Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Oliver woke up to the tendrils draped around him, he thought he would die. When he opened his eyes again, finding himself afloat in the middle of the ocean, he thought it’d be worse.

Now, about a month later, it’s… better, he supposes?

It took him a while to reach land again, and it was a nightmare to go through, but he found his way eventually. He was… a bit lost, at first, but it wasn’t long before he started running into “people” “like him”. Not exactly of course, he was yet to find anyone serving the same patron as him, but they were helpful either way. 

They gave him a better understanding of the world he was now a part of, some even offered advice… and the others didn’t judge him, at least. They knew what he was, sometimes better than he did, and he didn’t have to worry about feeling like the person with the most blood on their hands in the room. Apparently, a lot of them found the idea of meeting an actual End Avatar quite… interesting, or useful, or both, so he had no trouble finding company.

So yeah, even though he died a month ago, he’s finally starting to feel better. He’s getting used to his new life, he finally got all of his legal paperwork figured out (He didn’t think disappearing for 3 months would be such a headache to fix), and he even finds himself not-as-surprised when meeting Avatars and alike who don’t try to look human at all. The first time he ran into a… he can’t recall their alignment at this point, but it was probably somewhere between Flesh, Corruption, or Stranger, he couldn’t help feeling disturbed. These days he can deal with it better.

By the time he runs into a mannequin wearing what is clearly human skin and a ringmaster’s outfit, he’s… barely surprised. He’s fairly certain he even heard about… it? Her? The latter sounds better. He’s fairly certain he’s heard about her before, from a yet another avatar, and he’s… not sure if he wants to stick around her for long. He’s tired, he just wants to get home, and from the get-go, she seems overly ecstatic to talk to him. He doesn’t do well with conversations even when the other speaker is laid back, so this really feels like too much.

“Hello!” she greets him cheerfully, and he really wants to leave. Still, it’s… impolite, and might end up unwell for him. It’s rare that an Avatar possesses just average strength, even one of the Stranger. (And of course, he’s one of the rare cases in that as well.)

“...Hey, uh, I’m…” he tries to give an excuse to just be on his way, but she interrupts him before he can get the words out.

“You must be Oliver!” she exclaims, and sticks her hand out in a nearly cartoonish way. “I’m Nikola!”

“...Hi,” he responds with notably less enthusiasm, and goes to shake her hand.

He tries to avoid squeezing it, mostly because he’s pretty sure that the skin thrown over it might be delicate, but Nikola doesn’t share his apprehension. Just from the squeeze she gives him alone, he gets a good idea of just how easily she could stop him from leaving if she wanted.

“...Can I help you?” he asks once she finally lets go of his hand. In response, she claps her hands excitedly.

“I would like to be friends!” she informs him, which is… not unusual these days. A lot of Avatars seem to think that ‘befriending’ a servant of The End will be… helpful, or something. He doesn’t quite get what he could do for them, but he doesn’t feel like questioning it either.

“Sure...?” he answers, because he’s learned that it’s best to just go along with such things. “I’m… in a rush right now, trying to get home, but sure. We can be friends,” he adds, hoping it’s enough for her to just leave him alone.

“Great!” she responds. He starts to walk away only for her to match his speed nearly instantly. “I would like to give you something! To celebrate our friendship! Would you like, hm… A new skin, maybe?” she offers, and he can just barely stop himself from grimacing at the thought.

“Uh… No, no, thanks, I… like mine just fine,” he responds, hoping she doesn’t take that as an invitation to steal it, either.

She doesn’t. She seems to take it as a challenge instead.

“Alright! How about, hm… Oh, how about I help you find a skincare routine! I’m good at that!” she offers. That would be more of an invitation for her to steal his skin, he thinks.

“...I think I’m good. I wouldn’t have time today anyway, like I said, I’m in a rush–” he tries to remind her, but she keeps going.

“Alright then! How about… Hmm…” she pauses, and she seems genuinely stumped. Does this mean freedom for him? “Oh! How about your memories! I could get that arranged!”

“...What?” he asks. That… doesn’t sound very Stranger of her, Oliver thinks that memory loss would fall closer to… he’s not sure, actually, but not to the Stranger. Not to mention, he doesn’t suffer from memory loss.

“Your memories of… you know, the one we took!” Nikola clarifies unhelpfully. Oliver still feels just as confused. “Oh, don’t make me remember his name! I’m so bad at those!” she exclaims, but he still has no idea what she’s talking about, still. “Fine… I think it started with a G? George, maybe? No, no, maybe something like… Greyson? No, not that either…” she mumbles to herself. “Was it Graham?”

“...Graham?” Oliver repeats after her, and oh, it’s been a while since he said that name out loud. “...As in… Graham Folger?” he supplies, but no, that’d make no sense, so–

“That’s the one!” Nikola claps her hands together, and Oliver stops in his tracks. “I can let you remember him!”

But, again, that makes no sense. He remembers him, which is why he was able to give his surname. Sure, it’s been a long while since they last spoke, but oh, he could never forget Graham. The, the… strange, infuriating guy who he wasted so much of his life with. No, no, Oliver would never forget about his weirdo ex boyfriend, who would insist on having “Wax Museum Dates” at least once a week, other than those times they’d go antiquing instead– wait, no, they never went antiquing, had they? No, no, it was just wax museums, with one or two visits to a circus instead.

He’s not sure why he stayed with Graham for so long, really. He wasn’t even his type look-wise, his idea of “dates” was boring at best, he was far too quiet unless you somehow tricked him into rambling about something he liked– no, no, that never happened, he was always quiet. Maybe it was how adorably shy he’d get sometimes, how well it matched Oliver's own nervousness around most people– No, what is he thinking, Graham was extremely confident. Always so sure of himself, never willing to accept he could be in the wrong, never listening.

Oliver can still recall the near-blank look his green eyes would usually have, and he does so with a shiver. It was a chilling thing to fall asleep to, and wake up to, and he can’t believe he spent so long letting it happen. Looking back, the whole thing barely feels like a relationship at all. Sure, there were dates, and living together, and even sharing a bed, but… that was it. No complements, pet names, affection, long talks about feelings and plans for the future… not from Graham, at least. He tried, he tried so hard, and– but Graham matched the efforts, hadn’t he?

He was so kind, and so sweet, and he would dedicate so much time and effort into making Oliver happy. He would bring home little gifts, and he would order Oliver’s favorite foods (because he could Not be trusted alone in the kitchen), he would hold Oliver’s hand even though they were both shy about it. Oh, and he trusted Oliver so much, he would tell him whatever was on his mind, even if he was scared to share it, and he would let Oliver cut his hair whenever it got too long, just because he knew Oliver enjoyed doing that, and every single evening they would sit together, talking, and his blue eyes looked at Oliver with so much adoration, so much love–

But no, his eyes were light green and cold. And he never cared, never listened, seemingly never loved him, and– and it’s like Oliver has memories of two different people now. It’s like…

“What,” he mutters, and he’s back to reality. He looks at Nikola and tries his best to articulate what his mind just supplied him with. “...Which one? The… I… I remember… two? The… the blonde one, and the dark haired one, which…?”

“Oh, what?!” Nikola exclaims, theatrically upset. “Why do you remember him? No one remembered him after we replaced him! Is this an End thing? It has to be an End thing!” she crosses her arms, and if her mouth wasn’t drawn on, she probably would pout as well.

“...Which one was… real?” Oliver asks, and he’s starting to feel very unwell. Nikola… doesn’t hear his question, apparently. In spite of this absolute mess she just bestowed upon him, she still seems dead-set on finding something she can give him.

“Hm… How about… I give him back to you, then? I think I can get it to do that!” she offers, and for a moment he wants to ask his question again, just louder. Then, her words hit him.

He's not sure which Graham was the real one, which one of them he actually dated. He's not even sure if he wasn't replaced during their relationship, which would mean he's technically dated both. Regardless, the idea that he could have him back? That he could help him in some way, that he could save someone? Save someone he loved, specifically? His patron isn't one for saving lives for sure, and he thought he's accepted that already, but with this option in front of him, he can feel a small resistance to the idea building up in his chest again. People die, and it's normal, and they should die when their time comes, but... can't there be exceptions? Can't he have Graham back, just to see, just to know which one was real? People die, and they're mostly forgotten, but not to this point, their memory carries on for some time. His didn't. Can that change? Can Oliver actually have him back?

“...You can do that?” he asks. No, no, obviously Nikola can’t. He, of all people, should know that death is permanent, that it's irreversible. She couldn't just… bring him back, could she? Could she?

“Well, I can’t! I can ask the one that replaced him, though! I don’t think it’s using his life right now anyway!” she explains, and seems awfully casual for the topic she’s discussing. Oliver finds himself struggling to breathe. “Do you want me to ask it?”

“Yes?” he answers instantly. He thinks his hands are shaking. “If it’s– if you can do that, please, I… I need that, please ask it,” he adds, and yeah, his hands are definitely shaking.

“I will!” Nikola nods. “Does that make us friends?” she asks, and… looks like he won’t be getting out of this one, actually. He doesn’t care at this point.

“Sure, yeah, I– I said we can be friends!” he responds quickly, as though silence could be taken as a ‘no’, which could be reason enough for her not to ask ‘it’ in the end.

“Great!” Nikola clasps her hands together again. “Say, if it agrees to give him back, where do you want him to be? And when do you want him there?”

“I– I’m… Just… wherever I am, the moment you can!” he decides. Then, he quickly realizes that it could end poorly if he was in a crowded space, or a tiny space, or in a car, or… in a thousand other places. “Or, uh… my flat, maybe? That seems… safer.”

“Alright! I know where that is! I’ll let it know! I think I might even go ask it right now!” she declares, turning on her heel and starting to march away. Then, her mannequin head turns to look at him while she keeps walking. “We can meet up soon, right? Like friends!”

“Sure,” he breathes out before he can think throughout the answer.

Agreeing to that should make him feel unnerved. It doesn’t. Not when there’s a chance that…

Which Graham is he getting back, again? Which one of them was real? It would make sense for it to be the… taller one, the one with blue eyes, because looking back at the few memories of him that Oliver has, it makes sense why they were together. But… what if that’s wrong, what if it’s the shorter Graham that was real, what if he’s the one Oliver dated? Well… he supposes in that case, that will still be a good thing to help him. He spent 6 years with the man, the least he owes him is remembering him and freeing him from the Stranger.

Come to think of it, the blonde man from his memories acted awfully like a Stranger. That doesn't have to mean that it was a Stranger posing as Graham, of course, there's a chance Graham just knew about the fears to some degree. There's a chance he knew about The Stranger and wanted its attention, which of course he wouldn't mention to Oliver, he never talked about his wants or dreams with him. He might've been trying to become Stranger aligned, or even an Avatar for some reason, and it might've not worked out how he wanted it to. He might've been replaced by something seemingly better at posing as a human, and if that's the case... he really needs help, and he deserves to be saved.

It's hard to figure out which Graham was real. Oliver supposes he'll know only when Nikola finds a way to "give him back"... or alternatively, when she comes to tell him he can't have Graham back and offers him help with regaining his memories instead. That's the least he can ask from her. He nods to himself, he'll do that.

By the time he snaps out of his thoughts, Nikola is long gone, and the sky outside is darkening. He should really head home, he thinks. He needs to go home, and he needs to lay down and clear his mind. He needs time to actually understand what just happened, to comprehend it. 

And he needs a nap.

The door to Oliver’s flat is locked. Someone is desperately trying to get it open from the inside.

Chapter Text

By the time Oliver reaches his 5th floor flat, he’s winded from the trip up the stairs and generally exhausted. He’s probably going to skip dinner and go straight to bed, where he can wallow in his misery and stubbornly relive his memories of Graham in an attempt to figure out which one was an Actual Person. Yeah, he’ll do that until he falls asleep, and then wake up in the morning and probably repeat the whole process a few more times, up until he’s sure.

His door has two locks, one open-able from the inside and one you need a key for. He’s surprised to find the former unlocked, he could swear he locked it… but then again, he’s exhausted, he might be mistaken. He might remember locking it some other time, or imagining it entirely, and now is not the time to waste his energy lingering on the thought. He simply puts his key in the other lock, opens the door and steps into his home. 

When he turns to close the door behind himself, he notices scratches around the lock he just opened. Were they… always there? They look fresh, and he can swear he sees bits of the door frame in crumbs on the floor. But no, no, either the scratches were always there or he’s imagining them. They look kind of like the death tendrils, now that he thinks about it, might be a sign his lock is about to break? That makes no sense, obviously, but he’s too tired to care.

He hangs his coat on a hook by the front door and continues into his flat, his mind heavy with exhaustion and far too many thoughts and feelings to be going through. His head hurts, he should lie down. He steps into the living room, ready to go straight for his bedroom, when–

“Stop!” someone orders him, and he’s quick to oblige. “...Who are you?!” the person demands.

There is a man in Oliver’s living room. He suddenly feels much more awake. The room is dark, and it takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the low lighting, but with each second he can tell more about the stranger. He’s tall, he’s standing in the corner, he’s shaking and pointing something in Oliver’s general direction. Does that mean he’s in danger? He can’t see any death tendrils anywhere around him, but–

“Wait,” the man says, and he sounds much less demanding all of the sudden. “...Oliver…?” he asks faintly.

His voice sounds vaguely familiar when he says that, and Oliver is starting to see more details about him. He’s wearing a thick-looking shirt that's torn in some places, his hair is dark and short. There are… marks? Cuts? There is Something on his skin, creating red-ish lines in a few spots. Oliver finally brings himself to nod, because that is, in fact, his name (or at least one of the many names he goes by) and the man drops whatever he was holding to the floor.

It’s around this time that the image in front of Oliver clicks, that he notices how well it matches his few memories of… Graham.

Oh.

“Oliver,” the man repeats. He seems… relieved, for about half a second, and then he looks worse. Panicked.“O… Okay, listen, I don’t– listen,” he starts, and the insistence is back in his voice. “I… don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t know where we are, but– I can…? I don’t know, this is–”

“I can explain,” Oliver finally manages to find his voice. For a moment, Graham (because Oh God, that’s Graham ) falls silent.

“...Okay? Please… do?” he prompts. 

Which… is a good idea, except Oliver needs somewhere to start. And where does he start with all this? Hello, you died? Good evening, a spooky mannequin was supposed to leave you here, how did that go? Hi, you were replaced and I barely remember you–

“This is all so…” Graham shakes his head, because apparently, Oliver’s been quiet for too long and he doesn’t do well with silence. “What… is this? How did you get here, are you okay? What’s– Did someone do this? Why? Do you know– I need to know what’s going on, so I can–”

He’s shaking. He’s always been terrible at hiding his fear, terrible at “pushing through it”... or maybe he wasn’t, and Oliver is misremembering. Regardless, Graham is clearly not dealing with this well, and answers should help. He’s been asking too many questions to keep track of, but Oliver has to start somewhere, so he decides that whatever comes next, he’ll answer.

“What are we doing here– Where even is here?”

“My flat,” Oliver gets an answer out. This is the 2nd time he’s said anything since getting home, and the 2nd time his response stopped Graham in his tracks.

“...What?” he asks. He looks around the room again, and maybe Oliver should’ve worded that better. It's a start, though.

“We’re in my flat. It’s… safe here, you’re okay… sit down. I’ll explain everything, it’s just… a lot,” he builds off of his previous answer. There’s a moment of silence that follows his words, but then Graham gives him a shaky nod.

“...Okay,” he agrees. He moves from the corner, stepping around whatever he dropped when he recognized Oliver, and approaches the couch. “Your flat is… weird,” he mumbles before he can actually reach it.

“What do you mean?” Oliver asks, and Graham stops right by the couch.

“...I mean… the calendar, for a start?” he says, gesturing to the (very normal and average) calendar on the wall. “Why do you have a 2016 calendar? Do they… even make those? I think I’ve seen some… 2007 ones before, but 2016?”

Oh. Oh no.

“Graham…” Oliver starts, and finds himself at a loss for words. How does he explain this? “Sit down, please,” he says, because he thinks this will be easier while Graham’s sitting. The man looks… concerned, but he obliges. “Graham, it’s… 2016.”

“...What?” Graham stands back up. “No, it’s not,” he shakes his head. That’s a… reasonable response, probably, but it sends Oliver scrambling to find any proof.

“It… is, I’m sorry, uh– Look, here,” he pats himself down until he finds his phone in one of his pockets. He quickly unlocks the screen and pulls up his calendar before stepping closer, holding the phone out in Graham’s direction. “Look, it says 2016 too, right?” he says.

For a moment, Graham just stares at the screen. Then, his eyes slowly wander back to Oliver’s face, seemingly searching it for something. Finally, he sits back down, nearly missing the couch. Oliver lowers his phone, and quietly waits for a response. He thinks he preferred it when Graham was asking questions, at least that let him follow his thought process a bit.

“...Oliver,” Graham eventually breaks the silence. He’s shaking (again? still?). “I’m… really confused, and scared, and… and if you’re serious, I need you to explain this. Please,” he manages out. His voice is surprisingly calm and steady, but it's clear that whatever is left of his composure is quickly flaking apart. And right, explanations, Oliver was supposed to explain everything, and sticking to answering questions clearly won’t work for this now that he's not getting any now.

“You died.”

“What?!” Graham, once again, springs to his feet. That was… the wrong thing to say, wasn’t it? “No, no, that’s–” he starts to pace around the room, “No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t. That doesn’t explain– Stop lying to me. Please!”

“I’m not,” Oliver responds, and Graham stops in his tracks. If it wasn’t for the fact he’s still shaking, he’d be completely still, just… staring. “I’m… sorry, but you died. Something… attacked you, apparently? And you were… replaced, so that no one would notice until, well, now?” he explains. He should've asked Nikola more questions.

For the longest time, Graham does nothing but stares at him again. Eventually, he breaks eye contact.

“Where’s… the bathroom, again? In case I want to throw up,” he asks without as much as a hint of a joke beneath the question. Oliver motions to a door off to their side.

“There, the white door,” he informs. Graham turns to look at it, but doesn't head straight for it. Instead, he takes a deep breath and slowly makes his way back to the couch.

“Thanks,” he mutters, sitting down in the corner of the couch and falling silent once again. That’s… fair, this must be a lot for him to process. “So… you’re telling me I was just dead? For… years. Just… no pulse, no nothing, just dead?” he asks.

“I’m not… sure about that one?” Oliver answers, because that’s the truth, and Graham looks up at him with a confused expression on his face. “I don’t know the details of… you being replaced, but I’m pretty sure there was no… body left to have no pulse,” he explains. Graham’s face twists into an uncomfortable expression.

“That’s not helping,” he declares, and… yeah. Too bad Oliver's not great with words these days.

“I'm sorry. You… do have a pulse now, though, right?” he responds. Graham doesn't move to check, which is… fair. “It’s still okay if you don't, by the way, sometimes I can't find my own either. It's been happening a lot since I died in that cra–” he cuts himself off when he notices the look on Graham's face. “That’s… not helpful either, is it?”

“It’s not.”

“Yeah,” Oliver nods, but he’s not sure what to say next.

He feels like no matter how he tries to explain the situation, he’s only making it worse. He should… start over, he thinks. Then he gets one more look at Graham and promptly decides that before he says anything else about him dying or getting replaced, they both need to unwind and calm down.

“...Okay, listen,” he starts again. “This is… a lot, I know, but we can figure this out. I’m going to help you. You’ll be okay, things are going to be okay,” he claims. It feels like a rather broad reassurance, and he should probably add a bit more, and–

“Okay,” Graham nods. “...Thank you. This is all…” he cuts himself off, letting out a shaky breath. “I feel like I need to… wash my face, and get some sleep, and take a shower, and eat something, and cry, and… do you have cigarettes on you?” he asks. “Okay, no, sorry, I- I know you didn’t like me smoking, it’s just–”

“It’s okay,” Oliver interrupts him. He doesn’t remember ever taking issue with Graham’s smoking. He doesn’t remember Graham smoking at all. He decides it’s best to leave that unsaid. “I… don’t have cigarettes. I don’t have… a lot of things in the house, it’s a long story. How about… we make tea, and go from there?”

“...Mhm. Sounds… good,” Graham nods. He gets up from the couch again, with much less energy this time, and takes a couple of deep breaths before seemingly remembering something. “Oh, a-actually, let me just, uh…” he mutters.

He makes his way over to the corner Oliver first found him in and crouches down, picking something off the floor. Right, he was holding something, wasn’t he? Before Oliver can even start figuring out what it was, Graham’s standing again, awkwardly holding a… kitchen knife. He keeps his eyes on it for a while rather than looking at Oliver again.

“...Might as well put it away, right?” he says eventually. He finally looks back up, and Oliver just nods. “...I’m sorry I took it, but I just– I was suddenly here, I didn’t know what was happening, and I felt safer having… something to protect myself with? Oh, and uh, sorry about your lock, I was just… you know. Sorry.”

Oh.

Oliver simultaneously realizes that he didn’t misremember locking both of his locks, that he didn’t imagine the scratches around the one he found locked… and that Graham must’ve been here longer than he assumed. He’s not sure how long it took him to get home after he parted ways with Nikola, but it might’ve been a few hours… take away the time it must’ve taken her to get Graham back, and… still, possibly a few hours.

“It’s okay,” he assures the man when he realizes neither of them had moved for a moment. “So, tea, yeah?” he says, starting to make his way towards the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Graham nods, following his lead.

Oliver instantly gets to work, filling his kettle, putting it on the stove, and grabbing two mugs and a box of teabags from a cupboard. By the time he does and all that’s left is waiting for the water to boil, his kitchen knife is back in its spot and Graham has taken a seat in one of the chairs in his small kitchen. When Oliver spares a glance in his direction, he finds the man already looking at him.

He turns back to the stove rather than addressing that, for multiple reasons. First of all, he’d probably word asking about it wrong. He’s been awful at talking so far, after all. Second of all… well. It’s just that the look on Graham’s face gives him a lot to think about, and he’d rather not do anything until he wraps his mind around it. Third of all– that’s all, actually. Two reasons to keep his mouth shut is enough for him, though.

He does look at Graham again, turning under the guise of checking if he doesn’t mind the kind of tea he found in the cupboard. The man assures him he’s fine with any tea, and even manages an awkward smile, but the way he looks at Oliver is still… yeah. He's clearly feeling a lot of things, and Oliver doesn't think he could pick them apart if he had all day.

It's clearly a mixture of… confusion, apprehension, worry, relief, awkwardness, recognition, lack of recognition… he could go on. It's clear Graham feels a lot from just being around him, to the point where a part of Oliver comes dangerously close to feeling grateful that he doesn't remember him nearly as well.

That sounds bad, doesn't it?

He hates that he can barely recall anything about the man in front of him. He hates how every little thing Graham does is new to him even though he should remember, how close he constantly feels to slipping up and getting something about him wrong… but at least the feeling is more straight-forward. So in a way, it's… better?

Except it's not. It's not, it's horrible, and he's near desperate to remember more about him. Will that happen on its own, with time? Or will he need to ask Nikola for help? Is that a safe thing to do? A wise thing? Obviously not, but interacting with her is what got him into this situation and it's probably unavoidable at this point. Then again, is there even a way for him to remember Graham properly? Is there a way to ensure what he remembers is real, not just…

He doesn't want to think about it, so he focuses on making the tea and nothing else. He puts a teabag into each of the mugs and waits for the water to boil. He pours it in the moment it boils, fetches spoons from a nearby drawer, and finally picks the mugs off the counter and moves them to the table by which Graham is sitting.

“Here,” he says as he places one of the mugs in front of the man. He sits down opposite of him, briefly noting how this is the first time in probably over a year that both of the chairs he managed to squeeze into his kitchen are in use.

“Thanks,” Graham nods. He brings the mug closer to himself, and then pauses. “Actually, can I get some sugar?”

'What? But you never take your tea with sugar,' is what Oliver nearly says in response. He manages to bite his tongue at the last moment, luckily. It's not this Graham he remembers saying that, is it? No, that one was–

“Sure, sorry, slipped my mind to get it,” he says instead, quickly fetching sugar for them. He should really be more careful with his words, especially while talking about what he thinks Graham likes or doesn't like.

He drops a small spoon of sugar into his own mug, he doesn't mind either way and it makes his excuse more believable in his mind. Then, he passes it to Graham and watches him dump more than a few spoonfuls into his own drink with no hesitation, as though this is what he's always done… Because it is what he's always done, probably. The fact he couldn't recall it, that he nearly claimed otherwise, it has Oliver feeling even more out of his depth than before.

This whole thing is going to be... tough.

Chapter Text

The tea… helps, but only temporarily.

It delays the conversation Oliver feels nowhere near ready to have, gives him some time to prepare for it… and it seems to put Graham at ease. Whenever Oliver spares a glance at him, he finds him with his hands wrapped around the cup and a hint of a smile on his face. That’s… good. That’s better than the previous expressions he’s seen on him, always laced with panic.

Tea helps him calm down. Tea with a lot of sugar. That’s worth remembering, he supposes.

Their cups are empty long before Oliver would call himself “ready to explain things”. For a moment, he considers putting that conversation off even longer, maybe… maybe he could offer Graham something to eat? Maybe something else to drink? Anything to buy himself more time– but no. No, that’s immature and dumb. They’ll have to have this conversation either way and he’ll never be properly ready, will he?

“So,” he breaks the silence between them. Graham looks at him, and he can already see some nervousness clawing its way to his face. He can’t delay this any longer, it’d be… cruel. “This is going to be a… long conversation. We should probably move from the kitchen.” he declares.

“Okay,” Graham is quick to get to his feet. By the time Oliver gets off his own chair, the man is already putting the empty mugs in the sink, so he has no excuse but to lead the way to the living room.

He doesn’t have to tell Graham to sit down on the couch this time, he just takes a seat himself and the man follows suit. Given how tiny the couch is, it’s… quite impressive how much distance they manage to put between each other. It doesn’t matter. What matters is, Oliver has to break the silence again. Has to properly… explain this.

“So,” he starts. “...Like I said, I can explain. I’ll tell you everything I know,” he declares. Graham just nods. “Where do I… hm.” he pauses. He didn’t exactly prepare an ‘introduction’, just a few talking points he knows he needs to hit. 

“...Can you tell me how I got here?” Graham asks, and it’s a good prompt.

“Sure. I… met someone today, she tried to make friends with me, which probably wasn’t good, but she ended up mentioning you? But– Actually, I think we should go back further, to what I think happened to you, and, uh… can we circle back to the supernatural being real later?” he asks. That was a good prompt and he already blundered it.

“Sure,” Graham nods. There’s something like a smile on his face, like that question was at least somewhat amusing– or maybe it’s just a grimace. Oliver can’t tell the difference, so he decides to ignore it entirely.

“So, from what I picked up, something… took you? I’m not sure if that’s the word. Attacked, hurt, ki–? Doesn’t matter. Something took you and… replaced people’s… memory? Of you? So that they remember it instead of, well, you. I think it might’ve posed as you for a while, too? That’s a… Stranger thing, I’d say. But that was a while ago, and apparently, it was no longer… using you? That’s what she told me.”

“...She?”

“Oh, the person... the Stranger I met today. She mentioned you, I realized what happened to you, uh, very partially… and then she declared us friends and said she could try to convince the thing that took you to… give you back? And I took her up on that. I’m assuming… that’s what she did? Which is why you’re here now?” Oliver pauses. That all sounds… unbelievable, doesn’t it? Maybe he should’ve started by establishing some facts about the supernatural first?

“...So you got her to get it to… give me back?” Graham asks. Well, it’s not like this was properly his idea, but he nods. It’s close enough. The look on Graham’s face… softens. “Thank you.”

For a moment, Oliver is taken off-guard by the sound of Graham’s voice. It’s been full of many emotions mixing together this entire time, but there’s something new in it this time. Appreciation? Relief? It’s something… good, and raw, and Oliver doesn’t know how to respond. It’s not like he played that big a part in–

Oh. But… Graham being here at all is a huge thing on its own, isn’t it? Of course it is, and so even the smallest thing he did to contribute to this counts for something. Because Graham was dead, probably, and the fact he’s breathing again, and the fact he’s sitting in his living room, and that he got to drink some tea… all that is a miracle. It seemed impossible to Oliver, and he blamed his alignment with the End, but he was wrong in that, this must seem impossible for anyone. And he played a part in it happening.

“...Of course,” he responds once he pushes through that realization. “What else was I supposed to do?” he asks, because he can’t imagine refusing Nikola’s offer.

“I don’t know, not bother? Leave me forgo– Wait,” Graham starts with a hint of a joke, but falls silent before he can finish. His face falls. Oliver doesn’t like that. “Oliver… Do you remember me?”

Oh no.

How does he respond to that? Oliver already misses the previous moment, when Graham was nearly smiling. He misses the oh-so-distant time 10 seconds ago, back when his expression didn’t hold so much worry. What does he say? Should he lie? It would put Graham at ease– but then there might be follow up questions, and then the lie would come out and any trust Graham might hold for him would be gone, and–

He’s been silent for too long. Graham’s expression falls further, and he nods slowly.

“...Okay. I– I figured,” he says, but the hurt is clear in his voice.

“No, no, wait– Look. I… don’t remember you entirely, but it’s not– I know you a bit? I know you, I… recognize you, I know who you are, it’s just… I don’t remember the details. Or… specific situations. But I know who you are!” he assures Graham as quickly as he can. “Besides, my memories might come back, I… think?”

“Really?” Graham frowns, clearly sceptical. Oliver is quick to nod.

“Yeah. When Nikola mentioned you, some… vague memories came up, she thinks it might be an End thing? But if you being back complicates this then I think I can ask her to help with that? She mentioned she could help me remember you, too, which doesn’t sound too safe, but if it’s my only option… yeah,” Oliver stumbles through an explanation and ends it all with a nod.

“...What does… an End thing mean?” Graham asks after a pause.

“Oh. Right, uh… I guess we’re circling back to the supernatural?”

Surprisingly, explaining the fears comes to Oliver easier than explaining his earlier interaction with Nikola. Maybe it’s because it's not been that long since he was getting lectured on the same topic, maybe because it’s something he had more time to comprehend… whatever the reason, he stumbles through his explanations less.

“...Does any of this make sense?” he asks about halfway through listing and explaining the Horrible Eldritch Dread Powers, according to Smirke’s 14. He feels like he’s explaining it well, but it’s always better to check. This is all new to Graham, after all, maybe they should slow down–

“Sure,” Graham nods. He doesn’t sound entirely sure, but his confusion doesn’t seem to stem from apprehension. It’s probably just a lot to keep track of. “You can keep going.”

“You’re… taking this surprisingly well,” Oliver can’t help but comment. He expected Graham to try and reason at least some of the things he said away, he was always quite argumentative– no, no, he wasn’t, Oliver reminds himself.

“It explains what happened to me,” Graham points out. “A… lot of it, actually. The things you said about something replacing me, too. They fit,” he adds. Oliver’s… not entirely sure what the man means by that. Briefly, he considers asking if Graham remembers himself, but that’s a dumb question.

“...How come?” he asks. Maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe he should just stick to explaining things. Then again, if Graham explains, that might give him something to latch onto, to elaborate on.

“It’s…” Graham’s voice trails off, and a frown creeps onto his face. He starts bouncing his foot, or at least that’s when Oliver notices him doing it.

“You don’t have to–”

“My memory is weird,” Graham interrupts him. That response leaves them both sitting in silence for a moment. “Some things feel… patchy. Patchy-er the closer I get to 2006… and then they get blurry. But… it’s not all just gone, it’s more like… there are things there. I remember things happening, it just… wasn’t… me? I don’t know. I figured it was just… a side effect of getting knocked out, or drugged, or whatever happened before I woke up here, but now…” he trails off with a shrug again.

“Okay,” Oliver nods, even though he didn’t expect to hear anything like that. “Maybe it’ll wear off…?”

“Maybe,” Graham agrees. For a moment, he looks like he wants to add something more, but ends up just shaking his head. “Anyway, yeah, you can keep going. I’m assuming there’s… more?”

“Yeah, yeah, more,” Oliver confirms, and goes back to listing the Fears as though he didn’t pause before.

It’s… easier to think about that rather than about what Graham must’ve gone through.

That can be left for later.

When he’s finally done explaining the supernatural, its influence over the world and people, the differences between Fears, the existence of Avatars and Monsters and things in between– quite honestly, Oliver feels a bit drained. Graham still seems to be taking it relatively well, but there’s no denying that all the information he was just given is a bit overwhelming. It’ll take time for it to settle in his brain.

“...Any questions?” Oliver prompts after spending a few minutes in silence. Graham looks at him, gets that thoughtful frown on his face… and about 10 seconds later, his expression clears.

“Sure. How did you get into all this?” he asks. Not exactly a question Oliver expected, which his expression probably shows. “If… that’s an okay question.”

“It’s okay,” Oliver assures him. It’s not a question he expected, but it’s one he feels he can answer… even if it’s been a while since he looked back at how he got to this point.

He expects his “retelling of his downfall” to not be the most engaging conversation. He figured he’d just give Graham a quick rundown of what happened. He started having weird nightmares, he tried to escape, they got worse, he tried to escape harder, they became more and more manifest, he attempted escape one last time, he died… the end. The End, quite literally.

To him, all that is dull at best, and probably a bit too heavy for a casual conversation.

Graham is, apparently, of a different opinion.

He listens to Oliver with a look of something akin to compassion on his face, he clearly pays attention, and overtime, the tension starts dropping instead of rising. Oliver finds himself able to talk about his trip to Point Nemo without feeling all that nauseous at the mention of what he did there– Which is not what he expected to tell Graham about. He can recall wanting to skip over that bit specifically, to make sure he doesn’t… What, scare him? Make him feel unsafe around him?

But Graham seems receptive to his story, and not telling him the truth would just be pointless now. A lie, even a lie of omission might come out some day, so he decides not to skip important details. Besides, he’s pretty sure he still hadn’t told anyone about what exactly happened to him during that voyage, he just didn’t have anyone he could trust with that… and talking helps sometimes. So he talks.

It’s only as he gets to describing his life after reaching shore again, full of encountering Avatars and Monsters and those in between, that he realizes that maybe it’s that part he should be skipping. If hearing about how Oliver led people to their deaths, going as far as to shoot someone didn’t freak Graham out too badly, if hearing his reasoning didn’t scare him… well. Hearing that it made him Very Prone to running into servants of different powers, most much more dangerous than himself… Yeah. That might just do the trick.

And sure, their conversation feels lighter at this point. Sure, it’s a conversation, so Graham’s clearly not all that bothered by what he’s hearing. Oliver still has a right to worry, doesn’t he? It’s a stressful situation altogether, it’s confusing and it’s sudden, and if he doesn’t properly remember Graham, he can’t predict his reactions. He can’t guess which piece of information will be one thing too many. He has all the reason to worry.

That feeling intensifies when he thinks he’s done talking, when he gets all the way to meeting Nikola and cuts that bit short, when he asks if Graham has any other questions. The man doesn’t even frown thoughtfully like he did before, he just nods a quick confirmation. If he had a question ready, there’s no telling how long he’s been waiting to ask it–

“...So you took up a job in a Magic Store?” he asks, and it catches Oliver off guard. “How was that? Better than accounting?” he continues. That is a ridiculous thing to latch onto after hearing so much about horrible horrors and monsters and fear. Oliver nearly laughs.

“It was,” he declares. “Less… stressful, you know?”

“What did you do there?” Graham asks, and maybe it’s better he’s asking about the Magic Store? It makes the conversation feel more… light-hearted, it’s a distraction from the serious topics they’ve touched upon.

And maybe that’s why Graham asks about it?

Oliver can’t recall if that’s something Graham would do, but he decides to take the bait regardless. He thinks back to his time working in Good Energies and starts listing his oh-so-important duties, and it must sound ridiculous to the both of them. To him, because it feels like a lifetime ago. To Graham, because he apparently remembers Oliver working his accounting job at Barclays, and before that, majoring in business.

And yeah, it’s a distraction. Graham pays much more attention to Oliver’s “career choices” than he does to the horrors the man tried to explain. He asks more questions about the products the store had in store than about what happened to him, he focuses on the mundane rather than trying to wrap his mind around the supernatural. Which is… fair.

It’s fair, it makes things easier for now, and Oliver doesn’t even consider calling him out. Hell, he actually puts some effort into recalling details about his job, because it’s a nicer topic than… literally every single topic they went over this far. It feels like catching up after losing touch for a few months rather than… whatever the word for this is.

It feels nice.

Not just to him, apparently. The longer they talk, the calmer Graham seems. Oliver doesn’t remember the signs of Graham being stressed, but he can still see that something about the man’s demeanor changed and something about the easy smile on his face seems genuine. This talk is a nice change of pace. Sure, there are still serious topics they will have to address soon, but… that can wait. That can wait until tomorrow, or until they feel better. For now, he’s far too focused on recalling that one ridiculous customer who came in on a Thursday evening and demanded–

There’s a weight slowly starting to press into him.

He looks over at Graham and finds him… closer. They moved closer to one another during their conversation, he noticed that much, but now he finds Graham partially slumped over his shoulder. His eyes are closed and his expression is almost clear, save for a small frown. Not an upset frown, mind you, more like that thoughtful look– Wait. That’s a frown of him trying very hard to stay focused, to pay attention, Oliver... remembers? Figures out? Regardless, the realization makes him fall silent, and soon after, the expression disappears from Graham's face.

That’s… kind of sweet? The fact that the man was so dead-set on listening to what Oliver had to say, no matter how trivial. He can’t recall the… other Graham ever paying even half as much attention to him. Now, looking down at the man resting against him, already asleep, makes him feel… What, happy? Proud, hopeful? Because Graham clearly feels safe enough with him. Because, again, all this seems kind of sweet–

Oh.

Oh, some things are starting to make sense. Oliver starts to understand that if this is what being around Graham was like, even on worse days, even on days full of confusion and stress and… attempts of explaining eldritch horrors fuelled by fear– If even on days like those, Graham was like that, then it’s no wonder he’s spent six years–

He cuts his thought process off right there. Because he doesn’t remember if that’s what it was like, and he doesn’t remember how his actual relationship with Graham started or ended, and– and he doesn’t want to think about that. He doesn’t want to think about how close the two of them must’ve been. He doesn’t want to think about how the man at his side died, and would’ve been erased from his memory forever if not for–

He doesn’t want to think about any of that.

He spends the next few hours silent.

Chapter Text

By the time Oliver thinks to consult the clock on his wall, it’s well past midnight.

That’s still… early for Graham, he thinks- Or rather, he figures out. He doesn’t remember Graham being a night owl. In fact, he remembers the… “other” Graham wanting to sleep quite early, it’s just that that memory doesn’t quite make sense. He’s always preferred staying up late, and he’s sure he wouldn’t have resigned from that for 6 years, but he remembers going to bed together.

So, it’s only logical to assume the actual Graham would go to sleep just as late as he did.

He’s not entirely surprised by the possibility that Graham would fall asleep much earlier than usual tonight, of course. He’s had a long day, after all. A horrible day full of confusion, fear, and explanations that probably didn’t make anything clearer. All that must’ve been exhausting, it’s good he managed to fall asleep early… even if he’d probably be more comfortable in a bed rather than leaning on Oliver’s shoulder.

Still, he’s asleep now and Oliver vows to himself that he won’t disrupt that. That he’ll sit here until morning if he has to, not moving, just so that Graham can get his rest. He owes him as much, doesn’t he? Of course a part of him can tell that the plan is unrealistic, that his hand will probably fall asleep within 20 minutes at most or that Graham’s bones will start to dig into his skin soon, but he ignores that. He probably has a few more minutes before this becomes too uncomfortable.

…Around 1 am, he’s starting to wonder if it ever will.

He’s been sitting here for nearly an hour, he expected to feel overheated, stiff, and cramped. He didn’t expect for this to feel somewhat… comfortable? But it does. Graham’s weight pressing into his side doesn’t bother him, it’s like the man isn’t even there– no, that’s the wrong way to put it. More like… he’s always been there. Like Oliver is used to him being there. Like they’ve done this countless times before.

Have they? He can’t recall. He sneaks a quick glance at Graham’s frame, curled into his side, and tries to figure out if he’s ever seen him like that before. No memory pops up, but it all just seems so… right, so fitting, that he can’t help but keep trying. He shifts around a bit, checking if a slightly different angle will refresh his memory. He can tell something should be there, it just has to be, and with each moment he spends unable to recall it, he grows more disturbed.

He can tell he should remember, but is he able to do that? Is it possible for him to get his memories back without having to… what, ask a Stranger for help? Can he do this on his own, fueled by nothing but desperation and the knowledge that he knew at some point in his life? There’s no way for him to learn other than to keep trying, so that’s just what he does.

Around 3 am, he’s starting to lose hope.

His head starts hurting, and the frustration of not being able to recall anything claws at his chest. He might need a break, he might need to rest his eyes for a bit. He won’t go to sleep, it’s not like he needs much of that these days, and he’d rather stay vigilant… but he might want to close his eyes for a bit. There’s only one thing he can think to do before that.

At some point during his attempts at recalling anything like this happening before, he happened to spot a blanket nearly within his reach. He supposes it might've been lying there for the past few days, since the last time he decided to sleep here instead of his room. He carefully reaches for it, trying to be mindful of Graham, trying not to wake him up… and soon enough, his fingers brush against the soft material and he manages to pull it closer. His house isn’t cold by any means, but he figures putting it over Graham might still be helpful? Comforting.

It’s surprisingly hard to untangle it without moving around too much, still dead-set on letting the man at his side sleep, but he manages. He finally drapes it over him, carefully tucking it over Graham’s shoulders in a way that will hopefully keep it there. Briefly, the thought that a blanket might be too much, that it might just make them both too hot crosses his mind, but Graham’s body only seems to relax more with the extra warmth.

That’s when a memory finally re-forms in Oliver’s mind.

He remembers a moment similar to this one. On a different couch, in a different house… but similar. He remembers Graham curled up at his side, fast asleep but somehow still clinging onto Oliver’s shirt– onto Oliver. He remembers spotting his coat, long-abandoned on the floor by the couch, trying to move it closer with his foot. He remembers finally getting it into his hands and draping it over Graham’s shoulders, because it’s the middle of the winter and the air around them is too cold, and it’s well past 1 am, and some generic movie is still playing on the TV, and–

And then he can’t keep up with the memory anymore. Anything that happened before or after slips through his fingers. Trying to think back makes the whole thing seem more hazy, and yet it’s so vivid in his mind… except it’s not, because he feels much older, different, because Graham seems a bit older as well, with the red-ish lines on his face standing out against his skin much more now than a moment ago, and he’s not fixing up a coat but a blanket, and–

He slowly lets go of the breath he’s been holding in his lungs for way too long. He remembers something, and he might need a minute to collect himself. He might… need a moment. He finds himself taking his hand off of the blanket, keeping it close to his chest and away from the man at his side. He finds himself re-playing his newly-acquired memory in his mind, not even trying to expand it. He finds himself just wanting to look back.

That’s the first proper memory he has of Graham, isn’t it? He knows a thing or two about the man, things he remembered the moment Nikola brought him up and the few things he picked up on since they… met? Reunited? Regardless, he was missing specific memories before, and this one is just that. It’s blurry, and he’s not sure why, not sure if he should blame the supernatural or the passage of time, or both… But it’s a memory.

A memory so sweet it makes his heart ache.

He might need a moment.

His mind is still reeling when the first rays of sunshine slip in through the window, and those don’t make him feel much better. The clock is getting close to 5 am, meaning he’s been like this for a while now… and as comfortable as having Graham at his side is, he’s starting to think it’s doing him no good. He starts to wrestle with himself, trying to decide whether to try and move away or to stay in his place so that Graham won’t wake up any sooner than he has to…

Around 5:40, he admits defeat. He carefully wedges his hands between Graham and himself, slowly pushes the man a bit up, moves away, and finally lowers him until he's laying on the couch instead. He fixes the blanket up a bit to accommodate the new position Graham is in, and then finally steps back. The man is still fast-asleep.

He lowers the blinds in the window, trying to ensure the light doesn’t wake the man anytime soon, and then finally retreats to the kitchen. He thinks he might go for a cup of tea. Or coffee. Or something to eat. He might go for anything that will distract him.

Graham wakes up around 9, if not a few minutes earlier. By that point, Oliver has gone through a mug of tea, two mugs of coffee, a few more moments of replaying the one memory he’s recovered on loop, and a few attempts to look Graham up online (to no avail, of course). Right now, he’s moved on to starting to think about making breakfast. Something to keep his hands busy, something he can offer to his… guest. That’s the word he’s settled on using, even though he spent a fair couple of minutes caught between “guest”, “new housemate”, “ex boyfriend”, “old friend”...

For now, Graham is a guest in the house. They can discuss what he’ll move on to being when they’re both awake, and probably after breakfast.

So, he needs to make breakfast. He looks through his fridge for the 3rd time in the past 15 minutes, trying to figure out what he can make with what he has on hand. Cereal is an option, technically, but he can’t help but cringe at the thought. He has some… bread? So maybe he could make a few sandwiches? Maybe he could even put them into the microwave for a moment, make them warmer– except he doesn’t know when Graham will be up, and he wants to wait for him with the breakfast, and it might be cold by then–

That’s when a quiet groan grabs his attention.

He steps back from the fridge, keeping it open in case it’s nothing, and peers into the living room. For a moment, he wonders if he imagined the sound, or if Graham made it in his sleep, but no. Soon enough, the man’s head surfaces from behind the couch’s backrest as he sits up, stretching stiffly and rubbing his face. He’s up.

Oliver spends an embarrassing amount of time picking his words before he says anything. He considers a few different greetings, a few ways of getting Graham’s attention without saying “hi”, wonders if he should go over to him or stay in the kitchen… And then he realizes that any moment now, Graham could notice him staring in silence.

“Good morning,” he says, aiming for sounding friendly but not overly excited. Trying to… sound normal. It’s been a while since he had someone over. It’s been a while since he spoke to someone twice in a row with so little time in between. He’s… out of practice.

Graham’s head turns in the direction of his voice and his eyes snap open as he lowers his hand. For a moment, he seems startled and surprised, but his expression quickly settles on something… calmer. Something with a hint of a smile, even if covered by a few layers of just-woke-up-stiff grogginess.

“Hi,” he responds finally. “I, uh…? Fell asleep here?”

“You did,” Oliver confirms.

Briefly, Graham seems baffled by the concept, but it doesn’t take him long to shrug it off and get up from the couch, still stretching as he makes his way to the kitchen. Oliver goes back to rummaging around his fridge, moving some things out of the way as if that could make just the perfect ingredient appear out of thin air. Graham is quick to join his side.

“Any breakfast ideas?” he asks the man when he feels his presence by his side. He turns his head just in time to see that already-familiar frown creeping onto Graham’s face.

“Uhh…” he hums as he looks over the available food. “...I don’t know, uh… scrambled eggs, maybe…?”

Oliver… does see some eggs in the fridge. Scrambled eggs are simple, quick, and should come out warm. He nods.

“Sounds good,” he agrees, pulling out the carton of eggs and bringing them over to the stove.

Graham trails after him, probably intending to help up until he realizes he still hadn’t properly mapped out the kitchen and has no idea where anything is. The somewhat surprised, helpless look of confusion on his face is… something that Oliver refuses to put a word on, because he caught himself considering the things Graham does "sweet" or "adorable" one time too many already. He just fetches a frying pan from the nearby cupboard, places it on the stove, and quickly gathers the few other ingredients and utensils he’ll need.

“You can sit down, I’ve got this,” he says when he realizes Graham is still stuck in the same spot, just following him with his gaze. The man seems somewhat surprised to be addressed.

“Okay, sorry,” he says as he moves out of the way and takes a seat in a chair. “I’m still just a bit…” he follows that up with a noise that communicates ‘sleepy, groggy, and confused’ surprisingly well. In fact, so well that Oliver can’t help but chuckle quietly.

“Yeah, I can see,” he nods, turning on the stove and starting to crack the eggs into the pan. “Do you want some water? Could help wake you up.”

“Mhm. Thanks,” the man nods, so Oliver briefly pauses the cooking to get him just that.

The scrambled eggs are done within a few minutes, but by the time Oliver places the two plates on the table, Graham’s glass is already empty. At least the man himself looks a bit better. He thanks Oliver again when the man nudges one of the plates towards him, but they share most of the meal itself in silence.

“I can’t believe I fell asleep on the couch,” Graham declares when he’s nearly done with his plate. Oliver looks up from his own food. “Was that while we were still talking?”

“Well… yeah, but don’t worry, I think we were mostly done by then,” he answers, trying to sound dismissive. “Did you at least sleep well?”

“Hm,” Graham pauses, then nods. “I think so, yeah. I woke up a bit stiff, but that’s not surprising. Oh, thanks for the blanket, by the way.”

“Of course,” Oliver nods. He tries not to think back to when he put it over the man’s shoulders, he feels like he’s done that more than enough times in the past few hours.

“Did you sleep okay?” Graham asks, and Oliver manages to stop himself before he admits to not getting any rest the previous night. He doesn’t feel like Graham should be learning about the benefits of serving the End first thing in the morning.

“Uh… Good enough. I’m not tired,” he responds. It’s not technically a lie, but he’d still rather change the topic quickly. He spends a few seconds looking for anything to focus on when he realizes that Graham’s clothes are somewhat torn up. They were like that the entire time, but so far, he didn’t think to comment on it. Now seems like the perfect time. “Do you want to borrow some clothes, maybe?” he offers.

“Oh?” Graham looks down at himself, then back at Oliver with an embarrassed half-smile. “...Yeah. That’d be great. Actually, wait, could I maybe use the shower?”

“Sure, of course. You can pick out some clothes, go shower, and throw the current ones into the wash while you’re there,” Oliver suggests.

“Sounds good.”

Oliver puts the now-empty plates into the sink, he’ll have time to wash them while Graham is taking that shower. He then leads the man to his bedroom, to his wardrobe, and opens it for him. He vaguely motions to the shelves that hold his clothes while taking a step back, giving Graham easier access to them.

After a moment of consideration, Graham picks out some clothes. Generic-looking pants and a hoodie that Oliver barely recognizes with how rarely he takes it out. Regardless, Graham seems satisfied with his choices, and after a quick look-over, he claims they should fit him, so Oliver just gives him a nod and shows him to the bathroom next.

He gets Graham a fresh towel, assures him he’s free to use whatever gels and products in the shower, and shows him how to work the washing machine before leaving him to it. He decides to change into clean clothes as well while the man is busy, and by the time he steps out of his bedroom again, he can already hear the water running.

As he planned, he goes into the kitchen next and starts to wash the dishes after their breakfast. He gets done with that quickly, setting everything on the drying rack within a minute or two… and now he has nothing to do. He decides to spend his newly found “free time” on trying to figure out what to do next. He already established that he’ll need to ask Graham about his… plans, or sit down and make those plans together. They need to discuss this situation better.

He’s not sure how to broach the topic, though. The main thing he wants to settle is whether Graham wants to stay in his flat for now or if he’d rather move somewhere as soon as possible… but he’s not sure how to bring it up without sounding like he’s urging the man to leave. He’s not, he wouldn’t kick him out, especially not under these circumstances. Saying that doesn’t sound very reassuring, though, so he should probably figure out his wording better.

Then, a knock startles him out of his thoughts.

For a brief second, he wonders if Graham dropped something, but he quickly realizes that’s not what it sounded like. It sounded like proper knocking, and the water is still running, so it can’t have been Graham. Not to mention, he’s fairly certain it’s coming from the front door.

…Which is probably a first since he moved into this flat.

He doesn’t get guests. He doesn’t tell people where he lives, he doesn’t talk with his neighbors… So unless one of them is in desperate need of borrowing sugar a few minutes short of 10 am, no one should be knocking on his door. Does he… does he even want to go check it?

He doesn’t. He still feels like he has no other choice.

He takes his sweet time walking to his front door, because even if it’s a neighbor, he doesn’t feel very up to talking to them. Maybe if he takes too long to get to the door, they’ll resign and go away? The knocking doesn’t come again, so there’s technically a chance they did, or that Oliver imagined the sound in the first place. Knowing his luck, they’re still waiting.

He briefly pauses to stare at the lock Graham scratched while trying to pick it, and then goes to unlock the door himself. He pushes down on the handle, and remembers he should’ve looked through the visor first about a second too late. He can’t stop the motion now, his door opens, and of course someone is there. It… does take him a fair second or two to recognize the shape in front of him as Nikola.

“Hello, Oliver!” she greets him before his brain can even begin to catch up. “How are you!”

“I, uh, hi…?” he answers. He feels so caught off-guard she could probably walk right past him, into his flat. Luckily, she doesn’t. “I’m… okay?”

“Good! Good. I’m doing great!” she announces, and he’s left to wonder how to continue the conversation. He could ask her if there’s a reason she’s doing great, but… as desensitized as serving the End makes him, he still doubts he’d like the answer.

“So, uh… What brings you here?” he asks instead. That’s a question he’d actually really like an answer to.

“I wanted to check on you!” she explains. That’s… probably one of the less threatening reasons for her to be here. “Did you get him back yet? Your… Grey… No, not Greyson– Ah! Graham! Is he here?”

“Uh,” Oliver briefly considers lying. “He’s… here, yes, but he’s busy. Best… not to bother him right now,” he says instead, hoping Nikola doesn’t decide to step inside to ‘check on him too’, or… something.

“And how is he doing?” she asks instead. Just like anything else she says, the question catches him off-guard.

“He’s… fine, but this is all, uh… a lot. For him and for me. But we’re working through it, I… think? He’s fine,” he explains. It’s not even a lie, Graham is fine, and will hopefully feel better soon– and oh, Oliver remembers the same thing again. Graham is fine now. He might even be okay. “...Thank you. For… getting him back. Thank you,” he adds.

“Of course!” Nikola exclaims, clasping her hands together. “That’s what friends do! Speaking of,” she continues, and suddenly Oliver feels a bit more worried about where this conversation is going. “Would you like to come hang out with me today, like friends?”

“Uh,” he starts, only to pause instantly. No. No, he does not. He absolutely does not.  He can’t say it like that, though, can he? So he needs an excuse, and– Oh! “I– I don’t know if Graham will be, you know, comfortable with that? I don’t think he should be alone, not right now.”

“Oh, that’s okay! He can come along as well!” Nikola assures him, which would be nice if he actually wanted to go, and if there was a chance in hell Graham would be interested. “I could even invite the one who took him, too!”

“I don’t think he’d like that,” Oliver answers without a second thought, because that’s a horrible idea. That’s a horrible, horrible idea, possibly the worst thing Nikola could’ve suggested.

“Oh, I’m sure you both have questions! It could answer those!” she says. And… they do. There are questions Graham has that Oliver wasn’t able to answer, and there are things he wants to know himself. There are questions he needs answered. He’s not desperate enough to put Graham through that in order to get those answers, though.

“...How about, uh… Tomorrow?” he suggests instead of voicing any of that. “I’ll sit down with him today, we’ll talk about this, write down the questions we have, all that… and then we can, uh… hang out.”

“Hm…” if Nikola’s face wasn’t painted on, she would probably put on a theatrically thoughtful frown. “That works, I think! I will come pick you up tomorrow, then!” she relents, and Oliver has to stop himself from letting out an audible sigh of relief.

“Sounds… good,” he gives a quick nod. “So, uh… see you then…?”

“Goodbye, Oliver!” she responds. She turns to leave without saying another word, but he still waits for a moment before moving to close the door.

Finally, he shuts it and turns the lock. It probably wouldn’t do that much if Nikola wanted to get inside, but it makes him feel better. He takes a few steps back, up until he’s sure she wouldn’t be able to hear him, and finally lets out that sigh of relief he’s been holding back. It’s over, she’s gone for now.

And here he thought that normal socializing was stressful.

He’s… not very eager to find out how much worse “hanging out” with Nikola is going to be.

Chapter Text

Oliver actually manages to compose himself quite well before Graham is done showering. He even gets a few extra minutes for that, since even after the water is shut off, Graham doesn't emerge from the bathroom for... a while. Oliver can’t recall if that’s normal for him, but after not hearing the door opening for a bit too long for his liking, he decides he’ll be better off checking on the man. Just as he’s making his way towards the bathroom, though, the door finally opens and Graham’s head pokes out.

“Oliver! Hey, uh, is anyone over?” he asks, glancing around as if he half-expected to see another person standing around.

“No, no, it’s just me,” Oliver responds, feeling a little bit confused. “Uh, why?”

“I… thought I heard you speaking with someone? I wasn’t sure, I mean, the water was loud, but yeah, I still figured I’d ask… you know?” Graham pauses, still not stepping out of the bathroom any further.

“Oh, that. Someone… was at the door, but she’s gone now,” Oliver explains. It’s probably better not to drop the whole ‘Nikola Stopped By And Invited Me To Hang Out With Her’ thing on Graham instantly, he decides. “Is everything okay?” he asks when the man still doesn’t leave the bathroom.

“Yeah, yeah, it is!” he responds, finally opening the door further. He’s wearing most of the clothes he borrowed, but the hoodie he picked out is still in his hand and the towel he was given is wrapped around his torso instead. “I, uh… Need a different shirt, though. I think.”

“...Right,” Oliver nods. “What’s wrong with the hoodie?”

“It’s too small,” the man admits. “This will sound dumb, but… I thought it looked a bit like a hoodie I thought I owned? And one I don’t think I’ve seen since you moved out, so I figured… you know. And I didn’t check the size, because why would I, but… turns out I was wrong, and it’s at least a size too small,” he explains.

It’s at that moment Oliver remembers how that specific hoodie ended up in his wardrobe. He’s had it for years now, over a decade. He barely wore it throughout that entire time, it just… didn’t feel right. Thinking back now… he’s pretty sure he can still remember taking it out of his hurriedly-packed suitcase in a friend’s living room, trying to find something to sleep in on the night of his– their break-up. 

He thinks he can even recall Graham wearing it, except that's not right. It’s just… the hoodie is the same. The man dressed in it is, decidedly, not. He only has the memory of that Stranger wearing it. That realization nearly sends shivers down his spine, and he promptly decides that speaking up about this is the last thing he should do. The… least he could do is admit that Graham is right about whose the hoodie originally was, though, he supposes.

“I mean…” he pauses, a bit unsure if this won’t accidentally reveal too much. “I think it might be the one, actually? Maybe it got… shrunk in the wash or something? At some point?”

“Oh, no, I checked the size on the tag. I don’t remember what mine was, but it was definitely bigger,” Graham declares. But that can’t be right.

“Right,” Oliver nods regardless. “Let’s get you something else to wear then, yeah?” he says, motioning for Graham to follow him to the bedroom again.

“Thank you,” the man nods. He’s quick to catch up to Oliver before trying to match his pace. He uses one of his hands to keep the towel around himself, but passes the hoodie back to him with the other one. “Here, you can take it back.”

“Thanks,” Oliver nods, but quite frankly, he’d rather not hold it for any longer than he has to.

Graham was… replaced after their breakup. He took the hoodie during their break-up. And yet somehow, in some strange way… it changed. It changed to match the Stranger who took his place, just like any other record of the man Oliver tried to find. Knowing that, even having that hoodie in his house feels wrong, and he briefly considers throwing it into the trash right there and then.

Still… that would probably tell Graham something was off, and he’d much rather avoid the man noticing that. That’s why he just leads him to the wardrobe again and lets him take some time looking through the various shirts, as well as the few turtlenecks and hoodies he owns. After a moment of thought and checking sizes, the man finally goes for one of Oliver’s bigger shirts.

“I think this one might be okay?” he says, looking it over one more time. It looks like a bit of a struggle when one of his hands is still keeping the towel in its place.

“I’ll… leave you to try it on, okay?” Oliver suggests. He quickly throws the hoodie onto one of the emptier shelves of his wardrobe and goes to leave the room.

“Thanks,” Graham calls after him.

This time it doesn’t take Graham too much time to get changed, and less than a minute later, he steps out of the room in the new shirt he borrowed. The first thing Oliver notices is that… the shirt does look good on him. Then he realizes that there are a lot of things he needs to address, and that thinking about how Graham looks in his shirt is not one of them.

“I think this one fits,” Graham says, looking down at himself briefly. “Should I throw the towel into the wash as well?”

“Depends,” Oliver responds, because it does depend on what Graham wants to do next. If he wants to move out, he might as well wash it, if he’s hoping to stay… Well, the towel can stay his for now. “We need to talk.”

“...Right,” Graham’s face falls into unease.

“It’s nothing bad,” Oliver is quick to reassure him. “Or, uh… nothing too bad. Just… let’s forget the towel for now, I think it’ll be better to sit down for this.”

“Right,” Graham repeats, and judging by his expression, Oliver’s words hadn’t reassured him one bit.

Still, the man follows him to the living room and takes a seat on the couch without any more prompting. Oliver can’t help feeling like most of the interactions they’ve had so far were just “serious conversations”, which makes sense, but he also doesn’t like it. Still, he already started this one, so there’s nothing he can do but keep pushing. He takes a seat on the couch as well, much further from Graham than the night before.

“....We need to talk some things out. About all of this,” he starts. Seemingly absentmindedly, Graham starts twisting the towel in his hands.

“...Right,” he repeats once again. It’s fair, Oliver should be taking the lead in this conversation. If only he prepared for it more…

“Let’s start with this, are you… comfortable here? In my flat?” he asks. Briefly, Graham’s hands pause on the towel.

“...Yes?” he responds after a brief pause. He seems more confused than anything by the question. “Why?”

“Well, this is… You know. It’s my flat, and we hadn’t really… lived together in a while? And I think I remember you a bit… less than you remember me, all that sounds like it could be… a lot to deal with? So if you’d rather stay somewhere else–”

“Oh, no, no, I can go. I mean, I think my old flat should still be there, right? I can just go there, that’s fine,” Graham responds, and… yeah. Yeah, Oliver should’ve worked on that ‘not kicking you out’ phrasing.

“That’s not what I meant, I… I don’t mind you being here. Also, about that flat…” he pauses. He thinks back to how he tried to look Graham up online that morning only to be met with images and records of the man he wishes he didn’t remember. “I’m… not sure how much you exist from… a legal standpoint?”

“...What?”

“With the whole replaced thing, I just think it might’ve gotten a bit messy?” he pauses, and after a moment, realization dawns on Graham’s face. “I mean, I’m sure there’s a way to fix that, I could probably help you with the paperwork, I’m sure it can’t be that different from proving you’re not dead– Uh. But I’m not sure if your flat is an option right now.”

“...Got it,” Graham nods sharply. He’s only gotten more tense since the whole conversation started, and quite frankly, Oliver can’t blame him. “I can… still figure out somewhere else to stay, I think…?”

“I’m not telling you to leave,” Oliver clarifies as bluntly as he can. “If you want to leave, I can help you figure that out, but you’re welcome to stay. I don’t mind you being here,” he adds. For a moment, Graham just stares at him.

“...Are you sure?” he asks finally. Oliver gives him a quick nod of confirmation. “...Okay. I think… I think I’d like to stay, then,” he decides. He sounds a bit hesitant, as though half-expecting for Oliver to change his mind and tell him to pack his stuff.

“Okay. We… don’t have to wash the towel now, then. You can keep it,” Oliver says. Graham looks down at the towel he’s still holding, and nods. Right. Finding ways to make him feel more welcome is probably the best way to ease his worry, Oliver realizes. “We can go to a store in a bit, get you some clothes, pick up some food you like, how about that?”

“Sounds good,” the man nods, and for the first time since the conversation started, he flashes a small smile. Granted, it’s a nervous one, but it’s still an accomplishment. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Oliver nods. With that out of the way, he can move on to– “Actually, there’s just… one thing I need you to know about the flat,” he circles back. “Do you remember that… mannequin I told you about? Nikola?”

“...The one that asked you to be friends yesterday?” Graham asks, and Oliver nods.

“Yeah, that one. She… knows where this flat is, and she might not be the only one…?” he explains. Graham’s only response is a confused frown, so he continues. “When you heard someone at the door, that was… her. But she wasn’t sure if you were here yet, so there’s a chance the… other stranger also knows about it.”

“...Right,” Graham responds, with the look of unease back on his face. “And by the other Stranger, you mean… the one that replaced me?”

“Yeah,” Oliver sighs. “If that changes anything, I can still help you find somewhere else to stay?” he offers again, briefly worried it’ll come off wrong.

“...Did you tell them where you live?” Graham asks. Oliver actually takes the time to think back to his first interaction with Nikola and… no. No, absolutely not, he just told her he wanted Graham in his flat.

“No.”

“Then… I think I’d rather stay,” Graham declares. Oliver can’t tell why he feels so relieved to hear that. “If I move out and they decide to look for me, then… No, no, I think I’d rather stay here. It seems… safer,” he explains. Oliver feels relieved because Graham will be safer here. Right. He can take that excuse.

“Okay. You’re more than welcome here,” Oliver reassures him, and he finally feels like he can move on to the other part of the conversation. “Now, when Nikola was at the door, she asked me to… go somewhere with her tomorrow?” he starts.

“Go where?” Graham asks. It makes Oliver realize he doesn’t ask nearly enough questions, in general.

“...Good question. I don’t know. She said you can also come, but… I don’t know if that’s a good idea. She also mentioned she could invite the other Stranger, and I don’t think you’d like to see… it in person–”

“Absolutely not,” Graham is quick to respond.

“...Yeah. You don’t have to go, but she said that it could answer some questions for us. I think you should help me make a list of all the things you want me to ask.”

“...You’re going?” Graham asks, which is clearly not a question intended for any Strangers.

“Well, if we want answers… someone has to go,” he points out. “I think I’ll be okay, I mean, I can’t see any tendrils around me right now? So I should be fine tomorrow.”

“...Okay,” Graham responds. He doesn’t look any more reassured, but Oliver decides not to push any more than necessary. “So, uh… questions, right?”

“Yeah. Let me just grab a pen to write them down,” Oliver decides. He’d like to think that the toughest part of that conversation is over.

He grabs a pen, as well as a sheet of paper, and makes his way back to the couch. He sits back down, moves the coffee table closer to himself to have something to write on, and only then realizes he sat much closer to Graham than before. He considers moving away, not wanting to invade the man’s private space. Before he can, Graham shuffles a bit closer to see the paper better.

“Right, what should we start with?” he wonders out loud. “Do I exist legally?” he suggests in a tone that nearly sounds like a joke. Oliver still notes it down.

“Good start. Now… Do we want to know what happened to you between you were... replaced, and now?” he shoots back. He feels like there might be questions they wouldn’t like to know answers to, actually.

“Sure. Can you also ask about the… lines?” Graham asks. Before Oliver can question him, he points to the red marks running down the palm of his hand. Right. There’s another set on his face, on his neck… and he wouldn’t be surprised if there were even more under Graham’s clothes. He's not sure how those keep slipping his mind.

“What do you want to know about them?” he asks, and Graham shrugs.

“Will they go away, maybe? I thought… I thought maybe they’d wash off, but they didn’t. I don’t even know what they are, I mean… marks? Scars? Uhh… tattoos?” he rattles off, running his thumb over the palm of his hand.

“Right. I’ll ask. What else,” Oliver mutters. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Graham put on that same old thoughtful frown, and he can tell he’s about to get a few more questions to write down soon.

And… that’s how the next few hours of their day pass like.

Around 1 pm, their list is starting to look quite decent, and having lunch is starting to sound more and more appealing.

The ideas have been coming slow anyway, not to mention how much they were starting to repeat. With that in mind, they can both agree to take a break, go to the store, and then revise and continue their list once they’re back. Oliver has the benefit of living just a street down from a decently-sized supermarket, so at least their commute won’t be too long. With the two of them going together, dragging what they buy back to the flat shouldn’t pose a huge challenge either.

Oliver’s still ready for the trip to take them a long time.

They come up with a shopping list on the way, with Oliver double-checking if Graham has any dietary preferences (he enjoys sweet or spicy things the most), dietary restrictions (no, as Oliver expected), or allergies in general (yes, to bees, which Oliver can’t recall NotGraham ever telling him, but knows better than to mention that). He also learns (or re-learns?) that Graham gets cold easily, so he makes a mental note to grab a few coats or extra blankets while they’re there, just in case.

Oliver doesn’t really frequent the supermarket, he doesn’t need to with the couple of grocery stores even closer to his flat, but he still knows his way around it. Graham, of course, does not. It’s no surprise, even if they were in Clapham (which they’re nowhere near), the years that passed between the last time the man went shopping and now would change any store beyond recognition. Luckily, with how closely he decides to stick to Oliver, it’s not like they have to worry about him getting lost.

Oliver gets a cart and starts to weave his way between the alleys he’s vaguely familiar with, heading to the clothing section first. He feels like getting Graham clothes that will fit him properly should be a priority, even if the man does look good in the ones he borrowed. Yeah, he should have clothes that are actually his size and his style.

“Do I just pick something out?” the man asks once Oliver stops the cart at the entrance to the first alley with clothes. “...How many can I get? I don’t really have my… money on me, you know?”

“It’s okay, I’ll pay. I still have money left from that whole… research trip thing,” Oliver assures him. Is it money he should have, legally? No, but it’s not like he should be alive from a legal standpoint either, not with how rarely he can find his own pulse. so– “Pick out whatever you like.”

Oliver feels like he could’ve made that sound a bit more encouraging, but apparently, it was good enough, because Graham finally steps into the alley. Almost instantly, he seems to be drawn to the clothes that frankly don’t resemble anything he could find in Oliver’s wardrobe. They… do match with the things Oliver remembers NotGraham wearing. There are two explanations for that, either it didn’t change the style of the clothes it was wearing (just the size), or being replaced left him with… Oliver cuts his thought process right there. He refuses to worry himself with such speculations.

At least Graham seems happy enough. Yeah, Oliver catches a few glimpses of a smile on the man’s face as he goes through the clothes, and if this makes him happy… who is Oliver to question it? Instead of doing that, he glances around and spots a display of a few blankets one alley over. After giving it a second of thought, he leaves his cart behind and goes to grab one. They’re all very fluffy to the touch, which is good, and lets him to pick one out based on color alone. Since it’s for Graham, he ends up going with a green one– that’s the color he spotted him going for in the clothing section the most.

He manages to get back to the cart without Graham noticing he was even gone, and places the blanket inside. Just a few minutes later, the man returns to him holding a few shirts and pants. He seems a bit uncertain, but when Oliver motions for him to put them into the cart, he does so without asking any questions. If he spots the blanket, he doesn’t comment on it either.

They head towards the food section next. They have quite a few things to pick up from there, and… now that Oliver thinks about it, they absolutely should’ve made a shopping list. What do they need, other than ‘generic groceries’? Some spices, maybe? An extra bag of sugar or two, too. Other than that… generic groceries that Graham will like. Walking down a few alleys and letting the man point out things he likes could work, maybe–

It’s at that point that Graham comes to a sudden stop and takes a few steps back, peeking into the alley they passed by. The sign above it reads “stationery and school supplies”, which is about as far from “spices” or “vegetables” as it gets, but whatever Graham spotted in passing clearly caught his attention. Oliver backs their cart up until he can see what the man’s looking for.

It’s… notebooks. It’s just notebooks. It’s an admittedly big display of them, sure, but it’s not like Oliver hadn’t seen it countless times before. Something about it clearly caught Graham’s attention, though… and it’s not like they’re in a rush, so Oliver sees no point in trying to hurry him along.

Instead, he joins Graham’s side just as the man looks over a black, soft-cover, A5 notebook. He carefully picks it up from the shelf, runs his hand along its spine, turns it around a few times, and finally examines the inside. The pages are covered in lines. It’s a normal notebook, but for some reason, Graham seems nearly… unsettled by it. That’s not good.

“That doesn’t look like it’d make a good dinner,” Oliver points out, hoping to relieve some of the tension. Graham’s head snaps to look at him, and he instinctively holds the notebook closer to his chest. When he realizes what he’s doing, he sets it back on the shelf as if it was on fire.

“Right,” he nods, but the words are barely audible. So… that didn’t help with the tension.

“Do you want a notebook? We can get you one,” Oliver offers instead. At that, Graham turns his gaze back to the shelf in front of him and a frown creeps onto his face.

“...I don’t know. I’m not sure if it’ll be… good for me? Or, uh…” he hesitates. His eyes wander around the other shelves around them. “Yeah. I think I want one, just… a different one.”

Quite frankly, they probably spend more time in that alley than they spent in the clothing one. Graham looks through countless notebooks, and even though he’s not sure what they’re looking out for, Oliver tries to help out. He points out notebooks with different patterns than the lines, more colorful covers, things like bands to keep them closed or built-in bookmarks… and it still takes Graham a while to settle on one.

At least he seems very satisfied with his choice.

The one he picks is a size bigger, so B5, with a light brown hard cover. It has a grid, not lines and instead of being bound traditionally, it’s a spiral notebook. It’s truly nothing like the one he originally picked out, and that clearly brings him some comfort. They end up getting him a few pens to go with it, and then they’re finally ready to go to the food section.

That part of the shopping goes relatively faster. Graham points out the things he likes, and with time Oliver finds himself just about able to predict what the man will name next. He’s not sure if he’s just seeing a pattern with Graham’s preferences or if more memories are scratching the surface… but a supermarket is not the place for him to stop and overthink that. Besides, he’s not feeling confident enough in his guesses to voice them anyway.

They get back to Oliver’s flat after a bit less than three hours, including the time they spent dragging their things all the way back. And oh, that walk back is Not as easy as Oliver remembered, even if they both carry their new stuff. He would kick himself for not thinking to take something to make the journey easier if not for the fact that he’s pretty sure even a metaphorical kick would throw him off his feet.

At least there’s not much more they need to do for the rest of the day. They don’t have to go anywhere, they just need to put their purchases away and look over that list of questions again, make something to eat in the meantime… and then they can both get some proper rest. Oliver isn't sure if he'll actually go to sleep this time, but even lying down for a bit sound nice.

He considers skipping sleep to plan for his “friendly hang-out” hang out with Nikola, but… it’s not like any amount of planning could prepare him for whatever that’ll be like. He supposes showing up well-rested could be good for him, but at the same time, he's not sure if he'll manage to fall asleep even if he wants to. He doesn't need to plan for anything regardless, he needs nothing more solid than the list of questions he’s preparing with Graham.

A list that they spend… an embarrassing amount of time going over over again, correcting dumb mistakes and crossing out repeating questions.

“I think… We’re done?” Oliver says after they finally managed to go over the entire list without spotting anything to change or add.

“Yeah,” Graham nods along. “And it only took us what, a few–” he cuts himself off when he looks up at the clock. Oliver follows his gaze.

It’s 10 pm.

Sure, they took a few breaks in the meantime. They took some time to make and have dinner, Oliver cleared out some space for Graham's new clothes in his wardrobe, and they got distracted a fair few times… but it’s already 10 pm.

That’s equally too late ( how did they manage to spend their entire day doing this?) and too early ( how is it not well past midnight yet? It certainly feels that way.). It shouldn’t be 10 pm.

“...I think I need to catch some sleep,” Oliver declares finally, even though he's still not entirely sold on the idea of sleeping. If he’s this tired now, he’ll be even worse off tomorrow if he doesn’t do anything about it... probably.

“Yeah, I think we should call it an early night,” Graham agrees again. “I mean, I might stay up for a bit… But I can go grab something to sleep in now so I don’t disturb you later,” he decides. For a moment, Oliver can’t follow his logic… and then he remembers that there’s only one bedroom in his house.

“...Actually, why don’t you take the bedroom tonight? I don’t mind,” he suggests. He might be a bit less rested the next morning, but he’s pretty sure the couch will be good enough for him. And Graham is still somewhat of a guest, he deserves some proper rest that won’t end with him waking up sore.

“...Are you sure?” Graham asks, and an already-familiar frown creeps onto his face.  He seems frankly baffled by the suggestion… or maybe he’s just tired. Going over that list so many times was exhausting in nearly every way possible.

“Yeah, yeah… I’ll be fine here. I’ll just grab some of my stuff and the bedroom’s all yours,” Oliver decides. Graham still seems a bit… What, apprehensive? But he doesn’t argue.

“Okay. You’ll get it next time, then? Like last time?” he asks instead, and now Oliver finds himself baffled.

Oh. 

Oh, right, Graham has no idea he fell asleep on Oliver’s shoulder last night. Right.

Agreeing to that rule, that they’ll be taking “turns” seems easier than trying to make up a different set up on the spot, and quite frankly… the sole concept of tomorrow leaves Oliver too tired to go any other route.

“Sure,” he nods.

“Okay, that seems fair,” Graham agrees. He starts to gather his things (a pen and his new notebook, in which he still hadn’t written a single thing) and stands up, making his way towards the bedroom.

“Yeah,” Oliver says as he gets off the couch as well. He follows the man into the room, retrieves a few things like sleepwear and a change of clothes for the morning, and goes to leave right after. “...Goodnight, Graham,” he says on his way out. He expects for the man to respond quickly, but instead, he’s met with a long beat of silence.

“...Goodnight, Oliver,” Graham  finally responds. There’s something in his tone that Oliver can’t quite place… but it’s something nice. Something so nice he probably shouldn’t pick it apart, should just leave it as it is. Something that might even feel familiar–

He leaves the bedroom without another word.

Chapter Text

Oliver doesn’t sleep that night. He was hoping to, really, but… he can’t quite bring himself to drift off. He just lies on the couch in his sleepwear, under a blanket, and stares at the ceiling as he tries to figure out what to do the next morning. He thinks he should make some sandwiches for breakfast. With the groceries they bought the previous day, he could make something a bit more elaborate than usual, and he’s sure Graham would like those.

Then, they can look over the list of questions one last time. Once they’re better rested, they could end up spotting something dumb they missed last night. Then, finally, he could take his sweet time calming down and collecting himself before Nikola shows up and drags him to that… hang out. That’s a solid plan for the morning.

And maybe he should catch some sleep, even though it’s bright outside already. Just a few hours until Graham wakes up and they can spend that nice morning together, then–

Then he hears a knock on his front door.

The sound is eerily similar to the first time Nikola knocked when she paid him a little visit, as though someone recorded it and played it back. That… gives him a good idea as to who he’ll find on the other side of the door. He quickly gets off the couch and makes his way to the front door, grabbing his coat on the way there. His sleepwear looks just about like normal clothes if someone doesn't look too hard, and putting that on might just sell the idea that he wasn’t trying to sleep less than a minute ago.

“Hello?” he says even before his door is fully open. Who knows, maybe there’s no one there, or it’s a neighbour, and he’s just dazed and expecting someone who won’t be there–

“Oliver! Good morning!” Nikola greets him, voice cheerful as ever. “Are you ready to go?”

“...I’m, uh…” he pauses. He quickly goes through a list of things he needs to do before he’ll actually be ready. “...Can I have 5 more minutes?”

“Of course!” Nikola agrees. Oliver gets a feeling that if he takes longer than that, she might just force his door open to check what’s taking him so long.

“Thanks,” he responds regardless. He closes the door, but doesn’t lock it this time. If she does try to enter, he’d rather not have to worry about getting a new lock.

He quickly goes back to the living room, throws the coat off, and changes into normal clothes. He takes the list of questions he and Graham prepared the day before, and looks at the door to (usually his) bedroom. Should he… should he knock and tell Graham what’s happening? Let him know he’s leaving earlier than they anticipated?

No. No, he should let Graham rest. Then again, waking up to an empty house might worry Graham just as much as hearing “The evil mannequin is here early” first-thing in the morning. There’s only one thing Oliver can think to do, and that is grabbing the nearest piece of paper (one covered in crossed-out questions), flipping it to the clean side, and writing down a little note.

Just something quick, about how Nikola showed up early and he didn’t want to wake Graham up about it. How he’s leaving, noting down that it’s 7:03 am as well. How he’ll be fine but Graham shouldn’t wait for him with breakfast, as well as a quick ‘have a good morning’– he catches himself writing that one down unprompted.

He could try again, but the clock is showing 7:04 already, and assuming Nikola knocked exactly at 7… He doesn’t have time to try again. He just puts the note down on the couch, which is probably the first place Graham will check, grabs his coat again, and rushes to the front door.

“I’m ready,” he announces as he opens the door again. Nikola looks like she hadn’t moved an inch since he closed it last time.

“Great!” she claps her hands together. Then, she tilts her head a bit, looking over Oliver's shoulder. “Is Graham not coming?” she asks. She stares behind him as though that would make the man appear out of thin air. She… did suggest he could come along. Oliver panics a bit.

“...No. He’s asleep, I… Tried to wake him up, but he had trouble falling asleep last night and decided he’d rather skip this one,” he lies, for once. Nikola doesn’t respond immediately, and a part of him is already convinced she caught the lie.

“Fine,” she sighs finally, hanging her hands in defeat. “He’s not my friend anyway! Now, come on, I wouldn’t want to keep my other friend waiting!” she perks up again.

Her other friend.

So… she invited the thing that took Graham…?

It’s a good thing the man’s sleeping through all this, Oliver thinks.

Nikola has a loud voice, so loud he’s starting to worry about it waking Graham up and alerting him regardless. That’s why he wastes no more time before stepping out of his flat and closing the door, locking it behind himself. By the time he’s done, Nikola is already walking down the hallway with seemingly no intentions to wait for him. He quickly stuffs the keys into his pocket and follows her, trying to keep less of a distance between them... even if he doesn't want any other people from the building to see them together.

“So, uh, you mentioned your other friend waiting…?” he starts when he catches up to her. He just wants to figure out if she really invited the same Stranger that replaced Graham, or if it’s just… yet another friend of hers. “What’s… their name?”

“No idea!” she responds. She passes right by the elevator and starts to descend down the stairs. “It depends what life it’ll decide to wear today! You… could call it NotThem, but that’s not fun, is it?”

…Well.

That sounds like she does mean the thing that hurt Graham before. Oliver’s… less than thrilled.

Travelling with Nikola during morning commute hours is… an experience, but it gets him less stares than he expected. It’s fair, most of the people they pass by are in a rush, trying to get to work, seeing her in person might be nothing compared to what they have going on. Or they might just be before their first cup of coffee and ready to assume she’s not really a skin-wearing mannequin, it’s just their mind playing tricks on them.

Regardless, the commute still feels like torture. Because of the many, many stares they do get and because he’s about to… “meet” the thing that replaced Graham. He’s about to see it in person, which he doesn’t think he’s ever done before, and he’s supposed to… “hang out” with it and with Nikola. He doesn’t know what to expect from that… But at least he should get some answers. That has to be enough.

After about 20 minutes, they reach a cafe Nikola stops in front. It seems mostly empty, with no one sitting outside and just a few people going in and out, getting their morning fix of coffee. Without a word, she gestures for him to go in, and…. sure. They’re hanging out in a cafe. Sure.

He steps inside, but before he goes to order, he wants to take a look around. Is the… “NotThem” here already? He thinks it’s better to figure that out fast, so he starts to look between the customers. He’s keeping an eye out for someone that just looks Wrong, someone who doesn’t look entirely human if he knows what he’s looking for but “acceptable” if he doesn’t…

And then his eyes land on the person sitting by one of the tables, watching the door and yet looking right past him… and he feels like he's going to throw up.

Because it doesn’t look like a Stranger. It doesn’t look like a Not-Exactly-A-Person he would pass on the street without giving it a second thought. It doesn’t look ‘new’, like something Oliver’s never seen before. It doesn’t look like Graham… but it still looks like the person Oliver believed to be Graham until a few days ago. Seeing it in person now… Yeah. Yeah, he thinks he’s going to be sick.

“Nikola!” it greets her first before focusing its green eyes on him. The look alone sends shivers down his spine. “Oliver. It’s so good to see you again!”

They never met. They never met, Oliver reminds himself. Graham was replaced after they broke up, and they didn’t speak again until the real Graham was back. They never met, so the greeting makes no sense, probably serves no purpose other than disturbing him. Which it succeeds in, obviously, and judging by the satisfied smile on its face, it’s happy with that.

“Hello!” Nikola greets it, taking a seat by the same table.

Oliver doesn’t want to join them.

Nearly every nerve in his body is screaming for him to turn around and walk out of the cafe, they can’t expect him to sit at the same table with it while it’s… while it’s wearing a skin with a name it has no right to. While it’s pretending to be Graham. They can’t– But he’s here for Graham, he reminds himself. He’s here for the real Graham, so they can both have some answers and something to work with.

“...Hi,” he musters, sliding into one of the unoccupied chairs. It still leaves one empty seat by the table.

“Is Graham not coming?” the thing asks with raised eyebrows, which is an expression Oliver can’t picture Graham ever pulling. No, the actual Graham would frown. “A shame. I was looking forward to seeing him again.”

“He’s not,” Oliver responds, biting his tongue before he adds anything. He’s supposed to stay calm. He’s supposed to ask his questions, and he can’t do that if he pisses everyone off first. NotGraham’s face curls into something akin to… boredom?

“He might come along next time!” Nikola reassures it, and Oliver hates how quickly that gets it grinning again.

“...He might,” he repeats. He knows Graham won’t, especially if he tells him about what it showed up looking like. It’s safer to… let the Strangers assume for now, though.

“Wonderful,” it nods. “So, Nikola, Oliver, how are you two today?” it asks. Its voice feels off in general, but after hearing it do so twice, Oliver isn’t afraid to admit that he hates how it pronounces his name.

“Oh, I’m really good,” Nikola beams. At least, she sounds like she does, painted-on faces aren’t exactly known for being expressive.

Oliver feels… unwell. A bit sick from as much as looking at that thing. Of course, he knows a bit better than to voice that.

“I’m… fine,” he claims, and before anyone can question that or ask him to elaborate, he tries to move on. “I have questions.”

“Oh, so do I!” NotGraham smiles brightly. Oliver has a bad feeling about where this is going. “Hmm… where should I even start… Oh, there. What do you think about my current… skin? Do you like it?” it asks.

“No,” he responds before he can bite his tongue or think his answer through. Nikola theatrically crosses her arms.

“Now that is awfully rude,” she… scolds him? He really, really can’t tell at this point. He’s a bit preoccupied by being stared at by the other Stranger. It, in turn, seems very happy with his answer.

“Oh, no, it’s fair,” it waves its hand dismissively. For a moment longer, the eyes that weren’t ever supposed to be green stare into him, through him. Then, it finally relents with a sigh. “You’re lucky it’s… harder to stay like this, with him gone. I’ll need to drop this in a moment.”

“Oh! Is this what Graham looks like?” Nikola asks. This time Oliver manages to stop himself from answering out loud, but no. No, that’s nothing like Graham. The ‘man’ in front of him is absolutely not Graham… and thinking about it, such an answer would probably just bring it more satisfaction.

“My version,” it shrugs, still smiling. “I was hoping he’d come too, I was curious what he’d think about this… But fine,” it sighs.

Oliver pointedly looks away the second he can see its skin starting to shift on its face, threatening to slide off, or… morph into something equally wrong (but at least less personal). This… ‘version’ of ‘Graham’ is haunting enough as it is, he doesn’t need an image of it melting off of the NotThem’s face seared into his mind. The whole process of it… changing can’t have lasted more than two minutes, but that still feels way too long.

“There,” it says finally. At least Oliver assumes it does, because it doesn’t sound anything like it did a moment ago. It’s… softer, sweeter. Oliver finally looks up, and finds an average-height older woman with curly white hair sitting in its place. She smiles politely– but no. No, that’s not right. It’s as much that woman as it was Graham. It’s not.

“Oh, is this a new skin? What is it called?” Nikola inquires, looking it up and down. It lets out a lighthearted laugh that doesn’t sound quite right.

“Oh, no, no, I’ve had this one for ages… I just don’t wear it often. It’s for special occasions, it's… quite expressive. Her name was Rose,” it explains.

Even though the face and the name don’t ring any bells in Oliver’s mind, he still feels a bit… bad? Death is natural, death is something he’s grown to understand and accept. It’s just… this kind of death that bothers him. Death that includes “instantly forgotten by everyone you loved”, death that might not be a death at all. Graham… did say he could recall things he was sure weren’t his own memories, so does this… Rose still exist? To some capacity? Is she–

“So, your questions?” the thing wearing the life of someone Oliver could never know offers him an encouraging smile.

“Right,” he reaches into his pocket, retrieving the list. He regards it with a quick glance before looking back up at the NotThem.

“Now aren’t you prepared!” Nikola exclaims with a sound that nearly sounds like a laugh. Maybe he'd feel ridiculed under some other circumstances, but being prepared for this is a good thing in his mind.

“...I am,” he agrees before focusing on the task at hand again. “So, about Graham. We both wanted to know if he… you know, exists from a legal standpoint? He doesn’t have any IDs, and I can’t find any records of him, but I mean, he’s there, so…?”

“Exists from a legal standpoint,” it parrots after him, giving another laugh that doesn’t fit it at all.. “No. Not yet. Can you imagine how jarring it would be if he was suddenly just back? As if nothing happened to him? People would notice, and I don’t think you want them asking questions. Besides, I can’t just drop him, who knows what would happen then? It could probably kill him! Maybe,” it explains. It doesn’t sound bothered by the prospect of Graham dying, but then again, Oliver can’t bring himself to be surprised. It did replace him.

“...What do you mean by maybe?” Oliver asks, because that’s the part that throws him off the most. Is it still a risk? What is the chance of that happening? Is there some… equation, something to express how likely it is? The NotThem’s face falls until it curls into a frown.

“Maybe. Yes, maybe,” it repeats. “I don’t know. I never let one go before. You should be grateful I didn’t just drop him, you know? I think I’m doing you a favour by being careful, I don’t have to be,” it points out, which raises a fair point. Why is it being careful? 

“...Do you think going too fast could hurt you, too?” he asks, and the frown on its face grows.

“I don’t know,” it repeats itself, frustration slowly boiling… Which makes Oliver think it does know, to some degree. “I’m not planning to find out, though, so it looks like you’ll have to deal with getting him back bit by bit, won’t you?” it says with a smile.

“...Yeah,” Oliver nods. He should drop this, shouldn’t he? If he gets it too railed up over the first question, he probably won’t get any more answers. After a moment of silence, its frustration subsides.

“Good,” it relents. “Is the legal standpoint really your priority?” it asks before Oliver can pull out his list of questions again. “I can try to arrange that, make sure his face turns up in databases first and foremost… Handle the rest later?” it offers in a kind tone. That makes Oliver think there’s definitely something up with that offer.

He… supposes that making sure Graham exists legally sounds like a good priority, though. It’d offer him more freedom, access to more things… But other than making him the actual Graham Folger legally, what else is there to do? Fixing… not-legal records? And fixing people’s memory of him. Or… or is that something different, not connected? Oliver managed to get that one memory back on his own, is that what he’s supposed to do? Remember of his own accord?

“...Are memories part of that equation?” he asks. He… doesn’t like the expression the NotThem puts on in response. Raised eyebrows, a wide grin on its lips and a hint of a laugh in its next exhale.

“Are memories part of that equation,” it parrots after him, not able to contain another laugh any longer. “Are they? Oliver… I’d say the memories are the main point!” it exclaims. His name sounds just as wrong when it says it using NotRose’s voice.

“I want to remember him first, then,” he declares, ignoring how entertained it is by his question. He can’t exactly ignore the faux look of sympathy now growing on its face, though.

“Remember him. Oh, I’m sure you’d like that. It must be so hard having a stranger living in your home, someone you have no memory of… Tell me, did you even recognize him when you saw him? Or did he have to convince you that you used to know who he was? How long did it take you to believe him?” it questions. Its tone sends shivers down Oliver’s spine… and he can’t imagine what he’d feel like if anything it was saying applied to his situation.

“I did recognize him,” he answers. Sure, it took him a few seconds for the image to click, but he remembered Graham. He remembered bits of him even before he got back to his flat and saw him in person. “I have some memories. I just want to remember more.”

“I told you he remembered!” Nikola cuts in. It’s… strangely nice to have her on his side, for once in this conversation?

“And I told you he can’t,” it responds, voice still sickeningly kind. It looks at her, and for the first time in a while, Oliver finds himself free from its gaze. He hadn’t realized how uncomfortable he was under it until now.

“He could describe him!” Nikola argues. And that’s true, even if the image was still a bit blurry in his mind back then.

“I remember things about him,” he decides to join back into the conversation. “I’m remembering things, details, situations…”

“Situations?” the NotThem interrupts him. Its face is curled into a frown again. With a bit of hesitation, Oliver nods. “Situations. Now, that’s not supposed to happen. I didn’t get to those yet,” it pauses, thinking everything over, and the smile it puts on next looks strained. “Let me do this at my own pace, won’t you?”

“I want to remember him,” Oliver responds. This far, recalling anything has been a huge effort for him, but now… “Do this… at your own pace, but let me remember him faster,” he adds. That’s the first… solid demand he’s made this entire time, isn’t it?

“...Fine,” the NotThem relents after a moment. That’s two, if not three questions gone from the list. Graham’s legal existence, memories, and… if there’s anything they can do to regain them faster. That’s progress.

“Thank you,” Oliver breathes a sigh of relief. He reaches for the list again, looking over it to find his next question.

“Oh stop with the list!” Nikola exclaims, much less entertained by it the second time around. “These questions are boring!” she complains, dropping her head only to straighten up less than a second later. “Oh, but I think it’s my turn to ask one!”

“Go right ahead,” the NotThem encourages her, the smile already natural on its face. Oliver reluctantly nods, he didn’t know they were supposed to be taking turns… but this is fine.

“Alright!” Nikola clasps her hands together. “Hm… How about this, how is he? ” she asks. “Any better than yesterday?”

“Oh, that’s a good one!” the NotThem cuts in before Oliver can even start thinking about a response. “I’m curious too, you know? How is he handling existing again? Does he remember himself?” it pries. Oliver takes a moment to pick out his next words carefully.

“...He remembers himself, mostly…? He said some things are blurry, but he does remember. And he’s… fine. This is all… a lot to adjust to, and it’s tough, but he’s managing. We’re managing. Right now I’m just trying to… make him feel welcome in my flat, you know?” he explains.

The perfect mix of honest, not too revealing, and… casual. “Friendly”. Like they’re catching up, like this is normal. Which it’s not, but he’s pretty sure Strangers enjoy pretending otherwise. Regardless, the NotThem seems a bit disappointed, possibly about not hearing any worse news, and Nikola thoughtfully taps the tip of her chin a few times. Oliver is half-expecting for her to declare that his answer was boring, too.

“Maybe you could get him a notebook!” she suggests instead, and that comes so much of left field that it throws Oliver for a loop. “I’m sure he’d like that!”

“I got him a notebook…?” Oliver admits. Is this some… elaborate way of telling him she knows that already, somehow? That she’s been following him? Or some weird… metaphor? A–

“What,” the NotThem interrupts his train of thoughts. Its smile is gone, and the frown that creeps onto its face looks genuine. “No, you’re kidding. You’re kidding,” it insists. It stares at him, as if it was expecting him to take it back. When he doesn’t, it just lowers its head into its hands.

“I, for one, am very happy you got him a notebook!” Nikola beams. This is… the most confused Oliver’s felt in a while, and given what the past few days of his life were like… that’s impressive.

“I’m not!” the NotThem snaps, raising its head again. “A notebook. You got him a notebook! You can’t be– No, no, this is not happening again. Oliver, do you have any idea what that even– Did he even tell you what he did with those notebooks?” it asks. This is the most upset Oliver’s seen it yet.

“...What he did with what notebooks?” he asks. It stares at him, exasperated. “...What did he do?” he asks, glancing between it and Nikola. Whatever they tell him, he’ll take it with a huge grain of salt, of course, but he needs something to go off of.

“What did he do,” the NotThem repeats after him. There’s nothing… ‘playful’ behind it, it’s not doing it to mock him. It’s just angry. “You don’t even–”

“It’s a funny story!” Nikola starts, interrupting it before it can properly raise its voice. That’s… a bad start, probably. Oliver doubts he’ll like whatever she considers funny. Still, at least she’s actually providing him with an answer. “So, when it was–”

“No, no,” the NotThem interrupts her instantly. It smiles again, but even that expression is laced with anger. “Don’t tell him. Don’t tell him!” it laughs after the second time it says that, and it’s much sharper than before. “There’s no need to! If he has a notebook, I’m sure he’ll be back to his old ways in no time.”

“Hm. True!” Nikola agrees, and just like that, a chance for one more answer slips through his fingers.

“...Fine,” he relents. He has more pressing questions than ‘What’s up with the notebooks?’, especially since Graham could have answers to that one. “So, uh… question turns, it’s… your turn, right?” he motions to the NotThem. He can go right after it, meaning more progress.

“My turn. My turn, yeah, yeah…” it collects itself briefly. “...What were you even thinking getting him that notebook?!” it demands. So, they’re not moving on from this.

“I don’t know? He asked for a notebook, so–” he scrambles for an answer, since the way it asked really caught him off guard. Before he can get one more word in, it’s ticked off further.

“Oh, he asked. Of course! Of course he did!” it exclaims, getting up from its chair and slamming its hands down on the table. “He asked, and that’s all it took. If he asked you for a–”

“How about we stop asking questions!” Nikola interrupts it. It directs its eyes to her again, glares for a moment… and then relents and sits down. “No more questions today!”

Now, that’s not good.

“...Can I have one more?” Oliver asks. They should’ve rearranged the list to have the most important questions on the top, now he has to figure out which one he’d consider the most pressing–

“No,” Nikola decides. “We can all ask more questions next time! And if Graham joins us then, he could ask his own, too!” she suggests, and it’s… little consolation.

“If he shows up, and he has a notebook, I will just walk ou–” the NotThem starts only for Nikola to clap her hands together.

“No more questions, no more that, we’re hanging out!” she declares. “Does anyone want to order anything?”

…Right.

Right, they’re in a cafe.

Oliver turns around in his chair and looks around, quickly spotting the counter… as well as the barista on the other side of it. They’re staring at the table he’s seated at, along with Nikola and… and he wonders if they saw the NotThem changing “skins”. He hesitantly offers them an apologetic look. It doesn’t help.

“I think I’ll get myself coffee,” he decides, getting up from his seat.

Partially, it’s so that he can offer the barista a proper apology… and a big tip, hopefully. Partially, it’s so that he can somehow power through the rest of this hang out.

That’s gonna be fun.

Chapter Text

Graham is not having a good morning.

There were a few nice things to it, sure. Sleeping in a bed certainly made him less stiff and he woke up with basically no back-pain this time. He finally gets the chance to properly wear his new clothes, too, and as nice as Oliver’s ones were… well. Wearing his own clothes feels much nicer regardless. That’s just about it when it comes to “good parts”, though.

The first thing he notices once he’s done changing is that the house is… awfully quiet. A kind of quiet that makes him pretty sure he must’ve woken up before Oliver this time. Then again, Oliver is a quiet person as well, so he decides to take a quick peek out of the room just to check. He pushes the door open, regards the living room with a quick glance… Everything is quiet. The water isn’t running in the bathroom, no one is moving things around in the kitchen, nothing is happening.

But… the couch is empty.

That’s… that’s not right, is it?

“Oliver?” he calls out. He waits in silence for a moment, but nobody responds.

He’ not feeling all that nervous just yet, maybe a bit confused is all, which is why he steps out into the living room and looks around in search for any explanations. He keeps an eye out for movements, too, and the longer he spends in silence, the more his unease grows. He briefly wonders which rooms he should search first, but before he can make up his mind, his gaze lands on the couch again. From this up close, he notices that there’s a note on it.

At least, it looks like a note, and it’s in Oliver’s handwriting. He’s quick to pick it up and skims through the text – sure enough, it is a note. He wastes no time before reading through it, but the answers it gives him are... far from reassuring. Because Oliver is out, meeting with Strangers much earlier than either of them anticipated. That’s… that’s not good, is it? Graham had hoped to still speak to him in the morning, not about anything in particular, just… to say hi. Help him calm his nerves before going out, maybe, since he knows Oliver doesn’t do that well with people, just talk. But he didn’t get to do that, because he wasn’t awake at 7. Who even wakes up at 7, not to mention goes out at 7?

Strangers, apparently.

Graham feels like he’s really starting to like Strangers less and less every day.

So Oliver is out… but he’s probably okay. Graham hadn’t pestered him about that whole… serving an eldritch dread power thing, but it sounds serious. Serious enough to… keep him safe? Maybe not. But Oliver probably knows what he’s doing, so he’s fine. So Graham has no reason to worry about him!

He… still does.

It’s not like worrying will do much, just… get into his head. Keep him worried until Oliver shows back up, obviously fine, because why wouldn’t he be fine? He clearly knows so much about all this, and he took the time to prepare for that outing with Nikola… hell, even the note says he’ll be okay! So Oliver will come back home safe and sound, and all of this worrying will have been for nothing.

And he’s still worried.

He sets the note down, re-reading it ten times won’t change anything about this situation. Nothing he can do will change anything about this situation, actually. All he can do is wait, and try not to think about this, and maybe try to get himself something to eat in-between all the worrying he’s sure he’ll do.

He heads to the kitchen and… finds himself torn between a few ideas. He’s hungry, as one usually is at – he glances back into the living room, checking the clock – 9:30 am. Meaning… meaning Oliver’s been out for two and a half hours at this point. That’s long for a “hang out”, isn’t it?  That’s awfully long, he should be back by now– or not? He’s not sure how long this whole thing is supposed to take, not to mention the commute back and forth.

Breakfast. He’s supposed to get himself breakfast.

He’s not sure what he should get for himself. The scrambled eggs Oliver made the previous morning were good, really good, but… he shudders at the memory of what happened the last time he tried to make scrambled eggs. Sure, there’s a chance he might miraculously make something edible, but… the risk is too high.

He can’t imagine greeting Oliver with a “Hi, how was the hang out? By the way, you need a new frying pan, the charred food won’t unstick from your current one. Also the entire house smells like smoke. And we have no eggs”. No, no, that’d be horrible… So until Oliver is back, he bans himself from using the man’s stove. Or… anything else he can use to burn food, or to otherwise damage it, or–

In the end, his only feasible option is cereal. That should make a decent breakfast, he figures. Good enough to keep him feeling okay-ish until Oliver is back, and then they can start thinking about a proper lunch. Or… Dinner. Or supper. All depending on when Oliver returns, although Graham’s not sure what he’ll do if evening rolls around and the man still isn’t back. What if nighttime comes? He can’t imagine going to sleep like this.

He can’t imagine waiting until it’s dark outside. He’ll need to do something before then, but… what? Going out to look for Oliver seems like the obvious answer, or at least it would be, if he knew anything about the neighborhood. Anything about this side of London, actually. He only knows the way to that one supermarket, more or less, so if he tries to look around he’ll most likely get lost. Besides, there’s a chance Oliver is somewhere far from here, so looking for him really doesn’t sound all that smart–

He’s really overthinking this.

There’s no reason to even think about what he’d do in the evening on the off-chance Oliver isn’t back by then. He should just eat his cereal and calm down. Maybe not being on an empty stomach will help him?

It doesn’t, not really. Maybe he feels a bit better, but he still can’t help being worried and has no idea what to do about it. He spends the rest of his morning trying to do anything about it. He paces around the flat. He cleans up the discarded lists of questions he and Oliver wrote down the previous day, as well as folding up the blanket Oliver must’ve slept under last night, so that he can sit down on the couch and try to relax.

He doesn’t. He goes back to pacing.

He kicks himself for forgetting to ask Oliver if they can get cigarettes at the store. If he smoked by the window, the smell probably wouldn’t linger, and it could– No, no. It’s probably a good thing they didn’t get cigarettes. The smell would linger, and… he’s been feeling mostly fine without them, and it’s probably better to stay off them for now. For now, yeah.

The clock strikes 11, and he’s only getting more worried. It’s been four hours, he knows that from reading the note so many times he’s practically memorized it. It’s been four hours, which is most definitely too long, and he has no idea what to do about it. He goes into the bedroom, looking around for anything to do with his hands. He makes the bed, and he looks through the things they bought yesterday – mostly clothes – and…

And he leaves the room with his new notebook in hand.

He just likes the weight of it, is all. Holding it makes him feel a bit better, running his hand over the smooth cover is soothing and dragging it along the loops of wire holding it together is grounding. Holding the notebook makes him feel better, and a part of him wonders if he should’ve gotten the other one as well. It looked just like the notebooks he used to buy in bulk, and those used to be a comfort–

But no. No, he doesn’t think those would help, not anymore. All of this is… new, so it’s only fitting he gets a new notebook. Besides, he’s pretty sure that if he had a notebook like that with him, he’d find himself scribbling in it before he knew it. He doesn’t want to write in this one, not right now… just hold it. Just hold it to have something to do with his hands while he paces and keeps checking the clock.

After what feels like forever of hearing nothing but his own footsteps, the sound of a key being put into a lock breaks the silence of the flat. He stops in his tracks and listens. Did he actually hear it, or…? Just as he’s about to question that, he hears the front door opening as well.

“Graham?” Oliver calls out. Instantly, Graham feels a wave of relief washing over him. “ I’m back?”

“Oliver! Hi!” he calls back, starting to walk to the front door, up until he can finally see Oliver. The man looks absolutely exhausted, but… happy to be home? Somewhat relieved, at least. “How was the… thing?” he asks, and Oliver lets out a long sigh.

“Not… great,” he admits. “I got some answers, but not many, and then it was all just–” he cuts himself off and his expression takes on a bit more concern than usual. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” Graham asks. Which is… a stupid question, it’s just the two of them talking. Still, is it that obvious that he’s not been handling this well? “Yeah, yeah– I’m fine. I just got a bit… worried? I mean, the note said you left around 7, and it’s what? 11?” he explains, pretending not to know that it’s exactly 11:47 am.

“Wait, it’s 11? Already?” Oliver asks, which gives Graham the excuse to look at the clock and double-check the time.

“Yeah. Yeah, 11:47,” he nods. Nearly five hours since 7. For a moment, Oliver is left speechless.

“I forgot my watch, I didn’t realize,” he starts to explain himself, but quite frankly, that’s the last thing Graham cares about. Oliver is back, he’s fine, there was no reason to worry… and he has ‘some answers’. That’s clearly more important than the man losing track of time.

“It’s okay now, isn’t it?” he points out. “Come on, why don’t we talk about your… you know, meeting with Nikola? How bad was it?”

“Not… horrendous, but I didn’t like it,” Oliver responds. He closes the front door after himself and walks deeper into the flat, with Graham taking a step back to get out of his way. “She didn’t like my questions, liked terrorizing the barista… and spent most of the time just talking about… her interests? Stranger interests,” he explains, and… yeah. Yeah, that sounds horrible. “Did you have breakfast?”

“Oh, yeah, cereal,” Graham nods. Oliver turns and gives him a… surprised look? Confused look? Graham’s not that good at expressions. “I mean, I was a bit worried about burning your kitchen down, and cereal doesn’t involve using the stove, so… yeah,” he explains himself, and Oliver’s expression softens into something that resembles amusement.

“Right,” he nods, and yeah, he seems amused. Which means he probably doesn’t remember what happened that one time Graham tried to make a ‘romantic dinner’ at home. Which is a relief, honestly. “Are you feeling up to more of a… lunch already?”

“Absolutely,” Graham agrees without a second thought. Oliver responds with a quick nod before starting to walk towards the kitchen.

Graham follows.

The man silently gets to the fridge and starts to look through it. Briefly, Graham considers asking him about the answers he got from that meeting, but if their previous ‘serious talks’ have taught him anything, it’s that they should be held while sitting down. He’s pretty sure getting some proper food before discussing whatever Oliver found out won’t hurt either.

A lot of things changed over the time he spent… he’s not sure, just not there, between 2006 to a few days ago. Some things feel unrecognizable, but if there’s one thing that stayed the same, it’s how amazing Oliver’s cooking is. In all that time, the man only seems to have grown even more experienced in the kitchen, which Graham didn't even think possible. It takes him no time to pick some things from the fridge and get started on something.

“Should I do anything?” Graham asks. With Oliver present, he feels like he’s a bit less likely to cause some horrible disaster. Besides, if he does somehow start a grease fire, it might be easier to put it out together.

“No, no, I’ve got this,” the man assures him. He briefly motions Graham to one of the chairs, so he goes to sit down. The best he can do is not stand in his way, he supposes.

And the lunch is good, much better than dry cereal. It actually leaves Graham no longer hungry, which can’t be said about his previous meal… And now he feels just about ready for a serious talk. Especially with the prospect of finally getting some answers, even if he’s a bit worried about what they could be (since of course, there’s no guarantee that the answers are things he wants to hear). Especially since he's pretty sure that if they were overwhelmingly positive, Oliver would’ve told him already.

But it’s fine. It can’t be horrible news either, or Oliver wouldn’t be up to making lunch before talking about it, probably. So it’s just answers, nothing more to them. It’s just answers, and it’s about time Graham finally gets some. Before he knows it, they’re already on the couch, so it's finally time for him to learn anything new about his situation. Except, Oliver seems at a bit of a loss as to where to start. Ready to tell him, just… unsure what to say first, how to ease into the conversation.

“So… how was everything? Was it just Nikola there, or…?” he asks, because that feels like a decent start for the talk. Oliver looks… significantly less ready for this conversation than he did ten seconds ago.

“...No. No, she brought a… friend,” he responds, and… Graham has a feeling he knows what Oliver means by that.

“...The friend that, you know,” he pauses, briefly flailing his hands around in  a gesture that he doubts conveys ‘killed and replaced’ nearly well enough. “...me?”

“Yeah,” Oliver nods, so maybe the gesture was still accurate enough? “...Apparently it’s called the NotThem.”

That’s a bit on the nose, isn’t it?

“That’s dumb,” he declares, since that’s about all he can do about it. For a brief moment, Oliver looks amused again. “I don’t like it.”

“Me neither,” Oliver agrees. He opens his mouth again but hesitates, unsure whether to continue for a moment. “It showed up looking like… you know,” he pauses again. “Not… you?”

…What are the chances that Oliver means that with a space? Not you, but someone else. Not you, but it’s own thing, unrelated to you at all. Not you, someone with a different name. Judging by the uncomfortable look on Oliver’s face, that’s not likely.

“...Can it do that?” he asks. He thought it was supposed to no longer be him… or NotHim, or whatever. He thought he was supposed to be the only one. It wasn’t supposed to–

“Not for long,” Oliver responds. How long is long? Why can it still– “It said it was hard for it to stay like that, and it had to.. change during the meeting,” he explains.

Judging by the grimace on his face, Graham never wants to see that in person. Then again, he doesn’t want to see that thing in person altogether. 

“But why can it still do that, at all?” he asks. If that thing can still pose as him, even with effort, that’s… that’s bad.

“It said that you coming back is a… process. It’ll take time,” Oliver answers. “You’re here now, and it’s slowly… reversing things? Fixing records, and, you know… memories?” he explains. Does that mean Graham’s memory will get less blurry? Or just that Oliver will remember him properly– okay, that’s not a ‘just’, he corrects his train of thought. Oliver remembering him would be a huge thing on its own.

“...Did it say how long that’ll take?” he asks. He wants Oliver to remember him– even if that will probably make things more awkward. He’d like to remember him better too, not so… hazily.

“No,” Oliver shakes his head. “But apparently I’m remembering things faster than I’m supposed to? It wasn’t too happy about that, which–” he shrugs. Graham doubts either of them cares about making it happy. “It said going too fast could hurt you, but I think it’s more concerned about its own safety.”

“This is dangerous for it?” Graham asks, and he can’t help feeling a bit confused. Oliver shrugs.

“I don’t know if it even knows that, apparently it never… you know, never let someone go before. It said it’s not going to risk getting hurt, though, so… Looks like we’ll have to wait,” he explains. He’s obviously less than thrilled about the prospect of waiting, but Graham can’t help his mind catching on something else.

It never let someone go before. He tries not to think about that, about how lucky he is, how unlikely this situation is… and fails miserably. He’s not sure where he was for the past near-decade, but it wasn’t pleasant, and now he’s not there, and it’s because of Oliver. He’s fine– he’s more than fine, things are only looking up, and Oliver is here too, and apparently he's the first person to ever get such a... second chance? Second lease on life? He's the first one to get out of that nightmare alive, and... and he has one person to thank for it. And-

And he can think about that later.

“I guess we do. Have to wait, I mean,” he agrees, even though the pause between Oliver’s statement and his answer was quite long. “Did they tell you anything else?”

“No,” the man sighs. “I tried to get at least one more question in, but apparently we were supposed to be taking turns, and… the 2nd round didn’t go full round. The NotThem got a bit caught up on–” he pauses and looks down, at Graham’s hands. “...Notebooks.”

“...What do you mean?” he asks. He’s suddenly liking this a lot less, and finds himself running a finger along the wire of– Oh yeah. He’s still holding the notebook.

“It was… weird. Nikola mentioned notebooks, I said I got you one, and it just… lost it. I never saw someone get so… angry about notebooks, and neither of them would tell me what it was all about? Something about you doing… something? I don’t know,” he pauses, and Graham silently hopes the man will change the topic. “I was actually wondering if you knew what that was about?”

“....Uh.”

What does he say to that?

What does he say?

Oh, yeah, the notebooks! The bookshelves upon bookshelves of notebooks that I owned because I thought they were helping, which they were probably not. The notebooks I’d write in every day, the notebooks I’d cling to like they were my only lifeline, the notebooks that went from being a comfort to being a chore, the–

The notebooks.

What is he supposed to say about the notebooks? How does he even begin to explain them when he still hadn’t really explained them to himself? They were there, they were something he used– and other that, there are no words to express what it was all about, no way for Oliver to understand. And if he doesn’t understand, then he might– He might just…

“Graham?” Oliver gets his attention. He looks concerned again, which… isn’t surprising. They’ve both been quiet for a while now, and Graham can’t imagine he looks very… well, given everything.

“I– I know what they meant,” he says. He has no idea what to say next. “It’s just– I mean, I used to, uhh… have notebooks? A lot? And then… Look, it’s a long story. And complicated. And…” and he feels like he’s digging his own grave, and wishes he could already throw the dirt over himself and disappear from Oliver's sight right about now.

“...You don’t have to tell me now,” Oliver… Well, it’s not like he interrupts Graham. It’s more like he breaks the silence Graham leaves hanging between them.

“...Okay,” he nods. “I’ll tell you, I just want to… prepare first?” he adds. He needs to make sense of it all for himself first, then put that into proper words, then prepare for the... judgement, and all. Still, Oliver just gives him an understanding nod, which makes him feel a bit better. “So, uh, how was the rest of the hang out?”

“Bad,” Oliver sighs. “They just talk about Stranger… topics, and I nodded along until Nikola declared the meeting was over because she had other plans. I don’t think I want to know anything about those,” he declares, which is extremely fair.

“And the… Not…Them?” Graham asks. He just… wants to get a bit of a feel on what it’s like.

“It left nearly as soon as Nikola said that. Claimed it was in a rush, and… I didn’t feel like asking it about that,” Oliver explains, once again making an extremely fair point. “I was a bit worried it would… follow me or something, but I couldn’t see it anywhere. I guess it can change looks, but the two... appearances I saw it take both just fell off , and I didn’t see anything like that.”

“Okay. Good,” Graham nods, because that is good. Very good.

“...Then again, I don’t think it needed to follow me. It knows where this flat is, and if it doesn’t, I think Nikola would just tell it if it asked,” Oliver points out. That’s… less good.

“Right,” Graham nods again. “I just… don’t want to meet it. Especially not if it’s wearing, you know,” he pauses. His skin? His life? A parody of him? Putting a name on what it’s wearing might just make it all feel a bit too real, so he abstains.

“Yeah,” Oliver agrees, and Graham’s glad he doesn’t have to explain it any further. “I take it you’re not interested in joining us for the next hang out?”

“Absolutely not,” Graham responds, because that’s a stupid question and a horrible idea– Well, he supposes he shouldn’t be making such final choices so abruptly. “...I mean, if you need me to go, I will. I just really don’t want to see it. But… I’ll manage, I can go,” he decides. Oliver came back absolutely exhausted, after all… maybe him tagging along could help? Take some pressure off of him?

“It did say it would leave if you showed up with a notebook, I think,” Oliver says, and Graham finds himself looking down at the one he’s still holding.

“...Huh,” he mumbles. Its weight in his hands has been one of his few comforts this horrible morning… but if that's true, maybe it could actually provide him with– what, protection? “Maybe I should keep it on me more often, then.”

“I was thinking that, too,” Oliver nods along. Meaning, he won’t mind Graham actually doing that. Which is Really Good.

“I might actually do that, then,” he declares out loud, just to double-check. Oliver gives him an encouraging smile.

So… it looks like he’ll go back to always having a notebook on hand, for protection. And it looks like it might just work this time around. Maybe they should go back to that supermarket so he can get the one that resembles his old notebooks as well, just for good measure. No, no, that might be a bad idea. Then again, he wanted to pick up some cigarettes as well, so…

“Can we go back to that supermarket we went to yesterday?” he asks before he can change his mind. Oliver gives a surprised hum.

“Did we forget to get anything?”

“Not… really? But I think having an extra notebook or two might be good? In case I misplace one or something? I was also thinking about, uh… cigarettes? If you’re fine with me getting that?” he asks. He… he remembers how much Oliver hated him smoking.

Okay, hated is the wrong word. He just worried, which was fair. He asked Graham to at least do it less if he couldn’t bear to quit, he’d get a bit quiet whenever Graham would mention needing to buy more… But he didn’t hate it. It just worried him, and it probably played a part in their break-up.

...Probably.

Maybe?

Because Graham still can’t actually remember how that went. He remembers things were… less than ideal for a while, but everything gets blurrier around the event itself, as they do around… a lot of important things he should remember. He’s not in too big a rush to recall that one, though. It was probably bad, seeing how quickly Oliver moved out, and… just not something he wants to think about. Not now.

“Sure,” Oliver nods. “You know, maybe we could get you a phone while we’re there, too?” he suggests. For a moment, Graham thinks he doesn’t need one. Then he realizes how much better his morning would’ve been if he could’ve just texted Oliver to check on him.

“Oh, yeah, that’d be smart,” he agrees, and Oliver smiles.

“Alright. Do you, uh… want to go now? I don’t think we have any other plans,” he points out, which is true. It’s not like Graham has a lot of things to plan these days.

So… they’re going shopping again. Graham hopes he’ll still be able to keep track of how much Oliver is spending on him, so that the moment he gets access to his money back, he can pay it back. That seems like the fair thing to do.

Chapter Text

The shopping trip goes much faster this time around.

Graham doesn’t even need that much time to pick out his extra notebooks. In fact, as soon as they make it into the stationery and school supplies section, he makes a beeline towards the display and picks out a notebook that looks exactly the same as the one they bought last time. Oliver doesn’t comment on that, he’s certain Graham knows. He just silently gives the man some more time to look through the shelves, checking if anything else catches his attention.

After about 2 or 3 minutes, something does. That one is a simple thing, A4 and black. Oliver’s pretty sure it’s the same design that originally drew Graham into the alley during their first shopping trip, but either it’s not, or Graham has changed his mind on it since then. He doesn't feel like asking the man about it, though, it’s not like Oliver will be the one using the notebooks anyway. Graham turns to look at him and tells him that two should be enough, and he gives the man a nod.

After that, they head straight to the check out. This is all that they need from the store itself, after all. The supermarket has a separate stall for cigarettes, and it’s better to get a phone from a specialized shop as well. He pays for Graham’s notebooks, and starts towards the small electronics shop. He’d… rather leave the cigarettes until the last moment, he doesn’t like hanging around that part of the building.

Getting a phone does take them a while. Much longer than they expected it would. They’re not looking for anything special, Graham explains that he just needs the phone to allow texts and calls for him to be happy, and yet the seller tries to get them hooked on some… elaborate newest model for nearly half an hour. And yeah, it’s their job, Oliver gets that, do they really have to keep trying after they both turned down 5 other pricey and tacky suggestions?

They probably do. In fact, they relent and offer some cheaper, older phone models the store has in stock suspiciously close to the 25 minute mark of Graham and Oliver entering the store. From that point, it’s not that much of a hassle for them to pick one out, get everything set up, and leave within a little under 40 minutes altogether.

Which… just leaves the cigarettes.

And Oliver hates the cigarette stand. Absolutely despises going there. That’s… a bit of a dramatic way to put it, but he prefers to steer as far away from it as possible. It’s just really, really not a pleasant sight. A line of people with a different amount of death tendrils wrapped around their throats and spilling from their lungs, queuing after one another to buy another packet of the thing that will end them… And sure, some of the people will die different deaths. Some will live for so long Oliver can’t tell what will take them.

It’s still not a pleasant sight.

…But Graham wants cigarettes too. And Oliver already said yes, and it’s not like he’s seeing any tendrils on the man right now, so there’s probably not much harm in buying them. So, he leads the way to the cigarette stand, joins the line of sooner-or-later to-be-dead people, and waits.

When it’s their turn, Graham seems to have already figured out which box he wants and wastes no time giving the clerk the name. They hand him the cigarettes, Oliver pays, and they can finally leave the queue, as well as the supermarket altogether.

They step out of the building, and come to a stop just a few steps away from the front entrance. Graham looks at the box in his hand, turning it over once or twice, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. That’s when Oliver realizes they didn’t buy him a lighter, which… makes lighting a cigarette a bit hard, doesn’t it? They probably had some lighters at the stand, but Oliver wasn’t paying much attention there and he doesn’t want to go back, but they probably have some in the main store, but the lines are so long at this point–

It’s fine. He can go back in alone if Graham would rather sit outside for now. It’s just a lighter, he can pick one out and bring it out here. It’s a non-issue.

“Should we to go back for a lighter?” he asks, and Graham turns his head to look at him. He looks… surprised? Maybe.

“Do you not have any lighters at home?” he retorts with a question of his own. And of course Oliver has, lighters are useful to have!

“Well, yeah, but that’s at home,” he points out, and Graham nods. He seems to contemplate something briefly before settling his mind.

“That’s fine. I’m not going to smoke around you anyway, so… I can just get one there, if that’s okay?” he asks after a moment. He puts the unopened box into one of his pockets in the meantime.

“...Yeah, sure?” Oliver agrees, but quite frankly, the first part of Graham’s answer throws him off a bit. “You won’t smoke around me?” he repeats, just to double-check if he heard that right.

“Yeah,” Graham nods. “I know you really didn’t like me smoking back… then, so… I figured I shouldn’t? And it’s not like I’m desperate for a smoke, I’m not, it’s just… When I do feel like it, I won’t do it around you. I can do that,” he promises, and the entire thing makes Oliver wonder just how vocal he used to be about Graham smoking.

“...I don’t remember that,” he admits after a bit of hesitation. “Not liking you smoking, I mean. I’m not… big on cigarettes, but I don’t remember there being issues,” he elaborates, and a little frown appears on Graham’s face.

“That’s probably for the best. It’s not a good thing to remember,” he declares after a moment of thought. Then, he pauses, apparently rethinking the entire thing. “...I think. That part is… a bit blurry for me, too?” he admits with some reluctance. “But I won’t smoke around and that’s… that.”

“Okay,” Oliver nods. He… does appreciate the sentiment, he supposes. “Do we just go home, then? Or are we missing anything?” he asks, and Graham briefly pats down his pockets and counts the two notebooks in his hand.

“I think we’re good.”

And so, they start the walk back to Oliver’s flat. It’s much easier this time around, probably because they don’t even have a single bag to carry, just the notebooks in Graham’s hand and the other things, which he manages to keep in his pockets. So really, Oliver’s not even doing any “heavy lifting”, and he’s not sure if what Graham’s doing can be called that either.

It’s… more of a walk, really. Just a stroll they’re taking together, one he could convince himself is just an attempt at familiarizing Graham with this part of London. It’s not, not really, but he still takes the opportunity to point out a few stores and establishments he knows as they pass by them.

“-that’s where I usually get bread, it’s a good bakery,” he points out at some point, and Graham nods along. “And there, this one–” Oliver pauses. It’s a pizzeria, one he visited before… a long time ago. “Hm. They have decent pizza, last time I checked,” he shrugs.

“When did you check?” Graham asks, curiosity clear in his voice.

“...Before my, uh, voyage, I think,” he recalls after a moment. Has it really been that long? Apparently so. “Hm. Maybe we should get pizza today, for lunch,” he muses, spending a moment looking at the pizzeria before turning his head to check Graham’s reaction.

“That sounds nice,” the man agrees. And, well… Oliver’s hands are empty. They might as well step in and order right now.

“Alright. Do we want take-out, or…?” he suggests. At Graham’s nod of agreement, he starts towards the pizzeria.

“Wait, are we getting it now?” Graham asks. He sounds a bit surprised, but is quick to catch up and match Oliver’s new pace. Oliver turns to look at him, to check if he looks opposed to the idea, but he doesn’t. In fact, he already seems a bit excited.

“Yeah,” Oliver agrees. “What pizza do you want to get?” he asks, because… well. Because he has no idea what kind of pizza Graham likes. For a moment, the man seems to have an answer ready. Then, he falters.

“Uh… anything works,” he declares, which isn’t exactly helpful. Oliver takes a moment to think about it… Graham did mention liking spicy food, which Oliver isn’t opposed to, so that gives him something to work with.

“Alright, let me think,” he pauses. They’re right by the pizzeria now, so close that he can see the list of available ingredients. “Maybe just pepperoni? With, uh,” he glances at the extra toppings. “jalapeno peppers, maybe? And…” he pauses again. That still sounds a bit plain, but he can’t see anything else interesting on the list. “...Do you think they have anchovies, maybe?”

Which is a dumb thing for him to ask. Because Graham doesn’t know this place any better than he does, and because Oliver does not like anchovies. He probably hadn’t eaten one in well over a decade, and the idea of having them on a pizza does not sound good. For a moment, Graham is speechless. Then, he lets out a quiet laugh.

“Okay, look,” Oliver starts, ready to take that part back. Before he can continue, Graham cuts in.

“That’s my favorite,” he says. He sounds surprised, more than anything, but when Oliver turns to look at him, he finds him with the softest look on his face.

…Looks like they’re asking for anchovies, then, even if the thought still seems a bit disgusting. Yeah, the little smile on Graham’s face is enough to convince him that he can survive that. He… does wonder, though, did Graham have the opportunity to talk about his favorite pizza toppings recently? He doesn’t think so. Which… means he’s making progress in remembering things on his own. Even if that progress will end with eating that pizza, he thinks it's worth it.

“I, uh, didn’t think you liked those, though? The anchovies?” Graham says, apparently back to reality. For a moment, Oliver considers claiming he changed his mind… but that lie would be very short lived.

“...Yeah, I don’t. We can still get it, I just… won’t eat them, I guess?” he shrugs, and Graham lets out another quiet laugh.

“Back when we were together, I’d just–” he cuts himself off, pauses, re-thinks his words carefully… and finally clears his throat. “...Taking them off the pizza should work for you. It used to,” he recovers.

“...Sounds like a plan,” Oliver nods, and with that settled, he goes for the door to the pizzeria.

They didn’t offer anchovies, and they gave him quite a weird look when he asked.

He… finds himself more committed to getting the pizza they agreed on than he expected. Probably because of Graham’s reaction to the suggestion, probably because he said that one was his favorite. Or maybe because he finds himself a bit morbidly curious to see what that pizza tastes like (as though he’s never had it before. But going off of what Graham said, he tried it before, so…?).

Regardless of the reason, he doesn’t settle for just pepperoni and jalapeno peppers. He thanks the cashier for their patience and turns to leave, with Graham following close behind. This isn’t the only pizzeria in town, he’s sure he can find one that offers all three ingredients. Even if it won’t be nearby, it’s not like delivery is all that expensive.

Delivery is, apparently, more expensive than Oliver remembers. It’s not an absurd amount, yeah, but he’s still pretty sure it used to be a few pounds less. Then again, it’s not like he can’t afford it, so the upshot is, the pizza is on its way. In the meantime, Graham tells him about how he grew to like that specific combination of toppings, which is at least… entertaining?

“So yeah, no one believed I’d actually try it, but you know, I think I just had to at that point? And it wasn’t great, yeah, but it wasn’t that bad either?” he explains, and Oliver can easily picture Graham sitting at some generic pizzeria with a few high school friends, trying to convince them that the monstrosity they came up with is actually Not That Bad.

Well. That’s not exactly right. He does find himself a bit stumped when it comes to imagining what Graham could’ve looked like as a teenager. It’s not like they knew each other back then, but he’s sure he’s seen pictures at some point… it’s just that pictures aren’t to be trusted these days. It definitely sounds like something Graham would do, though, and he supposes that’s good enough.

“And why did you ever buy it again?” he asks, because asking ‘what did you look like back then?’ seems a bit less tactful.

“...Well,” Graham mulls over the question for a bit. “I mean, it was to drive home the point it wasn’t so bad it’d kill me. Then it became a bit of a habit, and, uh… the taste just kinda grows on you, you know?” he finishes with a smile on his face.

“I don’t want it to grow on me,” Oliver declares, because it still sounds horrendous, and Graham can’t help but laugh.

“I can take the anchovies off your plate, don’t worry about that,” he assures with a smile. “That’s what we used to do before too, you know? Since you didn’t want to… risk liking it,” he adds, and he looks entertained by the concept.

And it feels a bit weird, for Graham to know him better than he knows Graham. It feels a bit weird for Graham to know his old habits and preferences better than he does himself, because he doesn’t remember any of those. It’s not a bad kind of weird, though, just… a surprising one. Nothing that would actually bother Oliver, so he can easily let that slide.

“Yeah, that works,” he agrees, because, well… apparently it does. Apparently, it used to.

The pizza gets there about 20 minutes later, which is… a decent time, Oliver supposes. That’s probably the only thing decent about it. The smell isn’t good, it doesn’t look great either… but at least Graham smiles when it’s placed on the table. So… it’s not that bad, he supposes. His body still tries to fight him all the way when he volunteers to take a bite of the real deal, no toppings removed, and the taste might be absolutely repulsive, thank you–

But at least the way his face scrunches up makes Graham laugh before the man passes him a glass of water to chase the taste down. A part of Oliver wants to ask for a bin instead, but that might just be a bit too rude, so he stops himself. He nearly downs the cup in one go, drags his slice onto his plate, and starts to carefully peel every single anchovy off. He is never trying that again, not even if someone offered him a lot of money and promised him a good night’s sleep on top of that. No, never.

Graham picks up his own slice and unceremoniously takes a bite. He doesn’t even flinch, his face doesn’t contort into something barely human from the disgust at the strange combination of the toppings. No, judging by his expression, the pizza is his favorite. He turns to look at Oliver and says something about how it’s just like he remembers it tasting and goes in for a second bite. It’s… quite terrifying, honestly.

Well, not really, it’s mostly sweet. Oliver can’t remember NotGraham being excited over anything, and that fact used to confuse him, but if the real Graham was always like this… yeah. No wonder they were–

It’s nice.

It’s just nice to share the pizza together. It doesn’t taste all that bad with the anchovies picked off of it, and Graham doesn’t seem to mind putting a few extra ones on his slices. He’s happy, and Oliver is content with that. They mostly eat in silence, with Graham breaking it a time or two to tell a quick story that comes to his mind, but it’s mostly silent.

The silence feels comfortable, which is why Oliver is surprised when he glances over at the man and finds him no longer smiling. He has no way of knowing how long it’s been, but Graham seems lost in his thoughts now and a bit... uneasy? Worried? His brow is furrowed, and... is his eye watering from the spice, maybe? Oliver’s not sure, but there’s one fool-proof way to check.

“Everything alright? Is it too spicy?” he takes a guess. Graham looks up at him, pauses, and then shakes his head. His frown grows and he starts to absentmindedly tap his foot on the carpet.

“No, no, it’s not. I’m just...” he trails off. “I don’t know,” he continues in a more hushed tone. “I think I’m nervous?” he says finally, which is… the last thing Oliver would expect him to say.

“...Nervous?”

“Yeah. Nervous,” Graham nods sharply. “Not… about anything in particular. Just nervous. I’ll, uh… be right back,” he says, getting off the couch and heading straight for the bathroom.

And maybe it is too spicy. Maybe the anchovies are an extremely stupid addition and they’re making him feel sick, but he built this too much to just admit defeat. Maybe he’ll come out of the bathroom and sheepishly ask if they can have something else for dinner. Maybe just like the taste “grew on him”, he’s no longer used to it. Maybe.

Or maybe he’s actually nervous. He has more than enough things to be nervous about, and sure, this was nice so far, but maybe that’s the thing? Maybe it was so nice that he started to overthink it– is that a thing Graham would do? Oliver doesn’t remember. Regardless, there’s a chance he’s just feeling unwell and needs a moment to collect himself. At this point, he’s starting to feel like he’s doing more overthinking on his own, so he decides to just wait

…Then, he hears a knock on his door.

Not a Nikola-Like knock, which is good. It sounds human, not like plastic smacking against wood. It might genuinely be a neighbor this time, which would still be unusual, but… nicer than Nikola dropping by without any warning again. He goes over to the door, and this time knows better than to just open it. He takes a quick look through the peephole and his blood runs cold.

He finds a pair of green eyes looking directly back at him.

And even though the peephole is supposed to let him see the hallway without alerting anyone, he can just tell it saw him looking. It saw him looking and it’s expecting him to open the door, even though he never told it where he lives, even though he really doesn’t want it in his house. Especially when it’s wearing Graham’s life again. Especially now… well. At least Graham is in the bathroom. He still doesn’t want to open the door, he wants to back off and pretend nobody’s home, but it already saw him and–

The knock comes again.

Reluctantly, he turns the lock and opens the door. Just a bit, just so that he can properly see it and it can see him, but not nearly wide enough for it to step through. It doesn’t say anything, not at first, but a smile appears on its lips. It’s a toothy grin, one that wouldn’t fit the real Graham at all.

“...What do you want?” he asks finally, and his apprehension only seems to make it happier.

“Good evening, Oliver,” it extends a hand for him to shake, but the idea of doing that makes his skin crawl. It doesn’t seem surprised by a lack of response. “I was wondering if my… counterpart was home?” it asks politely.

Oliver possibly experiences a new emotion in that split second.

His blood feels like it’s properly ran cold now, and he’s extremely tempted to just punch it in the face that isn’t even its– except, he has a feeling his fist would sink into its head in a way that might make him throw up. He might throw up anyway, just from hearing it speak, because its words also make him feel sick. Counterpart, it had just called him, and Oliver can’t help a tingle of fear in his chest, not fear of that thing but fear for Graham.

It takes the opportunity to push the door a bit wider and step into the flat. Oliver automatically steps back, but regains his composure within a second. He doesn’t move out of its way any further.

“Hey, you- Get out,” he demands. It ignores him, peering over his arm and clearly searching for something. Someone. Oliver is suddenly very grateful Graham started feeling sick a bit ago.

“I just want to see him,” it explains itself, trying to step past him. He doesn’t let it. “Rather, I want him to see me. Don’t you think he’d like this?”

“No,” Oliver responds, staying in his spot. He doesn’t want it in his house, he really doesn’t want it in his house. If he thought pushing it outside with his bare hands was safe at all, he would do just that.

“Where is he?” it asks, switching its weight from one leg to another to get a glance into the flat at a different angle. Then, it gasps. “You haven’t lost him already, have you? Oliver, it’s only been a couple of days! You should–”

“Get out,” he repeats, because his name has never sounded so long and his house has never felt so unsafe. Somehow, it works this time. It actually steps back, leaving his flat with an unbothered look on its face.

“Come on,” it whines. “I gave him back! Don’t you think the least I should get out of that is a tiny taste of his fear?” it… pleads? The tone of its voice makes Oliver feel sicker.

“No, you shouldn’t,” he declares, and its face finally falls. It glares at him, clearly displeased… and he’s not sure if it’s trying to intimidate him into letting it in again. “Is that all?” he asks instead of relenting. Its face falls further.

“No,” it sighs. Oliver only realizes it was wearing a backpack when it slides it off its shoulders and starts to dig through it. “No, I’ve been doing some cleaning, and I found something. I’ll be taking a new life soon, you know? It’s been a long time coming, really, but I could never really get the timing right…”

Oliver hates its idea of small-talk. Absolutely despises it.

“The whole place is big on surveillance, though, so you can imagine how hard it’s been… but hey, this one distraction has been brewing for a while now, and it’s not mine , but I can make use of it. So I’ve been doing some… spring cleaning, you might call it?” it pauses, finally retrieving a thick… book? Folder? From the bag.

…It’s not even spring.

“What is this?” he asks, watching the thing it’s holding with mild apprehension. It sighs and shoves it into his hands before he can react.

“A photo album. Graham’s,” it shrugs. “I was never a big fan of it, I like most pictures– I’ll be fixing those last, by the way. I like them too much. But, this thing only annoys me, to be honest– I mean, I get it, they spoiled him! But why give a kid a Polaroid camera? Aren’t there other gifts you could shove into his hands? I’m sure–” it cuts itself off, and composes itself. “...I figured you would like it more than I do.”

“...Why?” Oliver asks. He doesn’t want to open it, to see photos meant to document Graham’s life but wrong, but fake. NotGraham rolls its eyes.

“Call it a peace offering,” it says, which doesn’t answer the question at all. “That’s all,” it flashes a polite smile and turns on its heel, walking away.

The moment Oliver realizes it’s walking away, he slams the door shut and turns the lock. That thing is not getting into his flat, especially not with Graham still here. He steps back from the door, half-expecting for it to knock again… but it doesn’t. He’s left alone, in silence… just with the album in his hands.

Graham will hate it. Graham will hate the album more than Oliver could even begin to, because it’s his life it’ll be mocking. Will they have the patience to keep it there until it’s better again? Until it shows Graham’s actual face?

Oliver has his doubts.

In fact, he’s not sure if he should even tell the man about this “gift” they’ve just been given. Maybe he should keep it hidden until the NotThem fixes the photos? He’s not sure. Well, seeing as he still hadn’t heard Graham leaving the bathroom, he still has some more time to figure that part out.

Chapter Text

Oliver spends a while trying to wrap his mind around the “gift” him and Graham just received.

Is this the NotThem’s idea of a joke? He wouldn’t be surprised. This is probably tame for what it could consider a joke, if that’s what it was going for. It didn’t seem very amused while handing it over, it was more… frustrated than anything else, but then again, Oliver’s not sure if he can trust himself to read the expressions of a Stranger correctly.

This might’ve been a threat in its mind as much as it might’ve been a joke. It might’ve been a reminder of what it was capable of, just in case the two of them were getting too comfortable. A reminded that things aren’t back to normal yet, and until it fixes the photos, they won’t be. Not that the lack of memories wasn’t making that clear enough as IT is. Still… this might be the NotThem’s idea of a threat. A warning not to relax too much just yet.

He can’t figure out what the album truly is, other than it absolutely not being a gift.

Whether it’s a joke or a threat, or even if it's neither, he can tell one thing for certain: Graham’s going to hate it. He’ll hate seeing the photos he used to own – photos he might’ve taken himself, even – twisted beyond recognition, with that… thing posing in his place. Oliver remembers how uncomfortable he felt looking through the few photos of “Graham” he could find online, and he didn’t remember what the originals looked like. He’s sure Graham does.

Maybe he should make use of the fact that Graham still isn’t out of the bathroom and go put the album away. He can put it under the hoodie Graham wanted to borrow from him only to discover that the sizing was wrong, he doubts either of them will be touching that anytime soon. Yeah, he can tuck it away in his wardrobe and try to forget about it until the NotThem has managed to give all of Graham back, until even the pictures are correct again.

He finally moves from his spot, walking back into the living room and heading towards the bedroom. It’s as he’s walking there that a… morbid curiosity of sorts appears at the back of his mind. The NotThem was complaining about a kid getting a Polaroid camera, wasn’t it? That means Graham must’ve started taking those photos young, that they might show him back when he was, well, a kid. Oliver is still struggling to picture him as one, but finds it surprisingly harder to put NotGraham in that role.

He thinks he can recall seeing a few childhood photos hanging around in Graham’s flat when he first moved in, but those quickly went off the walls and he never got to see them again. Seeing as he only remembers the wrong Graham being present for that, he assumes the photos were wrong too, but they’re mostly just… blurry in his memory. And he can’t imagine that thing posing as a child, no matter how hard he racks his brains. But… he could see. He could just take a quick glance at the first page, and see what a horrible mockery it came up with, and then he can get nauseous to the point of losing his appetite and leave Graham to finish the pizza they ordered.

Even though he knows he won’t like what he sees, he still finds himself opening the cover of the album. He glances over the first few pictures, and stops dead in his tracks.

Hell, he nearly drops the thing.

Because… Oh.

Oh, that’s–

That’s what Graham looked like as a teenager.

The person in the Polaroid looks nothing like the “person” that handed Oliver the album, and bears a strong resemblance to the actual Graham. Round face, blue eyes, dark hair,,, it looks right. It’s—

Oh.

Oh, he can suddenly tell why it was looking to get rid of the album. Because for some reason, it’s right. It wasn’t changed, or at least it doesn’t seem to have been, so obviously the NotThem wasn’t happy with it. Maybe the benefit of having it out of its sight outweighed the drawback of giving them something that will make them happy? Maybe it was hoping that not having memories to match the photos would be upsetting enough?

It doesn’t matter what it was thinking. Oliver abandons his plan to hide the album away, and instead carefully closes it and puts it down on the couch. He needs Graham to see this. Speaking of, the man is still in the bathroom, but Oliver can’t hear any water running. He starts to suspect that Graham might’ve heard the commotion by the front door and decided to stay hidden. Just in case that’s the case, he decides to give the man a heads up.

“...Graham?” he calls out as he knocks on the bathroom door. “It’s, uh… safe to come out. If that’s what you’re… if you heard someone at the door,” he says before stepping back. For all he knows, Graham is feeling sick and he has no reason to knock, to bother him–

The door opens a bit and Graham peeks out. He doesn’t look sick… if maybe a little pale.

“Okay,” the man nods after regarding the room with a quick glance. “Who was it?”

“...Uh,” Oliver hesitates, because he doubts Graham will be happy with the response. Lying seems very stupid now, though. “Not, uh, you,” he pauses. “The NotThem.”

“Ah,” Graham gives a sharp nod. His eyes briefly dart around the room again, searching it more intricately this time. “It’s… gone now, yeah?” he checks.

“It’s gone, it is,” Oliver quickly confirms, and Graham’s expression falls into something closer to relief. He finally steps out of the bathroom, and other than being a bit tense (which is fair), he seems relatively fine.

“Thanks. I’m, uh, feeling better now…?” he says, a bit surprised by that revelation himself. “Not… nervous?” he tries to elaborate.

He doesn’t have to say more for Oliver to understand. In a way, Oliver has a feeling he might understand this better than Graham does now, when he applies his knowledge about the Fears to this. The NotThem turned up at their door just now, wearing the life it was supposed to give back. Honestly, Oliver would probably be more surprised if Graham had no reaction to it being somewhere near. He’d also definitely feel much more stressed if its approach hadn’t put Graham on edge, given how interested it seemed in getting into his flat and seeing the man in person.

In a way, Graham being overcome with a horrible feeling the second the NotThem got closer to them is good. It means he’ll probably react if this ever were to happen again, he’ll remove himself from the situation before it’s too late.

“...So, are you still feeling up to that pizza?” he breaks the silence, because stewing in it probably isn’t doing them any good.

“Oh, yeah,” Graham cracks a smile at that, and the tension finally drops.

They make their way back to the couch, and if Graham notices the photo album sitting at the edge of Oliver’s side of the couch, he makes no show of it. He doesn’t point it out nor ask about it. He just sits down in his own spot and picks his slice of pizza back up. Oliver considers telling him about the album right away, but decides it might be better to give him a minute or two to wind down. He picks up his own slice and, after meticulously stripping it of the anchovies, goes back to eating as well.

…He can’t put this off for too long though, can he?

“Graham?” he says, and even though his voice is quiet it gets the man’s attention. Graham sets down his food and turns to look at Oliver with an interested look on his face. “...So, uh, when it dropped by, it… left us something?” he tries, and Graham’s expression falls into unease. “Nothing bad,” he’s quick to clarify.

“...Are you sure?” Graham asks cautiously, which is a fair concern to rise.

“I think so, yeah,” Oliver nods. “It’s a photo album, and… When I tried to look for some old photos of you, they were always wrong, but these ones seem… right? I only checked the first page but they look about right,” he explains. He picks up the album from where he set it down and holds it out for Graham to take.

If his movements are hesitant, Graham’s are properly apprehensive.

Still, he takes the album off his hands, and carefully looks it over. He runs his hand along one of its edges and it looks like his fingertip catches on something. At that, a look of recognition appears on his face, and he reaches to open it. He pauses again with his fingers already resting under the cover, one pull away from seeing the insides.

“I remember this album. Are you sure the pictures are fine?” he asks, his hand still sitting at the edge on the cover. Oliver starts to think that he should’ve checked all the pictures inside. Or he should’ve found a way to verify if the photos are exactly as they should be. Or both.

“I… don’t know what they’re meant to look like, but the person in them doesn’t look like the NotThem,” he says. It doesn’t feel reassuring enough.

“Okay,” Graham nods, because apparently that answer is good enough for him.

He flips the album open and for a moment, and it looks like he’s half-expecting for it to be rigged with explosives. He leans away from it, scrunching up his face and tensing his shoulders. He even keeps it at an arm’s length away from himself, he looks just about ready to slam it shut, or to throw it as far as humanly possible. Then, his gaze actually falls on the first page. Instantly, his eyes widen, and he freezes. Then, slowly, his shoulders start to uncurl and his face drops as well.

Is that… good?

Is that relief or disappointment? Oliver watches Graham’s eyes darting from picture to picture, but can’t read the man’s expression properly. He can feel himself starting to grow worried, which he feels is fair, since he just did something stupid. Why would the NotThem give them anything remotely helpful, why did he just hand it over to Graham like that? Obviously whatever it decided to give them would be bad, obviously it would just hurt. That was stupid, so stupid, and now–

Graham looks up from the page and a bright smile appears on his face.

“They’re fine,” he says, relief clear in his voice. “They’re– look, look at this one,” he shifts a bit closer, tips the album over for Oliver to see and points at one of the pictures. It’s blurry, and the camera must’ve been tilted a bit when it was taken, but it still shows a close-up of a teenager with the brightest smile on his face. One that seemingly fits Graham so well, both back then and now. “I remember taking this one.”

So that teen is Graham, many years ago, but still him. Oliver brings himself to nod, and the man puts the album back on his lap. He starts to page through it, and his smile only grows with each photo his eyes come across. Oliver can’t help feeling like his joy is at least a bit contagious. Maybe suffering through his interaction with the NotThem was worth it, if this is the pay off? It was, he decides. It really was.

“Oh, look!” Graham  says, tilting the album for Oliver to see better again. “There’s you, see? Oh, this one is so old… I think it might still be from Oxford,” he says, and… sure enough. One of the photos shows the two of them together, although much younger.

Briefly, looking at the image of them standing next to each other, laughing about something long-lost to time, makes something ache in Oliver’s chest. Something different to nostalgia, because it’s not that he misses those times (or at least, not all that), but that he has no memory of that photo being taken. He can take a solid guess as to when it happened, around the time he got accepted into Oxford University, and he knows he was already friends with Graham back then, but he can’t recall taking any pictures around that time. Let alone Polaroids.

But he looks so happy in the photo, they both look so happy, so he pushes his feelings to the back of his mind for now. (What even is he feeling? Frustration over not being able to recall anything? Confusion over seeing himself in a situation he has no memory of? Envy? Of himself from the past, who still remembered, or of Graham for probably remembering more? It doesn’t matter) He smiles and nods, because that is him in that photo and they both seem so happy he can allow himself to feel happy now, too.

“You know what?” Graham asks, flipping the album back to the first page and shuffling closer to Oliver. “We’re going through the whole thing, right now,” he declares, setting it down in his lap.

“Sure,” Oliver agrees without a second thought.

He doesn’t know if any of the pictures will bring back proper memories for him, but… if he asks, he’s certain Graham will tell him everything he would want to know about them anyway. The place, the time, the people included in them… everything. That sounds like one of the greatest windows into Graham’s life Oliver could’ve come across.

And clearly going through the photos will make Graham happy, too, so how could Oliver say no?

He learns so much over the next couple of hours.

He learns Graham got his first camera when he was 14, as a reward for doing good on a maths exam and refused to part with it since. He learns what Graham’s middle school friends looked like, as well as that one English teacher he liked. He gets to see just how excited Graham was when he finally finished middle school, with a diploma in hand and another bright smile on his face.

He learns Graham’s parents would take him on a lot of trips outside of London, be it to another part of England or abroad entirely. Those seem to have been fun, and Graham happily tells him a few stories from each of them. Apparently, his parents also took him camping once, but that was a one-off thing. Mostly because it ended up being such a disaster they all vowed to never speak about it again.

Graham kept the Polaroids from that one, of course. Just for a laugh down the line, when enough time will have passed to make their suffering funny. Which, as he claims, happened already. He tells Oliver that all of the pictures feel like they’ve been taken a lifetime ago, and that the time made them all feel way too distant to make him feel bad. Right after he says that, Oliver gets a quick glance at the singular Polaroid documenting Graham’s disaster of an attempt to growing out his hair.

Graham is quick to flip the page and vehemently refuses to go back.

In the end, looking through the photos tells Oliver a lot about Graham. About who the man used to be, and about how he grew over the years. Page after page, the Polaroids become less blurry and it becomes clear that taking so many helped Graham’s skill develop. The subjects of the photos also change over time, from your everyday mundane things, to nature, to exhibitions in galleries and museums… all the way back to more mundane aspects of life. 

Most importantly, though, he gets a look at how Graham himself changed. He gets to see him go from a middle school kid to a young man leaving for college. He picks up on the subtle signs of tiredness and anxiety in the photos from Graham’s first year that only grow more apparent from page to page. That progression is a bit worrying to witness, but if Graham feels disturbed by it, he makes no show of it, and before Oliver can make up his mind to mention it, the deterioration stops. Then, slowly but surely, Graham’s smile returns to the photos and while not all the changes are reversed, he clearly gets better. That was from when he finally found a major that worked for him, he tells Oliver.

Not long after that, they come across the first photo that shows them together.

…They met in Oxford, a few weeks into Oliver’s first year of college.

The timeline the photos show more or less matches the version of the events Oliver can remember, the one the NotThem placed in his memory. The details between what he can recall and what Graham tells him vary much more than he expected them to, though. The way he remembers it, one day NotGraham decided to make himself a part of his life without giving him much choice. He started to hang around him, keeping him company whenever possible until it became routine and Oliver felt obliged to return the favour, sticking to the status-quo. Then came the dating, which didn’t change much other than how much more effort Oliver tried to put in.

The way Graham tells it, the way they built their relationship was much more pleasant and mutual… if chaotic at first.

They met when Oliver got lost trying to get to his next lecture, or to one of the offices, neither of them seems to be able to recall which. Regardless, he asked Graham for the directions, and the man offered to walk him there. That, in turn, led to them both being lost together for so long Oliver missed whatever he had to attend entirely, and Graham felt so bad he offered to buy him lunch as an apology. They talked over that lunch, and had such a nice time they agreed to grab food together more often. While that also became the routine, their status quo, they were both putting in the same amount of effort, and they both enjoyed it.

Apparently, getting together didn’t change much between them either, but for all the right reasons. They were already close, they already cared about each other and were spending so much time together, they were already so open with one another… all it changed was the label for their relationship, and allowed for some more affection. Of course, Oliver can’t recall any of that, but at the same time, he has no doubts about anything Graham tells him. He’s just not sure if that’s because a part of him knows that all of that happened, or because he wants it to have happened that bad.

Maybe it’s a mix of both, but one thing is certain – with every little thing he learns about Graham, he finds himself much less confused by the knowledge that they dated for so long. The idea of waking up every day and deciding to devote at least some of it to spending time with the version of Graham the NotThem put in his mind? Or as much as thinking about him? He could never quite tell why he’d do that. The man was such a bland, uncaring person towards him, he couldn’t recall their relationship ever making him feel truly happy, it was all just… It made so little sense.

However, listening to Graham describing the awkward and rocky first steps of their acquaintance turned friendship turned relationship, he understands. He might not remember the things the man is recalling, but the fond smile on his face feels contagious and he finds himself appreciating what they had even if he can only do so through the lenses of Graham’s words and through the Polaroids. It all makes sense, why he’d agree to calling one of their lunches together a date, why he was willing to spend years of his life with the man.

He finds himself confused over just a single detail – why was it only six years?

Obviously there must’ve been a reason for their break up. With how amazing everything about their relationship has sounded so far, he’s sure it was something big. In spite of that, he can’t seem to recall anything about it… and quite frankly, he’s not sure if he wants to. A part of him wonders if Graham remembers, or if the photo album will offer some clarity, but at the same time he can’t help hoping the answer is ‘no’ to both. It’d probably be good to try and figure out the reason for their break up, if just so that they can address it and move on, but now is just not the time for that.

Right now, Graham is telling him all about their 3rd date, with many Polaroids to back him up, and to ruin the mood by bringing up the end of their relationship would do neither of them any good. Right now, all he wants to do is sit there and listen, even if that alone doesn’t seem to return memories to him. Right now, he decides he will not interrupt this until they’ve gone through the entire album at least.

“And that–” Graham pauses when he turns the page in the album just to see it blank. He quickly flips through the next few, but they all look the same. “...Oh well. Looks like that’s it. I swear there were more… or maybe that was a different album?” he wonders out loud.

Maybe that’s the catch? Maybe the NotThem took out the pictures that were more recent to mess with them? To pull the rug from under their feet right as they were getting more comfortable? Probably not. And frankly, if that was its plan, it backfired horribly because the pictures from the album were more than enough. He doubts its goal was to have them both sitting together, looking back fondly at the past.

“This was still… nice,” he says, and Graham nods in agreement.

“Yeah,” he says. He closes the album and gently places it on the table. “Really nice. It was nice looking back.”

“Yeah,” Oliver parrots. He pauses, picking his next words carefully before daring to continue. “You know, I… don’t remember most of the things you talked about, but they sounded about right,” he adds. He’s not sure if bringing up his lack of memory now won’t ruin the mood, but at the same time, he feels that the photos not feeling too alien to him is something to be celebrated.

“Really?” Graham asks. He doesn’t sound particularly upset by the reminder that he’s the only one who properly remembers about the pictures, so Oliver nods, and the man smiles. “Great. Maybe one day you’ll… you know. Remember as well?”

“I will,” Oliver declares, because he will. 

He’s certain he’ll remember, even if it might take a while. He will remember everything that was taken from him, the only issue he has to face is needing to be patient…Then again, he managed to regain at least one proper memory of his own accord, just by finding himself in a deja vu of sorts. His eyes land on the photo album and an idea appears in his mind.

“...Maybe we should take a trip to Oxford?” he suggests even before he can give too much thought to the idea. Graham looks a bit surprised at the suggestion. “It might… you know. Conjure up some memories? Being there?” he tries to explain.

“That sounds fun,” Graham smiles, and that alone is enough to sell Oliver on the idea. “When would we go?”

“Well… I don’t have any plans,” Oliver gives a shrug. “We could go tomorrow if we wanted,” he adds, and Graham can’t help a chuckle escaping him.

“Tomorrow?” he asks, as though to make sure he heard that right. Oliver goes to nod a confirmation, but manages to stop himself. He’s… not sure how big Graham is on such spontaneous ideas, so he settles for a shrug. “Alright, it’s not like I have a lot of things to pack,” the man decides.

“Great,” Oliver smiles back at him, partially from the relief that he wasn’t put off of the idea by how quickly Oliver suggested, and partially because a trip to Oxford sounds absolutely lovely… It's been a long time since he last visited. “Great, I can get us train tickets right now, let me just grab my laptop… uh, I think it should be in the bedroom?” he recalls and moves to get off the couch.

“Oh, yeah, I think I saw it,” Graham says, getting up as well. “Should be by the window?”

“Thanks. I’ll just go grab it and I’ll be out of there,” he promises. He starts walking towards the bedroom, and Graham follows for a few steps before stopping.

“Isn’t it your turn to take the bedroom tonight anyway?” he asks, and Oliver comes to a stop as well.

…Right.

With how much happened today, he forgot about that part.

“Oh, no, you can have it. I’m happy with the couch,” he claims. He’s not too tired yet, he can skip out on another night of sleep or two. Judging by the look on Graham’s face, the man’s not too convinced by his words, though. “For tonight, at least. I can catch some extra sleep on the train if I have to,” he continues, which he most likely won’t follow through with.

“...Are you sure?” Graham asks, and Oliver gives him a nod, which is apparently just enough for him to relent. “Okay,” he agrees.

“So, tickets,” Oliver gets himself back on track and starts walking towards his room again.

“Right,” Graham agrees, going back to following him as well. “Hey, can you get me a window seat?”

“Sure,” Oliver says, it’s not like he likes sitting by the windows either way – it usually makes him nauseous.

…He wonders if Graham remembers about that.

Chapter Text

They almost miss their train to Oxford.

It's set to leave the Paddington Station at 9:23 am, but they find the right platform at 9:20 exactly – Oliver knows that, because he's been anxiously checking the time at every turn. At least they manage to get onto the train without any major issues. He does struggle with getting their suitcase up on the rack for a moment, but once Graham notices, he's quick to lend him a hand, and the task becomes much easier with assistance. With it secured for the ride, they take their seats, and not even 10 seconds later, the train takes off.

Something about train rides has always made Oliver feel a bit sick. It was that way when he was a child and it stuck with him throughout his entire life. That’s why he usually avoids taking them if he can help it, convenient as they are. In fact, the last time he had to get onto a train was years ago, back when he was still human, he’s fairly sure it was even before the death tendrils started plaguing his waking hours as well. A part of him was quietly hoping that being an Avatar would make the motion sickness go away.

That part of him was wrong, he’s quick to realize.

No, no, of course, in spite of everything he’s been through, in spite of being an Avatar, trains still get to him. He might not be able to find his pulse sometimes, but apparently that’s not good enough to avoid getting nauseous. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to take a couple of deep breaths, hoping that his body will get used to the motion soon.

“Oliver?” Graham asks, and Oliver gives a quiet hum of acknowledgement in response. He doesn’t feel entirely up to opening his eyes or mouth just yet. “Water?”

Oliver decides to open his eyes, if just to see what that question was supposed to mean. Once he does, he finds that Graham is holding a water bottle out for him to take. He doesn’t need to drink, but he does recall water helping with the sickness a few times in the past, and there’s no harm in giving it a try again.

“Mhm,” he mumbles as he takes the bottle from the man, uncaps it, and takes a couple of small sips.

“Better?” Graham asks after a moment, and he nods. He still doesn’t feel great but having the water certainly helps. “Keep the bottle, then.”

“Thank you,” Oliver responds between sips.

He remembers Graham grabbing the bottle as they were heading out and he can’t help wondering if the man intended to give it to him all along. This isn’t the first time they’re taking a train together, he thinks. No, no, he’s sure they took a train from Oxford to London at least once, when he was supposed to meet Graham’s parents for the first time. It was… over a decade ago, he realizes, but the memory of how his anxiety worsened his motion sickness is still relatively fresh in his mind.

Or at least a version of it. The version he knows isn’t accurate, because he’s sure that the actual Graham would at least try to make the journey more bearable for him. He knows that, Graham just did that for him, but he can’t recall NotGraham putting in any effort. No, he just remembers sitting by the window, his hands curled into fists, his eyes squeezed shut, hoping that the ride will be over soon. He’s sure that’s not how it truly went, though, he’s sure–

“Hey, Oliver?” Graham’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts, and he turns to look at the man. “Do you mind if I try to catch up on some sleep?”

“Oh, not at all.”

“Thanks,” Graham smiles as he shifts into a more comfortable position in his seat. “Wake me up when we’re there, alright?”

“Yeah, will do,” Oliver nods, turning his head to look at the seat in front of him again.

He can’t blame Graham for needing an extra hour of sleep, neither of them got much rest before the trip. Truth be told, he even considered taking a nap on the way as well, but that’s clearly off the table now that he’s supposed to keep track of how far they are. He can stay up until the evening, he tells himself, but he most likely will have to sleep tonight. He’s pushing his limits already, and the stress of taking a trip on such short notice certainly isn’t making him feel more refreshed.

He’s still happy to go, of course, he’s just starting to think that they should’ve booked the tickets for tomorrow, or at least for some time later than 9 am. They had to leave the house around 8 to make it on time, and it was just 20 minutes beforehand that they realized they still needed to pack some luggage. He has no idea how it slipped his mind, really, and he supposes it’s good that they noticed before they left the house, but packing on such a short timer was… hectic. He’s pretty sure they covered all the essentials, but he supposes only time will tell if they’re missing something important.

They probably are.

He does his best not to worry about it.

The train ride passes relatively peacefully, and the water he’s been given does wonders against his motion sickness. He checks on Graham every once in a while, but every time the man is soundly asleep. He’s glad at least one of them might be well rested once they reach their destination – speaking of, he’s fairly certain they’re getting close. When he glances out of the window, he can see that they’re already inside of a city. Just then, an announcement comes over the speaker.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are approaching the Oxford Railroad Station-” it starts, but as soon as Oliver hears that part, he stops paying attention. He turns to check on Graham again and, in spite of the announcement’s volume, the man is still fast asleep.

“Graham?” Oliver tries to get his attention. When that doesn’t work, he puts a hand on Graham’s arm. He’s just about ready to give it a gentle shake when Graham finally stirs. He looks up at Oliver with his eyes still half-closed.

It’s a familiar sight, in a way that Oliver can’t quite place. He feels like he’s seen this expression on him before. Like the lines formed around the man’s half-lidded eyes are already committed to his memory and the slightly disoriented but ultimately relaxed expression on Graham’s face is something etched into Oliver’s mind. He wouldn’t be surprised if it just seemed vaguely familiar, but the degree of it throws him off.

He tries to recall if he could’ve seen this recently, but… no. No, it’s not the same expression Graham had when he was fighting to stay awake when they stayed up late going over their current situation, and it’s different from what he looks like simply asleep as well. He supposes he did see Graham right after he woke up after his first night in Oliver’s apartment, but there was too much distance between them for him to have spotted all these details. The only time he could’ve seen Graham like this before was… well. Literal years ago.

It… makes sense, though, Oliver realizes.

From all the fake memories that were placed in his mind, one of the most prominent ones was waking up to meet NotGraham’s cold, staring eyes every morning, something that always disturbed him. No “correct” memory surfaces in his mind at the moment, but he can still imagine this being the sight that greeted him each day instead. He can picture waking up just in time to catch a glimpse of his boyfriend slipping back to the waking world as well, he can see that rather than a bother, it would make a highlight of his morning. He can understand why he never minded sharing beds with the man, how it was so pleasant he never felt the desire to wake up apart–

“Are we in Oxford already?” Graham asks, and it brings Oliver back to here and now. That specific look is gone from Graham’s face at this point, replaced by a more generic sleepiness.

“Oh, yeah. They just said so on the speaker,” he confirms, and Graham nods. The man sits up straight and goes to stretch, to which his back reacts with a loud crack.

“Ow,” he mumbles to himself. “Sleeping here was a bad idea.”

“Yeah?” Oliver asks him, and the man frowns, reconsidering

“...We’ll see if walking will fix it. It was good to get some rest,” Graham corrects himself. He tries to stretch again, but it doesn’t seem to help him much. “How are you holding up? With the train and all?”

“Oh, I’m okay,” Oliver responds. And he is, much to his own surprise. He’s not sure if it has more to do with his avatarhood, his aisle seat, or the water he’s been sipping on for nearly the entire ride, but he’s doing much better than he expected to. “Still can’t wait to step outside.”

“Shouldn’t be long now, right?” Graham points out, and as if on cue, the train starts slowing down.

Initially, the change in motion throws them both off balance, but the moment he feels safe doing so, Oliver gets up from his seat and goes to retrieve their suitcase from the rack above their heads. It’s not heavy, it’s mostly just their clothes, but by the time he pulls it towards himself, Graham seems ready to catch it as well should the need arise. Luckily, Oliver manages just fine on his own this time around. He regards their seats with a quick glance, checking if they hadn’t forgotten anything, and when nothing sticks out to him, he starts making his way towards the exit.

The train station is quite crowded, with a lot of people getting off of their trains and even more waiting to catch their own. With Graham trying to walk off the pain in his back, Oliver dragging the suitcase with him, and the crowd moving about, they nearly get separated a couple of times. Eventually, the solution they settle for is Graham holding onto the suitcase as well, ensuring that neither can fall behind without the other noticing.

The station looks very different from how Oliver remembers it, and he’s fairly certain Graham knows its layout even less. For a moment, he considers trying to push his way through the crowd until he comes across a map of the building, but eventually settles for just following the other people and hoping they know where the nearest exit is. The crowd moves slow, and save from the few death tendrils he can spot weaving their way through it, it’s rather unremarkable. Just slow, and a bit suffocating.

He can feel a wave of relief wash over him when they finally find the way out and step out onto the street. Nearly as soon as they do, Graham picks up his pace and starts leading the way, dragging Oliver along with the suitcase. Before the man can ask him where they’re going, the crowd around them disappears and Graham comes to a stop. Oliver has to admit, being outside is nice, but having the space to breathe is much better.

“There we go,” Graham sighs. He lets go of the suitcase and looks around. “Where to now?” he asks, turning to Oliver. Which is… a good question.

“I’m not... sure?” he admits, and Graham nods – it seems neither of them thought to plan this far. “How about we find somewhere to stay first?” Oliver suggests, everything else will probably be more pleasant if they don’t have to carry their suitcase with them.

“Yeah, good idea,” Graham agrees. “Do you know any good hotels around?” he asks, and after a moment of consideration, Oliver shakes his head in defeat. He grew up here, sure, but that just meant he never had to look into hotels to stay in. “Right. We better start looking, then.”

Their first idea is to get further from the train station, since they both assume the hotels will be more expensive close to it. After walking down a few streets, Oliver finally remembers that checking the prices on his phone will probably yield better results than checking every place they come across themselves. That’s what leads them to a small hotel with very reasonable prices just a 15 minute’s walk away from them. Now that they finally had a destination in mind, it really didn’t feel like they had to walk far.

“How long do you think we should stay?” Oliver asks after taking the last turn needed. With the hotel in sight, he felt it was necessary to figure that out now rather than while trying to book a room.

“I don’t know,” Graham shrugs in response. “A couple of days? I don’t want to book the train back for tomorrow,” he adds, and while his tone is lighthearted, Oliver can’t help but agree.

“Yeah, yeah. We should probably book the train back later today, to make sure it’s at a reasonable hour,” he says, more to himself than anything.

“Oh, yeah. Nothing before noon,” Graham decides, and Oliver nods along.

How much advance do they need to get a train like that? How much time do they need in Oxford to do everything they want to? To go to the places they know, to reminisce on their past, even if Oliver doesn’t remember most of it? How long do they need? It’s better to overshoot it and take at least a day to recover before going back to London rather than realizing they’re out of time too early and either missing out on things or having to re-book the train tickets, he supposes…

“How does a week sound?” he asks, and Graham seems briefly surprised by the suggestion, but not in a bad way. “Booking a room for a week. That should give us enough time, right?” he asks, and Graham is quick to nod a confirmation.

“A week’s more than enough,” he agrees with a smile. “Yeah, yeah, a week sounds great. Perfect,” he adds. Just then, they finally reach the entrance to the hotel.

“Alright,” Oliver says as he comes to a stop. “Here we are,” he says as he goes to reach for the door.

“Oh, actually–” Graham interrupts him, and when he looks back, the man’s smile looks a bit more nervous than before. “We’re just going to drop off the luggage and go, right?”

“Yeah?” Oliver confirms, and the man makes a noise of understanding.

“Can I wait here, then? Have a, you know,” he pats his pocket instead of elaborating. After a second or two, Oliver recalls seeing him put his pack of cigarettes there.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” he agrees as soon as he understands what Graham’s asking. “I’ll try to be quick,” he adds, going to reach for the door again.

“Thanks,” Graham says while Oliver is still within earshot.

He nods in response, but before he can say anything, he’s already through the door and with a more important task at hand: booking a hotel room for a week. At least that process is rather straightforward. All he has to do is tell the person behind the desk at the reception that he’d like to rent a room for two people for a week and they quickly tell him his options - four rooms to choose from. He thinks for a bit, but ultimately picks the 2nd cheapest one – the more expensive ones seem a bit too pricey, but the two cheaper prices sound reasonable and he sees no reason not to spend a bit extra.

He pays for the entire stay and in turn, he’s given the key to their rooms and the directions on how to get to it. Not wanting to keep Graham waiting outside for too long, he wastes no time getting into the elevator, taking it up to the 2nd floor, and finding room 206. He gets the door open with his key and doesn’t even bother taking a look at the accommodations. He just leaves the suitcase a few feet away from the door before locking it back up and making his way out of the building.

He has no trouble finding Graham once outside, the man seems to have kept close to the entrance. It also looks like he’s no longer smoking, although the smell still lingers. At that moment, Oliver can’t help but recall the conversation they had at the store the previous day, about how he apparently used to take issue with Graham smoking. He still can’t remember that, which of course is probably for the best, but a part of him wonders if seeing the man smoke would conjure up those memories.

He decides to try avoiding finding that out.

“The room’s booked,” he says, getting Graham’s attention. “It’s on the second floor, and should have an electric kettle, I think.”

“You think?” Graham repeats, and Oliver gives him a half-shrug.

“Well, I didn’t check, I didn’t want to keep you waiting,” he explains, and the confusion disappears from Graham’s face. “So, any idea where we should go now?”

“Oh, yeah, I was actually thinking, and I’m pretty sure I know how to get to your old campus from here. Might be a good start?” he suggests.

As good a start as any, Oliver thinks as he gives a nod in response.

…Maybe the story of their first meeting should’ve served as a warning.

The whole thing starts to sound more and more likely after the 4th time Graham manages to get lost. The turns he takes appear to be making sense, and he seems very confident in them as well, so Oliver never thinks to question him – not until he comes to a sudden stop and, after a long pause, sheepishly asks him to double-check the directions on his phone. Each time, Oliver wonders if he should just keep his phone out and lead the way himself and each time, he somehow convinces himself that surely Graham will be able to get them to their destination from this point.

To give the man some credit, he eventually manages to wander his way to a street he properly recognizes, and finds his way to the campus just fine from that point on. Oliver starts to recognize their surroundings not long after, although with how much has changed he still feels like they’re getting lost a time or two. He’s sure they should’ve seen his favorite bakery by now, and he could swear that the building on the other side of the road wasn’t that shade of gray before, but everything else seems to be checking out, so he supposes the bakery might’ve shut down or changed locations and the building got repainted at some point.

It still feels... odd to see.

They decide to head to the hotel early, and do more research before going out the next day. They figured that things would become more familiar once they reached the campus, but apparently, even more places they used to frequent shut down or renovated in the past... decade or so. The few establishments they felt they recognized by name were entirely different on the inside and none of the food tasted familiar– not bad, but new, and experiencing new things wasn’t the point of taking this trip.

Feeling like they’re in an entirely new city, one that’s alien to them, certainly didn’t help them with looking back on things.

At least they don’t get lost on their way back, save from that one time they stop in a nearby store to pick up some food, mostly instant meals, in hopes of them tasting better than the… almost-nostalgic foods all the cafes around seem to be selling, only to leave it and start walking in the entirely wrong direction. It doesn’t take them long to notice the mistake, luckily, and with Oliver checking the directions on his phone again, he officially takes over the task of leading the way. Once they reach the hotel, he still keeps up with his “duty” by double-checking the room number on the tag attached to their keys and retracing the steps he took to find it before.

He nearly trips over the suitcase that he left lying by the door.

“Careful,” Graham warns him. Then, he realizes what made him tumble. “...You really didn’t make it far into the room,” he comments.

“Like I said, I didn’t want to keep you waiting,” Oliver responds, having regained his balance – mostly thanks to the fact that the wall was within his reach.

“Thank you,” Graham nods. He sets the food he was carrying on the small table nearby – right next to the electric kettle. Oliver wonders how he could’ve missed it before. “How about I get this out of the way for now. By the beds, maybe?” he suggests, already leaning down to grab the suitcase.

“Sounds good,” Oliver nods. “I’ll get the kettle started for the food,” he decides, and Graham responds with a hum of acknowledgement.

While Graham drags their suitcase to where they both assume their bedroom(s) (Oliver forgot to ask if their beds are in separate rooms. He doubts they are, but that’s always a possibility.), he takes the kettle into the bathroom to pour some water into it. He doesn’t even get it filled halfway before he hears Graham’s footsteps approaching the bathroom. He turns towards the door, but when Graham comes into view he looks a bit… confused? If not nervous.

“Hey, uh, quick question,” he starts, and Oliver cuts off the water.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, and the man gives him a quick nod.

“Yeah, yeah, just… the bed?” he tries. Oliver’s… not sure what that’s supposed to mean, and he assumes his confused expression conveys as much. “There’s… one, and I was wondering if that’s on purpose?”

“What?” Oliver asks. “Are you sure? I swear I asked for a twin room,” he says, because he’s absolutely certain he did. He recalls specifically asking for a twin room, so this can’t–

“I’m pretty sure, yeah,” Graham confirms. He steps back a bit, which Oliver takes as an invitation to go and see for himself.

He leaves the kettle in the sink and follows Graham through the only other doorway in their room, the one that leads straight to the bedroom. It… is a nice bedroom, considering the price, it’s decorated quite well, the wardrobe in the corner seems spacious, but… there really is only one bed. It looks like a double one, so he supposes at least the room is meant for two people, but this is still not what he requested at the reception.

“...Maybe they gave us the wrong key?” he suggests finally, although he doubts that. He looks at Graham, who gives him an uncertain shrug.

“Or the receptionist misunderstood you?” he suggests another theory, and Oliver nods.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll– Give me a second, I’ll head down to the lobby and try to figure this out,” he decides.

He’s pretty sure he can request a room change, and if that doesn’t work, he feels he’s willing to pay a bit more for an upgrade – provided they get upgraded to a twin room this time.

…He comes back to the room about 15 minutes later, dreading the conversation he’s about to have. The receptionist was apologetic, at least – they admitted it must’ve been a mistake on their part and talked him through the solutions they were allowed to offer. Tomorrow morning, they can get moved to a twin room at no extra charge, even though that one’s technically more expensive. That’s the catch, though. Tomorrow morning, there aren’t any options before them.

“I’m back!” he announces himself as he comes through the door. He finds Graham stat on one of the chairs by the table.

“How’d it go?” the man asks. Oliver tries to think of the best way to break the news to the man.

“There’s… good news, and bad news. We’re getting moved to a twin room soon, it won’t cost us anything, but… they’re all booked for tonight, so we’re getting moved tomorrow,” he explains. His answer is followed by silence.

“...So… for tonight, it’s…?” Graham breaks said silence eventually, and gestures to the doorway behind him. The one leading into the bedroom.

“...Yeah,” Oliver confirms.

Tonight, they only get one bed.

If it wasn’t for how long he’s gone without sleeping, he would’ve offered to stay up for the night. At this point, he really doesn’t think he could do that, though – he feels like he’s barely standing at this point, and his patron is probably getting impatient with him. Regardless of whether he sees the death tendrils while awake, the dreams are still a part of his… duty, in a way. So, he needs to sleep, and he sincerely doubts that that one hour nap Graham had on the train has filled him with enough energy to stay up for the night either. Not that he’d ever ask him to do that, of course.

“...I mean, it’s not like we’ve never slept in the same bed before,” Graham says eventually… which is not exactly the reaction Oliver was expecting, and not exactly all that reassuring.

It’s true, of course – even if his memories of that are blurry at best, they’ve slept in the same bed for years. The memories of sharing a bed he can recall with more clarity are the ones involving NotGraham, and while his involvement alone makes them feel off putting, even that seems fine. So… yeah, they’ve shared the same bed many times. Hell, even recently, Graham fell asleep on the couch while leaning against him, that’s also something–

…He’s not sure if them sleeping together before makes this more or less awkward.

Saying that is just about the worst thing he can probably do right now, of course, so he keeps that to himself.

“Yeah, we can manage for the night,” he agrees instead. It’s not like he’s uncomfortable with the idea, it’s just… very far from how he expected this trip to go. Then again… “Maybe that’ll help with my memory?” he tries to joke. Before he can think that he probably shouldn’t have, Graham laughs along.

“Yeah, maybe,” he nods. “...So, uh, anyway, I got the water boiled while you were gone, so how about that food?” 

“Great idea,” Oliver agrees.

He joins Graham at the table and starts reading the instructions on one of the boxes they got at the store, focusing on it entirely. He tries not to acknowledge how tired he is, because then he’d also have to acknowledge the… circumstances under which he’ll be resting. And again, it’s not that he’s uncomfortable sharing the space with Graham, he’s just… he’s not sure. He feels bad for not checking the room when he left their luggage inside, a faster reaction might’ve led to them getting moved already. He feels bad for not sleeping for the past few days, meaning he truly needs rest now. He feels bad about putting Graham in this position as well–

He just feels bad.

And tired.

Hopefully the bed-sharing won’t turn out too awkward.

Chapter Text

At least the bed is spacious.

It’s easily big enough for the two of them to lie down comfortably, without having to encroach on each other’s space. There is only one duvet for them to share, which is a bit less ideal, but its size seems to be matching the bed, so it still leaves them with some extra room. Besides, if push comes to shove, Oliver thinks he’ll be fine sleeping without it. At least the bed doesn’t seem to be lacking in pillows.

Oliver briefly considers suggesting they put a few between them as a barrier of sorts, but doesn’t entertain the thought for too long. He’s pretty sure it will just make things more awkward. Besides, he doubts they’ll need it – he’s never been the type to move around in his sleep and from what he’s seen, Graham isn’t either. Yeah, suggesting they make a barricade will just send the wrong message, that he’s not comfortable doing this.

And he is comfortable, in the end. Even if trying to settle down under the covers without pulling on them too hard, just so that his presence doesn’t disturb Graham, feels far too stressful for how insignificant it is, he wouldn’t call the experience uncomfortable. Maybe a bit awkward, but not uncomfortable. At least not for him, and he hopes Graham shares the sentiment.

They’ve done this before, he tells himself. They shared beds countless times before, so this is fine. This is nothing entirely new, just something for him to…. rediscover. For both of them to rediscover, he supposes, although he has a feeling Graham might recall doing this better than he does. That’s for the best, of course – might make this more awkward if Graham at least knows what to expect.

Well. Knows what to expect might be a strong word, seeing as things have… changed quite a bit since back then.

“...Hey, uh, I told you about my dreams before, right?” he asks, turning his head in Graham’s direction. The man is curled up on his side, facing away from him, but he turns back around upon hearing him speak.

“Yeah, why?” he asks. It sounds like the question nearly breaks off into a yawn, so Oliver decides not to keep the man up too late.

“It’s just… I don’t think I shared a bed with anyone while having them, and I’m not sure if they… affect how I sleep? So if anything seems… off, that’s probably why,” he explains. 

He has… no idea what kind of an influence his nightmares might have on him, really. He never thought to check, to set up a camera or anything alike, up until now. They might make him sleepwalk, they might make him talk in his sleep, and he’d be none the wiser. Maybe they don’t cause anything at all, and he’s just overthinking this, but he still feels it’s better to be safe than sorry.

“Alright, will keep that in mind,” Graham mumbles in response, clearly not concerned about that aspect of sharing a bed. He might just be too tired to feel worried, Oliver supposes.

“Okay, that’s all,” Oliver says, and Graham nods. “Goodnight?”

“Goodnight,” the man mumbles, offering him a tired smile before turning onto his side and presumably trying to fall asleep.

Oliver tries to do the same.

When he awakes in his dream, he’s greeted with a change in the scenery - he’s in Oxford. The streets seem different than he recalls, somewhere between the ones he saw on his way to the hotel and what he remembers them looking like, leaning towards the former. He decides to spend his night exploring those streets, taking in the sights he doubts are too accurate and taking note of which parts of the city are due for a... gory accident. That part of the nightmare remains unchanged, those familiar tendrils welcoming him back home-

He’s not sure if he’d call this a home. He can’t say he’s happy to see them. They’re familiar, yes, there’s a connection between him and them, maybe… in a way, he’s a part of the End, so going by that logic its manifestations are a part of him – not exactly, but close enough. He doesn’t hate them, and he knows better than to fight against them, he can accept them. This is his life, exactly as it had been for months, for years. He just can’t bring himself to feel joy at the sight, is all.

At least when he passes by their hotel, he can’t see any tendrils clawing their way up to their window. To any window of the building, for that matter.

…Small victories.

By the time he opens his eyes outside of his dream, the room is already lit up by the sunlight coming in through the window they neglected to cover last evening. He’s still under the duvet, which is a pleasant surprise, and he’s… warm. Warmer than he’s been in a while. Briefly, he’s worried that he might’ve somehow moved to Graham’s side of the bed in his sleep, or vice-versa, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. They’re not touching, just… lying a bit closer to the middle of the bed than he recalls them being last night, and his hand feels a bit sore. He assumes he must’ve crushed it at some point in his sleep.

Graham’s still asleep.

He looks… peaceful like this.

It’s familiar.

Just as seeing him sleeping on the train, but even more. His features match the way they looked back there, of course, it’s just the setting that truly adds to it. Something about them lying side by side in the same bed, under the same duvet, just inches from one another, so warm and comfortable, sleep just barely clinging to him as he finally wakes up… he’s been through this before. Save from the background, he’s seen this exact image in front of him countless times. The way the sunlight casts shadows on Graham’s face, the way it makes his hair seem just a bit lighter, all of this…

He’s done this before.

He couldn’t possibly say how many times he woke up to this sight, in countless places – in the apartment Graham used to rent in Oxford, in the flat they moved to in London, in the few hotels they stayed at when they decided to go on a holiday. He’s seen Graham like this almost every morning for years, and while no specific situation surfaces in his mind, it’s as if nearly every single one tries to.

He can clearly picture the same sight contained within their old room, and so many other other places. He can easily recall just how he felt all those mornings, the warmth of sharing a bed with covers probably too thick for the season anyway, somehow still coming short of the warmth building inside of him. The sense of comfort, of safety, of… belonging.

He’s so caught up in the moment, in the memories, that he doesn’t even realize when he’s extended his hand towards Graham’s face, intending to… to what? Brush it through the man’s hair? Cup his cheek? Fix the duvet to make sure it’s covering his back as well? He genuinely can’t tell what the end goal of the gesture was, and he catches himself long before he can reach it.

He uses his extended hand to stretch instead, as if that was his intention all along, and shifts around to try and get himself comfortable. The memories of all the times he woke up by Graham’s side before this morning are gone from his mind, although he can still probably recall it if he really tried. As of now, though, all he has left is a sense of… longing, he supposes? Right now, he doesn’t feel nearly as much warmth inside as he recalls feeling, and the absence of it is a strange thing to deal with.

It’s at that point that he feels Graham shifting around by his side. When he turns his head to look, he finds the man already blinking the sleep away from his eyes, that familiar, half-asleep smile crossing his lips. Oliver decides not to say anything at first, just in case Graham’s intending to fall back asleep, but once the man reaches a hand up to his face, rubbing at his eyes, that starts to sound much less likely.

“Good morning,” Oliver says finally, and Graham lowers the hand from his eyes to look at him.

“Oh, good morning,” he responds. “How–” he interrupts himself with a yawn, quickly covering his mouth. “...how long have you been up?”

“I just woke up,” Oliver answers, and Graham nods in acknowledgement. “So, did you sleep well?”

“Oh, yeah,” Graham’s quick to confirm. “Yeah, much better than on the train, that’s for sure? And you?”

“Good as well,” Oliver admits. This was much less awkward than he imagined it’d be. Briefly, he even considers mentioning how the sleeping arrangement was refreshing for his memory, but he ultimately decides it’s too likely to ruin the mood. “Yeah, very good.”

“You looked like it,” Graham responds, which throws Oliver off a bit. What does that mean? Apparently, his expression betrays his confusion. “You, uh– It’s nothing bad, it’s just, I woke up a bit ago and you looked, well…” his voice trails off as he tries to pick his next words. “You looked a bit… dead? It actually scared me a bit, I even tried to check your pulse and it– you know,” he cuts himself off.

Oliver… did worry that something like this would happen.

“I’m sorry,” he says, because that’s the only thing he can think to say at that point.

“It’s okay,” Graham responds right away. “Pulse or not, I eventually noticed you were breathing, so… at least there was that,” he explains. That’s… not exactly a normal reaction, Oliver thinks, but then again, Graham has been surprisingly great at adjusting to the unusual.

“...So after you checked, you went back to sleep?” he asks instead of voicing that, and Graham pauses.

“...Well, what else was I supposed to do? Wake you up? Just lay there? The bed’s very comfortable,” he answers finally, and as if to prove his point, shifts into a more comfortable position. Oliver tries to stifle a laugh. This is… certainly better than most of the other reactions the man could be having, he decides.

“That’s true,” he answers eventually. He feels like maybe he’d even do the same, if the roles were reversed. The bed is comfortable after all, and it’s all so warm, and it’s been so long since he slept by someone’s side, and… briefly, he considers giving himself a few more minutes in bed, to really appreciate it all. He shouldn’t, he tells himself, they need to start gathering their things so that they can move to a new room as smoothly as possible. “I think I’ll try to get started on breakfast.”

“Mhm,” Graham mumbles in response. “The cereal?” he asks, which is a fair assumption – the single box of cereal that they grabbed at the store the previous evening is basically the only breakfast food that they have.

“Probably, yeah,” Oliver confirms. He finally gets out of bed and, after a moment, Graham does the same.

They don’t spend too long over breakfast - if dry cereal can even be called a breakfast. If they’re hungry later, they can buy something to eat once they go exploring again, Oliver reasons. Within ten five minutes, he’s already done with his portion, and Graham doesn’t seem too far behind. He should probably start packing their suitcase back up, he thinks, the sooner they leave their room the sooner they can settle into the new one. Then, they won’t have to share the bed anymore, even if it wasn't that bad-

At least he won’t make Graham worried he’s sharing the bed with a corpse.

With a sigh, he gets up and starts to circle the room, checking for the things they unpacked already.

“Can we go this way?” Graham asks at some point, while they’re trying to make their way to their old campus again. The thing is, Oliver’s fairly certain the building is not that far to the left, and his phone’s navigation is of the same opinion.

“Are you sure? It says we need to keep going forward,” he points out, and Graham nods.

“Oh yeah, I know, but there used to be this really nice antique store over there, I want to see if it’s still there, if that’s alright?” he explains, motioning down the street on the left again.

“Oh, sure,” Oliver agrees, it’s not like they’re in a rush to get to their old campus anyway. They’ve seen it already, and it was never that impressive anyway. It just seemed like a good starting point, something the antique store can provide just as easily.

“Thanks,” Graham smiles, taking the path he pointed out. “You might even remember it, you know? I took you there a couple of times. It’s a nice store. Do you mind if we step inside?” he asks, and Oliver shakes his head.

“Oh no, if it’s there, we can do that,” he says, and Graham’s smile brightens.

In the meantime, Oliver tries his best to remember any instance of him going into an antique store. He… can’t, not as of now, but he decides to give it some more time before he tells Graham that. Maybe seeing the place will refresh his memory? Maybe even if he can’t remember going there now, it will still seem familiar in the moment?

After a few minutes of walking, Graham suddenly picks up the pace. When Oliver catches up to him, the man just points him in the direction of a sign. It looks a bit bleak, like it’s been hanging there for years already, but Oliver can still make out that it says “antiques” in a fancy font. Judging by how the lights seem to be on inside, it seems that the store is, in fact, still working. Maybe that’s a sign that today they might get luckier when it comes to finding places they remember?

Looking at the outside of the store, Oliver still can’t recall being here before. However, when Graham pushes the door open, the sound of the bell hanging overhead seems somewhat familiar. The smell of old furniture hangs in the air, but not unpleasantly so, and the items the store has to offer are set out in neat rows. There’s a desk with a cash register in the corner, an older woman seated behind it with a book in front of her. She looks up at the sound of the bell ringing and regards them with a stern look.

It… does feel familiar.

“Good morning,” Graham greets the woman, and Oliver waves a hello as well.

“Morning, boys,” she responds. “Do you need help?”

“Oh, no, we’ll be alright,” Graham assures her as he heads deeper into the store. Not knowing what else to do, Oliver follows him, while the woman raises her brows at them.

“Are you sure?” she asks, and Graham nods.

“I used to come here almost every week a… long time ago, so I don’t blame you if you don’t remember– But I do know my way around here,” he explains. At that, the woman furrows her brows instead, and fixes the glasses up on her nose. “Are we okay to look around?”

“...Sure, sure,” the woman responds, nodding slowly while still looking him over.

She’s still watching them while Graham starts to head deeper into the store, and all Oliver can do is follow him. He has to admit that the man clearly has no trouble navigating the store, stopping to look at a few products but still moving between the aisles so fast Oliver has trouble keeping up at points. Either the store hadn’t changed much despite the passage of time, or he just feels this at home in any antique store. he supposes.

“Oh wow, check this one out,” Graham says, crouching down next to a dresser. He sounds genuinely astonished. “Do you see that? Here, look,” he says, opening one of the drawers as far as it can go. “It’s dovetailed, see?” he points out a pattern the wood has in one of the corners.

“And that’s good?” Oliver asks, and Graham nods eagerly.

“It’s great! No… nails, or glue, it’s all just dovetailing. It’s a good sign, it was probably made by hand. And here, run your hand over this bit,” he says, gently patting the top of the dresses. Oliver does as he’s asked. “Smooth?”

“...No?” he admits sincerely, the surface is anything but smooth. 

“Yeah, exactly. That means it’s properly old, and do you see the pattern here? The attention to detail…” he trails off, gently running his hand over the pattern etched into the side.

Oliver thinks he wouldn’t have paid any attention to it had Graham not pointed it out. Not that it’s not impressive, he just doesn’t have a habit of paying that much attention to... furniture. As opposed to his companion, who is clearly enamoured with the piece already, running his hand over the design etched into the wood. After a moment of hesitation, Oliver moves closer and tries to carefully examine the patterns as well. It feels rough under his fingertips, and it still doesn’t seem all that special... other than how impressed by it Graham seems, that is. Oliver supposes that does make it special in the end.

“You know, she used to be the shopkeeper back when we frequented the store as well,” Graham breaks the silence between them, motioning in the vague direction of the front desk. When Oliver goes to look, he finds the older woman still staring in their direction. He quickly looks back at the dresser, pretending he hadn’t seen her.

“Really?” he asks, and Graham hums a confirmation.

“Yeah. She hadn’t changed much since then, really. She would always read at the desk, and looked about the same,” he recalls. “She doesn’t like people new to all of this, though, and I don’t think she remembers us.”

“Yeah,” Oliver nods.

He thinks it’ll be a long time before she’ll even have a chance to remember Graham, and as much as he tries, he doesn’t recognize her himself, so he can’t blame her for the same. He wonders if another look at her would refresh his memory, but he’s pretty sure she’s still keeping an eye on them, so he decides against checking.

“Wow, look at that!” Graham exclaims in a hushed tone, one that makes Oliver feel like he’s in a library. “They have some bookshelves here, those were always my favourite,” he says.

He gets back up and walks straight towards the bookshelves he spotted, and Oliver scrambles to follow. Of course he went straight for the bookshelves, he catches himself thinking, as though he knew they were Graham’s favourite. He… might’ve known that, he realizes, it sounds about right and it doesn’t come as much of a surprise. Has Graham mentioned anything about this lately? He doesn’t think so. He might just be getting into his head, though.

He watches Graham examine the bookshelf, running his hand along its jagged edges and admiring the joints keeping it in one place, and the sight just feels… normal. He could swear he's seen him do the exact same thing before, and the quiet, absent-minded explanations of what he's looking for sound familiar as well. He must've seen Graham like this before, heard him say the same things more than knew, he must be so-

“Oh, goodness!” the shopkeeper exclaims, and Oliver loses track of his thoughts. 

He turns to look at her and finds her no longer sitting. She's currently making her way towards them at quite the alarming pace, so much so that Oliver begins to wonder if they're allowed to touch the furniture, or if they had accidentally damaged something. He glances over to Graham to check and finds the man just as startled.

Not great.

“Graham, dear, I almost didn’t recognize you!” she continues once she gets closer, waving her hand dismissively as though to chase away the confusion.

…Graham?

Where'd she pick that part up?

Oliver hadn’t called him that, not inside of the store, had he? The man doesn’t have anything with his name on it either, and they hadn’t even introduced themselves, so there is quite literally no way for the woman to know it. Still, here she is now, making her way towards them with a friendly expression. Oliver turns to look at Graham and finds him taken aback, but with a smile slowly growing on his lips.

“I– I didn’t expect you to, it’s been a long time–” he tries to say, but that’s when the shopkeeper reaches him, patting him on his shoulder.

“Oh, nonsense, nonsense, it’s like you haven't aged a day!” she exclaims, looking him up and down again. “I expected you to be at least fully gray by now.”

“I– Yeah, it just kind of… stopped, for now? Going gray?” Graham tries with a shrug, and the woman shakes her head.

“I can see that,” she says. Then, she turns to look in Oliver’s direction, and her eyes narrow. She lets go of Graham’s shoulders and steps closer to him. “This isn’t Oliver, is it?”

“Oh, it is,” Graham answers, which is probably a good thing, because at this point Oliver’s found himself rather speechless. If he was given a million guesses as to how going into this store would end, he wouldn’t have been able to guess this.

“Oh dear, you look like you need to get some rest,” she says. He… gets that quite often, and he knows to just nod instead of trying to explain that this is what he looks like when rested. Then, the woman pats him on the shoulder as well. “I’m so happy you two are still together! How many years has it been, now?” she asks.

…On second thought, Oliver would much rather explain how being an Avatar affects the way he looks, actually.

“Oh, that’s… complicated?” Graham answers, and judging by his tone, he’s not all that eager to answer either. “We’re… we took a break…? A while back? Makes it harder to keep track of time, you know?” he claims. Oliver doesn’t think he’d call it a break exactly, but doesn’t object – no need to make this more complicated than it already is.

“Oh, of course, dear,” the shopkeeper offers them a sympathetic look. “Time becomes such a trivial thing as it goes on, you two shouldn’t bother with it, really. I’m just glad to see you both happy,” she concludes.

“Thank you,” Graham responds, and Oliver nods along. This is as good an out as any.

“Well, I'll leave you two to it,” the woman says, offering one last smile before slowly making her way back to the counter and picking her book back up, apparently no longer bothered by their presence.

There's… quite a bit to unpack from that interaction.

“...She recognized me,” Graham says in a hushed tone. Oliver turns to look at him and finds him with a truly dumbfounded look on his face.

“...Yeah,” he nods. How? Why? Is he supposed to remember Graham as well already? He doesn't have any answers to the questions rattling around in his brain.

Does he remember Graham now? He tries to focus on his face, to see if it will finally click into place. It does not. He tries to search his memory, to recall details he was yet to remember, but the only things he can conjure up are tainted with the presence of a Stranger. He… doesn’t remember anything but the things he’s been recalling on his own. So how could she recognize him so easily?

“How?” Graham asks, apparently trying to wrap his head around the same thing.

“I’m not sure,” Oliver admits. 

The answer clearly isn’t what Graham was hoping for, but he doesn’t look surprised by it either. He mulls over it in silence, but Oliver doubts either of them will be able to make any sense of it without help. The only “people” he can think of consulting for it are Nikola and her “friend”, and since he’s not in London anymore, he has no way of tracking them down to ask. Even once he does do that, there’s no guarantee they’ll have any answers they’ll be willing to share. So what now, he wonders.

“...Okay, uh, what did we… bookshelves, right?” Graham breaks the silence. His voice startles Oliver at first, but he quickly nods a confirmation. With that, Graham turns to look at the bookshelves set out in the store. “Yeah. Those were always my favourite. Look at this one, right here–” he moves closer to one of them, pointing towards the joint connecting one of the shelves to the side.

Listening to Graham talk about what makes the perfect bookshelf is much more pleasant than wondering when, how, and if they’ll get their answers, Oliver decides pretty early on. Even if he doesn’t exactly understand some of the points the man makes, something about the way he talks just keeps him engaged enough to not care. The way he sounds so passionate about it, the way he shows Oliver which parts of the bookshelves to feel around, the amount of attention to the details he spots… somehow, it’s enough to push Oliver’s worries to the back of his mind.

The more Graham talks, the more familiar it feels. By the time they’ve moved on from bookshelves and the man finds an interesting looking armchair to admire, Oliver thinks he’s starting to pick up on some key words and talking points. It’s either that, or the things Graham says just aligning with common sense, or the fact it’s all just so… easy to listen to. Either way, it all makes more and more sense. Maybe they should do this more often, just to relax. This feels like something he’d like to do after a long day at work, or when the finals week ends and they finally have time–

…He graduated college about a decade ago.

He stopped working a solid couple of months back, too.

How did either of those thoughts come to him?

…Maybe it’s because they’ve done it before, back when he was adjusting to his first proper job at Barclays, and it was nothing like he hoped it would be, and Graham suggested going. Maybe it’s because back when hard exams were the biggest of his worries, he and Graham would come to this store, and while they were here, he could forget about his grades for an hour. They’d browse the stock and talk with the shopkeeper, who would sometimes offer them tea, and who really hadn’t changed that much since they left Oxford all those years ago.

He remembers how nervous they were to hold hands when their regular visits here turned into dates. It was never crowded or loud enough to give them an excuse, but that was for the best, really – neither of them liked those sorts of places much. They started to move past their nervousness early into the date, and the shopkeeper casually mentioning her daughter’s girlfriend certainly speeded that process along. He wonders if the mirror they bought on that date is still somewhere in their old apartment, or tucked away somewhere safe–

…Oliver’s pretty sure he didn’t remember any of that before coming into the store.

That realization is the first thing to snap him out of devoting all his attention to what Graham’s saying. So many pieces suddenly fall into place that he briefly wonders if this is it, if for some reason now is the time his memory returned to him and that the shopkeeper just got lucky and got hers a few moments earlier. This is much more than he was able to recall until now, it’s not a single situation, it’s so many visits to (and dates in) antique stores that they nearly blur together all over again, but just unique enough to stay distinct.

An attempt at recalling anything outside those antiquing dates tells him that he has not, in fact, miraculously recovered his memory on the spot. He can’t help feeling a tad disappointed when he realizes he has no idea how the furniture they bought back then looked in their flat, or what route they’d take to get to any of the stores, but the feeling passes by quickly. This is still a big breakthrough, he tells himself. He just remembered so much, more than enough to warrant a celebration, or at least letting himself enjoy looking back at the memories.

They’re pleasant memories. The dates were really–

He quickly tries to focus on what Graham’s saying again, it’s probably best he gives those memories time to… settle. For his brain to remember how long it’s been since then, to gain some distance from them and so that…

…The way Graham talks hasn't changed since then. Oliver supposes he always enjoyed listening.

Chapter Text

Oliver’s starting to feel like they should’ve booked their stay in Oxford for more than a week.

It seemed like more than enough time when they arrived, how long could they possibly need? He’s still not sure, but as he’s getting dressed for the last full day they’re spending in the city, he can tell it’s more than this. They’ll have to come back here, he thinks while putting on his coat. Their next trip will need to be planned in more detail for sure, too, he’ll need to look into cheaper hotels so they can stay longer and make a list of places for them to visit, to start with. 

He grabs the keys to the room from the bed stand.

“Okay, I’m ready,” he says.

“Me too,” Graham responds, already waiting by the door to their room.

Over their stay, they’ve taken to leaving the hotel early and getting breakfast in one of the countless cafes nearby instead of trying to make one without access to a kitchen or overpaying for the hotel food. It’s what they used to do every morning, Graham claims at some point. They didn’t have the time to make breakfast as students, so instead they’d grab something together as soon as they could.

Oliver has to admit it sounds about right.

With how long it’s been since then, it’s only natural that he can’t recall all the details. He remembers having to skip breakfasts at home, and not going around hungry, and even a few of the cafes they apparently frequented. He… doesn’t remember Graham being there, but considering how likely it was that the person he’d remember would have blonde hair and cold eyes, maybe that’s for the best.

He can’t help wondering if he’s supposed to remember, though. The more time they spend exploring the city, revisiting spots he’s supposed to know, the more confusing he finds his memories. Some are missing entirely, some are twisted in the already-familiar way of the NotThem’s influence… but some are somewhere in between. Some memories are of him sitting alone at a specific cafe for hours at the time, not doing anything but slowly sipping on a drink or eating something, with no need to pay in the end. 

Memories that seem incomplete, out of place.

They’re rare, of course. Just a bit more common than the memories he regains during the trip.

At the end of the day, Oxford has been doing wonders for his memory. Even if going to his old campus didn’t exactly remind him how he and Graham first met, he finds that he can recall walking between the buildings together. Even if he doesn’t remember which cafe they had their first date in, he remembers seeing Graham sitting opposite of him by the window, remembers the view behind the man and even manages to recognize it when they happen to stop there for a quick meal. He doesn’t remember any big events, but he can recall a hundred smaller ones.

They probably give him a better understanding of who Graham was than recalling fewer longer interactions.

Then again, the memories don’t give him much he didn’t already know or couldn’t have guessed. They tell him that Graham has always been sweet to him, and that he’s always enjoyed their time together. They tell him that Graham was always able to carry a conversation even when Oliver couldn’t form his thoughts into words, and couldn't contribute.

(They tell him that things were simpler back when they both lived here. Better. Nicer.)

(He tries to tell himself it’s the nostalgia speaking.)

At least their tight schedule is decent at keeping him too distracted to dissect the memories he regained so far. They grab a quick breakfast in a nearby cafe (the food tastes almost-familiar, but it might just be because there’s nothing overtly special about it), and then start their journey towards the botanic garden. That’s the first (and only) “attraction” they have planned for today, and Oliver is looking forward to it.

When he was younger, his parents would take him there a lot. Then, when he and Graham were both still students, he’s pretty sure they visited together at least once. So far, his memories of that visit are not exactly what he’d call pleasant, but he hopes that it’s just the NotThem tainting the memory, acting bored and annoyed where the real Graham would have enjoyed the outing. The only way to find out is to try again, of course, and even though he’s been putting it off a bit, they luckily had time today.

Going to the garden turned out to have been a good idea, although Oliver kicks himself for putting it off until now. The past two days or so have been unusually sunny, and he can only imagine how much better the experience would’ve been then. Today, the sky is once again lined with dark clouds of course, as if just to ruin their plans.

At least it’s not raining, he supposes.

To be fair, it’s not like the weather ruined the outing either. The lack of sunlight might’ve made everything feel colder, but it’s not like Oliver can feel much difference anyway. Not to mention, the way Graham’s face lights up with a smile while they explore the garden is bright enough to– …it makes up for the darkness.

The garden itself looks pretty similar to how he remembers it, and he finds he can even recall a few fun facts he learned over the years of visiting. He’s a bit rusty, of course, and he considers keeping those memories to himself, but when Graham seems particularly interested by an oddly-shaped flower, he offers an explanation for its uniqueness.

He’s not used to being the one doing most of the talking, and he stumbles over most parts, but Graham doesn’t seem to mind. He nods along to what Oliver’s saying and appears genuinely interested, even asking a follow-up question near the end. That’s enough to encourage Oliver to keep talking, and it gets easier with time. Words fall into place, and he feels like he can recall all the little facts he used to know with much more ease as time goes on. Almost like he’s done all of this before.

He starts to suspect he did, during the visit he can't remember correctly.

He doesn’t mind a repeat of it.

Another benefit to going to the garden is how close it is to some really nice restaurants. They have a wide selection of places to grab dinner from, and eventually settle on an unassuming place with Persian food. Oliver’s not sure if he’s ever been there before, but Graham seems certain that it looks familiar, so the only solution they can think of is to step inside.

“So, what are we doing next?” Graham asks once he’s done with his food.

“I don’t think we have anything else planned for today,” Oliver offers him a shrug. He doesn’t have much left on his plate, but he doesn’t want to leave anything – it’s good. “Do you have any ideas?”

“Kind of? I was wondering if we could stop by the store again,” the man says.

The store? Oliver’s pretty sure they have more than enough groceries to last them, and they’re heading back tomorrow, so why would they need to go to the store? His confusion must be evident on his face, because Graham’s quick to elaborate.

“The Antique store,” he clarifies. “I just… hadn’t been there in so long, and it’s nice, and– you know,” he adds, and Oliver nods.

…And the store owner remembers me, is what he assumes the last part was going to be.

He can’t blame Graham for wanting to go somewhere he’ll be recognized at least one more time before they head back to London. In fact, he’s surprised it took the man so long to suggest revisiting the store, it’s not like he didn’t have a chance to do so beforehand – they planned their activities together. Maybe just like him putting off his suggestion of visiting the garden, Graham was nervous about how it’d go?

“Oh, sure,” he agrees, and a grateful smile appears on Graham’s face. “Let me finish this, and we can head there,” he motions to his plate, and to the little food still left on it.

“Sounds great,” Graham agrees, sitting back in his chair.

Oliver’s done with his food within 5 minutes at most, and not long after they’re outside again. He tries to check the directions on his phone, but when he looks up from it, he finds himself following Graham. He has no idea how this keeps happening, seeing as the man taking the lead usually just ends with them being more lost.

(It’s not that Oliver minds, of course. They’re not in a rush, and at least it’s a bit amusing at times. Not to mention, when Graham admits defeat and he checks the directions on his phone, he usually discovers they’re not that far from their destination, so it’s not entirely pointless. And it makes them see more of the city.)

(So, no serious complaints.)

“Do you know where we’re going?” he asks, slipping his phone back into his pocket now that he knows where they’re actually supposed to go.

“I think so, yeah,” Graham responds. “I remember the bus stop being just up the road, we passed it on our way here. And I saw the bus we took here stopping there, too, I think. So it should be our stop, right?”

Which is a reasonable line of thinking.

“...Our stop is on the other side of the street,” Oliver corrects him nonetheless. Graham stops, turns to face the street and spends a couple of seconds just observing the direction of the traffic, probably going over how they got here in his head...

“...Oh,” he realizes. “Oh, right,” he admits sheepishly. “So, uh, right. We need to get to that side, yeah.”

They passed next to a cross walk maybe half a minute prior, so this is still far from the worst case of them getting lost on their way somewhere. They briefly backtrack, cross the street, and continue towards the bus stop. If Oliver remembers correctly, they still have a couple of minutes until their bus gets there, so there’s no rush.

…It’s at that point that Oliver feels something small and cold hit his hand.

He brings it up to his face to inspect it, but can’t find anything on it. No visible source, no mark, nothing. Is his brain playing tricks- Oh, no, there it is again, hitting his face this time. He looks around, searching for the source. When he can’t find anything out of place, he happens to glance up.

The clouds seem even darker than he remembers them being.

“Oh no,” Graham groans, grabbing Oliver’s attention. When he looks over, the man has his palm stretched out in front of him. “...I don’t even have a coat.”

Oliver can see dark spots appearing on the sidewalk around them, with increasing frequency. It’s raining, and while it’s not heavy yet, it feels like any second now that might change, and the bus stop is still a bit further up the street. He should be fine getting to it, while his coat isn’t exactly waterproof, it should keep him dry until they can get under the bus stop’s room. Graham’s probably going to be thoroughly soaked by then, though.

After a moment of consideration, he goes to remove his coat.

“Here, you can take this one,” he says, already slipping it off his shoulders. Graham looks at him with a surprised look on his face, and doesn’t immediately accept.

“...Are you sure?” he asks instead, cautiously. “It’s yours, you’ll be cold without it.”

Oliver miraculously manages to stop himself from mentioning how to get cold, he’d need to be warm first, and he’s pretty sure his pulse stopped a good couple of hours ago. That’s not exactly the kind of thing he should be saying out in the open, in the middle of the street where anyone could hear. Even if it’s normal for him and even if anybody who could overhear will never see him again, he tries to save himself the awkwardness.

“I’ll be okay, I… don’t get cold much these days,” he says instead, a bit more gracefully. Graham still seems hesitant, but he takes the coat from Oliver’s hands.

“Right. Thanks,” he says, quickly putting it on. It’s a bit small on him, but still seems to sit comfortably enough. Other than its collar that is, with a part of it somehow getting rolled up and sticking out weirdly. Mostly okay, though. “Let me know when you want it back, okay?”

“Sure,” Oliver agrees, knowing full well he won’t need it back until the weather clears up a bit.

As of now, the rain is picking up fast, though. He can feel it sinking into the shirt he was wearing underneath the coat, and has to stop himself from shivering from the sensation. At least it’s just unpleasantly damp, without the added discomfort of feeling cold. He’ll be fine, so long as they can get out of the rain soon.

“Come on, we have a bus to catch,” he reminds Graham, who stops trying to fix the collar and nods.

“Right, yeah, don’t want to miss it,” the man mumbles, starting to walk again.

While they walk, the man quickly returns to his futile attempts at fixing the collar of the coat. Oliver really doesn’t want to stop for it, the rain seems to be picking up for now and they’re starting to lose the extra time they have to reach the bus stop. He settles for the second best thing he can think of, trying to help him fix it on the go.

Graham thanks him again when he goes to work on it, keeping one hand on Graham’s back to hold down the coat and the other to pull the collar out, then smooth it down like it’s supposed to be. With that done and the threat of missing their bus more imminent with each moment, he focuses on just getting to that bus stop on time.

…It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to realize his hand is still on Graham’s back.

Such a long time he’s not sure if he should bring it up, silently stop, or continue pretending not to notice until he has an excuse to grab onto something else.

“...Sorry,” he mumbles in the end, and takes his hand back. Graham looks over at him, and shakes his head dismissively.

“It’s okay,” the man reassures him quickly. “I don’t mind, really, it’s… nice?” he tries, but doesn’t sound too confident in his words. “It’s okay.”

“...Okay,” Oliver nods, and briefly considers putting his hand back. He probably shouldn’t, right? Or is that–

“Is that our bus?” Graham asks, motioning behind him and snapping him out of his thoughts. He turns around and sure enough – there it is.

It’s a miracle neither of them slips while trying to run to the bus stop, and an even bigger miracle that running is enough to get there before it.

Oliver was hoping that by the time they get to their stop, the rain will have let up a little. Unfortunately, glancing out of the window tells him that if anything, it’s only gotten heavier since they got onto the bus. Graham notices it too, of course, and offers to return the coat to him. It’s a bit tempting, but he’s soaked already anyway, and can’t see the point of ensuring they both are by the time they reach the antique store.

“Maybe we could get a coat on the way?” Graham suggests, clearly observing the stores the bus is passing by. “Oh, there’s a second hand store there, I bet they have some nice coats,” he points out.

“I’ll be fine,” Oliver responds. “The rain should stop soon, and I have more coats back home,” He mentally kicks himself for not thinking to bring an extra one on the trip. That would’ve been very helpful. “Besides, the Antique Store is close to the bus stop, right?”

“I think so, yeah,” Graham confirms. It doesn’t exactly fill Oliver with hope. “...Maybe we could try to share the coat? Kind of like an umbrella?” he suggests, and Oliver tries his best to stop himself from laughing at the mental image the idea gives him. He’s mostly successful.

“Just keep it,” he says, very aware of the smile he can’t keep off of his face. “I’ll be fine, really.”

…By the time they reach the Antique Store, he’s not feeling fine.

He’s feeling thoroughly soaked.

Once they make it through the door, he gains a new appreciation for how nicely warm it is on the inside. Quieter, too – the moment the door closes, the sounds of the rain seem so distant he can almost pretend he didn’t spend the past five minutes speed-walking through it. He runs his hands down his shirt, the motion drawing out enough water to form a noticeable puddle around him. He shivers, because even though he doesn’t feel cold, he feels like he should be cold, and that’s unfortunately close enough.

“Ah, good evening, I was wondering-” the old woman behind the counter starts, and she sounds much less hostile than the first time they visited. She pauses as her eyes land on Oliver, and a stern frown appears on her face. “Goodness! And where is your coat?”

Oliver really doesn’t feel up to explaining himself right now, not before he can squeeze some more of the rainwater out of his clothes.

“It’s, uh, here,” Graham admits, taking the (very much soggy) coat off and looking for somewhere to hang it. At least the rest of his clothes are relatively dry.

“And where is your coat then?” she asks, directing her stern look to the man.

“Uh… London?” he responds cautiously. The woman stares at him for a moment before sighing deeply.

“Of course,” she says as she gets up from her seat. “Wait here, I will bring you a towel before you drip water all over the furniture. Some tea, too,” she continues, disappearing behind an ‘employees only’ door.

Once she’s out of sight and out of earshot, a silence falls in the store. It looks like they’re the only customers, and it’s no wonder, really. Any normal customer who doesn’t have a train to catch tomorrow is probably waiting out the weather. Oliver tries to wipe the water off of his face, figuring that there isn’t much he can do to make the puddle around him significantly worse anyway.

“...Thank you for the coat, again,” Graham says, getting Oliver’s attention and offering a sheepish smile when he looks over. “I’m gonna put it here, okay?” he continues, setting it up on a clothing rack.

“Sure. You’re welcome,” he responds, trying to offer a smile. “I wasn’t expecting the shop owner to… react like that,” he adds in a hushed tone, just in case the woman is within earshot again.

“Oh, yeah, she gets like this sometimes,” Graham nods. “I’m pretty sure we’re around her son’s age? She mentioned him at some point I think, ages ago, it’s–” he cuts himself off. “It’s best to go along with it.”

As if on cue, the woman returns, a towel over her shoulder and a couple of cups in her hands. She places them down on her desk before going straight towards Oliver and throwing the towel over his shoulders. It’s scratchy, and he’s not sure if he wants to know what it’s usually used for, but at least it’s better to dry himself with than his bare hands.

“Thank you,” he tries to follow Graham’s advice and just let her help.

“You’d better not catch a cold from this,” the woman mutters in response. “Here, the tea should be good to drink any moment now,” she continues, motioning for him and Graham to follow her to the desk.

He glances over at the man and finds him with a look of concern on his face. Is it about catching a cold? If so, he has good news on that front – one of the few undeniable upsides of his avatarhood, he’s yet to get sick even once since it began. He doesn’t want to explain that in front of the shopkeeper of course, so he just takes a mental note to mention that later.

After they finish the tea, and Graham finishes telling the woman all about their previous trip to the botanical garden (which really solidifies Oliver’s assumption that he enjoyed it), she encourages them to have a look at the things in the store again. Oliver likes the sound of that. He still doesn’t know much about antique furniture of course, but is admittedly looking forward to learning a bit more from Graham talking about it.

Besides, it might finally distract him from the unpleasant texture of his wet shirt.

“Whoa, look at this,” Graham says. He comes up to one of the bookshelves, and gently picks up an antique clock sitting on one of the shelves. It reminds Oliver of a Cuckoo clock, except without an obvious door that could open. “Do you see the details on this?”

“Oh, yeah,” Oliver says, but he doesn’t dare to try and take it off of Graham’s hands for a more thorough examination. 

He has to admit that the piece is incredibly detailed. There are patterns carved into the sides, so meticulous that the longer he looks, the more things he picks up on. He’s sure it was beautifully painted at some point, too, but the paint seems to have mostly chipped away now, exposing chunks of bare wood. The clock hands are incredibly detailed as well, made from some kind of metal and carefully… either bent or cut into shape, he’s not sure.

They’re also much easier to observe than usual, on account of sitting still and showing 7:13.

“...Do you think it works?” he asks and Graham shakes his head.

“Oh, it wouldn’t be this cheap if it did,” he responds, pointing out the small price tag attached. “I bet I could fix it, though. I fixed up a few clocks before,” he mutters, turning the box around to check its back.

The price… isn’t exactly what Oliver would call cheap for a broken clock, but it’s not outrageous either when compared to the other prices in the store. He decides to trust Graham’s better judgment.

“Do you want to get it?” he offers, and Graham’s head snaps to look at him.

“Can I?” he responds. “I don’t have money on me, or, you know, access to it… in general.”

“I have some cash on me,” Oliver assures him. He’s been paying for more or less everything so far, and if getting the clock will make Graham happy, he sees no reason not to get it. Besides, it’ll make for an interesting keepsake from the trip.

“...Okay, yeah. I want to try and fix it,” Graham decides after giving it a moment of thought. Oliver has to admit he’s curious about how the man’s planning on doing that.

The shopkeeper doesn’t look too surprised when they set down the broken clock at her desk. She makes sure they know it doesn’t work, and doesn’t seem convinced at Graham’s assurance that he’ll make it work, but that just seems to make him more determined to do it.

“Next time we come to Oxford, I’ll bring it with me and I’ll show you,” he declares confidently, and the woman rolls her eyes.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she responds. Then, she pulls one of the drawers out and retrieves a thick book of sorts from the inside. “And I’ll make sure I don’t forget,” she adds.

She places the book on her desk, and Oliver catches a glimpse at the cover. It just says “F – H”, but before he can give it any thought, she opens it and starts paging through it. The few pages he manages to get a better look at seem to list some people, presumably her clients. At first, all the names listed start with Fs, but she quickly gets into the Gs.

“Do you remember the last thing you bought here?” she asks absentmindedly as she continues looking through the book.

“Not really,” Graham admits, and the woman hums.

“Well, I’m about to check– Hm,” a frown appears on her face, and she stops going through the book. “...No, no, this isn’t right,” she mutters, clearly confused.

Oliver looks down at the page she stopped on, and immediately knows what’s wrong. It lists Graham’s full name, a few details, some sort of a previous purchases list… and a photo. A photo of a blonde man with a square face, a photo that doesn’t look like him at all. Oliver glances over at him and finds the man staring at the page as well, looking a little pale.

“Oh yeah,” he says quickly, one of them has to find a way to explain this somehow, and he doesn’t want to place that responsibility on him. “How– Uh, could the records get mixed up like this? During a… transfer, maybe?” he suggests.

“That must be it, yes,” the woman nods, and closes the book with a sigh. “I’m sorry Graham, dear, I can try to find the older records, but it might take me a while. I have no idea where this mix up came from.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Graham says quickly, but the smile he puts on doesn’t seem genuine at all. Oliver isn’t surprised, but if the woman notices, she doesn’t mention it.

They finish buying the clock, and the shopkeeper even wraps it up in plastic for them to make sure the rain doesn’t damage it. Initially, Oliver assumed that even after the purchase Graham would want to stick around and talk for a while longer, but the man seems to be eyeing the door now.

“It looks like the rain is letting up a little. Should we head back to the hotel? We still need to pack,” he points out. They… don’t have too much to pack, not really, but it’s a good excuse to leave.

“Oh, yeah,” Graham agrees before turning to the shopkeeper. “Thank you. Next time I’m here, that clock will be working,” he assures her, although he sounds less confident in that declaration than all the previous times he have it.

“That’d be the first time I see it moving,” she responds with a laugh. “Take care, boys.”

“Thanks,” Graham responds.

“Thank you,” Oliver nods along as he goes to retrieve his coat from the clothing rack. It looks about dry already, which is good. When Graham joins him by the door, he offers it to him. “Here, it’s still raining,” he says, but the man doesn’t take it.

“Are you sure? What if you do get sick?” he asks instead. Oliver glances over at the shop keeper. She’s still within ear shot, of course.

“...No need to worry about that. I’ll tell you later,” he says instead. In spite of how vague he’s being, Graham accepts his answer and takes the coat off his hands again.

“Thanks,” he says while he puts it on, and this time he manages to keep the collar looking good.

…On their way back, Graham stays unusually quiet, and Oliver is fairly confident that the shopkeeper’s record showing that photo is the reason. He decides not to mention it just in case it’d make things worse. It’s not like he minds the silence, he just… really wishes they could end the day on a less bitter note. The entire trip was going so well so far, after all.

At least they’ll be back in London tomorrow.

He wasn’t looking forward to it until now, but the idea of probably speaking to Nikola again, and maybe being able to get a better idea about how much longer they’ll have to wait for his memories to come back and for all the photos to look right again sounds pretty good.

He’ll try to contact her as soon as they’re back, he decides. For now, though, his main concern is getting them both out of the rain.

Chapter Text

To avoid travelling while sleep deprived again, Oliver does all he can to make sure he gets some rest the night before they head back to London. He books the train tickets for around noon this time, and he makes sure he and Graham pack most of their things in the evening so that they don’t have to stress about it in the morning. He even heads to bed sooner than usual, fairly tired from all the walking they did during the day.

Somehow, he still wakes up without feeling rested at all.

When the alarm on his phone goes off, he spends a moment convinced he must’ve set it up wrong and it went off a few hours early. He probably would’ve assumed it went off in the middle of the night if it wasn’t for the sunlight already coming in through the window. He reaches for it fully prepared to fix the alarm and go back to sleep, but the time on the screen is already 9:30 am.

It really doesn’t feel like it’s this late.

“G’morning,” Graham mumbles from the other bed. “How long until we have to leave the room?” he asks.

“Half an hour,” Oliver responds, still feeling groggy. He sits up in his bed before he accidentally falls asleep again. They do need to return the keys to their room before 10 am if they don’t want to pay the late fee. “I’m gonna go get dressed.”

At least they’ll have a few hours between leaving the hotel and having to get onto the train, he tells himself as he grabs the clothes he prepared for the day and slinks away into the bathroom. That’s enough time to go buy breakfast and find a decent coffee place, and right now there are very few things that sound better than a cup of strong coffee.

They didn’t talk much last night.

By the time they got to the hotel, all Oliver wanted to do was change into something warm and dry before going to sleep. Graham clearly wasn’t feeling well either, not after seeing a photo of someone so clearly not like him where a photo of him should’ve been. The only topic they properly discussed was the concern of Oliver catching a cold from the rain, which he explained wasn’t a risk these days. At least that seemed to put Graham’s mind a bit at ease.

Then, they packed for the trip back, carefully placing the newly acquired Antique Clock in the middle of the suitcase, and surrounded by clothes. That was the best they could do to ensure it doesn’t get damaged on the way, short of carrying it in their hands the entire time, which wouldn’t be that much better anyway. Besides, since they originally packed in quite the hurry, there was more than enough space for it inside the suitcase.

After they were done packing, all that was left to do was going to sleep.

Oliver tried to, of course. Something about the bed just… didn’t sit well with him, though, and he’d be pleasantly surprised to find out he slept for at least 4 hours. Judging by how he’s feeling after waking up, he doesn’t think he got that lucky. He still found himself exploring Oxford in his sleep, getting to learn all about how the street not far from their hotel would be the site of a truly fatal accident soon, one ending the lives of at least 3 people. Getting to see an older woman who can’t have suffered her heart attack less than a day ago, but whose image was already quite faded. Getting to–

He witnessed more than enough death during the night, he thinks. Ever since he Became, that was enough to leave him feeling well rested even if he only managed to get a few hours of sleep at most. This time, it was clearly not enough, and he can’t quite figure out why.

That’s fine. It doesn’t matter. Some coffee should wake him up.

That thought carries him forward while he and Graham make sure they didn’t forget to pack anything, return the keys to their room right before 10 am, and leave the hotel for good. It carries him all the way to the cafe Graham picked out, where he can finally order it along with the cheapest meal he could see listed. He’s not hungry, he’s just tired.

The coffee helps a little, but he still doesn’t feel great. He tries to eat the food – some sort of sandwich – next, but given how cheap it was, he can’t bring himself to be surprised at how bad it tastes. He still finishes it, of course, it’s not like he has anything better to do while waiting for Graham to eat his own breakfast. 

On the way out, he buys a 2nd coffee.

He’s not sure if he should be worried about this. It’s really unusual for him to feel so exhausted after sleeping these days, and a cup of coffee is enough to buy him at least a full day of energy if he’s been awake for a while. Now neither proper rest or caffeine don’t seem to be helping him. He hopes that maybe the coffee is just taking more time than usual to kick in, and that once it does, it will keep him up long enough to get home.

He can get some more sleep in London, in the flat. If it still doesn’t work, then he can start worrying. If it helps (which he’s fairly sure it will) then he can just write it off as a one-off issue and try to forget about it. For now, he just needs to get himself and Graham to the train station, find the right platform, and catch their train back.

“So, uh,” Graham gets his attention at some point. They're both sitting at the bus stop now, with about 5 more minutes left until their bus is meant to show up. “Is the coffee helping?”

“What?” Oliver asks. The cup in his hand is almost empty now, he realizes.

“You still look, you know,” Graham pauses, probably searching for a description that sounds nicer than ‘absolutely exhausted’. “Did you get any sleep tonight?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Oliver responds, shaking his head. “I slept, just... not that well,” he admits, taking another sip of the coffee. It's definitely not helping as much as he’d like it to.

“I see,” Graham nods, and falls silent for a bit. “If you want, you can sleep on the train back. I'll make sure we don't miss our stop,” he offers eventually. That sounds... Nice, Oliver has to admit. He’s just a bit worried to find out what his nightmares would be like if he were to sleep while on a moving train.

“...I still hope the coffee will kick in soon. If it doesn’t, maybe. I'm not sure,” he decides, and Graham nods along.

The coffee doesn’t kick in. 

The 3rd coffee that Oliver buys from a coffee machine at the train station doesn’t do the trick for him either. 

He’s still not sure what sleeping while in motion would do to him – would his dream be set in the city he fell asleep in, or his destination? Would it be on the train? He doubts there are many people close to their death that just happen to be going from Oxford to London too. He’s worried that being in motion would… drag him along, so to speak, and as much as dream-pain is distinctly different from real pain, it still hurts.

It's starting to look like he won't have much choice but to find out.

He barely realizes when their train arrives, and in spite of knowing the numbers of the seats they booked, he somehow manages to walk right past them. Graham notices them, luckily, so he doesn't make it too far down the aisle before backtracking and helping the man put their suitcase on the rack above. He lets Graham take the window seat again, and then settles down in his own. It’s… surprisingly comfortable. More comfortable than he remembers it being on their way to Oxford, and…

“So?” Graham asks him, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Did the coffee kick in? Or do you need to, you know,” the man asks. For a moment, Oliver wants to say no, he doesn’t need to sleep, but he really doesn’t think he'll be able to keep his eyes open for the full 1 hour train ride.

“...Yeah, okay,” he relents. He’d probably fall asleep here even if he were to keep fighting it.

“I’ll wake you up when we’re in London,” Graham promises. One less thing to worry about, at least. 

“Thanks.”

He tries to get more comfortable in his seat, but in spite of it feeling nicer than the 1st time around, it’s still not ideal. He settles down on something relatively comfortable pretty quickly, and his awareness of his surroundings fades soon after that. He thinks he feels the train start to move, at some point, maybe? It feels distant though, it feels-

He’s standing on top of Canary Wharf, in London. Even though it was around noon when he fell asleep, the world around him is dark. Something glows softly behind him, pulsing.

It’s been a while since he’s been up here.

He still knows the only way to get down.

The dream-pain is as unbearable as he remembers, but it fades quickly. He’s left to wander through the streets of London, navigating the area he’s already familiar with. It looks like some poor man will end his life, quite literally, in a gutter soon. It also looks like some Strangers have been acting up not too far from his house, lately, which he’s not thrilled about.

He doesn’t investigate the giant mass of tiny tendrils weaving their way towards the Magnus Institute. He knows better than that these days.

When he regains his consciousness, he’s still on the train. He can feel it moving, hear the wheels rolling over the tracks and the indistinct chatter of the other people onboard. He’s not sure what woke him up, but it sure as hell wasn’t him getting all the rest that he needed – there is some sort of a pressure behind his eyes, and it almost feels like it’s building up. He considers going back to sleep, but the idea of possibly having to make his way down from Canary Wharf again is enough to keep him awake.

He blinks a couple of times, trying to adjust his eyes to how bright everything inside the train is. He gets a bit of a look at his surroundings as well – he spots that the little pull-out table at the back of the seat in front of Graham is out, and that the man seems to be using it. The notebook he got for him and hadn’t really seen since then is now set down in the middle of it, with Graham writing something inside.

It doesn't look like words. Oliver squints his eyes, trying to get a better look, but it really just looks like... lines?

It’s at that point that Graham slams the notebook shut, his shoulder hitting Oliver's cheek in the process. Oliver moves his face back, out of surprise more than anything, and quickly realizes that it should not have been that close to Graham’s shoulder to begin with. What happened? Did he move over in his sleep, accidentally ending up leaning against Graham? He’d imagine the man would just move him away if that were the case, especially if he managed to fall asleep on his shoulder, that can’t have been comfortable.

(Then again, he's allowed Graham to sleep while leaning against him already… so maybe he shouldn’t be this surprised about being treated the same way.)

“I’m so sorry, are you okay? Did I wake you up?” Graham asks, hurriedly trying to check on him.

“I’m okay,” Oliver responds, and goes to rub the last of sleep from his eyes. There’s still some pressure behind them, and he really hopes it’ll go away soon. “You didn’t wake me up,” he adds.

“Right. Sorry. Are you, uh, feeling any better?” the man asks him. Oliver takes that to mean he doesn’t look much better, which isn’t too surprising. He feels like he barely regained any energy, like the only thing that changed is that his back and side are sore now. Undoubtedly, the position he slept in is to blame.

“...I’ll get more sleep at home,” he responds instead of getting into all that, feeling like it’s enough of an answer.

He expects Graham to say something about him presumably moving to lean on him in his sleep. To try and joke about it, or just mention it, really.

Graham doesn’t say anything, just nods in acknowledgement at his response

“...So, are we close to London?” Oliver asks eventually.

“Oh, yeah, I think so. It’s been about an hour, so we should be,” Graham responds. In the meantime, he takes the notebook off the table and puts it away. “I’m sorry about that, I just... needed to do something with my hands," he explains. 

That doesn't explain why he was so opposed to Oliver seeing what he's writing, but he sees no reason to press Graham on that. The topic of notebooks came up before, and Graham promised to tell him more about them when he was ready. Even if Oliver is curious, he can give it a bit more time instead of pressing.

“Do you want me to grab you some water? It should be in the suitcase,” Graham offers instead of letting the silence drag on.

“No, I’ll be okay,” Oliver assures him. He feels a bit motion sick, now that he thinks about it, but he also feels so tired it basically overshadows all else. Besides, if it’s been about an hour like Graham said, they won’t be here much longer–

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are approaching the Paddington Railroad Station,” a voice comes on over the speakers. It’s uncomfortably loud, to the point it takes Oliver a moment to process what it said.

“Well,” Graham mutters. “I’d have to wake you up now anyway,” he points out, which is what finally gets Oliver to catch up to what the announcement was.

“Yeah,” he nods. He doubts an extra minute or so of sleep would’ve been any help.

He can see people starting to gather their things, taking their luggage off the racks and even forming a little line by the door. He’s not too tempted to join them. Graham doesn’t rush him either, staying seated himself, so he assumes they’re on the same page there. No need to squeeze through the crowd and fight for their balance while the train comes to a stop when they can just wait a moment longer.

Once the train does stop, he finally gets up from his seat and moves a step down the alley so that Graham can join him. Together, they get their suitcase off the rack as gently as possible – the clock inside might be surrounded by clothes, but there’s only so much protection they can offer. In the end, in spite of taking extra time being careful, they still have to wait in line before they reach the door.

The train station is even more crowded now than the one in Oxford was when they arrived, and it’s a miracle they manage not to get separated between all the people. It nearly happens a few times, especially with how clouded Oliver’s head still feels. People keep bumping into him, or Graham, or their luggage, and he really struggles to keep track of everything.

At some point, he nearly trips over someone else’s legs, and the only thing that stops him from fully falling over is managing to grab onto Graham’s arm. The man reacts quickly, somehow managing to support his weight and getting him back onto his feet without having to stop in the middle of the crowd. He says something that Oliver can’t quite hear – checking if he’s okay, most likely – and he nods.

Graham smiles in response, and continues making his way through the crowd. One of Oliver’s hands is still attached to the man’s arm, and there’s no way he’s unaware of that. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, just like he didn’t mind having Oliver’s hand on his back before. It makes it easier not to get separated, too, so with neither of them visibly taking issue with it, Oliver decides he might as well keep holding on.

Once they make it outside and away from the crowd, he lets go of Graham’s arm, of course. He partially expects for the man to react when he does so, or to bring up the fact he kept holding it in the first place, but he doesn’t. Oliver tries not to pay too much attention to the gesture either, in that case, and just focuses on unwinding from having that many people around him, in his personal space.

After taking a moment to catch their breaths and double-checking the directions (hopefully for the last time in a while), they start to make their way back towards Oliver's flat. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t magically feel more rested just at the idea of going home. He's more familiar with the London public transport, at least, more used to navigating it when so tired, but he still can’t wait until he can finally get some proper rest.

“...Do you want to get more coffee?” Graham suggests at some point while they’re walking from an underground stop to a bus stop. “There’s a few cafes around here.”

...A 4th coffee is not going to do much more than the previous 3, Oliver worries.

It might be enough to tide him over until they make it home, at least?

Seems like a chance worth taking.

“...Yeah, sure,” he decides.

“I might get myself lunch,” Graham says in response. Right, it’s about time for lunch, probably. Most likely. It does feel like their visit to that cafe in Oxford was ages ago.

He doesn’t pay much attention to the cafe he walks into, most of the ones on the street are not part of any branches and he’s not sure if he ever actually visited any of them before. The menu hanging on the other side of the counter seems pretty generic, but good enough, and at least the line isn’t too long. There are plenty of unoccupied tables around, too. It seems good enough to stop at for lunch.

They find a table by the wall, with enough space around to keep their suitcase without it getting in other people’s way, and go to order. Oliver does the same thing he did when buying breakfast – finds something cheap to order because he’s not hungry, and then finds the strongest coffee the place offers.

The lack of reaction his body shows to the drink is not surprising, but frustrating.

“...So, how are you feeling?” Graham asks him at some point during their meal.

“I don’t think coffee’s helping,” he responds. Not anymore. He finishes the cup anyway, just in case the extra couple of sips of caffeine will miraculously do the trick.

“...Yeah,” Graham nods in agreement, which tells Oliver that he’s clearly not looking his best either. “Do you want to call a taxi to get home? It might be faster,” the man suggests, but that honestly sounds like more of a hassle.

“We’re not far,” Oliver responds. If they’re lucky, they can be back at his flat in… what, 20 minutes? Provided they don’t have to wait for the bus for too long.

“True,” Graham nods in agreement, even though Oliver’s not sure if the man actually knows how far they are. He didn’t have much time to get used to the area around the flat.

Regardless of that, Oliver goes back to his food. He doesn’t have much of it left, but he doesn’t want to just throw it out, and the sooner he’s done with it the sooner they can leave. The sooner he can get home and finally get some rest. Just close his eyes and sleep for as long as he could possibly need to.

…He’s really not used to being this desperate to sleep.

He’s not sure if this is a good sign.

Is it something to do with his patron? Sleep is his way of being more connected with the End, the death tendrils are easier to follow in his dreams and he can do nothing other than to investigate them then. Doing it every couple of nights is usually fine, doing it one or two times a week is enough to keep him pretty much well rested, but it’s… very unusual for him to need to sleep two nights in a row.

Does it want him to follow the tendrils he saw weaving their way towards the Magnus Institute? He saw them while sleeping on the train, though, and he was exhausted beforehand as well. Then again, his first time seeing them doesn’t equal the moment they came into existence. This might be his patron’s way of urging him to investigate.

Investigate and do what? Live with the knowledge? Try to warn the people there again? Make them aware of their inevitable doom? Is his involvement a necessary step in the tragedy those tendrils foretold?

(He hopes that’s it. He hopes it’s not a… punishment of a sort, a natural response to him being around someone who used to be dead, dead for good, but is back to living now. His patron pulling him closer in response to the memories he’s been regaining.)

This seems like the thing he should try to just sleep on.

It’s been a long time since Oliver was this happy to be home again.

Everything looks exactly like how they left it in their rush to pack and get to the train station the week prior, which is reassuring. There’s nothing he needs to deal with right away, no… surprise visitor to talk into leaving, or a suspicious change to investigate. He’d still like to unpack before he calls it a night, he hates putting off things like that, but any moment now, he tells himself.

“Finally, hm?” Graham says, joining him in the living room along with the suitcase. “You can just head to bed if you want, we can handle this later,” he suggests, patting the top of their luggage.

It doesn’t come as a surprise. Putting off unpacking just seems like something Graham would do– Has he done that before? It feels like he did. Oliver tries to remember, but it all seems blurry. He thinks he recalls tripping over a suitcase in Graham’s flat a week after he came back from a trip. (What trip? When? He can’t tell.) He can picture the apologetic look on the man’s face as he helped him up from the floor, trying to explain– and then it’s all gone, slipping through his fingers.

Maybe he’ll be able to recall more when he’s not actively fighting to stay awake.

“...Let’s just get it out of the way now,” Oliver decides, as tempting as sleep sounds.

“Alright, let me get my things out here, then,” Graham agrees without putting up a fight. He lays the suitcase down on the floor and opens it, taking out some of his clothes as well as the antique clock they purchased.

“...How are you planning on fixing it?” Oliver asks while the man sets it down on the coffee table.

“Not sure,” Graham shrugs in response. “I need to get a better look at it, and I’ll probably need to buy a few things, but we can do that later. You, uh, do have some tools around, right?”

“Mhm,” Oliver confirms. He makes his way to one of the cupboards in the living room and opens it, retrieving the box of tools from its corner. “Here.”

“Thanks,” Graham nods. “I’ll see what I need when you go to sleep. It’ll be quiet, I promise,” he continues while zipping the suitcase closed again and standing it back up. He starts to wheel the suitcase towards the bedroom. “These should all be just your things now, I think.”

Oliver nods and follows the man to the room. He just needs to move his clean clothes back to his closet, throw the rest in the wash, and put his suitcase back in its place. Then, he can just…

“And uh, thank you. Seriously,” Graham says once he gets the suitcase into the room. He turns to face Oliver again, and his expression looks a little uncertain. “For the entire trip. It… it means a lot, and I appreciate it. So thank you,” he continues with a nervous, but genuine smile on his face.

“You’re welcome,” he says. It feels like an underwhelming response, but he can’t find better words with how cloudy his head feels. It still makes Graham’s smile grow brighter.

…And maybe it was all worth it.

Maybe even though trains make him ill and he can barely keep his eyes open right now, the trip was worth it.

Not just for the memories he regained, but for this. For how happy it made Graham. 

“Right, well, I’ll leave you to it, yeah?” the man breaks the (admittedly comfortable) silence between them. He walks around Oliver, a smile still visible on his face, and heads towards the door. “Goodnight. I’ll try to be quiet.”

“Thank you,” Oliver calls after him, turning just in time to see the man pausing in the door.

“Thank you, too,” he responds before closing it.

Oliver barely manages to unpack the rest of the suitcase and change into something more comfortable before collapsing onto his bed.

Chapter Text

Graham does his best to keep himself occupied without making too much noise.

After Oliver goes to bed, he uses the man’s tools to carefully disassemble the Antique Clock and tries to get a general idea of what he’s going to need to fix it. He makes a list, double-checks it just to make sure he’s not missing anything, and assembles it back again. A couple of pieces seemed damaged if not outright missing or misfittted, he knows it won’t work, but this way he knows he won’t lose anything.

That’s about everything he can do with the clock without going shopping, and he can’t exactly do that now. He doesn’t have money, or house keys, or a single clue where he can get things he knows the big store he and Oliver went to before won’t have. On top of that, if Oliver wakes up while he’s gone… well, he doesn’t want to worry the man.

He wanders around the house, makes himself tea, and considers taking the clock apart again, just for fun. That just risks damaging the parts more, though. He considers having another look at the photo album, but he’s fairly certain it’s in Oliver’s bedroom, and going in there risks waking him up. He looks through the food still in the kitchen, making sure nothing expired while they were gone. He gets himself a bowl of cereal to snack on.

…He writes.

Well, no, he doesn’t. It’s not writing. It’s just… doing something with his hands.

He sits in the living room, hunched over the coffee table, and traces lines in his notebook. Lines, shapes, dots. He makes sure they don’t become words. He doesn’t know if it makes much difference, but he’d rather avoid a repeat of his… previous experience if he can help it. His memory of that time is still patchy, but the few memories he can piece together don’t paint a pretty picture.

If he’s drawing patterns and switching them every once in a while, maybe he won’t internalize them as much? Maybe they won’t get stuck in his head like a certain phrase did. Maybe this will leave him with more control.

Of course, not doing anything with the notebook at all would be a better solution. It’s just… still comforting, in a way. That, and he really needs to have something to do with his hands.

Besides, it kills time, and he needs something to do until it gets late enough to reasonably go to sleep.

He wakes up on the couch, with a sore back and a cramp in his shoulder.

Initially, he considers turning onto his side and trying to go back to sleep, but moving just makes the pain in his back more prominent. He wonders if he should bring this up to Oliver – suggest buying… something, even a blow up mattress. Probably not, the man has enough expenses to cover related to him staying here anyway. He can put up with the couch.

He goes to stretch, hoping to relieve the discomfort, and his gaze lands on the clock on the wall. 11:30 am.

It feels far too quiet for it to be half past eleven. He’s sure Oliver must’ve gotten up to make himself breakfast by now, that should’ve woken him up. He can’t smell any food, either. Did he really sleep through the man making it, eating it, and being awake for so long the smell has faded? That… seems to be the case.

He wonders what the man’s doing now.

He’s not in the living room, obviously. Graham gets up from the couch and peeks into the kitchen. It’s… exactly as he left it last night, down to the spot he left his bowl last evening and the way he moved one of the chairs by the window. He continues to look around, searching for subtle differences, but nothing seems to have changed.

Where is he?

The bedroom?

The door’s still closed, as it has been since they got back yesterday. That was around 3, maybe 4 pm, though. It’s been nearly 20 hours since then, is Oliver still in there? That doesn’t sound good. That sounds… concerning. The man was tired, sure, and…. maybe his relation to the Fears affects this, but still. 20 hours? Now that Graham’s ran the numbers in his head, he feels like he has to do something.

“...Oliver?” he calls out, but no response comes.

…He might be too far for the man to hear, he realizes, so he walks over to the door. He knocks on it, and listens for a reaction. He doesn’t get one. Normally, he wouldn’t open it in this case, but right now it only makes his concern grow. In spite of his apprehension, he opens the door, just a crack.

“Oliver?” he tries again. He gets a response this time – a groan. “Are you okay? Can I come in?” he asks, his worry only spiking.

“Mhm,” the man hums a confirmation, so Graham opens the door further and walks into the room.

Oliver is still in bed. He looks like he just woke up, Graham thinks initially. Then, he realizes that while the man might seem groggy, this isn’t what he looks like freshly woken up at all. It looks familiar, and it’s concerning, but he must’ve been awake for a while now. At least it looks like he got some rest – he seems a bit better rested than last evening.

“...How are you feeling?” he asks cautiously. Oliver looks at him, and his mouth hangs slightly open, but it takes him a while to come up with a response.

“I feel,” he says, reaching up to his face and rubbing his eyes, “like I should’ve worn a coat.”

Oh.

The answer is unexpected enough to throw Graham off for a bit. A coat, Oliver usually wears his coat, the… the same coat he gave Graham two days ago, when it was raining. Oliver got thoroughly soaked that day, and- is that what he’s talking about? Does that mean… did he end up catching a cold in the end?

The second the possibility even crosses Graham’s mind, it instantly makes sense. Of course Oliver’s sick, this is exactly how he gets when he gets sick! As far as Graham can recall, it always starts off with him being tired, but struggling to get proper sleep, and then it hits him hard. Just like this. Not for long, it gets manageable within about a day and he should be fully recovered within 3, maybe 4 days.

That’s how it always went so far, at least.

He can’t believe he didn’t figure this out faster. Why didn’t the possibility cross his mind before? That’s when he recalls that it did, long before it actually happened. Back in the Antique store, when the owner brought it up, he remembers worrying. He also remembers Oliver telling him it’s not possible.

“I thought you said you don’t get sick anymore?” he asks. Did he jump to a conclusion too fast? If this isn’t Oliver being sick, though, then what could it possibly be?

“I thought that, too,” the man responds with a sigh. “Turns out…” he gestures to himself.

So, he is sick. That’s not good, of course, but at least that’s something Graham knows how to navigate. That is, assuming him being ill isn’t affected by his connection to the End. Graham considers asking, but it seems like the man is as clueless about his current state as he is, so there is no point.

One way to find out, then.

“...Where do you keep your medicine? I’ll bring it here,” he says. He remembers, back when they still lived together, Oliver always had a small box of over-counter medicine just in case. They needed it a couple of times over the years, he thinks, and now they need a box like it again.

“Should be in the kitchen, the… rightmost cabinet? I think? It’s been a while since I–” Oliver cuts himself off with a groan. “...I don’t know if it’s not all expired by now. I stopped checking,” he realizes.

“I’ll go grab it. If it’s expired, I can just run to the store,” Graham assures him.

He leaves the room and wastes no time before going to the kitchen and opening the cabinet Oliver mentioned. Sure enough, a small box with a few packages of different kinds of medicine quickly catches his eye. He retrieves it from the shelf and decides to bring the whole thing along.

He really hopes the medicine will work, and fast. Oliver really doesn’t look like he’s holding up too well, and he hates seeing the man like that. No wonder, really – he cares about Oliver, after all. Even if it’s not… the way he used to, a long time ago, caring in some ways must just be second nature to him by now.

He briefly looks over a couple of packages on his way back to the bedroom. A lot of them are expired.

“Here, I got it,” he says upon entering the bedroom again. By the time he returns, Oliver has managed to move himself into a sitting position. Even though his back is up against his wall, he still looks a bit unsteady.

“Thanks,” he nods. Graham walks over to his bed and places the box down by his side.

“Can you look through them yourself? I’ll go make you some tea then, okay?” he suggests. Something warm might be helpful. Oliver doesn’t say anything in response, but gives another nod. “I’ll be right back, then.”

They’re nearly all out of tea, he realizes when he goes to grab a tea bag. There’s only a handful of them left. Just another thing they need to buy soon… though he’s not sure how good an idea it would be for them to go shopping now. Oliver should be getting all the rest he can, up until he recovers.

He suggested going to the store for medicine if needed, but he’s starting to think he might have to go there regardless.

When he finishes making the tea for Oliver, he quickly adds some sugar and brings it over to the bedroom. Luckily, he remembers he’s not making it for himself, and doesn’t add more than just a spoonful of sugar into it. He considers bringing food too, but he might as well go back to grab it when he’s not trying to carry a mug full of hot tea at the same time.

By the time he returns, the medicine box is partially empty and in a different spot than he left it on. Oliver is still sitting up, with a few packages of medicine next to him. His expression doesn’t make Graham too hopeful about their expiration dates.

“...Are they still good?” he asks, cautiously bringing the tea over. He places it on the bedside table, not wanting to risk spilling it on the bed or Oliver.

“This one should be,” the man says, holding up a blister pack. It can’t have more than two, maybe three pills left inside. “They’re almost out, and the others are expired,” he continues.

“How long will that last?” Graham asks, and Oliver shrugs. “Do you want me to go get more?”

“I can go with you, let me just take this,” the man responds. He moves closer to the night stand and reaches for the tea. The scalding hot tea.

“Let me grab you some water for that. The tea might be too hot,” Graham says. Oliver pauses, and then moves back to his previous spot by the wall.

“Right. Right,” he nods. Graham looks around and quickly spots an unopened bottle sitting by the closet. It might be the same one they packed for the train ride, he thinks as he goes to retrieve it.

“Here,” he says, handing it over. “I can go to the store alone. You should rest,” he adds while Oliver gets a pill out from the blister pack and takes it.

“...Are you sure?” Oliver asks, closing the bottle and setting it down next to himself on the bed.

“Yeah. We need to get food as well, and tea. I can go grab all of that, you just wait here. I remember where the store is,” he assures the man. He’s… pretty sure he does, at least.

Oliver doesn’t look too convinced.

Regardless, not even 20 minutes later, Graham is already walking down the street.

It took a bit more convincing, but Oliver relented and let him go shopping on his own in the end. The medicine he took wasn’t going to magically make him feel perfectly healthy, and going to the store and back certainly wouldn’t make things easier on him. He still insisted on going over the directions with Graham, which was a compromise he was willing to take, but the man had no issues handing him his wallet after that.

He’s going to pay him back eventually, Graham promises himself. He’s been trying to keep track of expenses, so that he can return the money once he gets the chance. He’s not sure when or how that’ll happen, but once he’s legally himself, he’s pretty sure he could find a job. The gap in his resume might be hard to explain, but he’ll manage one way or another.

Or, he might be able to get at least some of the money his parents left him back. He has no idea if the thing that took his place spent it, and if so how much, and no way to check until he has a way to prove it’s his money. Either way, it will probably be a while until then, so the best he can do for now is keep track of how much Oliver has to spend on him.

He manages to find his way to the store with surprisingly little trouble. Navigating it is a little bit tougher, he’s still not too familiar with its layout, but he manages fine in the end. He didn’t make a proper shopping list, other than the list of things he needs to repair the clock, but he has a decent idea as to what he needs to buy.

He finds the medicine without any issues, and picks up a few different things - something for a fever, something for a sore throat, and a general painkiller as well. Picking out the tea takes him more time than that, because he just can’t seem to find the right kind. The store offers a wide selection of black tea, but none of the packages look like the one in Oliver’s kitchen and he can’t quite recall the name of the comapny. Eventually, he settles on grabbing a smaller box that looks just about right and moves on.

Things truly go sideways when he starts heading towards the food section.

He wanted to pick up a few instant meals, something he feels he might be able to make himself without destroying the kitchen in the process. He didn’t ask for any last time they were here, though, so he’s not entirely sure where to find them. Since he’s not exactly in a rush, he decides his best bet is to just wander around the store.

It’s as he’s walking down the main passage, glancing into random aisles in search of anything that resembles instant meals, that he catches eye contact with someone. It’s a woman, maybe in her mid 20s? He’s not sure, he’s not that great at estimating people’s ages. She looks… perfectly normal, maybe a bit unusually tall? Regardless, he probably wouldn’t pay her any attention if she wasn’t already looking at him.

No, looking is too light a word.

She’s staring, with her expression somewhere between being dumbfounded and utterly amazed.

That’s… unusual.

He’s not sure what to do. Ignore her, walk away? Or should he approach her, or say something? Maybe he should stay here and look back until she breaks eye contact herself? Before he can make up his mind, the woman breaks out of her state and starts to speed-walk towards him. He briefly considers turning and walking away to avoid whatever confrontation awaits, but then–

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry, are you Graham Folger?” she asks once within ear shot, and that’s enough to stop him in his tracks.

She knows him.

It was shocking enough at the Antique store, but this is the second time now. The second time someone recognized him, seemed so happy to see him, called him by his name. It’s still just as exhilarating, just as thrilling. He doesn’t recognize her, not yet, but he’s fairly certain he might be able to figure that part out as he goes. He nods a confirmation before he forgets.

“Y-yeah, I am!” he adds out loud, and the woman’s face lights up. She clasps her hands together, and it seems like she just barely stops herself from squealing in excitement. “Where… uh, I’m sorry, can I ask where I know you from?” he asks, hoping to get on the same page as fast as possible. Her having to ask his name proves she wasn’t entirely certain it was him either, which means… “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he tries.

“Oh, ages!” the woman laughs loudly, waving her hand dismissively. “It’s been a long, long time since I last saw you. What was it, 2006?”

…Either his estimate of her age was way off, or he met her when she was a teen. He tries to get a better look at her, and realizes her outfit is quite a bit… unusual, maybe retro would be the word? That makes him wonder if they could’ve met while antiquing. It doesn’t sound fully right either, though, he still can’t quite place her face.

“Right, right,” he nods in acknowledgement. Should he keep pushing her to tell him where she knows him from? He worries about how that might come across badly. “Hey, do you know where I can find those instant meals? You know the ones–” he tries to shoot his shot.

“Aww, don’t tell me you don’t recognize me!” the woman interrupts him, although she sounds anything but hurt. She reaches out towards him, and–

Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s backing away. Something in his brain screams that he can’t let himself be within her reach. He's not even sure what she was reaching for, the motion was not aimed at his hand and he stepped back too soon to find out. The woman’s expression slips into something half surprised and half… amused.

“I’m surprised Oliver lets you go out on your own already,” she continues. There’s something wrong with her face. It doesn’t fit her. It doesn’t… Apparently not satisfied with the distance between them, Graham’s mind continues to demand he moves further from her. “I didn’t realize you were adjusting so quickly.”

…From it.

“I–” the words die in his throat. This has to be a Stranger. Something is way too wrong about her for her to not be a Stranger. She– it has no right to know about Oliver either, not uness it knows– “He’s not going to be happy to see you here. And he’s right, uh, around there,” he motions towards a random aisle.

The Stranger doesn’t look convinced for a second.

“...Don’t tell me you got lost,” it says, with a grin growing on its face.

…He might be willing to stick to that version, for his own sake. Accidentally getting separated from Oliver sounds like a better situation to be in instead of being here alone, with no one but the Stranger. He tries to figure out how to respond to solidify its belief, but it’s hard to focus when also fighting off the urge to run.

Who even is this? He was under the impression his… situation wasn’t common knowledge, that the Strangers involved wouldn’t spread the word about it. Let alone tell anyone who would listen what he looks like, so that they can recognize him with this much confidence. It doesn’t look like a… mannequin, which Oliver told him is the case with Nikola, and…

“I wonder what he’ll say if I help you find him,” it says, stepping closer and reaching out again.

Its arm doesn’t match its face. Its hand is bigger than he noticed before, its fingers are longer and pointed, its skin gray to the point it can’t be natural, it– When he looks up at its face, something seems to have changed there as well. He could swear its eyes weren’t that green when it approached him. Or… were they? The shade looks familiar, but he can’t quite–

He can place it.

He doesn’t say anything, the second the realization hits him he simply turns around and starts walking back the direction he came from. Walking fast.

The eyes, their shade, he– that hand, it– He’s seen them before. 

He wishes he hadn’t.

He recalls seeing a long, sharp hand wrapped in gray skin. He remembers it reaching towards him, something keeping him in place no matter how hard he struggles. He remembers it reaching his face, the burning hot pain spilling from his skin where it made contact. He–

He recalls seeing those eyes for the first time in his life, just two days ago. He remembers looking at the photo of a man that clearly wasn’t him, and having those eyes look back at him. The exact same shade. The exact same–

“Graham! Come on, I promise I can hel-p you–” it calls after him, but its voice breaks and changes tones. It sounds… wet, like something in its throat is melting.

Fuck.

He takes a turn into an aisle and all but sprints to the other side. Is it following? He can’t bring himself to look back and check. He takes a turn and keeps up his pace. He needs to find security– Except, what could the security do? If this is… it (and he knows it is. He knows this is the thing responsible for what happened to him.), and it wants to do something, Security can’t stop it.

He needs to leave, and he needs to leave now.

He found the medicine, that’s the most important part. The tea’s nice too, and they still have some food at home, so it’s not like they’ll be starving. He heads straight to the cash registers, doing his best to blend into the people around him and trying to not look over his shoulder an abnormal amount of times.

He’s fine.

He’s fine.

This is fine.

His hands are shaking. He can’t stop himself from looking around, checking if it found him again. If it did, would he know? Or would it choose to follow him quietly now, just like the first time? He needs to leave. He barely registers it when the cashier tells him how much his things cost. He just needs to leave.

The next time he experiences a full, coherent thought is outside. He’s pretty sure he isn’t being followed, and he really needs to catch his breath, so he moves off to the side. He needs to– he pats down his pockets, and retrieves his pack of cigarettes. He needs a smoke right now.

He’s nearly out, but that’s the least of his worries. He needs to think, to figure out – what does he do now?

He inhales.

Does he go home? Is that safe? It knows where Oliver’s place is, what if it catches up to him?

He exhales.

He can’t stay here for too long. He doesn’t want to worry Oliver. Once he’s home, he might feel safe again.

Breathes in.

Can he take a different path? He doesn’t trust himself to not get lost on it.

Out.

Is there anything he can do to protect himself? Any advantage he has? Other than it hopefully not knowing where he is, no–

In.

He brought his notebook with him. Oliver said it brought the notebooks up. They clearly left an impression.

Out.

Will holding it be enough, or should he… write? Writing while walking seems inconvenient. He hopes if he just has it on hand it won’t approach him.

He keeps the cigarette in his mouth while retrieving the notebook. He tries to be quick with it, and keeps it in his right hand when he goes back to smoking. He’ll just finish it, and then he’ll walk back home. He’ll be fine. He has to be fine.

If it wanted him… dead, or in whatever state he was in before, it would’ve broken into Oliver’s house and done it already. Except, when he’s there, he’s always with Oliver as well.

If it wanted him gone, it wouldn’t have released him in the first place.

As long as he keeps calm and just walks home, ignores it if it appears, he should be fine. Once he gets home, and is with Oliver again, he’s sure he’ll be fine. Even if the man is sick, his presence will still help.

He lets out another puff of smoke–

“Graham!” someone gasps behind him, sounding truly appalled.

It’s incredible how quickly hearing his own name is becoming a nightmare. He spins around before he can think better of it.

“Are you smoking again? What would Oliver say?” it asks. It’s here again, it doesn’t look like the woman anymore, but somewhere between her and the photo he saw. More importantly, it’s standing right behind him, so close their heads are nearly touching. “Oh, I bet he’s not even here, you won’t risk him find–”

He didn’t mean to do that.

It’s really instinct that he takes a swing at it with the first thing he has on hand. It’s just his luck that it happens to be the notebook, and that it’s so close he somehow manages to strike it in the face.

It stumbles back and away, startled, but obviously not injured. At once, its previously pleased expression falls into a confused one. Then, it curls further, its features becoming sharper, starker, harsher–

Shit.

Chapter Text

He’s sick.

Outside of the general misery being sick brings, Oliver feels extra miserable about not even considering this a possiblity beforehand. He should’ve stopped and gotten an extra coat, and dried himself off more properly when he came back to the hotel. He should’ve realized what was wrong before it progressed to this point.

At least he wasn’t fully out of medicine yet.

He can feel it working now, he thinks. His head isn’t hurting as much, and he can sit up fully without the whole room starting to spin. He considers laying back down regardless, to get a bit more rest, but he feels like he should do something more productive.

He properly looks through his medicine box first, discarding anything that expired off to the side. He’s not left with much, but assuming Graham picks up some more medicine at the store, it should be enough to tide him over until he recovers. Then, he can go ahead and restock properly.

He brings the now-empty mug Graham gave him and the expired medicine to the kitchen, and puts it all away. He’ll need to take them to the nearest pharmacy to get rid of them, he knows, but he’s in no state to go now. He’s not in the right state to go anywhere, probably.

On his way back to his room, he happens to glance up at his watch – it’s already 1 pm.

That throws him off. How long was he asleep for…? Shouldn’t Graham be back by now? When did the man leave? He reaches up to his head – the headache’s not gone entirely, it would seem. Even if Graham has been gone suspiciously long, which he can’t actually back up with any specific numbers, what would he do? Go looking for him? What if the man just decided to pick up some food on the way home, or… something? They’d just miss each other.

…He needs to lie down.

Knock, knock

The knocking comes before he can even make it back to his bedroom. He can’t complain, though – the knocking sounded like skin on wood, not plastic, so it shouldn’t be a surprise visitor there to ruin his day further. It must be Graham, and knowing the man’s back immediately makes Oliver feel relieved.

He goes to open the door.

(He ignores the fact he didn’t hear anyone buzz in. Maybe someone else let Graham into the building as they were leaving? Maybe he slept through it? Just missed it?)

(He ignores the fact Graham has his set of keys with him. Maybe the man lost them, or just can’t be bothered to pull them out now.)

He doesn’t even use the peephole, just opens the door. The sooner he can go back to bed the better, probably–

“I’m back!” the man in the door announces with a bright smile, and the plastic bag he’s holding rustles in his hand.

Very briefly, Oliver thinks this must be a fever dream.

The man at the door is not Graham. He has longer, brighter, curly hair. He’s shorter. With bright green eyes that don’t quite match the expression on his face. With a smile that shows off his white, oddly sharp teeth. 

This has to be a fever dream, and a terrible one at that.

It feels far too real, though. He can see too many details in the man’s– the thing’s appearance. He can see it clearly – individual hairs, the odd shape its eyebrows always had, the bag in its hand, the reddened spot on one of its cheeks. He can feel his grip on his door handle tightening to the point it hurts.

Is this real? Is it really here?

“Why are you here?” he asks, just in case this is real.

It smiles wider, and Oliver’s illness feels more like a distant memory. His dizziness, aching, confusion, and all else is overshadowed by the alarm bells going off in his head. What is it doing here? What does it want? And why does it have to look like this every time it’s around him? 

“Just brought the groceries home,” it says, and holds out the plastic bag towards Oliver.

The bag looks light, with just a couple of small items inside. Tiny boxes, maybe? What actually grabs Oliver’s attention is the logo on it, though – the logo of the store the actual Graham went to. Is it– this has to be a horrible, terrifying fever dream. The medicine he took must've been expired. This can’t be happening.

“You’re not him,” he says. Is it trying to– Did it– No, no, that can’t have happened, It– While he’s trying to wrap his mind around the situation, the NotThem sighs, and its expression falls into an annoyed one.

“...Not anymore,” it rolls its eyes. “Look. I know he doesn’t like me, I get that, but the least he could do is come to the door as well and apologize,” it continues, and it seems almost offended that that hadn’t happened yet.

“What?”

“For hitting me!” it exclaims, motioning up to the red mark on its face. Oliver’s growing increasingly convinced he must be running a fever. “I wasn’t going to hurt him, I was just going to give him this!” it shakes the bag in its hand.

Oliver can barely keep up with what it’s saying. It– Graham hit it? Is that what the red mark is from? And it said it wasn’t going to hurt him? Is that– did that change when he…?

“Where is he?” he asks, and the thing in his doorway pauses. It looks thrown off by the question. Is it trying to play dumb? At that point, it doesn’t look annoyed at all.

“Is he not here?” it asks, trying to look into the flat over Oliver’s shoulder. “He should’ve made it here by now, it’s not that far…” it trails off.

“What did you do?” Oliver asks. He’s not sure where he finds the confidence to take such a tone with it – either the fever or the growing anxiety. What happened? Where’s Graham? 

“Nothing!” it responds, defensively. “He left his groceries, and ignored the cashier trying to call him back! I decided to bring them to him,” it pauses, shoving the bag it’s holding in Oliver’s face, “but he hit me and left! Just ran off!”

He takes the bag from it, and it doesn’t fight him.

He knows it’s skipping over things. He knows it didn’t decide to give Graham the groceries back out of… the goodness of its heart, if it even has one. Right now, he doesn’t care enough to try and get the truth out of it. Not regarding those details.

“Where did he go?” he asks instead. It tries to look over his shoulder again.

“I don’t know! Up the street, last I saw him. Are you sure he’s not here? Didn’t you miss him coming in?” it suggests, but Oliver’s certain. He shakes his head, and it takes a step forward as if that could make Graham appear in its sight.

“He’s not here!” he says, as much as he hates to admit that. In spite of its apparent worry, he can’t shake the feeling that it might’ve done something, that it’s just trying to avoid the blame.

“Ohh, Nikola is not going to be happy,” it mutters, stepping back. Oliver doesn’t even want to know the implications of that.

“I’ll go look for him. You, get out of here,” he says, he does not want it involved any more than it already is. 

It looks like it’s about to respond, but he makes the split-second decision to shut the door in its face before it can say anything. He’s pretty sure he’s heard enough out of it. He steps back from the door. 

His head is spinning.

He looks down into the grocery bag – medicine, and a single box of tea. Graham did say they were running low… He needs to go find him, now. He takes out one of the boxes of medicine and discards the plastic bag with the rest of the groceries by the door. He might need to take some medicine further from its expiration date, but he doesn’t have time for anything else.

In under a minute, he manages to put on his boots and coat. He knows he shouldn’t be going outside right now, not if he wants to recover quickly, but right now getting sicker is somehow the least of his worries. He quickly grabs the spare set of house keys and leaves his flat.

By the time he does, the NotThem is gone from the hallway.

Good.

The longer he spends looking, the more worried he is.

He goes over all the facts he has again.

While Graham was shopping, it approached him and continued to follow him. He hit it – in self defence, Oliver would imagine – and then ran off. It didn’t say where, but it was probably (hopefully) in the direction of their flat. Unless he got his directions mixed up, or didn’t want to risk leading it there. If he did go towards the flat, and it went there as well, that might’ve thrown him off his track as well–

So, he could be anywhere.

Oliver’s first course of action was to go to the store himself, keeping an eye out for Graham on his way there.

Nothing.

He spent a while looking around the store, figuring Graham might’ve gone back there when he realized he was being followed. He even manages to ask a few people if they’d seen him.

Nothing.

He goes back in the direction of his flat, also trying to catch glimpses into the establishments on the street – corner stores, a bakery, the pizzeria they almost visited. He even steps into the last one, to see if he’s not seated in any corner.

Nothing.

He makes it all the way back to his flat and decides to check it again. Maybe they missed each other? Maybe Graham took a different path home and is currently waiting up there, worried about him?

Nothing.

Back down to the store.

Nothing.

Down a street that looks the most similar to the one they actually take.

Nothing.

Back to the store, down another street.

Nothing.

Back to the flat.

Nothing.

Nothing, nothing, nothing–

Did it lie?

Is it possible that it lied to him? What if it didn’t run into Graham, just lied to get him out of the flat for some reason? What if it chased Graham off in directions he’s never gone before, getting him lost? What if it hurt him and didn’t want to admit to it?

…What if it…?

It couldn’t have taken Graham again. Not when it was made to give him back so recently, not while it was still in the process of that. A process so… odd even it doesn’t seem to get it, and it wouldn’t take such a gamble trying to stop it. It wouldn’t go against Nikola, and Nikola knows he wanted Graham safe, and they’re still “friends”–

Unless them being gone for a week put him in her bad graces. He’s seen her getting upset over less.

It can’t have taken Graham again, he tells himself. He still remembers him! He remembers the few memories he regained, and he remembers all the new ones they got together since being reunited. He remembers what the fake looks like as well, so it can’t be– Unless it replacing someone again would result in yet another parody of their existence.

No.

He still remembers Graham.

(That’s what he thought last time, too. For years.)

He doesn’t even feel sick anymore, not physically.

A part of him wants to believe it’s the adrenaline keeping his symptoms at bay, or the medicine finally kicking in properly. A part of him can tell this is too drastic a change to be something so mundane. He comes to a stop, leaning his shoulder against a building next to him, and tries to check his own pulse.

It’s there, hammering away.

It’s been a while since he could find it.

It’s easier to find after he sleeps, or after he talks about his dreams. After he stares at someone covered in death tendrils for too long and wishes them luck or gives them a word of warning when questioned. It’s harder to find when he’s been keeping his knowledge to himself or losing sleep.

It’s… easier to find his pulse when he feeds his patron. He’s not doing that now, it’s just–

…He’s scared.

He’s terrified by not knowing what happened. By all the terrible scenarios his mind is supplying him with. He’s… he’s scared of losing Graham, he realizes. He’s scared of it happening again, in a way he’s so unfamiliar with he can barely comprehend the feeling.

Even if he can’t put it into words, his fear seems to be strong enough to feed his Patron. He’s scared, even though he’d like to think he doesn’t scare easily these days. Even though he knows how important death is, something about–

Graham’s not dead, he reminds himself.

There were no tendrils on him, not in his nightmares and not last time he saw the man. So, he can’t be dead–

Then again, Graham returning after being replaced means he didn’t actually die. If that’s happening again, the tendrils might've not clung to him over it, but Oliver has a strong feeling it might be final–

Graham’s fine.

He has no reason to believe that the NotThem lied about this part, and overthinking this in the middle of the street is not going to do him any good. He takes a couple of deep breaths, takes a moment to concentrate, and continues down the street.

(He ignores the fact he’s continuing to feel better.)

(He forgot how nice it feels to be this well fed. He just wishes he wasn’t the meal as well.)

It’s just a coincidence that Oliver looks off to his side when he does. By chance, he glances down a back alley he’s certain he checked before. Maybe he was still too sick to focus last time? Missed a detail or two?

He doesn’t miss the silhouette near the back of it this time.

He comes to a stop immediately.

Doing his best not to get his hopes too high up, he stays in his spot and observes. The person in the alley shares Graham’s frame and hair colour. Their clothes look familiar, too. They seem… rather distressed, seated on the ground, curled up in a way that hides their head in their hands. He’d imagine Graham could feel similarly after running into it while trying to shop, it might be him.

The person’s head suddenly snaps up and turns to look at him.

And it’s Graham.

In spite of the distance between them and the darkness of the alley, Oliver can just tell that it’s him. The wave of pure relief that hits him at the realization nearly sweeps him off his feet, and before he knows it, he’s walking towards the man. Briefly, Graham seems to tense up further, but that changes the second Oliver gets close enough for the man to recognize him as well.

“Oliver?” he asks, his eyes widening. “What are you doing here? You’re sick, you- you need to be resting-” he says, his voice sounding strained. Oliver still feels like him being sick is the least of their problems right now.

“I was looking for you. Are you okay?” he responds, and Graham seems almost surprised by the question.

“Me? I’m- Yeah, yeah, I just-” he pauses, and looks down. At that point the man notices a notebook in his hands. “Just needed a moment. You won’t believe what happened, I...” he starts, but his voice trails off.

“I know,” Oliver says. He knows what happened, more or less. He knows enough. Graham looks up at him again, as if trying to figure out if he really does.

“...Yeah,” he sighs eventually, apparently deciding that Oliver does know. “So I, I ended up hiding here, it seemed safer, and I swear I was just about to go back! I was just-” he cuts himself off, and takes a moment to gather his words. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It’s okay,” Oliver tries to reassure him. “Come on, let’s go,” he offers Graham a hand to help him up.

The man takes it, and as soon as Oliver helps him up, he’s met with a strong smell of cigarette smoke. The air around Graham just reeks of it, but he tries his best not to react. The moment Graham catches his balance, he steps back. Maybe he’s aware of the smell, or maybe he noticed his concealed reaction.

“Oh,” Graham mutters. “...We might need to go back to the store. I… lost the groceries. I don’t know where, or how,” he admits. The same groceries the NotThem brought him, Oliver assumes.

“They’re in the flat already,” he says, and Graham looks at him with a confused frown on his face. “It, uh… came by the flat after you left. Had the groceries with it, gave me a scare, asked about you–” he names. Upon hearing that last part, Graham pales a little.

“What did it want?” he interrupts, and briefly glances around the alley as if half-expecting to find it in the shadows.

“An apology,” Oliver says. Even now, the idea seems plainly ridiculous. “It said you hit it? I–”

“I didn’t mean to!” Graham interrupts him again. “It was after I saw it, I thought I lost it when I left but it followed me outside! It was just behind me, said something, and I just–” he cuts off his hurried explanation and hesitantly mimics the motion of hitting something with the notebook he’s holding.

“With the notebook?” Oliver asks. After a moment of hesitation, Graham nods.

“I was holding it when it snuck up on me,” he explains. He nervously turns the notebook in his hands a couple of times.

“I don’t think it deserves any apologies,” Oliver says, just to make sure Graham knows where he stands on the situation. “It was gone when I left the house to look for you, we should be okay going back there.”

“Okay,” Graham nods. “Though I– I didn’t grab any food before I ran into it, should we– or I go back? You should be resting,” he suggests, but Oliver shakes his head.

He’s calmer now, and his head is starting to feel dizzy again. All he wants to do is go home.

“Let’s just go. We can order food once we get there,” he decides, and Graham nods.

He starts to make his way out of the alley, even if his steps feel unsteady. The motion makes him even more dizzy, but he pushes through it and keeps his balance. They’re not too far from the flat, he thinks, they just have to make it back there. Then, he can take some medicine again and start thinking about ordering dinner.

“Are you okay?” Graham asks, matching his pace and looking just about ready to grab him if he were to lose his balance. “Do you… how are you feeling?”

“Worse,” Oliver admits. “I think the adrenaline’s just… gone, now, and I’m,” he shrugs.

That’s a lie.

It sounds better than “I was so scared you were dead that it fed my Patron, and now that I know you’re okay I’m not scared anymore, so the End isn’t sustaining me as much”, so he sticks with it. Being honest would just make this awkward, he thinks.

“Oh, yeah, makes sense,” Graham nods in response. Oliver can see that the man’s stance didn’t change, he still looks ready to catch him. “...For when we’re shopping again, I uh. I ran out of cigarettes.”

The smell of smoke still clings to the man, and Oliver can’t bring himself to be surprised that he’s out. Not that he can exactly blame Graham, with the way the day is going so far…

“We’ll get some,” he nods. Unless Graham’s been buying more in secret, the 1st pack lasted him over a week. That’s… not too bad, is it? 

By the time they get back to the flat, Oliver feels like he’s barely standing. He’s exhausted, his head is killing him again, and his legs are as sore as he expected them to be after running back and forth for so long. Even though he’s spent a lot of time sleeping already, he’s tempted to go back to bed without even changing into anything more comfortable.

Instead, he takes another dose of the medicine and goes to retrieve his phone. He sits back on the couch and unlocks the screen. At some point, Graham joins his side.

“What do we want to order?” he asks, looking up at him from his phone. Graham shrugs.

“...Maybe pizza?” he suggests after a moment. Oliver’s not feeling too hungry, and pizza sounds just about as good as anything else.

“The anchovy one?” Graham asks.

“Sure,” Oliver agrees. He’s not sure if he’s even going to taste it, the way the medicine is making him feel only marginally better.

Graham smiles at that, and Oliver decides that even if he can taste it, it’ll be worth it.

…The knock on the door comes not even 20 minutes after they place their order.

Oliver’s pretty sure he’s the only one to hear it – Graham went to the kitchen just a minute or two ago with the intention of making them some tea while they wait. He’s also pretty sure the person delivering the pizza would not be able to enter the building without calling in first.

Half-convinced he might’ve imagined the sound, or heard Graham doing something in the kitchen and confused the source, he gets off the couch and walks over to the door to check. Having learned from his recent experiences, he uses the peephole to see outside.

It’s not someone delivering their food.

It’s back.

For once, it’s not looking back through the peephole. It’s just standing in the corridor, looking to both of its sides every once in a while. It has, once again, taken on the appearance of what it pretends Graham looked like. After a couple of seconds, it leans in to knock again. Carefully, Oliver covers the peephole back out.

He wants to just go back to the couch and pretend he didn’t hear anything.

He can’t, though, because there’s no telling how long it’s going to stay in front of the door or when their food will be delivered. He’ll have to open it soon, and he doesn’t want to deal with it while picking up the pizza they ordered.

His head is still pounding, though, and he just really doesn’t have the energy to deal with it.

It knocks again.

No matter what he does, this is going to be a headache.

With a defeated sigh, he opens the door. Right away, its face twists into a smile that makes Oliver’s skin crawl. Even before he can say anything, it tries to look past him and into the flat.

“Oliver! Did you find him?” it asks, keeping its voice light and friendly. It’s grating against Oliver’s ears.

“Go away,” he responds. God, his head’s killing him. “You’re not getting an apology here.”

“But he’s here, right?” it asks, and tries to look past his other shoulder. Something about its smile seems odd. More odd than usual.

“Leave,” he says, and goes to shut the door.

It… doesn’t stop him.

He stays at the door for a while, waiting for it to try and open it, or knock again. His head is still spinning, and everything seems just a little bit hazy. How long has he been here? Seconds? Minutes?

Did he make a mistake? Did his response just piss it off? Is it waiting for him to open the door and apologize too, before it breaks it down? What was he thinking? If it’s angry, there’s no telling–

“Oliver?” Graham calls out to him from deeper inside the flat.

He goes to look through the peephole, and… it’s gone. Somehow, for some reason, just telling it to leave worked. He shakes his head.

“Here,” he calls back. He makes sure the door is locked and goes back to the living room.

…He doesn’t tell Graham about the would-be visitor he just turned away.

He’s not entirely sure if it wasn’t just a fever dream.

Chapter Text

The door is closed.

This is not going great.

Oliver tries the handle a few more times, but it just won’t budge. He steps back, and looks down. His hands are shaking, and he’s gripping the folder he’s holding too hard. He wouldn’t be surprised if the documents inside got crumpled up already. He hopes that doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t, should it?

(He’s not entirely sure what documents are in the folder. He hopes they aren’t too important.)

He turns around and walks away, glancing between all the buildings around him. There are so many doors he needs to check, and he’s starting to doubt any of them are open at this point. He’s seen maybe ten people since he arrived, but none of them headed into any building. Did he get the days mixed up? He’s sure that’s not the case. He glances down at his watch, and it’s 2:30 pm already. He’s running out of time. 

He buries his face in his hands. He’s not cut out for this, is he? He–

“Are you okay?” somebody asks him.

He snaps his hands back down, startled, and just barely stops himself from stumbling back. He’s now face to face with a man, and the air smells like smoke – he quickly spots a cigarette in the stranger’s hand. More importantly, though, he spots a lanyard sticking out of the man’s pocket as well.

(The man looks like Graham, except a bit younger. He’s not greying, his facial hair is still a bit patchy at points, and something about his demeanour seems more energetic than Oliver is used to. He looks… just like he did in the older Polaroids.)

“Y–yeah,” he nods. He looks back up at the man’s face. He seems concerned. “I-’m sorry, do you, uh, go here?”

(That’s not what he wanted to say. His body… moves, and speaks outside of his control.)

“I do, why?” the man asks him.

“Do you know where the office is? I– I really need to deliver these today, but this is my first time here, and I can’t make sense of the map from the brochure,” he explains. The brochure is in his back pocket now, so crumpled up he’s embarrassed to take it out again. He did that himself, in frustration.

(He didn’t mean to say any of that. The brochure wasn’t that bad, and he knows exactly where the office is by now.)

“Oh, yeah, those maps are a mess,” the man smiles at him and nods. “I can take you there, it’s just a building over,” he continues. That’s not what Oliver asked, he just needs the directions. He’d hate to be a bother.

“You don’t have to, just… just the directions are fine,” he assures the man, but he shakes his head. He takes a drag from his cigarette and steps closer to a nearby bin.

“I don’t mind, I’m not doing anything important anyway,” he says, putting the cigarette out on the rim and making sure it’s not smoking anymore before discarding it. “Come on.”

(He doesn’t make the choice to follow. He knows they’re going towards the wrong building. He knows where the office is perfectly well, now that he’s had the time to think about it. It’s in the entirely opposite direction.)

“Thank you,” he says, catching up to the man. He’s squeezing the folder too hard again, he notices and tries to relax his grip.

“You’re welcome. So, you’re new to the college?” the man asks him. He shrugs his arms and holds up the folder.

“Hopefully. I still need to submit this first,” he answers, and the man nods.

“Mm. Good luck, then! Oh, I almost forgot – I’m Graham, by the way,” he offers Oliver a hand while they walk.

(Oliver knew it was Graham – the resemblance was just too strong.)

“Oliver,” he introduces himself, and shakes Graham’s hand.

“Well, I hope to start seeing you around here more often then, Oliver,” Graham says with a bright smile.

It feels nice, to be welcomed like that.

(It was nice. It doesn’t change the fact they were going in the wrong direction.)

Oliver opens his eyes.

He’s laying in his bed…?

He looks around the room, and nothing seems out of order. The motion makes his head spin, so he steadies himself and goes back to looking at the ceiling. He’s… very confused.

Was that a dream?

His dreams aren’t like that. Not anymore. The only dreams he has, he spends traversing a copy of wherever he was beforehand, bathed in vapour-orange light. He decides where to go, what to do, and none of the dying people he sees ever try to speak to him. He’s free to roam until he wakes up, and it’s nothing like what he just experienced.

It’s what his dreams used to be like, though. They used to drag him along, they didn’t allow him to make any choices. If he ever realized his desires didn’t align with his actions, that he couldn’t control himself, he’d just have to let the dream continue. Observe whatever his brain conjured up with no way to truly interact with it.

…It’s not exactly what his dreams used to be like, now that he’s thinking about it. They seemed just a little bit less based in reality, a little more… abstract. Whatever he just saw, it felt undoubtedly real. An entirely new thing, that–

There’s a soft knock on the door to his bedroom, but it still snaps him out of his thoughts.

“Oliver? Are you awake?” Graham asks. His voice seems quiet, even for being muffled by a door.

“...Yeah?” he calls back, and rubs his eyes. He can sit and wonder about what it was later. “You can come in.”

“Thanks,” Graham opens the door and peeks his head inside. Seeing him now, just moments after… whatever his brain conjured up before, it’s almost jarring. Not to mention, Graham seems even more tense than usual. “How are you… feeling?” he asks. Oliver assumes this means he doesn’t look well.

“I’m fine,” he sighs. Careful as to not move his head so much it makes him dizzy again, he picks up his phone and checks the time. “...Hm. I can take the medicine again any minute now.”

“Okay, okay,” Graham nods. He stays in the doorway, and doesn’t look any less nervous.

“Why?” Oliver thinks to ask after a moment of silence.

“...There’s someone at the door,” Graham informs him, an uncertain smile growing on his face. That’s… odd. Oliver checks the time on his phone again – it’s almost midnight. He has no idea what could anyone want from them this late, but he has a feeling it’s nothing good.

“Do you know what they want?” he asks, and the man shakes his head.

“I didn’t open the door. Just… looked out the peephole when they didn’t stop knocking,” he continues, briefly grimacing at the memory. That’s… not very reassuring.

“Did they say who they are?” Oliver sits up. This is starting to seem like something he’ll have to deal with.

“No,” Graham answers. “I don’t think it’s a neighbour, though. You… might’ve mentioned them before? I think you did?” he continues. That… actually narrows it down pretty significantly, Oliver thinks.

“Can you describe them?” he asks. He moves to the edge of the bed and goes to put on his shoes.

“A mannequin,” Graham says simply, and Oliver pauses. Right. Right, that narrows it down to just about one. It’s either Nikola, or someone she sent. “I think… wearing a ringmaster’s outfit, too?” he adds.

“Sounds like Nikola,” Oliver says. He finishes putting on the shoes and grabs his coat from the edge of the bed. It’s the best way to get himself looking at least a bit presentable. “I can go talk to her.”

“Okay, thanks,” Graham nods, a strained smile appearing on his lips. He still looks just about as tense as he did when he entered the room, but it’s not like Oliver can fault him for that. Strangers can be… a lot, and he feels that the man’s had more than enough interactions with them for a day.

“You can stay here until I’m done,” he suggests. He’d imagine the last thing Graham wants is being pulled into the conversation once Oliver opens the door. The man offers him a grateful nod and steps off to the side.

The moment Oliver gets up from his bed, his head feels like it’s doubled in weight and he nearly falls back down. It’s a miracle he catches his balance again and recovers as quickly as he does, and he briefly considers taking the next dose of the medication before opening the door.

Then, he hears a knock coming from the other side of the flat. It sounds exactly like plastic meeting wood, except more… agitated than when Nikola knocked on that door before. He shouldn’t waste any more time.

“Are you sure you’re okay talking with her?” Graham asks him, and he looks worried. Oliver’s fairly certain it was his near-fall that made Graham concerned enough to ask, but he feels just about as ready to speak with Nikola as he ever does.

"She's not going to go anywhere otherwise," he says, cautiously starting to make his way towards the front door. He’s not sure how true that is, she might leave after a couple of hours if nobody answers the door… or her knocking could knock it off its hinges before that. It’s not a risk he’s willing to take.

"Should I… go with you?" Graham offers, a suggestion so surprising that Oliver makes himself dizzy with how fast he turns to look back at the man. He doesn't seem too eager on the idea, but doesn't backtrack either.

"No, I'll be okay," Oliver assures him. Graham nods, and unless Oliver's eyes are playing tricks on him, he looks rather relieved to hear that.

While he's making his way to the front door, the knocking comes again. The impact of plastic on wood, short and insistent. When was the last time Nikola knocked on his door? Was it when she came to pick him up in order to "hang out"? That was over a week ago. He's starting to think she might not be happy with him, more than he initially realized.

She got upset with him for having prepared a list of questions for their last meeting. Between leaving town for a week without a warning, everything that happened today with the NotThem and presumably making her wait by the door for so long? He has a feeling at least one of those things will have upset her.

He takes a look through the peephole, giving himself just a few more seconds to prepare for the interaction. Sure enough, it's Nikola. She's standing in the middle of the hallway, a bit further from the door now, which offers him a good look at what she’s wearing. He’s… pretty sure the skin currently wrapped around her is fresh, he thinks he can even see the faint outline of a dark tendril sticking out of–

He... hopes Graham didn't notice that detail.

He goes to open the door before she can knock again, or decide to break it down entirely. As soon as the opening becomes wide enough to fit her head, she squeezes it inside, but doesn’t advance further. Near-instantly, her attention lands on him, and she clasps her hands together.

"Oliver! It is so good to see you again!" she exclaims. Her voice echoes down the stairwell. It instantly makes his headache more apparent, although at the back of his mind he still feels like this could be worse. This is still a marginally better experience than interacting with the other Stranger he spoke with today.

"Good... evening," he responds. Nikola seems… less upset than he expected her to be. He tries to force a smile onto his face, but he gets the feeling he doesn’t quite pull it off.

“My, you look just terrible!” Nikola says. She looks him up and down. “It’s not because of what happened today, is it?”

“What?” he asks, thrown off by the suggestion. “No, no, I’m just–”

“Well that’s good to know!” she interrupts him. “I spoke to my friend today, and it told me you lost your Graham somewhere today! Did you end up finding him?” she asks, putting on a truly theatrical display of concern.

“...I did. He’s okay,” he says. Instantly, she drops the previous act and takes on a more excited appearance.

“Oh, I am so glad to hear that! How is he doing? Can I see him?” she bombards him with questions.

“He’s not–” Oliver tries to object.

“I would really like to see him! My friend said they got in a fight and I want to see how he did!” Nikola continues. Her voice certainly adds to Oliver’s growing headache, and he’s starting to regret not making her wait longer and taking his medicine before this.

“He’s fine,” he says. He wants to change the topic, but can’t think of anything that doesn’t risk angering her.

“I would still– Oh my, is that him?! Hello! My name is Nikola, and I am Oliver’s friend!” Nikola introduces herself suddenly. Oliver instantly looks over his shoulder to see if Graham’s somehow visible from the doorway– 

Graham is standing not even 3 feet behind him, looking like a deer caught in headlights. Oliver has to blink a couple of times to make sure he’s not just seeing things. Why would he–

“...Hi,” Graham responds to Nikola’s greeting, and his unease only seems to grow.

“Oh, I had no idea this was what you looked like! I only saw my friend’s version of you before! Have you seen that version of you?” Nikola asks, and an uncomfortable look appears on Graham’s face.

“Y-yes, in a… a photograph, yes,” he admits with a stiff nod. Oliver knows he needs to get him out of this situation, and fast, but his head is hurting so much it feels like it’s spinning and his mind keeps coming up blank. He just needs a second to think-

“You should see it in person! It looks great!” Nikola continues. “Not that you look bad, of course! I really like the way your skin lays on you! And you don’t even look like you were in a fight today!”

“...Thanks,” Graham manages, looking more and more like he wishes he could disappear from the situation entirely. Oliver makes sure he’s standing exactly between him and Nikola, for what it’s worth. “And it wasn’t much of a fight, I just– it snuck up on me, I hit it once, and then I left…?”

“Oh, yes! You ran away! My friend mentioned you did that!” Nikola claps her hands together. She seems… surprisingly not upset about the situation.

“And then he got home okay,” Oliver cuts in, trying to rejoin the conversation and steer Nikola’s attention away from Graham. “And speaking of, why are you… here?” he asks.

“I wanted to see you!” Nikola throws her arms to her sides, as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “You weren’t here last time I came over, so when my friend mentioned running into you, I decided to visit, too! Where were you two?”

“We ended up going on a… trip…?” Oliver explains, trying to keep his answer unsuspiciously vague. “I should’ve told you, but it was a… spontaneous thing,” he adds. He doesn’t feel like he should’ve told her, for all he knows she would try to follow–

“That’s a shame! I would’ve loved to come along as well! Where did you go?” she asks, and there goes his hope of staying vague. Oliver still feels on fence about answering, though. Will she go looking in Oxford next time she can’t get a hold of him?

“Oxford,” Graham answers, making the decision for him. Having no other choice, he simply nods in agreement. It’s not like she’ll be able to track them down in that big a city anyway, at least not that easily. “It’s where we met, originally, so it seemed… fitting–”

“Oh, that’s so sweet!” Nikola claps again. “You’ll have to tell me all about it next time we’re meeting! And I’m hoping you’ll be there this time!” she adds, leaning in closer.

“I– I don’t…” Graham trails off.

“We’ll see later, okay?” Oliver cuts in. Nikola puts on what might be her most theatrical display of being disappointed yet.

“Fine, fine,” she hums. “When are we meeting again? I miss spending time with you!” she exclaims, turning her attention fully back to him. That’s probably for the best, as much as it makes Oliver’s skin crawl.

…Saying she misses spending time with him is an odd thing to say as well, considering they met not even two weeks ago, and only “hung out” once since that happened. He bites his tongue before he can point that out to her, and just nods.

“Soon, soon, I just… caught something, and I need some time to recover. How does… next Friday sound?” he asks. That should grant him enough time to get better, and then some to make sure he can prepare as well.

“Caught something?” Nikola repeats, putting her hands on her hips and turning her head nearly 90 degrees to the side. “What did you catch?” she asks. Oliver briefly regrets getting out of his bed at all.

“He caught a cold, and should go back to resting now,” Graham responds instead of him. Nikola’s attention immediately returns to the man.

“A cold?! He still gets those?” she asks, acting shocked and as if Oliver suddenly wasn’t a part of the conversation anymore. “I didn’t think dead people could get sick! Is that why he looks so horrible?”

“I didn’t know I could get sick either,” Oliver responds. He doesn’t dignify the last question with an answer. He’d also argue that calling him ‘dead’ is an overstatement, but doesn’t have nearly enough energy for that. Maybe when he meets with Nikola again, when he’s feeling better.

“Right. It was great to meet you, but like I said, he needs rest if he’s supposed to get better by Friday,” Graham says again, and steps around Oliver to stand next to him. “Right?” he asks, directing the question at him.

It seems like a good enough excuse to get Nikola to leave.

“Right, yeah,” he agrees.

“That’s a shame!” Nikola exclaims with a sigh. “I will return on Friday, then! And it was great to meet you, too!” she continues, and extends her hand towards Graham.

If the man hadn’t noticed the fresh skin she’s been wearing before this point, he certainly sees it now. If it is his first time spotting it, he manages to hide his shock quite well. He seems uncertain on how to react, and he pauses, but he doesn’t voice his concerns. He just glances over at Oliver, as if checking if he should take it or not.

Oliver’s shaken hands with Nikola, and he still has his skin, so… he supposes it could be safe? He’s not certain, though. He tries to weigh the risks in his mind, but his head is in too much pain to let him focus. She wouldn’t hurt him after everything, right? She- she has a fresh skin on her right now, she probably won’t want a new one for a while. So...

So, he’ll need to take the medicine as soon as possible.

He offers Graham an uncertain shrug. 

“...Thanks?” the man turns his attention back to Nikola and cautiously accepts the handshake.

“Of course!” Nikola shakes his hand, and judging by his expression, she squeezes it hard. Once she lets go, his expression is obviously relieved. “I’ll see you next week!” she adds, waving enthusiastically.

After that, she simply… turns around and walks away, in the direction of the elevator.

“Bye!” Graham calls after her, although he sounds uncertain. 

Before she can respond, Oliver goes to close the door and makes sure to lock it.

His head is absolutely killing him, to the point he’s not even sure if the entire interaction wasn’t a fever dream. It… felt pretty fever dream-y, he can’t imagine why Graham would actually join him by the door and isn’t sure if Nikola will be as friendly once he actually runs into her. She should be more upset about them disappearing for a week, he’s sure. He can’t imagine her taking the news of what happened between Graham and her “friend” earlier today this well either.

“Come on, you do need rest,” Graham’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He turns to look at the man and finds him still rubbing his hand. 

“Is your hand okay?” he asks. The man looks down at it, and lets go. He tries to stretch it a time or two.

“...Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. That was… rough. But, come on,” he says. He puts his good hand on Oliver’s shoulder and steers him towards the bedroom. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, just…” Oliver gestures vaguely in the direction of his head. It’s killing him, even now that Nikola is gone.

“Medicine and sleep then, yeah?” Graham asks, still helping him towards the bedroom.

“Mhm,” Oliver nods, stumbling along. It’s only as they reach the door to his bedroom, open wide, that he thinks to ask the question that’s been on his mind for a little while now. “Why’d you…? What were you doing there?”

“Back there?” Graham glances over his shoulder, towards the front door. “I thought I heard my name, and it sounded like you were arguing about something, and I just… wanted to make sure it was going okay?” he explains.

“Mhm,” Oliver hums again. The explanation makes sense, and he’s not sure what else to say. It… was helpful, to not have to talk with Nikola alone, especially in his state. “Thanks,” he adds.

“You’re welcome,” Graham responds, and the smile that appears on his face finally seems genuine.

It’s at that point that they finally reach Oliver’s bed, which he promptly goes to sit down on. He takes off his coat and his shoes, not bothering to put them away as neatly as they were when he grabbed them. He can fix them in the morning, for now all he wants is to sleep off this headache–

“Here,” Graham says right before he can lie back down. The man is holding something out towards him – the blister pack of pills that were previously on Oliver’s night stand. 

Right. Take the medicine, then sleep.

He takes it from the man and accepts the bottle of water he’s handed next as well. The whole process feels near automatic, and before he knows it, he’s done and Graham is setting the things back down on his night stand.

“Goodnight,” the man says as he starts to head towards the door. Oliver hums in response and finally goes to lie down. The pillow is pleasantly cool under his head, but he tries not to think about how long he’s been gone from bed.

“Goodnight,” he says before he has the chance to drift off, and before Graham can leave the room. The man pauses in the doorway.

“Y-y’know, before I go,” Graham says, turning around to face Oliver again. “I think I might want to join you next time you’re meeting with her. She… doesn’t seem as bad as that thing, and… yeah. I think I want to go,” he declares.

...So, this is a fever dream for sure.

“Sure,” Oliver says, deciding that arguing with a figment of his imagination isn’t worth worsening his headache. “Sure, we can… talk later.”

“Okay,” Graham, or at least this… fever-dream version of him nods in response. “Rest well, Oliver,” he adds as he leaves the room, closing the door behind himself.

Or at least, that’s what Oliver’s pretty sure he heard. The way the man’s voice faded out near the end, almost certainly muffled by him turning around, almost made it sound like Graham had called him “Ollie” instead–

Which is a stupid idea, and just further proof that this entire situation is a result of the fever he’s surely running right now.

Frustrated with himself, Oliver just turns to the other side and tries to fall back asleep. His pillow is already warm. He just hopes that the next dream he’s met with is more normal… even if that means a stroll through the Other London, surrounded by nothing but death. At least he knows he can trust that.

Chapter Text

Oliver isn’t sure how long it’s been since he’s gotten ill.

His memories of the past couple of days blend together with things he’s fairly sure he simply dreamed or imagined, and keeping track of time has been the least of his worries. He’s spent most of it in his bedroom, too exhausted to do anything productive and simply hoping that this state would pass soon.

One evening, it finally does. 

After a day spent half-awake and half-asleep, feeling entirely out of it, he suddenly finds himself awake. Truly, entirely awake and present. He opens his eyes, and his bedroom looks remarkably sharp, the edges of his vision aren’t blurred. For the first time in what feels like forever, his head feels clear. 

The headache isn’t quite gone, but it suddenly feels much more manageable, and it no longer hurts to think. Of course, the past few days still feel like one big blur of confusion and fever-dreams sprinkled with some misery, but at least he can finally find the words to describe that feeling. Even if he can’t quite separate his real experiences from the ones conjured up in his mind, at least he can think now.

He’s starting to notice things. First of all, his mouth is dry and he needs to drink something. His bed feels quite gross, too, he needs to change the covers– and shower, too. That should come first. Shower first, let the water wash away all the– water, right, he needs to drink something first. 

He sits up, with apparently just a little too much enthusiasm. Instantly, it feels like everything is spinning, and he has to fight in order to not fall back down. Luckily, the nausea passes within just a couple of seconds, as suddenly as it came over him.

He breathes a sigh of relief.

He should take it easy for now, he tells himself, he’s not fully recovered yet.

More careful this time, he turns his head to look at the bedside table. There’s a water bottle sitting on top of it, and he reaches towards it before noticing the obvious – it’s empty. Disappointed, he lowers his hand back down. He doesn’t remember finishing it, but can’t bring himself to be surprised. He’ll need to take a moment to at least try and recall what’s been happening over the past couple of days.

Maybe during the shower.

Shower. Water. He needs a drink, and his bottle is empty. Back on track. He needs to go get water. Still mindful of his state, he moves to the side of the bed and goes to get up. The floor feels so cold against his feet he nearly abandons the plan altogether, but his thirst overwhelms the discomfort, and he pushes himself up.

He takes a moment with his arm resting against the bedside table, steadying himself. Once he feels he’s fully found his balance, he takes the first step towards the bedroom door, and immediately has to reach back down for the table, knocking the empty bottle off of it in the process.

His legs feel wobbly under his weight, not nearly as stable as they usually are. It doesn’t come as that big a surprise. He just needs to get them used to walking again, he tells himself as he pushes himself off the table and in the direction of the nearest wall. He… manages, in a way, although he didn’t intend to slam into said wall nearly as hard as he did.

This is still progress, he tells himself through gritted teeth. After giving himself a moment to regain his composure, he tries to steady himself while keeping his hand against the wall. He can keep leaning against it while he walks towards the door, and hopefully, by the time he makes it through he won’t need the support anymore.

Long before he can actually get to said door, he hears a gentle knock coming from its direction.

He pauses, and listens for a moment.

“Oliver?” Graham calls out his name, the man’s voice muffled by the door between them. “Is everything okay in there? Can I come in?”

“Y–” Oliver’s voice dies, breaking from its recent lack of use. He clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah,” he calls back.

The door to his bedroom opens, and Graham steps inside with it. Initially, the man looks right past Oliver and towards the bed. Upon finding it empty, he regards the rest of the room with a quick glance, pausing only when he finally finds Oliver. At that point, a look of surprise spreads across his face.

“I was going to get water. Ran out,” Oliver tries to explain, briefly motioning back at the empty bottle on the floor behind him.

“Oh! I’ll go get it, and you can lie back down. You need all the rest you can get,” Graham offers, but Oliver shakes his head.

“It’s okay. I want to stretch my legs, too, get them… working again,” he explains, and takes a cautious step towards the door again to demonstrate. He manages to keep his balance, but he’s fairly certain it’s mostly thanks to the wall he’s still leaning against.

“Okay. I’ll go with you, then,” Graham responds, and before Oliver knows it, the man joins his side. Seeing him with one of his arms outstretched, hovering within reach and offering support if needed, encourages Oliver to keep going.

Having someone to lean on for balance proves useful once Oliver makes it out of his bedroom and has to walk across the living room instead. He doesn’t need much support at that point, and he’s sure he’ll be able to walk entirely on his own any minute now… but having Graham there still helps. It makes him less worried about accidentally falling somewhere along the way, and saves him a great deal of time, he’s certain.

Once in the kitchen, he lets go of the man’s arm and supports himself against the counter instead. However, before he can walk along it and retrieve a glass for himself, Graham moves past him and quickly passes one over to him. He accepts it without complaints.

“Thanks,” he offers the man a smile before turning to fill the glass with water. God, he’s thirsty.

“You’re welcome,” Graham responds, and even though Oliver isn’t looking at him, he can just hear that he’s smiling back.

Finally, after all that hard work, Oliver gets the drink he’s been craving.

He downs the entire glass in one go.

“So, how are you feeling today?” Graham asks him once he sets the glass back down.

“Better,” he responds, and being able to say so is a relief in of itself. “Much better, yeah. I can finally… you know, think.” he adds.

“That’s a relief to hear,” Graham says, and Oliver nods in agreement. “I was honestly getting worried about whether you’d get better by Friday or not.”

By Friday…? What’s happening on Friday?

When is Friday?

He’s not sure what day he recalls it being last? Was it a Friday too? No, no… Saturday, maybe? Probably not Sunday, unless… Oh, but what if it was actually Thursday? He really lost track of time, hadn’t he?

“…What day is it today, again?” he asks. After a moment of consideration, he goes to refill his glass. The more water he drinks the better, right? That’s how it used to work, at least.

“Tuesday,” Graham answers helpfully. “The 26th. And it’s around… what, 5 pm now?” he continues, which is all rather useful, so Oliver nods along.

The 26th of July, that means it’s been under a week since he first got ill. That is, assuming he didn’t spend a month and then some entirely out of it, but he doubts this conversation would be this casual if that were the case. And, 5 pm. Enough time to shower, change his bed sheets, and maybe order some food for dinner.

He still doesn’t remember what’s happening on Friday that requires him to be recovered. Is he supposed to know? Is there anything happening on Friday, even? Or would it just be concerning for him to stay sick until Friday? Is that what Graham meant?

“Thanks,” he says. “And, uh, what’s on Friday?” he asks when he concludes he won’t be able to recall on his own. 

His mouth is feeling dry.

He goes to drink more from his glass.

“We’re supposed to go meet with Nikola on Friday,” Graham reminds him casually, and Oliver nearly chokes on the water he’s been drinking. 

“What–?” he turns his head to look at the man so fast it makes him dizzy. It’s a miracle he manages to set his glass down without dropping or breaking it. Graham seems taken off guard by his reaction.

“We… uh, she wanted to see you but agreed to wait until Friday since you’re sick. And I said I’d come with you this time. Do you, uh, remember any of that?” he explains cautiously.

Oliver needs a moment to even begin processing that answer.

Is this supposed to be a joke?

He remembers that conversation, of course he does, but he was convinced it was just his mind running wild. He was sure that didn’t happen. It was far too surreal, even for an encounter with Nikola, so it couldn’t have happened. This has to be a joke. Except, how would Graham know anything about a probably-nightmare Oliver had? Did he tell the man and forgot? Did he–

The look on Graham’s face is serious.

He’s not kidding.

“I, uh, I remember,” he responds after a pause that was definitely too long. “Sorry, I’m just– my mind’s all over the place, and I wasn’t sure if it… happened?” he tries to explain, motioning vaguely to his head.

“Oh, I… alright,” Graham hums, but the look on his face still holds concern, so Oliver feels like he should explain more.

“I just had… a bunch of weird dreams, and I’m pretty sure I imagined a few things as well, and… you know, brunch with you and Nikola on Friday sounds a bit out there,” he continues, and Graham’s composure breaks, the look of concern near-instantly replaced with one of amusement.

“Okay, that’s… true,” the man admits, nodding in agreement. “But, we have brunch with Nikola this Friday,” he says with faux excitement.

“Can’t wait,” Oliver says flatly. Even though they have three days left until Friday, he’s already dreading it. Graham silently nods in agreement. “Are you sure you want to go?” he asks.

“...Mm… not really, but I’ll still go,” Graham responds after a moment of thought. “It might be easier when there’s two of us, and like I was saying – I said it back then, if you remember – I think she seems mostly… fine? Better than her friend, that’s for sure,” he adds with a shudder.

“It might be there with her,” Oliver points out. “It was last time,” he justifies. It’s not that he wants to force Graham to stay home, of course… he just wants the man to have all the facts.

“I know,” Graham nods, the idea clearly making him at least a bit uneasy. “But at least Nikola found me hitting it funny, so… I think we’ll be fine.”

“Right,” Oliver nods. He picks up his glass and finishes his water in one go. Right, that happened. “I… Honestly wasn’t sure if I didn’t imagine that either,” he admits hesitantly. This time, Graham reacts with much less concern.

“Yeah, it was… a weird couple of days,” he says, and it’s only then that Oliver remembers that all of that happened over what, two days?.

A part of him is starting to half-heartedly wonder if all the odd, nonsensical fever-dreams and nightmares he’s had over the past week happened as well. The idea of… going back in time a decade or two, and back to Oxford, is starting to sound less absurd by the second.

He’ll need to ask Graham for a rundown of what happened while he was sick, just to make sure they’re both on the same page. Not now, though, he has time to get to that. For now, he really wants to have that shower and get his room back in order.

The shower makes him feel much better.

He didn’t realise how gross everything around him felt until the water started to wash it all away and he remembered what it feels like to feel fine. He’s not usually one for long showers, but he decides to let himself enjoy this one.

With each minute since waking up, he’s just feeling better.

He still has to be careful when finally stepping out of the shower, worried about a dizzy spell sending him to the floor. However, once he dries himself off and puts on some clean clothes, everything just feels better.

He feels like he’s alive again–

Well, “alive” is a strong word to apply to himself, in general.

He feels like he’s just been reborn.

Now to just get his room in order again. Once that’s out of the way, he can relax, order some food, and finally get caught up on everything that happened over the past week. Separate fever dreams from his fever-ridden reality.

He steps out of the bathroom, and is immediately hit with a wave of fresh air. It’s pleasant and refreshing, possibly more-so than the shower he just took… but it’s also not something he expected. Looking around for the source, he spots the door to his room wide open, far wider than he thought it was left.

“Are you out?” Graham’s voice comes from the kitchen, and a moment later, the man appears in the door frame. Oliver nods a confirmation. “Do you want more water?”

“Sure,” Oliver agrees – one last glass of it before he has to face the mess his room is, that sounds good. He starts to make his way towards the kitchen. “Did you open a window?”

“Oh, yeah, in the bedroom,” Graham confirms with a quick nod. “I went in to grab that empty bottle and it was… you know. I figured it could use some fresh air.”

“Mhm,” Oliver hums in response. “Thanks. I was just about to go in and change the sheets,” he says. Graham passes him a glass of water, which he gratefully accepts again.

“Do you need any help with that?” Graham offers. Oliver considers it for a moment, but ultimately shakes his head. He can handle changing sheets, it’s hardly a challenge. Besides, he knows it’s mostly an offer of courtesy.

“I’ll do it. I thought you didn’t like changing sheets?” he points out, but Graham waves him off dismissively.

“It won’t kill me to help. You’re still recovering, I can…” he starts to respond, but his voice trails off and a small frown creeps its way onto his face. He doesn’t look outright disturbed, just… confused. “When did this… come up before?” he asks.

“Uh… I don’t think it did,” Oliver responds after a moment of thought. He doesn’t recall having a conversation about this at any other point. Did they? Maybe Graham had mentioned it recently, while he was sick? But no, if Oliver doesn’t remember it happening, he wouldn’t retain the information either, so that's a moot point. So–

So how does he remember?

How does he know?

Maybe it was just a lucky guess? No, no, he didn’t guess, he simply knew. Maybe it’s just… coincidence, then? Maybe when Graham was replaced, it didn’t bother changing anything about something as mundane as Graham’s chore preferences? Maybe Oliver knew all along, never stopped knowing? He tries to recall, but can’t think of a single instance confirming the theory. So then how–

“How’d you know?” Graham asks the question that’s apparently on both of their minds.

“I don’t… I’m not sure,” Oliver admits. Maybe… “I just… remember that,” he says, because it’s as simple as that.

It doesn’t feel like the other times he’s been remembering things about Graham. The past and the future aren’t blending together, he just… knows. He remembers. It’s been a few weeks since he found Graham in his flat, weeks the NotThem was supposed to spend erasing its influence. Maybe it’s finally gotten to memories? Simple mundane facts, day-to-day things…

Or maybe it’s all the time they've spent together working wonders on Oliver’s memory?

No matter.

He remembers.

“Am I wrong?” he asks, but he knows the answer already. He’s certain. Graham shakes his head, and the frown is gone from his face. In fact, he’s smiling now.

“No, no, I was–” the man cuts himself off and laughs, just briefly. Oliver can’t quite tell if it’s from joy, relief, or the surprise. Possibly all three. “Back when we, you know,” he continues hurriedly, “I would usually just… ask if we can switch. I’d do the dishes, or the washing, or… both. If you’d change the sheets,” he reflects, still smiling.

While Oliver doesn’t quite remember that, it sounds about right.

“Well, how about I go handle that, and you figure out what we’re going to order for dinner, then?” he suggests. Yeah, he can see splitting chores that way. Graham’s smile only brightens.

“Yeah, sure, yeah,” he nods. “That sounds good.”

Oliver offers him a smile as well before he leaves.

At the back of his mind, he’s still trying to figure out how he knows that changing sheets is a chore Graham has a particular dislike towards. Thinking back on conversations they shared, wondering if he picked up on it from the man’s behaviour at some point... but he still comes up blank. He only snaps out of his thoughts once he makes it into his bedroom and takes a breath of the air inside. He can’t imagine how bad it was before the window was opened.

Even now, he can smell something under the fresh air. A stench of sickness that the draught hadn’t quite gotten out yet. That window will have to stay open for a while, he thinks. Maybe the entire day. He just hopes that changing the sheets and making the bed will be enough to make the room feel cleaner. Clean enough to sleep in for the night.

It doesn’t take him long to change the sheets, it’s such a simple thing–

Such a simple thing to remember.

Graham doesn’t like changing sheets, and would rather handle just about any other chore. Probably the most mundane thing he’s remembered about the man so far. It doesn't even seem to be a chore Graham hates, just one he particularly doesn’t enjoy. An inconvenience, something needlessly frustrating—

Is that what he said about it? Used to say?

Oliver’s not… certain, but he can just about hear the phrase in Graham’s voice at the back of his mind.

What Oliver is fairly certain about is that he’s never felt happier while doing something “needlessly frustrating”.

When Graham suggests they order pizza again, Oliver doesn’t even feel surprised. He doesn't have any objections against the idea either, of course, he’d just like to eat something, and he’s pretty sure even a pizza with anchovies as one of the toppings counts as that.

It's while they're waiting on their order to arrive that he finally has his chance to ask Graham about what's been happening since he's gotten sick. The last thing he fully trusts his own memory on is their journey back from Oxford, miserable as he felt during it. He still remembers parts of what happened after, he explains to the man before he can start walking him through everything that followed, it simply gets patchier, blurrier, and does seem trustworthy enough for his liking.

The first thing Graham recaps is his trip to the store down the road in an attempt to buy some medicine, which did not go according to plan. Oliver can recall the aftermath of it quite clearly, with his own fear feeding his Patron so well all of his symptoms went away until he finally managed to find Graham in that side alley– not that he tells the man about any of that even now, of course. He’d much rather leave the entire situation in the past.

Oliver thought he wouldn’t need much of a recap of their conversation with Nikola now that he knows it happened, but his initial stance on it apparently motivated Graham to still give it some attention. That, and to include as much detail as possible. It’s a good thing, Oliver supposes, because as it turns out, he somehow managed to either entirely miss most of said details, or forget them since.

He can’t believe he let Graham shake Nikola’s hand. He can’t believe he didn’t stop her from speaking to the man entirely, really!

If Graham still insists on joining him for brunch with her, at least he has a better idea of what to expect, he supposes. And he will step in when needed this time.

After that, the things Graham tells him become more mundane and less detailed. Apparently, the man braved a trip to one of the small corner-shops a time or two to pick up food when they were entirely out. He walked all the way to the nearby bakery to pick up things for breakfast on Monday as well, but that felt like it was too far from their flat, so he decided against going there again on his own.

The only other thing that happened was him charring the frying pan while attempting to make breakfast on Saturday. Charring, maybe smouldering it a little, not outright burning it, the man had insisted. Now that Oliver thinks back on it, he does remember waking up to the smell of smoke at some point… so he supposes that’s another thing he’ll have to take off his list of “things he imagined” and move to “things that happened” instead.

Soon after Graham is done recapping everything for Oliver, their food arrives. They mostly eat in silence, occasionally interrupting the silence with a brief remark about whatever comes to mind. The food itself (it’s good), the time (neither of them is certain how it’s nearly 8 pm already), an occasional anecdote from the past week.

It’s as they’re basically done with the food that Oliver remarks he can feel his headache returning. He’s not sure if it’s the strong smell in the air, the time he’s spent out of bed today, or just plain bad luck, but it’s back. Not nearly as bad as it was over the week, but there nonetheless.

When Graham gently suggests he just takes his medicine and calls it an early night, he doesn’t even argue. At least his bed is clean, and the air in the bedroom is fresher, he supposes. That might make sleeping more pleasant, and if he sleeps well, he might wake up feeling better…

and after that, he can figure out what to do with himself until Friday. How to prepare, and how to prepare Graham for it.

In spite of the future looming over his head, he falls asleep easily.

(His dream is normal that night.)

(Bathed in vapour-orange light and crawling with death.)

Chapter Text

The next morning, Oliver wakes up feeling even better than the previous day. His headache seems to be gone entirely, and he feels like sleeping had actually replenished his energy for once. He goes to sit up, and only as he’s already in motion does he remember he should be “taking things slow” getting up, just in case.

He braces himself for the dizziness that’s sure to overcome him… but it never does.

He really is getting better.

He still tries to be careful while getting up from his bed, but even standing upright, he feels fine. More than that, his legs feel stable under his weight. He no longer has to lean against his bedside table or the wall, he has no trouble walking over to his closet and opening it in search of clean clothes.

He doesn’t dwell on picking out an outfit for too long. He’s not planning on going anywhere today, he wouldn’t be surprised if the next time he steps foot outside his flat will be Friday. Besides, he’s not sure if he can call himself fully healthy yet, just because he’s feeling fine now doesn’t mean the state will last… so, he goes for something more comfortable.

Once he’s dressed up, he makes the bed and, after a moment of consideration, goes to open the window. He has so little trouble walking over to it that his issues with keeping balance just a day prior are starting to feel as distant as the rest of his sickness.

He takes a deep breath of the fresh air the open window lets in, and the bustle of the street reaches his ears. It’s louder than usual. He looks down and starts to wonder just how early he’s gotten up – he can see a sea of people, all on their morning commute. He figured he’d sleep through morning rush, at least, still recovering and all.

Well, he supposes he did go to sleep early the previous night?

He steps back from the window and goes to retrieve his phone from the night stand. He quickly unlocks the screen to check the time – 8:25 am. Not an usual time for him to be up, especially after an End fuelled dream… just not what he expected after being sick for so long. He won’t be surprised if he’s up before Graham is.

He goes over to the bedroom door and quietly opens it, peering through the crack between it and the frame. He doesn’t need to pull it far to spot more or less exactly what he was expecting – Graham is on the couch, covered with a blanket and presumably fast asleep.

Not wanting to risk waking the man up this early without a good reason, Oliver steps back from the door. Should he go back to sleep himself? He’s not tired anymore, but it wouldn’t hurt to at least lie down for a bit longer… Then again, he’s dressed up already, and backtracking would be pointless.

Maybe he should do something productive?

Go to the kitchen, check what food they still have in the house without going shopping in nearly a week? Who knows, maybe inspiration will strike as he’s looking through the ingredients they have on hand and he’ll get started on making breakfast? Maybe.

With his mind all made up, he quietly leaves the bedroom and sneaks his way towards the kitchen without waking Graham up. He’s pretty sure he’s putting in more effort than he realistically needs to, the man seems deep in his sleep, but he’d much rather be safe than sorry.

Besides, the couch just can’t be so comfortable it’d allow for too deep a rest. He’s not sure how Graham had managed to put up with it the entire week without complaint… Oliver will definitely have to make up for that, let the man take the bedroom for at least a couple of the upcoming nights. He’s probably gotten all the sleep he’ll need for a couple of days regardless, so it’s not like it’d be of much use to him.

He’ll just have to remember to let the man know once he’s up.

He finds the kitchen jarringly empty. The fridge only holds a couple of pre-made meals, a half-empty carton of eggs, some milk, and what seems to be a few slices of ham. Outside isn’t much better, Oliver only finds a bag of cereal, and half a loaf of semi-stale bread. The only thing they seem to have an abundance of is tea, and that’s probably just because Graham got some when he went to buy medicine.

…Scrambled eggs it is, Oliver supposes.

It’s just about the only thing he can think of making without needing to go to the store, which he’d rather wait with until after breakfast. Deciding he might as well get started on it right away, he grabs a pan and the eggs.

Should he go an wake Graham up before he puts the food on the stove?

He decides not to. He can do that once the food is actually done, or just eat on his own for now and offer to make some more once the man wakes up on his own. He focuses on not burning the food for now – he saw the pan Graham claimed he only charred, and while it might still be salvageable, he thinks it might be easier to just buy a new one. He doesn’t need a 2nd appliance to replace.

In fact–

“Oliver?” Graham’s voice comes from the doorway.

Oliver nearly loses his grip on the pan in his surprise, and has to stop himself from spinning around with the handle still in his hand. He looks over his shoulder, and finds Graham stood in the entrance to the kitchen, still half-asleep and apparently surprised by Oliver’s own startled reaction.

Well. He supposes this answers the question of whether to wake the man up or not.

“Good morning,” he greets the man once he regains his composure. “I’m making scrambled eggs, do you want some?” he offers, turning his attention back to the food in question.

“Uh, sure,” Graham responds, so Oliver goes to crack an additional couple of eggs into the pan. “It’s… early. Did you sleep alright?” the man asks, moving deeper into the kitchen.

“Oh yeah,” Oliver nods. He did sleep quite alright, all things considered. He just… stuck to his part of London in his dreams tonight, and nothing seemed out of order.

He… might’ve caught a couple of glimpses of that odd mass of death tendrils off in the distance a time or two, certainly the same as he saw while asleep on the train. He hadn’t bothered checking it out, not yet. Whatever… horrible disaster is destined to happen somewhere in Chelsea, or wherever they’re crawling to, is the least of his problems right now. Besides, for all he knows, it might be his mind playing one last trick on him before everything returns to normal.

“My dreams are... back to normal, but it’s nice to know that I’m dreaming, at least,” he says. He leaves the scrambled eggs on the stove and goes to grab two plates. “I wasn’t even sure if the dreams I had were dreams.”

“What else would they be?” Graham asks. He’s no longer leaning on the counter, having stepped back to get out of Oliver’s way.

“Don’t know,” Oliver admits. “They just… weren’t like the dreams I have these days. One of them, we were back in Oxford but it was also… years ago? It really threw me off,” he tries to explain, all too aware how little sense his words make.

“How long ago?” Graham asks, moving around Oliver and turning the fire off under the pan. Right, the food. It almost burned. “Back at University?”

“Thanks,” Oliver says. He needs to focus on transferring the scrambled eggs to the plate, he can think back to the nonsensical dreams he had later.

“Huh?” Graham makes a noise of confusion before looking down at his hand, still on the knob. “Oh, right, sure, no problem,” he says, stepping back to get out of Oliver’s way again.

“And it was set just as I applied to University, actually,” Oliver responds once their breakfast is safely on their plates and he has no way to burn it, or the pan for that matter.

“Really?” Graham asks, and Oliver nods. “Huh, that’s before we met.”

...Right.

Right, they didn’t know each other back then. The dream stuck in his mind so much a part of him just… accepted it. But that’s not right, is it? No, according to what Graham told him while they were looking over the Polaroids, they met a few weeks after the start of Oliver’s first semester. Back when he was still unfamiliar with the campus, so he asked Graham for directions.

Which… matches with happened in the dream. It’s just the timing that’s a bit off.

“…Are you sure we met after the semester started?” Oliver asks before he can stop himself. Which is a stupid question, obviously Graham would know better than Oliver’s feverish subconscious. “No, sorry, I know…” he shakes his head.

“I’m pretty sure, yeah… Why?” Graham asks, apparently not overtly upset over his own memory being questioned. Oliver still considers changing the topic, but... what’s the harm in recalling an unusual dream he had?

“In the dream, we… met when I was trying to bring my paperwork into the office, before I even got in officially, but it was just… it made sense, had details…” he sighs. It doesn’t matter how vivid it was. “It was just a dream, maybe it took what you said and… mixed it up?” he suggests.

When he looks at Graham, he finds the man with a thoughtful frown on his face. A frown that’s very unexpected, and one that only grows with each moment passing.

“I… remember we met at the campus,” the man says, taking the time to word everything carefully. “I… assumed it was after the semester started, but it… thinking back, it was pretty empty compared to the usual…” he hums. “What happened in the dream? How do you… remember it?”

“I, uh, was at the campus, but I couldn’t find my way, and I think… you came up to check if I was okay?” Oliver starts. He didn’t expect to need to recount the dream in any detail, but he does his best to try. “I noticed your lanyard and asked if you could tell me where the office was, and you decided you’d take me there.”

“…My lanyard?” Graham asks, only growing more confused.

“Yeah, you had one with the College logo, it was in your pocket?” Oliver recalls, and the confusion disappears from Graham’s face, replaced by a look of recognition.

“Right, sorry, you’re… you’re right, I– I had one, yeah, I just wouldn’t wear it normally, and…” he shakes his head, and runs his hand over his face in embarrassment. “You’re right.”

…Oliver’s right? He certainly didn't expect that. If the 'dream' had the details not even Graham could recall until seconds ago... what does that mean?

“…And then you took us in the wrong direction? Entirely the wrong direction. Introduced yourself, welcomed me to the college, and took me to the wrong building,” he continues, just to make sure, and Graham nods along with what he’s saying. He has the decency to look at least a bit embarrassed over the accusation, but he hastily confirms it regardless.

“Yeah, and you– you’re right. And you remember that? You–” Graham shakes his head at that point, and the embarrassed look is gone from his face. It's replaced with a soft smile. “You remember.”

“...I do,” Oliver can’t help but smile back.

He does remember, and it's not like anything he remembered before.

Nothing conjured up the memory, pushed him in its direction, the details of their first meeting were not even something he was actively trying to recall… and yet it all came back to him, unprompted. Not only that, but the memory appears untouched by the passage of time, so detailed and vivid it feels like it happened mere days ago, not years. It came back to him of its own accord, and… he couldn’t be happier.

Their breakfast sits on the counter, quickly growing cold, but he can’t bring himself to care. Can’t bring himself to mind it all that much, not when Graham is still looking at him with that bright smile on his face, a smile that only seems more familiar each time Oliver catches a glimpse of it. Not when the unexpected recollection seems to have refreshed the man’s memory as well. No, when Graham starts to recount how their second meeting went, and how it being before the classes started makes more sense, the food is the least of Oliver’s worries.

In fact, he can just about forget about it - he’d much rather just listen anyway.

The next couple of hours are filled with conversation. Graham continues to recall more and more details over their now-cold breakfast, telling Oliver all about the first time they met up at a nearby cafe. How he paid for everything, as an apology for getting them both lost when they first met, but had such a nice time he offered to do so again, and again, long before those meetings turned into dates.

Oliver tries to recall more detail as well, but other than getting the feeling that what Graham is saying is probably accurate, he comes up with nothing. Even without being able to contribute much, he’s still happy to listen to the memories his initial recollection pushed Graham to remember.

It’s almost as good as being able to recall them himself.

The conversation doesn’t die down once they’re done with the meal, of course. However, after going on for long enough, it somehow manages to circle all the way back to the present times, and to how badly they need to visit a store soon. And they do need to visit one, and soon. Possibly multiple stores, even, considering how long and scattered their shopping list is rapidly becoming.

Eventually, Oliver decides to just grab some paper and starts to note down all the things they mentioned needing, as he’s certain they won’t be able to remember them all. Within 30 minutes, the paper is covered in writing on both sides, and the two of them start preparing to leave the flat. There’s no reason to put off the trip to the store any longer, after all. Not if they want to make a normal dinner today.

The weather outside is really pleasant for once.

Oliver is very relieved to find that’s the case. A part of him was concerned about going outside so soon after being sick, but it’s not too warm nor too cold, and he can’t feel any strong wind either. In fact, a stroll down to the store in this weather might do his health some good.

…It’s certainly more pleasant than the last time he was walking (or rather, running down) this path. Back when Graham went to the store alone, and something else returned in his place, forcing Oliver to–

He tries his best to push the recent memory out of his mind.

He just about manages.

Even with the shopping list on hand, it still takes them a while to find everything they need. They don’t even have much trouble navigating the store, in spite of how spacious it is Oliver knows it quite well. All the things they wanted just so happen to be scattered across it, though, and they can’t help getting distracted a time or two along the way.

The first time, it happens just as they’re passing by the clothing aisle. A particularly badly designed t-shirt on display catches Oliver’s notice, and he can’t stop himself from walking over just to make sure his eyes aren’t fooling him. Once he confirms it is real, and Graham notices it as well, they decide to take a moment just to check if they can find similarly hideous clothes.

They don’t, but at some point Oliver happens upon a shirt that he’s certain would look great on Graham. It’s nothing fancy, but the make is similar to other shirts the man had picked up recently, and the colour would really fit his style. After a moment of consideration, he picks it up and calls Graham over to see if the man would like to try it on.

Graham agrees, and once he steps out of the fitting room wearing it, Oliver’s fairly certain they won’t leave the store without it. It fits so well he wouldn’t be surprised to find that Graham owns one just like it already. (Maybe he had, at least in the past? It’s possible, but Oliver decides against trying to jump-start his memory in the middle of the store.)

They leave the aisle with the shirt, and having wasted over 5 minutes looking at clothes that weren’t even on their grocery list.

The next place they get sidetracked is an aisle they were actually planning on stopping in, although not for this long . It’s the one with hand tools, with the selection so small Oliver started trying to recall where the nearest tool store is the moment he saw it. He’s not certain what tools Graham will need to repair the clock he picked up in Oxford, but he’s sure it will be more advanced that their current options.

Graham, however, seems set on making the best of what’s in front of him and spends a while comparing all the options. He asks Oliver for feedback a time or two, but the man doesn’t feel nearly qualified enough to answer – he’s not sure if he could even name all of the tools Graham shows him. They look familiar, and the way the man holds them makes Oliver think he's used all of them in the past, but it's another thing his memories are missing of.

Maybe seeing them in use will serve as a reminder? Oliver wouldn't mind watching Graham work on his clock. Even if it won't help him remember anything, it will still be pleasant, he's sure. So long as he gets to listen as Graham talks him through the process of what he’s doing…

In the end, he insists they get just about every tool Graham even considered.

As they start making their way back to the food aisles, another thing catches Oliver’s attention. They pass by some sort of a temporary summer display, showcasing products one might need while taking a holiday trip. A couple of small, portable grills, single-use paper plates and cups, a couple of different sleeping bags… he’s pretty sure one of the bigger boxes might even be a tent.

He looks past all of those things, and something else entirely catches his eye.

“Graham?” he asks, getting the man’s attention. “How has the couch been treating you?” he asks. He turns his head to gauge the man’s reaction.

“Uh, not great, but it’s… alright. Why?” the man responds, although discussing the topic puts a sour look on his face. Seemingly subconsciously, he rolls his shoulders, but even the motion seems stiff.

An upgrade, any sort of an upgrade to their sleeping arrangements has been in order for a whole now, hadn’t it?

“Do you think one of these could work better?” Oliver asks, and motions to the part of the display he's looking at.

It offers a small selection of inflatable air beds, with a few single and double options.

“Hm,” Graham hums. “Maybe? Do we have enough space for one?” he asks, which is a good question. Oliver takes a moment to picture the living room in his mind

“…If we move the couch a little back, we should, yeah. I bet even the big one would fit there,” he concludes. He steps closer to the display to double-check the sizing and nods to himself. “Yeah, even this one could fit.”

“Really?” Graham asks, stepping closer as well. “A king sized mattress? In your living room?”

“Really,” Oliver decides, because even after thinking it over, he’s sure it’d fit. Having made up his mind, he picks the box up from the display and goes to place it in their cart.

“Wh– Are you sure?” Graham asks, stepping back to get out of Oliver’s way.

“I am,” Oliver decides. It’s not that expensive, and the extra sleeping space could be quite pleasant. Definitely more pleasant than the couch. “What’s next on the list?” he asks, changing the topic.

“Are– Okay, uh, wait,” Graham gives up arguing, and pats down his pockets. After a moment, he retrieves their shopping list from one of them. “Uh, pasta?” he reads out.

“Should be in this direction, then,” Oliver directs him. He grabs the cart and starts to wheel it towards the aisle he pointed out. Within seconds, Graham is following him already.

They manage to get the rest of the shopping done without any other distractions, and just about an hour after getting to the store, they get in line to one of the registers. In the end, the final price comes out lower than Oliver was expecting, but that’s not where the hardest part of the shopping trip is. No, it’s bringing everything back into the flat poses more of a challenge, one they frankly should’ve accounted for before.

They manage in the end – with a lot of breaks along the way.

The airbed does fit in the living room, even if they had to push the couch up all the way against the wall to make enough space for it. Just because it barely fits doesn’t mean it doesn’t fit, and Oliver feels rather proud of his correct space estimation from the store.

Of course, finding enough space for it is not the most challenging part of setting it up, nor the most time consuming.

Graham suggests getting started on pumping it early, which Oliver agrees would be smart, as getting a hang of it could take them some time. However, their definitions of “early” apparently don’t match, and Oliver sees no point in starting right away, not when that will make their living room so much more crammed. They can start in the evening, after they have had the chance to put all of their other purchases away and perhaps made some food.

Once they do all of that, Graham sits down to try and work on fixing the antique clock, and Oliver would much rather accompany him than read an airbed manual.

…The next thing he knows, it’s almost 11 pm and he’s quickly becoming aware that he made a mistake.

He finally goes to retrieve the hand air-pump he’s certain must be somewhere in the flat, and tracking it down alone takes him an additional 15 minutes. After dusting it off, he finally figures out how to attach it to the air bed and gives it a couple of pushes. With each one, his confidence only falters. While it doesn’t take that much effort to push down on the handle, the repetitive motion is quickly starting to get to him while the air bed doesn’t look any flatter than when he begun.

Less than 2 minutes in, he’s starting to think he doesn’t really need it ready by tonight. He can probably convince Graham to take the bed, and Oliver’s not feeling all that tired himself. He can just spend the night on the couch, and then get an automatic pump the next day.

Not even 2 minutes later, Graham suggests they take turns and offers to take over for now. By that point, Oliver would do just about anything to give his arms a break, so he doesn’t even think to decline. He just steps off to the side and lets Graham have a try while he finds an angle to keep his arms at that hurts the least.

Graham turns out to not be much better than him, and needs a break just a couple of minutes in as well.

They continue to take turns for far longer than it should’ve taken them to fill up one air bed. Maybe if they got a smaller one, or thought to look for a better pump while they were still at the store… Oliver tries not to think about that, to just focus on the task at hand. He can go back to regretting his choices later, while he’s spending the night looking at the ceiling from his brand new airbed.

All in all, it takes them well over half an hour to get the mattress to look somewhat decent, and another 10 minutes after than to push enough air inside to make it feel comfortable as well. As soon as Oliver is certain they’re done and disconnects the pump, the only thing he can think to do is lay down.

It is comfortable, remarkably so, even if it doesn’t make his arms hurt any less.

He’s briefly snapped out of his thoughts when he feels the airbed shift, a part of him fearing that it somehow started losing air, but comes to find that Graham had simply joined him on the bed. After a second or two, Oliver closes his eyes again. There’s more than enough space for the both of them.

…It should be Graham’s turn to take the normal bed tonight, Oliver recalls, but the man looks so exhausted… there’s no harm in letting him rest for a bit before reminding him. No harm in taking a moment to catch his breath himself, either. No harm in…

His vision starts to blur, and darken, and then…

…Then he’s in London again, the other London, and he can’t even begin to comprehend how he managed to fall asleep so easily again.

Chapter Text

Oliver wakes up early in the morning, as is often the case.

What is not at all usual for him is sleeping every night. He tries to get some rest every other night or so, but is generally fine staying awake for days on end… and yet another night in a row, he ended up drifting off without even meaning to.

He supposes it might be connected to how sick he was beforehand? He slept while he was ill, and now he feels much better… but he supposes the drowsiness might’ve clung to him for just a bit longer. Whether that is the case or the reason is something else entirely, he might never know for certain.

He can give that more thought later, he decides. For now, as he quickly comes to realize, he has more pressing matters at hand.

Apparently, he’s not the only one to spend the night on the airbed.

Graham is laying not even a foot to Oliver’s right, thankfully still fast asleep. He’s still wearing the clothes from the night before, which appears to be the case for Oliver as well, now that he’s fully taking the situation in. They both must’ve drifted off to sleep from the sheer exhaustion of getting the air into the airbed, he concludes. Neither of them even thought to grab a blanket before.

It’s not like Graham seems to mind, though. In spite of everything, he looks rather… peaceful, curled up on his left side with his face mere inches away from Oliver’s. He looks comfortable. His hair is starting to get a bit long, Oliver notices, some strands that cling to his forehead seem to reach about halfway to his eyes. He wonders if they’ll need to find a barber for Graham soon… or maybe they could cut it at home?

Have they done that before? It seems within the realm of possibility. He wonders if that is the case, would he be able to do the same now? Does his lack of recollection mean that the skill was lost on him as well, or would his hands still remember the correct motions. If he had the right tools, and Graham sat in front of him, would he know how to move, how to brush, where to cut? Would he recall how it–

He stops himself halfway through reaching towards the man’s head.

What is he doing?

He should get up, he’s clearly had enough sleep already and the last thing he wants to do is accidentally wake Graham up. He goes to roll over towards the edge of the bed… and nearly does the one thing he was trying to avoid. The airbed shifts under his weight, and while he sinks into it, Graham is briefly pushed up. Oliver immediately freezes, but the mattress takes what feels like 10 more seconds to settle completely. Once it does, Oliver finally dares to look over his shoulder, and finds Graham still fast asleep by his side.

He breaths a sigh of relief. That was close.

He tries to move off of the airbed again, but no matter how careful he is, each motion ripples through the entire thing. The fact that Graham is still asleep by the time Oliver finally gets himself off the mattress is probably nothing short of a miracle. Free to move faster now, he wastes no time before heading to his bedroom for a change of clothes. He might stay there for some time just in case, he thinks. To ensure he doesn’t wake Graham up, not after how exhausted they both were the previous night.

After about 30 minutes, Oliver decides to get himself something to drink from his kitchen. He does his best to stay quiet, to open his door gently and to walk slowly. About halfway though the living room, he realizes he needn’t have bothered. He spares a glance in the direction of the airbed only to find Graham laying in the middle of it, his eyes half-closed but still obviously on him. Or is it just a trick of the light…? Oliver can’t tell.

“Graham?” he asks, keeping his voice as quiet as possible. “Are you awake?” he continues.

“Mhm,” Graham mutters in response. After that, he reaches up to his face to rub at his eyes. “I’m up,” he confirms, and lets his hand drop back down. “We forgot the covers.”

“Yeah,” Oliver agrees, because that is true. “But the airbed is nice, at least?” he tries. Graham doesn’t say anything at first, but seeing how he’s still laying in the middle of it, Oliver gets the impression the man thinks it’s at least decent as well.

“…Yeah, but pumping it wasn’t,” Graham declares finally, and Oliver can’t help but nod in agreement. “My arms are still killing me. Do we have to do that again tonight?”

Oliver really doesn't like the sound of that either.

“Maybe we can just stand it up against a wall or… something?” he suggests. It might be inconvenient, but anything's better than having to start over every evening.

“Oh yeah,” Graham nods in agreement. “Over there, maybe?” he suggests, motioning towards one of the corners of the room.

“Sure,” Oliver agrees without a second thought. “How about you do that and I'll get started on a breakfast?” he suggests.

Graham simply gives a him of confirmation in response.

The rest of the morning is rather peaceful. The fridge is fully stocked, so Oliver can make something a bit more… creative than scrambled eggs, an option he takes full advantage of. He’s still in the process of cooking when Graham finally joins him, clearly having changed into different clothes before doing so. Within moments, a conversation sparks between them. They talk about how rough the previous evening was, and about their plans for today.

Neither of them brings up the… sleeping arrangements from the previous night.

Oliver’s not sure if Graham even knows they both slept on the air bed that night, but it feels rather obvious. He was the first one to lie down, so the man knew he was there when he joined him. It’s… hard to tell which one of them fell asleep first, but seeing as they both woke up wearing the clothes from the night before, Oliver suspects it happened equally fast to them both.

He did wake up first, and left the bed without waking Graham, but he hadn’t exactly made any efforts to hide where he slept. He didn’t outright say it, but he left the bed in the bedroom untouched, and– and Graham surely saw it when grabbing himself a change of clothes.

So he knows.

In spite of realizing that, Oliver still doesn’t say anything, and Graham does the same. The lack of comment on the topic doesn’t make things awkward, at least, they have plenty other things to discuss… there’s just no point mulling over that one. Besides, it’s not the first time they shared a bed. Hell, not even the first time that’s recent.

Really, there’s no point bringing it up.

It just happened. That’s fine. No need to address it.

“I think it’s your turn to take the bedroom for a while,” Oliver says at some point over breakfast. As close as he’ll ever get to mentioning the previous night, he suspects.

“What?” Graham looks up at him from the plate of food in front of him. “Oh, no, it’s alright, we don’t have to take turns. The couch was a little rough, but air bed’s alright,” he shakes his head, which is not the kind of reaction Oliver was expecting.

“An actual bed is still better,” he retorts.

“Sure, but you were just sick, you still need rest, especially before tomorrow,” Graham responds, which once again throws Oliver off. Tomorrow…? Oliver’s eyes wander over to the calendar hung up on one of the walls.

He’s been forgetting to mark the days while sick. He needs to fix that.

“For…” his voice trails off when he finally finds the correct dates. “Oh. Oh, tomorrow’s Friday,” he realizes.

Friday, the Friday he was supposed to recover for. The Friday he, and apparently Graham, are to spend with Nikola. That Friday. Rest might be good then, Oliver thinks, he didn’t get any sleep before the previous one and it certainly didn’t go like he was hoping it would. Then again, he’s been sleeping a lot lately, much more than necessary…

“Do you still want to go as well?” he asks, and Graham gives a quick nod in response. “You need to sleep too, then.”

“Oh, yeah, but the couch worked for me. The air bed is already an upgrade,” the man claims.

That’s a sound line of logic, but the more Oliver thinks about it, the more he’s becoming convinced he won’t sleep tonight. He’s very well rested, and at this point seeing all the death tendrils will just make him more worried. That means he won’t have a use for the bed, and it’d be a shame if it wasn’t of use to anybody, so…

“It works for me, too. The bedroom’s yours,” he insists. Graham looks just about ready to continue arguing, but after giving it a moment, he relents.

“…Alright, but let me know if you change your mind,” he says, and Oliver nods. That’s something he can agree on, knowing full-well that he won’t be changing his mind. “…We should start preparing today, right? For tomorrow,” the man moves the topic along.

“Oh, yeah,” Oliver agrees without a second thought.

Having some sort of a plan should make things easier. Knowing which topics they need to bring up, preparing for how to handle questions Nikola might have, having an idea of what to do in case things go… less than ideal? It should make everything go smoother, stop them from stressing too much. He has learned a bit during his previous meeting, though.

“You know, they really didn’t like me having a list of questions with me last time. We can still make one, but just… leave it at home this time?” he suggests, and Graham nods along.

“Alright,” he agrees. “Do you want me to go grab some paper?”

“Maybe let’s finish breakfast first?” Oliver suggests, and Graham’s attention is once again drawn to the plate in front of him.

The man gives Oliver a sheepish look and nods, picking the food back up. Oliver does the same, trying to keep the thoughts of planning out of his head for now. He’ll have plenty of time to worry later.

They spend a good couple of hours after breakfast just talking about what might happen the next day, and the tension only seems to grow.

Oliver recounts what happened last time he met with Nikola, the things she said and the way she behaved, and what her “friend” got up to during the meeting. That’s the part that worries him most, he has to admit, the possibility that Nikola won’t be alone. That she’ll bring the NotThem along, and that they will have no choice but sit at one table with it, exchanging pleasantries as though it hadn’t caused so much hurt in their lives.

Maybe with Nikola there, it will stay in check, or at least be polite enough not to wear the life it stole from Graham. Maybe with him there, the man won’t feel as threatened by its presence, maybe not safe but safer.

Maybe it won’t show at all.

Oliver really hopes that will be the case.

Of course, seeing how much luck they had so far, it’s just about reasonable to assume it will be right there waiting for them when they arrive. Hell, it might even accompany Nikola when she comes to pick them up in the morning. Oliver still tries to keep some hope that they might be able to avoid it, but there’s no hiding that they need to consider the possibility of having to spend time around it.

That’s why they do consider it, rather seriously. They go over what they think it could do, discuss the best ways they can respond, and even think up a couple of excuses to leave early if it gets too much. While it still feels too bold to claim they’re ready to encounter it, they’re probably as close to that state as they can possibly get.

Next, they broach the topic of the questions they can agree are important to ask. Initially, Oliver tries to find the previous list they made, but it seems to have disappeared at some point. For all he knows, it might’ve fallen out of his pocket all the way over in Oxford, so he gives up the search after a couple of minutes. It’s not like the list was very up-to-date regardless, he tells himself.

Some of the questions they wanted to ask in the past seemingly answered themselves, all they needed was time. Of course, the time brought forth countless new questions, so it’s not like they’re going to run out of them. Questions that feel even more pressing, questions they might actually get answers to tomorrow. That is, if they manage to ask them without angering the Strangers that could provide said answers.

In fact, planning how to bring the questions up takes them almost as much time as compiling them did. They go over the list multiple times, considering whether they can somehow sneak some of them into a casual conversation. Can they gauge whether the NotThem had anything to do with Oliver remembering their first meeting by bringing it up in response to a “How are you?”, or is that too on the nose?

If their trip to Oxford is brought up, what topics could they turn the conversation to? Asking about Graham’s legal existence, feigning the intention to travel further and wanting an ID for him? Or maybe the old woman from the Antique Store that recognized him, to see whether the Strangers will offer an explanation of that? What if they turn this around on them instead, demand an explanation from them?

…There are many things they need to consider.

No matter how much time they dedicate to it, Oliver’s pretty sure they’ll never feel “ready” for tomorrow.

In spite of how worried Oliver is about Friday, the night preceding it… drags on.

As he expected, he’s not feeling tired enough to seriously consider sleeping, which means that he gets to spend all of it wide awake. Having convinced Graham to take the bedroom, he decided to lay down on the airbed to at least look like he’s sleeping, the last thing he wants is to stress the man further, but he still has hours to go before he’ll need to pretend to be asleep.

For now, he gets to stare up at the ceiling and go over the plans they made together.

Have they forgotten anything? Did they account for everything? Are they ready for whatever Nikola might throw at them? He’s really not sure. They stopped talking about it after a few hours of planning, opting to try and relax instead. They made food together (or rather, he did, with Graham watching), they worked on the antique clock (or rather, Graham did, with him watching)… and all through it, he still couldn’t help feeling on edge.

It’ll be fine, he tells himself. They’ll be fine, they’ll manage through this. Their plans are solid, and with how long they spent making them, he’s certain they know them well. Before they know it, they’ll be back home, hopefully with answers to show for their effort. Once again, he tells himself that it’ll all be–

Click.

The noise is quiet, but it brings Oliver’s thoughts to a halt. It sounded… awfully like the latch of a door. That makes no sense, though, does it? It’s such a quiet sound, he wouldn’t be able to hear it if it didn’t come from within the flat. That, of course, can’t be the case, as it’s just him and Graham here, and the man is asleep–

Creak…

While the previous sound might’ve been a trick of his mind, Oliver can’t deny what he heard this time. The low squeak of door hinges, one he’s rather familiar with. The sound of his bedroom door. He tilts his head back on the mattress until he can see it, and with his eyes already adjusted to the darkness, he has no trouble spotting a silhouette making its way out through the door.

“…Graham?” he asks quietly, and the figure stops in its tracks. A silence hangs in the air.

“…Can’t sleep either?” Graham asks eventually. Oliver can’t quite see the man’s face, but his voice seems… softer than usual.

“What? No, no, just…” Oliver’s voice trails off. He has no excuse for being awake, not one that doesn’t involve a complicated conversation about the End.

“Mhm. I was going to make tea, do you want some?” Graham asks. His voice grows louder than the previous near-whisper he spoke in, but it still retains that… softness.

“…Sure,” Oliver decides. Why not? Tea sounds better than getting lost in his thoughts again.

Before Oliver can get off the air bed, Graham already moves to the kitchen and flips the light on. Even seeing the light out of the corner of his eye, Oliver has to squint against it. It’s way brighter than it should be, and judging by the speed with which Graham turns it back off, he’s not the only one to feel that way.

Once he finally gets to his feet, he goes to grab his phone and turns on its flashlight. It’s bright as well, but not as bright, at least not to the point of hurting his eyes. By the time he reaches the kitchen, Graham is still in the doorway, rubbing at his eyes.

“You okay?” he checks, and the man gives him a nod.

“Yeah, yeah, just… give me a moment,” he mumbles, so Oliver walks past him and places the phone face-down on the counter.

“This should be better than the lamp,” he says. It still lights up the room, even if its placement is rather… inconvenient. Satisfied enough, he goes to put the kettle on the stove.

“…Okay, yeah, that is better,” Graham responds after a moment. “I’ll get the tea,” he declares.

Oliver can see him doing just that in his peripheral vision. The man leans nearly directly over the phone, and the shadows cast over his face are stark. They’re sharp and dark… but just like his voice before, his face somehow maintains a soft look. Once Graham moves to another cupboard to retrieve cups for them, the shadows blur and all but disappear, the softness staying the only consistent feature. Maybe he’s just tired? That must be it.

The water comes to a boil at that point, so Oliver directs his attention to it instead.

“So,” Graham breaks the silence between them after Oliver pours the water into their cups, “did you have… the same problem the first time?”

“What?”

“Too stressed to sleep?” the man clarifies, picking up his cup and carefully moving it from the counter to the table.

“That’s not– I’m not stressed. I just… don’t need as much sleep as you do,” Oliver explains. His hands freeze as he’s reaching for his own cup. Did he– why did he say that?

“Rude,” Graham responds, seemingly unbothered by the revelation. “There’s nothing wrong with sleeping in sometimes,” he continues, and Oliver breathes a sigh of relief. Maybe it wasn’t a revelation at all.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says quietly, more to himself than anything else. He picks up his cup and turns to bring it to the table as well only to find Graham looking back at him

“Then what?” the man asks, and Oliver stops in his tracks as well.

…The room is so quiet he can just about hear the other man breathing, so it’s no wonder Graham heard him.

His first thought is to simply backtrack, come up with some other explanation. A part of him even considers claiming he didn’t say anything, but… But the way Graham looks at him doesn’t carry any judgement. The man looks… encouraging, if a bit curious.

…Graham already knows he serves the End. This is not something he could keep from the man forever…

“I… just don’t need to sleep all that often, with the whole… End thing? Every couple days is fine, and I slept last night, so I’m just… alright, for now,” he admits, still standing in the middle of his kitchen and suddenly all too aware of how… strange his situation is. How odd his nature is, compared–

“Really?” Graham asks, but the look on his face… seems to be genuine curiosity. No matter how hard Oliver searches it, he can’t find a single sign of hostility, of judgement. “I figured with the dreams, you’d need to sleep more, not less?” he asks.

…It suddenly hits Oliver what a ridiculous to hide this was. Such a minor aspect of who he is, and yet he tried to keep it hidden for so long– He can’t quite remember why.

“Well, not much changes over a single day,” he explains, and finally goes to join Graham by the table. “A few people fade, a few appear… but I can catch up on that in a day or two,” he goes on, and the man nods in understanding.

“Oh yeah, makes sense. Wait, so… what have you been doing at night? Just laying there?” he asks, with a hint of a smile growing on his lips.

“…Mostly, yeah,” he admits. He used to do more, but since Graham started staying here… yeah, on the nights he didn’t spend sleeping, he’s been mostly pretending to sleep. He has to admit, that’s… a bit ridiculous.

“And that’s what you’re doing tonight?” Graham asks, and by that point, his smile is obvious.

“…Which is why I wanted you to take the bedroom,” Oliver admits. In spite of his growing embarrassment, he can’t help smiling back.

“I can’t believe you,” Graham shakes his head, amused. He takes a sip of his tea, and looks just about ready to say something else, but apparently changes his mind at the last second.

“What?” Oliver asks. If the man has questions, it’s better to get them out of the way as soon as–

“Nothing,” Graham says all too quickly. He straightens his back, and his smile just about disappears from his face. “Nothing, nothing, I was just… I don’t know. If you’re not sleeping anyway, would you be okay with me… staying here?” he asks, which frankly throws Oliver off more than anything.

“Where? In the kitchen?” he asks, and Graham laughs nervously.

“No, no, not here, just… with you. It’s just… the bedroom’s too quiet, I think, it’s usually fine but tonight I’m just…” he pointedly looks away, and Oliver is starting to think the man won’t finish, “stressed.”

“Sure,” he agrees without a second thought, and a look of relief graces Graham’s face.

“Thank you,” he says so quietly Oliver just barely picks up on the sound. He nods regardless, and goes to drink from his cup.

Maybe with Graham there, he’ll have something else to focus on rather than thinking through their plans for tomorrow.

They don’t discuss the details of what it means for Graham to stay with Oliver for the rest of the night. In fact, they don’t talk much past that point, not at all. They finish their tea, put the cups away, and quietly head back to the living room. When Graham goes to lay down on the air bed, he seemingly makes it a point to not take up more than half of it, which Oliver tentatively takes as an invitation to take the other half. Hesitantly, he does just that, and Graham doesn’t try to stop him.

“Goodnight,” the man says once Oliver is laying down by his side. He looks… like he’s comfortable, Oliver notices. “And thanks,” he adds after a moment, his eyes seemingly closing on their own already.

“Goodnight,” Oliver responds, making sure to keep his voice barely above a whisper. He wouldn’t want to keep Graham up any longer than necessary.

The man mutters something unintelligible in response, but by that point, his eyes are already closed and he looks about halfway through drifting off. Within minutes, his breaths even out and his face relaxes in an already-familiar way. That’s a relief, at least. The more sleep he gets, the better.

...Oliver still ends up staying up all night, but it's not stress and worries that keep him awake.

He’s simply not tired, not nearly enough for sleep, and more than content with just laying at Graham’s side until the morning. He’s certain that worrying about the next day plays no part in his lack of sleep, because truth be told, he’s no longer feeling all that worried. A healthy dose of concern still lingers in his mind, he’d be a fool to not expect trouble, but it feels more like an afterthought now that he doesn’t have the air bed all to himself. Now that every once in a while he can feel the man shifting in his sleep, at peace, he finds himself feeling more at peace himself.

It has to be Graham’s presence that makes him feel so relaxed, he’s certain. Just having the man so close to him turns out to be enough to ease his worries. The quiet, soft breaths that almost disappear into the silence, the subtle warmth reaching him despite the distance they keep from one another, the calm look on the man’s face every time Oliver spares a glance his way… all those little things add up in his mind. Together they create a scene so comforting it almost feels like a dream.

He feels like things are… okay now, and if that’s the case, he can’t imagine them getting bad anytime soon.

He thinks that his presence might be helping Graham as well. Not just because of how easily the man fell asleep, but how peaceful he stays through it. Every time Oliver glances his way, he can’t find a single sign that the man’s dreams are being plagued by nightmares, not one hint of unease creeping onto his face. Clearly, the comfort is mutual, and that’s all Oliver could ever ask for, and all he needs to consider this night a good one.

He’s even further convinced that the closeness is helping them both when, at some point near 4 am, Graham rolls over in his sleep and ends up just an inch or so from him. Once he does, and it must've been through either habit or his subconscious, he reaches even further, his arm coming to rest only once it’s entangled with Oliver’s own. His hand feels so warm against Oliver’s skin, and the added weight brings nothing but more comfort...

...He sees no point in trying to move away from the touch.

He lets it reassure him that they're okay, and he lets it keep Graham comfortable in his sleep. He lets it go on for as long as Graham will... even if it turns out to be all night.

Chapter Text

Oliver gets up from the airbed around 7 am, carefully slipping away from Graham and doing his best not to wake the man too early. He needs all the rest he can get, he thinks. However, he doesn’t think it’d be a good idea to stay in with him - he’d rather not have Nikola arriving unexpectedly while they’re both still in bed. He doesn’t remember her mentioning a specific time for her arrival, but even if she did, he doubts he could trust her to keep such a promise, so it is a risk.

He luckily manages to get up without stirring Graham awake, and quietly retreats to the kitchen. He cleans up the cups from the previous night, something they hadn’t bothered doing before… and is immediately out of things to do. He tries to keep himself feeling busy, and it just about stops him from starting to worry about the meeting too much.

He can start worrying when it’s actually happening, no need to do so in advance.

Around 9 am, Graham makes it known that he’s awake as well, by calling Oliver’s name from the living room. His voice sounds confused, but that might just be the morning grogginess affecting it. Regardless, Oliver calls back.

“I’m here,” he says from the kitchen. He hears footsteps approaching, and not long after, Graham comes to a stop in the entrance to the kitchen. “Good morning.”

“Hey,” the man responds, and goes to stretch a little before crossing the threshold. “I almost thought you went without me,” he admits.

“Oh, no, I just wanted to be ready for when Nikola gets here. I would’ve woken you up when she did,” Oliver assures him, and Graham nods along.

“I know,” he says. The way his lips curl into a smile doesn’t escape Oliver’s notice.

“So, how did you sleep?” he asks. The man certainly looks well rested.

“Good, good,” he says, his smile only becoming more apparent. “Oh, and thank you. For last night.”

“Of course,” Oliver nods in response. He’s pretty sure they both benefited from sleeping together. “Do you want anything for breakfast?” he asks, and Graham shrugs.

“Do we know when Nikola will get here?” he asks in response, and Oliver shakes his head. “Mhm. Breakfast sounds good, then.”

They don’t prepare anything elaborate – they might not have the time, after all. Any moment now, Nikola might appear at their doorstep and demand they follow her. It’d be a shame to spend too much time making food just to have to leave it on the kitchen counter for what might be hours. They make food in a hurry, they eat in a hurry, and afterwards, even their waiting feels hurried.

…Around 11 am, Oliver starts to wonder if they got the date wrong. That, or Nikola forgot.

Around 11:30, Graham decides to get back to fixing his antique clock. It’s more productive than just sitting about, he tells Oliver while offering for him to come watch. He accepts the invitation, of course, even if he thinks there might be more to Graham’s reasoning than he shared. He thinks the man might just want to have something to do with his hands… which does appear to calm him most of the time. Hopefully, focusing on what Graham will be saying and doing will help to calm Oliver's own nerves as well.

Almost as soon as the clock strikes 12, there’s a knock on their front door.

It’s loud, hurried, and sounds odd. Wood on plastic– plastic on wood. It’s so sudden that Graham nearly drops the cog he’s been fiddling with, and Oliver involuntarily turns his head in the direction of the noise. A part of him is expecting for it to keep coming, but after just a few sharp knocks, everything falls silent.

He turns to look at Graham, and finds the man already watching him with a tense look on his face. In spite of the silence hanging in the air, Oliver has no doubt someone they know is waiting on the other side of the door. He doesn’t say that, of course – he sees no point in doing so. Going off of Graham’s expression alone, they’re on the same page already.

For a couple of seconds that seem to drag on forever, neither of them speaks.

“Well,” Graham breaks the silence finally. He puts the cog on the table. “Just give me a moment to get all of this in order and I’m ready,” he says, already going through the tools he was using before and setting them aside.

“Alright, I’ll… go say hi to Nikola,” Oliver decides, getting up from his seat.

“I’ll join you in a moment,” Graham responds, still occupied with sorting his tools and parts of the clock.

The entire time Oliver spends walking to the front door, he also spends thinking about how much rather he’d watch Graham working on that clock today. However, it’s not just because the prospect of socialising with Strangers sounds somewhat dreadful. Seeing the man so focused, gently tinkering with the intricate machinery inside or carefully restoring the outside of it… all the while still pointing out details of the design and explaining what he’s doing in a way Oliver understands… There’s nothing he’d rather do but listen.

He unlocks the front door, a part of him wishing to find nothing on the other side–

“Oh, hello!” Nikola exclaims the moment he starts to open to open the door, long before she could possibly actually see him.

“Hi, Good… morning,” Oliver responds, only pausing briefly to asses which greeting is the most time-appropriate. He lets the door open all the way and finally comes face to face with Nikola.

She didn’t get a fresh skin this time, and he’s not sure whether that’s better or worse.

“Oh my, you look better this time!” she exclaims, looking him up and down. “Yes, much better than last time! You’re no longer ill, are you?”

“I’m fine now,” he confirms. “And… thank you?” he tries, and Nikola gives him a nod that just about turns into a quick bow.

“Of course! Say, is Graham not joining us today?” she asks once she lifts her head back up. She places her hands on her hips and turns her head to the side, and Oliver isn’t quite sure if it’s to show disappointment, or to simply look over his shoulder and into the flat.

“He’s just–” he goes to explain, but before he can get the words out, he hears footsteps behind himself and Nikola straightens back up.

“I’m here, sorry– I’m here, I’m ready,” Graham says as he makes his way to the front door. Oliver turns to look at him and finds that the man has a rather nervous look on his face. He offers the man a reassuring smile, or at least gives it a fair try.

“Graham! I am so glad you’ll be joining us! Oh, this is going to be so fun!” Nikola exclaims, apparently oblivious or ignorant of the man’s nervousness.

“Yeah, fun,” Graham repeats after her. “Is your… friend here?”

“Oh, no, no!” Nikola shakes her head, and Oliver feels a wave of relief. If it’s just him, Graham, and her, the meeting might– “It said it’s busy today, and the cafe we’re going to is closer to it than your flat, so it’s just waiting there for us!”

Oliver stifles a sigh. Never mind, he supposes. He’s not sure why he let himself believe that this could be convenient.

Over the next hour they spend going…. wherever Nikola is leading them, really, Oliver comes to the realisation that Graham’s presence might be very helpful.

He still remembers the commute to the last meeting Nikola set up – frustratingly long and awkwardly quiet. He expected this trip to turn out pretty much the same, but apparently, the silence didn’t sit right with Graham. Either that, or the man’s made it his personal goal to get on Nikola’s good side, which isn’t out of the question either.

No matter the reason – for just about the entire journey, Graham manages to keep Nikola engaged in a conversation.

He asked her about the cafe, how she picked it out (it was the NotThem’s suggestion, apparently, the mention of whom Graham took in stride), and told her about the cafes the two of them visited in Oxford. Then, he asked her about her week, and somehow managed to keep a straight face even when she got to describing the more gore-y aspects of her day-to-day life. Even more impressively, once she was done, he found it in him to continue the conversation and told her about their recent struggles with the air bed with the same frustration she expressed about her recent victim’s skin refusing to… “come loose”, as she put it.

Perhaps most impressively of all, Oliver finds himself contributing to the conversation himself as well. Not nearly as often as Graham and Nikola do, of course, but still more than he expected himself to. He adds to a few of the anecdotes Graham recalls, he makes a couple of passive comments about Nikola’s stories… and he wonders if this is what things have been like in the past as well.

If Graham had always been so good at keeping conversations going, and if it was through that talent that Oliver engaged in them as well. It certainly feels more comfortable this way, and if he feels just about comfortable having small talk with Nikola, there must be something to it.

A part of him wants to ask about it, but… he supposes that can wait until they’re back home. For now, they have more pressing answers to get (and that can wait until they’re at the cafe).

By the time Nikola points out an establishment just a little further down the street, Graham has somehow managed to change the topic of the conversation to the antique clock he’s currently fixing and is about halfway through walking her through all the things he has done with it so far. Despite being there to see just about everything the man describes, Oliver is happy to listen to his explanations again. To his relief, Nikola seems surprisingly engaged as well.

“That is fascinating!” she says with a nod. “We’re about to arrive, but you have got to tell my friend about this as well! Is it not fascinating?” she directs the last question to Oliver, a way of engaging him she must’ve picked up from Graham during their commute.

“It is,” he nods politely, and makes sure to stick close to Graham. They’ll be entering the cafe any moment now, and even if his presence alone can’t change much, he feels… more comfortable with Graham within his reach.

“Oliver usually sits with me while I work on it,” Graham adds, and Oliver nods along to that. They stop by the cafe door, and it seems… oddly familiar, somewhere at the back of Oliver’s mind.

“Oh, that is splendid! Does he help out as well? An extra pair of hands must be helpful, is it not?” Nikola asks. Oliver goes to tell her he doesn’t, or at least not yet, but before he can, she opens the door into the cafe. “Go on in, my friend should be inside already!” she encourages them.

He and Graham step through the door inside at just about the same time, and are greeted with the sight of a… frankly unremarkable cafe. It’s pretty empty, with just a few customers seated at a few tables in the corners, and two baristas chatting behind the counter. Oliver still can’t shake the feeling that the place looks familiar, but… that might just be its generality throwing him off.

He chooses not to dwell on it, and focus on the people present instead. One of them is… Nikola’s friend, after all.

His first thought is to look for already-familiar features. Curly hair, bright toothy smile, piercing green eyes… he doubts it’d miss out on the chance to torment him and Graham further. However, no person inside quite matches the description. Someone has blonde hair, someone has green eyes, someone…

One of the people in the cafe is looking right at Oliver with a wide smile spread across their lips. A man sat by a table with 3 empty chairs left around it, and wearing a smile seems so wide it looks painful. It shows off far more teeth than normal, all of them stained yellow but still with a sharp edge to them. His hair is dark and slicked back, his hands are resting on the table in front of him, clasped together, and the red shirt he’s wearing could easily be mistaken for pink with how faded it is.

Just that smile alone would’ve been enough to tell Oliver that he was not looking at a normal man. In fact, it would’ve been enough to let him know he wasn’t looking at a person at all. Just a mockery of another life it decided to steal and ruin. All the other things that seem off about the “man”, the odd angle his hands are resting at, the way his skin seems too stretch at points and loose at others… it all just reassures him in his assumption.

There’s no doubt in his mind that he’s looking at Nikola’s friend, and that it’s simply wearing a skin, a life he hadn’t seen before. A life it left no other trace of. He does his best to push those thoughts to the back of his mind and turns to look at Graham instead, trying to gauge his reaction. Going off of his expression, noticeably more nervous than it was before they stepped inside, he managed to figure out who the “man” is on his own.

Oliver tries to offer him a reassuring look, but that’s little help when Graham isn’t even looking back.

“Hello!” Nikola exclaims upon spotting the man watching them with that toothy smile on his face. His gaze briefly flickers in her direction, and he lifts one of his hands to offer a small wave.

Nikola starts to make her way in the direction of the table, and Oliver turns his attention to Graham again. This time, the man is looking back at him, and a part of Oliver wants to suggest they turn around and just leave before things get any worse. The only reason he doesn’t is the fact that both Nikola and her friend are still within earshot, and if Graham were to decline the offer, they would find themselves in a significantly worse position.

Besides, they’ve already come all this way. The least they could do is try to get some answers.

“Come on,” he encourages the man as he starts to make his way to the table. He doesn’t look away until Graham responds with a nod and starts to follow his lead.

By the time they reach the table, Nikola has already settled down in the seat to the left of her friend and started exchanging more pleasantries with him– well, it. Oliver decides to take the seat on its other side, if just to ensure that Graham gets to sit as far away from it as possible. Of course, he’s certain sitting opposite of it is not much more pleasant, but while he’s sitting down, he’s fairly certain Graham gives him a small, grateful nod.

“Hello,” the NotThem says once both him and Graham seat down. Its voice sounds… oddly smooth. “I have to admit, I’m surprised. Had I known everyone would make it here today, I would’ve… worn something else, you understand,” its smile somehow widens, and knowing what it means by that is enough to make Oliver feel nauseous.

“…Hello,” he musters. He hopes that if he doesn’t react to everything else it said, it will be willing to move on.

“…Hi, yeah, I'm... here,” Graham responds as well, but his voice comes out sounding strained. Oliver tries to offer him a reassuring look again, but finds that the man is staring straight ahead, directly at the monster seated opposite of him.

“And I am so glad we could finally all meet!” Nikola exclaims, as though the tension in the air was just in Oliver’s imagination.

“As am I,” her friend responds. Oliver looks in its direction and finds it looking right past him and directly at Graham. “…Actually, I suppose it’s not too late, is it? And you seem stressed, you both. Surely you’ll be more comfortable with a familiar face?” it muses.

“That’s– there’s no need for that,” Oliver says hurriedly, but it doesn’t seem to be paying him much attention. He tries to look to Nikola, a part of him hoping that she’d be willing to take their side here.

“How kind!” she exclaims, watching on with what Oliver assumes is awe. When he looks back in its direction, intending to plead his case again, he finds it in a rather… grotesque state.

He looks away, but even the brief glance he got at its form… the sagging skin, the shifting bones, missing features… he tries to purge the image from his mind. He also tries to focus on Graham, as now that there is good reason to look away from it, they finally catch each other’s eye. To his relief, Graham appears to have looked away from its transformation early on, as his current expression is rather alarmed, but not outright petrified.

He tries his best to give the man the reassuring look he’s been trying his best to offer the entire time and starts to consider different excuses they could use to leave right away, all while ignoring the strange noises happening on his other side. Odd creaking, a few cracks, the noise of something stretching, something dripping, wheezing breathing… it wasn’t as dramatic about changing skins before, he recalls. He considers looking, but quickly reminds himself not to. No, he won’t entertain that.

Eventually, the noises start to quiet down.

“…Well, that’s…” it rasps out, and its voice doesn’t sound like Oliver expected it to. It doesn’t resemble the voice it usually uses when posing as Graham at all. If anything, it sounds almost identical to what it did when they arrived. “…Odd.”

Oliver brings himself to look.

It doesn’t look like its impression of Graham either. It doesn’t quite look like the man it was wearing before, with a few details no longer matching. His skin seems more loose now, nearly sagging off his face, his hair appears a bit more unruly, and his previously dark eyes seem to have a green tinge to them now. It looks like it tried to go from one form to another… and failed.

“Oh my! Is something wrong?” Nikola asks, clasping one of her hands over the part of her face she probably thinks her mouth should be on.

“No,” it responds quickly. “No, it’s…. Just odd. I can’t seem to…” It cuts itself off with a displeased sound. “Can’t seem to put it on right.”

That’s… quite a relief, actually, and might make this whole ordeal much more bearable. Oliver does his best to not let his true feelings show, of course, he feels that would go over poorly.

“What a shame!” Nikola exclaims, and he brings himself to nod. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees that Graham decided to do the same.

“Is that… because I hit you?” the man asks. “Is that… form… damaged?” he goes on, and even though his voice is clearly meant to be sympathetic, Oliver is quickly growing worried. It’s still questions, and those are best left for later. “Is that possible?”

“What? No,” it scoffs in response. “That’s not how that– No, no, it was fine before. Perhaps I’m just…” it sighs, and a frown creeps onto its face. “Perhaps this is progress, for you. That form might not be mine enough to wear on such short notice,” it grumbles, its voice lower now.

It offered a surprisingly coherent answer to Graham’s questions, and didn’t seem to mind that more than it minded its inability to torment him by wearing his life. Oliver starts to wonder if the list he had brought with him last time wasn’t the reason he was met with such harsh reactions to his questions. One way to check, he supposes.

“Actually, how is that whole thing coming along?” he asks. It seems fitting to the topic on hand, and only the natural progression of the conversation–

“Oliver!” Nikola exclaims, crossing her arms. Her scolding tone catches him rather off-guard. “Be patient, will you? It would be much nicer to catch up first!” she goes on to explain.

…Which seems rather unfair.

He looks over at Graham, who seems just as surprised by her reaction. Still, this is probably not a fight worth picking…

“…Right. Sorry,” he says, hoping to undo the damage his clumsily introduced question caused.

He should probably leave leading into questions to Graham, at least for now. He’s not sure what makes the man better at it than he is, but he was hardly a people-person to begin with… so it’s no wonder, really.

“It’s alright,” the NotThem says, its tone so reassuring it instantly makes Oliver suspicious. “I actually have some questions of my own! I wouldn’t mind starting with those,” it says. Oliver does his best not to look at it, but the wide grin on its face doesn’t escape his notice.

“Hm,” Nikola hums thoughtfully. “Alright, I suppose we could do that!” she agrees eventually, her voice back to its usual cheerful intonation.

“…Right,” Oliver nods, and spares another look in Graham’s direction. He looks visibly nervous now, but brings himself to nod as well.

“Brilliant!” it exclaims before he can speak. “So, Graham, I was just wondering–” it leans forward in its chair, resting its hands on the table separating it from the man. “How was it when Oliver was sick? When you couldn’t rely on him, or anyone else. Just you, no money, no support, just… new responsibility?”

…Oliver feels himself shrinking into his seat a little.

He didn’t mean to put Graham in that situation, he really didn’t! Had he known he could get sick, he would’ve taken more precautions, or at least stocked up on medicine beforehand. Not to mention, even when he was sick he still tried to help out! Well… at least once, when he went looking for the man. Still, it must’ve counted for something!

…Not nearly enough to make up for the stress his recklessness caused, of course.

“Hey now!” Nikola says, her tone once again scolding. When Oliver looks up, he finds her with her arms crossed. “Does nobody here have good questions to ask? This is no fun,” she complains.

It’s a pleasant surprise for her to scold it, not just Oliver.

“I’m asking to be helpful!” it responds. “You know, figure out what he’s missing? What would be useful to work on… letting go,” it continues, putting on a smile so sweet it sends a shiver down Oliver’s spine.

It’s a bad excuse for a question so clearly meant to cause upset… but judging by the more relaxed stance Nikola takes on, she buys it. Or, decides to play along. It’s hard to tell.

“It was… okay, when he was sick,” Graham responds. Oliver glances over at him and finds that he’s trying to smile as well. It doesn’t quite look right. “I managed. Going outside was a bit… of an issue, after we... met in that store. Having my own money back, or at least an ID would’ve been helpful… but it was okay,” he explains.

Even if his smile doesn’t look sincere, his answer appears to have been truthful. His voice doesn’t waver, even if he speaks more cautiously than usual. It really feels like he means what he says, and the brief, sympathetic look he spares in Oliver’s direction only drives the point further.

Oliver feels a brief pang of relief.

“…Noted,” it responds, but it sounds somewhat disappointed. It slowly returns to its previous sitting position.

“That’s great to hear!” Nikola claps her hands together. “Do you have any question you’d like to ask?”

“…Sure,” Graham answers, and then his brow furrows in thought.

Oliver wonders if he could guess which question the man will go with. They hadn’t prepared that many questions to start with. The two that would make the most sense would be asking about the old woman from Oxford, or repeating the question Oliver failed to introduce by himself.

“…This… won’t be a fun question, but I have to ask. Who else remembers me? Other than Oliver and the old woman from Oxford,” Graham asks finally.

…Which is not exactly what Oliver was expecting.

Not quite where they were planning to go with their questions, either.

“Uh… What?” the NotThem tilts its head a little as a frown creeps onto its face as well.

“What woman?” Nikola asks, apparently just as clueless.

“Oh! When we were in Oxford, someone recognized me! And I don’t think it was a recent recollection, she didn’t seem confused. But I hadn’t seen her since 2001 either, so… I figure someone else might as well?” Graham explains, turning his attention from Nikola to the NotThem about halfway through his words.

It feels like Graham is making… a high number of assumptions, but Oliver supposes his line of thinking makes sense. Were it his turn, he would’ve asked a few questions before getting to this one, but the man sounds so sure of his words… maybe he’s onto something.

“…You figure,” it parrots after him, and a scowl appears on its face. “Right. Right. That’s… fine. Remember you…” it drums its fingers on the table. “No one you would care for.”

…So there is someone?

Someone it apparently doesn’t want to tell them about.

“That’s what I thought,” Graham nods, “not someone I knew well, that seems to be the pattern–” he briefly pauses and glances in Oliver’s direction. “…Most of the time, at least.”

“Pattern,” it repeats after him, lowering its tone. “What pattern?” it asks, narrowing its eyes. Graham doesn’t answer, and the tension at the table only grows with the silence.

After an all-too-long moment, Oliver decides to break it.

“I… don’t think it’s your turn for a question,” he says, as it seems like a fitting interruption. Its eyes shift in his direction, staring daggers into him. He half-expects for Nikola to scold him in response as well, but surprisingly, she doesn’t interfere at all.

“Pattern might… not be the right word for it, yeah,” Graham says, having apparently found his words once out of its sharp gaze. “But it is someone I don’t know well, isn’t it? You still haven’t–”

“Oh, fine,” it interrupts Graham, rolling its eyes. It takes a deep breath before continuing. “Her name is Amy. You took a class together. I hadn’t bothered with her in years. Happy?” it leans back and crosses its arms again.

Oliver tries to figure out if he can recall anyone by that name, but his mind comes up blank.

“Wait, Amy– what was it, Amy… Patel?” Graham asks, his face lighting up in recognition. He doesn’t sound neither pleased or upset, just… surprised?

Oliver takes that to mean that whoever Amy is, Graham knows her, but even less so than he expected.

“…That’s the one,” it confirms through gritted teeth. “I… did not think you would remember her. You haven’t interacted much, have you? So then why…” it muses, allowing its words to linger.

“I think it’s my turn for a question!” Nikola interrupts the silence suddenly, and Oliver turns his attention to her just in time to see her turning to face Graham. It seems like both her and her friend are more interested in speaking with Graham than him, which doesn’t escape his notice, but isn’t very surprising either. “Have you been using notebooks?” she asks, cheerful as ever.

For how odd the question is, it raises the tension at the table to a shocking degree. Graham’s face noticeably falls into unease at her words, his eyes starting to dart between everyone else at the table. The NotThem, in turn, focuses its sharp gaze directly on the man, so vicious it feels like the wrong answer might be enough to send it into a frenzy.

In between those reactions, Oliver finds himself confused, for the most part. This isn’t the first time he’s hearing about something to do with notebooks, but between it briefly coming up during his last meeting with the Strangers and Graham acting a bit oddly when it comes to the notebooks he got, nobody has clued him in further. He knows better than to ask, of course, especially now and out of turn… but he might need to bring this up again once it’s just him and Graham left.

“…Yes, I… Yeah,” Graham answers eventually, speaking cautiously.

“Of course!” the Stranger seated opposite of him exclaims, not matching Graham’s gentle tone in the slightest. “Oh, of course–” it cuts itself off, and buries its face in its hands.

“Well, I think that’s great!” Nikola says, unbothered by her friend’s outburst. “Really! Even when–”

Her voice is drowned out by a loud noise suddenly coming from the outside. It seems to be a siren of sorts– a terrible cacophony of sirens, in fact, all overlapping and echoing over one another. Oliver turns his head to see out of the window just in time to spot flashing lights as a few cars pass by the cafe. He’s sure at least one set belonged to an ambulance, but the car driving ahead of it looked more like a police car... and a fair few, he’s not familiar with at all.

“…I need to go,” the NotThem raises from its seat. Its voice is suddenly devoid of all the anger it held moments before, and the change of tone is so jarring that it takes Oliver a moment to register what it just said.

“What? But we just got here!” Nikola responds, apparently catching up quicker than Oliver can.

“I need to go,” it repeats, the urgency clear in its voice. “It might be time, and I need to be there, you know that,” it says, obviously directing its words at Nikola, Oliver figures out once he understands what it’s saying — and he does not know where it needs to be, or why.

“Wait, what about–” he goes to say, but cuts himself off once he realizes that asking ‘what about the rest of the questions’ will just get him shunned again. “We barely got to talk to you!” he says instead.

He could’ve aimed for something even more subtle, sure, but by the time he speaks it has already gotten up from its seat and grabbed the coat it had apparently hung on the back of the chair. It is leaving, and if he doesn’t say anything, it will–

It does pause at his words, but only to shoot him an angry look.

“I’m going. I don’t care about your… questions, or trip, or… or notebooks,” it declares, and takes a step towards the door.

“You are being very rude right now!” Nikola calls after it, once again resorting to her scolding tone, and it stops in its tracks.

“I’m–” it turns back, glances between everyone at the table, and then lets out a frustrated sigh. “Fine, fine, your questions! His legal existence, you’ve said, sure! Sure, I’ll… try that, but only once I’m done with this. Nikola can… take other questions,” it declares, and turns to head out of the door.

“What about–” Graham starts, apparently breaking through the surprise of its sudden departure as well.

“There is no time. Goodbye!” it responds, not even bothering to look back this time.

It bursts out of the front door and turns to the left, the same direction the cars were driving in just moments prior. Once outside, it looks just a step further from the man it was initially posing as, it appears slightly taller– and faster, Oliver concludes when he sees it breaking into a jog while passing by the cafe window.

…The cafe that is oddly silent now, after its departure.

Oliver does his best to not look any other customer or worker in the eye.

“Well, this was very rude,” Nikola breaks the silence eventually. “And I was really looking forward to this meeting!”

“Yeah, it’s… a shame it had to go,” Graham responds cautiously, and Oliver nods along.

“It really didn’t!” Nikola crosses her arms, but luckily, her frustration doesn’t seem to be directed at them. “We could find different ideas, make new plans! But it just had to stick to this one and leave!”

Oliver is still not certain why it actually left, but it’s becoming more and more obvious that whatever the reason, it has to do with both Strangers. He quickly comes to the conclusion that he’s okay not knowing the details. Judging by the lack of questioning from Graham, the man reached a similar decision.

At least the chatter is slowly returning to the cafe, no longer stopped by the NotThem’s loud departure.

“Ah, it’s not the same without it!” Nikola sighs dramatically, and lets her hands fall. “You two can go as well. I will make sure it doesn’t leave like this the next time we meet!” she declares.

Oliver considers trying to assure her the meeting can go on without it, but frankly, he’s not sure if there’s much point. She won’t be able to provide answers about the things they might still want clarification on, and angering her by disagreeing is not a risk worth taking.

“Alright… Uh, thank you for today?” he says eventually. A polite goodbye seems like the best response to her decision.

“Oh yeah, it was nice,” Graham nods along to his words. The man offers Nikola a smile as well, and while it seems a bit uncertain, it appears rather genuine again. Nikola seems to perk up at his words.

“I’m glad! It will be nicer next time!” she declares. “And longer, I will make sure of that!”

“Great, then… we’ll see you then?” Graham responds, and when Nikola nods in response, he gets up from his seat. Oliver does the same.

“See you next time,” he says as he gently pushes his chair up against the table again.

“Goodbye!” Nikola answers with a wave, but makes no move to get up from her seat herself.

For a moment, both Oliver and Graham linger by the table, but when it becomes clear that Nikola does not intend to leave with them, they slowly start to move towards the exit. When Oliver briefly glances back, she’s still sitting by the table and waving, making no move to stop them from leaving. He hesitantly returns the gesture, and moments later, reaches the door.

Even outside, the air still smells of coffee. Coffee they hadn’t even bought, Oliver realizes. All they have done was showed up, sat down, and now less than 10 minutes later, they’re leaving. He glances back one more time, and is once again struck by the odd feeling that the cafe itself seems familiar.

That’d make little sense, of course, it doesn’t seem to be a chain cafe, and he rarely frequents this part of London. In fact, last time he was here must’ve been around–

It was in early 2015, and he knows why the place seems so familiar now.

He stopped here that day, grabbing some coffee to make up for a few restless nights and to give himself just enough energy to power through the rest of his plan. His plan to warn the old woman whose death he foresaw in his dreams at the time. The last warning he tried to give so explicitly, and hopefully the last time he found himself at the Magnus Institute.

…The Institute that’s just a corner or two away.

He spares a glance in its direction, and even though he can’t see it over the other buildings, he can still picture it. He feels a pang of relief when he realizes they won’t be heading that way, he'd hate to have to really face the imposing structure again. They need to go in just about the opposite direction to catch a bus back home, in fact, and he’s glad for it.

They’ll be avoiding quite a bit of trouble thanks to that, come to think of it.

They won't need to go anywhere near the institute. They won't be nearby to witness whatever disaster the ambulance and other cars were heading towards. They most likely won't run into it again. Last but not least, they will be avoiding the area he's been avoiding within his nightmares lately – the one a giant cluster of death tendrils leads towards.

…The idea that some of those things might be connected crosses his mind, and he makes it a point to not think about it too hard.

“This wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be,” Graham says as they turn and start to walk away from what is surely a disaster brewing somewhere down the street.

“Yeah,” Oliver agrees, offering the man a smile, possibly his most genuine one today.

It’s true. The meeting could've gone better, but it also could've been much worse. In fact, Graham handled the entire thing much better than Oliver was worried he would, and even though it was short, they aren’t leaving without any answers. That’s really not a terrible outcome.

He decides that rather than wondering what they could’ve done better or appreciating what they did right, he would much rather just focus on getting back home.

Chapter Text

Oliver and Graham’s return from the cafe feels like it stretches on forever.

It might have something to do with the fact it’s probably three, or four times longer than the time they spent at the cafe.

The looming tension leftover from the meeting might be to blame as well, to a degree, but at least it seems to be getting a bit better. At least they’re returning without any Strangers accompanying them, and with the distance from Nikola and the NotThem growing, some anxiety depletes on its own.

It’s not to the point of full relaxation, of course, that will take much longer. However, things lighten up to the point where a conversation sparks between them somewhere along the way. Nothing serious, just something to make the journey a bit more pleasant.

They don’t talk about the meeting.

In fact, they both make it a point to talk around it.

They talk about just about anything else that comes to mind – they comment on interesting-looking buildings when those pass in the bus windows, they throw around some dinner ideas, they half-heartedly complain about the crowd around the subway… hell, at some point they start to talk about the weather.

Anything, but the conversation they just shared with two Strangers they’ve come to know all too well.

It’s for the best, Oliver is certain, they will go over all the new information they got over that brief encounter in due time. A few new questions litter his mind, ones he’s sure he’ll be discussing with Graham soon enough. That discussion can wait until they get back to the safety of their flat, at the very least, it’s not one to have while they’re alsonavigating the public transport. This is not the time.

This is not the time to ask Graham about who Amy was, and if Oliver is supposed to recall the name or not. It doesn’t ring a single bell in his mind, and he’s not sure if that should worry him. It’s certainly not the time to try and figure out what to do now that they know she knows, either. He doubts even trying to bring up notebooks would get him anywhere either, not with how touchy the topic has been so far.

Most importantly, this is not the right setting for Oliver to figure out when will be a good time to talk about all of this.

Graham seems fine. His voice doesn’t waver when he talks about how he’d love to come by the quaint looking shop they just passed, he smiles while promising to help with dinner if they end up making it at home… At some point, he even laughs as he teases Oliver about needing to dress warmer if he doesn’t want to catch a cold again.

In spite of that, Oliver can’t quite shake the feeling that there’s a certain nervousness to Graham’s demeanour. A leftover touch of the tension that hung above them during the meeting (and on the way to it. And the night before. And-), a sense of unease that won’t quite go away.

He’s not sure what exactly makes him think that, as Graham really does seem okay on the outside. It must be something too subtle for him to notice consciously, but significant enough that he doesn’t quite miss it.

He’s not sure.

He is sure that asking about it while they’re riding the surprisingly-crowded underground will get him nowhere.

So, he contributes to the surface-level small talk, avoids any topic that could cause more distress, and waits.

It’s about 2:30 pm when they finally make it home.

They make it through the door at least a little worn by the long commute back and forth, but more importantly, relieved. Oliver saviours the sound of the front door lock clicking shut, and double-checks it before deeming it to his satisfaction and stepping back.

He finds Graham already putting his shoes aside, looking just as relieved to be back inside.

A relief that seems to have replaced his earlier, happier demeanour. This only reassures Oliver in his previous suspicion.

“Graham?” he gets the man’s attention. “Was it… okay?” he asks.

Almost an hour to think about the question, and he phrases it like this.

“Yeah!” Graham responds, definitely too quickly. “…Yeah,” he repeats, a bit more thoughtfully. “It was… remarkably okay. I thought it’d be worse. Nikola was… nice isn’t the word. But… okay,” the man explains, and this time his answer sounds earnest.

“And you’re feeling… okay?” Oliver asks, just to make sure.

“Yeah,” Graham repeats, and this time Oliver is certain the man means it. “And you?”

The question being turned around like that catches him off-guard, and he nods before he can make up his mind on if that’s the correct response… but it is. Mostly.

“I’m okay,” he adds. He’s okay. He’s a little confused, the meeting went nothing like he thought it would and brought them little new information, but ultimately, he’s okay. “Was expecting it to be longer, though. I spent hours with them last time, but this time it was just... a moment,” he admits.

“Oh, yeah,” Graham nods in agreement. “We didn’t even get to order anything,” he points out, which is the first time Oliver actually acknowledges that as well.

They didn’t get to order anything.

Almost an hour of commute one way, and they didn’t even order anything.

“…You know what? I’m going to make some tea. I want something nice to drink after all this,” Graham decides, and without a moment longer of hesitation starts to head for the kitchen. “Do you want some as well?” he calls back.

“Sure,” Oliver decides. He slips out of his shoes before following Graham to the kitchen.

He thinks it might be more… pleasant to go over everything that happened over a cup of warm tea.

There’s no rush. No Stranger knocking on their door, or threatening to show up. There’s no need for immediate action, they have all the time in the world to talk things through. If they didn’t need to discuss things immediately, even before they got home, they can just as easily wait longer.

By the time the kettle comes to a boil, they have already prepared two cups, teabags, and sugar. After that, it’s only moments before they move the freshly made tea into the living room and set it down on the coffee table. The couch is comfortable when Oliver sits down, just like the silence that fills the room while Graham takes a seat next to him.

Initially, neither of them speaks.

The moment simply feels too pleasant to interrupt it, to bring up Strangers and the things they discussed. Oliver frankly considers putting the conversation off even further – perhaps until dinner? It’ll be easier to discuss over a real meal, or maybe even once they’re done eating? More time might do them some good, they could talk in the evening–

…Tomorrow, maybe?

That’s stupid.

Graham picks up his cup, apparently deciding the tea is cool enough to drink already, and takes a couple of sips. Judging by the face he pulls, he had misjudged the temperature, and hurriedly sets the cup back down.

“So,” Oliver says, getting the man’s attention. He forces the words out before he can change his mind again – the sooner they discuss it, the better, most likely. “Amy?” he tries.

“Amy,” Graham repeats, collecting himself. “…Remembers me, apparently,” he says. He seems… much less excited by the idea than Oliver expected him to be.

“Do I… know her?” he asks cautiously. The name still doesn’t ring any bells, even though he’s been turning it in his head for a while now.

“You don’t,” Graham responds simply. “I mean, I… wouldn’t say I know her either? We spoke, I don’t know, a dozen times? Not for long either, just… pleasantries. We talked longer once, and then– well, she… didn’t seem interested in talking again after that,” he recalls, and lets out a sigh. “I don’t know what she could even remember about me.”

Oliver feels like he has even less of a clue.

“How did you meet her?” he asks. Was she a friend of a friend? A neighbour? He supposes getting a better idea of who she is might help them figure out why she, of all people, remembers.

“We were taking the same night class,” Graham responds. “We mostly just talked about the lectures, nothing personal until that night she got concussed.”

“She got…?” Oliver repeats after him. That’s… an odd thing to mention.

“Yeah. We ran into each other on a bus, were walking home, and… I don’t know. She tripped? Or… or something helped her trip. She hit her head hard, and it was right by my flat, so I let her recover inside. It was already after me then, and the company was a nice change, I talked a lot without really thinking, and– Hm. Could that be it?”

Oliver feels like he stopped following a few sentences back. To mask his confusion, he picks up his own steaming cup and takes a cautious sip. The tea is almost a drinkable temperature by now.

“Could it want her to remember that night?” Graham wonders out loud. “I… told her a lot about myself. But it’s just… We didn’t know each other. I just told her. Why would it want her to remember?”

“I’m… actually not sure if it gets to decide,” Oliver interjects – it hadn’t said anything about that, had it? Graham shoots him a surprised look, as if the possibility hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“…Right,” he hums as he considers. “But it is deciding how I’m remembered now, isn’t it? The order of it. Is that… the same?” he asks.

“…Maybe,” Oliver nods eventually. In spite of how crucial is involvement has been, he feels like they know next to nothing about how it works. Graham’s guess seems as good as anything.

For a moment, they’re both silent again. Graham picks up his cup of tea again, tries it, and relaxes. Oliver takes that to mean it’s finally a drinkable temperature.

“I still don’t get it,” Graham complains, and sets his drink back down. “She was concussed. I doubt she remembers much of what I told her that night, and I was a little… I don’t know. We didn’t talk much after that. I didn’t want to bother her, she seemed a little uncomfortable with the whole thing… I’d spot her watching me in class a lot, but then she stopped showing up, so that was that. What is there to remember?”

“She–” Oliver blinks. Did he hear that right? “Sorry, she watched you?” he repeats. That doesn’t seem like something to simply gloss over.

“Oh, yeah,” Graham confirms simply. “Just… a habit of hers, I think? She stared at people a lot. It wasn’t always at me, I mean… there was a lot of other people there. It was just me… most of the time. Sometimes I’d just look up from my notebook, glance to my side, and she was a few rows away just watching. A little eerie sometimes, honestly,” he finishes with a chuckle.

…It doesn’t sound like a laughing matter.

Oliver considers pointing that out, but ultimately resigns.

Graham doesn’t seem to think it’s a big deal, so… it might not be? It certainly makes some alarm bells ring it Oliver’s mind, but it might be fine. Graham might be explaining it wrong, over-exaggerating a little, and Oliver might be seeing connections to the Fears that aren’t quite there, aren’t involved.

He decides to leave the topic alone, at least for now.

For now, Graham had just offered him an easy lead into the next topic he wanted to mention.

“That reminds me,” he says. Graham prompts him to continue with a curious hum. “…The notebooks came up again,” he continues, and something in the air shifts. Graham’s frame stiffens, and he purses his lips.

“…Right,” he gives a sharp nod.

This time, he seems much less eager to volunteer any information.

Perhaps Oliver should’ve stuck to the topic of Amy? It seemed much less distressing, and it’s not like he needs to know anything more about the notebooks now… even if the way everyone else speaks about– around the topic makes him feel a little curious.

He decides to take a risk and try again one more time. Should it fail, he vows to drop it for the day. (Probably longer.)

“I’ve been… noticing you writing in them, too,” he tries to prompt the man, and Graham literally flinches, his eyes widening.

So, Oliver thinks hurriedly, dropping the topic–

“I’m not!” the man exclaims, his voice strained with insistence. “I’m– I’m not writing! I’m not. It’s just–” he shakes his head, and lowers his voice back to its normal volume. “I’m not writing.”

Oliver can feel a frown creeping onto his face. He’s sure he’s seen Graham writing. The most obvious example he can recall was back on the train to London, when he woke up to find the man scribbling something in the notebook. He could name a few dozen other times he caught glimpses, of course, so then–

“I don’t write,” Graham repeats with newfound insistence. “It’s just… something to do with my hands. Not words. I’m not going to… I’m not writing,” he explains, providing Oliver with no clarity.

The only thing Oliver can tell for certain is that this is not a good topic, and he should not have pushed past the 1st point of resistance. The tension hangs heavy in the air, almost as if the Strangers were still there to contribute to the conversation. In the silence that follows Graham’s additional explanation, Oliver’s fairly certain he could hear a pin drop.

This conversation wasn’t supposed to go like this.

“Alright,” he says finally, even though he’s definitively seen Graham writing before. “…How about we circle back to Amy? She…” he tries to guide the topic back to something at least a bit easier to handle. The intense look Graham gives him in response makes the words die down in his throat.

“Wait,” the man says. “I… I can,” he shakes his head, and purses his lips again. This time, Oliver lets the silence hang until Graham collects his words. “…I’ll try to explain. Just… I just need a moment. Can I take a moment?”

“…Sure?” Oliver agrees, frankly puzzled by the question and the offer of an explanation. It seemed like mere moments ago, Graham would’ve done anything for the topic to change. “You don’t… have to,” he adds, more hesitantly, just to remind him.

Graham looks at him for a moment, then nods.

“I know,” he says, his voice having grown fainter as well. “But I will. I just need a moment.”

“Okay,” Oliver nods, and tries to offer the man one last reassuring smile before Graham’s gaze falls to the floor.

Graham takes his time after that.

Oliver doesn’t dare interrupt or rush him.

The silence drags on.

Every once in a while, one of them picks up their cup and takes a few sips of the rapidly cooling tea. Each time Graham decides to take a drink, Oliver notices the man’s fingers nervously drumming against the cup. At some point, Graham seems to have started bouncing his leg as well, but Oliver knows better than to bring any attention to that.

He knows that the best thing he can do is just wait now.

“…Okay,” Graham says eventually, breaking the long silence. All of his movements still. “Okay, I can… explain. I think.”

He’s yet to look up from the cup he’s holding.

He’s yet to begin an actual explanation as well.

Oliver takes that as his cue to speak, “Go on.”

“Okay,” Graham repeats, and looks up.

His brow is furrowed, and his lips are still pursed into an uncertain, nervous expression. He finally looks at Oliver for more than a second or two, but the look in his eyes betrays his worry. Oliver tries to offer him a reassuring smile, but truth be told, the tension is starting to gnaw at him as well.

How bad could it be, that Graham couldn’t tell him before?

How bad could it be, compared to everything else?

“It’s going to be… weird,” Graham starts finally, once again looking away. “Before I was… taken, it took its time following me. I could tell something was wrong, but couldn’t say what. I didn’t know what to do, but I couldn’t do nothing. I had a lot of notebooks, and I needed something to do with my hands that wasn’t smoking before my lungs gave out, so I started… writing. It… helped, initially, but then it got out of control, bad out of control, and I… I don’t want to let it get that bad again,” he pauses, but refuses so look Oliver in the eye. “I’m… not going to let it. I’m not writing. I just… colour in squares, draw lines… not writing,” he insists.

He falls silent afterwards.

The silence in the room should probably feel heavy.

It doesn’t, not quite.

Not to Oliver, who nearly has to bite his tongue to stop himself from asking “Is that it?”.

The way Graham sits there, curled into himself and avoiding eye contact, makes it seem like he just admitted to something reprehensible. Truly reprehensible, something warranting a strong reaction. Oliver can’t tell if he’s missing something or if his idea of “something bad” is a little rusty from all the Avatars and monsters alike that he encounters these days.

It… just seems like an odd habit, from what he’s hearing. One he can’t quite imagine being harmful.

Hell, compared to the smoking, writing must be practically harmless.

“…I see,” he hums eventually, wanting to break the silence before it drags on for too long.

He does his best to not let his confusion show in his voice, but probably doesn’t do too good a job. Graham finally looks up at him again, briefly studying Oliver’s face with a nervous expression on his own.

“It was… really bad, back then,” he declares eventually. “I don’t even know why, how it got to that point… One day I just looked down, and realized it all went too far, and I– I couldn’t fix it,” he explains, and for once, doesn’t look away.

Oliver is… not quite sure how to proceed. Somehow, having Graham look back at him only makes the decision harder.

Should he ask about it? Should he keep trying to understand how bad it was, until he understands why everyone else treats it as such a big deal? Or is he supposed to drop the topic now that he’s been presented with such an… underwhelming answer? Nothing to worry about, apparently... but that can’t be Graham’s intention, can it? He certainly doesn’t treat it like something insignificant–

“How bad?” Oliver decides to ask.

Graham’s eyes wander away from him as a look of discomfort flashes on his face, but it doesn’t last long. Before Oliver knows it, the man is looking up at him with newfound determination to answer.

“It was bad. I… don’t remember how it got to that point, but eventually it was just… the same thing, over and over. Page after page, bookshelves of notebooks, all saying the same thing. Sometimes it still didn’t feel like enough, so I’d write again– over my own writing. Sometimes, they didn’t look right, so I moved them, but they were all identical on their little display. This one time I– I don’t know what I thought it was going to do, but I– I don’t know, just tried to…” he trails off, and shakes his head.

The quiet laugh he lets out doesn't sound amused at all.

Truly unsure what to expect at this point, Oliver just tries to offer the man another reassuring look.

“I tried to eat one,” Graham admits finally. “…Tried, well, I– I did. It wasn’t hard,” he adds. A painfully awkward smile adorns his face for a moment, before a look of utter embarrassment washes over it.

For a moment, all Oliver can do is stare. It takes considerable effort to even force himself to blink. He was preparing to hear something… different, that’s for certain.

Even with the elaboration, Graham’s admission doesn’t sound terrible. Not nearly as bad as he thought it would. He expected something… more destructive, more harmful, more Capital-F-Fear fuelled, and less odd. It’s… a pleasant surprise, in that way, but still quite a bit to wrap his head around.

“…Okay,” he says finally, if only to end the silence before Graham shrinks even further into himself. “Okay, that’s…”

What is he supposed to say in response to all of that?

“…Thanks for telling me?” he tries, even if it doesn’t sound quite appropriate for the situation. He’s pretty sure there isn’t anything that could be considered a good response to this, but this one seems decent at least.

“You’re welcome?” Graham responds, sounding just as uncertain of his words. “I… swear, it’s not going to get that bad again. I’m not even writing,” he declares again, even though in Oliver’s frank opinion, that’s the last of their worries.

First of all, he can’t quite believe that something as simple as writing in a notebook now could get so out of hand so quickly. Second of all, even if it somehow did, it sounds just about... managable? It doesn’t sound pleasant, of course not, but it also doesn’t sound that bad. There are many worse fates one could suffer.

He knows better than to say so, of course.

“It’s okay,” he says simply. Graham doesn’t look like he quite buys into the reassurance, but he still nods. “What, uh…” Oliver hesitates.

He started to ask the question before he could stop and think if it’s a good one.

He’s been asking a lot of questions.

…What’s one more?

“What were you writing? Back then?” he asks, and a look of surprise flashes on Graham’s face, as if this was the last question he was expecting. At least it’s not an upset expression, Oliver tells himself.

“Oh, uh,” Graham pauses, and the awkward smile returns. “Okay, I… I don’t actually remember how I ended up with it, must’ve picked it up somewhere– and it’s a little funny looking back, it was just– comforting, I guess?” he rambles on, finishing with a nervous chuckle. “It was just… Keep watching. Just… over and over And I swear I got there before I noticed Amy watching me in class.”

Oliver finds himself speechless again.

Keep watching?

There’s that “familiar” oddness, he supposes. An oddness he can easily write off as an aspect of the Fears… though frankly, he was kind of expecting for it to have more to do with the Stranger. Instead, the phrase would suggest at least a touch of the Beholding, and paints that staring habit Amy apparently had in a new light…

It makes some pieces fall into place, in a way. All the same, it raises twice as many questions to replace them.

Questions that have a good chance of raising the tensions back up, if he asks them wrong.

Oliver promptly decides he’s taken more than enough risks for the day.

“Right,” he says instead. He can sit down and think about this more later. Perhaps while Graham is sleeping off today’s entire ordeal? Perhaps sometime later.

“It’s… weird, how Nikola and it keep bringing it up,” Graham declares after a moment of silence. “Why do they care? Are we missing something?” he asks.

Good question.

Oliver is starting to think they might be. On one hand, a possible touch of a different Fear would explain the NotThem’s anger at their mention – Oliver is yet to meet an Avatar that doesn’t mind sharing their victims with other fears. On the other hand, though, its reactions still seem a little… over-the-top for being fueled by a small spat with an aspect of the Beholding about a decade ago.

Is there something more?

This might be a good question to keep in mind for their next encounter. Best to make sure they’re all on the same page.

“Well… it might just not like being watched while it…” Oliver tries to offer one explanation, and picks out the next word carefully. “…Works?”

“Works, sure,” Graham accepts the suggested term. It might not be the most accurate, but at least it’s not unnecessarily gruesome. “You know, I think… I think it got rid of all the notebooks after it… you know. It must’ve really hated them,” he recalls.

Some things don’t change then, Oliver supposes.

“Maybe I’ll bring a notebook next time we see it,” Graham suggests, and a smile crossing his lips. The tension hanging in the air dissipates so quickly it takes Oliver a moment to catch up. Before he knows it, he finds himself trying to stifle a chuckle at the idea.

“Maybe,” he nods, briefly entertaining the thought.

It couldn’t end that badly, could it? It’d be pissed, he’s certain, but it’s not like it would be at full capacity to act on its anger. Not with Nikola present – she seemed pretty amused by the notebooks, and hopefully wouldn’t let it take things too far. It would just have to deal with the situation… with a bit of pay-back for its early departure this time, in a way.

Of course, it’s not worth the risk… but at least thinking about it is amusing.

So amusing he can’t quite believe they were still going over their meeting with the Strangers a few moments prior.

That, in turn, is a huge relief.

It tells Oliver that he wasn’t so terribly tactless with his questions as to drive the final nail into the coffin. Not only did they meet with Nikola and the NotThem, a meeting cut inconveniently short, but they managed to go over the few things they found out, and it’s still not a disaster. He looks at Graham, still smiling as he reaches for his cup of tea, and feels more relieved than he has in a while. It’s a miracle nothing has ruined their day yet.

He feels it’s safe to assume the conversation is finished, and reaches for his cup of tea as well. Once he finishes it – and there really isn’t much to finish – they can bring the cups back to the kitchen and start to properly think about a dinner of sorts. Yes, that sounds like a good course of action, he tells himself.

“Hm, you know, I wonder…” Graham says, placing his empty cup down on the table.

He doesn’t look nearly as serious as he did when they discussed things earlier, but the playful look is gone from his face as well. It’s replaced by a lightly furrowed brow, a contemplative expression. So… they might not be as done with the conversation as Oliver assumed they were.

He nods in acknowledgement, and waits for Graham to continue.

“…If Amy still lives in London,” he finishes, and lets the question hang for a moment. “She used to… I still don’t know where she lived, but it was somewhere in Clapham, not far from our old place. It’s been… a while since then, though.”

That much is true – it has been a while. Oliver feels like they’re both just as clueless when it comes to figuring out if the woman still lives anywhere near. It would appear neither of them knows little to nothing about who she was a decade ago, let alone now…

“Why? Do you want to… reach out?” Oliver asks instead of calling more attention to their lack of information. They could find out more, probably. Hopefully. Eventually.

“Maybe,” Graham answers. He sounds neither excited or opposed to the idea. “I’m not… sure. I really don’t think she likes me. But… if she remembers, I should, right? Maybe not now, but at some point,” he ponders, still sounding rather uncertain.

“We can try to find out if she's around,” Oliver offers – no harm in trying, right? Not even a thorough search, just… looking up a thing or two. Graham considers his suggestion for a moment.

“Maybe after dinner?” he answers– a clarification Oliver didn’t think was needed. He’d also much rather not jump into a search right away.

“Sure,” Oliver agrees, “Any of our previous ideas strike your fancy?” he asks, getting up from the couch. He’s starting to think that sitting together might be all it takes to pull them back to the conversation, and he’s done with pushing their luck.

Graham follows his example as he starts to go over a few ideas they threw around during their commute back home, and Oliver feels like he can finally consider the topic of the meeting closed. At least for now, he supposes they might come back to it once they eat, try to find Amy… but for now, it can be set aside. For now, they can move their empty cups to the kitchen and look through the pantry to see if they can turn any of their dinner ideas into reality.

Who knows, maybe they won’t pick the topic back up once they eat.

Maybe Graham will decide to work on fixing the antique clock instead? Maybe Oliver will sit next to him and listen to his mumbled explanations as he tinkers with the machination? Maybe that’s how their afternoon will pass instead.

He thinks he’d like that.