Work Text:
The last person Oliver expected to see on the other side of his door at 9:27 pm on a Wednesday night is his ex-boyfriend.
But there he is, looking as grumpy and ill tempered as he always does nowadays.
Oliver blinks dumbly at Connor, one hand still on the door. He suddenly feels very self conscious that he’s only wearing a raggedy old t-shirt and sweatpants. His toes curl against the cold floor and he berates himself for being so silly. Connor had seen him on worse days after all. Ugly pajamas, dirty pajamas, no pajamas be damned.
“What uh–” Oliver quickly clears his throat. “What are you doing here?” He looks around quickly, half expecting Michaela or Asher to be around the corner. He hadn’t been alone with Connor since their fiasco trip to AC.
Connor raises his phone up between his thumb and forefinger and gives it quick wave. “My phone’s dead. Came for my charger,” he says curtly.
Oliver frowns but doesn’t say a word as he slowly steps to the side to let Connor in. Connor moved out weeks ago–his phone should have been long dead by now. “Have you–have you been using Michaela’s charger this whole time?”
“Yeah,” Connor nods, but doesn’t meet Oliver’s eye. “But she left it in the classroom earlier today.” Connor looks around the apartment silently, not that it had changed much in the weeks he’d been gone. The hand still holding his dead phone shakes and fidgets, a clear sign of his discomfort.
“Um, I–I think I’ve seen your charger in the bedroom,” Oliver says softly.
Connor sends him a hard glare, clearly thinking Oliver wants nothing more than his quick absence. “Right,” Connor says flatly. He lets his keys and phone slam onto the kitchen counter a little louder than they should. “You know, while I’m at it, I might as well grab some other things that I’ve been missing,” he sneers. “It’s not like I’ll be needing them here ever again.”
The subtle emphasis doesn’t go unnoticed.
Oliver sighs softly as Connor heads towards the other room. “I didn’t mean anything by that,” he explains to no avail.
“Sure you didn’t,” Connor shouts, unseen from the bedroom.
Oliver groans at the other man’s childish attitude–which is nothing new. Connor had been short and snippy with him at every possible opportunity. So much for acting like an adult. Oliver’s not in the mood to argue, and he’s certainly not eager to go chasing into the bedroom after him. “You know, if you had just asked, I could have brought your stuff to work to give to you,” he says loudly, stubbornly leaning his elbow against the kitchen counter.
Connor doesn’t answer from the other room. But the ruckus Oliver hears has him mildly concerned for the previous cleanliness and order of his bedroom.
“Do you need help–” Oliver is cut off by the sound of a text message chime, and not his own. He straightens and glances down at the counter to Connor’s lit up phone screen.
Hey bro did you finish looking over those arbitration notes yet?
Oliver blinks. It’s not Asher’s words that have him perplexed.
67%.
“Found it!”
Oliver looks up in time to see Connor turn the corner, charger held up in one hand, the other arm full of random toiletries–one of which is clearly Oliver’s shaving cream. They stare at each other silently for a moment before Connor glances down to see his phone screen dim and stops in his tracks.
Oliver awkwardly holds up Connor’s phone, as if to show him what he already knows. “Sixty-seven percent,” he says softly. “You lied. Your phone’s not dead.”
Connor looks away, teeth gritted so hard it almost hurts. He’s embarrassed, ashamed, and a little bit angry maybe–at being caught in a fib.
“Do you want to talk?” Oliver asks suddenly. “Or… I–I don’t know, have a drink maybe?” Oliver abandons Connor’s phone on the counter to glance around the near empty kitchen. He hadn’t exactly kept it stocked since Connor moved out. It’s not like he’s expecting company anymore. “I’ve got juice and cider and… other stuff…” His voice trails off softly. He could definitely go for something harder than juice right now, but maybe it’s not quite appropriate for him to ask.
Connor clears his throat softly. “Cider sounds good,” he says softly. He walks over to the counter and sets down his meager belongings.
Oliver avoids Connor’s gaze, though he can feel it burning a hole in his back. He pours the other man a glass of cider and grabs a beer for himself. “You didn’t have to make up a reason to come over here,” Oliver finally says as he sets their drinks down.
“Yeah well, I make up a lot of stuff,” Connor grumbles as he stares down at the amber liquid in front of him.
Oliver takes a heavy sip from his bottle. What does that mean? What does that mean?? He’s aching to know. But he doesn’t want to push it.
“Do you… want to talk about it?”
Connor doesn’t avoid his eyes this time, and they swing up to meet Oliver’s. Neither of them are quite sure what it is. The lies, the break up, them? Silently, Connor takes a sip from his glass.
“You and I both know we suck at the talking thing.”
“Yeah,” Oliver nods and breaks eye contact to look down at his bottle. “That was always our problem, wasn’t it?” He picks at the label on his bottle with his thumb nail. Old habit whenever he’s uncomfortable or nervous. Which, in social drinking situations, is almost always. Had been for most of his adult life. A few months ago, he never would have believed he’d feel this way around Connor.
“Let’s give it a try.”
Oliver glances up in surprise. “What?”
Connor gives him a small nod. “Let’s give it a try. The talking thing.”
“Really?” Oliver grins softly. “Okay. Um, do you want to… ” He gestures to the living room and Connor nods. They head over the couch together and sit down, leaving nearly three full feet of space between them.
Right back where they started the night with the Thorn Birds.
Connor takes a heavy breath as Oliver watches him silently. They both know Connor is the one with the secrets to spill.
“I don’t even know where to begin…”