Work Text:
Tobi closes the door to the apartment behind him with a soft click and leans back against it, exhaustion settling in every nerve in his body. He drops his practice bag to the ground beside him and makes his way to the kitchen without flicking on any lights, knowing his way around enough that he won’t trip.
It’s one of the good things about being in an apartment alone, knowing where you put everything and not unexpectedly falling over shoes and pizza boxes that weren’t there when you left.
He snorts softly to himself, shaking his head and ignoring the horrible pang in his chest at the thought of the roommate he shares his apartment with back in Arizona. Connor isn’t known for being the tidiest on the team, and Tobi can’t count the amount of times he’s come home and found himself surrounded by disaster, especially if Max and Duke are there.
It’s stupid, maybe -- probably -- that Tobi misses Arizona so much, misses the companionship and the comradeship and the way they all mesh together like the ragtag group they are.
If Tobi’s being honest with himself, which he usually is, he misses Connor the most. Misses his easy laughter and the way he slings his arm over Tobi’s shoulders like he doesn’t even realize it, his lame jokes and his horrible taste in music and the way he fits around Tobi when they wake up in the morning after a night of drinking (or the one memorable time their heater went out; Arizona gets surprisingly cold in the winter, even for his German blood).
Tobi shakes his head and sighs, flips the light on in the kitchen and then digs through the cabinets for a clean glass.
(He’s not exactly the tidiest on the team either, and his sink is full of dirty dishes, mocking him).
Things with Connor had been left on a fine note when they had both gone their separate ways for the summer, promising to stay in contact, and they had seen each other a few times at worlds. Never for long, but enough for a few exchanged words and maybe a hug, and Tobi tried not to linger on that.
A handful of text messages, stupid memes Connor had found, maybe some snapshots of interesting things they’d seen, nothing any different than usual, and it should have been enough.
It was enough.
And then the word had started spreading about Tobi’s failure to reach a contract -- they were in talks, it was fine, Tobi wasn’t and had never been worried about not coming to an agreement; his agent knew he wanted to stay in Arizona, that he had found himself a home for the first time since coming into the league, and sometimes fires get started just for the hell of it -- and Connor had vanished.
Gone.
Didn’t even read any of the texts Tobi sent, although Tobi could see that he was still active on Instagram, that he and Max and Duke were still ribbing each other through social media, and that was… well it hurt, honestly, but Tobi’s not going to dwell on it.
They each respond to things differently, and although Tobi didn’t know for a fact that Connor was reacting to the contract news, he could assume. And if this was Connor’s way of coping, then who is Tobi to pressure him?
He fills the last clean glass at the sink with water, takes a few deep drinks, and then promptly drops the glass when a hand grabs his shoulder and the other one covers his mouth.
The glass shatters on the ground, but Tobi can’t hear it over the panicked noise he makes and the blood rushing through his ears. He’s not particularly small, but the guy behind him has at least half a foot on him, maybe more, and he’s pinned motionless for the split second it takes for the guy to lean in and a familiar voice to whisper, “Tobes, it’s me.”
Tobi would recognize that voice anywhere, the tension in his shoulders dropping until he spins around and glares up at Connor, glass crunching under his shoes.
The anger is on the tip of his tongue, because seriously Connor, what the fuck, until he catches sight of Connor, and everything he wants to say falls off into nowhere, because shit. Connor looks terrible. The bags under his eyes rival Tobi’s own, his hair is limp and matted, and he looks like he’s lost about 10 pounds since Tobi’s seen him.
“What-” he starts, not sure what he’s going to say but knowing he has to say something.
What are you doing here? is his first question, followed closely by what the hell happened to you?, but he doesn’t get either of them out before Connor shakes his head and steps forward, into Tobi’s personal space. Tobi can’t step backwards, pressed against the counter, and Connor is crowding him into a literal corner.
“Don’t-” Connor says, and now that Tobi's really listening, his voice is hoarse and broken, like he’s either been screaming or hasn’t talked in hours, and it scares Tobi that he doesn’t know which it is.
“Don’t go.”
Tobi reaches out without thinking and pushes back a piece of hair that fell over Connor’s eyes -- it’s getting long, when was the last time Connor cut it? -- because he feels like he needs to be able to see all of Connor’s face for this conversation, and his breath catches in his throat when Connor leans into the touch, presses his forehead against Tobi’s fingers.
“Connor?” Tobi whispers, confused. He thinks he knows what Connor is talking about, but he isn’t going to be making any assumptions. He’s never seen Connor look so unsure, usually so confident and energetic, and Tobi feels completely out of his depth.
“Don’t go,” Connor says again, sounding a bit more forceful, a bit more sure, and when he looks down at Tobi, his eyes are dark. Upset. A bit… scared? “You can’t go.”
Tobi licks his suddenly dry lips, noticing when Connor’s gaze drops down and then immediately back up, and something like guilt flashes in Connor’s eyes. It’s so quick Tobi thinks he imagines it, but he knows, somewhere deep in the back of his mind, that he didn’t.
“Connor,” he breathes, and Connor makes a pained noise, eyes falling shut. Tobi’s fingers are still hovering in front of him, and he brushes them against Connor’s hairline, feels the softness of Connor’s skin under his fingertips. “Look at me.”
Connor shakes his head, eyes staying firmly shut.
“You can’t go.”
Connor’s voice has been falling steadily softer, low enough that Tobi has to lean up and in just to hear him, they’re so close they’re practically breathing the same air, and he still barely hears the, “I can’t let you go.”
Tobi’s heart stops. He’s so close that he can hear the rapid thrumming of Connor’s heart, beating just below the skin, and when Tobi finally takes a breath and everything shoots back into motion, he feels like there’s a hole punched in the center of his chest.
“Connor,” he says, still soft, but firmer now, and he feels like something clicks into place when Connor finally opens up his eyes. Fear is heavy in the light blue, colouring it dark, fear and despair and the softest bit of hope, and it’s the last one that Tobi latches onto, that fuels him when his cups his hand around the back of Connor’s neck.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Tobi hopes it’s enough, looks at Connor and doesn’t blink, doesn’t glance away even when the intensity between them turns into electricity, practically crackling in the air. Connor stares back at him, and a thousand unreadable emotions pass over his face in the seconds it takes before he finally breaks down, rests his forehead against Tobi’s and just breathes. The tension drains out of his body and he raises a shaking hand, dragging his fingertips gently along the curve of Tobi’s cheek.
“okay,” Connor says after a long second, pulling away just enough that Tobi feels fear flash in his chest and he stops Connor with the hand on his neck, leans up on his toes, and kisses him.
Connor’s lips are dry and chapped, slightly split from where Connor was likely chewing on the bottom one, and he tastes like cinnamon gum and Tobi’s knee is already beginning to twinge from being up on his toes and Connor goes deathly still. Tobi closes his eyes and hardly dares to breathe, hoping beyond all hope that he didn’t read the situation entirely wrong and now Connor is going to punch him.
After the longest second of Tobi’s life, Connor makes a soft sound into his mouth and kisses him back, cautiously, gently, his free hand hanging in the air for a second before it settles questioningly on Tobi’s hip, and Tobi can’t help it.
He laughs.
Connor’s lips are gone almost immediately, and Connor is looking at him, hurt open on his face, but Tobi shakes his head and pulls Connor back down.
“I’m not laughing at you,” Tobi explains, his accent thicker than usual, and he’d be insecure about it except for the fact that he needs Connor to know, now, “I am just happy.”
Connor takes a deep, shuddering breath, one that Tobi can feel where their chests are pressed together through thin layers of t-shirt cotton, and leans back down, resting their foreheads together again and blinking at Tobi slowly. The hope is blooming brighter in his eyes, mixed in with a fair amount of relief, and it’s beautiful.
Tobi would happily stand here all day, all night, for the rest of time, just sharing breath and warmth with Connor, but his knee is protesting and he feels like he’s about to collapse from exhaustion.
“Hey,” he whispers, getting Connor’s attention where he’d been dragging his fingers up and down the curve of Tobi’s waist, absently, like he hadn’t even realized he’d been doing it, and Connor replies, “bed?” Before Tobi can say anything.
God, they are good together.
Tobi nods, and when Connor pulls away for good, letting Tobi away from the counter, Tobi nearly does fall, his knees protesting to suddenly having to hold his weight again. Connor’s there in a heartbeat, arm curling around Tobi’s shoulders, natural, easy, and whatever piece Tobi’s been missing in the past few days suddenly clicks into place.
He turns his head just enough breathe into the curve of Connor’s shoulder, and then makes a surprised noise when he’s suddenly no longer on his feet, elbow hooking around the back of Connor’s neck as Connor lifts him.
Connor’s slender, and Tobi isn’t exactly small himself, but Connor isn’t a professional athlete for nothing, and he carries Tobi without any sort of protest, although Tobi himself still finds his head reeling from the sudden upturn of gravity. But Connor is warm, and solid, and beneath the stink of sweat and other people that one collects when being on an airplane for as long as Connor was, he still smells like Connor, citrusy and clean.
When they get to Tobi’s bedroom, Connor sits on the edge of the bed and lets Tobi practically roll off of him and onto soft cotton, kicking his shoes off over the side and letting Connor do the same before he reaches out and snags the front of Connor’s shirt, pulling him down until he’s curled next to Tobi. It’s the same way they always lay, the same way they wake up in the morning after long, cold nights and then pretend it never happened, and Tobi can’t believe how blind he’s been.
They’re going to have to talk about it, properly, probably tomorrow, but not tonight, not when Tobi’s not certain that the whole thing isn’t just a dream.
Connor makes a soft sound into Tobi’s ear and pulls him closer, until Tobi is pressed against him, back to chest, and his hand is resting gently, possessively, on Tobi’s chest. Tobi turns his face into the pillow they’re sharing and smiles against the fabric, already feeling the tug of sleep at the corner of his mind.
Yeah. Tomorrow is good.