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Connor remembers the first time he hosted Weekend Update like it was yesterday. He remembers his clammy hands, fiddling with the pencil he held as the final touches for the segment were put into place, bright lights shining into his eyes, a stylist coming over and moving a piece of hair out of his face. He remembers Kevin, sitting in the stage right chair, making sure his tie was straightened and his microphone clipped on, flashing a quick smile to Connor and mouthing “you got this” as the producer was counting down the seconds until they were on air. He remembers it beginning, the iconic introduction coming out of Kevin’s mouth with a smile and Connor’s own voice following, feeling so surreal that he was here. This was happening, that this had been his dream ever since he was little, staying up every Saturday with his family and turning on the television at 11:30.

“Good evening! Welcome to Weekend Update, I’m Kevin Price,”

“I’m Connor McKinley, and here are tonight’s top stories.”

Connor’s very first time hosting Update, he made sure to squint to read the cue cards. He was up first tonight, and he could absolutely not mess this up, not when this was the premiere episode of Saturday Night Live’s biggest season to-date, and he had to make a great first impression in front of millions of people.

Connor always guessed Kevin didn’t feel the pressure the same way he did that night. Rather, he had felt the first-show pressure last season. When the old Weekend Update anchor left the show mid-season, Kevin was promoted from the SNL writer’s room (which he’d been working in for almost a decade at that point, so at least he was already super familiar with the environment and people) to become what was essentially one of the faces of the show. Nabulungi joined him at the desk too, covering for the rest of the season until they hired Connor to be the new co-anchor starting Season 40. He absolutely adored Naba, and firmly believed that she should have kept the WU anchor position all those years ago instead of some new guy showing up and getting it. But, the producers thought that she was better in sketches, so her tenure as Weekend Update co-anchor was fairly short lived. But all that did was remind Connor that the producers were completely in control, and that if he screwed this up, he’d probably get fired.

So, as Connor began to read his first joke of the night off the cue card, the first few words went fine, but then at the middle of his sentence, the unthinkable happened. He tripped over his words, and totally forgot how to speak for a couple of seconds. Connor glanced around nervously, and of course, Kevin was the first person to catch his eye, giving him a nod and a reassuring smile. So, he cleared his throat, and started the sentence again.

And all was fine, and he didn’t get fired. Thank god.

And plenty of more mishaps just like that (and worse) happened during his time on the show so far, and it had always been fine.

At the beginning, it was always rough. Still finding his chemistry with Kevin, his fleshed-out comedic voice, and his place at work– meaning, his job wasn’t as secure as he would have liked it to be. So he kept working, and writing, and sitting at that damn desk every Saturday delivering the best jokes he could like his life depended on it, because it really did. Messing up stressed Connor out, but as time passed, his castmates always told him he’d mess up less and less, and it would get easier everyday.

So why, ten years later, is Connor messing up way more than he ever had before? Why were his jokes bombing week after week? In comparison to Kevin’s jokes, Connor’s jokes just looked dumb as shit, and he hardly got any laughs. But, it was live television, so he had to plaster on a grin and keep going. When he messed up now, Kevin wasn’t always looking at him to give him a reassuring smile. Sure, they were a team (one that Connor was pretty sure the general public loved), but they were also two totally independent comedians, with their own styles, and the producers could fire either one of them at any time. 

Connor had kind of come up with a cheat code to cover his ass when his jokes bombed recently. Break the fourth wall. Which, he knew, was kind of breaking the rules of traditional comedy, especially on a sketch comedy show, but at least his segment was already meant to be directly communicating with the audience anyway. When Weekend Update was first established, it was just deadpan news stories and jokes about it— in the early days, if a season had two Weekend Update co-anchors, they would rarely interact. He guessed the rules had changed, because now the audience loved it when the co-anchors interacted with each other, or broke character. So, Connor did what he could, and capitalized off of it.

Staring into the black, empty lens of the camera in front of him, Connor cleared his throat before beginning his next joke. “A worker on a cruise ship was arrested for attacking three passengers with scissors. He was eventually subdued by a passenger with rock.” Connor tried to keep his deadpan expression, attempting to milk laughs from the audience, but all he got was some light chuckles and some groans at the lazy joke he’d written that somehow made it to air.​​ 

The audience drew closer and closer to silence the more seconds after the joke had passed, and Connor did his best to not let his face flush of embarrassment. Why the hell was he still working here? Somehow this wasn’t even the worst flop of the night. And Connor wasn’t stupid either– he noticed that the producers had been beginning to cut down his screen time– they gave most of the WU guest segments to Kevin (Connor would still get them like every other episode, so it wasn’t the end of the world, but it was still disappointing). 

“So dumb.” Kevin improvised, breaking the silence, stirring the audience’s laughter again. A wave of relief rushed over Connor (thank the lord for Kevin), and he absolutely did not know what he would do without him. The first rule of Update was to never let it get silent, and every weekend, Connor was closer and closer to breaking this rule. Without Kevin, he was sure he would have broken the rule a million times before.

Riffing off of each other was important for general audience reception too. Connor was fine at this; he trusted himself, just letting the words spill out. “This might be my favorite show.” He said sarcastically and grinned as genuinely as possible, ignoring the anxiety-induced stomach ache brewing. The audience roared, even louder than they did at the original joke, or at Kevin’s improvised line. Another wave of relief washed over Connor, prompting an actual smile on his face– he always forgot how good it felt when something he said got a lot of laughs. There wasn’t much of that recently. 

“Yeah,” Kevin looked over at Connor and grinned, but Connor turned back to the camera. Finally, the audience laughing at something he said.

“This is my Emmy show.” One last wave of laughter erupted from the audience, Connor smiling as he scanned the room, and the camera cut back to Kevin, who was now beginning to introduce Arnold as Season 49’s final Weekend Update guest. 

Thank god Update was almost over. It was nearing like- what? 12:45 maybe? He still had a long night of afterparties ahead of him, but at least he wouldn’t be on screen, scrutinized by all the public. And he wouldn’t be hearing complaints from his boss until their final meeting next Monday. Tonight was the finale after all, and the buzz backstage awaiting the main afterparty was increasing. Connor tried to stay grounded and listen to Kevin and Arnold riff off each other (Arnold appearing on Update as himself, giving advice on what to do over summer break), despite rather wanting to space out, put his head down, and maybe shed a couple of tears. Not on national television though. Never.

“Arnold Cunningham, everyone!” Kevin closed out the segment, his voice and the audience cheers suddenly ringing through Connor’s ears. As the camera panned back to all three of them, Connor posted a final grin on his face. “For Weekend Update, I’m Kevin Price.”

Mustering up the energy left in him (it would be amazing to any normal person how Connor was still functionally running this late at night and not having slept in 30 hours, but he’d gotten used to it at this point), he cleared his throat. “I’m Connor McKinley, goodnight, and have a great summer!” He said with a grin, putting the pencil he was holding down and waving to the audience as they erupted into cheers.

Once the cameras cut, it was the usual routine– production assistants rushing Kevin and Connor off the stage to clear room for preparation for the next sketch, and interns ushering them back to their offices to change into their casual clothes for Goodnights. Connor could stand in the back during Goodnights if he really wanted to, but all of his friends usually stood right in front of the camera around the host as he/she thanked the cast and crew, and he’d rather be with them anyway. Tonight, Nabulungi Hatimbi was hosting; Arnold’s wife and former SNL cast member. She had retired from the show a few years ago, but was now back at Studio 8H hosting the Season 49 finale and promoting her new show airing this summer. 

Connor definitely wasn’t sure if he was feeling up to standing in the spotlight during Goodnights tonight- this was the most self conscious and drained he had felt in a long time. The season finale show week was always super stressful, like every week, but a strong finale was always super important to have viewers coming back again next season.

He knew he wasn’t supposed to do this, but Connor’s curiosity always got the best of him— in his free time, he did google himself, and he did look at the SNL Reddit forums. Usually, he agreed with a lot of the commentary, and was especially flattered when people would comment on how Update was the best part of the show.

However:

1. Many viewers were picking up on Connor’s recent habit of talking to the audience after bombing a joke, and
2. Connor always felt like absolute shit after a bad Update.

These people were counting on him and Kevin to give them a good show, and Connor now rarely held up his end of the deal. This was his job, that he was getting paid (a lot) to do, and lately he fucking sucked at it. Compared to Mr. Hilarious Kevin Price, Connor felt as funny as a pile of dog shit.

But even if he sucked at his job, he had to finish it anyway. So, he pulled on a pair of baggy jeans and some $100 t-shirt that he probably shouldn’t have bought but did anyway. 

He heard a knock at the door, assuming it was just some intern that was bringing him the location of the afterparty tonight. “Come in,” he said, mindlessly pulling his sneakers on. The door creaked open, and he heard a familiar voice.

“Hey.” Kevin said, leaning in the door frame, softly smiling at Connor.

“Hey. Come sit,” Connor patted the spot on the couch next to him. He checked his watch. 12:51. They had to leave to be on stand-by for Goodnights any minute now, but he doubted it would be on the earlier side, as dress rehearsal a few hours ago ran 15 minutes over the ninety minute slot.

“So…” Kevin’s voice trailed off, gripping the edge of the sofa and looking towards Connor. He returned the eye contact, and noticed gigantic bags under Kevin’s eyes, caked up with concealer. The general public couldn’t know their terrible, terrible working conditions consisting of getting paid like $25,000 a week to pull all-nighters and write jokes with your friends. Definitely the hardest job on the planet.

“So.” Connor returned, not really sure where Kevin was headed with this. “You were good tonight. I always love watching you and Arnold.” Connor said.

“Yeah, thanks.” Kevin said, running a hand through his hair, which at the beginning of the night was perfectly swooped off to the side, but now becoming slightly disheveled. He began to bounce his leg up and down, anxiety ever-present in his demeanor, but Connor didn’t want to say anything in case he was just reading too far into things (which he did often). So instead, he stayed quiet, enjoying Kevin’s company, waiting for him to say anything. 

“Are you okay?” Kevin blurted out, trying to fill the silence, eyebrows furrowing. “You seemed kind of, like, off, when we were–”

“–Price. McKinley. They need you on standby for Goodnights,” a production assistant interrupted, sticking his head into the doorframe of Connor’s office. The two boys swiftly got up and followed the PA out of the room, through the halls, and back onto Studio 8H’s main stage, set up just like the beginning of each show. A sketch on the secondary stage was wrapping up (a sketch that Connor had helped write about canceling a flight— he’d watch it on YouTube whenever he woke up on Sunday), starring Chris (his other best friend and other usual writing partner) as a frustrated customer and various other cast members as the people working for the airline. He could faintly hear the sketch from the other stage as the non-occupied cast members lined themselves up, patiently awaiting the sketch to wrap up. Connor felt himself grinning at the audience’s loud laughter.

“Twenty seconds!” A voice called over a megaphone, and Connor was prompted by an assistant to make his way onto the stage, in the middle of a crowd of his colleagues. Kevin, to his left, and Connor turned his head briefly around to see Chris pushing through the crowd, jogging over from the secondary stage. The three of them, plus Arnold, were stationed at the front of the group, right in front of the cameras (Connor could suck it up. It was the finale, and despite how he felt right now, he usually loved being in front of the camera). A few seconds later, as the megaphone was still counting down, the host and musical guest joined them up on stage.

“Three, two, one,” the megaphone called and the camera began to roll. Just like usual, everyone would direct their attention to the host, and then Connor would get to say congratulations to all of his friends and they could start getting ready to leave for the afterparty. 

Connor was happy to see Naba again, especially as host— he really missed working with her, and it was nice to be able to catch up and hang out (despite the stress of the show). He especially missed sitting in his office, 4am on writing night, riffing with Arnold, Kevin, and her, and getting to do that again this week brought Connor more joy than he would have liked to admit. A grin was plastered on his face as she rambled her thanks to the cameras before them, trying to get her monologue in before the clock hit 1:01am, when their program automatically shut off. Most weeks they didn’t make the cutoff, but from here, Connor could read the clock at the back of the room, and he sighed of relief when she had finished mumbling off “have a great summer from all of us here at SNL” or something along those lines and it was only 12:59am. 

The credits began to roll, and the first thing he did was turn to his left and gave Chris a big hug. “Good show tonight, man,” he smiled at him as he briefly pulled away from the hug.

“Yeah, you too!” Chris giggled, turning his face away from the cameras (although both of their faces were probably already obstructed by text scrolling the speed of light running over their faces, trying to cram as much as they could before 1:01). Connor glanced over again– it was now one in the morning, and Connor wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible. 

Chris broke away from Connor’s grasp, and he turned around, excited to thank Kevin for everything this season and once again tell him how much he made him laugh. But, he turned around to see nothing except Arnold and Naba hugging, before he pulled away and gave her a quick peck on the lips. On second hand, it was probably stupid to assume Kevin would just stand there awkwardly and wait there while Connor and Chris finished hugging (Connor was just acting dumb again for thinking Kevin would wait). So, he scanned the crowd of heads of people hugging, and saying their praises, but nowhere in the crowd could he spot Kevin. And Kevin was tall. He could usually spot him from like a mile away. He did a second sweep, just in case he had missed him, but nope. It was like he’d vanished into thin air.

Which was so weird to Connor, because no matter how tired or happy or upset or any other onslaught of emotions everyone in the cast felt, they were never supposed to leave Goodnights early, ever. They were supposed to stand there and hug and congratulate the host and each other until at least the program was interrupted by the late night news at 1:02, and really they weren’t supposed to leave until the credits had finished rolling (the full credits always being part of the episode when it was put on Peacock the next day). Connor glanced back at the clock on the back wall, now reading 1:00am–with Kevin being gone and Chris already talking to James, he just felt utterly awkward standing there, especially being in the front. Next season, he vowed to himself he’d be in the back during Goodnights. 

Connor pushed to the back of the crowd to try to get away from the cameras, bumping into Arnold as he shoved his way through the cast and crew on the small stage.

“Hey, Connor!” Arnold greeted him with a grin. No matter how exhausted everyone else was, Arnold never seemed to get tired in the same way. He was always laughing with a goofy smile, and just so nice to literally everybody– on writing night, on the nights when Arnold, Kevin, Connor, and Chris would all cram into Kevin’s office, he’d always call them out whenever they would complain or shit talk someone. He was just so… genuinely positive, all the time (Connor often wondered how he kept up his level of optimism, especially in a place that fosters stress like this), and although Arnold’s unwavering enthusiasm got on Connor’s nerves on occasion, he was a good writer and performer and an even better friend.

“Hey,” he greeted back, opening his arms to hug Arnold. He cringed for a moment, feeling the other man’s sweat on him as their hug lingered on, but shook his head– he was probably sweating just as much, if not more, especially with his increasing worry of Kevin.

“Aaaand, cut!” A camera operator shouted as the audience erupted with applause. A producer gave them a thumbs up, cuing the cast and crew to exit the stage and make their way back to their offices to clean up before leaving for the night. Connor pulled away from the hug and shot a brief smile to Arnold before taking off towards his office.

There wasn’t much he needed to grab– just his phone and wallet, really, but if he was lucky he might catch Kevin before he left the building, assuming he hadn’t already. Connor doubted that Kevin was really that quick. He always took forever getting ready, and especially getting up from naps on his couch in his office. Kevin was almost always late to Wednesday’s 5pm table reads each week– one time not even showing up until six one time. He got yelled at a lot by the producers that week. 

Connor jogged back to his office, the door still open from when he had left before. He swiped his phone and wallet from the top drawer in his desk, powered off his computer, and exited his office almost as quickly as he had walked in. Before exiting the building, Connor quickly peeked into Kevin’s office— he wasn’t there, but it was worth a shot.

“Hey! Connor,” he heard a voice calling down the hallway to him, smiling as he turned around.

“Oh! Hi, Emmett.” Emmett Michaels was one of Connor’s first friends at SNL— naturally, as they were hired the same year and most Featured Players stuck together. It was nice having a companion to adjust to SNL’s demanding schedule with, and Emmett was a familiar face as he and Connor were in the same stand-up scene in Chicago a few years prior. “I didn’t see you at Goodnights. Good job this season,” Connor started walking down the hallway, approaching him.

“Yeah, I was all the way in the back,” Michaels let out a light laugh, “and you too, man.” Emmett clasped a hand behind Connor’s back, causing him to jump slightly, for no other reason that he was just so tired and out of it, and every person he talked to told him he did a good job even though Connor knew all of them were lying. That, and Kevin was the only person he knew for a fact wouldn’t lie to him, and he couldn’t find Kevin anywhere in the building.

“You, um, heading out?” Connor quickly glanced down at his phone, meaning to check the time (but as soon as he glanced away from the bright screen he immediately forgot what the time was. This happened quite often, much to Connor’s dismay).

“Oh, I was wondering if you wanted to grab some cue cards from the studio floor to hand out at Barricades with me.”

Oh. Yeah. Connor had entirely forgotten about Barricades, which were especially lively and packed with screaming fans during premiere and finale episodes— basically just stage door but for SNL. Usually, some cast members would collect some of the discarded cue cards from that episode and give them out to fans. It was a cute tradition, but Connor was never really one to participate in it. Walking out of shows, exhausted beyond belief, and then being assaulted by the screaming voices of teenage fangirls was not exactly his idea of a good time. He did like talking to fans though, just… not particularly after shows. Especially bad shows.

But, for Repertory Players, Featured Players, and writers, in addition to low-level staff, this was the main entrance and exit to the building, and Connor never felt like putting in the effort to obtain a pass to the back door the producers, musical guest, and host exited through.

Connor felt bad for saying no. As much as he tried to grow out of his people pleaser habits, and he really, truly tried— just ask Kevin, Connor was way worse when he first began his SNL tenure, he’d come a long way since 2014— sometimes, especially when he was tired, he’d just give in. Especially if it was for fans. Connor was forever grateful that he got his dream job, and got to hang out with his friends and be silly for a living, but if there was no audience there’d be no show. The least Connor could do was give back to the probably forty-something fans barely held back by security outside.

“Sure.” Connor smiled at Emmett, following him back into the studio. Even though just a few minutes ago the studio was littered with giddy audience members, the place was completely cleared out. Connor would never stop being in awe at how fast things moved at SNL. He couldn’t believe it was almost a decade since he joined the cast, because if someone told him he actually had only started working at SNL a few weeks ago, Connor didn’t think he’d be that surprised because at tonight’s update, he had felt the exact same way when the cameras and the lights blinded him at 12:30am for the very first time all those years and hundreds of Updates ago. For all the things that change so quickly, so much stayed the same.

As Connor bent down to pick up a cue card from the floor— he recognized the line from a sketch that Brian Neely and Nate Schrader wrote together about a landscaping service—a wave of anxiety rushed over Connor as the thought of Kevin popped back into his head. He was pretty sure nothing awful had happened to him, but also if he skipped the afterparty and walked home instead of taking one of the provided limos or a taxi… the streets of New York were really scary at night; to Connor at least, but Kevin always acted fearless when they’d walk together to get coffee at three in the morning. Even though the interns would be more than happy to get their coffee for them, Kevin insisted he and Connor go get it themselves because it “got the brain juices flowing,” even though Connor was sure that wasn’t true. When he got back to the studio afterwards, he was always more tired than when he left. But, it was still nice just to be able to hang out with Kevin and walk and take a break for more than five goddamn minutes, because if he wasn’t being productive constantly during a show week, he may as well be the devil himself.

Connor sharply inhaled and grabbed a couple of more cue cards from the floor that definitely needed cleaning. Shoe scuffs– so many shoe scuffs– and those weird gum stains on the floor (gross, Connor was anti-gum, and Kevin always made fun of him for it. But it really wasn’t Connor’s fault that gum was so disgusting. Especially watermelon-flavored gum. Or watermelon-flavored anything. It tasted like vomit). He glanced back over to Emmett, whose arms were now cradling as many cue cards as he could hold. Despite his reservations from exhaustion, Connor kept reminding himself that this was a nice thing to do. Because otherwise, the cards would just end up in the trash in some landfill across the river in Jersey, and Jersey fucking sucked. It’d be better if the cue cards found a home on the good side of the Hudson.

“Ready to go?” Emmett called, approaching the exit of the studio as Connor did.

“Ready as I’ve ever been,” Connor muttered sarcastically, letting out a sigh. He moved his hand to check his pocket– phone, wallet…good to go. Anything else he left here he’d grab on Monday.

As soon as Connor exited the revolving door, trailing behind Emmett, the sounds of a cheering crowd, mostly consisting of young New Yorkers (and especially young women– the SNL fangirls could never get enough of them) filled his ears. He glanced around, and put his best performance smile on, ignoring any feelings of wanting to succumb to his drowsiness. On the left, he noticed a couple of the regulars. A group of three who ran a rewatch podcast that came to the show every week called Connor’s name. He had stopped to talk to them a couple times throughout the season, but his favorite time was right after the Christmas show– Connor had walked out of the studio with Kevin, both bundled up beyond belief. Because it was fucking freezing outside, there was almost nobody there, except this one girl who went to dress rehearsal every week (named Julia. Connor had started to form some kind of friendship with her… well, as much as one can talking a college student for five minutes on an early Sunday morning every week), and the podcasters. Kevin, who’d been seeing and talking to the podcasters for years at that point, and assuming they’d be there, and being the angel that he was, suggested he and Connor bring them out hot chocolate that was being served backstage. Sure enough, the hosts of the podcast– two girls, Ruby and Kate, and their friend Lionel were standing out there, waiting for them in the freezing cold. Much to Connor’s surprise, they had Christmas presents for both him and Kevin. Yes, they were gag gifts, but it was such a heartfelt and kind gesture. Despite the cold, Connor felt warm and fuzzy for the rest of the night.

He went over to the podcasters, noticing that Julia was standing next to them as well, and waved.

“Hey guys,” Connor smiled, more authentically this time, “did you like the show?” He asked, being passed various pieces of paper and pens and sharpies to sign whatever people were giving him. All this attention did make Connor feel flattered, but another wave of sadness? Anxiety? He couldn’t quite place what the emotion was, but he thought of Kevin again. They usually did Barricades together, if they did them, and if Kevin wasn’t with him, Connor rarely stopped to talk to fans before getting in the company provided limousine to the afterparty. 

Someone stuck an iPhone in his face, grounding Connor back to earth before his Kevin-filled thoughts got too out of hand. He glanced at it and gave a quick grin, before redirecting his attention back to the regulars.

“Yeah, it was great as usual,” Ruby smiled and turned around to get a selfie with Connor and Lionel. 

“Congrats, Connor,” a girl’s voice cheerfully called. He took a few steps over to Julia and gave her a brief hug. “This is for you,” she said, handing him a box. He looked down on it to see colorful, hand painted graphics, and a title that read “Update-opoly” in an obvious Monopoly parody. Underneath the title there was a picture from an afterparty from a few years ago he vaguely recognized– him and Kevin sitting at a bar, Kevin’s arm wrapped around him, smiling ear to ear, and both boys were resting their chins on their hands, leaning against the bar. Connor hardly recognized himself in that picture. Even though it was only a few years ago, he looked so much younger, so much brighter. Stress really ages, and ages fast.

“Me and a few of my friends made a custom Update themed Monopoly for you and Kevin. Well, we really just repainted and rethemed the game, but it was fun to make. I hope you like it.”

Connor’s face flushed and he looked back up at Julia, smiling. “Like it? I love it. Julia, I’m…” his voice trailed off, glancing behind him briefly, “I’m gonna find someone to bring this up to my office for me for safe keeping, and I’ll bring it home tomorrow. Thank you so much.” He nodded his head in gratitude, and a grin almost as wide as Kevin-on-the-box’s spread across her face.

“Of course! If you show it to Kevin I hope he likes it too.”

Every time Kevin’s name was brought up Connor could feel himself getting more and more taken over by his anxiety. He shook his head. He couldn’t let it get to him here. He just needed to stay here, in the moment, and talk to these people who were standing on the streets of New York at one in the morning just to see him. Connor could think of maybe 4 people he’d wait on the streets of New York City for in the wee hours of the morning (and he’d never admit that one of those people was Kevin).

“I’m sure he’ll love it too. He loves board games. We play Chutes and Ladders on writing nights to decompress,” Connor said, letting out a light laugh afterwards. “Um, speaking of,” he swallowed the lump in his throat, “has Kevin come out yet? I didn’t see him after Goodnights,” he asked her, running a hand through his hair.

“Oh, um, yeah. He wasn’t here for long though. He only stopped to say hi really quickly to us,” Kate chimed in, opening her phone. “He looked like he had been crying or something.”

Sure enough, Kate pulled up a selfie of her and Kevin, forcing a smile, his eyes red and puffy. The light of the neon “NBC Studios” sign that hung off the awning reflected off Kevin’s face, and Connor could see the light traces of a tear track.

“Oh.” Connor’s stomach dropped. Well, at least his disappearance from Goodnights made slightly more sense now, but he still didn’t know why the hell Kevin was crying. The last show of the season was sometimes emotional, but Connor wasn’t aware of anyone big or close to Kevin leaving the cast, and Kevin rarely cried without a good reason (and in this moment, the only good reason for Kevin crying at Goodnights that Connor could think of was someone leaving the cast). 

“He didn’t, like, walk off or anything, though, right?” Connor questioned in an attempt to subdue his kidnapping fears from earlier in the evening.

“No. He got in one of the cars up here and drove off.” Kate replied.

“Okay,” Connor forced a smile, feeling a little bit better. “Here, you guys can take these,” Connor began to distribute the cue cards he was still carrying among the four of them, and passed the remaining few to some of the crowd behind them. “Are you gonna be back in the fall?” He asked as he handed out the last cue card. He glanced over his shoulder to see Emmett at the barricades on the other side, doing the same. Catching Connor’s eye, he grinned, and made a quick gesture to the car waiting for them at the curb. One second, Connor mouthed, before turning back to the podcasters and Julia.

“Yeah, of course,” Lionel said, giving him a pat on the arm. “The last thing we’d want to do is miss Season 50.”

“And it’s the ten year anniversary of our podcast,” Ruby chimed, “even though it feels like we really just started.” Good. Connor wasn’t the only one who felt like time was slipping too quickly through his grasp.

“Aw, congrats guys. I’ll see if I have time to listen to an episode this summer.” Connor glanced over his shoulder again to see Emmett getting in the car, beckoning Connor over. “I gotta go now, but it was so nice seeing you all again. Same place, same time next season?” Connor joked as slowly started backing away from them.

“Yep,” Kate replied, stifling a laugh, “have a great summer!”

“You too,” Connor replied joyfully, before turning to an intern standing around on crowd control, and waiting to assist anyone who needed it. He handed her the Monopoly box. “Could you bring this up to my office and leave it on the desk for me, please? 1726e. McKinley,” he said, and quietly hoped that it would actually make it up there. He hadn’t received any gifts like this before (besides the time he received a hand painted DVD, which was displayed in his office), and especially loved creative gifts just like this.

“Yes sir,” the intern replied, holding the box and swiftly turning around and reentering the building. Connor muttered his thanks and approached the vehicle waiting for him at the curb.

He entered the limousine, scooting down next to Emmett and slamming the car door shut. It was entirely too hot within the car– even hotter than outside, but Connor wasn’t sure what he was expecting with the all-black exterior and interior. A recipe for a car doomed to be eternally hot, even though Connor could feel the air conditioning blowing on his knees from the lower vents, but yet, the car still seemed to lack vents that blew air on what really mattered to keep him cool. His forehead.

New York wasn’t even supposed to get this hot in late May anyway. But, Connor had to remember he was tired, irritable, and anxious. The car being hot wasn’t that big of a deal; he was probably overreacting. The leather seats of the car sticking to him wherever he moved didn’t help his mood either. Glancing over at Emmett, a small wave of jealousy rushed over him. He wished he could be as unbothered as Emmett appeared to be feeling right now. Leaning back, scrolling through Twitter (on second thought, Connor didn’t want to scroll through Twitter… now X… he never called it that).

“Um,” Connor attempted to distract himself, making conversation as the car zoomed away, and glancing over to Michaels’ cell phone screen. “Anyone said anything about the show yet?” He asked, immediately regretting it– most of the immediate feedback posted about the show on Twitter was nothing but negative and older generations whining that SNL hasn’t been funny since they did their Gettysburg Address parody in 1863. On the other hand, there was Gen Z (and now Gen Alpha, even) complaining that the show was out of touch and cringe and is/never will be funny. 

“Um, not really, at least not yet. They’re just getting to posting Naba’s monologue now…” Emmett’s voice trailed off as he loaded SNL’s twitter page, scrolling down to the most recent post and flicking through the comments. “Some people shocked that she can sing,” Emmett turned his head and flashed a grin to Connor, who let out a light laugh.

“Obviously.” It had become some kind of an inside joke in the SNL family of the fact that Naba could sing. Very well. Everytime she hosted (one time away from becoming a part of the Five Timer’s Club… in Connor’s eyes, if there was anyone who deserved to be granted a Five Timer’s robe more than anything, it was Nabulungi), she’d do some singing in her monologue, and even some singing in sketches (including in some during her tenure on the show), and yet there will constantly be comments in awe that she could sing. Sometimes, it would even be the same people commenting video after video something along the lines of, “WOW! I never knew Nabulungi Hatimbi could sing. Beautiful voice,” even though it had been the hundred-millionth time her voice was showcased. It even became so much of a joke that in a South Park themed sketch Connor and Kevin wrote from the last time she hosted in Season 47, Brian (as Kenny) died from shock at Naba’s singing voice. A wave of nostalgia briefly washed over Connor as he reflected back on writing that sketch– it was the most fun he’d had all season.

Any time anyone at SNL would state the obvious, the statement would be followed up by “did you know Naba Hatimbi can sing?”, usually from a chorus of different voices.

The glow of the phone combined with the bright lights of the streets illuminated the inside of the car. Surprisingly, there wasn’t as much traffic as Connor thought there would be– the driver must have timed it just right to go through most of the stoplights without hitting a red light (which was an impressive feat. Fourteen years living in New York and Connor had only managed to do that a total of six times. Once with Kevin in the car, which obviously called for celebration and loads of drinks afterwards at four AM on Wednesday on a week off). “ Wait,” Connor thought to himself as he realized he had absolutely no idea where the car was heading. Usually, an intern or someone would find him and let him know what bar the main afterparty was located at (because you should never get into a mysterious black car with a stranger at 1am on the street of New York City… that made it sound a lot more ominous than it actually was), but for some reason, the afterparty location must have missed him this time.

“Oh, and also,” Connor piped up as the car took a sharp right turn, jerking along and slamming into the limo door with a small hiccup, “do you know what bar we’re going to?”

“District 9,” Emmett glanced up at him briefly before glancing out the window past Connor’s gaze and then finally back down to his phone. It had been a hot minute since the SNL afterparty had been hosted at District 9, a semi-popular bar on the Upper East Side with drinks far too expensive for any person living on a normal income (fortunately and gratefully, Connor and the rest of the cast were not on a typical income).

“Oh, okay,” Connor quietly replied. Usually the location of the first afterparty determined the locations of the after-afterparty, and the after-after-afterparty and the after-after…by the fourth afterparty it was just too much of a handful to say. At the first afterparty, with everyone there, all the drinks were included (thank god. Tonight, if Connor had to pay for his own drinks, he’d be so poor he’d probably wake up homeless), but when everyone broke up into their cliques and smaller groups to party until the sun rose, financial independence was instated, unless someone got lucky and found a nice guy or gal to pay for their drinks. This happened to Connor, on occasion, but he usually refused the gesture. Even though he was kinda famous he’d never leech off of someone (even if he were going to go home with him anyway). 

The car took one more turn and through the dark window, Connor could see a line of people trailing out the door of District 9, a bouncer standing at the front, slowly checking people off the list. By the time two or three rolled around though, the bouncers got lazy because at that point people were just exiting and entering the bar with their own free will and everyone was starting to get too drunk to really care.

It had been far too long since Connor got too drunk to care.

Maybe tonight?

The Afterparty

As soon as Connor stepped into the bar he felt the entire mood shift from SNL’s mostly professional, stressful but fun demeanor to a carefree wild hotbox, its patrons slowly shifting from being drunk on coffee to being drunk on alcohol.

Some people during the show’s work week and even live taping would be drunk on both coffee and alcohol, but Connor guessed it was never enough to cause failure to function because they were never yelled at. Connor could never do that– he had no itch to put himself or his job at risk, especially not with how his career was hanging at the moment. Somehow, the lighting in the bar was even dimmer than it was outside (he didn’t even know that could be possible), the place decorated in string fairy lights and a banner that read “CONGRATULATIONS TO THE CAST AND CREW OF SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE!” He recognized the banner– it was the same one they had used last year. Connor laughed to himself. NBC could afford to put on a giant show every week with multiple complex sets and props and pay everyone an insane amount of money but couldn’t afford to print “Season 49” on a banner that couldn’t cost more than a hundred dollars to make? Connor loved where he worked but couldn’t believe some of the decisions executives and higher-ups decided to make.

Maybe there would be an expensive cake instead. That would make things better, maybe, but as he glanced around, more and more people filing through the door every second (Emmett had ditched him to go talk to some makeup artist the second they stepped into District 9), Connor couldn’t even begin to imagine a cake that could actually feed this many people.

He sighed, making his way to the bar, once again fighting his exhaustion, the weight of his eyelids heavier than Atlantis. He couldn’t have cared less what he drank, so he fluttered his eyes up to the menu for a split second and ordered whatever he could read.

“Could I get a…” his voice trailed off, immediately forgetting whatever he read on the tiny chalkboard behind the bar listing the drinks available for the night. He turned his head, just to see if he could catch a glimpse at whatever shit his co-workers were drinking. Their faces were just all so blurry in this light. But even with Connor’s attempts to stay focused and just order the first drink he could see and identify, a simple feat, he got distracted. The only thing that caught his eye was the only face in the room that didn’t appear blurry to him. Staring right at him, the unmistakable expression and demeanor of a sad puppy dog saw through him from across the room.

Fuck getting a well-deserved drink.

“Kevin!” He practically shouted, leaping off of the barstool, hitting his ankle against the metal foot rest around the bottom of the stool, “ow,” he muttered under his breath, but ignored the pain (he didn’t even have time to think about how he’d have a bruise there tomorrow). He pushed through the crowd, definitely getting some stares along the way that read what is this almost forty-something year old man doing sprinting across a bar at an afterparty like some little kid? And some other people probably judged even further, with comments such as and Weekend Update anchor Connor McKinley at that? Jeez, this guy needs to be fired…

No, he couldn’t think about that. Not right now. Not when Kevin was like seven feet from him, and ow, his ankle still really hurt, and–

“Connor…!” He simply said, with the most neutral expression he’d ever seen in his life. Even his tone was… empty, was the best way to describe it. He didn’t seem displeased to see Connor, that was good at least, but he didn’t seem to be enthused either. “Come sit,” Kevin continued, and Connor’s nerves settled.

“Are you okay?” Connor said, scooting into the booth chair across from Kevin, who had a barely touched drink in front of him. He dipped his head down, staring into it, avoiding eye contact with Connor.

“Yeah. I’m okay.” Kevin looked back up at Connor, who was still trying feverishly to make eye contact with him, sighing of relief once he did. The light was dim in the building, and they made Kevin’s eyes look darker. Connor wondered to himself if Kevin noticed the same thing on him.

“You… you like, disappeared at Goodnights,” Connor said, exasperated, letting out a small scoff of disbelief. “We’re not supposed to do that, you know, unless you forgot but-” Connor cut himself off realizing that every second he kept blabbering away he’d fall more and more back into his perfectionist, rule-following habits, and scaring Kevin away even more than he did at Goodnights themselves. “Sorry.” He muttered, this time being the one to cut off eye contact.

“It’s fine.” Kevin lifted his arm up to wipe his face. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have left,” Kevin scoffed, returning back to staring into his drink (there must have been something really interesting in that glass, considering Connor had to fight with an inanimate object for Kevin’s attention). “I’ll probably get yelled at on Monday.” Connor won back the eye contact, Kevin’s eyes flicking back up at him. “Whatever,” Kevin muttered, barely audible (the increasing chatter of the crowd in the bar as more patrons from the cast and crew flocked in didn’t help Connor’s hearing at all). He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah.” That was the only thing Connor could think to say as he sighed, leaning his arm on the table and holding up his chin. On the contrary, Kevin was sat upright like a board, still avoiding Connor’s eye contact but no longer staring into his drink. Kevin always had way better posture than Connor (but that wasn’t necessarily Connor’s fault because he had scoliosis. Blame his mom’s genetics and chronic back pain). 

“Um, I’m gonna go to the bathroom. Be right back,” Kevin said, standing up quickly, “you can have my drink if you want. Moscow Mule,” he simply said, pushing the drink towards Connor. Before he could even ask him if he was sure, Kevin scurried away towards the bathrooms behind the bar, Connor’s gaze following him. He stared long at the door frame even after Kevin disappeared from his view.

It must have been a good few minutes he was zoned out on the dark corridor of the bathrooms because Connor didn’t even notice Chris’ presence when he took Kevin’s spot in the booth chair across from him.

“Helloooo, earth to Connor?” Chris let out a small laugh, waving his hand over Connor’s gaze. He pulled a hand to his face and rubbed his eyes.

“Hi,” Connor turned to face him, thankful that Chris, unlike Kevin, seemed somewhat enthusiastic to make eye contact or engage in conversation with him.

“You okay, man?”

“Yeah. Just tired,” which was really an understatement. But even though Connor was exhausted, he could still manage to make comfortable eye contact with people (unlike someone else he knew).

In all of the years he’d known Kevin, he knew that when he was upset or stressed, he’d shut down, unlike Connor, who’d obsessively try to problem solve. They complimented each other in that way– a weird way, but a way nonetheless. If a sketch wasn’t working out on writing night, Kevin would get frustrated and take a breather, and Connor would try to problem solve, and together they’d usually get back on track with a different approach within the hour.

“How are you?” Connor asked him, taking a small sip of the drink. It burned as it slid down his throat– he squeezed his eyes shut and made a face, his breathing labored as he tried to exhale through the pain in short breaths. Every time he’d go drinking, (usually exclusively at the SNL cast parties; there wasn’t much time outside of work to just drink and party, and even if he did, it never lived up to the SNL parties), it usually took Connor a couple of drinks to get used to the taste. He shook his head, eyes still closed, and as the final bit of the drink settled in his stomach and the burning cooled down, he opened his eyes wide, the most awake he’d been in hours. “God. Why did Kevin order this? It tastes like rubbing alcohol,” he joked, rewetting his lips with his tongue.

“I’m good,” Chris replied, and appeared as though trying to decide whether he wanted to taunt and tease Connor about his reaction to the drink, like a good friend would, or stay courteous. “That’s Kevin’s drink?” Chris asked (it was the latter. Connor guessed it was just too early in the night ahead of him to be bullied). 

“Yeah. He left it with me when he went to go use the bathroom.” Connor replied, absentmindedly, taking up Kevin’s habit of staring into the drink. Maybe it really was that interesting, but Connor knew that was rude, so he forced himself to look back up at Chris.

“Kevin Price? Not hogging his drinks? That is truly unheard of.”

“Selfless like a prophet,” Connor riffed.

“Price the Prophet,” Chris tested, as if to see how the title felt, “It’s got a ring to it,” he concluded, seemingly satisfied.

“Maybe in another life,” Connor grinned, and glanced to his left, to see Kevin walking back to the booth, looking brighter than when he left. You could hardly tell he’d been crying maybe a half-hour earlier.

“Hey, Kevin,” Chris noticed him shortly after Connor did, Kevin approaching the table and resting his hands on it, slouching his body weight into his arms, “me and Con were just talking about how you’d make a great prophet.”

Kevin grinned. “Really? You think so?” 

“Absolutely. With all your selflessness. Like giving me your drink. Wow.”

Kevin shook his head. “I’m actually in the mood for it now. Can I have it back?” Kevin didn’t even wait for an answer before reaching across the table and snatching the glass from Connor.

“Back to his old ways,” Chris interjected.

“Price, you’re lucky I would have said yes, or else I’d have to file a complaint with HR,” he rolled his eyes, watching Kevin downing a concerning amount of the drink in a far too short period of time, not seeming to have much reaction to it. “Doesn’t it taste like rubbing alcohol?” Connor stared at him for a moment, before scooting over in the booth and patting the seat next to him, Kevin obliging and sitting down.

“Nope,” he dumbly smiled and drank more of it.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Coke,” he responded, deadpan but obviously joking.

“I thought they banned that at afterparties in the ‘90s.”

“They still sneak it in the bathrooms.”

“Good to know.”

This exchange felt far more natural than anything at SNL lately, which all just felt like artificial shit Connor was pulling out of his ass, trying to meet the deadlines and joke quota for the week. Maybe on Update next year they could just showcase their banter instead. The improv would be far funnier than anything they could script (probably).

“I’m gonna go talk to James. I’ll be back later,” Chris quickly said, beginning to stand up and turn away, but paused for a moment, directing his attention back to Connor and Kevin. “Do you know where the after-afterparty is?” He asked.

Connor shook his head as Kevin verbalized a response. “No idea, sorry. It’s probably, like, down the block, though.” He offered a small smile as Chris nodded and went on his way. Connor’s gaze followed him, dumbly staring (well, more spaced out than trying to stare on purpose, his mother always told him that staring was rude), as he and James exchanged a tight hug, and clearly there were a few more drinks in James already than there were in Chris.

Connor’s eyes refocused, watching Kevin next to him take a big swig of his drink.

“Are you sure you don’t want some more?” Kevin threw on his most charming smile- the one that usually convinced Connor to do things he shouldn’t, such as a peanut butter slip and slide on one particularly hard writing night (which almost got them, Arnold, and Naba put on probation but thankfully, the whole incident was funny enough that they didn’t face many repercussions other than getting a very long, stern talking to in the executive producer’s office). “The more you drink, the more you’ll get used to it.” He grinned.

Connor sighed, shaking his head in defeat and reluctantly grabbing the glass. “Fine.” He grumbled, moving a hand up to his nostrils and pinching, hoping that it would make the drink sting his throat less. He took a swig, more sizable than his last sip but less than Kevin would down, and tilted his head back, shutting his eyes tightly and swallowing the alcohol, wanting to scream at the fire burning down his throat. “What the fuck,” he said flatly, coming out more as a statement than a question, “not any better, Kevin. This shit sucks.” He put the glass on the table, now half empty, and slid the cup back over.

“Sorry,” he said with a shrug, not meaning it at all (obviously), but simply saying it to get Connor off his back.

“You’re a lot more…” Connor’s voice trailed off as he tried to find the right words, “...preppier than you were before you went to the bathroom.”

“I freshened up a little. Washed my face.” Connor hadn’t noticed it until now, but he glanced down, and Kevin’s t-shirt was slightly damp, scattered dots clustered around the collar of his shirt (he couldn’t judge, whenever he’d wash his face at home water would always spill on the sink’s counter and dampen his shirt too). Kevin took another nice long swig of the drink, the contents of it decreasing visibly.

“I will never understand you.” Connor softly said, smiling, and leaned over to rest his head on Kevin’s shoulder, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. He could feel Kevin’s breathing, up in his chest, his shoulders slightly moving with it as his deep breaths slowed after the shock of the drink– maybe he was lying a little about not feeling the burning, after all. If Connor listened closely enough, he could hear the rhythmic thumping of Kevin’s heart. Or, maybe Connor was hearing his own pulse, but it was never that loud. He could usually only hear his pulse if he was really nervous or anxious, neither of which he felt now. Being close to Kevin was comforting.

A few more moments passed like this, quiet moments in the screaming bar around them, people with more power and prestige than Connor could ever dream of littering the area among some of his dearest friends. Kevin briefly tilted his head to rest against Connor’s, but only for a moment so brief as not to disturb him. For the first time all week, Connor truly felt some sense of calm, a sense of calm only Kevin could provide, and Connor could stay in this moment forever, the faint smell of Kevin’s cologne, and the sharp scent of the alcohol, and the dimmed lights, and-

“Connor.” Kevin’s voice cut into the air, quietly, but as Connor sensed the urgency in his voice he lifted his head from Kevin’s shoulder, turning to glance right past Kevin, and his heart dropped to his stomach.

Steve Blade.

“No.” Connor said, voice empty, heart pounding in his chest. His palms began to sweat as he stared ahead at the man who gave him a full blown panic attack the last time he saw him.

Most of the notable SNL cast members usually hung out around Studio 8H even long after they retired from it, watching the shows from the audience or cameoing in a sketch. But not Steve– who’d been on the show for nearly a decade– he never came back. And for good reason, because if he did come back, Chris would most certainly jump him.

Steve Blade was the reason Connor McKinley was outed his second year on SNL.

One night, at an afterparty much like this one (in fact, if Connor could recall, it may have been a party at District 9), Connor had a little bit too much to drink, and besides Kevin and Chris, Steve was Connor’s first real friend at the show. Well, he had started out as kind of a mentor to Connor, checking in on him during writing nights, and even sometimes writing together. Which was a true honor for an SNL veteran to be hanging out with a Featured Player, and very unheard of– that should have been Connor’s first sign something was up. Connor wasn’t ashamed to admit he did like the attention, and definitely developed something of a crush, but more like the type of crush a student would have on a teacher; where it was unrealistic for anything to happen and just a daydream to resort back to when things were boring. 

He didn’t know Steve was gay when he came out to him that night at the bar. 

He only found out Steve was gay when he found himself crammed into a booth in the back of the bar, cracked lips messily colliding and hands places Connor hadn’t been touched in a long time. And an increasingly bigger audience, too drunk and unaware of the scene he was causing.

Cellphones and instagram stories do a lot of damage.

Connor went dark on social media after that, out of embarrassment, and very soon after began dating Steve, which he later reflected on as also out of embarrassment– sure, he thought Steve was attractive– quite attractive– but telling him he didn’t want a relationship so soon after finally adjusting to SNL’s schedule after the whole make-out fiasco would have just been a dick move (and he could never work up the courage to reject Steve). So, looking for the positives, he found enough to keep himself wanting Steve and agreeing to be his boyfriend, his first relationship openly-out. Connor had something of a boyfriend in college (maybe friends with benefits would be a better title) sneaking around Denison University with another closeted boy– one who had a girlfriend, who Connor didn’t know about until much later.

With said unnamed boy-with-girlfriend Connor did have a lot of his firsts, but never went far enough with him that he would count it as losing his virginity– at least, he hoped messy handjobs in the backseat of closet-case’s 1998 Ford Focus wouldn’t count as losing his virginity. That’s awfully embarrassing.

But besides, all of Connor’s real firsts that mattered took place in either his bed or Steve’s (much more private and roomy than a Ford Focus). And god, did he fall for Steve harder than he ever thought he could. The most thrilling part of the relationship was sneaking around the office. Months upon months were filled with quick glances at places co-workers shouldn’t look, locked office doors with Connor’s hands in Steve’s hair as he made him come in five minutes (reserved to relieve stress at first, but there was something addicting about them, and Connor finished embarrassingly fast from Steve’s blowjobs), and most awkwardly, shameless ass grabbing/smacking– Steve’s idea. Well, all of them were Steve’s ideas, but Connor still opted to take responsibility because he’d obliged.

Connor’s values basically did a complete 180 once he fell in utter, total, raw love with Steve. Throughout his entire life he’d been anti-PDA. His tenets of never wanting to make others uncomfortable, respecting space, and a firm belief that romance is private, became a consuming desire to just be with Steve all day, every day. If Connor hadn’t been as in love with Steve as he was, holding hands and maybe reassuring pats on thighs during table reads would have been the farthest he’d go. But, love is a creature, a monster, and it stops at no morals.

Connor wishes he’d been less of a selfish dick when he was with Steve. Especially towards the end.

But, Kevin and Chris, who always forgave Connor (even when he thought they probably shouldn’t), of course forgave him. They forgave him even after Connor would sob for hours in front of them when he was supposed to be working, asking for advice on what to do (but never once taking it). Connor was probably the most insufferable he’d ever been at the end of their relationship, but all of his misery could be attributed to Steve stringing him along for months. Chris assured Connor that it was okay to bitch and moan about your boyfriend leaving you on delivered for three days.

In the middle of Season 41, just a few shows after returning from winter hiatus, an email was leaked that contained details of plans that a new Joseph Smith (executive producer and creator of SNL) produced sitcom was in the works, and a white male in his late 20s-late 30s still needed to be cast. By classic Joseph fashion, naturally, he turned to his handpicked selection of the best comedians of the time at his disposal. Both Steve and Connor’s names were mentioned in the email, a fairly short list of names sent from Joseph to the casting director. “My Recommendations for Untitled Pilot,” the leaked email was titled, and even though he tried not to get his hopes up, he was pretty damn proud of himself for making the list anyway.

Being the youngest name on the list he knew he probably wouldn’t be cast, but it was still fun and exciting to remain optimistic anyway. Connor was surprised– Joseph’s reaction to the leaked email being spread around wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought it would be, or really, bad at all– strangely, he was calm about it. Instead of scolding everyone (like Connor thought he would do, but also he didn’t know Joseph too well so maybe that was a misjudge of character), he called everyone mentioned in the email into his office one writing night.

So, Steve, Connor, and a couple of other SNL cast members around Steve’s age all piled into Joseph’s office, anxiously awaiting what he had to say. He explained how there wouldn’t be a typical audition process– the casting director was sent highlight reels of their SNL filmography (now Connor was sure he wouldn’t stand a chance– a short tenure meant a short highlight reel, most of which wouldn’t have been even what Connor would consider highlights because he was still trying to figure out what the fuck he was doing. That, and his style of comedy on the show wasn’t even the same as anyone else being considered for the part, so he was probably truly and utterly fucked). 

The aforementioned “Untitled Pilot” as referred to in the email was actually titled I Don’t Know But I’ve Been Told, a sitcom about summer camp counselors, and the uncasted role was for the boys’ head counselor. It featured Mafala Hatimbi as the owner of the camp, an SNL legend who was in the cast in the early eighties (and Naba’s dad, but that was not the reason she got on the show and Connor made sure everyone knew that; he’d die on that hill. She could absolutely hold her own in every way, and was just as, if not more, talented than Mafala. But he couldn’t say that part– he kept that to himself).

Connor held out hope that he’d be casted, and even if he was, that didn’t mean that he would have to leave SNL permanently either. He and the other contenders for the role were informed they would be given temporary leave starting at the very end of February to begin filming, continue shooting over the summer, and rejoin the cast starting the following November. In theory, this sounded fantastic for Connor– work was exhausting and draining, and he loved, loved acting and wished he could do it more, but on the other hand, he felt absolutely terrible that he'd have to leave Steve in New York alone for months while he relocated to Georgia.

But apparently, roles reversed, Steve didn’t seem to have this concern, as he had absolutely no issue or hesitation accepting the role on the sitcom he’d been offered. Connor had found out about this casting from the last place he should have– a social media post from the official IDKBIBT instagram account, announcing the cast. 

He could still remember that day like it was yesterday. Sitting in his office after a Monday meeting, sprawled out on his couch, mindlessly doom-scrolling on his phone, and the damned notification popping up at the top of the screen.

At this point, Connor knew he hadn’t gotten the role– he’d never heard back from the casting director the date Joseph told them they’d be contacted, but he was still excited to find out which of his castmates would be appearing on prime-time TV. 

It was mid-february, and the heater was broken, so it was fucking freezing in his office, but once Connor had made sure he’d read the post correctly– Steve’s headshot and his dumb, big, blue eyes staring into him against that painfully orange background, the text in the show’s stupid font below his picture reading Steve Blade as Nick Berto– his blood boiled so intensely that he may as well been able to singlehandedly heat the entirety of the 30 Rock building.

Steve was still in the office for the day, thank fucking god, because Connor was pretty sure that was the angriest he’d ever been at someone up to that point in his life, and desperately needed to give Steve a piece of his mind. Connor didn’t know much, but he knew that this wasn’t the type of decision one would make without consulting with their significant other first.

Connor used to think Steve knew everything, but this was when he started to reconsider that he might be the stupidest person that had ever stepped foot in 30 Rockefeller Plaza (and that was saying something considering Rob Schneider used to work for the show).

The argument was a blur– not a very long blur, because once Connor started crying he knew he had to get the fuck out of Steve’s office– he just couldn’t deal with a screaming crying match, not in the state he was in– but most of the dialogue just consisted of I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you earlier and we’ll just do long distance, Connor, don’t worry and I’ll come visit you, and you’ll come visit me , but even despite Steve’s reassurances, Connor could see the end rapidly approaching. He didn’t want to let go.

So, hot tears blurring his vision, he simply told Steve he’d text him later and promptly exited his office, fuming even more so than before. Connor remembers Kevin catching him on his way back to his office, earnestly checking up on him, and trying to get the words out to explain, and just wanting to collapse in his arms (being this angry was damn exhausting), but it came out as more of a shout, Connor’s mood ruined, and irritable and depressed. But Kevin forgave him. He always did. Even though he certainly didn’t need to.

Connor was just so angry at Steve, but they’d been together for what seemed like such a long time already, in Connor’s eyes (a whopping five months!) , and he was still super totally in love and couldn’t imagine life without Steve– he couldn’t give up. Not yet, not now.

So a few hours later, Connor texted Steve.

We’ll make it work. I love you so much. Let’s talk more tomorrow.

They did talk the next day– for a long, long, time.

All of Tuesday (writing day) Connor and Steve spent together in Steve’s office. Steve, usually in his desk chair, turned around towards the couch, where Connor sat. If anyone walked in to check on them, it was more than easy for Steve to turn his chair around and pretend to work on a sketch, explaining that Connor was there to pitch ideas or something. The hours very slowly ticked by, and Connor was proud of himself; he refrained from crying until 2am, and he was surprised he lasted this long (however, he did usually cry on writing nights his first couple of seasons anyway, because he thought everything he wrote was shit and he’d be fired in a couple of hours– now, those fears were slowly but surely coming back with all of his recent flops. Even as Weekend Update anchor, he still had to write scripts to be read at the table reads each week). 

Talking helped. It made things easier. Steve talked about why he took the job, why he didn’t tell Connor right away, and how he knew things were going to be fine between them. Connor mostly just listened, Steve’s explanations spiraling on for hours, and sometimes he’d make his way to the couch to be closer to Connor. Even though he knew this conversation needed to happen, he was completely content with the setup that consisted of Steve sitting across the room, as physically distant as possible. Steve sitting any closer would have made him plain claustrophobic, choking on his scent flooding the air around him. Connor was still angry beyond belief, but unlike Steve, he knew that this wasn’t all about him, and that he just needed to rip the band-aid off and talk if he wanted this to work. And he really, really wanted this to work. Needed this to work, because Connor’s life without Steve was foreign territory. The idea of breaking up alone was scarier than any and all anxiety Connor had faced since he began his SNL tenure.

Steve left for Georgia about a week and a half later, Connor swallowing his tears and doubts at the airport, instead replacing them with as much support for Steve as he could muster. He wasn’t even upset that Steve had gotten the role instead of him, because he knew he wouldn’t get it anyway, but his despair instead stemmed from the betrayal he felt from Steve. He still had Kevin to write with, of course, and Chris, and he was getting close with Nabulungi and Arnold really quickly, but he knew that work wouldn’t feel the same without Steve. In fact, he only really started feeling genuinely comfortable at SNL once he began dating Steve, and returning to work without the only person who he fully, openly trusted, who was essentially his cornerstone, getting him through the long weeks and even longer days, felt absolutely terrifying. 

The first few weeks or so of long distance went well– great, even. They’d call nearly every single day; Steve chatting about how cool it was to be on a television set, how much fun he was having, all the people he was meeting, and Connor complaining about work, and telling him about Kevin and Chris, and long writing nights, and especially how much he missed Steve. He assumed Steve missed him too, even though he never really told Connor that, but it was fine– Steve was super busy anyway, busier than Connor, and trying to adjust. He never had much time to talk, but Connor was just relieved Steve seemed to be having a good time, and at least gave him a couple of minutes of his time each day to talk and catch up.

Late March rolled around and SNL was off for a week, so Connor decided to fly down to Georgia and visit Steve for a few days. He bought the tickets a few weeks prior, with Steve paying for his hotel and Connor paying for his own plane tickets (why were plane tickets so damn expensive?). All month he could hardly wait, practically counting down the days to his flight, and Georgia that and Steve this was practically all Kevin and Chris heard that month.

Georgia was not nearly as fun as Connor was hoping it would be. Steve was planning on picking him up from the airport, but got tied up in something at the last minute, so instead, Connor was on his own, hurriedly downloading Uber and paying an insane amount of money for a ride to his hotel, following with a slightly cheaper ride to the set. 

Steve did not hug him or kiss him when Connor entered his trailer on set, instead opting for a way more casual, “hey, Connor,” and then returning to a conversation with his co-star, sitting on the couch beside him, knees touching. 

Steve did not hug him or kiss him until said co-star was far from the trailer, Steve locking the door and drawing the curtains with a mumbled I have 40 minutes before I have to be back on set, shoving Connor back onto the couch, undoing his trousers, and immediately getting to work. 

That was what most of that three day trip was. Steve ignoring Connor when he was with that stupid co-worker, or really just ignoring him anytime they were in public (very unlike the old Steve), but ravenous and passionate in private, the locked trailer door providing all the privacy they’d ever need. There was no time for talking, or laughing, or hanging out, or cuddling, just simply Steve treating Connor like a chore that needed to be done.

Connor felt like utter shit.

He tried to rationalize Steve’s behavior anyway, because that’s what you do when you love someone, a chorus of voices in his head echoing how Steve was probably just trying to make the most of it, how he missed Connor just as much as Connor missed Steve, and that he enjoyed Connor’s visit, and that was all that mattered. He went back to New York with a sad excuse of a goodbye.

April came and went, and Connor’s right hand was getting tired with an itch to see Steve again, despite their contact coming to a slow, calls becoming less and less frequent by the week, and by the last week of the month, they’d only called once for ten minutes. Which confused Connor– a few weeks prior, Steve had told him that production would slow down for a few weeks from late April-early May as one of the producers was taking a short vacation, so Connor expected more contact from Steve, not… less. Not nothing. 

Steve was usually good at keeping in contact with Connor, at least in the first few months of long distance; texting him little things about his day, asking him if things were running smoothly at SNL without him (jokingly, of course), but these texts were rare if not obsolete by mid April. Connor would pour his heart out to Steve, but Steve kept things more to himself, and that’s how it had always been.

 He’d gotten used to it at this point, but never before had Steve just completely shut Connor out. Even if he did, they’d still be in the same building, and Connor would regularly pop his head into his office to check on him.

But, Steve was nearly a thousand miles away from Connor, so he couldn’t exactly do that, but texting throughout the day was the next best thing.

So, he tried–

Hey, thinking of you ❤️ how is work going?

Kev just spilled his coffee all over his laptop lol

Was late to table read today and they didn’t yell at me!!

 Saw your instagram story - looks like so much fun! Miss you

and barely garnered any response–

It’s good

Lol

Haha yay

[Read 2:54 am]

–and Connor could feel his own heart breaking, the ache in his chest growing daily, and as the days kept passing he found it harder and harder to breathe, anxiety over Steve’s bullshit paralyzing him. He could hardly work, and without Kevin and Chris, Connor thought he would have drowned in his own tears.

He always thought a broken heart was just some expression, just a metaphor thrown around, easier to explain than what getting dumped on the side of the road by someone you’d take a bullet for felt like. But no one could have ever prepared Connor for the genuine physical pain he would feel finding out that Steve wasn’t just in one of his moods, ignoring him. That he wasn’t just so busy he didn’t have time to call Connor, why he slowly ghosted him since he’d visited Georgia. No one could have prepared Connor for the despair and heartbreak he’d feel when he learned that Steve had been cheating on him. For months.

It wasn’t Steve who told him, no, that would have been a miracle from someone who was as mean, and cruel, and selfish as Steve turned out to be. Instead, it was an instagram DM from someone he only recognized from two places, that he’d never directly spoken to before, Steve himself cutting off the conversation when he’d initiated it. A face Connor had only seen on the cast announcement for I Don’t Know But I’ve Been Told and sitting on the same couch Connor had been so graciously fucked on in Steve’s trailer. 

He wanted to puke, cry, scream– everything, but instead he just froze, the life sucked out of him and sat on his office couch, staring at the message he’d just received. At first, he tried to convince himself he was dreaming; that this wasn’t real, that none of this was, that he’d wake up and it would be September again, before he got close with Steve, before the make-out incident, before he’d said yes to dating the smallest man in the entire goddamn universe.

If he could go back, he would, even if he’d have to sacrifice all the good to avoid experiencing the worst pain he’d ever felt in his life. His stomach, turned and twisted in knots, sweating profusely even though the HVAC system had been fixed– it was May, now, not too warm– and the fan was on, the ringing in his ears drowning out the loud humming of the fan. He was alone, now.

But the worst part– the most embarrassing– the depths of Connor’s consciousness and his rational thinking hating him the most, was that he still loved Steve. He didn’t think he could ever stop loving Steve, even if the world ended, even if he was on his knees with a gun to his head, cocked back and ready to kill. Even then, he thinks that the pain of dying would be satisfactory, less painful than the way he hurt now. At least dying would mean he’d never have to love again.

He wouldn’t lie– those few weeks after he’d broken up with Steve and promptly blocked him on everything were spent mulling over how he could make it all stop. How he could make this come to an end, how he could stop crying and wallowing in his own sadness, how he could never explain why he was acting this way, because even though Steve deserved death, to his core, Connor believed he deserved it more. How could he be this stupid, this naive? How could he have even given Steve the opportunity to stab him again and again? How could he go on living when it hurt this much?

It was all just a twisted fantasy though, a place for Connor’s mind to escape to when he sat in his office alone on writing nights, counting down the episodes, the days until Season 41 came to a wrap. 

On the third to last Tuesday night of May– the last writing night of the season– Kevin invited Connor to write some sketch about elementary school students doing a mock trial, which they had completed in about an hour and a half. 

The rest of the time ended up being Connor finally telling someone about the breakup, and the cheating, and his suicidal thoughts, and how much he just wanted it to stop and end.

And Kevin sat there, and listened for hours. And Connor thinks still, to this day, that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for him.

He’d complained to Kevin about doing long distance over the course of the past couple of months, but never to this level– even though he was so hurt, Connor still felt the need to protect Steve, protect his legacy, protect and conceal how he’d hurt him, but god it felt so good to finally say it to someone– Kevin, who cared about him more than Steve ever did, eager at the wake to listen and support Connor.

Connor felt immeasurable relief when he saw in the news the morning after that season’s finale that Steve would not be returning back for Season 42.

Time heals, Connor knows that for sure now, but you never forget your first.

And alcohol burns long closed wounds.

“Connor, long time no see,” Steve approached the booth in the back corner of District 9, Connor quickly scooting towards the wall to put distance between himself and Kevin. Connor guessed he never learned, because he still thought hiding in a booth in the back of the bar could shut everyone else out and make him invisible. He wished he learned the first time, and he really wished he could leave right now, but he was (literally) backed into a corner.

He could practically smell the whiskey on Steve’s breath (who’d pregamed an SNL afterparty for some reason, and he hadn’t even been at the show itself), a slow exhale as he slid into the booth seat across from Kevin and Connor, the rubber squealing beneath him as his jeans rubbed against it, taking an uninvited seat. Steve offered out his hand, smiling the same at Connor as he did a decade ago, empty but strangely charming.

Even though he didn’t want to, Connor watched himself pull his hand from underneath the table, across it, arm hitting the side of Kevin’s glass, reluctantly shaking his hand. He couldn’t remember the last time he and Steve had any physical contact, because it certainly wasn’t the last time they met around a year and a half prior, when Connor had run into Steve one morning grabbing coffee for himself and Kevin before work– he hated thinking about that day.

“...Yeah.” Connor replied, throat dry, and shit, even though Kevin’s drink was awful he could really go for a sip of it– he let go of Steve’s hand, pulling it back swiftly as if he’d just been burnt. It was almost as if Kevin could read his mind, because he pushed the drink towards his direction with a nod.

Connor took a swig of the drink, only leaving a small puddle of the liquid left at the bottom of the glass, and he couldn’t even feel the burning sensation coating his throat with the overwhelming image of Steve sitting in front of him. Despite the darkness interrupted by the quiet fairy lights illuminating the bar, this was the most real Steve had felt to him in years. Before, he just simply felt like a hallucination to Connor, haunting rooms where his presence used to be a big deal. But now, Connor was the same age Steve was when everything went down nearly a decade ago, and he was more relevant than Steve would ever be. Steve, a few months shy of fifty, eternally searching for a job and love in his sad, pathetic life; jumping from young boy to young boy, preying on them, now that Connor was too old to fit into his cookie cutter ideal boyfriend. 

At least Connor had job security and wasn’t dating boys fresh out of college.

“How’ve you been?” Steve asked, that stupid, fake smile still plastered on his face, taunting Connor. “Can I have a sip of this?” He asked, well, more just told Connor and Kevin as he reached across the table and snatched the glass from his hands.

Kevin cut in. “You could go get your own drink, Steve.” He tried to suppress his agitation, Connor could tell, but Steve ignored him, and squeezed his eyes tight as he finished the rest of the drink.

“In a bit, thanks.” His gaze drifted to Kevin for a moment, and then away, looking hazily past Connor, doing everything in his power to avoid eye contact. Not like Connor wanted it anyway, no, his own gaze was watching Kevin, rolling his eyes with a sharp exhale.

“You know, Connor, ” Steve let his voice linger on his name, and he could feel his eyes focusing on him again, gaze burning into his skin like a laser. He tried to fight it, but like a magnet, Connor’s eyes went right to Steve’s, locked in. “This is where it happened.” Steve continued, and Connor immediately knew what he was talking about. No clarification needed, no if you know, you know , no winks to clue him in. Even though it was almost nine years ago, Connor could remember how it felt like it was yesterday. The Season 41 premiere after party, in District 9, an almost identical banner to tonight’s strung up in the same place. With Steve in this booth with him instead of Kevin, knees touching someone nearly a decade his senior. 

“Remember?” Steve simply said, words venomous, aiming right for Connor. He knew it stung. He knew it must have stung– to remember, to remember a first like that, a hurt Connor buried and worked so hard to forget. Remember? Because Connor had forgotten, truly. He could go through life now without seeing flashes of Steve everywhere, both in his head and on giant billboards in Times Square– in 2016 he couldn’t. Not in 2017 either. Remember? And now Connor could practically feel the tugging in his chest, Steve’s rough lips against him, eyelids screwed tight like he was on a tilt-a-whirl at some shitty weekend fair. Both made him nauseous. Remember? Connor fights his brain, grasping onto reality to not slip back there, nine years ago. He couldn’t trap him in his memory like that, in his most vulnerable place. Steve couldn’t have that power over him anymore. He wouldn’t have that power over Connor anymore. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Everyone at that table knew Connor was a liar. He was a liar, but he wouldn’t give Steve the satisfaction of getting under his skin. So, instead he just stared right back at Steve, hoping he’d win whatever stupid staring contest they were in, and dug his nails into his palm underneath the table. Steve let out an exhale, and with Kevin’s drink fresh on his breath, the sharp stench of alcohol filled Connor’s nostrils again– he broke eye contact, his nose scrunching up, eyes darting to the side. He lost. Steve won.

“You sure?” He replied, a small smile returning to his face. He couldn’t let Steve win. He’d won before, and again, and again. This was it. This was not the behavior of a fifty year old man. This was the behavior of a sixth grader on the playground, taunting his crush, or ex-girlfriend of three days– whatever, it was basically the same thing anyway– but unsurprising coming from Steve, the most immature person Connor knew.

“Please leave.” Connor asked politely, doing his best to omit any annoyance from his voice. This wasn’t the place– not for any of this. This was Connor’s afterparty, not Steve’s, and he was here to celebrate with his friends and co-workers, of which Steve was neither.

Connor broke eye contact from Steve once again. It wasn’t like he could call the bouncer over to escort Steve out of the bar. He was on the guest list; hell, he worked on the show for like a decade, and then blamed Connor when he quit, even though he kind of dug himself into a hole. Former cast members were generally encouraged to attend afterparties. That is, assuming they attended the actual show too, which in Steve’s case– he didn’t. Instead, he was probably in some other super-expensive ass bar getting shitfaced with college kids who think he’s super cool and not a washed up loser with no career or friends (the only reason an adult man halfway to his death would hang out with college students). The proof was all on his breath, and his demeanor, getting hazier and sloppier by the second.

Despite his request, Steve did the exact opposite of what he was asked; slouching down into the bar– manspreading, even though Connor couldn’t see it under the table, he knew he was definitely manspreading as much as he could– and stretched his neck to both sides, giving it a gentle crack. “My new boyfriend reminds me a lot of you.”

Connor’s heart sped up in his chest– he didn’t know why. He knew that Steve had been seeing other people in the last… decade, duh, but even despite time passing, maybe his heart would never stop thumping, fueled by jealousy, when he’d hear about whatever boytoy Steve had on his platter that month. It was a very teenage feeling; one he felt for the first time when his high school crush (embarrassingly, his best friend at the time) got a girlfriend. A jealous feeling, one he got watching them kiss each other goodbye before each class period, or when he’d tell Connor he couldn’t hang out because he had a date. Maybe that was just a feeling that never went away. Connor could be fine with it. He had to be fine with a lot of things.

“What’s he like?” Connor didn’t mean to say that out loud. He had thought it, before he said it, but maybe if he knew, his anxiety would ease, at least a little. At least his imagination couldn’t get too carried away, thoughts and images in graphic detail of Steve and whoever this mystery guy was. He glanced over to Kevin who happened to be looking right at him; eyebrows furrowed and shaking his head– Connor knew he shouldn’t have asked that, and Kevin’s disapproval only confirmed that hunch, but now, his words were hanging in the air, and he couldn’t snatch them back. Kevin looked away.

“Well,” Steve cleared his throat, “his name is Rory. He has freckles and blue eyes, like you, and he cares a lot about things that don’t really matter.” Connor furrowed his eyebrows, for multiple reasons, that a) was he trying to attack Connor? Things that don’t really matter … in Connor’s eyes, at least, moving thousands of miles away without telling the other person or cheating were things to care about. Those were the only things Connor could fathom he was referencing, because even though Connor didn’t like to admit it, he never really fought back against Steve when he probably should have. Oh, and b), that is simply just a terrible thing to say about someone you’re dating. “His hair’s more brown, though.” Steve gestured towards him, and Connor briefly shot a look at Kevin, whose expression told Connor that this whole exchange was even more ridiculous than he thought.

Connor sighed. “Okay.”

“Oh, and, he’s really funny. Funnier than you, definitely,” he added, nonchalantly, and only Steve Blade could say that so casually to an employee of Saturday Night Live , the world’s most famous comedy show. Roles reversed, Steve would be fuming if someone told him that.

“He should replace me, then.”

“I’ll talk to Joseph about it.”  Steve paused for a moment. “He’s looking for a job right now anyway. He just completed his undergrad at NYU.”

Connor was twenty-two when he completed his undergrad.

Steve Blade. Forty-nine years old. Dating a twenty-two year old.

Connor thought he was exaggerating when he thought Steve was dating boys fresh out of college, but no, he was right on the nose. He couldn’t even imagine dating someone over twice his age at twenty-two. Jesus Christ, if he had dated Steve at twenty-two it would have destroyed him even more than it did at thirty-two.

“Steve, aren’t you like, fifty?” Kevin finally spoke up in the conversation rather than just observing, taken back by this information just as much as Connor was.

“No.” He spat back, adjusting his posture and sitting up, “not yet.” He was now leaning forward over the table. “Anyway, Connor, it’s not like he’s a complete clone of you. Rory supports my career.”

Oh. So he wanted to play this game.

Thankfully, Connor had a good ten years to think long and hard about what he would say in a conversation like this.

(Practicing whatever he would monologue to Steve when he finally got the chance to, fighting with himself in the shower.)

And with Steve in front of him, and the alcohol begining to settle (god, he could really go for a second drink right now), and the volume and chatter of the bar steadily increasing; he couldn’t make out what was being said in conversations in his vicinity anymore, and his escalating anger and impatience of whatever the fuck this conversation was, Connor eagerly accepted the invitation to fight.

“It wasn’t that I didn’t ‘support your career.’ I did. I was happy for you that you got the part, Steve. Really. I was. But it’s absolutely crazy that you blame me for getting pissed at you for taking the job without even telling me. Steve, you had to move to Georgia for– what, eight months?– and just expecting me to be okay with long distance… I was, but it would have been nice for you to even talk to me about it. I would have said yes. You know that for a goddamn fact.” Connor continued, eyes burning and unblinking, but he ignored it, locked in, glaring at Steve. He sighed, continuing with a shaky breath. “And then, I’m just– I’m trying so fucking hard to make it work, and you don’t give a shit and go sleep with whatever-his-name was. And you ghost me, for weeks, Steve, and you never apologized, at least not genuinely, and I just think you’re plain goddamn stupid if you can’t see how that hurt me.” Connor shut his eyes– tightly, for just a moment. So tight he could see those static-like colors behind his eyelids, the ones you see when you screw your eyes shut or press on them too hard. Fireworks of blue, green, and purple offered him an escape from Steve, for just a moment. He opened his eyes again. “That’s all. That’s it.” He fought a smile creeping onto his face, because even though he felt like he could collapse into Kevin’s arms and sob, he finally won the fight and got the closure he’d tried to get for years. The closure he never thought he’d get, having to move on without it. 

All Steve could do was stare at him. He tried to open his mouth to talk, but every time he’d quickly shut his mouth, supposedly mulling over what to say. He looked like a fish, gaping for air. Connor moved a hand to his eyes, rubbing them.

“Oh, and also,” Connor finally let himself smile as he pulled his hand back down from his face, anticipating his last little jab that had just popped into his head, “your show was so ass they canceled it after a season. You threw your whole life away to be employed for eight months. I wish I was cocky enough to do something like that.”

Steve was still staring at him, and Connor wished he could read his mind– his smile faltered as quickly as it had spread across his face. He was definitely thinking, but about what? If he was thinking about how he was going to kill Connor the moment they got outside the bar, Connor wanted some kind of head start to run away, but Steve could also be mulling over how–

“You’re not the one that got the job, Connor.” Steve interrupted his train of thought, tone cold. “So like, that makes me a better actor than you, right?” His voice cracked at the end, and Connor could tell he knew he was grasping at straws. They both knew that the audition process had been flawed and it wasn’t about talent, or lack thereof– it was comparing apples and oranges. Connor’s Weekend Update clips from a span of two years versus Steve’s funniest and classic sketch and digital shorts clips from the past decade. Steve wasn’t stupid. He knows those two things couldn’t be fairly compared.

Even though he knew it was stupid to keep arguing, there was no point, and even though Connor made brief eye contact with Kevin who looked at him disapprovingly, he couldn’t help himself. And even though they’d made it clear he was unwanted there, Steve seemed pretty permanently situated in the booth with them. “Well,” Connor hesitated, “have you booked any shows since SNL?” Connor was pretty sure he knew the answer to this– no– but he’d stopped keeping up with Steve after the breakup, and scrolled past if anything about him ever reached his Twitter– sorry, X– timeline.

“...No.” Steve quietly muttered with an eye roll, and paused for a moment, studying Connor’s face as if it was the first time he’d seen it. “But neither have you,” Steve said, but it came out more as a question, his voice continuing to shake with uncertainty. 

Connor watched him for a moment as Steve’s hand went to his watch, fidgeting and sliding it around his wrist, watching him twist it around his skin, the silver of the band reflecting the low lights in the bar. “Yes, but,” Connor finally spoke, “the difference is, I’ve been employed, so I don’t need another job.”

“I could have come back to SNL, you know.”

“But I was still there.”

“It had nothing to do with you, Connor. Why do you always make everything about yourself?” Steve’s voice began to raise, for the first time in the conversation (which was quite shocking to Connor, he never seemed to have much patience but maybe he’d grown up a little bit in the last decade).

“Pardon?” He replied, stifling a shocked laugh. Never once had Connor made anything in their relationship about himself. It was always about Steve. Steve, who decided to take that fucking job and move to Georgia without telling Connor. Steve, who’d often blow  off Connor at afterparties to go drink and hangout with friends his age. Steve, who’d cut himself off from everyone when something didn’t go his way. Connor, who never complained and decided to put up with Steve’s bullshit for far too long until Steve’s decisions bit him in the ass. They changed each other, but Connor never made it about himself. Never. And to be accused of that, by Steve himself, was genuine delusion.

“You heard what I fucking said. You weren’t the reason why I didn’t come back, Con, I made my own decision to stay in Georgia because it had more opportunities for me– and, and– also, I was sick of that place, like, with everyone fucking kissing Joseph’s ass, all the time,” Steve let out a laugh– well, some kind of noise that Connor could best describe as a laugh, but Steve was freaking out , and he had no right to call Connor a nickname– that was for friends. “But, no,” Steve continued, “I didn’t not come back because you were there, or I had to face you or apologize or whatever, because I wasn’t scared of you or that, but I was just fucking done. With all of it. With you, with Joseph, with Kevin, because for all I know you could have been fucking him too, cheating on me, cause–”

“Oh my fucking god, don’t bring Kevin into this.” Connor was shouting now too, but not as loud as Steve, and maybe they were causing a scene too, but frankly, he couldn’t bring himself to care–

“–he’s as gay as you are, so…” 

There was absolutely nothing more that he wanted to do at that moment than kill Steve. Sure, insult Connor, fine (well, not fine, but), bringing Kevin into it, Kevin who literally didn’t do anything wrong, Kevin who’d been pretty much nothing but respectful to Steve for years (even though he hated every bit of him just as much as Connor) was absolutely crossing a line.

“Fuck you, Steve.”

A moment of silence, silence surrounded by the ambiance of the chatter in the bar around them, hung in the air. Connor hated the shouting, but this silence was the loudest thing he’d heard in a long time.

“Please leave.” Were the first words to break the silence, escaping Kevin’s mouth. Connor glanced over to him– he didn’t look nearly as upset as he thought he’d look, rather just more tired and disappointed. Not angry, like Connor was, and actively trying to suppress (a very hard task), but more thoughtful and melancholy.

Steve looked between the two briefly, and settled his eyes back on Connor. “If you get your little boyfriend–” he cocked his head in Kevin’s direction– “to fuck me, I’ll leave.”

Connor narrowed his eyes and bit his lip. He’d never been the best at thinking before he spoke, and this was certainly proving no exception. “Guess you never grew out of the cheating thing.” He muttered, a sarcastic jab at Steve only meant only for Kevin to hear, but based on Steve’s facial expression he’d heard as well. 

“Connor, you were great on update tonight! Did you write all of those jokes yourself?” Steve shot back, fake smile wide as a children’s birthday party clown (accompanied with impossibly high eyebrows), and before Connor could even open his mouth, Kevin jumped up next to him, standing and towering over the table, his left hand clenched into a fist, pulled back (but Connor knew that it was his non-dominant hand, so even if he punched him it wouldn’t do much damage anyway).

“Seriously. Fucking leave.” No ‘ please’ this time, and Connor rarely sees Kevin angry, especially like this. 

“Ke-Kevin, it’s okay, I-” he stammered, then cut off again, with Steve joining Kevin on his feet, hands up, surrendering.

“...I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Seriously dude, I’m sorry. I don’t– I don’t wanna fight.” Connor narrowed his eyes again– not out of anger, but out of confusion. Kevin wasn’t that scary, but he should be thankful that he was there anyway– because if Steve’s not intimidated by Connor, he sure as hell is scared of Kevin (at least a little bit). “Can I just–” Steve started again, “can I just talk to Connor, please? Alone?”

Alone? What in the fucking world would make Steve think that Connor would want to talk to him alone? Did he not just see how poorly the conversation just went, even with Kevin there, basically moderating? Yeah, Steve was drunk as shit, clearly– no sober person would act the way he just did– but Connor didn’t think drinking could make someone that goddamn stupid. Connor’s eyes darted over to meet Kevin’s, awaiting some kind of clue from him. He furrowed his brows and gently shook his head.

“Anything you need to tell him you can say right now.” Kevin finally relaxed his hands, left unclenching from its fist.

Connor watched Steve as he sharply inhaled, turned away from Kevin, and slid back into the booth across from him. He cleared his throat, and his hand went back to fidgeting with his watch. He let out a shaky exhale, and the whiskey on his breath hit Connor’s nostrils once again. He didn’t react.

But he sure as hell reacted to the most shocking thing Steve had directed at him that evening.

“Oh, good god.” Connor pulled both his hands to his face and immediately dropped his head into them, Steve’s words reverberating around his mind.

I still love you.

God, no he fucking didn’t. Connor wasn’t dumb as shit anymore (or at least less dumb as shit). But, he did know that if you love someone, you don’t treat them the way Steve treated him. You don’t cheat on someone if you love them. You don’t ignore someone for weeks on end if you love them. You don’t approach someone, drunk off your ass in a bar and insult them if you love them. You don’t take someone’s heart and dissect and destroy it piece by piece until there’s nothing real left if you love them.

He pressed on his screwed shut eyes with his palms, the static-y purples and blues returning in the darkness.

“Oh my god, no you don’t.” Connor could practically hear Kevin’s eyes rolling, and felt the seat beneath him shift as Kevin sat back down. Connor removed his hands from his eyes, and turned his head to the side, solely Kevin in his vision, the rest of the bar a dark blur behind him– Connor couldn’t look at Steve. Not anymore. 

“Connor, I really think we should try again, we were great together and we’re both more mature now and stuff and I-”

“No! No, no no. Do you realize how crazy you sound?” Connor snapped, involuntarily twisting his head back in Steve’s direction and standing up, his thighs slamming into the edge of the table as he did so (he ignored the pain). Steve was only a few inches taller than him, but Connor couldn’t shed the illusion in his mind that Steve towered over him, like a monster. A fantasy creature from the depths of hell. “And! And, you have a boyfriend! At least dump him before you ask someone else out!” Connor wasn’t scared of him, no matter how big the shadow that Steve cast over him was. “I thought you’d learn your lesson by now. ‘More mature’ my ass,” Connor mimicked him, and hit the table as he sat back down.

Steve hesitated for a minute, but began to exit the booth. Finally. “You haven’t changed much yourself either, Connor.” Steve said, face emotionless, and finally turned around and left. Connor leaned over the table, looking past Kevin, and watched as Steve exited the bar, back to where he belonged– Hell (the streets of New York City at two thirty five in the morning).

Connor let out an exhale– a stressed breath that he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and slumped back down in the booth, resting his head back on Kevin’s shoulder, where it was before Asshole™ entered uninvited.

“I’m sorry.” Kevin said, after a few minutes of serenity, and Connor was beginning to get settled into the harmony of the bar, the voices all joining together in a messy chorus. In a weird way, it was like music to his ears. 

“Why?” Connor flicked his eyes up towards Kevin.

“Just…” he trailed off, “I don’t know. He’s such a dick. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Connor paused for a moment. “Thank you. For like, helping me stand up to him.”

“Yeah,” Kevin chimed, “of course. Anything for y–… anything to tell him off. Yeah.”

The chatter of the bar filled their comfortable silence as they sat there for a few moments, Kevin moving to rest his again on top of Connor’s, the two fitting together like puzzle pieces. He slouched down more.

Connor’s mind began to wander. About Steve, about what could have been. If he wasn’t such a dick, such a liar, a cheater, would things be different? Would they still be together?  

But if Steve wasn’t all those things, he’d probably be a totally different person. But maybe that was what Connor wanted. He missed having someone to be intimate with, like that, like how Steve paid attention to every crevice of his body, how he knew it better than most of his lines in his sketches every weekend. How he knew what really got Connor going, where exactly to touch him, to kiss him, the exact steps he needed to follow to keep Connor attached and coming back for more, long after he stopped caring.

Connor would always love the version of Steve he kept in his head, the one that was so kind to him, the one he fell in love with during the Fall of 2015. He didn’t, however, love whatever version of Steve just visited him in the bar, drunk out of his mind, begging, pleading for attention. 

But did Steve really still love him?

“Hey, Kev?” Connor practically whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think he meant it?” 

Kevin stayed quiet, but Connor could tell now that both of their breathing was in sync. Inhale, exhale.

The chatter of the bar continued, and Connor glanced over as he watched James double over in laughter, surrounded by Chris, Arnold, Naba, Emmett, and a handful of other cast members.

Inhale, exhale.

Kevin didn’t seem to be watching them. He was quiet, sat thinking, but focused on Connor.

“Meant what?” He finally said, and Connor almost couldn’t hear him.

Inhale, exhale.

“When he said he loved me,” Connor responded in an almost identical whisper.

Kevin sat quiet again for a few minutes, thinking, and their chests still rose and fell in synchrony.

“Maybe,” Kevin finally spoke, and he paused, just for a brief moment this time, before continuing. “Drunken words are sober thoughts.”

Connor let out a hum, slightly confused. Now their breathing had fallen out of synch, and Connor was trying to change his breathing to match with Kevin’s again, holding his breath until Kevin let his out on a long, shaky exhale.

Inhale, exhale.

Linked like puzzle pieces.

“Like, you’ll think all these things you can never say when you’re sober, because you’re too scared to, but…” he let out an exhale, which Connor matched, “when you’re drunk, you just… don’t even care. You’ll say whatever comes to mind, whatever you’re really thinking.” He paused. “Whatever you’ve been longing to say. And it just comes out. You don’t even mean for it to and–” he cut himself off. “I don’t know. Does that make sense?”

Connor thought for a moment, and lifted his head off Kevin’s shoulder, resuming eye contact. “Yeah.” He shrugged.

“He also might have just been trying to get under your skin.”

“Yeah.” Connor glanced back over to the group he’d watched standing at the bar a few moments ago, who he could tell were now starting to inch their way to the door. He nudged Kevin and motioned in their direction. “I think they’re leaving now, or starting to, at least,” Connor said, and felt for his phone and wallet in his pockets, affirming they were still there. “It’s–” he checked the time, the brightness of his screen overwhelming him (he quickly fiddled with the settings, lowering the brightness) “–nearly three.”

Kevin and Connor shuffled out of the booth, stammering towards Arnold (and Company).

“Hey, bud,” Kevin said, waving to Arnold as they approached.

“Hey!” He responded. “We’re just about to leave, sorry I didn’t grab you!” Arnold grabbed Kevin’s arm and rubbed it. “You and Connor seemed busy, I didn’t want to, um, intrude on anything,” he grinned at the two of them, and Connor slowly nodded back at him, returning a (less enthusiastic) smile.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Kevin said, Arnold still latched on his arm as they approached District 9’s exit, “where are we headed?”

“A karaoke bar,” Naba chimed in, excitedly. “It’s down the street. We can walk there.”

“James picked it. He has the directions pulled up on his phone,” chimed in Brian.

“Oh, awesome,” Connor giggled– he was fine at singing, but he never went out of his way to do it. It was definitely the weakest of the big three; a dancer first, then acting, and then singing. He could carry a tune (so he still got fairly sizable parts in his high school shows), but it wasn’t all that special– it didn’t take much for a boy to impress his director. Afterall, he kind of stopped caring about the size of his parts in shows once he made dance captain Spring of his sophomore year (the youngest person to, as far as he was aware), and that was enough for Connor. Weekly dance classes, mainly tap, since he was four years old definitely paid off.

The group exited the bar, James and Chris at the front, leading, and Arnold and Naba at the back, holding hands, trailed by Connor, and finally, Kevin, whose neck was craned down looking at his phone. The chilly air hit Connor’s skin and he winced for a moment, but it was strangely refreshing. The heat of the bar was nice to escape from– although it was comforting, it was also claustrophobic, and now that Connor was outside he was free and fresh. Steve’s presence no longer a burden, and now he could finally enjoy himself.

He turned around, just to make sure Kevin was still with them, only to find his dark brown eyes already staring directly at him. He quickly broke the eye contact, gaze shooting straight back down to his phone.

Connor’s chest fluttered.

Inhale, exhale.

The After-Afterparty

“Okay,” Kevin laughed, and if he was sober he would have considered it too loud, but he’s had… Connor couldn’t even count off the top of his head how many drinks he’s had, let alone Kevin; but if the glasses scattered on the tables and floor were any indicator, both of them (and almost everyone else in the group) must have had at least five at this point. “Arnold, if you sing something, I’ll sing something too.”

That was a surprising deal coming from Kevin Price, who’d told Connor on numerous occasions that he’d rather kill himself than be forced to sing in front of people, and especially if he’d been made to sing on SNL. So, Connor made it his mission to try to catch Kevin singing– in his office, or under his breath, really at all, but Jesus, that must have been one of the hardest things Connor had tried to accomplish during his time on the show (and to this day, he still hasn’t heard Kevin sing. So maybe he really does suck– who knows! Kevin was basically perfect, so maybe it was okay if he sucked at one thing). 

“Deal.” Arnold grinned and offered his hand out to shake on it. “Connor, come with me to put in my song request. I don’t wanna go alone.” He beckoned him over– he definitely was one of the more sober of the group there, besides Naba, who Connor was pretty sure hadn’t had anything to drink (except water, or an iced tea maybe?). 

So, reluctantly, Connor stumbled up, grinned, and joined Arnold. “Pray for me, you guys,” Connor said, turning around and grinning at the group (well, those who were paying attention to him, which was mostly everyone except for a few pairs of cast members engaged in their own little conversations).

“I won’t embarrass you too bad. Or talk your ear off. Swear. Might make you put your own song in, though,” Arnold joked as he slung an arm around him. 

Connor had never been to this bar before, which surprised him because of how close it was located to District 9; he’d assumed it opened recently, but no, with a quick google search, he learned it had been open since 2010. It was pretty spacious, with large comfy chairs crowded by the stage, and some tables and hightops located closer to the back. LED lights illuminated most of the bar, all set to purple, but some warmer spotlights were pointed on the stage, decorated with two microphone stands and the karaoke screen in front of it. Connor made a mental note to leave a good review on Yelp (wait… did people still use Yelp? Or only Google reviews?) the next day– the wait staff was so kind and had incredibly fast service, even though the bar was kind of crowded (not bad enough that people were hounding for autographs though, but the types of people who’d be out at a karaoke bar at a quarter to four on a Sunday morning didn’t necessarily seem the type to do that).

“Um,” Arnold went straight up to the worker running the booth and cueing the karaoke songs, “excuse me, sorry, but do you have, um, Thrift Shop by Macklemore?” 

Connor narrowed his eyes in confusion, and stifled a laugh. The idea of Arnold rapping… well, Macklemore (it was a fun week when he was the musical guest), just tickled Connor. Actually, the idea of Arnold rapping anything at all made Connor laugh, and he couldn’t wait to see Kevin’s reaction to this wonderful, wonderful performance. The absolute highlight of the night.

“Macklemore? Really?” Connor giggled, covering his mouth with his hand, and glanced over his shoulder briefly to see Kevin and Naba engaged in a conversation, both laughing.

“Yeah,” Arnold replied, “ Thrift Shop is my go-to karaoke song,” he said, writing down his name, song title, and artist on the little slip of paper the worker had slipped him. For such a short guy, Arnold had surprisingly big hands, and the golf pencil he held was almost swallowed in his grasp. “What’s your go-to?”

Connor scoffed. “What makes you think I have a go-to karaoke song?” Arnold wasn’t totally wrong, but it was still fun to tease him with fake offense. Well, he had his musical theater go-to songs, duh; he could do a mean genderbent Don’t Lose Ur Head, and Seymour in Little Shop had always been one of his dream roles, but most of the karaoke places he went to (on occasion) didn’t have musical theater songs, and performing songs the audience doesn’t know isn’t very fun for them. He’d learned this the hard way– hours and hours in the audience of karaoke bars, sitting through shitty country songs no one in the room knew. 

He wouldn’t say he had a set go-to karaoke song, though. Sometimes he’d do Britney Spears– that was always fun. One time he’d done Take On Me by A-Ha (that did not go well and was very embarrassing). But, whenever he wasn’t really feeling up to a challenge, he’d always do either American Pie by Don McLean, if he sensed the audience was up for a long song, or Only The Good Die Young by Billy Joel, which wasn’t super popular, but it was still recognizable and easy to sing.

“Well, first, you’re you, and I think something would be very wrong if Mr. Theater Kid didn’t have a go-to karaoke song,” Arnold started, “and second, everyone has a go-to karaoke song.”

So now it was late enough in the night for Connor to receive some good bullying. Mr. Theater Kid. Arnold liked Star Trek, or Star Wars, or whatever it was. He couldn’t talk.

“It’s Only The Good Die Young,” Connor responded, just going with the easiest answer. “Billy Joel.”

“Who’s that? I’ve never heard of it.” Arnold joked and passed the slip of paper back to the worker.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Connor riffed, “some little underground artist. He calls himself the piano man or something dumb. If I played piano, I could be the piano man too!”

They approached the group once again, Kevin and Naba wrapping up their conversation, turning their attention to Connor and Arnold’s long awaited return.

“Whatcha talkin’ about?” Kevin interrupted, smiling.

“Kevin! Don’t be nosy.” Naba hit his arm lightly.

“...Sorry,” he scoffed.

Arnold laughed. “Connor’s telling me all about some…who was it?”

“–Billy Joel,” Connor interjected.

“Yeah, Billy Joel, how he calls himself the piano man? And Connor’s all like he could be the piano man too, I dunno.”

Kevin grabbed Connor’s hand and pulled him towards him, more forcefully than Kevin was expecting, but Connor fell onto the couch (dangerously close to falling on top of him). He held onto his right hand, spreading his fingers and examining them. “No…” Kevin shook his head, “your fingers are too fat to play piano, McKinley.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “Look who’s talking,” he smiled at Kevin and leaned into him, throwing his head back onto his shoulder as he let out a laugh (too loud, the voice in his head scolded him, but they were celebrating and having a good time and no one around seemed to care).

“Uh, next up, we have, uh, Arn-Arnold Cunningham? Singing Thrift Shop by Macklemore,” the worker running the karaoke came over the microphone.

“Oh, you guys, that’s me,” he grinned, proudly, and Connor could already hear Kevin losing his shit, eyes shut tight and laughing. “Naba, could you record for me, please?” She nodded eagerly as he passed her his phone.

“ Thrift Shop? Oh my god,” Kevin wheezed out. “Connor, why are you letting him do this?” Kevin slowly inhaled, trying to catch his breath. “Are you trying to kill me? Jeez. I’m gonna die laughing.”

“Ugh, no you won’t. Not on my watch.” Connor repositioned himself– now slouching on the couch (not as much as Kevin though, who looked like he’d much rather be laying down, but the end of the couch was in his way. “If you go, I go with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. There’s no way I’m doing SNL 50 without you. I’d die.”

“–Uh, hey guys, hey,” Arnold’s voice suddenly boomed over the microphone, and Kevin flinched in his seat, muttering in surprise under his breath. “Hello to my lovely best friends in the front row, too! Can everyone say ‘Hey, Kevin?’” Arnold dragged out the ‘hey’, sounding whiny as he held out the microphone to the audience– still a sizable crowd in the building, but mostly everyone else was crowded around the bars in the back, so the response from those they didn’t know was quiet. But, on the other hand, Emmett and his usual writing partner, Scott Zelder– along with a couple of other cast members sitting with them on an identical couch besides the one Connor was sitting on– practically screamed a response. His eyes briefly flicked over to Kevin, face now flush with embarrassment. 

“And say, ‘Hey, Connor!’” Arnold added after the crowd calmed down, replicating his cadence from Kevin’s call out, garnering a similar response. “And my beautiful wife, Nabulungi, I love you,” he said as he waved to her, and the backing track for Thrift Shop began to play, “this song’s for you!”

The beginning of the song began to play, the intro of the young girl asking Macklemore if they could go to the thrift shop overpowering any other sounds on the track. Maybe it was just because Connor was focused on the performance on stage for the first time in the night, but he could have sworn the worker running the karaoke turned up the backing track, and subsequently, Arnold’s microphone much louder than it had been before.

The intro of the song played, Arnold bopping his head along with the music. Connor glanced over to Kevin, grinning ear to ear– this was the happiest he’d seen him in a while. The last few weeks hadn’t been too stressful, but Connor could definitely tell that both him and Kevin were growing more and more burnt out by the show. But, there was always more to write, and more to joke about, and more impatient (and often unfunny) celebrities sitting in Joseph’s office expecting to be treated like royalty. And often, they were. Even if they were obnoxious, or didn’t write any of their own material but still complained about things being “not funny” (looking at you, Mick Jagger), or just plain out rude to cast members. 

Connor still remembers the time in 2018 where the host thought he was one of the studio’s unpaid interns and put in coffee orders for the whole cast (including Connor’s own coffee order). 

It was especially refreshing this week to have Nabulungi back hosting. Someone who was genuinely a fantastic person, who also happened to be extremely talented, funny, and down to earth. And one of Connor’s very best friends. 

Because nothing gave Connor his motivation back like having someone new to bounce ideas off of.

Yet, even going into this week with slightly more confidence than usual, he still bombed at Update.

But this wasn’t the time to think about that. Right now, Arnold was standing on stage, posture in his best impression of a rapper, and spewing the dumbest lyrics Connor thinks he’s ever heard.

“ Now, walk into the club like, ‘What up? I got a big cock ,’” Arnold rapped, the line met with some wooing from the back of the bar. Connor wasn’t expecting an additional whoop from right beside him– from Kevin, not Naba, and Connor couldn’t help but laugh.

“You know something about that, Kev?” He asked him.

“Yes, duh,” Kevin shot him a look, “we bang on the couch in my office like once a week, that’s why it’s locked on Wednesdays.”

“Oh, you hear that, Naba?” Connor grinned and turned his head to the other direction, Nabulungi eagerly recording Arnold as he continued the song, a smile even bigger than Kevin’s on her face.

“Hm?” She hummed, briefly making eye contact with Connor before going back to focusing on keeping the cell phone steady.

“Arnold’s cheating on you with Kevin at work.”

“Yeah,” Kevin chimed back in, “I don’t know if you’ve heard yet, but me and Arnold have been in a relationship for like fourteen years. He’s my work wife.”

“Arnold is all yours at the studio, don’t worry, but I get him at home,” Naba said, trading a wink with Kevin. 

The R Kelly line in the song was met with mostly awkward silence, but Arnold holding out the “s” at the end of the line pulled some laughs from the group seated close to the stage.

The rest of the song went as well as one would expect Arnold rapping to go– much to Connor’s surprise, despite being kind of wasted, he managed to stay with the beat of the song and get through it with almost no mistakes. Also to Connor’s surprise, he slightly struggled hitting the lower notes, and Arnold laughing through “ this is fucking awesome” everytime he’d say it at the end of the chorus didn’t help. By the end, in classic Arnold fashion, he was just shouting it. 

Connor wished he could say Arnold got a standing ovation– with a performance like that, he totally should have– but it was only Kevin who stood, enthusiastically clapping and hollering. Connor, humiliated, because he could basically feel all eyes from the back of the bar staring at Kevin’s, well, obnoxiousness, but it didn’t matter because it was so fucking late and also Connor didn’t think he’d really remember much of this the next day anyway. 

“Thanks. Thank you guys. You’re the best audience I’ve ever had!” Arnold shouted as he placed the microphone back on the stand and stepped off the stage, waving a subtle thank you to the worker running the machine.

“Oh my god, that was so fucking good,” Kevin laughed, offering his hand to high five Arnold as he returned to his seat, eagerly returning the gesture and plopping down on the couch next to Naba. He slinked an arm around her as she passed back his phone.

“Thanks,” Arnold said, adjusting himself on the couch before turning back to Kevin, “your turn now.”

Connor watched as Kevin made a face, scrunching his nose as he, what appeared to Connor as, regretting his choices with this deal of his, and very much wanting to backpedal on his offer.

“Uh, I don’t–” Kevin stuttered as he glanced nervously off to the side, “um, I can’t– I don’t sing,” he said, letting out a forced laugh.

“Kevin, you made a deal,” Naba reminded, offering a soft (subtly cocky) smile. Arnold nodded.

“I mean,” Kevin let out another forced laugh, “I just– I didn’t think you’d actually sing. I kind of, um, suggested it as a joke. ‘Cause, if I actually wanted to sing, I would have made the bet with like, Naba, because she’d actually sing,” he continued to stutter out, and it took a lot of energy in Connor to not call him plain stupid. If anyone commits to a bit, or does anything to get a laugh, it was Arnold. Even going back to when Connor was hired, coming into Studio 8H a few weeks before Season 40 started, Arnold talked to him in nothing but Shakespearean language for his entire first week for a cheap $20 from Kevin and laughs from the other cast members every time they interacted. So with that, and years and years of knowing Arnold’s dedication to even the most stupid ideas and bets, Kevin was stupid to engage in this if he truly didn’t want to sing.

“You are so stupid, white boy,” Naba said, basically reading his mind, “it’s too late and I’m too tired to sing.” So, she made a different point, but Connor’s still stood.

Connor turned back to Kevin, who was now frozen– he looked like a deer in headlights, seemingly far too helpless over a lighthearted bet like this. His expression shifted, Kevin’s eyes darting downward and his brows furrowing, a look that Connor knew all too well from Kevin’s frustration on writing nights. Not that he was going to cry, he hardly did that, but something along the lines of being overwhelmed or having to do something he didn’t really want to do (Connor often wondered how this faired out for Kevin in school, who despite having a lot of motivation for projects he was passionate about– and this reflected well in his current work– was an absolute bitch when it came to putting effort into things he found boring. Kevin had one of the shortest attention spans he’d ever seen).

“Hey, Kev,” Connor found himself whispering, pulling Kevin out of his trance, his eyes flicking back up to meet his own. “Um, I’ll sing with you if you want. I guess,” Connor suggested with a shrug, because that was the least he could do– he knew Arnold and Naba probably wouldn’t have let go of the bet. But, Connor couldn’t stand seeing Kevin so upset by it. And so, on a Hail Mary, and his conscience telling him he’d rather embarrass himself with Kevin then just have to watch him suffer on the stage alone, he lent out a hand, doing what he could.

“Really?” Kevin perked up, like a dog hearing its favorite word, his eyes growing wider with hope, and a small smile creeping on his face.  “I- I mean, you don’t have to,” he quickly added, face flushing and breaking eye contact.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Connor nodded with a smile, “I want to,” he tried to convince himself, and probably Kevin, who didn’t seem all that sold on Connor’s eagerness.

“Okay.” Kevin nodded with a smile. “Uh, I think we have to go up there,” Kevin pointed to the worker standing at the karaoke machine, boredly slumped over and resting his chin on his hand, “ask him what songs there are and stuff.”

Connor followed Kevin’s lead as he stood up and made his way towards the worker, who took a few moments before realizing there were two (not-so-eager) forty year olds waiting for their turn to sing badly.

“Do you have a list of songs you have that we could see?” Connor asked the worker, who replied with a nod.

“Yeah, here,” the worker replied, grabbing a book from a cabinet under the booth he was stationed at and sliding it towards him, “it’s a bit outdated though, so if you don’t find anything you want I can check the computer too.”

Connor nodded and opened the song catalog, a thick white binder with a Staples logo in the upper corner, and sharpie messily scribbled on the front, reading “Songbook.” He slowly opened it, fingers running over the laminated pages, and looking through the song list, organized alphabetically. He flicked his eyes up for a moment, making sure Kevin’s focus was also on the page (this was for Kevin anyway, so he should have a little bit more say than Connor had in picking the song). Connor began to run his fingers over the text, starting at the As; AC/DC, Ace of Base, Adele – there were a lot of Adele songs. A few pages later he reached Aladdin, the first of likely many Disney films with their karaoke soundtracks available, and much to Connor’s surprise, Kevin did not faint at the single mention of a Disney film. Instead, he simply smiled and then nodded to Connor, a silent ask for him to continue flipping. Alessia Cara, who Connor only knew because his sister used to be absolutely obsessed with her. Connor flipped through a few more pages, Amy Winehouse, Annie Get Your Gun, and Connor raised his eyebrows at the mention of Arcade Fire . They’d been on SNL… five? Six? Times at this point, but anytime he’d mention them to anyone who didn’t work in 30 Rock they’d have no idea who he was talking about. If someone told him they were just some band Joseph Smith personally made up and sponsored to perform exclusively on SNL, he’d believe them.

He continued flipping through the pages, the B section noticeably shorter than the As, and the Cs around the same length. He turned the page to the D section and looked back at Kevin, who now appeared to be more focused, appearing to be looking for a specific artist- Connor slowed down, his own eyes lingering longer on the artists listed on the page. Dave Matthews Band, DNCE, and he reached the D-Os, with Doja Cat and Dokken and–

“–Dolly Parton!” Kevin spouted, voice no quieter than a shout. Connor turned his head to look at him, eyebrows furrowing, but he thought for a second– would it really surprise him that the biggest Disney Adult he knew loved Dolly Parton, and probably, as an extension, Dollywood? If there was any theme park that could even compete with the all-American and capitalist center that was Disney World, it would probably be Dollywood. So on second thought, no, Connor shouldn’t be confused that Kevin loves Dolly Parton more than a normal forty year old white guy. (As for Connor’s own beliefs, he thought he liked Disney and Dollywood a normal amount for his demographic.)

“Dolly Parton. Sorry.” Kevin lowered his voice and shot Connor an apologetic glance. “Could we sing, um, Islands In The Stream ? Her duet with Kenny Rogers. I love that song. It’s one of my favorites,” he said, so earnestly Connor almost laughed, but that would have been mean– Kevin doesn’t make fun of him about his theater obsession, so he’d refrain from teasing Kevin about this love for Dolly Parton that somehow was just brought to his attention, and Connor wished he’d known this sooner.

“Yeah. We can.” Connor smiled at Kevin. He was somewhat familiar with the song, but at this point there was no way he’d shut Kevin down with how enthused he came on about singing it. It’d be like taking candy from a baby. And Connor hated nothing more than hurting Kevin. So even if he didn’t know the song all that well, he’d suck it up. 

“Okay!” Kevin replied, excitement bubbling in his voice, “and could I sing Dolly’s part? Please?” And Connor couldn’t even laugh because it was just so strangely cute to see him like this. Connor’s face flushed, his smile growing wider.

“You’re so weird, Kevin,” he said, joking, and without thinking, added, “I lo-” Connor’s eyes widened at what he found himself saying, but thankfully his conscience returned back to him before he could finish because Jesus, what? Saying I love you? Here? He wasn’t even sober, so Connor knew he wasn’t thinking clearly. He couldn’t hold this against himself. And he and Kevin were co-workers. Friends. Best friends. Nothing more. Sure, he loved Kevin platonically, but something in his chest was telling him that his words just then might have had deeper meaning than simply his affection of their friendship. That cutting himself off was the right thing to do. 

But then, like some kind of alarm, Kevin’s words from earlier reverberated through his head, taunting him.

Drunken words are sober thoughts.

Good thing he stopped before he actually said anything.

He’d regret it.

Connor shook his head, and hurriedly tried to cover up his panic. “But, uh, anyway, yeah,” he continued, trying to stall a few moments trying to figure out how to continue. Thankfully the words found him. “But just a warning– I don’t know the harmonies or anything. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Kevin reassured him, grabbing a slip of paper from the worker and messily scribbling the song request and their names down on the song request slip that Connor had watched Arnold fill out earlier, the words Kevin Price on the paper looking less like english and more like the writing on a doctor’s note. 

Maybe it was fitting that Kevin had (what Connor called) doctor’s handwriting– he’d originally gone to college to be a doctor and graduated Harvard’s medical school. This very much surprised Connor the first time he found this out. He’d known Kevin was smart, but even for the top student at Connor’s own high school, the Ivy League was just some far away dream. But somehow, Kevin had ended up at SNL (and selfishly Connor was grateful his medical career didn’t work out). 

“No one’s in the queue so you guys can just go now, if you’d like,” the worker groggily said to the pair, still slouched over beside the cart.

“Cool, thanks!” Kevin grinned again, and grabbed Connor by the hand, dragging him up to the stage at the front, some random buffer song playing through the speakers as the worker prepared the karaoke track. 

“You ready?” Kevin whispered to Connor with a giggle. “Thanks for doing this with me. If Arnold made me go alone I definitely woulda need to have a couple more drinks in me.”

Connor nodded in agreement, and let out a light laugh to match Kevin’s. “Performance of a lifetime,” he affirmed, with a smile. “If we ever go on tour together…” Connor’s voice paused for a moment as the worker began to announce the two, and Connor looked out into the audience to see Naba enthusiastically pulling out her phone to record their performance, but he ignored it and kept talking, “I’m only performing if this is the entire bit. No standup, jokes, nothing. Just you and me and Islands In The Stream .”

Kevin rolled his eyes and the track began to play. The intro was strangely nostalgic to Connor. He couldn’t remember the last time he heard the song– he didn’t think it had been that long, but hearing the beginning few notes took him straight back to college, to a certain person’s 1998 Ford Focus.

In the backseat, seats pushed all the way down and windows fogged, parked in an empty Sears parking lot, Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers’ vocal symphony quietly playing from the car’s radio.

Connor blinked– he surprised himself. There was no reason to be thinking about that, and he didn’t even care about the memory. He’d moved on a long, long time ago. The spotlights blinded him, the contrast to the otherwise dark bar hurting his eyes. He flicked his eyes back down to the karaoke screen, the words beginning to turn a neon blue one at a time, and Connor began to sing, voice shaky, and strangely nervous.

Connor loved performing in front of people. He’d been doing it all the way back since fourth grade when he got cast as a munchkin in the local community theater’s production of The Wizard of Oz. He performed in both of his high school’s productions every year. He performed every weekend on live television in front of millions. And he’d never been the type to particularly get stage fright; at least, not in the way he was getting it now. He nervously glanced over to Kevin. Connor felt stupid– he wasn’t the one who should be nervous. If it had to be either of them, shouldn’t it be Kevin, who didn’t want to do this? He volunteered. By his own will, he volunteered to stand up here and sing with Kevin, and yet he felt his palms getting clammy, and his vision hazy and–

His eyes met Kevin’s, who gave him a reassuring smile and a nod, and all of his worries just seemed to melt away, his affirmation comforting Connor like a warm blanket coming in from the cold on a snowy day. He took one hand off the microphone and wiped it on his shirt, and repeated the same for the other side, his voice finally steadying as they approached the second verse, Kevin joining him.

Kevin began singing in some kind of high falsetto voice, and Connor followed his gaze straight over to Arnold, clutching his stomach laughing. Connor grinned. Kevin wasn’t actually as bad as Connor thought he was going to be. He was a little pitchy (well, who was Connor kidding, he was really pitchy), but his tone was… somewhat decent, much to Connor’s surprise. Connor could hardly sing in his falsetto now, but Kevin somehow pulling it off with no training and not screeching through the whole thing impressed him greatly. 

They hit the chorus, and Connor giggled through the “making love to each other” line, and his intense (semi-homoerotic…just kidding…) eye contact with Kevin didn’t help. Connor wondered how his own eyes looked in the light– Kevin’s were almost the color of honey, and he’d never seen them that bright before. They were usually the color of the mulch that held the plant Connor kept in his office, that he’d somehow kept alive for nearly four years. 

The song was a lot longer than Connor remembered it being, and he had to rely on his hazy memory of it (and Kevin singing Kenny Rogers’ part under his breath to help him when it was blatantly obvious he had no clue what the melody was) to get through most of the song. The crowd was mostly quiet, minus Arnold’s fits of laughter and Naba’s whistling and Chris’ cheering– and okay maybe the crowd wasn’t that quiet, but the bar patrons not seated near the stage were at least respectful. But, Kevin pretty much nailed the rest of his part. He’d given up on the falsetto voice about halfway through the song and just opted to sing the octave down (much to Arnold and Nabulungi’s disappointment).

Soon enough, the song concluded and Kevin and Connor were met with applause, albeit not as much hollering as Arnold’s performance; but Connor didn’t think anything could truly top it, and Kevin wasn’t in the audience for this one.

“We have to bow,” Kevin loudly whispered to Connor as transition music began to play (this time it was California Gurls). He moved in between the two microphones and grabbed Connor’s hand, pulling him towards and then into a bow by his side. “Up,” Kevin said, pulling Connor’s hand above his head, “and down.”

“That was so amazing, Connor,” Naba said, and Kevin raised an eyebrow. “Not you, Kevin,” she joked, smiling as the two made their way back to the couch, Arnold patting the space beside him. Kevin sat down, followed by Connor. He sighed, leaning back into the couch, a wave of exhaustion rolling over him. He didn’t want to go home early (well not early, it was a little past four in the morning now. For 2014 Connor it was early, but he also wasn’t thirty anymore). Everyone else seemed somewhat awake, and the rest of the cast on the couches in the surrounding area seemed just as awake as they were a few hours ago, excluding Emmett, who was now passed out drunk. 

“Thanks,” Connor replied, forcing himself to sit up, or else he was sure that he himself would also pass out. 

“Uh, that was, um, the last song of the night. Thank you to everyone who sang,” the worker in charge of the karaoke called out over the speaker, met with a few groans of disappointment from the bar patrons in the back.

“Oh. Is it closing soon?” Naba questioned, and Connor and Kevin both replied back with a shrug. “Wait,” she said, turning her head and attention towards a nearby couch that Chris and James were sitting on, quietly engaged in conversation. Brian and Nate sat on the other side of their couch, slouched together and looking at something on Nate’s phone.

“James?” She shouted, getting his attention. He turned his head towards her.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know when this place closes?”

He pulled out his cellphone and fumbled with it for a moment before returning his attention to Naba. “Four forty-five.”

“Oh.” She said, and Connor looked at the time on his own cell phone, the clock reading four fifteen.

“We should leave soon, then,” Connor suggested, and Naba nodded.

“Any suggestions for where to go?” Kevin piped up, looking either side of him, first to Arnold and Naba, and then towards Connor, and past him, Chris, James, Brian, and Nate.

Nate piped his head up, looking up from the glowing phone screen. “There’s a club next door, I think, if we want to check it out? Or something? I dunno,” he suggested, met with numerous nods from the group.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Kevin replied, eagerly nodding, “cool.” He shifted his position on the couch, even closer to Connor now than he’d been before. His fingertips lightly grazed Connor’s knee, and he let out a shaky exhale, a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Yeah. Cool,” he parroted Kevin, nodding in agreement.

‘Next door’ in New York City could mean a lot of things. It could mean a place down the street or something barely in the same borough. But in this case, and to Connor’s relief, next door truly meant next door. The group exited the bar with gratitude (Connor would have liked if Emmett could have come with, but he was still passed out. Scott was kind enough to stay with him). He could have sworn the streets and the sky were lighter than when they’d first entered the bar about an hour and a little earlier. He was absolutely exhausted though, so it was totally probable his eyes, sunken into his skull and accessorized with permanent eyebags, were playing tricks on his vision. However, there was a chance this wasn’t the case. Summer on the horizon meant increasingly earlier sunrises, right?

And pushing through the glass doors into the building the club was being hosted in (conveniently and safely located in the basement), shoulder to shoulder with Kevin on one side and the revolving glass door on the other, he glanced down. He could have sworn he saw Kevin’s fingertips linger for just a second too long on his, but that also could have just been his eyes playing a trick on him. A cruel trick. Tormenting him.

The After-After-Afterparty

Clubs were something the old Connor McKinley attended– the one who went to bed at three in the morning every night, despite having classes at eight AM that if he missed again he’d flunk out of. The one naive to the world, to the entertainment industry, blindly submitting his headshots to theaters and scams for free agents and hoping he’d get an audition for something, anything before he actually knew what the hell he wanted to do with his life. The one unaffected, untouched by Mr. 1998 Ford Focus or Steve Blade. Pure. Pristine. A piece of marble untouched by its sculptor, its fate already sealed, chisel staring him right in the eyes. It knows the pain it’ll cause, but it’s necessary anyway. It’ll be beautiful, flawless even, when it’s done. Right?

He stares at Kevin. Knowingly or not, Connor can’t stop staring at Kevin. He’s had a dozen more drinks now, in a valiant effort to suppress his anxiety about such a constricting, claustrophobic environment like this. One that forty year old Connor is not equipped to handle. 

He stares at Kevin’s nose, fit perfectly in the center of his face, his eyes, dark brown, his skin, stubble beginning to regrow already, even though Connor watched him shave over the sink in his office the previous morning before rehearsals resumed full swing. 

And then Kevin looks over. 

“What?” He grins at Connor. He’s had the same number of drinks, even doing some shots together– Chris and James joined in for a few, but they couldn’t stick out lick, shoot, suck like Kevin and Connor could.

“Nothing.” Connor smiled softly as he broke away eye contact, shamefully flicking his eyes back down to the wood of the bar.

There’s a few moments of silence. “I’m bored.” Kevin said, turning towards Connor and scooting his stool closer to him, draping his arm over the bar and resting his hand on his chin, much like the photo on the cover on the Update-opoly he’d received– he made a mental note to tell Kevin about the gift later. “And I don’t think I can drink anymore or else I’m gonna lose my dinner.”

Connor raised his eyebrows. “You did not have dinner. You had some coffee.”

“Okay, well, you prob’ly didn’t eat anything either,” Kevin rolled his eyes, “and this week you even had time to eat before dress rehearsal! You told me so!”

“Excuse me, I did eat. I had a bagel. Top that.”

“I can’t, because I was actually doing work and running around the studio and helping Joseph put the finishing touches on everything or something…” his voice trailed off as he spaced out for a moment, but then directed his attention back to Connor. “But anyway. Yeah. I’m bored. Wanna swap phones?”

Phone swapping was a tradition Kevin and Connor had for as long as Connor could remember. Whenever they had no inspiration for a sketch, they’d swap phones and look through each other’s camera rolls/Twitter feeds/whatever else for something they could make fun of or joke about. It soon turned into an activity whenever they’d get bored, or stuck without cell reception (on occasion), or any other multitude of situations where there was nothing better to do. Connor never felt like it was an invasion of privacy. Kevin basically already knew everything there was to know about him, and the only off limits place on his phone were his texts with his family, and especially his mom (who’d he complain about Kevin on occasion to, but Connor knew Kevin probably did the same). 

“Sure.” Connor grinned and pulled his phone out of his front pocket, sliding it down the bar to Kevin, who passed him his. Kevin’s phone was much less bulkier than Connor’s was, opting for a thin, clear case with serious yellowing and an old-ish polaroid of him and his brother on SNL’s main stage in the back as opposed to Connor’s actually safe dark blue case with a screen protector.

He unlocked Kevin’s phone. His phone password had changed a lot over the past couple of years. When he and Kevin had first begun to do this phone swap thing, Connor guessed his password on the first try: 1982, his birth year, but he’d made him change it because it was just so easy that if anyone stole his phone knowing it was his they’d get into it in no time. Now, it was a little more complex, and a little more morbid too– 7294, taken from the date his first family dog passed away. They were both sworn under an official contract (made up by Arnold) to never tell anyone else each other’s phone passwords, even if they asked really nicely. Or bribed them. One time Connor almost gave Kevin’s third one up after Nabulungi offered to do his yearly HR online computer training for him.

The conversation came to a lull between them, both becoming distracted by the cell phones. Kevin’s phone was…Connor wished there was a nicer way to say this, but there wasn’t– it was ugly. And convoluted, and it had taken Connor a long time to figure out where all of his apps were. Thankfully he didn’t change up his home screen much. The background picture was a posed Christmas photo of his dog and cat together, which already brought a lot of color to the screen, and on top of that, two widget pictures, one of their writing night group from a few years ago, and another of him and what Connor assumed was a grandma or great-aunt at the Rink at Rockefeller Center. He opened Kevin’s photos app and began scrolling through his reccents.

There wasn’t much interesting– a couple of terrible selfies from Arnold earlier in the night, probably taken during one the many, many times Kevin left his phone unattended during the show. A screenshot of an ironic baby onesie that read “I cry almost as much as liberals,” which was met with a snort of laughter from Connor. An abundance of dog pictures. A few cat pictures. A lot more dog pictures. A picture of the TV where it looked like Kevin had been watching an episode of Say Yes To The Dress.  

“Connor,” he heard Kevin say, and he snapped his head up and towards him, “your sister is calling,” he said with a cheeky grin, and even with all the pleading in the world, he knew that Kevin was going to pick up the call no matter what.

Kevin turned the phone screen towards him, the caller ID reading “Aubrey” with a picture of her and her husband at Niagara Falls. Kevin swiped the screen and put the call on speaker. 

“Hello?” He said, still smiling.

“Hi Co-…this isn’t…” she hesitated for a moment, and Kevin stifled a laugh as she tried to figure out who was on the call. “...Is this Kevin?” She finally decided on.

“Yeah,” he replied.

“Hey,” Connor could practically hear her smiling through the phone, “how are you?”

“Good.” He paused. “Drunk,” he added with an immature giggle.

“I bet. Where’s Connor?”

“Right here,” he replied, scooting his stool even closer to Connor, personal space no longer existing. Well, it didn’t exist much at clubs anyway, especially not in the sea of sweaty, dancing people a few feet behind him. It was a miracle that he had some kind of cell reception down here and could hear Aubrey, and Kevin for that matter, over the noise of the bar and the club.

“Can I talk to him?”

“You’re on speaker.”

She responded with a sigh. “Hi, Connor.”

“Hey,” he said, a lot louder than he was intending to.

“You said you’d call me after the show.”

Connor’s face flushed. “Oh. Right. Yeah. I’m sorry, I forgot.”

She sighed again. “It’s okay.”

“Did you like the show?” Kevin butted in, and even though Connor couldn’t see her face, he knew Aubrey was rolling her eyes. For years now, every Sunday after a show Kevin would text Aubrey exactly that– “did you like the show?” And it was funny at first, and then she started getting pissed, and it was only still funny now because he’d been doing it for so long. It was so unfunny that it was funny. Kevin had stolen Aubrey’s phone number from Connor’s phone during a phone swap– he argued it wasn’t against the rules because he hadn’t looked at their texts, he’d only grabbed the number from his contacts, and there weren’t any rules about taking other people’s contact numbers. (Afterwards, the contract was revised. Thank you Arnold.)

“Yes,” she hissed. “I did like the show, Kevin. I always like the show.”

“That’s not true,” Connor replied. “You didn’t like the show when Elon hosted.”

“No one liked the show when Elon hosted,” she spat back, “not even you.”

“Aubrey, guess what?” Kevin asked.

“What?”

“You’re gonna be my plus one to SNL 50 next year. I’ve decided.” He paused for a moment. “But that’s only if I don’t find love by then.”

“Oh, that’s sweet,” she replied. “Not to sound selfish or anything, but I hope you don’t find love, then.” She joked.

“Ugh, so you hate me then?” Kevin joked. “Whatever. I’ll find a new plus one who actually supports my love life.”

“That’s fine,” she replied, “Connor will bring me then. Right?”

And just to spite Kevin (and not because he had no one else to bring to SNL 50), he said, “yes. Of course.”

Kevin rolled his eyes as both Connor and Aubrey broke out into a giggle.

“Okay, can I call you back when I wake up tomorrow?” He cut both her and himself off.

“Yeah. Of course. Talk to you later. Love you.”

“Love you too.” He snatched the phone off the counter and away from Kevin and hung up the call. 

Connor rubbed his eyes in an effort to stay awake, passing Kevin’s phone back to him. “That was quite the offer.”

“Yeah, well, the banquet is gonna be super boring and I need someone funny to sit next to me and keep me company.”

“Am I not enough?” Connor grinned.

“You are, she’s just funnier than you,” Kevin replied, and Connor’s face dropped. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he quickly said, and Connor moved his face into a fake pout, trying to keep himself from laughing. “I’m sorry,” he hurriedly said, wrapping his arms around Connor into a weird, awkward side hug. He tried to lean his head against Kevin’s because he couldn’t really figure out how to wrap his arms back around him in the position he was in without collapsing onto Kevin, so that was the next best thing.

“Connor,” he heard Chris behind him, approaching with James, and Kevin quickly pulled his hands away from the hug. Connor steadied himself on the stool. “Hey Kevin,” he added. “Can we do like a little wife swap thing?” He suggested, and Connor raised his eyebrows, confused. “I haven’t seen you like all night,” he grabbed Connor’s arms and tugged him off the stool, “let’s go dance, or something.”

Connor hesitated for a moment. It had been a really long while since he’d danced at a club like this, and even though he didn’t want to admit it, all the twenty-something year olds that populated at least half the club scared him, like a fish swimming in shark-infested waters. But, Chris and James had seemingly just returned from dancing, and they came back in one piece. “Okay,” he quietly said, nodding, as Chris began to drag him away, waving goodbye to Kevin and James.

“You’ve been kinda down lately,” Chris commented, frowning, and they approached a spot on the floor that was somewhat open, and he could spot Nate and Brian near the speaker, shouting over the music, trying to have a conversation within three feet of each other.

“I guess?” Connor replied, because it was true, he was really self-conscious about his work lately and there was no doubt it was reflecting in his mood, but he had no idea where the direction of the conversation was headed.

“Let’s find a nice guy to pay for some of your drinks,” he suggested moving closer into the crowd, now jumping up and down to some shitty rap song Connor had never heard before. Besides the free drink aspect (which, at this point, he’d probably pay for another person’s drinks, not vice versa), finding someone to sit down with and chat seemed nice in theory, but Connor’s stomach began to twist at the thought of having to flirt with someone new. Or even just talk to someone new. Well, new to him– that wouldn't guarantee that the other person didn’t already know who he was. The thought made his palms sweat, and his head spin.

He wished he could leave the crowd and go back to Kevin. Kevin, who wouldn’t judge him, who he knew just as well as Kevin knew him back. Where he wouldn’t have to scream over the music to be heard, where the only thing he had to worry about was drowning out his romantic thoughts about Kevin because there was no way Kevin could ever like him back.

And now he was frozen in this crowd, face to face with Chris, who’s own expression was starting to grow worried. “Con? Connor?”

“Yeah? Yeah. Yeah. Hi,” he said, refocusing his vision. He hadn’t even realized he’d spaced out. “Um, thank you, but no thanks. I’m okay. Thank you.” A headache came upon Connor, the buzzing in his head growing strong as he felt the bass of the song come through his feet, all the way up, and reverberate through his body.

“Oh, okay,” Chris replied, “sorry.”

Connor nodded. “It’s okay.”

“Oh, uh, also,” Chris added as Connor began to shift them outside of the crowd and back to the outskirts of the dance floor, “there’s a writers retreat for a week in July this summer. In LA. Me and James and Nate and Brian are all going, and we were wondering if you wanted to come with us?” He paused for a moment. “We would’a invited Kevin too, but I know he’s off doing stuff in Tahiti for the Olympics.”

Connor paused. He’d need more details, but he missed doing writers retreats. Maybe it could be a good way to reset his creativity. Fix his talent. God knows he needed it. “Yeah!” He said, brightly, “yeah. I’d be interested. Could you text me more of the info about it later?”

Chris eagerly nodded. “Totally.” He paused. “Wanna dance now?”

Connor sighed, and reluctantly grabbed Chris’ hands. If this was the only time he was able to steal him away from James for the night, then he might as well take advantage of it. They were practically glued to each other’s sides– he wondered how their wives felt about this. To Connor, they seemed more in love with each other than the women they married, but maybe bromances at SNL were really just that unbreakable.

Chris and James had known each other far longer than their wives. Before SNL, they were in a sketch comedy group they started in college called GoodNeighborStuff. It consisted of Chris and James, obviously, who seemed to be the standout duo from the start, their friend Eli Grant, and their director/cameraman/editor, Dave Young. They all made it to SNL– Chris and James hired as cast members in the infamous rebuilding year of 2013, Eli as a writer that same year, and Dave a few months later midseason as a digital shorts director. Eli was let go three years into his tenure, and although Connor didn’t know him well, he seemed polite and funny. He recalled Kevin being somewhat close with him.

Time seemed to not exist in the continuum of this basement. Jiving with the music, surrounded by warm bodies on all sides, the music rocking his body, bad rap song after even shittier rap song, and whatever the hour was was beyond Connor. Not that he was even thoroughly enjoying himself; he wasn’t bored, but he certainly wasn’t having what he’d consider a fun time. But, it was something to do, and it was nice to spend some time with Chris, so he wasn’t complaining. 

A slight single hum of disappointment escaped Connor’s lips when Chris pulled him out of the crowd after what felt like forever. Walking back to the bar, Connor glanced at his phone. Nearly a quarter past five.

“You’re back,” Naba said, seated in between Kevin and Arnold at the bar as they approached. “James is in the bathroom right now.”

“I missed you,” Kevin grinned, motioning for Connor to stand next to him, “Arnold and Naba are so boring right now. I offered her my drink and she said no. No one says no to a free drink!” He shot her a look and fake pouted, and was met with an eye roll in return.

“Fine. You want to buy me a drink? Get me an iced tea.” She glared at him.

“It’s five in the morning,” Kevin whined, “but fine.” 

Connor tried his best not to space out, his vision hazy and ears succumbing to some kind of white noise that drowned the music blaring behind him out. He blinked a few times, opting to stare at the bartender as he made her drink, pouring some ice into a cup, and some kind of canned iced tea (that Connor didn’t think he’d ever seen before), and then the bartender holding his fist above the drink, and dropping something Connor couldn’t identify into it.

Some kind of alarm started blaring in Connor’s head, the scene before him playing in slow-motion: the bartender moving from the drink station in the back, crossing over to the bar and sliding the (spiked?) drink to Nabulungi. Connor may have been out of it, but his incessant safety training for any situation ever from his mother kicked in.

“Wait, Naba,” he said, but she didn’t seem to hear him. Maybe he was muttering– he couldn’t hear himself anymore. “Nabulungi,” he said, louder, and just as she was about to take a sip she glanced up at him.

“Connor,” she repeated.

He shook his head, and gave a swift side eye to the bar, relieved to see the bartender was already serving another man. “He– don’t drink that.”

“Hm?”

“I think, well, I think I saw the bartender slip something in there? But, just, please don’t drink that.” He paused. “Sorry.” He muttered.

“Oh,” she replied, less alarmed than he thought she’d be, and then a few moments later, “oh,” she said again, more vocally upset as she stared into the drink. “Fuck.” She quietly muttered, only loud enough for seemingly Arnold, Kevin, and Connor to hear. She frowned, and rolled her eyes, pushing the drink away from her, towards the edge of the bar. “When– I need James to get back.”

“We should leave,” Arnold piped up, and Connor thought he looked even more horrified than Nabulungi did. They both stood up from the stools, Kevin soon following, and Connor watched him shoot a dirty look at the bartender.

It was probably selfish that all Connor could think at that moment was that he was sure grateful that Kevin had never given him a dirty look like that. He was never, ever scared of Kevin, but if he had to pick one, what Arnold nicknamed “Kevexpressions”, it would be that look.

“James!” Connor slightly jumped at Chris calling him over, his voice right in his ear– it stung for a moment, and Connor lifted up his hand to rub his ear. Compared to the music, which was way too loud but he’d gotten used to it anyway, Chris’ voice broke up the constant stream of low bass ringing through Connor’s ears. “Hurry,” he yelled once more, but Connor didn’t react this time.

Exiting the basement into the near silent lobby of the building was the most peaceful Connor had ever felt. Serenity was a word he used seldom, but the silence sounded heavenly and he’d earned back the privilege of getting to chat with his friends without having to scream.

“Uh,” Kevin said, the first one to break the silence, and Connor would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit annoyed that he didn’t get to enjoy it for much longer, “if you guys are still up to it, there’s this rooftop bar garden thing that opened at the top of my complex a few months ago. If we wanna check it out.” Connor seemed to be the only one nodding, but his gaze was locked in on Kevin (wherever he went, he’d follow). “I haven’t been, yet.” Kevin added.

“Yeah, I’d love to go,” Connor quickly replied– embarrassingly quickly, and was met with quiet agreement from the group around him.

“Oh, uh, by the way,” Arnold piped up, “are Brian and Nate okay with being left downstairs? Should we get them?”

Chris shook his head. “I talked to them earlier. They said they’d be fine if we’d left.”

The wait for the Uber was surprisingly short, and Connor was surprised Kevin was able to find a car that could fit all of them. He’d never been to Kevin’s complex before, at least not this one– he’d moved right before Covid and there hadn’t been a reason for Connor to visit since then (maybe if Kevin was less cocky he would have hosted a housewarming party for his friends who wanted to visit, like Arnold or Connor. Just a nice thought though). He’d certainly thought about it though. He knew it was a fancy apartment. High ceilings, maybe? A big shower with a detachable shower head? A king sized bed with a fluffy white comforter, big enough to fit both of the-

Connor was really wasted. Thinking about this? He never thought about these things when sober. Ever. These thoughts would only come in the middle of the night, nights just like these when he could stare at Kevin judgment free. 

In the Uber, Kevin sat shotgun and Connor sat alone in the final row of seats in the car. 

The After-After-After-Afterparty

The air felt cold on Connor’s face as he stepped out onto the roof of Kevin’s apartment complex, and the building was nicer than he could have ever imagined it being. Not that his own apartment was dinky or anything, no, but the building itself was just so majestic that Connor’s dwarfed in comparison. 

Slowly nearing six in the morning, the rooftop was eerily empty. The bar remained open, the bartender a young woman boredly sitting on her phone– Connor already felt safer here than he did at the club. Picnic tables were scattered around the roof, and string lights hung from poles were draped in the air, creating a canopy a few feet above Connor. To his surprise, there was a small sunken-in pool near the center.

“Wanna go to the bar?” Kevin nudged Connor, smirking, and Connor couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Are you not drunk enough?” He scoffed. Kevin shook his head.

“I have all the money in the world, Connor,” he joked, “I might as well spend it.”

“And you’d rather drink shitty stuff here than high end stuff when you go to Tahiti? ‘Cause that’s gonna cost so much more but it’s gonna taste so much better.”

“Well, you’re not gonna be in Tahiti, are you?”

Connor frowned. “That’s the only reason you’re drinking this much? Me?”

“I’m gonna be gone most of the summer, and we’re old and I don’t think you’d want to do this weekly. So like, do it once now, and we’re hanging out, and we’ll get it over with. Drinking alone makes me sad. I like doing it with you.” Kevin flicked his eyes over to the bar, where Chris and James were ordering their own drinks. “So one more? Please?” He shot him a look, like a small child begging their mother for candy, and how could Connor say no?

And so that’s how Connor found himself, three more drinks in. “That’s it though,” he told himself as he finished the last sip of whatever Kevin had ordered for him, and he was currently bringing back another drink for him and James (Kevin was scarily good at his persuasion abilities). Connor’s shoes were beside him and he was sitting on the ledge of the pool, his feet dipped in. He swirled them around slowly and carefully, not letting the water splash back onto him or any of his friends, all sat beside him, feet also submerged in the water.

Not that he wanted another drink, but a part of him wondered when Kevin was coming back– maybe he’d let him have a tiny, little sip. Connor’s back was to the bar, and he wished he could turn his head, but at this point he just felt so out of his own body, like watching the scene in third person. He tried to look behind him, but it was as if someone had chained it down. His head was heavy.

Connor’s careful attempts to prevent water from the pool splashing up were foiled the moment he felt a hand on his back gently push him into the water beneath him. He barely had time to react, and before he could even process he was underwater, with his hair now flat against his face and in his eyes, he was back up to the surface again, panting to catch his breath, and watched both Kevin and Chris double over in laughter.

“What the fuck?”

“I’m–” Kevin wheezed, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Connor.” He sharply inhaled, trying to stop himself from laughing, and Connor’s gaze flicked over to Chris, who was making no real attempt to stop laughing at him. “Chris said he’d give me twenty dollars if I did it.”

“Chris?” And now Connor was fighting a grin of his own, because even though he was a little bit pissed off, and ignoring the thought in the back of his mind telling him he’ll be freezing when he gets out, it was kind of funny. And he probably would have done the same thing.

“ I’m not sorry.” Chris manages to stop his laughing long enough to deadpan Connor. They make eye contact for a moment, and Chris flicks his eyes to the side, towards Kevin, and Connor already knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“I want my twenty dollars too,” Connor said, quickly grabbing Kevin’s hands and pulling him towards him, and somewhat like a cartoon character, Kevin flailed his arms in the air for a split second before unwillingly joining Connor in the water.

“What the fuck?” Kevin mimicked Connor the second he came up for air, and he was laughably worse at the fake-annoyed schtick. 

“Karma,” he replied, and finally pushed his hair back and out of his eyes.

Reality seemed to hit both of them at the same time, a few moments after Chris had made both pose for a picture together (offering an extra five to both. He didn’t have to do that. Connor would have said yes anyway, because there was no way he was getting in a pool fully clothed for nothing. He at least wanted a picture). 

“So, uh, should we get out?” Connor hesitated, and he wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to. The air was frigid and the temperature of the pool was fine. He was surprisingly comfortable.

“Probably,” Kevin ran a hand through his hair, trying to pull apart the wet knots as he did, “uh, since my apartment’s right downstairs, do you want to go down? And shower?” He paused, with no discernable reaction from Connor. “Not- ha, not together, obviously, but like… yeah. Anyway. Shower. Shower?” By the end, his cheeks were fully flushed and his speech flowed as well as a scratched vinyl, but Connor eagerly nodded in thanks.

As they walked back to Kevin’s apartment– a penthouse on the 19th floor– Connor wasn’t even thinking about how nice the inside of it would be. Instead, he shivered, holding himself, and fantasizing about the hot water. 

The After-After-After-After…

(It’s not a party if it’s only two people.)

Connor stepped out of the shower, the room filled with steam, like a sauna. Kevin let him shower first, which he was eternally grateful for, but couldn’t help but worry that he was cold.

But if he was really that cold, he probably would have insisted he shower first.

He was grateful that Kevin leant him some dry clothes too. He laid them out on the toilet– a pair of gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt. No boxers or socks, which was fine, it was gross to share those, but Connor winced at the unfamiliar feeling of wearing pants with nothing underneath. At least the sweatpants were soft. Kevin could have been evil and given him a pair of jeans. It was nice to see Kevin cared about him sometimes, even though he was the one that had gotten them into this entire debacle in the first place.

Whatever. It would be fun to laugh about in the morning. 

He stepped out of the bathroom, steam escaping the small room and quickly dissipating as it hit the colder air of Kevin’s penthouse. 

“Hi,” he said, and Kevin looked up at him from sitting at his kitchen table, wrapped in a beach towel that Connor was pretty sure had a picture of Miss Piggy on it. His hair was still wet, and messed up, but Connor thought it was cute– he rarely got to see Kevin Price when he didn’t look absolutely pristine and perfect. It humanized him a little bit more. “Bathroom’s all yours,” he smiled at him.

“Thank you,” Kevin replied, and when he stood up, Connor could see him shivering (guess the Miss Piggy towel was too thin). “I’ll be quick. I promise,” he said, quickly approaching the bathroom door, but paused for a moment before he stepped in. “You can wait on the couch for me, if you want. Make yourself at home.” Kevin returned the smile before he stepped into the bathroom, swiftly shutting the door, and Connor could hear Kevin’s sopping wet shirt slam against the tiled floor, and then subsequently, the shower turn on.

Connor made his way to the couch, which basically looked brand new except for an indent on the longer side facing the television, where he assumed Kevin must sit. All this room, this gigantic, fancy, beautiful apartment and he never did anything with it. If Connor’s residence looked like this, he’d have people and guests over constantly. But maybe Kevin liked having it clean. Despite how modern and sleek everything appeared, it still looked lived in. Maybe if there were less magnets on the fridge, or less framed photos on the wall, or less unlabeled keys in the bowl that sat by the door it would look more like an IKEA display than a residence, but Kevin’s charm and charisma and personality seeped through every aspect of the home. Connor took a seat beside the indent. Maybe, in the future, he could be here enough to have his own couch indent, right beside Kevin’s.

Connor opened his phone, ignoring the TV and the remote sitting on the coffee table in front of him (and a half-empty mug of coffee sitting on a coaster that Connor wondered how long it had sat untouched for– okay, so maybe Kevin wasn’t that clean). He opened Twitter– damnit, X, whatever, it was stupid, and mindlessly scrolled through his timeline for a few minutes before a post from some fanpage caught his eye. It was a screencap from Goodnights, where he could see himself only partially, chatting with Arnold. The caption read: “ does anyone know where kevin went?? he was there behind naba before credits but then the camera cut and he was gone ???”

Right. Connor didn’t know how he’d let himself forget that. It had only been a few hours, and Kevin seemed really upset. He was fine now– and he’d probably had enough drinks to try to forget why he was upset– but that wasn’t healthy, right? And Connor was his friend, (and besides the fact he was nosy), he wanted to help Kevin, and comfort him if he was upset. Because that’s what friends do.

Kevin exited the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. “Um, Con?”

“Yeah?” He powered his phone off and glanced over his shoulder, watching Kevin, and his tall build and his fair skin, and more fit than Connor himself would ever be.

“Do you still want to watch the sunrise?” Connor smiled and eagerly nodded. “Okay, uh, I’ll meet you on the balcony.”

“Okay,” Connor hummed in reply, and stood up. His headache had returned, but it was fine– the fresh air would help. He made his way over to the sliding door that led out to the balcony and heaved it open (it definitely didn’t take him a minute to figure out the lock).

The balcony was furnished with a small, brightly colored couch with some cushions, a small table, and some plants set out near the railing. He looked out against the dark buildings, warm light radiating from them, and the sky was beginning to shift from a dark purple into a blue-gray shade, the sun not quite visible yet. Connor was content. He could sit here in silence, and people watch on the street below and the few windows he could see into. It was quiet, and he liked the quiet.

Kevin disturbed the quiet though, but Connor never really minded. He slid the sliding door open and pulled the curtain closed behind them, now dressed in plaid pajama bottoms and a solid shirt, stepping out barefoot onto the balcony and joining Connor.

“Hey,” he said, voice low.

“It’s beautiful,” Connor remarked, “I can’t believe I haven’t been over here before.”

“Sorry,” Kevin replied. “I’ll invite you over some more when I’m back from Tahiti, and next season, and the summer after that. If you want,” he smiled, sitting beside Connor, and now their knees were touching.

“Are you excited for next season?” Connor asked, and something in Kevin’s face dropped.

“I- um,” his face became increasingly red, and he swallowed, “I guess so? Yeah.”

Connor paused. “Are you alright?”

Kevin sharply inhaled. “...Yeah.”

“No you’re not.” 

He shot him a glance, and took a shaky breath. “No, I’m not,” he admitted.

If Connor looked close enough, he could see tears beginning to well up in Kevin’s eyes, and a pang of guilt hit him. He didn’t want to make Kevin upset. He was just trying to make conversation, and they’d always talked about Season 50, and their plans for it, and Kevin would always light up in excitement when it was brought up. This was unlike him. The only reason Connor could fathom that something changed, why he was so upset was that something was changing– someone was leaving.

Connor’s heart sped up in his chest, his thoughts now racing. Could Kevin be leaving? Would he really leave before SNL 50? Did Joseph fire him? He felt his blood rush hot, and his headache came back even stronger. He felt his chest tighten, and tried to ground himself. Breathe, Connor. Inhale, exhale. He couldn’t even begin to fathom what he’d do if Kevin was leaving. If he had abandoned him. This was supposed to be their big year, and if Kevin was gone it would foil all their plans, and Connor hated being left alone, behind in Studio 8H. After Steve, he promised himself it would never happen again. Yet here he was, ten years later in the same place he started.

But he had to remind himself that it wasn’t true, at least not yet. His anxiety was getting the best of him, and he didn’t know the truth yet. He might just be upset that Season 49 was ending. Something as simple, as easy as that. “Why?” Was all he could bring himself to whisper, because he had to ask something, dancing around Kevin’s delicacy so as to not upset him further.

Kevin shook his head and wiped his hands on his pajama pants, slowly rubbing his palms up and down his thighs. He took another low breath, this time more grounded and less shaky, but Kevin brought a hand to his face and wiped his eye, and presumably, a tear away. “I-” his speech faltered for a moment, and he sadly glanced over at Connor for a moment, before dropping his gaze back down to his hands.

And ever so audible, he muttered, “Arnold is leaving.”

He stared at Kevin, because he was so confused that is all he could manage to do. It was basically unheard of for longterm cast members to leave before a big season. Arnold had been on the show for fourteen seasons, and Connor and Kevin both knew he’d likely depart after Season 50– but this? Right before one of the biggest seasons in television history? Was an absolute shock to Connor.

His own anxiety eased, his gratefulness that it wasn’t Kevin who was leaving an impossible relief to put into words, but his heart broke for Kevin. Arnold was one of, if not his best friend. The devastation on Kevin’s face was unlike he’d ever seen before.

“Why now? I thought he was waiting,” Connor replied, quietly.

Kevin shook his head. “If I tell you, you have to swear not to tell anyone. At least not yet.” Connor frantically nodded his head, and Kevin held up his pinky. “Pinky swear?”

He affirmed with another nod and then joined his pinky with Kevin’s, wrapping it around with a firm squeeze. “Pinky swear.”

Kevin let out another shaky exhale. “Nabulungi is pregnant.” He finally said, and Connor stayed quiet, the words hanging in the air. “He wants to be with her. Through the whole thing. He told me that he wasn’t going to miss a second, that he wanted to be with her every single step of the way.” He paused again, and Connor watched him swallow, tears welling up in his eyes. Kevin broke his stare on the floor and turned fully towards Connor now. “He is the most considerate, kind person I know and I hate him for leaving me.” He sniffled. “And I know that is so selfish, but I totally love him more than Naba does,” Kevin joked, smiling through his tears as one slowly dripped down his cheek. Connor let out a light laugh, and Kevin continued. “He told me and Joseph. And that’s everyone who knows. And now you, I guess. But they’re keeping it hush, at least until a few weeks before the beginning of next season, just in case anything happens.”

“And is that why?– at Goodnights–” Connor hoped he knew what he meant.

Kevin weakly nodded his head. “Yeah, with that, and Arnold leaving, he told me just before the show, and I knew I had to just– push through Update, you know? No one could know I was sad, that’s like embarrassing, and then if I showed it, I like, couldn’t defend myself or anything, because I couldn’t say why I was sad… and then, um,” Kevin wiped a tear from his face, this time the other cheek, “I know– I know this is selfish, but with you hugging Chris first at Goodnights, and then Arnold and Naba, and I was just standing there, y’know, I’m surrounded by people, but I just felt so fucking alone in that moment. And I knew that if I stayed there for a second more I’d lose it, so I just… left. And I’m sorry.”

Connor offered him a sad smile. “It’s okay, Kevin.”

He stayed silent for a moment, thinking, and it was like Connor could see the wheels in his head turning– when he was thinking about something, really thinking about something, he could see it on his face. Arnold had been the one to point it out– another signature Kevexpression.  

He finally began to talk. “It’s just… we all have our pairs, right? Chris and James, Arnold and Naba, me and you. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.” He moved even closer to Connor’s face, and every time Kevin let out a soft exhale it tickled his nose. This was intimacy in a way he’d never felt it before, and Kevin seemed small. Kevin Price, who took up all the space in every room he walked into, who Connor had spent the last decade and a bit of his life admiring. From afar and up close. Very up close now, and the red around Kevin’s eyes wasn’t fading any further. 

The sun began to peek up on the skyline. Not blinding quite yet, but it hit Kevin’s face in a way that made him glow, gold flecks in his eyes almost sparkling. Maybe they actually were, because Kevin was magic, and Connor still sat here, in his shadow. He wondered if the sun was hitting him too. Something in Kevin’s gaze shifted, like admiring treasure, and he reached up and gently dragged a finger across Connor’s cheek.

“There was something on your face,” he whispered, and his cheeks flushed red.

“Thank you.” Connor replied even softer, and Kevin drew back for a moment. Connor watched him think– no, contemplate, this was a different expression from before. He anticipated what Kevin had to say with a dim excitement. He would listen to Kevin talk for the rest of his life if he could.

“Connor.” Kevin’s gaze returned to his lap, and he seemed to just be saying his name, tasting it, seeing how it felt coming out of his lips. He was quiet for a moment, and Connor thought he may have been asking for his attention.

“Hm?” He hummed, turning his head to look at the reflection of the sun on a window across from the balcony, and then turned to look at Kevin, who lifted his head again, and turned back to Connor.

He bit his lip. “I like you.” He let the words hang in the air for a moment, and Connor tilted his head. “I think you’re the funniest person I’ve ever met.” He paused for a moment, and then added with a grin, “besides myself.”

Connor let out a light laugh, but faltered for a moment as Kevin’s words sunk in: I like you. In a platonic way? They were best friends, but did best friends stare at each other when the other wasn’t looking, hoping, praying they don’t meet your gaze? Or in a romantic way? But lovers don’t leave each other, Connor knows this from Steve, and Kevin Price loves to take flight. He flees when something isn’t quite right. He is a bolter. Connor used to be one too. He understands. 

Neither of them had girlfriends. They never talked about it. Connor’s reason, well, obvious, but he never thought to press Kevin on it. Rather, he assumed Kevin just liked to focus on his work, and rarely strayed from it. Maybe he felt content with everyone already in his life. Connor knew that he personally was, so he wouldn’t judge Kevin for it. Connor could never recall him talking about a relationship ever in the time they’d known each other. 

He thought for a moment, and finally decided to say, “I like you too, Kevin.” Ambiguous enough that Kevin could choose to elaborate on his emotions, or leave it alone, or close the book on the night and watch the sunrise in silence. They’re at the point where they can have that comfortable silence in their relationship, but Connor’s not sure if the silence now would be very friendly.

Kevin stared at him, like he said something wrong. “No,” he shook his head, “you don’t understand,” he said more slowly this time, and his eyes looked sadder than before, “I really like you.”

Connor could only describe the feeling of the effect of his words like getting punched in the gut in the best way possible. Or more like the feeling of free falling from a drop tower at an amusement park, nerves rushing through him like he hadn’t felt in a long time. Like he’d only felt the very first time he hosted Weekend Update. 

But through the glee, the excitement, anxiety crawled up into the back of Connor’s thoughts. Maybe Kevin was mistaken. He was very drunk after all, and not thinking clearly, and Connor was drunk too. They had a long night, a very long night. And they were both sappy, and saying whatever, and–

Kevin’s words from the beginning of the night rang through Connor’s head.

Drunken words are sober thoughts.

The sun slipped behind the clouds. 

He let out a shaky breath, reality sinking back in. “Like…like-like me?” Connor felt stupid. Only children in elementary school say “like-like” when their friends ask them who their crush is. Not forty year old men making enough to be sitting on a penthouse balcony watching the sunrise.

Kevin nodded in affirmation, letting out a hum. “I’m gay, Connor, I think,” his voice breaks, and so does Connor’s heart. The clouds passed and the sun returned, and the light on Kevin’s face made him glow even brighter than before. Connor felt his heart pound in his chest, just about ready to thump out. “I mean, maybe not, I don’t know, or like does it make me less, um, gay? Because you’ve known you were for… well, forever, and I think I only realized it recently, maybe February, maybe, and Connor, I’m so sorry for not telling you sooner,” Kevin let out a sob, “and I am so, so sorry if this changes things between us, or if you don’t want to be friends anymore, I totally understand, I mean I wouldn’t want to eithe-”

Connor liked Kevin’s voice. He liked it when he was talking to the camera, making a joke and getting a loud laugh. He liked it when they were chatting on the stage at Goodnights, the credits rolling over them. He liked it on loud writing nights, too many people crammed into his office, or on quiet writing nights when it was just the two of them. He liked it on Monday pitch meetings, confident and cocky as hell with his sketch pitches. He liked it when they’d read scripts on Wednesday at five PM and Kevin had to make an excuse as to why he was late, or the rare occasions when he was given a role in a sketch. He liked it at afterparties. He liked it rain or shine. He’d like it when he was whining or complaining, or once in a blue moon where he’d say some insanely smart thing that reminded Connor that Kevin went to Harvard and he didn’t (but he never, ever made Connor feel stupid). He didn’t, however, like Kevin’s voice now, insecurity and terror bleeding from him, begging Connor for something he’d be more than happy to give. So he shut him up.

Connor’s lips were chapped, but Kevin’s weren’t, and he prayed that he wouldn’t complain about it later. The kiss was sweet, and Connor’s heart swelled as he ran his hands up Kevin’s cheeks, the stubble rough on his palms, and the tears that stained his cheeks mixing with the sweat on them. He never, ever wanted this to end. A feeling of pure bliss, his eyelids lightly shut with the golden rain of the sun coating them.

Kevin pulled away first, eyes wide like a lost puppy and gasping for air. Connor had never once seen Kevin Price speechless, but there was always a first for everything.

Connor stared back for a moment, his face more relaxed, and fighting a gigantic smile. “I will never want to stop being your friend.” He finally said, and gave into his smile.

Kevin slowly nodded, and another tear ran down his cheek as his lips curved up to match Connor. He seemed to be beaming even more. “I think we’re a little bit more than friends now,” he said, letting out a sad laugh. 

Connor sighed and slouched into the couch as Kevin scooted impossibly closer to him, leaning his head on Connor’s shoulder, in the crook of his neck. He smiled to himself and flicked his eyes down to Kevin, who now had his eyes shut. The sun was blinding now, but it didn’t matter, because he was at peace. It was silent, except for the quiet breathing of Kevin beside him, his chest rising and falling.

Inhale, exhale.

Connor was grateful for a lot of things. He was grateful to be living in New York, like he always dreamed. And he was grateful that his life here was so beautiful. He was grateful for the random people on the street, both the mean ones and the nice ones and the hotdog sellers. He was grateful for the Naked Cowboy in Times Square because it made him laugh. He was grateful for Lady Liberty and Broadway and the GWB. He was grateful for his job, his friends, his Kevin. He was even grateful for Staten Island.

The sunrise was pretty. He was grateful for that, too.