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“Hell yes,” Leo said, dragging out a kitchen chair and slumping over the scrubbed wooden table. “All I’ve had is dry toast. My stomach finally stopped trying to claw its way out of my throat a few hours ago.”
“That didn’t stop you from texting all your mates about another night out,” Oliver pointed out. He gave the food a stir, then threw the cartons of rice into the microwave. “You seriously think that’s a good idea?”
“Fuck off, it’s a great idea,” Leo grumbled, scrubbing at his face. He was wearing purple nail polish which was chipping, and he grimaced at it when he set his hands down flat against the table. “What’s it to you, anyway? I’m passing this semester.”
“Are you?” Oliver challenged. “It’s not my business, but what the fuck do you think is going to happen if you get chucked out? You think mum’ll be waiting with open arms?”
“Could go find dad,” Leo grumbled as he grudgingly accepted the plate of food. He sniffed it, then got up to grab a bottle of soy sauce from the fridge. Dousing his food liberally in the salty liquid, he shoved a huge bite in his mouth and spoke around searing-hot chicken. “Maybe I’ll become a sex worker. They make good money.”
“You’re nowhere pretty enough,” Oliver said. “I sucked up all the good genes before mum shoved you out of that hostile womb of hers.”
Leo shoved two fingers up at his sibling as he took another bite. “Fuck you. I just need to know what I’m doing. I don’t have to be as pretty as you. I’m king of blowjobs. What the fuck do you think this is for?” He clicked his tongue ring against the front of his teeth.
“You are a complete fuckboy,” Oliver said as he took a far daintier bite than his sibling. “But I don’t have time to worry about you. And I don’t feel like going out tonight.”
“So don’t,” Leo said petulantly, bowing his head toward his plate. He cleared half of it in three bites, then swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Who said you were invited anyway? I didn’t textyou.”
“I owe Carol, like, four chapters,” Oliver said by way of reply, but he knew he was only trying to convince himself.
The problem was, every time Leo went out on his own, something happened. Twice he’d ended up in the ER with alcohol poisoning, and Oliver would never get over the frantic call to rescue Leo when someone had handed him a drugged cocktail. He’d arrived just as Leo was being hoisted into the back seat of a car, and Oliver had walked away with a black eye and his lip bashed to hell, but his sibling was alright.
“…and he said that we could go out next Saturday, but I’m not even sure about him.” Oliver realized Leo was still talking, rambling on about his group of friends. “Like, I hate even questioning a person’s identity, but he just seems like he’s full of shit. He keeps laughing on days Mikey wants to use femme pronouns as though it’s some kind of fucking joke. I mean, when will they understand that because some bloke goes around wearing lipstick, it doesn’t change their gender. It’s not a game.”
Oliver sank into the chair and propped his chin up on his closed fist. “So, don’t go out with him.” Having only half-listened, it was the only advice he had.
“Thanks for that,” Leo said with a fantastic eye roll. “Couldn’t have worked that one out on my own.” He pushed away from the counter. “I’m going to have another kip since I’m going to be out late. I’ll try to be good though, alright? I’ll make it to my lectures tomorrow.”
“Sure you will,” Oliver said, but didn’t argue further as he watched Leo head back up the stairs. A moment later, the bedroom door slammed, and Oliver slumped down, pressing his forehead to the cool tabletop.
He didn’t want to think of Leo as a burden. Neither of them had asked for this life. Leo had never asked Oliver to take the brunt of their mother’s abuse. It had been the conscious choice of a scared teenager who couldn’t stand the thought of his sibling being hurt. The mentality of a teenager who was certain he was stronger than the little one—that he could take more, because maybe he deserved it a little.
Oliver had always been obstinate. He was forever hearing stories about how he’d been the worst baby—crying constantly, fussy eater, never slept. He’d been worse as he grew up—had terrible marks in school, was constantly getting calls from his teachers to ask his mother if there was anything she could do about her defiant son.
So maybe taking the hits for the more sensitive of the two was just something he had to offer their messed up little family. He was over it, after all. He might have taken more risks than most people, treated life and relationships with far less care, but he was alright. He had to believe that.
With a sigh, Oliver pushed himself up from the table and went to the bathroom for a shower. He knew there was no chance Leo was going on his own, but he had a few hours to try and get some work done. He kept it quick, then wrapped a towel around his head as he sat down at his desk and opened his laptop.
His research was coming along, slower than he anticipated, but he’d get it done. His dissertation would be written and ready for a defense on time. He was determined to prove to anyone who ever doubted him, he could do this. He was not the product of his bad choices—he would not be defined by his experiences.
He was valid.
He had to believe that.
Two
“Gin and tonic, love,” Oliver drawled to the cute bartender who was tapping her long, red nails on the polished marble. She’d been hitting on him for the better part of an hour, and he had no desire to dissuade her from the notion that he was an available, straight man. He had eyes on his sibling at the moment, who was currently dancing with a group of people he didn’t know.
Leo was definitely drunk, but in good spirits it seemed. So long as Oliver didn’t get distracted, he could head off any danger.
“Is this seat taken?” The voice was heavy, rich, dripping with a slow, Southern accent.
Oliver’s gaze snapped up to a very tall, fit blonde with broad shoulders and wide smile. He had at least six or seven inches of height on Oliver, which showed especially in his long, heavy fingers. He didn’t wait for an answer either, lowering himself onto the barstool.
“What are you havin’?”
Oliver felt his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. “Gin and tonic, but I’ve already ordered.”
The man’s blue eyes lit up, a sunny smile crossing his face. “Where you from? That is the cutest accent I ever heard.”
