#coliver fluff

He marathons shows on Netflix and texts Oliver updates throughout the day. Oliver! Oliver! Olivia Pope has been kidnapped!!! Oliver! Fitz needs to do something! Olivia is MISSING!!!! - Then it’s - What?? Frank just becomes President??? Is this what politics is like?? Oliver. I want to be President. Can I be President? Can we run for President? I’ve watched all of West Wing and most of House of Cards. I’m so prepared. We’re gonna do it. It’s gonna be awesome. Oliver comes home one day to find Connor sobbing at the season four finale of Parks & Rec (the one when Leslie wins the City Council election). Through broken sobs Connor weeps out “It was her dream! She achieved her dream!” and Oliver decides it’s time to change the Netflix password. Connor threatens to withhold sex until Oliver gives over the new password but it does not turn out to be as effective a negotiation tactic as Connor had hoped and the password remains a mystery.

With more free time, Connor also gets back to running. At first it’s hard, harder than he thought it would be, to get back into it but eventually he finds his stride again. His pace is nowhere near his old personal bests but he doesn’t really think they are anything to be ashamed of either. He runs until his muscles are warm and loose and the pleasant burn in them is satisfaction enough. After a run one day, he meets Oliver for lunch in the courtyard of Oliver’s building. They wait in the food truck line for the best gyros in the city and eat them off paper plates by the courtyard fountain. Connor steals Oliver’s extra Tzatziki and tells Oliver all about the new park he ran through that morning. Oliver listens happily, noting the tan on Connor’s cheeks and how clear his eyes look. No longer glassy and red-rimmed from too much caffeine and not enough sleep, Connor’s eyes look clear and focused. He looks so happy and energized - more like himself than he has for months - and Oliver hopes classes never start up again. 

But the end of August rolls near as it is bound to do. Professors email out class lists and syllabi. When Oliver comes home from work one day, piles of books are spread over their counter and Connor’s hunched over his computer, squinting at the small font. Oliver flips on more lights because “You shouldn’t read in the dark like that. It’s bad for your eyes” and Connor just grunts a little in acknowledgement. The rest of the night is quiet. Dinner is quickly over with the only topic of conversation all the work Connor has to do before classes start back up. Afterwards, Oliver turns on the TV and Connor picks up his laptop to keep working while Oliver channel surfs. When Oliver turns it off a little while later, Connor doesn’t even lift his head. Oliver stands and leans down to kiss Connor’s temple, “I’m going to bed.”  Connor makes a vague promise to come along soon that they both know is a lie. Climbing into the cool sheets alone, Oliver feels like he’s already starting to lose Connor all over again.  

They go away for a last minute trip the weekend before school starts. It’s quick but necessary. They spend they day sightseeing and window shopping and enjoying each other’s company. At night, they leave the windows open to hear the cicadas and make love gentle and slow. To Oliver, Connor’s touch feels like an apology and a promise all in one. Making amends for future wrongs while vowing that this year is going to be different Afterwards, Oliver wraps his arms around Connor and hooks a leg over his hip. Ignoring the sweat slowly running down his back, Oliver clings, wanting to hold this moment fast. Fuse the feeling in his memory for the weeks and months of late and lonely nights to follow. 

The first day of classes, Oliver’s phone is eerily silent and he keeps picking it up to check it’s on. He’s become so used to the buzzing of Connor’s texts that a morning of radio silence leaves the hair on the back of his neck on edge. Over lunch, he finally gets a buzz and almost drops his sandwich in his haste to answer. 

It’s a picture of what Oliver assumes is Annalise Keating’s office and it is full of piles upon piles of banker’s boxes. The text follows quickly. Don’t wait up tonight. She’s got us looking for a needle in this haystack. 

Oliver frowns. It’s only noon on the first day and Connor’s already going to be there all night. Resigned, he texts back, What do you need? 

Nothing. Then, moments later. You. 

Touched, Oliver responds, You have me. 

Then I’m good. 

Oliver waits for more to follow but nothing comes and, not wanting to disturb, he lets Connor go. 

Many hours later, Connor walks into the apartment as Oliver’s reading in bed. Dropping his bag and books in a pile on the couch, Connor shoulders off his suit coat and tugs off his tie. At the edge of the bed he toes off his shoes, drops his pants, and tugs off his shirt. 

Oliver smiles in loving amusement as Connor burrows under the covers and up against Oliver’s side. “How was your first day?”

Connor just shakes his head and hugs Oliver’s waist. 

Bookmarking his place, Oliver puts his tablet aside and turns off the light to burrow down too. Brushing the hair back from Connor’s forehead, Oliver asks, “How are you?”

Connor huffs out a breath and looks up with weary eyes. “I’m good now.” 

Connor drops to one knee at Oliver’s side. He takes one of Oliver’s hands and slides the ring box into his palm.

“I don’t know what to say. I practiced but... how do you tell someone they saved your life in ways they’ll never know? How do you tell someone that you’re so in sync that you can feel their moods - like, I’m not happy if you aren’t, Oliver. And I really want you to be happy. More than I want me to be happy. That’s never happened before. I never even thought that was something I wanted. But it is. It really is. With you.”

This sounds like a proposal. But this is Connor Walsh. And Oliver’s just... Oliver.

“Connor,” he starts, without knowing what to say.

Connor glances at the ring. “Open it.”

Oliver looks down at the simple box. It’s gray and fuzzy, like from the fancy jewelry store. He lifts the lid and there sits a golden band with a small diamond inlaid at the top.

This looks likes an engagement ring.

“I had them engrave it,” Connor says.

Oliver swallows hard. He reaches a shaky hand to the ring and lifts it. Inside, in neat block letters, reads, To My Soulmate.

“Connor,” Oliver says, choked on his own happiness as it floods through him, bursting. This isn’t a joke. It’s real. And Connor’s right here, eyes wild because he’s nervous, but he’s smiling too. He wants this. Connor wants him.

Oliver has too much to say now, doesn’t know where to start. The words come jumbled at once, a nonsensical grunt really, or a whimper, and Connor smiles.

“Marry me?”

Beyond the simple and standard. Beyond starting to learn sign or installing alternative fire detectors. Beyond wearing shoes in the house so your steps reverberate better through the carpet or watching Netflix with the subtitles on. How do you tell him you love him when he can’t hear the words? How do you fight and rage, commiserate and sorrow, joke and enjoy? How, when we are all so accustomed to a world of noise, do you learn to navigate in a land of silence? 

Simply, Connor would say if Asher gave voice to the question he was really asking. It’s challenging, sometimes frustrating, occasionally amusing but overall being with Oliver is simple. It’s natural and freeing. 

Connor would explain that it’s not so much learning a whole new language as it is finding their language. 

It’s him gently reaching over in the middle of an argument to correct your hand shape when you make a mistake but he just continues on with the argument as if nothing happened. It’s learning the thousands of ways you each communicate every emotion on the spectrum without saying or signing a word. You learning to translate joy and despair, melancholy and pleasure in the line of a shoulder or arch of a brow and he interprets a bad day at court verses a good one from the way you hang your coat and drop your keys in the bowl. Lucky couples may have simple exchanges through meaningful looks and emphatic gestures but the pair of you can have epic discussions and fierce debates and deep meetings of the minds in shared glances and quirks of lips without a single sign exchanged.

If he were feeling generous, Connor might also explain to his curious friend that there is an added vulnerability in the sharing of secrets and meeting of souls when it’s not an issue of finding the right words but choosing the right sign, using the perfect touch, and conveying the proper look in your eyes. 

Without the luxury of words you instead mouth “I love you” over the expanse of his chest, around the line of his hip, and the down the run of his leg. You hope that scoring the words into every inch of his skin helps him understand how deeply you feel. How you’ve never felt anything like it before. How before when you said those words to others they were empty and false. How before him you were empty and false. Without the luxury of words, you dedicate your entire being to showing him how absolutely completely he is beloved. There are no simple gestures, no meaningless looks. Every touch is a caress and every glance is a promise.

Then, Connor would continue on, there are the unexpected joys. 

It’s the freedom of being so unbelievably attuned to each other that he can sense your anger in the tension of your shoulders almost before you can. And all it takes is the tilt of his head toward yours or the brush of his hand on your arm to lift and change your entire mood. 

It’s the bubbling happiness when you take him home to meet your parents and sister and find yourselves in the basement of your childhood home. With his back pressed up against your dad’s ancient speakers, you play him every CD you listened to in high school and he grins at you over CD booklets and liner notes. Then you pull him up to circle and sway across the dingy rug. The dance is a little awkward and off tempo but you still grin like an idiot and wish you could send this little glimpse of the future back to the boy who used to sneak down here to hide from his sister. Send back just this little bit of a future where he is loved beyond anything ever dreamt possible. 

It’s the unexpected tears that come when he takes your hands in his, looks you right in the eye, and says, “I love you.” To someone else the words may sound broken, under enunciated and a little coarse, but to you they are music. They are the soundtrack of the rest of your life. He smiles wide, his eyes gleaming as your own fill with tears, and he says it again. Over and over and over his lips stumble a little over the words but you just hear the melody. You pull him in, wrapping an arm around his waist and anchoring a hand in his hair, and he continues, pressing the words into your neck. You feel his love as you hear it. Tears slip from your eyes to run down the back of his neck and you lose track of time as you stand there in love, wholly and completely in love. 

“Connor?”

Asher’s question pulls Connor out of his reverie and he meets Asher’s gaze with a questioning expression. “I asked if it was hard. Being with Oliver. So…is it hard?”

They come up to the cross street before their building and, even though there isn’t a car around, Oliver pulls up short at the corner. He tugs Connor in close and slips a hand into one of Connor’s back pockets. Connor links his arms over Oliver’s shoulders and plays with the short strands at the nape of Oliver’s neck. 

“First New Orleans,” Oliver says low and thoughtful. “Then we cross the state line and renew our vows in Mississippi.” 

Connor barks out a laugh. “Why stop there? We could go on a tour. Georgia. Kentucky. Texas. The Dakotas. All the hold outs. We’ll hit ‘em all.”

Oliver widens his eyes. “That’s an idea. Oh!” he gasps, “Maybe we’d make the news!” At the ridiculous thought, they chuckle despite themselves. 

“Or maybe…” Connor begins after a beat; his tone sober. “Maybe we just get married here.” 

“Really?” Oliver leans back, all trace of giggles and tipsiness gone. Connor’s face is shrouded in shadow and Oliver can’t get a read on his expression. 

“Really.” Connor nods and reaches down to take Oliver’s left hand in his own. He rubs a thumb over the base of Oliver’s ring finger.“Just the one wedding. No beads, no drunks. Just you and me and family and here.” He lifts Oliver’s hand to kiss there. There where a ring would sit. There where his ring will sit. “What do you think?”

Oliver’s smile is gummy and wide. “I think I like your plan better than mine.” 

Connor grins and looks down at their joined hands. “Was that a yes?”

“Yes, Connor. That was a yes.”

“What has you all quiet and thoughtful?” Oliver asked from wherehe sat to Connor’s left, his glasses sliding down his nose, feet tucked underConnor’s thighs on the couch, and a book resting face down on his lap.

“Just thinking,” Connor shrugged while stifling a yawn. Hereached out to clasp Oliver’s ankle with his left hand, toying with the softfabric of his boyfriend’s sweatpants. “These are horrible, why are you wearingthem?”

“They’re a nice pattern, your mom got them for me!” Oliver triedto sound indignant but he kept smiling for some reason, and it was completelyruining the effect of his faux-frown. Connor grinned. “What were youthinking about? You got all smiley, I’m a bit curious.”

“Just this cute guy I know. He’s something else, and it neverstops being fascinating to me. How great he is... ya know?” Connor’s smilesoftened the more he spoke, and it was a testament for how far they’ve comethat Oliver smiled back tenderly, not a shadow of doubt on his face as to whomConnor was talking about. There had been a time where Connor was stupid enoughto let Oliver doubt them, he almost lost Oliver back then and spent long monthsafterwards gaining back his boyfriend’s trust. Now they were here though, in ashared apartment, sat comfortably in their apartment with warm lighting andtheir bodies fitting together comfortably in the small space, just soaking theother’s company, and whenever Connor -or Oliver for that matter- smiled orspoke of affection the other knew it was all directed at him. It was awonderful feeling, and Connor will never stop being grateful for it. 

“Also,” Connor added as an afterthought, smile still firmly inplace; “My mother has horrible taste in pajamas. This thing is horrendous,Ollie.”

“Shut up, you like it. They’re cute.” Oliver wiggled his toesunderneath Connor’s thigh, causing the latter to squirm then laugh. “Andjust so you know, that guy is incredibly lucky if he has someone like youthinking he’s fascinating.” Oliver’s words trailed off with a beautiful smile,his cheeks reddening as he reached up to fix his glasses.

“Someone like me?” Connor questioned, his hand tightening aroundOliver’s ankle and a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Someone incredibly hot,” Oliver informed him solemnly, reachingfor the book again and focusing at the page before he continued; “Though youdon’t have much else going for you, I’m afraid, you’re kind of a dick.”

“You asshole!” Connor laughed, smacking Oliver’s leg andrelishing the mischievous grin his boyfriend wore. He let go of the other guy’sankle and crawled into his lap, taking a second to place the book aside beforehe put both arms around Oliver’s neck and mock pouted at him. “We were havinga moment.”

“You insulted my dinosaur pjs, Con,” Oliver places both hands onConnor’s waist, doing a good job of holding the younger man in place while hegazed up at him with pure adoration. It didn’t escape Connor that they werehitting every clichéd love-sick trope in the books, but he really didn’tcare. “I like those pjs.”

“They’re horrible,” Connor insisted with a grin, moving closerto peck Oliver on the lips then nuzzle his face into the man’s neck. “Sohorrible I can’t look at them anymore, I’ll have to stay here till lights out.”He joked.

“Hmm something tells me I can live with that,” Oliver whispered,adjusting their positions so that Connor was sat sideways his lap, Connor’sface tucked into Oliver’s neck and the latter’s hand brushing at Connor’s hair. 

Cuddling on a couch? Check. Cheesy lines and play-fight? Check.Smiling into your significant other’s skin while they played with your hair?Double check.

“And Connor,” Oliver pressed a kiss to Connor’s hair, thenanother to his forehead as he leaned to grab the discarded book with his freehand. “You’re pretty fascinating yourself. Best thing that’s ever happened tome.” 

And wow, Connorthought, maybe his lovelife was straight out of a damn TV show after all. Thesappy, sweet type of course.

“Even when I’m being a dick about your stupid pjs?” Connor askedsleepily into Oliver’s neck, brushing a soft kiss where his lips rested andsmiling a little when Oliver shivered.

“Even when you’re being adick about my awesome pjs.”

“Knew you liked me.” Connor mumbled, his thoughts slowing downand swirling with images of a shy smile and the cocky asshole it was directedat all those years ago. In his sleep addled state, he thought that that smilemight have saved him. That this was the only place he ever belonged and hewouldn’t have made it here if it weren’t for that smile. Sleepiness made himthink some weird, albeit true, things.

“Kinda love you, actually.” Oliver’s words were soft and calm,the way everything about Oliver was. Warm and sweet and all the things thatspoke to Connor of home. “Now hush, sleepyhead, I need to finish thisbook.”

“Love ya too,” Connor mumbled, his left hand curling at the hemof Oliver’s shirt -soft and thankfully plain of any offensive patterns- and hiseyes finally drooped shut.

+

They’re quiet as they stroll, hand-in-hand, down to the frozen yogurt place a few blocks down. 

It’s one of those places with a dozen different flavors to choose from with various candies to add in. 

Oliver gives Connor a pointed look when he sees it’s packed with teenagers and Connor teasingly calls him a “grumpy old man” as he tugs Oliver inside. 

Connor gets some small tasting cups and makes Oliver try all the different flavors.  

“But, Connor, I know I want-”

“Quiet, Ollie. Try the Rocky Road.”

Connor finally gets Oliver to laugh when he pulls a face at the supremely sour mix of lemon and lime sorbet. 

Exiting the shop with their cups piled high with yogurt and sweets, they turn away from their apartment to slowly walk around the neighborhood. 

The yogurt in his cup is mostly melted when Oliver deliberately nudges his shoulder against Connor’s. Connor turns, a spoonful paused midair. 

“Thank you for suggesting this. It - I needed this,” Oliver tells Connor’s shoes. He glances up to look Connor in the eyes watch the grin slowly spread as he says, “And thank you for being you.” 

Connor wraps his arm around Oliver’s shoulder and their kiss tastes like artificial flavoring.