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He found Troye sat at his dinner table, painting his own nails when he got out of the shower, pulling the t-shirt over his head the same moment he entered the room. Having Troye just be in his home will always be a surreal feeling to Connor, even after all these months. Troye basically lives with Connor whenever he’s over in LA and yet, every now and then, as Connor sees Troye around, minding his own business, it hits him. This could be all the time some day. This is how their life could be some day in the future. Connor thinks far more about living with Troye than he ever lets his boyfriend know.
Before sitting down beside him, he’s ruffling his hair to make it dry faster and then kisses Troye on the top of his head. “That looks nice,” he says.
“I can paint yours, if you’d like. Might make you stop biting them,” Troye says and Connor thinks why the hell not. There are a lot of things he’s tried out since he met Troye. He’s got a whole new way of thinking, because of him.
Connor believes Troye made him a better person, however Troye says he’s only allowing Connor to bring out these thoughts, that he’s had them all along. Just never acted on them.
So he puts down his hands on the table; on the paper Troye had placed on the table. He’s happy Troye knows how much getting nail polish on Connor’s dinner table would upset him. Troye paint his nails metallic blue. There weren’t many things that Troye was as committed to as keeping up with his aesthetic.
Connor focus more on the tip of Troye’s tongue sticking out of his mouth than the brush sweeping over his nails in slow, solid motions. He’s never had his nails painted before, only a manicure minus the painting of his nails, which he did not enjoy as much as he should have, probably. He has heard about it being a satisfying experience but it wasn’t for him. Only annoying.
“We’ll let the first layer dry.”
“Now I’ll have to match my outfit to this. I don’t know if I own anything in this shade of blue.” Connor studies his painted nails; there are smudges of colour around his nails. Maybe it’ll wash off. “Or what’s a good colour to match with blue?”
“Black?” Troye suggests, while screwing the lid on the nail polish, fingers sprawled out. He waves his hand to make it dry faster and Connor does the same. Not in a million years would he have imagined this, him and his boyfriend painting their nails. Though, in the moment, it feels completely normal and natural.
“What are you wearing?”
Troye looks at his nails. Connor wonders if he can tell if it’s dried or not, but looking on his own makes no sense. He doesn’t dare to touch it.
“Black jeans, black t-shirt, and my denim jacket,” Troye replies then, like it’s the most obvious choice of outfit. He picks up the nail polish again, “Okay, give me your hands.”
He spreads his fingers and lays them down on the paper. They’re not sitting close enough for him to kiss Troye, which is annoying because it’s the only thought swirling around his mind right now.
“You’re good at this,”
“It’s easier painting someone else’s than your own,” he says, tongue poking out again. One hand is much messier than the other. “But I’m getting better.”
Connor really likes the idea of them wearing the same colour. It could be their thing.
“I could paint yours,” he offers, more excited than he wants to admit. It’s a nice way of spending time together, he thinks. Because they can’t do anything else but sit and be with each other until it’s dry. These are the moments he’ll think of when Troye’s away, or when he’s away. When they’re apart. When it doesn’t feel like they’re already living together.
When he paints Troye’s nails, he’s careful. Mouth open slightly and eyes narrow.
“You’re good too,” he hears Troye say, and when he looks up, he’s met by a sweet smile.
Nothing is more overwhelming than falling in love all over again. Especially when it’s all at once. When he first fell in love with Troye, it came in small parts. At first it was his eyes and long eyelashes and the soft skin brushed against Connor’s during hugs.
Then it was his charm, his sense of humour, and his warm heart. Connor fell in love with his voice too, both talking and singing. His choice of words, his ability to say the things you wanted to hear. Troye was a good listener and ever better at talking.
He fell in love with the way Troye kissed him, always taking the time to do it properly, whole-heartedly every single time. Every time he felt something. Love.
Connor fell in love with his style. His walk. His arms on his shoulders, his chest pressed against Connor. He fell in love with his way of thinking, his colourful mind, his passion; his strive to make this world a better place. Connor fell in love each time he learned something new about Troye, which happened every single day, which still happens.
As he’s looking up at Troye now, he sees all of that.
“What?” He says, and Connor smiles too, going back to painting the nails, as he’s slightly embarrassed, thinking it might hide the blush he’s got on. “Have I got something on my face?”
“Beauty,” Connor says, to which Troye breathes out a quiet oh my god, and rolls his eyes. Though, he kisses Connor when the lid is on the tiny glass bottle, sitting down in his laps. Balance is hard to find when you’re not allowed to use your hands, but they find it after a while.
“I love you,” he says in a small voice, in that voice he uses when no one is supposed to hear them, it isn’t necessary now though, as they’re alone in Connor’s house but he likes it. Everything sounds more meaningful in that voice.
This is another moment he’ll think of when he’s lying in his bed and Troye is somewhere else and he knows it is hours before they will see each other again. This kiss and this feeling and this moment. “You too, Troye.”