Attachments (Tronnor AU)

Neutral

adjective

       • non-aligned; not taking sides with either party in dispute or war; having no distinctive characteristics; (colour) dull; (chemistry) neither acid nor alkaline; (physics) having zero charge.

noun

       • a neutral state, person, or colour; a position of a gear mechanism in which power is not transmitted.

Troye's hands are steady where they rest on the paper coffee cup, drumming along the printed shop logo as he lifts it from the table to take a drink. Connor watches him cautiously, lacing their fingers together only when his own hands begin to shake. It's odd to think that he's more nervous than his boyfriend is when this probably has nothing to do with him, but he knows Troye has always been much better at dealing with worry than Connor is.

Troye's fear is a dull ache that sits constantly beneath the surface, easily concealed by thick skin and scar tissue. Connor's is a sharp stab occurring repeatedly every time he forms a conscious thought, the wound gushing everywhere no matter how many bandages he tries to wrap around it.

Troye traces a pattern across the back of his hand, abandoning his coffee in favour of leaning closer to his boyfriend, and Connor finds himself immediately grateful for Troye's uncanny ability to always find everything that's wrong. It's the first time he's ever actually appreciated it, rather than watched the way it's made him so uncertain of the world and wished Troye didn't have it at all.

"Relax," Troye breathes out on a fond chuckle, eyes crinkling with a smile. Connor smiles back apologetically, resting Troye's hand between both of his, but doesn't get the chance to give a verbal response. There's a man staring at them from across the campus coffee shop, eyes wide as he releases a visible rush of air. A moment later, he's sliding into the seat across from them.

"Hi," he greets nervously, dark hair gelled back as he undoes the first button of his suit jacket. He'd look professional, a high class business man with a well-paying job and set career path, if it weren't for the terrified way his eyes fix on Troye and the trembling of his pale hands. "I'm Phil Lester."

Connor half expects Troye to toss back some sarcastic remark, but he doesn't. Instead, he takes a slow sip of his beverage and pins the man with a calculating look. "Troye," he offers, one hand still clasped with Connor's as the other rests by his coffee.

"Yeah, I know," Phil replies, shaking his head and clearing his throat. His demeanor shifts, like he's gathered all his nerves and packed them deep down where no one will ever find them, and he sits up straighter as his tone switches to something more controlled. "I've been looking for you for months. I-"

"Months?" Connor interjects, frowning at his boyfriend as Troye remains unphased. He turns back to the man across the table from them, worry gnawing at his insides like a dragon breathing fire on everything good they've managed to make. Months means this has been building as long as they have, means something has been waiting to tear them down the entire time they've been building themselves up.

Troye squeezes his hand so hard his skin goes white beneath his grip.

"Yes," Phil brushes it off, barely sparing Connor a glance as he turns right back to Troye. He leans forwards, folding his fingers together on top of the table, and purses his lips like he's not sure he should continue. "More specifically, my employer has. I work for a man who would very much like to meet you. Shaun Mellet, a name partner in the Horwitz Mellet law firm."

Connor frowns, wondering why on Earth a lawyer would be interested in his boyfriend, but Troye doesn't seem to have any idea either. His expression hasn't visibly changed, but Connor can easily recognize the confusion in the set of his shoulders and the introspection to his gaze. Connor holds his hand even harder, deciding to keep his mouth shut until more information has been provided. Maybe it's a family lawyer appointed by the court, considering Troye will be eighteen soon.

Phil glances between the two of them expectantly, like he'd been hoping his words would spark some bigger kind of reaction, before sighing heavily. He mutters something under his breath that Connor doesn't catch, scrubbing a hand down his face as he stares down at the table for a long moment. Closing his eyes, he turns back to focus on Troye as he adds, "Your biological father."

Connor doesn't breathe for a very long time, wide-eyed as he stares at the bearer of ridiculous news. He squeezes the hand clasped between his so hard he must cut off the circulation, blinking in disbelief as he tries to discern whether this Phil guy is actually serious or not. He looks like he is, if the nervous way he watches Troye is anything to go by, but the statement is so utterly preposterous that Connor finds himself laughing.

He's still laughing when he sets his sights on Troye, the humour dying immediately on his tongue as Troye stares unreadably across the table. He doesn't even seem phased by the news, just purses his lips and goes deathly silent. A moment later, he gathers his coffee up and drops Connor hand as he rises from the table.

"Connor," Troye says when he doesn't move to follow. Connor stares at him a moment longer before shaking his head and rising to his feet, darting the man still seated an apologetic look paired with an uncertain expression. He clasps Troye's fingers back between in his, holds it tighter than he probably ever has, and doesn't protest when they make their way out of the shop without another word.

He doesn't try to start a conversation, just keeps hold of Troye's hand and counts the steps it takes to reach their apartment. He knows his touch is worth a lot more than his words could ever be.