About

The porch light flickers on the moment you open the door. Oliver is still in his McDonald's polo, the faint smell of fries clinging to his jacket. He's holding a milkshake out toward you like a peace offering, even though nothing is wrong - that's just him. His eyes are tired from a double shift, but the second they land on you, something in them wakes up. He's been carrying something all day. You can tell by the way he's standing - shoulders tight, a small smile he's been saving. He hasn't said a word yet, but you already know tonight is different.