Attachments (Tronnor AU)

Maze

noun

       • a confusing, intricate network of pathways; a confused state.

The door closing behind them is bulletproof glass, reflecting back the bullets they've been dodging for over an hour now. They ricochet silently away from the two boys protected by such a trivial thing, firing down the stairs they'd traveled up only moments before. There's not a sound where they strike, nothing but vibrations that have Troye shivering and Connor sighing in relief because often the most deadly shots are fired first. They've dodged a hundred already, they should be fine from here out.

Connor sinks onto the edge of a bed that isn't really his anymore, doesn't belong to the version of himself that's sitting here now, and closes his eyes for a long moment. With emerald forests kept from the sun, his trembling leaves finally have a moment to rest. He doesn't move when the bed shifts beneath a second weight, eyes still closed and figure still slumped as Troye drops into the space beside him.

"This is weird," Troye mutters quietly and Connor kind of has to agree because Troye doesn't usually speak first. In fact, Troye's always the one to hush him into peaceful silence with a hand in his hair or a peck on his lips.

"Yeah," Connor replies, wondering what kind of response his boyfriend was expecting. He can feel oceans lapping at his shores, fixed on a point along his beaches that the water will never be able to reach.

Troye sighs. He's about to say something else, something important, and Connor can feel it in the way his body doesn't lean towards his. Whatever it is, it's interrupted by his mother's voice floating past the bulletproof barrier that's so easily been cast away.

"Boys! Dinner's ready!"

Opening his eyes again, Connor's forests struggle to remember how to photosynthesize when Troye's got a shadow on his face as dark as the abyss. He frowns, follows the boy he should be much better at reading by now down the stairs, and pretends he isn't worrying about what's gone unsaid when his father gives them each a friendly nod. He pulls out a chair for Troye beside where he normally sits, making sure his boyfriend's fully seated before he heads off into the kitchen.

He finds his mother there, pulling a dish of lasagna out of the oven with a pair of bright green oven mitts. Her focus is solely on the meal at hand, eyes fixed firmly on it as she slowly twists her body to set it on top of the stove. Realizing there's no chance of her dropping it now that it's out of her hands, she releases a triumphant noise and rips off the horrendous green monstrosities.

"Oh," she exclaims, blinking as she notices his presence for the first time. Cheryl frowns the moment she acknowledges that he's actually in the kitchen. "Connor? What are you doing? Don't tell me you've left Troye to fend for himself - you know what brats your siblings can be."

Connor half smiles, moving forward to wrap her in his arms without a word. She doesn't object, merely pats at his back and lets him hold her as he rocks them back and forth.

"I'm worried," he whispers, low enough that no one who wasn't pressed against him could hear. "I'm always worried."

His mother sighs, hands stilling their circles on his back to instead pull him closer. "Connor, sweetheart. You know I love you and I think you're an incredible human being. I couldn't be prouder of my baby boy all grown up, really."

"I sense a 'but' coming," Connor interjects a little less softly.

"But," Cheryl continues firmly, pulling back to pin him with a determined look, "you've convinced yourself that boy is made of glass and he's not, Connie. He's really not. And I know that you love him and you worry about him because you love him, but I think you need to take a step back and think about the fact that he's seventeen."