the boy they called troye

22

I hate u I love you - gnash ft. Olivia o'brien
Connor, cold and alone, is now 22. Regretfully so though, because with becoming 22 is college. Cheryl, his mother, got tired of him hanging around, doing nothing with his life. So she sent him away to Aquinas catholic university, a local college to keep him close but to keep him away at the same time.

Connor, cold and alone, and now officially 22 is thinking about how this college was bad for him in many ways. One, he can't cook for shit. How did his mother think he was going to make it on his own for four years? He can't even cook toast without burning it!

Connor, cold and alone, is officially 22 and he's done with responsibility and paperwork. His job, his schoolwork, the loneliness, is starting to get to him, but he holds on. He stays strong, he remembers.

Connor cold, alone, and officially 22 lives in past to stay in the present. He bathes in the sunlight he laid in a few years prior. He lets Troyes eye lead the way as if he's walking with him.

Connor, cold and alone, knows that not only college comes with officially being 22. But Andrea, she comes along too. Peter, his father, insisted he found a girlfriend, and Connor didn't care enough to mention his distaste in them and picked up the first girl he could. Mainly to distract himself from the harshness of new responsibilities.

Connor, cold and alone and officially 22 let's life carry him like the lazy river at the local water park where he lived. He went along with the crowd like everyone else and he didn't smile and he always said no. But his mind was still stuck in summer, still stuck on flower crowns and red lipstick, still stuck on him.

Connor, cold and alone, and officially 22 never told anyone he liked boys. He didn't see a reason. He never had feelings for anyone, no one except Troye. But having feelings for Troye would be beyond shamed, further than any sexual orientation because you just don't like boys like Troye, with arms to long and eyes to bright.

Connor, cold and alone, and officially 22 watches as his pop tarts warm in the microwave and he thinks of his plain white ceiling and the window that over looks the flower field where his boy lays. The boy he never claimed, the boy waiting to jump.

Connor, cold and alone, and officially 22 thinks of running through flowers and holding hands and turquoise skirts, he thinks of him. But when isn't he? Not when he's working, not when he's listening to professors, not when Andreas touching him with hands to rough and nails unpainted.

Connor, cold and alone, and officially 22 is not okay with only ever kissing one person in his entire life. It's not that he was undesired, he just didn't want the contact. The contact he had to take from Andrea, the contact he didn't get from Troye. Connor wanted to feel, Andrea couldn't make him feel.

Connor, cold and alone, and officially 22 states at the clock on the wall, the smell of burnt pop tarts filling his dorm room. One he had alone because he didn't want to be close to anyone.

Connor, cold and alone, and officially 22 wonders what Troyes doing. He's 21, and probably still laying in that field, waiting for Connor to crawl under the fence and waiting for his turn to jump. Connor couldn't see him anywhere else, he didn't belong anywhere else. No where besides next to Connor.

Connor, cold and alone, and officially 22 wonders if Troye has ever been touched. Has he ever been kissed, did he enjoy it? Has he ever been cuddled under thin sheets, did he think of Connor? Why can't Connor himself stop thinking? Not only about Troye, who seemed to consume most of his thoughts, but in general. Things like Susan, Mathew, a big blue house, a perfect suburbia, and blue flowers painted black.

Connor, cold and alone, and officially 22 wonders why he thinks so much about Troye. Why he likes him so much. They never had anything romantic. Not even a friendship. Simply curiosity and comfort. But here Connor is, totally obsessed. Some could even say in love and despite Connors negative attitude he would agree.

Connor, cold and alone, and officially 22 knows he doesn't feel. He can't feel. At least he couldn't, unless it was for Troye. He watched him since the young age of five and slowly but surely feel in love with everything about the boy. The boy you were forbidden to love, the boy with arms to long and eyes to bright.

Connor, cold and alone, and officially 22 remembers the feel of his hand, the sound of his voice. The way he walked, what he wore, where he went, and what he desired and still he feels like a stranger. Troye doesn't know a thing about Connor, he's a nobody to the boy, and yet he's in love.

Connor, cold and alone, is waiting for his moment to jump.