[Oliver doesn't answer. He doesn't know how to. Even if Connor didn't do it himself, even if he didn't do it willingly, he was still involved in a way he never should have been.
His car had to have been used before that. He's not an innocent in this. He screws his eyes shut, shaking his head as he tries to process the enormity of what he's told him. This is too much. He's not ready for this. He was never going to be ready for this.]
[Then what had begun to crumble inside of him turns to dust and is blown away in one rattling gust. The act of breathing becomes manual. His fingers buzz with numbness. His eyes frantically seek Oliver in the darkness, just discerning the edges of him, so close by yet beyond a chasm. He tries to reach for him.]
Oliver...please don't do this.
[He trembles: his voice, his hands, his heart. He suddenly wishes he could reach the lamp and douse them in its light. In the darkness he feels lost, untethered as if in space, with his heels over his head and nothing for his hands to hold. Was it really only minutes ago that they were laughing together, resting against one another's bodies?]
I know I screwed up. I screwed up so badly, I know. Trust me, I hate myself more than you could ever hate me. But this...this isn't fair. You asked me to be honest, and I bared everything to you. You don't get to just send me away. This doesn't just go away.
[Concealing the evidence doesn't undo the crime, nor does it erase his guilt or purge his memories.]
I-- I don't know what I'll do if I have to be alone.
[Oliver jerks back abruptly, shaking his head in the dark. He doesn't want to be touched. He doesn't want to be swayed. Not now. Not about this.]
I don't hate you.
[He does sound scared though, and his voice is cracked with grief. He's not ready to process this with Connor. He knows that distance is the last thing that Connor will want right now, not when they've only just started to repair their relationship, but once again it's exactly what Oliver needs.]
Please, don't guilt me right now. I can't deal with that.
[The reassurance that Oliver does not hate him warms him little: the words are a mere match Oliver passes him, when what he needs is shelter from the dark and cold.
What about me? he wants to ask. Am I supposed to deal with this alone? He had unloaded this burden, these leaden secrets that have sat inside him for so long, in the fragile hope that Oliver would help him bear the weight. But he find himself buckling beneath it instead.
He struggles for an answer in the terrible silence. There come the soft shuddering sounds of a breakdown that he tries to lock away, but he is weak. When he does finally speak, his voice is as thin as a shadow.]
Fine...I'll go.
[Then he pulls himself to the edge of the bed and fumbles for his shoes in the darkness. He is adamant in avoiding the lights he had just moments ago wanted to flick on: now they would ruin the mask of darkness that hides him from Oliver. The darkness is broken only once he opens the door, letting in the light from the hallway.]
I'm sorry.
[He doesn't know if Oliver can even hear him. He doesn't turn or hesitate at the doorway; he simply leaves, and the door falls shut.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
His car had to have been used before that. He's not an innocent in this. He screws his eyes shut, shaking his head as he tries to process the enormity of what he's told him. This is too much. He's not ready for this. He was never going to be ready for this.]
I... I need you to leave.
[He feels like a traitor already.]
no subject
Oliver...please don't do this.
[He trembles: his voice, his hands, his heart. He suddenly wishes he could reach the lamp and douse them in its light. In the darkness he feels lost, untethered as if in space, with his heels over his head and nothing for his hands to hold. Was it really only minutes ago that they were laughing together, resting against one another's bodies?]
I know I screwed up. I screwed up so badly, I know. Trust me, I hate myself more than you could ever hate me. But this...this isn't fair. You asked me to be honest, and I bared everything to you. You don't get to just send me away. This doesn't just go away.
[Concealing the evidence doesn't undo the crime, nor does it erase his guilt or purge his memories.]
I-- I don't know what I'll do if I have to be alone.
no subject
I don't hate you.
[He does sound scared though, and his voice is cracked with grief. He's not ready to process this with Connor. He knows that distance is the last thing that Connor will want right now, not when they've only just started to repair their relationship, but once again it's exactly what Oliver needs.]
Please, don't guilt me right now. I can't deal with that.
no subject
What about me? he wants to ask. Am I supposed to deal with this alone? He had unloaded this burden, these leaden secrets that have sat inside him for so long, in the fragile hope that Oliver would help him bear the weight. But he find himself buckling beneath it instead.
He struggles for an answer in the terrible silence. There come the soft shuddering sounds of a breakdown that he tries to lock away, but he is weak. When he does finally speak, his voice is as thin as a shadow.]
Fine...I'll go.
[Then he pulls himself to the edge of the bed and fumbles for his shoes in the darkness. He is adamant in avoiding the lights he had just moments ago wanted to flick on: now they would ruin the mask of darkness that hides him from Oliver. The darkness is broken only once he opens the door, letting in the light from the hallway.]
I'm sorry.
[He doesn't know if Oliver can even hear him. He doesn't turn or hesitate at the doorway; he simply leaves, and the door falls shut.]