too little, too many // tronnor au

well kept

A boy with pale green eyes sat alone on his shabby bed, his slightly negligent foster parents on the floor below him. The boy, called Connor, could talk. He could and would talk for years. Hell, he would even talk to a wall. It truly annoyed his parents so they often yelled at him to shut up. The loud voices usually caused tears to form in his eyes, causing an uncontrollable stream of tears. About 5 years later when he was 15, he shut off his parents completely. He didn't tell them anything of the internal war he was having in his mind. He didn't tell him about the drugs everyone around him was doing, that he so narrowly avoided. He didn't tell them about the constant bullying that arose at his school. He knew they would just push his concerns away and tell him "That's life".

So he kept to himself and didn't usually talk to anyone. He was essentially a loner, you might put him. He had no one to depend on and he had no one to tell his deepest secrets to.

Then he got a notebook.

Honestly, this thing went everywhere with Connor. He loved it unconditionally despite the age of the journal. The pages were old, the sides were frayed and the paper inside was bent in so many ways yet. he loved it just as if it were new.

He would write about knights protecting kings and queens, two people falling in love, even backstories to music videos. His voice is unused unless it's singing along to a Melanie Martinez song or speaking in class

"He's still dead when you're done with the bottle

Of course its a corpse that you keep in a cradle

Kids are still depressed when you dress them up

And syrup is still syrup in a sippy cup"

Connor started his morning singing a song and attempting to write at least a page before school.

Yet today, no words came to mind. His mind was as blank as the page his pen hovered over.

"Connor! Get to school!" Cheryl, Connors mom yelled, marking the routine start of the day.

Well, thought Connor, at least she isn't yelling at dad.

With a groan, Connor heaved himself out of bed and shivered slightly as his body left the warm comfort and security of the blankets.

He made his way to his bathroom and took a look in the mirror.

He had extreme dark bags under his green eyes, his brown mop of hair laying flat on his head.

He hadn't got a wink of sleep. His inner thoughts haunted him all night. His thoughts were whispering accusations to him. They were wondering why he hasn't gotten a girlfriend yet. This is how it is usually now.

He "wakes up" and addresses how horrible he looks in the mirror but still goes to school looking the same.

Connor threw on a blue long sleeved shirt, jeans with the knee ripped, and white converse shoes.

With a sigh as he silently judged himself in the mirror, he walked out of the room, switching off the light as he did so.

The Frantas have just moved to a new house so, they are still working out the piles of boxes that Connor had to bypass as he walked out the door to school. Cheryl kept nagging Connor to do it but, he always managed to find a way to get out of the tedious job. Now, the boxes just lay there, moved out of the way so people could manage to walk through. Connor has already reached the point where, quite simply, he hates home. He hates coming home to see and hear his parents fight. He hates the fact that they can't know anything about him but, he has already passed the point of no return.

He jumped on the bus and sat in an empty seat, setting his bag beside him to keep people from sitting by him. There were only about 7 kids on the bus so it was alright.

They drove for a little bit and stopped at an unfamiliar house. It was a small, blue, cottage looking house. It looked well kept and the boy it belonged to looked even more well kept.

The boy had bright blue eyes and luscious curls that sat upon his pale forehead. His eyes were extremely bright and alive. They looked cheerily at Connor as he made his way on the bus. The unknown boy stopped at Connors seat.

"Is anyone sitting here?" He asked politely, smiling at Connor. Normally, Connor would scowl and ignore him but, there something about him. Connor grinned and shook his head and Connor moved his bag so the boy could sit down.

"I'm Troye Sivan." He said, happily introducing himself.

"Hi Troye, I'm Connor Franta." Connor said, words running through his mind to describe Troye.

Slim.

Polite.

Awkward.

Cute.

Tall.

Wait... did Connor just think Troye was cute?

NO nonononono no. Recollection of Connors previous nights thoughts were racing through his head. His mind kept asking him "Are you gay? Do you like boys?" and it was relentless in the constant murmuring. That isn't possible. Is it?

"I'm new to this school so, do you mind if I hang out with you?" He asked, looking nervously at Connor.

Connor nodded back.

"That would be great. No one usually enjoys my depressing presence so.. no other people would be hanging out with us." Connor laughed sadly.

"Oh, that's fine. I want to have one really good friend and I think you'll be the one." Troye said, then resorting to looking out the window, allowing Connor to examine his face.

"You'll be the one."

Connor knew that he meant it in a total platonic way but, hell he felt a sensation in his stomach. He was intrigued by looking at Troye's face and his many expressions. As weird as it sounds, Connor liked to watch people and figure out what kind of person they are by just observing.

And Troye was his new subject