watchful eyes (tronnor)

twelve; the joker rips the skin from your heart

"i'm gay."

troye whispers the words to tyler as if they are poison and speaking them will cloud the air. he speaks them as if they are sin and they are hell.

tyler only nods absentmindedly. he knows this. troye has been chanting these words for the past hour, hoping that repeating them would make them easier to say. (it helps in some ways, but it does not prepare him for the burn of connor's sea cliff eyes and the snap of brittle bones shifting away from sin.)

"i'm gay."

"troye," tyler starts.

troye only shakes his head and says it again.

"troye," tyler tries again. "connor will accept you, he's - "

troye shakes his head. "but what if - "

"he's your best friend," tyler says. he loves you, is what he does not say. that will only hurt troye. "love" does not mean what troye wants it to, aches for it to, burns for it to.

"fine. maybe. but i need to - "

"you're going to be fine, troye."

(there was no way for tyler to know.)

troye came out to the boy who had been everything to him for eleven years in said boy's basement. the light barely trickled in through dusty windows, hitting the couch and the quilts. connor was buried under one of them, his head on troye's lap. like normal.

then, "i'm gay."

connor sat up, stiff and cold instantly. "what?"

troye's words are stuttering now, broken and hopeless as he repeats himself. he is peeling back layers of himself, taking off skin and secrets that eat away at him. he is a broken record still trying to sing his song. all that matters now is that connor still wants him, still wants, still needs his best friend. if nothing else, troye needs this like he needs air.

connor will not look troye in the eye. they do not touch and connor moves ever so slightly away. troye does not miss the movement (he never misses any of connor's movements).

"connor?"

his name is sinking in troye's chest, falling, breaking, shattering. he can feel his lungs snapping within him, his veins folding and his blood freezing. "i'm sorry - i'm trying not - i'm - i - connor?"

connor does not move and the small breeze that gets through the door does not ruffle him, as if he is a fixed point, a statue, unfeeling and uncaring and unsure. troye shivers and crosses his arms over his chest. "i'm so sorry." he does not know what it is that he is apologizing for but he knows that he has to apologize. he has to make things right with connor because this and connor and everything with connor needs to be okay (perfect), troye needs connor. there is nothing for him but connor.

"can - can you please... can you please leave?"

troye can not feel his heart. he is only numb and there is only cold, though the sun outside is warm. everything is shattering and it's his fault and he shouldn't have said anything and connor will not look at him and he will not touch him and god, troye should never have said anything and he wants to die because he could have dealt with anything, anything, anything but this.

he wants to fix this, take it all back, pretend to be something else, lie. he would let the lies choke him like thorned vines, like beautiful roses that poison the senses. he would do anything to take it all back.

but he does not, because this is connor and troye could not lie to connor, he could not pretend with him. this is connor and this is troye, and troye would do anything that connor asked him to, no matter how much it hurt him, and connor asked him to leave.

"i'm sorry," troye chokes out, throat burning and heart drowning, sinking into nothingness.

the door is quiet when it shuts behind him.