Chapter 51: Victory Takeout
Oliver wasn’t in a rush. He’d done this sort of thing before—blending in, becoming just another face in the crowd. A few students glanced his way, but no one looked twice. That was the trick: move casually enough and people stop noticing you at all.
Toby didn’t make it difficult. He walked with the easy arrogance Oliver had come to expect, shoulders squared, chatting loudly with the same two friends who trailed beside him.
From a few paces back, Oliver caught fragments of their conversation: complaints about professors, plans for the weekend, and jokes told too loudly in the middle of the sidewalk. Toby laughed the hardest at his own comments, always throwing quick looks around to make sure he had an audience.
When the group split, Oliver stayed with Toby. They cut through side streets lined with food stalls, Toby stopping to buy skewers, greeting vendors with a familiarity that told Oliver he was a regular. Oliver leaned against a lamppost, pretending to scroll his phone as Toby lingered over his food, then fell back into step once Toby started moving again.
The walk took them past a small park where students gathered on benches. Toby slowed to greet a girl at one of the benches, leaning in closer than she seemed comfortable with. Oliver noticed the way she shifted her bag into her lap, a small barrier between them, before excusing herself with a quick smile. Toby let her go easily enough, though his grin lingered as though he thought he’d left an impression.
Oliver filed it away. That, too, was part of the pattern.
By the time Toby finally started toward the bus stop, Oliver had mapped out more than just a route. He knew where Toby liked to stop, who he talked to, and how he filled the time between classes and home. It wasn’t about one evening—it was about the accumulation, the predictability of it. Oliver waited in the shadows of the station until Toby boarded, watching through the window as Toby slid into a seat, headphones in, attention already somewhere else.
Only then did Oliver finally turn away and make his way home. By the time he arrived, Del was already there. She had takeout bags spread on the counter, a quiet surprise in itself. It was the first time she had ever brought dinner for them, and the small gesture caught him off guard.
“You bought food?” he asked, slipping off his hoodie and tossing it over the back of a chair.
Del glanced up. “Yeah. Don’t read into it. I just didn’t feel like cooking, and I figured you’d eat too.”
Oliver grinned, stepping closer to peek at the bags. “I’ll take it. Generosity suits you.”
“It’s not generosity,” she muttered, pulling out containers. “It’s practical.”
“Practical’s good. Practicality keeps me from living off instant noodles.” He reached across the counter, opening one of the lids. “Ooh, dumplings. See? You’re already spoiling me.”
Del rolled her eyes but didn’t stop him from stealing one. She passed him chopsticks and settled into a chair while he leaned against the counter, eating straight from the container.
For a few minutes, the kitchen was quiet except for the sound of takeout boxes being opened. Oliver kept sneaking glances at her. She seemed calmer, but there was still something tucked away in her expression.
“So,” he said lightly, tapping his chopsticks against the carton, “how was today? Any more surprises I should know about?”
Del looked at him, suspicious. “Why would there be surprises?”
“Because you attract them,” he said easily, then took the seat opposite her. “One day it’s Toby pulling stunts, the next day you’re buying dinner. I never know what I’m walking into.”
She gave him a flat look. “Dinner isn’t a stunt.”
“No, but it is unexpected. A good unexpected, though. I’m not complaining.” He took another bite, then softened his voice. “Speaking of Toby…”
Del stiffened but didn’t interrupt.
“…Did he bother you again today?” Oliver asked.
There was a pause before she set her chopsticks down. “He cornered me after class. Said I embarrassed him.”
Oliver’s jaw tightened, though he kept his expression casual. “By walking out?”
“Yes.” She pushed her food aside. “He thinks I should’ve sat there and played along. Pretended I was fine with the whole thing. I told him to leave me alone.”
Oliver leaned his elbows on the counter, watching her. “Good. He needed to hear it.”
She frowned. “You make it sound easy.”
“It is easy,” Oliver said. “You don’t owe him anything. Not your time, not an explanation, and definitely not a performance to protect his ego.”
Del didn’t respond right away, her gaze dropping to the table. The smallest part of her looked relieved, though she wasn’t about to admit it. Oliver, sensing she wasn’t going to push the conversation further, let it rest.
He tapped his chopsticks against his carton again. “So, if I’m reading this right, tonight’s menu is victory takeout. Celebration for telling Toby off. Am I close?”
Del almost smiled, though she hid it by lifting her drink. “Or maybe I was just hungry.”
“Hungry and victorious,” Oliver said with a smirk. “Best combination.”
As they settled in, Del mentioned almost casually that tomorrow was her parents’ death anniversary. Oliver stilled, chopsticks halfway to his mouth, and set them down slowly.
“Oh,” he said, voice gentler now. “Were you planning to visit the cemetery?”
“Yes.” She folded the empty takeout bag, pressing the seams flat. “In the morning. Or maybe after my last class. I don’t know. I’m not sure yet.”
“I could come with you,” Oliver offered without hesitation. “If you want that.”
Del shook her head. “No. I’d rather go by myself. I always go alone.”
He leaned back in his chair, studying her for a moment. There wasn’t anything guarded in her words, no sign of keeping him at arm’s length—it was simply her truth.
“Alright,” he said, nodding once. “Then I won’t go with you.”
She gave him a faint look of thanks and then didn’t say anything more. They went back to their food, Oliver careful not to press.
“So,” he said after a moment, nudging one of the open cartons toward her, “which ones are the winners tonight?”
Del poked through the options with her chopsticks. “Dumplings. Always dumplings.”
“I knew it.” He grinned, snagging one before she could. “Classic choice. And what’s the loser? Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who hate sweet-and-sour.”
“It’s too sweet,” she said flatly. “Like eating candy with rice.”
Oliver laughed. “You’re impossible. That’s the best part.”
She rolled her eyes, but a small smile pulled at her mouth before she hid it behind her drink.
They lingered like that, the talk drifting to sauces and takeout orders and which places were overrated in town. It was an easy conversation, the kind that didn’t demand much.
But then, Oliver's mind was somewhere else...