two

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by peachymellet

by peachymellet

Troye

I wake up to a text on my phone from Connor. How long had I been asleep? The text had been sitting there, unread, for 28 minutes. I gasp and open it, smiling before I've even read his message to me.

Conbon: Hey Troye boy!!

Me: Connor! Hey!

He responds almost instantly, his read receipts letting me know he opened my message a mere 17 seconds after it delivers.

Conbon: How's hospital life treating ya?

Me: I'm up to my neck in boredom, save me.

Conbon: Visiting hours are still going on, yeah?

My heart races and my palms instantly clam up. Is he coming to visit me?

Me: I believe so.

Conbon: Coolio. I'll be there to save you from said boredom in approximately 16.5 minutes

Me: 16.5, how precise.

Conbon: You know me, I'm a precise perfectionist.

Me: That you are. See ya soon, Franta.

Conbon: Sounds like a date, Sivan.

My lips go from pursed because of the pain in my chest to a lose, happy smile. "Sounds like a date" plays constantly over and over in my head, and I pull up the camera on my phone, making sure my curls look alright. Oh, should I repaint my nails? Maybe I should put my nose ring in. No, don't bother. If he can't take you at your worst, he doesn't deserve you at your best. Ah, what the hell, my nail polish is chipping and it looks horrid. One quick little coat won't hurt.

As I screw the cap on my dark blue, almost black, polish and put it back on my bedside table after completing the task, I hear a familiar voice at the door.

"Troye boy!" Connor smiles. His voice is soft and quiet, and his throat produces a wet cough after, so loud it makes me jump. He's wearing a yellow jumper with black skinny jeans and his favorite black sneakers. His hair is particularly fluffy today, making me want to reach out and run my fingers through it. Connor walks over, puts a vase of yellow daisies by my bed, and sits in the chair beside me, still smiling.

"Hey there, Conbon." I smile a big, toothy grin, appreciating the beautiful flowers he just got me, which he probably got from the gift shop downstairs. But I mean, hey, I'm not complaining.

"I see you painted your nails. What color today?" He leans over, obviously interested. I show off my dark nails with pride, and Connor smiles and nods approvingly. "Darks and pinks are your colors. For sure. Have you ever tried a light blue? Like maybe a sky-ish color?"

"Actually, no." I look down at my fingers, wondering how they would look with light blue on them. I guess the thought never occurred to me.

"Well, I can take a bottle from Nicola." Connor looks around my room. "She never paints her nails anymore. Except for red." He grins at me. "So! I brought movies."

"And what, pray tell, did you bring to my rescue, Mr. Franta?"

"Well, Mr. Sivan," I get chills when my last name leaves his lips. "I brought 50 First Dates and Little Rascals. Wasn't sure which one you'd prefer."

I smile and take the discs in my hands, examining them. Connor lets out another alarmingly loud and painful-sounding cough, making me look at him, wide eyed. "Are you okay? Maybe you should go check in again." My voice is obviously tinged with worry.

"I'm fine." Connor chuckles, still wheezing a bit. "And besides, I just checked out this morning, why would I wanna check back in?"

"To hang out with me?" I joke, laughing and handing him The Little Rascals. "Put it in."

"You know I love hanging out with you when I get the chance." Connor gets up and smiles at me before walking over to the ancient DVD player hanging off of the TV in my room. "This past month we've been friends has been awesome. But you're, like, my only friend in this hospital. And I hate feeling alone when I'm here."

"I know that feeling." I sigh as Connor walks back over and presses play on the remote before sitting back down. "I just can't wait to go home again, you know? I miss my friends."

"Makes sense, I miss mine too. Of course, my mother has me on quarantine all the time, so having friends isn't really an option for me anymore." He leans back in the chair as if being put on quarantine by his mom is a casual thing, and fixes his attention on the screen, a small grin stretching across his lips.

I decide not to debate and fix my attention on the TV also