‘That’s not what’s happ—’ Declan started.
‘I thought you were on my fucking side here,’ Oliver said, cutting him off. ‘And now I have no one, and I feel like I’mgoing mad. Between you and Paige, I don’t know what to think any more. I don’t know what’sreal.’ He waited for Declan to say something, but he kept his head down, staring at the tiled floor. Oliver felt exhausted even looking at him. ‘What are we doing?’
Declan’s hands fisted by his sides. ‘I don’t know! I don’t have any answers. I’m sorry, okay? I’ve fucked this all up and I’m sorry.’
‘What are you sorry for?’ Oliver demanded. ‘I don’t think you even know what I want you to apologise for.’
‘I’m sorry that I—’ When Declan met Oliver’s eye, he broke off, looking down. ‘It’s my fault. All of it.’
Oliver took a staggering step forwards before realising what he had done. He was as close to Declan as he had been under the duvet. Declan’s eyes pored over his face and Oliver had the feeling that he was thinking about the exact same moment.
The circles under his eyes gave him a wounded appearance. Oliver wanted to reach out and touch his cheek, to feel the roughness there. Something about an unkempt Declan made him want to lean closer, to run his hand through his thick hair, to feel the drum of his heart. He inhaled deeply, struck by the scent of spearmint.
‘I should’ve…’ Declan’s lips twitched, and Oliver lost any of the composure he had left. He leaned down and kissed him.
Declan made a small noise of surprise and Oliver almost lost his nerve and pulled back, but then Declan’s hand slotted into Oliver’s hair, pulling at the roots. Declan let out a broken groan, deepening the kiss, nipping at Oliver’s bottom lip, and Oliver sighed into his mouth, relieved at not having horribly misjudged the situation. He gripped Declan’s shoulders tightly, worried he would fall without the support, and pulled his body harder against him.
All the anger and confusion of the last several days, of the last several weeks, drained out of Oliver at the press of theirlips. Every glance, every touch, every word that they had spoken to each other finally clicked into place, and he could see it all perfectly in his head. He felt foolish, like he should’ve noticed sooner – their meeting on the plane was always going to lead here, to this moment.
Declan stumbled forwards, unsteady, pushing Oliver up against the bathroom door, his stubble scratching Oliver’s cheeks. His body recognised the differences of kissing a man, the strength behind Declan’s grip, the surprising smoothness of his lips, and yet Oliver was struck by the sameness of it all, the familiar swoop in his belly and racing of his heart, feelings he thought had left him for America.
A low moan rumbled out of Declan’s chest as he pushed impossibly closer, the carefully constructed facade that was Declan King crumbling as they pitched against each other, thigh catching hip bone, hands grasping bare skin, lips brushing jaw.
There was a desperation in the way their mouths slotted together. Oliver couldn’t breathe. He shifted his hand to Declan’s chest, pushing against it gently. Declan pulled away and made to take a step back, but Oliver stopped him, holding him there, their foreheads touching as he struggled to draw in air. When he finally glanced up, Declan’s eyes were on him, a slight smile playing at his lips.
‘Can you apologise now?’ Oliver said, giddy laughter climbing its way up his throat. Something about snogging Declan, and him having that ridiculous smile on his face, made it impossible for him to collect himself.
‘Yes,’ Declan said, voice low. ‘I’m so’ – he dipped his head, kissing Oliver’s jaw – ‘so’ – he placed a kiss on his throat where his pulse beat rapidly – ‘so’ – he mouthed at Oliver’s collarbone – ‘sorry I didn’t kiss you the other night.’
‘I forgive you,’ Oliver said, leaning in to kiss him again. Declan wrapped his arm around him, hands sneaking into the backpockets of his shorts, and Oliver broke off with a groan. ‘We can’t.’ It killed him to say it, but he knew someone would be looking for them before too long.
‘You go first,’ Declan said, disentangling himself.
‘Right.’ Oliver said, lightheaded, his heart hammering in his chest. He gave Declan one last, long look before exiting the bathroom and walking back towards the garden.
Oliver’s legs felt like they were melting into the ground. He stumbled down the steps and saw Eavie and Imogen chatting away at the table as though nothing of consequence had occurred. Paige was having a hushed conversation with Brian, writing something hastily on her clipboard.
‘Hi,’ Oliver said, trying to sound like he was recovering from an angry outburst and not from snogging a man in the bathroom, ‘I’m ready to continue the scene.’
‘Oliver!’ Paige said, with an encouraging smile. ‘That was quick.’
Was it? He had no concept of how much time had passed between him entering the bathroom and now.
‘Where’s Declan?’ he asked, congratulating himself on the neutral delivery and for remembering he wasn’t supposed to know where Declan was.
‘In the bathroom,’ Imogen said, squinting at him.
‘Oh. Well, I guess I’ll sit, then,’ he said, pulling out his chair and half-falling in.
Eavie studied him. ‘Are you okay? That was a tough situation, with Declan—’ She broke off, unsure of herself. ‘I understand why you were upset.’
Oliver nodded, trying to remember how to frown. ‘It was fucked up. But, you know, we’re mates, and sometimes mates yell at each other, right?’
‘So true,’ Imogen said. ‘Sometimes you just have to release that tension.’
‘Hey there, Declan,’ Brian said, looking towards the manor. ‘All right?’
‘Yeah, fine,’ Declan replied from somewhere behind Oliver. ‘I’m sorry for being such an ass.’ He laid a hand on Oliver’s shoulder unannounced, and he started. ‘Please forgive me?’ Oliver looked into Declan’s eyes, which were filled with mirth.
