Chapter Text
“Oliver, could you be an angel and staple these files for me?” Mr. Coli's voice rings out from the other room. Oliver shivers. He really wishes Mr. Coli wouldn't use his first name. It has a gross, slimy feeling to it, like touching unwashed dishes slick with days-old bacon grease. Even with his terrible memory, he could've sworn he told Mr. Coli not to use it at least once, but words rarely get him anywhere with this man, so it's a moot point. “Ha! Angel!” The sudden laugh is sharp on Oliver's ears. He winces. “That one wasn't even on purpose!”
Weirdo.
He's been living in Mr. Coli's house for six weeks now. During those six weeks, he has come to realize many things that he on some level already knew. Mr. Coli is a manchild. Mr. Coli is either unwilling or incapable of buying his own groceries, preparing his own food, and cleaning his own goddamn bathroom. Mr. Coli is neurotically afraid of leaving his own home, to the point where Oliver has become his running boy for any and all errands. He is effortlessly cruel and friendly in the same breath, which has led to all of their interactions ranging from irritating to deeply unsettling. It is unclear exactly how much of this he's doing on purpose.
It was towards the end of a long shift. He had been sorting through the company's mail, opening packages that contained important things for… whatever they did. He felt a hand land on his back. It was just his coworker, somebody whose name he had forgotten but who had at some point decided that they were friends. The poor guy just wanted to ask him out for a drink after work.
Oliver snapped. That's the best way to describe it, but it wasn't out of anger or anything. It was a knee-jerk reaction. The sudden impact on his upper back, between his shoulder blades. Being touched without warning, without explanation, set him off. He twisted around and slashed the guy with the box cutter before he'd even processed what had happened.
“You know, Beebo, I had been concerned about you for the past couple months, but this has really gone too far.”
The chairs in Mr. Coli's office were uncomfortable. The lights too bright. And to top it all off, the guy wasn't even there. Leave it to Coli to fire him over Zoom, and still make him sit in the office for some reason. An intimidation tactic, maybe.
He really wished it wasn't working.
“I'm sorry.” Oliver spoke slowly, robotically. It was easier that way. His mind was somewhere else, in the principal's office after getting into trouble back in school. He always seemed to end up in trouble, somehow, and the experience was always just as unpleasant. The stiff chairs, the forced eye contact, the equally hellish conversations with his dad afterwards. Any argument he tried to make would just upset people more. It was better to just numb himself and take what was given to him. “I don't know what came over me.”
“Oh, don't worry, I understand perfectly well!” He didn't. “It's just that, well… it takes a lot of money and a lot of tricks to make that sort of thing go away, you know. Under anyone else's employment, you'd've been put away somewhere for an outburst like that.”
He knew.
“Look, do you want me to work overtime? To… pay you, or something? I don't have anything, I-”
“Oh, no, nothing like that! I just don't think this workplace is the best environment for you, Mr. Beebo.”
Ah, yep. There it is.
“You're… firing me.”
Coli laughs. Freak. “God, no! No need for anything so harsh! Look, Oliver-” Stop using my name. Stop it stop it stop it stop it- “I like you. You're one of my favorite employees! Your work here is indispensable.” Oliver doubted that, but okay. “How'd you like to work from home?”
Huh? “Like… over the internet? Sir, I'm not entirely sure I follow. Most of my job is doing things you can't do remotely, I doubt I'd be of much use from my own home.”
Another laugh. This one much darker, like Coli knows a secret that Oliver isn't in on. “About that… How'd you like a new living arrangement?”
He should've said no. This was a horrific violation of workplace ethics and he knew it, but it's not like he had much of a choice. Free boarding, food, and no need to set foot in that awful office building again. He wouldn't be a danger to himself and others this way. He would always have somewhere to go back to. If he got into trouble, Coli would take care of it. As manipulative and morally reprehensible as the deal was, it had everything he'd need.
“And besides,” Coli steepled his fingers. “Who else would hire a shivering mess like you anyway?”
Oliver hands Mr. Coli the papers he asked for. He doesn't look at his eyes, his face, and tries his absolute best to not have to look at his hands. He's just here to do his job. Looking at the guy should be extra.
“Thanks! You're an angel, truly.” Oliver is not even halfway through exhaling when Coli tacks on “Say, while you're at it, could you go pick up some coffee? I looked in the jar this morning, and, eugh, it had mold on it. Can you believe it? Mold! I can't drink moldy coffee, you know, I have standards.”
Couldn't he just throw out the moldy beans? The rest were probably still good… “Yes, sir.” Oliver accepts the task, as stupid as it is. On one hand, he feels vaguely insulted that his intellect and skillset have been disregarded in favor of performing menial chores that any functioning adult could do. On the other, he can feel a headache coming on and he will gladly jump at any opportunity to go outside for a smoke. Inside him there are two wolves, and today the nicotine-addicted wolf wins. He takes his bag and coat off the hook, lights a cigarette, and opens the door.
“Ugh, can't you wait until you're outside to do that? Those things can kill you, you kn-”
Slam.
~~~~~
The walk to the bus stop is one of the few moments of peace Oliver gets these days. A quiet, liminal space where he has to deal with neither Coli nor the public. Some days he's not sure which one is worse.
He closes his eyes and savors it, taking it all in. The chill, damp September breeze. The smell of the first flowers of spring, small and scattered, unsure whether it's safe to bloom yet. The taste of smoke on his tongue.
He's not really sure why he picked up smoking. He'd heard enough horror stories about addiction and illness to never want to touch a cigarette in his life, or so he'd thought. He'd tried to get his dad to quit a few times, but the man was stubborn in his ways and it soon became abundantly clear that he would not be fazed by anything Oliver said, so Oliver had to settle for being quietly discontented with it.
And yet here he is now, huffing that cancer gas like it's oxygen.
It's because he's scared. It's because he's scared every second of his life for reasons he can't understand and nothing else will help. He thinks back on the version of him that existed not even a year ago. Confident, hopeful, filled with love for his job and a reckless determination to solve any case that came his way. He got scared sometimes, yes, but he always bounced back just as easily. That person is an absolute stranger to him now. The memories don't even feel real. There's a layer of separation between that man and the man he is, like he's recalling stories from someone else's life. What happened? Did someone flick a switch that turned me broken? Did I hit my head one day and break the part of it that let me feel safe?
Oliver was curled up with his knees to his chin on a city bench. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe, he could barely see. The moon was hidden and the darkness was thick enough to drown in, and all the streetlights and headlights and traffic lights only served to overwhelm and disorient him and make him sick to his stomach. He was dizzy. He didn't know where the bench ended and he began.
He smelled a wisp of smoke on the breeze, and something warm glowed within him.
He steps onto the bus. Not too many people on today. Good. He might as well count his blessings. Still, any amount of people is enough to cause stress. He sits in the back so he can see them all. His eyes dart between each and every one of them, analyzing every movement. Their hands. Their pockets. Their bags. Not their faces, never their faces, he tries not to look at faces anymore when he can avoid it.
By complete accident, he made eye contact with the man three seats down from him. His left eye was taped over with a gauze pad, with two more large bandages plastered over his chin and cheek. He squirmed in his seat, and briefly, Oliver wondered if he knew this man.
He did not wonder for long.
The moment Oliver recognized his coworker was the exact same that the man looked up and noticed him. His face went pale and his one visible eye dilated with terror as he flattened himself against the back of the seat, fidgeting like a cornered prey animal.
Oliver wanted to say something. A simple ‘I'm sorry I hurt you’ or maybe an offer to help pay for any medical bills (Coli said he'd taken care of it, but his word was dubious, to say the least). His mouth had gone dry. Before he could muster the will to open it, the bus made its next stop and the man nearly tripped over himself in his rush to get out the door. That was the last Oliver saw of him. He hopes he's doing alright now, wherever he is. A selfish part of him wishes he'd gotten the chance to explain himself, but how could he when even he had no idea why he'd done what he'd done?
He doesn't remember the rest of that bus ride, or anything else that happened that day. But he does remember sobbing in his room that night, knowing damn well he wouldn't be sleeping any time soon.
It's raining. Of course it is. Well, there goes his hope of getting to have another cigarette when he got off the bus. As glad as he is that the snowy season is finally over, freezing rain is not much of an improvement. Spring is coming late this year, it seems. The bus reaches his stop. He stands up and tilts his hat down over his face, trying to get out of there as quickly as possible so he doesn't have to think about all the eyes on him.
The store is about a block and a half away, longer if he takes the route he likes. There's a closer one, but Coli is weirdly picky about his coffee beans and, as much as Oliver hates the guy, he really would rather avoid unnecessary conflicts with him. Conversations are rough. Particularly conversations with Eugene Coli. The horrors.
He weaves his way between streets, gripping the can of pepper spray in his pocket like a good luck charm. He counts his steps. Counts his breaths. Counts his heartbeats. 1, 2… It's not too far. 5, 6… Not too far. 12, 13, 14… Just a little more, just a little more… 21, 22, 23…
All at once, the rain gets heavier. It falls thick as a blanket, fat drops pummeling Oliver's neck and shoulders like shrapnel. Each footfall creates a splash that soaks his pant legs in freezing cold filth. He can't see. He can't think. He is drowning in it.
He rushes under an awning and stumbles through the first door he encounters, not caring what kind of building it is. If it's somewhere he shouldn't be he can just explain himself, surely they'll understand, he just needs to wait out the rain…
Ah! It's a bar. That's convenient.
“Excuse me…” He leans against the doorframe, pausing to catch his breath. “Does this place allow smoking?” Maybe an inappropriate question, especially since he wasn't exactly planning on buying anything, but he really, really needs it right now.
“Of course, of course, have a seat!” The bartender gives him a smile, seemingly unbothered by the fact that the guy sitting at the bar appears to be choking on his drink. “Hey, that kinda looks like-”
Before they can even finish their sentence, the aforementioned guy at the bar scrambles out of his seat and rushes towards Oliver at full speed. He flinches. Oh! He's. He's touching me. Okay.
“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!?”
“Waaah!”
Oliver's eyes jolt open to meet the man's. He is very glad his body chose the freeze response instead of fight today, because he really would rather not have a potential assault charge to deal with on top of everything else.
The man, to put it bluntly, looks like shit. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair a greasy unkempt mess, his face unshaven and crusted with… tears? He is also shaking. A lot. It is making this moment even more uncomfortable than it already would've been, which is frankly impressive.
“I've been looking everywhere for you! Your house, your office, it's all empty!” The man's grip on Oliver tightens. Please let go please please please let go- “None of the phone numbers on your website work! And you don't answer any emails! You completely disappeared! Why would you do that, Oliver!?”
Oh god.
Someone was looking for him. Someone was really, really determined to track him down. Somebody who seems to believe they are on a first name basis. Oliver very much does not like the thought of a stranger thinking about him like that. And wait a second, did he say he went to his house?
…Okay, Oliver. Focus. This man is clearly unstable. Maybe he's on drugs or has some sort of untreated mental illness or something. Take a deep breath, follow protocol. Just go along with whatever he says, avoid conflict, and politely remove yourself from the situation at the nearest opportunity.
“...Um. I'm guessing you wanted some of my detective work..?” He hopes that's it. Any other motivations are too unsettling to think about. This does not, however, prevent him from thinking about them.
The man's face falls. He drops his grip on Oliver (thank god) and falters for a second, staring at the ground. Oliver shoots a brief glance at the bartender, who is staring back at the two, slackjawed.
“Yes. I've been trying to contact you for detective work.” There's a rasp to his voice, like he is trying very hard not to cry. Oliver may not have any clue what's going on, but he feels kind of bad for the guy all of a sudden. Maybe he isn't dangerous. Maybe he's just confused and needs help. Help that Oliver, unfortunately, is in no place to provide.
“Sorry to disappoint, but I quit that job months ago.”
The man gapes up at him. “What!? But you loved it! …I think. That's what the website said.” Did it… did it say that??? He bites his knuckles, avoiding eye contact. The way he blushes and squirms reminds Oliver of a sheepish amateur detective caught in a silly mistake. It's kind of cute. I wonder if he's into men.
…What.
Oliver can't help but smile, though there's no real joy behind it. Just a bittersweet nostalgia. He fishes his lighter and cigarette box out of his pocket. “I did, I really did. But some issues arose.” He brings a cigarette to his mouth and lights it. “It seems the mental load of my years in the field piled up and combusted.” The same explanation as always. The only one he has. If he says it enough times, maybe it'll start to make sense. “As one day I found myself too scared of… many things. Things that I often see in my work. Heights, weapons, knives, darkness, small spaces, loud sounds, bombs, fire…” The strange man's face tenses more with every fear Oliver lists. He really wishes the guy wouldn't do that. He'd rather not be having such an emotional moment with a complete stranger who may or may not be on crack right now. “I simply couldn't continue my job. Sorry, I needed a smoke.”
“Oliver…” First name again. Why don't I feel uneasy this time? “Then what do you do now? What do you work as?”
Hoo boy. He doesn't like talking about this. Or anything, really, but talking about his work situation out loud is a special kind of embarrassing. Hopefully he doesn't know the company and I can spare myself any awkward explanations. He takes a drag from his cigarette, bracing himself for the oncoming psychic damage from what he is about to say. “I'm currently working under Coli Industries. You might not know it, it's fairly new.”
The man stiffens. “What.” Uh oh. There's a coldness to his voice. So he's familiar with Coli. I don't know what he's heard, but none of the possibilities are good. Quick, Oliver! Explain yourself!
“Mr. Coli offered me a job that didn't need any of those skills, and it pays fairly well.” Oliver hopes he isn't spacing his words awkwardly or sounding too stiff. It gets hard to speak when his brain is like this. Why are you still talking anyway!? You were supposed to leave! “He does work me to the bone, though, that man has so many things that need to be done.” Oliver knows he really shouldn't be talking so openly about this, let alone in such a strange situation. But once he opened his mouth, he couldn't help himself. The words keep spilling out, like a flood dam that's been wearing down for ages. “He even found me a place to live that's closer to him. He's not very good at job ethics. But it's not like I can decline. No one would hire a shivering mess like me.” Okay, at least he didn't say that he moved in with Coli. That would've been too much information to give this poor stranger. This SUSPICIOUS stranger, his brain adds.
…It felt nice, though. To be able to vent about his job to someone for once. Hopefully he will never have to see this guy again and he can just pretend this didn't happen for the rest of his life.
The man stares back at him with a profound sadness. His muscles are tense, his lip trembling and eyes slightly unfocused. He somehow looks more pathetic and wet than Oliver feels right now, and he's not even the one who was out in the rain. Jesus, does he need his case solved that badly? Oliver was planning to leave at the soonest opportunity, to find some other place to shelter where he doesn't have to talk to strange men or look anyone in the eye, but something about just turning around and leaving right now feels… wrong. Like his feet are glued to the ground. Like he couldn't turn away even if he wanted to. Like this is where he's supposed to be.
…Okay fine, so puppy dog eyes work on him, sue him! He wants to help the guy.
“Uh, I might not be able to help you investigate, but if you tell me your issue, I can deduce something..?”
“Quit your job. Work for me.”
“Huh!?” That came… completely out of left field. Is he serious? He looks serious. Maybe he's going to follow it up with ‘join my emo band’ or something. That meme’s still a thing, right..?
He keeps going. “I was not looking for you to investigate a case. I wanted to hire you.” Ah. So he isn't joking. Either that, or he is committing really really hard to this bit. “A man of your intelligence needs to be in my management team.” His whole demeanor changed at the drop of a hat. The guy who was trembling and fighting a losing battle against his own tear ducts just seconds ago is now standing tall, flashing a businessman's grin. “How much does he pay you? Don't care. I'll double it.”
“Wh- But! My mental state..!” Oliver squeaks. Seriously, does this guy even know what he's getting into???
“I'll give you all the accommodations you need. And! You get to choose where to live!” The man's grin widens. He gestures wildly, his speech reaching a pace with which Oliver can barely keep up. “We have health insurance! Dental included! Join the union if you'd like!” His voice reaches a manic crescendo, then… falls.
He stares down at Oliver's hands. The man lifts his arm, and for a moment Oliver thinks he's gonna try to touch him again, but instead he just brings his hand to his mouth and begins chewing on the loose skin of his knuckles. “...Please. I need you by my side.”
Oh.
That voice. Warmth floods Oliver's cheeks. There was something in his voice there, when he said that. That tenderness and vulnerability… It's completely inappropriate for this situation. It doesn't make sense.
…So why does it feel natural? Why does it feel like a puzzle piece clicking into place?
Oliver says the only thing he can. “...Who are you?”
“I'm the very successful CEO of Seraphim Industries.” The man flicks his bangs and looks him in the eye with a warm smile. “Ángel, for any of your needs.”
Ángel.
Ángel.
Ángel.
The name fits him. Like a puzzle piece. Like the answer to a riddle you probably could've figured out on your own if you had just thought a bit more. …People's names aren't riddles, though, so that comparison makes no sense.
Oliver doesn't realize he forgot to respond until Ángel starts squirming and clears his throat. “Wanna talk this out more over some drinks? You know, get to know each other, build rapport? It's all on me, so order whatever you like!”
He glances at Oliver expectantly. Oliver almost wants to say yes, but as the silence was broken, so it seems was whatever spell had been holding him in place for so long. He can't linger here. He has obligations. The rain is clearing up, he can hear it.
“Um. …Sorry, I have things to do.”
“Oh.” Beat. “Right, of course, you're a busy man, I get it! Just…” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a neatly folded note, pushing it into Oliver's hands.
He opens it. It's a phone number, handwritten in pen on a piece of lined paper.
“Call any time, I'll be there.”
Oliver stares at the writing. “...Is this a business number or a personal number?”
“Whatever suits your needs more!” Ángel smiles, whatever that means. “I'm a flexible man.”
And a deeply unprofessional one, if he's using the same number for work and personal purposes. “...Right. Well, I have to go.” He edges towards the door.
“Of course, of course! Take care of yourself, stay safe! …Uh, call me if you need anything!”
The last thing Oliver hears as he shuts the door behind him is the bartender whistling through their teeth.
…Well. That was weird. He's not totally sure how to process that. He'll do it later. Or never. For now, he tucks the phone number into his pocket. Maybe he'll give it to the next suspiciously attractive stranger who seems way too into him and has a poor grasp of personal space. …Not that that's something that happens to him often.
Oliver shudders and rubs his arms. His skin is still crawling in the places where Ángel touched him. He's gonna need some time to recharge away from people after this, if Coli will allow it.
…Ah, right! Beans.
And back to work he goes.