[Sean tenses when Connor touches his hand. It's already hard enough doing this shit without the constant reminder that Connor still thinks he did this to help him, instead of himself. He could have texted Sean and yeah okay, he wouldn't have been able to use Sean as a witness, but Sean could have told him where the murder weapons get buried, where the bodies get set out in the water, the rooms the... interrogations happen in. Who cares about a witness when you've got evidence? And Sean could have been three states away, safe from all of this, anonymous once more...
And instead he's here, with Connor trying to promise that Sean's going to be safe, because he's under Connor's protection.]
Guess that's a no, then.
[Sean takes a step forward, breaking contact as he heads inside the building and up the stairs, waiting for Connor to follow him. It's worse inside. It absolutely reaks in here, and half the lights in the halls have burnt out bulbs. Sean climbs the stairs quickly, falling into his usual routine when coming in and out. Avoid the weird wet sticky puddle on the second landing. Don't look into the open doorway where Mrs. Barr usually has her bathroom open, and everything on display. Skip the broken step on the third flight of stairs. Nod to Mr. Ramirez sitting in the hall-
Huh. Mr. Ramirez isn't there. Sean slows down after that, his movement becoming unsteady again as he slowly crosses the last ten feet to his apartment. He can feel the alarm bells ringing as he approaches his room. Somebody's in there. Someone's in there with a shotgun, and they're going to kill him right in front of Connor. He comes to a stop in front of his door, carefully digging his key out. Sean feels very numb, and very far away as he opens the door-
But no one's inside. No shotgun. No gang member. Just his room. Oh. Well.
Alright.
Sean steps in and gets moving. Which means Connor gets to see Sean's room as he packs. It's probably not a legal size. It's claustrophobic inside, with barely enough room for a single bed, and for the desk that Sean has crammed in one corner, leaving just enough room to slide between them. The desk looks like it came from a dorm room - and that's exactly where it begun it's life, at Mercy U's Corktown Campus, before it was left in a dumpster after the student moved out and opted not to spend $300 to move a $150 desk from Ikea. It was a great desk for Sean, and it's clearly where he liked to work when the mood took him. There's some half-finished projects on there - half a carving of what might be a dog if you squint, an attempt to jazz up a picture frame - and a stack of books, and other clutter that Sean seat there and never got around to moving. The closet's crammed with clothes, and he's got his toiletries in a little basket, also tucked in the closet. There's a bookcase beside the best, another piece of Ikea furniture saved from a dumpster, and it's absolutely crammed to the gills with books. There's so many that Sean's given up on standing them up, and has started lying on top of each other, or stacking them in front.
Sean drops his clothes on the bed and throws them into a duffel bag. Though he stops, and grabs his other duffel, setting it on the desk, in case Connor wants to pack that stuff and make it faster. Sean's still feeling tense, even if there's no one waiting for them here.]
Just... throw it all in there. I'll sort it later.
no subject
And instead he's here, with Connor trying to promise that Sean's going to be safe, because he's under Connor's protection.]
Guess that's a no, then.
[Sean takes a step forward, breaking contact as he heads inside the building and up the stairs, waiting for Connor to follow him. It's worse inside. It absolutely reaks in here, and half the lights in the halls have burnt out bulbs. Sean climbs the stairs quickly, falling into his usual routine when coming in and out. Avoid the weird wet sticky puddle on the second landing. Don't look into the open doorway where Mrs. Barr usually has her bathroom open, and everything on display. Skip the broken step on the third flight of stairs. Nod to Mr. Ramirez sitting in the hall-
Huh. Mr. Ramirez isn't there. Sean slows down after that, his movement becoming unsteady again as he slowly crosses the last ten feet to his apartment. He can feel the alarm bells ringing as he approaches his room. Somebody's in there. Someone's in there with a shotgun, and they're going to kill him right in front of Connor. He comes to a stop in front of his door, carefully digging his key out. Sean feels very numb, and very far away as he opens the door-
But no one's inside. No shotgun. No gang member. Just his room. Oh. Well.
Alright.
Sean steps in and gets moving. Which means Connor gets to see Sean's room as he packs. It's probably not a legal size. It's claustrophobic inside, with barely enough room for a single bed, and for the desk that Sean has crammed in one corner, leaving just enough room to slide between them. The desk looks like it came from a dorm room - and that's exactly where it begun it's life, at Mercy U's Corktown Campus, before it was left in a dumpster after the student moved out and opted not to spend $300 to move a $150 desk from Ikea. It was a great desk for Sean, and it's clearly where he liked to work when the mood took him. There's some half-finished projects on there - half a carving of what might be a dog if you squint, an attempt to jazz up a picture frame - and a stack of books, and other clutter that Sean seat there and never got around to moving. The closet's crammed with clothes, and he's got his toiletries in a little basket, also tucked in the closet. There's a bookcase beside the best, another piece of Ikea furniture saved from a dumpster, and it's absolutely crammed to the gills with books. There's so many that Sean's given up on standing them up, and has started lying on top of each other, or stacking them in front.
Sean drops his clothes on the bed and throws them into a duffel bag. Though he stops, and grabs his other duffel, setting it on the desk, in case Connor wants to pack that stuff and make it faster. Sean's still feeling tense, even if there's no one waiting for them here.]
Just... throw it all in there. I'll sort it later.