Did It Hurt? (bxb)

X

As Oliver drove away from Lookout Point, he wore a grin. He had done it. He'd gotten up the nerve and confessed his feelings for Angel. And even better, they had been returned.  In a way, he had Simon to thank for it. His brother had brought up what Oliver would never in a million years think about by himself. He wasn't sure it was love at first. He'd known that he had to stay far away from people. If he dared to form a connection between them, his mother would dispose of them. And Oliver had tried. He tried to stay away. But they were like two magnets that fate was pulling together, and he just couldn't get away.

Oliver had tried to be cruel. He tried to be his worse self. No other person had even bothered to talk to him before. It was something about his aura, projecting darkness that made them stay away. But Angel hadn't. He'd approached Oliver first, made all the moves. And he'd followed along, in his own fashion. It was like they were dancing. Oliver had tried to pull away, but Angel would counter,-be it with a witty comment or a glare-, and Oliver couldn't help it, he fell. He'd admired Angel at first. He was bold enough to talk back, whereas the girls would giggle and the boys would glare. Angel wasn't like everyone else. Cliche as it may have seemed, that's how it was.

Where the girl swooned over him, and made grand efforts to try and get his attention or win his acknowledgement, Angel didn't even see it as an option. In fact, it seemed Angel hated him. Oliver had accepted that. He had called him names; went out of his way to be bitter. Oliver didn't think he'd see Angel ever again after bumping into him at the cafeteria, but fate had brought them together again and again. Soon, Oliver found himself seeing out Angel in the halls, a yearning to see his oddly colored hair or his dazzling eyes when they passed each other in the halls. He couldn't keep away.

 He knew that this whole thing, this new relationship they'd miraculously established, would most likely turn out to end up like Romeo and Juliet. Whether it be Oliver sacrificing everything he'd ever known to keep things as they were, or Oliver's mother winning, and taking Angel off the board like a fallen chess piece. Oliver clenched his jaw. God, no. He could never let that happen. He turned onto the highway and stepped on the gas. The dial sped to the right. Oliver frowned and rolled down all four of the car windows, and the wind came barreling through the car. His hair lashed in all different directions. His shirt thrashed like the balloons in front of a car dealership. Oliver knew exactly where he had to go.

___

After about two whole hours of driving, Oliver pulled up to the Shack. It was just as the name suggested. A musty old wooden shack that looked like it could collapse any minute. The shack was the harbor for many magic items sold at reasonable prices. Oliver got out of the car, slammed the door shut and adjusted his collar. Night was blanketed all across the sky, though no stars were on display tonight. The air was chilly, but of course, that didn't bother him.

 Oliver made his way up to the Shack and pushed open the door. It creaked loudly as it slowly rotated on the hinges. He stepped inside and wiped his feet on the mat. Shutting the door behind him, he looked around. It had been a while since his last visit, and he was glad to see that it hadn't changed a bit. 

The walls were still the same shade of caramel brown, the same pictures decorating them; pictures of family members or very valued customers. The hardwood floor was still intact, the same ragged purple carpet blanketed the floor. The condition of it was surprisingly good, considering its age. At the other end of the room, a fire was burning in the hearth of the ancient fireplace. The same velvet red colored chairs sat in the middle of the room, a single glass table between them. Two staircases on each side of the room led up to the balcony on the second floor. It was just as Oliver remembered it to be.

He smiled. "Hey, Grant!" No answer. 

Then: "Oliver 'whatever your last name is!' How many times do I have to tell you not to yell in my house!" From the balcony, Grant's head shot up. His grey hair was a tangled mess. His skin seemed to wrinkle even more with the way the light shown on him. He shot Oliver a glare. "Boy, I'm telling you! You do that again and I'll put a curse on you!"