It's Understandable: A Tronnor AU

8. Hold Me (While Thunder Yells)

5:00am: Mr. Mellet went to work. He wouldn't be back until nighttime.

6:30am: Mrs. Mellet went to a series of cooking and exercise classes. She wouldn't be back until 3:00pm.

8:30am: Tyde went to his friend's. He would be gone until 5:00pm.

8:45am: Sage climbed into her boyfriend's truck for a weekend road-trip. She wouldn't be back until Sunday.

At all these times, Troye was still sleeping. A Saturday schedule like that was the norm for the Mellets so, when Connor and Troye finally woke up, it was about nine, and nobody else was home, as Troye had expected. This was a nice bonus to their company, and they stayed in bed until about ten without interruption, bantering back and forth until Troye made a comment that had Connor reaching out to tickle him in revenge. He slid out of bed in order to avoid his comeuppance and, hyped by the freedom of an empty house, they both flew out of Troye's bedroom, chasing each other in the spirit of the joke they'd started, lying in bed.

"I'm not a hobbit!" Connor yelled, giggling uncontrollably.

Troye kept running down the hallway, trying not to be attacked. He looked over his shoulder and stuck his tongue out. "Tell that to your height, shortie!"

"Take it back!"

"No!"

"Take it back, Troye!"

"Never!"

Pounding down the stairs, neither boy couldn't breath from the laughter and, once their feet hit flooring again, they sped up, but there were a couple problems.

1. Connor was malnourished, and therefore became a little dizzy with the activity.

2. He didn't notice that the entrance to Troye's kitchen was expressed by a two inch ledge. He stumbled, black spots dancing in his vision, and tripped when his toes hit the raised floor.

"SHIT!" He yelled, clenching his fists and closing his eyes, gasping with the thought of how hard he'd hit the floor. He waited, but the impact never came, because thin, warm arms were cradling him into safety. Troye laughed, his mouth so close to Connor's forehead that his lips brushed skin.

"Yet another victim of the unnecessarily raised floor, huh?" Troye chuckled, brushing Connor's flop of bedhead out of his eyes. "You have no idea how many people have tripped here."

Connor buried his face in Troye's shoulder. "Glad to know it's not just because of my insufferable clumsiness." He snickered, trying not to sigh aloud when Troye took his hand to tug him towards the kitchen.

The Australian looked back at his friend, for just a moment, and was overwhelmed by how frantic his butterflies got at the sight of him in his LANY hoodie and sweatpants, which were so long that they pooled around his ankles. He ran a hand through his sleepy-head hair, and Troye leaned in to whisper in his ear. "By the way, I think your height is adorable."

He winked and skipped into the kitchen, leaving Connor flustered at the sudden...flirtation? No...it couldn't be. Nobody flirted with Connor Franta. He was a nobody. He was just a fat whore with...

After such a wonderful night, the return of his inner Bethany was the last thing he wanted, but she was suddenly there, waving her freakishly long, hot pink fingernails in wicked greeting. She was such a ruiner, even in an illusive form; he was so close that he could almost taste his kiss, but she shackled him to his insecurities until Troye's baggy sweater felt so tight he couldn't breath. He tried to distract himself with joining Troye in the kitchen, but she only got louder as the taller boy threw a heavy cookbook on the table.