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This blows. This fucking blows.
Randy’s sitting in his tiny apartment, back up against the side of his old, springy mattress. It’s painfully nostalgic in a way, to be sitting alone in the dark of his room again, holding himself tightly, and the only thing he can think of is everything that’s happened since a couple of days ago.
He hasn’t spoken to Oliver since, and he hasn’t called either. Randy has no idea if he’ll even be able to speak to Oliver right now. He’s still clinging onto a little bit of hope that Oliver might come by like he used to. Maybe with some snacks and a blanket for a movie night. Or maybe they’ll try to fit on Randy’s small, thrifted couch that Oliver personally picked out when they went furniture shopping. Their limbs tangled, with Oliver’s ear pressed up against Randy’s chest, their legs somehow placed across or on top of each other.
It was bliss, and Oliver thought it was platonic.
Was it really? Maybe Randy was being stupid about this entire thing. Some friends are just super touchy with each other. They cuddle. They tell each other how much they love them. But it was platonic. They made out, they blushed when one was accidentally too close. They played with each other’s hair, they slept on the small twin sized mattress in Oliver’s apartment.
Maybe it was just platonic. Maybe that’s how Oliver is with all of his friends. Maybe Randy just wasn’t different.
Maybe Randy didn’t mean as much as he thought he did.
That thought just makes Randy want to cry even more. But that’s the weird thing, he hasn’t necessarily been able to cry since all of this happened. It’s just this pit at the bottom of Randy’s stomach that somehow grows even bigger the more he thinks about it. Don’t get him wrong, he wants to think about literally anything else, but whenever he lets his mind wander too far, it comes back to how Oliver doesn’t have the same feelings. How sad Oliver looked but how much Randy just didn’t care at the moment. Now that he’s had time to think about it, he sort of wishes he actually put more thought into everything that had happened when it was actually happening.
Now all he has done is ruin his relationship with the only person that actually tolerates him.
He feels stupid. He has a lot of regrets, but maybe this was the worst one. Aside from not going to university, and dropping out of college, and losing his only job, and getting crushed from beneath a silly little animatronic—
Okay, well, he has a lot of regrets. But this one feels soul crushing. He’s sure he felt worse than this when he lost his apartment. But he also doesn’t remember much, considering he spent the last bits of his paycheck on a bottle of vodka, drank it over the course of a couple of days and then kept throwing up. Which, looking back, wasn’t the smartest idea, but some people have a habit of spending money on certain things when they’re spiralling.
He just feels stupid for snapping. Why couldn’t he just keep his mouth shut? He couldn’t just let Oliver keep kissing him? He couldn’t just shut the hell up?
And here he goes again, spiralling even further.
His chest feels tight again. He doesn’t want to cry, he doesn’t want to be angry at Oliver. He just wants Oliver to hug him again. He wishes he just wasn’t fucking stupid.
Something inside of his pocket vibrates and he jumps at the sound before realizing: it’s another customer.
He sighs heavily and reaches down into the pocket of his jean jacket and pulls out his phone. He presses a button on his Nokia and brings the phone to his ear.
“Hi, my name's Valentine, and I’m feelin’ ready for you tonight.” He said through a shaky voice. Hopefully whoever was on the other side of the phone doesn’t notice how pathetic he currently sounds.
“Hey, Val.”
The voice immediately throws Randy off. His heart stops in his chest and it takes him a moment to even acknowledge who’s voice that is.
It’s Oliver’s.
“H-hey,” Randy says, even more shaky. What the hell is he supposed to say? “How—how are you?”
Fuck him, this is the worst.
He hears a heavy sigh on the other side of the phone and a bit of shuffling. “Oh, y’know. Feelings.” He was slurring his words, which slightly concerned Randy.
He can’t tell if talking to Oliver when it’s not face to face is making his anxiety worse or not. At this point, it might as well be Twist that he’s talking to. So he just hums in response, not entirely sure what to say.
It’s this recipe Randy follows all the time: let the customer talk and then build off of that. Oh, and let the customer talk about themselves. They love talking about themselves.
“I—I didn’t really have anyone else to talk to. My boss doesn’t really get the whole situation, my friend— well, she’s like an older sister to me— is a little busy with her own stuff, and well, my best friend doesn’t really want to speak to me right now.”
“Oh?” Randy asks. He feels a little jittery, so he begins to rapidly tap his fingers against the floorboards of his apartment with his free hand. It helps him focus. “What, uh, happened?”
“I accidentally did something without really… acknowledging his feelings, and it really hurt him. And it sucks, because he means the world to me.”
Those words leaving Twist’s mouth make Randy even more anxious. He feels like throwing up.
“What did you do?” Randy’s voice is so soft. His stomach aches but he doesn’t want to put the client on hold just to go throw up. That is one thing he has learnt over the last couple of years doing this: don’t put the customer on hold. It’s his paycheck that pays the price.
“I—I didn’t realize that his feelings for me were… more. And I led him on, despite not having those same feelings. I just feel like a fuck up.” His voice on the other side of the phone breaks up slightly.
“Maybe you should talk to him.” Randy suggests and the client laughs, though it’s quite ironic and sort of broken.
“I don’t know if he wants to speak to me after all of that.”
“You won’t know unless you try.”
“But what if he doesn’t want to? And I fuck up the opportunity I had to fix our relationship?”
“Nothing will happen if you don’t do anything, Twist,” Randy says, and Twist pulls the phone away from himself to let out a small sob.
“Is it bad I’m a little hungover right now?”
Oh, that explains all of it. Just agree with the client. “Not at all. Just— drink a lot of water.”
“If you were here, you’d hold my hair back.” Twist jokes and Randy can’t help but smile even wider.
“Too bad I’m not there right now.”
“I mean, I’d invite you over, but I am a fuckin’ mess.”
“Oh, me too. Don’t worry about being a mess.”
The two fall into an awkward silence. Twist has to be the one to continue this. What the hell is Randy supposed to say anyway?
Finally, Twist speaks. Randy can’t tell if he’s grateful or not. “Are you, uh, doing the thing where you keep throwing up? Out of anxiety.”
Randy lets out a small awkward gargled noise from his throat. He prays Oliver didn’t hear it. “Yeah, it sucks.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. It isn’t your fault.”
“It is.”
“No, Oliver, really. It’s fine.”
“You wouldn’t be throwing up if I wasn’t a dick to you.”
“I can’t control it and neither can you. It’s no one’s fault.”
“I—I just—“ Another sob escapes Twist . It’s clear that he’s struggling to keep it together. “I feel like such an asshole. I always fuck things up. I always say the wrong things or do the wrong things and then people don’t like me, and I feel like a massive dick. Then I think about like— hurting myself, which is stupid, but—“
Randy’s eyes widen in surprise at that small statement. “Did you?” he whimpers with a small frown. “I’m sorry.”
“No— what? Why are you sorry? Anything I do is my fault because they’re my actions.”
“But you wouldn’t be doing it if I wasn’t mean.”
“But you had a right to be mean to me. I really was a dick.”
“Then this is my fault?”
“Oh, God, Randy, no— fucking Christ, no it isn’t. I just overthink a lot, I’ll be okay. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”
“But—“
“It’s okay. I didn’t want to talk about that anyway. Sorry for bringing it up. I actually have a shift in a couple of hours and I have no idea if I’ll even be able to move by then.”
“…How much did you drink?”
Twist laughs nervously and Randy rolls his eyes. The air doesn’t feel as heavy anymore. “I owe Pierre a lot of money. Hopefully if I make good tips today, I can pay him off by around the end of the week.”
“I’d tip you if I had money.”
“Val, you’re the guy I’m supposed to tip after you like— help me jerk off or something. Not the other way around.”
Randy couldn’t help but laugh at Twist’s direct nature. “Yeah, except most patrons don’t even tip.”
“I have something to say to that.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Randy Valentine Jade is a great human being, and he deserves all the tips, especially after everything he has to deal with. Sorry, I think I’m still a little tipsy.”
“Rotary—Christ, Twist, be serious. How much did you actually drink?”
“Well, for starters, I didn’t go to Pierre’s this morning. That was right after you left the cinema. I was inspired by this story a friend of mine told me, when he bought and drank an entire bottle of vodka all for himself during a tough time. So that’s what I did this morning. I dragged myself off of my couch, walked to the closest store that sold alcohol, bought myself a bottle of vodka and drank it on my way back. I passed out and slept for like, five hours, then woke up. And now I’m here.”
Randy winced. With no one to help him either? Oliver has always been a lightweight with his shorter figure. “Sounds like an eventful day.”
“Totally,” Shuffling can be heard from the other side of the phone, then a bit of gagging, which makes Randy shutter. “Hold on, I think I’m gonna throw up again.”
“Okay, y’know what? I’ll be there in twenty.” Randy clicks another button on his small Nokia and shoves it into his pocket.
He pushes himself up onto his feet and grabs his nearly–broken sneakers. He unlocks his door and locks it promptly behind himself, before lightly jogging down the hall and towards the elevator.
–
“Oliver?”
Now here Randy was, standing in front of Oliver’s front door of his apartment. At least this apartment was somewhat held together better than his own.
Randy didn’t hesitate to knock on the door, and after a good minute of no response, he reached into his pocket to pull out a key from his pocket. He inserts it into the hole, twisting it, and turns the knob to push the door open. Thank Phone—God for Oliver giving Randy an extra key.
Randy hasn’t been here in nearly a week, it’s nice to finally be back. But that’s not his main concern right now.
He pushes the door closed behind himself and kicks off his shoes. The first place he heads towards is the kitchen. He grabs a glass from one of the cabinets and ignoring the large pile of dishes in the sink, fills the glass with cold tap water and heads towards the only bathroom through Oliver’s messy bedroom, where the door is wide open. Up against the wall, opposite of the toilet, is the one and only Oliver sitting, hunched over, wearing his flannel, half buttoned up and stained sweats.
Oliver looks up and there are bags beneath his eyes. “Oh, hi. How’d you get in?”
“Extra key you gave me. You okay?” Randy asks, putting the glass down on the counter to take off his jacket. It falls to the floor with a soft thud and he kicks it to the side.
Randy approaches Oliver and leans down so they can both see eye to eye. He doesn’t smell the greatest, but that isn’t a big concern either. It wouldn’t be saying a lot, considering Randy was so accustomed to the smell of garbage until he finally had the money to buy deodorant and steal Oliver’s extra bottle of shampoo. Seriously, hygiene products are outrageously expensive.
“Wait– wait, don’t look at me. I look like a mess.” Oliver brought a hand up to try and button up his flannel, but Randy gently took his wrist and put his hand down back onto his lap. It was nice to finally be with Oliver, even if the circumstances could’ve been better.
“The more you move, the more you’re gonna feel sick. Just– try not to move too much, okay?” Randy says softly and leans over to grab the glass of water. “Here, drink.”
Oliver takes the cup from Randy’s hands and brings it to his lips, where he slightly tips his head back and gulps down the water in one sitting. He pulls it away from his mouth and takes a couple of deep breaths. Randy takes the empty glass and puts it to the side.
“Thanks,” Oliver said quietly. “I’m never doing this again.”
“Not entirely sure why you thought this was a good idea in the first place.” Randy says quietly, flushing the toilet and filling the glass with the sink water instead. Just in case.
“I blame you, Val,” Oliver says, before looking away. “Fuck, my head is pounding.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Randy bites back a smile. “I’ll get you some tylenol.”
“Thanks, I’ll be here.”
“I don’t expect you to move,” Randy said, scurrying back onto his feet.
Just as Randy’s about to turn around, Oliver gags and quickly pushes himself on his knees in front of the toilet, where he hangs his head down. Randy reaches over to pull Oliver’s hair out of the way as he retches. His throat burns and Randy averts his eyes, looking at the door instead.
Randy hears the toilet flush and he looks back at Oliver, who’s breathing heavily. “You okay?”
“Could be better,” Oliver spits and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “I think I’m gonna go to sleep.”
“...After your five hour nap?” Randy asks and Oliver shrugs.
“I can take like, four melatonins.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Dude, I would do anything to get rid of this headache.”
“Don’t take my word for it, but I think it’s gonna make your headaches worse.” Randy says. Oliver pulls back and sits up against the wall once again. He still feels ill, but fights back the feeling to go limp on the floor and fall asleep right then and there.
“How would you know that?” Oliver says a little playfully, but then brings his fingers up to his temples to try and rub his headache away.
“I took, like, twenty in my first year of college and had to deal with it at home. It wasn’t very pleasant,” Randy explains. “Do you think you’re done throwing up?”
Oliver tries to laugh, but is taken over by the aching pain in his abdomen and his headache. “Yeah, I just need water.”
“How about I get a cold shower going?”
“That sounds dreadful.”
“Yeah, but it’ll sober you up. Trust me, you’ll feel way better.”
“Do I have to take off my clothes?”
Randy thought for a moment. “Uh, y’know what? No, it’s fine. Just– I’ll go grab you an extra change of clothes and a tylenol. Maybe two.”
—
“Fuck, that’s cold!”
“Sorry, I’m sorry! You’ll feel better after.”
Oliver doesn’t hesitate to pull off his flannel, rather than unbuttoning it, he swung it over his head and threw it to the side in the tub. Randy promptly averted his gaze and grabbed the nearest towel. He put his arm out and it was quickly snatched from his hands. He hears the loud creak of an old handle being turned, and the water in the shower stops running.
“Can I look?”
“Randy, I don’t give a shit,” Oliver says. Randy opens an eye and sees Oliver with the towel draped around his shoulders as he struggles to pull off his soggy sweats that are sticking to his skin. “Just– hand over my clothes and wait in my room.”
Randy scurries into Oliver’s bedroom to grab some clothes he laid out on the bed, only to put them back on the counter in the bathroom and then close the door behind him. He patiently waited, sitting on the edge of Oliver’s bed, tapping his fingers against his lap.
Was this his fault? The idea of Oliver drinking himself until he’s hunched over his toilet bowl makes Randy feel quite bad. He didn’t want any of this to happen. If Randy just hadn’t opened his mouth, maybe none of this would be happening.
After a couple of minutes, Oliver comes out of the bathroom with the towel over his damp head of hair and wore a regular pair of boxers and a dark shirt. There were clear bags beneath his eyes and he was hunched over. Randy had to bite back the urge to call him pretty, or handsome. Or any compliment that held truth.
“Hey, feeling better?”
Oliver looked at Randy through lidded eyes. “Yeah, I guess. I’m just tired.”
“Surprising,” Randy said, sarcasm laced in his voice. He pushes himself up from the bed and slowly approaches Oliver. “You should probably rest your body before your shift.”
Oliver yawns and stretches his arms. He ruffles the towel on his hair and then throws it to the side on the floor. He then approaches Randy and without warning, falls into his arms.
“Whoa— you okay?” Randy asks, catching him and holding him tightly against his chest.
“Fine,” Oliver replies quietly and brings his arms up to Randy’s back to hold him close. “I just wanted a hug.”
“Oh, totally,” Randy says, a little nervous. He rests his chin on top of Oliver’s head, feeling the dampness of Oliver’s head of hair. It didn’t bother Randy too much anyway. He misses this too much to care about any small imperfection about this right now. “That’s, uh, okay. We can hug for as long as you need.”
“Thanks,” Oliver buries his face into Randy’s chest. He is so comforting, even if he hasn’t showered in a while.
“You don’t smell like vomit anymore. Good job.” Randy says shaky. The urge to stop the heaviness in the air is going to choke him if he doesn’t get rid of it.
Oliver stifles a laugh and slightly pulls away from Randy, however still keeps his arms wrapped around Randy’s abdomen. He looks up at him and takes a deep breath with a small frown, before pulling away and looking away. Shame crawls from beneath his skin. He has to say something. Anything.
“I—I think you’re right. I’m gonna rest before my shift,” Oliver says. “Thanks for, uh, helping me. And stuff.”
Randy is taken aback, but he picks himself up and nods. “Right, um, yeah. I’ll leave you to it.”
“Yeah, just,” Oliver pauses and Randy begins to approach the door. Except he’s purposely walking slower than regular, and Oliver knows exactly what Randy’s thinking about. He sort of wishes he didn’t. But he dug himself into this hole, it’s his job to climb back out. “Wait, Randy.”
Randy turns on his heel with a little smile, meeting Oliver’s eyes and he crosses his arms. “Yeah?”
“Fuck it,” He sighs. “C’mon, we’ve gotta talk.”
“Was waiting for you to say that.”
“Shut up or I’m gonna kick you out.”
“You’d really do that to someone who just helped you sober up?”
Oliver rolls his eyes and falls backwards onto the bed, letting the mattress bounce from beneath him. Randy walks over and sits down on the edge of the bed once again, looking at Oliver’s hand, then his arm, and finally him. His messy wet hair falls just past his eyes and he has a small smile on his face, admiring Randy.
“I’m sorry,” Oliver says softly, breaking the silence. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know you didn’t,” Randy replies, almost like he knows exactly what he wants to say. He softens.
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“I don’t want to lose you either. You’re my best friend.”
“You’re mine too,” Randy reaches over to put his hand on top of Oliver’s. He’s a little cold. “It’s okay if you don’t like me like that. I—I can’t control your feelings. I know I can’t.”
“And you can’t control yours either,” Oliver says softly. “I know you’d be a good boyfriend. To someone who wants you just as much as you want them.”
“Oh,” Randy laughs quietly. “How’d you know?”
“Despite your cowardness, you were good to Lola. Even if you were afraid of holding her hand,” Oliver says and intertwines his fingers with Randy’s, locking their hands together. His hand is so much smaller than Randy’s, he has truly missed this. “You were a good person in that relationship.”
“Huh, thanks,” Randy says with a small smile. Oliver’s palm is so small, it’s sort of humorous. “I’m also sorry for lashing out. I really regret what I said—“
“Randy,” Oliver squeezes Randy’s hand. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. I was the one who fucked up.”
Without pulling away, Randy falls back against the mattress, next to Oliver. He turns his head and meets Oliver’s gaze. He has a bit of acne on his cheeks, but that probably just makes him even more attractive. Every small blemish, every small mark is something Randy holds close to his heart. It just makes Oliver more human, more like himself. More imperfect, more beautiful.
Their faces are just inches away from each other, and Oliver is accustomed to this closeness, but Randy thinks he will never get used to it.
“But—“ Randy tries to say, but Oliver interrupts him.
“Dude, I led you on without acknowledging your feelings. I was a dick, and I’m really sorry.” Oliver says. The look on his face is gentle. It makes the butterflies in Randy’s stomach swirl.
Randy hums. He knows exactly what he wants to say, except it’s hard to get the words out of his mouth. “I—it’s okay. It’s really okay. You mean so much to me and I don’t want you to just… disappear from my life, y’know?”
Oliver uses his free hand to wipe a tear from his eye. “That’s— wow, me too. I mean— you mean a lot to me, too. You’re my best friend. I don’t want anything to happen. And I’m really bad at acknowledging feelings, and I’m really sorry for being shitty.”
“Oli,” Randy says. Something inside of Oliver’s chest warms when Randy uses that nickname. “It’s okay. It’s really okay. Don’t worry. I forgive you.”
Oliver smiles and wipes another tear from his eye, but they don’t stop and he pulls his other hand away from Randy’s to try and wipe the tears that keep coming. He pushes himself up from the bed.
“I—I’m really sorry—“ Oliver chokes and Randy doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Oliver and embrace him in a tight hug. He gently and slowly rubs circles into Oliver’s back, quietly shushing him.
“It’s okay. It’s really okay.”
Oliver clings onto Randy for dear life and he refuses to let go.
—
A couple of hours later, Oliver wakes up with his head laying on Randy’s chest. He looks around, only to realize that he’s fallen asleep on his best friend, whose hands are resting delicately on Oliver’s back.
Oliver can’t help but smile.