[Because this conversation is just sooooo healthy, such a healthy conversation (and because Connor's location can be conveniently located on the Magitek), Asher feels that it is enough of an emergency to just physically show up right at the other law student's door.
Unfortunately, he also happens to be wearing this. When Connor opens the door following a series of obnoxiously loud tapping sounds, he will happen upon an Asher who has his dinosaur claws hands neatly folded over his chest.]
[When Asher's knuckles start raining down on his door, Connor jolts upright in bed. Already having a strong suspicion as to who could be visiting him at this hour, he throws his legs over the edge of the bed, flicks the lamp on, and hauls himself over to the door. Before he opens it, he scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands, but this does nothing to shatter the sheen made by incipient tears, and neither will the funny look he gives Asher.]
Dude, what the hell? It's three in the morning.
[He isn't exactly dressed for company, in nothing but his underwear and a black tank top. It's hard to tell if his hair is such a mess because he had been trying to sleep, or because a few hours prior he had been tumbling around under the sheets with another man.]
And please don't tell me Jin actually lets you bone him while you're wearing that.
Dude, could you quit it with the sassy gay bro quips, for just a minute?
[Meaning that his choice of attire isn't important right now. It was either this or his underwear- Every other comfortable outfit he owns is in the wash. There was his training outfit, but... That's hella tight, homie.
The broad-shouldered delinquent barges into Connor's room like he has every right to be there. Despite their complete lack of any tangible connection back home, Asher seems to have no problem invading Connor Walsh's personal space, even though it's far from an ideal hour.]
[Before his brain can catch up with what is happening, he finds himself stepping back to allow Asher to blow past him. Connor then taps the door shut before following him with his features twisted into the grumpiest look he can muster.]
Talk about what? What are you freaking out for?
[Because his cramped room lacks seating, offering only his bed for one to rest their booty on, he remains standing with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.]
[He says nothing initially, pausing only to bend his head downwards and shake it from side to side.
It should be obvious.]
You can't be serious.
[Following another frustrated sigh-]
This guy hacked into your email and deleted an official document! That's, like, textbook crazy ex-girlfriend shit.
Boyfriend shit. Whatever. And he wasn't even your ex at the time!
[Something about this is strange. Asher can't say he ever imagined Connor Walsh to be played like a chump, and especially not by a seemingly meek IT guy.]
[As he listens while Asher lectures him on his own relationship, a subject that Asher knows nothing about, frustration builds inside of him like a fire whose smoke cannot find a chimney through which to escape, until finally, he throws up his hands.]
Because none of that mattered!
[And he claps his hands to his forehead, tilting his head back to groan up at the ceiling.]
Ohhh my god. I didn't care about going to Stanford, I only wanted to keep Oliver safe. Because I care about him - or does that not matter to you? Because it sure as hell doesn't seem to matter to him.
[Fire brims within him too; metaphorical smoke practically blowing out of his ears.
The doughier of the two is frustrated for different reasons. As much as they supposedly hated each other, Connor Walsh had been the man, the epitome of cool. He was a take no prisoners type of dude, the kind of person Asher had been groomed to be but fallen short of becoming.
How had the man he admired so damn much become such a loser?]
Safe?
[Light brows press together, his voice softening slightly.]
Wait, what? Slow down.
[Asher is left to his own devices for a moment, which makes him think. He knows nothing of Sam's death just yet, only left with his own sob story to draw conclusions from.]
[As he says this, he wonders if it was only Frank who knew the location of his car, inside of which rode Sam's body. Whole at first, except for the crater in his head, and then in pieces. He wonders if that leverage fled Annalise's grasp when Frank did.
His hands slide and drop from his forehead, leaving tufts of hair to stand at odd angles. How different he seems when he no longer hides behind the disguise of his manicured appearance. He wears about him a look of exhaustion that extends beyond just the bags hanging beneath his eyes and originates from somewhere much deeper than the present late hour.]
Annalise was working this case, and things got a little crazy... A possible suspect broke into our apartment, mine and Oliver's, and he tried blackmailing all of us. He wasn't the one who did it, but--
[He breaks off, because he can't explain to Asher all the things that made him want to run. All the nooses waiting to cinch around his throat. Suddenly, he cannot meet Asher's eyes. Up until now he had been gesturing as he spoke, but now his hand falls lamely to his side.]
[Asher finally sits down atop of Connor's bed, doing his best to keep at a safe distance. Despite the ridiculous outfit, he's completely serious about being here, even though he knows that perhaps it isn't the best idea. The nervous man standing just a few inches away from him is not someone he would describe as kind, or giving, or thoughtful, but even so, he is a friend in need. And right now, it doesn't seem like Connor really has any other friends.
At the mention of a break-in, a sigh leaves his lips. He wishes that the story was harder for him to believe, but it really isn't. They may have been pulled from different points in time, but they will always have one thing in common- Annalise Keating.]
But you're not there anymore.
["Be careful what you wish for."
They are words he's heard time and time again, although repeating them in this instance won't do them any good.]
[With the realization that he was finally out of that house, that he would live his life in the looming shadow of Annalise Keating no longer, had come a slow unfurling feeling of relief. It had come as a stranger to him, who is so burdened by worries that the weight has become a part of him. But even so, he shakes his head in plain rejection of Asher's assertion.]
I'm just trapped somewhere else. And I can't do crap to make sure Oliver's safe.
[His shoulders rise up in a shrug and he hugs himself, folding himself smaller. He may be free of Annalise's influence, but he has no more control over his life. His heart is governed still by helplessness.]
[It's as if Asher is watching smoke vanish from the space that surrounds Connor's head, something that makes the muscles in his own stomach relax. While the pressure of living up to the amazing individuals around him was certainly hard to deal with at the start, the distance from home had given him enough time to step back and look within himself for answers to difficult questions.
Particularly, it had been a comfort to know that he wouldn't have to deal with his father, Bonnie, Annalise, or even the others for a little while.]
Well, ya are, but-
[Another heavy sigh escapes him.]
Also, you aren't.
[His voice picks up with a hint of hope, somehow making his words and expression brighter, despite the fear that tags at the corners of his eyelids.]
Sure, we're stuck on this team, and it gets crazy dangerous sometimes. But it's also friggin' amazing, yo!
[A breath, a beat.
It still amazes him, sometimes.]
Like, did you ever think that you were gonna do anything this important? That you'd helping be save timelines, entire worlds full of people?
Guys like us don't get to do shit like that. Like, ever.
[He heaves his shoulders in a shrug, his hands swinging downward with palms facing up, to emphasize his exasperation. His classmate's optimism is too foreign for him to comprehend, like a language he has never heard before.]
You think I have time to worry about the rest of the universe's problems right now?
[The flames of his anger may be shrinking, due in part to the lateness of the hour, the exhaustion that sinks in at the end of a long day, but the embers are still glowing hot.]
[Once again, Asher's own buffoonery is what railroads him into silence. Of course that had been what Connor meant.]
No, yeah.
I think I got you.
[His tone veers from obtuse to aware in a matter of seconds as he lets his mind wander, thinking back to the awful thoughts that had clouded his mind in the first few months of arrival. He had been pulled from home at a pivotal turning point, having been rejected by his father and then Bonnie, an outcast amidst his classmates. Identity has always been something he struggled with and still is, but back then? Even his reflection in the mirror seemed ugly, especially when he was alone.]
I can't say I blame ya, though.
This place really messed me up.
[For the first time since he set foot on the grounds of Oska, he feels comfortable admitting that.]
[He falls into silence as Asher's words settle in. He finds himself thinking of the way in which metal is worked, thrust into the searing flames until it loses its original shape, beaten by a hammer until it takes to a new shape. The man who sits on his bed is much like that metal, and the new shape he has taken - not in appearance, but in a way more powerful, more enduring - becomes more apparent to Connor the more he speaks with him.
Although, speaking of Asher's present appearance...]
...I can't believe we're having this conversation while you're wearing dinosaur pajamas.
[Because putting Asher down is an easier route than considering his purpose here.]
[what is with your obnoxious need to abbreviate everything
He perks up all at once when Connor tries to make a petty jab at his boyfriend.]
Kung Beef rolls off the tongue a little better, and is probably slightly less racist, but-
[The mood, however, shifts when Connor settles down beside him, downtrodden. Asher sighs at those words, an accurate assessment of his attempts to do good, which are often naive and ill-planned.]
Kinda, sorta, maybe, I guess? I dunno.
I just didn't want you to feel like you had didn't have anybody lookin' out for ya.
[Like he had.]
Like, at least you when you got here there were people from your world around. When I squared T-F up, everybody just acted like I was totes bonker-balls, and that me not bein' cool with punchin' somebody's lights out on day one made me the weird one.
[He is about to comment on the irony of receiving lessons in how to be politically correct from the guy who had regularly referred to him by the questionable epithet of "bromo," but the sincerity of what next comes out of Asher's mouth finally softens his aloof resistance.]
...Thanks, Asher.
[Then he pushes his hands through his already messy hair, resting his elbows on his knees and swinging his gaze to the man beside him.]
I know I wasn't always the nicest to you...especially back then. Actually, I was pretty much an asshole to you. And I tried to be. So...it means a lot to know you have my back here.
[He doesn't need to say that he has no one else. That he should have Oliver, but their propensity for arguing has torn a rift between them.]
[What comes next is a gush of unwavering and unwanted emotion, overwhelming in capacity, enough to stun him into silence- Truly, a miraculous feat.
His heart has yearned for this form of affection for so very long, even this, the bare minimum. To simply be acknowledged, even by an individual who simply has no other options, is enough for Asher Millstone. Connor, unknowingly, has given the doughy ball of feelings hope for his return home, that maybe the kindness he's received here is not the result of some bizarre anomaly, and perhaps one day Annalise's chosen few will be able to truly work together as a real team.
Maybe there is a place for him at Middleton Law, one that is not lonely, or miserable, or...
Dark.]
That's okay.
[The reply comes out instantly, a typical bumble for a pushover like himself. Immediately, he corrects his mistake, even though it's clear that he is not used to doing so.]
Or well, it's not...
[He inhales sharply.]
I used to think that you all left me out of your little-
[Words escape him, and so he traces a circle in the air with a finger in a desperate attempt to portray the supposed closeness of the other four.]
Group thingy because you thought I was a loser... But maybe you were all just dealin' with your own stuff.
[understatement of the century]
So, don't worry about it.
[He utters the following without knowing how in this time and place his choice of speech defines him at his core-]
[His eyes avoid Asher, settling instead in the dim corners of the room. Despite the warmth that tinges this moment of reconciliation, this moment made endearing for its peculiarity by the hour and the goofy pajamas donned by the other, Connor cannot help the bitter note he scoffs. And perhaps it is the effect of the late hour, the exhaustion bearing down on his mind, that he lets slip something a little too close to the truth.]
You don't want to be a part of that group. Trust me...you're better off on the outside.
[The Asher he remembers would fall into their little cult of mutual secrets eventually, but the man beside him remains free of that circle which had become his prison even as he eluded jail time for his crimes. This Asher has little idea of the blessing his exlusion truly was.
Then, supposing that it is his turn to pay Asher some kindness, which from him comes awkwardly, rusty with disuse, he says:]
You may be obnoxious at times, and tactless, and your slang is embarrassingly outdated, but... [There's a compliment in here somewhere.] You're not a bad person. Your heart's usually in the right place.
[Connor says that without knowing the blood that has been shed as a result of his own incompetence, whether it be because he was unable to fight properly or too emotional to keep himself from falling farther. He does not know how years ago, Asher's ignorance and alleged silence condemned a young woman to face a horrible fate without the aid of legal counsel, a witness, or even a friend.
Then again, the Asher of yesterday is not the Asher of tomorrow or even the Asher that sits atop the bed this very moment, and those words are proof of how he has grown.]
I really wanna believe that.
[It is his turn to draw within himself, to pull his knees to his chest and crumple to pieces on the inside. Unspoken are the words, "I just don't know if I do."]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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it's not a huge deal. being with him is way more important to me than going to some stupid school in California. so I forgave him.
[Because that's healthy.]
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Unfortunately, he also happens to be wearing this. When Connor opens the door following a series of obnoxiously loud tapping sounds, he will happen upon an Asher who has his
dinosaur clawshands neatly folded over his chest.]no subject
Dude, what the hell? It's three in the morning.
[He isn't exactly dressed for company, in nothing but his underwear and a black tank top. It's hard to tell if his hair is such a mess because he had been trying to sleep, or because a few hours prior he had been tumbling around under the sheets with another man.]
And please don't tell me Jin actually lets you bone him while you're wearing that.
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[Meaning that his choice of attire isn't important right now. It was either this or his underwear- Every other comfortable outfit he owns is in the wash. There was his training outfit, but... That's hella tight, homie.
The broad-shouldered delinquent barges into Connor's room like he has every right to be there. Despite their complete lack of any tangible connection back home, Asher seems to have no problem invading Connor Walsh's personal space, even though it's far from an ideal hour.]
We need to talk.
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Talk about what? What are you freaking out for?
[Because his cramped room lacks seating, offering only his bed for one to rest their booty on, he remains standing with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.]
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It should be obvious.]
You can't be serious.
[Following another frustrated sigh-]
This guy hacked into your email and deleted an official document! That's, like, textbook crazy ex-girlfriend shit.
Boyfriend shit. Whatever. And he wasn't even your ex at the time!
[Something about this is strange. Asher can't say he ever imagined Connor Walsh to be played like a chump, and especially not by a seemingly meek IT guy.]
How were you not the one who ended it?
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Because none of that mattered!
[And he claps his hands to his forehead, tilting his head back to groan up at the ceiling.]
Ohhh my god. I didn't care about going to Stanford, I only wanted to keep Oliver safe. Because I care about him - or does that not matter to you? Because it sure as hell doesn't seem to matter to him.
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The doughier of the two is frustrated for different reasons. As much as they supposedly hated each other, Connor Walsh had been the man, the epitome of cool. He was a take no prisoners type of dude, the kind of person Asher had been groomed to be but fallen short of becoming.
How had the man he admired so damn much become such a loser?]
Safe?
[Light brows press together, his voice softening slightly.]
Wait, what? Slow down.
[Asher is left to his own devices for a moment, which makes him think. He knows nothing of Sam's death just yet, only left with his own sob story to draw conclusions from.]
Is Annalise blackmailing you, or...?
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[As he says this, he wonders if it was only Frank who knew the location of his car, inside of which rode Sam's body. Whole at first, except for the crater in his head, and then in pieces. He wonders if that leverage fled Annalise's grasp when Frank did.
His hands slide and drop from his forehead, leaving tufts of hair to stand at odd angles. How different he seems when he no longer hides behind the disguise of his manicured appearance. He wears about him a look of exhaustion that extends beyond just the bags hanging beneath his eyes and originates from somewhere much deeper than the present late hour.]
Annalise was working this case, and things got a little crazy... A possible suspect broke into our apartment, mine and Oliver's, and he tried blackmailing all of us. He wasn't the one who did it, but--
[He breaks off, because he can't explain to Asher all the things that made him want to run. All the nooses waiting to cinch around his throat. Suddenly, he cannot meet Asher's eyes. Up until now he had been gesturing as he spoke, but now his hand falls lamely to his side.]
It just...felt like it was time to go.
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At the mention of a break-in, a sigh leaves his lips. He wishes that the story was harder for him to believe, but it really isn't. They may have been pulled from different points in time, but they will always have one thing in common- Annalise Keating.]
But you're not there anymore.
["Be careful what you wish for."
They are words he's heard time and time again, although repeating them in this instance won't do them any good.]
You're free, dude. You and O-man both.
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I'm just trapped somewhere else. And I can't do crap to make sure Oliver's safe.
[His shoulders rise up in a shrug and he hugs himself, folding himself smaller. He may be free of Annalise's influence, but he has no more control over his life. His heart is governed still by helplessness.]
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Particularly, it had been a comfort to know that he wouldn't have to deal with his father, Bonnie, Annalise, or even the others for a little while.]
Well, ya are, but-
[Another heavy sigh escapes him.]
Also, you aren't.
[His voice picks up with a hint of hope, somehow making his words and expression brighter, despite the fear that tags at the corners of his eyelids.]
Sure, we're stuck on this team, and it gets crazy dangerous sometimes. But it's also friggin' amazing, yo!
[A breath, a beat.
It still amazes him, sometimes.]
Like, did you ever think that you were gonna do anything this important? That you'd helping be save timelines, entire worlds full of people?
Guys like us don't get to do shit like that. Like, ever.
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[He heaves his shoulders in a shrug, his hands swinging downward with palms facing up, to emphasize his exasperation. His classmate's optimism is too foreign for him to comprehend, like a language he has never heard before.]
You think I have time to worry about the rest of the universe's problems right now?
[The flames of his anger may be shrinking, due in part to the lateness of the hour, the exhaustion that sinks in at the end of a long day, but the embers are still glowing hot.]
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[there was supposed 2 b prose here about how deadpan asher's voice is butt lol
i'm sorry he's like this kathandra]
We're in Oska. You don't have anything important to do right now. You're not even boning another gay bro.
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Didn't we just go over this? Where do you think I was a few hours ago?
[Not in his own bed, that's for sure.]
But allow me to rephrase that - it's not that I don't have time, it's just that I don't have enough fucks to give. Is that better?
cw: slight body image/dysmorphia mention?
No, yeah.
I think I got you.
[His tone veers from obtuse to aware in a matter of seconds as he lets his mind wander, thinking back to the awful thoughts that had clouded his mind in the first few months of arrival. He had been pulled from home at a pivotal turning point, having been rejected by his father and then Bonnie, an outcast amidst his classmates. Identity has always been something he struggled with and still is, but back then? Even his reflection in the mirror seemed ugly, especially when he was alone.]
I can't say I blame ya, though.
This place really messed me up.
[For the first time since he set foot on the grounds of Oska, he feels comfortable admitting that.]
i'm sorry
Although, speaking of Asher's present appearance...]
...I can't believe we're having this conversation while you're wearing dinosaur pajamas.
[Because putting Asher down is an easier route than considering his purpose here.]
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[Look at him falling over himself.]
It may not seem like it, but these killer threads-
[please don't gesture to ur lumpy breadboy body like dat]
Happen to be a major hit with the ladies.
[u mean... lucina and sonia
two hot girls who would never date u.]
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Yeah, all the ladies you have to disappoint because you're with Kung Pao Beef.
[Will he ever use Jin's real name...]
Anyway, did you seriously just bust into my room at three in the morning to try to give me an inspirational speech?
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[what is with your obnoxious need to abbreviate everything
He perks up all at once when Connor tries to make a petty jab at his boyfriend.]
Kung Beef rolls off the tongue a little better, and is probably slightly less racist, but-
[The mood, however, shifts when Connor settles down beside him, downtrodden. Asher sighs at those words, an accurate assessment of his attempts to do good, which are often naive and ill-planned.]
Kinda, sorta, maybe, I guess? I dunno.
I just didn't want you to feel like you had didn't have anybody lookin' out for ya.
[Like he had.]
Like, at least you when you got here there were people from your world around. When I squared T-F up, everybody just acted like I was totes bonker-balls, and that me not bein' cool with punchin' somebody's lights out on day one made me the weird one.
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...Thanks, Asher.
[Then he pushes his hands through his already messy hair, resting his elbows on his knees and swinging his gaze to the man beside him.]
I know I wasn't always the nicest to you...especially back then. Actually, I was pretty much an asshole to you. And I tried to be. So...it means a lot to know you have my back here.
[He doesn't need to say that he has no one else. That he should have Oliver, but their propensity for arguing has torn a rift between them.]
sorry for the icon repeat fam
His heart has yearned for this form of affection for so very long, even this, the bare minimum. To simply be acknowledged, even by an individual who simply has no other options, is enough for Asher Millstone. Connor, unknowingly, has given the doughy ball of feelings hope for his return home, that maybe the kindness he's received here is not the result of some bizarre anomaly, and perhaps one day Annalise's chosen few will be able to truly work together as a real team.
Maybe there is a place for him at Middleton Law, one that is not lonely, or miserable, or...
Dark.]
That's okay.
[The reply comes out instantly, a typical bumble for a pushover like himself. Immediately, he corrects his mistake, even though it's clear that he is not used to doing so.]
Or well, it's not...
[He inhales sharply.]
I used to think that you all left me out of your little-
[Words escape him, and so he traces a circle in the air with a finger in a desperate attempt to portray the supposed closeness of the other four.]
Group thingy because you thought I was a loser... But maybe you were all just dealin' with your own stuff.
[understatement of the century]
So, don't worry about it.
[He utters the following without knowing how in this time and place his choice of speech defines him at his core-]
I forgive you.
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You don't want to be a part of that group. Trust me...you're better off on the outside.
[The Asher he remembers would fall into their little cult of mutual secrets eventually, but the man beside him remains free of that circle which had become his prison even as he eluded jail time for his crimes. This Asher has little idea of the blessing his exlusion truly was.
Then, supposing that it is his turn to pay Asher some kindness, which from him comes awkwardly, rusty with disuse, he says:]
You may be obnoxious at times, and tactless, and your slang is embarrassingly outdated, but... [There's a compliment in here somewhere.] You're not a bad person. Your heart's usually in the right place.
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Then again, the Asher of yesterday is not the Asher of tomorrow or even the Asher that sits atop the bed this very moment, and those words are proof of how he has grown.]
I really wanna believe that.
[It is his turn to draw within himself, to pull his knees to his chest and crumple to pieces on the inside. Unspoken are the words, "I just don't know if I do."]
Thanks.