Their First 10,080 | Tronnor

Friday: Connor's Mattress

Lying in a real-life dream, Troye was remembering beginning his drive from Perth to Sydney, plane ticket tucked securely in his wallet. It had been 12:01pm on an Australian Thursday, and 7:01pm where Connor was, in his clear Wednesday evening. Troye had imagined the small, sweet American washing his dishes along to Ella Eyre or The Kite String Tangle, putting on a one-man concert for an audience of cupboards. Connor was tone-deaf, inexplicably so, but Troye hoped his vocal cords strained with the volume he sang. He hoped he was hyped and excited, and that he was thinking of Troye as he danced around. Troye, himself, was absolutely thrilled, and a little jittery, about seeing his more-than-friend again. He smiled nervously to himself; more-than-friend. He wondered if Connor called him that too.

Though he wished on obscured stars that something special would come of them, Troye hadn't been thinking of a particularly staggering future hitting him any time soon. Sure, as he focused on the road, he thought about taking steps with Connor, about finally getting up the courage to tell him how he felt, but what else was new? His feelings and fantasies were predictable as of late, but there were things that he just couldn't fathom happening, that had happened regardless. Waiting for boarding, he could never have predicted that Connor would blow open the whole platonic façade they had going, and cause him to sit through nearly a day of wondering. Wondering whether Connor really meant it when he typed "I kind of like you...in the romantic way." As he recalled, he worried how much legitimate value a digital conversation held, when it came to terms of love. But then he lapsed into the past, a.k.a. the time-zone of west coast United States, and experienced the most bewildering Thursday of his existence.

He didn't expect to have any guts.

He didn't expect for Connor to truly want him.

He didn't expect to get the kiss he'd wanted forever.

He didn't, not at all, and neither did Connor. But it happened, the scenes laying out in front of them so stunningly quick that, naturally, they stayed with each other as the clock went from four digits to three and back again. Connor liked boys: he liked their figures and their facial structure and, with admittance far from reluctant, the circumference based around their hips. He thought about them and swooned over them, but never had he ever been with a guy. Until he had, sharing his bed in the wee hours, relishing his new knowledge of Troye and how he could make his heart howl with wildness he'd never known. It had been unparalleled to even their most electrifying fantasies; a learning experience for them both, but better than they ever could have dreamed. In the midst of it all, Troye vaguely remembered an overly energized Connor saying something about the perks of insomnia, but he wasn't sure. He couldn't be sure of anything even slightly intelligent. His mind had electrocuted itself in a way that made it difficult to form a coherent thought other than "Connor. Connor. Everything is Connor."

Around three am, the lust and rowdiness had dwindled into what they currently lay in; a tender delight, which was undoubtedly just as fantastic. They'd gotten out of bed only for a moment, pulling on warm clothes to shield themselves from the chill of October nights.

"Closer." Connor mumbled, beginning to fade almost immediately after his body touched the mattress. Troye had his hands on Connor's waist, lightly, gently, in a way he liked, but he still obliged. Snaking his arms under Connor's and around his back, snuggling in tight and close, he realized that this was even nicer. Warmer. Cozier. Eventually they could stay conscious no longer, and fell asleep in each other's gentle grasp.

They woke up in the sun swathed hours, with feathers in their chests and warmth soothing their skin. It was one of those mornings; a half-awake land so comfy and perfect that the boys pretended to be fast asleep, staying perfectly still to prevent disruption of the peace. It was nearly noon but, if you could experience their cocoon, you'd fully understand their indisposition to get up. Connor's bed was plush and cozy, warm with body heat and scented with the pleasant musk of colognes he'd fallen asleep with over the years. His sheets were cinched under their bodies, swathing them in a soft burrito, and the fabrics of their jumpers, sweatpants and thick socks made holding the other exactly the way the word 'cuddle' makes you feel.