Archive of Our Own

Oliver felt lucky today was a slow day, considering he’d had a pretty rough night. He leaned a hand on the counter, twitching his nose as a few stray locs fell into his face, and tried desperately not to fall asleep on shift. He had to stand, keeping as much weight on his tired legs as they could manage, but his eyes would still drift shut every few minutes and he had to force them back open. Sleep would only bring more dreams, he told himself, and his managers would be pissed if they caught him passed out over the counter.

A man approached Oliver’s station, and he pulled his customer service attitude back on as quickly as he could, though it might not have been very quick at all, given how distractingly handsome the stranger was. He was pretty short, with a pretty face. Fairly young looking, though it was a bit hard to properly place his age. His hair was wavy, and too brightly white to be natural, his eyes an incredibly striking blue. Captivating in their entirety. A white Lichtenberg scar branched across his pale skin, licking his nose and cheek, dancing across his clavicle, exposed by a sparsely buttoned shirt, and flowing down his shoulder where it dipped from sight.

While Oliver advanced quickly through the stages of gay panic, the man placed some paracetamol and a box of toothpaste onto the counter. He looked up and fixed Oliver with a smile, who in turn did his level best to keep a pleasant-neutral expression.

“Hello there-” The man paused, clearly reading his nametag. “Oliver. Wow, that’s a lovely name.”

“Thank you,” Oliver replied in a voice a touch too high, and busied himself with scanning the items he’d placed.

“I’m Mike. I haven’t seen you around. Are you new, or am I just not a regular?” Oliver refused to meet those eyes again, but he had a smile in his voice.

“Dunno. I- I mean, I know I’m not new,” He managed, scanning the last item. “Will that be all for today?”

“Yep! Uh- wait, hold on,” Oliver risked a glance and watched Mike pull up his phone to look at something. Then he closed it, and rushed away from the counter, returning a while later with a Sky at Night magazine and a box of English breakfast tea.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” He sounded a bit winded, “I needed to get the tea, and then I saw the magazine, you know how it goes.”

“Mhm,” Oliver was going to pretend that wasn’t dreadfully charming.

Items scanned, Mike swiped his card and Oliver slipped his things into a shopping back with the receipt. Their fingers brushed as he passed the bag over to Mike, and Oliver felt a spark that made something flutter in his chest. He contemplated the idea that the mark of electricity trailing down Mike’s forearm might have reached out to shock him.

“Have a nice day,” he smiled awkwardly.

“You too, take care!” Mike called back as he left, flashing a grin his way.

Well, that’s one way to keep a man awake.

It didn’t make sense to Oliver that he’d never seen Mike before that day. It didn’t make sense, because he began to see Mike all the time afterwards.

Mike visited practically every other day. He always bought at least one thing, Oliver had briefly worried about his spending habits before Mike waved him off, saying money wasn’t an issue for him.

The talking, that was another thing. Mike made conversation with him every time he visited. Not for very long, on busy days at least. When there weren’t people waiting in line behind him Mike would take his time. Oliver liked those days the best. Mike wasn’t always chatty, when he was the man could fly through sentences like the wind through a canyon.

He had quiet days too though. Once, Oliver tried to talk on a quiet day. It was a panicked, rambling thing, he was anxious he might be expected to fill the void in conversation, but Mike didn’t seem to approve, his own responses strained. Oliver figured out why the day Mike admitted people who talk a lot make him anxious, since couldn’t always keep up, and would worry about them speaking over him. Oliver breathed a sigh of relief. He took better to listening over talking anyways. Mike would smile more when their conversations were casual, easygoing.

Oliver liked his smiles, they were cheery, cheeky sometimes. They kept him company as he lay awake in bed, too terrified to sleep. Even comforting him enough to finally slip into not-exactly-oblivion. Maybe he shouldn’t have kept a near-stranger on his mind so often, but he just couldn’t help it. It seemed like Mike had simply fallen right into his life, immediately taken up his thoughts, and moved into his head rent free.

“Why are you always so sleepy?” Mike asked him one day as he put a boxed set of mugs at Oliver’s station.

Oliver kept his eyes to the floor. “Insomnia. I get… nightmares.”

“Hm. I get that. PTSD, y’know? Plenty of experience.” Mike leaned on the counter, resting weight on his elbow as Oliver worked. “Lavender’s good, chamomile tea… and learning more about whatever you’re dreaming of, in my experience. It helps to look at it through a lens of understanding. Logic.”

“It’s death. ‘Don’t think it gets more logical than that,” He shrugged.

Mike paused. “If you wanted to share what you’ve been dreaming about… ?”

Oliver swallowed. “‘Rather not. It’s kind of… deeply horrifying?”

“Fair. You don’t have to of course, but I’m all ears if you ever change your mind.”

Shit. Was Mike being sweet? He smiled, slightly off balance. “I thought you didn’t like chatty people?”

“Well I like you.” He said it like it was obvious and wouldn’t give Oliver heart palpitations. “And, it’s different when it’s something important. Don’t want my favourite pharmacy checkout goth getting fired for sleeping on the job.”

That startled a laugh out of him. “Pharmacy checkout goth?”

“I mean, that’s what you are.” His smile grew wide and playful.

“I didn’t know I was goth.”

“That’s not what you were going for? With all the black? The silver accessories? Christ, you have a glasses chain with little bird skulls on it-“

“Ok, fine, maybe I’m a little goth.”

Something interesting he figured out as he and Mike had more chats was that Mike became progressively meaner. Not in a concerning way, he’d just started out so polite, so it was surprising (and endearing) to learn that the man secretly had mischief in his heart. One day, he’d run into Oliver stocking shelves, and pestered him as he struggled to carry a heavy box down the aisle. When Oliver threatened to drop in on his head and crack his head open, he’d laughed, rather than be offended or disgusted. Oliver was used to being seen as too morbid, desensitized to the macabre as he was, but Mike didn’t seem to mind.

It was great actually, seeing Mike so often. Oliver’s social life had taken a dive after the dreams began, and he didn’t have the energy to chat with his coworkers, but Mike was easy to talk to. He didn’t expect more than Oliver could give, and was always understanding if he yawned more than a few times during their chats.

Delightfully, Oliver found that they were getting to know each other. Mike would remember Oliver’s favourite show, that he’d gotten an economics degree, and he never failed to tease him for genuinely liking white chocolate.

(“It's not even real chocolate! And it’s so sweet! How do you handle it?”

“Sorry not all of us have silk-stocking tastebuds,” Oliver grinned.

“Oi! Dark chocolate tastes good,” Mike retorted.

“It tastes pretentious.”

“Let me tell you about pretentious-“)

Of course Oliver remembered Mike, he was nearly head-over-heels for the man. He remembered Mike’s favourite books, favourite colour, all the wild stories he’d tell about his extended family (which was how Oliver discovered his full name was actually Michael Crew. However, he called his family “the Fairchilds”. Weird, but Oliver sort of liked the mystery). After watching Mike’s hair grow over the course of his visits, and never show any colour other than snowy white, he came to the conclusion that his hair was natural, and it was just like that, which once again called into question how old the man actually was.

Scanning some tea boxes for him, Oliver decided to bite the bullet. “So… I’ve kind of been wondering, what’s your age? It isn’t really obvious.”

Mike thought for a moment, and scrunched up his brow adorably, before answering, “I think about forty?”

Oliver’s eyes widened. “Forty?”

“Yeah, is that really such a surprise to you?”

“I dunno, maybe I’m just bad at aging people? You do not look forty.”

“I don’t think I’ve looked my age in, well, ages. I could be wrong.” He shrugged.

“Oh are you one of those people who forget how old they are?” Oliver inquired.

He paid for the tea as he answered, “I- I guess? I mean I’m not exactly a spring chicken, add that to the memory issues and very weird aging…”

“Weird’s a way to put it. I had no clue how old you were,” Oliver put the boxes into a bag. “You look young, but then there’s your hair… I had to know.”

“Alright, how old are you then, since we’re sating curiosities today,” Mike wiggled his eyebrows and Oliver couldn’t help but giggle.

“Ah, thirty-one. ‘Birthday wasn’t long ago actually.”

“Well happy birthday! Why didn’t you say anything? I could’ve gotten you a present!”

Oliver’s heart flipped at the thought of Mike gifting him something. “I didn’t think it was that important?”

“Come on! I can buy one for you now actually, what would you like?” Mike glanced around the store like he was going to pick something up right off the shelf for him.

“You already paid for your purchase Michael,” Oliver giggled out.

He seemed indignant and his cheeks were dusted with pink. “It’s fine! I can stand an inconvenience for you.”

Oliver felt like he was glowing from the inside. “Just take the receipt, you menace

Later, he would come to terms with the fact that he definitely wanted to kiss a man nearly ten years older than him.

While their brief conversations provided insight into the man, Oliver found that he learned a fair bit about Mike through the stuff he brought up to the counter.

Actual groceries were sparse, Oliver had to assume he went to a different store for those. Toiletries weren’t uncommon, toothpaste, conditioner, moisturizer, perfume (god help him, Oliver would never forget the perfume). On one notable occasion he’d brought a razor, and appeared the next day without the thin stubble that was usually smattered along his jaw. Oliver was completely floored. (Though it wasn’t as if Mike having facial hair or not would make Oliver want to run a hand along his jaw any less.)

Frequently, he’d buy tea. A standard English breakfast seemed to be his favourite, though he’d also get black, earl grey, peppermint, and every so often, chamomile. He seemed to buy a lot of mugs which was interesting. Sometimes mugs with graphics, but usually he’d buy boxes of plain white ones. According to him, he went through mugs very quickly because he would “forget that when things fall, they break”. The image of Mike finishing a cup of tea, absently dropping it and staring in shocked surprise as it shattered on the floor was somehow adorable.

Occasionally, he bought medicine. He went to the pharmacy for a prescription, Oliver figured that out the day Mike had forgotten it and came back 15 minutes later and apologetic. He explained that it was a medication for ADHD, and though the actual name of it escaped him Oliver found that hilariously ironic. What Oliver did scan for him were the painkillers. He’d buy gels and creams a lot. And pills, big bottles of them. Not as often as the gels, and usually just paracetamol, with stronger meds being a rarer purchase, but bought them often enough that Oliver worried about why he was in pain so often. He must’ve been going through them like candy. Once, Mike had paused their conversation to pull out half a blister package, pop a bubble and swallow the pill dry.

Oliver didn’t ask, but it weighed on him. He just didn’t understand why. Not until that visit, at least.

When Mike walked up to the counter that day, the air to him was different. It looked like he was shaking. He held a bottle of ibuprofen in a white-knuckled grip and released it to hold just as tightly to his winter scarf. He’d taken to wearing it as the days got colder, but that day he’d bunched it high around his neck and face. Nearly covering his scar. There was something brewing behind his darkened eyes and sneer. Oliver knew at once that this was a version of Mike he hadn’t seen before.

He scanned the painkillers silently, not wanting to disturb the man in such a delicate state. Mike gazed at the floor, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Will that be all?” Oliver forced some cheer into his voice, but kept it soft.

“Yeah, yeah…” Mike pulled out his card. He had some issue swiping it, his hand was shaking a bit too much to be precise, but he eventually managed to pay. “…Didn’t realize I’d run out y’know.”

“Mhm,” Oliver hummed.

Mike immediately started fiddling with the bottle cap. He failed to open it, fingers slipping across the rough rim, and yelped in pain. He slipped his scarf over his fingers before pressing down and twisting again, opening the bottle and taking a pill like he was starving for it. He relaxed a bit, but was clearly still wound tight.

“I try to alternate with the paracetamol… cream helps too but not with the headaches. The brands I get don’t.”

“Hm”

“‘n I don’t want to go through too much.”

“Yeah.”

Mike’s eyes finally met Oliver’s again.

“Why haven’t you said anything about it?”

He blinked, confused. “About… what? The- the painkillers? ‘Cause-“

“About the massive scar covering a third of my body.” He drawled bitterly, “Are you dense?”

Oliver frowned. “Because it’s… none of my business? I- I mean, I don’t really notice it anymore.”

The curl of his lip softened a touch. “Don’t you? It’s the first thing that sticks out to anyone about me.”

“Well it was your eyes for me,” Oliver replied, before realizing what he’d said and making a conscious effort not to slap a hand over his mouth. God, even if that didn’t make him ridiculously obvious, it was still a stupid thing to say. His mind raced, looking for a way to swiftly exit the situation, maybe run far away, move to Australia while he’s at it.

But Mike just stared, straight ahead, not even looking up at Oliver’s face, and something incredible began to happen. Oliver’s skin had always been too dark to show a blush, which has very likely saved him thus far, seeing as he could usually feel his face heat up by several degrees whenever Mike said anything particularly charming, or gave him a grin, or in leaned too close, or- well, a lot of things, but Mike himself was nearly fair as porcelain. Because of this, Oliver was able to watch, enchanted, as the man’s face began to redden by several shades, settling on a gorgeous crimson that set his pale scar in contrast.

“Oh, well.” He sounded affected. He cleared his throat.

Oliver replied, “I mean they- they are very blue.”

There was that smirk of his. Faint but present. “Glad I’m not just inspiration porn to you.”

“Mike, you're probably my favourite customer.”

“Favourite? W-what assholes are you letting in?” He was smiling properly now, though there was still a strain to it.

Oliver sighed, “Look. Uh, you’re… in pain. A lot.”

His gaze grew guarded. “Yeah. Lightning strike, if you haven’t guessed. ‘Can’t imagine someone being the same after something like that, but a lot of people, like me, get extra shit on the side with it. For me it’s, memory problems, part of why I keep a list, headaches, and chronic nerve pain, which is. Well.”

“Ah, over the counter meds aren’t the best with nerve pain I don’t think.”

“No, no they’re not,” Mike sighed, “I just- I don’t want to be a basket case? I got struck when I was eight, I should be over it by now, y’know?”

“There’s nothing wrong with needing medicine to not live in pain.” Oliver slowly traced the edge of the counter with his finger. “I dunno… I’ve just seen so many people come in here grumbling about needing a cane, or being back on Prozac… everyone’s chasing some impossible standard of ‘better’. You don’t need that though, and I think it’s good not to suffer.”

Mike slumped, “Yeah, ok, I’ll… talk to someone.”

“Be sure that you do.” Oliver said.

And when Mike stumbled out the door, giving a polite wave goodbye, if Oliver daydreamed about gently pressing his own hand into it, leading him to his own bed and making him lay down, giving him a nice cup of tea while waiting out the pain with him…

That was his own business.

There is an end to all things, Oliver knew this well. One doesn’t dream of endings every night and forget when the day begins. Time marches on, and there’s nothing we can do but wait for the careful approach of our own demise. Slow, patient, and inevitable.

It was just as inevitable that Oliver would be caught asleep on shift.

Maybe a more likeable (or white) employee would’ve been let off with just a warning, but as it stands, Oliver’s manager didn’t offer a lick of sympathy his way, and so he was out of a job.

It wasn’t the worst thing really. He didn’t care much for the job in the first place, he was well off enough to take his sweet time looking for a new one, and the freedom from all those strict hours and schedules felt luxurious. He hadn’t slept so well in ages. There was… one thing he missed about the job though. One small detail that, after he ran out of his melatonin gummies a month later, sent him back to his old workplace looking for two things instead of one.

The store was a bit busy, Oliver worried that he wouldn’t spot what (who) he was looking for. Searching up and down the aisles, he found the melatonin easily enough, knowing exactly where it was of course, but… he didn’t want to leave quite yet, and decided to check the tea aisle. For that lavender blend he liked before, he told himself.

For all his worries about not finding everything on his list, Mike was as easy to spot as ever. Short, with snowy hair, and blue scarf that covered some of his scar, hued darker than his eyes. He was staring at the shelf with indecision. Oliver kept his distance, thinking on how to approach. Maybe going up to him would be a bad idea. Maybe Mike would startle and get angry at him, or maybe he didn’t care to talk to Oliver, and him starting a conversation would just be an inconvenience. Maybe he did like Oliver, but not the way that Oliver liked him, and he wouldn’t want to know the way he’s invaded his heart. As he began to spiral, Mike seemee to make a choice and grabbed some tea. Oliver spotted a familiar design on the side of the box, and realization struck. Now that he had an excuse, he finally walked over.

“That brand’s got a high heavy metal concentration, there was a controversy about it awhile back actually.”

Mike flinched and his gaze snapped over to Oliver. He rushed to apologize, but Mike’s eyes lit up.

“Oliver!” He exclaimed, shoving the box back onto the shelf and facing him with a smile and a hand on his hip. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you around here in a while.”

“Got fired,” He chuckled. “Great to see you again though.”

“Likewise. Sorry about the job.” His brows turned up in sympathy. “Won’t be nearly as fun shopping here without you.”

“I- it was probably for the best.” The room had warmed up by a few degrees.

“On the bright side, I don’t have to spend so much money on excuses to say hi anymore.”

Oliver blinked in confusion before something dawned on him, “Wait. Are you saying you’d come over to the store all the time, and buy things, just to visit me?”

“I-“ Mike did that wonderful blushing thing again, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. “I mean, yes, that is what I’m saying.”

Oliver giggled, and then the giggles evolved into full on laughs, because there was a whole lot of light and fluttery feeling moving through his chest and he had to do something to let it out. He would have to get a word in quickly though, Mike was starting to look dejected. He fought the laughs down and spoke, “You can always just ask to hang out you know.”

Mike immediately perked back up, “I can? Well that’s a relief.”

“Yeah, my schedule just opened up a lot so I’m down anytime.”

Then something mischievous slipped into his gaze. Oliver barely processed that he might be in trouble before Mike asked, “Even to dinner?”

“Ah-“ Oh? “Well I- I mean if you wanted?”

“C’mon, I need more enthusiasm than that! Yes or no?” He leaned over a bit into his space, looking straight up at him.

Oh this couldn’t be real, nevermind that Oliver hasn’t had a pleasant dream in years. “Ah, y-yes then? If you’re offering?”

“Can I get your number then?” Mike pulled out his phone. Oliver took it and gleefully made himself a contact. When he gave it back Mike immediately started typing something, and Oliver’s phone buzzed seconds later.

Unknown Number
oliver banks. banks. you have an economics degree. and your last name is banks.

“I worked at one actually,” he replied aloud, Mike laughed. Oliver made a ‘Mike Crew’ contact, and when he put his phone away to look back up, the other man had a wide, playful grin on his face. His smile was as lovely as it had ever been. It made Oliver want to do something bold.

He reached over and cupped Mike’s chin, turned his face slightly, and leaned down, planting a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Talk to you later,” he called as he walked back up the aisle, watching Mike’s lovely, dumbfounded face turn cherry red before he looked away.

He would’ve certainly regretted it later, if it hadn’t been for the whispered ”yes!” of victory he heard behind him. It was very flattering.