Attachments (Tronnor AU)

Elude

transitive verb

       • to avoid stealthily; to escape the understanding or memory of a person.

"You're an asshole and I hate you," is the first thing Troye says when he approaches the familiar frozen park. There's snow speckled along the sleeves of his jacket, slush curling up the sides of his converse, but he ignores the cold that sweeps across the nape of his neck in favour of kicking purposely at Dan's side.

"Oh, look! Just the person I wanted to see!" Dan exclaims excitedly when his eyes find the figure of his friend. He clasps a hand over his heart as he grins happily up at him, exaggerated joy finding the weary wrinkles of his face. His expression shifts suddenly not a moment later, hand dropping as he rolls his eyes with a particularly vicious sneer. "Said no one ever."

"Actually," Troye replies superiorly, hands stuffed in his pockets as he raises a triumphant eyebrow and lets a smirk twitch at his lips, "Connor says it all the time."

"He's your boyfriend," Dan replies, wholly unimpressed. "That's, like, required or something, yeah?"

Offering him a weird look in return, Troye contemplates gracing that with a real response. A moment later, he settles for a noncommittal shrug and kicks lightly at Dan's thigh again instead. "Whatever. You didn't let me finish. You're an asshole and I hate you-"

"That's not news, mate."

"-and I need your guitar," Troye finishes, ignoring the unwanted input entirely. He tries to keep the expectation from his features, tries to keep his shoulders lax and hands steady despite the biting cold. It doesn't really work, fingers twitching with the need to press down against coiled strings and heart pounding hard with anticipation.

Dan gives him a suspicious look, eyeing him like Troye's a time-bomb with no visible clock, ready to detonate when he's least expecting it. His sweater's more worn out than anything Troye used to own, the unforgivable winter turning his nails blue and skin ivory white, and there are chasms of sleepless nights beneath earthquakes of exhaustion. He doesn't really look like the Dan Troye's always loved and hated in equal measures, doesn't have the residual strength to his glare or tough indifference to the set of his shoulders. He looks the way Troye used to when he'd chance a glance in passing shop windows, minus the vicious gargoyles of defensiveness perched high on Troye's thick iron walls.

There's no joint in his hand, but there's six smushed into the pavement beside him.

Shrugging, Dan shuts his earthquakes away and leans his head back against the stone wall behind him. "You make such a strong case," he chuckles offhandedly, shrugging soon after. "Hell if I care. Go ahead."

"Is it still by the bridge where I kept my keyboard?" Troye questions cautiously, withdrawing the foot still resting beside Dan's leg. He doesn't bother fighting off the frown, knowing Dan will see it whether he lets it display itself obviously or not.

Dan's voice is snippy but exhausted when he curls his lips up in displeasure and tosses out, "You think I moved that shit? Haven't touched it in months."

"Oh," Troye mutters. "Yeah, right. Uh, thanks."

He turns to leave, set on retrieving the instrument and coming back to thank Dan again when he's not being so unnervingly bizarre, but he doesn't make it five steps before his name's being called out from behind him. Darting a glance over his shoulder, his eyes rake across the wide brown chasms pinning him to the concrete and shift down to the pursed lips of his friend. It takes a moment of silence, of concern from both sides flooding the space between them and uncertainty rising high through the air, but eventually Dan narrows his eyes and gestures him closer.

"Here," he explains once Troye's come back to stand at his side. He digs deep into the pocket of his sweater, brows furrowed as he pulls out a thick rectangle of cardstock and waves it towards him. "That... Uh, the guy asking 'bout you gave it to me. Said to pass it on if I saw you."

Troye stares at the offered piece of paper like it may as well be a car lined up to run him over at full speed. Dan's foot is pressed to the gas, whether he wants it to be or not, and his hands turn the steering wheel towards him as Troye realizes he won't be able to dodge in time. Or maybe Dan's the one on the road and Troye's the one in the driver's seat, maybe this is the steamroller plowing through Dan's steady strength and sweeping away the sleep he's never had this much trouble obtaining.

Lifting his gaze back to his acquaintance, Troye gives him the most unreadable look he can manage with his stomach clenching so uncomfortably. "What's it for?"

Dan makes a noise of dissatisfaction in the back of his throat, waving the card more insistently as he paints the perfect picture of impatience. "A business or something, I don't know. Take it already, would you?"

He can't. He's still wary, still as uncertain over taking it as Dan seems to be over giving it, and he still doesn't understand what's going on with this man he pretty much considers a brother. They're dysfunctional and fucked up and sometimes they claw each other's throats off just for kicks, but they're as close to family as either have probably ever had and Troye doesn't know how to watch him fall apart without at least knowing where the pieces have landed. "Did he say who he was?"

"Just take the fucking card," Dan snaps suddenly, viciousness ringing in the snarl twisting his lips. Troye gives him a dubious look back, watching the fume curl away from his friend as fire spreads to the purpling tips of his fingers.

He reaches out slowly, clasping the thick slip of paper in a cautious grip and tucking it away inside his pocket without another word. He hesitates before he turns to leave again, feeling like maybe he should say something but knowing it's probably better that he doesn't.

Fire settling to a waning spark, Dan swallows hard as he meets his gaze again. The hand outstretched to offer the card now clasps loosely at the sleeve of Troye's jacket, hanging like dead weight to anchor him solidly to the ground in case he tries to fall apart. He's not sure whether it's to keep him or Dan in one piece, but he's not about to ask when those brown eyes look so much like they want to close and never open again. "Troye? Don't... Don't call unless you're ready, yeah?"

"Ready for what?" Troye questions curiously, the frown making an unwelcome reappearance.

"Just- Not unless you're okay. Like, good, you know? With your head on straight and a firm grip on your life. All that shit, yeah?"

Pursing his lips, Troye stares at him a moment longer before agreeing. "Yeah."

This time, Dan doesn't stop him when he turns to leave. He does watch him until he's rounded the corner and disappeared entirely out of sight, though.