Work Text:
She’s a new student and she’s gorgeous. With nails painted purple, holes in her jeans and a top with glitter on it, she has got Connie’s full attention. It’s the way she walks; tiptoeing her way forward so gracefully, the small locks framing her face like the most stunning painting there is. It’s the straightness of her back, the half-exposed collarbones and the long, thin neck. She holds herself up with such grace that makes Connie want to pray.
Their math teacher introduces her, but gets interrupted by Casper, who Connie hates simply because of the words that are thrown out of his mouth the next second, “Troye? Isn’t that a guy’s name?”
“And a girl’s,” she says, confidently, like she’s done this a hundred time, which, she might have and Connie feels bad, but she knows she shouldn’t. Because Troye, doesn’t need her to. “Cause I’m a girl. And my name is Troye.”
Her laugh is the first note to a love song, it’s the ocean reaching the shoreline, and it is the birds singing in the early morning. It is the pouring of a cup of coffee on a Saturday morning. It is every sound Connie has ever considered to be her favourite one.
They get eye contact, Connie laughed a little too and maybe she heard. And now she’s swimming in the calmest of seas in her baby blue eyes. Connie smiles at her, sweetly and friendly so she knows, Connie is not like Casper. If Connie was closer to him, she would’ve hit him and she needs Troye to know this.
Troye sits down two seats in front of Connie. She spends the rest of the time left in class thinking about neck kisses.
“I like your hair,” She says to Connie, the same moment she sits down on opposite sides of the table at lunch. It’s a new haircut, with a thick fringe covering her entire forehead, and short in the back, almost a bit too short.
A silent prayer that her makeup covers her possible blush is rushing through Connie’s head before she says anything back. “Thanks, a bit short in the back, but it grows I guess,”
Troye nods, like she understands and agrees, “Suits you though,” she then says, as if she’d know how any other haircut would look on Connie. It would just feel dumb to compliment her back; those always seem so forced and fake. She’ll do it another time. “Thanks.”
“I’m Connie, by the way,” to which Troye nods again.
Ricky nudges her arm and shoots a knowing smile, but Connie doesn’t dare to respond to it. Instead she kicks her foot under the table and asks Troye how she likes the States so far. She says it’s okay so far, and then someone else asks her about how her life was back in Australia, and Troye is being the kind of polite and friendly only new students can be. Trying to fit it, trying to catch the vibe. Wanting everyone to like them.
“My old school was so much smaller than this though, I’m probably going to be lost for the first five weeks,” she’s looking back at Connie now, maybe she felt the eyes laying on her.
“I can show you around,” she says, ignoring the small kick on her leg from Ricky but also having to bite her tongue not to grin.
Troye smiles and nods, “That’d be lovely, thank you!”
They put away their trays with half-finished lunch meals and heads out of the cafeteria. Connie shows her around, lets her in on all the short-cuts and such to make it easier to get around in their school, seeing as it is quite big. And most of their classes are spread out over all the buildings.
“Must’ve been tough having to leave all your friends?” Connie asks, trying desperately to come off as casual and not at all trying to figure out whether Troye is into girls or not. She does this with every new person she meets; it’s become a problem almost. She should probably stop, since it’s a disappointment most of the time.
Troye shrugs her shoulders while pulling the messy bun on her head tighter together, she ruffles her fringe, and it might just be the cutest thing Connie’s ever witnessed, how her nose scrunch up when she got hair in her eyes. She should’ve figured that one out already. “I do miss my friends a lot, but I got out of a relationship a few months ago and it ended pretty badly.”
“Oh,” she wants to ask why, and who it was with.
“She didn’t handle it very well, uhm, it almost got toxic, so I’m glad I don’t have to deal with her anymore.”
Connie nods, “Mmh,” she swallows, and points for Troye to head in a different direction. They walk past the music rooms, something that makes Troye stop and listen. The violin sounds quite beautiful once you’ve learned to play it.
“What about you? Seeing anyone?”
She’s watching the few students in the music room through the window in the door, smiles the longer her eyes linger on them. Connie is watching her, the way only her hands are dancing along to the muffled sound of the music and how she is watching every single one inside of the room, not just one. Like she sees all of them, at once.
“Well, I was seeing this girl a couple of times but eh, it didn’t work.”
Troye looks over at her, “Why?” she asks, her hands still moving to the music, one foot silently tapping along. “Wasn’t your thing?”
“It wasn’t her thing…”
“Shame,” Troye comments, but smirks, like she doesn’t mean it at all and Connie has to bite her tongue for the second time.
“Let me show you the art room,” Connie is taking Troye’s wrist in her hand and drags her along, up two flights of stairs and through corridor after corridor. The art room is her favourite place, because barely anyone uses it. Which means she can play her music as loud as she wants and spend every minute of her free periods in there without anyone disturbing her. She tried to have her friends join, but none of them were into spending time in there when they could be sitting in the common rooms, where other people were hanging out.
“Do you paint?” Troye asks, enthusiasm in her eyes and it’s been a while since someone was interested in what Connie is interested in, so she nods excitedly, already on her way to show a few paintings. She does and Troye throws compliments over her like a rainstorm and she feels more alive than she’s done in a long while.
They both walk around the room aimlessly, Troye inspecting everything from the floor to the roof and Connie discreetly following her. She puts on the radio on a low volume, to which Troye flashes a big grin at her, nodding her head along to the music. As she get lost in the paintings and the music, Connie sneaks up next to her, whispering a soft “Hi,” and allowing her to smile bigger than she has before to Troye.
“Wanna dance?”
It’s not until they’re inches apart, arms placed like they’re about to waltz, that she realises just how blue Troye’s eyes are, or how big, or how long her eyelashes are.
She notices the shine on her lips and the tiniest freckles on her cheeks. Like tiny stars dancing on her cheeks when she smiles, and Connie wants to mention this but she’s stunned.
Because she then notice the gap between them getting smaller, she notice she can feel Troye’s breath against her skin and her own breathing getting heavier. She feels hot, despite only wearing a thin t-shirt and a denim jacket. And with the art room always being a bit colder than the rest of the school.
They stop dancing; their hands leave each other and move higher up on their arms instead. Troye is glancing down on their feet, so she doesn’t step on Connie’s ballerina shoes with her boots. Not that she would mind, or care, probably not even notice.
The same moment their lips touch, her heartbeat races up and she closes her eyes.
“I’d love to visit your art room some time again,” Troye shyly smiles, letting her nose brush against Connie, making the hair on her arms rise and the shiver rush down her spine.
“Anytime,” she offers.