Oliver Loves Carson | ✔️

chapter nine

Warning: short kissing scene.

Oliver was hallucinating.

He had to be, right? He wasn't actually kissing Carson Katsaros.

No fucking way.

Carson froze and after some hesitation, started kissing him back. His lips were soft and warm. Their mouths moved together in a steady motion, working against each other fervently. Oliver's hand came to cup the other side of the boy's face, and Carson's hands trailed down to Oliver's waist, reassuring in their grasp around him. They were pressed tightly together, body warmth seeping into each other. Oliver was glad to feel Carson's heart pumping just as fiercely as his. The tips of Oliver's fingers tingled as they ran down Carson's side; he felt his body temperature rising. This was what he had always wanted to do. This was what felt right. The want pulsed through him like a second heart. Oliver nipped at Carson's bottom lip lightly, and Carson let out a quiet gasp. Oliver smiled into the kiss.

And then he remembered what was happening.

He shouldn't be doing this.

He broke away, panting hard. Carson was a little dazed, eyes closed and cheeks flushed; when reality snapped back into him, his eyes shot open, widening.

Carson's lips parted. "Woah," he murmured in shock.

Oliver cursed under his breath. "I- shit, I'm sorry, I-" Oliver broke off, stuttering. He felt the heat rise to his cheeks, to his palms, to his head. He was burning from the inside out, feeling himself crumble piece by piece. When the heat was beginning to get unbearable, he stood up and headed out. He was walking briskly, quickly, pushing through the crowd and to the door. When Oliver got there, crisp air infiltrated his deprived lungs like an icy spike, and anger buzzed through him. Anger at himself.

It shot through his veins, and Oliver clenched his fists, punching the brick wall. His chest rose and fell quickly as he then rested his forehead against the wall. His knuckles burned with pain, bruised and slightly bloody. Though his breathing began to slow down, his thoughts continued to race. Carson may have been the one who wanted to make a big mistake, but somehow, Oliver ended up being the one to do it.

In all three years that Oliver had known him, Carson had only dated girls. Emily Alfarsi, Anna Santos, Cassia Hamada, Eloise Patel. If Carson was gay, Oliver and the rest of the school would've already known. It was stupid and desperate--what he did. Carson caused him to be stupid and desperate, in the way that people in love typically were. He just saw him there, sparkling eyes looking up at him, and the need tugged at him. He was drawn to him. If he had just kept his distance, all of this--all of his feelings--could've been avoided. Maybe they would've even actually been friends.

But there was one thought that was most prevalent in Oliver's mind. It loomed in the forefront of his brain, taking over any space there was for anything else.

More than anything, all Oliver wanted to do was to kiss him again.

    ***

Carson was confused.

He was usually confused, but now it was amplified.

Carson had always been painfully straight. He admired girls on the beach, sometimes flirted with them at school, and took great joy in making out with them when the time was right. He wasn't a player by any means--that was always Holden--but most girls were kind. Pretty. Funny and talented. Why wouldn't he like girls?

He had never thought of a guy in the same way. The only guys he'd hung around with were friends that he had made in the fourth grade. They were rowdy, athletic, disgusting, and couldn't keep their thing in their pants. They were friends. That's how it'd always been.