Predecessor (Connor x Reader)

17 - Built to Break

The dam is broken, and there's a heartbreaking momentum to it. It's not just the alcohol, you've already cracked—so the words come tumbling out, raw and unfiltered, because holding back just isn't an option anymore. You don't even try to stop them.

"I've been pretending for so long. Every single day. That I'm not falling apart just trying to pass for something I'm not even sure I want to be anymore."

Your shoulders shake, and still he doesn't move. Doesn't flinch. Just stays there behind you.

"I thought I could handle it. I've been doing everything I can to keep you steady—teach you how to be free, how to feel. To help you understand the world, how to trust it, how to trust yourself. And I've been trying so hard to make you believe that everything will be okay."

You sniff, your voice going smaller, thinner. "But who's gonna tell me it's going to be okay?"

His hand stays firm on your shoulder, and then he steps in just a little closer—close enough that you feel the warmth of him behind you, steady and calm in your chaos.

"I don't know how to fix this for you," he says softly. "I don't know what the right words are. But I know what it feels like to be unsure of who you are. To wonder if you're doing the right thing. To carry something no one else can see."

You don't move. You're still crying, tears pouring like the rain outside. But you're listening.

His voice stays low, careful, but sincere. "You've been carrying the load for everyone else. You've given me patience and understanding when I didn't even know I needed it."

He pauses.

"Let me give that back to you," he continues, "I might not understand everything you're going through, but I see you. I believe you. And I'm not going anywhere."

You squeeze your eyes shut, the tears rushing faster now. But something eases, just slightly, in your chest. His other hand lifts gently—just resting at your arm, a quiet anchor. You're shaking. Not from fear, not anymore. From release. From hearing the exact words you didn't realise you were aching for.

"I know it's hard to trust," he says. "But you don't have to carry this alone. Not anymore."

And that's it.

That's the thing that undoes you completely.

Slowly, you turn.

Your face is wet, your hands trembling as you lower them from your cheeks. You can't meet his eyes, but you step toward him anyway, breath hitching.

And he opens his arms without a word.

You step into them.

Into him.

He wraps them around you carefully, not too tight, not too soft—just right. Like he's protecting something he doesn't quite understand, but knows matters. Like you matter.

You bury your face in his chest, fists curled lightly in the fabric of his jacket, and let yourself fall apart.

For once, you don't hold back. You don't hide. You don't shrink from the weight of it.

You let yourself be held.

And he holds you like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Just this.

Just here.

Just you.

You stay there for a moment—no questions, no rush. Just the sound of his thirium pump faint beneath your cheek, steady and real.