Love and Pain

Chapter 1

Tim was hosting a party. It was a fairly regular affair--parties offered a kind of thrill that Oliver's company alone presumably couldn't give. Not that the brunette was surprised; he was consistently terrible at carrying a conversation, especially when under the immense stress that Tim's presence gave him.

Tim was well-suited to hosting parties; charming, sociable, possessing good taste in wines and champagnes. The larger soirées could host what felt like hundreds of people, all talking, laughing, and drinking at once. Though he was by no means a bad host, Tim tended to spend the majority of his time away from the vast, bustling crowd. He had a smaller sitting room that he reserved only for his closest friends--and Oliver. There, the noise outside was pleasantly muted, and their laughter could resound uninterrupted.

Hosting a party was precisely what Tim was doing at the time. He had temporarily departed from the small retreat to speak to the guests, or whatever it was he did. The moment he left, an expectant silence had descended. Oliver held a small cup with two shaking hands. They always shook. He wasn't totally sure what he was drinking, except that it wasn't alcohol. The blond always frowned when he reached for the expensive drinks--except to pour some for a friend of Tim's--so he defaulted back to something else; coffee, he thought idly, that might be it. It wasn't particularly good, but it gave him some pretense for not speaking. His voice was too weak and too shaky for that, and he'd only talk to any of these laughing marble statues if directly told to by Tim. Even, and perhaps especially, that was a humiliation.

The congregation collectively looked around and twiddled their thumbs. Eventually, they all seemed to be staring at Oliver more than usual, for some strange reason. The brunette sipped quietly--nothing changed.

Well.

There was nothing to do but sweat and continue to drink awkwardly. Why on Earth were they so silent? Had someone asked him a question--he couldn't even tell anymore, the pounding of his heart in his ears deafened him to everything else.

"Oliver?" A curvy redhead asked softly, with pink champagne in her hand. His response was to raise his eyes to her, nerves strangling the voice out of him. She seemed to smile a bit, reassuringly, but when he looked again a second later, she wasn't. "I asked how you were enjoying the party. You seem withdrawn."

He cleared his throat a bit, quietly. "I--uh--y-yes, it's--it-it's really s-something." His eyes flitted away immediately. His cheeks were burning. How long had he sat in silence like an idiot? He couldn't even respond to a question properly; Lord have mercy, no wonder no one spoke to him.

"Do you want to step outside?"

"Wh-what?"

"Do you want to--you know--step outside? Get some fresh air? You can't stand it in here, I can tell, hun."

He stared. Would Tim approve? It would draw unnecessary attention, but so would staying. After several long, agonizing seconds, he nodded. The redhead stood and took his arm, pulling the boy out of the room and into the main hall. To his surprise, they kept going, until the two had pushed through the attendees and stepped out of the house and onto the front porch.

"Are you okay? You seemed like you were going to faint, poor thing."

"I-I-I'm alright. A little... tired. I suppose."

"Is there anything I can get you? Water? Painkillers? Chardonnay?"

"I wouldn't particularly object to the last one if it's alright with Tim."

"Oh, I'm sure he won't mind!"

"Y-you should still ask..."

"Alright. I'll ask, and then bring you some. Okay?"