It was a failed attempt at getting the top five of Professor Keatings’ students together. An actual study group, away from the stress of the office, a dive right into homework. It wasn’t easy to get everyone together even when they knew they weren’t actually going to be doing any work, just whispering about the scary shit they’d seen and done. Wes’ group text plea went unnoticed by everyone except Connor.
Wes didn’t want to be alone, he felt trapped in his apartment with its previous tenants scratch marks feeling like they were stretching out to him, like he was being scratched and beaten by his every waking moment. And when he slept it was worse, it was danger at every corner. It was weapons and evidence, it was crime and punishment. He needed someone because it was getting worse and he needed to tell them but more than that he needed to pass the test and focus on something other than Sam or Rebecca or Annalise for more than five fucking seconds.
Wes texts Connor back, says, “Okay, meet at my place in 30, bring food. Thanks.” He rests his head against his wall, drops his phone on the floor, and sighs.