Happy Anniversary: A Tronnor Oneshot

Happy Anniversary

"Hello?"

Connor was expecting this call, but he's tentative anyway. He knows Troye's drunk. It's always like this; it's been three months and he's always like this and it breaks Connor's heart.

"I need you," he says with a hiccup, adducible to the alcohol and imminent crying.

"I'm on my way."

The drive to Troye's apartment is silent, save for Connor's impatient and incessant tapping on the steering wheel and the hooting of cars that are unimpressed with his reckless driving. The drive isn't quiet, but his mind is.

Connor doubts the door is locked, but if it is he's still got a key. He doesn't knock and steps right in. It's worse than the last time. Troye is slumped against a wall, sitting on the kitchen floor with three wine bottles lined in front of him as if each comes with a different type of bliss. There's a broken picture frame and the shards of a broken wine glass; the downward-facing photo is drenched in the ruby liquid.

Connor picks up the bottles and places them on the counter; they're each half full. Troye doesn't argue, only staring at Connor in discontent and guilt through bloodshot eyes.

"Have you eaten?" Connor asks.

Troye only continues to stare.

"Talk to me!" Connor doesn't mean to yell.

"No... I haven't - eaten."

"Stand up," Connor orders. He has to be stern. It's been three months and Troye's condition should not be deteriorating like this. He doesn't want to help him, but Troye is so off balance he may hurt himself if Connor doesn't. He slides a hand around his waist and when he's finally upright, Troye converts it to a hug.

"I'm sorry," he sobs.

"I know."

What Connor also knows is that it's not supposed to be like this... Or is it? Because Troye's arms were made to be around his neck and Connor's, around Troye's waist. But the tears seeping through his shirt onto his shoulder aren't supposed to be there. No, it's not supposed to be like this.

"Did you go to school yesterday?"

Troye nods into Connor's shoulder in response.

"Good... Are you okay to take a shower or do you want to rest a bit first?"

Troye tightens his grip around Connor by a bit. "Just hold me a little longer, please." The latter doesn't say anything in return but he doesn't let go either until Troye isn't crying anymore. He has a glass of water and leaves for a shower while Connor prepares breakfast. Connor also gets rid of the broken glass on the floor - as if it's some kind of metaphor for how he's always picking up the pieces of the havocs that Troye wreaks - and slips the ruined photo into his pocket.

When Troye comes back, he's clad in one of Connor's t-shirts; the day Connor packed his things three months ago, he took half of their wardrobe and a several of the things he took with him belong to Troye as well.

"Uhm... Food's ready and you should probably take these," Connor points to the painkillers he'd dug out of Troye's medicine cabinet. He pours the boy a cup of coffee which he then uses to down the pills instead of water.

"Thanks."

They sit next to each other at the kitchen island as they would have every morning three months prior. They never sat opposite each other, Troye claiming that he always wanted to be as close to Connor as possible. Some things never change.

They finish eating and this is usually the part where Troye starts apologising for calling, but he's not doing it this time. This time, he's reaching out for Connor's hand, intertwining their fingers. They still fit because, of course, some things never change.

"Troye...?"

"Shhhh," he says with his eyes closed, "just let me have this moment."

Connor wriggles his hand away. It doesn't feel right. It's not supposed to be like this.

"What? You don't love me anymore? Huh!?" Troye's eyes shoot open, still bloodshot.

"Troye-"

"Get out, Connor!"

This is the part where he's supposed to leave, but not like this; not with Troye spitting it at him and definitely not with him wishing he hadn't let go. Without saying anything more, Connor walks out of the door.

He doesn't want to leave, so he doesn't. He sits on the stairs outside by the porch and takes the picture out from his pocket to examine it. It was one of the first photos taken of the two of them and it was taken five years ago by Cheryl, Connor's mom. They were still young back then, Connor only 19 and Troye, 17. It was a year after they'd started dating.

Connor remembers how flushed his cheeks were and he pegged the phenomenon on the embarrassing fact that his mother wanted to take photos of the "special occasion" but truly he was nervous and shy and a little scared that perhaps he was only dreaming. All this emotion wasn't visible through the photo anymore because his face had been harshly scribbled over with a black Sharpie.

Connor wonders why he does this to himself. These stairs have seen more kisses between him and Troye than can be counted, but that's outweighed by the fact that on those stairs, on this day three months ago is where he played with a ring in his hands after Troye had said no and the little mass of sterling silver felt like it weighed just as much as the heaviness of his heart.

No.

Troye wasn't ready.

Troye is still too young.

Troye is still in college.

Connor loves Troye.

"It doesn't have to be tomorrow, Troye!"

Troye wasn't ready.

Connor's phone vibrates in his pocket.

I'm sorry...
(11:54am)

I know.
(11:56am)

I still love you.
(11:56am)

The door opens and Troye steps outside, onto the porch. "Stand up," he orders. He doesn't have to help Connor because Connor is the stable one and Troye is the mess. It was six years and it's always been like this. They stand face to face and Troye doesn't know why Connor is still here but he knows he wouldn't have it any other way... Except maybe if he'd said yes.

"Yes..."

Troye decides it sounds better than "no".

You're drunk, Connor thinks.

"Troye..."

You're drunk.

"Please? I don't still love you, I just love you. Without any conditionals."

Connor continues to stare.

You're drunk.

"Please? It doesn't have to be tomorrow..."

You're drunk.

"I know."

Maybe one more kiss on these stairs to tip the scales.

-
A/N:
hey, hi, hello! i present you another oneshot! *confetti*

this is the shortest thing ive ever written and i made troye experience an entire spectrum of emotions and then i was sadistic enough to call it happy anniversary yikes! ending's kinda happy, no?

you: dafaq is that cover
me: its a left hand without a ring on it duh
you:
me:
you:
me: *confetti*

ok but thanks for reading fam and if you could kindly read my other works that'd be hella rad!
• Baby Came Home
• Epilogue
• Here
• Radioactive
• UGH

- Taf xxx