Furtive | Tronnor

s e v e n

As predicted, on Saturday Troye's house was deserted. His parents were spending the day indulging in some much needed retail therapy, whilst his siblings had been otherwise occupied with fellow friends and acquaintances.

It wasn't like Troye despised the thought of his family being around, in fact he felt rather the exact opposite to that, but peace and quiet was something he rarely got. It was nice, comforting almost, when he could take the time to be by himself and get lost in trails of thought. Even if said thoughts were usually just of new song lyrics and cute boys.
Except, today he wasn't going to be alone.

He was going to be with Connor.

Troye couldn't help but smile at that, his mind going into overdrive as he shrugged on a red flannel. There was something about Connor that had that left that kind of impression on him, that made him feel happy and amused. He wasn't exactly sure what was behind this reasoning in his head, but pushed it to the back of his mind as he heard the doorbell ring from downstairs.

With one final check of himself in the mirror and a hand running through his flat, carelessly styled hair, Troye tread with caution down the staircase and stepped forward quietly, almost gracefully. He turned the key and unlocked the door, holding his breath a little as the sunlight seeped through from the outside.

Silhouetted beyond the horizon was Connor, who was wearing a grey sweater despite the warm weather. He smiled at Troye shyly, his eyes crinkled and slightly bloodshot as he entered the building. The scent that clung to his clothing was strong and musky, even familiar to Troye. He didn't dare pass a word about it nonetheless; he didn't feel as if he had the right to say anything after all, even if he was a pretty direct kind of guy.

"You're early." Was what he chose to say, his eyes lingering slightly as Connor shrugged his shoulders. Without the sunlight to enhance his features, he now looked exhausted, the faded darkness under his eyes prominent and his skin paler than ever.

"I couldn't sleep." Connor told him, his voice hoarse but capable as he slumped by his side.

Troye quirked a brow slightly, evidently not buying into Connor's story.

"Let me guess; you're hungover?" He tipped his head with a smirk, chuckling at Connor's horrified expression and rushed explanation.

"I'm not! I just had a rough nights sleep, I swear."

"I'm messing with you, obviously." Troye turned on his heels, making his way up the stairs with Connor following closely behind. "Have you ever even drunk alcohol?"

The lack of response from Connor made Troye assume that it was indeed the right assumption. As they both made their way into Troye's bedroom, Connor noticed that half a bottle of vodka was standing almost proudly at his bedside.

"I guess it would be stupid to ask you the same thing." He quipped, with Troye only laughing as a response when he collapsed down onto his bed.

"It's for the creative process."

"Of what exactly?" Connor tentatively took a place on the edge of the bed as he spoke, much like he had done on his previous visit to Troye's bedroom.

Troye's response was muddled. "When I write songs it gives me a buzz. It makes it...easier, I guess."

Connor seemed slightly curious about that. "Easier?"

Troye scrunched up his face, shaking his head a little. "Maybe easier isn't the right word. It's not like I drink it all the time, but occasionally it helps."

Silence filled the room for a few moments as Connor didn't answer, his expression seeming pained. There was something about that very look that made Troye's heart sink a few feet down, something that seemed so very hopeless about it all.