A/N: This chapter is a little short, I'm so sorry
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According to more than one source, including actual photographic evidence (see above), Oliver Sykes was seen breaking into his own car at extremely early hours of this morning, bare foot, in nothing but a pair of boxers and a thin, white undershirt.
So, yeah, this would be pretty fucking sexy (just look at that f**king bedhead) if it weren't, you know, mildly unsettling in more ways than one. For starters, Oliver Sykes is not the kind of guy who would just be stepping outside for some air in his pajamas, barefoot. He also wouldn't be trying to break into his own car, because it's his car.
A few people have suggested sleepwalking, but we think from the way he shouted, 'Take one f**king step closer to me, I f**king dare you, s**thead,' at our photographers, in perfect character and form, that's just not the case.
So it leaves only one option.
Oliver and Kellin got into a fight in the middle of the night, and Oliver wound up sleeping in his car, without a blanket, without his own car keys, alone.
What happened in between the two entering the apartment at around seven PM last night, and Oliver exiting the apartment at around four AM, is entirely up to assumption.
For those of you wondering if Kellin was seen at any point, milling around in the hallways of their apartment complex in his own pair of boxers; no one has seen Kellin since earlier yesterday evening.
And I do mean no one. Not the neighbors, the doorman, the crowd waiting outside. And, Oliver, for his part, probably hotwired his own car and drove it off somewhere, considering it's no longer sitting in its usual place in the parking lot.
It's not like he was covered in blood or anything, but...see why that might be a little bit disturbing? (Saving Private Kellin –Lynn Gunn, MuttPop.com)
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"I wouldn't care if he punched you in the face," Taylor hisses at Kellin through the phone the next night. He can hear that she's driving her ruby red Tesla down the highway from the distant whirr of the engine and the breeze of the wind. "People think he fucking killed you overnight, Kellin. You see why that might not be good publicity. You have to see that."
"I thought all publicity is good-"
"That refers to sex scandals and unplanned pregnancies, Kellin," The blonde woman huffs irritably, "Not murder. I cannot have people thinking Oliver Sykes killed his soulmate, Kellin. They'll give him the lethal injection without any proof if you don't turn up soon, and you know that, Kellin."
Kellin does know that. He is fucking certain that if they think for even a fraction of a second, no concrete proof necessary, that Oliver snapped Kellin's neck and buried him in a shallow grave somewhere, they'd strap him down and inject him. All they'd need is one eyewitness testimony claiming that they saw Oli with a huge black garbage bag.
Kill him.
Like he's said before, down like a dog. Maybe Kellin is moderately pissed at Oli for what happened last night, even if the details are pretty fuzzy now, but he couldn't do that to him, no matter what.
"Let him inside the apartment, or so help me, God, I will-"
"Fine," The aqua-eyed boy bites out; he ends the call and throws his phone down beside him on the floor; Oli's floor. He's been holed up in the older man's apartment for an entire day now, all alone, eating whatever food he could scrounge out of the fridge and binge watching shitty shows on Netflix.
