-Claiming he’s a fast runner and running ahead while his friend has to solve a puzzle to continue
-Literally screaming at his teacher to pick him becAusE hE kNeW tHE aNsWer
-Asking Angela to meet him at night and turning up late to said meeting, talking about archeology
-Telling his friends to climb through his window and forgetting to open it
-Bringing an entire carriage full of stuff to the ruins but only literally one (1) shovel
-Asking his teacher questions about finding the mask of chaos which was already in his possession at this time
-Calling himself “the most handsome chap in town”
-Wearing glasses even though he has not only fine but extraordinarily good eyesight
-“No we won’t put ourselves in danger”
-*points down cliff* “oh yes the ruins are down there”
-Hiding puzzles in his own damn room
-Wondering if a mushroom is poisonous and suggesting to just try it and find out
-Saying that he only likes vegetables that you have to dig up first
-Hiding puzzles on a street
His ribcage only hurt a little when he climbed off of the motorcycle, and Oliver was going to count that as a win. Every year that passed brought another, stronger reminder of the hell he’d put his body through. The hell that he continued to put his body through. Maybe it was time to let somebody else take up the mantle and wear the hood for a little while. If only so he could get a full night of sleep in peace, curled up next to Felicity and not having to be cautious about how he moved because of bruised ribs or scrapes or a litany of injuries that just added up to nothing but pain.
“You’re getting old, old man,” Felicity had told him the last time he’d voiced these thoughts. “I mean, not even taking into account the fact that basically we’ve got a teenager. You’re essentially two seconds from shaking your bow and shouting ‘Darn kids! Get off my lawn!’ like Mr. Randall down the street used to do to me and my friend Harrison.”
“Shut up,” Oliver had said, though he’d laughed.
He hadn’t been laughing when Artemis had called him the same thing during their last sparring session before she left, but then, maybe the women in his life had a point.
Speaking of Artemis…he collected his things from the saddlebags and took the front steps two at a time. He’d handed off the night patrols to Roy for a reason, though he was later than he’d have liked thanks to a little issue. Some idiot had tried to rob the store while he’d been in line, which was why the cops now had reports of a hooded man taking out a hooded gunman and why the gerbera daisies he carried were a little wilted. He figured Artemis would enjoy them more knowing that he’d hit some guy in the face with them.
“In here,” Felicity called from the kitchen when he came inside, unzipping his motorcycle jacket. “Hey, there’s something on the news about a random citizen stopping a robbery at Mack’s. Know anything about that?”
“Nope.” Well-aware of her allergies, Oliver set the flowers down on the foyer table before he entered the kitchen. Felicity stood up on her toes to give him a kiss. “Where’s Artemis? Surprised she’s not down here supervising.”
“Hey, I only burned the meatballs once and I have made this dish multiple times since then, so you can keep your ‘I grew up with a Michelin-trained chef’ comments to yourself.”