Looking Down

Oliver sighed as he threw the last of the red, plastic cups into the jumbo-sized trash bags. He nearly threw the bag as he plopped back on the couch he hated so. Whoever’s idea it was for leather couches needed to be shot, in his opinion. He rubbed his head, an extreme hangover taking over him. He felt like he had to throw up, but never truly did.

He glanced over at the end table, a strangely familiar ‘sailor’ hat laying on the glass. He raised an eyebrow, not remembering who’s it was. No matter, someone would probably come to get it, he thought. He couldn’t seem to pull his eyes away from the hat, though, knowing it seemed far too familiar.

Oliver’s eyes did turn away when Tom came out from his room. He hadn’t been drinking the night before. “Oh, Tom!” Oliver exclaimed, leaping up. “D’yeh know who’s ‘at tha’ is? I swear ‘s so familiah,” he muttered the last part, staring at it and hoping Tom knew.

“Yeh, tha’ lad yeh were ‘angin’ out wiff las‘ nigh‘, one tha’ lives downstairs…” he replied, shaking his head as he walked directly passed him.

Oliver grinned ever-so-slightly, staring at the hat. He remembered the night before- most of it. He knew, at least, that he didn’t do anything serious with him. He didn’t get anything last night, and, well, he was straight- mostly…

He gripped the hat as he sped out the door, quickly running his fingers through his hair as he sped up the stairs, tripping at l east twice. He stopped and took a deep breath. Why was he even bothering anyway? Oli shook his head, slowing as he walked up the remaining stairs and stopped at what he remembered the boy’s apartment to be. He knocked slowly, three times. He smiled as Christofer came to the door, trying his best not to laugh at his hair. It was obvious that Oliver had woken him.

“Er, yeh might’ need this fer year ‘air, mate,” he smirked, handing him the hat. Christofer groaned and patted down his hair, looking concerned. “’s alrigh’,” Oliver assured him. “Looks fine.”

Christofer nodded without a word, grumbling only and took the hat. Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Yeh don’ get drunk often, do yeh?” he asked, watching his behaviour.

“No,” Christofer mumbled, letting him in- or at least, leaving the door open as he made his way to the bed.

Oliver walked in, hardly, just leaning against the door frame. “Yeh look deathly ill,” Oliver commented, not making Christofer feel nearly any better. As Chris didn’t move, only burying his face in his hands, Oliver frowned.

He stepped in, sitting beside him. He rubbed his back, not sure if he should even be this far in. “’s alrigh’, it passes,” he nodded, a slight frown to his voice.

“Yeah,” Christofer mumbled into his hands, not moving, nor caring that Oli had done anything. Oliver remembered the kiss on the cheek the night before, but knew he was straight, and knew that it meant nothing, but Christofer couldn’t remember anything from the night before, except that he’d gone down to complain, then woke up here. It’d come back, but slower.

Oliver watched him for a moment more. “Yeh alrigh’, then, mate? C’mon, ou’ fer coffee?”

Christofer nodded, standing. “Give me five minutes,” he muttered. Oliver nodded and took his leave, going back to his own apartment. He fixed himself up a bit as well, hurrying back to Christofer’s door. He waited patiently, a subconscious smile on his lips.