Oscar remembered vacation fondly. Sure, he'd had Jared and everything he'd done hanging over him, but the sun and the sand and the sex had forced it mostly out of his head, and he'd been able to really fucking enjoy himself.
And then Jared had gone and fucked up the one thing that had made the few weeks after his fuckup tolerable for him. Fucking Lydia, what the fuck was she thinking? Did she really expect that she was going to come out of this thing whole and unharmed? Highly fucking unlikely; Jared was a fucking disaster who left nothing safe. Lydia would hardly be the exception.
But in true Lydia form, she had worn him down, until he was too fucking tired to do anything but relent to her, and if he was being honest, he did fucking miss her, and maybe things COULD one day be okay between them. After all, he'd tried to push her away more times than he could count by now (most of those since the relapse), and she continually flat out refused to let him.
Oscar was sleeping when the hard, insistent knocking began. He'd been sleeping a lot since coming back from vacation. Whether it was because his body wanted to finally catch up on the sleep he'd missed because of the relapse and vacation or because he wanted to avoid his fucking feelings, he wasn't sure. But he was fucking sleeping finally, and he wasn't about to complain about that.
He rubbed his eyes blearily and climbed sleepily out of bed, barely remembering to pull on a pair of underwear before stumbling half blind towards the door, pulling it open to reveal a harried looking Lydia. As soon as he saw it was her, he let it close.
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