watchful eyes (tronnor)

twenty seven; the fool pulls the trigger of his gun and breaks your heart

connor is afraid.

his mother has her eyes on troye (she has pastel get well cards in baskets with asterisks about the gay agenda and the terrible disease that troye has) and she has her claws wrapped around connor.

connor's heart is locked away in a birdcage like a starving robin with a blood red chest and two beaded eyes crying their shame. he is locked away in "this is for your own good" and teeth dripping like a wolf's smile. he is poisoned (burnt snow on a summer day) and corrupted (a mother's hand welding the iron of youth in a cracked rock) and afraid (the victim of the end of the world).

his mother holds a gun and she has wrapped her son's fingers around the trigger. she has built the perfect weapon to use against the world around them. a walking time bomb ready to explode with words designed to hurt, words designed in the same mold as guns and ships and bombs and knives.

connor knows only what has been taught. he has been taught slippery sweet lips and curves and pale skin against a sunrise pink blush. he has been taught adam and eve and so that is what he knows. that is was he understands. accepts. that is what he has been taught. that is what his mother can smile at.

connor is afraid of her frown.

her anger is painful (it is whiplike fingers and a slap that spreads across his cheek like fire) and it is terrifying (like monsters under the bed and gasping for breath underwater). so he says nothing that may push her fingers too far and tighten the strings until the bullets have left the barrel. he does not want to make her cry.

he would rather press himself into origami cranes that can never fly away. he would rather fold his emotions into boxes to be stapled shut and shoved into closets. he would rather break troye's heart.

connor is afraid and sometimes to avoid being afraid of being shot, you have to be the one behind the trigger.