hello! i cannot tell you how many times i’ve reread your lawyer fic 🖤💛 i’m obsessed with with the whole world that you’ve created 🖤💛
hello! this is an incredibly kind message to send, thank you! that fic series means so much to me because it represents a very specific time in my life and in that fandom and all the wonderful people in my heart now because of it! @constellationclarke @midnightmusinggs @redbelles @brightflights literally mean the whole world to me.
if you ever feel like coming into my messages and yelling about it i would adore it as it was a labor of LOVE, and any fanfiction writer will tell you there's nothing more validating than someone telling you what of your writing they loved. I hope you have a WONDERFUL day 💕💕💕
a coliver Suits AU, with Connor as the hotshot, lawyer for Keating Rothlo and Oliver as his ever loyal assistant…
Connor smiled to himself as he rounded the corner and spotted Oliver at his desk. 7:45 on a Monday morning and Oliver Hampton was already hard at work.
“I should give you a raise,” Connor said as he paused near Oliver’s cubicle.
Ignoring the comment, Oliver nodded to the small pile on the edge of his cubicle. “Your messages,” he said, his fingers still flying over the keyboard, his eyes never leaving the computer screen.
Connor frowned. That was all Oliver had to say. Where was the retort about how much the raise should be or teasing Connor about being in early on a Monday? Where was the…the moment they normally had in the morning?
Normally, Oliver’s head would pop up when he heard Connor rounding the corner. His lips would quirk in that half-smile of his and he’d stand. Connor would stop by the desk, pick up his mail and messages, and they would proceed to have a moment.
It was always quick and short. Oliver clued Connor into the latest office gossip (which Connor pretend not to care about but really loved). Connor asked Oliver to call a client or schedule a meeting or something like that (all tasks which, most of the time, Oliver had already taken care of because that was just how good he was). Then they’d just talk for a minute, half a minute really. Some times it was personal, most of the time it wasn’t. The banter they’d exchange was teasing and witty and carried an undercurrent of affection that both of them conveniently ignored.
It was just…them. It was what they did. It was what made them the secret envy of everyone in Keating Rothlo.
It was their moment but they couldn’t really have it if Oliver ignored Connor.
What was wrong? What had happened over Oliver’s weekend? What did Connor need to do? Who did Connor need to hurt? What did Connor need to do to fix it? Fixing things, closing deals, that was Connor’s bread and butter; that was what he did. No matter what Oliver’s problem was, Connor could fix it. He just needed to know what said problem was.
Connor opened his mouth, intending to ask just that, when he glanced around again. People were starting to filter in; the office was beginning to buzz with morning greetings and weekend gossip. Out here wasn’t the place for Connor to ask Oliver what was wrong, presuming, of course, that something was wrong. Out here wasn’t the place to start airing Oliver’s potentially dirty laundry.
Connor almost asked Oliver to follow him into the office so Connor could ask if something was up but instantly decided against it. Oliver’s business was Oliver’s business. He didn’t have to tell Connor anything. Maybe he’d just had a bad morning or bad weekend. A bad cup of coffee or a bad commute or bad date Saturday night.
So what if they didn’t have a moment this morning? Missing their morning moment wasn’t that big of a deal. Maybe today, they’d just have a afternoon coffee break moment instead.
So instead of pressing Oliver about it, Connor offered Oliver a simple, “Thank you, Oliver,” before scooping up the messages and heading into his office.
Consumed with reading the messages, Connor didn’t see Oliver’s fingers stop typing. Connor didn’t see Oliver’s hands curl into fists or Oliver’s eyes shift from the screen to glance over his shoulder. Connor didn’t see Oliver subtly watching as Connor put his briefcase down and rounded his desk. Connor didn’t see Oliver watching him, watching for the moment Connor spotted it: the pure white envelope sitting innocently in the precise center of his desk blotter.
In his office, Connor frowned at the envelope on his desk, picked it up, and flipped it over, looking for any hint of who it could be from. His desk had been empty when he’d left late Friday night. He hadn’t come in all weekend. The office would have been locked until maintenance, or Oliver, unlocked it this morning.
Who could have gotten in? Who could this unmarked envelope be from?
With a lick of unease running down his spine, Connor reached for the letter opener and slipped out the single sheet of paper. It had to be from Hapstall. This fucking merger was going to be the goddamn end of him. If this was Caleb trying another one of his power plays, Connor was going to….
Connor lost all train of thought as he read the letter.
It wasn’t from Caleb Hapstall.
It was from Oliver.
Connor couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. The words were blurring in front of him.
Dear Mr. Walsh….thank you for the opportunities and support over all these years….tendering my resignation effective…my last day will be….
Oliver was…was quitting?
With Oliver’s name already forming in his mouth, Connor glanced up, intending to call out, but Oliver was already there, standing in front of him.
For a moment, they just stared at each other. Connor’s mouth hung agape. Oliver’s hands wrung together.
“O…Oliver…” Connor started, completely unsure what he was planning to say. What was there to say?
But, as it turned out, Connor didn’t need to worry about saying anything because Oliver was already rushing in.
He started talking, rambling really, about loyalty and “Thank you for everything” and “Providing opportunities” and “I can’t ever repay you for all you’ve done” and Connor didn’t hear a word of it over the rushing in his ears.
Oliver was quitting.
Oliver wasn’t going to work for him anymore.
There weren’t going to be any more moments.
After Connor mumbled his acceptance of Oliver’s resignation and placed a phone call to Laurel in HR to get those wheels in motion, the everyday pressures of work in a corporate law office resumed.
Once word of his resignation spread around the office, it seemed to Connor that Oliver was hardly ever around but that wasn’t entirely true. As before, Oliver was always around, always there when Connor needed him. He just had a new shadow…
“I don’t want Rebecca Sutter on my desk,” Connor spat from behind his desk after the third day of Oliver’s replacement shadowing him.
Oliver closed his eyes. The office door was closed but Oliver knew just how far and fast Connor’s voice could carry, especially through the front glass wall of his office. Rebecca was sitting just outside said glass wall, manning the phone and knowing full well they were in here talking about her.
“Connor,” Oliver started to patiently explain, “She’s the best legal secretary in the firm.”
Connor wanted to protest that Oliver was the best legal secretary in the firm but instead countered with, “She doesn’t understand the job.”
“She trained under Bonnie,” Oliver told him, pausing to let that sink in. It was well known throughout the firm and beyond, that Bonnie Winterbottom was the best legal secretary in the city. “She knows the job.”
“She’s inexperienced,” Connor reasoned.
Oliver closed his eyes. “She trained under Bonnie and ran Annalise’s desk last year while Bonnie was on leave.” Oliver opened his eyes and met Connor’s gaze. “How much more experience does she need?”
“She can’t handle the volume of work.”
“Annalise is a Founding Partner, Connor,” Oliver said the words slowly, almost as if Connor had somehow forgotten that one of the two names on the door of Keating Rothlo belonged to Annalise. “Rebecca is more than capable of handling the workload of a Senior Partner.”
“I don’t–”
“Connor!” Oliver snapped. He was at the end of his rope. Rebecca was sitting right there. This was beyond the pale, even for Connor. “Neither of us have time for this today. Either tell me a legitimate reason you don’t want Rebecca to be my replacement or let me get back to work.”
Oliver waited then. His hands palms up, waiting for Connor to decide.
Connor remained silent. The real reason he didn’t want Rebecca on his desk was the simple fact that she wasn’t Oliver and both of them knew it.
At Connor’s silence, Oliver nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
Connor watched Oliver start to leave and weakly blurted out, “Her hair.”
Oliver paused, cocked his head to one side, and turned. “Excuse me?”
“Her hair,” Connor whispered, wondering why the hell he’d opened his mouth. “It’s too..” He raised a hand to gesture around his own head, indicating Rebecca’s tendency for slightly outlandish up-dos.
Oliver leveled Connor a look. Rebecca’s personal style may have been a bit wild but nothing about her appearance was at all inappropriate for work or in violation of the firm’s fairly strict dress code.
“Connor…” Oliver crossed his arms as he casually approached Connor’s desk, closing the distance between him and his boss. “If you are really telling me the reason you don’t want Rebecca Sutter to take your messages and schedule your appointments is that you don’t like her hair…” Oliver paused then, waiting for Connor’s eyes to lift and meet his. “I’m walking out of this office right now and into Asher’s to file a discrimination suit on Rebecca’s behalf.”
Then, it was Connor’s turn to cock his head to the side and pin Oliver with a look. “Really? You’d really go to Asher. A whole firm at your disposal and you pick Asher Millstone.”
Connor and Asher had started as first–year associates in the firm together and they’d come up through the ranks together over the years. They often alternated between having each other’s backs and going for each other’s throats. There was no other lawyer one at Keating Rothlo whom Connor both hated and respected in equal measure. If Oliver had been seriously considering filing a suit against Connor, Asher would be the perfect choice. The fight between Walsh and Millstone would be ruthless and dirty and personal.
“Well…” Oliver lifted an absent shoulder, purposefully casual in tone and demeanor. “I have heard he’s the best Senior Partner at Keating Roth–”
“Get out,” Connor said. He’d intended to throw the words out like a shot but then one corner of his mouth turned up in an affectionate grin, ruining the effect, making him all bark and no bite.
“The best closer they had actually,” Oliver said in that slow, thoughtful way of his. This teasing tone between them was familiar and expected.
“Get out faster.”
“The best hair of the firm too.”
“Get out or you’re fired,” Connor said the words in reflex. It was one of his standard comebacks. They’d both always known it was bullshit. Connor would never fire Oliver.
“You can’t fire me, I–” Oliver stopped short, realizing what he’d been about to say. The teasing, jovial atmosphere of the room disappeared in an instant.
“I can’t,” Connor whispered, his eyes downcast. “Because…” He licked his lips. He couldn’t say it, couldn’t admit it. For the last three days, Connor had been running on automatic, conveniently forgetting that their time was running out.
Oliver swallowed. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. There was too much to say, not enough.
The silence between them was thick and unbreachable.
Eventually Oliver opened his mouth to offer, “Is that all, Mr. Walsh, or do you need…?”
“That’s all, Mr. Hampton.” Connor sat back down behind his desk. “Please close the door when you leave.”
Connor spent the rest of the afternoon working in silence, glancing up every so often to see two heads poking out of Oliver’s cubicle.
The rest of Oliver’s last two weeks flew by in a blur until suddenly it was Oliver’s last day.
At the party that afternoon, Connor had given a speech. It was a good speech, a great speech even, if he said so himself.
Connor spoke about how good Oliver was at his job, how loyal he was, how he’d gone above and beyond for the firm time and time again. He told story after story about how a comment or look from Oliver had changed the course of many a case. How one comment from Oliver could make Connor rethink his whole strategy.
“Five seconds with Oliver and I go from prosecuting this woman to defending her and dammit if he wasn’t right.”
Connor told them all how “working with Oliver Hampton made me not just a better lawyer, but a better man” and “I think everyone here would agree with me when I say that Keating Rothlo is not only losing a great coworker. We are losing a great man. A man everyone here will miss.” At that point, the room raised their glasses in a happy toast that drowned out the rest of Connor’s words, “Me most of all.”
But that had been this afternoon. Now the hour was inching closer and closer to midnight and Oliver was still there, still manning his post right outside Connor’s office.
The rest of the firm had gone home hours ago and Oliver had managed to convince Rebecca to head out with the rest of them.
“You’re going to have enough late nights at this desk,” Connor had overheard Oliver telling her. “You go and enjoy the rest of your Friday. I’ll finish this last one out.”
So now it was only the two of them in the quiet office. Just their two lonely lights left on in all of Keating Rothlo.
Connor rubbed a hand over his eyes. This was getting ridiculous. “Oliver,” he called out from behind his desk.
Connor kept his head low, bent over a brief he wasn’t really reading, and closed his eyes as Oliver headed in, memorizing the scrape of Oliver’s chair as he pushed it back, cataloging the pattern of Oliver’s footfalls over the tile.
So many moments had all led to this one. This last one. Their last one.
“Go home, Oliver,” Connor said without looking up.
“No.”
Connor swallowed down the surprising bite of anger. Why was Oliver so intent on torturing them both? Couldn’t he just go home? This day had been long enough. These two weeks had been long enough. It just needed to be over now. “Go home.”
“I said I’d finish out the day,” Oliver said. “I’ll finish it.”
Connor pinned him with a look. “The day is over. Everyone has gone home.”
“You are still here,” Oliver pointed out.
“And you aren’t my secretary anymore.” From his desk, Connor picked up a file as he stood. “Your non–compete,” he told Oliver before flipping the file open. “According to this, your employment at Keating Rothlo ended at 7 PM.” Connor looked pointedly at the clock hanging on his wall. The hour hand was well into the 11 o’clock hour. “You are no longer an employee here.” Connor tossed the file back down on his desk. “Go home.”
Oliver’s hands curled into fists. “I’ll go when you go.”
Connor gave a derisive shake of his head and stalked out from behind his desk. He was too angry to sit still. Too angry to be passive. He needed to move and prowl and feel.
He stalked over to his bar and poured himself a generous drink. The scotch Oliver preferred sat at a place of prominence on the bar top but Connor didn’t offer his former secretary a glass. Connor only kept that cheap shit in here because he knew Oliver liked it. Now Connor was stuck with a half a bottle of that piss. Maybe he could give it to Oliver as a parting gift. Maybe he could dump it in the river or set the bottle on fire or flush it down the toilet or throw it out the window.
Connor took a sip of his drink. “You have ten minutes to collect your things before I call security.”
Oliver shot him a bland look. “Really? It’s come to this.”
Connor just shrugged in that careless way of his and took another sip of his drink. He kept his face blank and his eyes cool and flat.
This was the real reason Connor was better than everyone else in this city. It wasn’t that he was a better lawyer, Connor knew there were better lawyers walking the streets of this town. Connor was the best at what he did because he knew how to play his part and could turn it on in a heartbeat. He could size up the room and turn on the charm or sympathy or flirt or sincerity in the blink of an eye.
Even now, even with Oliver, the one person in the world who knew Connor nearly as well as he knew himself, Connor knew how to play his part. He knew how to get what he wanted. In this moment Oliver wanted emotion, a reaction, he wanted to know that Connor felt. If Connor wanted Oliver to leave, he needed to be a blank slate. Uncaring, unemotional, masking everything he was feeling right now. Connor needed to bury down just how raw and close to the edge he was.
At Connor’s offhand shrug, Oliver turned away. His eyes, unblinking, stared out the window. His throat worked twice, swallowing down the anger and the hurt. It really had come to this. “Fine,” he whispered, turning away to head out of the office.
Connor started to close his eyes again, ready to listen and memorize what Oliver leaving him sounded like, but Oliver whipped around before he made it out of the room.
“You never asked!” he practically screamed.
Connor blinked. “Asked what?”
“Why,” Oliver nearly bit out. In the soft light, Connor could see the sheen of tears in Oliver’s eyes. “You never asked why, why I was leaving.”
It was Connor’s turn to look away then. He lifted his glass, preparing to take a drink, but stopped. “I didn’t…” He doesn’t know what to say, how to process it. “I didn’t think–”
“I mean, I understood last week,” Oliver interrupted in a rush. “I get that. The shock and the craziness. And then me training Rebecca and you with the whole merger thing and Hapstall being Hapstall. I didn’t have time last week and you didn’t have time but…but now.” Oliver stared at Connor and Connor still didn’t know what he was supposed to say. “It’s been just you and me every night this week. Just you and me tonight. It’s just…just us. And still you never asked.” Oliver stopped for a moment so they could just stare at each other, take each other in one last time. “And now…” Oliver let the words fall off.
And now it was the end. The eleventh hour. The final bow.
Now was their last moment.
“Why?” Connor whispered. The word was wrecked, pulled from the belly of his soul, torn from the fabric of his heart. “Why, Ollie?”
Oliver blinked at the nickname. Connor had only ever used it twice before.
The first time had been the day he’d cornered Oliver outside the DA’s office, trying to get Oliver to leave with him, leave and start up shop at Keating Rothlo as Connor’s secretary.
“Come with me, Ollie,” Connor had said all those years ago. The coffee shop had been a madhouse around them but Oliver hadn’t been able to look away from Connor’s eyes. He hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away from the hope and promise in Connor’s. “Come with me over there. I…I need you.”
The second time had been at Connor’s father’s funeral.
It had been early in Connor’s days as a senior associate at Keating Rothlo. Too early to show weakness and vulnerability, too early to be seen as anything other than the ruthless closer Connor was coming to be known as. So, Connor hadn’t told anyone in the office his father had died. Oliver had been the only person he trusted with it, the only person who’d gone to the funeral for Connor.
Oliver had sat behind Connor at the church, just behind Connor’s right shoulder. The congregation had stood as the casket was being taken away for a final time and Connor had reached back blindly for Oliver’s hand. He’d squeezed it so hard, Oliver swore his bones bruised.
At the gravesite, they’d been the last two left. Connor had stood there frozen, staring into the open grave with Oliver standing next to him, staring at Connor.
“What am I going to do, Ollie?” Connor had whispered. “What am I gonna do?” Oliver hadn’t known what to say. He’d only taken Connor’s hand and squeezed, holding on tight until Connor eventually turned away from the grave and their hands fell back apart.
Back in his office, Connor demanded again, “Why? Why are you–?” Sensing the words were going to break on his lips, Connor stopped himself. He swallowed once and opened his mouth again before shutting it quickly. He couldn’t say it. Why are you leaving me?
Oliver knew what he should say. He should give Connor a variation of the pat answer he’d given everyone else all week. Oliver should mumble something about how he wants to explore other opportunities, maybe travel, maybe go back to school; all of which were bullshit answers that Connor would see through in a heartbeat.
Oliver knew what he should say but also knew it wasn’t what he needed to say.
“I couldn’t do it anymore,” he quietly admitted.
Connor’s head snapped up at that. “Do what anymore?” What couldn’t Oliver do anymore?
Connor flirted in-and-out of a legal gray area all day, everyday but he had never asked Oliver to do anything even remotely questionable. He would never ask Oliver to do anything like that. He would never jeopardize Oliver like that.
Maybe Oliver was confused about something he’d been asked to do. Maybe there was still time. Maybe this didn’t have to be the end. Connor need to explain that. He needed to clear that up right now.
“Oliver, I never–” Connor started.
“No. No.” Oliver shook his head, sensing how Connor had interpreted what he’d said and knowing just where Connor was going to head with his response. “I know that. It’s not…it’s not anything you’ve ever asked or anything I’ve done. It’s just…”
Oliver looked out the window as he trailed off, searching for the right words as he searched the skyline.
Oliver knew his heart was in his eyes but didn’t try to hide it when he turned back to Connor. “I just can’t do this anymore, Connor.”
Connor’s breath caught at the look in Oliver’s eyes. “Do what?”
Oliver looked down, his throat working as he swallowed. As always, there was a time for words and a time for action.
He crossed the room in three strides and was suddenly right in front of Connor. He took the forgotten glass from Connor’s hand and finished the drink in one gulp before setting it back down.
Oliver slowly took Connor’s hand and Connor stopped breathing. Oliver’s other hand reached up to cup Connor’s cheek and his thumb whispered over Connor’s jaw, the pad of his thumb lightly scratching against the stubble.
“Is this alright?” Oliver asked in a whisper.
Connor mutely nodded. The slick lawyer with the silver tongue rendered mute by one shy secretary with perpetually smudged glasses and a tie that never quite laid flat.
Oliver leaned in. “Is this alright?” His breath brushed over Connor’s lips and Connor just helplessly nodded again.
Is this alright? The fires of hell could have been licking at Connor’s heels and Connor didn’t think he could have moved.
Oliver started to lean in closer. “Connor, I want–”
Connor cut him off with a kiss.
Closing the distance between them, Connor brushed his lips against Oliver’s in a kiss that was as light as air, soft as a cloud. It was chaste. Just Oliver’s mouth, warm and soft against Connor’s. Oliver’s hand was in his hand. Oliver’s chest was against his own.
The hand on Connor’s jaw shifted to cup the back of Connor’s neck. Oliver’s fingertips brushed through the hair at the nape of Connor’s neck and supported the weight of Connor’s skull when Connor tilted his head back just a touch, subtly offering Oliver more, surrendering everything.
Connor knotted a hand in Oliver’s dress shirt and clung. This was it. This was everything.
Oliver’s lips against his own. Oliver’s heart pumping wildly against Connor’s. Connor never let himself think, let himself dream. Connor never let himself hope against hope for this.
This was their moment. This was all of their moments. This was the beginning. This was everything.
Too quickly, Oliver pulled away to press his forehead hard against Connor’s.
For a breath, a heartbeat, Connor was too stunned to do anything but stand there, basking in the glory of the moment, this moment with Oliver. But then he moved, slowly, gently. He brushed soft lips across Oliver’s cheek, then over his nose, and along his jaw. Connor lightly whispered lips over Oliver’s eyelids, over the delicate skin that was like silk under his mouth. Connor breathed kisses over Oliver’s forehead and down his neck and behind his ears.
Connor couldn’t believe he got to do this. He got to touch Oliver like this. Connor got to spend the rest of his life memorizing the feel Oliver’s skin under his fingertips and against his lips and brushing against his own.
Connor was going to get Oliver.
“See,” Oliver said, the words coming out harsh and just a bit broken in the quiet space. “This is why I can’t…I can’t work here anymore.”
“Shh.” Connor pressed a quieting kiss to Oliver’s lips.
He played with Oliver’s lips, gently nibbling and nipping. His tongue hinted at the corner of Oliver’s mouth until Oliver parted his lips on a gasp and Connor could slip his tongue between them.
Oliver was too quick to worry. Neither of them had anything to worry about anymore. Connor didn’t plan of worrying about anything for the rest of his life.
“No, Connor.” Oliver closed his eyes and stepped back.
Connor was quick to release his hold on Oliver’s shirt but didn’t let go of Oliver’s hand. They had just started touching. Connor wasn’t ready to relinquish that privilege just yet.
“Connor, listen to me.”
“What?”
A stone fell in Connor’s stomach at the look in Oliver’s eyes. No. No. They had just started touching.
“I can’t–” Oliver started.
“No,” Connor whispered.
“Connor, please, just listen–”
“No.”
“If you would just–”
“Fine!” Connor exploded.
Fine. If Oliver didn’t want him that was just fine. That was okay. Connor could take it. It was good. It was great. It was fine. Why had Connor thought Oliver would be different than everyone else? Oliver knew Connor better than everyone else. Oliver knew how fucked up about…about relationships and guys and all that shit Connor was. Of course, Oliver didn’t want him. Of course not. Why would he? Why had Connor always thought that if he and Oliver ever figured it out between them that they would be different? That something about Oliver would be different. Nothing was different. Oliver didn’t want him either.
“Alright fine.” Connor spat out the words as he stormed away. He needed to be behind his desk. He needed space between them. He needed to think. “You had your…your little experiment, your fun, now–”
“Connor!” Oliver rushed over, hands up, eyes pleading. “You can’t think–you don’t think that’s what this was, what I–”
“Your ten minutes are up, Mr. Hampton,” Connor said from behind his desk.
He was back now. Connor Walsh, the youngest Senior Partner in Keating Rothlo history, the best closer, the best dealer, the best fucking lawyer this town had ever seen, was back. That Connor from heartbeats ago, that Connor who was all soft touches and dreams and forever, that Connor was gone. He was dead, buried once again under layers of hurt and grief and $12,000 of silk and cotton.
Connor watched as Oliver’s spine stiffened. He watched unwavering as the hurt seeped into Oliver’s eyes. Connor felt a tear in his chest, a tear and then a rip. It felt like his heart was turning over in his chest, rolling over in shock and pain, but Connor ignored it.
“I believe we are done here,” he said to Oliver. His voice toneless. His face expressionless.
In the center of Connor’s massive office, looking small and alone, Oliver blinked.
He’d ruined it. It had only been a second and somehow he’d ruined it all. Oliver knew he was terrible with all this, with relationships and all that, but this had to be some sort of record, even for him. One embrace with Connor and Oliver had ruined everything. He’d had everything he ever wanted within his grasp, he had Connor in his arms, and Oliver still ruined it. He couldn’t believe it.
“I think–” Oliver stopped to clear his throat, swallow down the raw pain. “I think you’re right.”
Oliver caught Connor’s eyes then. His expression was blank, at least Oliver probably thought his expression was blank. Oliver probably thought he’d steeled his expression into nothing but Oliver had always had the worst poker face and Connor could still see the hurt.
“I believe this is goodbye, Mr. Walsh.” Oliver held out a hand. “Thank…thank you for…”
Connor stared at the hand Oliver held out. He didn’t take it, couldn’t take it. If he took it now, if he felt the brush of Oliver’s skin against his again, Connor knew he’d never let go. He’d drop to his knees and beg. He’d give everything, lose himself in pleading for Oliver to stay.
Connor looked blindly back down at the briefs on his desk and retook his seat. “Please see yourself out.”
Still out held, Oliver’s hand hung there for a stunned moment before he curled it into a fist and let it fall back down to his side.
Oliver’s steps were quiet as he turned to leave. His movements outside the glass door were quick and efficient. He grabbed his bag and shut down the computer. He nabbed his coat from the rack nearby and flicked off his desk lamp. He pushed in his desk chair and ran a light fingertip over the glossy leaf of his desk plant before he stepped out of the cubicle.
He stopped for a moment outside Connor’s office and their eyes met through the glass one last time.
Connor held Oliver’s gaze for as long as he could before looking away. He couldn’t take the pressure of the moment. He couldn’t watch Oliver leave. He couldn’t watch Oliver walk out of his life.
Looking back down at his desk, Connor’s eyes blindly searched the papers on his desk. He absently flipped a page, keeping up the illusion that he was working and reading and didn’t need anyone.
When he glanced up again, Oliver was gone and Connor’s heart leapt in his throat.
He was gone.
Oliver was really gone.
Without a thought, Connor rushed out from behind his desk.
He swiftly walked down the hall towards the lobby with its bank of elevators.
What had he been thinking?
What the hell had he been thinking?
He couldn’t just let Oliver leave.
Oliver couldn’t leave.
Oliver couldn’t–
Connor heard the ding of the elevator as he rounded a corner and he quickened his step.
He wasn’t going to make it. He has to make it.
Connor turned into the lobby just as the elevator doors were starting to close.
Inside the car, Oliver’s head was bent. He was swiping a finger at his cheek. Oh fuck. Connor had made him cry. Connor had made Oliver cry and now Oliver was leaving and–
“Ollie!”
Oliver’s head snapped up. His lips curled into that half-smile of his. It was that same smile that greeted Connor every morning and quirked up again in goodbye at the end of every day. It was the smile Oliver saved for Connor and this time, this last time Connor was going to see it, it was bittersweet.
Oliver raised a hand in final farewell as the doors slid closed.
Then, the doors were closed.
The moment was over. All their moments were over.
They were over.
Connor’s eyes flew up to the small screen and he watched as the elevator descended.
39… 38… 37…
He could press the button again, call another elevator.
24… 23… 22…
He could rush for the stairs, run down and meet Oliver in the lobby.
16… 15… 14…
He could call security to stop Oliver from leaving the building.
8… 7… 6…
Connor could have done all those things and more but didn’t. He just stood there, watching the numbers tick down until the car carrying Oliver hit the lobby. Then he kept standing there until the elevator started moving again, climbing up to another floor to fetch another lonely soul stuck in this building late on a Friday night.
The walk back to his office was slow.
He stopped just outside Oliver’s cubicle.
The lamp was still warm. The computer was too.
He could call Oliver tomorrow and ask him out for drinks. Text him to grab brunch on Sunday morning. He could call his car and be at Oliver’s doorstep in twenty minutes. Connor could do any of those things or more but knew he wouldn’t.
He brushed a fingertip over a glossy leaf of Oliver’s desk plant.
There was a reason Connor had never let himself think about it before, never let his thoughts wander down the path of him and Oliver. He’d known it was dangerous.
Connor knew he was not the kind of guy to settle down. He wasn’t built for commitments. Connor wasn’t going to be anyone’s someone and Oliver was just destined to be someone’s someone. Oliver was steady and dependable. Oliver kind of guy you took home to meet your mother and raised dogs with and got summer rentals with. Oliver was the kind of guy who made you want to be better. The kind of guy you grew up with, grew old with. Just…just grew with.
Oliver was destined to be someone else’s someone.
Connor looked around the dark offices of Keating Rothlo.
It was late. He needed to go home. He needed sleep. He needed a drink. He needed to get out of this building.
He was quick in gathering up the work he was taking home for the weekend, quick in shutting off the lights, and locking up his office.
The walk back down the hall was awkward. He shifted his slipping briefcase under one arm and tried to toss the suit coat he didn’t feel like wearing over his shoulder. He was losing his grip on the banker’s box and the parcel on top of the box wavered dangerously.
Connor needed another hand, another two maybe.
He stopped short in front of the elevator call button. Unable to free a hand, he ended up using an elbow to call the car.
The doors of an elevator slid silently open and Connor started to enter just as the coat slipped off his shoulder. The fabric tangled in his feet and he started to lose his balance. Feeling everything he was carrying starting to fall, Connor made a quick decision. He let go of the box to grab for the object he’d placed on top, just as the briefcase under his arm fell to the floor and popped open, its contents spilling everywhere. The box fell too, papers joining the mess in the car.
Surveying the lot of it, Connor cursed but, looking at the object tightly held in his hands, Connor figured it was a small loss.
Because there, safe and secure in Connor’s hold, clutched tightly to his chest, was the plant. Oliver’s plant. Safe and upright and ready to be taken home.
