Prompt: in which Troye is an abused peasant who leaves every day to sit under a tree with his best friend or an au where tro is upset and wants Connor to save him.
Troye felt his feet hit the pavement through his thin, worn out shoes. The soles where falling apart and his toes were poking out of the front. The run from his tiny shack of a house and his poor beat up family to the old weeping willow in which he goes everyday was a long one and he spent it thinking of the all ways he could die.
Drowning, burning, slashing, or maybe even his dads old rifle if he was desperate enough.
The almost dream-like tree comes into view and he slowed to a stop, collapsing underneath it where his best friend was already waiting for him, as beautiful as ever.
"Hello." Troye said and Troye swore he could feel the brush of the sweet boy's hand. "Dads been extra violent lately. Which surprises me because the last time I checked his beer belly made physical movement harder for him." The boys' laughter rang out into the windy afternoon as they sat there contently, Connor completely silent and Troye just enjoying the thought of him being there in general.
They'd been best friends for 16 years as of that day and meeting under the tree had always been a ritual. Troye never learned too much of about Connors home life or his family but a lot about the boy himself and that was enough for the simple soul.
So when Connor would show up with bruises, Troye'd never ask where they were from. Or when he'd come with bloody hands and a shaking body all Troye would do was hold him close. Connor never showed up bloody anymore and Troye supposed that was a good thing, clear skin equals a clear mind.
At least it was for him, Troye still got daily beatings and no sleep, leaving him to work the field with one eye open and only to watch his back. His parents hated him, his siblings were cruel and nothing seemed to go his way. Troye didn't know he was crying at the horrible memories until a particularly loud sob caught his attention.
"I just..." He started, wanting to explain why he was so distraught to his companion. "I want the pain to stop. I want to be happy, and the way things are going I reckon that's impossible. I'm hurting, so so much and I want it to go away. I want...I want you to save me." He was sure then that the warmth in his hand was Connors but he didn't dare look, just in case it wasn't.
Connor again stayed unresponsive and Troye sighed, not blaming him. He leaned up, running his hands over the cold tombstone.
"But that's okay...There's not much you can do from the grave is there?" Then he ran his fingertips lightly over the engraved word's before standing to his feet and starting the walk back home.
In membrane of Connor Franta 1965-1979 (14) an amazing son, brother, and beautiful best friend
Troye supposed that he was happy for Connor, for having the courage to finally leave the hell he was in and escape the devil. He wished he had the strength to do the same but that old willow and a certain ritual kept him grounded.
As his worn out shoes slapped the ground once again, he muttered the sweetest thing he'd ever say, as he said it every time he left the body of his best friend buried three feet under the cold soil.
"I'll stay alive for you Con, I promise. I promise, I promise, I promise."
And Troye just knew that Connor could still hear him even after he'd left because Connor never really left his side.
Not even once. - a/n I'd had this prompt in my head for awhile and reckoned I'd finally write it out.
hope you're having a good day and stuff
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