FOUR MONTHS AND TWELVE DAYS AFTER THE DEATH OF OLIVER SALLOW

"Ouch! It bloody burns!"

"Of course it burns! It's a piercing!"

With a scowl, Nova slumps back onto her hands.

"I thought you said you've done this before," Oliver says, raising an eyebrow at her as he lowers the needle.

"I have. Several times," she snaps. A beat later, she admits, less sharp: "I might've not been entirely sober for them."

"Ah." Oliver reaches for the small box next to where Nova is perched on the edge of the desk. "Here. Pick."

Cheeks still an angry red—more, Oliver suspects, from embarrassment than true irritation—Nova snatches the box out of his grasp and goes rifling through her spoils. She nicked the piercing kit from the last case she worked (her fifth, though Oliver tries not to count), her own form of payment since they aren't compensated in any other way. When she showed up with it in the common room, Oliver didn't think about it twice before following her into the tiny storage room down the hall.

"This one," Nova says, and hands him a stud with a tiny skull.

Oliver takes it without comment and swiftly guides the piercing through her reddened earlobe. Once the clasp is fastened, he steps back and offers her his hand mirror.

"Not bad," she comments, studying his handiwork.

Humming, Oliver tosses her the small bottle of sterile saline. "Here. Keep that stud in for six weeks and don't touch it too much, you know the drill."

She taps her fingers to her brow in a mock salute. "Aye, captain."

Oliver slips the hand mirror back into his coat pocket. He's about to pack up the piercing set when Nova asks: "Hey, don't you want one as well?"

He pauses, cutting her a bewildered glance. "Hm?"

She gestures at the full box of piercing supplies. "I thought you'd be more thrilled about these. Don't you want another?"

"I don't think I have much capacity left," Oliver says, touching a hand to his already rather metallic ear. All of them were DIY projects in various bathrooms, in various towns.

"What about other places, then?" Mischief gleaming in her eyes, Nova taps a finger to her nose. "Like here?"

"You want to pierce my septum?"

"Sure, why not?"

Oliver studies her for a few seconds before he decidedly shakes his head. "No, thanks. I think I'm good on piercing infections for now." 

Truth be told, he's not entirely sure it could get infected—he still isn't entirely certain where the scope of his remaining bodily functions ends. His heart may have stilled, but some artifacts remain. He still feels pain, to stop him from being reckless. He still sleeps, likely as a way to keep him from going utterly insane in this state. Everything beyond that is a guessing game.

"Oh, come on. Don't tell me you're scared."

"Of you getting near my face with a needle?" Oliver says. "Very."

It's obviously a bait. Every other sentence between them is; their dynamic is a constant back and forth of half-serious barbs. It's an easy routine, something like normalcy when their current state is anything but.

It's what makes it all the more jarring when Nova's grin crumbles. "I let you do mine."

Oliver frowns. "You wanted me to do yours."

"But that's not how it works. We're both supposed to get one. Those are the rules."

Oliver is about to ask whose rules those are supposed to be when he remembers what Nova told him a few weeks ago: about how she used to get drunk with her friends and they'd all do each other's piercings. About how those were some of the best nights of her life. He catches her in front of the mirror in the hall sometimes, absently touching her fingers to the metal in her lip, eyes far away.

He understands, then. "Nova..." he begins, but she's already hopping from the desk, not meeting his eyes.

"It's whatever."

It's clearly not whatever. Her expression is similar to the one that Finn wore on the staircase. Why do you always do this?

"Nova, wait," Oliver says. She stops in her tracks, one hand already on the doorknob. He takes a deep breath. "I'll do it."

Within seconds, Nova is by his side, shoving him down on the edge of the desk she previously occupied while she fumbles for another piercing needle.

Watching her, a strange ache settles in Oliver's chest. It takes a moment for him to understand that it's fondness, of all things. His voice is softer when he murmurs: "Let's hope I don't go blind from this."

"Oh, psh. I know what I'm doing."

Oliver decides to believe her. He pulls his hair back in a messy ponytail while she grabs the antiseptic. It stings in his nostrils when she unceremoniously disinfects his nose, a concentrated furrow between her brows.

"So... how are you? I've hardly seen you around lately. Been spending a lot of time with Finn?"

The sound of his name from Nova's lips almost makes Oliver flinch. The easy answer would be to lie—all he'd have to do is nod his head. But there's something about this moment, about the earnestness on Nova's face as she readies the needle and gingerly brushes the stray strands of hair behind Oliver's ears, that makes him want to tell the truth.

"No," he quietly says. "He hasn't called me in over a month."

At that, Nova's head snaps up. "What? No. Seriously?"

"Yeah." He looks down at the rings on his fingers. Almost half of them, he got from Nova. "We had an argument. Of sorts."

"About what?"

"About me not letting him in. Or—or anyone, really."

There's a moment of silence. Then, the desk creaks as Nova's weight settles on it, her knee pressing against Oliver's. "Ollie, I'm so sorry," she says. "Where were you then, if not with him?"

"I was on the cliffs."

"All alone?"

Oliver glances over at her. She sounds incredulous, like she can't fathom that he would choose to spend so much time on his own. And it's at that moment that Oliver realizes that is what it was. A choice.

He doesn't have to be alone here. There are so many others like him—people like Nova and Dana who, for some reason, seem to genuinely care about him. He chose to ditch them all, just like he chose to push Finn away.

Loneliness isn't in his DNA. It isn't a personality trait he can't shake. It's a million little decisions that have slowly formed his glass wall, and upheld it all the way into his afterlife.

He buries his face in his hands. "I don't know why I do this, Nova."

"Hey." A small hand comes to rub his back. "It's all right. It's not—"

Oliver doesn't find out what it's not because at that moment, the door opens and Dana pokes her head inside. Her eyes immediately zero in on the piercing kit.

"You two," she sighs with all the exasperation of a single mother. "What are you up to now?"

"Therapy," Nova informs her.

"Therapy," Dana flatly repeats. She looks at Oliver, clearly about to tell them off, but seems to think better of it when she sees his expression. "Hey." Shutting the door behind her, she steps fully into the cramped space. "Is everything all right?"

"Of course it's not." Nova makes to throw up her hand before remembering she's holding a sharp object. "Oliver has to guide his ex-boyfriend. How the hell is he supposed to be all right?"

Oliver expects Dana to roll her eyes and point to the rules—You can't choose your assignee, Susan knows best, et cetera, et cetera. Instead, her shoulders droop. She crosses the small room in two strides and sinks down on Oliver's other side. "Sorry," she says. "Stupid question."

Oliver blinks at her. He doesn't think she's ever heard Dana say sorry before. "Is it?" he asks.

She runs a hand through her platinum hair. Like Oliver's, it doesn't grow anymore, so they're both stuck with their shitty dye jobs—her roots darker than the rest, his the opposite. "I mean, yeah. Heaven knows I wouldn't want to work with my ex. And neither, I'm pretty sure, would she."

Nova cocks her head. "I didn't know you had a girlfriend."

Oliver isn't sure if he's imagining it or if Dana's cheeks turn a little bit rosier. "It hasn't come up. Anyway, my point is... I'm here if you need to vent about it."

"Thanks." Oliver manages a small smile, strangely touched. They're silent for a moment, giving him space to sort his thoughts. "I just don't understand why Susan is doing this. Why anyone would think that I can help him. And..." Here, he looks at Dana, "Don't say that it's because I have a better connection to him than anyone else. Finn is one of the easiest people in the world to connect with. I'm sure that anyone else would've helped him so much more already."

In the dark of the storage closet, Dana's eyes are softer than Oliver has ever seen them. It's a long moment before she finally says: "I'm not sure there's a real reason behind it, if I'm being honest."

"What?" Nova demands.

"The thing about Angels," Dana carefully says, "is that they don't care about us as much as we may think. They don't understand human emotions like we do. And they don't always act from the goodness of their hearts." Her eyes drift up to the ceiling. "I think they get curious sometimes. Maybe it's just that. Maybe they wanted to see what would happen."

While Nova stares at Dana like she just told her Susan lit a puppy on fire, Oliver can't help the strangled laugh that tears from his throat. He doesn't question that Dana is right for a second. He has always imagined angels to be cruel, so the idea that they would jump at the idea to see him and Finn suffer is an easy one to accept. It's not so different from the way the Roman crowds watched their gladiators, or the manner in which he enjoys Shakespearean tragedies. A detached sort of curiosity with no stake except one's own entertainment.

(What makes a tragedy tragic? his brain asks again.)

(The hero is doomed from the beginning, his heart whispers back.)

"Glad that's settled then." He points at the needle resting forgotten in Nova's hand. "Come on. I believe I was promised a septum piercing."

Nova and Dana exchange a look. Then, Nova slides from the desk and steps into the space Oliver makes between his knees. "Ready?"

He makes a small noise of affirmation.

She pierces. The pain is sharp and sudden, enough to stop Oliver from thinking about anything at all for a second. Then, the piercing slides in and Nova drops her hands. Her expression when she studies him is quietly impressed. "Damn," she says. "Not bad at all."

Oliver opens his hand mirror to survey her handiwork. As he does, he has to think of Gabby. She never said anything about the piercings in his ears, but cautioned against any metal in his face before his frontal lobes were fully developed—one of the few soft rules the Walkers had. It's probably a good thing she can't see him now.

"It's good," Oliver says and drops the mirror. He turns to Dana. "What do you say? Want one as well?"

He expects Dana to immediately shake her head, but she actually pauses to consider. "Can you also do just a regular earring?"

"Sure."

She nods. "Okay."

A brief round of rock-paper-scissors with Nova later, Oliver pricks Dana's earlobes. She takes it like a champ, only wincing a tiny bit on the second one.

Once it's done, they all sit down on the desk again, fresh piercings smarting.

"That actually felt really good," Dana says.

Nova raises an eyebrow. "Are you trying to tell us you're into pain?"

Dana huffs a quiet laugh. "No. It's... the thing that unsettles me the most about being dead is that we aren't changing anymore, you know? No new stretch marks, no weight gain or loss, not even a tan or freckles. This..." She reverently touches a finger to the little jewel in her earlobe. "Makes me feel more alive than I've felt in a while."

Oliver knows exactly what she means. As someone who's existed in liminal spaces almost his entire life, he's intimately familiar with the need for control. His previous piercings have never been about rebellion, or even about aesthetics; it's just that there were times when his body and the way he chose to present it were the only two things he felt truly in control of. Every late night spent dying his hair over a sink, every messy attempt at make-up, every new item of peculiar clothing only served one purpose: to make him feel a little bit more settled in his skin, a little less unmoored in the pull of tides he couldn't control.

It's comforting to know he isn't the only one in search of an anchor.

"You're welcome," says Nova, looking thoroughly satisfied with herself and her thievery.

"Do I want to know where you got all this stuff from?" Dana asks.

"Probably not. But rest assured that he is doing better than ever. He probably won't even miss this."

"Another case finished then, huh?"

"Yep."

Oliver braces himself for the questions Dana undoubtedly has about his progress. But this time, she doesn't ask—she only squeezes his hand, a quick, soft gesture that's over before he can even really register it.

"So... Finn," Nova says. "What is he like?"

The question is so unexpected, Oliver has to think about it for a moment. "He's... kind. And caring. He's football captain on our school's team, but he isn't a dick about it. He cries during movies and has a bit of an Irish accent and... honestly, I don't think there's a single person on this planet who wouldn't like him if they met him." He pauses, suddenly out of breath. "He's like the sun. He's so bright in my mind. Everything about him is just warm."

"Wow," Nova breathes. Dana is staring at him like he's grown a second head. "That was beautiful, Ollie. What the fuck."

Cheeks warm, Oliver shrugs. He looks at Dana. "What about your girlfriend? Did you break up before you...?"

She nods. "It'd been a couple months. We just realized we were better as friends." She brushes her hair behind her ears, the nervous tic similar to Oliver's. "But that doesn't mean I don't miss her. And I never regretted the months we were dating. I think if I hadn't had her in my life at that time, during that part of my self-discovery journey, I never would've realized I like girls."

Nova nods thoughtfully. "I know what you mean. It's so strange, isn't it? How some people enter our lives right when we need them." She squeezes Oliver's knee. "Like you two."

Blinking down at her small hand, Oliver suddenly regrets all the afternoons perched on the edge of a cliff. It's been almost six months since he found himself dead in the middle of the road and followed Dana here. Six more, and he'll be gone for good. And yet, for just a few moments, he isn't afraid; he's grateful and content and a little bit bewildered.

The concept of having friends is a new one, Finn and Mrs. Thistlecloth excluded.

Luckily, Oliver has always been a quick study.

"I'm really glad I met the two of you," he says. The words aren't easy to unstick from his throat, but he fights through his own mortification. He wants them to know. "Honest."

"A-ha!" Nova exclaims, pointing at him. "See! That's the magic of group piercings! Never, ever fails."

Grinning against his will, Oliver is almost inclined to agree. 

**************************

maybe the real treasure was the friends we made along the way :,)

i love this scene so much. look at oliver using his words and opening up. if only he could do the same thing with finn lmfao

i hope you enjoyed this one as well! have a wonderful weekend, my loves <3

p.s. today's song is flaws by bastille. i feel like it's fitting for my flawed (but still best) boy :,)