Oz Spellman
April 23, 2022 9:24 PM
Spending time without my friend
by Oz Spellman
Co-written With: Xavier Lundstrom
OOC: CW - medication/substance abuse.
Consent issues on both sides.
Set before both the Quidditch match and Oz's date with Lorena. BIC:
Oz watched as Xavier dropped the skate bag—their pretended reason for being here—and reached into the toe of his left rollerblade. He missed the times they’d come here to really skate. Not that they never did any more, it was still Xav’s biggest obsession besides getting home. But when he brought the grey blades, the one Oz knew were a size too small, he knew why they were really here. Sure enough, Xavier extracted a little vial of bright blue liquid from the end of the skate.
Consent issues on both sides.
Set before both the Quidditch match and Oz's date with Lorena. BIC:
“Shall we give 2.5 millilitres a go?” Xav asked.
“Sure,” Oz nodded. He was pretty sure the question was redundant. Xav had always been the one calling the shots and making decisions. Oz was just here to make sure he didn’t die. So far, he hadn’t, and given that he was adjusting the dose down, it seemed unlikely. Unless that gunk in the vial was getting stronger.
Xav squeezed the blue liquid into a pipette and dropped it onto his tongue. For a few minutes, Xav was Xav. He chatted, fidgeting his hands nervously in his lap, the way he always did when he was waiting for something. But as the clock ticked on, Oz saw the tell tale signs. Xav’s sentences started to drift off, he’d lose track of what he was saying, and the edges of his words were just the tiniest bit slurred. It probably would have gone unnoticed by most people, but Oz now knew what to look for. And sure enough, after a particularly long run-on sentence, which tripped over itself several times before petering out, Xav’s head lolled back.
“Still there?” Oz asked. The way Xav’s head took far too long to recalibrate its usual position, moving like something out of a horror movie, answered that question well before his saucer like eyes came to rest, staring at a point somewhere through Oz. “That’s a no then…” Oz muttered, resigning himself to another hour of rambling, and a further, future experiment. The goal was to work out the maximum dose Xavier could take and still pass for normal, and they clearly hadn’t reached it yet.
“There’s green everywhere,” Xav said, addressing the space above Oz’s head. “And it’s so, so bad.”
Oh good. It was one of those days. Sometimes Xavier rattled off CATS and RATS results for non-existent people, or at least ones Oz had never heard of. Sometimes it was like he was watching little movies of their classmates and teachers, but ones only he could see. Occasionally though, there was this stuff. The downright creepy and unsettling. Oz knew it wasn’t real, it was just the messed up hallucination beans Xav was chewing on, but it wasn’t great for either of them.
“Hey.” He snapped his fingers in front of Xav’s face. The only time Oz had got downright scared—scared in ‘is this so messed up that I need to call a prefect or a grown up and hang the consequences?’ kind of way—was when Xav had curled into a ball on the floor, crying and shaking and digging his nails into his arms so hard he left little marks. “If it’s bad, don’t think about it.”
“But it’s burning.”
“Nothing is burning,” Oz said firmly. He hesitated. He liked some distance between him and Xavier when Xav was like this. But he’d rather have vanilla flavoured rambling Xav than doomspiralling. He reached out a hand, gripping Xavier’s shoulder firmly. “Look at me. Nothing bad is happening.”
Xav turned, his eyes taking too long to focus on Oz’s face.
“You’re here,” Xav smiled, when he finally found it. He reached a hand towards the one on his shoulder, and Oz tried not to jerk away, still wanting Xav to settle down. Xav’s hand pulled at his, trying to interlace their fingers, and Oz withdrew. But it was too late. Xav’s attention followed the path of his hand, and he scooched closer, leaning into Oz’s personal space. This was the risk of getting Xav’s attention. This was the other thing he was like sometimes.
“We’re going to be so good together,” Xav said, reaching up a hand to ruffle Oz’s hair.
“Knock it off,” Oz grumped, twitching his head away.
“I’m going to make you pancakes on Saturday mornings, and fall back asleep with my head on your lap. You’re going to love me forever.”
“I don’t even frigging like you right now,” Oz muttered. He didn’t shove Xav away though. It felt too much like kicking a puppy, and Xav would snap out of his happy little daydream and react. Words were a different matter though. Oz might as well be a TV, left on in the living room. His voice was making sound, but it didn’t reach through unless he really yelled and got in Xav’s face. Xav’s hands had slid back, to rest on Oz’s neck. They were warm, and one of Xav’s thumbs was gently brushing the edge of his hairline. And that meant Xav was happy. He was happy, and calm, and that was why Oz wasn’t going to push him back, even though he’d literally die if anyone walked in and saw them like this.
“I wish you weren’t doing this,” Oz sighed. It was something he’d never say to Xav’s face. He got why he was doing this. It had sounded completely insane at first—experimenting with the pure form of the active ingredient in the only potion to ever make a slight dent in his migraines. But Xav hadn’t died, and hadn’t ended up in the hospital wing—not only in the sense that his experiments hadn’t backfired too much, but just in general. They had yet to try riding out one of Xav’s actual migraines with his self-prescribed meds, but he hadn’t had any. That was… new. And it was getting him home. Oz was selfish for wanting anything else. It wasn’t like Xav hadn’t had any problems before. He’d spent so many days in the hospital wing, in pain that shattered his body, made him throw up, and was being used as an excuse to keep him from his family. He’d been suffering, Oz just hadn’t had to witness it. He wasn’t suffering now. And he’d get to go home. Oz kept telling himself that every time Xav’s rambling creeped him out. Every time he wished they weren’t doing this, or worried about the consequences. It didn’t mean that it was never too much though. “You’re a pain in the butt, do you know that?” Oz asked, as Xavier rambled into the distance. Physically, he was still close, but his mind and his words had drifted off into painting the rooms of some imaginary, future home. His hands unclasped, trailing to brush Oz’s cheek.
“Hey.” Oz caught his wrist.
“What?” Xav asked, eyes coming to rest on Oz’s face. “You like me.”
“I wish you’d knock it off. With the stupid meds, with all this stuff. I miss my friend.”
“Don’t be mad. Please don’t be mad. You’re not going to be mad later…”
“I’ll pretend I’m not,” Oz muttered. “You won’t remember anyway.” Xav had never remembered anything from his previous trips. The dose was lower, but his symptoms were all the same as usual—eyes wide as saucers, mouthing off at a million miles an hour, impossible to focus. Everything pointed to Xav forgetting all about this. Oz wouldn’t have vented his feelings, if he’d thought there was any real chance that anyone was actually listening. He’d probably have drawn the line further back with letting Xav paw at him, as he had no wish for them to try and talk about that. But they’d never had to. When Xav was Xav, he never said anything about this. Even if Xav liked him that way, he was keeping it to himself, and Oz could pretend that any feelings Xav had for him were purely a product of what he was on.
“Hansel’s talking to his snake. He’s telling it all his secrets. And Val’s holding a snitch but it’s not real. And you’ve got your arms around me and you’re kissing me.”
“Clearly I’m not,” Oz argued.
“But you want to.”
“No. I don’t.” Oz was frustrated by the way the defiance in his voice cracked. He didn’t sound like he meant it. But he did! That was why it bothered him every time Xavier talked like he wanted them to date. It was just going to lead to disappointment and awkwardness, and it made his insides squirm. One of Xav’s hands was still hooked in his hair, and Oz had the other wrist pinned to stop Xav from touching him. Xav’s hand raked through his hair, and Oz should have grabbed it. He should have stopped it. But he was busy noticing Xav’s breathing, and how it seemed to have fallen into time with his. Xav’s breath, hot against his cheek, and his neck. He didn’t want that there. He didn’t want Xav in that way. That was why he brought a hand up, under Xav’s chin, pulling him away from his neck. Gently enough not to upset him. Gently enough that he wasn’t very far away… That was why he was crumpling fistfuls of Xav’s t-shirt in his hand because he was going to shake him, and tell him to snap out of it. That was why… it was why…. The back of his brain that was churning out rapid fire excuses for his body gave up as the hot, heady feeling smothered out its protests. He pressed his mouth against Xavier’s. There was the acrid aftertaste of Xav’s self-prescribed medication. But his lips were soft, with just a hint of strawberry chapstick. The argument about that seemed so small, and stupid, and Oz chased down the taste of a time when they’d had nothing more serious to worry about than what Xav was putting on his lips, and whether that was what made someone gay.
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Oz Spellman
Spending time without my friend
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Xavier Lundstrom