Page 80 of Halo

But as many times as Victor wanted to turn around and run, he made his way to the campus, parked, and got in his seat just in time for the ceremony to start. It had been years and years since he’d participated in any sort of graduation ceremony, and he’d all but forgotten how long and tedious they could be.

He did his best to make out Oliver in the crowd, but all he could see was a sea of black robes, colorful hoods, and square hats. It wasn’t until Oliver’s college was called up and his angel was walking across the stage did Victor get his first glance at the face he’d missed so goddamn much. His entire soul ached with the need to find him—to touch him.

But it was another eternity until he was allowed to traverse the crowd of students and their families. Still, it had been worth it. To hear the longing in Oliver’s voice and then to hear him ask Victor not only to stay but to try and find space for the both of them in each other’s lives, it was every fantasy come true.

And now he was sitting in Oliver’s car, in the parking lot of his apartment, the both of them seemingly afraid to set foot out into the real world. Oliver had only asked for one thing: for Victor to still be there in the morning. He wasn’t so foolish as to misunderstand Oliver’s intent, of course. He knew Oliver wanted him there for more than just a platonic reunion, but being together—realizing they still wanted each other—didn’t solve their logistical problem of how they were going to make their lives together work.

Or, more accurately, how Victor was going to solve Oliver’s abject fear that Victor would resent him for giving up his life.

He’d do anything to convince Oliver that he would never feel that way. He hadn’t been given enough time to explain to Oliver that the life Victor lived was nothing but a misery. And what little he had explained, Oliver had been too afraid to believe him. But maybe now, with proof that he was burning it all down and starting fresh, Oliver would understand that nothing—absolutely nothing—was worth losing him. No money, not luxury, not reputation or prestige.

Oliver was everything, and Victor was ready to fight this war.

“We should, uh,” Oliver said quietly, startling Victor by speaking in the thick silence, “go inside?”

Victor smiled and nodded. It was obvious Oliver was going to keep sitting there, so Victor made the first move and opened his door. The sound snapped them both back to reality, and by the time Victor was fetching his crutches out of the car, Oliver was waiting for him at the curb.

He looked amazing in his robe and his hood, but Victor also couldn’t wait to peel it off him. Even if Oliver didn’t want more than to be held, Victor would be satisfied, so long as it meant getting his angel back in his arms again.

“You okay?” Oliver asked.

Victor realized he’d gone all but frozen beside the car as he lost himself in his thoughts. Clearing his throat, he put one crutch tip on the curb, then eased himself up over the lip. His legs were a little shaky from the long drive, but he knew he had the strength to get up the stairs.

“Sorry. It’s been a long day,” Victor told him.

Oliver’s laugh was just shy of hysterical. “You’re telling me.” Then he slapped a hand on his forehead and dragged it down his face. “Shit, I forgot about the goddamn second floor. Uh…you good with getting up the stairs after the drive?”

“Yes. But I’ll need to sit after that,” Victor told him honestly.

Oliver bit his lip, and Victor had to physically stop himself from grabbing Oliver and kissing him breathless against the side of the car. “Should we maybe go somewhere else, or—”

“Angel,” Victor said, his voice thready with his fragile control, “we need to get inside before I lose it. You have no idea how hard it is to keep my hands off you right now,” Victor rasped.

Oliver’s eyes widened, and the tips of his ears went flushed and dark. “Oh. I. Yes. Yes, please.”

Victor’s cock gave a determined throb in his trousers, and he turned, starting toward the path he barely remembered. Oliver eventually took the lead over him, and the pair of them slowly ascended the stairs, Oliver’s keys in hand by the time they reached the landing.

When the door opened, Victor was overcome with the familiar scent of Oliver that had lingered on his clothes for weeks after he left the rental. He’d hoarded them in a drawer for as long as he could, but eventually, the scent faded, and he never thought he’d have it again.

He was a little overwhelmed as he brushed past Oliver and squeezed his hands so tight on his crutch handles his knuckles ached.

“Do you mind if I order some takeout?” Oliver asked very quietly. “I do not have the mental capacity to cook right now, but I haven’t actually eaten much this week.”

Victor bristled, and his caregiver tendencies rushed to the forefront. “Do you want me to cook someth—”

“Baby, I just want to order a pizza and cuddle for a bit,” Oliver interrupted before Victor could offer to create a five-course meal. “Does that sound okay?”

Victor bit his lip and nodded. “That sounds amazing. Where do you want me to settle?”

Oliver sucked in a breath, then stepped close, removing most of the distance between them. His warm palm pressed against Victor’s sternum, and he met his gaze. “Everywhere. But for now, my bed. Just don’t judge me for how messy my room is.”

Victor hadn’t even considered it, and he turned, making his way toward Oliver’s bedroom as he heard him tapping on his phone screen. Victor flicked the light switch when he entered, and he ignored the sea of clothes that looked like they’d been flung from dresser drawers. The bed was large and unmade, covered in two very soft duvets in white and grey. When he sat, his ass sank into memory foam, which was going to be hell on earth to get up from, but he didn’t have it in him to care.

He just set his crutches aside, unbuttoned his shirt at the collar, then reached down to hike up his trouser legs so he could pull off his shoes and orthotics. His legs immediately plumped—the swelling slight but uncomfortable—and he wriggled his toes against the hardwood.

“Want some sweats?”

Victor looked up at the sound of Oliver’s voice. “I’m happy in my boxers unless you’d prefer me more clothed.”

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