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“You don’t have to move out.”
“Yes, I do.” Connor doesn’t meet his eye. He just walks around Oliver into the bedroom, trying not to break down—he can’t cry in front of Oliver right now, he just can’t. He can’t feel that pathetic on top of being rejected—again.
“I—I don’t mind, really.” Oliver wipes his eyes again as he watches Connor grab a bag from the closet. “There’s no rush to go—”
“I can’t stay here!” Connor raises his voice. “Don’t you get that?”
“What?” Oliver looks at him confused. He glances down at the bag in Connor’s hand. He can’t admit it to himself right now, but… he doesn’t want Connor to go.
“We broke up, Oliver.” Connor says harshly. “We broke up and I can’t be around you right now. I can’t—walk to work with you, call you when I’m upset—you can’t just… cook dinner for me… be all domestic and act like we’re still boyfriends when we’re not! That’s not fair, when I can’t have you.”
Oliver drops his head. He knows that’s what they had been doing. And damnit, it felt so nice. No pressure from the relationship because there wasn’t one. It felt so good just being there for each other, being sweet and friendly, without worrying about them. It was so easy.
“I’m sorry,” Oliver whispers.
“I know you don’t want to be with me right now,” Connor says softly as he drags his fingers through his messy hair. “I know that you need to be alone. But if you don’t want me to be your boyfriend, we can’t do boyfriend things together, because it’s not fucking fair. It’s like… it feels like you’re stringing me along… But you don’t want me. And that just fucking sucks.”
Oliver sniffs, wiping his eyes again. “Yeah, yeah you’re right,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.” Oliver takes a shuddering breath and watches the other man throw random clothes and toiletries in the bag. “Where—where are you gonna go?”
Connor shrugs. Anywhere would be better than here. “Probably Michaela’s place. I can crash on her couch.”
Oliver nods. Connor moves to walk past him, and Oliver shoots out a hand to grab his arm. “I—” The words don’t form in his mouth. What was he going to say? I love you? He can’t say that anymore.
“I—I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Connor swallows visibly and nods.
“Yeah… see ya tomorrow, Oliver.”
Oliver deflates as Connor pulls away. He watches sadly as Connor heads for the door, a moment and a click later, he’s gone. Oliver looks around the apartment, painfully quiet without the other man.
It never seemed so quiet before.
Slowly, Oliver walks to the kitchen, eyes looking over their half cooked dinner. The unopened bottle of champagne still sits in the fridge. He doesn’t bother with any of it. Instead, he collapses quietly onto the couch in the living room.
Oliver looks down at his phone sitting on the coffee table. He could text Connor. Tell him to come back, tell him he wants him back. In a minute, they could be doing all the things that would leave him grinning and laughing—instead of feeling like this.
But he doesn’t.