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Connor Walsh had always said that he doesn’t do boyfriends. In a way, it was easier. Less painful.
It was about October when he began to change his mind. He had been sitting on Oliver’s bed, early morning sunlight streaming into the room. He was in no hurry to leave.
That was new too, he realised. Sure, he’d been with the same guy twice before. Some were worth it, purely for the sex. Some, he had been curious about; he’d met some very interesting guys.
Some, he had thought he’d actually liked. Those were the worst ones. Those were the ones who broke him.
He always left eventually.
Oliver had been different. He was too kind, too innocent to break anything. Oliver would never hurt him. He wouldn’t call it love yet; it hadn’t been that long. But maybe it would be.
‘You alright?’
Connor looks up. He had almost forgotten where he was. ‘Yeah. I’m good,’ he says, grinning. It isn’t a lie.
‘I’ve got work today,’ Oliver apologizes.
‘We have a case,’ Connor jumps up off the bed. ‘See you later?’
‘Definitely,’ Oliver smiles and they kiss goodbye. It’s chaste and it’s a promise and it leaves Connor smiling like an idiot.
That was the day before Connor had slept with Paxton. And that was the day before it all went to shit. Connor had screwed up so bad. But he had been right. Oliver hadn’t hurt him; this was entirely his own fault.
Those few weeks after had not been fun. The others had noticed, he knew. Michaela teases him about boyfriend trouble. Laurel smiles sympathetically. Asher buys him a beer and offers to go to a gay bar. Connor points out that he is perfectly capable of going alone.
Wes has his head so far up Rebecca’s ass that he barely talks to the others. Asher and Michaela are arguing over the trophy and Connor has stopped caring. The cases pass and it’s a different guy every night and Connor is doing well enough, and maybe he can get over Oliver. He can just forget him. He’s fine. He’s good.
He should have known better. Because then they’re at Annalise’s house and Sam is dead and someone’s screaming and there’s a lot of blood and he can’t breathe he can’t breathe and he’s an accomplice or an accessory or something to murder (he can’t quite remember and it’s not fucking important right now) and this is a whole new level of screwing up and the night passes in a blur and he does not want to go to jail and he’s screwed up so much and he should not be driving but he leaves and he ends up outside Flat 303.
If you care about the guy at all, you’ll never come back here. That’s what the guy said, last time he was here. He was probably right. Maybe Connor’s a selfish bastard but he’s knocking on the door. It’s not even 6am. There’s no reason Oliver would answer the door. There’s even less reason that he won’t slam it the second he sees him.
‘What are you doing here?’ he hears Oliver ask flatly. He’s not sure how he replies but the door isn’t shutting. Yet.
‘Are you on anything?’
‘I wish,’ he’s laughing because this situation is so ridiculous and he’s so fucked and it’s getting hard to breathe again.
‘I screwed up Oliver, I screwed up so bad,’ the panic has definitely set in now. His legs are going, he can feel them, so he scrabbles for the wall and collapses and he’s screwed up he’s screwed up he’s so very screwed up.
‘It’s gonna be ok,’ Oliver says, resting a hand on his shoulder. But he doesn’t understand.
‘No it isn’t, it isn’t.’
‘It will be. Come inside. You can tell me everything.’
Connor tries to keep his breathing steady, looking up at Oliver desperately. There’s nothing but warmth in those eyes and he’s crying now. He doesn’t deserve him.
‘Come on, up you get,’ Oliver stands and holds out his hands and it’s like a lifeline and Connor grabs it.
He stumbles into the apartment and it’s all so familiar. It’s like a home. He crashes on the sofa, holding his knees to his chest like a child. Oliver sits next to him.
‘What happened?’
Connor shakes his head.
‘I’m trying to help, I swear, I’m trying. What’s wrong? We can fix it, I promise.’
Connor shakes his head. If anyone can fix this hell he’s in, it’s not Oliver. He begins shaking again.
‘Hey, hey. Please, just calm down,’ Oliver grabs his hands and frowns. ‘You’re freezing.’
‘It’s cold out,’ Connor mutters.
‘You’re having a hot shower. And then we’ll talk.’
Connor nods this time. He’s calmed down by the time he’s out of the shower. The reality has sunk in and it still sucks, but at least his mind has cleared.
Oliver hands him a shirt. It’s one of the ones he left behind, Connor realises. He winces.
‘So, what happened last night?’
Pulling his shirt on, Connor avoids eye contact. He’s uncomfortable with lying but he has no choice. He can’t confess to murder.
‘I was high,’ he looks down. It’s a weak falsehood and neither of them are 100% convinced, but Oliver accepts it, and with it, a whole new load of problems.
Connor almost says something, almost tells the truth, but is interrupted by his phone. He’s not relishing the thought of school, but he’s not relishing the thought of jail either.
‘You can’t just leave now,’ Oliver protests.
Connor doesn’t want to go, but he has about 10 texts and 3 missed calls. And maybe he needs to work on his priorities, but he would rather stay here with Oliver than go to clear his name.
Nevertheless, Michaela appears extremely agitated. Fair enough. He doesn’t even bother with a snarky comment, simply texting, back saying that he’ll be there shortly. ‘I’m sorry, it’s school, you know.’
‘You just told me you had a drug problem!’
‘I’ll sort it out.’
‘You can’t show up here in the middle of the night, high, and then just leave.’
‘Look, I’ve got to g-‘
‘No. You don’t get to do that. You were out of my life. Why did you come back?’
‘I needed somewhere safe with someone I trusted. That’s you.’
‘It’s been nearly two months.’
‘I missed you,’ Connor admits.
‘I hated you,’ Oliver replies. ‘But that wore off and I started missing you again. It’s fucked up.’
‘You’re telling me. I’ve really got to go now.’
Oliver sighs. ‘We still need to talk.’
‘I can come round again later,’ he suggests, hardly daring to hope.
‘I finish work at 6.’
‘I’ll be here.’
‘Don’t be high.’
‘I promise,’ Connor says. This is some new level of lying. He doesn’t deserve any of this but he has a second chance and intends to use it.
The day is stressful but at least Annalise is there. The Professor has power and experience and if it is in any way possible, she can get away with murder.
So the hours pass and he’s driving back to Oliver’s and he realises it hasn’t even been 12 hours since he was last there, yet he’s missed it.
He wonders if he should have brought flowers.
The door is opened quicker this time. Connor smiles; it could almost be the old days. Only Oliver’s frown betrays it as reality.
‘Hey,’ Connor says, and he’s like a nervous teenager.
‘Hi,’ Oliver greets him, less cold than before. ‘Do I need to make you take a drug test?’
Connor shakes his head. ‘It wasn’t a regular thing, okay. I don’t do it that often.’
‘But when you do, you go big. Go hard or go home, I get it. If it happens again we’ll check you into rehab or whatever.’
‘It won’t happen again.’
‘So you’re feeling better?’
‘Yeah,’ he says, and admittedly, he is, although that’s not saying much. Despite everything, Oliver is still a calming presence.
‘And your day was okay?’
‘It was alright,’ he shrugs. We just, you know, covered up a murder. ‘It’s nearly the holidays. We had exams this week. I want to do well.’
‘You will.’
He’s more likely to be behind bars than getting A*s this term, but he doesn’t mention that. ‘How are you doing nowadays?’
Oliver smiles. ‘Good changing the subject. Anyway, I’m fine. I’m doing just fine.’
Oliver seems to be telling the truth. ‘Good,’ Connor says honestly. He’d hate to see his ex heartbroken.
‘Work is going well,’ Oliver continues. ‘Less illegal without you, but I’ll take it.’
He’s joking about again, Connor realises. He’s just as cute as before. And still sweet and smart and perfect and too good for Connor. He knows he has to say something now, to clear the air.
But he doesn't.
‘So you’re still working too much,' Oliver states.
‘I’m working as much as I need to.’
‘You shouldn’t put your cases before your health.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Con, you work every day. Even after last night, you went straight back in.’
‘I have to. I need to do well,’ Connor sighs. Sometimes he wishes his job was easier. He doesn’t want to end up like Pax. They’re silent for a while, until something hits him. ‘Con? Really?’
‘It’s a nickname. Don’t change the subject. You need a break.’
‘Christmas is in a few days.’
‘Exactly. You shouldn’t be working.’
‘Tell that to Annalise.’
‘Maybe I will.’
Connor laughs. ‘Ollie, that woman would eat you alive.’
‘Ollie?’
‘It’s a nickname,’ he smirks.
‘Stop smirking at me. It’s distracting,’ Oliver chides.
Connor blushes at that. ‘So you’re leaving town soon?’
‘I always visit my mum at Christmas. You won’t be alone, right?’
‘Nope. Big Walsh Family Reunion. It’ll be hell. At least my sister isn’t a dick like the rest of them.’
‘I’m sure it’ll be fun.’
‘Oh, I doubt that.'
Time passes and there's still a barrier between them, an awkwardness Connor can't ignore. They chat about little mundane things for a while, but he can't keep it up, and he does want some sleep.
'I’m gonna head off, I think.’
‘Yeah, you seem tired. We can meet up after Christmas?’
‘Definitely,’ Connor smiles. ‘See you.’
‘Merry Christmas, Connor.’
‘Merry Christmas, Oliver.’
The Family Reunion was surprisingly okay. He does love his nephew, and being the cool uncle is fun.
His sister, as always, asks about his love life. She’s always trying to set him up with someone, but Connor cannot have that right now.
‘I have a boyfriend. His name is Oliver.’
‘You mean my slutty little brother is finally settling down?’
‘Yeah,’ Connor says, slightly wistful. At least it’s got him out of another awkward blind date. He’s hooked up with more of his sister’s colleagues than he cares to remember.
As he’s leaving the house, full of Christmas cheer and turkey, his phone buzzes. When he sees it’s Oliver, he grins.
Merry Christmas- hope you had a good day. I’ll be back in town on the 4th of January. We can meet up then?
Sounds great.
He doesn’t do much for that week. He studies a little and he meets up with Asher a couple of times, and he does go back to his sister’s house for her New Year’s Eve Party and gets a little drunk, but he doesn't hook up with anyone.
Mostly, however, he looks forward to the 4th.
When the day arrives, he dresses smartly and make sure his hair is perfect. He arrives on time, present in hand.
‘Hey,’ he grins. ‘How was your mom?’
‘Alright. She asked when she’s getting grandkids.’
Connor winces. ‘You’ve not mentioned the gay thing?’
‘No, she knows. She’s just fine with adopted grandkids.’
‘Oh, nice. So you had a good time?’
‘I guess.’
‘Good.’ I missed you. ‘I got you a present.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah,’ he smiles and chucks the parcel to Oliver. ‘My grandma made it.’
Oliver unwraps the disgustingly ugly hat carefully. ‘So this is a regift?’
Busted. ‘I couldn’t pull it off. But you totally can,’ he jumps up and places it over Oliver’s face, laughing. ‘Aw yeah, look at that.’
Oliver is so adorable in that moment, and Connor wishes he could kiss him. Instead, he forces himself away. ‘Alright, grab your coat, we’re gonna to be late for our reservations.’
‘What are you talking about?’
Connor tries to play it off, but fails.
‘What are you doing, bring me gifts, making me reservations at fancy restaurants.’
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Connor doesn’t want to move too fast, he doesn’t want to screw it up. ‘Look, I- I like you, and I wanna spend time with you.’ He can’t believe he actually stuttered there.
‘I can’t- not tonight. I already rented a movie and it’s gonna expire if I don’t watch it,’ Oliver’s excuses are fairly shit.
‘I’m down for a night in.’
‘Hey, I didn’t invite you to stay.’
Connor’s already sat on the couch again, and Oliver smiles a little, but is taking no shit. ‘We’re not dating, and last I heard, you were meant to be dealing with your drug problem.’
‘I haven’t used since that night.’ Is that a lie? Connor can barely tell.
Oliver’s protesting again and Connor feels awful. He just wanted a bit of fun. ‘I’m not gonna freak out again, I promise. And if you kick me out again, I can’t guarantee that I’m not going to go straight to a dealer and buy an 8ball,’ he deadpans. Oliver laughs a little, and it’s ridiculous that this is their humour.
‘Fine,’ Oliver says finally. ‘But stay on your end of the couch.’
Connor waves his hands in surrender.
‘And you can’t laugh at what I rented.’
‘Uh, what’s The Thorn Birds?’
And then Oliver’s throwing a pillow at him and they’re laughing and the tension between them is gone, and they are just friends.
He doesn’t push his luck; he leaves after the film.
The next day he has school, but he also has the rest of The Thorn Birds to look forward to; he had got strangely into it. That, and the thought of more time with Oliver makes the day more bearable.
‘Didn’t school start again? Don’t you have to go home and do work?’
‘Well yeah but. No.’
He’s joking about the stupid characters of the movie when suddenly he finds himself against the wall, Oliver kissing him like it’s the last time ever. Connor can barely process what’s happening before it’s broken off.
‘You don’t get to do that,’ Oliver states, worried.
‘Uh, you kissed me,’ Connor protests, smiling despite himself.
‘Exactly. I’m so stupid.’
Okay, that stings. ‘Look, Oliver, relax.’
‘No.’
There are words are spilling out of Oliver’s mouth and each one hurts more than the last; the truth is painful. He still cares, Connor realises. And it’s destroying them.
‘Oliver, I really like you.’
‘I more than like you. Damnit. Like, you know the way that you can’t do drugs? That’s how you are for me.’
‘We can take this slow,’ Connor begins. ‘I don’t trust anyone in my life right now except you. So just don’t make me go. Please.’
The honesty is brutal, and they’re standing there in the kitchen, the air finally cleared. Connor doesn’t know if it’s worth it.
‘It’s your call, I guess. But I’d really like to stay. We can forget everything. We can start over. I’m sorry about what happened a few weeks ago,’ he shuffles awkwardly. ‘I know I messed up and hurt you and I know we can’t just ignore that. But I still really like you, and I’d like to be friends.’
Oliver is silent. Fair enough. He hates the complicated mess they’re in. ‘Friends would be good,’ he says finally.
‘Yeah?!’ Connor’s face breaks into a smile. At least here and now, the damage he’s done is somewhat repairable.
‘Yeah,’ Oliver nods. ‘It’s not the same as before, you know?’
‘Of course. We’re not boyfriends.’
‘Were we ever?’
Connor doesn’t respond to that. What had they once been? They’d had fun, they’d fucked, they’d been happy together, but they’d never labelled it and maybe it was better that way. And well, whatever that was, he’d lost it now.
‘So we can kind of start over?’
‘I guess.’
‘Ok, yeah.’
‘I’m Connor Walsh,’ and I think I love you and I’m sorry about that.
‘I’m Oliver Hampton,’ and I wish I didn’t care so damn much.
They shake hands and the touch is cursory but it means more to Connor than any one night stand ever could. ‘So how was your day?’
‘Do friends really ask that?’
Connor nods. ‘I think so, at least. I could be wrong’
‘Do you not have friends?’
‘They’re more like-’ accomplices- ‘colleagues.’
‘But when you were at school? You must have been the popular kid.’
‘I had a reputation and people did know my name, but I didn’t have actual people I liked, you know? I wasn’t the most social and there were like, no hot guys there.’
‘Tough life.’
‘Horrible. Now what about you? You had to be the class nerd. The ’
‘I was a band geek,’ Oliver admits.
‘No way,’ laughs Connor.
‘Lead Trombone.’
‘I can totally see that happening. Were you any good?’
‘Lead Trombone, Connor. They don’t just give that honour to anyone,’ he teases.
‘Of course not. Do you still play?’
‘God no. It’s a ridiculous instrument. I might still have it lying around somewhere.’
‘I’d pay money to hear you play it.’
‘My neighbours would complain.’
‘Oh come on, that’s not the worst thing they’ve heard from this apartment.’
‘Shut up.’
‘Make me.’
Shit, he’s forgotten himself. Oliver’s smile fades a little and as he leans back, Connor realises how close they’d gotten.
Connor clears his throat. ‘Anyway, you never told me. How was your day?’
They stay up late talking, catching up on lost time. Connor doesn’t have any alcohol and doesn’t even attempt to make a move; he’s perfectly content just chatting and enjoying Oliver’s company. This friendship thing could work out alright, he realises.
‘I’ve got work tomorrow,’ Oliver grimaces as the clock hits midnight.
‘I have a case.’
‘You can stay here. If you want, I mean.’
‘Yeah, if you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all.’
‘I’ll sleep on the couch.’
‘You sure?’
Connor nods. Friends don’t share beds, he thinks.
‘Ok. Sleep well.’
‘Good night.’
It’s slightly strange. He hasn’t slept on this couch before, unless you count quick naps on lazy Sunday afternoons with Oliver right beside him. But here and now, he’s alone and he has plenty of blankets (thanks to Oliver) but it’s still cold. They’d never said good night like that before either. He’d always left straight away or stayed in bed after sex. He supposed there’d be a lot of novel experiences now, and he’d just have to get used to it.
Oliver was worth it all. Oliver was worth the world. So Connor would just try to be a good friend and try to stop lying.
Connor didn’t want to screw things up. Not again.
When his alarm goes off, Oliver is already gone, but there’s a cup of coffee and a little note on the table.
Working late tonight, but free tomorrow evening. Come round then? – Oliver :)
Even in writing he’s cute, Connor smiles. He downs the coffee and grabs some decent clothes and feels surprisingly awake. He keeps the scrap of paper with him.
He arrives in the lecture hall as normal, nodding at the others. They all look shattered and miserable. Annalise herself seems tired, or at least preoccupied. Connor wonders if they are right in trusting her, if they are right in trusting anyone, even themselves.
Maybe it would be better to confess now. He doesn’t want to be locked up. He wants a future.
‘We didn’t kill anyone,’ He whispers to Michaela.
‘But-’
‘We can say we had PTSD; that was why we didn’t say anything originally. We can get out of this.’
‘What, blame it all on Wes?’
‘He did kill her. We don’t have to go down for this.’
He and Michaela are similar, he realises. They’re both ambitious, ruthless dicks. And they both want to get away with this. Eventually, she agrees.
They manage to get Laurel on their side as well. That’s more surprising. She seems the honest type. It’s odd what a little murder can do to people. So they agree to go to the police at the end of the day. Connor is willing to place himself in the hands of the law. The law is trustworthy.
It turns out Laurel is not.
Connor returns to his empty apartment, tired and alone, feeling both betrayed and guilty. He sits on his bed, feeling the panic come on again, his chest tightening. He’s got no one here though, no one to help him. He rocks back and forwards trying to breathe, trying to breathe but the breath won’t come.
He doesn’t know how much time passes but he regains some control and grabs his coat to go for a quick walk outside, his body on autopilot. He’d always found that helpful, and at least it was a distraction. Being high would be somewhat preferable to this, he realises. He wonders if it’s worth finding some decent drugs, or at least a bottle of vodka.
But he’s made a promise.
He checks his phone. Wes has called a few times, probably panicking about Connor turning him in. Good. At least the murder is one problem in his life that isn’t his fault.
That’s possibly the most fucked up sentence he’s ever thought.
Anyway, Connor’s more interested in the text message from Oliver.
How you doing?
Alright. Ok, that’s a lie, but he’s not going to be a selfish dick.
When did you get off? Wait, shit no.
Work, I mean. Nice save.
Just now :( We still good for tomorrow?
Definitely! Was that too eager?
6?
Works for me.
See you then.
Connor hugs his phone to his chest like an 8th grader with a crush and he knows he’s totally sickening. He’s never been entirely sure what love is, but he knows this is the closest he’s ever been. Maybe it’s the walk, or maybe it’s Oliver, but he’s definitely feeling better and calmer.
See you. He sends finally, before heading back inside.
He’s glad for the warmth of the apartment. He isn’t particularly fond of the old place, but at least it all works and it’s somewhere to call home. Leaning on the radiator for more heat, he sets his phone alarm, bleakly early again, and decides to call it a night. He hasn’t got much work done recently, but Annalise is hardly going to fail him now.
He might not trust her, but no one wants to go to jail.
He takes some melatonin to help his sleep; it doesn’t work. At the best of times, he’s an uneasy sleeper but now there are nightmares of that night, replayed over and over again with vivid images and gratuitous detail. He wakes around 5 and elects to stay up, making himself some coffee. He sure as hell needs it.
For once, no one has texted or called him, and the world seems completely silent but for the gentle roar of cars outside. He pushes all thoughts out of his mind and concentrates on his text books. They’re actually interesting; Connor is reminded of why he’s becoming a lawyer, and why he doesn’t want to lose this chance.
He studies until his alarm goes off, and then contemplates another coffee. Eventually, he decides against it, which proves to be a mistake as his exhaustion catches up with him almost as soon as he reaches campus. Michaela raises an eyebrow when she notices. ‘No sleep?’
He shakes his head, almost drifting off.
‘Nice one man,’ Asher winks and fist bumps him. Connor laughs at that- at least Asher is still sane and normal, even if he’s got it completely wrong. God knows, that’s what Connor needs right now. A bit or regularity. The world could have stopped spinning and Asher Millstone would still be a douchey dudebro.
He does almost nod off in their first lecture. Laurel elbows him sharply.
‘Ow,’ he mutters.
‘Sorry,’ she whispers. ‘And hey, I am sorry about lying yesterday. But you weren’t thinking straight.’
‘I get it. None of us are that mentally stable right now. If we go to prison, I’m blaming you.’
‘We won’t. We’ve got the best lawyer in the state helping us, and we’re all clever enough.’
‘You have so much faith.’
‘How do you think I sleep at night? Whatever, just try to stay awake and keep your cool.’
Way easier said than done. He tries to concentrate on his work for the rest of the day; Annalise is still taking cases right now. The woman never stops and Connor doesn’t know whether to be impressed or terrified. Either way, he has to work his ass off to win this case and keep things as normal as possible. It’s tiring and it’s difficult.
The note in his pocket gets him through the day.
They’re trawling through paperwork when Connor realises he should probably leave. ‘Have you guys got this?’
‘Yeah,’ Michaela looks up suspiciously. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I have plans with someone.’
‘Really?’
‘You’ve got a date?’ asks Wes.
‘No. We’re friends.’
Michaela nods. ‘It’s the IT one, right? Your ex.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Connor’s in love.’
He throws a file at Michaela’s head. She catches it and throws it back at him. ‘Don’t do naught I wouldn’t do.’
‘Good luck!’ Laurel calls.
It’s not a date, but he appreciates them all the same. Even Michaela, dickish as she is, is at least just teasing. There’s no malice there anymore. Their previous arguments seem so petty nowadays.
He reaches Flat 303, and it’s nice not having to worry about being turned away.
‘You made it,’ Oliver smiles, answering the door. ‘I ordered Chinese- our usual order.’
‘Perfect,’ Connor shuts the door and settles in his usual seat on the sofa. And it is perfect.
‘How’s your case going?’
For a second he worries that he means Sam, but he shakes that fear off. ‘Our client is totally guilty,’ he shrugs.
‘That sucks.’
‘It’s fine. We can win it. We’re good.’
‘Oh, cool?’
‘Although I might need you to help with some hacking stuff.’
Oliver frowns. ‘Wait, is that what this is? Do you just want me to help you with work?’
‘No, no, hell no.’
‘Are you sure? Because if you want me to break the law or assist in a case or whatever, you don’t need to lie.’
‘I’m certain. You’re not just some- some genius computer on legs. You’re more than that. I-’ he hesitates, the words on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows them back. ‘You’re a friend, remember.’
Oliver pretends not to notice the hesitation there. ‘So we’re not purely transactional.’
‘We never were.’
‘You flirted information out of me and then we hooked up.’
‘Only after I’d gotten what I needed. The hooking up was just a bit of fun.’
‘You’re not wrong there.’
They smile, both blushing slightly. Connor wonders who’ll be the first to drop the friendship act. Probably him, but it won’t be for lack of trying. It’s hard hiding emotions like this. It’s not something he’d ever had to worry about before, and it’s not something he’s enjoying.
‘You’ve been ok, then?’
‘Much better.’
‘Good. No drugs.’
‘Not even one,’ he jokes lamely.
‘Well done. Oh, I got a film for us to watch,’ Oliver grins and produces a copy of Legally Blonde.
‘You’re kidding.’
‘It’s a classic.’
‘Never seen it.’
Oliver jumps up and turns the TV on. ‘No way. You’re missing out.’
‘You’re ridiculous.’
‘You’ll thank me later.’
‘Sure,’ Connor sighs, curling up on his side of the sofa. ‘It better be accurate.’
He gets embarrassingly invested in the plot and its character, and by the end is actively cheering for Elle, booing the rich dick guy and practically ignoring his food, so focused on the screen.
‘So you enjoyed it?’ Oliver smiles, as the credits roll and Connor realises he is literally on the edge of his seat.
‘The law was all correct.’
‘You enjoyed it.’
‘Maybe,’ he admits.
‘I knew it. You wanna stick some crappy TV on?’
‘Yeah, go on.’
Oliver finds the channel playing constant reruns of Friends, and they laugh at the stupidity in moments when they are paying attention, but they don’t really watch; they just talk.
Connor wishes they’d talked more in the past. Sex was fun and all- like really fun- but he’s realised an actual relationship can be just as good. Too late for that now, though. Oliver seems perfectly happy as friends and that’s killing him.
In one of the few moments of silence, Connor feels his eyes shutting and he can’t bring himself to open them. He’s exhausted. He stops trying to stay awake and gives in to sleep.
When he wakes up the next day, he’s running a bit late. But more importantly, he’s lying in Oliver’s lap, a blanket covering both of them.
He could just go back to sleep, just fuck it all and enjoy this peace.
That’s not what friends do. He tries to get up without waking Oliver, but he’s a light sleeper.
‘Sorry,’ Connor mutters.
‘It’s cool,’ Oliver avoids his gaze. ‘Shit, what time is it?’
‘8:30.’
‘Fuck.’
They’re both in a rush to leave and both still tired and slightly uncomfortable from the sofa, but they manage to get ready quickly and leave the apartment soon enough.
‘Hey, you free tonight?’
‘I’ve got a study group thing,’ Connor kicks himself for agreeing to a meeting, but covering up a murder is time-consuming.
‘Oh, okay,’ Oliver hides his disappointment semi-successfully.
‘What about tomorrow?’
‘Sounds good.’
‘It’s a-’ date, ‘plan.’
They separate outside the block of flats, and Connor heads off to campus. The future seems less bleak now. It’s a nice change.
And so they settle into a steady rhythm of not-dates every other day, sometimes more, sometimes less. They watch films and they talk and Connor hasn’t felt this relaxed with another person, well, ever.
They marathon The Hobbit and The Lord of The Rings over a few days, and find they’re both complete nerds about those films and both really into Aragorn.
And then, when Oliver finds out that Connor’s never seen them, they watch the Harry Potter series, and Connor has to hide his tears when Dobby dies.
They both know the Star Wars films off by heart, and Oliver even manages to get him into some geeky action superhero films.
Michaela still teases him about it, even when Connor insists they’re just friends. Which is true, they are just friends, even though he knows he wants to be more than that. Oliver doesn’t.
And he can live with that. It’s fine.
It’s not perfect, of course. Sometimes Connor breaks down. Sometimes Oliver is there to help him. Sometimes he isn’t.
There’s a bad day or two. When the police find the body, Oliver can tell something’s wrong. He does make Connor take a drug test that night, and is relieved when it comes up negative. Connor mutters something about work being stressful, which is extremely true, and Oliver lets him cry on his shoulder.
There’s a few good days too. As messed up as it is, the relief Connor feels when that Detective is arrested is palpable. It’s a huge weight off his shoulders, and Oliver notices his good mood.
‘Did you win a case?’
‘You could say that.’
He’s keeping his distance from the Keating murder now. The evidence against Nate is enough; none of them need to do anything but stay silent, and hopefully the ring will be enough. Nowadays, their study groups are actual study groups, and they’re comfortable to share their lives.
They comfort Michaela about her marriage breakdown. Connor feels awful; he knows it’s partly his fault. But it’s done now, and Michaela does seem more relaxed now. They laugh about Laurel’s multiple boyfriends and argue over which one is best. They tease Asher about Bonnie, and Wes about Rebecca, and the boys laugh it off. When asked about his love life, Connor just shrugs.
‘You’re still not dating him?’ Asher asks.
‘No.’
‘You practically live together.’
‘Not officially.’
‘And you both like each other.’
‘Not officially.’
‘And you go on dates to restaurants and the movies?’
‘They’re not dates. We’re taking it slow, you know.’
‘He’s good for you,’ Laurel states.
Connor smiles. Oliver is good for him, and he wants to be good for Oliver as well. He wants to be a decent (boy)friend.
They’re not dating. It’s easier that way.
Still, Connor’s not hooking up with other people either.
One day, he asks about the spatula guy.
‘It’s still not any of your business,’ Oliver begins. ‘It was a one night thing.’
‘He knew who I was.’
‘Well,’ Oliver blushes a little. ‘We were, uh-’
‘You were fucking.’
‘Yes. And it was going pretty well until I, uh, forgot myself and said your name.’
Connor blinks, surprised. ‘So that’s why he was so pissed off with me.’
‘He asked me about it after. I probably talked too much about you.’
‘No wonder he never came back.’
‘He was hardly a keeper. But yeah, that was awkward,’ Oliver laughs and now Connor’s blushing too. God, they’re a mess.
At one point, Connor hasn’t been back to his apartment for about a week, and it’s a good thing he’s roughly the same size as Oliver so they can share clothes.
‘Why do you have all of these?’ Connor asks; far too much of Oliver’s wardrobe is bright, patterned wintery sweaters.
‘Hey, they’re really warm. My mum buys them for me. I know they’re fairly awful.’
‘No, no, I love them.’ Connor chooses a green one with birds on it and pulls it on. ‘Thanks. See you later, yeah?’
‘Have a great day, Con.’
He ignores the looks when he gets to school. It’s not exactly his usual sharp suit, but it sure is warm.
‘What the hell is that?’ Asher asks.
‘It’s a jumper.’
‘It’s hideous.’
‘It’s Oliver’s, isn’t it?’ Michaela joins them.
‘Maybe.’
‘That’s such a boyfriend thing. Are you dating yet?’
‘No.’
‘I give it a month.’
On the one hand, Connor doesn’t want to give them that satisfaction. On the other hand, he thinks he might love Oliver a bit. It’s his smile, it’s his laugh, it’s his eyes, it’s his ruffled hair, it’s his fashion sense, it’s everything. He wonders if Oliver still feels the same.
‘Earth to Connor,’ Michaela teases.
‘Sorry, what?’ his thoughts are interrupted.
‘Please, just ask him out. If he’s half as crazy as you, he’ll say yes.’
‘I’m not going to push Ollie. I’ve done enough.’
‘Leave the poor boy alone,’ Laurel jogs up behind them. ‘He’ll get his act together when he wants.’
Michaela and Asher stifle giggles.
‘What?’ Connor demands.
‘Nothing, just… Ollie?’
‘Oh, shut up,’ Connor groans. They’re never going to let that one go.
After the trial of Detective Lahey, things begin to look up even more. Maybe his moral compass is screwed up, but an innocent man going to jail is the best thing that’s happened since the 4th of January.
He’s definitely in a good mood when he gets home- he does consider Oliver’s place his home now.
‘What’s got you so hyper?’ Oliver asks as Connor jumps up and down.
‘I’m just really happy,’ he says. The truth is definitely not appropriate right now.
‘You’re kinda cute when you’re happy.’
Connor’s practically giggling. ‘You’re the best friend ever, you know that?’
‘You’re not too bad yourself. Why are you so happy?’
‘Good day at work. And you.’ Connor finally sits down next to Oliver and is momentarily serious. ‘Thanks.’
‘For what?’
‘For everything. For putting up with me. For helping me. For being you.’
Oliver looks at him long and hard. He wonders if Connor wants to be friends, or more. It’s hard to tell. He could ask, he supposed.
Instead, he decides on more immediate action and pulls Connor in, and this time they’re both ready. Connor leans into it and the kiss is slow and sweet and they’re just grinning like idiots, idiots who’ve waited far too long for this.
‘For that,’ Connor whispers as they part.
‘I think I love you,’ Oliver admits finally.
‘I don’t deserve you.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that. I want to be with you. Are you okay with that?’
‘More than okay.’
‘So, we’re dating?’
‘Yeah. Can I call you my boyfriend?’
‘Please do. Can I meet your sister?
‘Maybe. So we can kiss again?’
‘Definitely.’
This time, it’s more heated and their hands begin to wander. They stand up, stumbling to the bedroom. Connor breaks off for a second so Oliver can get that vile jumper off of him.
‘Much better,’ Oliver mutters, throwing it into a corner.
‘Yeah, it wasn’t really my style,’ Connor smiles, unbuttoning Oliver’s shirt. They chuck that somewhere out of the way too, and shut the bedroom door behind them.
Connor Walsh had always said that he doesn’t do boyfriends.
But just this once, he’s willing to reconsider.