prioritease
well, i'm fucked :)))))
In Oliver’s defense, he’s nineteen. And being nineteen gets him away with a lot of shitty things he did while he’s miles away from home with no nosy brother breathing down his neck to make sure he’s not “fucking up”.
Ironically Issac wasn’t even the poster boy for Best Behaving Child, not when he was Oliver’s age anyway. He vaguely remembers finding issac’s weed stash in between his econs textbooks once, when Isaac was still in college and lived alone in his ridiculously expensive penthouse their parents insisted in. Oliver internally snorts at the memory but soon snaps back to reality because thinking about his overbearing brother probably wouldn’t excuse what he’s about to do. Nope, this tops everything he’s ever done in the nineteen years he’s lived, and he’s really, really, fucked.
(interlude) a few days before The Fuck Up
Oliver sighs for the umpteenth time, taking his headphones off and sliding further down his chair. He glares at the monitor displaying short lines of what seems to be the start of a composition, and to his absolute chagrin it has been that way for the past 5 hours. There’s a faint buzzing in his ears from wearing headphones for too long and his back is screaming at him so he decides that it’s about time he hauls his ass back to the dorms.
Hopefully Nereo’s back from his weird stargazing club (“It’s called the Astronomy Club you dick.”) because Oliver doesn’t have the energy to look for his keys in the backpack he’s half dragging on the way back to the shared room.
~
Nereo opens the door before he could even knock and maybe scream a bit if his roommate was in the middle of his classical music meditation sessions.
“You’re welcome, I could hear your shitty whining from all the way up here.” Nereo grins and Oliver wants to wipe the annoying look off his face. Which he would’ve done with a hard shove if he wasn’t feeling like he went to hell and back so he settles for a weak ass glare and dumps himself on Nereo’s bed while the other screams at him to get off.
Eventually they settled with Oliver using Nereo’s bony thighs as a makeshift pillow after a minute of trying to push each other off the bed.
Nereo is pulling at his hair and humming to an unfamiliar tune and oliver is trying to sleep and maybe he could drool all over Nereo just because, but then he feels a particularly hard tug and that really hurts what the actual fu-
“Sorry, I don’t want you drooling on me” Nereo shrugs. Before Oliver could retort Nereo leans down until their noses are brushing. “You okay?” He asks, warm breath caressing oliver’s cheeks. “Nope.” Oliver replies.
That’s all it takes for Nereo to lean down further and brush their lips together, warm, soft and safe, everything that Nereo is and oliver feels a tiny bit better. And then they’re quietly kissing, nereo’s neck is going to kill him afterwards and he going to whine until Oliver does whatever he wants to make up for it but he’s not going to think about it right now. As easily as it happened they break apart, breathless, naturally moving to curl up against each other under nereo’s soft blanket as always.
It’s as always with Nereo, easy, simple and no questions. Oliver didn’t have to explain his constant need of affection the first time he pinned Nereo down on his creaky college bed for a needy kiss, lips trembling, his body going limp on top of his amused roommate. (Afterwards Nereo just raised his eyebrows in a silent question. Oliver shrugged and said “I needed that, thanks.” It was almost too easy how his roommate accepts his shitty reason with a “yeah, sure.”)
~
It’s not as if Oliver goes around kissing anyone in his path whenever he’s stressed, nope that’s reserved for drunken college parties where no one’s going to remember anything the next day. And for the sake of salvaging what’s left of his GPA after a wild freshman year, he’s not going to parties every other night