Chapter Text
Ever since the second murder, Connor’s drinking noticeably increased. The same could be said for the rest of the Keating Five, although Connor’s had been particularly bad lately. Of course, he never drank around Oliver. He had to keep up his recovering drug addict façade. But he and his co-workers often poured shots of whiskey into their coffee or cracked open beers at work and they almost always went out to a bar when they got out for the day. Usually Connor would just be seeking to maintain a light buzz, just enough to chill him out from the constant anxiety and stress until he could get home to Oliver and pretend the outside world didn't exist. But occasionally, he was aiming to forget completely. On those days, he clearly could not go home to Oliver and pretend to be sober so the others would take turns dragging him to their homes and making him sleep it off on their couches, taking his phone and sending Oliver a text that would say something along the lines of “Big issue in the case, might be an all-nighter.”
Tonight, Connor had pre-emptively sent the text to Oliver because he already planned on getting absolutely plastered. It had been an incredibly long day; one of those days where he couldn’t get the flashbacks out of his mind and he felt on edge about everything. As soon as they reached the bar he ordered two shots and downed them both, then ordered a round of beers for the group. Michaela eyed him with concern, but didn’t say anything. None of them ever said anything to each other about it, all of them well too aware of the need to drown out the memories.
Several hours later Connor was good and drunk, slumping over sideways a little on the bar as he watched Laurel and Wes making out in a corner. Michaela and Asher had both left to go home already. Connor was so drunk that he was oblivious to most of his surroundings. He was definitely oblivious to the fact that Oliver had just wandered into the bar, having received Connor’s don’t wait up text and deciding to go out and get a drink rather than sit alone at home for yet another night while his boyfriend worked.
“Connor?” Oliver’s surprised voice questioned from behind him.
Connor perked up. Oliver was here, and in his inebriated state he didn’t realize that was probably very, very bad. He swiveled around in his bar stool, almost falling off as he did so. “Ollieeee! Hi!” he slurred with a wide grin on his face.
Oliver’s whole demeanor dropped as his eyes moved from Connor to the somewhat impressive amount of empty glasses behind him on the bar and he processed what was happening. “You’re drunk” he stated flatly. He didn't even notice the couple in the corner and assumed Connor was here drinking alone.
Connor furrowed his brow, huffing slightly at the fact that Oliver wasn’t happy to see him. “No I’m not,” he retorted, too drunk to realize that there was absolutely no chance in hell that his lie would even be remotely believable.
Oliver closed his eyes, rubbed his forehead and sighed a long and deep sigh. He was angry, but there was no use being angry at a man while he could barely hold his own head up. And his anger was mixed with an overwhelming concern for Connor and a deep gut-wrenching sadness at the fact that Connor had broken his sobriety. Oliver wondered if this was the first time, or if Connor had been lying to him for awhile. Regardless of the answer, he had to get Connor home. “Okay, come on” he said, pulling Connor into his arms and off of the bar stool.
“Where are we going?” Connor asked cheerfully into Oliver’s shoulder as he was placed on his feet, Oliver quickly maneuvering to his side to hold him up with a strong grip.
“We’re going home” Oliver responded, squeezing Connor a little tighter and trying hard to keep his voice gentle and calm to mask the disappointment he was feeling. “We’re going home and going to bed."
“Okay,” Connor happily slurred, allowing Oliver to half-drag him out of the bar as he stumbled along.
Oliver put Connor in his car and drove home in silence, and then dragged him into the elevator and down the hallway into his apartment. Connor didn’t put up any fight, but he also didn’t provide a lot of help and Oliver struggled a little under his weight. Finally, Oliver had managed to sit Connor down on the edge of their bed but when he tried to pull away Connor wouldn’t let go of his shirt. He had his fist curled up in the buttons just below the collar, like a small child, and Oliver leaned awkwardly over Connor, unable to stand upright.
“No.” Connor mumbled into Oliver’s neck.
Oliver was annoyed as he reached down to pry Connor’s fingers open, but he tried to hide it. “I’m right here Connor. I’m not going anywhere. But you have to let go of my shirt.”
Connor reluctantly obliged and Oliver knelt down in front of Connor to begin taking off Connor’s shirt. Connor just sat there with a stupid grin on his face and watched Oliver while Oliver undressed him down to his boxers. When Oliver finished and looked at Connor, Connor leaned back and wriggled his eyebrows at him suggestively. It was so drunk and ridiculous that Oliver would have laughed if Connor wasn’t currently relapsing from a serious addiction problem. But right now nothing about this situation was funny, and Oliver slowly guided Connor under the bed sheets.
Connor fell asleep before Oliver had even reached the other side of the bed. Oliver undressed and laid down, but he wasn’t even remotely tired. His brain was running a mile a minute as he stared at the ceiling and tried to piece together what was happening. Had there been any warning signs that he had missed? How long had this been going on? How many nights where Connor was supposedly at the office was he actually at a bar? How long had Connor been lying about being sober? Why hadn’t Connor talked to him, let him know that he was struggling and about to relapse? Or maybe Connor had never gotten clean and sober in the first place. After all, the whole thing had felt suspiciously easy.
Oliver laid there for a few hours, his thoughts running in circles and knots forming in his stomach, until he decided he couldn’t lie there any longer. He got up and put on some sweats and a t-shirt and went into the kitchen to make himself some tea. The sun was rising outside his window and he sat in the living room with his tea and watched it. His stomach felt queasy and his nerves were frayed, but the warmth of his drink and the quiet morning helped him settle down a little. He was grateful for the peace and solitude, the calm before the storm.
Oliver lost track of how long he was sitting there, but eventually he heard the mattress creak and Connor groan. Oliver didn’t move to check on him. He had left a glass of water and some Tylenol on the bed stand and he heard the glass being put back down, followed by the sound of a dresser being opened and closed. Eventually he heard the soft patter of Connor’s feet coming into the living room, but Oliver still didn’t turn around. He didn’t want to look at Connor. Didn’t want to face the reality of this situation yet.
He didn’t have much of a choice though, as Connor sat down on the couch beside him. He could feel Connor’s gaze on the side of his head, waiting for Oliver to make the first move. Oliver closed his eyes for a moment to prepare himself before he turned to look at Connor. When he did, he saw guilt and embarrassment plastered all over Connor’s face, along with another emotion that he couldn’t quite place. Something darker and more distant.
Oliver stared into Connor’s eyes for a long moment before speaking. “Good morning Connor” he said, bitterness and sarcasm thickly underlying the statement. Connor waivered a little at the harsh tone and averted his eyes; his face showed even more shame than before, and Oliver instantly felt a little guilty for his tone. There was a long pause.
“I don’t know what to say,” Connor finally muttered in a trembling voice, bringing his hand up to run through his hair. He was staring at the wall now and looked like he was about to cry. Oliver stared at him for a moment, his eyes searching for clues on the other man’s face, trying to figure out what was going on in his mind and what had led them to this point. Oliver had so many questions that he would need answered, but his face softened at Connor’s evident pain and he moved closer to Connor, pulling Connor into his side. Connor leaned his head against Oliver’s shoulder and neither of them said anything for a moment, just absorbing the feel of each other’s familiar comfort.
But even as Connor settled into Oliver’s embrace, his brain had started to wake up from the fog of initially waking up hung over, and his thoughts were starting to crash in around him. He was overwhelmed by the wall that would forever be between them because of Connor’s lies. Oliver was thinking that Connor had relapsed and Connor couldn’t correct him. He would have to lie to him again. Oliver would want to know details and Connor would have to make up more lies to pile on top of the old ones. Truth be told, at this point he probably did have a bit of a drinking problem, but he would never be able to open up to Oliver about what was causing it. It killed him that he was hurting Oliver, lying to Oliver, disappointing Oliver, over and over again. Here was this incredibly sweet, genuine guy who deserved good things in his life and instead Connor was pulling him into his self-destructive and fucked up life. Tears welled up in his eyes and when Oliver finally pulled away to look at him, one rolled down his cheek. He swallowed and wiped it away quickly, always uncomfortable with showing that much vulnerability.
Oliver’s heart hurt to see Connor hurting. “I’m not mad,” he reassured, and it wasn’t a lie. All of his anger had rapidly disappeared at the sight of Connor’s fragility.
Connor tightened his lips and shook his head slightly at that, hugging his knees up to his chest. “You should be,” he muttered. “I’m ruining us."
Oliver frowned at those words. “You’re not,” he said softly.
“No, I am. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me and I’m the worst thing to happen to you. I’m so selfish. You deserve so much better than me.” Another tear rolled down Connor’s cheek and he didn’t bother to wipe it away this time.
Oliver could feel a pit in his stomach and a lump in his throat. This was not how he had expected this conversation to go. He had expected to confront Connor and for Connor to get defensive in return. He had considered the idea of telling Connor that he would have to go to rehab and Connor insisting that it wasn’t necessary. He was prepared for a fight, but he wasn’t prepared for the self-loathing, crying man in front of him. He knew how to argue with Connor. He had gotten quite good at it, actually. But he had no idea how to handle this.
“Stop,” Oliver coaxed. “Connor, you’re by far one of the best things that ever happened to me. You’re human and you faltered, but you’re not a bad person. We can fix this.”
Connor shook his head harder and then rested his forehead on his knees, letting out a small sob. Oliver just sat silently and watched him, completely at a loss for how to comfort the man.
Eventually, Connor pulled himself back together a little and sat back up, pressing his eyes into the heels of his hands for a moment and then looking back up at Oliver with a more composed and determined look on his face. “I can’t do this to you,” he murmured. “Not anymore. It’s not fair.”
Oliver’s eyes widened at the words. He realized Connor was talking about them breaking up, and that was definitely not something he was prepared for or had even considered. The way this conversation was going, it felt like they were living in two different worlds, seeing two different versions of what was happening. He had no idea just how much that was actually true.
“Connor, don’t run from me,” he pleaded. “Let me help you through this.”
“You can’t,” Connor choked out. He swallowed and tried to make his voice a little stronger. “You don’t deserve this. I shouldn’t even be here.”
“Oh for God’s sake, Connor!” Oliver was getting exasperated now. This conversation had escalated so quickly and he had no idea why. “Why are you saying these things?” He paused for a moment and when Connor didn’t answer he continued quietly, “What did I do wrong?”
Connor visibly flinched at those words. “Nothing. You are perfect,” he looked straight into Oliver’s eyes, his own eyes begging Oliver to believe him. “But I’m bad. I’m toxic, Oliver. And I’m pulling you down with me.”
Oliver looked away for a moment and then looked back up at him. “I knew what I was signing up for when I let you back in after that night, after you told me you had a problem” he spoke slowly, thinking about the words carefully before he said them. “I knew things might get tough at times. But I chose to let you back in anyway.” His words were becoming angry now. “I’m a grown man, Connor. I am capable of determining what I can and can’t handle. I want to be here, with you. Even through the rough patches and the relapses. You don’t get to just push me away under the pretense that you’re protecting me. You don’t get to make that decision for me.”
Connor wasn’t looking at him, though, and Oliver could sense a wall going up in Connor’s mind. “I have to go to class,” he mumbled as he got up off the couch.
Oliver stared at him, disbelieving. “You can’t just leave!” he exclaimed, frantic.
“Oliver,” Connor pleaded softly, a hint of desperation in his voice, “I have to go. We can keep talking tonight, but I need…” he trailed off and shifted on his feet. Truthfully, he desperately needed some time away from Oliver and out of this apartment to clear his head, wanting to escape before he said or did anything stupid. He was hung over and emotional and on the verge of either breaking up with Oliver or telling Oliver everything. He wasn’t sure which he would regret more.
Oliver could sense the turmoil in Connor’s voice and could see the agitation in Connor’s movements. So he nodded - a silent acquiescence to Connor’s request for an escape. Connor quickly grabbed his jacket and his bag and rushed out the front door, leaving Oliver on the couch anxious and alone.