A/N: this is a competition entry short story with a word count limit of 1000 words

> It's time

Oliver blinked at the message from an unknown number. This was new. They'd never got to him this way before. It was why he still had his own phone.

He put the phone back down, glancing at the large be-suited man on the other side of the table, though he hadn't reacted at the vibration and still sipped his coffee, looking down at something on his own phone and grinning.

Oliver kept his sigh quiet, just a tiny exhalation of air, and pushed his morning coffee away. He'd always suspected, regardless of all the big, safe, words, it was going to come to this. But he'd refused to hide, told himself he wouldn't let those around him down. Though that threat made everything all too real, and he blinked hot tears away at the thought that this was how he would let them down.

He'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Like so many others who have their lives turned upside down through no fault of their own. A late night run to the store for Felicity, who was heavily pregnant at the time and demanding cookie dough ice cream.

He carefully twisted the ribbon around the teddy's neck before pushing it into the chocolate-filled basket. It was for Felicity. Her Valentine's gift. It was silly, but she deserved to know someone was thinking of her.

Just like that night. He'd grabbed two tubs, hands full and wallet tucked under his chin. That was why he hadn't noticed the two men coming in the store until the explosions. A gun. Two shots. He'd never heard one going off in real life, and movies didn't really prepare you for it. The volume. The sparkling, shattered web of the security screen. The moan of the worker, slumped against broken bottles of alcohol, dripping down and mixing into a pinkish puddle. Two men, in black, scarves pulled up over their jaws, one of them reaching through the gap he'd fired the gun through, clearing out the open drawer of the till.

He'd run out then, not looking back, but the other one had turned, probably at Oliver's unintentional whimper of fear, looking right at him, dark eyes intense. He'd raised his own weapon, almost in slow motion, showing a strange reluctance to use it, in contrast to his crime buddy, but then there'd been a shout from outside, a distant siren, and he'd just narrowed his eyes and run.

To this day, Oliver was at a loss as to why he hadn't fired. The other one clearly had no concerns about shooting people who got in his way. But then, the man can't have known just how 'in his way' Oliver would be.

He spent his days, and nights, with a pair of federal officers, because it turned out they were entirely sure the robbery was part of a bigger thing. A 'crime syndicate' was how the man in charge had described it. Oliver didn't care. But he'd made the mistake of revealing he had an almost photographic memory for details to the responding officers, and when the blue-jackets had swooped in, he'd been passed to them with excitement and a sigh of relief from the local cops.

He put the chocolate-and-bear basket to one side. He wasn't sure whether he'd be able to even give it to his sister now. Whether he'd ever see his baby niece. Whether he'd see the other side of the lockdown. But this had to end. The sketch artist had been able to draw an accurate, almost photo-realistic, representation of the top half of the second man's face from Oliver's description, but they still hadn't caught him. They just kept bringing Oliver in to look at masked men, none of whom were the right ones.

He saw that face in his dreams, though. Not nightmares. There was something about it that made him smile, in those dreams, which was confusingly contradictory to how he felt about it when he was awake. But when he was awake, all he had were the agents, who barely spoke to him, so even the fear had a frisson.

< Time?

He waited long minutes, his heart climbing up his throat, and the swoop in his stomach when he read the reply made him dizzy.

> You have to remember, Ollie. Ten years ago. We said goodbye when you went to college. I know you felt it too. We joked. We'd meet up on Valentine's day in ten years. See if the feeling meant anything. It still does to me

Ben. Bennie. Oliver hadn't thought of him in so long, but the memories flooded his mind. They'd stayed in touch for a while, but then Ben had got a boyfriend and their messages had fizzled out, and then Oliver had got a boyfriend, and the hurt had faded too. They'd realized their feelings too late and left it as something unfinished, but Oliver remembered the promise, now.

> I'm outside

Oliver didn't question it, muttering something about going into the garden, but his supposed bodyguard just nodded without looking up. He pulled his jacket on and slipped out of the front door.

He saw him immediately, his back to the house. As tall as ever, but he'd filled out into broad shoulders and narrow hips.

"Ben?" he said, barely above a whisper, barely able to believe it.

Ben turned, a mask covering his lower face. Damn, Oliver had left his inside. But Ben didn't seem to care, holding a hand out to encourage Oliver to him, pulling him close.

Oliver looked into those dark, intense eyes. A little lined at the edges, different to how they'd been when they were eighteen. But exactly the same as they'd been those weeks ago in the store before he'd tucked his gun into his pants and run out.

"You caught me, Ollie. What now?"