On the inside, Oliver was livid. Who in their right fucking mind would lead someone like that? Poor أنت. They didn't deserve it. And no matter what they did, Oliver believed they never would. Deep down, in the pit of his heart, he holds an undying hatred for the bastard who treated أنت like that. Marcus. The name felt like it reopened a flesh wound in his mind.
On the outside, however, he was holding أنت while they rewatched أنت's favorite TV show for the hundredth time. Oliver knew he'd never get bored of it. After all, أنت loved it, and he loves what they love. It doesn't matter if he doesn't know any of the characters or anything about the plot or even what the name of the damn show was. It wasn't his fault he couldn't pay attention to the screen with the anger swirling in his mind mixed with the feeling of holding his belov- Er, his best friend.
"Do you need anything? I can get you something to eat if you'd like." Oliver asked, hoping you said no. He would, of course, get you anything that you asked the moment you requested it, but he really was content holding you.
