the boy they called troye

20

Lost Boy - Ruth B
It's late at night, and Connors freshly 20. He's laying on the same white duvet, starring at a freshly paint ceiling. Blue, like his eyes, the ones Connor got to see up close for the first time a year ago.

It's late at night, and Connors freshly 20, remembering the agonizing walk to the field of flowers. Out of his front door, to the left, under the wooden fence, and there he was. Exactly were hell be tomorrow, freshly 19.

It's late at night, and Connors freshly 20. People and mentioned Troyes eyes, but they never told him that they were that blue. Sure, they were big, and sure they were a little to bright but they were blue. The real kind, the kind that most likely takes up the bottom of the ocean.

It's late at night, and Connors freshly 20, recalling more than just Troyes eyes. He wasn't beautiful, not exactly extravagant, just pleasing. The type of person you could sit in front of and point out every difference and never get bored. The type of pretty, Connor thought has he sat crisscross in front of him a long year ago, that was unsettling.

It's late at night, and Connors freshly 20 and he's craving Troyes skin. He's the boy with curly hair that's so thick that when he runs his hand through it gets caught. Connor wanted to ask him if he can touch it too, but instead he asked him why he made so many damn flower crowns. Because he made a lot of them.

"I want to feel pretty." Was still his only reply and he smiled brightly then, and Connor did not.

It's late at night, and Connors freshly 20. He hadn't gone back down the next day, instead watching him from his window like he spent the last 14 years doing. It's not as nice, Connor remembers thinking, than being up close.

It's late at night, and Connors freshly 20 and he's trying to understand why he wanted to reach out so badly. Why he wanted to run his fingertips across Troyes entire existence. His hair, his eyebrows, his cheek bones, his eyelashes. He wanted to feel it all.

It's late at night, and Connors freshly 20. He's desperate, to see him again, to hear his voice spoken softly only for him. It makes Connor almost angry, knowing how he had 14 years to act upon these desires and yet he choose now to be so needy. Now when the lights are all off and Troyes asleep somewhere amongst the shadows.

It's late at night, and Connors freshly 20. He did something, the day that was only about a year ago, the day he approached Troye for the first time. When the sky grew dark and it was about that time for Connor to be laying in bed pondering life, Troye said he had to go home. They had barely talked, maybe a question here or there nothing personal or even relevant but they had made an interaction. When Troye said he needed to leave Connor felt empty, cold.

It's late at night, and Connors freshly 20 and he's thinking about how he followed Troye home that night. He lived on the end of the street in a house that wasn't big and it wasn't suburban and Connor supposed that something's do change and something's could be new. But Troyes house, was not new. It was small and broken down, ugly beyond any house he'd seen before. Not that he had much to compare it with.

It's late at night, and Connors freshly 20 and he's closing his eyes has he imagines Troye walking up the shaky steps with a sigh, and watching has he shut the door behind him. The walk back home was silent, maybe a little bit lonely, but most of all boring.

It's late at night, and Connors freshly 20, remembering how he went back outside after a day to gather himself. Him and Troye talked a bit more about more irrelevant things and at one point Troye took the crown off of his head, the black one, and placed it on Connors. He smiled, and Connor didn't, because he couldn't. You just don't smile at boys like Troye. Even when no ones watching.

It's late at night, and Connors freshly 20. That day, the second day of visiting and the third day since the first, Troye laid on his back with Connor following in suit. Both with crowns made of newly grown flowers that smelled to sweet and only made one of the two boys pretty. Troye began to speak, something that Connor would remember even though he remembers everything, even the things he shouldn't. Like Mathew and a crown painted black, the crown that sat neatly in Connors feathery hair.

"Do you want to know where I live?" Troye had asked and it had put Connor on edge because the deepest thing they'd talked about so far was how itchy the grass was and how neither of them minded. Connor shrugged, already knowing but not minding the sound of Troyes voice.

"I live in a blue house," he started which was already a lie. "It's a little ways away from here, this place is far to boring for me. It's three stories tall with a bunch of flowers and a trimmed lawn. My bedroom is on the top floor and sometimes I sit on the ledge and count the stars." He then turned his head to Connor who was already looking, his curls flopping onto his face. He was clearly lying, Connor knew that, but he didn't say anything because you just don't question boys like Troye when they lie about where they live.

It's late at night, and Connors freshly 20, bathing in the smile Troye had given him not so long ago.