Baby Came Home: A Tronnor Oneshot

Baby Came Home 2 / Valentines

They met at a bar.

Troye was singing and Connor was drinking, but not to get drunk because his wife had cheated on him or anything of the sort, although his outfit would have begged to differ - at least in Troye's eyes anyway. Formal shoes, formal trousers, a formal shirt and his hair was formally gelled up; the only thing that wasn't formal about him was the lack of a tie, but he'd probably tugged it off for happy hour.

Connor and his companion, who could pass off as twins in terms of apparel and only apparel, left the bar after a drink or two and got themselves a table in the same restaurant and then had dinner, and some more drinks.

Troye was sober. He never drank before a performance because he wanted to feel everything: the nerves, the high, the low and the in between. He nursed his third glass of Coke before making a trip to the restroom and returned in time to hear one of the waitresses announce his presence. As he made his way to the stage - a mere podium, really - he was half expecting the duo to have left. As soon as he was seated behind his keyboard, he scanned the audience and found that they had taken their place back at the bar and they were watching him.

Of course they are, he thought, you've just been announced as the evening's entertainment.

Performing here was Troye's bread and butter and he'd been doing it for the past two months now. He recognised most of the regulars, which is why he'd taken so much notice of the two yuppies. They stood out like two sore thumbs, causing him to wager the off chance that they may be his lucky break; they may be top notch representatives from one or other record company here to determine the future of his music career.

Maybe he should've had one drink.

He did the best that could with the hour that he was given, flicking his eyes to the black and white keys whenever he felt that he'd stared in the bar's direction for too long, but his lips never stopped producing lyrics. He performed three songs that he'd written himself but he interleaved them among covers that he knew his spectators would react well to and just like that, one final applause and sixty minutes was over.

He got congratulatory claps on his back from diners, waiters and waitresses alike as he walked to the bar, tempting fate. There, he ordered another Coke and from his peripheral he saw two white shirts approaching him. This was it, this was the moment.

"Excuse me, Troye Sivan was it?" one of them said.

He turned to smile at both of them and immediately noticed stark differences between the two. The one who had spoken had much lighter features, his hair the colour of the sand that Troye characterised with the beach from the home he hasn't been to in what seems like a lifetime and his eyes resembling the water in the sea, with a splash of emerald. The other man's features were darker, his hair colour similarly darker than that of Troye's own and his eyes a lighter shade if the colour of the beverage in Troye's glass.

"Yes, Troye Sivan" he said, subtly swallowing down some nerves.

"What you did up there was incredible-"

"-spectacular!" dark eyes chipped in.

"My sister is a foodie and she recommended this place solely because of you so I had to come and check it out and, not that she's ever wrong, but she was right! Really, well done!"

Every word that came out of this stranger's mouth lowered Troye's hopes because at the end of the sentence, he was still just Troye, pulling strings yet barely making ends meet.

"Thank you very much, I appreciate it" and he did, but he also just wanted to turn away from the conversation completely, gulp the remainder of his glass and rush home to see if the money he kept in the box under his bed had magically trebled.