Attachments (Tronnor AU)

Emit

transitive verb

       •  to send out (light, heat, etc.); to put into circulation; to express, to utter.

The card sits on their bedside table, unassuming and relatively forgotten, for the better part of the next two weeks. Connor stares at it with a frown, sometimes, and Troye kisses it away with a smile and a shrug when his boyfriend asks who's number he thinks is on it. Troye doesn't think anyone's number is on it - he tries not to think about it at all.

He has his head on straight and a good, firm grip on his life just like Dan instructed, but he knows better than to rock the boat when there's some sharks left swimming in the water.

Still, Connor isn't the kind of person who will let things rest without knowing why, and Troye knows better than to expect him to simply ignore it. The card feels like a minefield planted in their home, like they're tiptoeing between explosions eager to happen and crossing their fingers that they don't lose their balance. He kind of wants to throw it in the trash and be done with it already, but he's pretty sure Connor wouldn't appreciate that. Besides, Dan must have thought it was important if he'd actually gone through the trouble to give it to him. He trusts Dan's judgment better than he trusts his own, most days.

Sighing, he leans against the open doorway to their bedroom and watches Connor flick the card between his hands.

"I'll call tomorrow," Troye tells him, if only so Connor will put the thick slip of paper down and look at him already.

Connor blinks, lifting his head to meet his gaze like there aren't fields of hesitation and concern sprouting in his eyes. The frown doesn't leave, no matter how much Troye wishes it would, and he turns back to the card barely a moment later. "Yeah, okay. Maybe... Maybe I should call, instead."

Snorting, Troye presses further into the room until he's sinking down beside the older boy. "You know I can do things myself, right?" When Connor still gives him that awfully worried look, he sighs heavily and adds, "Fine, go ahead. Screen the call, if it'll make you feel better."

Connor's smile is soft and warm and Troye's fingers itch for the keyboard tucked away beneath a frozen bridge, but his green eyes are hard and determined and Troye's are probably the equivalent of the melted chocolate chips to Connor's cookie cutter grin. Their lips find each other with the same form of breathless ease they've almost always carried, molding together until the hand on Troye's neck feels like an extension of himself.

"I love you," Connor mumbles so sweetly Troye wants to check for cavities.

"I..." he pauses, bites his lip, pulls back until he can see the laughter lines around his boyfriend's eyes. He sighs exaggeratedly. "I like you, I guess."

Connor laughs, raising an eyebrow as he draws him in closer. "You love me," he suggests, a little too hopefully.

Troye frowns, leans away with a contemplative expression, shakes his head like he's weighing the idea. "Oh, I don't know. That seems like a bit of a stretch."

But he's smirking and he's joking and he hasn't said it, not really, but he pretty much has a thousand times by now.