The animation business was by no means a cakewalk. For Connor, a 28 year old man who had graduated top of his class from a prestigious art college in California, once he had breached employment, he had to start from the bottom once again and prove himself worthy of the role of a storyboard artist. Though it was by no means easy work, it was something he took pride in. He knew he was damn good, and it showed in what he produced. By the time he'd been working at the studio for over a year, he was well received and once again had earned his rightful spot at the top. Unfortunately for Connor, his time in the spotlight was short lived.
Dave's first day at the animation department was on a warm Monday in July. Connor had been chatting it up with Bella, one of the writers on the team, when Dave walked in, following closely behind the show runner, Steven. Steven was doing the basic run-through of the department, showing Dave where things were and how they operated. But Connor knew from the start that this was a bad sign. He immediately got a strange vibe from Dave, and though his first impression was far from insulting, Connor was merely waiting for the newbie to screw up.
He waited, and waited, and waited, but it just didn't happen. Four months after Dave joined the animation team, he was promoted to storyboard director - a position Connor had been aiming for from the moment he started. To add insult to injury, Dave was a self-taught artist. He hadn't attended college and had very little professional training; most of his skill came from personal practice, and that only managed to infuriate Connor even further.
Much to Connor's chagrin, Dave was full of positive energy and never seemed to pick up on Connor's disdain for him. If anything, he seemed delighted every single time he saw Connor, which in turn, only served to make Connor even more bitter. It enraged him that this beginner, this
poser
, was able to achieve such great things. To make matters worse, Connor couldn't find much to critique about Dave's actual boards. They were top notch, and though Connor would never admit it to anyone, they were honestly better than his own. He loathed Dave for that.
He detested him from the very bottom of his heart, wanted to drop a vat of acid on him every time he walked in and greeted the team with a cheerful "Hello!" or surprised everyone by bringing in donuts and coffee. He even made a point to get Connor's favorite each time; an iced latte and a creme filled donut. The mere thought of eating anything Dave gave him made bile rise in Connor's throat, but he'd always give in to the intoxicating allure of sugary pastries by the end of the day, no matter how much he hated himself for it.
It wasn't until December that Connor finally boiled over. The crew had been working on a particularly hard project and everyone was a little on edge. Even Dave was less flamboyant and quieter than usual. Everyone was hard at work, and Connor was at his wit's end. His boards weren't coming out with the amount of fluidity and motion he wanted, and no matter how many times he sketched it out, he just couldn't get it right. Time drew on, and towards the end of the day, most of the staff had left. Only a few stragglers were left, either getting ready to leave or just finishing up some last minute revisions. Not Connor though. He refused to go home until he got it just right.
A tap on his wall signified that Dave was there to check on him, as a dutiful storyboard director. Connor glanced over bitterly to catch a glimpse of Dave's weary smile, only grunting to greet him. Dave took this as signal that he could enter Connor's little cubicle and did, taking a peek at his work. Connor hunched up, his brown locks brushing his shoulders as he did. Dave's mere existence made him tense, so to have him leaning over him, the warmth of his body gently radiating onto Connor's back, made Connor want to snap his pencil in half.
"Lookin' good so far!" Dave exclaimed, and his curly black hair bounced up and down as he nodded in regards to Connor's work. He then leaned in and pointed at a particular spot before adding, "Think you could try to make this a little less rigid?"
Connor scoffed, feeling his chest instantly lurch at the criticism, no matter how polite it was. He sent Dave a dirty look before nodding. "Yeah, yeah, I'll get it done."
The tired smile on Dave's face faltered slightly, and he shifted his weight in mild discomfort. "Everything okay there, Con? I know it's been kinda a tough week, but-"
"It's
fine
," Connor seethed through grit teeth, his eye twitching at the nick name. "Look, I'm just gonna finish up this board. I'll see you tomorrow I guess."
Dave shook his head. "No can do, partner. It's officially after hours." He gestured to the darkened room around them, indicating that by then, they were the only two staff left. "You should really get some rest. Work fresh tomorrow and all, you know?" He gently placed his hand on Connor's shoulder as reassurance.
Connor instinctively slapped the hand away, only to receive raised eyebrows in response. He glared at Dave, nearly throwing his pencil down onto his work. "What, you think I can't do it tonight? I'm perfectly capable of fixing this right now. We're on a fucking deadline, in case you haven't noticed, and I'd like to get my part done in time."
Dave raised his hands as a gesture of peace and took a step back, his brows still raised. "Uh, I know that Con. And no worries, I know for a fact that you are capable, but-"
"
Don't
call me Con," Connor snapped, standing up abruptly from his chair. Simmering with rage, he advanced on Dave, who subtly backed away, looking very uncomfortable. "Don't act like you know me, or like we're friends, just because we work together, okay? Let me make this clear. I don't like you. I don't want to be your friend."
For the first time since he'd started working there, Connor saw Dave look truly upset. Dave, who was almost a foot shorter than him, backing away, his thick framed glasses reflecting Connor's raged expression. With his lip quivering, Dave spoke again, this time quietly.
"I-I know you- I know you don't, but- but... Just, why? What did I ever do to you?" He gazed up at Connor, his face nothing less than heartbroken. "Why do you hate me so much?"
Ready to yank his hair out, Connor was at his limit. He pushed Dave up against the wall, gripping his thin shoulders with both hands. "Because you just- you piss me off!" He near shrieked, noting the way Dave's glasses became slightly askew with the harsh shove. "You're so- you're so- you're so fucking sugary sweet, it makes me fucking sick!"
Frightened, Dave trembled beneath Connor's tight grip. "Wh-whoa, okay, uh, calm down-"
"Don't tell me to fucking calm down!" Connor bellowed, and slammed Dave up against the wall again.
It was then that he became aware of how close they were. He could feel the warmth of Dave's entire body, see his thick eyelashes waver as if he were on the verge of tears, and when he looked down, he realized how stretched out his shirt had gotten. His collar was tugged almost all the way to his shoulder, revealing what looked like an extremely tight tank top beneath. Eyes narrowed, Connor's fingers slid over it on near instinct, and for whatever reason, that elicited a very strange reaction from Dave. His face visually reddened, and he sputtered out what might have been attempts at words. Connor wasn't sure what the deal was by any means, but he was hyped on adrenaline, running on very little sleep, and pissed beyond all belief. To say the least, his thoughts were far from orderly, so of course, his next move was to practically tear off Dave's shirt.
Dave gasped and immediately tried to cover himself, which Connor thought was weird for a guy, until he realized that what he'd thought was a tank top wasn't a tank top at all. It was a very tight chest compressor of some sort. Confused, Connor ran his hand over it, feeling the soft shudder that ran through Dave as he did so.
"Nnh- d-don't, C-Con," Dave near pleaded, trying to shrink away, but to no avail.
