Seven Twenty-Eight

2.

A week later, Oliver, quite literally, rolled out of bed in the morning. He groaned out when his body hit the ground, and shuffled up to his knees. He squinted over at Sam, who was still sound asleep and sighed, pulling himself to his feet and dragged into the bathroom.

He stared at himself in the mirror longer than he would've liked, nitpicking at his appearance before he turned the shower on, letting it warm while he brushed his teeth. He used his free hand to ruffle his hair, fluffing the curls up into a disaster until he couldn't stand it. Finally, he stepped into the shower, shutting his eyes to feel the water cascade down his back, warming every nerve.

Once he was clean, he gripped onto his towel tightly, shivering and eager to get himself dressed. He stared at him a while longer when he was, making the slightest tweaks to his uniform to perfect it in every way possible. He straightened his tie and aligned his self with the loops on his pants a million different ways before he sighed out, squeezing his eyes shut.

He took a deep breath, reopening his eyes to look at himself with more patience. He poked at his face, smoothing out the swelling from his deep sleep. He took notice of the discoloration in his skin, frowning at the boy staring back at him as he grew displeased with his fading summer tan.

Spinning around on his heel, he dropped his gaze to look at his feet  and pulled the door open in frustration. He looked to Sam and huffed, walking over to get closer.

"Sam," He whispered, gently shaking him by the shoulder.

No response at all— Not even a stir.

"Sam," He repeated louder, putting a bit more effort into the gesture.

Once again.

Oliver scoffed, standing up right and moved to his feet, gripping onto the comforter and pulled at it. "Samuel," He called in a much more stern tone.

It earned him a groan as Sam fought back, wiggling to stay under the covers.

Oliver rolled his eyes, releasing his grip and moved around to his side again. He stared down at his brother in a moment of contemplation before curling his legs up and pounced onto the bed. "Get up!" He raised his voice, sprawling himself out.

Sam grunted, squirming under his weight. "Fuck, Oliver," He grumbled.

"It's morning! Let's get breakfast!"

"Fuck you," He groaned, twisting and turning in an attempt to knock him loose.

"That's incest," Oliver punched back at him, smiling in amusement, "And I'm not into guys— Thank you for the offer though, that's so kind."

Sam covered his face with his blankets, groaning loudly in annoyance, using all the energy he could manage to sway Oliver's body back and forth.

"Don't you want a blueberry muffin?" Oliver offered, "A good morning kiss, maybe? I bet Mary's down for breakfast," He sang, continuing to tease him when he made kissing noises up at the ceiling.

"Fuck off," Sam grumbled, finally catching him off guard when he rolled completely over onto his stomach, knocking him onto the ground.

Oliver huffed as he sat up, pushing his damp curls out of his face. "Do you want me to bring you muffin?" He sighed, moving up to his feet.

Sam mumbled into the pillow, leaving his voice muffled and almost incomprehensible.

But Oliver understood. He straightened out his tie as he nodded, as if Sam could see him, then turned around to pick up his bag. "I'll be back after I finish eating, alright?" He didn't wait for a response, unbothered by the typical routine and made his way down to the café.