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scenes from movies, books, tv shows, videos, etc. used in this chapter :
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Rain drops fell roughly against the windshield, being swiped away by the windshield wipers. Hands gently held onto the jet black steering wheel, the tips of his fingers curling underneath. Music was flowing through the radio, melting into his ears with peace and grace. The sound of the rain dropping onto the car's windows waved over the music but the music could still be softly heard.
Pulling into the driveway slowly, the music decreased back into the radio. Connor gathered the folder of papers—school work—that sat in the passenger seat next to him, shoving it into his green jean jacket to protect it from the hard rain. He tugged at the handle, kicking the door open with his foot as the rain showered inside the car. He jumped out, racing to the front porch as rain melted into his scalp.
Standing underneath the porch roof, Connor ran the tips of his fingers through his now soaked hair to push it out of his eyes. Knocking the white wooden door, his eyes glanced behind him to notice that his car was alone in the driveway. No one was home. Slipping his phone from the jacket pocket, he went to the message app and messaged the only person inside the home.
A few moments later, the front door opened swiftly. Troye stood on the other side, his hand gripping onto the white wood with a soft smile. A cast was wrapped around his leg, covering his bullet wound, a crutch underneath one armpit. His curls rested against his forehead, messily covering his ocean eyes as his teeth shined brightly.
"Why did you get up? Aren't you supposed to be on bed rest?" Connor asked, walking inside the house after the pale boy took a step back from the door for space. There was a blanket and pillows on the couch in the living room, in front of the television. Placing the folder on the coffee table, Connor then took off his jacket and hung it on the chair in the kitchen to dry. He grabbed a towel from the hallway closest and tucking it into a recliner chair so when he sat in it, the leather wouldn't get wet.
Shrugging, Troye hopped back to the couch, plopping down gently. He rose his injured leg, scooting a pillow underneath while Connor took off his shoes. A sigh escaped his lips as Connor glared at him, the green eyed boy annoyed at the fact Troye was moving around when he wasn't allowed to. "Yeah but bed rest is so boring. I'm fine. I can't run a marathon but I can walk a few feet."
"Whatever you say..." Connor trailed, sitting in the recliner chair next to the couch. His eyes beamed at Troye who was getting back into his comfortable position. A piece of him broke when catching the boy's leg, angry at how unfair this situation was. If it wasn't for Connor getting into some type of thing with Nick, Troye wouldn't have gotten shot in the leg. "I'm sorry."
The pale boy rolled his eyes, fluffing the pillow holding his upper body up. "Stop saying that. There is nothing to be sorry for. You did not cause this. None of this is your fault."
"I'm sorry. Oh, sorry. Damn it! Sorry." Connor rambled, burying his face into the palms of his hands with a groan. Shaking away the negative thoughts from his mind for that moment, his fingers brushed through his wet locks as he brought his head back into reality. Where Troye was sitting, in front of him. "How do you feel?"
Another shrug bounced upon Troye's shoulders as he clasped his hands together in his lap. "I feel better. I can't wait to get this cast off though, it's not really my jam."
"What is your jam?" Connor asked with a chuckle, leaning back into the recliner chair. His elbows rested on the arms of the chair, the guilt he didn't deserve to feel grew out of his skin like a flower expressing its pedals on a spring day. He couldn't help but feel responsible for what happened to Troye but thankfully it was only him who was injured.
