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Some of his books, he's noticed, have gone missing. He can't actually prove that Worth's taken them- he's never seen the man pocket one, or spotted one on the grubby desk of his office or anything- but hell, it's not like he really needs proof to blame him anyway. But trying to fight with him to get them back seems like a lost cause, so fuck it, he figures, and heads to the bookstore.

The Barnes & Noble in the mall isn't huge, but it's got all of what he's after and it's good enough to wander around in for a bit, at least. He's actually enjoying himself, right up until he turns a corner in the fiction shelves and nearly bumps into Worth.

They both pause, staring at each other; Worth doesn't exactly look startled, or sheepish, but sort of both of those at once mixed together with the usual smugness, condescension, and grime. His own mouth, he's pretty sure, is hanging open (seriously, Worth in a book shop?) but he can't even be self-conscious enough right now to care.

After a moment he turns abruptly, and walks away. It seems safer, he thinks, to just pretend that never happened.

+++

Half an hour later- out of some morbid sense of curiosity- he goes looking for Worth and finds him flipping through a book on Buddhism. The cognitive dissonance makes him stare again, until Worth glances up and spots him. "Connie!" Worth looks happy to see him; he's starting to wonder if he's gone insane, or if maybe the whole world has. "Here," Worth says, shoving another book in his hands, "buy me that."

And the world rights itself again. "What? Fuck you, I'm not buying you anything, I'm only here in the first place because you've been stealing my stuff." He glances down at the book anyway: something by Christopher Moore. Christ, but he really just does not understand Worth sometimes. Maybe not ever.

"So call it pre-payin', then, an' come by mine later for," he waves a hand, some kind of mime that mostly comes across as 'juice box,' "a snack. C'mon, don't be a tosser."

He's not especially bothered by the idea of Worth thinking he's a tosser (it's actually one of the milder things Worth has called him) but he figures seven or eight bucks is a pretty cheap price for the mockery mileage he should be able to get out of this. "Hm. Fine," he says, just as Worth's opening his mouth to, presumably, call him names until he gives in. "But you've got to bring back at least one of the things you've accidentally borrowed from me. Here," he shoves his own pile of books into Worth's hands, "pick one that I won't actually have to replace."

Worth follows him as he heads for the register; Conrad notices him tossing a book (Jingo- good, he likes his copy of that one) onto a random table. The rest get dumped back into Conrad's arms, but he's half-expecting it and manages to keep from dropping everything. "You're such a fucking pain," he snaps, but it's half-hearted at best.

Probably unsurprisingly, Worth decides to be as obnoxious as possible while Conrad's trying to check out. He doesn't have a problem being rude to Worth- the man deserves it, and doesn't seem to give a shit anyway- but he has problems with being rude in front of other people, especially random strangers like, say, the clerk ringing him out.

So he can only glare when Worth drapes both arms over his shoulders from behind, bites at his ear and says "Thanks, peaches," loud enough for the girl behind the counter to hear him. She gives them a little smile, like they're cute or something, ugh, god. Conrad smiles back at her, weakly, and aims an elbow at Worth's ribs while she isn't looking.

Worth, the bastard, just snickers.

He hands Worth's book over wordlessly as soon as they're out of the store; it disappears into the depths of Worth's jacket like a magic trick, a box of cigarettes replacing it in his hands. "Comin' back t' mine, then?"

It's asked casually, like Worth doesn't care, and fuck, maybe he doesn't. He really just can't fucking tell anymore. If he goes to Worth's, it'll involve more than just picking up a couple bags of blood and they both know it, but... "Um. Maybe later, I was gonna go down to The Grind for a bit."

"Hn," Worth says, and shakes a cigarette out of his pack, and... wanders off without another word.

What. The fuck.

Really, he thinks as he walks (absolutely not in any sort of huff) towards the coffee shop, he's kind of annoyed with himself for gaping over it at all. What the fuck had he expected?

+++

It's been a while since he's been to The Grind, but he still recognizes the girl behind the counter and apparently she recognizes him, too, judging by her smile. "Hey, long time no see. Chai latte with whip and nutmeg, right?"

Christ, that sounds good. He glances longingly at someone else's drink (a mochaccino, complete with whip and chocolate sprinkles), but he can't bring himself to order something that should be so delicious but, for him, won't. "Hi, Shanice. No, uh, just a breve for now. Thanks, though." That won't taste any good, either, but at least the caffeine might do something or other. Actually, come to think of it he's not even sure about that. Being a vampire is sort of lame, so far.

The smell of cigarettes hits him just before Worth's foot to his shin. "An' a choccy milkshake. Shanice." Worth gives her a smile that probably reads as nice to anyone who doesn't know what a dick he is, and snickers to himself once she goes to make their drinks.

"Hey-" He realizes, too late, that he's been volunteered to buy something for Worth again. Glaring at the bastard doesn't fix anything, but it does make him feel a bit better. "God damn it. What the hell, I thought you'd left. It made me happy. Go away."

Worth smirks at him, lounging back against the counter in a long, lean sprawl that is definitely not in any way attractive or distracting. "Aw, pumpkin, you 'n me both know you'd miss me if I left. Bet you'd spend all night cryin' in yer coffee."

He knows he shouldn't be letting himself get dragged into this, but fuck, it's like an illness. "Yeah? Well why don't you leave, and we'll find out."

"Nah, I'd have t' set up some kinda cameras or somethin' first, record the breakdown for posterity. Shit'd be hi-fuckin'-larious." Worth kicks at his ankle in a way that might, possibly, have been companionable if coming from someone not wearing sharp, pointy boots, ie someone not Worth.

Before Conrad can snap at him (or hit him- tempting, even though they're in public) Shanice comes back with their drinks. "Enjoy!" she says, and he can't help but notice that she's smiling at Worth in a way that makes his stomach turn. Ugh. He pays her, too polite to grumble, and stalks off towards the sofa with his drink.

Worth, of course, follows.

He'd been planning to do actual work, trying to sort out some designs for a new commission on paper, maybe bringing out his laptop if anything seemed particularly worth the trouble. But he's got a feeling he'll have a hard time concentrating now.

When he sits, Worth flops onto the opposite end of the sofa, swinging his legs up to prop his feet in Conrad's lap. "Ugh," he snaps, and shoves them to the floor. They're back in his lap an instant later, and when he shoots Worth a glare, he just gets a look of amusement in response. Fucking typical, and made even more annoying by Worth punctuating it with a slurp of his milkshake.

God damn it, that thing looks delicious.

Well, it does up until Worth scrounges in his pocket and produces a flask. He watches in fascinated disgust as a liberal amount of what smells like whiskey is mixed into an otherwise perfect chocolate milkshake. Jesus Christ. Worth catches him staring, raises an eyebrow that very clearly says 'What?' and pulls his new book from his jacket, settling back and sipping his milkshake with every sign of enjoyment.

"Ugh," Conrad says again, and turns away to his work. Maybe he'll be able to get something done after all.

They actually manage to sit in semi-peaceful silence for a bit; Conrad works on sketching while Worth is apparently fully occupied by his book (which he keeps snickering at) and his milkshake (which still smells fantastic, even with the whiskey). It's not completely unheard of for them to be able to get along, or at least not actively fight, for occasional stretches of time. It's just that it usually happens after they've fucked each other stupid.

He stretches a little, tipping his head back against the sofa and then rolling it to look over at Worth. The man's actually not too ungodly obnoxious, when he shuts up. Seriously, the price of a book and a milkshake is an absolute fucking bargain to get Worth to be so well-behaved for so long. He wouldn't even have guessed Worth liked milkshakes, actually. The Ben & Jerry's trip on their last mall adventure had been more to piss Conrad off, he's pretty sure.

It'd worked out pretty well for him in the end, though. Huh.

...Holy shit.

If he had to breathe, he probably would've just choked, because fuck. It's entirely possible- maybe even likely- that Worth got that milkshake at least partly for his, Conrad's, benefit.

The gaping is apparently enough to catch Worth's attention. He bounces a leg, digging his heel into Conrad's thigh, and snaps "What?" in a suitably annoyed way. He doesn't really seem like the type to do something randomly nice like, say, eat something he knows Conrad likes just to give him a secondhand taste of it later. In fact, thinking about it again while actually looking at Worth- a Worth who is glaring- makes it seem like the stupidest, most insane idea he's ever had.

And yet.

"What the fuck is this?" he hears himself say, without really thinking it through first. Well, he's said it, might as well go with it. "What- this, this thing, this- whatever we're doing, what the hell is this about?"

Worth's expression goes through a couple of changes pretty fast; he thinks he spots surprise, amusement, and disgust, but it settles into the more standard mockery and condescension. "What, now y'wanna talk about yer feelings? Christ, Connie, I know you're a fag an' all but that's bringin' it pretty fuckin' far."

It's about the answer he would've expected, and it annoys him, but not for the usual- expected- reasons. He can't even tell if Worth's dodging the question or if there's just actually nothing to dodge, and he doesn't really know why he wants to know but apparently he really does.

"No, shut up, seriously. What- do you even like me? I mean," his mind suddenly flashes back to Hanna's voice, telling him Worth was keen on him. What the hell does that mean? What did it mean then, when they barely knew each other; and now, here, months later, what the fuck does it mean now?

And does he want to know, really?

Apparently Worth's not going to give him any answers, either way. "Stop askin' stupid fuckin' questions, 'm readin'. An' if you keep that shit up the contact faggotry might rub off an' turn me into a giant walkin' vagina like you. So quit yappin' your prissy puppy mouth for five minutes already." He kicks at Conrad's thigh again, then draws one leg up to prop his milkshake on his knee, attention focused back on his book.

Christ.

He turns back to his work, mostly for a want of anything else to do, but finds he can't actually focus his mind on it. What the hell is this on his own side? On the one hand, the idea of Worth actually wanting him- giving a shit about him- is completely horrifying, but on the other hand... why is he even asking, then? Well, that's ego at work, he thinks; wanting someone to want you, even if you don't want them.

Though of course if he doesn't want Worth, then there's the added question of what the hell the last few months have been about.

It's made harder to think about due to the fact that his own mind keeps recoiling away, trying to divert to some other mental tangent because clearly this one is unsafe, and possibly just insane.

The irritating sucking-drain noise of someone reaching the bottom of a glass through a straw is almost a welcome distraction; it gives him a reason to glare at Worth, anyway. Of course, Worth's ignoring him, but whatever, it still feels good to be back in his right place: Worth being obnoxious, him being annoyed with it. The world makes sense that way.

Worth plonks the glass onto the coffee table in front of them, swings his feet back to the floor and stands with a stretch (which definitely isn't hot, at all, not even when his shirt rides up a little to show a flash of hip and belly). He doesn't quite turn, just sort of glances over his shoulder and down at where Conrad's still sitting. "You comin'?"

Back to Worth's, where, yes, he can pick up more bagged blood, but there's no way it's going to stop there, and it's early but Conrad would still bet he'll end up staying the night (day) because they'll be too distracted to keep track of things like the time, or the sunrise, and seriously, he still can't even decide what this whole fucked up thing of theirs is about.

He glances up, expecting to catch a glare, but Worth's just looking at him: eyebrows raised, not expectant, just... waiting.

"Yeah," Conrad says, "alright."

Description
Some of his books, he's noticed, have gone missing. He can't actually prove that Worth's taken them- he's never seen the man pocket one, or spotted one on the grubby desk of his office or anything- but hell, it's not like he really needs proof to blame him anyway. But trying to fight with him to get them back seems like a lost cause, so fuck it, he figures, and heads to the bookstore.

The Barnes & Noble in the mall isn't huge, but it's got all of what he's after and it's good enough to wander around in for a bit, at least. He's actually enjoying himself, right up until he turns a corner in the fiction shelves and nearly bumps into Worth.

They both pause, staring at each other; Worth doesn't exactly look startled, or sheepish, but sort of both of those at once mixed together with the usual smugness, condescension, and grime. His own mouth, he's pretty sure, is hanging open (seriously, Worth in a book shop?) but he can't even be self-conscious enough right now to care.

After a moment he turns abruptly, and walks away. It seems safer, he thinks, to just pretend that never happened.

+++

Half an hour later- out of some morbid sense of curiosity- he goes looking for Worth and finds him flipping through a book on Buddhism. The cognitive dissonance makes him stare again, until Worth glances up and spots him. "Connie!" Worth looks happy to see him; he's starting to wonder if he's gone insane, or if maybe the whole world has. "Here," Worth says, shoving another book in his hands, "buy me that."

And the world rights itself again. "What? Fuck you, I'm not buying you anything, I'm only here in the first place because you've been stealing my stuff." He glances down at the book anyway: something by Christopher Moore. Christ, but he really just does not understand Worth sometimes. Maybe not ever.

"So call it pre-payin', then, an' come by mine later for," he waves a hand, some kind of mime that mostly comes across as 'juice box,' "a snack. C'mon, don't be a tosser."

He's not especially bothered by the idea of Worth thinking he's a tosser (it's actually one of the milder things Worth has called him) but he figures seven or eight bucks is a pretty cheap price for the mockery mileage he should be able to get out of this. "Hm. Fine," he says, just as Worth's opening his mouth to, presumably, call him names until he gives in. "But you've got to bring back at least one of the things you've accidentally borrowed from me. Here," he shoves his own pile of books into Worth's hands, "pick one that I won't actually have to replace."

Worth follows him as he heads for the register; Conrad notices him tossing a book (Jingo- good, he likes his copy of that one) onto a random table. The rest get dumped back into Conrad's arms, but he's half-expecting it and manages to keep from dropping everything. "You're such a fucking pain," he snaps, but it's half-hearted at best.

Probably unsurprisingly, Worth decides to be as obnoxious as possible while Conrad's trying to check out. He doesn't have a problem being rude to Worth- the man deserves it, and doesn't seem to give a shit anyway- but he has problems with being rude in front of other people, especially random strangers like, say, the clerk ringing him out.

So he can only glare when Worth drapes both arms over his shoulders from behind, bites at his ear and says "Thanks, peaches," loud enough for the girl behind the counter to hear him. She gives them a little smile, like they're cute or something, ugh, god. Conrad smiles back at her, weakly, and aims an elbow at Worth's ribs while she isn't looking.

Worth, the bastard, just snickers.

He hands Worth's book over wordlessly as soon as they're out of the store; it disappears into the depths of Worth's jacket like a magic trick, a box of cigarettes replacing it in his hands. "Comin' back t' mine, then?"

It's asked casually, like Worth doesn't care, and fuck, maybe he doesn't. He really just can't fucking tell anymore. If he goes to Worth's, it'll involve more than just picking up a couple bags of blood and they both know it, but... "Um. Maybe later, I was gonna go down to The Grind for a bit."

"Hn," Worth says, and shakes a cigarette out of his pack, and... wanders off without another word.

What. The fuck.

Really, he thinks as he walks (absolutely not in any sort of huff) towards the coffee shop, he's kind of annoyed with himself for gaping over it at all. What the fuck had he expected?

+++

It's been a while since he's been to The Grind, but he still recognizes the girl behind the counter and apparently she recognizes him, too, judging by her smile. "Hey, long time no see. Chai latte with whip and nutmeg, right?"

Christ, that sounds good. He glances longingly at someone else's drink (a mochaccino, complete with whip and chocolate sprinkles), but he can't bring himself to order something that should be so delicious but, for him, won't. "Hi, Shanice. No, uh, just a breve for now. Thanks, though." That won't taste any good, either, but at least the caffeine might do something or other. Actually, come to think of it he's not even sure about that. Being a vampire is sort of lame, so far.

The smell of cigarettes hits him just before Worth's foot to his shin. "An' a choccy milkshake. Shanice." Worth gives her a smile that probably reads as nice to anyone who doesn't know what a dick he is, and snickers to himself once she goes to make their drinks.

"Hey-" He realizes, too late, that he's been volunteered to buy something for Worth again. Glaring at the bastard doesn't fix anything, but it does make him feel a bit better. "God damn it. What the hell, I thought you'd left. It made me happy. Go away."

Worth smirks at him, lounging back against the counter in a long, lean sprawl that is definitely not in any way attractive or distracting. "Aw, pumpkin, you 'n me both know you'd miss me if I left. Bet you'd spend all night cryin' in yer coffee."

He knows he shouldn't be letting himself get dragged into this, but fuck, it's like an illness. "Yeah? Well why don't you leave, and we'll find out."

"Nah, I'd have t' set up some kinda cameras or somethin' first, record the breakdown for posterity. Shit'd be hi-fuckin'-larious." Worth kicks at his ankle in a way that might, possibly, have been companionable if coming from someone not wearing sharp, pointy boots, ie someone not Worth.

Before Conrad can snap at him (or hit him- tempting, even though they're in public) Shanice comes back with their drinks. "Enjoy!" she says, and he can't help but notice that she's smiling at Worth in a way that makes his stomach turn. Ugh. He pays her, too polite to grumble, and stalks off towards the sofa with his drink.

Worth, of course, follows.

He'd been planning to do actual work, trying to sort out some designs for a new commission on paper, maybe bringing out his laptop if anything seemed particularly worth the trouble. But he's got a feeling he'll have a hard time concentrating now.

When he sits, Worth flops onto the opposite end of the sofa, swinging his legs up to prop his feet in Conrad's lap. "Ugh," he snaps, and shoves them to the floor. They're back in his lap an instant later, and when he shoots Worth a glare, he just gets a look of amusement in response. Fucking typical, and made even more annoying by Worth punctuating it with a slurp of his milkshake.

God damn it, that thing looks delicious.

Well, it does up until Worth scrounges in his pocket and produces a flask. He watches in fascinated disgust as a liberal amount of what smells like whiskey is mixed into an otherwise perfect chocolate milkshake. Jesus Christ. Worth catches him staring, raises an eyebrow that very clearly says 'What?' and pulls his new book from his jacket, settling back and sipping his milkshake with every sign of enjoyment.

"Ugh," Conrad says again, and turns away to his work. Maybe he'll be able to get something done after all.

They actually manage to sit in semi-peaceful silence for a bit; Conrad works on sketching while Worth is apparently fully occupied by his book (which he keeps snickering at) and his milkshake (which still smells fantastic, even with the whiskey). It's not completely unheard of for them to be able to get along, or at least not actively fight, for occasional stretches of time. It's just that it usually happens after they've fucked each other stupid.

He stretches a little, tipping his head back against the sofa and then rolling it to look over at Worth. The man's actually not too ungodly obnoxious, when he shuts up. Seriously, the price of a book and a milkshake is an absolute fucking bargain to get Worth to be so well-behaved for so long. He wouldn't even have guessed Worth liked milkshakes, actually. The Ben & Jerry's trip on their last mall adventure had been more to piss Conrad off, he's pretty sure.

It'd worked out pretty well for him in the end, though. Huh.

...Holy shit.

If he had to breathe, he probably would've just choked, because fuck. It's entirely possible- maybe even likely- that Worth got that milkshake at least partly for his, Conrad's, benefit.

The gaping is apparently enough to catch Worth's attention. He bounces a leg, digging his heel into Conrad's thigh, and snaps "What?" in a suitably annoyed way. He doesn't really seem like the type to do something randomly nice like, say, eat something he knows Conrad likes just to give him a secondhand taste of it later. In fact, thinking about it again while actually looking at Worth- a Worth who is glaring- makes it seem like the stupidest, most insane idea he's ever had.

And yet.

"What the fuck is this?" he hears himself say, without really thinking it through first. Well, he's said it, might as well go with it. "What- this, this thing, this- whatever we're doing, what the hell is this about?"

Worth's expression goes through a couple of changes pretty fast; he thinks he spots surprise, amusement, and disgust, but it settles into the more standard mockery and condescension. "What, now y'wanna talk about yer feelings? Christ, Connie, I know you're a fag an' all but that's bringin' it pretty fuckin' far."

It's about the answer he would've expected, and it annoys him, but not for the usual- expected- reasons. He can't even tell if Worth's dodging the question or if there's just actually nothing to dodge, and he doesn't really know why he wants to know but apparently he really does.

"No, shut up, seriously. What- do you even like me? I mean," his mind suddenly flashes back to Hanna's voice, telling him Worth was keen on him. What the hell does that mean? What did it mean then, when they barely knew each other; and now, here, months later, what the fuck does it mean now?

And does he want to know, really?

Apparently Worth's not going to give him any answers, either way. "Stop askin' stupid fuckin' questions, 'm readin'. An' if you keep that shit up the contact faggotry might rub off an' turn me into a giant walkin' vagina like you. So quit yappin' your prissy puppy mouth for five minutes already." He kicks at Conrad's thigh again, then draws one leg up to prop his milkshake on his knee, attention focused back on his book.

Christ.

He turns back to his work, mostly for a want of anything else to do, but finds he can't actually focus his mind on it. What the hell is this on his own side? On the one hand, the idea of Worth actually wanting him- giving a shit about him- is completely horrifying, but on the other hand... why is he even asking, then? Well, that's ego at work, he thinks; wanting someone to want you, even if you don't want them.

Though of course if he doesn't want Worth, then there's the added question of what the hell the last few months have been about.

It's made harder to think about due to the fact that his own mind keeps recoiling away, trying to divert to some other mental tangent because clearly this one is unsafe, and possibly just insane.

The irritating sucking-drain noise of someone reaching the bottom of a glass through a straw is almost a welcome distraction; it gives him a reason to glare at Worth, anyway. Of course, Worth's ignoring him, but whatever, it still feels good to be back in his right place: Worth being obnoxious, him being annoyed with it. The world makes sense that way.

Worth plonks the glass onto the coffee table in front of them, swings his feet back to the floor and stands with a stretch (which definitely isn't hot, at all, not even when his shirt rides up a little to show a flash of hip and belly). He doesn't quite turn, just sort of glances over his shoulder and down at where Conrad's still sitting. "You comin'?"

Back to Worth's, where, yes, he can pick up more bagged blood, but there's no way it's going to stop there, and it's early but Conrad would still bet he'll end up staying the night (day) because they'll be too distracted to keep track of things like the time, or the sunrise, and seriously, he still can't even decide what this whole fucked up thing of theirs is about.

He glances up, expecting to catch a glare, but Worth's just looking at him: eyebrows raised, not expectant, just... waiting.

"Yeah," Conrad says, "alright."