Attachments (Tronnor AU)

Take

transitive verb

       • to lay hold of; to grasp or seize; to gain, win; to choose, select; (attitude, pose) to adopt; to understand; to consume; to to accept or agree to; to lead or carry with one; to use as a means of travel; (math) to subtract (from); to use; to steal; (gram) to be used with; to endure calmly.

intransitive verb

       • (plant, etc.) to start growing successfully; to become effective; to catch on; to have recourse to; to go to.

noun

       • (film, TV) the amount of film used without stopping the camera.

Connor feels like he's just gotten all the breath knocked out of him in a single stitch of the time continuum. It moves through the air between them in a cloud of white frost, filling in the gaps he can't even think to look for.

He doesn't really have to look, anyway. They're as clear as the blue sky stretching above their heads, evident in the way Troye frowns like he doesn't know what to say and Connor's hands twitch like they don't know what to do. He tries to start simple.

"Hey," he greets, the barest of smiles lifting the corners of his bitten lips almost indiscernibly.

"Hey," Troye replies, moving his hands a little further into the pockets of what must be someone else's sweater. Troye's clothes are all too small for him, not three sizes too big like this grey mass of a thing, and he knows for a fact he's never seen this before. Which clearly says something, considering he's pretty sure Troye owns all of two full outfits.

He swallows. That's the kind of thinking that got them here in the first place.

"You're not playing?" he questions softly, the words an ironic mirror to the first time they spoke. Troye's lips twitch, but remain a tight line of uncertainty cutting scars through his gaunt features. He looks tired, even more so than the last time they saw each other, and there's a hollowness to his cheeks that's never been so prominent as it is now.

Connor tries not to be concerned, he really does. It's just not in his nature.

"Nah," Troye replies, jerking Connor back to the reality of the question of sorts he'd actually asked. "I figured I had better things to do today."

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow, feeling some of the trenches in his heart start to heal over with hope. He prays they won't leave scars like Troye's lips, won't come back to haunt him later when he thinks everything's okay again, but he tells himself not to focus on it too hard. It's never been in his nature to get so hung up on trivial things, but one round of whiplash from hurricane Troye and it's suddenly all he can think about.

Troye shuffles his feet against the concrete, a consistent habit Connor's reluctantly picked up from him. "Yeah," he mutters, looking away. "Something about making amends and apologizing. You know, all that shit."

Connor grins, trenches vanishing under the polished new surface of pure and unadulterated relief. "So eloquent," he bites out teasingly, dodging the hand that comes out to smack at his arm. He laughs and Troye snorts and the air between them isn't like it used it to be, but at least it's somewhere close.

"Can I buy you a coffee?" he adds after his laughter dies down, just to ensure this moment fully mirrors their first to its greatest extent.

Troye laughs for real this time, his smile nearly as light as his skin under the afternoon sun. "Yeah," he agrees, reaching out a hesitant hand to link with Connor's. "Let's go get some coffee."