Page 81 of Ruined

“Can I borrow your shirt?” Oliver stands in the hallway, looking adorably pouty in a white button-up. “I wanna be comfortable at the party.”

“You’ll drown in it,” I warn, but I’m already on the way to my closet. I bring him one of my T-shirts that’s getting a little too tight for me and start unbuttoning his button-up. “Are you nervous?”

“No, it’s just… I know Nico’s still mad at me,” he mumbles, gaze downturned.

“Because you moved out?”

“Yeah. And now it’s his and Luca’s birthday, and I don’t know if he even likes what I got him, and⁠—”

“Shh.” I peel his shirt off his shoulders and help him into my own shirt. Yeah, he’s drowning in it, alright, but if I tuck the excess material into his jeans, it doesn’t look too ridiculous. When he puts on his denim jacket, it’s barely noticeable that he’s wearing my shirt.

He fingers the collar, looking up at me with the same eyes that never stop shining with adoration when he looks at me, except maybe when he’s being bratty or when we disagree on what to eat for dinner. He’s lived with me for almost four months, and every day is better than the previous one. I still can’t believe this is my life now, and at times like this, when he looks up at me and smiles like that, my heart feels too big for my chest.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, cheeks flushing.

“Feel better now?”

He nods.

“Ready to go?”

“Kiss first.” He tilts his face up and closes his eyes in anticipation, and I place a peck on his lips. When I pull back, he whines in protest, and I end up giving him a deeper kiss, with a hand firmly on the back of his neck.

He pulls back with a satisfied smile. “Okay. Now we can go.”

We weave through the evening traffic and arrive at the twins’ apartment building at six. Oliver requests another kiss before we enter, and I pull him into my arms instead and stroke the top of his head, gently squeezing his neck.

“It’ll be okay. We can leave if you get overwhelmed.”

“That would look weird.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m here.”

He sighs shakily and gives a little whimper into my chest. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” For the past few months, things have felt so easy between us. Calm. Everything I do for him feels effortless. This side of me activates automatically when he’s around, and the privilege and satisfaction of taking care of him is greater than anything I’ve ever known.

Despite our age difference, despite having everything stacked against us, our relationship only grows deeper the more time passes. I’ve been lucky enough to call Oliver my partner, my boy, my everything, for over six months now, and there are still times I wake up with him in my arms and stare up at the ceiling, hardly believing my fortune. Oliver is the most precious boy, the most precious human I’ve ever known, and he calls himself mine without hesitation.

That’s not to say I don’t backslide into guilt and uncertainty sometimes. I try my best to be aware of his inexperience in life and take care not to override his feelings or make him feel small. I build us both up instead, and it’s a lot of responsibility, but at this point, I feel ready for whatever life throws at us.

People stare at us in the streets sometimes, trying to work out what our relationship is. Are we coach and student, father and son? The number of accepted relationships we can have is few, and partners is not one of them. When we show any sort of affection, those people scrunch their noses with a huff and turn the other way.

I barely notice it these days, and Oliver doesn’t seem bothered at all; in fact, whenever we face judgment, he straightens his back and smirks in delight. The forbidden nature of our relationship has always excited him, and these days, I can’t deny it sometimes sparks a flicker of arousal in me, too.

I let him cling to me for longer than usual, and he inhales my scent until he gives a little sigh and lets me go.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

I ring the doorbell. When the door flies open, a flurry of sounds and scents bursts from inside. Luca is dressed in a crop top with tight pink pants, his blond hair pulled back into a half bun. Nico looks like a rock star, with black eyeliner and a band T-shirt ripped at the arms. His green-and-black hair is spiked in all directions, and he looks murderous, his lean arms crossed over his chest.

“Look who decided to show up.”

Luca rolls his eyes and ushers us inside. “Stop holding it against him. If you had a hot daddy boyfriend, you’d move in with him, too.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Nico grumbles, still glaring at Oliver. “Do you know your replacement roommate didn’t pay rent for two months? We kicked him out, so now we’re splitting rent between the three of us. Do you know how much that is?”

“Sorry.” Oliver grabs my arm, grinning sheepishly as he looks up at me. I smile down at him gently.