"I am going to kill you." Ollivander seethed, ferociously lunging at Callan. The dirty blonde's eyes widened, and he leaped off the couch, narrowly avoiding being tackled by the fuming male.

"Ollivander, calm down, I'm sure we can talk-" Callan was interrupted by a pillow thrown in his face, causing him to fall backward with a thump.

"I warned you, not one, not two, but three times about what would happen if you continued!" Ollivander growled, stalking over to Callan's leveled form. "And you still continued. This is your fault!"

Callan gulped, holding the pillow out as a shield between them.
"Hey- Hey now, I think we can come to an understanding...."

Ollivander shook his head, wrenching the pillow from Callan.
"It's too late now." He hissed, straddling the traitor's waist. There was no way he would let Callan off so easy; he believed the male deserved what was coming for him.

Though, after a split second hip thrust and twist, their positions had switched and Callan leaned over Ollivander. His hands stabilized his body on either side of the glaring male's head, and a smug expression adorned Callan's perfectly symmetrical face. Startled, Ollivander's glare faltered for a moment. If he were to be honest, he was proudly impressed the dirty blond was able to turn the tables on him.

Callan leaned closer, their noses mere inches away as a sparkle of amusement glimmered in his deep mahogany eyes. Ollivander, for once in his long past of being pinned, didn't mind this occurrence. In fact, he was only slightly ashamed to admit that he enjoyed it.

"You were saying?" Callan murmured with a wink.
"All this because of some popcorn... Wow, anger issues much?"

Ignoring the humorous tone lilting the dirty blond's voice, Ollivander made a show of struggling against Callan's body weight. As much as he could easily throw Callan off, his liking to their position held him back. Stop it, Ollivander, your gay is showing.
"You were throwing the popcorn at me."

Callan's eyes became round, almost doe-like.
"Me?" He gave an offended gasp, lower lip protruding. "Throw popcorn at you? I would do no such thing..."

Ollivander raised a single eyebrow.

This seemed to break Callan, who responded in muffled giggles.
"Okay, okay... But did that really call for attacking me like that?"

Ollivander ignored the multiple retorts that came to mind, simply sitting up and tightly gripping Callan's shoulders. The smaller male, refusing to shy from the challenge, was still straddling Ollivander's waist. Ollivander, suddenly vividly aware of their bodies pressed together, struggled to repeat his words with added vigor.
"You threw popcorn at me."

"Chillll, it's just popcorn!"

What seemed to bother Ollivander the most, wasn't their close contact itself, but how Callan seemed unperturbed by it. Was stuff like this normal for him? Perhaps Brad isn't the only male who is fine with physical contact. That doesn't make this feel anymore weird, though.

Ollivander sighed, running a hand over his lower jaw.
"Doesn't mean I enjoyed it."

Callan's gaze, with a newfound intensity, slid down Ollivander's face to meet his lips. Or, so Ollivander pruriently assumed.

"How'd you get this?" Callan asked inquisitively. His thumb hovered over the corner of the male's lips, Callan's eyes never leaving the thin, white scar.

Ollivander stiffened, nearly shoving Callan off of him. He subconsciously ran a hand through his hair, eyes shifting to look at anything but his roommate.
"Long story."

Furrowing his eyebrows, Callan finally looked at Ollivander with an indistinguishable look.
"Well, we have time."

Ollivander shook his head. There was absolutely no way he was going to have this conversation with Brad, his best friend, so there was no way in hell he'd even consider talking about this with Callan. At least, not for a very long time.
He stood up, ignoring the looks Callan continued to send his way.
"No. Anyway, it was cool watching a movie, but I have to call Brad. Good night." Ollivander brushed off both the invisible dust and perhaps the feeling of Callan on top of him.

"Wait- Ollie, please don't-" Callan attempted, but was cut off from the front door slamming behind Ollivander.

He took a deep breath of the night air, cursing himself for not thinking enough to grab a coat. But, of course, he was much too stubborn to go back in. Ollivander fumbled through his pockets for his phone, then grabbed it to call Bradley.

"Uh, Ollie? You okay?" Brad picked up on the third ring. From his almost breathy voice, Ollivander assumed he's interrupted some couple time.

"Yeah, yeah... Hey, look, I'm sorry for interrupting, I just wanted to give you an explanation for earlier today... I'm really sorry about that, too." Ollivander's voice was a faint whisper, and his head was hanging between his knees. As much as he was shivering, he couldn't feel the cold much, only the stressful weigh of earlier today.

Bradley murmured something to who Ollivander assumed was his girlfriend.

"Okay, I'm alone now. And trust me, Ollie, you never have to apologize for stuff that wasn't even your fault. Do you want to talk about it?" Brad's voice was soothingly soft, as though he was speaking to someone in the middle of a mental breakdown. Or, in Ollivander's case, on the verge of one.

"Not really." Ollivander's voice cracked, and he took a couple of moments to soothe the knot forming in his throat. "But I probably should, eh? Like you said yesterday..."

His fingers, intertwined in his rather curly black hair, tugged at his roots. It had been a long, long morning.

It was earlier this morning, the sun barely above the skyline as Ollivander stood in the kitchen fumbling with a box of cereal when the doorbell rang. Then again. And again.

The continuous barrage of ringing only served to poke the beast of Ollivander's hangover furthermore, for apparently, it wasn't enough that the box of Confruity Crisp refused to open whatsoever.

With such fury that the building seemed to visibly shudder, Ollivander stalked over to the door and all but swung it open.

"What the absolute fuck do you- Oh." Abruptly, all anger seemed to drain out of him as he stared, open-mouthed and rapidly growing paler, at the young woman standing before him.

Zahra.

Something hit Ollivander's head, abruptly pulling him from his mopey thoughts. He grabbed the cloth to find his jacket, while Callan standing in the doorway with pursed lips.

"There's no need for you to get hypothermia. Don't stay out too late." He mumbled, eyes never leaving the ground, and without another word, he went closed the door behind him.

Ollivander couldn't help gaping at the door, unable to understand why Callan had decided now was the time to be nice. Don't be ridiculous, Ollivander reasoned with himself, it's what any normal person would do. He does not want to be your friend; he's just friendly.

"Ollie? You okay?"

Ollivander startled at the voice of his best friend, nearly forgetting about the phone in his hand.
"Uh, yeah... Sorry, what did you say?"

There was a moment of concerned silence before Brad responded.
"I did read your record... I know I shouldn't have, but when we first met you scared me. I swear, though, all I know is of your arrests and some of what happened with your father."

Ollivander slid on the jacket, silently thanking Callan as he felt the feeling in his numb limbs return.
"Then I suppose I should explain to my sister..."

It became silent, Zahra preparing her food and Ollivander watching with a frown. It was a solid five minutes before he broke the silence.
"Zahra. What are you doing here?"

She immediately whirled around to face him, hands on her hips as she raised a denigrating eyebrow.
"What," Zahra raised her chin in a contemptuous manner, "Am I not allowed to visit family? Or are you too busy-"

"What's going on here? Who're you?" A voice spoke from the kitchen door, and they both turned to the speaker.

For a split second, Ollivander was absolutely terrified that it was Callan who had come down at this ridiculously early time. In a stroke of luck, though, he found Brad looking between the two of them with a slightly concerned expression.

After their talk last night, Ollivander convinced Brad to go to bed while he finished some stats reports, reading into the early morning. Of course, he only ended up sleeping a couple of hours, but that wasn't anything new to him.

"Uh, Brad, this is Zahra. My... erm..." Ollivander began, struggling to find a way to introduce her without stating their relation.

"His wonderful little sister." Zahra filled in with a smirk. She, ever the lovely, relished making her brother's life that much harder.

Ollivander fell silent, eyes trained on the floor. If he'd known Zahra was the one behind the door, he, without a doubt, would've left her out in the rain. It was as if every single time his life was seemed to look up, something came crashing in that tore everything down again. This time, something was his
sister.

"Oh. Ollie never mentioned he had a sister." Brad said carefully, seeing the obvious tension strung in the atmosphere.

"Her and I... We never had a good relationship... No matter how much I wished she'd look at me and realize how much I had looked up to her, she never did. It only got worse after my father.... died."
Ollivander tugged harder at his roots, digging his nails into his scalp.

"Why would she say all of those awful things, though? What happened to make her like that?" Inquired Bradley.

Ollivander, watching his breathes create clouds in front of him, took a couple of minutes to think on the question. It was hard, sifting through his memories like they were easy to think about. Honestly, he'd rather be doing anything else.
"I can't say for sure, she was always like that as far as I can tell... And, well, why wouldn't she say those things? They're all true. Well, except for you being my, er, lover... I do owe you an apology for that, too..." The tips of Ollivander's ears turned bright red, and this time, it wasn't because of the cold.

Zahra grinned viciously, "He didn't? Well, that would make sense, because he only cares about himself. He doesn't even give a damn about his family. So, Brad, do you think he actually gives a damn about you?"

"Zahra, you. Can. Not. Just walk into my apartment and start insulting my friends. If you have nothing nice to say, hell, if you have anything to say, then get out." Ollivander growled, taking a step closer to Zahra. He would put up with any torment she had in mind for him, but there was no way he'd allow her to say anything bad about Brad.

Zahra turned to him. He might tower over her, but at that moment, her knife-like smile glinting and her eyes sharpening into something almost predatory, he felt like a wolf backed into the corner by something much, much scarier.
"Aww, Ollie can use his words! Is he another one of your playthings? Let me just say, you've done better, honey." She took a step closer to him, "You might have a new job, new apartment, new life, but you will always be that teenage boy who used and hurt people for fun. You will always, and I mean always," she took another step closer, her words threateningly low as she whispered into his ear, "be that useless little boy who killed dear old daddy."

"I think I already know the answer to this question, but I wanted to ask you: are you gay? I have no problem with it, of course, but after what she said... I can only assume that would be the reason.." That was definitely Bradley, focusing on minor details when it comes to the big picture. If it was anyone else, Ollivander would have gladly hung up and never interacted with them again, but this was Bradley: his best friend and quite possibly the most understanding person he knew.

"Um...yeah... I am..." The words felt bitter on his tongue, and his recollections of the last time he said these words were fresh on his mind.

"Yep, that's what I assumed. I never really asked, though. I know to talk about it must suck, so I won't ask any more questions... But perhaps next time we can talk about your dad? Or perhaps... Those other things? Either way, thank you for telling me."

How had Ollivander ever become friends with someone like Bradley? He truly didn't deserve him.

"Yeah, next time. Again, I'm really sorry about everything. And I'm sorry you keep getting dragged into it." Ollivander squeezed his eyes shut to keep any tears from forming. A storm of negative emotions loomed over him, minutes away from striking as he struggled to swat them away.
Regret. Guilt. Self-disappointment. Self-hate.

"Ollie, I promise you, it's okay! And please remember one last thing, " Bradley replied earnestly, "despite what you may think, Zahra's wrong about you. You are amazing and sweet and kind, and she may have known the old you, but the new you that I know deserves so much more than you have. I love you, dude. You're my best friend, and I don't regret that at all. Want me to come over again tonight?"

The warmth protecting his dark and battered self was thanks to Bradley, who always seemed to know when Ollivander's demons were about to strike.
"It's okay- have fun with your girlfriend. And thank you, Brad. For everything."

It was only a few minutes later when Ollivander was alone again, his protective warmth now replaced by the familiar resentment he felt towards himself.

Ollivander began refocusing hours after Zarha had left, bit by bit. At first, it was his sense of taste, the tangy dry of the Sahara in his mouth, and the flavor of tension packed tight around him.

Next, it was his vision as he watched Brad struggle to sit still on the couch, constantly glancing over at the empty boy beside him. Ollivander was on the couch now. How he got there was yet another blank spot in his memory.

Slowly, his hearing and smell came, too, and he listened to the slow breaths of his best friend, the familiar smell of cigarettes mingling around Brad.

His sense of touch didn't come back.

Before that day, Ollivander had had a firm grip on himself, of who he was and his emotions. That security being ripped away from him felt like he had been taken back to years ago, when he was struggling to find a good stance on life. All he wanted to do, was sit on that couch and let his soul slowly attempt to duct tape itself back together again. Unfortunately, the thuds of steps sounded from the stairs, and Ollivander was forced to hurry his process significantly.

"God, why did you convince me to drink so much? I fucking hate you, Brad." Callan moaned lowly, hands massaging his face as he walked into the living room. Seemingly disregarding the heavy static hanging from the two boys on the couch, he collapsed on the sofa across from them with a huff.
"G'morning, roomy."

Brad glanced over at Ollivander with a cautious look. Ollivander, straightening up, blinked the weariness from his eyes and cast his gaze on the dirty blonde. He gave a short response, clearing his throat. The grogginess of his body he related to waking up from the dead, sore and unsure of how to move his heavy limbs.

Callan took a double take at Ollivander's pale, deathly still form. His eyebrows scrunched ever so slightly as he watched the male's hands tighten on his thighs, which was the only indication that something was up.
"Ya good, there?"

Ollivander, on autopilot, gave Callan a half smile and a reassuring nod. His roommate was immediately taken back, turning to Brad.
"What's up with him?"

Brad kept his eyes trained on Ollivander, only tearing his eyes away to glance at Callan for a split-second.
"Family issues, to say the least. Anyway, I'm heading out for another smoke. You wanna come with? I have a full pack on me."

Callan attempted an answer, but was cut off by Ollivander. "I'll come with, I need a smoke, too."

Callan cleared his throat, "Uh, I actually don't smoke, but I'll hang outside, too, I guess."

Brad nodded, then frowned as the three of them got up and made their way towards the porch.
"Ollivander," Brad's voice was low, loud enough to be heard, but quiet enough to show how serious he was. "you really shouldn't, you only just quit a year ago-"

"Trust me when I say, I really should." Ollivander understood that by doing this, he was going back on months of work, but he couldn't anymore. He couldn't deal with all this shit that's been thrown his way without some form of dealing with it, and he sure as hell wasn't about to go and talk about his feelings to someone.

What he also understood, was the look in Brad's eyes that hurt more than Ollivander would ever acknowledge. Disappointment. It was that look one's dad would give them when his son made an awful decision. The look that said, "I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed."

"Well, it's your decision." Brad said finally, and Callan tilted his head slightly at the two of them. He, unfortunately, was very out of the loop.

Finally, Ollivander felt the tiniest grain of weight lift from his shoulders as he took a long drag of a cigarette, leaning against the porch railing with closed eyes and head tipped back to feel the crisp mist tracing his jaw.

"Hey, Ollie." Brad spoke after a couple minutes of calming silence, "I never asked, but how are you?"
His response to the question earned a burst of laughter from Callan, causing the nearly unrecognizable feeling of happiness to, for a single moment, flicker in his chest.

"I'm doing just fucking peachy."

With demons swarming through his head, Ollivander stayed seated outside until late into the night.

--------
A/N
Sorry, everyone, I wasn't feeling this chapter😅
Apologies for the lack of decent writing, eek... I'll go back and edit it later...

Anyway, I know this might be a confusing chapter for those of you who had previously read it, but here's the new layout:
The previous chapter was after the Zahra incident, and this chapter includes flashbacks of it. (instead of that scene having it's own chapter)

It isn't perfect yet, and, again, I plan on re-editing later. For now, please enjoy!!

Also, it would be much appreciated if you voted and commented what you think about it!!

Word count (excluding author's note): 3058 words (holy cow! A lot more than I was planning haha)