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Oliver plopped his fat frame on the yellowish sofa, which still, after all these years, proudly displayed itself in Zeph's study. It used to be bright yellow; Oliver stole it from an IKEA, took him a week to drag it all the way to the base. He guessed the ooze helped his strength, and may he stay human, it would've taken him way longer, accounting for hands and feet getting sore.
By now, the sofa was worn out, sporting a darker tone. It had ooze all over, some imprinted from way back when Oliver dragged it; by now, the ooze stains as black as dust can make them. The sofa was also ripped in a few places, but Oliver's ooze hands didn't allow him such dainty jobs as sewing and every other Zemonian crew member would tell him to eat dirt if he asked them to do it. Even Olivia — despite her, one would say, soft spot for the deformed human.
The sofa was also misshapen from its elegant, rough-fabric beginnings. The fabric was so movable now that Oliver wondered if it ever moved on its own. It also had a pit shape where Oliver would sit. It fitted him like a glove, and it was so ingraved that Zeph had hoped it'll fuse to Oliver's ass one day. Serves him right for the constant bothering.
Speaking of the prince, he was sitting at his table, his back facing the balcony where he could look down to the factory floors. Not much happened there, but Oliver built a bar for his wine. He hasn't made any in years, so it was collecting dust, but sometimes the crewmates would use it as a hangout spot. Not for long, though; once Zeph notices their slacking, he sends them to the office. Not that they really do anything there either, but it gets him off their back.
Zeph's table had a curse over it, it seemed. To Oliver's knowledge, it was never clean. He used to try to clean it up and put some order to it, but Zeph scolded him every time. Something about the human's hands staining the precious paper and his organization skills never meeting the prince's standards, no matter how hard he defended them. So he stopped, but would occasionally remind the prince not to let junk pile up. Although, it never had any effect, it seemed. By now, Oliver didn't give a fuck.
Oliver didn't give a fuck about anything. At. All. And least about Zeph.
It's only been a few weeks since Olivia dragged him from his twelve-month spiteful sulking. The day she had, Zeph ignored him completely — which Oliver wanted. He didn't want to be back, he swore he wouldn't return and he was about to keep that promise. He wanted to show Zeph the real repercussions of his neglectful actions, if a dying Kazuri in the basement wasn't doing so already. In his perfect fantasy, Zeph would've come back with an apology. Or a plea. Or anything. But he also thought he knew the reality — Zeph didn't give a single fuck about him, either.
Well, at least that assumption was easier to perceive as reality than that of Zeph never opening up, never swallowing his pride and never admitting what everyone saw clear as day. It made him physically whince, knowing what he felt for the human. No, he could never say that out loud. Not without feeling shame, or, he guessed, guilt. And he thought he would be overjoyed over the fact Oliver left him. After all, that meant his life could go back to normal and the feelings would go away.
It was not until it was three in the morning in a blazing summer and Zeph kept tossing and turning in his bed when tears started to shed and he was mercilessly confronted with the fact that he not only missed the person he was sleeping next to just a month ago, but he also still loved him.
He thought the utter hatred he mistook his former feelings of love for would be all that's left when the human was also gone. Unfortunately, that was not the case. He resorted to hating himself for it. He would replay all the good times, and everything Oliver has done for him in his mind, and he'd let the tears flow. Crying himself to sleep was the least painful thing he was able to do.
He let him go. He let the one good human go. He even told him to leave. Oliver was one of a billion. And not only did he acknowledge his good side, Oliver proudly displayed his bad one as well. The one Zeph perceived as the real one. The messy, brutal, drunk, loud and mean self. That part sketched itself in Zeph's brain; that's what Oliver was to him. But not seeing his smug grin now made him aware of the good side, the part of Oliver that was funny, considerate, kind, respectful and gentle. The part Zeph assumed Oliver played for brownie points, but now realised it was just as real as any other.
For the longest time, all Zeph wished for was to see Oliver again. He had no idea what he was doing, if he was alive, if he betrayed him. Olivia was giving him less and less information, due to the fact she "had no desire to become a snitch." Zeph felt as desperate as he felt pathetic, but he would never go look for Oliver himself. There was no one to guard him, that's what Oliver was for. And there was no chance he could genuinely find him, after all, knowing his way around the place was Oliver's job. And he had no idea what he'd say, working things out was what Oliver knew how to do.
But then, Olivia, growing bored of no one talking to her, she guessed, dragged Oliver's ass back. When Zeph heard the news, — and Oliver's endless string of curse words echoing the hallways — he could only freeze. He thought he was finally getting over it, he had stopped crying himself to sleep and longingly staring out his window, but the sound of Oliver's voice made his whole body relapse.
He wanted nothing else than to leap into Oliver's arms, forgive him, see his face again, but through Oliver's whole absence, he realised their relationship was hypocritical. It was what he hated Earth for. Zeph hated that he loved him. And he hated Olivia for bringing him back to rub it in his face. So he pushed his wants down, and he ignored the human alltogether. If he gives it enough time, he'll stop feeling anything and he'll be able to watch Oliver's execution. Yes, that would suffice. A fitting punishment for meddling with the prince's feelings.
It's why he wanted to avoid Oliver for as long as he could. If he sees that smug smirk, if he hears that voice... He'll probably even beg to be in his presence again. Oliver, no doubt, stayed his charming self.
It was the second day when they finally faced each other.
Oliver was at the bar. He brought in a lot of alcohol from who knows where. He was sitting there, drinking, quite early, it was dawn. Zeph came in through the hall door so he could get into his office, and as he set his hooves on the wooden board, the normally rhytmic clapping stopped with a slight stumble. They looked into each other's eyes.
Zeph's were wide awake, he's undergone his morning routine and he was ready for work. It seemed a way to cope with no one making you a caffeinated drink they then brought in bed for you in the morning was getting up earlier and gracefully doing everything himself, just to keep busy.
Oliver's eyes, on the other hand, were tired and gloomy. He had dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept in weeks. His glasses were also stained, which made eye contact quite hard. It made his eyes look fucking dead. Zeph only whinced upon seeing all of him, though. He had open wounds and his clothes were hanging on by a thread, his ooze seemed like it was melting, it was disfigured. His hair was long and messy and his beard untreated. He looked terrible. Oliver, no doubt, abandoned his charming self.
They shared a more than uncomfortable silence, them both looking in a bunch of different directions until Zeph noticed the whiskey in Oliver's hand.
"...You're..." He tried to speak up, but his voice gave out. Maybe it was too early, or his throat was dry, or he was nervous. His cheeks heated up and he cleared his throat and actually spoke. "You're drinking?" Much too loud for his liking; the words echoed through the big empty room.
"Whazit tooya." Oliver slurred his speech and nodded his head towards Zeph before taking a swig. It was the first time Zeph properly heard his voice after so long and it sounded so disgusting. He remembered Oliver's voice as pleasantly rough and at times even elegant. This sounded like he had a cheese grater up his throat.
"No one's allowed to drink during work hours. I don't make exceptions." A lie he was about to make a truth. He's been doing nothing but making Oliver an exception.
No one's allowed in Zeph's study — Oliver's an exception.
No one's allowed to speak unless spoken to during meetings — Oliver's an exception.
No one's allowed in the basement — Oliver's an exception.
"Ion fuckin' work here." Oliver objected, aggressively setting the now empty whiskey bottle on the bar's counter. It made a loud bang which sounded through the room and made Zeph flinch. He was sort of right. His occupation used to be Zeph's bodyguard and soldier, both of which were now terminated.
"If that's the case, you should've went back to wherever you were cowardly hiding." Zeph spit out, hate in his voice. He felt a small strike of deja vu in the way he handled the drunk human and it made him want to barf. All those years, just to end up back at square zero.
"Y'think I wanna be 'ere?!" Oliver thundered. It was only a matter of time until he started yelling. "I don't! I NEVER WANTED TO SEE YOU AGAIN!!" He got up from behind the bar and sloppily made his way to Zeph's general direction. Zeph began frantically walking back, nothing but fear in his face.
"Calm down, Oliver, calm-" He hit the wall, but realised Oliver stopped walking towards him already.
"Y're the coward." Oliver said, his tone laced with anger. "That's all you ever were." He walked out through the same door Zeph came in through. Zeph noted his heartbeat was faster than before, in fact, it was all he could hear, so loud he wanted to rip his ears off.
Fast forward to a few weeks later, Zeph forbade alcohol from the base's premises (everyone thank Oliver...) but quickly found out abstinent Oliver is worse than drunk Oliver. At least drunk Oliver didn't destroy property on purpose. And Zeph couldn't decide if being terrified was better than being livid.
In any case, Oliver was finally sobering up. He started acting calmer, but not better. He entered a stage where he sat around and stared at nothing. Everything was boring, everyone was dull. Olivia had no idea what to do with him. Zeph didn't know either. Most of the time, they both sat around in Zeph's study, Zeph at his table and Oliver at his sofa, and they kept quiet, tolerating each other.
That's all they did. Tolerate each other. They didn't speak, they didn't care about each other. The last words they've spoken were when Zeph found a hidden stash of bottles and poured them out the window; Oliver had quite a lot to say. Since then, it evaporated though.
And they both hated it.
Zeph bit his lip, moving his eyes in the sofa's direction, hoping to hear from the human. He didn't exactly want to set things right, but he was waiting for an apology. He wanted Oliver to say anything, so they can talk about it, so they both can end it there, satisfied. But he didn't want to be the one to start. And Oliver, through all the layers of ennui, wanted to talk it out too. Not now, not tommorow, he had a lot of staring at the wall to do. But someday. Someday, he'd love to say everything on his mind and maybe even hear out the prince. But he sure as hell wasn't the one to start like always. No, he won't be responsible for everything around here. Zeph's had it too comfortable, never being the confronter even when he should've been.
So they sat in Zeph's study, a deafening silence occasionally broken up by papers rustling, the sofa letting its years show or a pen smoothly running across a letter.
The kind of silence you hear in your room at midnight, where you can hear a pin drop, and there's an ever present sound of a ticking clock somewhere in the house you don't remember hanging on the wall.
The kind of silence where you're too self conscious to even breathe, as to not disturb the calm and delicate.
The kind of silence that repeated every single day.
And one day, Zeph decided it had been enough.
He gently put his pen down and leaned into his chair. He had a speech ready in his head. Oh, he's about to have it. He looked over to the human, who was laying on his back and staring at the ceiling.
"Oliver." He cut the silence. No answer. Oliver didn't move a muscle.
"I know you can hear me." Oliver turned on his side, now facing the sofa's cushions, sending a simple message.
"Fine. If you're not gonna talk, I'll just speak to the map." Childish, the two of them were. Zeph came over to the map on one of the walls, cautiously avoiding empty bottles on the floor. He told Oliver to get rid of those. It grinded his gears. He could hear Oliver moving around, the sofa made itself heard. He hoped Oliver was turning around to look at him, not leaving or something.
"Hey, map." Zeph already cringed at the ridiculousness of it all. "There's this one really annoying guy. His name's Oliver. Do you wanna know why I hate him so much?" He heard Oliver scoff, and it made him absentmindedly smile. "Of course you want to know. Well. The thing is, he changed."
That made Oliver's ears prick up. He thought he'd hear the usual. 'He's always drunk, and he makes stupid jokes, and he makes me feel things, oh boohoo.' But no. This seemed like Zeph was talking seriously.
"He used to be so thoughtful. He made me believe not all humans suck. He was tolerable, enjoyable to be around." Zeph, although his back was turned, longingly pointed his eyes to his right, where the sofa stood. Where Oliver's ooze ears were tuned in.
"I guess it was all fake, though, because then he started drinking. And he became lousy and rude. And then he left me with nothing and I guess he never stopped." Although before Zeph quite prolonged his sentences, this part, he sped through. Like he didn't even want to talk about it, but he continued. "Well, you'd think that's it. But now he's back and he's worse than ever. If I ever wanted him to return, it would have to be graceful and apologetic. But he's... He's a monster."
There was a long pause. Zeph started getting nervous. Is Oliver just going to ignore that? He spilled his guts here!
"Well, I see you've nothing to say, but thanks for listening... Map." He held up the shtick one last time and took his leave, but before he could walk out the door to sulk in his room a brash voice stopped him.
"You wanna talk about how I changed?" Oliver spoke, now sitting on his sofa, facing the prince. Zeph turned around on his heel and gave Oliver silence and a confused expression. He was about to confirm his question, but Oliver cut him off.
"How I changed. Okay, well. I didn't want to change, now did I." His voice was not just angry, it was seething with rage. Zeph felt his heartbeat pick up again. He hated being so afraid. "I was perfectly fine back when we were in love. Attentive, kind. I was near fucking perfect." Zeph didn't like the term 'back when we were in love'. Oliver wanted to stand up for dramatic purposes, but it was much too comfortable to sit there.
"But one day, YOU changed." Zeph took great offense to that.
"I?! I CHANGED?!" He came towards the human, almost bumping into his table on the way.
"OH YES YOU DID!" Oliver finally sought the perfect oppoturnity to stand up. "One day, you became distant and shallow!! I don't know what happened! One day, I was giving you a new shirt and you were bashfully against it and the next you didn't talk to me!" Oliver was almost mocking him. "You changed, so I did, too. Big fucking suprise. You made me this." Oliver gritted through his teeth. You made me this. It was almost cathartic to finally say.
"Oh there you go, blaming me for everything! EVERYTHING is my fault!" Zeph argued, using his height to attemptedly scare the human. It did nothing.
"Well yeah! It's not my fault you deny your feelings and then you're surprised when I'm not around to figure them out for you!"
"I had everything figured out! I knew exactly what we were." Zeph turned around, finding the intense stare they shared too much. They were so close, and this rang much too familiar to what they used to do. They're not going to make out during an argument again, not this time.
"Uh-uh, then what were we? I'm sure we'll agree on that title." Oliver crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, his long forgotten sass coming back.
It went deafly quiet again. You could hear a pin drop. The very obvious response screamed in Zeph's ears, but he couldn't say it. Not out loud.
"We were..."
Oliver tilted his head. Zeph could hear the human breathing in and out, frustrated, awaiting a response. He hugged himself and stared at the floor. It was as if Oliver's gaze was laser-like.
"Well?" The human inquired, getting impatient. Zeph bit his lip and closed his eyes.
"...Lovers." He admitted. There was a certain embarrassment in the word. Maybe Oliver was the one he shouldn't hide the feelings from. After all, it were feelings for him.
"Yeah, well..." Oliver was actually surprised to hear Zeph say it. A certain sadness spread through his whole body, paired with the unfortunate knowing they won't repeat their best years.
"...We're not that anymore."
Zeph visibly jerked and swiftly turned around, surprise in his face. His eyes darted around Oliver's frame, looking for a smidge of a joke. Why did he say that? But then, the memories of Oliver leaving hit him like a ton of bricks. Oh. Through with that.
"Right. We're 'through'." He said, an obvious pain in his voice. It all took Oliver aback. The surprise, the sadness. He thought he was making Zeph a favor.
"You knew that before, though, right?" He couldn't have thought they're still together after everything. Especially if it took him like twenty minutes to even mutter the words!
Zeph, despite what he thought of himself, was very bad at hiding his feelings. His eyebrows raised in fear, his mouth shriveled; he was upset.
"You didn't?" Oliver said in bewilderment, taking a step back and putting his hand to his forehead.
"You just left. I just thought- You were always able to work it out..." He felt an enormous amount of shame, he felt like a little kid who got caught drawing on the wall. He had hope, or maybe it was the certainty and comfort Oliver brought he wanted to keep, but it never occurred to him that Oliver seriously ended it. They fought a lot, that didn't mean anything. And no matter how long he was gone, he came back in the end, right?
"Well I'm not doing that anymore. I meant it. I don't want anything to do with you." Maybe that'll finally send the message across. All Oliver could see in front of him is a confused mess that lies to himself to upkeep some sort of higher status, and no matter how enticing it used to be, he feels nothing for him now.
"You don't mean that!" Zeph took Oliver's hand.
"I do. Leave it be. Get over it." He tried shaking Zeph's arms away, but his robot hand had quite a grip. It started extending itself around Oliver's oozed arm and almost squeezed the juice out of him with how tight it was.
"Get over it? I never even got into it! But we can be different this time, I-" He had no idea why he was begging so much, but for once, he let his heart speak instead of his brain. The other time he's done so, he somewhat got with Oliver in the first place. And he used to be happy. He needs that happiness again.
"How can we be different? Zeph, look at you! And look at me! We're the same we've always been." Bad people. Just two terrible people who needed each other so they felt better about themselves, because the other one was worse.
"No, no..." How dare he say no to a prince? For a second time, no less! He doesn't understand. He needs to stay.
"Let me go." Oliver firmly pleaded, already trying to free himself from the robotic grasp.
"No, stay with me!" Zeph was miserable when Oliver was gone, and it was only by his fault they grew apart. He sees that now. Oliver is what fixes him. He needs to be with him. He needs him.
"Zeph, please! You're not acting yourself." It was almost disturbing. Maybe this was the first time he's seen Zeph's real self. And knowing full well he doesn't like it made him aware he doesn't like the rest of Zeph either.
"I need you to be myself." Zeph said, halfway talking nonsense, but he'll say anything to get Oliver to stay. Not like 'anything' would work, especially while he's holding onto his arm for dear life.
"That's- Let me go!!" Oliver repeated, a more distraught plea now. It's not like it hurt, but reconnecting the ooze that was pretty much spilling out and making puddles on the floor is a hassle. Not to mention his jacket was getting pulled along with the ooze and it started feeling uncomfortaby tight.
"No!!" But Oliver didn't care for a reply, as he got the idea to just slip out of his jacket and dash out the door. He made it to the door, but hearing Zeph's panicked no's, he turned around.
"Stay, stay! Don't run off again!" It's what he was supposed to say in the first place, the many months ago Oliver left out of necessity. It hurt Oliver to hear it, seeing Zeph probably did admit his feelings, he just didn't like talking about them.
"Zeph, calm down, please. And listen." The prince looked hopeless, were those tears? In any case, he let Oliver's jacket fall to the floor and leaned on the table, his eyes keeping contact with Oliver. He was so desperate that it made Oliver feel sick.
"I don't want to leave." A lie, but what about it. "I'll stay. But you have to accept that I meant what I said. I don't want to be with you anymore."
"Liar." Zeph spat, desperation changing to scornful anger.
"I'm not lying." He was lying. He wanted Zeph. He still loved him. But being rational, he knew being with him would only bring more pain. Only a masochist would want to keep what they had up. A part of him wanted to believe Zeph was telling the truth and they will turn out different, but a significantly bigger part knew once Zeph got what he wanted, he'd keep it the same it was, in hopes of rekindling the happiness they shared. That was only possible when Oliver schadenfreuded his way through life.
"I still care about you, but if you want me to keep you in my life, we have to remain just friends." Oliver set boundaries, although it was more of a slippery slope. One drunken night and... Oh wait, that feels familiar.
"...Friends?" Zeph questioned. He once called Oliver his great friend, back when he realised the human is far greater than he sized him up to be. Overtime that title became a formality more than anything. Back before his brain made him realise that the word had been too platonic.
"Yeah, it'd still be us, just without..." Making out. "...Confusing feelings." He tried marketing it in an appealing way, if that was even possible. He knew damn well he was breaking both their hearts.
Zeph looked down on the floor, noticing he stepped into the ooze stains. He quickly removed his hoof from the puddle and stood in a more awkward stance. He looked back at the human, who, without his jacket, looked much more handsome. He felt his gut quench from that thought as he spoke.
"Sure. We can be friends." He wanted to gouge the human's eyes out. He had to look away as Oliver was leaving, he couldn't handle it. The footsteps rang in his ears and he felt the same pain he felt when he heard the same footsteps in their shopping mall all those months ago. If he knew that was the last time he'd hear them back then, he would not encourage Oliver's actions. Not at all.
He looked at his robot arm basically covered in ooze and shed a tear. Oliver took everything good he had left away again, and it was even worse because Oliver was that everything.