Board Thread:Fan Fictions/@comment-29206018-20170112233729

Nighttime Lessons by Doodle

Oliver was abruptly dragged out of sleep by the sound of the grandfather clock down the hall, marking the late hour with it's obnoxious chiming. In an otherwise silent room, it was easy to count the tolls; he groaned. Three o’clock in the morning.

He—and his other half, who remained totally silent—had woken up in the middle of the night five consecutive times. It seemed as if was no such thing as an uninterrupted sleep anymore. They'd both tried conforming to a normal sleeping schedule after the month of captivity—no more late nights writing, no more owlish nocturnal behaviors. It was best to be as normal as possible, given the situation. Oliver didn't want more attention than he already had.

With a deep breath, Oliver smoothed out his messy tangles of red hair, sliding out of the warmth of his bed. Elias was dormant, and everyone else should have been asleep—it was as good a time as ever. Exhaustion was an understatement, but Oliver payed the creeping fog in his thoughts no mind. He was too tired.

And if Elias felt it in the morning, he'd laugh. All the more suffering to him, that prick.

He stalked towards the mirror on the farther end of his room, and sat down on the stool. Arty was staying with Nicolette tonight, if what he was told was to be believed, but a more likely scenario was that he was off...cuddling Alicia, or something else tragically cutesy. Arty had honestly thought that no one noticed the lovesick looks. That boy's sweet on her, and everyone knows it.

The thought was cause to smile at first, but it fell off of Oliver's face when he remembered he would never have that. Richard was Elias', and never his. The emotion was one-sided. He wanted to be a person, but...

His gaze flitted down. He was a part of a bigger picture. He was only loved for being a part of the picture, never for himself.

His resolve steeled at the thought not moments later. Then I'll simply have to try harder.

He turned his gaze back up, eyes meeting his reflection. Without makeup to cover them, his face was still painted with Elias' freckles. Richard probably thinks that on Elias' face they're heavenly or some flowery shit, he remarked to himself.

Oliver's face also bore all of Elias' scars, and it seemed to age him years past his time. He certainly looked exhausted. The spark in his eyes had dulled.

He cleared his throat, confident tone betraying the uneasy feeling that bubbled in his stomach. After a few moments, he tested it. "Richard! I, um— ...fancy seeing you here! How are you?"

God, that was awful.

"Hey there, Ricky!"

No, nicknames probably weren't the best. Did Elias have a romantic title for Richard? He'd have to listen closer the next time they—

An ugly chortle cut him off. "Oh my God. You're not actually practicing, are you?"

The confidence he'd exuded in his voice shattered. Elias had joined him now, in reflection and in mind. If he focused hard enough, he could practically feel the imposing figure hunched over him. Oliver shut his eyes tight, trying to calm the fast-ticking metronome of his heartbeat. When he dared to crack them open, Elias still stood there in the mirror with a wolffish grin.

Oliver hadn't noticed it, but when he finally panned his gaze to the room before him, he found that the world was gone, fallen away. (It was still there, of course, but he couldn't see it. Elias was manipulating his vision again.) The only indication of his home left was the mirror and the stool he was still perched on. He tightened his legs around it, lest it disappear too.

He took a deep breath, giving a blasé shrug, feigning indifference to the observer. "So what if I am?"

Elias' nose scrunched in disdain. "B--wh- he doesn't like you!"

Oliver gulped down the processes of a lump forming in his throat, trying to block out the harsh words, and yet Elias continued. "He only loves you because you're a part of me, and you know it. He doesn't like you for you. You're annoying and awkward. Leave the flirting to the real person here, would you? He doesn't need two of us, and I was here first!"

He finally craned his head away from the mirror, unable to bear the extended eye contact with Elias. The latter offered an honest smile. While couldn't see his face, he felt a degree of triumph; maybe, finally, Oliver would leave Richard be—

"I love him too," the cracking voice called out.

Elias recoiled. Was Oliver crying?

"Wh—"

"And--a- and I'm a part of you! I- I deserve that love too!" he blubbered.

"W- wait, hold on—"

Oliver whipped his head to Elias, tears rolling down his cheeks and more threatening to arrive. "And you can't t-take that from me, i-i-it's not fair!"

"Don't-- don't cry, uh- don't do that." The gentleness in Elias' tone was surprising, to say the very least; no sternness, no edge. It wasn't quite concern, but it would do. He normally enjoyed pissing Oliver off, but sadness was...different. He didn't really know how to feel about crying before other than the underlying awkwardness, but now, he felt small. He could feel the vulnerability in his own half of their soul, and it felt strange. It reflected into him, and it wrenched at his heart.

Oliver scoffed and wiped away at the tears, rising from the stool so quickly that it wobbled and nearly knocked over. He stormed through the illusion of the false room with no regard to the fact that he couldn't see anything, and it disappeared beneath his feet, familiar furniture snapping back to their respective locations with every step.

"Wait, hold on just a damn minute!" Elias called him back. "I'll, uh," he paused, before sighing defeatedly, "I'll...help you."

Oliver stopped dead in his tracks, sniffling and wiping at his cheeks. "What?"

Elias' voice had an ethereal quality in the mindscape, yes, but it was clear as day. Oliver was sure he'd misheard it, however. Elias would never help him.

"I'll help you. With flirting with Richard."

Oliver blinked slowly and plodded down on the stool once more. Observing with narrowed eyes, Elias frowned, drawing his eyes away from the man. The experience was not unlike peering into a distorted mirror. Is this what I look like when I cry?

Elias leaned out of the mirror, propping himself up with elbows planted on the table. "Richard's a murderous, hardened man, but he's very... attention-starved."

Oliver tilted his head in an almost animalistic way. "Yeah?"

"Yes. He has...preferences. However, any gentle, well-meaning touch and he's yours."

He cocked an eyebrow, looking almost amused. "Preferences?"

Elias darkened a shade. "Not sexually, dimwit. He's not interested in that, and god knows we aren't. Only idiots would find that kind of humor funny..."

"I can go without the speech. What kind of preferences?"

There was a pause before Elias continues, hands moving with the flow of his words. "Richard's...felinian in his nature. Affectionate head touches work well. And rubbing his upper back, too."

"So when he's...not trying to kill you, he's just a giant-ass cat?"

Elias grimaced. "To put it so blatantly, yes."

Oliver suppressed a smirk. "Sounds simple."

"Also like a cat, you have to tread lightly or he'll skitter away," Elias warned.

By this time, however, Oliver was waving to the mirror, back turned. "Later, Elias."

"You think you can just leave me here?"

Oliver paused, a devilish smirk crossing his face. He returned to Arty's bed and yanked his blanket off and striding back. With a chuckle, he sets himself to work, draping it across the mirror and successfully muffling the angry yells. With that, he sinks back into dreamless sleep on his bed, woefully, purposely ignorant of Elias' protests. 