Attachments (Tronnor AU)

Massive

adjective

       • big, solid or heavy; large and imposing; relatively large in comparison to normal; extensive.

Troye doesn't get nervous. He gets defensive and terrified and as hostile as the warning signs he pays far too much attention to, but he doesn't get nervous. His thoughts don't scatter and he doesn't sweat and his hands don't shake and his eyes don't dart wildly around rooms. Troye doesn't get nervous.

Which, of course, explains why he's clenching trembling fingers into the fabric of his jeans and casting a wide-eyed gaze around the airport entrance. He takes a deep breath of unfamiliar air and tells himself it does something other than remind him of the fact that he's not safe at home, curls a hand around the suitcase handle and tells himself it isn't shaking, locks eyes with Connor and tells himself he's actually managed a smile.

Connor has, that's for sure. The curl of his lips is wide and unabashed and full of the love Troye's not entirely ready to acknowledge out loud, steady hands in his pockets and heels rocking with anticipation. Connor's not nervous. Connor doesn't have a reason to be nervous.

Connor isn't meeting someone's parents, someone's siblings, isn't about to be introduced to the decidely preposterous idea of a happy family. Connor's not the one with a bad track record when it comes to parents, to siblings, to families. It makes sense that Connor's not the one who feels like his heart's about to ricochet out of his chest or his brain's about to explode from the paranoia rushing through it.

"Hey," the more relaxed of the two says, tone easy and comforting and not at all helpful. "It'll be fine."

Troye actually does kind of smile at that, no matter how pathetic it is of a pep talk. He even almost believes it for a second.

Except that halfway through that particular second, Connor's parents pull up outside the airport.