The Boy Upstairs /tronnor/

eight

Connor

Weeks pass and everything still hurts. I haven't had a much better time breathing either, if anything it's just gotten worse. The doctors are a lot nicer to me, as if they're sugar coating something and they want to lay it on me easy. The thought of that makes me grimace darkly. Maybe I'll finally meet my demise and get out of this hellhole that is my sick life.

Troye and Tyler have been hanging out exclusively a lot, and it makes me extremely nervous. We've been hanging out a bit less, which hurts, but oh well. Of course, we still eat together and have the occasional movie date. Jackie told me they watched The Little Rascals together the other night, and I had to fight back tears of jealousy.

I've had numerous CAT scans, but the doctors refuse to tell me what's happening since I'm less than 18. Less than 18 by two months. Can you believe? 

Apparently my mother knows what the hell is happening inside my diseased body, because she holds me a little tighter every time she leaves and reminds me JUST how much she loves me, as if she doesn't tell me 500 times while she's here anyhow. I don't mind. I just want to know what's happening to me.

One night, some tumor or something erupts in Tyler's stomach and he's taken to immediate surgery and then to the ICU. He's pinned up there for a few days, with no visitors but Jackie and his doctors. I see this as my chance to finally do something about Troye. And one afternoon while we munch silently on shitty hospital Jello, that's just what I do.

"Hey! You're wearing your sky blue." I smile proudly at his nails, freshly and evenly coated by the nail polish that used to belong to Nicola. I got her to give it to Troye for me, even though it was her favorite. Perks of being a sick kid's sister, I suppose.

"Yeah! I did it this morning." Troye admires his nails fondly, his cheeks becoming that familiar but all the more comforting shade of pink. "You like?"

"I love." I grin. "I told you that blue would be your color."

Troye giggles and takes another slurp of his red Jello before setting his spoon down and wiping his mouth delicately. I decide to make my move and quickly swallow my Jello before diving in.

"So, what's up with you and Tyler?"

Troye shifts uncomfortably. "What about me and Tyler?"

"Like, are you guys just friends, or--?"

"I say just friends, he says we're talking." He sighs. "I have my eye on someone else, but I'm not sure if that's going to work given the current circumstances." He grimaces, looking at his nails and then at me.

IT'S ME, ISN'T IT?! my mind screams, but I keep cool. "Oh, who is it? Someone I possibly know?"

Troye's face turns to stone. "Nah, you don't know him."

My heart sinks and I try not to sigh as I pick up my spoon and move to my mashed potatoes. "Yeah, I have my eye on someone too, but it's hard to make a move when you're stuck in a sick person jail."

Troye laughs. That familiar, bright laugh makes my heart beat at the speed of light. "I know, right? It's like you want that person to understand so badly."

"Exactly." I chuckle in response before taking in another spoonful. We're scooting inches closer all the while, until Jackie walks over and sighs.

"Sorry to break up the party, boys. But Con, we have to run one last test on you. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, that's fine." I smile at her and give Troye a sad look. His eyes are already more sad. I sigh and get into the wheelchair she brought.

"Hey!" I hear Troye yell behind me. I make Jackie stop and turn around to lock eyes with the smiling curly haired boy I so desperately want to call mine. "What do you say we have a movie date tonight? My room?"

"Of course!" I smile back. "It's a date, Sivan!"

"See you tonight, Franta!" 

My heart pounds as we wheel into the test room, but for two totally separate reasons. One, happy because I might still have a chance with Troye. Two, horrified because my final test will finally tell me what's wrong with me. 

My phone dings as my alarm I have set to make a wish at 11:11 goes off, and I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing for two things: Troye, and me being okay.