“Do you want to go somewhere with me?” Darius asks, changing the subject, for which I am grateful.
“Now? It’s like ten already.”
“Yes, now, puppy. We’re young and this is London. The city that never sleeps.”
I kiss his forehead, like he did to mine earlier.
“I think you’ll find that’s New York.”
He sits up to glare at me, his eyes sparkling. “Smartass.”
Chapter 6
Darius
It takes us forty minutes to get into central London on the train. The ride is uneventful. I do most of the talking, while Oliver listens, his eyes not leaving mine except when I direct his attention out of the window. In those moments, I steal glances of him. Studying his features. His wayward curls, his sharp jaw, and red, abused lip, which he keeps chewing.
He is beautiful, but his physical appearance isn’t what has me wanting to spend more time with him. It’s his quiet humour, and untamed energy that keep him on my mind when we’re not together. There’s a connection between us that feels monumental in a way I don’t have words to explain.
Warmth floods my face when Oliver catches me looking at him, a subtle smirk settling on his lips.
“You have something on your cheek,” he says, leaning forward and tapping a finger to my flushed skin.
“Fuck off,” I grumble, but there’s no heat in it and it only serves to make his smirk widen.
When we step out of the station, it’s onto a street alive with revellers, ducking in and out of pubs and restaurants, music thumping from overcrowded bars and the scent of hot tar and fried food thick in the air. The night is balmy and still, not a drop of wind to cool the thick heat brushing our skin.
“Which way?” he asks as we cross the street, dodging a guy on a bicycle. I point to London Bridge and we head in that direction. Lights from the buildings along the Thames reflect on the water like tiny fireflies, and we slow our pace to take in the magnitude of the city around us.
Oliver is quiet. I’ve come to realise it’s his default setting. Quiet and contemplative. Observing. Assessing. His eyes sweep from the far side of the bridge, where a train moves swiftly from one end to the other, and then to where The Tower of London stands illuminated, twinkling lights of the city behind it. He stops walking, leaning on the barrier that runs the length of the bridge.
“Have you always lived in London?” he asks as I mirror his position.
“Yes. My father lives in Chelsea for most of the week, and that’s where I grew up. But now I live in Battersea.” I turn and point in the approximate direction, though it’s too far down the river to see from here. “I can’t picture myself living anywhere else.”
He runs a hand through his hair, swiping messy curls off his forehead. “I always wanted to live in a big city. Or close to one. London. New York. Toronto. Somewhere busy and vibrant. The opposite of the place where I grew up.”
“You didn’t like being a country boy?”
Oliver shakes his head, straightening up. “Not really,” he starts and we continue walking, turning right when we reach a fork in the road. Our route takes us towards the business district and home to some of London’s most iconic skyscrapers.
“I thought I’d work for a while after I finished school, save up a bit of cash and then move far, far away. New York had been my original plan.”
We pass a pub, a group of guys stumbling out, laughing, not looking where they’re going. Oliver takes my hand and tugs me closer to him, moving us around the group before anyone can spill beer on my white polo. The gesture is small but hits me like a truck, my heart swooping. He has no idea how thoughtful he is.
“What happened with that?” I ask, keeping my hand in Oliver’s as we continue walking.
He hesitates, his lips clamped shut, and I wonder if this is the moment he closes up again. I don’t pry further and we walk another block in silence, Oliver looking at the buildings like he’s seeing it all for the first time.
Eventually, he speaks, his voice soft. “All my plans went to shit. I was twenty-one. Things weren't going great, so I left. With a backpack and a one-way train ticket to London. And here I am.” He lifts one hand to the sky.
There’s so much more to that story, of that I am sure, but I hold on to the little bit he’s given me. Each word out of Oliver’s mouth is another Lego block of who he is.
“It’s the greatest city in the world, you know?” I say, because that’s my honest opinion.
Oliver looks at me, his eyes dark in the muted light of the streetlamps. “I wouldn’t know. I never made it anywhere else.” He bumps my shoulder. “But I do love it here.”
We round a corner, our destination straight ahead. Oliver never asked me once where I was dragging him to in the middle of the night. He trusted me and there’s something powerful in that knowledge.
