Their First 10,080 | Tronnor

Tuesday: Please Don't Cry

Connor woke up with one thought on his mind: I regret everything, which was, of course, a slight exaggeration. There was really only one decision he consciously regretted, but the aftermath of that single choice seemed all-encompassing. It was hard not to hyperbolize when his head felt like he was living that one scene from Spongebob. You know, when little copies of himself were running around the brain in utter chaos? If that reference is confusing, then Connor, stripped of the simile, had the worst headache ever.

It was gloomy and rainy outside, but Connor was warm with Troye sat beside him in bed, his laptop on his lap as he held Connor's head against his stomach. As long fingers swam back and forth through his hair, Connor's head just pounded with even more force, as if there were little pulsing objects behind his temples and eyeballs. He tried to distract himself by reading the subtitles of the foreign film Troye was watching, in which a short-haired little girl was on her father's lap, steering the car. One of Troye's earbuds was just in his reach, so he could hear what language the film was in if he wanted to, but he found that even the motion of the actor's mouths encumbered him with nausea.

"You're awake." Troye murmured as Connor wiggled around, trying to get into a position that eased his stomach. He paused the movie. "How are you feeling?"

"Like crap." Connor replied, pressing his cheek to Troye's shoulder. "I'm never drinking again."

Troye smirked and leaned over, grabbing a plastic box from the nightstand. A tall glass of water was placed precariously inside, in the corner, pushed against the side by a large assortment of medication. Connor sat up as Troye passed him the glass and a bottle of ibuprofen, shaking out a couple and downing them with great pleasure. He drank the entire glass of water in one swig, and came back to find that Troye had two Tums tablets held out in his palm, a green one and an orange one, the flavors he knew Connor liked.

"Thank you." Connor smiled, sucking contently on the Tums, feeling his rumbling stomach calm bit by bit, as the pain in his head slowly decreased. As his body started running a little more properly, he began to wonder.

"By the way, did I do anything stupid last night?" He asked. "It's all a little fuzzy."

Troye laughed out loud. "If you call jumping up onto Tyler's coffee table, serenading me with my own song, and then puking all over the carpet stupid, then yeah."

"Ugh, no." Connor buried his head in his hands. "That's so embarrassing."

"Actually, not really." Troye grinned, pulling out his phone and tapping around until he found the audio message that Hannah had sent him. "Listen to this."

The first note of Connor's rendition of Happy Little Pill blasted from the tiny speakers, and the American blushed profusely. "You recorded it?" He shook his head and pressed his hands over his ears. "I don't want to hear it. I probably sound like a dying giraffe."

Troye paused the recording. "A giraffe? Why a giraffe?" He laughed, and Connor shrugged.

"I don't know, it's just the first animal that came to mind, okay."

Troye smiled softly, gently removing Connor's hands from over his ears. "Baby, trust me. You want to hear this."

"Baby, trust me. I don't."

"But it's superb! You're an amazing singer, Connor, so you shouldn't be embarrassed." Troye praised, running a thumb lovingly across his cheek. "Seriously, we should collab on my album, you're that good."

"You're the singer, Troye, not me." Connor threw back, blushing again. "I'm not even half as good as you. I'm musically impaired! I suck at it!"

"No you don't! Just listen!" Troye pestered, pressing play on the recording. But Connor acted fast, grabbing Troye's phone and deleting the audio file, along with the conversation in which Hannah had sent it.