Chapter Text
The buzzing in his ears is what keeps him going until he can get home; home to Oliver. His hands are shaking, and his ears have blocked out all the noise from the outside. He can only hear the frantic thrumming of his heart and feel the adrenaline pumping under his skin.
Everything is a blur.
He’s walking through the street, bumping into something, someone.
He’s in front of the door that leads to their apartment, with Oliver just behind it, safe, curled up in the sheets, lost in his dreams.
He’s opening the door.
He’s taking off all his clothes, the clothes that he wore at that house, his breath is shaky, and the clothes aren’t coming off fast enough; they get stuck on his foot, and he curses under his breath, careful not to wake Oliver.
Finally, he’s in bed. He’s hugging Oliver with a death grip. He’s probably hurting him; he’ll probably leave bruises, ugly dark bruises that will be visible in the morning, and as much as he wants to, he can’t let go. Instead Connor clings even tighter to Oliver’s sleeping form, curls up around him and nuzzles his face against the back of Oliver’s neck.
Connor breathes in deeply for the first time. He breathes in the scent of Oliver, the scent of love and comfort and home. The warm skin under his fingertips, the warmth of Oliver’s back pressed up against Connors' chest causes his heart to slow and his breathing to even out.
Slowly a hand, Oliver’s, moves under the covers, tracing down Connors' elbow until it finds his hand and lightly places his on top of Connors.
“Is everything alright?” he whispers, in a quiet, lazy voice, still laced with sleep.
In response, Connor tightens his hold around Oliver, his arm wrapping even tighter around his stomach and pulling Oliver even closer to himself.
“I’m sorry I woke you up,” Connor says, placing feather-light kissed on Oliver’s neck. “I had a bad day at work.” Is all he says because he can’t think of anything else. He can’t make up an excuse as for why, from Oliver’s point of view, he probably looks freaked out.
It’s a lie. He knows it’s a lie. His stomach is twisting with guilt that he’s not telling the truth. Oliver deserves everything in this wretched world, but at the very least he deserved a lover who is honest with him. And Connor is not.
The words, the confessions of all the horrible things he has ever done, is bubbling up in his mouth, choking him, burning his throat, trying to force their way out of his mouth, but he won’t let them. Connor won’t let them out, can’t utter those words.
Oliver groggily turns over, rustling the covers, and causing cool air to break through into the little bubble of heat they’ve created.
Slowly, he traces his hand through Connor’s hair, his cheekbones, and down to his lips. “What’s wrong,” he asks, nothing but love and worry in his eyes, his sleepy, soft expression slowly turning into one of concern. Connor can’t look at him, can’t look at the adoration and love that he sees there; it makes him sick. Those hands that bring Connor so much pleasure and trace his body with such care, they shouldn’t be allowed to be near him. Oliver shouldn’t be near someone like him.
“Connor. What’s wrong. Please tell me what happened. Your entire body is trembling, and you’re eyes have panic in them.” Oliver says, tracing his hands down Connors neck, his chest, his arms, trying to calm him down, like one would to a wild animal.
“Ollie” Connor whimpers the name and shudders. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to do. He just wants to lose himself in Oliver, in his touch in his voice, his eyes, his scent, his breath. Wants to forget that this horrible night ever happened.
“It’s all right, love, I’m here. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Tomorrow.” A lie. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.” So many lies. All Connor knows how to do is lie.
Oliver looks skeptic but doesn’t try to push it. Instead he wraps his arms around Connor, entwines their legs together, and, pressing gentle kisses to his collarbone, holds him all night.
As long as he has Oliver, Connor thinks, he’ll be okay. As long as he can feel Oliver’s arms wrap around him at night, as long as he can have the looks Oliver gives him, full of love, he’ll be okay. No matter what Annalise throws at him, no matter how tainted he becomes with blood, as long as he has Oliver, he’ll be okay. That thought is the only thing that gets him through that night. As long as I have Oliver I’ll be okay. I’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.