F L O W E R S | TRONNOR A.U.

F O U R

"What just happened?" Connor asks, truthfully in a bit of a shock. Troye couldn't have. He couldn't have just done that. Could he?

(He could.)

Troye stares at him like a deer in the headlights, but he knows how to save this one. He's been caught purging with family and friends many times, and the fact that this is the first time with Connor makes it easier than ever before. "Con, I don't feel so well. I don't know what happened." He plays it off, trying to act as miserable as possible. Connor's expression quickly changes from confused to sympathetic and loving, and Troye would feel horrible for it if he wasn't silently throwing a victory party because he just saved himself from what could be disastrous.

"Oh, baby, m'sorry. Let's go home, yeah?" Connor suggests as he stands up straight from leaning against the sinks. He still isn't sure if he should believe it. He shouldn't. Not after Laurelle asking if he was doing okay.

The sympathy that Troye doesn't think he deserves cuts deep, and this is part of the reason he always makes sure the cuts he gives himself are deeper. He struggles over to Connor, feeling a bit lightheaded, and leans into his arms that accept him readily. "I'll tell your mom you didn't feel well and that we're heading out."

Troye freezes automatically and stutters in protest, "N-No, that's okay. I just—I uh, we wouldn't want her to worry. Alright?" His mom may not care an awful lot about his problems, but in any case that she finds out about it again, he'll surely be locked up for good.

Troye hated the mental institution. He hated the way it smelled, hated the way it tasted, and hated getting sent to confinement because he threw tantrums over turkey sandwiches. He hated getting fat again just so that they would release him, and he absolutely hated having to be watched by hawk-like nurses when he shaved. It made him feel untrusted and childish. Yeah, he would've cut if he was alone, but can't they have at least some faith that he wouldn't?

"Are you sure?" Connor double-checks, stroking his arm up and down Troye's side and pressing kisses to his hair. Troye is sure of two things: he should be caught more often because it feels relieving to rest in Connor's arms like this, and he definitely does not want Connor to tell his mom.

"Yes, positive. I'll text her and tell her," Troye lies into Connor's shoulder.

The older boy sighs. "Okay. Let's go home now."

---

It's only when they're wrapped up in each other's limbs and soaking up the darkness when Connor asks. Both boys are relaxed in just their boxers with slight alcohol buzzing in their systems, and the midnight breeze gently pulls cool air into the room. It feels like a dream, and Connor's really not sure if it is or not, so he figures it wouldn't hurt to ask.

He can't think any more when here he has Troye's soft skin and airy laughs filling their little fort of white sheets draped over the bed frame, and Connor contributes to it with dazed stares at his pretty boy and hummed nothings.

So maybe it's the moonlight shining through the white fabric and making Troye glow like he could really be the moon, and that's what motivates Connor to ask. Maybe it's the way he catches a glance of how Troye still has a thigh gap even when he's laying on his side with his knees pressed together. Maybe it's Nicola.

Maybe it's how he knows Troye will always say yes anyway, so there's virtually no suspense in asking.

"Are you okay?" is what Connor whispers into the warm air surrounding them. It's such a simple question, it really is, but Connor is fearful that Troye might actually say no.