With You (Fransykes)

Chapter 2

Chapter 2- Oli

"Mum, what the fuck, do I look like I want to go play fucking tennis-"

"Oliver Scott Sykes!" Carol, Oli's mum, screamed, "Do not take that tone with me!"

"Fucksake, all the guys are going to the Youth Centre and I'm stuck with this twat," Oli scowled, glaring at Tom, his little brother.

"Remember what happened at the Youth Centre last week? I don't think we want a repeat," Ian, Oli's dad, warned.

Oli bit his lip and stared at the ground, the memory all a bit too much.

"Tennis courts are worse," he mumbled pathetically.

"You don't even have to play tennis, you lazy fuck," Tom chided, "Just walk me there and make sure no one dies."

"Who are you going to be playing with, then?" Carol frowned.

Oli zoned out as Tom explained to their mum exactly which friends would be there and why they would be there and the manner of their friendships and whether or not they were in a gang.

How many germs would there be in a tennis court?

Oli felt a bit sick. No, he couldn't be sick. Not physically, not mentally. School started next week, and this was sixth form! It was meant to be good. Not full of hospital stays and IV drips.

There could not be a repeat of last year. I am better, Oli told himself. I will be better, or I will die trying. Stop thinking about sick.

"Let's go," Oli said, decisively.

Tom nodded in appreciation and they walked out. Public transport was still a no for Oli, but the distance was short and the weather was decent. If Oli had anything to do with it, today would be a good day.

//

In Oli's opinion, Tom was pretty shite at tennis. But his mates also seemed pretty awful and they looked like they were having fun, so Oli didn't comment.

He was also rather enjoying checking out some teenager on the far court who was alone, practising his serves. He was also shite, but a lot nicer to look at than Oli's brother and his friends.

Much like Oli, he had dark, messy hair, only he seemed to be a bit taller, and less stupidly skinny. He also seemed to have a good taste in music, at least, judging by the Linkin Park t-shirt.

"Hey," Tom panted, slightly out of breath as he collapsed next to Oli on the wooden bench, "Who are we staring at?"

Oli blushed.

"He's kind of good-looking, I guess," Tom squinted, uncertain, "I mean, I'm not gay-"

"Shut up," Oli shook his head, "Dickhead. He's super hot."

"Go say 'hi'?" Tom suggested, "Ask him if he'd be willing to fuck you in the arse-?"

"Fuck off," Oli scowled, shoving his brother. "Fine. I'll go say 'hi'. Better than hanging out with you and your dumb friends. You're all shit at tennis."

"Like you would be any better!" Tom called after him.

True, Oli thought darkly as he walked over to the boy on the other court. Oli wasn't really used to starting conversations, but he hadn't seen his mates since the Youth Centre last week and he was unbearably bored. And this guy was proper fit.

"Hey," he started, standing a few metres away from the boy, "I'm Oli."

"Oh," the boy turned around, confused. His cheeks were tinged with pink from exertion, or maybe because Oli was just that charming. "My name is Josh."

"Where are you from?" Oli asked. His accent sounded southern.

"Surrey."

"Oh."

"...Did you want something?" Josh looked a bit miffed by the interruption, fiddling with his tennis racket awkwardly.

"I just wanted to say that I like your shirt," Oli shrugged, "Uh... yeah. You have good taste. See you around, I guess."

"Wait, don't go!" Josh spilled out all of a sudden as Oli turned to leave.

Oli's heartbeat sped up. Ask me out, ask me out, ask me out-

"I- Sorry, you like Linkin Park?" Josh asked, flustered. Oh my god, he's so cute. "I didn't know people around here would listen to music like that."

Less cute.

"What do you mean 'people around here'?" Oli snorted, slightly offended.

"Shit, no, I didn't mean it like that-"

"Just cos we're not an hour's drive away from London and we don't speak the Queen's English doesn't mean we live under a rock," Oli felt a spike of dislike lodge itself in his throat.

"I know that, look, I'm sorry-"

He was scared, Oli realised. God. He probably thought Oli was going to stab him or some shit. Poor little rich boy.

It's not his fault he's from Surrey.

"How old are you?" Oli interrupted his babbling apology.

"Sixteen."

"Calm," Oli nodded approvingly. "You going to Barnsley College for A Levels?"

"Yeah, I think."

"Try not to talk," Oli advised, "They'll rip the piss out of you. They're not racists, like, but they'll make a lot of jokes. Do you know anyone there?"

"No."

"Well, you know me now. You can hang out with me and my mates, if you want."

"Oh- Thank you-"

"No worries," Oli smirked. "I have to warn you, we're not like popular or nothing, but there's like five of us and we're all pretty chill and open-minded... Like, I'm pansexual, for example..."

Ask me out, ask me out, ask me out-

"Oh, cool," Josh nodded. "I'm, uh, bi, so..."

"Awesome," Oli grinned, "But maybe don't tell anyone til they get over the fact that you're a southerner, yeah?"

Josh nodded again. "So... if I can hang out with you and your friends, does that mean I can get your number?"

He was smiling cheekily now, a newer, confident air taking over. It suited him.

Oli dictated his number to Josh, refusing to touch his phone, and then returned back to Tom and his gang, smiling so much that his cheeks hurt.