Connor jolted awake in a panicked sweat. There was nothing new in his crowded dreams, involving him in the midst of spiralling consequences. Except that this one had involved Oliver, sweating on the stand.
Ceaseless voices asking him, "You're claiming you weren't an accessory? That your very relevant skill set was never used for deleting evidence? Your boyfriend is a murderer, yet you expect us to believe that for years, you never suspected a thing. No-one in the courtroom is delusional enough to believe that."
Connor is snapped out of his remembrance by Oliver's voice.
"Here, have some water," he says in concern. Connor takes a sip, dreading what he has to say next.
"I can't stay," he says, trying to project an aura of decisiveness, belied by his stinging eyes and ragged breaths.
"Connor, if you need to be alone you can just tell me."
Connor gets up, starting to rifle through the wardrobe for his clothes, looking for excuses to not look at Oliver.
"That's not – I have to leave. You deserve better, you've always deserved better and now I'm dragging you down into this life. The more time we spend together, the more evidence you erase, the more you know—" he takes a sharp breath,"—the tighter the prosecution's net becomes. We can't see each other again." He ends bluntly.
"You're not dragging me down, Connor. And I'm not with you out of some sense of duty or pity. I'm with you because I want you. I need you. What I don't need is for you to make my decisions for me. Whatever happens, I involved myself in this because I knew you would be worth the risk."
Connor paused. Oliver looked sincere, willing to give up years of his life for Connor. Most people were only willing to give up a lunch break.
"You could have someone better –"
"I want you," Oliver interrupts, drawing him closer.
"But you could be safe."
"I wouldn't be happy," Oliver says, kissing Connor softly.
Connor didn't have the power to walk away, not while Oliver was looking at him like that.
"Just promise me that if you…if you get in trouble, you'll take any chance for leniency. Even if it means telling them everything," he says, one last ditch attempt to be selfless.
"Connor—"
"Promise. Or I leave." Connor thinks he must look ridiculous, attempting to convey a sense of surety with his hair dishevelled and wet streaks running down his face.
"Fine, I promise," Oliver says, and Connor thinks he sees a flicker of dishonesty in those words. But when Oliver leans forward and kisses him again, he knows he can't leave.
"Please, just come back to bed," Oliver says, taking Connor's hand and leading him.
Oliver holds Connor gently but firmly, like he's still a little worried that he might wake up to an empty bed.
"Please stay. I love you." He whispers just as Connor nods off and the words echo in his head, rooting him in place, making him feel much safer than he's felt in a long time.
The next morning, Oliver and Connor wake up within minutes of each other.
Connor knows that if he can't leave, he has to commit. If Oliver wants him, despite the risks, he has to make it worth his while. He has to be honest.
Connor glances at Oliver.
"I'm making pancakes," Oliver says hurriedly, feeling a little nervous about last night's declaration.
Connor takes Oliver's hand just as he's getting up.
"You know I love you too, right?"
Oliver grins. Apparently pancakes have diminished in importance, because he kneels on the bed in front of Connor, kissing him slowly, first his mouth, then his neck. When Oliver's hands start skating across his back, Connor slips his shirt off and starts unbuttoning Oliver's.
"Shower first, then pancakes," says Oliver, leading Connor to the bathroom. Oliver's always been good at prioritising, Connor thinks, as he pulls him into another kiss.