It's Understandable: A Tronnor AU

9. Shush

Monday morning, Troye swaggered into school like he owned the place. His sunglasses over judgemental eyes, his hair a hot mess of curls, he held his head up like he'd beat the shit out of anyone who defied him. His outfit screamed stylish badass: black skinnies with rips in the knees, studded combat boots, a long-sleeve shirt and a jean vest that was obviously a jacket with the sleeves ripped off. On the vest were promotional buttons for various rock-bands: Nirvana, The White Stripes, Panic! At the Disco, etcetera. He'd even included one for Breaking Benjamin and Nine-Inch Nails, just to seem extra angsty and angry. He stuck his hands deep in his pockets, spine arched backwards with the stance of an absolute asshole.

He usually didn't go to these measures to look tough, but he needed the facade to look extra convincing today. Waking up that morning, he was so worrisome that he felt it in his muscles; aching. He wondered how Connor was doing. Had he calmed down over what had happened? Had he been filled with anxiety over yet another secret spilt? Was he thinking about how much Troye cared? He constantly thought about Connor and the question he refused to ask him: why was it that he couldn't see the beauty in himself? Sure, Connor wasn't the skinniest Troye had ever seen; he had a slight guppie, adorably puffy cheeks and just missed the mark on a thigh gap. Soft-edged, not even enough to use the word chubby, but Troye would still never say that out loud. He only noticed the softness when Connor broke down, and wondered why does any of that even matter? He was still healthy weight, a weight that Troye wouldn't change if he could, but Troye couldn't stop imagining Connor's warped mirror image continuing to haunt him until wasting into a sliver. It hurt him, because he didn't want that to happen; Connor needed to understand that he was so, so beautiful regardless of any ten pounds. Troye didn't want to get out of bed because of it, but he did, concealing his tender heart in the scrappiest clothes he owned and practicing his bitch face in the mirror. He was Elsa: conceal, don't feel, don't let it show.

He needed to see Connor, no matter what. He needed to speak to him face to face and know that he was okay.

Remedial math was right after lunch, and Troye went through the day, his act almost too theatric as he tried to hide his anxiety. It got worse as the day went on, and he started thinking. What if Troye had said too much, when they were sitting on the bathroom floor? Connor had thanked him, touched his face, let Troye hold him as he cried, but what if he was reconsidering? He didn't want Connor to get overwhelmed by their relationship, especially when there were a more detrimental, overwrought feeling to tend to.

He let himself blow out one, deep sigh whilst he stood at his locker. Pretending not to be overwhelmed himself was tiring but, low and behold, he dropped the act for one second, and his nosy friends were upon him. Tyler shimmied up to him, his gossip face on.

"What's the problem, Troye Sivan?" He asked, more amused than concerned.

Troye cemented his face into a frown. "None of your business." He replied, a little too coldly for the indifference he was going for.

"Aw, you know you wanna tell me." Tyler wiggled his eyebrows. "Is it...a boy?"

"No." Troye snapped quickly. Tyler was the last person he needed finding out about this whole situation. He couldn't know even the slightest detail, or the school would be diseased with rumors. It had happened before, but none of those things mattered compared to Connor.

What made it harder was that Tyler clearly suspected something. "I don't believe you!" He sang, jutting his hip. "Is it Jack Harries again? You asked him out what, two years ago? You should go for it; maybe he won't reject you this time."

Troye rolled his eyes. "First of all, no. Secondly, I didn't ask him out. You screamed at him from down the hallway, told him that I thought he was flawless, and made him super uncomfortable."