Blue House | Tronnor

Chapter 9, Connor/Troye POV

Connor

 I could still feel his limp body in my arms. I could still hear him, looking up at me and whispering, "Thank you." I remembered how he had worn my hoodie, shaking like a leaf in the wind. He had looked good in it, too, better than I did. I sighed, looking over at him for what seemed like the tenth time this meal. He had showered, as had I, but his hair wasn't quite dry yet, leaving it curly and down across his face. He had tried to cover his sloppy hair with a beanie, and had immediately gotten changed into his blue, fleece onesie. He was quiet, and he almost seemed like he was waiting for something. His electric blue eyes were duller than usual, and he was curled up in a ball on his chair. He was like a small, scared child that needed protection. I shook my head and looked away, focusing on my food instead. I pushed some chicken and rice around on my plate before taking a bite and clearing my plate. I headed upstairs, plugging my headphones in and pressing shuffle on my playlist of MrSuicideSheep downloads. I looked up, my eyes tracing the patterns on the plaster ceiling. What had I gotten myself into?

He came upstairs a little past midnight, numbly trudging up the steps and collapsing on the couch. My muscles tightened. "Connah, I'm scared," he whispered. My breath hitched, and I sat up. "Do you want me to move our couches closer?" I asked softly. There was a moment of silence, and then--"Okay." I stood, wearing sweatpants and a white t-shirt. I bit my lip, then shrugged and flicked the lights on. I pushed my couch over so it was a foot away from his, and laid down. My heart paused as he moved his couch closer, struggling when it didn't budge. I quickly got up and helped him, trying to ignore the fact that he wanted to be closer than me. He's in a state of panic, he probably can't think clearly. It doesn't mean anything, I reassured myself. I spread a blanket over the bottom of the two sofas, covering the crack and laying down. Troye slipped out of his onesie, leaving him in boxer briefs and an oversized t-shirt. I sucked in some air through my teeth and closed my eyes. Damn.

I tossed restlessly, longing to hold him. It seemed like hours passed before I finally moved, but I was sure it was only a few minutes. I scootched closer to him, snaking an arm around his shoulders and pulling his head onto my chest. Half of me felt horrible for taking advantage of him when he clearly wasn't himself, but the other half of me was just happy to be close to him. I ran a hand through his hair, but stopped when he his hand reached over and grasped my shoulder so he was laying across my chest. I didn't move, I hardly breathed. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and suddenly he sat bolt upright, his pupils shrinking into tiny black pinpoints. I pushed myself up too, concerned. "R-re-r-relapse," he winced, clutching his head. "Bad," he said softly. I reached out, my hands stopping inches away from him in hesitation. Watery blue eyes looked at me pleadingly, nodding slightly as he started to shake. I scootched closer, sitting in front of him and pulling him close so he was basically sitting on my lap, his knees level with my ribcage. I placed one hand on his back and another in his hair, twisting and running my fingers through his silky curls. I gently rubbed my hand up and down his back, whispering to him. "It's ok Tro. You're ok. You can make it, it'll be over soon. I'm here for you. Shh..." I murmured. His breathing became shallow and quick, and I panicked. He was crying so much he could barely breath. Not knowing what to do, I leaned in, cupped his face in my hands, and kissed the tears from under his eyes. He went rigid, and I bit my lip, drawing back and untangling myself from him. "S-sorry," I muttered, curling up into a ball on the opposite side of the couch as he continued to stare at me emotionlessly. A small flame ignited inside of me, burning in the pit of my stomach. The flame was yearning. Yearning to tell him.

"Imgay," I blurted. 

Shit.

TROYE

I had known it would happen sometime tonight. It was the thunder that set me off, reminding me of the falling, and then the water. My heart thudded against my chest, and I choked on my own breath. My head hurt like hell, and my vision was blurry. "Relapse," I stuttered. This was worse than my original panic attack. I saw hands reaching towards me, but they stopped. I looked in his direction, wanting him closer, and he obliged, pulling my legs over his. His right arm snaked around to my back and started rubbing up and down softly. I shivered, both from the panic and from his touch. His other hand was running through my hair, and he was whispering again, like he had done on the pier. This boy would be the end of me. Tears were coursing steadily out of my eyes, and he looked uncertain and nervous. Suddenly, he leaned in and kissed the tears off my face, once on each cheek. I stopped crying, and my breathing slowed. I froze completely. He shifted, moving away. I wanted him to come closer, but he was obviously uncomfortable. "Sorry," he said, his voice muffled. I stared at him, remembering the feel of his lips on my cheeks, just below my eyes. I was dumbfounded. He's just a friend, the reasonable voice in my head said. He's just trying to help. He blushed, and only then did the words fall out of his mouth. The words I never thought I would hear from him, but the words that I had always hoped to hear. 

"I'm gay."

It took a second for that to register, but when it did, I surged forward, placing one hand behind his neck and one loosely on his hip. My glacier eyes melted into his soft, earth green ones as our noses touched. He smelled like fresh rain and mint--not sweet, but still a nice smell. I pushed him down onto the couch, our eyes still locked. He laced a hand through my chocolate curls and whispered, "Kiss me, you moron." His breath smelled like coffee, and I leaned down, my lips meeting his. He gently pulled me closer, sitting up a bit and letting one hand fall behind him, supporting us. I inhaled through my nose one more time before we broke apart. He smiled, curling up on his side on the sofa, staring at me, keeping his smile. I was 100% sure that I had a stupid grin as well on my face for the rest of the night, but I didn't care. I had a reason to smile.