F L O W E R S | TRONNOR A.U.

S I X

The next couple of weeks go by like any other. Troye loses more weight. 112. He's getting close to danger-land now.

Danger-land begins at 110 and ends at 98. 98 is his isolation-land. When he gets to be this small, he knows to start cutting people off. People who might get in the way. Isolation-land goes under shut-down-mode at 90. 90 is when everything shuts down. His body, his relationships, his grades—everything.

Shut-down-mode becomes lock-down-mode when isolation-land becomes Austin Hospital Acute Psychiatric Unit at 80. 80lbs is his admission weight. 80 is weeks away from heart failure. 80 is Dad screaming, "You think this is a game? Fine. We'll admit you to the hospital. Then see how you like it!" 80 is nobody really admitting him until he passes out while he's driving and totals his car.

Troye wouldn't mind being 80lbs again. Maybe he'd crash his car again, but this time he'd make sure to take himself off of everybody's hands. That wouldn't be so bad. Connor could find someone else who loves him right. Someone who can give him what he needs. That isn't Troye. He's never felt like he was enough for Connor. (Or for anyone else, that is.)

"Hey, babe?" Connor calls from outside the bathroom door. Troye hustles quickly to put his clothes back on and act like he hadn't just stepped on the scale 10 times repeatedly to make sure the number was correct.

"Yeah?" he responds, unlocking the door and opening it to find Connor standing outside.

He walks in past Troye and looks towards the mirror. "Just need to use the mirror. I've got work in 10 minutes." Connor works at a nearby coffee shop. He really enjoys the job, since he loves coffee for some unknown reason, and they needed another person on-hand. It pays alright for a part-time job, so he didn't turn it down when he received an email that they needed employees. They already had his email, of course. And he already knew all the employees personally, also of course.

Troye used to joke that he'd kick Connor out and make him live there for how much time he spends there. Connor would respond saying, "I wouldn't even have to pay for the wifi!" They both know that Troye would never actually consider doing it.

It takes a minute, but Troye finally realizes that he messed up. Fuck, he thinks.

The scale is still out.

It's usually hidden away in the cabinet under the sink. Nobody really touches it (well, besides Troye), and Connor isn't quite sure why they even have a bathroom scale.

Troye immediately becomes visibly uncomfortable and anxious at the sight of the scale out, which suddenly seems incredibly more noticeable. It's a vulnerable moment for him; he doesn't like it. Troye has never believed in God much, but he's praying and begging to Him that Connor doesn't notice. Please, please don't notice.

And here's why Troye has never believed in God much:

Connor's eyes shift to the ground when he turns to leave the bathroom, and, oh. The scale is out. Okay. So the scale is out. Connor tries to act cool, act like he didn't see. But the atmosphere is tense and awkward, and he can't help but ask.

"Um, why's that out?" He carefully chooses his words. The less he accuses, the better.

Troye's throat tightens, and his cheeks flush red because he's never had to think of a lie for this one before. He's already walking on hot coals with Connor at the moment; he's been getting caught way too often recently. What's a good reason to weigh yourself? Even better, what's a good reason to take the scale out from under the sink at all?

"I—uh—was looking for something in the cabinet. Had to move it. You know, I probably forgot to put it back in."

"What were you... looking for?"