Work Text:
"You love it."
Oliver smiled to himself. I do love it, he thought to himself, feeling a faint warmth in his cheeks as he flipped through the magazines on the shelf. Connor had dragged him to the university bookstore, swarming with undergrads (who seemed all too young these days; or maybe he was just that old now, though it didn't feel that long ago), to dump all of his textbooks back for a refund. You'll probably get a full refund on those. It's not like you ever opened them, Oliver had joked and Connor had simply rolled his eyes. And Connor was sure to be haggling the poor sap at the register about revised editions, lest he throw the book at them.
Off the Boat and Into the Valley, blared a headline on one magazine. Oliver pulled it out, curious, even though the phrasing made him roll his eyes. If Connor was for real about Stanford, probably better to get some idea about what was going on in Silicon Valley lest he end up like a fish out of water. He flipped to the article page and the photograph stilled him for a moment: a group of Chinese men, arms folded and staring into the camera like the Rock. The styling didn't match the pose, at least in his opinion--sweaters over collared shirts, and their gazes weren't exactly chiseled or smoldering--but at least it was a far cry from the images he was used to seeing in similar articles.
Oliver's gaze unfocused, staring into nothing. Philadelphia wasn't exactly a monoracial city, but it hadn't really hit him before he'd flipped through the magazine that for once, he wouldn't be the only Asian face in the room. What on earth would that be like, to be surrounded by others who looked like you? The article itself wasn't so important. Startups were a dime a dozen; probably only one guy out of the five featured would still be standing. But the idea of maybe feeling like he'd finally fit in, for once, accepted like Connor and his friends did--
"Hey man. Sorry, gonna reach over you there."
Oliver blinked up and stepped out of the way. "Sorry. I didn't even realize I was blocking the aisle," he smiled apologetically. The other man shrugged it off with the barest flick of a glance his way--it's cool--and reached over to take a magazine of his own from the rack. Oliver wouldn't lie to himself; just because he and Connor were boyfriends didn't mean he was forbidden from looking at other men. Not that this man could hold a candle to Connor. A bit too Jason Statham for his taste. But he could probably hold up a truck, looking at the size of his arms. Holy shit.
And the magazine he'd picked. Out. Swimsuit edition, with a pair of ice blue eyes boring into him.
Oliver glanced down at the photograph in his article again. And at the cover of Out. And back to his; and back Out again.
He gnawed on his lip and slowly put the magazine back on the rack, as the other man flipped through his, completely absorbed.
You done yet? He tapped out a text on his phone to Connor and sent it out. None of these magazines have anything to say about California except maybe Food & Wine. Grrrr.
A minute later, his phone buzzed in his pocket. This genius at the register says she needs to look up the UPC code for a textbook I bought here nine months ago. I weep for the future.
I'll just go to the cafe to wait for you then. Oliver quickly tapped a text back. Good luck. Litigate 'em, babe.
A coffee wasn't really what was going to alleviate the sudden pressure of the air around him, though. Noticing all the faces, as he was prone to do, and quickly shying away from his own reflection on the stainless steel refrigerator behind the cashier, keenly aware even the girl working the register was looking at the lumberjack right behind him. You go through life, looking like you do, meeting guys all the time, but me... The corner seat was open, and he took it after he had his coffee in hand, feeling more tired than usual. Maybe it was the meds, maybe something else.
He pried off the lid and waited for the coffee to cool, staring into the black as if he could shake it like an 8-ball for an answer. Would I ever be beautiful enough to make us beautiful together? And as much as his mind insisted otherwise, the sinking feeling in his gut knew the truth.
"This is why I hate the university bookstore. I tell the barista it's Connor with an O, she goes and spells it with an E and writes 'thanks ;)' on half the cup. And it looks like she served you a cup of pure black angst."
God. He even looked gorgeous pissed off about a mocha. Oliver couldn't help but stare and smile as Connor slumped next to him. "So I guess you didn't get any refunds for those books?"
The glare Connor shot back was enough of an answer, and Oliver's smile blossomed. "I dumped them all in the recycle box," Connor muttered. "Whatever. Small price to pay to get away from Annalise. And before you start asking about the paycheck, I can guarantee she won't--"
"You know, I sort of warmed up to the idea, actually. Of California, I mean," Oliver's eyes fell back to the blackness of the cup. Black hair, black eyes. "It might--be good for me, too."
And despite whatever toll Annalise had taken on his academics, Connor's mind was as sharp as ever. "Alright. Who's the jackass in here who made a rice joke?"
"N-no one, seriously, it's not--"
Connor snaked a hand around his neck to cradle his head and bring him close, nearly literally eye-to-eye. "It's serious to me."
His stomach knotted again. "Just--wondering what it would be like to fit in. Somewhere. Anywhere."
Without realizing it he'd already let his eyes fall back down, towards the coffee. Connor slowly pushed it away, out of his sight, and looked him in the eye. "You fit with me," he spoke quietly, reassuringly, leaning in to kiss him on the crook of his neck.
And somehow Oliver could feel it this time.