Predecessor (Connor x Reader)

27 - We've Done This Before

There's a small pause. Then Connor nods, slowly—almost like he gets it more than you expected.

"Oh, the betrayal! The secrecy! The scandal!" Cherry groans dramatically, tossing a hand to her forehead. "But seriously, I handed you that lie on a silver platter. 'Stranger pitching a pyramid scheme'? You're welcome."

But then she shakes her head, a little softer.

"Of course you lied. I would've lied about me too. Can't blame her. I'm a handful, and you seem... like peace."

She looks at you, her smile fading, giving way to something more serious.

"I see why you kept us apart."

You breathe out a quiet laugh. "Yeah, well, in the end... you're both important to me. In really... different ways." Your eyes flick from Connor back to Cherry. "Maybe this won't be such a bad thing."

Connor nods, Cherry smiles. And it feels right. It feels okay.

Cherry shifts slightly on the couch, her voice softer now. "Feels good, y'know? Being let back into your life."

You glance at her, and something in your chest tugs.

Connor nods, quiet for a second. "It's nice... seeing more of your world. Even if it happened in an unexpected and very bloody way."

Cherry grins faintly. "All the best things do."

You smile—because somehow, despite everything, this moment works.

Connor glances at her, then at you. "So, can I ask what... happened here? And why come here, not a hospital?"

"Was supposed to be a conversation. Tensions flared." She shrugs one shoulder. "Wrong place, wrong time, wrong people."

Connor's jaw tightens. "Still. A hospital—"

"Would've made it messier," she cuts in gently. "Didn't want the hassle. Paperwork, attention." She nods faintly toward you. "This was faster."

She closes her eyes again, not rudely—just done talking.

Connor doesn't push. But he does glance at you like: This is normal for her?

You just give a small shake of your head. It's Cherry. It's always a little sideways.

The room falls quiet.

Cherry sinks deeper into the couch, blanket tucked over her legs. One arm cradles her ribs. Her breathing's slower now, steadier. Every so often she mutters something under her breath—half a thought, half a dream—but she doesn't open her eyes.

You move to the kitchen to rinse out the glass. The juice left a faint orange ring. You scrub it out with your thumb and set it in the rack.

Connor appears beside you without a sound. Leans a hip against the counter.

"Can I ask something?" he says, voice low so it won't carry.

You glance at him. "You're going to."

"How do you know her? From where—and when?"

You dry your hands on a towel. Think.

"She and I go back a couple years," you say carefully. "We... crossed paths during a weird chapter of my life."

"And this kind of thing—" he tilts his head toward the living room, "—this happens often with her?"

You lean back against the counter.

"Not often," you say. "But it's happened before."

He doesn't reply right away.

Eventually, "And you trust her."