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Connor
A vein of lightning split the clouded sky in two, met a millisecond later by a crack of thunder so loud Connor Franta nearly fell off his chair at the LAX Airport. He tugged his earbuds out of his ears, resigning to the fact that he couldn't even hear his music over the pounding rain and rumbling thunder claps. He thought it barely ever rained in Los Angeles, but this was by far one of the worst storms he'd ever seen.
The airport somehow still had power, and all the TV screens were tuned to the weather channel. The weather woman was motioning frantically along the entire west coast, which was marked with blobs of bright purple—indicating the thunderstorm from hell that was lurking over him.
Small children were huddled against their mothers, some of them crying with each resounding thunder clap. Business people frustratedly checked their phones, wondering how they could possibly get to their meetings on time in this weather. And Connor sat in his chair, watching the rain pour down and trickle paths along the window panes.
It could be worse. This morning he had flown in from the Minneapolis-Saint Paul International Airport, expecting a two hour layover before his flight from Los Angeles to Sydney. Connor was planning to spend most of his summer there during his break from college. However, shortly after his first plane landed, the rain began. Now his flight had already been delayed for three hours, and the storm had only gotten worse in the meantime.
One by one, the list of departures flicked from delayed to canceled. He'd sat in the terminal for several hours, watching flight after flight get called off, and then watching the passengers throw a fit. His was one of the few yet to be shut down.
Connor's mother texted him wondering whether he was alright, since the major storms were national news. He quickly replied, I'm fine, mom. Flight is delayed, and will probably be canceled soon. The storm is pretty bad.
Just as he sent the text, his flight switched from Delayed three hours to Canceled. He sighed, though there wasn't much he could do. The other people sitting in his section all groaned and started heading towards the airport staff, wondering what to do.
Connor was basically stranded. He had flown from Minnesota, so he had no car and no place to sleep in LA. Maybe he'd have to spend the night at the airport. He thought he'd seen a movie about that one time, except the guy ended up living there for a year or something.
Luckily, he didn't have to worry for too long before one of the staff members approached the confused passengers, microphone in his hand, and waved for attention. “If everyone could stop talking, and please listen for a second,” said the man. He spoke with the droll voice of someone fed up with this thunderstorm's shit.
The terminal quieted and the man spoke again. “Unfortunately, due to the poor weather conditions, all flights in and out of LAX have been canceled, as you are all probably aware. We do not want any of you to be uncomfortable by spending the night here or in danger by driving yourselves. Because of this, we have assigned the remaining passengers to rooms in several hotels in the very near area. We have very qualified drivers to take you there.”
Well, Connor thought, that was a relief.
“My fellow staff members will be helping you find the shuttle buses and your rooms.”
Connor stayed out of the mad rush towards the airport staff, but he was eventually helped by a young woman. “Name please?” she asked. She looked shyly at him, and Connor could tell he was the reason she was nervous. There wasn't any point in telling her that was never going to happen, so he only smiled.
“Connor Franta,” he told her.
She looked over her notes, hands shaking slightly. “Oh, here you are. You've been assigned to the Hilton in a double room with a... Mr. Troye Sivan.”
“Okay,” he said. He wondered what a person with that name would look like. He hoped the person was nice or at least unobtrusive. A person named Troye was most likely younger though—he didn't know of any fifty-year-old men with that name.
“So, you'll just want to take the green shuttle bus labeled Hilton,” she said. “Just follow those people down to the outside door.” She pointed out the crowd. He started to follow them, and she called out, “Be safe. Have a nice night.”
“You too,” he said.
Connor hid from the downpour under the lip of the building, but wind still lifted the rain drops in his direction, spattering his jeans and soaking his thin cotton shirt. Fortunately, the bus arrived quickly, and Connor raced into the rain to get on board. The shuttle was only meant to hold around twenty people, but today it was packed to the brim of passengers eager to get to warm beds and free wifi.
He glanced around the packed bus, wondering who he'd be rooming with, but he could hardly move for lack of space. Luckily, the hotel was a grand total of three minutes away, so he could escape the claustrophobic car.
The hotel employees were equally efficient, handing out key cards to the passengers rapidly. A man handed him a card to his room—412. Tired, Connor took an elevator up to the fourth floor and found his room. He decided to head right to sleep, hopefully to wake up to a rescheduled flight and no further problems.
Only, his plans changed the moment he opened the door.
Because, laid out on one of the beds, was probably the cutest guy Connor had ever seen. The boy had his laptop set on his stomach with his long legs stretched out in front of him. When Connor stepped inside, the guy's eyes darted upwards to meet his. And shit, they were this beautiful blue color, and the whole situation was totally not fair. This wasn't even to mention his dark hair, which was perfect and messy and soft-looking. Connor had the strongest urge to run his fingers through it.
Instead, he clenched his hands into fists at his side and said, “Hi, um, I'm Connor. You must be Troye Sivan?”
“Yeah, that's me. Nice to meet you,” he said before shutting his laptop—one of those fancy, skinny Apple ones.
Immediately, Connor realized he had an accent. “Oh, are you from Australia?” he asked. “Was this your flight home?”
“Yeah, I grew up in Perth actually. This summer I'm staying in Sydney though for my, um, career.” Career? The boy looked a bit younger than Connor's 21. Already, he seemed a thousand times more successful and mysterious than Connor could ever dream to be.
“I'm staying in Sydney this summer too!” Connor said. He tried to sound excited, wanting to pull the boy in no matter how out of his league he seemed. His crushes were fast and deep, and this one was already setting in like wildfire. He couldn't explain the pull he felt towards Troye, but it was impossible to ignore.
“Are you staying for like a week or...?”
“No, almost three months hopefully. I go to college in Minnesota, which is a state that you've probably never even heard of, and I was dying for adventure so I sort of on a whim, bought one way tickets to Sydney? That probably sounds insane.” Connor laughed uneasily, raced his hands through his hair—a nervous habit he couldn't shake.
Troye set his laptop down on the ground, and Connor watched the way he moved, almost gracefully. He was very thin and maybe an inch or two taller than him, though it was hard to tell while he was laid out on the bed. “Sit down,” Troye said. “You're making me anxious just standing in the doorway. This is your room too.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Awkwardly, Connor walked towards the other double bed. He dropped his carry-on backpack on the ground and sat on the bed. The mattress was almost sinfully soft, and he was suddenly grateful that he was assigned a Hilton room. “Wow, this is comfortable.”
“I know,” Troye said with a chuckle. “I never stay in Hiltons, so this is something.” He rolled over on his side, tucking his elbow beneath him, and fixed those blue eyes on his. “So tell me more about this adventure in Australia.”
Connor laughed. He didn't talk about himself all that often. He was surprised that Troye could be interested in the life of a boring Minnesota college student. “Well, I've never done much traveling. I've been to Canada a couple of times because we're basically neighbors, and once I went on a cruise to Mexico, but I've never crossed an ocean. I kind of just wanted to set off on my own, you know? Experience a new place by myself.”
“That sounds really cool,” Troye said. “Do you have hotels and stuff or what?”
“Well, hotels for three months would put in some deep debt, so I've been kind of looking into youth hostels. Nothing official yet. Which is probably really stupid, but I was being spontaneous and just set off, so.” He shrugged.
“So if I see a poor American student sleeping on park benches around Sydney, that'll be you?”
Connor burst into surprised laughter. “Most likely. I don't plan well.” Troye just smiled. His smile was adorable. Connor was going to go insane tonight, he knew it. “That's enough about me. As for you, what's this career you mentioned?” he asked, changing the subject.
“It's not really a traditional career, I suppose,” Troye began.
“You're a stripper, I knew it,” Connor said, surprising himself with his directness.
Troye raised an eyebrow at him. Was it just Connor's imagination or was that a flirty eyebrow raise? “No, that's my part-time job. My actual career is as a singer.”
“A singer? Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.” Troye reached down and grabbed his laptop off the floor. He brought up the Internet and showed Connor the screen. “Here's my website.”
“Wow. You're telling the truth.” The site looked legit. There were a few polished pictures of Troye, along with a few dates he was playing in small venues listed.
“I haven't crossed over internationally or anything. No one knows who I am in America or Europe. I just have a few fans in Australia, and I play little bars and stuff sometimes. My first EP is coming out in a month, which I'm pretty freaking excited about.” His voice lit up when talking about his music.
“That's so amazing. I'm rooming with a future Grammy winner.”
Troye blushed slightly, which Connor found unbearably adorable. “That's cute. Seriously, I haven't even had a hit or anything. I can only hope for success.” He paused for a second. “But sales really don't matter too much to me. As long as I can keep doing what I'm doing, making music I love, I'll be happy.”
“You're lucky you get to do what you love,” Connor said. “I'm going into senior year of college, majoring in communications, and I still have no clue what I'm doing with my life. Which is scary as hell.”
“Nobody knows what they're doing,” Troye said. “They just pretend they do.”
Silence settled over them for a beat before Connor blurted out, “I just realized I have no toothbrush.”
Troye immediately burst into laughter. “You're so fucking random,” he said, his language surprising Connor. “But yeah, neither do I. It was in my checked suitcase, which is being held hostage by LAX.”
“My teeth are going to rot,” Connor whined dramatically. Troye laughed again. Connor desperately wanted to make him keep laughing. He glanced over to the kitchenette in their room. “Hey, I think we have a minibar.”
Troye followed his gaze and nodded. “Cool. But that stuff is expensive as shit.”
“But it's convenient.” He rolled off the bed, strode towards the bar. “Plus, alcohol kinda sanitizes your teeth, doesn't it?”
“Are you like obsessed with your teeth or something?” Troye asked before he started to cross the room too. Connor threw him a large, goofy smile. “Well, you do have pretty nice teeth, I have to say.”
When Troye stood beside him, Connor realized that he was, as he guessed, a bit taller than him. He was also really, really adorable up close. Which made his heart beat faster and a blush rise to his cheeks. This seemed like a recipe for disaster. To hide his nerves, he bent down to pull open the mini-fridge.
It was quite well stocked, as one would assume a Hilton would be. There were a couple beers, small vials of the heavier stuff, some water bottles, and even a couple candy bars. As he assumed, the prices were outrageous.
“Eight dollars for a water bottle?” Connor said, outraged.
“Well, what do you want?” Troye asked. “Because I saw a convenience store just around the corner. If you're willing to run through the rain.”
Connor smiled. “You know, I honestly don't mind the rain. Except when it cancels my flights. Wanna go?”
* * *
They were still giggling when they stumbled back into the hotel room, clothes soaked with water. Troye clutched a bag of potato chips and liter of Coke while Connor held a bottle of vodka. He'd had to buy it, since he found out Troye was only nineteen. Still, he didn't feel too guilty letting him have alcohol, seeing that if things went according to plan they'd be in Australia by now and everything would be perfectly legal.
“So, what do you want to do?” Troye asked. He set down the snacks and aired out his damp t-shirt.
“I say... Never Have I Ever,” Connor said. He was feeling bold tonight, and you only get so many chances like this. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he felt like there was a connection between him and Troye. It was weird, but it couldn't just be a coincidence their flight was canceled, bringing them together.
“I know that game,” Troye said. “I see why we needed the vodka.”
A few minutes later, they were sprawled on the floor in a pile of pillows with the bottle of vodka between them. “Never have I ever... recorded a song,” Connor said, knowing that was kind of an unfair statement.
“Well, that's not cool,” said Troye before taking a swig of alcohol. He washed it down with a sip of Coke. “Never have I ever lived in America.”
Connor drank and thought for a second. He wanted the game to get a little more personal, not just stating obvious facts in an effort to get drunk. “Never have I ever gotten a tattoo.”
Troye shook his head and didn't drink. “Never have I ever blacked out drunk.”
Connor groaned and took another shot. “You don't know what the American college experience is like!” He washed it down with Coke. “Um... never have I ever eaten marmite. That's an Australian thing, right?”
Troye rolled his eyes and drank. “Actually, it's originally British, but it's a staple at my family's table. When you get to Australia, I'm making you try it. Though you'll probably gag.”
Connor couldn't help the butterflies he felt in the pit of his stomach. Did Troye mean he wanted to see him after the night? Like, he actually wanted to show him around Australia? No, it was probably just a thing to say, a part of their casual banter. He shouldn't read in to things so much.
“Let's see...” said Troye. “Never have I ever told someone 'I love you' in a romantic way. Like, excluding family and stuff.”
Connor drank. “I said it, but I didn't mean it.” As he set the bottle down, he could feel the alcohol starting to catch up to his brain. The room spun just a tiny bit around him. “Never have I ever twerked in public.”
When Troye drank, he said defensively, “It was among friends!” After a second of thought, he said, “Never have I ever kissed a boy.”
Reaching for the bottle, Connor felt himself blushing. He shouldn't have been embarrassed—after all, he was really hoping that he could kiss the one in the room right now. But once he put the bottle down after a long swig, Troye picked it up and took a matching drink. Connor raised his eyebrows at him. That wasn't how the game was supposed to work.
“I lied,” Troye said.
Connor didn't really know what to say to that. His mind started spinning in overdrive. Troye must have been actually curious about whether Connor had ever kissed a boy, not just as part of the game. He felt flushed, like the room was stifling hot. But at the same time, he knew the next thing he did would determine the rest of the night.
He wasn't a bold person, usually, but tonight he was going for it. Crossing his fingers for luck, Connor said, “Never have I ever wanted to kiss someone as much as I want to right now.”
Troye looked at him, blue eyes intense and dark in the storm-clad night. He reached for the bottle of vodka, tilted his head back and took a long drink. Connor watched his throat contract as he swallowed, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks in anticipation. Immediately after he set the bottle down, Troye reached out, put his hand on the back of Connor's head and pulled him close until there was just a breath's width of space between them.
Connor felt like his heart would beat out of his chest, as he stared into the boy's eyes, so close. But tonight he was being bold. He closed his eyes and leaned forward the inch it took to meet Troye's lips.
And it was crazy, it was impulsive, it was sudden—but it was also the best kiss he'd ever had. Something about it felt like instinct. He'd known this boy for maybe an hour or two, but he knew exactly how to move and breathe and touch. Troye's lips were soft and hot against his, and his mouth still tasted like the alcohol he'd just drank. Connor could have gotten drunk off of just this. He moved in closer, the taste of him intoxicating.
They kissed for a few minutes—slow, almost chaste, but with a current of desire underlying every touch. When Troye finally leaned back and pulled away, a smile playing across his lips, he said, “This might sound crazy, but...”
“What?”
“Well, when we finally get to Sydney, do you think you'd want to stay with me for a bit? I mean, you don't have a place to sleep, and I don't want you lost out on the streets, and I just... I wondered if you'd want to stay.”
Connor felt dumbstruck by his sudden kindness. They didn't even know each other at all, and Troye was offering him a place to live.
“I know we just met, but I have an extra room, and I could show you around. Plus, it's winter in Australia. I don't want you to freeze overnight.” He paused, chewed nervously on his lower lip. “If you want to stay in a hostel, I totally understand. I just wanted to offer.”
“Seriously, Troye, staying with you would be perfect, but I don't want to be an inconvenience. You might get tired of me quick, you know?” Connor didn't know what it was about him that was making Troye say all these things. He was only an average kid.
“No, I'm only staying in Sydney for the summer too. We could explore together, have this adventure.” Troye fumbled over his words for a second. “I really think this storm happened for a reason. Not like fate or anything, but it brought us together, right? And I think that's pretty special. Maybe it means something.”
When Connor kissed him again, it was to say thank you, to say yes. It was only their second kiss, but already he felt so familiar, so right. “Yes, I'll stay with you,” he said. “You can change your mind and kick me out if I get annoying, okay? But for right now, thank you. That means a lot.”
That night, they slept in separate beds, but Connor fell asleep knowing this really was something. He didn't know how he knew. He'd never been one to buy into soul mates and destiny and all that, but he felt like, somehow, they matched.
They woke up the next morning to bright sunlight streaming through the window and an e-mail from the airport with their rescheduled flight time.
And maybe Connor didn't believe in fate, but when he and Troye compared the seat numbers on their tickets—23A and 23B—they sat next to each other. If that didn't mean something, he didn't know what did.