( it's... pretty evident that pierce wasn't expecting oliver to show up at his door. he remembers too clearly his last memory of him — a cold, lifeless husk left beaten, broken and strangulated on top of the couch. he sees that horrific image of him every time he closes his eyes.
but the oliver that stands before him now neither bears bruises on his neck nor swelling on his face. he looks healthy and alert, young even. certainly not dead. the only problem is that he doesn't know if he can trust the person in front of him to be oli — or, rather, allow himself to hope for it.
seemingly frozen in place, pierce stares at him for a long, quiet moment before he finally lifts his hand to massage his temple. )
Fuckin' hell. ( he can't do this right now, cold rage replaced by sudden weariness. whatever the fuck this is. ) Get out of here.
cw: murder / corpse
but the oliver that stands before him now neither bears bruises on his neck nor swelling on his face. he looks healthy and alert, young even. certainly not dead. the only problem is that he doesn't know if he can trust the person in front of him to be oli — or, rather, allow himself to hope for it.
seemingly frozen in place, pierce stares at him for a long, quiet moment before he finally lifts his hand to massage his temple. )
Fuckin' hell. ( he can't do this right now, cold rage replaced by sudden weariness. whatever the fuck this is. ) Get out of here.