"Stop thinking about it, Oliver. Your head is going to explode." Felicity settles into the couch beside him, her hands warm from the coffee mug she hands him. He lets his fingers brush against hers, and basks in the feeling of her skin on his cold fingertips. She makes herself at home against his side, her thigh pressing up against his, and he resists the urge to smooth out the wrinkles in her soft cotton shorts. She smells like flowers and her laundry detergent, and Oliver discovers that he wants to press his nose against her hair and smell her shampoo. He doesn't. Instead, he leans against her side and sips his coffee, ignoring the fact that she knows how he takes it.
She doesn't expect him to reply to her earlier statement, and for that he is grateful. He is always grateful for Felicity, especially now. Felicity has saved him once again, and not asked a single question of him. It doesn't seem to matter to her that he isn't ready to go home, or at least talk about it. She understands. After all, her relationship with her parents has never been perfect either.
"Drink your coffee, you hate when it gets cold," She murmurs, and he barely hears it. She's reaching for the television remote and switching on one her favorite shows. It's a rerun, but he knows that she could watch Doctor Who for the rest of her life and never get bored. Felicity leans back into the cocoon she's created between his side and the armrest, and she nestles right in without hesitation. Oliver is just starting to understand what's going on in the episode when Felicity switches it off, and the noise of protest he that leaves his lips is embarrassing. She sighs, taking the empty mug from his hands and placing it in the sink beside her own. The sight feels domestic, and Oliver should be ready to bolt, but instead he lifts himself off the couch and towards her spare room, where he's been staying for the last few weeks.
She disappears into her bedroom, and Oliver hears the shower turning on moments later. He retreats into his own room and quietly dresses for work. He never remembers to do up his tie, because he knows that Felicity will tie it for him if he forgets. Something about her amused smile as she looks up at him before putting on her heels, and adjusts his collar and knots his tie, makes something flutter in his belly. He knows her morning routine by heart now, and has adjusted the timing of his own so he can have her travel mug of coffee done by the time she's ready to leave. Which is what he's doing now, standing beside the kitchen counter and starting the machine. He doesn't hear the knock at the door at first, but Felicity does.
"Can you get the door, Oliver?" She calls, and he nods even though she cannot she him. He doesn't bother to respond; he's halfway to the door by the time he hears her request. He doesn't need to reply; Felicity knows he's heard her. He can hear Felicity shuffling around in her bedroom, rushing to get ready despite the excess of time she has before they absolutely have to leave. He's finishing tying his tie (rather regretfully) as he opens the door with one hand.
"Laurel?" Oliver stares at the young woman standing in the doorway, looking just as startled as he feels. She's trying to smile at him, but he can tell that she's mostly just confused as to why he's opening Felicity's door at seven in the morning. Her confusion seems to fade, and her expression looks almost thoughtful as Oliver speaks next, his voice inquiring. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing, but I don't think I need to," Laurel says in reply, a slight smile tugging at her lips as she walks through the doorway with an ease that makes him wonder how many times she's come here before. She's dressed casually enough that Oliver figures she isn't headed to work after dropping by. Oliver returns to the kitchen, where he can finish making Felicity's coffee. He doesn't realize what the whole situation looks like until Laurel brings it up.
"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone." She says, and Oliver gives her a confused glance before it dawns upon him that the situation he's found himself in looks far less platonic than it is. Or, that they're pretending it is. If he's being completely honest, Oliver would have to admit that the last few weeks living with Felicity have turned little sparks into a roaring flame that he's struggling to control. Her little sideways glances at tiny smiles have grown more frequent and more flirtatious, and Oliver would be lying if he claimed each one didn't make his stomach flip over and his lips curve into a grin against his better judgment. His touches in passing have grown bolder; his fingers dancing over her shoulder as he slips by, his hand against the small of her back or the curve of her waist. He'd be lying if he said he didn't love it.
"Oh - no - I -"
"Relax, Ollie. It's not a crime. Anyway, I'm here on Tommy's behalf. Felicity cleaned out his laptop of some virus and I'm just picking it up. Do you know where it might be?" Befuddled, Oliver can barely shake his head before Felicity is walking into the room, slipping in her earrings as she addresses their visitor.
"Laurel! Tommy's laptop should be on my dresser; I was finishing up working on it last night. Remind him to stop opening spam emails though, would you?" It's with his luck that Felicity chooses then to turn to Oliver, her eyes soft as she sighs with exasperation and reaches for his collar. Her nimble fingers quickly unties the knot that he's managed to mess up, and then straighten the tie after she finishes adjusting it to her satisfaction. Laurel's eyes sparkle with amusement and she flashes Oliver a knowing smile on her way out the door, and he admits defeat.