Forget Me Not

chapter five: the 40 year old virgin

"You know what my problem is? I am not interesting. What am I supposed to say? I went to magic camp? That I'm an accomplished ventriloquist? Oh, I *am* the Seventh Degree Imperial Yo-Yo Master."                                                                                                                                                                                               -the 40 year old virgin

She what?" Brock asked incredulously, his voice raising as many octaves as was possible. He hoisted himself up on one meaty arm so that he could look at Oliver, his eyebrows nearly reaching his hairline in disbelief.

Brock had just entered the door, kicked off his size 13 shoes and flopped with a thunk onto the couch before he noticed something was different.

"What's wrong with you?" He asked Oliver, who was sitting on the couch poking around on his phone. 

"Nothing." Oliver said, glancing up at him before returning to his phone. For once he wasn't avidly swiping left and right, instead just tapping occasionally.

"You seem less...." Brock appraised him as he searched for the right word "Less... depressed."

"I'm not depressed." Oliver said, feeling slightly offended.

"Well you're not being distinctly Oliver today either." Brock said, narrowing his eyes. He made a theatric sniffing movement in the air as if he could smell whatever difference had occurred "Did you bring a girl home last night?"

Oliver shook his head, the fringe of his unstyled hair tickling his forehead "No."

"Well, you just disappeared last night." Brock conceded as he picked at a worrisome pimple developing on his forehead. Brock was not known for his subtleness and tact. 

"Yeah because I was bored." Oliver said, flicking the remote for the television on. It was far too silent amidst Brock's incessant picking "Someone promised me girls."

"I cannot promise you women. I can provide you with an array of women but past that my work is done." Brock said before digging around in his shorts pocket for his phone "By the way, I think Hamilton might come by later."

"What's the bastard been up to anyway? It was so quiet on his end that I thought he must have ended up in the city jail again." Oliver said, hoisting himself up on one elbow so he could see Brock better. 

"Who the hell knows what he's been up to." Brock shrugged, glancing towards the T.V screen before he startled and almost upended over the couch "Shit! I have Intro to Socio in thirty minutes."

"Just miss it." Oliver shrugged, admittedly considering doing the same with his physics class later that afternoon. 

"I can't." Brock said, getting up from the couch with an elongated sigh, verging on dramatic "Katie has class in the same building and she knows I've been skipping a lot lately."

Brock disappeared into his room, the only noises emerging were resounding thumping sounds and a few swear words. 

Oliver leaned his head back against the embroidered pillow his mom had sent him to decorate the house with. The fringe itched the back of his neck as he debated to himself whether to make pasta or get something delivered for lunch. 

"Hey!" Brock called from his room, following another loud crash "Can you put some pepperoni sticks and some cashews in a baggie and toss it in my backpack?" 

"Sure." Oliver called back, having found an excuse to get up off the couch and stretch his legs for the first time that morning. 

He wrinkled his nose slightly as he shoved a handful of freeze dried pepperoni sticks and salted nuts into a Ziploc bag. Brock's rugby diet was strictly protein and very little else. Oliver often wondered how he found any of it appetizing. The combination appeared to be sickening and otherwise salty.