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

N I N E

"What did you say?" Troye nearly whispers. It isn't curious or soft anymore. It is hurt and disbelieving and fearful, and Connor really can't stand it. He feels detached from his body (can only imagine how Troye feels).He stops cutting the carrots and becomes a statue. You've reached Connor Franta. Connor is not available at the time, he apologizes sincerely and won't be back ever. Yeah, that'd be the day.

"No, Connor. What did you say?" It is demanding now. Connor's heard Troye say a lot of things in a lot of tones, but not this. Troye is not a demanding person. He is sugary sweet, kind, submissive, gentle, silly, calm, and loving. Maybe this isn't Troye. Has his eating disorder stolen him completely? Is there any way to get him back?

Connor desperately wants to just hug him and apologize and check to see if he smells the same, if he's real, but he can't.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Connor squeaks out. He's hardly able to speak, let alone finish his question.

"Tell you what."

"Troye, please."

"Who told you that?!" Troye steps back and raises his voice ever so slightly. Connor turns his head to connect their eyes and fuck, he can't do this. Troye is looking at him like he just killed his dog. It feels like he did.

"Why didn't you?" Connor stands upright and leans against the counter. Having mistakenly slipped a drop of accusation and anger into his own tone, it stings to see the effect of it as Troye's expression morphs into one of disbelief.

"That's none of your business." Troye's voice is growing louder and thicker with emotions as he speaks every word. "Who told you that?!"

"How is it none of my business, Troye? You're my boyfriend!" Connor tries exasperatedly.

"Because it's in the past!"

"Is it really?" Connor looks at him quizzically. The distant thought that he shouldn't be getting worked up stays put in the back of his mind. He is far too worked up to even think twice about anything. No more thinking twice, not here, not with this.

"Connor, if you're saying..." Troye steps back, shaking his head as if to say no. He slaps the kitchen towel down onto the counter and turns around on his heel to walk away, but Connor started this—he has to finish it.

"I don't know, Troye, what am I saying?" Connor calls out to him.

Nobody speaks a word. Troye turns around, his expression unreadable. Hell, if Connor's ever wished he was dreaming.

"I can't do this now," Troye says bitterly and as a matter of fact.

"When then? When were you gonna tell me?"

"It never came up!" Troye says sharply, defending himself. Flashes of about a million different times it could've come up roll through his brain, guilting him deeply.

"Really! It never came up! I asked you if you had an eating disorder three weeks ago; you could've told me then!"

"Connor, don't do this. I-I can't. Pay attention to the fucking water, it's boiling over." Troye sighs as Connor clambers with the dials on the stovetop, trying to get the water under control. He curses under his breath and finally just figures to move the pot to a different burner, but when he turns around, Troye is gone.

He is so, so gone.

"Fuck," Connor breathes out and drops his head to his hands, tugging on his hair. He runs his hands over his face as he tries not to stress too much about what just happened, but fuck.

Connor eyes the room for his cell phone, searching around until he spots it on the kitchen table. He rushes over to it and scoops it up in his hands, nearly dropping it as he shakily scrolls through his contacts. After what seems like ages, he lands upon Sage's contact, and taps on the call button hastily. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon..." he mutters to himself.