Painted On

No

Troye

Troye was worried about Connor.

For a few weeks after that night at Troye's flat, Connor had been more confident and more comfortable around Troye. He wore t-shirts and didn't panic when his shirt rode up, and seemed to be really himself.

But something had been different for a while. He went back to the sweaters. He was jumpy, especially when Troye touched either of his hands or wrists, his sleeves really. Even Troye touching his sweatshirt at all made Connor tense up. It made Troye worry. He had to be very careful not to let his touch linger when they were hanging out. Which was, admittedly, harder than Troye had expected. There were many occasions when Troye wanted nothing more than to have his arm around Connor, but he forced himself not to to avoid making Connor uncomfortable.

What made Troye even more worried was that sometimes, Connor would get a sad, faraway look when he thought Troye wasn't looking.

But of course Troye was looking. He couldn't help it. He was always glancing at Connor. It was just to confirm that he was okay.

It didn't mean anything.

But Troye couldn't not question it anymore. Connor seemed down, and if there was something Troye could do to help he couldn't just sit around. He had invited Connor over for their usual hangout and figured he'd just see how the night played out.

Connor was set to arrive in a few minutes. Troye was standing in front of his mirror, staring at his reflection. As he peeled his tank top off, something on his shoulder caught his eye, a mark that definitely wasn't there before.

No.

No.

No.

He rubbed roughly at his skin, making it red, hoping that it was just an illusion.

But no, of course it wasn't.

The mark stood out against his skin, a mark that he had seen only one place before, on the skin of his best friend.

He couldn't breathe.

Of course he'd fallen in love with Connor damn Franta.

"Shit," he muttered. "No no no no nononono." His words started to blur together as he felt tears welling up in his eyes. He put on the t-shirt, he didn't want to see the mark there anymore. He didn't want it to be on his skin in the first place.

There was no way he was loosing Connor. There was no way he was going to get his heart broken again, by the one person he trusted to mend it. There was no way this was happening. There was no way.

He wrapped his arms around himself, sobs wracking his body. He didn't want to have another broken heart.

But more than anything, he didn't want to lose Connor. He knew Connor was perfectly fine with him as a friend, but with everything he knew about Troye there was no way that he would stick around if he found out about Troye's feelings for him. This was going to lose him Connor.

And he couldn't cope with that. He needed Connor, he'd become dependent on his bright smile and green eyes and beautiful laugh and amazing spirit to get him through the day. He couldn't go back to not having anyone, couldn't go back to not having Connor.

He had fallen for Connor so entirely... fuck.

He couldn't breathe, he was sobbing harder and gasping for air and all he could think about was the fact that he wouldn't have Connor by his side anymore to make him smile and pick him up when he was down and he couldn't take it. He wanted the mark gone so that he could just go back to having his best friend with no complications and he hated the new tattoo so thoroughly and entirely that he just wanted to rip it from the skin. His fingers clawed at his shoulder involuntarily. He still couldn't breathe, it felt like his world was imploding.

A knock sounded loudly on the door, making Troye freeze when he realized who it would be.

Connor.

And then he was crying harder. He couldn't let Connor see him like this, there was no way in hell that was happening.

But he heard the door open and his sobs were growing louder and louder and he knew Connor could hear them from the front room.

"Troye!" There was a thud as something was thrown to the ground and then loud, fast footsteps as Connor ran down the hallway. The door to Troye's room opened a few seconds later, and Connor ran to Troye's side. "Are you okay, what happened?"

Troye recoiled away from Connor. He was shaking, his breath still irregular as he tried to calm himself down.

"Hey, Troye, it'll be okay, talk to me," Connor said. He was reaching for Troye's shoulder then, the shoulder with the mark on it. Troye couldn't let Connor see that. In his panic, he pushed Connor backwards with all the force he had.

He grew even more panicked when he realized that he had just shoved Connor. He didn't want Connor to get hurt. Reaching out quickly, he grasped Connor's hand to protect his head from hitting the ground. Connor stuck hand out behind him, bracing himself and luckily preventing injury.

Troye looked down at their clasped hands, not daring to look Connor in the eyes.

And then he noticed that Connor's sweater sleeve had rode up to his elbow and that Connor's forearm was exposed completely. He let his eyes wander up his friend's arm tentatively.

There was a mark on the other boy's arm that Troye recognized in a second, a mark that made his breath hitch and his throat tighten. Because it was on his own ankle, it had always been there. It was his mark.

There was no way.

He felt like he couldn't breathe. His head snapped up and he met Connor's eyes, which were wide with terror. Connor pulled his hand away and covered his wrist again. He didn't say anything, just stared at Troye with an anxious look on his face.

Troye swallowed around the tightness in his throat and forced himself to inhale.

"C-Con?" he asked shakily.