( he respects wynonna too much to handle her as though she’s some sort of equation on a white board that he’s worked out every possible variable of. oliver’s seen firsthand what keeping people in the dark to his crusade does to them — tommy, most notably. as with laurel, quentin, and thea ( two of whom are deceased ), he also knows what bringing them into the fold does. it doesn’t get any less terrifying, wondering if someone is going to reject him for the person he’s become, for failing to be who they thought he was but he’s learning that relationships mean more when people choose to open or shut a door with all of the facts.

if he’s supposed to be brushed off by the duck of her head and the bittersweet laugh, she misses her mark. he’s only more enamored by her. an honest display for a vulnerable topic, it seems fair. the realization that he ought to glance away, ease the tension for her, dawns on him but he doesn’t lessen the awkwardness for her. though it would help assuage her of her nerves, it feels rude somehow to disengage now. )

I know what you mean. ( as often as he’s been the man cultivating his secrets, he has also had his heart and organization infiltrated by people he cared for and trusted blindly. he likes to think that means he won’t trust with his eyes closed anymore but which is worse? seeing shadows where there aren’t any, enemies in the faces of friends, or never again lowering that wall? ) It's been a really long and winding road to get me here, but if I've learned anything from those struggles, it's that I can't expect trust without giving it first.

( that's all he has time to insert into wynonna's pause. she casts out a line, hooking him, and he feels the slow drag of being reeled towards her down to his bones. there's no shrinking back. she calls it like it is and oliver grins freely, unwilling to mask it. his hand around her wrist briefly clenches in order to enact his previous impulse. he pulls her into him, precise and quick, while his other hand finds the small of her back to balance her out if she needs the assist. just because it happens in a span of seconds doesn't mean she can't react, he gives her that moment when he releases her wrist to cup the side of her face, caressing her cheek with the pad of his thumb. )

But for the record, you'd win. ( although he feels like he's the one that's victorious here, once he leans down and does as he's told. he finally gets to discover what her lips feel like upon his and he can put a name to what she tastes like. kissing her feels slightly like flirting with disaster—she isn't one, he is—because oliver's emotions and desire are a lot like a damn and once something slips through the cracks, everything does. he's all or nothing. curiosity grips him, keeping him temporarily reined, so that he's catching her upper lip between his and then trading it for her lower lip in the lingering press of his mouth instead of rushing to swipe his tongue along the divide of hers. )