Chapter Text
Oliver liked to try and be a grateful person and be happy that he even had a job in the first place, but the mind-numbingly boring day shift at the cinema SUCKED ASS. Don’t get him wrong, he loved that Mr. Dickens took him under his British wing and gave him a job, but it got repetitive.
Every day he’d follow the same song and dance: wake up, get ready, go to work, almost drown in how damp and moist the cinema was, go home, eat dinner, sleep.
Now, Oliver wasn’t extremely popular, despite his very loud and friendly nature, simply because other people found him quite annoying. He was strange, with many weird interests that most people got sick of hearing him rant about. But, that’s okay! Oliver didn’t really mind, at least, not anymore.
And so there he sat, on the practically-falling-apart stool behind the cashier desk, watching the rusty clock on the wall tick with his head in his hands.
Suddenly, a large hand rested on his shoulder and Oliver flinched and let out a very manly squeak. He turned and saw that the hand was attached to his boss and sorta kinda almost dad, Mr. Dickens. He noted that in Mr. Dickens’ other hand was a full trash bag.
“Oliver, my boy!” Mr. Dickens began, patting him on the shoulder. “Since you’ve been such a reliable worker (and totally not because the IRS might be coming by later and I need to disappear), I’ve decided to let you take the rest of the day off! Just throw this trash out while you leave.”
“Gnarly! Thanks, Mr. Dickens!” Oliver grinned and took the bag from his boss. He said his goodbyes and left the building, heading towards the alleyway that the cinema housed its dumpsters.
As he entered the alley, the smell of trash hit his nose and he scrunched his face in disgust. Oliver opened the dumpster’s lid and quickly threw the garbage bag into it. A yelp startled him and he looked over into the bin.
Amongst the trash sat a man.
The two stared at each other for an uncomfortably long time. The trash bag had seemed to have hit the man on its way down and it now it lay sat next to the guy.
“Uh, hi,” Oliver began, blinking slowly in shock, “I’m Oliver… Are you okay? What are you doing in the dumpster?”
The stranger’s jaw clenched and his avoided Oliver’s eyes. “Ah, I wanted to- I am just d-dumpster diving. Y-You can just pretend th-that you didn’t see me and go back to your day…”
Oliver blinked.
“Are you homeless?” Oliver internally kicked himself, that felt like a rude thing to blurt out. “I-I mean- it’s totally okay if you are! I was just wondering, like, if you wanted to take a shower at my apartment if you don’t have a place.” He bit his lip. “I promise I’m not a serial killer!” He added. Smooth, Oliver, really smooth.
The man’s eyes stretched wide in shock, his mouth falling slightly agape.
“Y-You’re inviting me… to t-take a shower?” The man’s eyes shined a bit brighter with what Oliver assumed were tears. “Why are you offering this? I really am pretty p-pathetic.”
Oliver’s eyebrows scrunched. “Who told you that?”
“Uh,” the man looked even more uncomfortable, “everyone who meets me… it’s okay, they have a valid point.”
“That’s dumb, dude, you’re not pathetic, you are just down on your luck. Just come take a shower, really, it’s no big deal.”
“… okay.”
Oliver grabbed the strangers thickly bandaged (and bloddy) hand and helped pull him out of the dumpster. The man was worryingly light for someone his height and when they stepped into the sun he took note of the dark circles under the guy’s eyes.
“My apartment is just a block away, conveniently!” Oliver smiled, leading the way. “What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking?”
The man seemed taken aback. “Randy Jade…”
Oliver smiled. “I work at the cinema, is there a place you work at?”
Randy became impossibly more uncomfortable, shoulders tensing and head leaned forward a bit more, and his dark hair got in his eyes but he did nothing to stop it.
“I work f-for a-animal control,” Randy choked out, picking at the bloody cotton bandages secured around his palms. “A-as well as the… th-the phone… sex hotline…” The brunette’s cheeks burned pink in embarrassment.
“No judgment here.” Oliver said easily, trying to subtly calm Randy down. “We all gotta do what we gotta do to survive, man!”
Before the conversation could continue, Oliver’s apartment building stood before them. He pushed through the door, Randy trailing behind him, and walked up the two flights of stairs. Oliver grabbed his keys out of his pocket when he found his apartment and pushed open the door, holding it open for Randy to come through.
“Y-You have a nice place.” Randy smiled, placing himself in the center of the tiny living room and trying not to touch anything.
“Thanks, dude!” Oliver beamed. He went into his bedroom and pulled out the biggest comfy clothes he thought might fit the man (it was a struggle, given the fact that Randy was 5’10 while Oliver stood at an unimpressive 5’3). He’s pretty sure the sweatshirt and sweatpants were the clothes he never returned to one of his exes. Then went into the bathroom and pulled out a clean towel. Randy trailed in behind him and flinched when Oliver suddenly whipped around and pushed a soft white towel into his shaky hands. Randy just blinked at it.
“You can use my shampoo and conditioner, as well as my body wash. They are all bottled so no worries about like cross contamination or whatever. I’ve also given you some clean clothes to wear while I was your current ones!” Oliver smiled kindly. Randy just stared. “Welp, I’ll let you get to it! I’m going to make lunch-“
“Wh-Why are you being so nice?” Randy’s demeanor had changed from confused to suspicious. “Are you j-just somebody from the h-hotline that got bored and wants the real deal or something! C-Cause if you are then you picked the wrong hotline employee! Th-There’s like three other employees that would be a b-better option than me for that.”
“I’ve never used the hotline before,” Oliver replied truthfully, “I’m just being nice ‘cause, I don’t know, you just seem in an unfortunate place. Is being nice for the sake of being nice not a good enough reason?”
“It is a g-good reason. Just not when it comes to me. I’m very much a loser.”
Oliver frowned as Randy shut the door on his face. He heard the sound of the shower being turned on and he sighed, running his hands down his face. With newfound fire in him he turned around and headed towards the kitchen. He had a mission, and that mission was to prove to Randy that he wasn’t unworthy of kindness.
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The door to the bathroom opened as Oliver finished cutting the grilled cheese sandwiches in half. Randy stepped out of the bathroom in the outfit Oliver gave him, hair damp and sticking out every which way and cheeks rosy from the steam. Something strange flipped in Oliver’s stomach but he was quick to push it away in favor of looking down and plating the sandwiches.
“I hope you’re not lactose intolerant, man.”