Harper
I thank whatever gods may be
for my unconquerable soul
Harper's grin is practically splitting his face when Oliver plays into it. "And now you're my favorite person for saying that." Not that he'd met anyone else, but who would Harper be if he wasn't dramatic? Dead, probably. You could take the boy out of the circus...At least Oliver seems receptive to his appreciation at least. Others, especially the men he had known in the past, would often shrink away from such emotional availability. It's a breath of fresh air to have it accepted so readily. "Then I'm glad I can pay it back even a little." How exactly he was helping the young man was beyond him, but he was glad to do it at all.
A groan of dismay leaves the man, and he slumps sideways into Oliver like he's about to fall to the ground. Moaning sadly and tearfully as he pressed his face to the man's shoulder. "I take it back, you're cruel! How could you tease me with food and not deliver?" Of course the second Oliver breaks and decides they will get food, the man springs back to his feet, limber and childlike as he squawks victoriously at the prospect of bread.
Like a child he goes wandering through the stalls, mostly relying on plain colors and styles that will allow his ridiculous acrobatics once he gets his shoulder fixed. When he finds one he calls out to Oliver, who helps him barter his way through the process (a good thing because Harper is a pushover who would likely not bargain for an equal deal). Which lands him with at least a few shirts to start with as they continue on. "You're gonna have to help me get outside my comfort level of terrible style." Functionality was always the important thing for him, which meant style was a foreign word to Harper.
