It seemed like wherever he turned, he always managed to run into someone he knew, someone he didn’t expect. That was how he felt when he saw Michael, blinking a few times at the other man before it really registered who he was looking at. “You’re here, too? Jesus, everyone must have gotten the same memo,” he joked, though it didn’t really carry through in his tone or in his demeanor. Oliver was still so tired—he was still adjusting to the lack of paranoia that had come along with escaping to the past, the knowledge that government agents weren’t lurking around every corner for him still feeling more like a lie than anything else. He reached a hand out to firmly shake Michael’s before reaching his other hand up to squeeze his shoulder. “How’ve you been?”
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