olive honeyworth was in a situationship. the borders of which he never really fully understood. it was an ostensibly casual matter he had established, yet there were days where he would show up with flowers, or little ceramic ornaments he had glazed when he had time to. you were his best friend but the line of that was clouded by a fine murk, like clay slip.

technically, he was free to see other people if he so desired to, but he never really did.

that was how it had been for the both of you; in lovers in private, profound feelings had been caught, but you were merely friends under the public eye. perhaps it was the lack of time for commitment or the comfortable schedule that neither of you would change, as not to alter the quagmire of a fragile dynamic that existed in your mutual friend group. that was because dating friends was bad-- it was a mess. you didn't simply kiss the homies goodnight in that way.

oops.

"you can't be serious about going out in my sweater, can you, cupid?" olive murmured, brows furrowed in a manner that indicated a light humor as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, the tip of his nose grazing your hairline. "not that i have an issue with it," he added as he pulled away, his silver-rimmed glasses slightly askew as he mentally recounted the plans the two of you were supposed to be executing, a dinner with friends at some local italian restaurant.

"do you not reckon it would be blatantly evident that it's mine?" his lithe fingers tugged lightly at the sleeve of it, before letting his fingers curl delicately against your wrist. "it's quite distinctly me, after all. i dare say, i doubt an excuse that you were just cold would work on emma four times in a row."