Predecessor (Connor x Reader)

17 - Built to Break

You glance up at him, your expression hollow. You feel your eyes start to sting, but you push it down.

"I wasn't trying to make a scene. I wasn't trying to be reckless. I just thought... maybe I could push something. Nudge it. Help move the world an inch in the right direction."

You pause, drawing in a breath. Outside, the rain intensifies—hammering against the balcony floor, louder now, insistent.

"But I'm not... stupid. I saw the warning signs. I heard every word of caution. I knew exactly what I was stepping into. I just thought I could handle it... I thought I was safe behind the glass. I didn't realise it was two-way." You turn your head, pressing your cheek to your shoulder, like you could hide there if you tried hard enough. "Or maybe I was just... cocky."

Connor takes another step forward, slow, careful—like approaching something fragile.

"You haven't done anything wrong."

You look at him, finally.

"You don't know that."

It's not defensive. Not angry. Just tired. Like you've run out of ways to protect yourself from the burden of it.

He doesn't speak. Just watches you.

You drop your eyes. "I've been trying so hard to keep it together. To act normal. To be normal. Whatever that even means."

Your voice catches in your throat.

"I'm always watching myself. Every word. Every move. Every expression. Like there's a thread running through my whole body and if I slip—if I even twitch the wrong way—it'll all unravel."

You turn back to face him, eyes glassy, barely holding it. Lightning flashes—white and sudden—flooding the room for a second before thunder crashes in behind it.

"I'm just so tired. And I don't even know what I'm allowed to say. I don't even know if I'm allowed to feel this way."

The silence hits like a wall.

But then, gently—steadily—you hear your name.

"You don't need permission to feel what you're feeling."

You freeze.

Connor's voice is calm, but there's something softer in it now. Something careful. Something human.

"I might not understand all of it," he continues, "but that doesn't make it less real. Or less valid."

And that's it.

That's the line.

It hits something too deep to deflect, too kind to dodge. Your breath catches—and then it all breaks loose at once.

The tears come fast and hard, like you've been holding back a flood for years. You turn away, instinctively, hand clamped over your mouth, trying to muffle the sound. Embarrassed. Ashamed. You hate this, you hate being seen like this.

But you hear his footsteps behind you.

Then a hand, tentative but warm, rests gently on your shoulder. Grounding you—but not stopping you. And something about that—his silence, his presence, the simple care in that touch—makes everything inside you splinter the rest of the way.

You cover your face with both hands, but it doesn't help. The sob that escapes is sharp and sudden, pulled from somewhere deep.

"I didn't mean to—" you start, but your voice breaks again. You drag in a breath. "I didn't mean to get in this deep."