"THERE IS SO MUCH HISYORY IN THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HER. IN THE WAY HE SAYS HER NAME. WHEN THEY ARE TOEGTHER, THERE IS A CURRENT THAT RUNS BETWEEN THEM; LIKE AN ELECTRIC CHARGE ON THE VERGE OF ERUPTING INTO A PERFECT STORM"
Lyla Michaels
I'm lost in thought as I stir the cut veggies in the pot, somewhere in the back of my mind completely aware that I should probably concentrate before this whole thing burns up, and I ruin dinner for my guests.
But my thoughts keep drifting, because how can they not?
I'm cooking dinner, in Johnny's kitchen for his friends that are coming over for dinner while he's in the next room taking a shower.
The domesticity of it all should scare me.
It doesn't.
The familiarity of it all, however, is on the verge of giving me a panic attack.
Because I've done this before. Cooking dinner, barefoot in the kitchen, toying with my wedding band. I've had all this before, and it didn't work. I separated with the love of my life and although it seemed the best option at the moment, it was never enough.
Because no one looked at me the way John Diggle did.
I don't think I looked at anyone the way I looked at John Diggle. It was plain facts. I has gone a couple of dates, but none of them had amounted to even the fraction of the man I knew my ex husband was.
We're taking it slow this time. The last time, things went wrong because we rushed into it. We were lonely and scared, in the middle of a war and we head dived into things before taking a moment to assess. I'd like to think that we aren't making the same mistake. I'd like to think that this time, we're taking it nice and slow, making room for conversation and arguments and resolutions.
(And yet, this feels too fast)
(Surprisingly, it doesn't scare me).
"Babe, you might want to turn the stove off." The man of my recent thoughts wraps his hands around my waist and whispers into my ear, and I hate (and love) the fact that it still brings me shivers every time.
But he's right. The pot is steaming extensively and the chicken won't taste good unless it's cooked to perfection.
John, sensing the outright panic on my face, reassures me,
"Lyla, you already know that Oliver and Felicity will eat up anything you give them right. Him because he's lived on a island where there was no food and his diet was crap, and her because she can't cook for her life and will therefore appreciate yours."
I smile at him, pushing him away to set up the dinner table, turning off the stove and appreciating the life the John has created for himself here. Especially the friends he's made that are close enough for him to joke about Oliver Queen (I'm still having trouble grasping the fact that Oliver Queen of all people is Johnny's friend and the Arrow) and Felicity Smoak .
"Lyla, where is that bottle of scotch Andy bought?" John calls from the hallway, and in my shock, I place the meat on the counter to stare at him incredulously.
"You mean the bottle of scotch that you received from your dead brother and swore to use for a very special occasion. That bottle of scotch."
He reappears from wherever he left to with that bottle of scotch and rolls his eyes at me walking into the kitchen to where we store our wine glasses.
"If I'm going to get through an entire dinner with Oliver and Felicity and their intense sexual tension, then I'm going to need everything I can get. And this is the best." He tells me seriously, and it takes everything in me not to burst out laughing, although a smile does break across my face.
"Oh come on Johnny they can't be that bad."
Ever since I met Oliver and Felicity, it became a non-mutual understanding to Johnny that he is now able to confide to one other person on the sufferings he has to go through spending almost every moment with them.
Apparently, Oliver and Felicity are one of those slow burn couples who are utterly in love with each other and just won't get their shit together to admit it and drive everyone around them nuts. Apparently, Oliver is worried that his lifestyle will harm Felicity (which is utterly stupid because they lead the same lifestyle) and Felicity respects Oliver enough to take a step back and allow him to be emotionally ready to start a relationship (which is also idiocy because girl, if you want him, go get him). But anyway, apparently, although they're not in an official relationship, they sure as hell act like it through their flirting and banter and acting cute and all, which just drives Johnny nuts and he proceeds to drive me nuts by coming home everyday to vent on every single thing Oliver and Felicity did together.
It's like watching a teenage girl trying to setup her best friend with the star quarterback and gossiping with her other friends on how cute they would be together and making a huge deal every glance and touch that usually ends up being meaningless to the ordinary eye.
"You haven't sat in a room with Oliver and Felicity for great amounts of time Lyla. I assure you that you will never utter those words ever again after tonight. "
And he walks away, muttering something about Oliver Queen, love eyes, and puppy faces. He walks away stringing a sentence that involves Oliver Queen and puppies.
I don't know the Oliver Queen from before the island, and I'm certainly not going to pretend to know the man that came back from the island, even though I may know more about who he is than some others.
What I do know is that both men would never be caught dead in a look that even remotely resembles puppy eyes and love.
Oliver Queen Post Island was an egotistical selfish bastard who had an ego the size of earth (not that all the girls chasing him around helped that) and therefore had no need for such a degrading look as a loving gaze. Oliver Queen right now seems way too harsh and jagged to pull off such a look.
This makes me conclude that John is being dramatic and over-exaggerating things.
Oh. My. God. I am going to die if we have another group anything before these two get together!
Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak arrived an hour ago, together, and as usual, the latter walked into the room in a breeze of smiles, babbles, and warmth. Her partner, quiet but observed the environment with a warm gaze, looking comfortable than I have ever seen him.
Everything was all right for the first hour before dinner, Felicity and I sat on the couch talking about everything from Argus, to weddings, to nieces and aunts while Oliver and Johnny sat out on the balcony with a bottle of beer talking about God knows what.
That's really when it all started.
The living room was directly in front of the balcony, so every time the boys looked to the side, they faced us. This happened quite sometimes whenever Johnny would laugh, or Oliver would shake his head. It was normal.
What wasn't normal was the way Oliver's gaze dropped on the couch, more specifically Felicity, almost every minute.
The first time I noticed it was when Oliver and Felicity's gazes met from across the room, and I couldn't help but stare, as they stared. How could I not? It was electrical, for lack of a better word. They were captivated by each other; it was as if there was no one but themselves in the room.
I actually found it kind of adorable, the way they looked at each other, the way they couldn't stop looking at another. And when I met John's frustrated eyes when Oliver and Felicity were preoccupied, well, I just shrugged as to say,
They're not that bad.
Now, I take it all back.
They were perfectly fine throughout the first part of the visit, probably because they were separated, and no interaction was going on between the two.
Then, we had dinner. The boys came out from the balcony looking so much in love (which each other) and we all made our way to the dinner table, John and I on one side, and Oliver and Felicity on the other side.
"Lyla, all this looks so great." Oliver complimented, and I smiled my thanks knowing that he prefers conversations to be simple and not very lengthy.
We found conversation easily, taking about cooking of all things, which was quite surprising for a group of people that enter into violence and darkness for the most part of everyday.
"Well, I can't cook even if my life depended on it." Felicity had interjected at some point.
Oliver looked at her, putting down is drink, "Felicity, I don't know how you survive all by yourself."
She smiled at him, sweet and teasingly, "I don't. I have you. You feed my, like, all the time. Well, not all the time, since Big Belly Burger is a huge contributor to my survival, but you know, you're there too."
He smiled back at her, a true genuine smile that I had thought Oliver Queen was incapable of, "That I am."
We went back to the conversation on cooking, primarily things that we used to enjoy eating as children, and I hope that no one noticed the way I was gawking at both Oliver and Felicity.
She had picked up her tomatoes and placed them all on his plate, and he took his pepper and put them on hers. He fed her a piece of chicken and stole a piece from her. All of this was done subconsciously.
I'm sorry, but what two people that aren't in a relationship do all of that subconsciously.
Not to mention the countless amounts of inside jokes between them, the unbearable flirting ("please, you can't do a single thing without me." "Well, you got me there Felicity, you're essential to me") and the looks. Oh, God the looks.
And this brings me back to now.
"Can we go for a milkshake on the way home?" Felicity asks Oliver, both of them ready to leave together (apparently, they came together, which does not help with my difficult task of not picturing them as a couple.)
She has a hopeful look in her eyes, and from what I have witnessed today, Oliver Queen has a very tough time refusing Felicity Smoak's wishes.
"Alright, we'll stop by Big Belly Burger to pick one up. "
And when Felicity throws her head back up at Oliver to beam at him, he looks at her with such love and intensity that I forget how to breathe.
I only take a breath when they walk out the front door, his hand placed on her back, Johnny following them to escort them to their car.
This has been some dinner.
It's only when all the madness has died down, and I sit on the balcony sipping on a glass of wine while Johnny does the dishes, that I take the time to actually think.
They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, but many have perfected the act of hiding what others see in them to an extent where the eyes are just an extension of the fake image that people create for themselves.
For the ones like Oliver, Felicity, Diggle, and me, if our eyes were a direct pathway to what we were actually feeling and thinking, to who we really are, it will get us killed. And so we spend most of our lives hiding our emotions and borrowing a cold, emotionless exterior in order to protect ourselves and the ones we love.
Especially Oliver Queen.
I cannot even begin to image all that he has been through in the five years he was thought to be dead. I'm not surprised he came back a new man, but even before he was shipwrecked on the island, Oliver Queen did not have the comfort of showing his true emotions. He had created a persona for himself; the selfish, playboy trust fund kid, and although many didn't see it, it was really just a mask for him to hide behind. He cheated on his girlfriend many times, got arrested, and was expelled from a countless amount of schools.
The Oliver that came back from the island, however different he was, still had to hide his face behind a mask, both literally and figuratively. He couldn't be open to how he felt, because that would make the ones he loved in danger, he would basically paint a target on their back.
But when Oliver looks at Felicity, all his guards come crashing down, and his masks chip off.
It's almost as if he can't help it, as if he has to look at her like she hangs the stars and moon in the sky. He looks at her and gets lost; he could probably stare at Felicity for days and never stop.
Sometimes, he looks at her with disbelief, like he can't imagine that someone like her is with someone like him. He can't believe that she is still by his side.
Other times, he looks at her painfully, as if he's a thirsty man in a desert and she's the water he can't drink. He wants to be with her, but he can't, for reasons unknown to me.
He looks at her with pride, when she says something so smart that it completely flies by our heads; he looks at her with pride and adoration mixed in his gaze at the same time.
He looks at her with amusement when she babbles, protectiveness when she almost trips, and let's not forget the way he looks at her with intense lust that makes me want to walk out of the room and away from all that tension.
But none of these looks compare with the way Oliver looks at Felicity when she smiles at him.
His whole face just brightens up, and he looks so relaxed and at ease. He looks content and happy. He looks at her the way a man looks at his bride walking down the aisle.
The way Johnny looks at me.
And that's when I know that John was wrong. He was completely, utterly wrong.
This isn't sexual tension.
It's Love.
"WHEN A GIRL IS IN LOVE, YOU CAN SEE IT IN HER SMILE. WHEN A GUY IS IN LOVE, YOU CAN SEE IT IN HIS EYES."
Lyla Michaels is convinced Oliver Queen is in love with Felicity Smoak, his eyes say it all.