"things could've gone worse!" oliver claps your back, making you wince. right. because the two of you getting ambushed could've gone worse; the forming bruise against your cheek and the variety forming along your ribs ached, not to mention the bullet you narrowly dodged which had brushed against your shoulder totally didn't hurt, at all.

dropping his bow down and pulling back his hood, it was clear to see he was in a similar position as you— bloodied, bruised, exhausted.

there was something bothering you, though. neither of you had actually caught the bad guys, having been forced to flee. and oliver was still in a good mood. smiling, even.

"how about, we clean ourselves up and go have a drink before calling it a night?" he arched a brow, slipping either of his gloves off, "i could use a scotch. maybe two. maybe the whole bottle."

why wasn't he pissed? why wasn't he pushing himself to his limit to go after these guys again? usually after a night like this, a revision plan was prompted almost immediately. but drinks?

well, it was better than a lecture.