Fics like there's a trap door in your heart that I'm free-falling through

Connor thinks he’d know Minten in the dark, even without the porch light, just by the way his eyes glint in the moonlight. He knows the slope of Minten’s shoulders, and the shape of his body in a full set of pads, and the way his hands curl in his gloves. Or he used to. Connor thinks that maybe he shouldn’t remember these things still; shouldn’t be trying to add the shape of Minten’s lips, or the gentle furrow of his brow to this list. “Connor?” Minten asks. “Sorry,” Connor shakes his head a little bit, like it might stop him from staring. “You know, I don’t think you’ve ever called me that.” Or: what came before.

Fics like there's a trap door in your heart that I'm free-falling through

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