Six – Calvin

I pull up to the library and turn the engine off. I sit there for a few seconds, preparing myself for whatever happens today. I don't know what I'm doing. All I know is it's been five days since I last saw Oliver. I really want to see him and I decided the other night that I am in love with him. Yeah... a lot is going through my head right now.

I take a deep breath before getting out and making my way towards the door of the library. I push through the door and immediately head towards our little hide-away. We decided it was easier to wait in the back for each other considering that's where we hang out anyway, and it stops Oliver from embarrassing himself if he falls asleep waiting for me.

I see him through the shelves. He's just sitting there, reading peacefully and wearing the sweater I gave him.

I come into sight and he perks up, "Hey, what's your coffee order?"

"I haven't even sat down and you're already interrogating me?" I smirk.

"Well, I was going to order one, but I didn't know what you asked for."

"Have I converted you to coffee?" I say with great pride, understanding how addicted he is to energy drinks.

He shrugs trying not to let himself smile, "maybe."

"In that case, come and I'll tell you."

I hold out my hand to help him up and he takes it without hesitation. Easily, I help him to his feet and let him take the lead. I cannot tell you what my head is thinking. I don't even know what I'm thinking. I wish I had some sort of plan, I wish I had some sort of answer, but somehow, I spent those five days where we didn't have enough time doing absolutely jack shit.

We walk up to the barista, casually leaning against the service desk and recite my order. "Can I get two medium mocha lattes with extra chocolate please?" I wait for the barista to write that down then turn to Oliver, "Did you get that?"

He thinks it over then nods, "Yup."

The man behind the counter waits politely for us to finish then continues, "Is that in a glass or to takeaway?"

"Takeaway please," I answered. At least I have the answer to something.

"That'll be $7. Card or cash?"

I go to pull out my wallet but Oliver stops me. "Cash," he smiles as he pulls money from his back pocket and goes to hand it to the man. "You paid last time."

We wait on one of the leather couches until our order is brought over to us, then we head back to our hide-away.

We sit down next to each other and drink our fresh, warm coffees. Oliver catches me with what he got up to while I was busy with my parent's work. I try to listen but I know I'm not paying attention. I watch him carefully wondering if I should try to say something... but what? And when? Should I ask him if he likes anyone? No, that never works. Should I ask if he's gay? No, that's too forward. What about sexuality? I could ask what his sexuality is.

I catch his eye mid conversation and it snaps me back into reality. Right, I have to make it look like I'm not having some form of internal crisis. He doesn't seem to mind that I'm a bit out of it, he's just enjoying the moment, smiling, gesturing and explaining.

I hate this. I wish I could just spit it out, but I don't want to make things weird. For all I know, he's never even thought of me in that way. I wish he has, and I've read into everything that's has done to make me think he might like me, so much to the point where I feel stupid for it.

"I don't know how you find me so interesting." Oliver says, interrupting my train of thought.

"What?" I ask, slightly flustered. That was single-handedly the stupidest, most unnecessary answer because I know exactly what he's cluing onto, I just wish he wasn't.

"Well, you've been watching me ever since we sat down."

There it is. "Oh. Yeah, I was… thinking."

He looks at me, both amused and intrigued, "What about?"

Yeah, like I have an answer to that. Oh wait! I don't. He won't believe me if I say that though. I'm not ready to ask, I haven't even scripted and memorised the exact dialogue I'll say yet. I need a script before I can ask him, I don't want to mess up. Maybe I'll just change the subject.

"Nothing important really," I say, masking my lame response with a smile.

Oliver nods.

I sigh, "You look really unconvinced."

"I'm not unconvinced, I just don't believe it's not important," he says, moving on his beanbag until he's tucked up and facing me.

What do I say? Of course, he wouldn't let me get away with that. I watch him watching me. He watches everything I do with a distinct intensity that makes me worried that he can read my mind. But I think I would prefer it if he could, just this once.

Oliver breaks the painful silence. "Do you want me to guess?"

I chuckle at his keen attentiveness. Maybe he isn't making this harder than it has to be. "You can try to guess it, but I doubt you will."

He props himself up, "Is that a challenge?"

"Ten bucks if you do. I'll also be forever thankful if you guess it."

He thinks my answer over for a second, confusing slowly growing on him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That doesn't matter." I brush him off calmly.

Oliver sits there for a second, running a finger down the ridges on his coffee cup. I can tell he's in deep contemplation, trying to figure out what I'm not telling him, or asking him.

"I need a clue. Is it a good thing or a bad thing?" he asks.

"I mean it's more of a question than something that is either good or bad," I answered him, "But I guess your answer could be either."

He flops back letting out a big sigh, collapsing with the beanbag. "Okay that's good," he smiles to himself.

"What did you think it was?"

Oliver goes on to explain every situation where either of us couldn't show up to the library because of family, the law, being caught out, getting grounded. The situation that caught me off guard was the one where he thought I just didn't want to see him anymore, but I assured him that was definitely far from the truth.

He tries a few guesses but gives up after three.

"Please Calvin," he drones, "give me more clues."

"Why? I like hearing you have a crisis."

He narrows his eyes at me. "Of course, you would say that. What is the topic of the question? What will make the answer either good or bad? Why do you need to ask me?"

This isn't going horribly yet Calvin, do not mess up. Panic starts to well up inside me, but I force it down. "Well, the question is about you," I say and Oliver nods along, staring at the ceiling while he tries to piece it together.

"What about me?"

I turn to look at his profile, "That kind of gives it away, but it's just something I've wondered about for a while now."

Oliver's eyes trace everything in his immediate vision as he desperately tries to put the clues together. But then he just stops. His hands search for his now empty cup and he presses his lips to the lid. He stays like that for a little bit, I consider saying something, unsure of what's happening.

He sits up and questions me again, "What will make the answer either good or bad?"

This is where it starts getting dangerous. Confusion rises up and mixes with panic, giving me a horrible feeling. It feels like the contents of my body are being boiled into one big mess. "Um, well..." I know anything I'm about to say is going to give it away immediately. "If I read the situation right then I don't think the answer will be bad," I say slowly.

Oliver looks at me, perplexed by my answer. Then he lets out a breathy laugh which catches me off guard. He turns to face forward, directly past me. "Calvin... are you trying to ask what my sexuality is?"

My entire body feels like it's turned red from embarrassment. I still wasn't ready. Why is this so much pressure? In the middle of this crisis, Oliver looks over his shoulder, back at me. His expression is flat at first, then a teasing smile slips across his lips and he raises an accusing eyebrow at me. Bastard...

"So?" he pressures me.

I do my best to hold onto the final slither of my composure, "Okay... maybe I was."

He takes my reaction as the answer, "You definitely were."

I watch him, wanting him to answer the question without needing to probe it from him. He's already scored ten bucks and destroyed my composure, what more can he want?

"I would give you the answer... but I want you to guess it," Oliver teases.

Apparently, he can ask for more.

"How are you making this harder than I thought it would originally be?"

He persists, "What answer do you expect? What's the good answer to that question?"

"I thought it was bad to assume," I say, grappling for an excuse. He doesn't say anything but somehow pushes me to answer. "Well." I look anywhere but Oliver. I don't need him torturing me more. "I would expect that you aren't straight, but I don't know how you actually identify."

"Well, I guess we were both right then," he smiles, "But yeah, I'm gay."

I smile too, it's a gentle smile. A silent thank you to him, for making me step out of my comfort zone and for trusting me.

"Are you done torturing me yet?" I joke.

He scoffs, "No."

Shit. I'm pretty sure I know what's next.

"My turn... so, what's your sexuality?"

The moment I've been dreading. I don't want to say that I don't know. I don't even know if I have enough understanding to make a decision yet. I'm clearly not straight though, and I know Oliver already knows that. He watches me fluster more and more, growing more confused by the minute.

"I'll be honest I don't really know..." I look over to him for reassurance or something, "But I know I'm not straight."

He smiles and speaks softly, "See, it wasn't all that hard."

We watch each other, unsure of how to continue. We both do nothing as time seems to move so slowly and awkwardly. Which isn't great when your insides are churning and your brain is on fire. It's like internal torture.

"And there's another thing I know…" The words are falling out of my mouth before I can catch them, "I like you."

I don't even know if I'm breathing anymore. I glance over at Oliver and he's bright pink. It feels like I'm frozen in time for an eternity before he does something.

I think I just ruined a friendship.

He adjusts himself and speaks in a fairly calm tone, even though he doesn't look calm at all, "Well…" He stops. Say it… Please just say something. Oliver takes a deep breath then smiles. "I'm glad you said that because I would never have been able to say it myself."

What?

"Are you saying you like me back? I ask quickly and he nods. "As in, you like like me?"

"Yes Calvin. I like like you. I just didn't know how to say it or if I should say it," Oliver rambles on, the pink fading to a smaller amount just staining the edge of his cheeks. He seems insanely calm but also somehow very panicked. "So, you really don't know what your sexuality is?" he asks, continuing the conversation.

"Yeah. I mean, I've dated a lot of girls throughout high school, but I've always questioned if that's all I want," I admit, "Then I met you and got really confused. So, I'm going to blame this on you."

"I'd gladly take the responsibility of possibly making a straight guy change his mind," he laughs, I roll my eyes at him. "But I get it. It took me years to figure out why I wasn't attracted to any of the girls that the guys in my class constantly flirted with. Turns out I'm gay. And no matter who says otherwise, attraction isn't a choice and people just need to understand and learn to accept it," He adds politely.

"You know, you're pretty wise." I say to him, but he just shrugs.

We sit there in silence. But this time, it's not uncomfortable silence. It's just us taking our time.

I let out a sigh of relief and Oliver looks at me funny, a small smile tilts his lips. "You were really worried weren't you?"

"That's a dumb question, Oliver."

"Honestly, I would've imagined a cool, rich guy like you would've had more confidence."

I can tell he is teasing me, maybe in an attempt to avoid the awkward post-confession, not knowing what the fuck to do next. I lay back, running a hand through my hair. "When did you figure it out?"

"Which part," he purposely avoids eye contact.

"When did you figure out you liked me?"

Oliver's eyes meet mine for barely a second between desperate glances around the room. I leave him there in silence, letting whatever emotion he's feeling stew before I make any attempt to alleviate the situation. He finally laughs softly hiding his face in his hands, "The night I got home... after we first met."

"Like the very first time?" I'm honestly shocked.

"No, the second first time, Calvin. Yes, the very first time!" While I'm sitting over there shocked that Oliver has known he liked me this whole time, he's probably sitting there wondering how I cannot just listen the first time. "I'm honestly surprised you didn't clue on sooner, I wasn't exactly great at hiding anything... like at all."

I'm not going to tell him I read into everything he did and definitely could've guessed. Granted I was way too busy with my own crisis to think any of it actually meant he liked me. "Would you have ever told me?"

Oliver shuffles awkwardly on his bean bag, putting the soles of his feet together and leaning forward. "If you hadn't, maybe. I didn't want to risk anything to be honest, not until I had some solid evidence..." He pauses, smiling to himself, "I'm glad you at least had the balls to say it. I really want there to be more."

"I'm okay with there being more to this." I move in closer to Oliver, side to side, centimetres away from his face. His hand reaches up barely brushing past my cheek. My heart beats so loud I swear he can hear it. I want to close the distance. I want to kiss him right here, right now. But I don't know if I should.

I don't know any of Oliver's romantic history. It's obvious he's more comfortable in his sexuality than I am, but I still don't know how he feels about any form of intimacy. Especially, in public... with an Upper-class.

He doesn't wait on my hesitation and goes to close the distance for me. A gentle hand on my jaw, pulling me closer. Feeling his breath on my lips. I'm going to kiss Oliver Night...

A book drops in the distance, and we immediately come apart. A fucking book, ruins the moment. Oliver snaps back. I jolt as well.

Then I'm reminded of the position we are really in. A particularly illegal position.

We both withdraw and I send a silent prayer to any God who's out there, hoping my chance isn't ruined with him. But when I look at him, I can tell he's unbothered. Instead he looks at me with a glint in his eyes and an expression that reads 'oh you thought I'd let it be that easy'. I don't know what I do with my face but Oliver bursts out laughing, caving and bubbling with pride. Such a tease.

Eventually, it goes quiet again. He leans towards me, resting his head against my shoulder, and tucking his legs up. I smile. The caffeine must not have been enough. I'll admit, it's kind of sad when Oliver just sleeps like that because it means I miss out on spending time talking to him. But I guess I still get to spend time sitting next to him, even if we aren't talking, so I let him sleep. I looked around briefly, trying to think of something to do, but I finished the book I was reading last time. So, with nothing to do, I pull myself up onto my beanbag as much as I can without interrupting him and roll inwards to face Oliver.

I lay there thinking to myself, about how lucky I am to have someone I can actually trust. I can't even begin to imagine how much harder that would've been to talk about if it wasn't Oliver I was talking to and if he wasn't so understanding. I've never had anyone like him in my life. Everyone else I know only cares about themselves, but I guess that's just Upper-class culture.

I don't know how long I had my eyes closed, but when I open them, the library is covered in a haze of golden light. I look over at Oliver, who must have moved when he was sleeping because now he's tucked up neatly with no space to spare between us. I gently slip my hand into his, careful not to disturb his peaceful state. He smiles and squeezes my hand softly.

Oliver stretches out, yawns and sits up slightly, his hand still in mine. "I don't know what we are, but this is nice." he whispers.

"It is." I whisper back, "It's kind of like some forbidden love story to be honest."

He opens one of his eyes to peak at me, "hmm?"

"Our classes aren't meant to interact, let alone be together in any way. And it's not like we can tell anyone. Especially not our families. My parents will definitely take me to court and your Mum will… well, be your Mum."

"All too well. We'd also probably get thrown in jail for 'disobeying class structure'."

We laugh together, even though it's not a particularly humorous topic. I think we're mainly trying to laugh off the fact that we are screwed. Laugh of all the shades of blue that this hopefully blossoming romance will be.

We talked about unimportant things for a while. Oliver ranted about a book from the library that he really enjoyed and how it was made into a crappy movie. We searched the shelves for it then I decided to read for myself. We ended up just sitting there reading our own books, mainly in silence. A nice, not awkward, silence.

And then, once again, I'm driving Oliver to the train station. We stop at a red light and I slip my hand back into his. Our hands fit so perfectly I can't help but want to hold it whenever I can.

We reach the train station and Oliver gets out. We end up watching each other through my open window.

"Goodbye Calvin Wood," he says with a salute.

I roll my eyes pretending to be annoyed but I can't help but smile while I do so. "Goodbye Oliver Night," I hesitate, "I'm going to hate myself later if I don't ask this but… do you want to go on a date tomorrow?"

He smiles and the air is filled with a very familiar electric feeling. "I want you to guess my answer."

It's completely obvious how unimpressed I am with that response, but I turn it on him. "Your answer is now yes, no take backs," I say for him and he giggles, "how does 1:00 PM sound? I have something to do in the morning."

He smiles his contagious smile at me, "Sounds perfect. Where do you want to meet?"

"I'll just pick you up from here."

Oliver nods. "Do you need me to organise anything?"

"Just leave it to me."

"Well. I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah." I wait for a bit, just admiring him. Then I pull out of the waiting bay and drive off.

I'm not sure I've been happier.

- - -

I struggle with getting the door to my house to open, but I eventually get in. And when I do, boy do I regret it. Sitting at the dining room table are both of my parents. Both of them staring directly at me with their trademark unreadable expressions painted on their faces.

Goddammit. There goes my good mood.

Even though I've been staring at them for the past few seconds, I pretend I haven't seen them and attempt to make it to my room. And about three steps into my escape, my father clears his throat, so I turn around and face them.

"Calvin Alexander Wood," my mother says.

Uh-oh, full name. This can't be good.

"We need to talk to you." she says. My father just nods along.

"About what?" I say dumbly.

My father scoffs and jumps into the conversation headfirst, "'About what', huh? Well maybe this is about you disappearing to the Middle several times these past few weeks, without saying a word to us, and not coming back until it's dark out! That's what this is about!" He's on the verge of shouting.

"Derek, please," my mother rests a steady hand on his shoulder, "What your father means to say is we are worried about you."

I stare at them blankly. I just spent five days right under their noses and they're still going to pull me up on this.

"We just want to know where you go and what you do. And I get you're a teenager-"

I butt in then, "Yeah, ok, I'm one of those distant teenagers. Is that where this is going? Look, I'm nineteen, I'm capable of doing my own things. And thank you for being good parents and being worried, but there's no need. I'm fine."

Silence falls over our living room.

I jab my thumb over my shoulder, "I'll be in my room."

I watch their sad and worried faces a little longer, feeling slightly guilty for shutting them off. But I don't need them messing things up, not now. So, I continue to my room.

I have a date to plan.