Their First 10,080 | Tronnor

Saturday: Tilly, Suddenly

Wool socks--not the itchy ones, the cozy ones--were the best things ever invented. Connor and Troye huddled at the end of the couch, legs stretched in a tangled mess across the cushions. Touching feet; something that would be awkward and cold otherwise, was made soothing by the thick, grey knitting embracing their ankles, heels and toes. Besides, nothing could truly seem weird when it came to how they held each other.

"We should make some Ramen or something." Troye suggested, as the Netflix countdown for the next episode of Prison Break began on the television. "For lunch."

"Or..." Connor smiled, nestling his face into Troye's collarbone, "...we could stay right here."

"Con, it's almost one, and you made me snuggle with you instead of eating breakfast." Troye fussed, kissing Connor's forehead. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Priorities, Troye. Priorities."

Troye laughed; he didn't want Connor to starve, but he decided not to push him regardless. Honestly, he himself could've stayed on that couch for days, underneath his downy sweater, his cuddly guy and an aquamarine afghan crocheted by Connor's grandmother. So the Australian's closeness was conquered for the long haul, Connor grinning in satisfaction as Troye tightened his arms around his shoulders, their ankles criss-crossed over each other's. He squirmed upwards very slightly, as to keep Troye's arms from falling away, and was then close enough to kiss Troye's nose. And that he did, followed by his glabella and the birthmark just under his eye. Troye placed his hand on the back of the shorter boy's neck, stroking shorn and fluffy baby hairs as Connor's lips met his. Connor's granny's blanket, once draped over their legs, fell off and onto the ground as they shifted to accommodate the twists and turns of the kiss. Connor smiled as Troye's hand dipped into the back pocket of his jeans, like a boyfriend would in a high school indie film from the 80's. Troye's stylistic essence, Connor thought, seemed to be from that era anyway, with his curly hair, grunge filters and common wearing of denim, high collars and too-big shirts. He could easily be the vintage-clad hottie to his Molly Ringwald.

Inspired in a perfectly trivial way, Connor was about to suggest that they watch Pretty In Pink or Sixteen Candles, but was nearly knocked off Troye as a loud noise made him jump. The front door had slammed open, and a blur of cotton-candy hair flew inside.

"I'm so bored, Con, let's...OH MY GOD!" Tyler clapped a hand over his mouth, and Connor and Troye had barely stopped kissing before simply staring at him in awe. Tyler had caught them...they forgot to tell Tyler...damn it, he was going to flip. In which way, the boys couldn't be sure.

Tyler was unnaturally silent for a moment, before he became himself once again, letting out a squeal that hit a painful decibel. It was so piercing that Connor was surprised that his apartment wasn't surrounded with dogs. The couple on the couch sighed in relief, because being cause of a Tyler Oakley rage was a death sentence. Luckily for them, it was obvious that their friend had been seized by his inner fangirl, and was beaming off his rocker.

"Oh my God! Oh my God! My babes, my OTP!" Tyler gushed, red with breathlessness. He ran over and crazily grabbed Connor by the arm, "Why was I not informed of this immediately? When did it happen?"

Troye snapped out of shock, and laughed at Tyler's excitement. "On Thursday. At the airport."

"We spent yesterday together." Connor added. "We kind of turned off our phones, so that's why we didn't tell you. Sorry."

Tyler squeaked again. "You little balls of cuteness! You know what..." He put his hand to his forehead as if he was going to faint, "...I was coming over to throw some serious shade at Troye Sivan here, who hasn't come to visit me even though he's been in LA for two days, but I've now decided that I can let it slide for you adorable twinks." He sighed, looking up to the ceiling dramatically, as if this act of mercy made him a saint.