Two steps forward, one step back.

[ he watches connor quietly for a moment, just taking in his features and the lay of his expression. he's made himself think about his own childhood now, from the foster fathers that called him a faggot to the jesus camp when he was thirteen that almost broke him.

he pushes that thought aside and comes back to the moment at hand with a breath that just barely shakes.

he listens when connor speaks, examining his face again in an intense way that's mitigated only a little by the glasses he's wearing. one of the points is broken off. it looks stupid.

he keeps them on.

he leans back further into the cushions then, tongue running over his teeth. ]

Once, an old lady told us when we were walking home that we were going to die of the queer disease and I laughed and told her I was going to die at thirty-five anyway. I never really... Cared what anyone else thought, it was more I fell deep into what I thought.

[ there's a pause and he considers not asking, but he ends up doing it anyway. ]

Did you ever find a purpose? A direction? After dying.