Who: Marco and Oliver Where: Marco's room When: Immediately after this
Oliver wasn't panicking. Or, at least, that was what he tried to tell himself even as he bolted from his bedroom the instant the door clicked. Waking up with his face still smushed into the t-shirt-covered pillow Edwin had given to him the night before to find Marco gone had certainly woken him up, and adrenaline was serving him a hell of a lot better than any cup of coffee, but he wasn't panicking. That clench in his stomach and chest was just...
Panic. Anger, not at Marco, and panic.
He barely noticed the trip down the hall, and taking the stairs two at a time caused his knee to throb. He swore to himself that Marco wasn't even up yet. He hadn't posted on the network, but fuck, that didn't mean anything. He was panting by the time he made it to Marco's door, calming his ragged breath long enough to listen for any movement on the other side. Nothing. The first image that popped into his head should have been Marco, asleep, but instead it was the kid overdosing alone on the floor, passed out and cold. He squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled, exhaled.
When he'd composed himself again, he reminded himself that even if he wanted to break this damn door down and make sure Marco was alright, drag him back and away from the room that hadn't been cleared of pills yet, getting Marco worked up wasn't going to help anything. When he knocked, it was firm, but not insistent, and his fist shook as he drew it back to listen again, whispering to himself. "Come on, bug. Open up."