Chapter Text
For Oliver Swift, it was… an average day, to say the least.
He was standing behind the front desk, a notebook open. He had been scribbling down ideas for the last hour, tapping his fingers against his thumb using his free hand. The only thing going through Oliver’s phone head was the waiting room music in the cinema and his gentle humming to whatever had been playing for the last few hours. It started giving him a headache not even ibuprofen could fix.
“That wouldn’t work,” Oliver muttered beneath his breath as he scribbled out yet another idea. He thought that idea was stupid anyway. Ticket-Jerry is one boring dude after all, Oliver could never make a movie about his life. All he does is sit behind bulletproof glass and talk about his twelve German Shepherds and his soon-to-be ex wife. No one would want to watch that.
Oliver began to doodle in the corner of the page after the ideas stopped coming. The headache was getting worse and he glanced at the clock. Eleven fifty two. Another eight minutes and he would be finally freed.
And finally, the door jingled open. Oliver forced his usual service worker smile and looked up to greet whoever was at the door.
“Good evening! Welcome to the— What the fuck?" Oliver did not mean to scream those last three words as loud as he did. He took a step back as his optical sensor went wide with surprise. “Randy, what the hell.”
In all of his glory, Randal Jade was standing at the door, hunched over. The door closed behind him as he attempted to waddle his way forward. The thing that concerned Oliver the most was that he was covered in blood. There was even some blood caked on his phone head. Randy was usually covered in blood, but this seemed a little too excessive.
Randy was… A character, to say the least. He lived in a dumpster behind that burger place downtown, and was involved in an incident where he smashed his phone head open. The two didn’t know each other all too well, other than the fact that Oliver would sometimes let Randy squat in the back of one of the projector rooms during the colder months. Oliver honestly felt bad for the guy. Not to mention the bandage which spells out FUCKFACE in big, bold letters. Why doesn’t he just replace the bandage? He was practically the opposite of approachable. Tall, skinny, always covered in blood and most of the time crying uncontrollably and passing it off as “a bad cough.”
“H–Hi, Oliver!” Randy said between wheezes. He struggled to take a proper breath. “Ni–nice seeing you here.”
“I work here,” Oliver responded deadpanned. “Randy, are you okay?”
Randy could not help but laugh at that question. “Yeah, totally fine! Just ran away from a couple of swans, ya know. The usual.”
“Is that the swan’s blood?” Oliver asked, pointing at Randy’s denim jacket covered in the red liquid.
“Ha.” Randy fell into a coughing fit as Oliver watched, deeply concerned and confused. “Trick question, it’s my blood.”
“…Randy?”
“Yes?”
“Do you want me to call an ambulance?”
Randy grunted, but forced himself to look up at Oliver. He met his optical sensor and let out a strained smile. “Phone–God, no. I’m fine. That would cost a fortune anyway.”
Oliver looked down at Randy’s shoes, where he began to start mucking blood into the carpet. He winced. That’s going to come out of Mr Dickens’ pockets. There is no way Randy would be able to pay for the damages.
“We close in a few minutes. I’ve got to kick you out soon, man,” Oliver explained.
“Th–that’s fine. Could I use your bathroom?” Randy asked.
Oliver thought for a moment. He stared at the injured man standing in front of the door. It’s been empty all day, aside from the average high school couple that would come in way past their bedtime, when they probably had algebra homework due the next morning, and instead decide to watch a corny romance movie, where they would probably make out during the entirety of the film. After the film was over, they would go to the handicapped bathroom and Oliver would be forced to clean up after them. In all of his twenty three years of living, he has picked up way more used condoms than he thought he would.
And hey, Randy wasn’t a bad person. He was just a little weird and very jittery. And hey, Oliver loves weird.
So Oliver sighed, hopped over the front counter, and quickly flipped the CLOSED sign to face the window.
“Come on, you’re going to get the carpets dirty.” Oliver took Randy’s wrist and pulled him into the store. Randy gasped as he felt Oliver’s fingers wrap around his wrist, and he struggled to catch up with Oliver. He opened an EMPLOYEE’S ONLY doors, which led to a much cleaner, private bathroom with a bathtub, which Randy silently acknowledged was not normal for an employees bathroom. The walls were a darker color and the lights were a warm fluorescent yellow.
“Sit down and take off your jacket,” Oliver said as he let go of Randy’s wrist and leaned down to open the cabinet beneath the sink. He pulled out a first aid kit.
“Nice–nice bathroom,” Randy said, looking around. He remarked quietly, “Huh, bathtub.
He sat down on a stool against the wall, and Oliver placed the first aid kit on the sink. He opened it, pulling out some ointment, rubbing alcohol, clean bandages, and bandage tape.
From what Randy’s remembered during his time working for Bunny’s Burgers, the employees bathroom was just as disgusting as the public bathrooms. No one cared to clean it, so this was a nice change of pace.
“It’s made just for employees, but Mr Dickens had to fire everyone else because we were losing more than we were making. It’s just me and Mr Dickens now.” Oliver sighed, before he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Th–that use this bathroom, of–of course. It’s fun staying back til two in the morning, sweeping up popcorn that shitstain keeps throwing around.” His voice went quiet, obviously laced with sarcasm Randy detected almost immediately.
Oliver grabbed a clean wet cloth and turned towards Randy. He leaned down and examined the latter’s body. He was wearing a blue and grey plaid button up underneath and had quite a few large cuts ripped through the shirt and dug into his abdomen. Oliver winced at the sight.
“Is it bad?” Randy asked, as Oliver lightly shook his head side to side.
“N–No, you’re… How are you alive?” Oliver mumbled that last part. “It’s fine, you’re fine.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to comfort Randy.
“I can’t— Randy, here—“ Oliver went quiet when he realized he couldn’t stitch a coherent sentence together. His mind was working faster than his mouth. “Do you want to take a shower? Your head is caked with blood, man. You also don’t smell the greatest, but hey, I dig it.”
“I—“ Randy’s sensors widened in surprise. “No, no, I couldn’t. I should just lea—“
“Randy.” Oliver looked at Randy sternly. “You can shower, it’s okay. No one uses this shower anyway. Mr Dickens got it installed when he would sleep in his office. It’s been a long time.” His voice suddenly became gentle and Randy bit the inside of his mouth to prevent tears from forming.
“Oh, okay,” He responded softly.
“I can probably find a stray pair of sweats and a shirt or something in my locker. Feel free to use the towel, I’m ninety percent sure it was washed yesterday. No one ever uses this shower anyway.”
“O-Oh,” Randy held back from asking if there was even shampoo or body wash.
“And don’t worry, Mr Dickens replaces the shampoo bottle once a year since no one ever uses it, so it doesn’t go bad.” Well that answered the Nokia’s question. “Did you know soap can’t grow mold because of its pH levels? I wonder what else can’t grow mold- Oliver’s smile faded as quickly as it appeared. “I’m rambling again, sorry.”
“N-no, You’re okay,” Randy said a lot louder, before closing his mouth and immediately cursing at himself. No one hasn’t shown him this amount of kindness since the incident. Even so, the guilt of making Oliver stay and take care of him made Randy feel… not great about himself. “I-I’ll use whatever you give me. It’s better than whatever is in the dumpster.”
“Sick.” Oliver clapped his hands together and smiled widely. “I will be right back with some clothes.”
Oliver quickly scurried out of the room to go fetch a pair of whatever pants or boxers and a stray shirt he could find. Randy was left staring at the door. His mouth felt dry and he suddenly felt warm. It was an uncomfortable and unrecognizable feeling.
But the only thing he could think of was what the fuck just happened?
—
Randy showered. For the first time in ages, and he could not stop scrubbing his arms and his legs and his neck and his chest.
He felt gross all over. He always felt gross. It was a feeling that never left him, especially since he lost his apartment and had to move into the dumpster. The closest he had gotten to a shower was rolling in puddles to get the swan blood off of his clothes so parents wouldn’t stare at him in public as if he had just murdered their children.
It got worse once he took a step into the warm shower. The water hit his pale skin and he felt like he was set aflame.
But he didn’t care. It was the least of his worries. This was the warmest he was going to feel in months. He wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity.
He rubbed, and rubbed, and rubbed until his skin felt raw. It began to stung and the water drops felt like pins and needles. He hadn’t even realized the shampoo bottle being knocked into the bathtub, or the fact that the shower curtains were… moving on their own. Huh. Odd.
Suddenly, Randy heard a knock at the door. It almost made him drop his bar of soap he was holding.
“Randy? You’ve been in there for a while.” Oliver’s voice rang out, muffled beyond the door. Randy sputtered, blinking and holding the bar of soap with two hands.
“I-I’m fine! I’ll be out in a moment.”
“Oh, okay. Good, because I thought you like— killed yourself. Which wouldn’t— that wouldn’t be very… very cool.” Oliver lightly smacked himself in his phone head. “Didn’t want to deal with a dead body on my hands.”
Randy couldn’t help but smile at Oliver’s stuttering. It reminded him of himself, in an odd way. “H-hold on.”
After a quick rinse, Randy finally turned off the shower. He quickly wrapped himself with the towel Oliver lent him and looked at the clothes Oliver left for him on the counter. It was a simple black shirt and boxers.
“By the way— Don’t put your shirt on yet. I need to look at your wounds.”
“Oh,” Randy said and opened the door. He peaked his phone head through the crack in the door and met Oliver standing there with a worried smile on his face.
“You were in there for a long time, man. You okay?” Oliver asked worriedly. It seemed like he was asking that quite often tonight, and even he acknowledged that.
“I’m sorry.” Randy apologized. “I haven’t really showered in a long time.”
“There’s no need to apologize, man! You’re all good— I just didn’t want you to burn your skin off. The steam—“ Oliver breathed in the steam. His breath was caught in his throat, as if he couldn’t breathe. It was all too overwhelming for him. “Wow, that’s a lot.”
“I’m sorry, I should just g—“ Randy went to push the door open but Oliver placed his hand to push it back to its original position. He was noticeably but accidentally aggressive, but it did the trick. Randy almost jumped out of his skin.
“Randy, no,” Oliver sighed. “You’re fine, man. Sometimes we all need a hot shower. Phone-God knows I need one.”
“Can I… do this by myself?”
Maybe Oliver was already coming on too strong. Maybe Oliver wasn’t thinking, because he immediately took a step back from the door, embarrassment crawling up his shoulders.
“Oh-oh, Yeah. I mean—“ Oliver wanted to smash his head into the nearest wall. Asking to patch up a guy’s wounds— a guy that Oliver, albeit, thinks is attractive, but doesn’t even know. It sounded stupid, now that Oliver thought about it more than a moment. “You— you take your time, okay? I’ll—I’ll show you to the door when you’re finished. The—the first aid box is under the cabinet.”
“Okay, tha—thanks.”
Oliver waited outside of the door for what seemed like decades. Was he coming on too strong? Did Randy recognize him? Did Randy find him weird for attempting to take care of him? That was so weird.
Oliver never cared about how other people saw him. It was something he had to teach himself growing up, but Randy’s opinion, for some odd reason, meant the world to him. It’s weird– Oliver feels weird.
Too many things going through Oliver’s head— did he take his medication this morning? Maybe that’s why his brain felt so fuzzy right now. Or he forgot to eat breakfast again. He hasn’t seen his therapist in a few weeks. Maybe he’s losing his mind again like he did–
“I’m– I’m done.”
Oliver was quickly thrown out of his daydream when he realized he had been leaning down against the wall with his hands intertwined with each other. He pushed himself up and approached the bathroom.
“Can I come in?”
“Ye-yeah.”
This was the part that Randy had been dreading.
Oliver entered the bathroom with a nervous smile on his face. The first thing to greet him was Randy standing in the middle of the bathroom, awkwardly holding his bloodied plaid shirt, jean jacket, and jeans. He was wearing the oversized black shirt and dark gray sweatpants. Oliver was five foot three and a little chubby. There was no way this shirt could have fit Oliver, much less Randy.
Oliver examined the bandages on Randy’s arms, since they were the most visible. Randy squirmed from beneath Oliver’s stare, but it seemed Oliver didn’t notice.
“You’re all ready. Just be sure to replace those bandages in a day or two, so the healing process can be quicker. I do recommend you stay in bed for a few days to let yourself heal.” Oliver explained, cleaning up some of the first aid items Randy left on the counter.
“O-Oh, thanks.” Randy thought about the million other things he could have said to that. Admit to the fact that he has no bandages, and would probably flip the bandages inside out if they began to bleed again? Or maybe just not touch them and hope for the best, like he has been doing the last few years of his life? Instead, those words sunk to the bottom of his throat and he struggled to form a coherent sentence in front of Oliver.
“Let’s head out. I’ll lock up.”
Oliver scurried out of the bathroom to pick up some of his items from his locker and Randy was left in the bathroom. He did not want to leave. It was obvious. Once he left, he would be forced to go back to his dumpster. He liked the cinema and the employees bathroom with the weird shower. He could imagine himself setting up shop in there— maybe a blanket and a pillow in the tub? The American dream.
“Randy, You comin’?” Oliver’s voice echoed from the front of the cinema.
“Y-Yeah!” Randy grabbed his bloodied, ripped up clothing and walked out of the bathroom, turning off the light and closing the door. Doing literally anything to slow the inevitable that was taking a step out of this building.
Oliver was standing in the main hall, waiting for Randy to pick up the pace. He looked up and met Randy’s optical sensors and grinned. However, Randy was looking anywhere but at Oliver. He had a sour expression on his face, though Oliver didn’t notice it.
“I don’t want to leave,” Randy muttered as he approached Oliver. He kept his head down, staring at his legs moving. One foot in front of the other, and yet it still didn’t feel real. It never felt real.
“I’m sorry?” Oliver asked, confused. Randy sputtered before shaking his phone-head in a daze.
“No-nothing!” Randy quickly said. “I didn’t say anything. Sorry.”
“You’re good, man,” Oliver opened the door and took a step outside. The rush of cold air made Randy shiver, especially since he had just finished taking a shower. February was getting colder and Randy was everything but excited for it. “Are you headed h—“
Oliver internally cursed himself as he stopped in the middle of his sentence. Regret washed over his face as he immediately regretted the words that just left his lips. Randy also took a step outside, looked at Oliver and sighed.
“Yeah, yeah. I am,” Randy mumbled in defeat.
Home means the dumpster. The dumpster means another night in the freezing cold that keeps Randy shivering awake until he has to knock himself out cold with another hammer to the head in order to finally sleep. Though, of course Oliver could never know that.
“Here—“ Oliver fumbled through his pockets and pulled out a silver key. He locked the front doors and turned to Randy, shoving the key back into his jeans. He pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and shuffled through some dollar bills, before pulling out a fifty dollar bill. He shoved them in Randy’s hand, who looked just as surprised. “Grab dinner or something— I don’t know.” Oliver looked just as unsure as Randy looked confused.
Randy quickly grabbed the cash to prevent it from falling to the ground and flying away with the chilly wind. He looked up at Oliver in surprise and slight guilt.
The only reason why Randy was in this situation to begin with was because he was working overtime. Living in the dumpster was better than living on the streets. Hell, living anywhere was better than living on the streets of Downtown Dialtown.
Even if Randy could honestly use any penny he was given, what if Oliver came running after him? What if Randy owes him fifty bucks?
So Randy’s first instinct was to shove the money back to Oliver. “Oliver, I can’t—“
“Randy, don’t,” Oliver immediately interrupted and put his wallet back into his pocket. He still did not meet Randy’s sensors. His guilt would just make his chest ache more. “Just— buy something to eat or something. I don’t know.”
“Oli—“
“You don’t owe me anything. Have a good night.”
Oliver smiled at Randy, though Randy could see right through it, and quickly turned on his heel to walk off down the sidewalk. He was never a Catholic, but he prayed and he prayed Randy wouldn’t be chasing behind him to give him back the money. And as it turned out, he never did.
He anxiously shoved his hands in his pockets and picked up the pace. He peaked past his shoulder to see if anyone was following him. He hoped Randy wouldn’t accidentally kill himself on his way to the nearest fast food joint. Oliver would not put it past him.