Chapter Text
Dirty Little Secret
Fraser.
He was staring at Connor with the most terrified expression Connor had ever seen. His face was bruised, his shirt was stained, and he looked like he didn't even recognize the person standing in front of him. Like Connor was a complete stranger. Like he was someone Fraser had never met before.
Macklin was standing a few feet away, looking like he didn't know what to do. Will had one arm wrapped around him, holding him close, and Frank was standing beside them, his face pale as he looked between Connor and Fraser.
Then there was Hazel.
She was still lying on the ground, unconscious, with people crouched beside her, trying to help. Connor couldn't understand why nobody was moving her or why everyone looked so scared. Why was everyone staring at him like that?
Why wasn't anyone saying anything?
He couldn't even remember exactly what had happened anymore. Everything felt blurry, like he was trying to remember a dream that was disappearing the longer he thought about it.
‘What did I do?’
His stomach twisted, and his chest felt tight as he looked around at everyone. He wanted someone to tell him what was happening. He wanted someone to explain why everyone was looking at him like he'd done something terrible.
But a small part of him already knew.
He just didn't want to think about it.
“Fraser?”
Connor wanted to say something. Anything. He wanted to ask if he was okay, if he hated him, if he was ever going to talk to him again. He wanted Fraser to stop looking at him like that, because he couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand the thought of Fraser being scared of him.
But the words wouldn't come.
An officer stepped closer, and Connor barely had time to turn his head before everything went dark.
———
He blinked.
His head still hurt, and his eyes struggled to adjust as he slowly looked around the room. For a moment, he couldn't figure out where he was or how he'd gotten there. He just knew that he felt like absolute shit.
He was in a cell.
The floor was made of stone, and three of the walls were made of the same rough material. The fourth side had metal bars running from the floor to the ceiling, separating him from the rest of the room.
There was a bench against the wall, but he wasn't sitting on it.
He was on the ground, his body sprawled awkwardly across the cold floor, like someone had just thrown him there and left him. Which, honestly, wouldn't have surprised him at this point.
He pushed himself up slowly, wincing as his head throbbed. He rubbed his face with one hand, trying to wake himself up enough to understand what was happening.
Except the more awake he became, the more confused he felt.
Why was he on the floor?
Why did his head hurt so much?
And why the fuck was he in a jail cell?
He stared at the floor for a few seconds, hoping that if he just sat there long enough, his brain would finally decide to start working again.
It didn't.
Instead, he noticed the two other guys on the other side of the bars.
One had curly-ish brown hair and tan skin, with one eye bruised. He was holding something against his nose, his shoulders hunched as he sat there.
The other guy was sitting on the bench beside him. He had dark brown, wavy-ish hair, and he looked about the same height as the first guy.
Both of them looked like they might be taller than Connor, though it was a little hard to tell from where he was sitting.
Connor stared at them for a moment, trying to make his brain work.
He knew them.
He was pretty sure he knew them, anyway.
But for some reason, their names weren't coming to him, and that was starting to piss him off.
"He’s awake," the second guy said, bumping the other guy's shoulder.
The first guy winced, pulling away slightly as if the movement had hurt him.
"Hi, Con," the second guy added, looking at him.
"Hi, you..." Connor started, but the person's name disappeared from his head before he could remember it.
He frowned.
What was his name?
He knew he knew him.
He had to know him.
"Sorry, what was your name again?" Connor asked, looking between the two guys.
The second guy stared at him.
"Are you fucking serious?"
Connor blinked.
"Well, I wouldn't be asking if I knew, would I?"
The guy let out a breath, rubbing his forehead.
"Jesus Christ."
Connor was about to ask what the hell his problem was when the door made a clicking noise, and a police officer walked in. His attention immediately shifted toward her.
She was a girl with a blonde ponytail, tall and fit, with an expression that made it pretty clear she wasn't there to mess around. If she wanted to, Connor was pretty sure she could throw him across the room without even trying.
"He'll need to talk to us first, then Fraser and Frank," she said, glancing between them.
Connor looked at the two guys behind the bars again.
Fraser.
Frank.
Oh.
Oh, shit.
His stomach dropped.
Fraser.
He remembered Fraser now.
Or, well, he remembered his face. The terrified expression. The way he'd looked at Connor like he didn't recognize him.
Connor swallowed, suddenly feeling a little sick.
What the fuck had he done?
"You'll need to sign some things, and Fraser, after Connor tells us what happened, you'll need to tell us what happened from your side, too. And no funny business," she continued, looking between them to make sure they were listening.
"We know Frank is drunk, so he won't be playing the next game. Fraser, you aren't drunk, so if you want to go home after we ask you a few questions, you can. Connor and Frank will stay here overnight unless someone comes to pick them up, once we've dealt with everything we need to."
Connor stared at her, trying to keep up with everything she was saying.
The next game?
Frank wasn't playing?
Why were they talking about hockey right now?
Wasn't there something more important happening?
Like the fact that he was in a fucking jail cell?
"Connor."
He looked up at her.
He was still drunk, and he had absolutely no idea what was happening. The room felt strange, his head hurt, and he was starting to get a little worried about how much he couldn't remember.
"Yes?" he asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"Come with me."
She opened the cell door, stepping aside to let him out.
Connor hesitated for a second before slowly getting to his feet. His legs felt a little unsteady as he stepped out, and he tried not to make it obvious that he wasn't feeling great.
The room outside the cell was long. One half had chairs where people could wait, while the other half had more cells with metal bars and benches inside them.
Connor glanced around as he followed the officer.
This was where people went when they attacked someone.
And guess who was here?
Connor.
Great.
Just fucking great.
He looked back over his shoulder for a second.
Frank was watching him, his expression unusually serious. Fraser was sitting beside him, looking down at the floor.
Connor wanted to say something to him.
He wanted to ask if he was okay.
He wanted to tell him he was sorry.
But he didn't even know where to start, and Fraser wasn't looking at him anyway.
So Connor turned back around and kept walking.
He stopped when the officer turned toward him and asked him to hold out his hands so she could put handcuffs on him. He looked down at them for a second before doing what she asked, still struggling to understand how the night had ended with him standing in a police station.
What the fuck happened last night?
For once, Connor really wished he could remember.
Once the handcuffs were on, Connor followed her down the hallway and into a different room.
“Sit.”
She pointed toward the chair across from her desk.
Connor sat down, shifting around a little to get comfortable. The chair wasn't particularly comfortable, and neither was the room.
The officer sat on the other side of the desk and began looking through some files, flipping through papers as if she had all the time in the world.
Connor looked at the door.
He hated small places.
He didn't know why, but being stuck somewhere with no easy way out made him nervous. Really, really nervous. His mind would start racing, and he'd feel like he needed to leave, even if there was nothing actually wrong.
And right now, sitting in a room with a closed door, handcuffs on his wrists, and no idea what was going to happen to him, he was starting to feel that way.
“There are people outside,” the officer commented without looking up.
“Don't think you can just leave.”
“Okay. I wasn't thinking of leaving,” Connor replied, shifting in his seat.
He really wasn't.
Well, maybe a little.
But he wasn't stupid enough to run out of a police station.
The officer put the papers down and finally looked at him.
“You knocked out a girl. Hazel. And you attacked a boy.”
Connor stared at her.
“Yes, I did?”
He knew she was right. At least, he thought she was. His memory was blurry, and every time he tried to think back to the party, everything got mixed up.
He remembered people.
Music.
Drinks.
And then nothing clear enough to make sense of.
“Yes, you did, and you're in big trouble,” she said, watching his face carefully.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“Umm…”
Connor looked down at his hands, trying to force himself to remember something. Anything.
But all he could remember was seeing the photo.
And then punching the person underneath him.
That was it.
He couldn't remember what had happened before or afterward, or how he'd ended up here.
His stomach twisted.
What the hell had he done?
“What happened?” the officer asked again, more slowly this time.
Connor looked back up at her.
“I… I don't know.”
And for once, he wasn't lying. He genuinely didn't know.
Fuck. This was bad.
“I know you remember some things. What happened that day?”
Connor opened his mouth, then closed it again.
There were things he remembered, but he wasn't about to tell a police officer about his personal life. The fact that he was bi, that Mack knew, and that Frank had somehow found out, wasn't something she needed to know.
“I remember texting them beforehand, and Fraser picked me and Frank up. Then we went to the party,” he explained, leaving out the details of their conversation.
“Fraser?” she asked, waiting for him to continue.
“Why is Fraser here? And why is he hurt?” Connor asked, genuinely confused.
“You were punching him. When we arrived, you were on top of him. Hazel was on the ground, unconscious.”
“What? No, that didn't happen!” Connor babbled.
“What do you think happened? Start from when you stepped foot at the party.”
“I saw Will, and Mack. Frank and Fraser were with me, and then, after a little while, we went outside. After ten minutes or something, Fraser left, and Frank told me something—”
Connor stopped.
“What is it?” she asked.
“What did he tell you?” she pressed.
‘Fuck.’
“Well, that… he said he saw Hazel and Fraser kissing, and I lost it, and I—”
He stopped again, the realization slowly hitting him.
He was the one who had done all of this.
He was the reason Hazel was unconscious and Fraser was hurt.
“Go on,” the officer said.
“I walked over and punched Hazel in the face. Then she tried to hit me, and I pushed her, BUT I DIDN'T EVEN INTEND FOR HER TO GET HURT!” he yelled.
“Okay, okay. But you did.”
“Yes, I know! I didn't want to actually hurt her. I just wanted her to know she needed to keep her hands off him…” His voice trailed off.
He sounded crazy.
“Okay, so there it is.” She paused before asking,