watchful eyes (tronnor)

one; the observance of the damned

lol this is just pain there's really no plot but that's okay, you know? also if anyone can find me a better picture of troye's eyes i will love you forever. updates every other day :)

oh and this is very very very very loosely inspired by a joshler fic on ao3 that i can't find anymore, but if anyone thinks they know it please comment or something so i can link it. 

troye watches.

he watches and he listens and he aches and he yearns and he does not speak. he leans into a brown haired boy who never looks back and he thinks love songs into existence in the boy's presence but he does not sing them. he knows that he never will. they are songs made for lonely midnights and burning mornings. they are lyrics perfectly fitted to the crash of wave against rock and the color of the boy's eyes. they are not songs to be sung.

when he was six years old and the brown haired boy asked him for a pencil, he did not write a song. instead he gave him a pencil and a name.

"i'm connor," the brown haired boy responds.

troye does not write songs for connor yet.

they are innocent then. they are ten and they are hopeful sunsets and unopened veins. they are cotton candy smiles with sugar sweet lips. they are carnivals and arcades and flashing lights. they are ten years old and they do not know love and they do not know heartbreak.

when troye is fourteen, he can not remember a life before connor. he does not remember how it is that they met (when troye gave connor a pencil and connor gave troye a name and endless heartbreak) only that they did, and that is all that matters.

he can, however, remember connor being the first number in his phone. he can remember connor giving him the teddy bear that still lies on his bedsheets like a rose after valentine's day and a break up. he can remember holding connor after his first failed test. he can remember giving connor the chain that rests on the hollow of his neck even three long years later. he can remember connor, and he can remember being the only one that connor trusted, that connor held hands with, that connor whispered his secrets to. he can not remember there being anyone else.

only when troye is sixteen years old, cotton candy smiles become shark teeth and licorice tongues. connor has his lips (still sugar sweet) pressed to girls with molasses eyes and hearts that beat as loud as the music. connor (troye's connor) trades secrets with girls in tight denim shorts and crop tops. connor twists his hands between the nimble fingers of girls with pastel hair and gold bracelets. connor (no longer troye's connor, but amelia's connor and may's connor and lilly's connor) does not come to troye after failed tests and angry parents.

troye does not say anything about this. instead, he writes. he pens out stories of alcohol and cotton candy hearts and tarot cards. his songs take the shape of hopeless love and puppy crushes that shatter like broken lollipops.

connor does not notice the angry cursive that paints troye's life. he is too wrapped up in the whirlpool eyes of amelia and the calloused fingers of may and the perfectly curled hair of lilly. he does not notice troye's chapped lips and cracked heart. he does not notice things the way that troye does; he does not observe the things that troye does. he knows that troye sings and writes but he does not listen to troye's songs because troye will not sing them outside of the caged walls of his room because these are not songs to be sung.

troye has been writing songs for connor for years by now.