Chapter Text
There’s no need to move his head, Connor can already make out the rude scowl the girl next to him turns and makes every few minutes. He’s not completely undeserving of it, the small desk of his lecture hall seat bounces in tandem to his knee, and with it, so does the one next to him. The one this poor girl is sitting in. He fits awkwardly, legs far too long to accommodate his insistence on sitting with one knee folded over his thigh. As if it wasn’t enough of a ridiculous visual, there’s that even more unshakable desire to bounce his legs, flexing the points of his toes and moving at an anxious pace.
Connor had never been late to a class, he’d never been late to work. Today was the closest he’d ever been, and he can thank the laziness of the computer lab attendants for opening later than usual. Though Connor is rarely one to pass blame forward, he should always anticipate worst case scenarios and maneuver around them. He knew this especially well when it came to printing assignments on campus. He simply can’t bring himself to purchase the hundred dollar ink cartridge he needs to refill his home printer—not when his next tuition payment is on the horizon.
But he did make it on time, he tries to remind himself. This seems to be good enough for the bouncing to stop. The girl doesn’t turn her head over towards him for the remainder of the lecture, even when it begins up again. She must have gotten the very correct impression that Connor is beyond soothing. No amount of social stigma would unravel whatever grip anxiety held deep enough in his chest to allow him to consider the effects his ticks had on those around him.
By no means is Connor unaware of his habits. He’s been long described as genetically predisposed to chronic stick-up-his-ass syndrome. A good side effect of this would be Connor’s insistence on taking full responsibility for himself. Even after an entire childhood of encouraged neglecting of his mental health, a high school counselor stepping forward to put him in contact with a psychiatrist would offer him a more official diagnosis. His mother wasn’t too pleased to hear this, and even now, a medically emancipated Connor Stern would refuse any medication to treat his condition. Besides, nobody was born perfect. Amanda would say to strive for it, regardless. And—Connor rations—it would be admitting to an imperfection to utilize any medical assistance.
He was an adult, completely capable of managing his flares of anxiety and bouts of overthinking and planning. It did him good to be so worried, he’d convinced himself. He’d be finishing off the first semester of his last year of university with the same grades he’d started with—perfect ones. Just as he’d done in grade school, just as he’d done in primaries. And this time, without any motivation from his mother. A pure, self driven, entirely holistic desire to make the most of his education.
Of course, there were the non-academic elements of his condition to consider as well. But those were equally as straight edge and well maintained, thanks to Connor’s proficiency with a schedule and planning. He’d gotten himself a handsomely paid and honored internship position at a forensic laboratory right in metropolitan Detroit, just twenty minutes between his school and apartment. This welcomely received new paycheck had even allowed him said aforementioned apartment. Finally free of the adolescent cramping that living on campus had begun suffocating him with. Not that his new apartment was any less cramped. He’d still have a roommate—being humble and smart with his money came before his desire for total peace and quiet. Perhaps, if he’d been a little bit more to Amanda’s standards he’d gone and picked a better roommate.
He’d met Markus early in his third year. They both lived on the same floor of their on-campus dormitory, but they rarely interacted outside of hallway run-ins— what with Markus being exclusively in classes that were in the Fine Arts Department and Connor exclusively residing in the school’s STEM campus. Somehow, those hallway run-ins were all they needed to blossom a slow growing friendship.
Markus was magnetic, Connor could tell from their earliest interactions. He was carefully worded, soft and gentle spoken and insightful. An absolutely phenomenal artist that made Connor doubt the opinions on artists he’d internalized from Amanda. His social circle was large, but he and Connor became bonded in a particular manner he hadn’t noticed Markus doing with the rest of his friends. Connor was frequently invited to any group outing and celebration, but the plans he’d attend with Markus would more often be one on one. Working on assignments in silence, talking over a philosophical quandary, expressing social doubts and concerns. Either complete silence, or nonstop dialogue would be how their interactions would always go.
Connor had been itching to find his own place for the entirety of his Senior year. Dorms were far too rowdy—even those of the upperclassmen, and he’d been making more money than he knew what to do with from his last internship. Markus was his obvious contender for a roommate, had he not been four years into his very serious committed relationship with another friend of theirs and decided this would be the year to take it to the next stage.
By no means was Connor antisocial, far from it. He knew he talked too much once prompted, he was prone to over-explaining and talking over others if anything. For a long while, he wasn’t aware of these conversational issues.
He would become extremely aware of his social shortcomings after only one single conversation with Gavin Reed.
The lecture hall begins to empty. Students begin filing out with echoing sounds of zippers closing and laptops shutting. Connor follows suit, best avoiding any further inconvenience for the poor girl sitting beside him. He can tell she’s looking for his attention, as he stands and slings his bag strap over one shoulder. Uncertain if the interaction would be positive or negative, he opts to avoid any opportunity that would allow her to converse with him.
‘It’s a real shame! You’re a cute one,’ North had said that to him once, albeit a few drinks in. He wasn’t sure how the conversation had turned to Connor’s dating life and his insistence on not having one.
He understood the importance of making connections during these years of his life, and he had been making them! Involving himself with another romantically during this stage of his life felt wrong and detrimentally unfair to anyone unlucky enough to seek him out. His focus was career and education—nothing came close in importance as that. He was socially competent enough to recognize how unpleasant that would be for any prospective partner. Besides, he had near no clue what he sought after in a partner, let alone what kind of partner that would be.
He hates to admit that Gavin had actually been the one to make the biggest impact in his romantic development as a human being more than anybody else had. They’d met in a Civics class they shared in his third year. The night prior, Connor had the brilliant hindsight to let North sway him into going out. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but he’d neglected eating throughout that day and had very little to tide over the stream of drinks he was offered.
Poor sleep and a hangover were not experiences Connor frequently had, or was equipped to handle when he did permit himself to let loose. He’d still made it to class early. Gave himself an extra hour to prepare in the morning to assure no hangover would ruin his perfect streak of punctuality. Gavin had been the only other student to arrive as early as he had. The bags under his eyes rivaled Connor’s own and there was a vague familiarity to his face that would be explained as soon as he’d open his mouth.
‘You’re the prick that wouldn’t stop brown-nosing the prof in my toxicology class last year,’ he’d crossed his arms and announced from where he sat with his legs on the desk.
Two years and some change later, he’d find Reed to be an unlikely acquaintance. There’s still a struggle to use the word friend at times, but he supposes there’s not much else Gavin can be in relation to him. Connor’s balancing his phone on his shoulder against his ear as he fishes for his ID to unlock his way out of his department building.
“What?” He’d pick up the call as if he wasn’t called every Tuesday at this exact time like clockwork.
“I just got out of class, where are you?” Connor had finally tucked his ID back in his bag and was now properly holding his phone.
“Finally,” Gavin sounds exasperated for someone who has to wait a loathsome ten minutes between his own class concluding before Connor’s. “I’m at the car.”
Connor rushes over, because he’s socially conscious and knows Gavin dislikes waiting on him, even if he knows Gavin would never return the sentiment. He finds him in the same place they’d parked that morning, resting against the hood of his car with a nearly dead cigarette hanging from his lip.
He blows smoke from the corner of his lips before plucking it from between his lips, dropping it to the cement floor, and snuffing it with the toe of his boots.
There’s no real conversation that takes place as they drive back home from school. Yes, Gavin would turn out to be a financially reliable person to have as a roommate, despite his seedy appearance and hostile attitude. And he had a car, which Connor lacked, so he thinks twice before complaining about Gavin’s cleanliness around the house. It’s a fragile but harmonious balance Connor treads lightly.
“You look wrecked,” Gavin seems to only initiate conversations if it's to insult Connor, so he isn’t fazed by the faux concern. He’s gone and tossed his coat to the side and laid up on the couch with his shoes still on.
“Thanks,” He doesn’t instigate, tries not to think about the effort he tried putting into his appearance today, too. He’s fussing with his hair in their entryway mirror, checking to see if Gavin’s claims ring true—and they do. He’s visibly exhausted and his pristine appearance isn’t to his usual standards. Standing next to Gavin, a stranger wouldn’t be able to tell how off his game Connor was.
Gavin replies with a pack of cigarettes thrown Connor’s way and a nonverbal invitation to follow him out to their patio. Connor takes the effort, of which Gavin has neglected, to change into household slippers and follow him outside.
“You need those more than me,” His head nods to acknowledge the pack Connor’s cradling in one palm. But even with the less hostile verbiage, Connor can tell he’s asking for one. So, he obliges. Opens the pack, fishes one out and passes it to Gavin before taking one for himself between his lips.
It was a nasty habit. One he never went into adulthood anticipating he’d develop. It wasn’t intentional by any means, some things were bound to slip between the cracks of Connor’s overworked schedule. There’s worse things he could be doing, he rations.
It had been Gavin to facilitate the habit, unfortunately. One night the first year they’d become friends, after insisting Connor go bar hopping with him, they’d taken to a corner of a bar patio to get away from the noise and Gavin had offered him one. He’d laughed his usual boisterous laugh when Connor replied saying he’d never smoked before and practically forced him to try one. He’d laugh again when Connor coughed to the point of wheezing, and when he’d admitted verbally that he was feeling dizzy.
It took a few forced cigarettes from Reed before he got the appeal. Connor never actively sought out a relief to his stressors, only held them close as an assured motivator in getting things done. Only two things were truly reliable in Connor’s not so intentional seeking of stress relief: a schedule appropriate smoke break and a schedule appropriate hookup.
The former would be his go-to, the latter would be a much rarer desperate option to turn to. The latter would also be a bad habit introduced to him by his roommate.
The topic of Connor’s inability to value romantic partnership had come up again, like it always somehow manages to when he’s not brushing people off to work on assignments. For the first time in his life, he’d been met with understanding and mutual agreement. Gavin turned to him with a shrug and look of ‘so what’ when he’d heard Connor express his unwillingness to seek out a romantic partner. It had been the first time anyone had reacted in such a way. He remembers how deep and cathartic it was to exhale all the tension in his chest as he confessed it to someone who seemed to understand.
Except Gavin didn’t understand.
‘I’d rather it be a one and done,’ he’d said. And with it, all the aforementioned tension returned to Connor’s chest as his face flushed over and his hands began to vigorously wave Gavin off.
‘Not like that!’ He’d exclaimed right back, to which Gavin’s brows furrowed with confusion before rising with realization.
‘God, Stern, you've never even gotten laid?’
It was humiliating to realize his reputation as serially single did not automatically include the fact that he had never had intimate relations with anyone in any capacity.
What followed was an outstandingly obnoxious insistence on Gavin’s end that they would go out that night together and find some girls to take home. Connor wasn’t even sure if he liked girls, but Gavin was the last person he’d trust with that information at the time.
It wouldn’t end up being a big deal. They wouldn’t come home with even a single girl for one of them that night. No—leave it to Connor’s blind luck to turn that night into the most humiliating outcome imaginable. He’d woken up in Gavin’s bed, one of his roommate’s arms thrown over his—extremely sore—chest.
It’s a miracle either of them got past it and were able to retain a decently normal friendship; Connor took the brunt of the mockery and Gavin swore him to silence. At the very least, there was a mutual understanding that it was Connor’s first experience with sexual exploration and that if he needed to talk about it, Gavin would permit it with the best maturity he could muster—which wasn’t much.
Connor learned a handful of things about himself that night, Gavin was forced to be a willing ear as he rambled his way through self discovery one evening. He liked men, exclusively. And getting bent over by them was the most effective method of resetting his never ending stream of thoughts and concerns. He remembers Gavin’s eyes avoiding him and the wise advice to ‘download a hookup app, stop making this my problem’ following soon after.
Connor decided to do just that. He wouldn’t abuse it as a method, just reserve it for worst case scenarios, maybe as a special occasion during finals or during a rough project he’d be overseeing at work. Besides, there was never any guarantee he’d land a guy, right?
Except Connor was exceptionally attractive. ‘Ridiculously so’, North had put it once. Gavin had even made a comment on it once, that Connor was very obviously attractive to an especially gay demographic. He’d punctuated it with a roll of his eyes. And he was very correct. The first day of mindless swiping on the app had landed him a nearly guaranteed match with every man he’d given the slightest chance to.
The only natural course of action was to delete the app at the first sexually charged message he’d received in an overheated haste and swear to never give it another chance.
He’d sleep with Gavin twice more before he’d get cut off from ever getting the chance to again. It was already twice more than he’d expected given Gavin’s loud and proud rule of ‘one and done’. By the time the need had arisen once more, he’d lost his outlet, still far too intimidated to redownload the app and find another suitor to release stress with.
Cigarettes on his patio with Gavin would have to do for now. Except they didn’t have the same effect in the slightest. Quite the opposite. Watching someone as embarrassingly testosterone-fueled as Gavin lay leisurely against a car, or a railing, or legs spread in a chair, with smoke falling from open lips while his intense eyes glared back at Connor did very little for his libido. It didn’t help that he knew what the guy looked like naked—standing over him while he focused on getting himself off. Sometimes Connor’s excellent memory was more compromising than helpful.
In the span of a few months he’d gone from smoking exclusively with company, to chain-smoking in bitter solitude at the slightest inconvenience of his perfect schedule.
He’d settled on forcing conversation onto Gavin when they’d have these smoke breaks. Eyes on the horizon and as far away from whatever masculine show of display Gavin was putting on while he smoked. Living with the guy would have become torturous had Connor not been put off by his personality enough to view the fondness of their hookups for what they were: hookups.
There’s an obvious solution to his issues, he knows it. He’d had the forethought to plan around his libido and allow himself more time in the evening to explore his body in solitude. Nothing seemed to match the way a third party could make his mind go numb with white noise. The closest he’d get to the sensation was the not even full minute bliss reached by orgasm—but with another person touching him it was longer lasting, it was residual, there was a weeklong deafening of the cortisol that ruled his nervous system. Nothing would be as effective as another body on top of his.
He almost wants to resign, to crawl back to Gavin with his tail between his legs and beg for him to help. Letter of diagnosis in hand, explain that there’s something fundamentally wrong with his brain and that his dick is his only saving grace at peace. He knows Gavin well enough now to know he’d accept the offer if Connor worded it with enough boosting of his ego. But Gavin wouldn’t be a productive solution to his problem. They’d slept together thrice and Connor can hardly look at him existing casually around their apartment without getting worked up. He needed something on his terms, on his schedule, and with low visibility.
Connor reaches for his phone in his pocket as Gavin is going on about some professor playing favorites in his class. A new grade was posted, he winces at the score. He’d need to find resolution quicker than he had anticipated.