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“You force us into these cliché, super cheesy moments on purpose, don’t you?” He doesn’t sound annoyed or irritated so Connor doesn’t see the point in apologising for himself, because Troye is right.
Of course he does. Though he pretends to be oblivious, because it’s one of his favourite things; hearing Troye talking about romantic things and then doing those things with him.
“Cliché moments?” He asks.
Troye sighs a little, with a smile on his face. He gestures to everything around them, even points to the sky and yes, Connor gets it. However he wants to hear it too. So he nods ‘Go on’. Even if it’ll make Troye roll his eyes. (After all, he is super cute while rolling his eyes).
“This! Us! Pretty much alone on a street in London and it’s snowing. We’re standing under a lamp post with snowflakes in our hair, obviously about to kiss like it’s the first time.” Troye swallows and moves closer, one hand gripping the side of Connor’s jacket. “Aren’t we?”
“Unless this is too romantic for you?”
Connor giggles when Troye sighs, which is far from unusual. “You know I can’t say no,” Troye says and pulls Connor closer to him, sliding his arm around his waist completely. Connor can feel Troye locking his hands together behind his back. There are snowflakes in Troye’s hair and on his shoulders. The ones that land on his cheeks melt right away.
“I’m the luckiest boy in the world to have you,” Connor whispers with fingers combing through Troye’s hair, with a smile on his face and nothing but love and gratefulness floating through his body.
Troye kisses him then. He captures Connor’s lips completely, the way only Troye can. They’re dry and slightly chapped. He still manages to make it breath-taking. Pretty much everything Troye does is breath-taking.
When he lets go, his head stays rested against Connor’s and he blinks slowly. “You just had to make it worse,” he says, just as quietly as Connor’s whisper, which makes him giggle again. Because it’s another of his favourite things; to make Troye embarrassed by expressing his overwhelming love for him.
And Troye might not say anything back at the time, but his arms tightening around Connor’s body and his chest pressed against Connor’s speaks for itself. The way he kisses him after, with a strong tongue and the intention to never really stop says it all. Troye hugs him in a way no one has ever hugged him, it’s whole-heartedly and life-changing. A trail of kisses is left on his lips before Troye speaks again. Softly, he whispers, “I love you, Connor Franta.”
Connor gets the sudden urge to ask Troye to marry him. He allows himself to say the line in his head; almost afraid he’ll subconsciously say it out loud, but he does it anyway. In a few years or so, will you marry me?
He wonders what goes through Troye’s mind in this moment and wants to ask, desperately wants to know. Connor always wants to know what swirls around in that colourful and complex mind of his.
“And I’m an even luckier boy to have you,” he says a moment later, like that explains everything and this time, Connor kisses him. Because it’s the only thing he can do right now if he can’t ask him to marry him. He just can’t do that, as much as he would like to, he just cannot.
It is not often Connor is afraid to speak but now he is. Because he honesty cannot think any other thought right now. There is only one sentence on his mind that he repeats over and over and over again. ‘Will you marry me? Will you marry me? Will you marry me? Will you marry me?’
Not right now, but later. Some day a few years from now.
It’s a good thing Troye can’t read his thoughts, or else he’d be freaking out by now, Connor thinks. Possibly running away.
It’s getting quieter as time passes, fewer cars driving by and less of people’s laughter and voices in the distance. Soon it might feel like they’re the only two people left in the world, and maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.
They stop kissing, for breathing purposes. Connor has no idea how long they’ve stood here, on some abandoned street in the middle of London, in the middle of the night. It might have been twenty minutes but it could easily be an hour or even nearly two. He has no grasp of the concept of time anymore. It almost feels non-existing, like it often does when he is with Troye.
It is quite incredible, he thinks, what being with a person can do to you. If it’s the right person at the right time in your life.
“You stop the time, Troye.” He confesses out loud to his own thoughts and Troye does nothing but watch his eyes.
“Is that good or bad?” He asks softly, unsure what to think. They’re so close that Connor feels his breathing, how it’s shaking a bit. He can feel how Troye is shaking a bit. From the cold, he assumes.
Connor places his lips against Troye’s for a second, not really kissing him. He just wants to feel them. They’re warm and familiar. “Good,” he mumbles now. “So good.”
“Can we go home now?” Troye asks, unfolding his arms around Connor’s body, he unattached himself from his lips and hips. It’s still snowing, it’s still cold. It’s still quiet and dark and Connor doesn’t protest. He’s starting to get cold too. He never expected the temperature to be this low in Europe at this time and packed a bit foolishly. A bit too hopeful for sunshine.
Some day, in the future, they’re going to have another night just like this one. Where their hands stay intertwined for as long as possible, through taxi journeys and elevator rides and door openings. And they’ll fall asleep next to each other, bodies pressed to one another. Engaged. In every possible way. Some day, in the future.