(Pt 2 to The Lost Boy)
Connor's POV
It wasn't until a year later that I heard of Troye Mellet again.
It was a warm Thursday morning, and as I sat eating my breakfast, my eyes widened, suddenly glued to the TV screen.
"Upcoming Australian artist Troye Sivan will be playing on the Tonight Show this Tuesday, singing Youth from his new debut album, Blue Neighbourhood."
I nearly spat out my musli. I watched in awe as pictures of his face flashed on my news channel, the date of his American performance suddenly ingrained in my head.
How was this possible? The lost little boy, I had saved, had tuned into some sort of pop star, a hundred miles from the cold streets of LA, back into fame, as if he was born into the trade.
I was proud, but my heart unwillingly fell. I felt rejected, as if he had just forgotten about me. I felt as if I could be responsible for his success, and I had gone a year without a single call from him.
Did he really just forget me?
I paced around my kitchen, stopping infront of my Mac book in a sudden sulk. I furiously typed at the keypad, searching for his name amongst other Australian artists.
I saw his success, and gasped, my eyes trailing themselves along the vast amount of followers he'd received. He seemed to be some sort of international star, one that I had for some reason never heard of.
I contemplated my thoughts for a few minutes, unknowingly staring into his ocean blue eyes. I felt my hands clam up, and I but my lip indecisively.
I had to see him, I had to see him again.
-Time Skip-
It was a few days later when I arrived at the tonight show. I had paid for a ticket, slowly weaving through the audience to get a front row seat.
Troye was on as a guest, prepared to preform his most popular song. I was excited to see his face, but I couldn't help the anger that rippled through me.
Why did he just forget about me? What had I done wrong? I had been nothing but kind to this boy. I had rescued him and flown him into success.
And all I got was a blank screen, and a phone number that was probably invalid.
Of course he wouldn't want to stay in touch with me. He was better than me now.
"I would like to welcome to the show an Australian Artist, who today, is making his debut performance of Youth, from his number one selling album, Blue Neighbourhood. Please put your hands together for TROYE SIVAN!"
He began to sing, holding the microphone lightly between his fingers. He looked different with his hair styled. His long curls were no longer matted, but siting quite perfectly, styled with jel. He no longer hugged my coat for warmth, but wore a jacket, one that looked ridiculously expensive as well.
His bright blue eyes were brighter than before, and he grinned out into the audience, shaking his hips to the beat of the song.
