James shoved him hard. Maybe too hard. The last time he had pushed someone like that, it ended up in a fistfight.

"Ge off of your high horse! I'm not interested." He did his best not to yell.

Victor looked alarmed. For a second. He definitely didn't like signs of violence aimed at him. The way feelings flashed on his face was concerning to James. "Are you going to punch me, tough guy? Come on." Victor said, taking a step forward. "Do it. Punch my lights out. Right here." He traced his finger over his jaw, deliberately slow.

"I'm not going to hit you," James said. He wanted to kick him in the throat. "Go to bed."

Victor kept smiling. James came to learn that smile, the way it didn't really curved upwards.

"Why?"

"Victor," James took a deep breath, "Victor, I need you to calm down."

"Calm? I'm calm." He sounded calm, and that told James that, in fact, he wasn't.

Victor approached him again. James' eyes fell to his hands, instinctively. He didn't want to hurt Victor, but he sure as hell could incapacitate him if needed.

Victor didn't even raise a fist. He didn't strike him as violent either, even if tension was an electric current around his whole body. If anything, Victor seemed to be crushed under his own anger.

"Ok," James said. "Then take a step back. I can smell your breath."

Victor rubbed his face and sighed. He shook his head and walked into the bathroom.

James relaxed his shoulders. Of all people, he had to get stuck with him. At least he had Oliver to distract him.

No, it was rude to think of Oliver as a distraction. Oliver was too sweet and nice to be just a distraction. He liked him. A lot more than he had expected.

And he was going to hang out with him Saturday. All damn day. It was something fun to look forward to, and it made Victor's presence less bitter.

"I like this bus," James said, wrapping his arm around Oliver. Oliver leaned in. He looked great in clothes that were not that burgundy uniform. He loved his jeans and mustard sweater.

"It's just a bus." Oliver leaned into him. "We haven't planned our date."

"Ah, pft. We don't need to make a plan. We're going to improvise lunch. And then be spontaneous with dessert. Then, maybe, if we're in the mood, we can go to the park, watch a movie…"

"Get movie snacks, eat ice cream, and I've always wanted to share a milkshake with someone."

"Oh my god, you want to share food?"

"Is it too wild for you, Brooks?"

"I don't know, Morales, it sounds quite thrilling. I might be up for it."

"I mean, can you imagine? Using two straws in the same glass?"

"Unbelievable, what will the neighbors say?" James kissed him on the forehead. Being with Oliver was a much-deserved break.

The fact that Oliver didn't like cheesecake came as a surprise. He wasn't sure if he could ever be the same after this.

The café was something James would never pick, on his own. It had a French name he couldn't pronounce, the walls were pastel, and all the chairs were pink and frilly. He didn't mind sitting on a girly chair, but he couldn't help but feel amused. He was a stark contrast against the décor. Oliver dragged his chair closer to the table and reached to take his hand.

"Oh my god, you look so cute here," he said.

"Really. I think it's the walls here; they go with my complexion."

"And you said color doesn't suit you." Oliver wrapped his lips around the straw and sipped from his drink. He wanted to kiss him again.

James picked up his ridiculously small fork and stole one of the berries on top of Oliver's cake.

"Thief!" he said, smiling.

James squeezed his hand. "I really like you."

Oliver licked his little fork and chuckled. "Well, then be my boyfriend," he said, as a matter of fact.

James groaned. "Come on, can I at least make one move?! Just one? Can I? Please?"

"What, am I stealing your thunder? Am I being… too assertive for you?" Oliver grabbed the edge of James' plate and dragged it towards him. Then, very slowly, he took his one lone oreo cookie that crowned his cheesecake.

"You're stealing my food."

"Sweets are not food." Oliver licked the cream off the cookie. "And you did it first."

James rolled his eyes. He was still holding his hand.

"Well?" Oliver pointed his tiny fork at him.

"Well, what?"

"Focus," Oliver whined. "I've asked you a question."

"And I said that I want a chance to move this relationship forward." He tapped his finger on the table to accentuate each word.

"Well then, ask me to be your boyfriend," Oliver said.

"Will you be my boyfriend?" James chuckled. It all felt so innocent.

"Oh my god, I thought you'd never ask." Oliver fanned himself with his hand. "I'll have to call my mom."

James snorted, then started laughing.

Oliver wrapped his arm around James' waist as they walked outside. It felt only natural to drape his arm around his shoulders.

He heard the word before he felt the impact. He had heard it before, but it never bothered him. It slid off like water off wax. This time, it was different. Whoever that asshole was that shouted it, had the absolute nerve to throw something at them.

And it hit Oliver in the back. It was a plastic water bottle, half empty. There was no real damage, but it infuriated James.

Then he heard, that dreaded f-word. The word resonated in his bones for the first time. He realized that he cared now because it was also aimed at Oliver.

He turned and made eye contact.

Oliver gripped his arm. He could probably feel the tension rising in him.

"Say that again," James said, enunciating each word.

"What are you gonna do?" He was a guy about the same age as him. James sized him and felt amusement vibrate in him, like an internalized laughter. He could ruin that guy. He could break him over his knee.

He burned the distance between them with a few steps and grabbed him by the shirt. He lifted him so that he had to struggle to keep his balance on his tiptoes. Amusing, humiliating, it was all James wanted.

"I'm going to beat your face in." James smiled sweetly. "And, you'll be shitting your teeth tonight."

"James, don't," Oliver said, deflated.

James shrugged and dragged the guy in front of Oliver. He forced him down his knees. Upon further consideration, he stepped on his back and forced his forehead against Oliver's shoes.

"Say sorry," James said.

"Fuck you!"

"That's quite a gay thing to say for such a homophobic boy." He used boy on purpose. He wasn't a man. "Say sorry, or I'll kick you in the head, and you'll be tasting the curb and your gums."

Oliver looked at him and raised an eyebrow. James shrugged, it was the first thing that crossed his mind.

"I'm not gonna say sorry to someone like you."

"Ok," James said and pressed him harder. Oliver moved his foot away, leaving no cushion left between his head and the asphalt.

Oliver caught his eye again. "James," He winked at him. "Remember the last one? He almost died, and the police said you can't be going around beating people."

James caught on fairly quickly. "He was asking for it," James said. "And he didn't die, did he?"

"Well, no." Oliver sighed. "But you did break his ribs. And his arm. And dislocated his knee."

"I also cracked his skull." James pressed his foot into the guy's head, forcing him down. "Say sorry."

"Ok, ok, ok! I'm sorry, fuck man!" James smiled at Oliver, picked the guy up from the ground, and gave him a proper, firm punch to the stomach before pushing him away. They're all big and tough until someone fights back.

James winked at him. "Say that again, and I'll find you and shove my foot so far up your ass, you're gonna be gagging on my toenails.

"You should be a poet," Oliver said, taking his arm again. "I've never heard a man use threats so eloquently. Where did you learn this… impressive skill?"

"Online games." James nodded.