They say Thanksgiving is a day of reunion and forgiveness. A family gathering, there to set aside all issues of miscommunication and hatred, just to get along for a few days. Oliver was not the one to believe that solely the existence of an obligatory holiday would solve all problems – even if it was just for a few days – but it made him contemplate about it either way.
For what felt like hours to him, he was staring down the number displayed on his phone. It was so familiar yet strange to him. Just when was the last time he dialed it? Oliver had thought about it a few weeks ago, managed to successfully push the thought aside until now, but yet again, he was stuck with his self-made dilemma.
Oliver knew he had to call his parents eventually. Not because he needed them or still owed them some sort of apology, but because he wanted to. He knew well enough that deep inside of him, he wanted to hear his parents' voices again – regardless of if they were full of defiance once more.
The longstanding silence was only one touch away to be broken, yet, Oliver couldn't bring himself to do so. His thumb kept on resting on the edge of his phone, stiffening from the long lack of movement. Biting on the inside of his cheeks, Oliver pondered what to say to his parents. Knowing that no words would leave his throat once it was time, he thought of writing that down first.
'Hey, Mom, Dad, it's me...Oliver.'
Oliver looked down on the almost empty sheet in front of him. His head was empty. There were no words in the world to comprise what he truthfully wanted to say. He wondered whether he actually wasn't ready to approach them yet.
'It's been a while. How are you doing?'
He frowned and erased the last part. That's not where he wanted to lead the conversation. He wouldn't get to hear a pleasant response anyway. Now Oliver noticed that he really was stuck. Not knowing what he actually wanted to tell his parents, he set the pen aside for a moment.
'I'm sorry for leaving and never contacting you in all these years. My life's going miserable, so I hope you actually made something out of your malicious asses.'
A dry chuckle left Oliver's throat, looking down at his notes. It was guaranteed that he would never get to talk to his family ever again if he acted this straightforward. Sugarcoating his words really wasn't his forte either though.
He was just about to scratch out the last paragraph as a bloodcurdling burst echoed through the entire apartment. It electrified Oliver's entire body, causing him to get a bad feeling. Without a second thought, the blond jumped off his bed towards the source of the sound. Oliver froze for a second, staring at the scene in front of him. Little shards were scattered across the kitchen floor, along with squashed pieces of fruit. Sprinkles of the juice covered the furniture, but despite the terrible mess, Oliver didn't care much for it.
It was more alarming for him to find Fukase in the middle of this mess, frozen in shock, staring at Oliver with eyes wide-opened. Only as a string of blood visibly dripped down Fukase's forehead, they lost their trance as Oliver scooted forward to pull Fukase away from the scene.
"Oliver, I'm sorry...I'm really-" Fukase stopped mid-way to look back at the mess behind him, "I'm going to clean this up right away."
Oliver pulled Fukase in an embrace as the redhead tried to get back in the kitchen. He stroke through the crimson hair, pushing the back of his partner's head even closer. Fukase's weak and shaky voice unsettled his own body.
"Don't worry about it," Oliver murmured and leaned back to face Fukase, pulling up his bangs. Needles pinched through the blond's heart as soon as he saw the heavily bleeding wound on his partner's forehead. Glistening of small shards caught his attention, making Oliver pull Fukase with him to the bathroom.
