Archive of Our Own

Connor has absolutely no idea how he wound up as a makeup artist, but he likes it and today in particular he's glad for it. It's supposed to be a bit more of a quiet day, an entire day with an artist who's putting out a debut album soon and needs all sorts of promo pictures, but Connor's grinning to himself anyway as he arranges his stuff in front of the large mirror. It's just that he knows this artist. Not in person, or anything, but he's bought both of his recent EP releases, and plans on pre-ordering the album as soon as he can. Plus, Troye Sivan is absolutely gorgeous. So Connor's maybe looking forward to this a bit more than he usually does to anything on a Monday morning before dawn.

He's earlier than he usually is, wanting to make sure everything is prepped and ready to go the second Troye arrives, and even with his double- and triple-checking he ends up with half an hour to kill before Troye's supposed to arrive. Even though given the shoot Troye really shouldn't be late, so Connor fiddles with his phone, checking his social network accounts and answering his sister's teasing text with a string of exclamation marks. She pretends she's laughing, but Connor knows she jams to his songs all the time.

Sadly, social media is never very active when you want it to be, so ten minutes later Connor switches to his camera app, and lines his workspace up for a shot. It might mess up his meticulous order a bit, but it's not like it'll take him more than thirty seconds to put everything back. Art demands sacrifice, sometimes. It's fine.

Connor's instagram has a decently sized following, and he's proud to say that this photos of model's faces being made up aren't much more popular than the artsy photography he does just because he likes it. He presses to post the photo just as he hears footsteps and chatter drawing nearer, one of the voices Clara, the shoot's photographer, and another one, even more unmistakable to Connor, clearly Troye Sivan himself.

Connor swallows and gets up, brushing off his clothes, and failing to decide whether he wants to turn off the music he's playing off his phone via a set of bluetooth speakers before the door to his room opens.

"And this is Connor, today's make-up artist," Clara introduces him.

Troye steps forward with a hand outstretched and a smile, and Connor does the same automatically.

"Troye," he introduces himself, giving Connor's hand a firm shake.

"Nice to meet you," Connor manages to say, while most of his brain space is dedicated to not freaking out.

"Well, since we've only got so much natural light to work with, I'll leave you with Connor," Clara says. “He can walk you to set after. That work for you Connor?”

"Sure.”

"Beautify me then," Troye, already dressed in his first outfit, quips as he falls down onto the chair, clearly exhausted even though his grin is wide.

"Done,” Connor says without thinking and flushes to the tips of his ears. He can practically hear Nicola laugh at him in the back of his head.

Troye giggles a bit. "Thanks?”

"Um, yeah, I'll just--” Connor stutters and turns to his equipment.

He's not sure, but when he tells Troye to close his eyes, he could swear the demure sweep of his eyelashes isn't entirely accidental. Neither does the pout of his lips seem to be. And when Connor tells him he has to brush powder over his bare arms and the part of his stomach exposed by the crop top so the camera can catch the morning light on it better (“rising star" and all that), Troye grins and opens his body up in a way that Connor is almost certain is meant to be inviting.

Flirting with Troye Sivan is something that Connor did not prepare for, so it takes him a bit to find his stride, but once he does, they banter back and forth easily, the twinkle in Troye's eye absolutely captivating even without the makeup Connor puts on him. When Troye recognises one of the unsigned bands playing on Connor's playlist, they fall into a conversation about indie pop and streaming as a platform, promising to follow each other's spotify accounts. (Well, Connor fellows Troye already.)

By the time Connor takes Troye's makeup off for good and Troye's back in his own jeans and that endearing polka dot adidas sweatshirt, Connor's glad this is the end of his day. He doesn't envy Troye the interviews he still has to go to, even if he seems genuinely enthusiastic about them. They're quiet now, both exhausted, and Troye moves with the gentle pressure of Connor's hand guiding his face easily.

"There you are,” Connor says when he's wiped off the last bit of makeup and Troye blinks his eyes back open.

Troye blinks a second time and then smiles sweetly. "And there you are.”

Connor blushes again, heart beating wildly in his chest. Why can't he seem to keep his thoughts to himself today of all days?

Troye visibly hesitates for a second, but then reaches for Connor's hand.

"I really enjoy talking to you. Could I maybe have your number?”

Connor nods, mind filled with static as he hands over his phone and types his own number into Troye's on autopilot.

"It was very nice to meet you,” Troye smiles once he's got his phone back.

Connor nods again. ”You too.”

Without any sort of warning, Troye leans in and kisses Connor's cheek.

"Talk soon," he says, and then he's gone.

When Nicola texts to ask how the day went, Connor can only reply with another string of exclamation marks.