Chapter 28 #2
My knees nearly buckle as I process the image.
“Oh, oh, OH!” I point to each character more excitedly than the next.
I recognize Theo as Edward Teach, Caleb as Stede Bonnet, and Harrison as Oluwande.
The other faces portraying Mary Bonnet, Roach, and Lucius don’t look familiar, but I assume Wren is the one dressed as Jim, which leaves Oliver as—
“You were Buttons!?” I shout, unable to control my excitement.
“Only one of my favorite characters in media,” Oliver says with a grin. “The weird hairpiece was a pain then, too, but so worth it.”
God, I want to hug him. All of them, really. “This is amazing,” I finally blurt. “You all look so perfect. Could you send this to me? Unless that’s weird, in which case, don’t worry about it—”
Theo laughs. “Yes, I’ll be happy to send it to you.”
I can definitely feel a buzz at this point, so I lean into it. “Thank you,” I sing.
“Uh oh,” Oliver says. “Are you already drunk?”
“Just tipsy, I’m sure,” I say, waving a hand at him. “I haven’t eaten much today.”
Oliver’s eyes widen. “Oh, well, you should probably have a snack, then. Come on, let’s grab you something to nibble on.”
Oliver helps me fill a plate with finger foods just in time for Max, Vimlesh, and Harrison to walk through the door.
Max told me about his “group” costume with Vimlesh, though I’m not sure I would have recognized the Star Wars characters without knowing in advance.
Still, they resemble the characters well, and I tell them so.
Harrison, on the other hand, is in a fairly basic suit and tie with a blue lanyard around his neck.
His glasses are different from the ones he usually wears—thin wire frames instead of thick plastic ones—and they sit dangerously low on his nose.
“Aww, you’re Dylan from Severance, aren’t you?” Celeste asks with a wide grin.
Harrison smiles. “You’re the first one to guess it right on the first try.”
“It’s the glasses,” Celeste adds. “All I want to do every time I see him on screen is just—” she steps forward and gently presses the glasses up the bridge of his nose with her finger. “Boop! There, doesn’t that feel better?”
Harrison laughs. “It really does feel better, but unfortunately—” he drags them back down. “—this is an essential part of the costume.”
“Damn, your dedication to the bit is impressive, Harry,” Oliver says with a chuckle.
“Says the disgusting, decaying vampire,” Harrison replies, shaking his head as he looks Oliver up and down. “Dude, you look absolutely horrific.”
“Thank you,” Oliver says, bowing his head. “Wren is an artistic genius.”
Eventually, our group moves from standing by the snack table to sitting on the massive sectional, in various chairs, and on floor pillows in the living room.
Unlike the stiff, dingy sofas in our dorms, the cushions of this couch feel like they’re stuffed with clouds.
I move on to my second drink, then a third, but Oliver keeps an eye on my water and snack intake.
Nikki, however, seems to have found some fellow marketing majors from Emory among Grace and Chloe’s friends, so she only swings by occasionally to check in and give me a peck on the cheek.
I try not to take it personally. She is a year older than I am and far more focused on her career. She has to be—she’s more than halfway through her degree. Networking is critical, especially in a field like marketing.
Luckily, it’s easy to keep my mind occupied.
Our social group seamlessly bounces between amusing stories, splitting into smaller conversations, and shamelessly singing along to the party music.
Somewhere in the middle of a lively rendition of “This Is Halloween” from The Nightmare Before Christmas, it occurs to me that I’ve never felt so endeared to a group this size.
No wonder Oliver loves these people so much—I’ve only known them for a few hours, and I can already tell I’ll miss them when they’re gone.
By the time the singalong ends, the room is pleasantly spinning. I blissfully glance over at Oliver, only to frown at his appearance. “Oliver, I have to tell you something.”
“What’s up?”
I lean in closer, and as I breathe in, I recognize his familiar comforting scent.
I expected him to smell like makeup, latex, or paint, but instead he smells like he always does—clean, crisp, and cozy.
Like the air in late spring, after everything has bloomed and the pollen has washed away.
It’s what I imagine laundry smells like as it dries on a clothesline: like a clean, refreshing breeze.
“Jude?”
“Hm?”
Oliver tries not to laugh. “You said you have to tell me something?”
“Oh yeah, I think your costume is cool, but it’s gross. I miss your hair. And your face.”
Oliver’s eyes stay locked on mine for several seconds, but any emotion is hard to read beneath the thick layers of effects makeup. “Well, it’s just one night,” he finally replies. “You get to see my hair and face any old day.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, I’m not drunk just any old day,” I counter. “My drunk face misses your real face.”
Oliver laughs. “Well, you got me there. I’ll see if Wren is okay with me taking it all off.”
“Yay!” I squeal. “Ooh, can I come with y’all to wash it off? I want to talk to Wren again.”
“Of course!”
With a grunt, Oliver heaves himself to his feet and makes his way to Wren. They exchange a few words, and Wren glances at me. I wave to them, and Wren smiles and waves back.
Oliver returns, helps me up off the couch, and together we head into Grace’s bedroom down the hall.
The change in atmosphere is almost disorienting—the music and chatter are muffled, and the lights are a soft, warm white.
I take a seat at the foot of Grace’s bed while Wren takes a few more headshots of Oliver, then of their own face, before moving into the adjoining bathroom, where the de-uglification begins.
After several minutes of peeling, scrubbing, and rinsing, Oliver reemerges from the bathroom in all his lovely, golden retriever glory.
He’s wearing black gym shorts and a gray sleeveless T-shirt, the neckline still damp from washing his face.
His hair, pulled back, is frizzier than usual after a few hours under a bald cap, but otherwise he’s as adorable as ever. He flashes me a smile. “Better?”
I nod emphatically. “So much better.”
Wren joins us soon after. Without the wig and makeup, I can clearly see how much we have in common. It makes sense now that Oliver clocked me as nonbinary right away. “You’re so cool,” I mutter.
“Hm?” Wren asks.
Oops. “I, uh, I just said you’re cool,” I repeat, blushing furiously now.
Wren smiles. “Thanks, Jude. So are you.”
Oliver snorts. “I knew you guys would get along. Not just because you’re both nonbinary, but I don’t know. You’re both awesome people.”
“Good call, Olli-pops,” Wren teases, stepping back to the bathroom to gather their things.
An unfamiliar annoyance turns my stomach. Olli-pops? That’s such a cute nickname. Why don’t I have a cute nickname for Oliver?
Before I can place or act on the strange emotion, there’s a knock at the cracked bedroom door. “Jude?” Max pokes his head in.
“Come in,” I call out.
Max steps through the doorway. “There you are. Celeste and I weren’t sure where you went. You good?”
“All good,” I reply. “Look! Oliver’s himself again!”
Max chuckles and grins at Oliver. “Welcome back to the land of the living, babe!” He looks back at me. “Y’all coming back to the party or what?”
“I’m down,” Oliver answers. “Jude?”
I hesitate. Part of me doesn’t want to. Parties tend to be a bit overstimulating, and this party has been no exception. The alcohol has helped, but not completely.
“Actually, it’s nice in here,” Max remarks before I can answer, stepping further into the bedroom and joining Oliver and me at the edge of the bed. “A couple more minutes wouldn’t hurt.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t going to say anything,” Wren interjects from the bathroom, startling Max. “But I might camp out here for a while longer.”
“Oh, my god, hi!” Max waves at Wren. “So that’s what you really look like! What an icon!”
Wren grins widely. “Right back at you, King.”
“What about Nikki?” Oliver asks me softly. “Shouldn’t we go back out there before she gets worried?”
I wave my hand dismissively. “She probably hasn’t even noticed I’m missing yet. She’s been networking.”
Oliver frowns, then looks at Max.
Max shrugs. “They’re not wrong.”
Wren and Oliver exchange glances, too, but eventually, Oliver’s eyes are back on me. “Okay, well, I’m cool here if you are.”
Max gives a little clap, then snickers. “I’m drunk. Are you guys drunk, too?”
Oliver and I nod, and Wren gives a thumbs up from where they’re seated cross-legged on the floor in front of us.
“Oliver, is this a safe space?” Max asks.
Oliver’s eyes widen, but he offers a crooked smile. “Yeah, dude. What’s up?”
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re hot. Do you know that? Has anyone told you that?”
That weird, annoyed feeling flares up again, and I have to resist glaring at Max.
Oliver, on the other hand, bursts into giggles. “Me? Seriously?”
“Dead serious, babe. You’re the total package. Beautiful inside and out. Living proof that not all cishet men are awful.”
I open my mouth to argue that Oliver isn’t the “het” part of “cishet”, but I catch myself before anything comes out.
“That means a lot, Max,” Oliver says, placing a hand over his chest. “Thank you.”
“Just being honest,” Max continues. “It genuinely blows my mind that you’re single. Eidola girls don’t know what they’re missing.”
Wren snorts, prompting Oliver to shoot them a pointed look.
I ball my fists in my lap, using every ounce of self-control to keep my mouth shut. I’m far too drunk to participate in this conversation.
“Okay, do they know something I don’t?” Max asks, crossing his legs and propping his head in his hands.
“Yes, but not for long,” Oliver replies, facing Max and mirroring his posture. “So, I recently figured out that I’m actually asexual.”
Max’s jaw drops dramatically. “Wait. For real?”
Oliver nods.
I can practically see the gears turning in Max’s head. “Oh. Ohh. Okay, yeah, I can see it. Oh my god, I can’t believe I didn’t clock it before! Of course you are! Slay!” He lunges forward and wraps Oliver in a hug. “I knew you were one of us!”
As Oliver reciprocates Max’s embrace, emotion swells in my chest, and I pile on to the hug. My eyes fall shut for the length of the hug, and when I reopen them, Wren and I lock eyes for a few seconds before Wren looks away.
“Whew,” Max says as he pulls away, wiping his face with his sleeve. “Damn, the gin’s got me all emotional.”
Oliver chuckles. “You’re a gin man, huh?”
“Guilty,” Max admits. His eyes land on me, and whatever my face is doing piques his interest. “Hey, bud, how’s it going over there?”
My cheeks hurt from smiling. “Liquor really hits different,” I declare.
“Yeah?”
I nod.
Oliver turns around to face me again… and something strange happens.
An unknown switch deep within me is flipped—either on or off, I’ll never know—and I’m suddenly overwhelmed by my fondness for Oliver.
His deep chocolate eyes, his golden hair, his sunshine smile—I adore it all.
I could say anything, be anything, do anything, and I know I’d be safe as long as I’m with him.
Because he’s Oliver. He’s my best friend and my favorite person in the whole world, and nothing will ever change that.
It’s almost devastating to realize I’ve lived an entire nineteen years without him and didn’t realize I missed him, but I did. I missed him before I even met him.
“Jude?” Oliver asks, a concerned crease between his dark brows. “Are you still with us?”
“I think if I had met you in high school, I would have had the biggest crush on you.”
The room goes silent for a beat.
“Oh, Christ, you are drunk,” Max mutters, pulling out his phone.
Oliver snorts, but when he realizes I’m serious, he gawks at me. “Wait, really?”
“Yeah, really! You’re cute, funny, and hella smart.
You’re kind, you’re considerate, and you’re like, really sincere.
You know how to take care of yourself, you smell good all the time, and your hair is so fucking pretty…
” The words tumble out like they’re nothing—man, alcohol really does make things easier.
“I don’t know, it’s like Max said. You’re the total package. ”
Oliver’s cheeks are burning a bright red, but he still manages to flash a goofy grin. “Don’t forget irresistibly charming!”
I laugh. “I mean, yeah, that too.”
“Knock, knock,” Celeste says as she steps through the door.
“Hi, Celeste!” I wave.
Celeste raises an eyebrow at me, then looks at Max. “Is everyone alright in here?”
“Jude is trashed,” Max says. “Thought you might want to be aware.”
“Pshhh,” I wave dismissively. “I’m fine. I stopped after four drinks. I ate bread. I’m good.”
“I think Nikki’s been looking for you,” Celeste says with a solemn expression.
Panic rockets through me, and I clumsily clamber to my feet. “Oh. Oh, shit.”
As I enter the living room, it’s clear the crowd has thinned a bit. Several of the older partygoers have left, and Grace and Chloe have joined the rest of our group in the living room. To my surprise, Nikki is also seated at the end of the sectional.
As our eyes meet, Nikki abruptly stands and approaches me, her expression unreadable. “There you are.”
“Here I am,” I reply with a dopey grin. “How goes networking?”
“It was good, but, um, I’m actually leaving.”
I blink, confused. “What?”
“I ordered an Uber,” she continues, holding out her phone to show me the open rideshare app. “I don’t feel good, so I’m gonna head home.”
“But—but you’re supposed to stay the night here. With me. Right?”
Nikki sighs, her shoulders slumped. “I know, I’m sorry.”
I frown. “Well, do you want me to come with you?”
“No, you should stay,” she insists, her gaze drifting past me briefly, then back to me. “I don’t want you to have to miss out just because I feel bad.”
My frown deepens. “I know, but if you’re not feeling good, I want to–”
“It’s really okay,” Nikki presses, taking both my hands in hers. “I promise.”
I search her icy blue eyes, pushing through my own drunken haze. She doesn’t seem sick, but I don’t think she’s lying about wanting me to stay. Still, I can’t understand why she wouldn’t want me to go with her.
Finally, I nod. “Okay. Text me when you get home, okay?”
“Okay, I will. Have fun!”
Before I can say more, Nikki turns around and walks toward the front door, only stopping to thank Grace and Chloe for a great party before disappearing into the night.