Connor’s tense, but he can’t explain why. It’s been like this for weeks, since he’s reconciled his fragile relationship with Oliver. He walks on pins and needles now, afraid to say something wrong. Afraid he’ll make Oliver leave again.
“It wasn’t you,” Oliver said when they reconnected. “I promise. It was nothing about you. It was me.”
Connor nodded then, relief stitching his heart back together. Now, he wonders - what did Oliver lack? What in Connor wasn’t enough to make him feel whole?
He scrubs the dishes now, harder than he means to. His brush scratches across the faces of perfectly clean plates and glasses.
He’s fine. Everything’s fine. He has Oliver again. Nothing’s wrong.
“Connor?” Oliver’s voice makes him jump. The plate he’s holding drops into the sink with a splash, dampening his shirt. “Connor.”