only for you // l.h.

|3|

My shift for Starbucks was at eight, so I was up earlier. My brother woke with me, as he'd crawled into my bed late last night. He was thirteen, but, like me, found comfort in cuddling. He also had these terrible nightmares that would often wake him from his sleep, crying and sweating. Since Mom worked all through the night until four in the morning as a firefighter, there was nobody but me.

"Scott?" He asked sleepily, his awful nickname for me.

"Oliver," I replied from where I was standing in front of the mirror, doing my makeup, which consisted of mascara and a little bit of lip gloss. "Hey."

He sat up, his brown hair, the exact shade of mine, sticking up all over the place. "What time is it?"

"Seven."

He grumbled. "I'm going back to bed."

"Not in here!"

"Yes in here. Your bed is comfier than mine."

I sighed. He won this argument every time. I watched him curl up under my duvet. "I have to make my bed."

"I'll do it," Oliver replied, shutting his eyes. "Also, Davy and Ren are coming over later today."

"So you won't be alone for too long?" I asked, capping my lip gloss and stepping back.

"I'm not a baby, Scott. I can be alone by myself."

"I know you can," I said, throwing my change of clothes into my backpack. I had to restrictions on what I wore to work, and Maria wanted to go shopping later today, and it was supposed to get up to 90 degrees. No way I was wearing pants in that weather. "But you're like me, Ollie. A people person."

"But unlike you, I let people be my friends," my brother grumbled. "I trust people."

"I trust my friends!" I replied.

"Well, maybe not that, then. But you don't really let anyone take care of you. And you take care of everyone else."

I pressed my lips together, swallowing a lump in my throat. He knew me so well. He saw me so clearly.

"I'll call you when I'm done, Ollie," I said, and left the room, making sure to keep the door open. "I love you."

"Yep" was his loving reply.

I smiled anyhow, knowing what he really meant.

———

Work was busy when I got there. Hannah, one of my co-workers, looked like she was about to cry with relief when I walked in. "Em! Perfect timing. Get your apron and get your ass out here."

I grinned. "Hi to you too, Hannah."

"Apron on. Ass here. Now." She smiled sweetly at the customer she was tending to and shot me a glare. Jerome, the other guy who shared my shift, had a line of empty cups waiting for him as he frantically threw together drinks.

I left all my stuff in the back room, washing my hands and tying my hair back, which was easier said than done. I hadn't cut my hair in a while, so when the slight waves were straightened out, the tips nearly reached the bottom of my ribcage. For now, though, my usual ponytail would have to do. I hurried out to where Jerome and Hannah worked hard and satisfying the many people that flooded the store, each demanding some kind of coffee with a billion syrups and a certain kind of milk with an exact measurement of room.

From there, I went into autopilot.

"Read the order. Note the add-ins. Find the ingredients. Add, mix, stir or brew. Pour. Put on a lid. Shout the name. Don't forget the straw," I sang to myself as I shook up my third Passion Iced Tea of the day.