Bruised (Phan) [EDITING]

4

"Hi," Connor said so quietly, so softly that if Troye was any louder unpacking he wouldn't be able to hear his words.

Troye glanced at Connor, he frowned, then went back to emptying his duffel bag. The room they were given was standard like every other room, two beds, a bathroom, and a closet for each of them. The only room Troye liked was the first one because there was a bath instead of a stand up shower. He had his reasons.

"It's okay," Troye was startled by the sudden break of silence. His eyes caught Connor's. Sunken, sad, exhaustion, genuine concern? He couldn't make out all the emotions swimming through those eyes.

Connor stood, he put a hand on Troye's shoulder and nodded. "It's okay," he repeated, softly, slowly. His words did backflips in Troye's head and as a result of overthinking our blue eyed boy began to tear up. What do you know? He wanted to scream, to cry, to be skinny again. What could Connor know about him? About anything?

And Troye began to sob. He stuffed his face into Connor's shoulder and cried. Connor only nodded, silently putting his arms around Troye and rubbing his back in smooth, slow circles.

He remembered when he did this for Dan. How Dan returned the favor on Christmas, early at three o' clock in the morning. He sat on the floor pushed into Dan's chest and cried softly.

He hoped Troye would return the favor. He hoped Troye would accept his idiotic problems.

Then the nurses came in, one bulky and one with click clacky heels. Troye stood, ready to see the doctor. He smiled sadly at Connor, thanking him silently and closed the door behind him when he left.

Connor knew he smelled it, he knew he sensed them somewhere close. Laxatives. He sadly frowned, hoping the curly haired boy would be okay.

Connor only sat back against his bed, a journal in hand, and he read what he wrote about the people here. Small poems on each person and their physical appearance. His first impression of them. So far, Dan and Troye were the longest ones.