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It was difficult to believe that even just a few mere hours before, there was an excited buzz permeating through Oliver. An actual date was planned, and he wasn’t the one who actually initiated the idea. Such was a rarity, given the man that he was intending to meet with. Francis usually wasn’t the type to step up and do this sort of thing with hardly anyone, let alone the Brit. He fully knew why, as of recently their relationship had been a little bit on the rocky side. Maybe there was just a sense of naive optimism, but in a way, he hoped that maybe over dinner they could just talk.
Make sure everything was perfect, it was rare that he would even consider wearing a suit. That night however, Oliver wanted to look as put together as he possible could. Maybe it was a subconscious way to allow himself to be taken more seriously and to be heard, he wasn’t entirely sure. Underneath his black sports jacket was a dark pink collared shirt and a royal purple bow-tie, the entire ensemble complimenting his thinner frame nicely. Tied together with his favorite cologne, at the very least, he was ready to impress.
Coming to the restaurant however and finding that Francis hadn’t arrived yet, he allowed himself to be seated at a table near the back for two. There, Oliver took a quick glance at his phone. 7pm. Well, the Frenchman may just be running a little late. After all, it wasn’t often that he would show at exactly the time on the dot. Speaking to the waiter for a brief moment and at least getting water and a wine that he knew they both liked, it was the least he could do.
Time slowly began to tick away. Seven became seven-thirty, soon coming close to eight.
By this time, Oliver tucked into his first glass of wine while taking another look at his phone. 8:15pm. He had sent a text to the other around seven-thirty, asking where he was. It hadn’t even been opened yet, still reading as sent. Surely Francis didn’t forget? Maybe he was struggling to get ready and was having an issue getting there. That was surely it, wasn’t it?
8:45pm.
That was the next time that showed when he peered at his phone once again, the message still reading as sent. Pouring another glass all the while his stomach rumbled, mumbling his order to the waiter when he came to check on him once more. It was coming to two hours, and no answer. No attempt to apologize for running late, that he was coming. That he forgot. Nothing. Only silence, and a sent message that hadn’t been opened in over an hour.
Oliver knew that he should have expected this to happen, and he was often the one who was called flaky. Shaking his head with a heavy sigh, his ankles crossed over the other with his chin resting in the palm of his hand. Disappointed couldn’t even begin to describe how he felt at that exact moment.
9:15pm.
Still no answer, the message remaining on the same status as before. The only difference was now a half-empty wine bottle and dinner actually being partaken of.
Oliver knew now that he had been stood up, at the least, he could enjoy a nice meal though such always tasted better while being in the presence of good company. That night, it wasn’t meant to be it seemed much to his dismay and frustration. If Francis didn’t want to see or be around him, all he had to do was say so. Not just blatantly leave him humiliated at a nice restaurant where he was sure he was being judged by the other patrons.
9:45pm.
Still nothing, and the bottle down to three-quarters empty. At least he took a taxi to get there, in no form would he have felt comfortable enough to drive anyhow. Paying his tab once he finished his food, filling the glass with the last bit of crimson liquid.
His head spun, though determined through his sheer will to finish the bottle. It took everything in Oliver to fight back the tears of pure irritation at the situation that he found himself in. Shaking, he picked up the glass and drank the last bit of wine remaining. Checking his phone once more, it was coming to ten. As before, nothing.
As much as he wanted to vent out his feelings of hurt and pure anger toward Francis at that moment in his full inebriated state, Oliver sent a message to someone else instead.
[SMS]: ………
[SMS]: Arthur… Can you come get me? Please?
[SMS]: I will tell you more later…
Not even bothering to see if Arthur checked immediately, tears not long after began to fall. Oliver’s forehead fell onto the edge of the table, fingers gripping tightly at his own hair as the racking sobs followed. His stomach twisted into uncomfortable knots, the entirety of his body tensed at the sudden shift and reaction.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Idiot. Stupid. Stupid. Idiot.
He should have known better, he should have known that something like this would happen. Not even just with Francis, this happened far more often than Oliver cared to ever admit to. He would get his hopes up for something, and then he would only end up disappointed. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be alone, especially not in the state he was in. The soft pings soon followed only a couple minutes later, tilting his head upward to look at the messages.
[SMS]: Are you alright? What happened?
[SMS]: I’ll come get you. The place you told me you were going, am I correct? Stay put, I will be there in twenty minutes tops.
Quickly wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket and sending a quick message confirming what was asked of him, shakily rising to his feet. Despite the dizziness clouding his perception and movement, Oliver somehow made it outside of the building before taking a seat on a nearby bench. Taking deep breaths while he waited, at least trying to force back the drunken hangover that he knew he would have to deal with in the morning.
While that night hadn’t gone as planned… Oliver knew at least of one person he knew he could count on. The one on his way to go pick him up, and take care of him through his coming drunken antics, ramblings, crying fits. It wouldn’t have been the first time, he doubted it would be the last.
Arthur he knew he could count on.