coming home - connor dewar
pairing: connor dewar x fem! reader
word count: 11k
tags/warning: friends to lovers, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst?, mentions of alcohol/drinking, minor swearing
summary: your entire life has entailed having connor by your side, no matter where the universe carves your paths. back home for the summer leading up to your final year of university, there's much to ponder - even your feelings about your best friend.
notes: this is genuinely a labour of love, the longest fic i've written in a long time đ i wanted this to be short and sweet, but it's long and sweet and i don't know how to feel about that lmao. but (!!!) i am really proud/happy about how this has come together and i hope you all enjoy this fic just as much as i loved writing it đ this is mostly proofread, but it is 5 in the morning, so I'll return to this soon! (apologizes for any errors towards the end!) more dewey content shall be coming soon, hehe! much love! <333
(also! this is very much in celebration of dewey's first goal as a leaf, teehee! đđâïž)
Summerâs always your favourite time of the year. Tan lines, midnight drives, fireworks, the beach. So much sweetness is in the breezy summer air and you simply canât get enough. You wouldnât admit it, but your favourite part of the season is when one of your closest friends, Connor, comes up from his gruelling hockey season and returns to the slow and laid-back lifestyle of your small town. Having grown up next door neighbours the majority of your lives, you quickly became two peas in a pod, always together with laughter following closeby.
Your friendship is something youâve always treasured, held in some reclusive and special part of your heart that only houses your fated connection. No matter how mundane your time together may be - Connor strumming his acoustic guitar and you reading as the citrus sunset dips into the horizon - it's all so memorable to you and nothing, as youâve come to experience, can ever replace his place in your life. However, life is a constant cycle of change and that first dose came when you two were fourteen, too awkward for your own good and growing out of your bodies. Connor was selected to play in a high-level hockey league hours away from your hometown and as your fingertips buried themselves into his tear-soaked t-shirt, you swore nothing could compare to this pain. The absolute tear of your beating heart out of your raw chest that ached with every gasp. You were a mess, undeterred by your futile attempt to appear as nonchalant at your silly age, but the second Connor stood on your porch, luggage in hand and the sadest tinge in his sage eyes, you fell apart.
Despite the sheer anguish you experienced that crisp autumn day, you adjusted. Stayed in contact with your best friend and continued to build up your life in his absence. Completed all your teenage rites of passage - took some extracurriculars, went to prom (you wanted to ask Connor, but ultimately decided against it), graduated high school and started attending university in Calgary - nine hours away from home. So many things changed and some still stayed the same. Connor was still as hockey obsessed and through his diligent efforts, heâs achieved his dreams of playing in the NHL night after night. You were there for draft day and there for his first game, university be damned. As was Connor, in the stands during your high school graduation and any time you needed him, whether that was him sitting on the phone with you until four in the morning or meeting up with you halfway across two countries because he felt like it. There was always something so spectacular about you two, your stories detailed by destiny and hung amongst the stars. A divine creation that despite the odds, of paths that have taken you two elsewhere, always merged because that is simply how itâs meant to be.
And, so it is, your last summer before your final year and here you are, fingertips tapping against the wooden bar as your leg jerks in anticipation of a figure that will come through your hometown bar, Punch & Judyâs doors any minute now.
Your best friend, Charlotte, manages to interweave your antsy fingers in between hers, a nurturing smile across her smooth face. âHeâll get here, donât worry.â
Your eyebrows quirk, your legs stopping all motion. âWho said anything about worrying?â
She rolls her eyes, unamused. âYou know what I mean,â
Then, she goes on to untangle your fingers, leaning her crossed arms against the bar occupied by the usual mellow group of regulars, including your own bunch of friends. âBesides, you know him. Knowing youâre here, heâs tryna get here quicker than a New York minute.â
A funny feeling flips in the pits of your stomach, an immediate flush coating the apples of your cheeks as you clumsily grab at your cider bottle. Connor always poked fun at your inability to enjoy a cold one, resorting to fruity flavours of cider. âHeâs a law-abiding citizen, heâll wait for the greenlight even if it kills him.â
âIf you say so,â Charlotte casts you a glance out of the corner of her eye, smugness tugging at the corners of her lips as she takes another swig of her beer. The bell signifying the main door opening sounds in the background. âOh, look. Speak of the devil and he shall appear! Hey there, stranger!â
Suddenly, your attention is elsewhere, eyes pinned to the tall silhouette that struts through the doorway of the LED ridden bar, kind eyes and a kinder smile with his tousled hickory hair and hushed voice finding its way to your eardrums again after so long. Itâs like coming home again, watching from afar as close friends fall into endless hugs, your reunion saved for last as you beam a closed mouthed smile, reproduced by your best friend who opens his arms for a hug that solely belongs to you. You fall into him instinctively, inhaling his soft woody scent as you bury yourself in his embrace, the pendulum of your life coming to a pause as your universe centres.
âGet a room, you two!â Connorâs brother, Quinn taunts from over your shoulder, eliciting an exaggerated sigh from you as youâre reluctantly reminded of the lame chirps he seems to be full of whenever you and Connor are together.
You ignore him, savouring the moment for what its momentarily worth before Connorâs pulling away, arms loosely wrapped around the circumference of your waist as he peers down at you with those same green eyes youâve known your entire life.
âHi.â you breathe, short and sweet.
He simpers, something coy in the lines of his smile as he replies back, âhi.â
Itâs a simple greeting, but thereâs so much more in those few syllables - the endless gravity of your shared experiences and fondest memories making their way back to each other. Your eyes linger for a minute longer, taking in each otherâs presence thatâs long been missed due to your busy schedules leading up to your summer break. You part ways and despite how fulfilled you are to have him here and see him after some time, thereâs a small knack that nags at you - hollow and wanting as you venture to a booth nearby, squishing up in between Charlotte and another one of your guy friends, Owen Power, who like Connor has been busting his ass in the NHL and friends with you all for longer than you can remember. You all chatter amongst yourselves with Connorâs brother sitting across from you, a discussion brewing as Connor returns shortly after getting a drink at the bar, sliding beside his brother with a beer in hand.
âCome on, Connie. Help me out here, these guys have lost the plot.â His brother argues, an eye roll your response.
Connor looks between your group, a knit in his eyebrows. âWhatâs the deal?â
âTheyâre tryna say, get this - that dolphins are more dangerous than damn orcas. Can you believe that?â Quinn attests, expression pinched as he ruffles the curls of his bleached hair sticking out his snapback.
âHey! Weâre well within reason to be arguing with you. You on the other hand? I donât think so.â Charlotte proclaims, an accusatory finger directed towards Quinn.
âYeah, not gonna lie, Quinn. Youâre severely underestimating how evil dolphins are,â concludes Owen, his hand raised as he pushes up his glasses on the bridge of his sunkissed nose.
Quinn guffaws, jaw slack as his eyes flicker between everyoneâs faces in quick succession, clearly in disbelief. âAre you hearing this right now?â
âLook, Q - weâve been over this,â you start, hands extending as if to make sense of your proposed point. âYouâve been fed dolphin propaganda. Weâve literally shown you so many resources about their heinous crimes. Take it or leave it.â
Quinn groans, elbowing his older brother who wordlessly listens to the ongoing conversation. âBro! A little help would be nice.â
A brief pause follows his younger brotherâs melodrama, Connor weighing out the arguments of a conversation he hadnât been here for, his eyes flickering over towards yours fleetingly. An unexplained shiver runs down your spine, the action camouflaged poorly as you appear to distract yourself from the sensation, fingernails scratching against the lines of your neck as you look up at the ceiling.
âHello?!â hollers Quinn.
You swear he loves to hear himself talk.
âTheyâre right,â Connor concludes, eyes set on you as he speaks before he takes a swig of his beer, focusing back onto his brother. âPersonally, I think youâve been taking one too many trips to Sea World.â
âThe promised land of dolphin propaganda.â mentions Charlotte.
âThis is ridiculous!â Quinn exclaims, sending a heavy elbow into his older brotherâs arm, all of which barely gains any sort of response from him. âWhat happened to honour amongst bros, huh? They donât have that in Minnesota or what?â
Connor scoffs lightly, his smile reading amused as his head turns towards his brother. âThat doesnât mean I have to agree with everything you say.â
Quinn mumbles something under his breath, clearly displeased. âI forget youâre my harshest critic.â
Their double act entices the crowd, your circle of friends laughing amongst yourselves as Quinn folds his shoulders with his usual theatrics. No one buys into it, much less Connor who drapes his arm loosely around his brotherâs squared shoulders, leaning in with a tickled pink smile that reflects within your own expression.
âYouâre just mad I wonât kiss your ass.â
That earns him a shove off Quinnâs shoulders, sending him into a fit of laughter. Everyone chortles along, basking in the merriment of the moment before youâre delving into other non-controversial topics, indulging everyone in the bits and pieces of your lives theyâve missed and just like that, you're four drinks in and so sentimental it hurts. Owen suggests a walk around the town centre, a tradition you cannot help but all agree to as you all shimmy out of your respective booth, bidding Judy at the bar farewell as you file out of the establishment.
The cobalt sky dazzles with stars youâve forgotten shine so bright here, the midday heat nowhere in sight as a cool breeze pushes you forwards. You linger behind Quinn as he impulsively hops onto Owenâs back, who stumbles at the sudden weight whilst Charlotte laughs at the unfolding scene. Nostalgia warms your heart at the sight, eyes half-closed and posture relaxing as the warm summer night holds you close and kisses your worries goodbye.
An arm drapes over your shoulders, your slow strides matching up with Connorâs as he looks to you, smile small and earnest as he playfully challenges, âSince when did you know about dolphin propaganda?â
You gasp, humour shaping your lips. âWell, youâve been in my ear most of my life yapping about it, soâŠâ
âHey, Iâm just saying - was I wrong?â the smirk on his face attests to his unwavering confidence and as you catch a whiff of his woody cologne, you roll your eyes in defeat, smile still on your lips.
âConsidering you wore a shark tooth to school, I didnât think so.â
You have to bite back the wide smile that fights to spread across your face, a few snickers here and there escaping before the loose ring around your shoulders closes in, Connor smushing your face inwards against the strength of his bicep. You canât help but laugh throughout, swatting away his pesky grip that lasts no longer than a few seconds before all you hear is the echoes of your winded chuckles. In an effort to stabilise yourself from the momentary loss of oxygen, your hand seeks Connorâs, holding onto his larger and warmer as your feet hit the pavement in unison.
âFeels good to be back, doesnât it?â
You let your head fall to Connorâs shoulder, arm wrapping around his lower back as your steps sync with such ease. A lightness in your limbs and how perceptive you can be to the sounds of downtown - car horns, hushed chatter and the like - let you know thereâs nowhere youâd rather be right now than here. Back at home, with your best friends and your partner in crime who you answer in the form of a hum.
-
Your first few days back in the Pas are slow and uneventful, most of your time spent decompressing from the taxing semester and unpacking your items, all of which you didnât know just how much you possessed. In an effort to make the most of the sunshine and get out the house for reasons other than your part time job at the local diner, you sign up for community gardening activities and ask the groupchat if anyone wants to come along. Everyone appears to have plans, except for Connor, who in the early hours of the next morning, picks you up from your childhood home and drives into town where for the next few hours, youâre knee deep in dirt under the blaring sun as you plant various kinds of greenery to spotlight the natural beauty of your rustic town.
What is certain, when early afternoon pours in, painting the sky in shades of honey and tangerine, youâre exhausted beyond belief. You have no idea how Connor makes the drive home, yet he does and when you two collapse into the hammock in your familyâs backyard, your lips are slack and echoing more yawns than you can contain.
âThat was great and all, but thatâs knocked me out,â Connor groans, limp body shuffling in the confinements of the cotton hammock hanging off one of the trees in your backyard. The same tree which holds the treehouse you and Connor partially lived in throughout your youth. âThat was more tiring than hockey practice.â
Youâre tired and easily distracted, your head perched up in a way that puts the treehouse in your direct eye-line. âRemember when weâd watch movies in that treehouse?â
A brief pause follows, occupied by the tranquil chirps and running water from the nearby bird bath. âYeah, Iâd always wanna watch Jaws but you wanted to watch Disney movies.â
You give him a laugh, shuffling yourself in order to get comfortable in the small space. Why did you two think this would work like it did ten years ago? The thought occurs to you, but you brush it off to save yourself additional mental load, making the adjustments to cater to some form of comfortability in the tiny space. Even if that means sacrificing your shared personal space as your body overlaps onto Connorâs strong and firm one.
âSays the guy who knows the all the songs in Lemonande Mouth,â you counter, âAnd, Let it Shine.â
Without missing a beat, in his sleepy voice, Connor replies with, âkissy kissy, Roxanne, did you miss me?â
Groaning despite the snickers slipping past your lips, you bury your head into Connorâs chest, refusing to hear the rest of his ramblings. âMy girl is hotter than your girl, you know it! You know it.â
To get your point across, you unbury your head, wide eyes peering up at your best friend whoâs so amused by this all, hair messy and smile stretching from ear to ear. A bright sight. âCan you not?â
âYouâre just hating 'cause I sing better than you.â He follows that by sticking his tongue out at you, so mature for his age that you grant him the response of a heavy sigh and an averted gaze, settling back into the peace and serenity of your backyard.
However, the silence doesnât last long before youâre speaking again.
âYour hairâs getting long,â you observe, fingertips dancing along Connorâs nape as you absently fiddle with the long strands of his hair, silky between your fingers. âYou should let me cut it.â
âName a time and place, and Iâll be there,â he mumbles sleepily against the crown of your head, soothing you further towards a serene sleep. âUnless you fuck it up. Then, I wonât forgive you.â
You give him the satisfaction of a laugh tucked away in your chest, the ghost of a smile dissipating as the aches of a hard workâs start to plunge their teeth into your flesh and bones, body like cement as you sink further into the comfort of the hammock, into the comfort of your calm summer afternoon.
âOne of my friends from my teamâs supposed to be coming up for a night or two,â Connor croaks, voice hoarse and the gentle breeze of the summerâs day pecking your skin in an act of love. âThinkâŠyouâll all get along with him quite well.â
His point is punctuated by a tired yawn that proves to be contagious as you mirror the action moments after, eyes unbearably heavy as time moves slow like molasses, body further sinking against Connorâs. You donât even stop yourself from falling asleep, only blinking away the exhausted sting in your eyes to answer your best friend.
âCanât wait,â you mumble, adjusting your body against Connor as your limbs slot together like puzzle pieces, matched at every curve as slumber envelopes you two in a kind embrace. âItâll be good - the visitâŠand the rest of summer.â
Your words trail in a drowsy daze, tone doused in sleepiness as your eyes can no longer keep themselves open, glimpses of hickory branches and pear leaves wishing you peace and serenity as you finally fall asleep.
-
Your shift at the local diner passes without as much traffic as expected, local patrons ordering their usual with a few tourists dropping by to try the culinary experience of your average but nostalgic diner food. Due to how quiet the establishment is - Mabel, your boss and long-time owner of the diner - lets you off early and with a hug, you scurry back to your family house to get ready for the night's events. After dozing off with Connor in the hammock out back, your mother softly awoke to you with a holler sheâs used since the dawn of time.
âUp and at âem, kids. Dinnerâs ready!â in the distance of your dreams, you hear your mother yell.
With drowsy film still coating your eyes, you and Connor manage to dislodge your limbs from one another, sleepy smiles and croaky chuckles exchanged as you amble inside your house and Connor stays for a filling homemade meal that everyone at the dining table fawns over. Connor hangs back as you venture into the kitchen to wash up, a tradition you two have forged, him washing the dishes and you drying them. Not much dialogue takes place between the two of you and there is no need. For all the instances where you believed the need for conversation, you appreciate this silence so much more - how thereâs no urge to talk for the sake of talking and how much comfort there is with simply just being with Connor. After youâve done the washing up and Connorâs hugged your mother goodbye, fist bumping your father hilariously enough, heâs climbing into his car and wishing you well.
âYou sure you donât need me to pick you up from Mabelâs?â coaxes Connor, the wiggle of his eyebrows offsetting the echoes of titters that leave your lips.
âIâm good, thanks. Need to shower and get ready, anyways,â a gentle gust of wind blows, fallen leaves scraping against the cement of your driveway. âWe all know how long that takes.â
âI donât mind waiting.â Connor simpers, says like itâs the easiest thing in the world and like it doesnât demand for the city of butterflies within you to soar beyond their ability.
You flash a strained smile, giving the top of Connorâs car a pat as your posture straightens and you step away from the vehicle. âGoodbye, Connor.â
âSee you soon.â and just like that, heâs gone with the wind, taking a little piece of you with him.
Itâs when youâre strolling your way back inside the house, halfway up the stairs to your bedroom that your mom gives you a gentle call, beckoning you back down the stairs to find her in the dimly lit living room, mahogany reading glasses hanging low on the bridge of her nose whilst the quiet snores of your father and his baseball game fill in the background noise.
She folds her newspaper, crinkles running up your spine as she addresses you. âSo good to have Connie over, makes me miss him more when heâs away.â
Connor is like a son to her, the better part of your childhood glued at the hip whilst your parents cooed and awed at your loyalty to one another. He helps around the house with no complaint nor expectation of compensation, buys her favourite flowers every Motherâs day with an additional heartfelt gift come her birthday. He listens, he jokes and he cares. What more could she ask for?
âCanât imagine how much more you miss him whilst youâre away.â she comments, throwing her denim clad leg over the other, directing all her attention to you, swaying between two feet with your hands behind your back, sceptical.
âWell, we try to meet up when we can, so itâs not too bad,â your hand goes to scratch the back of your neck, chin jutted as your head leans to the side. ââŠIs that why you called me down?â
Awkwardness rarely rears its head in your household built upon openness and unconditional love, which is why the unspoken truth your mother struggles to vocalise raises a red flag, your skin prickling as you fiddle with your hands behind your back.
Sheâs looking at you now, a maternal love in her eyes as she speaks up. âMaybe, I canât really put my finger on it, really. I did, however, want to say that I hope you guys keep each other in your lives, however that may pan out in the future. Thereâs a special happiness in your eyes I want you two to be selfish with.â
Itâs a small thing, she says. A snowflake amongst the pile of snow in the realms of your mind, but as you lay in bed later on that late afternoon, staring at the gold stars Connor helped hang up in your room, your mind wanders places it never conceptualised. Inserts Connor in places in your life where he hadnât been previously - opposite you illuminated by a candle-lit dinner, dancing in a kitchen as you prepare breakfast and kiss each other in between, above your bare body as he holds you in the palm of his hand like you are the most precious thing the universe has gifted him. Itâs a point in time that despite busying yourself with dipping your toes back into your hobbies - heck, even walking your next door neighbourâs golden retriever to clear your head - it never quite leaves you, awakening something deep and dormant in you that never goes away.
Snapping out of your syrupy daze, you adorn yourself in your finest line dance clothing, slipping on your gingerbread cowboy boots before youâre tying bows in the pigtails of your hair. Your mother yells down the stairs for you and you leave in a flash, kissing her goodbye as she drops you off at Punch and Judyâs, your jewellery clinking together as you walk through the main entrance.
Much like your first night back, the bar is illuminated in dim light and sharp LED lights of varying colours. Cowboy hats dominate the sea of customers, the building crowd of the bar dressed in shades of denim and tired leather cowboy boots. Knowing the others have already arrived, saving a spot at a nearby booth, you decide to make your way to the bar first, ordering your signature berries-flavoured cider, to which Punch (co-owner) makes quick work of, the cold beverage in your hands before you can blink.
âBeer not to your liking, sugar?â A smoky, mellow voice grabs your attention.
You spare a glance at the source of the gravel voice, eyes long lingering as they capture the image of a face that stirs a flip in the pits of your stomach. The man stood beside you braces his muscular arms against the hickory brown of the wooden bar, his sleepy chocolate eyes trained on yours as he takes a swig of his tequila flavoured Desperado beer. Locks of umber messily cascade along his face, unless tucked away in his vintage black cowboy hat that ties together the rugged cowboy look he presents with the sweet addition of his light stubble. To make things worse, heâs stupidly fit, his black t-shirt clinging to the curves of his muscles like second skin. If it were up to you, youâd-
âLike what you see?â
The smug comment snaps you out of your hazy olge, a pout forming upon your lips with an accompanying knit in your eyebrows. You make a point to angrily grab at your pint glass, ingesting a big gulp of the sugary alcohol whilst the rugged cowboy laughs to himself.
Even his laugh is attractive. Sick bastard.
âComing from a man drinking a Desperado? Funny,â you have to laugh at whatever lame attempt of making conversation this man is pulling, Punch masking his misplaced laughter behind a cough as he polishes a pint glass. âHow flirtatious you are.â
You admit, your latter remark is more bark than bite, a quick chirp that refuses to feed his ego yet grab his interest all at the same time. The ruse proves to work in your favour as the sexy cowboy gives another one of his huffed laughs, his body turned towards yours.
âGive me a chance, sugar. Just tryna start the night off right,â he counters, so brazenly confident in himself that you donât know whether to laugh or shy away from his prying eyes. âTequila beer and beautiful company - sounds about perfect to me.â
You react in a juxtaposition, eyes rolling and cheeks flushing as you divert your line of sight away from the handsome man flirting with you at your hometown bar. Perhaps, heâs some city folk travelling through the town, fancying himself a good time at Punch & Judyâs weekly hoedown Fridays, a little bit of flirting on the side to inflate his ego and keep his blood pumping. Whatever reason explains his presence, you are not one to complain. Your love life isn't very entertaining to put it mildly, so you're willing yourself not to get swept up in his caramel eyes.
Against the wishes of your quickening heart, you decide to give Mr. Handsome Traveller the time of day, body shifting as you face each other finally. âYou donât quit, donât you?â
He cocks an eyebrow your way, something sneaky and sugary in the lines of his smile. A brief pause follows his actions, the soft rustic sounds of old town country murmuring from the jukebox nearby filling up in the space between your figures. Itâs when heâs about to make yet another cocky comment that your conversation is put on pause.
Connorâs voice calls your name, head turning to find your best friend standing in between you and the Punch & Judyâs cowboy of the night, eyes wide and expectant as they shift back and forth in the middle of your standing figures.
âDew, forget about Desperados tonight. The lady in bows will have your head otherwise.â Handsome Traveller nods his chin towards you, humour dancing in his smile as he snickers into his half-full glass.
Then, it dawns on you. Dew? One of the handful of nicknames Connorâs adopted over the course of his livelihood. So, theyâre acquaintances? Or closer? Your eyes frantically search for social clues to point you in the right direction.
âThe lady in bows is my best friend,â Connor explains, a bite to his words as his eyes glare a knowing look at Sexy Cowboy. He then goes on to face you, gaze softening almost immediately as his head tilts in his friends (?) direction. âThis is Brandon, or Dewey One.â
Oh. Makes sense, you rationalise. This is Brandon, Connorâs close friend and teammate on his current team out in Minnesota, the one who gets into fights he canât win on the ice whilst Connor trails nearby picking up his fallen gear. The one he told you a couple of days ago that was coming up to visit. And, of course you were flirting with him.
Of. Course.
âDewey One?â you ask, minorly deflecting from your embarrassment and still genuinely curious.
Connor inhales, as if to speak but Brandon beats him to it.
âBrandonâs just fine,â he interjects, expression unassuming as Connorâs eyes put his visiting friend underneath a microscope. âNice to meet you, darling.â
Normally, youâd wrinkle your nose at the sometimes sleazy pet name Brandon casually calls you, except this time round you find it more amusing than cringe-worthy, which is how you find yourself grinning as you two exchange a handshake that testifies to how strong Brandon is. You clear your throat to stop the circus unfolding within you.
âCome on,â Connor gestures over to you to follow suit. âCanât keep âem waiting.â
You call out an agreement over your shoulder as you go to grab your drink, the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention as a close whisper brushes past your ears.
âI ainât no quitter, sugar.â
-
The next couple of hours are spent packed into a crimson leather booth that peels at the ends, going from topic to topic over many a pints. Brandon fits so easily into your group, his infectious energy illuminating as he takes up space without regard, his confidence more enticing than suffocating. Everyone seems to be in good spirits as the alcohol keeps flowing and as you sit back, careful eyes watching your friends engage in conversation, you wish for this to be your forever for as long as you'd like for it to be.
A nudge against your shoulder turns your head, greeted by Connorâs sage eyes. âYou ready for Judyâs Line Dance?â
His rhetorical question draws a laugh from you. âYou say that like I donât do this every time I come back.â
âYeah, but if you were ready then, you wouldâve brought your cowboy hat,â comments Connor, his veiny hands grasping gently at the ends of your braided pigtails accented with a bow. âWhat? Wanted to show off your pretty bows?â
He thumbs the ends of your hair, engrossed in the strands and its feel and for some reason, the casual intimacy of the moment inflates something in your chest, a balloon about to burst as you forcibly breathe in and out, clearing your throat afterwards. âThey're my favourite accessories.â
Connor huffs, corners of his lips lifting gingerly as he continues his motions with his hands whilst your body remains rigid with the exception of your racing heart and crimsoning cheeks.
Your mother has definitely planted a seed you cannot unroot.
âYeah, youâre almost always wearing them in your BeReal. posts. Theyâre real cute.â
For a fact you know so well, Connorâs confession comes as a pleasant surprise, one that shallows your breaths and quickens your pulse. It makes you reflect back on before, when all was platonic and the comment wouldnât have made you bat an eyelash. Now, your skin tingles and youâre struggling to find the words to encapsulate your affection past your dry mouth. So, like many others in your position, you settle for a safe reply.
âArenât you a charmer?â you roll your eyes, brushing off his grasp because you might combat otherwise, projecting your attention ahead of you to come face-to-face with Brandon, who despite the engaging conversation he shares with Owen, his eyes skirt over to you.
You look away, even more flustered than before.
Itâs just your luck when you hear Judyâs tap incessantly against an old microphone that you have something else to hold your focus, eyes brimming with glee as she announces the dances for the night and their updated partner songs. Last time you were here, they were still playing their beloved country hits and you danced along thanks to the amounts of alcohol you consumed, but their new playlist of pop hits within the past decade or so, youâre more motivated than ever to tear apart the dance floor.
âIf you ainât shy to do a little two step, please make your way to the dancefloor please.â Judy grins into her mic, tipping her cowboy hat as patrons make their way over to the illuminated space.
Connor makes way for you to exit the booth, your boots hitting the ground as you iron out any kinks in your outfit. Amidst your actions, you catch other movements out of the corner of your eyes, to which you find Connor playing with the ends of your bow this time round. Thereâs always been something so sweet and tender about him - in the way clouds are amongst a blue sky, in the way laughter spills over so easily in the presence of a found family and in how harmonies make you feel as if you're floating. But, itâs never been like this before, this intense and vivd. In a way that rids you of all thought and scares you beyond your deepest fears all at once. Youâre still finding your footing in this new territory, a plain that speaks to the existence of your feelings but has no road nor destination. Itâs a simple plain you seek to find some end to, picking up clues along the way that predetermine what the future holds. At the beginning, the animosity scared you pale and grey. Now, the end is what grasps your fear in a fierce chokehold. To pry yourself from the jaws of unhinged anxiety, you allow yourself to relax, to seep into the present and take it for what it's worth because the end is unknown and youâre not there yet. Not by any measure of time, you hope.
âKick butt out there, rockstar.â His big smile deepens the soft lines of his face, a pure display of pride in his features as he gives you a pat on the back and gives way for you to shine.
Itâs small, insignificant in the grand scale of things, but your smile deepens too and you nearly float to the dancefloor, adrenaline rushing through your body as the DJ prepares the upcoming music.
As you settle in line, you feel a light pressure lay upon the crown of your head, eyes darting to find Charlotte in the line next to you, giving you a wink before she faces forwards, thumbs slotted through the loops of her flare jeans. Her straw cowboy hat no longer, you reach up to find said object upon your head and with a chuckle behind your hand, your thumbs hang on your belt loops and let the music guide you.
Itâs only when youâve done your first turn that you realise that Brandon has also decided to join the line dance, huffs of amusement sounding from you as he glides and slides with a confidence dusted with his normal dash of comedy.
When Judy announces it's time for the partner dance, itâs your cue to catch your breath as you plan to evacuate the dancefloor. As mentioned earlier by Charlotte, the pretty sandy brown haired man whoâd bought her a drink earlier in the night circles his arms around her waist as she gives him a smitten grin. You beam at the endearing sight, about to make your way towards your booth but are stopped in your tracks as a calloused hand clasps around your wrist.
Brandonâs expression is more sheepish than youâve ever seen, his eyes distracted as they wander away from you. You raise an eyebrow.
âWho says the night has to end here, sugar?â His voice trembles partially, its edge lost in the coyness lining his smile as he finally looks at you with a dazzle of hope in his eyes.
A momentary pause delays your response, the moment used to turn the cogs in your head and sneak a glance back at your booth, where Connor was last you saw him, eyes trained on you as he simply watches the interaction. Under the weight of his gaze, a creeping sense of embarrassment climbs up your back, scolding the skin. Youâre about to give your reply when the music starts up and Brandon speaks again.
âPut this desperado out of his misery and allow me this one dance?â
Itâs so cheesy, maybe even idiotic - the words he proposes to you but heâs trying and thatâs what appeals to you most, warms your heart and sways your response as you send him a nod that has Brandon cheesing ear to ear, his hand leading the way as you two fall in line.
You havenât had much experience line dancing with a partner, the closest experience to this being a night you barely remember, happily back sliding with a fifty year old local in your college town bar who wanted to feel young again. Regardless of the fact, thereâs no time to mull it over as the music already starts and your fingers are interlocking, matching up with the rest of the duos as you dance, cowboy boots stomping as you make a scene.
In all the commotion of heavy stops and ongoing thumps of Rihannaâs âS&Mâ, Brandon manages to catch your attention, mirroring your movements to a tee.
âYou and Connor donât do this much, do you?â he queries.
âYou kidding me? Connie has two left feet, Iâd be left for dead if it wasnât for Charlotte.â You yell over the blaring upbeat country music, arms extended as Brandon glides you further away from his figure.
âGood thing Iâm here tonight.â jesters Brandon, and you laugh along because youâre tipsy and having a lot more fun than you imagined.
Despite your familiarity with the dance routine you two execute to a tee, youâre caught off guard when Brandon brings you inwards, bracing you against his hard chest before his arm circles around the circumference of your lower back, holding you steady as he dips your body slightly. Your foot is kicked out, your (Charlotteâs) straw hatâs fallen to the scuffed dancefloor and youâve just had the wind knocked straight out of you, eyes feverishly searching for answers as the bar falls to a hush.
Youâre looking in each otherâs eyes now, chest heaving and high off the adrenaline pumping through your veins from all that dancing. All time ceases to exist and itâs just two of you, sharing laboured breaths and looking for any cues for how this will end. It appears as if youâre in your own head at this point, combing through a thousand possibilities all at once to respond however you see fit. Thankfully for you, Brandon breaks the silence.
âOne night and one night only.â
The sentence sends shivers down your spine and youâre pretty sure Brandon feels you quiver in his arms as he gives a brief chuckle, hauling you up onto your two feet and bringing you back to reality. You donât really find their footing after that.
The rest of your time at Punch & Judyâs passes by in a flash, more pints being consumed over your groupâs loud chatter as the night stretches on. Charlotte and her blue eyed companion indulge in another dance before heâs whisking her back to the bar and paying for everyoneâs next set of drinks - bless his heart. He introduces himself as Jack, a new face in town and as he and the boys exchange pleasantries, the wild eyed non-verbal dialogue you engage in pieces together Charlotteâs sentiment and if it isnât enough, when Jack makes his departure, she gives him a kiss on the cheek and bides him a coy farewell, a promise to meet in the next coming days on her tongue. One thing is certain, when Jack makes his exit from the bar, the door shutting behind him, youâre yelling and shaking each otherâs shoulders in glee, stupidly happy and sharing that with one another.
Your table has their last drinks and before you know it, youâre being squeezed into the back of Owenâs pickup truck, sandwiched between Charlotte and Connor whilst Owen and Brandon sit up front. Over the murmured sounds of slow alternative music, you get bits and pieces of their conversation, the two excitedly talking about their shared love for Legos and the most theyâve splurged on one set. You shake your head with a laugh, going to share your merriment with Charlotte, only to find her soundly asleep, a light snore bypassing her punch pink lips.
âHow you holdinâ up, champ?â Connorâs low voice draws you in, a slight head turn in his direction. âDonât think Iâve seen you dance like that since we were ten and begging our parents to have a sleepover.â
The image is so vivid in your brain, two wide eyed kids that held hands as they begged and pleaded to have a sleepover, only for their polite request to be refused. Taking matters into your own hands, you dragged your parentsâ big hands into the living room, where in front of them and an oblivious Connor, turned on MTV and danced to some popular song of the time. Lucky for you, it worked. Unluckily, Connor would hold that over your head forever onwards.
Youâre cringing into your hand, face mangled in discomfort as you wish away the reality of you doing that away. âOne of us had to convince them. Plus, it worked, didnât it?â
âI canât argue with that,â Connor laughs behind a fist before his hand falls to his side, a moment of quiet between you two. âYou and Brandon seem to be hitting it off.â
A single eyebrow raises to express your confusion, perplexed frown prominent not because of his statement which is completely true, but because thereâs an edge to his voice - something unfamiliar and cold in the way he says his words - a tone youâve yet to hear, even after all these years. Uncertain how to proceed, you choose to be cautious about the matter, selecting your words carefully.
âHeâs nice,â you state, because Brandon is but something in you twists uncomfortably, feels the recognizable pangs of embarrassment as youâre subjected to uttering this out loud. Or rather, in front of Connor. A betrayal of some sorts. âYou were right about him fitting right in with us.â
Thereâs a strange shift in the air in the backseat of the car, the once peaceful quiet now becoming increasingly heavy and awkward as your words hang in the air like knives. Connor absorbs your words, stare averted as he watches his fingers fiddle with the lock of the door on the windowsill. You run your palms against the material of your denim shorts because you donât know what to do with them otherwise.
Itâs only when youâve scratched the back of your neck, eyes stiffly roaming the interior of the car that Connor replies. âYeah..I guess I just didnât know how well.â
Youâre about to ask him what he means by that, going to press him but Owenâs suddenly shut off the truck, his blinding interior lights turning on and him killing the ignition, alerting you of your arrival. Connor climbs out before your vision reverts back to normal, so you put the matter on pause and softly wake up Charlotte who sheepishly wipes away dried drool at the corner of her lips and climbs out the pick-up with you. Youâre about to shut the door behind you, though someone beats you to it.
âI got it.â Brandonâs husky voice sounds from behind you, the slam of the door following.
You send an appreciative smile his way, perhaps a bit of timidity mixed in there too, turning to include Charlotte in any possible conversation to come, only to find her halfway up the porch stairs of Connorâs house.
How is it always the two of you left alone?
âLetâs head in, itâs chilly out here.â suggests Brandon, you falling in line with his request as the beginnings of goosebump dot your arms, the roughness of your skin hitting an all time high as Brandonâs large hand falls to the small of your back, guiding you up the stairs into the cosy and quaint house.
Hums of conversation lead from the back porch of Connorâs house, the presence of your friends known as you wordlessly navigate your way through the halls of Connorâs house, hallways and framed pictures youâve committed to memory. When youâve made your way to the kitchen, you find Owen nursing a cool bottled water, hair tousled and cheeks dusted in pink.
âThere you two are,â announces Owen, fingers threading through the waves of his brown hair. âEveryoneâs out back - apparently, Quinnâs out back too.â
You waste no time beelining for the backyard, the sudden weight of your reality dawning on you the second you stepped through Connorâs doorway, a cold shower of water easing you out of the mirage youâve impulsively floated in. Once youâre outside, the cool air sinking into your skin, you spying the usual suspects - Quinn, Charlotte and Connor gathered together around a fire Quinn boasts about making. His glee is short lived.
âThat boy scouts training finally coming in handy, huh?â Charlotte banters, a suppressed smirk sneaking amongst her features as she takes a seat in one of the camping chairs surrounding the fire.
âYou laugh now but when you need someone to tie an impossible knot and survive off the land, donât come running to me.â responds Quinn, taking a swig of his beer as Charlotte holds her hands up in surrender, laughing regardless.
Youâre about to turn on your heels to head back inside, retrieving a beverage of your own, but a familiar call of your name is stopping you in your tracks.
âIâve got your cider here,â alerts Connor, expression indifferent as he approaches you to hand off a can of your favourite berry cider and a bottle of water. âBlankets are on the chairs too.â
Itâs embarrassing how much you want to melt into this manâs arms right now. Nonetheless, for reasons you know all too well, you express your gratitude in a toothy grin that he mirrors with a closed mouth, pulling you down into the camping chair beside his.
Soon enough, Brandon and Owen are sitting round the fire too and your night ends like this, light-hearted discussions under the stars as the heat from the open flame soothes your heavy eyelids closed. Whilst youâre mildly awake, you donât miss the glances you and Bradon trade over the sandstone fire, loaded questions in his eyes. Had this been any other occasion, any other person not linked to Connor, any other reality where your current feelings didnât exist for Connor, then there would be no questions asked, blossoms of wine doting both your necks come tomorrow morning. Alias, these were not the conditions and simply lounged in your camping chair, hoping Brandon didnât look your way every time Connorâs hand would play with the bows in your hair.
-
Arm hanging out of his shiny porcelain white pick-up truck, Brandon squints as the rays from the blistering sun reflect into his eyes. Having said their goodbyes earlier, Connor and Brandon dab each other up with good-natured smiles before Brandon throws his focus over to you, standing with a bit more awkwardness than youâd like.
âTake care, Lady in bows,â Brandon says, a well-mannered nod sent your way with a closed mouth smile. âDonât give Dewey a hard time. Heâll come round.â
For a split second, youâre eyeing him as if his face contains all the answers, but when he gives you that knowing look, the same one Charlotte and your mother give you any time Connorâs name is mentioned - you know. Know all too well and blush as a result, head snapping behind you to see if Connorâs within earshot. Thankfully, heâs in the middle of chatting with his brother, hands in his pocket as Quinn points off into the distance. You circle back to Brandon, the apples of his cheeks clear as day as he snickers like heâs been told a secret.
Itâs as if this best kept secret brings you infinitely closer, your walls falling as you begin to bare the depth of your sentiment surrounding Connor. Thereâs no more beating around the bush, so you lower your head as you kick at the rocks at your feet. âYou think so?â
You hate how small your voice comes out, meek and questioning everything known to man. Itâs unfamiliar and not to mention, uncomfortable in every aspect of the word. Alias, Brandon sees you - catches the vulnerability youâve shared with him and embraces you with a kindness that ushers a relieved sigh from you as he responds back.
âIâd bet my NASA Space Shuttle lego set on it.â Brandon banters, smirk soft and small.
So, heâs serious. Very serious, it seems because you know how treasured the item is to him. You exhale a breath you hadnât known you were holding.
âThanks, Brandon,â you breath, coyness coating your cheeks as your hands fall behind your back, your fingers tangling. âDonât go fighting no alligators.â
âWe can only hope,â Brandon gives his side-door a smack, rounding up everyoneâs attention. âIâm hitting the road, fellas. Enjoy the fair for me, yeah?â
A chorus of agreements go off from behind you before Brandon gives one more salute, speeding off into the canary yellow sun. The small crowd outside Connorâs house disperses and regroups again later on that day, refreshed and ready to attend the local fair held every summer and the highlight of the year.
The fair lives up to its expectations, grand and joyful with a variety of rides ranging from teacups to a catapult-like ride that swings back and forth and then upside down. Youâre distracted by all the colours, the sights and sounds that youâre so oblivious to what goes on right before you, until your vision is shrouded in black and your face is submerged in fluff.
Retracting, you blink your eyes to adjust to the change in lighting, lips parting as you stare at the massive latte-coloured teddy bear that Connor presents to you, the rest of your friends nearby taking their turns at the darts board way ahead of them.
He must see you struggle to find the words, his grin infectious as he jests, âI think Iâve finally out-conned the concessionaires.â
You must look like an idiot, or a deer in the headlights as Charlotte jokes, disbelief strikingly apparent on your face as you reach for the souvenirs, the fluffy animal so cosy in your arms and melting your heart into a big puddle of goo. âThank you, Con.â
âDonât mention it.â a smile plays tenderly on his lips, the sheer kindness he captures in his sage eyes enough to make your pulse race and head spin.
After the thoughtful gesture, your high spirits cannot be tamed as you indulge in every little thing your heart desires - laughing a little harder, smiling a little wider and stuffing your cheeks full of hearty food that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. Charlotte basks in your glee, speaking of a glow you radiate as she snaps photos of your stuffed cheeks, a knowing smirk on her lips as she hands you your teddy bear once your food is finished. You donât reply, exchanging words through your glances as you make your way towards the second bit of rides the boys want to try.
âWait, isnât thatâŠ?â
As Quinnâs voice trails off into the distance, you find yourself turning in the exact direction where he directs your view, eyes landing on a pair of figures - one being Connor and the other being, Amelia, Connorâs ex-girlfriend from high school and most notably, his last girlfriend. Her waves of blond hair glisten in the sunshine, something like a Renaissance painting. Her smile bright and wide as she greets Connor with an enthusiastic hug, a hug you feel lasts longer than necessary.
They then go on to immerse themselves in conversation, and for the life of you, you canât look away - pry your jealous eyes away nor dry swallow this bitter pill because sheâs still so into him. Hands familiar and all over him, leaning in when she gets the chance and beaming like sheâs won the lottery. In all fairness, her lifeâs been such a tale - excelling academically, incredibly driven in all sports and other extracurricular activities that garnered her attention. And such a kind spirit too, always there to help no questions asked that it made you physically sick that you could foster any ill feelings towards her, because sheâs such a light and maybe Connor would see that too. As he did when they were together.
Youâre too busy losing yourself in a sea of self pity that you donât notice Charlotte's attempts to snag your attention nor other things at first, your illegitimate fears getting the best of you but as your posture stoops, your eyes floating everywhere around the busy fair that it pauses on Connorâs figure. Once immersed in conversation, he appears distracted, indifferent somehow as his attention wanders, wanders over to you as his line of sight floats over to you from time to time as the conversation stretches on. At first, you think itâs your mind playing tricks on you, feeding into delusions thatâll soothe your pity party, but at some point, he holds your gaze, giving Amelia a pat on the back before heâs jogging over to where your friendship group is, not even uttering a word as he slots himself between you and Owen.
âWhat was that about?â Quinn just has to ask.
âOh, Amelia just wanted to catch up,â he sounds distracted, his mind elsewhere but you donât dare to indulge, your sight directed elsewhere as you grip onto the plush teddy bear as if it were a lifeline. âShe says hi, by the way.â
You donât do much listening after that, tuning out all the colours and sounds of the fair as you ride the highs and lows of what your life has become.
-
A sense of urgency plagues you from that day forth, a hurriedness in your actions as your anxieties get the better of you, going from lounging around in day old pyjamas covered in crumbs and mystery stains to getting a head start on your masterâs personal statement and running every errand youâve been procrastinating. Your parents swear youâve become a different person - venturing outside the house before noon to visit the bank to change your address or go get your car serviced. Perhaps seeing Connor with Amelia was the jump start you needed to stop relishing in instant gratification, distracting yourself from facing any sort of music that pertained to the future and all its question marks. You still hang out with the others, more so Charlotte as you spend a few afternoons at the lake with one another, feet dangling into the water as she updates you on her adventures with Jack.
Itâs the first time someoneâs pursued her with such sincerity and charm that sheâs hesitant about his authenticity. And yet from the sounds of it, Jack doesnât mind one bit and shows his patience as they get to know each other, the smitten man taking your best friend on dates that further solidify their connection. You couldnât be any happier for your best friend, this kind of treatment a long time coming, all of which you express just to see her blush and dive into the cold lake water to avoid further talks. You chase after her, teasing her mercilessly as the thoughts still linger at the back of your mind - your own sentiment with regards to Connor and what has come from the change of heart.
Emotional anguish and so much fear youâre not sure what to do with yourself. It takes a week of mulling things over, his missing presence due to off-season hockey training for you to make up your mind, peeling into his driveway and hiding your apprehension behind a strained smile as he greets you at the door. You preoccupy every bit of silence with running chatter, because you donât want to hear yourself think, a multitude of topics discussed over vodka pasta you make together before youâre finding your way into his bedroom, the early evening sky greeting you as he flicks on his buttermilk bedside lamp.
He brings out his guitar, the same one you gifted Connor two years ago at the height of his newly-found hobby and plucks the strings, creating a melody you compel yourself to relax into, somehow ending up sandwiched in between him and the guitar as he directs your fingers to play one of your favourite songs, just because.
Apparently, your shaky hands donât make for good playing material.
âYouâre shaking like a leaf, you cold or something?â notes Connor, his looming presence over your body sending you into overdrive, your skin feverish and mind imploding from overwork.
âThis is different.â you annouce, because it is. Unlike times before, it didnât mean as much to be alone in his bedroom with him, getting glimpses into the life heâs lived and who he is as a person through all his possessions. You could handle the casual intimacy - the soft spoken whispers, the unprovoked kindness, the skin to skin contact that didnât send your heart into a series of flutters. Now, all you can do is bat an eyelash, many at that, and this you must make known. For the selfish reasons you can think of.
âWhat dâya mean?â he mumbles, clearly distracted and known the wiser to his breath fanning over your neck, goosebumps rising against your skin as your body grows rigid against his.
So acutely aware of your proximity, of the bursting feelings that thud at the confinement of your chest, your thoughts scatter like glass. âThis, Connor. Being like thisâŠwith you.â
That strikes a chord with Connor, his motions ceasing altogether as his hands drop from the guitar and youâre forced to face the music. Sink your teeth into this undeniable truth thatâs followed you all these years and youâve been too blind to see. Confront the holy truth that maybe there was more divine work intertwined in your story with Connor, that maybe the universe wrote you two as one heart as opposed to two. That, as the summer days ticked by, the sun seeping into your skin, your love grew for Connor like molasse - slow and thick and palpable that once you were aware of its existence, thatâs all that consumed you. Coated in his syrupy love, an endless desire.
Youâre facing your best friend in spite of the hellish screams in your mind to play this off as some random mood swing, a joke even, because laughter follows you two everywhere, right? But, you know. Know better than anybody else that Connor knows you, like the back of his hand. Sees right through any charade you may jester him with, so any attempts to divert the conversation are as pointless as anything. Your confession starts and ends here.
A flicker of concern mixes in the dark of his eyes, hands clasped together with a crease in between his eyebrows. âI donât follow.â
A full body sigh draws out of you, shoulders sagging and back curving, your hands casting aside the acoustic guitar with caution. Youâre back to staring at each other, in the silence of the night, caged in between four walls that burn your eyes white as you once again grapple with your innumerable feelings and the finality of it all - this longing.
âDonât you think,â you croak, question in your eyes as you look up at Connor, stifling any rise in emotion within you. â-this summer has been different?â
His sage eyes cast away, pink lips settling into a pout as he racks his brain for whatever answer you may be looking for. âNo? Maybe? I donât know.â
He adds on, looking back at you as he leans closer without fault. âIs this because itâs your last summer before you graduate?â
Connorâs got a point. When youâre trying to kid yourself into not having romantic feelings for your childhood best friend, your mind wanders to places where it has more control. Plans for after college, what modules youâll be taking, what societies you want to join, what last things youâd like to cross off your list before youâre forced into full fledged adulthood. Itâs a thought that lingers ever so presently at the back of your mind, like background music stuck on loop, but ultimately, Connor has missed his mark and you tell him so.
âPartially, but,â you wet your lips, struggling to find the words again as the burn against your cheeks proves to be insufferable. âThis is whatâs been on my mind more than anything else.â
Your point is accentuated by your single finger gesturing between the two of you, a poor attempt at best to foster some sort of confession of your romantic feelings. Because it's so scary, lending these thoughts your voice because they become much more real, spoken aloud for his ears to hear and his heart to see. For his heart to feel and what then? What awaits you once your confession reaches his ears? The unknown is scary, chilling to the bone and you wish to shroud yourself from it as long as thereâs daylight.
Thereâs a beat before you hear Connorâs voice again. âWhat about us?â
Hearing him vocalise those three words makes the moment so real, so vividly intense that it sends chills down your spine and slows your laboured breath, the thump of your heart all you can hear aside from the ticking clock against Connorâs bedside table. It ticks and ticks, signifying the curtain call to your summer long charade.
âConnor, I..â Itâs as if the magnitude of your feelings have manifested into some beast, with razor-like fangs and sharp claws that slash at the confinements of your chest, the words of love dying on the tip of your tongue as the moments hangs over your head like a gauntlet. Youâve never been so scared before, driven nearly to tears as your desperate hands grip at the material of your hoodie to ground yourself in some sort of way whilst you try to push yourself. To see this through until the very end and leave the destination unknown.
âWeâve been friends our entire lives. I donât know anything beyond being with you and I never wanted to, and I feel like that means so much more than it did years ago,â his eyes are on you, undivided attention served on a silver platter that you turn away from, for its sincerity and shine. âMaybe, I did know deep down inside what I know now all those years ago. Like when I cried and begged for you not to leave the Pas. Or when you held my hand any chance you got when we were kids, or anytime you smiled at me really that let me know I always liked you. Maybe, even love you - I donât know. But, what I do know is that I just couldnât leave for Calgary without letting you know. Even if that meansâŠâ
You donât have the heart to utter your next words, a dagger to the heart at even the possibility of losing your best friend and partner in crime. Perhaps, it isnât worth saying - this whole grand love confession because this is a risk youâre not ready to face. However, despite your thundering heart against your bruised chest and however many times youâre second guessing yourself here, the weight lifted from your words is undeniable. An unspoken truth that had been set free, that needed to be set free - whatever the fallout may be.
A snicker snaps you out of your deep seated fears, your scattered daze settling on the view before you, one you had least expected. Connor, eyes cast away from yours as he huffs into his hands, a laugh youâre undecided where it derives from.
ââŠAre you laughing at me right now?â You feel awful for even asking such a ridiculous question. At the same time, youâve just been as vulnerable as youâve ever been in your entire life - some hesitancy is to be expected.
At your question, Connorâs huffs of delight cease and stares at you at alarm, realising his mistake. âGod, no. Fuck, Iâm so sorry, I just-â
âYou used to rub dirt on me, and now you're proclaiming your love for me,â an airy laugh puffs out of his moving chest, a mixture of disbelief and amusement painted amongst his chiselled features. âItâs a bit of an adjustment.â
He seemsâŠhappy? Relieved? Youâre not really sure, but what you at least find peace in is that thereâs no sunken look about him, no expression worn that conveys disappointment and hurt because thatâs all youâd have to see to know where his heart lies.
âGood or bad?â you ask.
His eyes bounce back to yours, those same olive eyes youâve spent years looking into, glimmer with a sparkle that youâve yet to see and robs you of rational thinking as your heartbeat picks up the pace.
âGood,â he whispers, like itâs a secret for just the two of you - one that is small and fragile, but so special and cherished that it makes your heart squeeze. âBecause, thereâs no one else Iâd rather be with. Not by a long shot.â
You swear you could cry, burst like a dam and drown in your tears that overflow with such joy and relief because this is it for you. So right and settled, being where youâve always meant to be - so loved and treasured by the one person who knows you better than yourself, someone whoâs seen you at your most awkward and at your worst, and loves you because he has. Because heâs seen it all and wants to spend the remainder of his life doing so, a conscious choice he makes everyday because he loves you and you love him.
Youâre unsure how youâve ended up like this, limbs curled up in your loverâs lap as he cups your cheeks, rough thumb caressing the skin as his love shines through his gaze that blows his irisâ out of view. He looks so beautiful like this, unabashed and vulnerable, secure in love and what destiny holds for you. He looks at you as if you colour his skies and spin his world round and just like that, you lose yourself in him. Thread your fingers through his strands of umber brown and kiss him like you mean it. Kiss him long and hard, and with everything you have because itâs long overdue, so needed that you melt into him, lips overlapping as you taste destiny on his tongue.
The story of you and him, a tale as old as time.
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