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It's unnerving.
Like an itch under the surface of her skin, making her feel uneasy, off.
It's not like this is the first time they've had an argument, being best friends for so long. Lord knows how easily they've riled each other up through the years. How often she'd had to snap him out of the loop of self-destruction he'd dived into during his senior year, right after she'd moved out. How frank and forward he'd been through Skype and phone calls –once college kept them further apart– teasing her to no end while also throwing the truth on her face; things she didn't want to hear but desperately needed to.
In each case they'd quarrel away and sometimes use their loud voices, which always led to weighty pauses or days offline; only then they'd come back together again. Always.
This time, however, feels different.
Maybe it's because it's the first time in years they've seen each other face to face for more than a day. Or that, even having taken her time, she can't make sense of his angered words, let alone of his actions.
She's had three whole days, of wandering around town, and seeing people she's missed almost as badly as him, painfully haunted by all the questions left unanswered. All last night she's tossed and turned, playing it back, like a fantasy twisted into a nightmare.
Now as she walks back into the Queen Manor, the memory is like a mirage in front of her.
It's still just as quiet as it was that night at 1:58, only the sun is just about rising, lightly lighting the room she walks into. And instead of uncontrollable heat rushing through her veins, she feels hollow, suspended in time.
She takes a step forward and then another, until her treacherous body leads her straight to that spot right by the floor-to-ceiling windows.
And right there, as if feeling the calling of her thoughts, he finds her.
"Felicity," he breathes out as if he's been holding it on the tip of his tongue for far too long.
She takes a deep breath, her chest still heavy and burdened, and turns to meet him at last.
He's wearing sweatpants and is slightly sweaty, his before dawn run still a staple in his routine, it seems. His hair's tousled as if he's had as much trouble with sleep lately as her. But it's the look in his eyes that shifts her world.
Desperation, joy, confusion, gratefulness, sadness.
She wonders what he can read in hers. She is not even sure what's coming through, what she's embracing about the jumble of emotions overtaking her life.
All she can muster, in a desperate attempt to make sense of it all, is a single word. Not his name, as she's yet to master his art of encompassing everything within the sound of hers.
But "why?"
Oliver visibly flinches at her voice, which, though not rough and searing as it was that night, is weighty with anguish and pain. So much pain.
She hopes against all hope that, just like every other time, the stinging pain they inflict each other turns into something good, something that helps them grow and flourish and rethink their stubborn choices –sometimes to end up making them again, but with renewed clarity, instead of letting themselves be, but still.
Though in all honestly, Felicity herself doesn't know what she wants him to say now, what to expect. She's been able to read Oliver like an open book ever since he dropped the act two weeks into their tutoring sessions in high school.
But now, in a house that's always been like her home away from home, she feels lost and adrift. Physically closer to him yet terribly far.
His mouth opens and closes a few times, words dying on his tongue as his eyes search her face, then drift down to take in her body posture. His eyes feel like a caress on her skin, gentle yet intentional, making a shiver run through her once his sight sets on her lips.
And just like that she's taken back to that spot, three days before, tangled in his arms and drowning in his taste.
It'd all transpired so quickly. First a mess of laughter and shared memories as they downed a nice bottle of champagne, toasting to their reunion. Which had him cheering for their future, finally in one city again, effectively showering her in dread for what was to come.
"Actually, Oliver," she'd said, tentative as they only were when they knew the other wouldn't like what they had to say. "I'm not staying."
His beautiful smile had faded out awfully fast, a frown overtaking his absurdly gorgeous features. And with a bittersweet "I'm moving with Ray to New York," she had seen his eyes crinkle with unmistakable pain.
A slew of half-worded question had come from his lips next, rushed, angry. She'd met them with her practiced truths, how it was 'for the better', 'as expected after years together', what 'made sense'.
Only a day later, as she'd been musing over every second of that night, it'd dawned on Felicity how she hadn't said 'because I want to' until Oliver had started lashing out at her:
"What do you want to do?"
"You're running away"
"He doesn't deserve you."
Each rash word out of his mouth had hit her like a wave, one she'd bravely countered with equally frantic thoughts of her own:
"I want to build something, you know that! New York could be it."
"You're one to judge about running away!"
"I'm running to something with him."
And before long, his heart had been just as bruised as hers, anger and frustration flowing through them, misunderstanding leading to exhaustion until she'd finally let out a resounding "what do you want from me, Oliver?" that had him heaving a sigh and lowering his voice to a whisper.
"For you. Happiness, family, friends. A future that you choose, not him, pushing you along until you see his point."
"Isn't that what you're doing with me now?" she'd scoffed humourlessly.
"I've never told you what to do, Felicity. I just can't lie to you, never could. I don't think this is what you want, but what you've been convinced to do. You've interviewed here, looked for apartments excited and all. I don't want to see you throw your life away for him, for anyone."
Right now she curses herself for what came next, the outburst of pride that had driven her to hurt him like that:
"You've always had it in for Ray."
The look in his face now pales in comparison to how beaten down he'd been then; right before they'd come at each other's throats once more.
In hindsight she knows it all came from a good place, of wanting what was best for the other, of caring so deeply it was felt down to their souls.
But in between harsh words and unfiltered thoughts they'd driven each other mad.
And then it had happened.
An exhausted cease-fire in the form of "why do you care so much?" by her, that had been swiftly and mindlessly countered by a desperate "because…" from Oliver that had him crossing the mere foot between them and slanting his mouth over hers.
Frozen in place, she'd taken it all in: the roughness of his stubble against her skin, wonderfully opposed to the softness of his lips pressing hers, prying them open to give into her taste. His tongue, wet and warm tracing over her teeth until they'd parted and he could entangle it with hers. His fingers twisted into her hair, a hand cradling her back to him, as if she hadn't been already melting under his touch.
It had been like an out of body experience, feeling herself get lost in his embrace, desperation and release having them clawing onto each other.
Barely a breath had been taken before they were diving in again, a helpless moan falling through her lips making him tilt her head to the left and nip at her bottom lip.
It'd been heady, intoxicating, mind-boggling and all-consuming. Everything she hadn't felt in forever.
It'd been that thought of a present that had her tearing herself away from his arms, panting and heaving, hating and loving that she now knew what he tasted like. That thought of a future she'd had when she'd walked into that room hours before, that collided and pushed her away from this reality, this version of her life. That plan and those promises she'd made to herself and someone else, someone that was not the ravished and hungry Oliver Queen looking at her like that.
"Oh god," she'd let out, shaking her head at the endless thoughts and urges crowding her brain, at Oliver's hand reaching out to her, at his barely audible '"Felicity" he'd let out before she'd had so bravely literally run away from him as soon as possible.
Three days later and his hand twitches at his side, showing his restraint to reach out again and his intent of staying still. His eyes meet hers at last, leaden with everything he hadn't been great at voicing that night.
And, in a most delayed fashion that still feels perfectly them, he finishes a primordial thought, that takes her breath away now and forever:
"I love you."
A gasp leaves her lips, tears clouding her vision as he outpours his affection in gentle words and a pained smile.
He's loved her for years. Denial, guilt and self-doubt keeping his love at bay. It didn't help matters that they've both been in relationships or dating for most of their friendship, let alone that she seemed to be in love with another man.
"I'm sorry, I just… I can't let you go again without you knowing the truth. It's selfish as hell, and I couldn't have handled it worse but… you're everything, Felicity. I want everything for you. And if that's really with him, then I'll… I'll work to support you and be happy for you. But… I love you," he says again, letting out a breathy chuckle that paints his features with such life, sincerity and vulnerability flowing through him. "I just need you to know, to finally say it out loud."
And he's smiling. That breathtaking smile that has been warming her insides from day one, now being revealed to convey love. For her.
The denial smothering her feelings for him, ones she's thought were long lost and buried away, bursts through and front centre at everything in his eyes and out of his lips.
He loves her.
For once she's speechless, the flurry of emotions and tangled thoughts unravelling on the inside simply coming through in a puff of air.
"I… I didn't know you felt like that," she manages to breathe at last, "I… Oliver."
And this time, his name is enough, especially once she takes a step forward, then another until they are a breath away. Under his curious gaze, looking down at her holding his heart in her hands, she lands and settles in everything that's kept her up at night these last few days.
This is different. This is him, and her, as always, complicated and intense, infuriatingly opposed yet complimentary. Exciting, passionate and driven, even in the little things, proud and encouraging, a partner in every sense of the word.
And, worst and best of all, someone she's always wanted to reach out to, to hold and be held by, feel and make feel, and everything in between.
Someone who is flesh and blood before her at last, a voice in her ear for so long, thoughts in her head always.
Oliver waits before her with bated breath, his fingers anxiously rubbing together, his gaze unwavering and intense; loving, as she's just learnt to read. And with a finale intake of air she leans into him, finally and completely, tilting her head upwards, on her tiptoes, until she can lightly brush her lips to his.
Unlike their first kiss, this one starts slow, with the gentle slide of their lips against each other, tentative yet assertive all at once.
Saying 'I want this'. Whole-heartedly choose this. In spite of fear, uncertainty, and beyond.
She softly captures his lower lip between hers, tugging then biting down, eliciting a breathy laugh from him, completely surrendering to her will.
There's finally a comforting silence between them, simply tight with anticipation in the form of the smacking noise they make pulling apart, only to sensually come together again.
His fidgeting fingers untangle with her first touch, a hand tenderly falling over his wildly-beating heart; her fingers curling into his shirt once his own lands on the small of her back.
The safety she finds molding her lips to his is welcoming and perfect, holding so many questions to be dealt with, while also giving many answers she's been dying for for ages.
And once the comfortableness of his mouth warms her insides, she licks his mouth open, top lip first, then he smiles and lets her in, embracing everything they are and can be.
In the confines of his mouth she gets lost, reaching for his face, caressing his stubbled jaw, up and back to card her fingers through his cropped hair making him groan into her. Then down, raking her nails lightly over his neck to clutch at his shoulders when he hungrily nips at her lips at last, deliciously laughing at the whimper that leaves her with it.
And so she leans back for a moment, breaths mingling, pants filling the room. Foreheads to each other, her lids open, finally meeting his eyes.
Dark and rich, full of joy and wonder, the smile she's felt against her own all this time now clear as day.
He reaches out slowly to cradle her face, a thumb absentmindedly brushing over her full lips, tracing a path that, by the looks of it, he's dying to follow. And he almost does, leaning down to meet her half-way, when a treacherous thought burst through her.
"Wait!" she yelps, startling him. "I mean I don't want you to, obviously, since I started this," she monitions to the mere inch between their chests, making her favourite side smirk appear on his face.
"But I can't right now. I shouldn't. I… I should make a phone call," she says unsure, coming out like a question; barely hinting at the many still unanswered.
What does this mean?
Where do they go from here?
His hands still holding her face lightly caress her cheeks, a tenderness painting his features as a hint of vulnerability reappears in his blue gaze.
"If it's what you want," he says.
An out. Yet as reckless as it may be, she's of no mind to take it, her body and mind screaming that this is where she wants to be, what she's been running away from, hiding in comfortableness that's become numbing.
The corner of her mouth tilts upwards then, a firm nod shaking her head in his hold.
The way his whole face lights up at that and everything it could lead up to fills her with joy.
The threadbare of restraint she has left is being tested by the warmth in his deep blues, and that teasing mole at the corner of his lips that becomes all the more enticing whenever he smiles. There's still a bit of his face she hasn't kissed and desperately wants to, and so many words to voice once her thoughts untangle.
But for now she leans on him, laying her head against his glowering heart, feeling the beautiful touch of a kiss to the top of her head; never having felt more at home in her life.