Wednesday Nights

Oliver’s eyes fluttered open, closing just after. The sunlight was too bright and the music was far too loud. The sounds of reggae and singing along to it filled every room in the house loudly. Oliver sat up and rubbed his eyes after, keeping a hand over his eyebrows to block out the sun. It took him a moment to remember where he was, but as he remembered he wasn’t about to ask the stranger that took him in to clothes the bloody blinds- like he wanted to. He wasn’t quite hung-over, but not feeling the greatest.

Christofer looked over, seeing Oliver and the blanket he’d left on him on the floor just below the man’s feet. “Food!” he called loudly over the blaring music. Oliver honestly enjoyed the song, and would even more so if his headache wasn’t splitting. He held a hand to his forehead as he stood, hoping to politely hint that his head was heated. Christofer tiled his head slightly and watched him. He reached over to the music and cranked it up even more, tossing a pan to the sink and continued to dance in his shorts and socks as he made pancakes.

Oliver watched him a moment, then let out a small sigh, figuring he’d let it go. Maybe the food would get rid of the headache. Oliver sat at the table, shyly fingering the plate with pancakes on it, then pulling it closer to him.

“Careful!” Christofer hissed, hardly heard over the music. “You’ll scratch the table, dude! Jesus…” he muttered as his hand fell back to his side, and his head shook and redirected his eyes to the pan on the stove.

Timidly, Oliver ripped the pancake and shoved about half of it in his mouth. He wanted to say thanks, but wouldn’t bother while the music blasted.

Christofer kicked the boom box as it skipped and shook his head, finally turning it off when the CD refused to cooperate. He plopped down on a chair at the table soon after, the ceramic plate clicking loudly against the wood. Oliver winced a bit, the sound almost worse than the music.

“’m sure if yeh don’ kick it, yeh won’ ‘ave a problem,” Oliver let slip, mouth half full and hand slopping to motion to the boom box. Christofer glared a moment, turning his head slightly to look at, but not enough to see and not actually interested in it.

“Shut up and eat your pancakes,” Christofer retorted, looking down and his own food.

Oliver gave a smug smirk, also looking down at his food. He tore a larger piece, shoving it in his mouth. “I neva got yehr name,” Oliver mumbled to him, a bad habit of having his mouth nearly full as he said so. He gulped down the half-chewed pancake, realising it was probably a bad idea to show bad etiquette.

“Chris,” he informed him, not waiting or hesitating to tell him his name. “And if you’re gonna live here, you do your own dishes, your own laundry, and you get a job to bring some money in. I’m not made of it, you know. And as much as I’d like there to be a money tree in my back yard, I have a fire escape.”

Oliver listen to the boy, watching him the whole time. He was such a strange character. He was nice, letting him stay here like this, but he was careless and rude at the same time. “Hello?” Christofer asked, waving his hand in front of Oli’s face. “You’ve been staring at me the whole time I’m talking. I hope you got all of that, ‘cause I’m not repeating it.”

Oliver nodded with a small smile, “Yeh won’ be meh mum an’ I need ter ‘old meh own.”

Christofer eyed him, then nodded. Without pushing his chair in, he stood, turned, and was at the sink, running the dish under water. “Don’t have a dish washer, either. Again, not made of money.”

Oliver gave a stern nod, hoping to show that he took him seriously. "'m gonna go out fer a bit," he muttered softly, standing and setting his dish in the sink just after. "I'll wash tha' when I come back, yeh?" He flashed a long smile and headed for the door, taking a mental note of the room number.