Written for the OHP fic challenge. The prompt was: "I think once you've thought about how a person sleeps, how they'd feel pressed up against your back, or your head on their chest, how compatible your bodies would be in the same space of a bed — once you've thought about that, you're fucked." – Unknown

The phone barely rings twice before a voice is answering urgently on the other end.

"What's wrong?"

Sara's voice sounds weary. Not tired weary – more along the lines of What did you do now? weary.

"Can't I just be calling to say hello? Why does something have to be wrong?" Oliver protests, grinning. He leans back on the park bench across the street from Felicity's townhouse. It's a beautiful morning, and he's just finished his run.

"The last time you called me, Oliver, my sister had been poisoned with Tibetan Pit-Viper venom."

"Point."

He hears Sara sigh in relief. "So, you're saying nothing's wrong? No one's dying? The city isn't in danger?"

"No more than usual."

"Huh." There's a lot of interference and her voice sounds far away, which means she's probably in the middle of nowhere on assignment for the League. "You're really just calling to say hello?"

Oliver hesitates, moving his cell phone to his other ear.

"Ha. Spill, Ollie. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I meant it Sara."

"Okay…" she answers, drawing out the word. "Well, listen, it's not really the best time right now, so if there's no emergency or anything, then I really ha-"

"I moved in with Felicity."

The silence on the other end of the line is deafening. "Oh?" Sara finally asks. He can tell she's trying to go for nonchalance, but he can hear the smile in her voice, and she's not fooling anyone.

"Shut up."

Her laughter carries over loud and clear, despite the interference. "I didn't say anything!"

Oliver doesn't know what to say. Honestly, he's not entirely sure why he called Sara, other than the fact that she is the most like him out of anybody he knows. He's always been able to talk to her, even when he isn't sure what he wants to talk about.

"You know," she begins, and Oliver immediately feels relief that she's steering the conversation now. "We never really discussed what happened between you and Felicity in the manor."

Oliver watches a blue-jay land on the parking meter in front of him before flitting away. "What's there to talk about? We needed to sell it and we did. You know that. Felicity knows that-"

"Do you know that, Ollie?"

Oliver's jaw sets.

"Yes."

"Liar."

Oliver doesn't know how to respond to that, so he doesn't say anything.

"You told her you loved her, and Slade believed it when the three of us all know you can't lie for shit. And now you're living with her."

Oliver can hear murmurs in the background on Sara's end of the line. She says something in Arabic to someone else and then gets back on.

"Listen, Ollie, I'm going to have to go soon."

"Yeah, okay," he says, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees.

"Just one question – Have you thought about sleeping with her yet? And before you say anything, I don't mean sex – just - sleeping."

Oliver frowns. "What? Why?"

"Because in my experience, once you've thought about how a person sleeps, how they'd feel pressed up against your back, or your head on their chest, how compatible your bodies would be in the same space of a bed — once you've thought about that, you're fucked."

Oliver lets his gaze wander across the street, to the house that he'd begun to call home. He thinks about the blonde woman inside, and how just last night, he'd woken her up after she'd fallen asleep on the sofa, and helped her up to her room, and as she'd crawled underneath her polka-dotted comforter, for a moment, he'd imagined having a place right there next to her, instead of down the hall in the guest room. He thinks about how his bed had felt slightly emptier than it had in a long time.

Oliver runs a hand through his hair.

"Shit," he says, more to himself than to Sara. "I'm fucked."

Sara laughs. "Betawfeeh ya sadiki!" she says, the words rolling off of her tongue, and Oliver doesn't understand Arabic, but he knows her well enough to get the gist. She hangs up a moment later.

He stares at the screen blankly, feeling something monumental shift inside of his chest. Then he grabs his water bottle, puts his phone back in his pocket, and heads inside to shower. Felicity probably has a cup of coffee waiting for him on the kitchen counter.