It had never been this silent before.
Connor still remembered vividly the first year he had been part of the foster system, like it had just only been yesterday, even if it had been almost ten years since then. No matter how hard he tried, it was impossible to erase the memories that brought back that time of his life.
He remembered how it was late January, right after his parents had died and Dustin had disappeared, leaving him all on his own on the doorstep of the hospital that fateful night. When they found him, the doctors tried their best to calm him down, but he wouldn't stop crying. Eventually, he had fallen asleep from the exhaustion, and when he came to, he was greeted by a man he had never seen before in his entire life. He had a sad smile plastered on his face, an almost full silver head and brown colored eyes. Connor remembered not liking him; he wore a tie, a brown jacket on top and shiny shoes. He had never trusted men with shiny shoes, because his dad said that those were the ones that worked for the people with money, and most of the time, those weren't good people. This man was just another faceless creature to him, someone who had come to give his condolences for the death of people he didn't know, and who tried to give solution to a problem which didn't have one.
The man greeted Connor, but his words were distant. He kept talking and talking, but Connor wasn't paying attention to a single word he said. He couldn't care any less.
-"Where's Dustin?"—Connor asked abruptly, as soon as he opened his eyes, quickly after judging the man before him at that very second—"Where is my brother?"
-"Dustin ran off, Connor."
The man kept talking, and even introduced himself, but Connor didn't listen to a single bit of it. Instead, he clutched on to the silver wristwatch he had on his fist, the one he picked up after Dustin discarded it the night before.
That was the moment when he promised himself he would never let it go. Not until he came face to face with Dustin again.
The man was a social worker, or something of the sort, that much Connor did get. However, he wasn't interested enough to listen to whatever he was explaining; all he got from the senseless chatter and fake sympathy was that he was being taken away, to some place where they would be able to keep an eye on him. Something about a new home, or at least for a while. Something about needing to get him an assigned social worker to help out on his case, and about how this was only going to be temporary.
Connor didn't care.
It had never been so silent before.
The entire way he was inside the car with that man, accompanied by two other people, he didn't know where he was going, and he didn't ask. He kept watching the trees and the street lights go by, and soon enough they were in the highway. He saw the signs that read they were now leaving Minnesota. At one point some of the other passengers dozed off, but not Connor. He kept wide awake with both eyes open. It snowed the entire way, until they came across a sign, in which Connor read they were entering some other state, but he couldn't find in him to care enough to remember the name.
They finally reached a big city with giant buildings Connor had never seen before. He didn't know there could be buildings that tall anywhere in the world. He tried asking why they were so tall, and why they were so many, and why there weren't any buildings that tall at home. But the sole thought of his home not being so anymore, and that lingering resentment that laid on the bottom of his throat to that brother who had ran off into the unknown of the night, made Connor realize he couldn't speak. And so he stayed quiet, all the way through the large city inside that tiny compact car, where nobody spoke a word other than the man with the shiny shoes, the one he didn't trust one bit.
The first impression he got of the large building they arrived at was that it was old. It looked filthy and ancient, the painting of the outer walls was peeling off, with cracks all over them. The small garden that displayed itself on the front porch was mostly dead and full of bad grass. It looked like in a past lifetime it had been a school of sorts. He thought the entrance would be there in the front door leading to the street, but the man with the shiny shoes instructed him to get down of the car, and walked him along the other passengers to the alley to the left of the building. It was damp and dark, there were some trash bins lying around, and if one raised their gaze they would see clothes hanging from wires going from one building to the next, probably drying off after being washed. It seemed stupid with all the snowing it had been doing lately, though. They reached the tiniest, green door, on the wall to their right, that led into the same old building Connor hadn't liked—and that's when Connor saw the sign hanging on it that read "Genevieve Street Public Orphanage". The man rang the doorbell and then knocked three times. Connor wondered why he did both, but once again he couldn't find it in him to speak.
The door opened and an edgy, stressed-looking mean lady with cat shaped glasses received them. She took a minute to speak with the man of the shiny shoes, and then she passed her eyes through the rest of the company. The other two people who had been in the car, a boy and a girl who were rather older than Connor, introduced themselves by name, but Connor ignored them. The mean lady then looked at him with sharp and judging eyes, but he didn't say anything. Displeased, she turned to the man and demanded an explanation on what was wrong with him.
-"He's had it rough."—the man answered—"Hasn't spoken a word on the way here."
The mean lady received the three of them with a shaking head and a look of despise, inviting the man of the shiny shoes inside, but he denied, saying he had to be on his way, something about more cases to attend and having to head to Wisconsin next, and so he said his goodbye, turned on his heels and left. That was the last Connor ever saw of him.
The old building on Genevieve Street looked even older from the inside. There were several lights and chandeliers that didn't lit up much, and the dirty carpets that were sprawled all across the floors of the house lifted a cloud of dust every time you stepped on them, and the doors all made loud squeaky noises whenever they opened, and everyone could hear them all over the four story building. The first floor had a large living room and dining rooms, with many tables and chairs, and a kitchen. On the second floor there were four different classrooms, holding up the capacity for only elementary level education. On the third floor were the bedrooms, one for boys and one for girls, as the mean lady explained, and on the fourth were all the offices and bedrooms of the people who stayed there, including herself, who was headmistress.
Connor was shown into the boy's dormitory. It was full of bunk-beds, with many several children running around and playing without a care in the world, and piles of clothes which all looked exactly the same lying out and about. But the second the mean lady entered with him, all of the children stood still. She gave one loud clap, and they all ran next to a set of bunk beds, two for each, and they stood still in a firm position as if in a marching band Connor had seen in school. The mean lady introduced Connor, explaining he would be staying with them for a while.
Since he was new and this was unexpected, Connor was given a bunk bed all for his own. He was told that his luggage would arrive from Minnesota soon, and to get installed and ready for dinner at six. The minute the lady left, he got mobbed by the questioning orphans who wanted to meet him. But Connor didn't care for the curious eyes surrounding him; they all seemed very foreign to him. Some looked friendly, some others looked hostile, and then there were those that just seemed unimpressed. They could all drop dead for all Connor cared.
That first day, he sat alone during dinner, where the boys were joined by the girls into one same dining hall. To eat, they had some disgusting stew that seemed too greenish to be good, a dry fruit cake he suspected they had as leftover since Christmas, and a glass of sour milk he couldn't bring himself to finish. As he ate, he scanned the room with his eyes; all the boys and the girls seemed to know one another and they all bantered around and played with their food, the way bad-mannered children learned did from his mother. They all looked so rambunctious and annoying, Connor couldn't find it in him to care to know any of them.
Except for one little girl, who was quiet, and still, and who sat all on her own all across the room from Connor. She had short brown hair, much darker than his, that was unevenly cut around her shoulders. She was wearing some sort of snow coat, below which she had a princess t-shirt that seemed to be a bit too big for her, and jeans that seemed to have been hand-me-downs. That, and a red woolen beanie on the top of her head. She stared at her plate of food, eating it from time to time, and looking at the people around her from the corners of her eyes. She looked a lot more scared than the others, and a lot more silent than Connor. She reminded him of one of Nicola's old rag dolls; one their mother had sown for her out of old bed sheets and worn out clothes. So skinny, so sad.
He wondered if she noticed the silence, too.
The days went by. At first Connor would only change clothes with some spares that the maids and caretakers gave him from the other children, because his luggage was taking longer than expected. He wouldn't dare speak a word to anyone, wouldn't play with any of the other kids. The teachers and caretakers would try to get him to do chores or talk at the very least, and eventually give up once they saw he wasn't complying one bit. All that he owned was now the broken silver wristwatch from his late father, which he refused to take off now, even if it was useless.
After about a week a large suitcase arrived, and he opened it hastily, consumed by the thought of perhaps finding something that was really his in this world of strangers; like the baseball his dad used to play with Brandon, or Nicola's cooking pots, or even perhaps his mom's garden shovel. But instead all he got were two t-shirts, a pair of worn out shoes, a pair of pants, lots of underwear, an empty notebook he remembered he had gotten for his birthday from some friend of his parents, and a picture. The minute he saw the picture, he grabbed it from the pile and ran away from the dormitory, not caring he had left the case wide open. He climbed to the fourth floor of the building, reaching the ladder set that went towards the roof. He had heard from some of the kids you could go there to be alone; it was an empty space on top of the building, which felt very short next to the neighboring apartments, were laundry was hang up for drying and spare baskets of toys and soccer balls were kept.
And he sure didn't want anyone to see him cry over the photograph of his dead parents and lost siblings.
He allowed himself to cry, all alone amongst the tall buildings and the winds of that foreign city. He hadn't spoken a word in days, and the first sound his voice made wasn't any other than the most painful groan of grief.
He remembered the time they had taken that picture. It hadn't been that long ago, and they all looked so happy. Even his parents smiled for it, while behind closed doors they were struggling so much with a marriage they both knew wasn't working. The naivety and obliviousness of the children lined up for the picture, Brandon, Nicola, Dustin... it was a tragic sight; especially for Connor, who had been the only one to pay close attention. He had been the one to hear all of the screams, to listen to all of the arguments, to see all of the fits of rage...
-"... That's a pretty picture."
Connor jolted upwards, standing up at the noticing of the presence, his sudden movement making the small girl with the red beanie who had been watching the picture from a small distance flinch, clearly intimidated by the boy. Now that he saw her well, he could tell she was younger than him by a couple of years. She couldn't have been older than him. Just like Brandon's age. Connor wasn't sobbing or whimpering anymore, but he sure was angry, and he could still feel the tears drying up on his cheeks.
-"S-Sorry..."—whispered the little girl, scooting further away from him.
She had been sitting with her back against the wall of the roof's entrance, next to the door that lead to the ladder Connor took to get up there. He hadn't even seen her when he came up.
Connor noticed the frightened look on her face. He probably looked furious. It made him want to calm down a bit, so he made sure that he evened his breathing, and wiped off the tears with his sleeve, and turned his sight away from the girl, turning his back to her and sitting down once again, doing nothing but staring at the picture. After a few minutes of even more silence, the girl stood up from her watching spot, and sat next to him instead. Connor didn't do anything to scare her away.
-"... Is that your family?"
Connor didn't respond. The girl appeared to have taken an interest in the picture, though, and she tried to see it close up.
-"I can see you there. Is that your mom?"
Connor's late mother was hugging him in the frame. The thought of that being one of the last times she had hugged him made his body shiver. It had probably been the last time, too...
-"Did they leave you here?"—the girl asked, and Connor's throat clenched.
-"... No."—he answered—"They died."
-"All of them? How...?"
-"No, only just my mommy... and my dad..."
The girl kept examining the picture, then repairing on Connor's siblings.
-"What about those?"—she asked, pointing at them one by one—"Who are those?"
Connor looked at her, confused, knowing it was a bit obvious.
-"Those are my two brothers and my sister."—he answered.
-"Brothers? What is that?"
At first he thought it was a joke; but then it occurred to him that she was being completely serious. Where had this girl grown up her entire life?
-"They are the other sons of my mom and my dad."—Connor explained—"I lived with all of them."
-"Did you all live together in the same orphanage?"
-"No... I... I lived with them in a house, and my mom and my dad lived with us four, too. We were all one family."
The girl nodded, seemingly understanding. She wasn't scare anymore as she was curious, and Connor had to admit he was starting to come up with questions as well.
-"I don't have any brothers."—the girl said.
-"What about sisters?"
-"What's a sister?"
-"Well, it's the same as a brother... only that instead of being a boy it's a girl."
The made a face of understanding, opening her mouth in the shape of an "o".
-"Ooooh!"—she exclaimed—"Well, the ladies and teachers here keep saying that all the kids in the orphanage are like brothers and sisters. Does that make you my brother and me your sister?"
Connor raised an eyebrow.
-"That sounds stupid."
-"Yeah, everybody says the same thing."—she said with a grimace—"But when a kid says it, he gets scolded by the headmistress. She's a meanie."
Connor scoffed, genuinely humored by the mannerisms and the speech of the young girl.
-"If your mommy and your daddy died, then, where are them?"
-"... They left me behind..."—Connor revealed, after staying quiet for a bit.
-"... I was left behind, too."—she said—"But don't be sad; they'll come find you, if you keep your thing."
With every word she said, Connor became more confused.
-"My thing?"
-"Your thing!"
Then the girl patted the red beanie with both her hands. Connor could tell it was very old, but for some reason, that had been the only thing he noticed she always wore.
-"I've never met my family."—she said—"I was left here when I was a baby. They say they found me on the doorstep, inside a bread basket wearing only a blanker when I was one day old, and this!"
She patted her beanie again.
-"They say that my mommy left it with me, so that someday she can come and pick me up—nobody's ever seen her, but I know she's out there. That's why I always wear it, so that when she sees it, she knows it's me! Only all grown up!"
It was both endearing and heartbreaking to see the girl speak of such a plan with the conviction she did; as if she were one hundred percent positive that by never taking off the red beanie, she would someday meet the mother that she had never seen—and whom Connor suspected (but didn't tell her), probably wasn't real.
-"How do you know she'll show up?"—Connor asked.
-"I don't know..."—she said, giggling—"But all I can do is wait for her... And when that day comes, she will take me to my family! And then, I'll be able to take it off. Only then, once I've found them."
The little girl looked into the distance, with her dreamy eyes and her melancholic smile, without even knowing what either of those meant. And he saw her green eyes, like his, only that with a glint of silver in them as well. And that's the moment when, without realizing it himself, he decided that she was the most important person in his life now.
-"What's your name?"—Connor asked.
-"My name? It's Alexis! Alexis Genevieve Zall!"—she replied with a giggle and an air of pride.
Connor looked at her questioningly.
-"Who named you that?"
-"Well, the nurse who found me on the doorstep named me after her mother, Alexandra. The street's name is Genevieve and I was given a last name they took out of a glass bowl. What's your name?"
-"I'm Connor."—Connor answered, acting a bit more friendly, and he then extended his arm to Alexis for a handshake, which she gave back—"Connor Joel Franta."
-"Wow. That's such a long name!"
-"You're one to talk!"
-"It's too long! I'm going to call you Con instead!"
-"Your name is way longer!"
-"Then you give me a nickname too!"
-"Eh... Ok, then... I'll call you Al. It's way shorter than Alexis."
-"Al... I like it! It sounds like a tall bald man!"
-"Hehehe... well Con sounds like a little boy."
-"You are a little boy!"
-"And you're a little girl."
Little Alexis slapped Connor's arm, seemingly quite offended, but she was laughing, and so was Connor.
And such, the silence broke. Slowly, noises were all coming back to Connor's life. The sound of people talking around him, the honking of the cars outside, the rain during stormy nights, the blizzards during snowy days, and even the utensils of the kitchen. Thanks to Al, Connor was able to talk again, and to feel safe doing so. He still reserved it only for her, and usually she would speak up for him, especially when it came to the teachers and ladies of the orphanage. Not the rest of the kids; those were all idiots, and Connor didn't care much for making any friends, none other from Alexis. And for a while, it seemed like that would be the rest of his life, and although it wasn't at all perfect, he was used to it in little time.
Until one day the front door of the orphanage street, and in came a tall, skinny woman with black hair, bright eyes and a wide smile, wearing a dress with images of fruit and red boots that made her look like she had been taken out of the ranch. Or maybe it was the cowgirl hat and leather gloves that matched.
Connor was told by the mean looking lady to pack his things and go down to the lobby. Alexis was right behind him, of course, along with some other of the kids. The minute Connor laid eyes upon the colorful woman, he thought she was some sort of clown, and he didn't understand what was her business there. But then, the mean lady walked up front and introduced the stranger as a Miss Taylor, and about how she was a social worker. Connor wasn't sure of what that was supposed to mean, but he wasn't excited about it one bit.
-"Hello, Connor. You can call me Brittany."—the woman said, squatting so that they were face to face, with a bright grin that Connor found quite disturbing—"I'm here to take you a pretty house where you are going to be living for a while."
-"... A house?"—Alexis asked, stranged, from further back, with a clear hint of disbelief in her voice—"Why?"
-"Because, he is now effectively forming part of the Foster Care System."—the mean lady from the orphanage said, cutting Brittany short of her words—"It means he doesn't have to stay in the orphanage anymore."
-"B-But... but why?"—Alexis asked, attempting to walk closer to Connor, but stopped by the mean lady who ran the orphanage.
-"Stay back, Alexis, this doesn't concern you."
Connor looked back at Alexis, and saw she was quite scared. Meanwhile, Brittany moved his chin so that he was looking at her.
-"... He isn't saying anything..."—Brittany whispered.
-"He doesn't talk to anybody."—one of the kids said from the far back.
-"We think he's got no tongue."—some other said.
Brittany stood up, looking worried, and then turned towards the mean lady.
-"Where's his brother?"—she asked—"I was told there were two of them."
-"When your people brought him, he was alone. I don't know about the other kid."
-"Well... in that case I have to take just you, then. Come on, grab your bags. It's a long way ahead ..."
Brittany went towards the open door and ushered some men, whom Connor assumed were accompanying them, to take Connor's luggage. Meanwhile, the mean lady was rushing him towards the door, and he looked back at the little girl with the red beanie, who for the first time ever since he had met her, was crying.
And that's when he spoke up.
-"Wait!"
The mean lady was so shocked, that she let go of him, and he rushed towards Alexis, and took her hand in his. He then looked back towards Brittany and the mean lady, resolved.
-"I'm not going anywhere without her."—he stated, staring right into Brittany's eyes, making sure that he was getting the message across—"Either she comes too, or I stay here."
At first, both the mean lady and Brittany looked at the pair, in shock. Then the social worker turned to the headmistress.
-"What is this about?"
-"I-I don't know... those are the first words he's spoken in over a year..."—she then changed back into her stern self—"What is this nonsense!? You are leaving, and that's that!"
-"No! I want her to come with me!"
-"It's not about what you want—!"
-"On the contrary."—Brittany said, quite calmly, and with a grin—"That's exactly what it is about."
Reaching closer to both Connor and Alexis, she squatted once again, and played a bit with Alexis' beanie.
-"What's your name, love?"
-"... A-Alexis..."
-"I like your beanie very, very much!"
-"T-Thank y-you..."
For a minute, Brittany asked some questions to the mean lady, who seemed to be answering them with a bit of reluctance. Then, Alexis was told to pack her bags, and they were hopped in a black car. Brittany on the front with the driver, and both children on the back. Before it was started, Alexis turned towards Connor.
-"... Con?"
-"Hmm?"—he replied, staring at the seat in front of him.
-"Where are they taking us?"
-"... To a foster house."—he said—"It's a place where adults take in children who aren't theirs for a while, and money paid for it."
-"... Why... why did you bring me with you?"
Connor sighed, and then looked at her. She didn't look as her happy self. She looked nervous, and scared, and confused. So lost. Just like he felt.
-"Because I need you to take care of me."—he answered.
-"... Do you think I can do that?"
-"Yes. Yes, I'm sure. And just like you will take care of me, I will take care of you."
-"So, we take care of each other?"
Connor nodded, and Alexis nodded with him. She looked more easy now.
-"... Do you think... we might... find our families?"—she asked, looking at the window.
-"... Who knows?"—Connor asked back, not minding for it really—"But until we do, how about we stick together?"
Alexis took one last look through the window, at the alley that she had known for her entire life, and at the door that led into the old building of Genevieve street, and to the only life she had ever known. She pictured a snowy night, and a mysterious figure whose face she had never been able to imagine leaving a bread basket on the door, and under it in white sheets a little tiny baby who, asleep, grabbed on to a piece of wool that had been the only thing she had ever known to make her feel anything besides cold. That little baby didn't know where she was, or where she would go. She didn't even have a name.
And now, that name was long past gone, taking with it the silence that, for years, it had laid upon her.
She turned to Connor, and extended her pinky finger, like she had seen in one movie a while ago. Knowing what to do, Connor intertwined his little finger as well, and they shook them.
-"Take care of each other, no matter what."—Alexis said, with a smile.
-"It's a promise."—Connor replied.
The car started, and they embarked on the journey together.
---
Knock-knock. Knock-knock.
-"... Al..."
Knock-knock. Knock-knock.
-"Al, please... just... hear me out..."
Knock-knock. Knock...
-"Please, I know you're in there... just open the door and talk to me..."
But she wasn't opening the door.
She hadn't opened her door for days, ever since Dustin visited Grace's house. When they got together for breakfast every morning, she would eat quietly, not lifting her gaze from her plate. When they came back home every night, she dined quickly and then lock herself in her room. She would barely speak to Grace and Mikey, even when they tried to strike up conversation with her. Her red beanie which she never took off looking more crooked than usual. Like this, each and every day.
Now it was almost midnight, and he couldn't take it anymore.
The silence was back again.
-"... Al, please. We need... I need, to talk about what happened."
But the door remained closed, Connor sure that on the other side she was probably wide awake, turning her back against the door, ducked inside the bed sheets and her covers. Just like she had been when a baby, as she was left alone on the doorstep of that orphanage.
Connor thumped his head with the doorframe, making a soft noise, and sighed. He felt beyond terrible. But he didn't know what to do, or say. And it didn't seem like anyone around him knew either.
Soon he was joined by a tired looking Grace, clad in her pajamas and with a cup filled with warm milk between her hands.
-"We have to give her some space, sweetie."—she said, gently placing her hand on his back, beckoning him to accompany her—"Come on, okay? Let's go downstairs, I made some milk for you, so you can sleep."
Nodding slightly, Connor followed her downstairs to the kitchen, where they both sat on the table, as Connor drank the warm milk with chocolate Grace had made, knowing he disliked pure milk quite strongly. She watched him drink, not making any comments, looking quite concerned, and quite sad.
-"... I fucked up really bad, didn't I?"—Connor asked.
-"No, no, you didn't, Connor. You were upset. We all make mistakes when we are very, very upset... Alexis is a smart girl, she knows that. So don't worry. She will... she will get better."
Connor took another sip of his cup, knowing that Alexis wasn't the only person who was still paying the bill from Dustin's visit. He wasn't sure if he was in the right place to ask her, but he felt like he had to talk with Grace as well.
-"... I... I am sorry, Grace, if you felt that... that what I said that day..."
-"Connor, you don't have to apologize."
Grace placed one of her hands on top of Connor's. It was reassuring, and comforting, just like the understanding on her face.
-"... Why do you stand this?"—Connor asked—"Why do you forgive me so easily? Even when I've been... that ungrateful...?"
-"Because, honey, it's what I signed up for."—Grace answered simply—"It's my job. And I'm happy to do what I can to make you feel... like, perhaps, this is something like a family to you."
Connor found it impossible to discuss her good heart. Eventually, the milk kicked in, and he became quite sleepy, so they both went upstairs, each to their rooms and call it a night.
The following day, Connor had to meet with Lisbug, and all he knew was that he did have a lot to talk to her, especially now. He hoped she wouldn't scold him so much; but before getting into the Alexis situation, he felt like the biggest lump in his throat was Dustin's visit. He had tried his best in forgetting about it, but it was too much. It was too much to think about the idea of a city, back in Minnesota, where all his siblings lived safe. Where they had always been safe and sound, quite far away from him. That perhaps, Brandon still hated him, or even far worse, forgot about him. That Nicola had a life of her own.
This and so much more he needed to tell the guidance counselor, but the minute he reached the door to her office and reached out to open it, she exited, with her handbag ready to go.
-"Oh, Connor."—she greeted, quite moodily—"I was just about to leave a memo on my door for you..."
-"Where are you going?"—he asked—"We have one hour today."
-"I'm sorry, Connor; I can't this week. Something came up."—she said, turning around and locking her office, followed by taping a memo on her door saying she wouldn't be available until the next day—"I have to leave, but next week we'll have one extra hour. I'm so very sorry."
She started walking away, but Connor wouldn't have that.
-"Wait! You can't just leave! Just when...! Just when..."
"Just when I need to talk to you the most", Connor thought to himself.
Lisbug turned around, looking more sorry than pissed. That's when Connor noticed that she had lost a lot of weight—when he first met her, her arms were chubbier and her cheeks fuller. Now she looked like she had been eating less than usual, and it frightened him.
-"Connor, I know this isn't fair. But believe me, I'm not leaving early because I want to. It urges me that I meet my husband somewhere."
-"Mr. Dawson?"—Connor asked—"But there's drama later today."
-"I'm sure he's made the proper arrangements to have someone back up for him. He does care a lot about his kids. If it were like that for everything else..."
Lisbug sighed, Connor finding her last comment very strange, before she turned around and finally left. Such a universal joke for the boy with green eyes. It was believing that even she had problems of her own, whatever they were. He just hoped she and Mr. Dawson would work them out together, like the couple she had put them to be in Connor's mind, the one that would last forever.
He felt like he needed that idea to be real now, more than ever.
Even when he was in class with his friends, they could tell he was acting much downer than usual. Lilly was very concerned, and so were Joe and Caspar. Oli, on the other hand, had been slowly drifting apart from the group. Connor didn't want to admit it, but that was truly hurting him. Oli had been the one person that was trying to calm things down the day Dustin arrived at the house, and as a result from that, he was no longer able to see Connor in the eye. Connor felt bad for it; especially because Lilly and he were starting to hit it off very well, and now she refused to talk about him anytime Connor asked. He felt like he had been the source of that fight.
Everything he did kept fucking things up, just like the time back when his parents died. All of this was his fault.
That day as he left the school building, reluctant to take the bus, he was meaning to go walking all the way to Grace's house to take the longest time possible. He had texted Mikey telling him not to worry for him, since he felt like Alexis would prefer it if he didn't go with them. It was snowing heavily, and Mikey insisted on making him come, but Connor eventually convinced him to comply.
Just when he thought he was going to get away with it, though, a familiar touched grabbed a hold of his wrist, making him turn around and see Troye, standing there, genuinely concerned.
-"You're not taking the bus?"—Troye asked.
-"No, I'm walking home."
-"Let me drive you."
-"Troye, it's fine. I can walk."
-"Then at least let me come with you."
-"No."
Connor shook off his wrist from Troye's hold.
-"I want to be alone."
He started to walk away, but just as stubborn as him, Troye called him out.
-"I don't believe you."
Connor stood still on his tracks, not knowing why he let him stall him this way. This was beyond unnecessary.
-"You can put up the bad kid who doesn't give a shit play with everyone you want Connor, but not me."—Troye said—"Come on, come with me to my house. You can stay the night. You can stay there the entire week, I don't care. But please let me keep you company."
Connor sighed, knowing Troye wouldn't back down. He sure was stubborn, but so was Connor, which is why he knew it would be nothing but a waste of time to discuss this.
-"... Come on."—Troye said, beckoning him towards the parking lot—"Give yourself a break for at least one afternoon from all this crap."
Connor followed his friend towards his car, hoping that he would only need to take one more afternoon away from all the crap he was getting now.
But winter had only just started, after all.
---
A/N
*vanishes before the complaint rain*
--Coffee