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Maschera 🎭

Summary:

A tense conversation across the miles 📞☎️

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:


He sat on the high-backed, ornate wooden chair, clutching the green telephone in his hand. After only two rings, the familiar voice from across the ocean spoke his name. His heart beat a little faster. He was nervous.

“Hi. How are you?” he asked. His words echoed around the hallway. Why was the house so quiet? Where was everyone?

“I miss you,” spoke the voice. He marvelled at how those three little words, travelling through time and space had no effect on him at all. None.

He closed his eyes. “I miss y… actually no. I’m lying.”

“What?”

“Sorry. That was cruel. Forgive me.” He smoothed his hair back from his face and took a deep breath. “Look, I know I made promises but… I just can’t. I’m not…”

“Not what? I don’t understand.” The distant voice broke a little.

He remained calm. “I’m not coming back. It’s over.”

Silence, apart from static on the line. Then, “What do your parents have to say about it?”

He shrugged. “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.” It just popped out. He instantly regretted it.

“Really Oliver? You’re quoting my favourite movie? How could you!” She started to cry then.

“You’re right. That was crass of me. I’m sorry.” He reached up and ran his hand over the map hanging above him. It was one of the first things he’d noticed… was it only six weeks ago?

“Have you met another woman? Is that it?” Her voice was high and she sniffed loudly.

“No.” It wasn’t a lie. But it sort-of was.

“What then, Oliver? Tell me!” Angry now. He didn’t blame her. He’d worn the ‘perfect boyfriend’ mask for almost two years.

“My mind’s made up. I’m sorry.” Sorry – again. How many times would he have to say this even though he wasn’t sorry at all.

“You bastard!” The phone line went dead.

Oliver replaced the receiver and looked over at his brown leather bag near the bottom of the stairs. He walked through the empty kitchen and out into the sun-drenched garden. The people around the table suddenly and obviously became very animated – wine poured into glasses, a pie hastily sliced.

Only the beautiful boy in the blue shirt was still.

Oliver smiled. These were the people he loved. This was his home. “It’s done,” he said.

The boy stood and took his hand. “I’ll show you to your room. Our room.”

Notes:

As often happens with these little one-shots, they come to me in a dream and I have to get them down in writing as soon as I open my eyes (sometimes they're not even quite open tbh🥱)

My first little fix-it - I hope you liked it and would love for you to let me know

Thank you, as ever 💙💚