Wednesday Nights

Christofer hadn't been the same all night. Oliver had to sleep on his bed, because when he finally fell asleep, Christofer was loudly clanking things in the kitchenette. He was nervous, he was nerve-racking and had been at something all night from dishes to the loudest TV and the loudest music he'd heard. He could hear that he had tried to write songs over and over again and occasionally through this process, Oli wanted to come out and help, finish of the sentence for him. Nothing seemed to be working right for the boy and Oli wished he could help. One thing pestered him about all night, he knew he could help.

Now, they were both in the kitchenette, rinsing the dishes from the maple syrup that was on them. They both seemed to eat their pancakes like they never had and the whole morning Oli watched him with concern and sympathy. He felt truly terrible, but the one thing that pestered him seemed more and more inviting, warm, more tempting. Maybe it wasn't so bad, the boy could get a job and hold his own in Sheffield, couldn't he? They were so close to becoming near the top, Christofer didn't even need one.

"Er, Christofer," Oliver muttered, his heart jumping all over his chest.

"Yeah?" Chris breathed, not quite looking at him and answering as if he didn't want to speak to him. He just didn't want to speak: he was tired, stressed, and wasn't in the mood for conversation of any sort.

"Er... 'ave yeh go' friends 'ere tha' yeh'd 'ate ter leave?"

Christofer let the plate sink down into the water. "What?" he asked quietly. "Why?" His hopes rose, getting a slight hint that maybe, just maybe, Oli was asking him to stay with him.

Oliver shrugged, continuing with the dishes nervously and not looking at him. "I, er, I live with meh mate, Matt, an' a few othahs. Yeh know, we're always tourin' an' all, so we jus' share a flat... back in England. Woul' yeh, er... yeh can come... yeh know, 'till ge' back on yeh feet... or wha'evah."

Christofer dropped the sponge dead in his tracks, staring at him. There was a hint of joy, one that couldn't really be brought back on by something other than relief at a time like this. "Jesus..." Christofer murmured. "You friend won't mind?"

Oliver laughed quietly at his American term and shrugged. "Nah, 'e's meh best mate, 'e won' care."

"You mean it?"

Oliver nodded, and the second he did Christofer jumped, like he had when he realized he'd gotten the record deal.

"But..." Christofer muttered suddenly. Oliver furrowed his brow, watching him. "But"? What else was there to it than "yes"?

"I've got that record deal here... I..."

Oh, that. Oliver licked his lips, then shrugged, continuing to wash the dish. That complicated things, and Oliver felt foolish knowing that it didn't cross his mind at least once. He wiped his upper lip on his sleeve, sweating just a bit. It was hot in the room and the fan was on, going like crazy on high yet they both were sweating. "Well, 'm leavin' terday... so... y'know."

Christofer nodded, stepping away from the sink. He disappeared into the bedroom, to, which Oliver assumed, think about the choice. Would he rather be homeless with a record deal or with a home and having to basically start the music scene over again?