of paper walls and waterfalls ; tronnor (discontinued)

three : cookies

just a warning i go into extreme detail on how to make cookies and it's really boring sorry

c o n n o r

After Troye leaves, I sit back on the couch and stare at my empty coffee mug for a few moments.

I like him, I decide thoughtfully. He seems nice, and is able to hold a good conversation. I have always found those qualities (among others, of course) preferable when meeting new people, and I am glad that someone who was going to be living next door to me had them. Maybe we could be friends? I cast a glance at the wall behind me, one of the many that we share, and hope.

I wonder why I've never heard of him, though. He's obviously pretty famous, with six hundred thousand Twitter followers. Maybe it's just because he's never gotten any, or very little, U.S. radio play.

I could, I suppose, look him up. I feel slightly awkward thinking this, but I want to get a feel of him that goes a little deeper than the half hour conversation we'd just had about very basic things. I want to know what he likes, what he doesn't like, how he acts when he isn't exhausted and trying to be polite to someone he's just met.

But at the same time...

I feel like looking Troye up on the Internet to get a feel of who he is isn't really fair, and can't really count as a true friendship. Now, it's not that I'm saying that online friendships aren't valid, because that's not the case (and anyway, I have many, many online friends). But when two people meet online, they both usually have pretty equal resources to find out about each other (unless it's one of those cliche fan-meets-idol-online stories). But Troye, being quite decently famous, probably has news stories about him, or even fanfictions written about him, that I don't know about. There might be something personal put on there that he doesn't necessarily tell new people about until they're good friends, like how I don't necessarily tell people I'm gay for a while into a friendship (and coming out to a friend I believe should be done in person, or at least in a message or text directed at you). I could probably find out just about everything about him, but he wouldn't be able to find out much about me, except for some old Tweets, a picture of a sunrise or two from my Instagram, or a couple of news stories about me from Minnesota years ago. There's probably nowhere near as much of my information than there is of his, so I would have way more knowledge of Troye than he would of me.

If I did look him up and learned everything about him before he could tell me, it wouldn't be fair to him, and I myself wouldn't be able to consider the friendship very valid. So no, I won't look him up- I'll let my own experiences of him build my knowledge and see what happens from there.

Meanwhile, though, it's 2:30 p.m. on a Sunday afternoon, and I have nowhere to be.

I don't want to go back and write anymore. Talking with Troye has completely drained my inspiration. I do need groceries, so I should probably get those.

I grab my keys, wallet, and phone and shove them in my pocket, then put on shoes and start down the hallway, locking my door behind me. The hallway is unusually empty for a Sunday afternoon- usually, there would be people going in and out of the apartments, whether those people be the actual owners of the apartment, or friends, or family, or door-to-door salesmen who somehow got in (unlikely, but possible). Everyone knows each other pretty well here, and everyone is usually pretty young, or elderly, since the apartments themselves aren't big enough for a normal-sized family. So, the residents are usually around the ages of 18-35, starting from college students who're living close to campus (there's a few colleges within walking distance from here) to unmarried people. Of course, there's always that person who's 48 and unmarried and doesn't go out except to buy more food (who knows where they get the funds?), but there's only one person like that in this complex, and they live on the fourth floor.