...And I Am Going Home

Oliver 34

This particular date was alright. Oliver was not sure that this man was his future long-life partner to spend the rest of his life with, but it was perhaps due to it only being the third date. It was still too early to judge that, but Oliver could see going on a fourth date, at the very least, with Aiden if things went well tonight. The third date had an unspoken rule or rather milestone, which was sex. Oliver didn't necessarily follow this rule, but it helped him mentally prepare if the other person had any expectations, and he would only do it, of course, if the mood was right and if he was comfortable. If it was dinner followed by drinks, then sex was a high possibility. If the third date was lunch, coffee, or, at some time, not in the evening, sex was not on the table. Tonight's date with Aiden was the dinner and drinks kind. They had gone to an Italian restaurant and then to a couple of bars and pubs afterwards, only seeking a buzz, not with any intentions of getting drunk.

The conversation had been excellent, with Oliver finding himself talking perhaps an equal amount as Aiden, which was a good sign, and Aiden appeared to get Oliver's dry sense of humour, never asking him to smile, which many dates before had told him to, or at least said he seemed grumpy and not happy to be on the date. Oliver had been on plenty of dates before where the other person was garrulous to the point where Oliver could not get a word in. Still, Aiden was an attentive listener, giving enough personal answers and questions.

Oliver liked this guy; he was hard-working, possessed the right balance of seriousness and fun and his idea of a good evening involved watching mystery and thriller movies or eating good food and whiskey—something calm and relaxing, which Oliver agreed with.

However, Oliver was still determining if they had any chemistry between them, not that he was ever any good at judging these kinds of things until clothes started coming off. He guessed he would know the answer later if Aiden expected anything to happen on this third date.

They had just finished their drinks and headed out, figuring out where to go next, when Aiden had a mischievous smile. "Hey," he said, looking around before pulling out of his pocket one of the cool-shaped glasses from the bar that they had been drinking out of. "Look what I got," he sang.

Oliver's eyes widened. "You stole that?"

"Yeah," Aiden chuckled.

"No, you stole that," Oliver stressed.

Aiden's smile faded. "You said you liked these glasses, so I got you one."

"I didn't mean for you to steal one," Oliver hissed, his hands fidgeting with his sleeve.

"It's okay," Aiden said in a soft voice. "People take these all the time; the bartenders won't care."

"It's stealing."

"I didn't care if people took them when I was a bartender." Aiden shrugged. "You can get these pretty cheap, and they have so many. Are you telling me you cared when you were a barista if people stole the mugs?"

"I did," said Oliver flatly.

"What about if you wanted any of the mugs? Did you not take anything from work? It was minimum wage; they underpaid you for what you were worth, and you may as well take something."

"I always asked permission if I could and offered to pay."

Aiden let out a small huff of frustration.

"It doesn't belong to you," Oliver continued. "And you can easily buy them yourselves."

"If you're worried, the police won't care, nor will the staff-"

"That's not the point; even if there aren't any consequences, the actions are still stealing."

Aiden glanced away from him momentarily, then said quietly, "fine, I'll take it back." He left and returned to the bar, returning the glass swiftly, then finally returned to Oliver's side.

Oliver swallowed, biting his bottom lip, struggling to read the expression on Aiden's face; it seemed so indifferent, barely portraying anything, maybe closed off completely. "Sorry," he mumbled. A spike of pain twisted in his stomach, and he wanted to throw up as he hated how everything had become because of how silly he had been. It was just a glass. Why did he get so worked up over it? Why can't you accept it? You could have even returned it later when he wasn't around. But no, you had to have been so stubborn and stupid. You let such a nice person slip through your fingers over a fucking glass.

Was stealing a glass such a big deal? Did everyone really do it?