Black Velvet (66) (Patreon)

⚠️ I uploaded chapter 65 about two hours ago!! Read it first!! ⚠️  

OKAY I am pumping chapters out to make up for last week’s silence for the two dollar tier.

If their lack of communication is bugging you then just buckle up because the chapter after this is gonna be a fun (exciting) one.  🥰🥰

  —

I pass my online classical physics course — actually, I pass my exams with flying colors.

It's a surge of pride that I haven't felt since high school, a nice stroke of confidence that has been crumbling since my school days, when there was something I felt that I was particularly good at.

I'm smiling at my exam results when I close out of my browser.  This is only after snapshotting a picture of the score and sending them to my brother, Charlie-Anne, my mom, my dad....

And I almost send it to Tobias.

"See that,"  I tell Lupo, who's curled over the side of my lap, and hotter than the heat resonating from my over-used laptop, "good waste of money and time.  Self confidence boost for at least six hours."

I erase Tobias' name.  I'm sure... He wouldn't mind, but.... Would that be a weird text to send him?  Would it look like I was looking for an excuse to reach out?

Lupo doesn't look all too interested, and so his eyes droop closed as soon as I quiet myself. I sigh, closing the laptop and reaching for the half-buried remote.

Incoming message (Nic):

Oh fancy pants

haven't you been working on that course for forever?  Celebratory tequila shots?

Incoming message (2):

Or male stripper that vaguely resembles Toby

Incoming message (3):

Glow sticks and all

I'm mildly horrified.

Right?  I stare at my phone screen long enough to burn the suggestion into my corneas, contemplating the insanity that is my brother for long enough to get a mental image —

and shake my head feverishly,

Outgoing message:

Why was that your first thought?  Huh?

Outgoing message:

Never mind, please don't tell me.

Outgoing message:

Why are you the first person I share things with? I hate you.

I almost mean it.  My cheeks feel warm, like Tobias can somehow read my mind, and perhaps — with his mind-reading abilities, can see himself parading around in a bad police officer uniform, with glow sticks, doing a strange interpretive dance to some bad pop beat and —

No, no, no.

"Ugh, Lupo, up,"  I tap his head.  He pulls off of me sluggishly, stretching his back legs all the way,  "I feel congratulatory peanut butter and apples calling my name."

And brain bleaching.

Maybe I can stop by Jameson's church and pop in for some baptismal water bathing.

—

My mom brings home cake.

She brings home cake for her valedictorian son, who never managed to go further in life than the colored tassel at his high school graduation, or further than working at the local bakery with a beat up car, just because I passed some prerequisites to follow my astronomy professor dreams.

Something about that makes me feel warm.

I'm smiling when she kisses my forehead,

"Oh, Oliver," she says, and cups my cheeks happily,  "my sweet, smart boy.  I'm so glad you're finally using that big brain of yours instead of creating a human imprint on my sofa."

"Well, that was nice," I tell her, swiping a piece of cake off of the counter, "for about five seconds.  Maybe that sentence should have ended a lot earlier?  Just a suggestion."

Nic is grinning over a fork load of icing at the table, and raises his eyebrows at me as my dad throws his arm over my shoulder,

"Good job, glad one of us Abernathy's turned out smart," my dad sighs, "college kicked my butt.  And I was broke.  No scholarships for me.  I was made to be a house husband."

"What's that supposed to mean?" My mom chimes.  "You're smart.  And.  You could've joined a sport, like Nicolai."

My brother groans,

"Mm.  Baseball did me in," Nic shrugs as I perch myself next to him, "I could've been a genius too, but alas, too many baseballs to the head.  Never stood a chance.  Thanks, Mom."

"I'm a good mother, who knows her children's needs.  Your need was to get lots and lots of energy out — outside of my house."  My mom elbows him, nearly knocks the fork out of his hand but doesn't, so he makes stabbing noises at her butt as she tries to shoo his hand away,

"Baseballs,"  Nic points to his temple, "lots of baseballs.  All I think about are hotties.  I'll never win a Nobel Peace Prize."

"Oh?"  I snort, cut the icing off my cake and deliver it onto Nic's, and he pushes the cake portion of his onto mine, "well at least you've come to terms with this.  Why can't you be nice to mom?  She did her best."

"Oliver, don't think I don't know you're defending me because you ate all the peanut butter."  My mom's hand is on her hip in a second, other waggling the empty plastic container in the air,

"I was celebrating?"  I offer.  She blinks.

I smile,

"I support your decision in limiting Nic's abilities to win prizes."

Nic takes his cake back.  Mom glares.

—

The next day nearly feels ordinary, with the jitters of passing my exams gone.  I don't feel particularly on top of the world, but I'm happy.

I'm happy enough, accomplished enough, and it's a nice feeling.

Tobias arrives at the same time that I do.  The sun hasn't risen yet, so it's dark and damp feeling — despite the pleasantness of the day before.

He's quiet, as always, pushing his key into his back pocket, and wraps his jacket around himself as he steps from the car.

My eyes are on him.  They're always on him, fixated on the way it feels like I'm watching someone significant, no matter how simple our life is, the sharpness of his dark eyes in the barely blue hue of not quite night, but not quite early morning.

Does he feel like this?

"Hey,"  I say, when our paths cross. It's then that I notice he has a mug from home this time.

Tobias stops me before we get to the door and hands me it, but his fingers linger on mine, before he pulls them away.

"You brought...?"  I start, but the dark haired man shoves his key into the bakery's back lock, rattles it open and holds the door steady — stands in front of it like a barricade.

Again, I think of how we're close enough to touch.  Again, I think of how we don't.

"Hot chocolate,"  Tobias shrugs.  It's a bit stiff, "...Congrats on passing your exam."

I smile, my grip soft on the thermos like it's something precious.  I raise my gaze back to his, and Tobias' eyes narrow as he watches me, as he licks his lips and leans his weight back on one foot,

"... You have bad taste."

"Bad taste?"

"I bought a box of it, so I thought I'd try it."  Tobias sighs, "I regret it."

"Wow, what a sour puss.  I didn’t tell you my courses were ending.”  I grin brightly at him, somehow at a loss for words, watch as his eyes slide to the door and he shoves a hand in his pocket — almost like he's hiding.  

Tobias doesn't smile back.

"...I heard it from Nic."  He says.

I frown, my gaze shifting upwards to meet his.

"What?"

He inhales, his jaw clenching, before he grimaces and looks away.  

”Ah — nothing,” he shrugs.  It doesn’t sound like nothing.  “… How long is your shift?”

--

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