chapter fourteen

Oliver woke up with a cough lodged in his throat. His chest was congested, and it felt like a heavy weight pressed against his skin. Lazily, his eyes fluttered open, the feeling intensifying. He let out a cough. It didn't make a difference.

He released an exhausted, shaky breath that sounded more like a wheeze. Oliver threw an arm over his head, plundering his sight into darkness. He didn't want to move a single muscle.

Thump.

Oliver groaned, rolling over onto his stomach.

Loud, bubbly laughter.

His nose was pressed right against his pillow, and he held his breath as he tried to wait the noise out. He still felt like shit--and a tired shit at that. A thief or no thief, he wasn't getting up. He closed his eyes, his breath beginning to even out, his mind beginning to blank.

Chatter.

"For fuck's sake," Oliver murmured. "One day of peace. That's all I needed." He threw his covers back, and stood up quickly before he could change his mind and lay back in his bed. A chill hit him, and his head spun a bit. Grumbling, he grabbed his phone and his glasses off of the nightstand--though he didn't remember wearing them--and lethargically walked down the stairs.

"What the fu-" he froze. Right in his tracks.

What the fuck.

A pasta box was lying on the kitchen floor, its contents spilling out. A pot was mounted on the stove. Wearing a wide smile was none other than Oliver's very own mother, and opposite her was Carson, who was chuckling.

Oliver's eyes widened. His mother, noticing him, turned and smiled warmly.

The fuck? Warmly? Where has my mother gone, Oliver thought.

"Dom!" his mother greeted, "you're finally awake! You've been asleep all afternoon."

Wearily, Oliver finished going down the stairs. "Yeah.... what time is it?"

"Six-thirty at night. You just took a nap."

"Right," Oliver said, eyes darting to Carson. "Um..."

Noticing his stare, his mother but in, "Carson has been here all afternoon checking up on you," she flashed Carson a smile, "And I've invited him to have dinner with us." She looked back at Oliver, giving him that stare that told him there was no room for argument.

Oliver choked. "That's um, really cool," he said lamely.

Carson laughed. "And your mom's teaching me how to make pasta."

Still shocked, Oliver stuttered, "Y-you don't know how to make pasta?"

Carson shrugged sheepishly. "I'm not a very good cook."

Hallelujah. Halle-fucking-lujah. He's bad at something.

Carson Katsaros is bad at something.

It was almost too good to be true. Unknowingly, Oliver grinned. "The perfect Carson Katsaros finally has a flaw," he blurted out. When he realized he had said it, he closed his mouth quickly. "I mean...."

Oliver's mom clicked her tongue. "No, you sure as hell meant it. I can understand why you'd think that though..." her eyes drifted to Carson, "he's practically-"

"-human," Carson butted in with an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "So," he continued, changing the topic, "about that pasta..."

***

Eric Laurent had always been a pretty stoic guy.

Many people took that as him being an asshole, which really helped them see the resemblance between father and son. But really, he was just scarily observant and whenever he talked, it was usually to scold Oliver for something or other.

It was curious, he thought, how his mother and father were complete opposites. His mother was lively and sassy and his father was boring and quiet. It wasn't an insult, it was a fact, and everybody secretly knew it.

His father sat there now at the end of the table, eating silently. He was listening to the conversation intently though, because if you could count on Eric Laurent to be one thing--that's a good listener.

His mother, on the other hand, was talking up a storm. "So, Carson, you're a swimmer, an honor student, president of multiple clubs... I wish my Dominic was so involved."

Oliver let out a sigh. Here we go....

"Oliver's plenty impressive," Carson said, and Oliver's head snapped up.

Oliver's mom raised an eyebrow, a smile playing along her lips. "How so?" she asked, less out of meanness and more out of curiosity--like she wanted to know why Carson thought her son was so spectacular.

"He's a great student-"

Oliver coughed.

"-and an awesome musician and-"

"He could try harder," Oliver's dad interrupted. Carson jumped, almost forgetting that he was there.

His mom's smile disappeared. "Eric," she warned, "not in front of our guest."

In response, he waved a hand in dismissal. "Your grades are average," he continued, "and you don't have any extracurriculars under your belt. I mean, if you're such an 'awesome musician,' as this kid calls you, then why haven't you joined your school's music program? If you did as many good things as you have bad then maybe-"

"Eric!" Oliver's mom exclaimed, "Not. Now." Her face was entirely passive, which was when she was at her angriest.

Carson looked torn between speaking up and staying quiet. He was pale, and looked a bit nervous.

Oliver silently scooted his chair out, not bothering to excuse himself. Biting the inside of his cheek, his eyes met Carson's, and he jerked his head to the side, indicating for the other boy to follow him. Carson looked between both of Oliver's parents before standing up.

Oliver quietly but nervously led him to his room, hoping it wasn't taken as some sort of advance. There weren't many places to get away to. He threw the door open and launched himself onto the bed, readjusting himself so he was on his back. Carson quietly closed the door behind him, leaning on it.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly. Oliver answered with a noncommittal noise. "Olly?"

Oliver lifted his head from the pillow, about to speak when his phone buzzed. Oliver grabbed it and looked at the notification. Oh great, Oliver thought, he was texting again. Oliver had gotten a few texts from him in the past couple of days, but he had always ignored them. Immediately deleting the message without looking at it, Oliver set his phone back down and looked at Carson.

"I'm fine, Carson," he said, the corner of his lip weakly tilting up. "It's judgment. We all get judged. I'm not a kid, I can handle it. Don't worry." He stuffed his face back into his pillow. He heard loud steps across the stairs, and the noisy slamming of a door, following by heated yelling. His parents had most likely gone to their room.

Carson licked his lips and hesitantly approached. "Yeah but... he's your dad."

"So? That just means I should be used to it by now."

"Listen... my parents have goals for me," Carson started, sitting on the edge of Oliver's bed. "They believe in hard work. And they can be disappointed in me, sure, and they can want me to work harder. They can shout at me, too. They can get mad. But that was a little harsh--what happened back there."

Oliver sighed, sitting up so he was facing Carson. "I can't explain it," he reasoned. How could one explain to another that it was a family thing--a culture thing--and that this wasn't abnormal? How was he supposed to explain that this wasn't considered harsh in his family but that instead, this was just their way--their thing. It was just them being them. How could he explain that this was the way his family worked? They weren't soft on each other. There's no time for beating around the bush, he'd learned, and families like his sometimes pushed the boundaries of tough love. But at the end of the day, they loved each other, and they all knew it, they just didn't show it too often. Oliver knew that his parents both loved him, and that they loved each other too. Carson wouldn't get it though, even if he tried to.

"Trust me, Carson," Oliver continued, "it's not a big deal. That was easy."

Carson pursed his lips, a furrow in his brow, as if that statement hadn't calmed him down at all--in fact, it might've had the opposite effect. He opened his mouth as if wanting to say something, but shut it. His eyes strayed to the carpet on the floor. "If you say so. But you'll tell me if it's bad, right?"

Oliver smiled and promised, just to appease him.

Carson blew out a breath and gave him a strained smile. "I'm going to get a glass of water, do you want anything?"

Oliver shook his head and Carson left the room. Mere seconds later, his phone rang--this time it being Celia. Oliver picked it up and put it on speaker, letting the sound fill the room and then flinching when Celia's loud voice prevailed.

"How'd it go?" she asked.

"How'd what go?" Oliver replied tentatively.

"The dinner, duh."

"How do you know about that?"

"Who do you think suggested it," she said smugly.

Oliver's jaw clenched. "Why do you keep fucking meddling, Celia?"

"Oh come on Oliver," she replied breezily, "I'm helping this along."

"I didn't ask you to help anything along." He rolled onto his stomach.

"A 'thank you' would suffice, you know."

"I'm not thanking you. My dad was there and said his usual shit, and probably scared Carson off or something. Not to mention my mom was super happy about Carson being there for some reason."

Silence on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Why are you quiet?"

"No reason," she lied.

"Bullshit, what do you know?"

"Nothing!" she defended.

"Celia."

Celia sighed. After a few seconds of silence, she murmured lowly, "Your mom knows."

"Knows what?" Oliver questioned through gritted teeth.

"That you like Carson."

Oliver's voice was quiet and calm, but his blood was boiling. "And how does she know?"

"I may... have told her." Oliver didn't speak. "I'm sorry! But she wanted to know why I wanted him to stay for dinner. Plus, she's your mom. She kind of suspected something anyway. What's the problem if she knows?"

"I don't care," Oliver murmured harshly, "if she knows. I do, however, care if she finds out from someone else that her son is gay. Didn't you think--not once--that maybe I wanted to be the one to tell her? When I was ready?"

"Oliver-"

"Please get this through your head. Carson Katsaros doesn't like me how I like him. There is absolutely no way in hell that we will ever be together, okay? So if you could please just stop-" Oliver cut off when he rolled onto his back again. He almost dropped the phone in shock.

Standing there at the doorway, with wide eyes, was the one and only love of Oliver Laurent's life.

Carson fucking Katsaros.

---

A/N: I don't celebrate it, but happy day one of Rosh Hashanah (I hope I spelled that right) to all of my Jewish readers! I hope you have a great day!

Also, I am very sorry for not updating in three billion years. Today was my first day that wasn't full of work in what feels like forever, so I had time to write. I never really have time to read or write anymore, which seriously bums me out. This week was full of tests too, so I had to take those really seriously. I hope you all can forgive me, but I am trying my best to update. I knew my schedule was going to be hectic, but not this hectic.

Anywho, what did you guys think? I got kind of tired of this whole 'weird zone' of Carson and Oliver and decided to take some action! Is it too soon? Too quick? Tell me what you think and your thoughts, feelings, and emotions on this chapter. Tell me what you think I can improve on. I'd really love to know!

Also. Side note. No, you have not met Kale before. Don't worry, you haven't forgotten someone important.

I don't really know when my next update will be, but I hope soon! Thank you all for reading and sticking with me (it's been like a week or something which seems like a really long time to me) I really appreciate it.

Xoxo,

A Shadowhunter Wannabe,

herondaledevices <3