watchful eyes (tronnor)

sixteen; the truth in the end of the world

i meant to update yesterday and then i just...didn't lmao whoops. also i'm going to see twenty one pilots tomorrow and i'm dEAD i'm literally so excited holy fuck. okay enjoy the chapter :) 

the lyrical masterpiece that is connor franta haunts troye. he dreams of his hands and his lips and he sees his eyes in the trees and the sea and the ground and the sky. he writes song after song after song, as if that will make the pain go away. he writes of fire and rope. he writes about connor's hands so carefully put away from his. he writes about holding on to something that is no longer there.

everything has changed between them. there are no careless touches and nonsense glances anymore. there is hesitation and there is concern and there is troye's house. (troye is no longer welcome in the franta household.)

connor wants his best friend before the end of the world back again.

troye wants his best friend to run with him into the explosion of the end of the sun.

troye wishes that he had held his secret in him the way that he held everything that he wrote for connor. maybe then they could have postponed the end of the world a little longer. problem is, now that the apocalypse has come and gone, troye does not want to regret having survived. he does not want to hate himself for the truth in the explosion. he does not want to despise the skin around his bones for singing about a boy who does not notice him and he does not want to resent the veins that thread through his body for being honest.

connor said that he just did not know how to react.

now, troye is the one who has no idea how to react. there are too many thoughts swirling around (forgiveness, and too soon, and hurt) and troye does not know what to do about any of them. he's glad that he got his friend back but there was something in connor's smile, something in his touch. something uncomfortable and something terrifying and something that hurt. the same thing that had torn troye's heart in two before; the same thing that had numbed his skin and pulled at his muscles and broken his heart.

it is still there and it is terrifying and so maybe troye cannot forgive as easily as "it's okay" seems.

troye has given up on writing for connor. instead, he has begun to write about everything he refuses to think about. he has begun to write connor.

he has begun to write every word of connor, every word that makes him up, and it is beautiful like troye has never seen. it is beautiful, and it is terrifying. like his worst nightmares hidden in rose gardens and picture perfect memories fringed with horror.

he burns every word of every song. connor is beautiful and so are his words. but they are not words that can be fed to a body with a brain and a heart. they are words for the flames to eat away at until they are nothing.

the words that whisper of abuse and homophobia and fear and hate and love and pride and desire and need and want do not need to be read. they are only ashes. they are words, words like flame and death and secrets and worries that will never be spoken aloud. they are beautiful, but they are a horrifying and they are terrifying and they are burning hatred and fear at the same time.

they are ashes and death and troye loves watching the flames.