Simple//Tradley:Jonnor

I love you, by the way

Connor had a plan, and Connor was leaving the rehab centre.
He didn't know who he was anymore. He had hurt James. He had hurt the one person he trusted the most. He had hurt the only person he felt he could actually talk to. He had hurt the one person he loved more than anyone. Connor had hurt James. Connor Ball had hurt James McVey. Connor Samuel John Ball had hurt James Daniel McVey. And he would never forgive himself for it. He didn't care that it technically wasn't him - it was still his body which had caused James pain and therefore, he was still the one who did it. Everything was his fault. Everything. He had no idea what to do - whether he should find James and apologise, or whether to stay away until James felt he could see Connor without having a panic attack, which was bound to happen seeing as Connor caused him pain. God, even the thought of it made Connor feel sick. Connor's existence made him feel sick.

He hadn't left Tristan's room for hours. He'd been buried under Tristan's duvet, crying himself to sleep and waking up again after violent dreams of him assaulting James over and over. He couldn't get the thought out of his head. He hurt James. James was hurt because of him. Connor was no better than the stupid man who had kidnapped James and got him put into that horrid rehab centre in the first place. Connor was dirt compared to James. So Connor was leaving, to clean himself, to become somebody who might have been at least a bit deserving of James.
But James wasn't thinking that way.

James hated himself for making Connor get worked up. He deserved to get hurt by Connor - he had wound the boy up and forced him into his second self by not agreeing with the boy and having little hope in finding Tristan. Now Brad was gone, too. Maybe he'd found Tristan and they had run away, maybe Brad had been taken by the same people who took Tris - James didn't know. He just knew that Brad and Tris were gone and Connor probably hated him for making him shift into his Davey personality. James knew how much it emotionally wounded the boy to switch personalities. James could remember, one time, the young boy whispering 'I'm leaving. Keep me here. Keep me Connor.' into his ear, and hugging Connor tightly whilst whispering 'You're Connor Ball. You're here with me. I love you, Connor Ball. You're here with me, Connor Ball, and I love you' on repeat like a mantra until eventually, Connor fell asleep in James' arms, head buried in his chest. That was one of James' favourite moments. He lay awake, exploring Connor's face with his eyes. The mole on his left cheek. The way his eyelids fluttered as he dreamed. The brown hair which looked fluffy and gave James an urge to stroke Connor like a cat. Connor was a true image of perfection, and James had shattered him like glass on concrete by upsetting him and forcing him to turn into a different version of himself. James couldn't care less that Connor had hurt him. James only cared that Connor didn't get hurt. And as selfish as the thought might have been, this made James happy - the fact that he didn't care meant he was improving, as normally if somebody hurt him, he wouldn't be able to think about going near them for at least a week, but with Connor, all he wanted to do was run into the boy's arms.

With this thought in mind, James rose from the bed in a sense of urgency and made for the door, stopping when he saw something on the floor by it. He bent down and took the folded paper in his hands, frowning, but recognising the slightly sloppy handwriting on it.

'Jems'

It was Connor's writing. Had Connor slipped the paper under the door? If so, when? Had he heard James crying and felt guilt, even though James' tears were directed at himself for hurting Connor, not at Connor for hurting him? So many questions ran through James' head, and the answers could have been written on the piece of paper in his hands. So, he sat back down on the bed and carefully opened the letter containing Connor's words, as gently as he would handle the boy himself, as if this letter was a part of him.

'I can't begin to say how sorry I am. I never wanted to hurt you, ever. I'd never even dream of it. You know, I hope, that I would never intentionally hurt you. I'm not going to insult you by writing 'it wasn't me', because Davey is a part of me, no matter how many times you protest (and I know you will, James, even if you blame me - you always want to make others feel better, even if it's at a cost to you. It's one of the reasons I love you).'