no one ever said it would be this hard

[caleb jay ierie]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style, background-color: #423c42;,true][cs=2] & BUT WHEN I CAME BACK IT WAS MORE OF A RELAPSE` THEY SAID 'IF YOU DON'T LET IT OUT YOU'RE GONNA LET IT EAT YOU AWAY I'D RATHER BE A CANNIBAL BABY ANIMALS LIKE ME DON'T TALK ANYWAY FEEL LIKE AN AMBULANCE, CHASER OF - - - - - - - - - - - faith
[atrb=width,240] In trying to deal with the breakup with Oliver, Caleb had tried to remember how he had dealt with breakups in the past. He'd had his heart broken before, but that somehow felt like an overstatement. At the time, he had thought that he was getting his heart broken. It did hurt a hell of a lot, and he had loved the men he had dated, but now that he'd gone through things with Oliver, it felt less. Oliver completed him so wholly and Caleb was sure he'd somehow found his soul mate in the man. He thought that his first breakup was the worse, the tears and anger and pain, but that seemed a paper cut to this. Before, he'd always been broken up with. How had he dealt with that though? He could remember crying, feeling like he could be sucked into his bed for weeks on end, pushing himself into his work. At least he was consitant. Caleb never took active steps to get over his ex, but what steps could you take? It was something that only time could heal, and Caleb had to wait. He always got over his ex's in the past, figuring after a while that he was better than them. He got sad, angry and then finally he got over them, his heart sealing over the wound. With Ollie, it was so different. Caleb had broken up with him, for one. That should have indicated that he'd lost feelings for Oliver. His first boyfriend had broken up with Caleb because he'd never had feelings for him, and only really wanted someone to show off and occasionally fuck. His other boyfriends had lost interest, found things about Caleb annoying, fought with him. They all had reasons, but they were all better than his own. He'd never lost any feelings for Oliver, it was only his mannerisms that pushed Caleb away. That had happened in the past, however, that someone seemed so perfect but one thing was so bad about them you had to get away. Abuse was a pretty good thing. In the long run, it was the best. If only he could learn how to stop loving Oliver. It wouldn't be possible to forget anything about Oliver anyway. Everything about him was ingrained into Caleb’s being, from the simple way Ollie said Caleb’s name to how he had would have trouble sleeping sometimes without noise to aid him. Though, Caleb couldn’t remember these things about his past boyfriends though, the information had gone from his head. He worried the same would eventually happen for Oliver, that he would forget how he took his tea or other important facts like this. It wouldn't be hard, to know these things, but Caleb felt like he knew Oliver so intimately. He'd seen him cry and laugh to often for them to be friends. Not to mention the numbers of times he'd seen Oliver naked, cuddled with him after sex, held him in his arms. That would have to be forgotten, but that entered his mind more than the rest of it. He simply passed the cup to Oliver, remembering how they had another in their cupboard with a heart on it, something from some anniversary or birthday long ago that neither of them could remember. This house had so many milestones from their relationship, everything here could be connected to them, since the house they had bought together was filled with their furniture and things they bought. Caleb sat himself across from Oliver on the single arm chair, knowing he couldn't sit on the couch with him and stand being that close without touching him. He knew it was against the rules – whatever crazy rules this situation had made up – to touch Oliver again. He couldn't sit on the love seat either, because just the name evoked memories of cuddling on that couch with Oliver, anywhere from watching movies to having company over. Caleb had to stop himself from voicing his thoughts right away, though all he could think was 'No, no baby.' He wanted so desperately to hold Oliver, but instead he sat with his tea placed before him, shoulders slouched forward and his hands folded together. Caleb didn't know how broken he looked, just as bad as Ollie really, but he didn't mean too. It was just ingrained in his body language, the slumping shoulders and bad posture, the way his mouth felt like it was constantly pulled down. “No, really, its not,” he said at first, looking down at the steaming cup and looking back at Oliver, but not in his eyes. Anytime Oliver met Calebs eyes, it broke his heart in two again and again. He felt like he needed Olivers permission to meet his eyes, though Oliver could do it all he wanted. He at least deserved that right. “What could you have done Oliver? You could have looked for her, but you had nothing to go off of, and no way to tell where she was. I think you were only trying to respect her by never going after her when she disappeared?” Caleb sighed slightly, taking a sip of the too hot tea and burning his tongue, but he could hardly feel the pain. It felt good to talk about something with Oliver, even something as horrible as this. “Even if you could have found her, she might not have wanted to come home with you. I mean, I wish there was something you could have done, or some way I could help you, but I don't think there was anything...” Caleb didn't know what else what else he could tell Oliver. Penny's death was in no way his fault, it wasn't anyone fault but perhaps whoever did kill her, if that was what happened. Caleb actually had no idea how she died, and he felt hurt that he wasn't privy to that information.	[atrb=width,140] words , 988 tagged , ollie bird! notes , somewhat 'eh' post. it's okay though because SOON FEELS EVERYWHERE
[cs=2] TEMPLATE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING OF CAUTION 2.0

[oliver rhys cardinal]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 450px; height: 600px; background-image: url(http://i702.photobucket.com/albums/ww30/Panda22Panda22/fjsdlakfjdfjka_zps71fa4ead.jpg); -moz-border-radius: 250px; border-radius:100px 100px 100px 100px; border: 3px solid #ffffff;] OH, TAKE ME BACK TO THE START Throughout most of his dating life, Oliver had done most of the breaking-up. Sometimes it was for stupid reasons, like that he decided he didn’t like boys that day, or that he didn’t like how they pronounced a word; it could be anything. He never thought anything of it, really. In the end, wasn’t it better to end something over something petty? At least it meant to hearts were broken, because there was no time for things to become serious. People would get angry with him, and he’d been called shallow more times than he could count, but it was high school, and nothing lasted long there. Some relationships lasted longer than others, some were broken off for serious reasons, like discovering with certainty that he wasn’t attracted to girls, but in general, relationships went the same way every time: some new person would come into his life, and in some amount of time he’d grow unhappy, and so he’d break up with them. It happened in all of them, from the ones that lasted perhaps a few hours back when ‘dating’ was just an excuse to sound better than everyone else, to the girl he’d lost his virginity to moments before realizing he was gay. He didn’t see himself as being controlling, exactly, but it was always obvious who called the shots. There was one exception before now. When he was seventeen, he’d dated a boy and he thought it was love. There was just something there, some kind of connection of chemistry that and gotten him completely wound up over it. Looking back, Oliver recognized that he had been treated badly, being forced into doing things he wouldn’t have done without this strange adoration for this boy. For months, he’d had drugs stashed at his house, and there would be afternoons when Oliver’s boyfriend would come over solely to get high with him, which Oliver did not out of enjoyment for the feeling but for want to impress, to receive approval. When, ultimately, the relationship was terminated, it was not Oliver that did the breaking up, and he didn’t know how to handle it. Anyone else, he could have, perhaps, dealt with being broken up with by, but this relationship was different in his mind, this one mattered and was supposed to go somewhere. But Oliver wasn’t one to try to get anyone back; in his head, you got one shot, and if it didn’t work out, it wasn’t meant to. When he got home that afternoon, he started going through his things, ridding his room of anything that spoke whispers of the relationship. He stumbled across the last of the drugs there--a small package of cocaine--and had had every intention of getting rid of it until he realized that his drug-addled mind could perhaps fool itself into believing that he hadn’t been thrown away like he was nothing, the way he himself was doing with everything he had once treasured. Over time, Oliver’s heart healed. He wasn’t torn up by the loss of his boyfriend, eventually didn’t miss him at all. The lovesickness left, and in its place stood a strange affinity for the sensation he had never quite liked when he had someone. Getting high had made him forget he was alone, and even when he wasn’t sad about it anymore, it was still good to have something to remind him that he was enough company. Oliver had dated other people after this boy, of course, but even then he sometimes felt strangely cut off. And perhaps it was just addiction, but putting it in those words was so unpleasant, so negative. Oliver had never thought it as a problem. It was illegal, sure, and his parents would have been terribly distraught if they ever found out, but he had learned from the best to avoid getting caught with these things. He was just doing it to make himself feel better, and surely that wasn’t a crime. But it was funny, then, that it took one breakup for drugs to ensnare him and another to release him. And Caleb didn’t even know the story, didn’t know why he started or why he stopped. Oliver had hardly noticed any signs of withdrawal, even, though he supposed that in those first few months he would have mistaken anything to simply be a side effect of the cancer, the radiation, the heartbreak. Maybe this was healthy, this separation. Maybe, like last time, Oliver would move on and find someone better. No part of Oliver could buy into that. There was nothing healthy in the way he felt every day, the sickened emptiness that had him begging for relief every moment of each day. And if six months wasn’t enough to move on, then how could he possibly ever dream of doing so? It was simply ignorant and pointless to think this way, deluding himself into hoping for the best. He refused to buy into it, because there wasn’t anyone better. But he’d had his one chance and ruined it, and so now he had to deal with the consequences. Tragic, yes, but that was how life went. He supposed he had earned it, after everything. After the way he had treated Caleb, it would be unhealthy and wrong for Caleb to have let him stay. Nobody deserved to be handled that way, put through that sort of physical and emotional turmoil, and certainly not someone who loved him so fully. The fault was all on Oliver here and he knew it. Things would never be okay again, but he supposed that since he didn’t relief, it would be easier to handle when it never came. At least he had that going for him. It may have been even more than he really deserved. But it still hurt when Caleb had chosen to sit all the way on the armchair, at an impossible distance, where Oliver couldn’t even touch him by accident. It was for the best, perhaps, just as it had been when Oliver refused to hug him. They should refrain, shouldn’t let themselves turn the physical need overrule the logic in their minds. There was sound reasoning behind their distance, and it was because they weren’t in a position relationally to behave that way, and they both knew it. Maybe it was a sad fact, but it was a fact nonetheless. And instead of wrapping himself up in Caleb, he curled around the tea he had prepared, inhaling the steam as it rose, his large hands warmed by the heat of the mug. There was some reassurance in Caleb’s words, but it still hurt intensely. The helplessness was hardly better than the guilt. Someone could have done something, even if the someone was Penny herself. This shouldn’t have happened. “It just--it just all hurts so much, Callie,”

[/color] he said, the name slipping out of his mouth by habit and not even attracting his attention. “I can’t stop thinking about it. How she’ll never grow up and get married and become a mother, and I’ll never have nieces or nephews or anything and we’ll never get together on holidays and talk about childhood and I’ve lost the only person who that could ever be a possibility with. And one day my parents are going to die too and she won’t be there to comfort me and there’s so much missing and god dammit we need to do something about the flowers,”[/color] he babbled, finally ending when the objects that had been distracting his mind finally built to be too much. “I don’t even care what. I can’t be in the house with them. We could do like you said and burn them if you wanted. Something. Anything. Please.”[/color]
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Words: 1304 Notes: i just can't

there can be only one mikey! of caution 2.0

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[caleb jay ierie]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style, background-color: #423c42;,true][cs=2] & BUT WHEN I CAME BACK IT WAS MORE OF A RELAPSE` THEY SAID 'IF YOU DON'T LET IT OUT YOU'RE GONNA LET IT EAT YOU AWAY I'D RATHER BE A CANNIBAL BABY ANIMALS LIKE ME DON'T TALK ANYWAY FEEL LIKE AN AMBULANCE, CHASER OF - - - - - - - - - - - faith
[atrb=width,240] Caleb didn't know how he could stand being around Oliver and not touch him. When they were together, that wasn't even a possibility. Even around others in public, where they might have to be safe, they acted more friendly than any friends ever would. Caleb would grab Oliver's hand a little bit too much, or they would pay for things as one, they might even just stand a little bit too close together. Even when they had started to date, it was rare they would sit on opposite couches. Oliver ended that habit rather fast, warning Caleb that if he started clinging, he would never stop. Caleb had been fine with that, elated really, because all he wanted was to be with Oliver. He'd never been overly cuddly in his last relationships, but he did value the importance of physical contact. It was so distinctly Oliver too, his other boyfriends had been to 'manly' to stroke his hair or lay intertwined on the couch together. Caleb was so happy when Oliver kept his promise, he had never stopped clinging to Caleb, until Caleb forced him away. He brought this upon them, sitting on separate couches, not even touching. Caleb didn't think they could ever go back to that, and that broke his heart even more. Their relationship was always overly physical, even when Oliver started to hit him. When Caleb first started dating Oliver, he would have never expected physical abuse. Who would? The drugs, he had known about already. Oliver was his friend, and Caleb had honestly been surprised to find out that Ollie did drugs. But, well, coming from college, it wasn't a surprise. It wasn't like Caleb hadn't dabbled, but he hadn't done anything hard like Oliver liked to find himself in. Oliver seemed to have it under control, too, he wasn't an addict as far as Caleb could tell. He knew those guys, and the ones who lives were only about the drugs. Oliver had a job, an apartment, and upstanding life. He was put together and not in danger of falling apart. So regardless of the drugs, Caleb had decided he wanted to date Oliver. He could understand. Dating Oliver, though, as time went on. Caleb realized how bad it was. Ollie never got high around him, but Caleb would start coming to his apartment to find him already high, and he could tell. It started to bother him, simply because he was worried about Olivers health and the possibility that he was addicted. He never asked Oliver why he did drugs, he figured it was in consequential. If he had, they might have avoided this entire mess. As it were though, the drugs were what caused that first hit, and the very last as well. The first time, Caleb had wanted to leave. He had been so adamant, if a guy hit him, he would leave, no questions asked. And this wasn't a joking hit or an accident but an actual slap that left a stinging red mark across his face. Caleb had once had the same policy about cheating, before any guy dated him, that he would leave at the first sign of cheating, no matter what. That had gone so well. At least there, Caleb had convinced himself the rumours had all been a lie. He told himself despite his boyfriend flirting with other boys and disappearing on him and his transparent lies, he was not cheating. Even when Caleb caught him, he didn't break up with him, saying he understood. He was dragged through that dirt for a year, longer than a year, until the man finally got bored with him and dumped him. Caleb didn't know if he was in love, but it hurt regardless. He had put so much effort into the relationship. At least with cheating, Caleb could pretend it didn't happen. Abuse was a little different. It literally hit him in the face. Oliver had come back though, apologized, said it would never happen again, and Caleb let it slide. He wouldn't give up the boy of his dreams for something as simple as this, he would let this work. Caleb had wanted to work past their problems, he always gave his all in relationships, and he was not one to give up. By the time more than a year had passed, Caleb had grown so used to the abuse that he hadn't notice it escalate or change. It was just more to deal with, more to pretend wasn't there. Caleb was so good at hiding from the truth. He loved Oliver, he loved him despite everything. He loved his smile and his personality and his quirks and cuddles and he loved him even though Oliver got angry and hit Caleb. It was fine. Caleb couldn't pretend it wasn't happening, but he could tell himself they could work past it. When Oliver had hit him that last time, he hadn't even felt like it was the last. He could barely remember it. He remembered Oliver breaking his nose and the abuse actually getting worse after that. Things were so stressful. Oliver had then threatened Caleb’s life, and that was the last straw. Because despite the cancer, despite the problems, for a moment Caleb could see the serious intent in Oliver eyes, the intent to harm that had not been there when this had first started. Oliver had, for the most part, turned into something of a monster. Caleb hated that he had to break them up, tear apart their interweaved bodies that still knew each other so well that they could pilot around one another and not touch because they knew how the other moved, and shatter them to pieces. But it was for his own safety and sanity, and so he did it. Now of course, things were different Caleb found it hard to focus on the fact that Oliver was cancer, and drug free with so many other things going on in his mind. As much as he didn't want it to be true, this did change things, it changed a lot. Caleb could tell Oliver was different, but he didn't know if that was six months of getting over his ex boyfriend or his sisters death. He knew Penny played a big part in this and so he focused on her, and Oliver. He wished he could say he would be there for Oliver, whatever he wanted, but it wasn't the point. He understood the pain, but only because he never had that chance himself. It was worse to have the chance and have it taken away from him. “It doesn't matter what I'd want to do with them,” Caleb said softly, taking in more of his tea, trying to let the liquid calm the shaking in his hands. “We can burn them, I just uncovered the fire pit a few days ago,” it was like routine. He and Oliver had covered the fire pit for the winter, and now that the snow was a little less and Caleb could take care of the pit, he uncovered it, dusting out spider webs and dirt. A job Oliver would never take in a million years, not after the first year he had found a spiders egg sac in the pit. “Come on,” he said, standing from the chair, feeling like his knee's creaked from sitting too long, though they had only just sat down. Caleb didn't wait for Oliver before going to the kitchen to grab the flowers in the vase for when Caleb bought Oliver flowers or Oliver bought Caleb flowers or for when they just bought flowers for the house together. He stood in the living room then, behind the couch Oliver was on, waiting. Waiting for what felt like the endless wait to end when it never would.	[atrb=width,140] words , 1,306 tagged , ollie bird! notes , :3
[cs=2] TEMPLATE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING OF CAUTION 2.0

[oliver rhys cardinal]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 450px; height: 600px; background-image: url(http://i702.photobucket.com/albums/ww30/Panda22Panda22/fjsdlakfjdfjka_zps71fa4ead.jpg); -moz-border-radius: 250px; border-radius:100px 100px 100px 100px; border: 3px solid #ffffff;] OH, TAKE ME BACK TO THE START In all honesty, Oliver wasn’t entirely sure when he had started clinging--physically clinging--to people. He supposed it must have begun in early childhood, infancy maybe, because children are often cuddled. It helps them developmentally, teaches them love and empathy. The Cardinals had known that while raising their children, though it was the first that had undoubtedly enjoyed it more. Even once he was past those critical times, when he no longer needed to be held to survive, he still found himself sitting in a lap more often than not. His arms, which were awkwardly long even in childhood, would be wrapped around necks, around arms, waists, anywhere he could hold on, tucking himself in a small ball against whichever relative would have him. Back then, it had been about being touched, the safety of another body there against him. Over time, it had been less about that than it was about touching others. Even before sexuality was a thought in his mind, it mystified him, the feeling of others. Their skin on his fingers, it was so...How interesting was it, that at the same time that they were feeling him, he was feeling them? It was such an underappreciated sense, touching. People took it for granted more than any of the others, because in most occasions it didn’t dwindle with age like sight and hearing did, and didn’t become impaired by things like smoking like smell and taste did. Really, if one had the sense of touch, it would always be there, and it was taken as obvious, a given. They would always be able to feel things. But Oliver valued it, and was terribly interested in applying it to every situation. He wanted to make use of his body. The nerve receptors taking in the feel of things were no less valuable than those receptors on his face taking in the other four, and he intended to prove that. Oliver was interested in handshakes and high-fives, the way his hand felt both to him and to the other person participating, though he really never told people about that. Throughout school, he had to often remind himself that most people had boundaries, that he couldn’t just touch anyone he wanted. People didn’t like having their faces touched, or their hands held or any of that. It wasn’t normal. He supposed that was a contributor to why he liked dating so much. When he was supposedly ‘romantic’ with someone, it was completely fine to brush cheeks, run fingertips over lips and foreheads, to lace his fingers between theirs. When things got sexual as he got older, it only intensified. Chests brushed, skin was scratched and squeezed and kneaded, kissing, touching, penetrating, it was all such pure, wholesome contact and he loved that, the mixture of giving and taking, being so rewarded so well, both at the sight of their reaction and the things he felt himself. With Caleb especially, sex was electric. More than anything Caleb could do to him, Oliver loved watching what he did to Caleb, how his body shifted and tensed and rocked into every pleasure, how he would move without meaning to and let out noises that drove Oliver insane. It was confirmation of doing something right, that he was really making him feel it. He loved touching Caleb and Caleb loved it when he touched him and so they were perfect in that, and that made the sex better. But then there was the cuddling after; more contact. More time to spend against him, more small touching, meetings of hands and lips and breath melting together. It was blissful, Oliver couldn’t imagine anything better. Now, here they were, less than two years since the first time they had given themselves to each other like that, sitting on opposite ends of the room. He wasn’t thinking of such things, of course; there was too much to think about it without adding unnecessary tension. He needed to adjust to this, this not being able to touch him. It was back to strangers almost, and he had to keep his hands to himself. But he didn’t want to. He missed the softness of Caleb’s skin, the rough of stubble that formed over his jaw almost daily, the texture of his hair and the moisture of his sweat and everything. He missed the man of him, the physical perfection, nearly as much as he missed having someone who loved him, someone who amused him, someone who completed him. He missed having someone hold him because they wanted him to feel better. He missed the contact. Back when he had said that if he started clinging to Caleb he would never stop, he had meant it. Being forced to felt unnatural and wrong, a violation of how things should be. Oliver just wanted to go back to when things were better. “Okay,”

[/color] he deadpanned, slowly standing. He didn’t particularly want to head back out into the cold, necessarily, but he figured that the fire would keep him warm enough, and at least he wouldn’t have to deal with the roses anymore. He wanted them dead, gone, destroyed, somewhere out of his sight. Maybe doing to them what had been done to his sister would bring her back.

He followed Caleb outside, trying to look at and think about anything that wasn’t the vase of roses. And anything that wasn’t the way Caleb’s shirt fit him, or the way his own hand felt so empty without those of the man with him, or the thousand other things that he would be saying aloud if he had the courage to. Oliver had never been afraid of Caleb before, there had been no reason to and no provocation that hinted of a reason developing. Caleb was harmless, loving, nurturing. There was nothing in him to be afraid of, especially not for Oliver. But even if his reasons were empty, Oliver was nervous to say what was on his mind. He didn’t know how Caleb would react to anything. Who knew how much had changed in six months? The sort of things that had once aroused pity might just stir up anger now, the things Caleb had seemed to care about before, he might not have the patience for anymore. He had to be so careful about his words, prevent too much from slipping out, so as to not upset the balance of this very delicate relationship--or whatever it was that this was. This...interaction.

For some reason, the fire pit made him remember looking for houses with Caleb. They’d only been a few months into their relationship when they decided to move in together, so young and sweet and innocent, and God, so happy. It was a long process, finding a place that matched all of their criteria, and one of them always found something wrong. It didn’t have a place for all of Oliver’s photography things, it didn’t have an office for Caleb, it didn’t have a big enough closet for all of Oliver’s clothes, or a big enough bathroom or enough storage space or a kitchen large enough for Thanksgiving. They were picky because they knew they would be there together for a long time. And then this house came along and was exactly what they wanted. There had been some renovations, of course, there always were when people were as particular as they were, but there was nothing major that had to be changed. They painted, they furnished, they decorated. The house was theirs, the perfect place for the two of them, and not living in it made Oliver want to cry. It was pathetic that a fire pit was reducing him to this, but it was. That had been one thing that wasn’t on their list of criteria, but something they loved since having it. Oliver loved the way Caleb ended up with the musky smell of wood in his hair and on his skin. That would happen again, depending on how the wind blew and how long they stayed out here, but Oliver would never know first hand because Caleb didn’t even touch him anymore, he was hardly going get close enough to smell.

Oliver sat down then, in one of the ornate metal chairs they had bought after getting the house, something to sit in while the fire was going. He knew Caleb intended on taking up the task of starting the fire, and so he would just watch, wait, wonder what Caleb could ever be thinking about in all of this. It was such a mess that Oliver himself didn’t know what he was thinking of it all.
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Words: 1447 Notes: adklfjasf

there can be only one mikey! of caution 2.0

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[caleb jay ierie]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style, background-color: #423c42;,true][cs=2] & BUT WHEN I CAME BACK IT WAS MORE OF A RELAPSE` THEY SAID 'IF YOU DON'T LET IT OUT YOU'RE GONNA LET IT EAT YOU AWAY I'D RATHER BE A CANNIBAL BABY ANIMALS LIKE ME DON'T TALK ANYWAY FEEL LIKE AN AMBULANCE, CHASER OF - - - - - - - - - - - faith
[atrb=width,240] It wasn't hard to remember what things had been like when Caleb and Oliver were together. How perfectly they had fit together, how happy they were. Despite the pain Caleb had been put through, he stuck with Oliver for a reason. He may have had a problem with breaking up with guys, but he knew it was more than just that. Before he admitted it to himself or Oliver that Caleb loved him, he'd known there was something special here, something different. Caleb tried to not think of the future, he had once and had been horribly disappointed. HE knew people said there was no point in dating if you couldn't see a future with the person, but how could you know what the future held in store if you didn't try? Caleb had liked Oliver in high school, had left and come back and liked him more, because Oliver was a good person. He was funny, handsome, charming and so many other things that Caleb couldn't even explain. Why did people love each other anyway? He liked Oliver despite any flaws in his personality, though in the beginning you never see those flaws. If you do, you'll make up excuses, smooth over the flaws. As time went on, Caleb fell for the flaws in Oliver as well as everything else. It didn't matter how bad things got, because things could be so good. They worked well together. Even though they'd only been together for almost two years, both of them knew for certain they would get married one day, it was just a question of when. It only took them nine months to buy a house together, because they just knew. They could read each other like their minds were open books. They worked past their problems because that was what couples did, they tried. They didn't try the right way, though. Instead of talking, they ignored, and they moved past the bigger problems, instead arguing about the colour of the master bedroom or what to have for dinner or where the television should go. Never about what mattered, and really that all landed on the drugs. Even before the abuse had started, Caleb had known Olivers lifestyle wasn't one he could live forever, without something happening. They had been lucky, so lucky he hadn't died. The only thing that had taken harm was Oliver's body and mind, and by consequence their relationship. It wasn't hard to remember how things were whenever Caleb would have to leave though, when they were together. His work required him to travel, for conferences and people outside of town who wanted their cases taken care of by the firm. Calebs office wasn't restricted to just the town he lived in, they were one of the big names who branched out to different cities, and sometimes his coworkers skill sets were more suited to the case, and Caleb would go along to help. He hated these business trips, hated being away from Oliver. Caleb never thought it was possible, but as soon as he left Oliver at the airport, he would miss him. It was like a pit in his chest, like something was missing in his heart. He'd often call Oliver at least twice during the trip, depending, but it was never enough. And he knew Oliver missed him too, and that made it worse. Their love had been so strong. It hurt so much now that Caleb had to use past tense to think about it, because all it was, was a memory. Caleb could remember how much he missed Oliver, and how good it was to come home and sink into those arms, feel his body against his once again, but nothing hurt more than this. Because he couldn't hold Oliver again, and would have to learn how to stop loving him, needing him, and eventually all they would ever be was a memory. Caleb could remember Oliver's hand linking in his own, for the first time and so many times after that, and the last. How large his hand always felt, surprising Caleb the first time Oliver had done it. It had been the third date, and Caleb could still remember that much. It was insane, how much he could remember of their relationship. Days blended together sometimes, but the milestones, large and impossibly small, were imprinted in his brain. The third date they'd gone to Olivers house, and it felt like a step forward. Oliver hadn't even told Caleb where they were going, he had just told him to meet him at the coffee shop of their first date again, which had become neutral ground for the both of them. Oliver took him walking then, not discerning their destination. As they walked, talking about things Caleb couldn't remember, though he could remember smiling, Oliver's arm had brushed his and his hand had slipped innocently into Calebs before tugging him around a corner. Caleb had felt like the world had stopped, and Oliver might have just been guiding him along, except for the fact that he never let go of Calebs hand. And as Caleb marshaled at the thinness of Olivers fingers and the way his palm felt, Oliver talked like nothing had happened. After that, it had been impossible that the two of them had been together and their hands or arms or bodies weren't intermingled. Caleb needed contact to remind him Oliver was really there and Oliver had needed contact because he loved it and they fed of each other, worked of each other so well. Now, now that they were walking to the fire pit and Caleb had his hands full with the roses, they still felt empty. If they had been dating Caleb would go to any measures to hold Olivers hand. He remembered once they had been at the mall and Oliver was carrying a bag and he got a phone call, so he dropped Caleb's hand to answer the call. Caleb, without even thinking, had taken the bag from Olivers other hand, and walked around him to hold that one instead. They were meant to be joined at the hip. But Caleb didn't think about that, he only went to the fire pit, settling the roses down on the dead grass beside it, still slightly damp from the winter. There were patches of snow in the shaded areas of the yard. It was still chilly out, but Caleb went about setting the fire up without speaking a word to Oliver. The dry kindling saved at the bottom of the fire over winter didn't take long to strike a flame, with matches gathered from the box Caleb and Oliver had kept by the fire, even during winter time. Caleb settled a few thin logs on the small flames, he didn't know how long they would be out here but the warmth was welcome. Without looking, Caleb knew Oliver was cold, but he settled himself down on a rock, with the vase of roses between the two of them. He could have sat on the other chair, but that one was sat so closely to Olivers chair that their knees would have touched no matter how Caleb sat, and he didn't want to move the heavy chair. He noticed, though, Oliver had sat in the same chair he always did, and he didn't know if Oliver had remembered or if it was just habit. He plucked a rose from the vase, before leaning the long stem over to Oliver. “Here,” it was one simple word, and Caleb waited for Oliver to take the flower. He had to do this, not Caleb, though he would help if Oliver really wanted it. He'd do anything for Ollie. “You must be cold, I can get you a jacket if you want?” Caleb tried not to remember how all of Olivers clothes were still in the house, and the exact location of his warmest jacket. Although the two of them were still wearing suits, Caleb didn't need to see Oliver shivering to know the warmth of the fire was enough. As it were, Caleb couldn't wrap Oliver up in his own arms like he had done in the past, sharing the warmth of the fire and of their shared bodies like it was more natural than breathing.	[atrb=width,140] words , 1,387 tagged , ollie bird! notes , i was going to link you to a picture but I CANT FIND IT.
[cs=2] TEMPLATE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING OF CAUTION 2.0

[oliver rhys cardinal]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 450px; height: 600px; background-image: url(http://i702.photobucket.com/albums/ww30/Panda22Panda22/fjsdlakfjdfjka_zps71fa4ead.jpg); -moz-border-radius: 250px; border-radius:100px 100px 100px 100px; border: 3px solid #ffffff;] OH, TAKE ME BACK TO THE START Because of the sheer number of people Oliver had dated, and because of the short length of his past relationships, Oliver had hardly gone out to the cafe the day of his twenty-first birthday expecting to find anything life-changing. There was a difference between a coffee date and a boyfriend, and that was chemistry. Oliver hadn’t even known who was going to show up at the cafe with him, having been too drunk to even remember being asked out. It was lucky he’d even known where to go and when, all things considered. Lucky that he wasn’t so hungover that he stayed in bed all day and stood his date up, whoever it was. It was a shock, really, to come across the time and place scrawled on his calendar, where he knew it had not been before the party, he could at least remember that much. It was frustrating, not remembering all of the events of the evening, especially when this one was at least important in the sense that he didn’t want to disappoint anyone. It wouldn’t be on his calendar if he hadn’t promised to do it, and even outside of that, his curiosity got the best of him, and of course he had to go. Oliver didn’t get nervous for these sorts of things, not anymore. And anyways, he couldn’t be scared of something going wrong if he didn’t even know who to expect to find himself spending an afternoon with. But as he had stepped inside the tiny cafe, he felt almost anxious, realizing he had no idea who to look for, and no way of casually pretending he did. It could have been a bit more awkward, though; luckily Caleb had been there, had flagged him down, and they’d managed to avoid anything too humiliating. Oliver could remember still being somewhat concerned, a few times looking behind him to see if the mystery date was somewhere else around waiting for him, at which point Caleb asked what he was looking for. Somehow it had been established then that it was Caleb’s handwriting on the calendar, Caleb who had made these plans, Caleb who had asked him out. Which lead to an awkward moment of, ‘Oh. I didn’t know you were gay. I totally would’ve asked you out if I knew you were gay.’ But they got through the awkward. Oliver was nothing if not social, and between the two of them they kept conversation going well without any trouble at all. Maybe it had started then and maybe it had begun later during one of their subsequent dates, but in any case, there had been undeniably something there. There had been something that made this one different for him, something between Caleb and Oliver that simply was, was without reason or explanation. And it grew exponentially with every date, it really did. It took only a few months to realize that Caleb was The One that everybody was always referencing. Within another few they’d bought a house together, and if that didn’t seal the deal, then nothing could. They were meant to be, it was just one of those things. Everything they did was in the knowledge that they had forever, that they would stick together, grow old together. They’d get married one day, maybe adopt and raise children, anything could happen. Plans were obsolete; they didn’t need them. They were young and desperately in love and had forever together. There was no need to plan. The possibility of conflict was brushed aside because there was nothing within imagination that could ever be bigger than their love for each other. And now it was clear they were wrong, and that hurt more than anything. It was hideously cold outside, and after being in the warm house it almost felt like the temperature had dropped twenty degrees since he was last out. He should’ve considered getting a jacket, but he realized this about ten seconds too late, and from that point it was a pride thing. He wasn’t going to just turn around and go digging through the house for something warmer, not when he had barely spent any time there in the past six months, not when he hardly felt he had a right to be inside without Caleb around. It was still his house, technically, since he had his name on it, but it was barely his in the sense that he hadn’t done anything to pay for it in the past six months. He didn’t live there, it wasn’t the place he headed when he decided to go ‘home.’ Sure, many of the items inside of it were his, but he would still have to travel through things that weren’t his to search for it. He didn’t know what Caleb had even done with all of his clothes, anyway; though judging by the rest of the house, Caleb hadn’t changed much. If he looked, Oliver was almost sure he would find everything hanging up just as it had been when he left. But he could be wrong, and he was almost afraid to find out. Taking the rose held out to him by Caleb, that distracted him from the weather. He didn’t know whose sentiments were attached to this particular flower, who had tossed it onto her gravesite wishing her well in the Beyond while still wishing she was here in the Now. He wondered if the person had really even known Penny, if they had loved her, if their sentiment meant anything significant. After about a minute of his fingers playing over the soft petals, he decided he didn’t care. What did it matter if they were deeply saddened by the loss of his sister, or if they were there only to save face? Who cared? The flowers were still wrong, and Oliver found it difficult to accept that Penelope couldn't accept anything that came attached to a rose. And anyways, maybe this way, by burning them, he could turn the thoughts and prayers represented by the flower loose into the sky, where maybe it could reach her better. By the time he tossed it into the flames, he was visibly shivering, likely in part from emotion but primarily from the cold, and so when Caleb offered to get him a jacket, he didn’t hesitate to accept. When the man disappeared, Oliver deliberated for a moment before standing up and dumping the entire vase of roses into the fire. There was no need to draw this out by doing it one by one; that would just make it hurt more. The flowers needed to go, he needed them gone, and now they were closer to it, all of them. Caleb came back eventually with a jacket, which Oliver thanked him for and put on before sitting down again, wishing he weren’t quite so lanky, so he could more easily sit in the chair with his legs pulled up to his chest. He did so anyways, with his fingers entangling in an attempt to stay warm and to keep his legs in place. The chair felt bigger anyways, though, after all the weight he had lost. Just not quite enough to be comfortable. “...Do you think she could be happy now, Caleb?”

[/color] Oliver asked after a few moments sitting in a pensive silence. “I mean. I never knew how to gauge what her mood would be, and I knew her best, and maybe it’s not fair to ask you. She was just...I guess maybe she was happy by default, but was easily upset. Or. I don’t know. Never mind. I’m talking too much. I...you never even got to know her.” To be honest, Oliver couldn’t recall if the babbling was normal for him when he was upset and he simply couldn’t remember because of how long it had been since having someone to talk to, or if he was doing something different and unusual. He just knew he wanted to talk, because if he was busying his thoughts and words with something full of life, then he couldn’t dwell on his loss.

And so he found himself talking, recounting memories of his sister, scattered across the timeline of their intersecting histories, talking about when she was home and when she was not, telling Caleb everything he could think of to say. Some of the stories were repeats of ones Caleb had heard before, and Oliver knew that but he didn’t care. He wasn’t so much telling Caleb the stories as he was simply speaking them aloud, letting them surround him so the night air wasn’t so icy and cutting. As he spoke, he hadn’t noticed the fire burning down, the temperature decreasing, the night passing by. By the time he had run out of things to say, it was after midnight, and his voice felt practically gone. Caleb had to be freezing, but he hadn’t moved, hadn’t complained, simply listening.

“I’m sorry,” he said then, meaning he was sorry for talking so long without letting Caleb give feedback, but the words spanned so much more. When he said he was sorry for everything, he did mean everything. “I suppose we should go in now.”[/color]
[/div]

Words: 1560 Notes: augh

there can be only one mikey! of caution 2.0

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[caleb jay ierie]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style, background-color: #423c42;,true][cs=2] & BUT WHEN I CAME BACK IT WAS MORE OF A RELAPSE` THEY SAID 'IF YOU DON'T LET IT OUT YOU'RE GONNA LET IT EAT YOU AWAY I'D RATHER BE A CANNIBAL BABY ANIMALS LIKE ME DON'T TALK ANYWAY FEEL LIKE AN AMBULANCE, CHASER OF - - - - - - - - - - - faith
[atrb=width,240] When Caleb had woken up this morning to the distant ringing of the phone in the hallway, he didn't think this was how the day would pan out. Waking up this morning to the call from his mother felt decades ago. He couldn't even remember how he'd felt, remembering the haze of emotions washing over him, and more over, the haze of trying not to feel. That was what the past six months had been about, and today it was all shattered. He was overwhelmed by the emotions he'd felt, and was honestly surprised he hadn't broken down yet. Caleb had amazing resistance for a man as hurt as he felt. Or, perhaps as always he had a good way of hiding all the pain. Going to the funeral this morning though, seeing Oliver again for the first time in six months though, that felt like ages ago. That felt white, burned free of emotions, and now was so different. Nothing had really changed. Going to bed the previous night, trying to remind himself not to think of Oliver, yet waking up curled around the blankets in the empty spot Oliver would have slept, he didn't expect to be reunited with his lover. Not that lover was an appropriate title for them. That was clear with how they were acting. Caleb honestly still had no idea what he was doing, this was the longest he acted without thinking. Or, rather, he was thinking, but about the wrong things. He couldn't focus on actions, could only focus on thoughts. He couldn't focus on his feelings, only Oliver. Because ultimately, his emotions were still connected to the man. If Oliver was happy, Caleb was happy, it was how things had always been. Caleb didn't know how to make things better, but the least he could do was make things better and try to be hospitable. So he easily would have grabbed Oliver a jacket even if he declined, because he knew Ollie was cold. Caleb could even feel the chill beside the fire. With Olivers acknowledgement though, he went back into the house. This was also to leave Oliver with his thoughts, the only peace of mind the man had gotten since Caleb had interrupted him in the graveyard. And Caleb still felt like he was intruding on something that wasn't his, so her took his time in the house. Though, he couldn't take much time. He'd avoided the closet so much, after Oliver left, slowly moving all of his suits to the front racks where Olivers clothing sat, not wanting to travel deeper and see those clothes. It didn't help, the smell was the worst.. Caleb didn't know how it could still smell like Oliver, but there was the culmination of his clothes, and in the enclosed space. Being close to Oliver was worse, but Caleb could deal. Though, now Oliver smelt sick, even though he'd gotten over the cancer, but maybe that was the thinness of Calebs former boyfriend. In the closet, he had to press to the back of the large space, just to grab one of Olivers old winter jackets, thick with warmth. Caleb could have grabbed his own, he knew, but he couldn't see Oliver enjoying being enveloped in Calebs own scent. It would make him angry, no doubt. It hurt to know that Olivers things were still here, his hangers and hangers of clothing. Had Caleb planned on keeping them there, as if Oliver had died? He didn't know the answer to that question. He placed the warm coat over his arms, sparing one last glance at that particular red plaid shirt, still hanging at the very front of the closet, and left. Caleb denied himself the comfort of a coat, knowing he needed the cold to feel at least like this wasn't a dream. It was only when Caleb came back outside to see Oliver still sitting there that he realized he'd expected Oliver to be gone. Not that the man had run away, but Caleb had been hallucinating. That he'd picked up the roses on the grave, he'd been talking to a figment of his imagination, he'd been trying for some symbolic burning of his memories of Ollie, that the funeral had never happened. If they were only so lucky. Caleb simply offered the coat to Oliver, who was already shivering, despite the growing fire. He sat back on the rock, the coolness of the stone pressing into him but Caleb didn't care. He didn't care like he didn't care when the tea burnt his tongue because these things all meant the world around him was still real. He didn't know what to say, but he didn't need too. He only moved his head away from the dancing flames, happily consuming the log like Calebs love for Oliver had consumed his life – and ultimately burnt out – when Oliver spoke, startled by the sound. It was still strange, to hear his voice after all this time. Caleb noted the way Oliver was sitting, wishing he could put a hand on his knee, something, rest it at the back of his neck and stroke the hair there. He listened to Oliver, knowing Ollie always talked. No matter what, when they were together, Oliver talked. They'd have conversations and it never ran out, the endless things for them to discuss, even if it was so simple and mundane. Those were the things to miss. Caleb listened to Oliver, knowing he never knew Penny, wishing he did, and now getting this chance. Too little, too late, but it was still there. Listening to Ollie, Caleb could feel the loss weighing on his shoulders. As well, he had a distinct feeling of familiarity with this. Not that this had ever happened, but that it could have, if things could have spanned differently. Caleb could have woken up this morning to a call from his mother about Olivers funeral, because the cancer had finally got him, the treatments had not been enough. He could have gone to Olivers funeral and felt out of place, because he was no longer part of Olivers life. He could have been sitting here around a fire with flowers Oliver never loved talking to his mother or Jon or no one, and be saying the same things as Oliver was. Remembering everything, recalling the memories, the good, bad and simply mundane. How Oliver liked his tea, the way his eyebrows crinkled when he woke up, the feeling of his hand slipping into Calebs the first time, his laugh. All the things Caleb missed, and more over, how all of it was gone. The pain he'd gone through wouldn't have mattered, then, not because Oliver was dead. Instead, because the life of a person was worse more than the mistakes they made, even if they crushed another person. People should be given a chance at forgiveness, and Caleb knew he was more than ready to give it. There was no worry about the passage of time for Caleb as he listened to Oliver, not talking, his body feeling like it was turning to stone. He stopped noticing the cold, watching the fire, Olivers voice comforting him like only that sound could. He felt at ease with the world, if not for the air of grief around them. Oliver snapped him out of just listening though, going silent. He looked over at Oliver for the first time in what felt like hours, and probably was, wishing he wouldn't apologize so much. That was likely to come from the both of them, though. Oliver really had no need to apologize, though Caleb could no longer feel his fingers due to the cold. He nodded at Olivers words, oddly feeling like the one that could no longer speak, getting up to follow Oliver in the house, after a quick glance to make sure the fire was low enough there wasn't a danger of it going any farther than the fire pit. It was only when they got inside, poised back in the kitchen, that Caleb looked at the time. “Shit, its after twelve..” he muttered, running his cold fingers through his hair. “Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd be here that long...” again, it was Olivers fault, mostly, but Caleb didn't mind, he really didn't. “I can drive you home, if you want, but I don't want you walking,” his voice felt croaky and disused. “Or...well I mean, its pretty dangerous on the roads out there, this time of night with the ice. You could...stay. The couch is always free” again, his words trailed of, Caleb meeting Olivers eyes for a moment, fretting with the edges of his suit. He wasn't hoping for anything by asking if Oliver wanted to stay over. He only wanted to be safe, and to offer as much comfort as he could.	[atrb=width,140] words , 1,478 tagged , ollie bird! notes , asdfghjk;
[cs=2] TEMPLATE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING OF CAUTION 2.0

[oliver rhys cardinal]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 450px; height: 600px; background-image: url(http://i702.photobucket.com/albums/ww30/Panda22Panda22/fjsdlakfjdfjka_zps71fa4ead.jpg); -moz-border-radius: 250px; border-radius:100px 100px 100px 100px; border: 3px solid #ffffff;] OH, TAKE ME BACK TO THE START It felt like the longest day of Oliver’s life, it really did. Longer than the wait in the hospital, finding out what had caused his complete personality change. Longer than the first day he he had gotten that call telling him Penny was missing again. It almost felt longer than the day he found out she was dead, when his entire family had turned to stone, beyond grief and tears, simply in a state of shock and waiting for something that would never return to them. Today felt worse than that, than any of them. In the last six months, he had spent every moment aware of the condition he was in: alone, abandoned, sick, tired. There was no blissful forgetting in the early morning, moments after waking up, because he could never forget he was waking up someplace foreign, different from everything he was used to. Oliver had run out of escapes. The drugs were gone, his home was gone, those arms that were delicately made for comforting him. They had all been taken at once, stripped away until he was left to face his dying and his sister’s disappearance alone. Oliver knew his parents were there for him, would have been more than willing to talk to him about anything, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t bear doing that to them, dragging them into conversations that would only share his depression with them. They were sad enough already without all the harsh points he could dig up, what with all the time he had to think about them. Really, without his past distractions, he never stopped thinking about them. Today, today it was worse than ever. How could he stop thinking when they were staring his straight in the face? Caleb probably couldn’t have had worse timing with this whole thing. If he hadn’t showed up today, the pain he felt for his sister could have eclipsed that of losing Caleb, and instead it simply added to it. He missed Penny and he missed his boyfriend and the feeling them both at one time, so undiluted and pure, it was overwhelming. Being in his and Caleb’s house was hard enough to not cry. And honestly, he wasn’t completely sure what was stopping him. Maybe it was willpower, maybe it was shame, maybe he was simply out of tears to cry. He felt entirely like falling apart, but somehow he stayed together, one way or another. It was exhausting, and it made the day seem to drag on. Despite his unrelenting awareness of the day’s events, it was still so strange to see Caleb appear from the house again, even despite the fact that he was bringing something for him, waiting on him. Strange to be seeing Caleb at all. Caleb’s presence wasn’t compatible with the loneliness and emptiness inside him. Yet here he was, feeling as though he couldn’t fall any lower, and Caleb was with him. What an unusual change for the day to take. Once, Caleb might have helped Oliver put the coat on, coming behind him, draping it over his shoulders...Instead it was handed to him and Caleb went to sit down. Wrapping up in a coat simply wasn’t the same as someone else’s warm skin against you, and Oliver had learned that the hard way. When he had managed to pull his coat on by himself, he curled up again, feeling smaller than before, drowning in the thick fabric. Maybe it was better this way, with Caleb over there and himself over here, the distance between them emphasizing the finality of their end. Then he couldn’t get his hopes up again, for something that wouldn’t be. But Caleb had come to the funeral. He had invited him home--he had even used that word. Home. Not to his house, but home, as if he knew that Oliver had never stopped feeling connected to the place. And Caleb had made him tea the way he always had his tea, and he had brought Oliver a jacket, had known exactly where to find it, and now was listening to him ramble on for however long it could have been. When Oliver spoke about Penelope, his entire concept of time disappeared, and that couldn’t be more obvious than it was tonight. He never would’ve said so much if he knew how long it was, not with Caleb going without a jacket and sitting on a rock. Oliver had more consideration than that, and he realized once he finished talking how cold and uncomfortable Caleb had to be, and that made him feel somehow worse. Talking about Penny had helped some, but coming back to harsh reality simply put it back where it had been. Back in the house, Oliver took his coat off due to habit, but then realized he didn’t know where exactly to put it then. He didn’t know if it was okay for him to start wandering through their--no, Caleb’s--bedroom to get to the closet so he could put it away there, and putting it on one of the hooks by the door seemed too permanent, and he shouldn’t allow himself to get comfortable like that. Instead he held it awkwardly, opening his mouth as if to speak and almost turning around, like he was going to ask Caleb what to do, but instead he set it down on a counter in the kitchen. It was out of place there; it meant he’d have to move it eventually, he couldn’t let himself get settled back into the house, despite wanting to more than anything. He wanted to belong here, but he felt that he didn’t. Caleb was taking pity on him because of the loss of his sister, that was all. The man wasn’t stupid; he had to know how much of a calming effect on Oliver he had always had, and Oliver supposed he believed that that hadn’t changed. He was right, too. Even if that was all this was, it made him feel better to be here. Oliver didn’t look at Caleb until he said that he could stay over, which meant so much more than what the words said. Because if Caleb didn’t want him, would that have ever been an offer? Even if it was on the couch. He couldn’t expect to just jump back into sleeping together, not after six months of separation and not dealing with their problems. Caleb would’ve just told him he was taking him home if he didn’t want him there. But even if it was the most desperate stretch, Oliver knew it had to be something. This gave them more time, and maybe time was what they needed to figure things out. “I...I don’t wanna make you drive. Because, like you said, with the ice... I can... the couch is fine,”

[/color] he said, unable to make eye contact. His emotions were so frustrating; he couldn’t decide whether to be sad about everything or if he should have a little hope. Instead he was stuck in this hideously confused mess of both, with each rising up over the other for a time before trading places. Maybe he should’ve asked to go back to his parents’.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out where he was supposed to go from there, and then he found himself speaking again. “Caleb, d’you mind if I get a shower?”[/color] Oliver wasn’t sure entirely why he phrased it the way he did. He could’ve just asked permission, but instead he wanted to make sure Caleb was entirely alright with it. He already felt like he was intruding enough.
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Words: 1284 Notes: augh

there can be only one mikey! of caution 2.0

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[caleb jay ierie]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style, background-color: #423c42;,true][cs=2] & BUT WHEN I CAME BACK IT WAS MORE OF A RELAPSE` THEY SAID 'IF YOU DON'T LET IT OUT YOU'RE GONNA LET IT EAT YOU AWAY I'D RATHER BE A CANNIBAL BABY ANIMALS LIKE ME DON'T TALK ANYWAY FEEL LIKE AN AMBULANCE, CHASER OF - - - - - - - - - - - faith
[atrb=width,240] Whatever happened to the boy who had been crushing so madly on Oliver? Now that was a long time ago. Almost ten years now, and both of them had changed so much, matured. Caleb had valued Oliver so much in his life, and not just because he was some high school crush Caleb managed to snag. Oliver had changed him. He'd wanted so badly for Oliver to notice him, and you don't get someones attention by hopelessly vying for their attention. It wasn't magic. You had to be interesting, had to make something of yourself. So Caleb gave up on the dream of some how getting to know Oliver during their collage years and maybe fooling around in the library a few times – because he didn't even know where Oliver would go to college – and moved himself out east. That decision altered his entire life, and somehow ended him up with Oliver anyway. He never believed in fate, but he was one hell of a lucky man. It also ended up with him here, though, watching Oliver place his coat on the table, offering him the couch to sleep on because it was too late. They should have been married, dating, laying in bed, happy, in love. He wanted to tell Oliver he still loved him. He'd had his chance once, took his one lucky draw, getting Oliver in the first place. Oliver was getting over him and Caleb was trying to do the same. This was only the next logical step. He took up Olivers coat in his arms, as he opened his mouth to speak, settling it on the back of the chair, if only for something to do. It should have been a good thing, that Oliver was going to stay here. But he was going to be on the couch, because there was no way in hell the two of them would share a bed ever again. Caleb knew suddenly why he'd been avoiding Oliver, because that would mean having to vocally acknowledge that they weren't together. He would make a bed for Ollie, and he would leave in the morning, maybe not to return for a week, a month, ever again. They could become being friends, but friends faded. It was as easy as one not contacting the other, and this awkward gap would open. Neither of them would be willing to cross it, and that would be the end of their relationship. God, he really needed to cry. His hand formed a fist around thin air, concentrating on Oliver, looking up, but Oliver was looking away, not meeting his gaze. Seemed a pretty good symbolization for the night, one always passing just by the other, cars in opposite lanes. Caleb swallowed at Olivers question, looking away from him again. “Oh, yeah, its no problem. You, uh...” he paused, definitely not thinking about wet, naked Oliver for a bare fleeting second. “You know where the towels are,” he tried to sound dismissive, and anything in his head was washed away by that statement. The pure heart wrenching pain of it was enough to sober his mind. Caleb knew more than anything, he needed to give Oliver his space. So he let the man leave the room, feeling like he could breathe again without him around. The tension was suffocating. He knew he needed a distraction, just so he didn't start crying, or thinking about Oliver. At the very least he could set up a bed on the couch. He felt he aught to have offered the bed, but that would have made the tension more stark. Caleb grabbed the pillows from their room, the ones left on Olivers side of the bed and untouched over the six months except for routine makings of the bed. Caleb hadn't washed the covers for the pillows, and maybe if he tried hard enough, he could still smell Oliver. Not that he'd tried. He deposited them on the couch, and it was more than wide enough for Oliver, but perhaps not long enough for that lanky body of his. Nights had been spent cuddling there, watching television, talking, crying, laughing. Caleb shook his head, remembering they'd bought the couch because it was enough room for them to lay together, bodies entangled so close in the quest to perhaps become one with each other. He had to sort through a closet to find more blankets, in liue of placing the fluffy duvet on the couch. Again, to many memories attached to the sheets, to many nights spent under them, over them, light stains that Caleb knew were only visible to his eyes. He really aught to wash the sheets, but it felt to metaphorical for him. Instead he found an afghan, a wool blanket and the second, thinner duvet they kept in the guest bedroom. He knew Oliver would need at least two blankets, or at least assumed so. He didn't want Oliver to get cold. Tried not to think that if Oliver got cold, he'd have to ask Caleb for more blankets, and that would require more interaction. Caleb didn't know if that was a good or bad thing. He didn't want to think about sex, not now, he felt to heavy for that, but he found his mind wandering around the topic for a moment. His body was attached to Olivers like that. In time, that separation would be taken care of. In time, Caleb found himself back in the master suite, taking as little time as he could to change out of his suit. He kept an ear on the water of the shower, not wanting Oliver to walk in on him in any sort of undress, regardless of the fact they had seen each other naked, bare, vulnerable, too many times to count. He didn't know what they would do now, didn't think about Oliver with a towel wrapped low around his thin waist, hip bones jutting out. His thinness wouldn't even be desirable right now. Caleb knew while he was undressing that Oliver had always been faster than him, even if Caleb had been wearing jeans and a shirt in contrast to Olivers often worn layers of clothing. It was how they worked. As Caleb changed his shirt, he didn't think of how Oliver would often pull him in for a kiss before the task was done, resulting in Caleb never sleeping with a shirt on. Because Oliver would tug him into bed, not giving him the chance to cover his upper torso. Or even sometimes, his lower, stopping his hands as they slid on a pair of light cotton pants. Caleb felt a lump in his throat, throwing on his pants, and shirt, only because he couldn't stand to be any less dressed right now. He still felt naked, with nothing on his arms, carefully laying his suit on top of the dresser to be dry cleaned. Dirt was flecked on the cuffs of his pants, fallen tears or rain on the arms. Caleb didn't know if he was expected to go and wish Oliver a good night, so he sat on their bed, his hands shaking. He was fighting tears, but that seemed a constant state for him.	[atrb=width,140] words , 1,207 tagged , ollie bird! notes , asdfghjk;
[cs=2] TEMPLATE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING OF CAUTION 2.0

[oliver rhys cardinal]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 450px; height: 600px; background-image: url(http://i702.photobucket.com/albums/ww30/Panda22Panda22/fjsdlakfjdfjka_zps71fa4ead.jpg); -moz-border-radius: 250px; border-radius:100px 100px 100px 100px; border: 3px solid #ffffff;] OH, TAKE ME BACK TO THE START There was something about this house, or maybe something about the people inside it, that made it so hard to travel through that night. Maybe Oliver was just too emotionally unbalanced to make any sudden movements, and it left him so that he hesitated before every motion. Or maybe the rooms were simply packed too thick with memories, and to push through them took more energy than he had within him. He felt almost stuck in slow motion, but maybe that was because everything seemed to be happening so quickly around him. Caleb inviting him over, Caleb inviting him to stay, the prospect of seeing him again in the morning...what was the best way to adjust to all of that? Oliver really had no idea. It was laboring, almost disabling. He never knew which way to turn, where to look, how to behave at all. He felt like he was constantly being surveyed, having Caleb there watching him, and it was sad, really, that he should be so uncomfortable under his gaze. It wasn’t how things were supposed to be. But then again, when was the last time their relationship had really gone the way it was supposed to? People weren’t supposed to hit their boyfriends, or kick them out of the house when they had cancer, or let them believe that they didn’t want to be together anymore. But they had done those things, so who was to say that they couldn’t just add one more thing to the list of ways that everything was messed up? Oliver wouldn’t have asked to shower if he thought he could have gone without. As it was, though, he felt entirely disgusting, having been crying most of the day, then being outside with the smoke from the firepit blowing on him. When Caleb gave him permission, he hesitated before moving, though, simply because everything was so difficult. He knew he would have to confront more memories in the shower--aspects of their relationship that he had tried so hard for months to avoid thinking about--and he would have liked to avoid that still, but he also wanted to stop feeling as dirty as he did. Caleb, of course, was right; he did know where the towels were, because nothing in this whole place had changed. He pulled one from the linen closet for himself and draped it over the curtain rod at the far end of the shower, and before he started undressing he double-checked that the door was locked. He wasn’t sure why; he certainly didn’t expect that Caleb would come in at all, much less without permission. There was an understanding between them. Caleb wouldn’t be a problem. Maybe it was more about locking himself in. Hard to say, really. Oliver really had no idea what he was afraid of. He let his suit jacket fall off his shoulders onto the bathroom floor without ceremony, before going to face the mirror. His first thought was how completely exhausted he looked, and he missed the energy he was so used to seeing reflected in the mirror here. At his parents’ place it was different; he had been sick there, and he grew used to seeing himself like that in that house. But here, here was where he was supposed to be healthy and whole because he had Caleb with him, and it simply wasn’t that way anymore. So he stopped looking in the mirror. It felt almost difficult to unbutton his shirt, like his fingers didn’t want to work right. Oliver supposed it wasn’t a surprise, after all the emotions he was being hit with, that his body would protest a bit. Now that he was finally alone, he had time to fall apart. Eventually, though, he managed, and he found himself submersed in the water of the shower, the warm drops wetting his skin and relaxing him somewhat. Closing his eyes, he tried to block out everything but the feeling of the water, but it was never going to last long. He noted as he washed his hair that the shampoo was the same, and that shouldn’t have made him feel sentimental but it did. It wasn’t until halfway through rinsing his hair that he realized he’d need something to change in to once he got out, and so he had to decide exactly what he was going to do once he got out of the water. In the end, he figured he’d have to go into their bedroom and root through a dresser for pajamas. Then, he realized that in order to do that, he’d have to put on his old clothes, because he couldn’t just appear in their bedroom in a towel. At one point in their lives, this wouldn’t have been a problem. How nice it would be, to go back to that, and how certain he was that he couldn’t. After he had toweled off, he pulled his pants back on and buttoned his shirt, then ran the towel over his hair a few times so he wouldn’t end up dripping all over the house, then took a deep breath. Back to feeling completely exposed, back to not being able to breathe right, back to this confusing interaction with Caleb that he couldn’t accept. It would almost hurt less to be openly hated. It took far too long to make his way through the house and over to Caleb’s bedroom door, and even longer before he could do more than stand there staring and biting his lip, trying to convince himself to knock on the door. A few times, Oliver even considered just trying to sleep in what he was wearing. With any luck, he wouldn’t have need to wear the suit again anytime soon, so it wouldn’t matter if it was wrinkled from sleeping in it. But in the end, he raised a fist and knocked twice, then took half a step back. Wincing, almost, his entire body pulling away as though he’d been burned. Too jumpy. He hated feeling this way. Eternity was too short a time for how long it seemed to take Caleb to open the door, and once it happened, Oliver felt he was still too close to the doorway, like he was overstepping some sort of pre-established boundaries between them, and now that Caleb was watching, it was too late to back off. He wished eye contact wasn’t so hard. “I, uh. I need clothes to sleep in.”

[/color]
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Words: 1083 Notes: aaaa

there can be only one mikey! of caution 2.0

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[caleb jay ierie]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style, background-color: #423c42;,true][cs=2] & BUT WHEN I CAME BACK IT WAS MORE OF A RELAPSE` THEY SAID 'IF YOU DON'T LET IT OUT YOU'RE GONNA LET IT EAT YOU AWAY I'D RATHER BE A CANNIBAL BABY ANIMALS LIKE ME DON'T TALK ANYWAY FEEL LIKE AN AMBULANCE, CHASER OF - - - - - - - - - - - faith
[atrb=width,240] The running shower seemed to be the only thin keeping Caleb sane. The sound was a background sound to his thoughts, static and there. He was so tired, he felt so worn out, they day had been a calamity of emotions. It was nice, to sit down on his bed, but it still felt like a betrayal. After a long day he should be curling up with Oliver in bed. Maybe that was the problem, he hadn't been able to fully relax without Oliver around in the past six months. He couldn't even let go now, because of the tension in the house. Caleb felt so wound up, so broken. As he sat on that stupid bed where he and Ollie used to lay night after night, so caught up in love, he felt so disgruntled. Sad, because what else emotion should he feel right now, and angry because he was so mad at himself. Caleb was also over being sad, but he couldn't tell his heart that. It was exhausting work to keep himself from crying, and yet he continued to fight it with every bone in his body. Despite the lump in his throat that made him want to cough until it was gone, he was not going to cry. He had done enough of that and now was the time for healing. It was beyond that time, but better late than never. There was no hope in this, in the way Oliver would look at him or the fact that he'd come home or the fact that he was willing to talk to Caleb and really didn't seem to hate him. None of this meant that Caleb would get a second chance because he damn well didn't deserve one. He'd resigned himself to his fate long ago, but there had been so many false endings that he didn't know if he believed this one when it sat in front of his eyes. Caleb knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, no matter how hard he tried, and didn't want to because of that. With Oliver in the house he couldn't even breathe. His hands tightened on the sheets, balling them up in his fingers. Time felt endless, but he heard the shower turning off, the silence oppressive around his ears. He wanted to go to Oliver, comfort him, maybe turn back time. To when? To Olivers birthday, so that Caleb never asked him out? He'd never wish that though, he didn't care how bad the memories hurt, they were so good. Oliver was always good to him, taught him so much, loved him with all of his heart. That was nothing he wanted to take back. Caleb had been sure Oliver had been The One, despite his previous claims that didn't exist, and he was still sure of this fact. The One only existed when he'd found it, and Caleb had and had let it get away. That happened a lot, Caleb was sure, people finding their soul mate but losing them. Most people didn't realize, but Caleb did even when he was with Oliver. They both knew how special this was, the love between them, despite all the faults. They were meant to be together, and maybe they were meant to fall apart. Something so wholesome couldn't last forever. Caleb sighed, fighting himself, feeling so very bone weary. He had not forgotten Oliver was in the house, not one bit, but he was surprised by the knocks on the door. He did not expect Oliver to come by, maybe he'd just disappear, or head to bed. In the short moment it took for Caleb to get up from the bed and reach the door, he realized something. He had no idea if the shirt he wore was his own or Olivers. The shirts they kept for sleeping were all tangled in one drawer, and they had never felt the need to differentiate between the two. Caleb remembered the way his heart had swelled when Oliver had changed and had been wearing one of Calebs old shirts, hanging of his thin frame. Oliver hadn't even realized, and then begun the habit of stealing each others clothes. Mostly for sleeping, but sometimes Caleb would find himself in pants that were a bit too tight before realizing they were Olivers. Oliver never cared, he said they looked good on him. Everything was shared between them. It didn't matter if this shirt was Calebs or if it was Olivers, what mattered was that Oliver had certainly worn it sometime before. He badly wanted to rifle through the drawers until he found one he was certain Ollie had not worn, but that would take ages. He steeled himself, and answered the door. Seeing Oliver again shattered his heart in a million different ways. He was wearing his dress pants and shirt again, no doubt because of the lack of anything else to wear. His hair was still slightly wet from the shower, sticking to his head, and that site ached like a shard against Calebs heart. All he wanted to do was swoop him up into his arms, because Oliver looked so very broken. He realized a second before Oliver spoke what he could be here for. He couldn't very well have slept in his suit, and Caleb should have realized this. “Right, uh...” Caleb hesitated, backing from the door. He felt far too informal, standing in his pyjamas, vulnerable in front of Oliver. “You can come in,” the very fact that Caleb had to invite Oliver into their own bedroom burned. He moved back into the room though, towards the dresser and tugging out the top drawer that was still filled with Olivers pants and shirts and a matter of many comfortable clothes. “You can take what you need...” Caleb didn't meet Olivers eyes, just backed from the drawer, because he suddenly felt too close to Oliver. This room was suffocating, having Oliver here was killing him. There were way too many memories here, and Caleb could feel fire brushing against his skin. “I set up the couch for you, I hope its okay. If you need anything, more blankets or something...I'll be here,” he rubbed the back of his neck roughly, looking up at Oliver but not into his eyes. Why did this have to hurt so much?	[atrb=width,140] words , 1,059 tagged , ollie bird! notes , WE ARE SO CLOSE
[cs=2] TEMPLATE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING OF CAUTION 2.0

[oliver rhys cardinal]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 450px; height: 600px; background-image: url(http://i702.photobucket.com/albums/ww30/Panda22Panda22/fjsdlakfjdfjka_zps71fa4ead.jpg); -moz-border-radius: 250px; border-radius:100px 100px 100px 100px; border: 3px solid #ffffff;] OH, TAKE ME BACK TO THE START Since practically middle school, Oliver had had a love for clothes. It wasn’t even so much the idea of looking good in something, or having something new to wear, as much as it was the idea that by wearing something, you were expressing a bit of who you were. The things a person likes aren’t always obvious. Favorite movies or books may come up in conversation, foods one likes are seen three times a day, and only if they eat in the public eye, but the clothes one likes are always clear. It only takes a single glance to see a bit about a person. You learn their favorite colors, you learn the level of comfort they have with their body, you learn the sort of subculture they appreciate. Clothes were fascinating for this reason. Something so deep and private as one’s likes and self-image, displayed so prominently for the notice of anyone who cared to pay attention. As Oliver grew up, that was one of the greatest phenomena he could understand, and consequently, as his sense of identity changed, he wanted his wardrobe to follow. His parents catered to this as best as they could, but eventually they had to draw a line. He realized, though, that that was okay; he could mix and match. All of the things he liked made up who he was, and so he would throw different pieces together and show the world. Wearing someone else’s clothes was even more personal, because it was adopting a little piece of that person for your own. This person likes this, and so do I, and I’ve taken that part of them and made it part of me. Oliver was notorious for this; particularly when he was a teenager, he was always taking some of Penny’s things, from scarves to shirts to pants, and though she sometimes got frustrated with him, he only ever did it out of love. By wearing her clothes, he simply carried a part of her on his body, keeping her close. This got worse when she started disappearing, particularly with her scarves, since it allowed him to remember her scent even when she wasn’t around. It was comforting, consoling. The same went for when he was dating. More than anything, Oliver stole sweatshirts. They were warm, they typically smelled nice, they felt like being hugged. He didn’t have many sweatshirts of his own, since they covered up everything he had worked so hard on matching together, but he liked stealing them from girlfriends’ dressers and asking his boyfriends for them, because it gave him this sense of safety. It was no secret that he got cold a lot, regardless of what he was wearing, so it was nice to have something to cuddle up into and be reminded of someone he cared about. After relationships ended, he typically gave them back; sweatshirts weren’t really his thing, but they were someone else’s. When that someone else was no longer a part of him, neither were their clothes. Out of anyone Oliver had ever dated, Caleb had obviously been the most serious by far, and so it was only natural that they should share clothes more seriously than anyone else. Oliver was thinner than Caleb, but only really because of his own lack of muscle, so when Caleb wore his clothes, they simply fit a bit more tightly and accentuated that he didn’t have the same problem. He liked wearing Caleb’s things because they smelled so strongly of the man he loved, and it made it feel like he was close, and he liked seeing Caleb wearing his because it reminded him that Caleb wanted him close just as much as he wanted Caleb, and because, frankly, it was pretty damn sexy to see him in clothes that were almost-too-small, hugging tightly to his flesh and showing off the shape of his body, curves that Oliver had memorized with his eyes and lips and fingertips. So it caught him off guard, knowing that they were supposed to be over, to see Caleb standing there in what Oliver knew to be one of his own shirts. Perhaps it shouldn’t have, knowing how they had almost always shared the clothes they slept in, but it did, and God, it just served for making everything harder. After he spoke, he felt something catch in his throat, almost like he was going to cry again, but he tried to ignore it, because it was just a shirt, for Christ’s sake, it didn’t mean anything. He was making a big deal out of nothing, and he kept telling himself that as he followed Caleb into their--no, Caleb’s--room, and continued to remind himself as he watched Caleb open the drawer to reveal the large mix of their clothes in the dresser. In the end he figured it didn’t matter which articles were whose, because they would all smell like his Callie Bear, and that would either make it impossible to sleep or so much easier to sleep, and he didn’t know which was worse for his emotional state. Oliver was supposed to be over him, he knew that, and yet little things like this were tearing him apart. He was so not-over Caleb that he wasn’t sure why he even pretended to be okay. Being in their room was harder than anything else, and it was difficult to protect his mind from the memories bombarding him. Before forcing his eyes on the clothes he was choosing and nothing else, he noticed that the pillows from his side of the bed had been moved, which matched what Caleb said about a bed being prepared for him on the couch. Making a mental note to be satisfied with whatever number of blankets Caleb had given him already, he mumbled a “Thank you,”

[/color] took what he needed from the drawer and, with a small glance back up at Caleb, he left the room. He didn’t want to have to go back there. Once was hard enough.

He changed in the bathroom, though he didn’t know why it mattered. His clothes were folded neatly and carried back with him, placed at the corner of the couch on the floor with his jacket, and he sat down, feeling intensely exhausted. And it was just so difficult; on top of everything, he was wearing Caleb’s clothes, surrounded by the scent that he’d grown so entirely infatuated with, sitting on the couch that held more memories of them together than anything except maybe the bed where Caleb was.

And then he was struck with guilt, because how could he dare be so focused on his stupid relationship issues when he should’ve been mourning his sister, his beautiful innocent baby sister who had hardly had a chance in the world. What did it matter that he’d had his heart broken? She wouldn’t be alive to go through the same. Penny wouldn’t fall in love, not like he once had, she’d miss out on all the happy memories that could be made. Penelope was dead, and the fact that he’d let himself get emotionally invested into something besides that, the fact that it wasn’t the most important thing on his mind at the moment, that was the push that made him start crying again. Too much, too much, too much too much too muchtoomuchtoomuch.

It was like he’d lost his self control, sobs racking his body without mercy, trying in vain to stay silent. For a while, he kept both hands over his mouth, trying to mute the sounds he couldn’t prevent himself from making, not wanting to disturb Caleb in the other room. Eventually, he traded his hands for a pillow, curling his legs up to his chest and holding the pillow against mouth and nose. He was tired of holding it in, but he had to be quiet, knowing that he wasn’t as alone in the house as he felt. Caleb had done enough for him, it would be rude to keep him awake from the noise. He should’ve gone home.
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Words: 1351 Notes: dead

there can be only one mikey! of caution 2.0

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[caleb jay ierie]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style, background-color: #423c42;,true][cs=2] & BUT WHEN I CAME BACK IT WAS MORE OF A RELAPSE` THEY SAID 'IF YOU DON'T LET IT OUT YOU'RE GONNA LET IT EAT YOU AWAY I'D RATHER BE A CANNIBAL BABY ANIMALS LIKE ME DON'T TALK ANYWAY FEEL LIKE AN AMBULANCE, CHASER OF - - - - - - - - - - - faith
[atrb=width,240] No matter how much Caleb told himself he was doing all of this for Oliver, he knew his means were mostly selfish. As much as it hurt to be with Oliver, it brought some form of comfort as well. Just knowing that Oliver was okay, seeing him, remembering all of the things that cut like knives. It was pure torture, but at least Oliver was here. At least he was willing to let Caleb care for him. And maybe he was trying to curry some sort of favour by being here for him. Remind him how understanding Caleb could be. How understanding could he be, though, after what he did? No one just got over being kicked out, no one just moved on from that type of shattering heartbreak. Caleb knew Oliver was as hurt as this as he had been, probably more so. He'd lost everything, he'd been dying, and just when he got better, his sister was found dead. It was tragedy after tragedy and Caleb didn't know how to deal with it. He didn't know how he himself would deal with it, or how Oliver would. It was shit of him to pop back into his life, but he felt with a certain sadistic tendency that he had too. Caleb couldn't have gone on much longer. He couldn't have picked worse timing, he still wasn't over Oliver, and it wasn't so soon that the scars had started to run deep, started to just pick at the edges of healing. And then he just ripped them all open, picked at the wounds. Sometimes, though, that had to happen for things to be fixed. He swore to himself no matter how he felt about Oliver, this had to be about Penny. He wouldn't say another word about them until Oliver was ready, and if he was never ready, then hell. Caleb would die with a broken heart. He tried to tell himself all of this as Oliver left, not even offering a goodnight, and Caleb didn't bother calling one out. He had the strangest feeling that once he woke up, Oliver wouldn't be there anymore. Not that he'd sleep, but in the time he slipped off into a stupor in the quiet hours between night and dawn, Oliver would disappear. The blankets and the clothes he had borrowed would be folded up neatly at the end of the couch, without even a note of thanks. Not that Oliver wasn't appreciative, the words between them were only limited. They couldn't run dry, not while there were a few things to deal with. This was Calebs house now, even if Oliver had the keys. No amount of not changing anything was going to change that. Caleb might downsize one day, perhaps move back into an apartment, but that wasn't what mattered. The house had lost its feeling of a home, and now Caleb sat back down on the bed that was only his, pillows gone from the opposite side. And how bad it must be for Oliver, trying to think of his sister. He should have been with family, he should have been mourning her, not stuck in this waking nightmare. Calebs house was like a warp, dragging them both in. He had to snap out of this. Caleb couldn't take it upon himself to lay down on the sheets, not where he had-and no longer would-lay with Oliver so many times. They were past the point of goodnight kisses, cuddles, and even words. At least they hadn't gotten to the point of goodnight pecks, but that just made it worse. It had never been a truth that Caleb and Oliver weren't connected. Even as friends, people said they worked together extremely well. They often would say things at the same time, and their ideas coincided so well. It scared Caleb at first, but now he just knew it meant they were supposed to be together. They just worked. Caleb could tell in a heart beat if Oliver was upset, and the other way around. Their bodies were wired together, and it was hard to shake it off. So, Caleb knew something was wrong before he heard anything, even if there was very little to hear. The house was quiet except for the soft settling of stirred up floorboards, the gurgling of the fridge that kept Caleb up some nights. He wanted to say he could hear Oliver breathing but that was just insane. He did hear the light sound of snuffles though, hushed sobs coming from the other room. He was well versed in what Oliver sounded like when he was crying, and how hard he was trying to hold it back. Calebs body felt like it was imploding on itself, and he didn't know what to do. It sounded so loud now, and Calebs heart was breaking. What was he supposed to do here, just pretend he couldn't hear Oliver falling apart. Caleb fisted his hands in his hair, breath shaking. It didn't take long before Caleb was on his feet, composing himself, walking out of the room, where the door still stood half open. Quietly, he walked down the hall, his hands plucking at the lines of his pants. He didn't know what he wanted to do, but he couldn't leave Oliver out here alone. Ollie may have wanted that, but Caleb felt like he knew better. Oliver rarely wanted to be alone when he was sad. He could see him, sitting on the couch, his body shaking from the force of the sobs. Hesitation stopped him at the edge of the couch, looking at the way Oliver was wrapped around the pillow, his face pressed into the fabric. Caleb sighed, it sounding like an exhalation of pain, and sat down next to Oliver. He didn't know if he was close enough for their legs to touch, but he may have been. It was only habit. Carefully, he tugged the pillow away from Olivers tear streaked face, trying to meet his eyes. There wasn't anything Caleb could say, but he placed his hand on Olivers shoulder regardless, the touch warm. He wanted to do so much more, but he had no ideas what boundaries he could cross.	[atrb=width,140] words , 1,039 tagged , ollie bird! notes , ljlfdk;dfgd'fg''dgjd;lfkgjd fgi'm so done
[cs=2] TEMPLATE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING OF CAUTION 2.0

[oliver rhys cardinal]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 450px; height: 600px; background-image: url(http://i702.photobucket.com/albums/ww30/Panda22Panda22/fjsdlakfjdfjka_zps71fa4ead.jpg); -moz-border-radius: 250px; border-radius:100px 100px 100px 100px; border: 3px solid #ffffff;] OH, TAKE ME BACK TO THE START Two years. God, could it have only been two years since everything changed so entirely? January 10th, what had he been doing that night two years before? It was a week after his birthday, a week since Caleb had asked him out the first time. For all he could remember, they could’ve had their second date that night, or their third. Some people were sentimental about all the little things, every single date was marked on a mental calendar for review in the future. Oliver didn’t do that, though; he could remember their anniversary, he could remember the day he realized that he was in love with Caleb, but what else was important? Their relationship all mixed together into a single glorious day. Their breakup had been the night time, darkness that seemed to last an eternity, and now...now what was this? What exactly were they trying to achieve, anyway? A new sunrise? They both had to know that was impossible. Honestly, Oliver was more than sick of the game of who-hurt-who-worse. Oliver had cancer and lost a place to live, Caleb had an abusive boyfriend and lost all his pride. They both suffered from the void created by the empty space in their beds, the lack of someone at their side completing their sentences, the real abandonment that came of being in love and then losing it. They had every right to hate each other, because what they had done was unforgivable. But even Oliver recognized that they didn't hate each other. They were just hurt, and that was what kept their interaction so limited and troubling. The aches couldn't just go away on their own. What they needed was to talk, but that wasn't style. Before, everything had been so perfect, and talking out the wrinkles would have ruined that illusion. Now it was shattered, the pieces too small to reassemble. They were lying to themselves to think anything different. It was obvious that both of them were uncomfortable beyond compromise, so much so that it wasn’t until Oliver was back in the living room that he realized he ought to have said goodnight, and he couldn’t make up for that mistake. He told himself it didn’t matter, because Caleb wouldn’t have expected it, anyway. The other man had offered no such sentiment, and at any rate, if either of them expected it to be a good night, they were entirely deluded. Between the house, the man inside it, and the events of the day, Oliver would be surprised if he slept at all. Some people believed that if a person cried too often about the little things, their tears would have no value when upset over something significant. One could waste their tears, in the minds of these people, until they had cried so much that it didn’t mean anything. One’s sorrow became illegitimate because they were simply sad too often, and there was no distinction made between what did and didn’t matter. Oliver had never subscribed to this view, and everyone that knew him was very clear about that fact. In middle school, for example, someone had discovered his fear of spiders, and that had somehow spread widely enough that in one of his classes they had thought it funny to mix a fake spider in with his things while he was out of the room, and when he had come back he had panicked, reacting perhaps stronger than those who had set up the prank had expected. In the end he had to leave the room to compose himself, having been unable to stop crying even once the situation had been explained to him. That spread faster than news of his fear, and it felt like by the next day everyone in the school knew that Oliver Cardinal had cried in front of his entire class. His tears weren’t always quite so public, but they had happened frequently enough, over animal deaths in movies or after a terrible day of work. Lately, they’d been almost constant, because he had regretted what had happened and he was scared of dying and he was always worried about his sister, and all of that together was too much for him to hold back. At the funeral he’d been a wreck; it turned out that the loss of his sister was all it took to make him fall apart again. And when he remembered that on the couch, the seams slipped apart again and there was no way to stop himself. Yes, he was hurting about Caleb, too, but since he had found out about Penelope, he had finally been able to stop crying about him. Maybe that was progress, but most likely he was just distracted, trading one pain for another, only to return to the first when the new one dulled. It felt like it would never end, and that overwhelmed him. Despite being almost certain Caleb could hear him, he couldn’t keep it together, and so he attempted to muffle the noise instead of preventing it, which didn’t work much better. No part of him had expected to see Caleb again that night, and maybe not even in the morning. He could have just disappeared, called his parents to come get him and he knew they would in an instant, and maybe part of him had planned to do that. It would be a safe, painless way to say they were over, ripping off the band-aid the night had put over the wounds they caused each other. Leaving meant a quick but final end, a point at which there would be no return, and maybe that would be what was best for them. At the moment, though, Oliver wasn’t going anywhere because he was too occupied with being upset. A few moments before he felt Caleb sit beside him, he thought he heard noises but didn’t care enough to look up, and he was embarrassed because he should have been able to stay quiet for Caleb’s sake. He was being an awful guest--a guest in his own house, but still a guest, he didn’t live here anymore--and that made it almost worse. It was easy to tell when Caleb sat down by the way the couch moved, but still Oliver ignored it. When he felt the pillow being torn away from him, though, he didn’t resist, simply focusing his energy into stopping the sobs so he didn’t look quite as maniacal. He was almost sure his eyes were red from crying and he probably looked completely terrible, but in that moment it didn’t matter because he didn’t need to be attractive to cry, he didn’t need to look good for anyone here. Caleb had seen him worse; maybe not more upset, but worse. And if Caleb wasn’t prepared to see him now, then he should have stayed in his room. Caleb touched him then, and looked for eye contact, and somehow Oliver managed to meet it. It only lasted a second or two, hazel meeting brown, but it was enough time to crack Oliver. Caleb had touched him first, and that was the signal that contact was okay, and Oliver was desperate. It wasn’t exactly a tackle; there was in no way enough aggression for that. It was a movement of giving up, of needing someone to hold on to after six months, after a long day, after this endless night time. Oliver found his hands in fists around pieces of the shirt on Caleb’s chest, leaning forward against him. Touching him felt like a thousand explosions, but whether they were detonators or fireworks was unclear. It hardly mattered to Oliver in that second, just as long as he had a body to cling to and to hold him while he cried. I miss her so much and I don’t know how to stop and I just want to stop hurting but I feel so alone and please just stay with me tonight, I don’t think I can be by myself. He meant to speak, but he was busy with crying, and words simply didn’t work. If, perhaps, not everything had been lost between them, maybe Caleb could understand the words he meant to say without hearing them. Words: 1375 Notes: can't there can be only one mikey! of caution 2.0

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[caleb jay ierie]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style, background-color: #423c42;,true][cs=2] & BUT WHEN I CAME BACK IT WAS MORE OF A RELAPSE` THEY SAID 'IF YOU DON'T LET IT OUT YOU'RE GONNA LET IT EAT YOU AWAY I'D RATHER BE A CANNIBAL BABY ANIMALS LIKE ME DON'T TALK ANYWAY FEEL LIKE AN AMBULANCE, CHASER OF - - - - - - - - - - - faith
[atrb=width,240] Six months of not hearing a word from Oliver, and now Caleb was suddenly hearing them all. It wasn’t about hearing Oliver rant for hours about his sister, or the very few words the exchanged, or the volumes of words that spanned the silences between them. It was the lack of words. The ones that would have healed things like this, the ones they had never said before, the ones they were not saying now, the ones that would never be said from here on forward. Three little words and multiple big ones, neither would be uttered and anything that was would be layered with tension and care. Caleb didn't know if things would ever fade between them, if perhaps things could become like they were when they had first met. It had been too intense, and the end was just a shadow of the rest of their relationship. It seemed Caleb and Oliver never did anything halfway, and that included breaking each others hearts. It was no longer about that, though those wounds still seemed fresh. That was old news, so they broke each others heart. It had been done and that much could not be reversed, only remedied. Time was all it took, and that much Caleb knew he could spare. Six months of silence versus nearly two years filled with words, with love, with happiness. Yes, there was bad, yes, it hurt, but that didn't mean it counted less. Each moment was its own, and each left its mark. The good was so good because of the bad. Longer than six years. Caleb wouldn't have said he was waiting for Oliver, but running into him that day so long ago had been like a god send. Caroline wasn't a large place, it might have happened another time. It may have been the wrong time, though. Caleb might have been prepared to go back to school, Oliver might have had a boyfriend, Caleb might have not had the courage to talk to him. And that was all it took, courage. Going up to Oliver, tapping him on the shoulder and spawning a conversation that lead to conversation and hanging out and becoming friends and boyfriends and lovers and now...this. That was the only word for it, this because it was so complicated. Perhaps that was all it deserved, that ambiguous title, Caleb didn't know. He just knew that it was fast becoming something tangible as they both acknowledged it. It would need a name eventually, it was just human nature for those types of things. Caleb was never sure how or when his crush on Oliver Cardinal had spawned, but he just knew it was there, as bright as day. It haunted his public schooling days, and followed him to University. He'd given up on Oliver, but not really. Oliver had been different, had been loud, had been confident and he had been so lovable, if not a bit dramatic. Caleb didn't even know when he noticed the flamboyant boy, but everyone had to eventually. Oliver commanded the type of attention Caleb was terrified of. With his glasses and wardrobe, Caleb was nothing. He didn't get bullied because no one could see him, he was good at staying hidden. Funny to think now, when he seemed to stand out by pretense. He had changed so much, he used to be so introverted, so nervous about everything. He still worried, still fretted, but was more confident. Still was clingy, but that turned into a good thing. Still a good man. The past was something Caleb had only come to ruminating on these past months, a little bit of solace hidden. When he had befriended Spencer, Olivers best friend, in hopes of the boy noticing him. Spencer had known, Caleb didn't know how but the man had a knack for that. When Caleb had beat up the boys who had once tried to prank Oliver but ended up making him cry, Spencer had not commented on that fact, only saved him from getting his own ass kicked. He didn't know what part of any of that lead to here, lead to now, but somehow it all added up in his head. He knew Oliver and Oliver knew him, and that was all that mattered. After all these years they didn't need words because their bodies spoke for them. It was impossible to say what Caleb hoped to achieve with his actions. Only to comfort Ollie, he couldn't stand to hear him suffer any longer. Oliver might want to talk again, or he would need someone there for him. Somehow, Caleb wasn't expecting Oliver to collapse into his arms, but he was not surprised by it. Caleb only accepted the body against his, welcoming back a long lost part of his very identity. This was about Penny, and that somehow made this okay. Contact was fine now, where before there was so much tension filled with them and not her. Oliver was so thin against Caleb's chest, his body shaking, but Caleb pressed his arms around the man regardless, pulling Oliver a fraction closer. Accepting the embrace, allowing it, trying not to confuse the scent of Oliver with his own, trying not to focus on that. It wasn't that hard, he kept his mind busy with other things. It was something he'd remember in the morning. Like always, they didn't need any words, Caleb could hear Oliver just fine. Languidly, he placed a hand against the back of Olivers hair, cradling. His fingers moved of their own accord, comforting Oliver in the best way he knew how.	[atrb=width,140] words , 936 tagged , ollie bird! notes , ljlfdk;dfgd'fg''dgjd;lfkgjd fgi'm so done
[cs=2] TEMPLATE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING OF CAUTION 2.0