openmisc | Daniel and Connor

Daniel's been having the dreams again. They come almost every night, waking him from even the deepest sleep. And there's always the same name that remains in his memory.

Connor.

He knows what it means, of course. Everyone has dreams like that. Everyone dreams of their soulmate, of the one that they're meant to be with, whether that includes intimacy or not, but he's nearly twenty three now and every Connor he's ever met has let him down. Granted, there were only two and one was in a primary class and the other was a server at a restaurant he went to, but he still feels like it could have been better.

Instead of trying to go to sleep, to face the dreams that he knows are coming, he makes himself some tea and watches the lights from the city out of his window. It might be the early evening, but the CyberLife tower in the distance remains illuminated.

Strange, he thinks, after the riots and what he's seen on the news, that the night seems calm. The kettle whistles and he takes it off the stove, then decides against it.

Tea isn't going to fix anything.

He wants a drink. Pulling on his coat and his boots against the snow, he steps out of his little rental and starts walking along the sidewalk, stopping only when a taxi pulls to a park beside him and someone walks out.

"Oh. Good evening."

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Daniel can't keep his eyes off of him. The movement of his hands, the ridiculous flourish of the pan, both entrance him completely.

"I like reading. I like watching films. Horror films, mostly," he admits, leaning back against the counter. "I like being scared in a very...tame way. I have been trying to get into photography. For - for my sister."

"Your sister enjoys photography?"

The water is idly poured into the pan, salted, and turned onto a broil. In the meantime, Connor fishes out what little meat there is and begins to prepare that on a makeshift cutting board. He does everything with unique precision. Every motion is one of complete necessity.

"She does," he answers, pushing away from the cabinet and plucking the picture from the fridge.

"This is her. Hazel," he says, holding it out for Connor to see. "She's - ill quite often, so she isn't able to go out. She is always online, but she says she likes my pictures the best. The ones she can hold, not the ones I send her on my phone."

Connor cranes his head to see. That's the girl in all the other photographs; she was very important to him.

"Printed photographs are very uncommon these days. You must make a substantial amount of effort to give her physical copies." They used to be more common when there were stores that developed film or printed images in kiosk machines. That wasn't common practice any longer - gone were the days of photo albums.

"What kind of photos do you send her?"

It's really why he wants to get into photography. He wants to learn how to develop on his own. As it stands, he has to rely on other people to help. The university still has a darkroom, but they usually just reserve it for people in actual photography classes, so Daniel's been picking up instant print cameras in the meantime.

It's why most of the pictures he's put up are Polariod-like rather than the overly glossy sheets of paper they used to be.

"Just of things I see," he explains. "I mean, interesting things. She really likes seeing sunsets, so I try and capture as many of those as I can. I did send her a picture of a racoon with his head in a box the other day," he laughs.

"I'm sure you could come across an exponential number of things to photograph in your travels." And so he picks some noodles out of the box and fans them out around the pan. Cooking is not his specialty, but he feels a certain sense of satisfaction cooking for someone...important. He can't articulate why Daniel seems to fit into that category, but it seems to so perfectly fit.

"If you would rather not travel, there are many photo opportunities within the city. I could take you to visit some of them."

He replaces the photograph on a magnet and comes up beside Connor, watching him cook. "I'd like that," he tells him, reaching up to rest a hand gently on his back.

His heart races slightly, but it just feels - right. Natural.

He settles into the personal contact seamlessly, like it is appreciated instead of odd.

Connor continues cooking while making an effort not to stray too far from touch. When he finally has something worth trying he raises a wooden spoon at level with Daniel's gaze. "Would you mind taste testing? I'm unable able to."

Daniel lets his hand slide to his lower back so he can pull away and taste the sauce. He's loathe to get away from him or to let him get away.

"It's really good," he tells him. "Maybe a little more salt?" He holds up a hand, two fingers together. "Just a pinch?"

"Salt," Connor says in return, looking for where the salt resided on the countertop. He picks it out with an "ah" noise and sprinkles a little salt in the pan.

He tosses a small pinch of salt over both of their shoulders. "And for good luck." He says. Though it feels like he's had a great deal of good luck today.

Daniel laughs at the show of superstition and, as if it's natural, as if he's done it for years, as if this is a normal occurrence and not the act of two strangers who just met, he wraps his arm around his waist fully and draws him into a bit of an embrace.

"I think we could all use a bit of good luck," he tells him before dropping his arm.

Connor allows himself to be pulled into it. What he's holding is set aside on the nearby countertop so that he can fully embrace Daniel, giving him a tight squeeze in return. It feels safe here. It feels right.

It takes a moment of steeling himself to give voice to the words he wants to say.

"I hope it's not inappropriate for me to say, but..." His expression dips. "...It feels like home here and I can't quite define why." Home here with you.

Daniel doesn't notice his movement, instead choosing to take a breath against him. Comfortable.

"It isn't inappropriate at all. I feel the same way. I don't know what I can do, if I can help you in any way, but I don't want you to leave."

He reaches up, putting his hand over Connor's.

"Allowing me to stay the night here is helping." Though he doesn't expect any more than that. As for what the next day would bring with the state of the world is anyone's guess. "And as typical as it may sound, having support from someone else is..." Impossibly welcome. "...more comforting than I would have expected."

Daniel chews on his bottom lip a moment. "You have all the support you could need from me. I hope that's enough to help. And - you can stay as long as you want, Connor. I don't know what will happen tomorrow." He looks to the television, where the news had been, where the news is still probably covering what's happening, "But I'll - I'll keep you safe here."

And he knows how ridiculous that sounds, but he's still happy to offer it.

Daniel and Connor

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