Attachments (Tronnor AU)

Cajole

transitive or intransitive verb

       • to persuade or soothe by flattery or deceit.

Today, Connor is the hurricane bursting through the quiet apartment. With untamed winds and a tether to the ground it tears apart, his storm is much quieter than Troye's, much less obvious in the damage it erects across the shaking city of their lives. His winds whip wild but do not tear things into the rumbling clouds or send the sea crashing higher than it ever has. His lightning has no thunder, shows nothing but bright flashes of obvious distress across a monochrome sky.

Connor's storm is different from Troye's in that it's more so a call for attention, rather than a catastrophic force of destruction.

Troye glances up from his position on the floor of the living room just as Connor enters, door banging shut behind him so hard it has the entire kitchen shaking. He blinks, flips the magazine he'd been skimming through shut, and wonders whether it'd be best to leave him be or try to build a lightning rod and ease the storm into a sunny sky. One look at the way Connor slams his keys onto the counter in frustration, ripping off his shoes and coat with more desperation than anger, has Troye voting for the second option.

"Connor?" he calls softly, pulling himself to his feet with a calm pace towards the kitchen. Connor, who's now stood by the counter doing nothing, turns his head to face him with a positively miserable expression pulling his features down.

Troye sighs, opening an arm as a rare gesture of comfort despite the uncertainty he's feeling. He shoves back the twinge in his gut that says slammed doors and thrown shoes mean sharp nails and harsh slaps, shoves back the churn in his chest that tells him not to engage, to leave while he still has the chance.

He shoves it all back with the soothing feel of Connor collapsing into his arms and a gentle murmur of, "Oh, Con. What happened?" Surprisingly, it actually works.

Connor doesn't say anything for a very long time, hands fisted in the back of Troye's t-shirt and head buried against his neck as the taller of the two does nothing but hold him close and brush his lips across the top of his head. He must start crying at some point because eventually Troye ends up with an armful of sobbing young photographer and an earful of hitched breaths accompanied by the rivetingly pleasant sounds of his best friend completely falling apart.

"I think I've been a horrible friend," he chokes out after nearly ten minutes of nothing have passed. The whole story of his painful two hours of editing class eventually tumble from his throat, drawn out by the basic human need to seek comfort in those around him. Troye hums, chest constricting with a feeling of not knowing how to make this all better, and tries to draw Connor in even closer. He's not sure that it works, but the way Connor's tears begin to dry seems to indicate that it does.

"I just-" he tries again, voice choked with the aftermath of his breakdown. Troye rubs his back, feels like crying right along with him, kisses the top of his head again. "You're just important to me, you know? That's not a bad thing, is it?"

Part of Troye wants to say yes, but he's learned enough in these past few months to know it's the part of him that's always been wrong. The part that said love was conditional and he would never meet the criteria, that screamed creaking beds and wandering hands were a simple piece of his existence that would never change, that whispered he deserved it even when he'd been too young to deserve anything but the best chance he could have in life.

He breathes out slowly, running his hands across Connor's shoulders again. "No. No, it's not a bad thing. Just- Other people are important too, yeah? And I don't want you ignoring your friends or your family or whatever it is just for me. Like, I appreciate it, I guess, but it's okay to have other friends and spend time with them and- Ugh," he groans, cutting himself off with a heavy breath and a twisting expression. "I'm shit at this, sorry."

Connor snorts, pulling back a little to meet his eye. His expression is pained and still pretty miserable, but the familiar light's returned to his bright green eyes and Troye finds himself breathing a sigh of relief. Leaning up to peck him on the cheek, Connor beams a half-smile through the tear stains still prominent down his cheekbones.

"You're terrible at this," he agrees, amusement dancing in his tone as Troye fakes an offended look. "But thanks anyway. I feel better just, I don't know, knowing you're here, I guess? Like knowing someone cares and is taking the time to try to comfort me, even if you do suck at it."

Rolling his eyes simply to keep up appearances, Troye feels his heart do something a little funny in his chest. He smiles, the real kind that's becoming much less of an exotic species as of late, and doesn't bother gracing that with a verbal response. Instead, he leans down and brushes his lips across the top of Connor's cheek, where the salt from his tears is still sinking into his skin and his damp lashes flutter across it.

Connor understands. Troye doesn't like to talk, but every gesture is a novel.

Sighing, Connor turns to bury his face back into his chest and slink his arms around his waist. His voice is soft and quiet and full of the hesitation Troye's grown reluctantly accustomed to, but still hopeful and imploring with undertones of desperation. "Maybe if they met you, everything would be okay."

Troye tenses up at the suggestion, feels the breath lock in his throat as his finicky vocal chords tie themselves in knots. He doesn't want to meet Connor's friends, doesn't want to be surrounded by people who are so much more than he'll ever be and obviously aren't afraid to tell others that, doesn't want to shake hands with people who clearly think he's the dirt off their shoes. He doesn't really want to say no to Connor, either, especially when it's really not something altogether harmful.

Connor just wants these two separate parts of his life to coincide, or at least not contradict each other, and Troye can hardly begrudge him that. He almost wishes he could.

Sensing his extreme apprehension towards the suggestion, Connor pulls away from him almost entirely to pin him with pursed lips and a pleading tone. "Please, Troye? Come on, it'll be perfect. I mean, you're just so fucking amazing and it'll be impossible for them not to see that if they meet you and then at least we'll have settled that part of this bullshit."

Troye tries not to shift uncomfortably at the off-hand compliment, he really does. It's impossible when Connor's expression is so earnest and firm, glistening green eyes and a tight set to his thin lips.

Connor must see some sort of advantage in the way Troye looks away, because he presses just that little bit harder as his hands slide back around his companion's waist. "Besides," he says. "They really are great people. Well, most of them. You don't have to meet the others, I promise. Just the good ones, you know? They won't judge you or- Beth was just upset and hurt and probably pissed off and I- Fuck, Troye. Please?"

His eyes are wide and his warmth is pressed against Troye and he feels a little uncomfortable about the whole thing, but he doesn't exactly want to be the reason Connor falls out with his friends. Not to mention Connor always seems to be the one doing things here, treading carefully where he knows Troye's triggers lie as mines beneath the eggshells, dropping a spare key onto the counter just for him, asking him to come over or buy him coffee or play him a song or go for a walk.

Somewhere in him, Troye does know this isn't entirely true. He does just as much Connor- kisses him on freezing sidewalks and tells him to stay when the credits have rolled. However, the feeling that everything Troye does is never enough, is never of equal measure to something carried out by another, is a trait far too deeply ingrained into his psyche not to make its appearances here and there.

Sucking in a deep breath, Troye manages a half genuine smile as he says, "Yeah, okay. Sure."

It's a thousand times worth it when he sees the way it lights up Connor's face.