Their First 10,080 | Tronnor

Sunday: Inky Arms and Bathtub Songs

For the first time since they were just friends, Troye found himself crashing on Connor's couch. He barely slept, between watching Kimmy Schmitt: The Unbreakable and surfing Tumblr for much needed cheer. Eventually it was 3am, and the concept of Connor's hurting heart consumed him so much that he couldn't even laugh at the gifs and puns he encountered. So he gave up. He placed his MacBook carefully on the coffee table, pulling the green afghan up to his nose and just letting the darkness isolate him. All the distraction disappeared, and his thoughts had him pinned in a corner.

You hurt Connor. They sung evilly, like they weren't really part of him, but the voice of a tangible enemy. You made him sad, because he was scared, because he just wanted you to understand. You dismissed his worries to fight over your insecurities. You whiny little bitch. You were selfish to the poor once-a-struggler. The brave overcomer that is your love. Love. You hurt the man you love.

Love. Love. Love.

It kept circling in his head, that one word, because it was the scariest thing his mind could conjure. It was freakishly soon to love him.

Wasn't it?

Real love doesn't form in a handful of days. It doesn't show itself only after you fight with your other.

Does it?

Either way, if Troye really felt it, had he lost it? When he saw Connor next, would they have to start all over? Would they continue at all? He dwelled on it for hours. 5am dawned on him, then 7am hit him with exhaustion, but didn't break him before the 9am sunlight slapped him into wide awakening. He reluctantly sat up, and felt a strong ache trample across his tailbone. It skittered sharply up his back and he hungered, more than ever, to be lying comfortably in the queen sized pillow that is Connor's bed. If that was the case, he wouldn't be nursing sore shoulders and guilty feelings. He'd be cozy and warm and unimpeachable, cuddling into a man who he had never done wrong to and had never done wrong to him. But that was something he wanted, not something he could get by simply imagining it.

He tried to stop thinking about it, telling himself that all he really wanted was a bath. The only problem was that even a task as frivolous as relaxation seemed impossible. In order to get to the bathroom with a tub, Troye would have to walk through Connor's bedroom and, if he couldn't stalk past Connor, he'd be risking breaking their mutual silence. He wasn't ready for that; as much as he had run over the situation, he still didn't know what he should say, if anything at all. So he gave up on that too, making some coffee and plugging in his headphones, hoping it would take the edge off.

However, while the glorious mix of caffeine and Frank Ocean usually worked magic for him, the tenseness in his shoulders desperately needed a hot water beating. Thirty seconds of awkward presence wouldn't kill him, right? It wouldn't be too bad, so he set down his mug and forced himself to grab the doorknob. Connor was probably still asleep anyway.

Wrong.

Connor wasn't even in bed; he was sitting at his desk with an assortment of paper and drawing utensils, moving a marker carefully across clean printer paper. His head was dipped towards his work, but his arms visibly tensed; he knew Troye was there, he heard his careful footsteps, but tried to keep that unknown. Secretly, he was waiting for Troye to say something, to forcefully make up with him, to apologize, to sweep in and kiss him until he forfeited the forgiveness, but Troye tried to move fast. He shut himself into the bathroom without a word and immediately began to run the water, leaving Connor with exponentially more disappointment than he had woken up with. He wasn't disappointed with Troye, per say, but with them as a couple. They were supposed to understand, which Troye couldn't; reign back their tempers, which Connor wouldn't; be compassionate, in which Troye had been too insecure; be truthful, which Connor had dismissed in favour of keeping his secret. While he didn't think Troye's actions were validated, he didn't feel like he himself was right either. Everything about that night was so wrong but, when the possibility of a break-up began messing with the serotonin in his brain, Connor just told himself; it was their first fight. It was new, in a scary way, but they'd get over it. They had to get over it.