Word Count: 1,777
Type: Tronnor AU - cute/heartwarming/fluff
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12 years ago . . . (Troye is 8, Connor is 10)
The hot sun made sweat start to drip down my forehead. All around us was the long meadow grasses, stretched out as far as I could see. A field mouse scurried under my feet and disappeared behind the oak tree. I closed my eyes for a brief second, just taking in the soft hum of the cicadas and the brief chirp of birds above my head.
"I'm hungry," Connor said. I opened my eyes and grinned a little at him. He was standing next to me, looking up at the oak tree.
"We just ate."
"I know." Connor jumped ahead of me and pranced up to the tree. I followed closely behind, curious as to what he was doing. My eyebrows furrowed as he used the groves in the tree to place his feet, reaching up to the first branch.
"You can't climb that, the branches are too high and--" He had already hauled himself up onto the branch and was sitting there. He wasn't smiling or frowning.
I had never seen him smile before.
He waited for a second before gesturing for me to join him. I tilted my head, knowing my spindly 8 year old arms wouldn't help me much.
I crinkled my nose and kept my eye on him as I made my way to the base of the trunk. I looked down, having no clue where to put my feet. I'd never climbed a tree before.
I heard Connor's voice above me. "Put your foot there, where the root is." I paused and tried, my foot slipping once before I had a good grip and reached up for a place to hold. After a few minutes I lifted myself up onto the branch, my knees scraping against the rough bark.
I sat down next to him, looking down at my muddy sneakers as I swung them back and forth. A little black ant crawled over my leg and I brushed it off. The shade from the tree was nice.
Connor was staring at the ground with a strange look on his face. If you asked me now, I'd almost know what it was. A little sad, a little confused, but mostly blank. Kind of dead. Kind of numb. I didn't really notice anything then.
I looked out over the meadow, watching the soft grass ripple and the speckled wildflowers dance in the quiet breeze.
"I love the meadow," I said contently. "Don't you?" Another ant crawled up my arm and I flicked it off. When he didn't reply, I looked over. He was looking down at his hands with the same look on his face. He was holding a little white daisy. I hadn't remembered him bringing it up. He looked at it, his fingers crushing the tiny petals. He slowly started to take the petals off and I watched as they fluttered down to the ground.
"I don't love anything."
He picked more petals off the flower and watched them fall, week and crushed.
"I don't love anyone."
I was taken aback by his words. I don't know how I felt, but I was confused.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
Connor picked the last petal off the daisy. All that was left was a droopy, bare stem. He squished it between his fingers and threw it down into the grass. It wasn't like in the movies, where they take a pretty flower and delicately take off the petals, smiling at it and making each petal count, each one last in a moment in time. He just ripped off the petals and tossed them away as if it meant nothing. It was just a flower. A flower. That's it. There were lots of other ones around, I guess.
