choosetoforget (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
choosetoforget) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
openmisc2022-02-22 05:53 pm
choosetoforget) wrote in openmisc2022-02-22 05:53 pm
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."
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."
no subject
no subject
And he knows how ridiculous that sounds, but he's still happy to offer it.