Attachments (Tronnor AU)

Acrimony

noun

       • bitterness of manner or language.

adjective - acrimonious

       • (typically of speech or debate) angry and bitter.

Troye isn't sure why he agrees. He's not really sure why he does anything anymore, but either way it happens and he finds himself trailing after a clearly very fortunate boy with a camera.

He's not jealous, not really. It doesn't bother him that Connor has nice clothes and a nice smile and expensive pieces of technology, no callouses on his hands and no scars on his skin. He's too humble, too sweet, too optimistic and effervescent for Troye to ever feel anything but inexplicably drawn to his all-consuming warmth. He's just a little bitter that his own skin is so rough, heavy bags under his eyes and heavy weights perched on his shoulders.

He shrugs it off. It's nothing new for him to be less opulent or happy than those around him. Besides, Connor doesn't actually make him feel like he's any less fortunate than him until they go to pay for their drinks.

Troye doesn't say anything when Connor buys both, but he certainly thinks it.

"So," the older of the two starts as they settle into padded seats by the wide-stretching window. It's started raining again, echoes of last night slipping down the glass in morose reminiscence of the tears he's never shed. There's humidity hanging in the air like an accusation of the truth, of the difference between him and this admittedly stunning boy across from him, and Troye does his best to ignore it the same way he ignores most of the unpleasant things in his life.

"You didn't have to pay for me," Troye mutters quietly, gaze caught on the raindrops making puddles in the pavement. The drink is warm in his hands, warm like the nice things he's never really had, warm like the smile directed his way.

"I asked if I could buy you a coffee. Buying generally equates to actually paying for it, too."

Troye quirks an eyebrow. He doesn't smile, but he feels like he could. "You make a good point."

Connor is bright and blinding, especially when he grins like Troye is possibly the most interesting thing in the world, and somehow he finds himself wishing he'd met him sooner. He wishes he'd known him when words were just words and not double-edged blades, wishes they'd met when hands were just hands and not thinly-veiled weapons. He wishes he'd known him when he could still find it in him to believe the light in those vivid green eyes could actually be real.

Troye could probably have fallen in love at first sight if he'd ever learned the meaning of the word.

He feels a little bitter when he thinks about it, Connor's soft hand tracing gentle circles on the back of his own.