Re: Train tracks: Oliver & Gwen
Offending Oliver was one of the great risks taken in speaking with him, although it was often one of those Chinese finger traps that worked both ways because Oliver was rarely anything less than incorrigible with his egocentric indulgences. "Well, what are you sure of?" Because, frankly, Oliver believed the girl to be lost on all manners of things if she was consulting him on breakfast cereals and bad dreams. She didn't seem like an eccentric type, not Oliver's kind of people. She wore medical white, and he didn't think she even owned a pair of electric lemon peel heels or a tube of lipstick.
For a moment, he felt bad, because she didn't know that bad places were real. Oliver knew that Jude thought he was often, dangerously naive, but Oliver had nothing on this girl. He stared at her with worried blue eyes, anxious that he might somehow disturb her fragile view of the world where bad things didn't happen and cinnamon toast crunch didn't exist. He only shrugged the elegant origami bones of his shoulders, like it didn't hold enough meaning to talk about. Bad things, bad places, bad people? They came into his life, and time had proven that Oliver and Jude? They always got away in the end. It wasn't something he intended to worry his pretty little head over, not even a bad dream would make him sweat. Besides, with all of the NyQuil that Oliver fancied as after dinner cordials, his dreams were murky shapes at best.
"Are you dying or sick or something?" Oliver didn't often hold back, and he wanted to know why she was wearing that hospital white.