“You looked so cool, Oliver,” I smiled as we walked back to the bus station, Oliver’s hair drying in the hot late-summer air. Freshly showered, he smelled amazing, and his muscles were too obvious all over his body, trained to failure and exhausted from all the techniques he’d tried. 

“You think so? Wasn’t it lame?” 

“Not at all! You’re so good.” And I meant it, genuinely. It was so interesting to watch him and his instructor train all those moves and techniques, and how skilled Oliver was at defending himself. And Oliver’s instructor had been amazing, too, with Oliver being unable to tumble him over even once. 

“Should we get something to eat on the way?” I asked, pointing at a sandwich shop near the bus station. Our bus would arrive in about ten to fifteen minutes — plenty of time to eat a quick dinner. Even though I hadn’t been the one to exercise, I was hungry, nonetheless. 

“Yeah, sure,” Oliver said, and only moments later, he ordered sandwiches for us, and even paid before I could even pull out my wallet. 

“U-Um—“ I stuttered, my wallet helplessly within my hand as I nudged Oliver, who watched the server pack our sandwiches into a bag. 

Oliver noticed me, but all he did was shake his head. “It’s fine.” 

With a pout, I tucked my wallet back into my pocket. “I’ll pay you back,” I whispered.

“Sure. Next time.” He accepted the bag of our sandwiches, and we made our way back to the bus stop. 

“Next time?” I asked in a giggle, his ears turning red right after. 

“If you want. You don’t have to. It doesn’t matter to me.” He spoke incredibly fast, quiet, and avoided my gaze, and I had to hold back another chuckle, and instead watched him unwrap his sandwich and take a huge bite out of it. 

I’d gotten one good-sized sandwich, with chicken and various veggies, and Oliver had gotten two, which he inhaled at incredible speed. He must have been hungry, I thought. Such a big guy, I was sure he needed all the fuel he could get. 

“Our bus is late,” I mumbled, enjoying my sandwich rather slowly. How could he eat so fast? It embarrassed me, having him watch me eat when he’d long finished. 

“… Yeah.” 

Halfway through my sandwich, I already began to feel full — it was always like this with me. I got hungry a lot, loved to snack, but I could never quite eat a lot at once. Staring at my leftovers with dread, the ones Oliver had paid for because I wanted something to eat, I wasn’t sure what to do. It embarrassed me. 

But there were other, more pressing things that interested me. 

“Say, Oliver … Your instructor wanted you to tell him why you fought. Did you?” 

A sigh escaped him, and he didn’t answer me. Not with words, at least, but his eyes told me all I needed to know. 

“You’ll tell him, and not me?” 

“He’s helped me through a lot of stuff.”

“Unfair!” I proclaimed, making him jerk backwards. “I helped you, too, didn’t I? That day? I cleaned you up, and made sure no one found out.” 

Oliver’s fingers tensed around his backpack’s strap, and a gulp was a clear as day to be seen, forcing itself down his throat. Did I imagine it, or did he turn paler by the second? 

Once more, he avoided my question. “Aren’t you going to eat that?” he whispered.

“N-No, I’m full … Do you want it?” He nodded, and ate the rest of my sandwich in record time, keeping his mouth full just so he wouldn’t have to answer. 

“Oliver,” I sighed. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“Why do you want to know?” 

“I just … I—I don’t know.” Did I push too hard? Should I have stopped? 

But I’d clearly seen him look at me, together with his instructor, as if it had to do with me. My curiosity beat me once again, and I just couldn’t help it. “I just want to know. Please.” 

“It’s not gonna do any good. Just drop it.” 

“Why?”

Oliver sighed, and turned away from me.

“Was it because of me?” It slipped out of my lips, and I didn’t even believe it, but when Oliver practically froze up on the spot, turning as pale as a ghost, my heart beat so loudly, I understood nothing any longer. 

“Oliver…?” His face was messed up, swollen and bruised, because of me? Why? What did I have to do with his friends? Why would he fight, because of me? What context could possibly justify—

“They said mean things. That’s all.” 

My throat dried up. “A-About me? What did they say? What—What do you mean?” 

“It doesn’t matter—“ 

“It matters to me! If I’m involved, you have to tell me!” I reached for his arm, his face completely avoiding mine, but as I forced him to turn towards me, all he did was chew on his lower lip. 

“It was just stupid stuff,” Oliver mumbled. “Dumb comments. You don’t need to know.” 

“Dumb comments, like what?” Though in my heart, I already worried, and already knew. 

“I’m not telling,” Oliver hissed, a frown on his face now turning angry. “Just back off. Isn’t it better if you don’t know?”

My vision turned blurry. I couldn’t help the tears rushing up into my eyes. Immediately, Oliver’s frown eased, as if he felt bad for me. “You defended me, then?”

Oliver’s shoulders sagged lower, having lost all strength to withstand me. “They saw us walking home together, and wouldn’t stop messaging me. They remembered you looked for me that one time, and … made fun of you, because you look—“

“Because I am gay?” My heart raced as fast as never before — I hadn’t said it out loud yet, not even to Matt, nor my parents. Anyone, really. To think Oliver was the first to hear it from me, and to know that it seemed rather obvious, either way … 

Oliver’s lips trembled. “I told you not to ask—“

“What did they say about me?” 

“Finn—“

“Slurs?” Oliver remained quiet, didn’t deny it, nor did he support my claims. But his silence was loud enough. “So it wasn’t your friends just randomly fighting you. Did you punch first?” 

“I wanted them to stop talking like that about you,” Oliver whispered, lowering his gaze. “And I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, so I didn’t want to tell you.”

A sniffle followed out of my nose. “You—You didn’t hurt my feelings.” 

“But you are—“ Crying? Yeah, I was, and I wasn’t sure why. I didn’t care about the comments they’d made, as I luckily hadn’t heard them first hand. But to hear Oliver had risked his phone, had gotten grounded, and fought so hard he looked like a mess, all because they’d joked so horribly about me? 

“You’re such an idiot,” I grumbled, trying not to cry all the harder, and an awkward chuckle followed. With my forearm, I rubbed snot off my nose.

“Me…?”

“You barely talk to me, and then you go and do that? You don’t need to fight someone for me if it gets you in trouble. Hell, you shouldn’t fight at all.” And yet, I was moved, speechless, and trembling all over. 

“Sorry,” Oliver whispered. 

“You’re such a wannabe hero, aren’t you? Trying to play it cool,” I joked, nudging him at the shoulder with a weird laugh, trying to collect my emotions. Oliver’s ears blushed.

“No, I …” 

Finally, our bus arrived, as if it had been late on purpose. Packed with students, elderly and kids alike, there was little space left for us. Nowhere to sit, Oliver and I were forced to stand next to each other, with me leaning against the bus' wall near the door, and Oliver standing right in front me. 

Our fingers grazed at the pole we supported us on, with his bigger hand right above mine, sliding lower almost purposefully. And in front of me, nothing but his chest, and the gentle, nice smell of his freshly showered body. I gulped, and I knew my stares were even more obvious now that he knew the truth behind them. 

But Oliver didn’t complain. Instead, as I looked up, I found him glancing at me with rather soft eyes, nudging closer and closer, using the filled bus as an excuse. His lips were dry and chapped, and every time he licked over them, he looked away, revealing the blushing neck and his twitching ears. 

What are you thinking about, I wondered, when I, myself, couldn’t even think clearly with him so close to me.