Oliver Loves Carson | ✔️

chapter fourteen

Oliver woke up with a cough lodged in his throat. His chest was congested, and it felt like a heavy weight pressed against his skin. Lazily, his eyes fluttered open, the feeling intensifying. He let out a cough. It didn't make a difference.

    He released an exhausted, shaky breath that sounded more like a wheeze. Oliver threw an arm over his head, plundering his sight into darkness. He didn't want to move a single muscle.

    Thump.

    Oliver groaned, rolling over onto his stomach.

    Loud, bubbly laughter.

    His nose was pressed right against his pillow, and he held his breath as he tried to wait the noise out. He still felt like shit--and a tired shit at that. A thief or no thief, he wasn't getting up. He closed his eyes, his breath beginning to even out, his mind beginning to blank.

    Chatter.

    "For fuck's sake," Oliver murmured. "One day of peace. That's all I needed." He threw his covers back, and stood up quickly before he could change his mind and lay back in his bed. A chill hit him, and his head spun a bit. Grumbling, he grabbed his phone and his glasses off of the nightstand--though he didn't remember wearing them--and lethargically walked down the stairs.

    "What the fu-" he froze. Right in his tracks.

    What the fuck.

    A pasta box was lying on the kitchen floor, its contents spilling out. A pot was mounted on the stove. Wearing a wide smile was none other than Oliver's very own mother, and opposite her was Carson, who was chuckling.

    Oliver's eyes widened. His mother, noticing him, turned and smiled warmly.

The fuck? Warmly? Where has my mother gone, Oliver thought.

"Dom!" his mother greeted, "you're finally awake! You've been asleep all afternoon."

Wearily, Oliver finished going down the stairs. "Yeah.... what time is it?"

"Six-thirty at night. You just took a nap."

"Right," Oliver said, eyes darting to Carson. "Um..."

Noticing his stare, his mother but in, "Carson has been here all afternoon checking up on you," she flashed Carson a smile, "And I've invited him to have dinner with us." She looked back at Oliver, giving him that stare that told him there was no room for argument.

Oliver choked. "That's um, really cool," he said lamely.

Carson laughed. "And your mom's teaching me how to make pasta."

Still shocked, Oliver stuttered, "Y-you don't know how to make pasta?"

Carson shrugged sheepishly. "I'm not a very good cook."

Hallelujah. Halle-fucking-lujah. He's bad at something.

Carson Katsaros is bad at something.

It was almost too good to be true. Unknowingly, Oliver grinned. "The perfect Carson Katsaros finally has a flaw," he blurted out. When he realized he had said it, he closed his mouth quickly. "I mean...."

Oliver's mom clicked her tongue. "No, you sure as hell meant it. I can understand why you'd think that though..." her eyes drifted to Carson, "he's practically-"

"-human," Carson butted in with an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "So," he continued, changing the topic, "about that pasta..."