It's Understandable: A Tronnor AU

28. Acidic

"I really don't want to talk right now."

It was easy to say. Troye never had a problem blowing off his dad, because it's not like there was ever much of an opportunity to hang out with him anyway. He never acted in a way that made Troye want to hang out with him either. So when Shaun tried splurging on father-son time, it was in a way that just made Troye want to push him further away.

Now was no exception to that. Troye was immensely upset, his dad had this magic power that could always make him moreso, and it was obvious that Shaun wasn't aware of this. But when is he aware of anything, really? Troye couldn't even answer his own question, that's why he thought it rhetorically.

No matter the nastiness Troye stuffed under his expression, Shaun acted like everything was peachy keen. He patted a large hand onto Troye's head and ruffled his curls, his calloused skin rough against his son's scalp. "C'mon, Tro!" He pushed, that irritatingly permanent laugh still in his voice. "It's not like you to be this bummed out, tell me what's up."

Troye squirmed uncomfortably; actually it was like him. He sighed aloud because his father knew nothing, and he didn't want to waste his breath educating him on his own kid.

"No." He answered blandly, the single word curbing the urge to go upstairs, grab his bottle of anti-depressants and shove it in this stranger's face.

But Shaun was irritatingly persistent. "C'mon Troye!" He just said again, this time grabbing Troye's forearm jovially, making his marching band of half-closed scabs hit a sour note that he felt throbbing to his elbow. He pulled away in pain, but Shaun stayed oblivious as always. "When was the last time we had a good ole father-son chat, huh?"

Like, ten years ago? Troye grinded his teeth; this always happened. He wouldn't see his dad for a week, a month, two months--the only reminder of his existance being his loud returns at ungodly hours--and then he would expect to be treated like father of the year. How was he supposed to do that? How, when the man was clearly unable to know his son? Troye wasn't going to give him the pleasure of seeing him try.

"I'm not in the mood." Troye spat angrily, refusing to look at his father, refusing to speak respectfully. He usually didn't let himself show his hatred so openly, but he had come undone, and he was finding many of his natural skills very difficult to use.

There was a sheen a silence that passed over the room, like a dark cloud that dims the sun. In this case, Shaun was the sun, but a desert one: too hot, sucking up all the water and thickening the air just by existing. Troye's sanity was sweating because of it, and Shaun sat in slight shock, because this was the very first he'd heard of that. "I'm a little confused as to why you would talk to me like that, Troye." He said slowly, carefully, with little discipline. Troye nearly laughed, because any decent parent would have given him a good tongue lashing. Laurelle would have anyway.

He couldn't deal with this right now, so he moved to get up. "Connor's upstairs with a broken nose." He said venomously. "You should really go help him with that. I bet it really hurts."

Turning to leave, Troye couldn't stop thinking of his bed. He wanted to collapse into it, fold himself up in a blanket burrito and stare at the ceiling for a good few hours. He wanted to think, even though he knew thinking was toxic; he wanted to fantasize about Connor, even though he knew that would be even more toxic. Truly, he knew he needed to talk to him, but Connor was being a big baby, so he wasn't going to. Or was he? Maybe he should be the bigger person here. Maybe he should, but should he really?

Tumbling in his mind like gymnasts with broken wrists, those conflicts slowed his pace, causing him to run his hand over the counter as he walked. He consciously felt his eyebrows knit together, and dipped back into reality enough to hear one word. "Troye?"