lee_fallon | PSL - Chance Encounter

Lee's been in Darrow now about a week and a half, and he's been to every bar in the city limits, met all of the owners, and offered to tailor each of their wine lists. He wasn't getting paid for any of this, but based on the amount of money in his bank account, his monthly stipend, and the cost of rent, he didn't really need money to get by day to day. And he certainly didn't need to save up for anything.

He still hasn't bothered to see a doctor. He feels like he probably should, just so someone in the city (besides his dear friend Susan) knows what was going on with him. But he'll get to that later.

Today he's out for a run. His running shoes arrived in the mail yesterday, and he's been itching to get his pulse up. He never feels as alive as he does when he's out on the street, feet pounding against the pavement, sweating freely, breathing hard. Sex is a very close second, but nothing beats the adrenaline rush of a good, hard sprint.

He doesn't have a route yet, just sort of turning left and right at intersections with no rhyme or reason. He's planning on doing six miles today, using the app on his phone to track his progress; so far he's just over four miles, maintaining something close to an eight minute mile pace, nice and respectable.

But then, turning a corner, he stops, abruptly enough that he nearly stumbles. It's been a few days since he last saw Connor, his last glimpse when Connor slipped out of his apartment. He'd thought about calling a few times, just to check on him, but for some reason Lee had always changed his mind.

Here he is now, walking down the street, late afternoon sun lighting up his face. Lee's thought about him a lot, about what it had been like to be with him, but also worrying about him, all that sorrow filling him up, sending him on a self-destructive path. He looks good, right now, not happy really but not falling into himself like he had been a few nights ago.

He can't make himself say anything, just stands and watches Connor walk his way on the opposite side of the street. He's breathing heavily from running, covered in sweat, and his heart is pounding, but some of that has to do with seeing Connor again. More than he's willing to admit even to himself.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I'm...I guess I'm hoping that I get back to some freaking semblance of the life I used to have," he admits. "I'm not ready to admit that I have to move on from it, yet."

Lee nods, and even though he'd been trying to avoid dragging Connor down by reminding him of his situation here, he stumbled into it by accident anyway. "I can understand that," he replies, and he's not sure if he's sad that he doesn't feel that way himself, or glad that the terminal status of his cancer is sparing him from it.

The waitress arrives just at that moment, thankfully saving them from the ringing, awkward silence that follows. They put in their drink orders, then she leaves them alone to decide on what they'd like to eat.

"What are you thinking of ordering?" Lee asks, wanting to say something, anything, to fill the quiet that's descended around them.

Connor pauses for a moment, scanning down the menu and then tapping something with his finger. "This," he says, picking out something with chicken and broccoli, oyster sauce, rice.

"You don't have to avoid it, you know," he says. "I can talk about it without breaking."

Lee nods in appreciation of Connor's choice. He considered the chicken himself, but he'd been trying to get back to the vegetarian diet his Buddhism dictated he follow. He wasn't getting treatment here anyway, so there was no reason to worry about his iron levels.

He sighs, feeling guilty now for being so obviously avoidant. "I'm sorry," he said. "I do want to know more about you, Connor. I just didn't want to ask anything that would potentially upset you."

That makes Connor laugh a little, when he thinks about everything he's been through since starting at Middleton. Still, it's telling that that's something that Lee would worry about, and Connor's not surprised, somehow.

"You can ask," he says, smiling a little. "If there's anything I don't want to talk about, I promise, I'll tap out."

Lee nods, folding his menu and looking at Connor across the table from him. "A minute ago I was going to ask what you do," he says. "Though I suppose I mean what you did before you came here. Were you in school?"

"I was in my first year of Law School at Middleton in Philly," says Connor. That's a pretty innocuous question, one that he feels comfortable enough answering. "I got my degree from Harvard, but I'm from Grand Rapids, originally, so I decided to move a little closer to home."

"Law school, wow," Lee replies, duly impressed. "And a Harvard grad. Now I'm even more flattered that you went home with me the other night," he says with a laugh.

"Oh, please," says Connor, rolling his eyes, but he does look pleased all the same. "It's just a college. I got my degree in English Lit - it's not like I'm a brain surgeon or something."

"I went to the University of New Orleans," Lee replies. "Because I got in state tuition there. And my degree was in hotel, restaurant, and tourism management," he adds with a smirk. "You might as well be a brain surgeon compared to that. All I know is wine."

"My parents have money," says Connor, rolling his shoulder in a shrug. It's not a boast, it's just a fact. "I know..virtually nothing about wine, honestly. I just buy whatever's recommended."

"My mother's family is from France," Lee tells Connor. "My mom's parents moved to Louisiana before she was born, but my grandfather was very into wine. My uncle opened a wine bar in New Orleans when I was college and I worked there, then bought into it, and now I own it," he goes on, and he likes to tell this story, since it's the thing he's most proud of in his life. "I know a lot about wine," he laughs.

"Wow," says Connor, genuinely impressed, and he likes a story like that. "I'm Irish on my dad's side, Italian on my mom's, hence the colouring. My dad's in Law, my mom never worked."

"My dad's Irish too," Lee says with a grin, liking that they have that in common. "I like the Italian in you," he says, and it's meant to be a benign compliment, but it comes out sounding a lot more sexual than he'd intended. He clears his throat. "My parents got divorced when I was young. I haven't seen my dad in a long time. Mom's remarried now, and I have three half siblings. They live in Fort Myers Beach, Florida."

"Isn't the line supposed to be something about isn't there a little bit of French in me or would I like there to be?" asks Connor, raising both eyebrows. "My dad died when I was at Harvard. My mom's still at home where I was born and then there's my sister and her husband and her kids."

"You're right," Lee replies, shaking his head at himself. "I blew that one. Though in our case maybe I should ask if you'd like some French in you again."

It feels a little weird to be hitting on Connor and talking about their family lives, particularly when Connor mentions his dad's passed away. It definitely sobers the moment. "I'm sorry to hear about your dad," he says. "It sounds like your family is close."

"Get me drunk over lunch and we'll talk." He ruffles one hand back through his hair, definitely letting his eyes wander. It's easier than thinking about what it had actually felt like when the old man died. "Yeah. Me and my sister, definitely. She's a couple of years older than me."

Lee smiles at Connor, and it's almost an invitation, but it doesn't really seem serious, and Lee's not going to push his luck. Even if the sex they had before was spectacular.

"My siblings are all ten years or more younger than me," he says. "And they moved away when I was 18, so I'm not very close with them anymore." He's a little sad about it, he always has been, but it works better now, considering his condition.

God, that's a good smile. Connor is way too sober for a smile like that. He flags the waitress down and orders a beer.

"Gemma and I talk every on the phone Thursday night," he says. "We started when she went to college, so when I was...fifteen. This is...pretty much the longest I've gone without talking to her my whole life."

Lee orders a beer himself, well and truly over the idea of continuing his run. He's not sure if he and Connor will just eat and then part ways or not, but he can still feel the pull of attraction between them. Lee definitely wouldn't mind having another go with Connor.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," Lee says, feeling truly sympathetic.

"It's okay," says Connor, but he's not sure that it is. In a catalogue of hurts, he can't figure out which is worse - Oliver, Gemma, his mom, Michaela. He doesn't know how to order the losses. "I'll just have to make sure I stay distracted."

It's a reasonable strategy, though Lee hopes Connor can continue to find distractions that aren't getting falling down drunk. He's probably sensitive to it, but the idea of ruining your body is something Lee doesn't condone.

"Well," he says, taking a swallow of his beer, now that they've arrived, "If you're ever interested in a distraction like the one from the other night, let me know."

He remembers it in a rush - the heat of it, how intense it had felt, even though the haze of alcohol. He definitely blushes.

"I...may definitely take you up on that, actually."

Lee licks his lips, and he can see Connor's pupils dilate a fraction, and he knows Connor remembers their night together better than Lee hoped he would.

"I should probably give you my number," he says, knowing that he has Connor's but not sure he'll pull the trigger on setting up a booty call himself. He pulls his own phone out, scrolls to Connor's number and types a quick text message. It's a little cheesy, but the text reads, 'If you ever find yourself wishing you had more French in you...'