Yearbook (Tronnor Songfic Collection)

· Accidental Light

⁂ Time's running out, it's always running out on me, and every road I discover disappears under my feet. Some call it reckless, some call it breathing. Have I said too much or not enough? Is it overkill or is it giving up to measure out the distance of an echo's reach? ⁂ 

The truck whizzes past him with a kick-up of dirt, blowing gravel in his face and grating rocks along his outstretched arm. Troye gives it a vicious look, withdrawing his hand from its hitchhiking symbol to brush the dust out of his eyes. It doesn't really help, tear-ducts burning in resistance and skin scorching where the small chips of gravel drag across it, and he eventually gives up in favour of gritting his teeth at the vanishing form of the country asshole and his stupidly large truck. It's clearly an overcompensation.

Scowling, Troye hikes his backpack higher up on his shoulders and doesn't bother sticking his thumb out again: if it hasn't worked these last eight hours, it's not going to work now.

He'd managed to hitch a ride with a notably sweet couple around his age before then, travelling in the backseat of their Volvo for a good half a day or so as they made their way to their honeymoon destination. Troye hadn't actually asked where they'd been headed, just gratefully slid through the car door and told them he'd go wherever they were going.

In the end, he'd combed himself out of their hair when they dropped by their next rest stop nearly fourteen hours later, slipping out of their van while they were both off in the bathrooms. He'd almost felt bad, ditching them the way he had, but it's not like he actually knew them. Besides, they were on their honeymoon. Just because they were nice enough to pick him up didn't mean they actually wanted him cooped up in a car with the two of them for God knows how long.

To be fair, he'd left a half-assed note for them on Zoe's seat, scribbled on the back of a McDonald's wrapper in blue pen. It'd been a whole word, too. 'Thanks.'

Now, he finds himself dragging his feet down a mostly deserted highway of sorts, sweltering heat sending rivulets of sweat dripping down his burning skin. His legs ache and his back is sore from the bag that weighs it down, but he doesn't even think of stopping. There's nowhere safe to rest in sight, he's not going to get anywhere just sitting on his ass in the scalding sun, and this was supposed to be an adventure of sorts. He can't do much adventuring without actually moving.

Admittedly, it's not really an adventure. It's an excuse and a seriously extreme avoidance tactic and maybe even a bit of a poorly planned mission.

Adventure? Not so much.

Or, at least, it wasn't supposed to be, despite what he told his mother when she asked why he wasn't going to be answering her calls for a few months.

Or, at least, it wasn't until a bright red Prius pulls up beside him and rolls down tinted black windows, an undeniably attractive man a few years older than Troye leaning across the passenger seat.

"Do you need a ride?" the driver asks, eyebrows raised inquisitively as Troye bends down to get a better look through the open window. The guy's hair is a mess, but his clothes are pristine and clean and his car is pristine and clean and there's a small smudge of dirt on the dashboard like someone had their feet up, but it's barely noticeable without a second glance.

Troye shrugs. "Sure," he says and pulls the passenger side door open to slip inside. The car even smells clean, an impressive feat considering the state of the vehicles Troye's ventured into before.

"I'm Connor," offers the guy beside him, smiling through thin lips and a hand slipping smoothly onto the gearshift, jerking it into drive with a foot pressed lightly on the gas and the same hand now moving for the radio.