Oliver is a manga artist, but he was once an angry little boy with a sunny best friend: Ian Miller. Then, one day, they weren't friends anymore. Oliver doesn't know when was it exactly that Ian disappeared from his life, and refuses to remember why...
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"You don't have to do this now, Ollie."
Maybe. Maybe we could stay the rest of the night out and every other night after that. And maybe I should strap him to my car seat, run away from everyone and everything, and live off diner food since it's only outside of us that there are any problems left.
But that's a fantasy.
I've been that for him and he's been that for me, but I don't want it anymore. I don't want something that will fade as soon as I'm awake, or feel less lonely.
I want it to be real.
I want the dinners with his family, and the boring Sundays. I want the annual trips to the doctor and the nights he won't sleep if he chooses to become one. I want to bring him coffee every time, and I want the moody comments that'll come when the moron inevitably stretches himself too thin. I'll let him snap at me because he's never had that luxury before, and I'll wait outside his school that morning even if it's freezing cold.
I want to push him off the bed so he'll go brush his teeth before kissing me in the morning, and I want to be there when he buys his first tie. I'll wait with his mom to see if he's gotten that job he applied for, and I want to be the one that calls her if he needs her when he's sick.
I want to fight with him over the light bill because he's spent too much on stupid shit like the spoiled kid he'll always be, and I want to heat up his dinner when he's late. I wanna do that even when I'm blind, jealous over petty shit, and stressed out of my mind because it's only hours until I have to deliver the first samples of my own work. I want to see in his eyes when he comes back that he'd never cheat on me, that's it's only past midnight because he's on call and he couldn't find the time to say. I want to fuck him all night to make up for accusing him of something like that.
I want the lunches with colleagues of him that I might not stand— but he'll talk me into going to — and I want to laugh when someone there hits on me because there's not even a fucking chance.
And people will go:
"See those two? They've been together since they were kids."
"See those two? Twenty years and counting."
"How do they do that? Something must be wrong, they're just hiding it."
And the next summer we'll find out that the ones who said that got divorced.
I want to hug him from behind when I've fucked up, and listen to him against my will when he does. I want to see him wear his first pair of glasses and refuse to wear mine. I want him to stroke my nape when my mom dies. I'll run my hand through his silver hair, and scratch his arm when it's his dad that goes.
I want to visit my sister on Wednesdays, and his friends on Saturdays, and to get a cat he'll grow jealous of.
