( once upon a dreary thursday morning, karen page with cellphone in hand (juggling a travel cup and a pastry bag) quite actually stumbles into his life when a headphone-wearing, backpack-on-the-floor, oblivious-to-the-world student scoots his chair back and yanks his bag out across the tiles, tripping her directly into oliver’s grasp. with reflexes not unlike lighting and a firm grasp, he catches her by the bicep just above her elbow and a steady hand near the small of her back. latte unspilled, pastry intact, call relatively uninterrupted. he steadies her with a commanding strength, then releases her back into the wild.
he excuses himself with a casual happens more often than you think and slips out the restroom window before she can wrap up her phone call and thank him. he's nothing if not a man afraid of opening himself up to new people.
( and occasionally, they would end up in the locally owned cafe, karen with an inquisitive glance and oliver with all the pretense in the world, used to project how wrapped up in his own universe he was. eventually, names are exchanged, phone numbers, and they trade off on paying it forward with each other’s orders. )
it isn’t until their schedules overlap, burning the midnight oil, that their paths cross in an undeniable manner. fate has a way of sidelining everything else when a man dressed entirely from head-to-toe in green leather goes crashing through a storefront window across the street as karen’s locking up. she does the smart thing and crouches behind a parked car while oliver tries to remember pain is a physical restraint and rolls over, crawling through shards of glass. he has to get up, he has to get the upper hand here. his bow's outside on the pavement and he's emptied the quiver on his back anyway. it's a flurry of fists and knee jabs, trying to powerhouse his assailant into a blackout. getting his jaw ground into a brick wall is not on the agenda.
a couple of warning gunshots ring out from across the street, aimed too high, but it's all the surprise oliver needs to get off of the wall and flip the tides. limping, bloody, hood down and mask slipping, he snaps the man's neck with gritted teeth because he can see the blonde creeping closer, gun raised. she won't kill for him, decision settled — what's one more bloodstain on his long, long list? )
Get out of here! ( he bellows over the sirens wailing in the distance. he makes it halfway down the alley, hand slipping off the edge of the dumpster right before his vision goes. he wakes up on a couch in an apartment he doesn't recognize, the smell of coffee in the air and bangs his shin on the coffee table in his effort to grapple up to the sound of: that was a pretty stupid stunt you pulled. the splintering pain in his shin or passing out like yesterday's trash? probably both.
which brings them to now — not exactly passing as normal by any means, but it isn't as if oliver can write karen off now that she's seen him unmasked. she saved him from a prison cell and answering uncomfortable questions, handcuffed in the ICU. ultimately, he's the stray cat she never should have stopped to feed.
if he drops in on her fire escape and slinks in through "unlocked" windows, it's because he can't have her tarnishing his good name in an exposé. not because he likes watching her updo come down in loose waves or her changing through a cracked door, reflected in a standing mirror. not for the way she kisses him when he pants out i have to go or for the fire she kindles in him when, instead of leaving, he hoists her up between him and whatever piece of furniture unlucky enough to be used as a prop. he cradles her cheek with gloved fingers, caressing her gently with his thumb. oliver betrays his alleged monstrousness with a sweet brush of noses and a chaste passing of lips. )
but everyone you meet's just passing through // hey look i made us an au
( once upon a dreary thursday morning, karen page with cellphone in hand (juggling a travel cup and a pastry bag) quite actually stumbles into his life when a headphone-wearing, backpack-on-the-floor, oblivious-to-the-world student scoots his chair back and yanks his bag out across the tiles, tripping her directly into oliver’s grasp. with reflexes not unlike lighting and a firm grasp, he catches her by the bicep just above her elbow and a steady hand near the small of her back. latte unspilled, pastry intact, call relatively uninterrupted. he steadies her with a commanding strength, then releases her back into the wild.
he excuses himself with a casual happens more often than you think and slips out the restroom window before she can wrap up her phone call and thank him. he's nothing if not a man afraid of opening himself up to new people.
( and occasionally, they would end up in the locally owned cafe, karen with an inquisitive glance and oliver with all the pretense in the world, used to project how wrapped up in his own universe he was. eventually, names are exchanged, phone numbers, and they trade off on paying it forward with each other’s orders. )
it isn’t until their schedules overlap, burning the midnight oil, that their paths cross in an undeniable manner. fate has a way of sidelining everything else when a man dressed entirely from head-to-toe in green leather goes crashing through a storefront window across the street as karen’s locking up. she does the smart thing and crouches behind a parked car while oliver tries to remember pain is a physical restraint and rolls over, crawling through shards of glass. he has to get up, he has to get the upper hand here. his bow's outside on the pavement and he's emptied the quiver on his back anyway. it's a flurry of fists and knee jabs, trying to powerhouse his assailant into a blackout. getting his jaw ground into a brick wall is not on the agenda.
a couple of warning gunshots ring out from across the street, aimed too high, but it's all the surprise oliver needs to get off of the wall and flip the tides. limping, bloody, hood down and mask slipping, he snaps the man's neck with gritted teeth because he can see the blonde creeping closer, gun raised. she won't kill for him, decision settled — what's one more bloodstain on his long, long list? )
Get out of here! ( he bellows over the sirens wailing in the distance. he makes it halfway down the alley, hand slipping off the edge of the dumpster right before his vision goes. he wakes up on a couch in an apartment he doesn't recognize, the smell of coffee in the air and bangs his shin on the coffee table in his effort to grapple up to the sound of: that was a pretty stupid stunt you pulled. the splintering pain in his shin or passing out like yesterday's trash? probably both.
which brings them to now — not exactly passing as normal by any means, but it isn't as if oliver can write karen off now that she's seen him unmasked. she saved him from a prison cell and answering uncomfortable questions, handcuffed in the ICU. ultimately, he's the stray cat she never should have stopped to feed.
if he drops in on her fire escape and slinks in through "unlocked" windows, it's because he can't have her tarnishing his good name in an exposé. not because he likes watching her updo come down in loose waves or her changing through a cracked door, reflected in a standing mirror. not for the way she kisses him when he pants out i have to go or for the fire she kindles in him when, instead of leaving, he hoists her up between him and whatever piece of furniture unlucky enough to be used as a prop. he cradles her cheek with gloved fingers, caressing her gently with his thumb. oliver betrays his alleged monstrousness with a sweet brush of noses and a chaste passing of lips. )
Maybe I can put it off for one more hour.