WILD [Tronnor AU]

3

Troye's POV

When I wake up I smile at the realisation that tour is finally over and I have all the time in the world.
I spend my morning taking a hot shower and ordering a selection of eggs off the room service menu.
After I scarf down breakfast I eagerly grab my headphones and sunglasses before hitting the streets of Manhattan.
My manager gave me 2 additional weeks in New York so I could take some time to be inspired and write. The album I've been writing isn't really going so well... Actually, it's not going at all. Every time I get a new song idea, they're just words with no meaning. I want to write meaningful lyrics that tell stories. Since my career took off, music has been the only way I can truly express myself.
I think about all the possible places I could go to write, I could go to popular location and risk the paps, or go to a more quiet place with less hectic energy.
I opt to stay on the down low for a while since my break has only just started. If one pap finds me, they all will...

As I walk down the crowded street, unsure of where exactly I want to go still, I notice a street cart full of magazines. GLOBAL SUPERSTAR TROYE SIVAN FINISHES TOUR + PUSHES NYC ARTIST I groan but pass the vendor a few bucks and take the magazine, shoving it in the pocket of my jean jacket. Continuing down the street I turn the music in my headphones up a little louder to block out more of the city noise. I don't know where I'm walking to until I eventually find myself in the same park Connor took me to earlier that week. From the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of the familiar brown mop of hair hunched over a sketchbook.
I slowly approach the boy, the closer I get the more details I notice about him. His hands are coated in black powder, charcoal blocks laying on an equally dirty towel beside him. He's wearing an old red and grey flannel, the sleeves and collar fraying. A pair of faded black jeans completes his outfit.
"Hey, Connor," I say, sitting myself down next to him on the grass.
He looks up at me and the biggest smile forms on his face.
"Troye!" He carefully places the artwork on the ground beside him and leans forward to give me a hug, quickly realising he has charcoal covered hands before retreating.
"What are you doing here?" He asks me, eyes sparkling.
"Tour just finished and I'm spending some more time in the city. I love it here," I say.
"Are you sure it's the city and not me you love?" He asks, giving me a dramatic pose before bursting into giggles.
I laugh along with him until I accidentally blurt out "speaking of love, I'd love if I could take you for dinner sometime." I immediately feel my face heat up. What if he thinks that's weird? What if he thinks everything I've done has been weird?!
His giggling stops but a smile still adorns his pretty face. He seems to pause a minute as if to make sure I'm serious and not joking around with him.
After a minute of silence he finally speaks, "Yea! I'd love to!"

We spend the rest of the morning together, wandering around Central Park. The weather was perfect for it, not too cold and not too hot. A light breeze blew by, rustling the red and yellow leaves on the trees. The image was breathtaking! Connor must have thought so too because at one point he insisted on planting himself on a rock and capturing the sight with his freshly bought watercolours. It fascinated me, the way he could be so connected to his surroundings; the way he could look at something and recreate it a thousand times more beautiful than it is in real life.
It also captivated me at his ability to draw me in. I barley know him and he's already consuming my thoughts! I'm going crazy over this boy!
He glances up at me, his forest green eyes peeking out over his model-like lashes.
"What?" He smiles.
"Nothing."
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"You're very pretty, that's all," his smile grows even bigger as the words fall out of my mouth. He glances down at the paint brush in his hand, a light pink colour forming across his round cheeks.
A comfortable silence forms between us, stretching until eventually Connor's grumbling stomach breaks the feeling.
"You hungry?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
"A little, yea," he says shyly.
I help the paint-covered boy pack up his supplies before offering down my hand and pulling him up to his feet. As I help him up he stumbles a bit, falling into my shoulder.
Embarrassed, he takes a step back, looking at the ground and still holding my hand.
"Sorry I-"
"It's honestly okay! I guess you could say you just fell for me," I giggle, causing his cheeks to burn an even brighter red.
I pull my hand from his and wrap my arm around his shoulder, rubbing it gently.
"I'm kinda up for sushi, what do you think?" I ask, turning my gaze to look at him.
"Never had it before."
I stop in the middle of the sidewalk causing him to stumble a little. "What?! You mean you've never eaten raw fish served with seaweed and rice?!" I let out a dramatic gasp making him laugh. I loved his laugh. It was so sweet and innocent... like angels.
"You can't really be picky about what foods you get to eat when you're barley making it meal to meal! Cheap sandwiches work just fine!" He smiles while talking, but the words hurt me. I've always been fortunate enough to have more than enough. I grew up acting and singing and making it in one of those industries gives you a comfortable lifestyle, I just so happen to have been lucky enough to make it in both. I make a mental note to help this boy out in any way possible, make things a little easier for him after years of struggle and trying to make ends meet.
"Sushi it is then!" I state excitedly, pulling Connor further down the sidewalk.
I guide him a couple blocks away to his small flat, giving him instructions to leave his art bag here and to change into a less paint-covered set of clothes.
"Wear the pink sweater," I say, pointing to the article of clothing that hangs on the clothes rack.
He nods and ushers me out into the living room so he can change. I take my time looking at everything in the space; trying to memorise every little detail of the artists life.
The apartment is still the same old run-down place it was a few days ago when I stepped foot in it. The same bright paintings litter the floor and table. I walk over to his desk and open the first sketchbook. My mind is blown away at the levels of emotion and passion that shine through each piece. His subjects range from spoons to whole families. Every detail of each memory captures effortlessly.
I flip to the next page and my eyes water. It's a picture of me... from the angle it looks like I'm looking down at myself. The black glasses. The jean jacket. This was how I must've looked from Connor's point of view when I bumped into him at the coffee shop.
"If you like it, you can have it," Connor's voice speaks from behind me. I shake my head, not wanting to take such an exquisite piece of art from him.
I turn around to face the boy and my jaw drops. He looks so... beautiful.
My eyes scan his body, from his worn out trainers to the adorable sweater. The pink colour looked so cute on him!