Tronnor One-Shots

The Simplest Thing

They last time I tried to say something to my reflection, it changed my life. With my hands on the counter, my face inches from the mirror, I looked myself in the eye and put all my suppressed feelings right into the vast reality. Just two words spoken to myself, and the courage surged through me. It was like I turned on a light.

Now, months after, I stand there again. Looking at myself, wondering if this would work in a different context. If I changed two words to four, would it still give me confidence?

It's March 2015, and my reflection is different. I've lost muscle, my face is rounder and my neck thinner. I dress how I like, without fear. My hair flops into my eyes; my eyes are brighter. Happier. I'm happier.

And there's one last thing: I now know what love is, and I can clearly see that in my face.

"I-"

But I can't admit it. This is something I should be able to say, right? Something I truly mean and want to tell him. Something I can't stop feeling.

"I l-"

I've been with Troye since September. We took it slow during the tailend of 2014, since I was still coming out, but now both our feet share the same gas pedal. And we've been pushing harder and harder as the year has gone on, and the wind makes me smile. Makes us smile.

"I love-"

Maybe I can't say it because I'm scared of having courage push me to tell him. That, if I do confess, he'll take his foot off the pedal. That he'll regard it as a pothole and pump the breaks.

That he hasn't gained enough mileage to love me back.

I observe my eyes, slick with such adoration. I see him in my pupils, always visible in my heart, and know that if I say those four words there will be no going back.

"I love y-"

If I say it once, I won't be able to hold myself back.

"I love-"

There will be no hiding.

"I love you-"

But do I really want to hide?

"I love you, Troye."

Yes. Yes, I love Troye. I love him from the east to the west, north to the south, California to New Zealand to Australia to London; I love him so much.

My reflection smiles at me. His shoulders raise and his eyelids wrinkle and he displays the way the anxiety just slips out of me.

"I love you, Troye!" I say again, louder, as sure as I am about the existence of my own two feet. "I love you!"

Then I hear it: a giggle. A soft, sweet chuckle from right outside the bathroom door. The giggler hears me freeze, and suddenly the door is opening.

I love his smile. Troye's mouth is pinned up delicately on the clothesline of his happiness and it sets my heart ablaze. His eyes have a sunken shadow to them, after such a long day at the studio, but the brightness overtaking him cancels it out.

I don't ask how much he heard. I don't ask why he's grinning or blushing or why he's playing with the hem of his shirt.

"I love you, Troye."

I had to say it now.

Troye's smile dips downwards, but out of nothing but a peaceful slackening of the face. He takes a step in, transferring his hands to the hem of my shirt, and gives me the gentlest of kisses.

"I love you too." He murmurs, his lips brushing against mine as he speaks. The words click his mouth into a smile, and I feel a jolly puff of laughter come from his nose. "I love you so much."

Then we kiss again, in a way that weathers our bodies to tune out the rest of the world. I don't hear the wind from the open window slam the bathroom door. I don't feel my clothes on my body. I don't taste my own toothpaste.

What I do experience though, is the sound of our lips moving perfectly against each other; the feel of his long fingers running over my waist and back; the taste of his raspberry chewing gum. All these sensations, they are all categorized under one, special feeling. Love, and one other, simple thing:

I want to stay here forever.