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Her body was warm beside his. Glancing at the clock, it read 7am as the morning sun managed to peak through his black out curtains. The soft light dusted her skin, revealing her freckled-covered back, allowing Adam to lightly trace patterns between them, stray strands of her dark brunette hair brushing his face while she shifted in her sleep.
The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest as she dreamt next to him was strangely comforting in moments like these.
He had no reason to feel as insecure as he does. She is not going to leave, he knows that now. Three weeks ago, maybe not. Maybe then he still had this niggle in the back of his brain, reminding him of how beautiful she was and how mediocre he was, how kind and open she was and how antagonist and unapproachable he was.
How much he did not deserve such a wonderful woman like Olive Smith.
But he was done with that now. That self-loathing and insecurity. Well, not really done with it, as in over it. More just, ignoring it very effectively.
Being with Olive made that so simple. Her energetic personality, her kind nature, wrapping him up in a protective blanket, keeping himself safe from any doubting words or condescending speeches his parents could’ve possibly ever thrown at him.
Whenever his mind was brought back to Washington or his parents or his au pairs, she would be there, right next to him, opening up her heart to him, his struggles. Listening, learning, loving. Beautiful, wonderful, intelligent. His Olive.
Still, it all sometimes got to him. When he was angry, upset, feeling lonely or unsupported, or, sometimes, when he was just feeling too much. He was not sure what had brought on this random bout of self-hatred, but Olive, basically through existing, gave him an inconsumable amount of strength and comfort, armour he could wear to help him get through the day before collapsing in her arms again.
He hoped she viewed him similarly. As someone to rely on. Who could help wash away pain and discomfort, who could buy her pumpkin sludge and watch cheesy romances with her. A person who could support her, emotionally, financially, when she was experiencing sugar withdrawals. Talk to her about her favourite books or projects, listen to her rant all about irritating guys from her lab, dance around her kitchen in the refrigerator’s light.
He would do anything for her. I hope she knows that.
The grey sheets rustled as Olive moved, flipping from facing out to the wall to into Adam’s chest. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, tangling their legs together, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair. The feel of her skin against his, radiating warmth, filled him with joy. The fact that she was here, next to him, in his bed, in his house, warmed a part of his soul, a part he thought had withered and died before she blessed him with her light; bringing it back from the dead and making it forever hers.
“Stop staring, weirdo.”
“Cannot help it,” Adam said, nuzzling into her hair, “you are too pretty.”
“Woah, smooth,” Olive replied, a small smile across her face.
"Thanks."
Despite what their friends thought, Adam and Olive had not had sex since that night at the conference. He was hysterically, crazily, insanely in love with her and he loved being with her irregardless of what they were doing, but, recently, things had just been going so fast. There had not been a day in the past three years that he had not yearned to be with Olive, in whatever way she allowed, and if she asked, he would have never denied her. Things had just gone by so quickly and they, specifically Olive, had been so overwhelmed with what had happened with Tom, he wanted to give her a bit of a break. Do what she wants and start off this relationship being as incredibly low maintenance as possible to a) give her some time and b) keep her around as long as he could. If he was cool and relaxed she would not have to expend any extra energy around him, which would only keep her at his place longer, watching Bill Nye reruns (“he is a staple of my childhood!”) or old, nineties romcoms in his living room.
The whole Tom thing had been a lot for him too.
After Olive came to the restaurant, Adam spent the rest of his time in between HR meetings and burning all his connections at Harvard (not that he still wanted them). He met with various professors, the dean, Holden at one point, playing that fucking voice recording over and over and over again until he was at the point of ripping his own hair out, eventually being given access to a single computer to file his Title IX report on.
Writing out that report was one of the most difficult things he ever had to do. The HR lady who was with him, explaining the process of actually producing a sexual misconduct complaint (instead of just joking about doing it with your fake-secretly-in-love-with-her girlfriend), was incredibly sweet and understanding. She took her time, explaining the process, what his witness statement would entail and realistic consequences from Dr Benton in a situation like this, but it wasn’t very soothing (to say the least).
“I don’t want to stress you out, and I understand that this is a very difficult time, but the importance of properly filling out these forms cannot be expressed enough.”
Weirdly, she made the process more stressful. Can you imagine?
“Hey”, Olive said, lifting a hand to his face, “what are you thinking about?”
“Ways I can try to sneak vegetables into your diet. I was thinking of doing some of those vegan broccoli brownie things almond moms love.”
“You defile me–”
“Please don’t say I ‘defiled’ you”
“–and then you defile my food. Chocolate is sacred and I cannot be in a relationship with a person who doesn’t view it as such.”
“Knew it was going to end someday,” Adam said, kissing the crown of Olive’s head as she nuzzled into his chest.
In the end, giving Olive space didn’t really work. Apparently, he did not want to leave her alone and she did not want to be left alone. Go figure.
At the end of their days together, he would always offer to drive her home (he could not have her try to bike home after all) but she rarely took him up on it. Sometimes she had already passed out before he could take her home, sometimes there was no shampoo at her place so she just had to stay at his. But, either way, she spent most of her nights with him.
Holden noticed pretty quickly. The jokes followed soon after.
“Nice to see your inner, repressed teenager coming out Adam.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck Olive.”
It was infuriating, aggravating, exasperating and oh so perfectly Holden. He loved it. Every jibe and teasing comment made Adam feel so loved, like a constant jabbing reminder that Holden was his best friend, Olive was his and he was loved.
He wanted this to last forever. He would make this last forever.
“Alright”, Olive said, lifting herself from his chest, “we have got to get moving. Those mice are not going to monitor themselves for signs of pancreatic failure.”
"Or", he responded, following her out of their sheets, "you could stay?"
He wrapped his arms around her waist, tucking his head into her shoulder, "Adam, that next MacArthur grant will not earn itself."
“No. You will earn it.”
“So either way one of us has to leave,” she giggled, pulling herself out of his arms.
“Boo”, he fell back onto the bed, “you are a grad student. Isn’t the main thing you guys do is slack off? I have had enough shitty reports this week that say so.”
“This is why people leave your lab crying.”
“One, the towels are in the top of the wardrobe–”
“Thank you.”
“Two, if I had not caught the mistakes Greg made on his report then another handful of your mice would have gone entirely wasted.”
“Not my precious mice!” Olive laughed, quickly giving Adam a peck on the cheek before turning to the bathroom, “but seriously, if you are not out of bed by the time I get out of the shower I will be biking to work and I am pretty sure it was raining last night.”
“You awful woman,” he said, Olive turning back to wink at him before entering his bathroom.
He would never get sick of this, fucking never. That beautiful woman was his, she chose him and he would be forever grateful to whatever god decided that was the plan. If he did get sick of her (somehow), lobotomize him. Take him for a long drive. Send him swimming with the fishes. He did not want to be that man, he was never going to be that man. Whoever that is is an imposter, parading as Olive Smith's husband.
Adam Smith. It has a nice ring to it, don't you think?