Olilen Oneshots

By the Flower Garden

Oliver hated the cold. He hated the way everything looked dead and frozen, he hated the nagging heat from fireplaces giving him the worst of headaches, and he hated the layers over layers he had to put on whenever he stepped outside. He didn't have to worry about any of that in the comfort his room, but now he was outside—and he was freezing. 

Another invitation, another celebration he was forced to attent. It wasn't anything peculiar, and he hadn't minded it the first time he had heard about it, but now that he was wandering around the gardens of today's host, he started to question his motives. 

With plants withered down and weed unplucked, the bleak soil reeked of death, and in all this eerie chaos, there was someone whose heart would be breaking at this sight. Someone he just couldn't seem to find. That was, until he had almost walked off the property down towards a weak reflection in the far back. A small conservatory flashed into his sight. This was his last chance.

His legs carried him faster than he could think and once he fought his way through the bumby and slippery pits of mud and rocks, he reached the entrance, noticing a familiar red ribbon with a tiny bell around the steel handle. Finally.

"How come that wherever we are, I always find you in a garden? It's getting difficult to tell whether you don't like people or just really like flowers," Oliver yelled across the inside as soon as he lifted open the heavy door. Len's head popped up from behind the succulents. His eyes searched the door and then stopped at Oliver, with a wide grin crawling up his face.

"I'll keep you guessing."

His arms flung around and he freed his legs from his nest of linen as Oliver shut the door behind himself. He reached for the spade next to his feet and forced the wooden handle between the door handle. Len crept up behind him and tackled him in a tight hug. Oliver wiggled under the weight.

"What? You don't like it? It's warm."

"It's humid," Oliver whined and picked up the loose hair strands all over Len's face. They were soft and so thin that Oliver always feared he'd break them with how poorly Len treated them. He flung two strands between his fingers and brushed them behind his ear but they freed themselves soon after. He frowned. What a useless ponytail.

"You'll get sweaty and then go outside, catch a cold and die a gruesome death."

With those words, Oliver grabbed the hair tie before it landed on Len's shoulders and rolled it on his wrist with a grin. He waited for a shower of complaints but Len's arms merely flung to his sides and he shrugged.

"Yes, Mother," Len scoffed and walked back to his hideout as Oliver took off his coat and threw it on his friend's head. Oliver followed him into the nest, not so careful to not step on the cloths. Most of them were dirtied with mud and soil, but Len dropped down next to the stains nonetheless. Oliver was about to point out the green smudges right under his white pant leg but knew that his friend didn't really mind anyway. A hand pulled him down by the wrist before Oliver could think it through once again.

He looked around and frowned at the view of steel legs carrying the trays and tables of greenery. The tiled floor was cold and wet, with brownish strings of water running down across the joints into the tiny drain nearby, and the air didn't feel any different, but somehow in all this dirt and mess, Len radiated with excitement. His attention was back on a small ceramic pot he aggressively rubbed the stains out of. The plant shook and spun under the pressure, and yet this scene looked so oddly charming. Probably Len's charm.

They didn't say anything for a while. They often didn't. Most of their meetings were quiet, their minds occupied and their hands occasionally reaching for one another. This was so very different from home.