A Brotastic Evening [closed]

How long had he been at the school now? A few days or two? If he was completely honest, it was terrible here. He hated how cramped the initiate dorms were, just a shabby room crammed with bunk beds with no where to put his belongings and dust everywhere. It felt like a concentration camp more than anything, and that was only a mild exaggeration to him. There was a slight comfort in that he already knew one or two people, but he'd felt rather shafted that they had done so little to accompany him. Or his things. Or that his brother had never even stopped once to visit, never-mind that he'd never hinted at his arrival.

Although he wasn't able to hunt him down in the dorms yet, he'd caught wind that the elder boy had taken up work in the local cafe, and so that's where his feet had led him. Oliver didn't want to make it too obvious he was there, though. Despite the warm summer weather, he took a seat in a totally inconspicuous beanie, hiding away most of his light rose-tinted hair, with a dark pair of sunglasses to hide away his eyes... and near half his face it seemed.

Olive leaned back in the booth, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his jeans and letting his gaze wander for his waiter. Was a strange, quaint place to work, especially for their family. Had an old feeling to it, like from one of those black and white movies. The same thing could be said for most of the town. He wasn't sure yet what to make of it.

As the oh-so familiar waiter came up to take his over, the smaller boy let an awkward silence drag on for a moment, or two, or three. Now that Jonathan was up close, he had to stop an admire the view. His brother had always had a kin for the "lax" life. In his modest opinion, it was a waste. Albeit this place wasn't a McDonalds or a Starbucks or some other trashy fast-food joint, he'd always imagined when Jon had got out on his own, he'd be reaching a little... Oh, higher? He would never settle for some lame restaurant job, or that's what he told himself anyways.

No matter how much he had gone out of his way to delicately mask his appearance, he figured then and there any long wait of sorts would be somewhat of a bore. "I'll take my usual favorite," Oliver said, his tone straight and firm - about as daunting as a boy's voice of his age could have possibly been, anyways. A caramel macchiato. Simple, but sweet.

A crooked smile flashed on his face as he removed his glasses, blue eyes flashing up at the elder of the two. "You remember, don't you?"