2P!England x Rebel!Reader - Eye Candy

Oliver was a very peculiar man.

From his bubble-gum coloured clothing to his Cheshire grin, you could simply see the bloke from a mile away; whether that was a good thing however, nobody really could decipher. There was something about the way he carried himself, the way he always seemed to be giddy about something, that gave him the presence of something inhumane. It was a horrid title to put upon a man, who seemed as harmless as the tweed in his sweater vest, but no one who had ever stopped to banter with the fellow could deny that inexplicit feeling that battered itself in the back of his or her mind. He never seemed to notice the uneasiness though, but it would be enough for any man or woman to try and leave the conversation very quickly.

Lord knows how the gent would take it if he ever were to find out about the tension around him. No, he never seemed to understand or at the very least be bothered by any frigidness between his conversers and kept the conversation light and comfortable with his childlike chuckles. Unfortunately, that aspect only seemed to make him even more unearthly, and harder to befriend.

Oh yes, Oliver was a very peculiar man, despite how indifferent he may appear.

Although he started his day like most normal people did; with a rude awakening from his obnoxious alarm and the sun to remind him that he better be ready by eight. He woke up his brothers every weekday for school – even though they themselves weren’t very average either – and made sure that they didn’t take any of their weapons with them, or learn any language that he’d be phoned up for. Oliver could never fully comprehend how they even learned such vulgar words to begin with, since he could never make himself swear even if he was forced to do so. The very idea sickened his stomach to no end, like an unsavoury salad from a cheap market.

Despite this, he was always excited no matter what words his little siblings tried to use against him, and would forever enjoy the moments of dropping them off to school and picking them up again. He knew that the boys hated the overprotectiveness, but he couldn’t risk missing a moment and he certainly wasn’t going to do anything better anyway. All he had to do was bake, and even then he still had spare minutes to wait for the creations to be finished.

Maybe that had been why he was so fixed upon finding something else to occupy his mind, especially if it was something that he could involve his family in. So maybe as a result, he managed to find such a strangely adorable shop near his neighbourhood market street, and maybe that was what he had needed for a long time now. You know, just to spice up the schedule a little bit.

So, although it took every might upon his pinkies to his toes to not go sooner, he forced his brothers to accompany him to the out of place store after school, even when they were complaining so loudly about the weather that Oliver nearly forgot if they ever said anything positive in their life at all.

However Oliver didn’t mind their tedious rants, as he was so used to their attitudes anyway. In fact, it simply seemed to make him more exhilarated to have them quiet down as soon as they would be greeted with the glorious sugary delights of the downtown store, just like the same joy he would have when he was younger.

People may have been right to fear the man, for he was so bizarre but kind-hearted that it just never seemed to blend well. A foreshadow underneath his friendly pink-cerulean eyes that struck a cord in a person’s nerve, and they had every right to feel that way. After all, Oliver could defend himself and not in a way that most people deemed acceptable.

Oliver was an eccentric man, but he would soon realise that the sweetshop he had found would be a whole lot more abnormal.

“I can’t believe I’m missing The Walking Dead for this shit.” Allen had indecently commented yet again on this afternoon stroll, “I was gonna get to the good part and everything. Why you gotta fuck up my day with this crap?”

Snapping his neck to the six-year-old schoolboy’s figure, Oliver pouted. “Now, now Allen, that’s no way to speak at all. You know what that means?”


Allen sighed as he rummaged his pockets for spare change. “Yeah, yeah, you don’t have to point it out every fucking time.”

“Well maybe if you didn’t swear in every sentence, you wouldn’t be so bothered by the reminder.” Oliver retorted, as he pulled out a small jar from his shirt’s pocket and jingled it towards Allen, the coins clashing against the glass container as each earthquake erupted.


Allen sluggishly put his currency into the ‘swear jar’, pulling his ‘unique’ baseball bat closer to his side. “Like I give a damn.”


Matt, who had been quiet for most of the chilling outing, decided then that it was his time for the limelight. “Where are we going?”


Despite promising himself he would act mature, Oliver couldn’t help but let the grin on his face grow even wider and his crunching footsteps to have a certain kick to them in the depth of the white snow. “We’re going to one of the most magical places in the world my dears! A place in every child’s heart and mind-“


“It’s a shitty candy store isn’t it?” Matt interrupted, his face contorted into an expression of slothfulness and irritation that it seemed fitted more to a problematic adult over thirty then a child in year three of primary school.


“Language.” Oliver commented, and as he moved the pot away from Allen, continued with: “But yes, that is exactly where we’re going, although it is by no means ‘horrid’. Won’t it be just lovely?”


“It sounds fucking incredible.” Matt replied with an accent of Canadian and sarcasm blended together, although as soon as he saw Oliver’s warning frown, he quickly recovered himself with a ‘sorry’ and placed double his change into the flask.

Allen stared at the jar before staring at Matt. “Suck up.”


“Like you can say anything when all you did today was do chores for Miss. Héderváry.” Matt replied, adjusting the hockey stick that had been tied around his back to stop it from falling.


Allen smirked. “There’s a difference between sucking up because you’re a daddy’s boy and then sucking up in the hopes that she’ll return the favour.”

“Allen!” Oliver burst, his pale features darkening into a tinted fuchsia more befitted for a red velvet cake. He could never truly understand how the youth had turned out to be such a pervert when Oliver was certain that such innuendos had never been uttered in their household. “You shouldn’t treat or see your teacher in such a manner!”


Though Allen seemed unaffected by the Englishman’s eruption and simply shrugged the notion off with a not-so-innocent smirk. “If my dick wants it, he gets it. I’m a man, I have desires.”


Oliver sulked, and forced Allen to use more of his lunch money left over from the day to be put into the swear jar for his obscenity once again. Allen was barely a boy, let alone a man like he seemed so fixated on, and Oliver decided that maybe it was just for the best if he didn’t take the conversation any further in the worry that Allen would further corrupt Oliver’s image of him.

Though Oliver had the nagging feeling in the back of his thoughts that by the time they’d even get to the shop, his swear job would have all the money he’d need to pay for any of the products inside.

They turned a final corner, and as soon as the old-fashioned, brightly coloured destination in the distance shone out compared to the rest of the miserably boring buildings beside it, as it seemed covered in the frosting of winter’s baking, Oliver couldn’t help but jump up and down as every step forward advanced him towards his paradise. It was a shame really that the other male siblings didn’t feel the same.

“That’s it?” Matt grunted like an uninterested grizzly bear. “This is what you were nutty about?”


“Well of course it is! What else could it have been?” Oliver hummed in great elation, his fingers fiddling together as a way to stop him from exploding in delight. “Just look at the place; it’s magnificent.”


Allen looked into the unusual eyes of his older brother before glancing at the structure that seemed more suited for some gullible story of ‘Hansel and Gretel’. “…You’re such a pansy it’s unbelievable. How are we even related?”


However Oliver wasn’t paying attention to the discourteous remark from his redhead relative, and instead grabbed the two by the hand (although there was some heavy protest against the action) and rushed towards their objective as if the place would shut down at any given moment; trying his best to not have any of the beings slipping over the glazed ice. Oliver couldn’t stop himself from giggling all the way there, and although the boyish family members noticed the concerned and alarmed stares from strangers they passed by, Oliver seemed completely unaware of their distress and seemed only focused on the idea of being greeted with a sugary heaven.

So as they finally got to the doorway, and finally when Oliver could enter the opening, you could say that he was more than a little bit surprised.

The place inside was quite different from its exterior. Even though it still kept its appearance of an old school establishment, the interior appeared bleak than the flamboyant façade outside. It wasn’t a miserable place, but it wasn’t exactly the sort of atmosphere that would have a group of youngsters skidding around the place in glee. If the windows didn’t allow so much light inside the building, the place would have given the eerie atmosphere of some haunted house. With chestnut wooden floors and faded wallpapers with the theme of sweets and other such cavity inducing nourishments, even the checkout seemed rather dull for all there was to it was a table and a cash register on top. The only fascinating part about that corner was the strange, red curtain door that was the only coverage for the residence on the other side. In fact, it could be described as bittersweet, just like some of the products that had been laid upon the countertops of the reseller.

Though did that affect Oliver? Not at all, not even in the slightest. Despite his previous bewilderment when he was first greeted into the store, he soon returned to his spontaneous jubilation and scurried to every table in sight to investigate every sweet snack that was displayed. His coat, although covered in white snowflakes, kept his cheeks warm and red as they all fell elegantly to the floor the more Oliver rushed about.

It was a Utopia in the English chap’s peepers, and although Allen and Matt didn’t share even an inch of the same enthusiasm that Oliver had (and were more focused on getting rid of their snow-covered intruders), it never damaged his mood as his head whirled with endless amount of cupcake recipes that he could make with the numerous sweets that teased him with seductive taunts. In actuality, Oliver was unmoved by their reaction and probably wouldn’t have even acknowledged them or their boredom until Allen decided to pipe up his discontent.  

“Great. We’re here now; you’ve had a look. Can we go before we waste any more valuable time that I could spend on something else?” Allen complained, his arms folded close to his baseball bat as he used his small hand to lean against his chilly red chubby cheek.

“Oh stop being such a sour lemon!” Oliver chaffed in good nature, his widespread beam nearly taking up his whole freckled face. “Have some fun and look around! You’re bound to find something to your tastes!”


“Why the hell do you expect me to find something when I’m a Vegan? I’m sure half of this crap’s gonna have something I don’t like.” Allen protested, before a deviant leer took over his tanned appearance, “The only sweets I’m interested in is those sugar mommas that come to the school. Like damn, have you seen what they’ve got to offer? Bet some of them are single too.”


Matt scrunched his face in mild disgust. “Do you have any pride?”


“Probably not.” Allen agreed.


Oliver chose after that to just tune the boys out of his mind, as he enjoyed the fresh scent of sugar that wafted around the squeezed retailer’s sales floor. It was by far the best aroma that Oliver would ever sniff in his life. Oliver was pretty sure that the North American blood relations were arguing or insulting one another, but Oliver thought that for once in his life, he’d just let it slide and have some ‘me time’ that he was in need of, as trying to raise the two definitely needed therapeutic help to stop the man from going more insane than he already was. Or well, you get the picture.

Nonetheless, it was the second time that Oliver had been startled when he heard a voice call out from the back of the store.


“Oi, keep the fucking noise down! This is a store, not some damn pub-“ A feminine but strong (Nationality) accent howled as heavy-footed tramps resounded the previously ‘quiet’ aerosphere as the curtains to some part of the ‘Employee’s only’ entrance was pushed away for a figure to stand behind an oak counter checkout.  

She seemed rather irked for being interrupted from whatever task she had been previously working on, but as she caught sight of the children, and then to Oliver with a look of intrigue she soon relaxed and let out a sigh, before showing off a prideful sneer as her ‘welcoming’ approach.

However, what the woman had bellowed wasn’t what truly surprised Oliver (although it did give him a mini heart attack), no, it was more with the woman herself that seemed to baffle the emotional Brit.

Everything about the (hair colour)-haired lady seemed the exact opposite of the manner of the store. She was young – Oliver dare say his age – with the plump lips of a model but the eyes of a lioness. Wrapped in the blackened night’s disguise, her clothes weren’t what you would exactly call ‘approachable’ for many older citizens to categorise. They were mostly black, with some bright pinks or blues to stand out, and could better be described as punkish. Her tank top had fishnet lace from her shoulders to her wrist, which were decorated in many rings and spikey bracelets; her skinny ripped jeans, that seemed tattered from age rather than style; and her huge, studded, metal boots that seemed to at least give her an extra inch or two.

Oh yes, she was a very unexpected person.

Even more so when Oliver soon found out that she was the owner.

“Fuck man, sorry about the shouting,” she started, her elbows leaning against the worktop with sudden calmness, “I thought you might have been one of those douchebags who keep coming in here for some ‘treats’, if you know what I mean. Idiots never get the message.”


“Although I will admit, you don’t seem like the sort of person who would be busting out swear words, if you don’t mind me saying.” She continued, as she eyed Oliver’s figure up and down.

Oliver was about to open his mouth to agree with the statement and explain, but Allen beat him to it.

“You’re right, he isn’t. The candy-ass couldn’t pronounce a damn one even if he tried.” Allen – as blunt as ever – stated with a somewhat obnoxious demeanour, but as soon as Oliver saw the dirty glint in the American’s eyes, he soon stepped in to interrupt before he would insult the woman – or worse, get them kicked out forever from this angelic site.


“Allen.” Oliver warned subtly, his arms shoving the ‘swear jar’ into the younger male’s hands. “I’m terribly sorry miss, he never knows when to stop articulating such offensive comments.”

The (brunette/blonde/ext) shrugged her shoulders, and with a cheeky smile explained, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve heard worse. And hey, no need for any of that ‘miss’ and stuff, I’m the same age as you are. Just call me (Your name), and as you may have guessed I’m the owner of this place.”


Taking back the swear jar, Oliver raised his strawberry blonde eyebrow up a notch, “So you do own this place? Well (Your name), I can tell you now that it’s-“


“Yeah, I know. It’s pretty rundown and stuff but I got shit to do, you know?” (Your name) intruded, and lifted herself off from the counter. “Only place in town where you’re going to get good quality gobstoppers too, so don’t start complaining. I may not look like the sort of gal to run a sort of place like this, but fucking stereotypes never held me back anyway.”


Despite the fact that her self defence was appropriate and understandable (for Oliver guessed that she might have been questioned a number of times about her profession), that didn’t mean to say he couldn’t stop himself from cringing ever so slightly at every crude term she used. “Oh no, I didn’t mean any harm poppet! I was going to say that I think this place is absolutely wonderful; never have I seen such a range of sweeties before! They remind me of my childhood.”


“That must have been long ago.” Allen commented, and although smirking in victory, he couldn’t ignore the fatal blow Matt gave him to sum up the phrase of ‘shut up or else’.

(Your name) laughed at the aged six-year-olds interaction, but she seemed more cheery about the compliments that Oliver had given on her establishment, or on something else but Oliver couldn’t recognise the glint in her orbs. “Thanks. Nice to see that this neighbourhood isn’t just filled with horny dickheads and judgemental bitches.”


Realising that she probably was prattling more than she was working, she straightened herself upwards and with an uncharismatic coo, as if trying to copy Oliver’s sweet demeanour, tweeted in an out-of-character perkiness, “Was there anything you wanted to buy sir…?”


“Oh well, I haven’t fully decided yet.” Oliver admitted, since he had been so mesmerised with the place that he hadn’t decided which products to buy, “But if I’m allowed to call you (Your name), then you can at least address me as Oliver Kirkland.”


“Oliver eh?” the rebellious employee repeated, humming the name in her throat and returning back to her standard self in seconds, “Cute, I like it.”

She looked down at the other two kids, simply ignoring the English man-child’s flustered cheeks, and with a wide (eye colour) eye, carried on, “And I’m gonna guess that these guys are your brothers?”


Matt returned the curious warrior’s stare, and with a slightly interested look, asked: “How could you tell? We don’t exactly look alike.”


“Well my dear,” she crooned mockingly, her blank face turning into one of self-confidence with a whole lot of attitude, “only your family could love a face like that.”

Watching as Matt’s frown went tenfold in one second flat to return to its usual, grumpy self, it seemed the only thing that Allen and Matt could agree on was the following statement, since Allen had been so busy cackling at his sibling’s expense. “I like this one.”


Slightly skittish by the whole scenario and the intoxicating poses of the ingredients around them, Oliver quickly hopped around in search for his favourite munchies from childhood. He didn’t mean to intrude on (Your name)’s personal time, and sensing that Matt and Allen probably weren’t going to bother looking for anything for themselves, he assumed that everyone was simply waiting for him.

Although as he had occupied his mind with the troublesome decision-making, (Your name) seemed perfectly engaged with an important discussion with Matt and Allen.

“What’s up with the spikey baseball bat then, eh? That hockey stick seems a bit bent too.” She questioned.

They both glanced down to the equipment in their hands, both battered and tattered from old age and never ending treatment, before Matt decided to answer the uncommon Amazonian. “They’re used for ‘self defence’.”


“Self defence?” She quizzed, before nodding her head with a knowing glint in her eyes, “Right, I got ya. I mean hey, it’s better to know you’re protected than open to attack.”

However the conversation was abruptly discontinued after that, as Oliver – with his hands filled to the brim of sweets that he could barely carry altogether – waltzed to the till with a stupefied grin on his face. The beam was so huge, that (Your name) couldn’t help but think that if not now, then soon Oliver’s cheeks were going to be in pain from being so unbearably buoyant.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered with wonderment, “You sure that’s all you need Oliver?”


Sensing the relentless sarcasm, Oliver slumped slightly and dumped the nutriments onto the horizontal surface as carefully as he could. “Now, now, there’s no need to get sarcastic. We all know that this is by far enough to sustain me for the time being.”


“For now? It should last you a damn lifetime.” She jested, her own lips pulling upwards, “You must be a man with one hell of a sweet tooth, and that’s saying something coming from the girl who bought a sugar store just so she had an endless supply. It looks like you’re gonna need some extra company just to eat all this shit.”


Laughing out her own witticism, causing Oliver’s smile to shine for a whole new reason, she started to bag each individual item as the cash register beeped every time a new item was put beneath it. “That’ll be thirty-two pounds and sixty-five pence please.”


With the flick of his wrist, Oliver already had the exact change in his hand, as he dropped every penny into the woman’s awaiting palm. As (Your name) seemed satisfied with the money, she put it in the cash desk and slipped the receipt into the plastic bag filled with the awaiting goods. Oliver noticed that she seemed to quickly write something on the receipt, nevertheless he didn’t find it to be all that different since many shops do such a thing and shrugged off the out of character deed. Soon after finishing, she handed it to Oliver, who took it with a ‘thank you’, and thanked him for his payment.

“Come back again.” She rejoined, her fingers intertwining together like overgrown greenery against a brick wall. “You’re so far the only costumers I’ve had that haven’t managed to annoy me, I respect that.”

“I can’t say the same.” Matt muttered with discontent, his black shades covering his – most likely – disapproving violet eyes.


Though the bluntness didn’t seem to affect the punk rocker as she smirked in enjoyment by the young guy’s enthusiasm, “Careful there, before your hockey stick gets any further up your arse.”


Matt grumbled incoherently and stomped away from the cocky (Your name) (Last Name) as he left the store first, allowing the bell to ring out throughout the enclosed space with a cheeriness that seemed out of place. Allen followed after, his unstoppable chortling taking over his entire body as he stumbled, trying to catch up with his family member without going blind from his amused tears or the relentless current from the falling snow.

It seemed that Oliver was the only one left to leave.

He knew the both would simply be waiting outside for him now (albeit, impatiently) and so he didn’t want to ‘waste’ any more of their precious ‘The Walking Dead’ time. However, before he even started gliding to the door, (Your name) called out to him with an underlying emotion of thrill.

Confused, Oliver looked back and as soon as he did, his face burst into twenty shades of the cherry on top of a cake.

(Your name) had managed to find the perfect candy heart from a mix of a wide range, and with it resting on your stuck-out tongue, did it read the words ‘Your mine’.

Oliver’s hand couldn’t even cover his face as he was holding the hefty bags of sweets, and with his fast-beating heart to his quick-paced eyesight did Oliver nearly burst from embarrassment. No doubt did he find the girl to be awfully attractive, but this was beyond the boundaries of ‘forward’ and reached a new level of flirting that Oliver didn’t realise he’d ever be subjected to.  An honour all the same, Oliver never met a woman who so proudly and confidently did the first move – especially on the first meeting!


She rolled her eyes, as if she was expecting him to do something specific, and moved away from her counter and towards him, the candy still in its indecent place. Without even explaining the sudden approach, she stood in front of him.

Being slightly taller than him made the woman even more dominating, and without further insight on the scenario, did Oliver feel the taste of (Your name)’s soft, plump lips and her sweetened tongue upon his. In fact, not only did he feel herself, but also the teasing sugar treat that had been on her tongue, which now was being shared between them in a burst of delectable saccharine. Oliver couldn’t decide what was more addicting, the sweet or she.

Regrettably she pulled away first, and Oliver – panting in relief – was also surprised to find himself heavily disappointed by the abandoned contact. (Your name) seemed rather unhappy about it too, but want Oliver was soon to find out was that she was expecting more of the same action in due time.

“Fuck man, if I knew I was going to be the one to make the first approach I would have done so ages ago.” She explained, her tongue gliding against the edge’s of her lips as if savouring the taste.

“As sugary as your love for sweets,” she cooed, her lips pulling up into a wicked smirk, “Should have expected that really.”

Oliver also thought the same assumption about (Your name).

(Your name) took a step away from Oliver and without an explanation to her actions, waved her hand lazily with fake sleepiness in her accent. Oliver was perfectly ready to try and grind every theory and reason for the smooch into the pretty girl’s bizarre head but before he could, she simply left the room behind the curtains, her footsteps clunking up the stairs.

Baffled by the sudden mood change, Oliver just continued staring in the direction of where the woman went. In fact, he probably wouldn’t have moved at all unless Allen and Matt hadn’t come in to drag him away.

“Oi, you fucking done yet? I’m starvin’! I want something to eat!” Allen complained, his blood red eyes squinting at Oliver’s swirling pastels. “…What the hell happened to you?”

“Oh nothing love…nothing at all…” Oliver mumbled, his stance still in some euphoric daydream, with a baffling nightmare crawling against his spine. He didn’t even comprehend everything properly yet; otherwise he would have had a go at Allen’s crude language. Instead, he just pushed Allen and himself out of the building and didn’t utter anything more.

Allen, quite infuriated by the change, started huffing at the cheery male’s stoic demeanour, and puffed under his breath, “Weirdo…”

Though Oliver wasn’t really processing Allen’s ill manners. Instead, he was being swept across a hurricane of his tormented thoughts and by God was there going to be some damage to the area around him.


What was that? Why had she suddenly launched herself onto him? Was there any specific reason? Did he do something that he hadn’t realised was attractive to her? Did he miss any hints? How far out of the dating game was he really? Like jeez, seriously?

Oliver couldn’t say that he wasn’t disappointed by the circumstances. Although he blamed himself from not being more confident and just asking the girl out on a date – for after that he felt bad if he never did since that was the most forward he had ever gotten from a lady, and he’s had girlfriends before – he also was quite thrilled by the sudden plot twist and didn’t mind if it happened every time he visited the store. Who knows? Maybe she’ll turn out to be the icing on his cake? After all, she didn’t seem like the sort of lady to dislike a man who hunts for his goals (interpret that as you will). She’d grow accustomed to at least, she seemed strong enough to handle that emotionally and physically.

Thoughts jumbled and arms aching, the blonde specimen sped up his pace, ignoring the confused outrages from the boyish duo. Ranting winds screamed at the plastic bag in Oliver’s arms, which flailed in retaliation and fear, its insides contorting to an anxiety attack. Oliver kept a firmer grip on the bag, his hands becoming numb from the frozen temperature, but not before noticing something that seemed out of the place.

Stuffing his hand inside the carrier bag, he took out the receipt from before and stared at it with unwonted precision, wondering why it had caught his eye previously. He turned it to its back, and flushed once again in the hour he had been imprisoned in.

On the back were the scribbles of a rushed palm’s handwriting, with details of a phone number, nothing too magical, but enough to cause Oliver’s face to contort to a darker shade than his hair. It was quite obvious who had written it, for only one other person had touched the damn thing.

Gosh, was she a forward lady. Oliver wondered how he hadn’t managed to get any signals from (Your name), despite the circumstances.

Quickly punching it back into the bag, in the hopes to not look more loony than usual in public, Oliver hoped that he had hidden the situation from Allen and Matt well. As much as he loved them, he didn’t think they felt quite the same way.

Though a huge grin started to form on his face, and the ideas of many a cupcake being made as a ‘response’ started to flash through his mind like thunder and lightning. What type would she most likely love? Red velvet? Vanilla? Chocolate? Or will she love anything? Or maybe she’s allergic to some flavours? Will she like the special flavourings he adds? Oh he does hope so; otherwise this was going to be a bump in the spring blooming ‘relationship’.

So giggling with glee at the new inspiration for his pastries, he skipped back to his home with a very confused Matt and Allen, trying to hide his Alice in Wonderland-like innocence.

“The fuck is he on now?” Allen muttered, his lips quirking up into a twitching disgust. He was used to Oliver’s giddiness, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it.

Matt shrugged. “Dunno. He’s always that odd.”


There was some truth to that too, as Oliver was forever a peculiar man; a male who was not only feared for his strangeness, but also unusually admired in the same aspect.

Nobody will ever stop doubting that the Brit would ever become normal, nor would his actions ever be admired in all its disgustingly humanlike glory, but for, Oliver didn’t mind the stares. He didn’t mind the word ‘peculiar’ or ‘strange’, because humans simply need to label something with a singular description to soothe themselves of their concerns and doubts.

He did have a shadow, just like everybody else, but something seemed darker and unclean about his; something disturbingly hidden beneath the pearls of his smiles. People needed a scapegoat, a title to shrug off their worries, because honestly, it was the only thing keeping them calm.

Oliver was a peculiar man.

However (Your name) was far worse.