and make stilted conversation until supper, two knee-high obstacles stand right in his way. 

“Oh,” he stops just short of tripping over the children. The little girls look up at him with all the skepticism they can muster, and all he can offer is a delayed, “Hello there.”

“Who are you?” the elder one says bluntly, her arms crossed over her chest. She looks about five, if Felix had to guess, wearing a pale pink sundress with stockings that have fresh grass stains at the knees, and her mousy hair is falling out of the plaits that surely looked much neater at church this morning. 

She seems so far away, so Felix sets his tea aside and crouches down to answer her face to face.

“I’m Felix, what’s your name?” he says, tapping into the unending patience and charm in his arsenal. He doesn’t have much experience with children, or any really, but he had more than a dozen nannies impressing perfect manners upon him since before he can remember. 

“Wendy,” she says, surprised that he’s come down to their level before she gestures to her sister, “and this is Chloe.”

By Felix’s best estimation, she must be around three, maybe. With those chubby baby cheeks and her thumb firmly planted in her mouth, wearing her own darling Easter dress with cute little pigtails and clutching a heavily abused Barbie doll under her arm. She blinks those doe eyes at him and his heart melts, just a bit. 

“Well nice to meet you both,” he says kindly. “I like your Barbie.”

That gets a bashful smile out of the little one, even though she is still sucking her thumb and not speaking, but then her sister cuts in. 

“Why would you like Barbies? You’re a boy,” she says, as blunt as children are prone to be. 

“So? Boys can like Barbies,” Felix insists, feigning a bit of mock offense. “I’ll have you know my sister and I used to play with them when we were kids.”

Which is true, because until they were sent off to primary school, he and Venetia were each other’s only playmates, so they had to find a compromise between playing dolls and kicking the footie ball around the yard. This was even before Farleigh started living with them for the summers, and he was even less interested in sport than Venetia was. 

“Really?” Wendy asks, giggling a little bit at what must seem absurd to her. A big, strong man like Felix playing with Barbies? No way -

“Yeah,” Felix nods, eager to win her over now. “One time we got in a big argument and she cut all the hair off my favorite dolls, and I was so mad I didn’t talk to her for a week,” he divulges, and only thinks better of it when they gape at him in horror. So he has to scramble to say “But you shouldn’t do that- or play with scissors, like, ever-”

Shit shit shit, he shouldn’t be putting ideas like that in their heads. Why was Venetia even allowed to have scissors back then? They were like, six, if even. She could’ve poked her fucking eye out for God’s sake-

He’s been around these children for all of two minutes and already half-baked paternal instincts are oozing out of his pours. Good thing Oliver’s not here to see it. 

“Who’s that guy you came with?” Wendy changes the subject just like that. “Mummy an’ Aunty are talking about him.”

“Oh, that’s Oliver,” Felix says, trying to walk the line between honesty and overstepping. He wouldn’t want to incur the wrath of a testy northern mum, so he settles on, “He’s their brother.”

There, perfectly honest, not at all condescending. He’s got this.

“Then why haven’t we met him before?” Wendy says, unconvinced by his simple explanation

Felix kind of likes her, even if she’s giving him a hard time. Smart as a whip, like a pint-sized Nancy Drew. She must drive her nursery teachers up the wall. 

“Uhh, well he’s been away at school for a while,” Felix says quickly, and he absolutely knows not to elaborate. “We go to university together, and we’re friends, so he said I could come to supper with you all.”

The girl cocks her head to the side, considering.

“Like, best friends?” she asks, and Felix could almost laugh. She’ll have them figured out by dessert. 

“Like, best best friends,” he tells her. You don’t even know the half of it kid-

As if he were summoned, Oliver appears in the kitchen doorway with his face red like he’s had to suffer through some very personal questions from his mother. When he sees the scene before him, it’s almost too much of a bother to be surprised.  

“Felix,” he says, sidestepping the little girls like they might be infectious.

“Yes?” Felix says, still squatted on the floor as Oliver presses a fistful of Cadbury chocolates into his hand. “Oh fuck yeah-”

The children gasp at his language and Felix scrunches into his shoulders when he realizes. Oliver snorts and leans his shoulder on the wall, unhelpful as ever. What a prick-

“Ooooo,” Wendy hums, looking like she might run off and tattle. 

At last Chloe pops her thumb out of her mouth and says in the sweetest voice Felix has ever heard, “Yous says a bad word.”

“Shhh shh- Sorry-” Felix shushes, desperately passing a sweet to each of them. “Here, just don’t tell your nan, okay?”

Both girls take the chocolates eagerly and his transgression is easily forgotten as their chubby fingers peel away the foil wrapping.

With some relief Felix sticks his tongue out at Oliver and then pops a piece of chocolate in his own mouth. 

“Thanks Ollie,” he says as sweetness coats his tongue. 

“Thanks Ollie!” the girls chime in, already endeared to the only person who knows where their grandmother hides the sweets. It makes an uneasy shiver run down Oliver’s spine and his face turns another shade redder. 

“Mum says that you two have to go wash up for supper,” he says after a moment, at least trying to keep the visceral discomfort off his face. 

“Her name is Nana,” Wendy corrects him, and Felix finds her delightful. 

“Not to me,” Oliver quips right back, shooing them away. “Now go.”

The girls go scampering off then to scrub the smudged chocolate off their hands in the bathroom sink, and Felix feels his knees crack as he stands up again. Is he getting old already?  

Oliver fixes a look at him.

“They’re cute,” is all Felix has to say for himself. Fuck, he is getting old. 

“Don’t even start,” Oliver huffs. 

Felix has another chocolate and shoves the rest in his pocket to have just in case. Who knows when he’ll need a pair of tiny allies tonight. 

Dinner is called before too long, and the dining table is packed to the gills with a vast spread of classic English supper upon a frilly lace tablecloth. Felix is honestly impressed that only one person had made all of it, and he feels vaguely underdressed for the occasion. Normal people probably don’t do black-tie formal for dinner though, so that must be just his upbringing. 

“Wow Mum, you really went all out this year,” Aisling comments. 

“Well, it is a special occasion, to have everyone together again,” Paula says sweetly, dusting her hands off on her apron before hanging it in the kitchen. “Don’t let me forget to get a family picture later.”

The siblings share a disgusted look and silently agree not to remind her. 

“Looks perfect dear,” Jeff says, putting an arm around his wife and kissing her temple. 

The sight makes Felix feel a bit homesick, wondering why his family can’t just pretend to be normal for a couple days a year, even if it’s for holidays they don’t celebrate. 

“Can I sit by Felix?” Wendy asks her mum, bouncing on her toes excitedly. 

“No,” Oliver answers her bluntly, tugging Felix by the sleeve to the farthest corner seat and putting himself between him and the rest of the family. 

He might as well piss on Felix’s leg to mark his property, and holy shit that is not a thing Felix should be thinking about right now, it’s Easter for fuck’s sake-

“You don’t own him,” Sarah sneers, steering her pouting daughter to the other side of the table 

He kind of does, Felix thinks, and Oliver almost growls at her. They really should have talked about how subtle they were going to play this. But then again, subtle has never been their style. 

“Here sweetheart, let’s have you right over here,” Paula says, setting a a couple thick phonebooks on the chair to prop Wendy up to the table, and the she whispers conspiratorially, “Closer to the pudding that way.” 

Wendy grins and Felix notices a decadent looking trifle waiting on the counter, and he’s not jealous at all, no way-

They all take their seats around the table, the parents at each end and Sarah sat between her children, getting Chloe settled in a highchair and telling Wendy to stop kicking the table leg. Aisling and Oliver have put as much distance between their chairs as they can, and Felix takes note that the knives at each setting are blunt, and that might be on purpose. Still, a mostly-normal family sitting down for dinner with a lovely roast at the center is so quaint that to Felix the scene looks like it belongs in a home and garden magazine. 

He reaches for his glass but Oliver swiftly bats his hand away. Felix looks over in confusion, until he notices everyone folding their hands in their laps, and even the little ones obey as their mother puts a finger to her lips to remind them to be quiet. 

Oh, he thinks as Oliver’s father starts up a simple but solemn prayer. People actually do this?

But Felix catches on quick, bowing his head with his hands clasped. The prayer seems typical, to him at least, thanking God for family and food and togetherness, though Felix kind of loses the plot once it gets around to the “only begotten son” stuff. He takes a furtive glance sideways and finds Oliver barely playing along to appease his parents, rolling his eyes when he catches Felix looking. 

Sorry, he mouths, trying to hide a twisted sort of shame behind his bad attitude. 

Felix nudges his foot against Oliver’s ankle. 

It’s alright-

The prayer ends when everyone else says “ amen” and it kind of gives Felix the creeps to be honest. Oliver doesn’t bother, but Felix feels the need to excuse his own ignorance.

“I didn’t know that all was a real thing,” he says without thinking. "I’ve only ever seen it on the telly.” 

Oliver snorts at their surprised faces and Felix wonders one second too late if that was offensive. It probably was, but Paula shushes her son before turning to Felix. 

“It’s alright dear, we’re just happy to have you,” God, she’s so nice- “Go on and help yourself.”

Soon enough their plates are loaded with generous slices of the roast with potatoes and yorkshire pudding and glazed carrots and peas and sprouts and gravy poured over everything. And Felix has had michelin star private chefs and been to the nicest restaurants on three continents, but there is something distinctly special about a home-cooked meal. Maybe it’s that made with love nonsense Martha Stewart talks about. 

A relaxed conversation goes round the table as platters of food are passed around. Jeff is just a few years shy of retirement from his accounting firm, looking forward to playing golf and birdwatching his days away. Paula speaks fondly about her Sunday school students and their fundraising for the local food bank. Sarah has taken a job at her daughters’ nursery school, and the girls have already made friends at their new flat. Aisling set some sort of record at her clinic for giving 67 flue shots in a single day. Felix thinks they all belong in some channel four feel-good sit-com. 

The mood shifts when it’s Oliver’s turn. 

“So how has school been going lovie?” his mother asks. “Are you enjoying your classes?”

“Yeah,” Oliver says tersely. “They're fine.”

She prods him with a few more questions and he only gives one word answers, pushing peas around his plate, hoping they’ll all stop looking at him soon. 

“Are you still on the rowing team?” Sarah asks pointedly. “We haven’t heard about that in a while.”

Oliver glowers at her, his fork bending slightly in his rigid grip. Felix’s eyes dart between them both like he’s watching a tennis match. 

“No, I haven’t had the time. Second year is when the difficult classes start,” Oliver says. And then he just can’t help but to mutter, “You’d know that if you ever went to uni.”

Felix has to shove a forkful of food into his gaping mouth so he doesn’t look too scandalized. 

Jesus Christ Ollie-

“Oh yeah,” Aisling jumps to her sister's defense, barely hiding her distaste for his bullshit. “With all that extra time you have, surely you’ve made top scholar again? Mum was bragging all about town last year-”

“I was not,” their mother insists. “I just told a few people at church-”

Oliver visibly bites back some seething response that would surely ruin dinner, so at least he has some control over that sharp fucking tongue. 

“No,” he says instead, looking back down at his plate. “This year’s actually been pretty up and down. I’m just trying to keep up.”

His sisters are taken aback by the uncharacteristic honesty, and Felix feels an ache in his belly unclench, relieved that he doesn’t have to play along with the lies again. 

“Oh, well that’s alright sweetheart,” Paula coos. “We’re still so proud of you.”

The sisters begrudgingly concede and quit stirring up trouble, and of course Oliver flicks his eyes up with smug satisfaction. He might not be spinning the lies anymore, but he’s still Oliver goddammit-

“Felix, how has Oxford been treating you?” Jeff changes the subject, and the attention turns to him. “What are you studying?”

“Um- Art History,” Felix quickly answers, forgetting for a moment that he isn’t just a fly on the wall. “It’s been going well, I’m really enjoying it.” 

It certainly helps that he essentially grew up in Britain’s most exclusive and over-decorated museum. Between his father’s interest in artifacts and his mother’s hoarding of pretty things, Felix was basically bred for the subject. He wishes he could go back in time and tell himself not to waste a year and a half on political science.

“That’s interesting,” Paula says with genuine affection. “What do you plan on doing with your degree?”

“Oh I have no clue,” Felix says with a candid laugh. He hasn’t thought past having something for his dad to hang in his office. “Honestly, I just switched my major this semester. It was actually Oliver’s idea.”

“Really?” 

That raises a few eyebrows across the table, some more suspicious than others. And yes, Oliver surely has a history with his sisters to warrant their distrust, but he’s Felix’s boyfriend damn it, and he’s not going to stand for them thinking bad of him. 

“Yeah, Ollie’s been a real life-saver this year,” Felix goes on, laying the praise on thick. “Keeps me on track, proof reads my essays, stays up late to study with me. Truely, I don’t think I’d be able to graduate without him.”

Oliver squirms in his seat, taking a long drink from his wine glass to hide the flush crawling down his neck. 

“Oh that’s so sweet dear,” his mother says, looking more proud of that than any top-scholar nonsense. 

“It- It’s not a big deal,” Oliver stutters, his lips stained a tempting shade of red. “Felix is like, the only person I can talk to sometimes. Really, I wouldn’t be able to stand Oxford if he wasn’t there.”

It’s silly how just that makes Felix’s heart feel like it’ll just burst out of his chest, but he doesn’t care. 

“Well then,” Oliver’s father says, like he’s just put the pieces together. “That’s- I’m glad you two have each other.”

“ Jesus Christ Da’-” Oliver mumbles, looking like he wants to sink into the floor. 

“Me too,” Felix agrees. 

Oliver kicks him under the table. Felix kicks him right back.

“This is really good wine Mum,” Sarah swiftly changes the subject. “Where’d you get it?”

“Actually Felix brought it,” Paula answers with a warm smile. “It’s very nice dear, I hope it wasn’t too expensive.”

“Um- no, I just grabbed something my mother likes,” Felix improvises. He didn’t even look at the price.

After dinner Felix volunteers to help tidy up, taking a armful of plates to the kitchen for Mrs. Quick. She wraps up the leftovers and fills the sink with hot soapy water to soak the dishes, and then scoops up an extra helping of trifle for Felix, with plenty of custard and strawberries. 

“Since you seemed to like it so much,” she insists, and Felix isn’t going to argue with her. 

In the lull after the meal, Oliver silently slips out of the room and locks himself in the loo down the hall. It buys him about five minutes to bite into one of his mother’s decorative towels and scream until his lungs burn. He can only get away with it a few times an evening, or else Felix will start to notice. But he needs the escape when all the walls feel like they are closing in. What did that one councilor call it? Self-regulation.   

What fucking new-age bullshit, is what Oliver thought then, and it’s still what he thinks of it now. 

He catches a glimpse of the mirror over the sink as he splashes cold water on his face, and can’t even hold eye contact with his own miserable expression. 

This is your fault, he hears echoing in his skull. You fucking deserve this-

Felix is being so very nice, patient to a fault, endlessly polite to even the most smothering attention. Oliver shouldn’t have expected any different, but every moment is like another crack in his fragile psyche. He’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Any minute now, Felix will flash a dashing smile and say “Oh look at the time, I should be going, thanks for the meal and also Oliver you’re a deceitful fucking freak and everyone would be better off without you so don’t ever call me again-”

Felix wouldn’t say that. He’ll break it to Oliver gently, and that will honestly be worse. And then Oliver will go upstairs and curl up on the floor of his childhood bedroom and turn into a cockroach like he’s in a Kafka novel. 

All your fault, the voice in his head reminds him, and he can’t help but to agree. 

This is what he gets for lying to Felix. For pretending to be something better than a worthless pile of quivering nothing. 

For flying too close to the sun-

So this is his cosmic punishment, parading the only person he’s ever loved around his boring life with his too accepting parents and his bitchy sisters for a whole insufferable evening. And then when Felix finally sees how fucking pathetic he is, Oliver’s wings will melt away and he’ll fall into that great black abyss again. This time, he’s sure he won’t be able to crawl back out. 

It’s not fair, he begs the universe, but nothing ever answers him. I just got him back-

His five minutes are coming to a swift end, so he knows he can’t start crying now. It’ll make his eyes all red and his face a blotchy mess and then his mother will notice and then it will become a whole thing.

After one more muffled scream, Oliver slaps himself around a few times in preparation for going back out there. 

Get it together, he tells his reflection. You can have a breakdown on your own fucking time.

Besides, he doesn’t want to leave Felix alone with his family for too long. Who knows what they could be telling him.

When he opens the door, he finds his sisters standing there, blocking the hallway. 

Of fucking course-

“Alright, fess up,” Aisling demands, not playing nice now that Mummy isn’t around. “Who is he?”

“An escort,” Oliver shrugs, because they wouldn’t believe anything he’d say anyway. “I picked him up on 33rd street.”

Both women are not impressed, and also not moving without a real answer.

Oliver groans and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“I told you, we go to school together.”

If he were lying, he would have come up with something much more interesting.

“Yeah, sure,” Sarah huffs, her hands on her hips like he’s one of her fucking children. “And what exactly did you tell this gorgeous posh Oxford bloke to make him come home with you?”

So, so many things. If Oliver tells them all the lies he told Felix, there’d be an A&E van out front within the hour, and a straight jacket at the hospital with his name on it. 

“This wasn’t my idea, he wanted to come,” Oliver says. “I should’ve told him the company isn’t very friendly.” 

He tries to duck around them again, but Aisling stops him with her finger wagging in his face. If she touches him he’s going to bite her, and then it’ll just be Christmas 2004 all over again.

“Really Ollie , he looks at you like you hung the moon,” She says, in that awful mocking way only older sisters can. “What fucking game are you playing?”

Alright, I’m fucking done here-

“Fuck off,” Oliver growls, about to shove his way past them without a care for the fight it would start. 

At least his eldest sister has the sense to get out of his way, but not before she catches his shoulder and asks “Wait, does he know?”

Oliver doesn’t take another step, stalled by the honest, not-too-judgemental question.

“Know what?” he feigns, knowing exactly what she means. He just likes to watch her pussy-foot around saying it. 

“About the- the gender stuff,” Sarah says, making a vague gesture to his chest. Last time she saw him, Oliver was still binding his tits down with duct tape.  

“I was gonna ask if he knows you’re a psychopath,” Aisling says, caring less for tact as always. 

“Yeah,” Oliver snorts. It’d be hard to hide either one. “He knows.”

Sarah shuffles her feet in discomfort, but there is some genuine concern when she follows up with “Does he have, like, a fetish or something?”

Oliver almost laughs.

“Oh, definitely.”

“For trans guys?” Aisling asks, like she might actually care. Shocking-

Oliver does laugh this time.

“No, for psychopaths.”

The rest of the evening passes without incident. After the wine bottle is empty they all retire with tea in the family room, and the siblings are at least less openly hostile. 

It doesn’t take too much coaxing from the girls for Felix to sit on the floor with them, and he’s all too happy to let Chloe climb on him like a jungle gym while Wendy holds one of his hands hostage to paint his nails. 

“You read the new Harry Potter book?” she says, aghast with excitement. “I got the first one for my birthday, but I still don’t know some of the big words.”

“You’re so smart you’ll have it in no time,” Felix tells her. “You’re miles ahead of me already. I don’t think I could even read when I was your age.”

That makes her giggle a giddy little noise, and Oliver scowls from his spot on the furthest corner of the sofa. As if he can catch the scent of irrational jealousy, Felix gives him a look.

She’s just a little girl Ollie, he passes along their psychic link. It’s not a bloody competition-

Oliver still snarls and snaps his teeth, like the fucking wolf he is. Luckily, no one else seems to notice. 

In one swift-handed move Felix catches Chloe before she falls off his shoulder and cracks her noggin on the coffee table.

“Good catch,” Jeff says, settled comfortably into the recliner across the room. He and Felix’s father would probably get along if they ever met. Maybe they’d talk about something boring, like aged scotch or parliament.  

“Oh goodness Felix, thank you,” Sarah breathes a sigh of relief. “Have you always been so good with kids?” 

“Uhh, I don’t really know,” Felix says, setting the precocious toddler back on her feet, only for her to crawl into his lap and wrap her chubby little arms around his bicep. “I haven’t really had the chance before.”

Mum didn’t allow other children in the house, is what he means. But he gets the feeling that’s not a normal thing to say, so he keeps it to himself. 

“Well you’re a natural,” Paula says and Felix preens at the compliment. 

 He shoots a grin over at Oliver and gets a horrified look in return. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he grumbles, and his sisters snicker at the flush blooming on his face. 

“Have you still been writing Oliver?” Aisling asks, her tongue less barbed after two glasses of wine. 

“No-” he tries to say, but the question catches Felix’s attention.

“Writing?” he repeats. “Like, poetry and stuff?”

“Yeah, sort of,” Oliver tries to dodge the questions, picking at the lacy edge of a pillow. “It was just a thing I did in secondary school.”

“Oh he used to spend all his time on it Felix. Always said he wanted to be a novelist,” Paula interjects, eager for any chance to gush about her youngest. “Filled dozens of notebooks. I always knew he had such a talent. Why, he even won a short story competition-”

“Really?” Felix cocks his head at Oliver. “You never told me that.”

He’s never seen Oliver writing anything but essays. It seems like something he’d be good at, with the way he can weave a story out of thin air. Something to put that clever imagination of his to use for sure. 

“It- it’s nothing,” Oliver stutters, and Felix just finds it so cute when he gets bashful. “Barely anyone even entered-”

“Didn’t you get first place in the whole county?” Sarah adds on and Oliver glares at her like she’s a traitor. As if they were even on the same side to begin with. 

“You did?” No way is Felix letting this go now. “Can I read it?”

“No,” Oliver says, but then Felix pouts and it’s only a matter of time- “Maybe, I don’t even know if I still have it-”

“Didn’t mum get it laminated?”

“Oh it’s somewhere around here, I just know it. Don’t worry lovie.”

Oliver buries his head in the pillow and refuses to come out for ten whole minutes. 

Eventually darkness subsumes the sky and the little ones are rubbing their eyes, so Sarah has to shuffle them into their coats and herd them towards the door. Aisling’s not far behind, needing to make the drive back to Manchester, so they all trade goodbyes. 

“Thanks again for dinner Mum,” Sarah says. 

“Yeah, this was remarkably pleasant,” Aisling teases. 

“Oh shush,” Paula says fondly, giving them both a hug and then kissing her granddaughters on the head. 

“We should do this all again soon,” Jeff says with a good humor. 

“Not too soon,” Aisling says, and then she turns back. “Felix it was great to meet you. Oliver, don’t be a stranger.”

“And maybe answer your phone sometime between now and the next holiday,” Sarah adds on.

He rolls his eyes, but it’s more for show than anything now.

“No promises.”

“Mummy wait,” Wendy says before they leave. “We hav’ta say bye to Felix.”

“Well be quick about it then.”

The girls rush back across the room and throw themselves at him in a hug. 

“Bye-bye Felix,” they both say, Chloe barely able to get his name through her baby-talk.  

“Bye girls, thanks for hanging out with me all night,” he says making them squeal as he lifts them off their feet. When he sets them down again, he leans in to whisper, “You know what would be really funny?”

Seconds later they are running over to Oliver, giggling as they wrap around his legs and cry, “Bye-bye Ollie!”

To his credit, Oliver grits his teeth and bears it, only mouthing Fuck you to Felix when they aren’t looking. He still won’t willingly touch them, but hey, it’s progress. 

“Oh God,” Paula says suddenly, making everyone look over. “Felix I just realized, I wasn’t expecting you, so I didn’t make up the guest room for company.”

“Oh no worries,” Felix says, before he can think better of it. “Ollie and I can share.”

“ And that’s our cue to leave,” Aisling says. 

When they’re all gone a calm quiet settles over the house. Paula goes to tidy up the kitchen, but not before offering everyone more tea at least twice. Jeff leans back in his recliner with the local Sunday paper, looking like he’ll be falling asleep before page three.

Felix feels a bit like he’s run a marathon, but not in a bad way. In like, an accomplishment sort of way. That went pretty well, he thinks, if I do say so myself-

That is, until he sees Oliver hovering in the corner of the room, looking so very lost now that there are no battles left to fight. Almost like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

“Hey,” Felix nudges his shoulder. “You want to go get some air? Give me a tour of the neighborhood?”

He thought Oliver would be relieved to get a break, and maybe share a cigarette and snog behind some decorative hedges. But instead a scared sort of sadness shines in Oliver’s eyes, no matter how much he tries he can’t hide it. Like there’s suddenly one less chapter than you expected, in a book you never wanted to end. 

“Y-yeah,” he says before Felix can ask what’s wrong- “Sure, lemme grab a jacket.”

“You two going somewhere?” Jeff asks as they slip into their shoes. 

“Just out for a walk Da’,” Oliver says, refusing to look up from the ground. “We’ll- uh- be back in a bit.”

“Alright boys, don’t stay out too late.”

They step out onto the porch where all the lies unraveled, and as the door shuts a late spring chill picks up in the air. 

Chapter Text

Chapter twenty-one

It’s a crisp, blustery evening in the north tonight, with heavy, murky clouds drifting through the dark sky as the wind whistles through the trees. Felix pulls his jacket tighter around himself as fogged breath curls out from his mouth. He wants to tug Oliver to his side, put an arm over his shoulders and share body heat. Maybe whisper something charming and poignant and kiss him under the starlight. 

There are no stars out tonight, and Oliver is adrift. Head to the pavement, hands clenched in tight fists in his pockets, all his thought on just putting one foot in front of the other in some aimless direction. He looks like he might flinch if Felix tried to touch him.

It’s alright though. They’ve had an eventful evening. Lots of close emotional contact, so to say, and Oliver just needs to catch his breath. Felix is sure of it... and then less so as the silence stretches on and they keep walking. 

Felix lights up a cigarette out of habit, the orange glow like a beacon in the darkness as smoke fills his lungs and does nothing to warm his insides. He flicks away the ashes and holds it out to Oliver.

“Ollie?” he offers, his fingers trembling from the cold and the quiet anticipation.

“Hm?” Oliver hums, turning his head. His face is cast in shadows, Felix can’t see his eyes. “Oh, no thanks. I’m fine,” he says, quiet and small and like he’s not really there at all. 

No you’re not. Felix feels like that delicate, invisible string that ties them together is unspooling, and any minute now the thread will just slip out of his grasp.

He crushes the cig under his heel and searches for a distraction, just to buy some time to figure out what’s gone so wrong so suddenly. Across the street, something catches his eye. 

“Hey, look,” he tilts his head towards the gates of the neighborhood primary school. It’s just a small stone building with tall windows and a half-sized football pitch along the side, with a playground that’s probably stood there since the seventies. “Did you go to school there?”

Oliver blinks at the building’s backlit silhouette like he’s digging through memories from a thousand years ago. 

“Yeah,” he says softly, and then turns his head down again, walking off into oblivion until Felix catches him by the wrist and pulls him back from the edge. “What?”

Through the cuff of his jacket, Felix can feel Oliver’s pulse thrumming under his skin. 

What’s wrong? He wants to say. Please just tell me-

“C’mon,” Felix says instead, an easy smile playing across his lips, a pleading gleam in his eyes. “I want to have a look.”

Oliver doesn’t put up a fight and lets Felix drag him across the empty street. It’s not until Felix hoists himself up and throws one leg over the wrought iron fence that Oliver finally snaps back into the present moment. 

“Felix-” he says, as if that’d really stop him.

“Ollie,” Felix calls right back, offering out a hand. “Please? It’ll be fun. You need more bloody whimsy in your life.”

When in doubt, Felix always seems to revert back to that school-boy charm, carefree and joyous and a bit spoiled too. A shrink might say it’s due to his upbringing, what with the obscene privilege and lack of boundaries. But maybe it’s just the universe’s way of balancing out Oliver’s old-soul melancholia. 

A few seconds pass, and at last Oliver takes his hand with a huff and heaves himself up over the gate. 

Felix doesn’t care to know the grand plans of the universe, or whatever over-blown higher power might be out there. All he wants is Oliver, and the way they always fit so right together. It’s all the faith he’ll ever need. 

The earth squelches beneath their feet on the other side, the scent of wet grass and dirt rising up from the field. Felix keeps hold of Oliver’s hand, cold and clammy though it may be, as he leads them on a little trek across the pitch. The breeze rushes by and the chains on the swingset clink and clang as they sway, catching the glint of the distant street lights. 

When the furthest set of swings come into reach, Felix sits himself down on the well-worn seat and kicks his legs back to get an off-balance rhythm going. He’s far too tall, but that’s not the point. 

Oliver just stands there beside him, folding his arms back into his sides when Felix has to let go of his hand, his face morosely blank. 

What Felix would give for a snarky comment right now. 

“You know you lot were pretty lucky,” he tries to joke, not so subtly nudging Oliver toward the other swing. “We didn’t have stuff like this at boarding school.”

Oliver furrows his brow skeptically, “Really?”

“Yeah,” he teases, skidding the heels of his shoes on the blacktop. “It was all revising latin and getting our hands smacked with rulers.” 

That’s an obvious exaggeration, but at least it makes Oliver roll his eyes and finally sit on the other swing. His feet don’t leave the ground, but hey, it’s something.  

“Mostly we just all played cricket at midday,” Felix says, more honestly this time, if it might get Oliver talking.  “Which can only be fun for so long, you know?”

It takes a little nudging and some batting of his long lashes, but slow and steady Felix chips away at that icy shell Oliver has put around himself.

C’mon Ollie, he thinks, hoping for an answer along that winding telephone wire between their brains. 

Haven’t we done all this all before-

Don’t you trust me-

Only when the quiet becomes intolerably awkward does Oliver sigh and shrug, “Well, I spend most lunch breaks in the library, if you feel like you missed out.” 

“Of course you did,” Felix says, relieved and amused and a little sad at the picture that paints. “We would’ve been friends though, right? If you could stand to bat a couple overs with me, and I’d come bother you in the library a few days a week.” 

Oliver blinks at him, just as a stripe of moonlight catches his eyes, and the look in them is haunting.  

“Probably not,” he murmurs, like a thought he couldn’t just keep in his head, and the sharp honesty pierces right through Felix’s heart.

“Oh,” he breathes, suddenly feeling very stupid and childish for wanting to have a nice fucking moment with his boyfriend. Like that’s too much to fucking ask for-

Of course they wouldn’t have been friends. What with the matters of geography or class dynamics or their wildly different social spheres, Oliver and him basically grew up in two worlds that never would have collided. That is, if Felix hadn’t upheld the family tradition of going to Oxford, and if Oliver hadn’t gotten that scholarship. They never would have even known each other existed. 

And yeah, maybe Felix is stupid. And immature. And gullible. And far too romantic for his own good. But God fucking dammit, he’d like to think that it wasn’t just a coincidence. 

Oliver is at least lucid enough to realize that he’s said something devastating by the frustrated tears that glisten in Felix’s eyes. 

“I mean, we wouldn’t-” he rushes to say, as if a hand will creep out of the shadows and wrap around his throat if he doesn’t get the words out fast enough. “I was like, a whole different person back then Felix.” 

It takes a moment for Felix to understand what he means, watching Oliver shuffle his feet on the blacktop and his face twist up with an expression of, please, don’t make me spell it out for you-

“Oh- Right,” Felix says, feeling even more like an idiot and embarrassed to have overlooked that little detail. Oliver didn’t even start transitioning until he was fifteen, so his primary school experience isn’t quite like Felix was picturing. 

The air between them is so cold it hurts as Felix reaches across the meager gap and coaxes Oliver’s hand off the chain to twist their fingers together.  

“But not-” he tries to say, and he knows he won’t say it right, but he does it anyway. “You were still you Ollie-”

“No, I wasn’t,” Oliver interrupts, his skin frigid to Felix’s touch. “I wasn’t anyone.”

That’s something Oliver has said a few times, in one way or another. That he’s nothing. That he’s nobody. Felix hates it, because it’s not fucking true, but Oliver seems to actually believe it. 

One idle thought crosses his mind right then, something he’s never even thought of before.

“What was your name before?” Felix asks, and Oliver flinches like he’s been struck across the face. 

Immediately Felix realizes how fucking insensitive that probably was. He doesn’t really know why, besides a general understanding of privacy and respecting boundaries that he’s always been shit at not stepping over. But as Oliver snatches his hand away and steps off the swing, shrinking into his shoulders as he puts more than an arm’s length of space between them, like Felix might really hurt him, Felix knows he’s fucked this all up. 

“Ollie-”

“Why would you want to know that?” Oliver asks, his voice breaking as shallow, fogged breath puffs out of his mouth. He twists a fist up in his hair, pulling at his scalp like the pain is an anchor keeping him from sailing off into the dark. 

“I’m sorry,” The words come tumbling out of Felix’s mouth as he scrambles to his feet. When he takes a slow step forward, Oliver takes a wary step back. Fuck-   “That’s not- I shouldn’t have asked. My mouth just moves faster than my brain, you know?” Felix says, fidgeting with the zip of his jacket anxiously, plastering on a desperate smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to Ollie- But if you did, I’d listen, and I’d not say stupid shit like that again. I just mean- you are someone, no matter when or where or what-”

He’s rambling now, cursing his own terrible choice of words every second, wanting to drop to his knees and scream- I’m trying. I’m trying so bloody hard I’m sorry. Please just give me something Oliver-

“Felix, what are you doing?” Oliver suddenly asks, breaking through the spiral Felix can’t pull himself out of.

“I- I don’t know?” he stutters, catching his shuddering breath as he drags his sweating palms over his trousers. “I’m just sorry-?”

The tone shifts so suddenly as a tired, resigned look falls on Oliver’s face. Even the wind goes quiet to listen as he looks up at Felix with those eyes that can see right through your soul. 

“Look, I appreciate that you’re being really nice ‘bout all this,” Oliver says softly, swallowing back a lump in his throat. “But I can’t really take it right now, so can you just pull the fucking plug already?”

And Felix?

Felix is lost.

“...What?”

“It’s not your fault. You don’t have to be sorry,” Oliver goes on, kind but also terribly sad, putting on the bravest face he can muster. “You were amazing all night- my family likes you better than me already. And who could bloody blame them honestly-” 

Felix squints like the darkness is playing tricks on him.

“Ollie what are you-” he starts to say.

“But Felix it’s okay. You did everything right,” Oliver insists, the fraying edge of his patience starting to come undone. “It’s just me. I’m fucking broken, and I can’t pretend to be any different. I- I just can’t lie to you again,” he says, getting nearly hysterical and twisting up under the bewildered look Felix is answering him with. “So, just go, okay? You don’t have to keep trying to make this easier. I’ll tell my parents you needed to leave, and I won’t bother you at Oxford. Please just don’t drag this shit out any longer, I can’t fuckin’ take it- ”

“Why are you acting like I’m breaking up with you?” Felix cuts in, voice going up an octave in blown back shock.

Did he get hit by a car crossing that street? Is this is some weird fucking coma hallucination? Because what the fuck-

In a small, frightened voice, Oliver answers with a question of his own.

“Aren’t you?” 

“No!” Felix shouts and it echoes across the little playground and into the night sky. “What the fuck Oliver? I thought tonight went pretty fucking well! Until now at least! You’re family’s nice-”

“They’re boring-” Oliver cuts in, but Felix is having none of it.

“So? You’re not!” he says, unable to control the volume of his voice at the moment. “Why can’t you get it through your thick fucking skull? I’m not going anywhere!”

“Why?” Oliver shouts back, because apparently that’s what they're doing now, having a screaming bloody argument in the quaintest little neighborhood north of the Themes. “You could do so much fucking better Felix. You could have anyone you want-”

Felix could just tear his own fucking hair out. 

“I want you! I love you Oliver! Don’t you get it? I fucking love you!” he insists. He’ll scream it from the tallest building in London if that’s what it takes to make Oliver listen. “I want to be with you, and I want to put the fucking work in. You know I’ve never worked for a goddamn thing in my life, but I would do it for you. I want to wake up next to you everyday. I want to be there when you’re upset. I want to come to dinner with your family and watch you talk shit with your sisters. I want to know you. And if you think that I’m going to stop loving you the more I know you, then I’m here to tell you you’re wrong. Every single thing I learn about you makes me love you more, you infuriating, conniving, fucking bastard-”

“Felix-” Oliver breathes, his feet stuck into the ground, unable to run from the truth like he always has before.

“And I just don’t know why you seem to believe that you are not more than this. That you’re nobody, ” Felix keeps going, nearly laughing with how fucking insane he feels right now. How fucking angry it makes him that Oliver just won’t listen to him. “Because to me, you are everything Oliver-”

“Olivia,” he cuts in, right when Felix might explode from the riot rising inside him, and all at once the pressure clogging his veins releases. 

As if he’s been punched in the gut, Felix heaves a great, aching breath and says, “What?”

“That was-” Oliver says, and then stops to gather all the courage he’s never thought he had. “That used to be my name.” 

“Oh,” Felix visibly deflates, the fight knocked out of him all at once as he turns over that small, fragile, deeply personal tidbit of information in his mind. 

We’re still talking about that? He needs a bloody map for this conversation.  

“I wasn’t very creative,” Oliver elaborates, ducking his head, digging his toe into the ground  “But I told the A-Levels registrar that it was a typo and my name was Oliver- and the rest is history.”

The night sky is a heavy, sodden blanket of cloud and fog, settling down on the earth, swirling around them, blocking out the light. It’s a lonely sort of darkness, frightening too, if you aren’t bold enough to put your hand out into the abyss and find someone else reaching towards you. 

You never could make it easy darling, Felix thinks, a rush of affection warming his chest.  

“Clever,” he says, swiping his jacket sleeve under his eyes because the cold air makes his wet cheeks sting. 

Oliver flicks his eyes up from the ground and says, “Don’t tell Farleigh.”

“Of course not,” Felix huffs, a relieved, slightly delirious smile tugging at his lips. 

He takes a careful step and Oliver doesn’t back away this time.

“I just- It’s nice to know, I mean,” he says, and to hell with thinking things through. Felix is just going to say exactly what he thinks, “‘Cause you were always going to be Ollie to me. No matter what-”

Anything he might have said is silenced when Oliver surges forward and drags Felix down into a messy, desperate, soul shattering kiss. It feels like a million billion little pieces of Felix going flying out into the sky, catching the light of the far away cosmos, sharp and shining and better than anything he’s ever felt with his feet on the ground. It’s not gravity that keeps hold of him anymore, it’s Oliver. 

And when Felix can finally see past the stars exploding behind his eyes, he wraps Oliver up in his arms and kisses him back. A soft, sweet noise escapes Oliver’s lips, like the feeling is mutual.

“I don’t think you’re broken,” Felix mumbles between their desperate, hungry mouths. “And I know you have a lot of shit to work out that we can tackle another day. But could you please do me this one little favor, and just believe me?”

Oliver looks up at him with those beautiful, sad, haunting eyes, and Felix understands why people believe in God. Because faith and love and fear are all really the same thing, tied together in a swirling universe of coincidences, and it doesn’t really make sense. But then it does. 

“Okay.” 

“Hey! Who’s out there?” some disgruntled groundskeeper calls across the way, snapping Felix and Oliver out of their melodramatic, romance novel snog-fest. 

They break apart quickly, spit and tears sticking to their rosy faces as the blinding light of a torch catches them trying to swallow each other whole. At least their clothes are still on. 

“Bloody fuckin’ kids, get the fuck outta here-”

No questions asked, the boys share a quick, bewildered look and leg it out of there as fast as they can. In seconds they are hopping the fence and running down the street until the school is a blurry shadow behind them, laughing and panting as they take a tumble right into someone’s lovely laurel bush.  

“Shit,” Oliver huffs, putting his hands over his face, flushing all the way to the collar bone peeking out from his jacket. 

Felix could agree, but it’s just so much more tempting to just kiss him again. If it weren’t for that bothersome branch digging into his bollocks, they’d do much more than kissing.  

“Is there anywhere to get a pint around here?” he asks, plucking leaves out of his hair. “Or is it really all just sheep and barley fields?”

Oliver bites into the crook of Felix’s neck, hard enough to leave a perfect indent of his teeth. 

“Yeah, but we’re ordering Guinness and you can’t make that face.”

“ Nooo- ”