Oliver wanted some answers. Avery, his Avery, was sad now, always, and Oliver couldn't help. Even with Frank gone, Avery was sad. Was it Jake? Maybe. But Oliver understood that love didn't just go away. What he didn't understand was Jack.
Jack wasn't hard to find. Avery had had rugby practise an hour ago, and Jack was still outside, presumably waiting to catch a glimpse of Avery leaving the pitch, muddied and sweating. It made Oliver mad. Why should Jack get to see Avery? What had Jack done for him? And more importantly, what did Jack want? "What do you want?"
Jack looked up, and Oliver hated him for the lazy way he did it. Jack was lounging on a blanket that looked like it belonged to someone in Villiers house. He had a joint today, and was wearing a knit hat that flattened his hair around his face. Oliver thought he looked ridiculous, and far too comfortable for his tolerance. "You came up to me," Jack pointed out, and moved a school mug (not allowed!) off of his blanket. Except that it couldn't be his blanket. "Sit."
"Coffee will stunt your growth." Jack was probably hung over. Why did only Oliver see the danger? He'd been about to sit, but refused when Jack asked, and when Jack seemed to let go of the idea, Oliver sat anyway. "What do you want with Avery?"
"Avery." Oliver hated his accent. "Well, I should think it obvious that I intend to have sex with him. Lots of it. I want to do and hear and taste things that would white your hair." Jack reached for his coffee, sipped, and ground out the rolled paper onto his knee. A smear of gray was left, and Jack rubbed it while Oliver gaped.
"I knew it," he said, furious because sex meant Frank and joints meant bad connections and Avery was barely healing. "You complete--"
"Also," Jack added, staring over at the pitch (was his voice thicker? Was the rough edge of it from weed? It was impossible to tell. Fucking Welsh). "Also, I want to watch television with him."
"Arsehole--what?"
"Yeah." Jack rolled his sleeves down and began to look very sleepy, despite the coffee. Oliver wasn't about to excuse himself, though. "On a break. At his house. Flat. Whatever, whenever. In the morning. So we can sit and just be sleepy. And comfortable. And I can hold him." Jack searched his pockets, probably for a cigarette, but when he found one he couldn't find a light, and he stood up, looking upset. "So fuck you."
He left, leaving Oliver with a stolen mug and a blanket, and the remains of a joint. Fuck. He stood and kicked at it, then stopped. Avery was coming out, and Jack stopped. Even from this far away, Oliver could see Avery hesitate when he saw Jack. The small shape that was Jack reached out and touched Avery's chin--or neck--or face, it was hard to tell, and kept walking. Avery watched him go before heading in a different direction.
Oliver didn't understand.