Northstar Boys (Regie×Oliver)

Chapter 6

Waking on your rug the following morning, you stared at the ceiling and realized this was not a good thing. Oliver was not just a friend, he was your best friend and not only that, you were fresh from a breakup. You were still hurt, trying to heal and the last thing you needed was an added complication.

Oliver was complicated. By some miracle, the sound of you falling had not woken him and, making sure to keep it that way, you slowly stood from the ground. Easing yourself away, you disappeared into your bedroom and collapsed on your bed. When you woke several hours later, Oliver was gone. No note, no text - he just disappeared.

The two of you never spoke about that night, never discussed it and to this day, no conversation has occurred regarding the events of your breakup.

"Regie," Oliver mumbles, nose buried in your neck. He is drunk and although this is annoying, you understand why - their hockey team lost earlier tonight, as evidenced by Oliver, Ryan and Sebastian getting tequila-wasted at the bar. The game was not life or death and they can still make the playoffs, but it was a game against a rival, which makes it hurt more than the rest.

There is a lot of pressure riding on Oliver to perform and before you knew him, you might have dismissed this as him being an athlete, just another jock too caught up in the game. Now, though, you know him and know better. You know Olivers's dad is a deadbeat, his mom barely speaks English and it made his life difficult most of his childhood. Oliver attends University on a scholarship because it is all he can afford and if Oliver is anything less than perfect, his future is screwed.

Every loss is hard, because Oliver equates loss with failure - it is your job as his friend to make him see the opportunity. You will try and do that tomorrow, when Oliver is coherent enough to respond but for now you just grunt, lugging him in through your door.

"Regie," he mumbles, nudging your hair with his nose.

"Yes?" you say, patiently pulling him forward. The noise of your apartment muffles the outside when you kick shut the door - the sounds of a pregame down the hall disappear, replaced only by the soft whoosh of your humidifier.

It takes a moment to lock the door and when you do, Oliver wanders off down the hall. He stops in your living room, a slight frown to his face, as though wondering how he got here. His mouth opens, then shuts, looking back at your hallway.

"Can I take my shoes off?" Oliver asks, while you fight back a smile.

"Yeah," you nod, crossing to him. "Take off your shoes and your jacket, okay? Do you want something to eat?" you call, heading into the kitchen.

Two thumps come from behind, as Oliver does what you requested. When you open the fridge, he follows, padding along like a dog. "Yes, please," Oliver exhales, dropping onto a stool. "Do you have mac and cheese, Regie?"

Classic pre-hangover food. "Lucky for you," you nod, rummaging around, "I made too much last night. I'll heat up leftovers if you promise," you warn, pulling out a jug, "to drink a whole glass of water before going to sleep."

Oliver nods solemnly. "Promise."

"Okay," you grin, removing Tupperware and popping this into the microwave.

It takes a while to heat and while you wait, Oliver hums an incoherent song - something which sounds vaguely like Monster Mash and

and Hotel California, mushed together. You largely ignore this, because singing is a large part of Drunk Oliver. Drunk Oliver has many phases, one of which is the giddy slap-happiness Oliver seems to be stuck in right now.

The macaroni revives Oliver - he eats enthusiastically, refusing to talk until the entire bowl is finished and only then, does he let out a sigh. "Thanks," Oliver burps, pushing hair from his face.

"Gross," you say, wrinkling your nose as you hop down from your stool. "This is why you can't get a girl, Oliver."

"Can so," he complains, watching you walk to the sink.

"Oh, really? Then why aren't you with one right now," you ask, looking over your shoulder. "Why'd you call me, instead of one of them?"

Oliver stares at you for a moment, then shrugs. "You're easier?"

"Flattering." You roll your eyes. Turning the water on, you run a dish under the faucet. "Why don't you head to my bed, okay? You can sleep there tonight."

Oliver nods, pushing himself up from the chair - his gaze remains slightly unfocused, wandering down the hall and in the corner of your eyes, you see his t-shirt fly over the sofa. "Oliver!" you shriek, dropping the dish in the sink to dart down the hall.