((CALM DOWN LIZZIE-- I MEAN, EVERYONE! HE'S NOT DEAD!
So, let's get a good ol' Ollie centered chappie right here))
Oliver felt like the dumbest idiot in the world. How'd he not see it before?
The lingering touches, the urge to protect him, the flow of compliments-- Allen loved him.
And Oliver loved him back. He always knew that one; he wasn't that stupid. But he thought that he'd never have a chance. Allen did not look like the type to be gay. Oliver on the other hand? His hair was pink.
Oliver closed his eyes tiredly, looking to Allen, in his hospital bed, still unconscious.
Francois stood at the other end of the room, arguing with a police officer, and trying to get Oliver's attention, but like, and Oliver reminded himself to put a quarter in the swear jar, hell was he going to spare him a passing glance after what he did.
He remembered it vividly.
Allen's body went limp, but his arms stayed right around him, and no matter how much Francois clawed and fought, he couldn't get to Oliver.
When Francois tired himself out, Oliver called 911 as fast as he could, keeping himself tucked in Allen's strong arms, trying not to blubber and sob as he explained the situation.
He remembered it much clearer than he would have ever preferred.
He tried to keep his mind blank, but it still ended up back on Allen, laying his head on Allen's pillow as the tears stained it.
Everything about their relationship was a cycle, hm?
Allen gets on his feet, gets evicted, and Oliver happily takes him, hoping that this time he won't leave, but always, Allen does, and Oliver's left lonely in his big house, tears falling into his tea as he smiles sadly, rinse and repeat.
And now, with this. Trying to keep positive, remembering, crying, and trying to stop by being positive, rinse and repeat, but you can't wash the grit out of everything, can you?
And Oliver gripped the pillow, sobbing quietly.
"D...don't cry."
Oliver looked up, his eyes watered, and the Allen smiled sleepily.
"Hey, doll."