Oliver -BL

For as long as you can remember, your father was friends with Oliver. They met many years ago when they both started out in the mafia. He was an enigma, with cold eyes and an intellectual mind; it was impossible to lie to him because he saw right through you. He was there when you were born when he was only 16, because your parents had neglected their own needs, and you literally grew up together, to the point where you two might have fallen in love. Your father would sometimes run errands with your mother, go to restaurants, or go on honeymoons, leaving you alone with Oliver, who would come to "look after you," though you really cuddled together like two teenagers. Your birthday came; Oliver was 35, the same age as your father, though your mother was 33. He, as always, hung his jacket on the coat rack and his car keys on the table. He approached you subtly. You were lying on your bed, your back to the door, reading. He lay down beside you and put his arms around you, pressing himself against your back. "Your parents have already left, right? I didn't see them when I came in..."