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Connor’s naked and he’s lying under the covers in a bed that technically belongs to him now. It has for a few weeks. It doesn’t feel like it’s his, not really. But that’s a good thing. It’s a good thing because it still feels like Oliver’s bed. It feels like Oliver is letting him in to his spaces, but still somehow like home at the same time, and that’s better than anything that Connor had ever felt was his. 303 felt like home long before it was officially exactly that, and he didn’t want that feeling to change. He didn’t want it to feel more like his if it meant losing anything on how this felt. He knows his motives aren’t as pure as they should be. He’s trying to throw himself into this good and normal thing that he has with Oliver because it’s his safe haven from all the bad stuff, even though he almost definitely doesn’t deserve it. He’s an accessory to murder that is lying about a drug addiction. He’s bad news and Oliver doesn’t even know it. But right now, lying with Oliver in their bed, it’s so easy to pretend that none of that matters. It’s so easy not to think and to just feel, and being here, living here, it feels so good and comforting and easy and right. His motives might not be entirely pure or genuine, but the way he feels about Oliver absolutely is. He really does want to be here, be with Oliver, more than anything, even with murders and HIV and faked drug addictions and real medication that they’re taking and anything else that might come along. His head is lying against Oliver’s chest, their arms loosely around each other, and he knows it’s only a few minutes before Oliver will be dozing off in the post-sex haze.
They’ve had sex twice in their apartment now, both times tonight. It’s been a little more than the predicted 13 days. 16 to be exact. Oliver hadn’t been ready, and Connor could tell. Oliver was worried and guilty and more insecure than usual and Connor had no desire to be an asshole about this. So they’d waited, and Oliver had been grateful, of all things, as if somehow Connor was doing him some kind of massive favour instead of just being a decent fucking person. Even remembering it shatters Connor again. Connor had been hit by the realisation on day 14 that he'd be willing to wait for a very long time if he had to. But that’s not to say he hadn’t been incredibly, overwhelmingly happy when he’d come through the door this afternoon, and been met with Oliver’s lips on his and a breath of ‘ready, tonight, now’.
Connor traces his fingers down Oliver’s side, hearing Oliver suppress a laugh. It’s small and ridiculous but that suppressed laugh settles down in the pit of his stomach and he knows with terrifying conviction that he’s never felt anything like this for anyone before. He already knew that, really, but it felt almost too solid and sure now. He rolled over a little, resting his hands on Oliver’s chest and balancing his chin on top of them. He looked down at Oliver’s face. His eyes are still closed, but he’s smiling a little. God, Connor’s so in love.
“Ollie?” he says quietly. He saves that nickname; he only uses it when the moment feels important or intimate, or both, like now. Oliver’s eyes drift open slowly and look at Connor softly. “Hi.” Connor says quietly. Oliver smiles. Connor’s heart explodes.
“Hey.” Oliver mumbles, moving a hand up Connor’s back to tangle in the hair at the back of his neck.
“I love you.” The words come out clearer than he was expecting. He doesn’t stutter or mumble. They feel correct on his tongue in a way he wasn’t expecting them to. Oliver’s smile widens, and then he bites his lip. He doesn’t reply. He just raises his eyebrows, and there’s a glint of humour in his eyes. Connor knows how to read it well enough now to know that he shouldn’t be worried or offended. “What?” he says obligingly.
“Sorry I was just waiting for an ‘actually’ or something to ruin it.” Oliver’s already laughing as he speaks. Connor rolls his eyes and tries not to laugh himself. He doesn’t succeed. He rolls off of Oliver and lies back down next to him, facing him and poking his side.
“Oh my God, you’re the worst.” He tells him as he pokes. Oliver’s laughing again and it’s perfect. Oliver hasn’t been laughing much in recent weeks. He doesn’t know how to change that, but he’ll let himself and his (numerous) past failings be the punch-line of a hundred bad jokes if it means Oliver will have something to laugh at. Oliver turns on his side to face Connor and moves his hand to rest on Connor’s waist.
“I love you, too.” he says quietly, almost reverently. Connor grins at him, shuffling closer and wrapping his arms around his boyfriend, rubbing his hands over Oliver’s shoulder-blades. He even loves completely normal and irrelevant parts of Oliver like his damn shoulder-blades
“I know.” He says. His tone is teasing again and Oliver is raising his eyebrows again. He expected this conversation to be heavier and deeper. He likes it better this way.
“Oh do you?” He’s laughing, and Oliver gives him a little nudge in the shoulder.
“You may have mentioned it?” He doesn’t know why it comes out as a question but Oliver’s looking at him in mock accusation and shoving him lightly again and then they’re both laughing. Connor is pretty sure that the basic weight of living had never felt lighter.
“I knew you heard!” Oliver takes a leaf out of Connor’s book and pokes his boyfriend’s side, but he’s still laughing.
“Yeah.” He confesses, unable to stop smiling. Oliver’s smile subdues a little. He looks at Connor, biting the inside of his lip a little.
“I didn’t actually mean to say it, then.” Connor grabs Oliver’s hand, rubbing his thumb along the side of Oliver’s.
“I know.” He doesn’t know how to comfort, but Oliver releases the inside of his lip once and for all and smiles at Connor again.
“I wondered. If you’d heard.” His voice was quieter than before. It’s got that insecure note that always makes Connor want to spill everything that he feels, from the way that he knows Oliver really honestly does deserve better to the way that Oliver’s smile gives him heart palpitations when it’s directed at him. But he doesn’t know how.
“I know. I just… didn’t know what to do or how to address it. So I didn’t. But it felt like… it felt good. To hear.” He hopes Oliver knows that it’s a promise, an encouragement and an apology all at once. Oliver grins at him like he does.
“Feels pretty good on this end, too.” It’s teasing and encouraging and Connor rolls his eyes but he knows he’s sold. He’s probably going to become that guy that says ‘love you’ at the end of every phone call or when he leaves the house and, God help him, declares it during sex. But that’s okay. It's okay because it's Oliver.
“It’s pretty nice to say, so maybe you’ll hear it a lot more often now.” He admits, and he knows he’s smiling again.
“I’d be okay with that.” Oliver leans in and kisses him.
“I love you.” Connor mentions when he pulls back. He moves his hands to Oliver’s cheeks and says it again. “I love you.” He pecks his lips once more, and says it. “I love you.”. He kisses a line back to the spot behind Oliver’s ear that always makes him turn to jelly, and says it into his skin after each kiss. Oliver’s laughing and clinging to Connor’s sides. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” Because he does. He does, he does, he does. Actually.