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This time, they both knew it.
One might say that many things had led up to this moment, but that was cliché, and neither boy was willing to admit that, despite their strange and natural adherence to cliché.
~
Perhaps it had started when Connor first found Troye on the internet, both having grown up on their laptops more often than not. Troye was just a little, scared teenager, and his wiry frame, massive blue eyes, and tousled hair, while Connor's moussed quiff had just made its world premiere. The discovery of each other's channels soon spiraled into an understanding between two pairs of eyes that would sparkle and emanate pure joy when they finally met in person.
Connor's trademark smile and dad-like laugh (which Troye would come to tease him lovingly about) endeared him to so many, girls falling head over heels for his giggles. Compilations of his laughing, gifs of his awkward dancing, captions of 'dreamy,' tweets about how utterly perfect the bump on his forehead was--Connor was wholly loved. He was the nice guy, the sunshine, the one who could always make people laugh just by being himself. No one loved him more than the legions of fans whose adoring eyes gave him the chance to exercise his humor, and, occasionally, his morals.
No one, though, Troye thought, admired Connor more than Troye himself. He couldn't imagine what a devastatingly beautiful seeming fuckboy could give to him, yet he was engrossed. He wasn't sure--maybe it was Connor's short, stubbly fingers that drew his life on a whiteboard in that one video, or maybe it was his crazy animation on screen. Maybe it was the fact that he had the best editing skills of anyone in the YouTube community, or the fact that there seemed to be so much depth in those green eyes that, despite all the fans, no one could ever really probe. Maybe it was that no one had tried to probe.
Nonetheless, nothing made Troye happier than when Connor tweeted him--it gave him the perfect opportunity to reply with care, craft a response that was a mix of both flirty and a little more from his heart. The desire to make Connor understand how much he admired him was constantly at the forefront of his mind, and reaching out to Connor felt like solace.
Little did he know, Connor was just as infatuated with Troye. Troye seemed so small, younger than most of his friends--but physically, too, he seemed tiny. He had seen more of the world than Connor, yet there was this lingering feeling of wanting to hold Troye and protect him from stars exploding, protect him from the overwhelming sarcasm and cynicism that Connor himself was so afraid of, though he still couldn't admit it. He poured his fears into the skinny body Troye inhabited, pretending for a moment they weren't also his own.
Perhaps the moment was when Troye came out publicly, posted the video he would later regard as the sole most important decision of his life. It set the precedent for his future career, though he wouldn't really know just how much until a year later, when the idea for Blue Neighbourhood and his need to educate and use his fanbase to do as much good as he possibly could popped into his pretty head.
Of course, by now, he had already told Connor, and all Connor could do was watch from his apartment as the video was set live. The twang of jealousy, that he couldn't--or rather, wasn't invited--to be on that same couch as Troye when it went public, accompanied with the realisation that maybe the care he felt for Troye might be a little more than just platonic, only made him hide his head more in perfectly timed jump cuts and loud laughter with the rest of O2L.
He was too proud of Troye, though, to tell him just how much he wished he could be there for him. Despite all that happened that day, even with Zalfie's outing and the crazed fandom that he wasn't really a part of, he kept up with Twitter and tumblr, assuring himself that it was just him being a supportive friend, knowing Troye would do the same in any situation.
And while Troye claimed it was the happiest and biggest relief of his life, to finally make it public that he, in fact, liked boys, a part of him missed a presence that would, in his mind, just sit in silence with him and be there, be present. Tyler was great company, full of laughter and crude humor, great for making Troye take his mind off the trembling fingers and the nagging fear that not only would his record label drop him, but also his many fans, but a little selfish part of Troye wished that for a moment, he could just relish in the quiet.
Texts from friends, both on YouTube and not, calls from his family--all of them were full of words and reassurance, of love and tears, of pride and emptiness. He couldn't help but feel as if there was a world caving in on him, and he wanted only to breathe, to leave all the thoughts and false kindness behind.
Even years into their relationship, Troye would never tell Connor that the reason Connor's contact name had a purple heart was because Connor had texted nothing more than that same purple heart that day, as if he understood all Troye needed was a moment of peace, a moment of nothing more than knowing Connor cared.
Or perhaps it was when Connor finally came out to himself, to Tyler, and finally, Troye. While Troye hoped he would have been the first, he couldn't do much but try not to cry when Connor told him--his pride was so overwhelming he knew of nothing more to say. He knew Connor--he knew the frustration and fear and almost disgust, hidden behind Connor's trademark laugh, and he understood the years of working up the courage to finally speak his truth.
Promises to meet up in San Francisco were made soon after, and never had Troye been more excited to travel the world and meet someone he'd started to consider one of his best friends.
For Connor, the relief of being able to say it encompassed his daily and nightly routine. Maybe it was the result of reading so many self-help books, or the fact that he literally watched each and every coming out video he could as many times he could (he could recite many of them as he walked from place to place), but each step taken seemed to be another one to recovery. He had never spoken about his depression to anyone besides his family, having realised he could be the poster boy for the symptoms of apathy and constant exhaustion. He took action, finally, to make a difference.
Happiness, he realised, was quite possibly the most important aspect to accepting himself. He was incredibly grateful for the wise blue eyes that stared back at him through the laggy and numerous Skype calls they made. Having a best friend across the damn Pacific Ocean was hard, but he was used to it. It might have even made it easier knowing he had Alli and Troye in such different places, ready for him to escape to should he ever need it.
They both might agree that when Troye practically jumped Connor, though, he completely changed the game. It made the two of them realise they were playing a game in the first place, made them realise that a 'them' was a possibility lined with silver and warmth. Of course, they separated physically soon after, but before long, most of their friends had a little more than an inkling of knowledge that each's default 'it's complicated' response when asked if they were on the market for dating meant that they simply wanted each other.
Perhaps it was August of 2014, when they realised neither would prefer to be apart, and they put a name to their relationship. Labeling each other as 'boyfriend' only solidified the fact that Troye was absolutely infatuated with Connor's smile, in love with running his fingers through his hair, obsessed with the idea that this boy was his. Troye, perhaps, had never expected to fall in love with such a clean cut, older, family man--but he couldn't imagine a more perfect boy.
Taking Connor home, giving him every bit of comfort he could, introducing him to his family and best friends--nothing could compare to the soft weightlessness it gave him whenever he could say Connor was his boyfriend. All those fangirls from all those years ago were right--Connor was utter sunshine, and while pale, allergic Troye despised going outside, Connor was just enough warmth and love for him to fall into. All those nights he couldn't sleep for being in hotel rooms that were empty--knowing Connor was a call away, that he would always pick up, was comfort enough.
And while Connor still wasn't out publicly, calling his family, telling them with bubbles in throat and stars in his fingertips, was enough. The Franta family could scarcely believe their son had fallen in love with a boy, but at the same time, they weren't surprised to hear his effulgence slide like honeyed melodies through each video call. They were proud, and when Connor decided he would make his sexuality known to the world, they couldn't help but all text him, call him, and send kisses through a screen that brought them close but not close enough.
Knowing Troye was there to hold Connor's calloused hands, though, was enough for them. Troye had become like a home for Connor, and the Frantas would never be able to express just how grateful they were for Troye. Connor's agitation all but disappeared, knowing Troye would hold his hands and kiss his temples until he could breathe again.
Or maybe all this was all exposition, all the kisses that followed and the inability to separate or tweet ridiculously sappy lyrics and the constant ache that rested deep in their hearts, all the months of being so lovesick they seemed to never leave their honeymoon phase through an album and two companies and a world tour and 5 then 6 then 7 million subscribers and being labeled a power couple by everyone and the absolute radiance that had overtaken the boys and messed up their hair, maybe all of this was just the start of something they-- and everyone around them--hoped would never end.
Perhaps the real start of it was when Connor's calls seemed to be curtailed, time and time again, because he really needed sleep, and 'self care was his priority.' Perhaps it was when Troye's tour became so popular that he was jetsetting across the world more and more often, and his excuse to stay in a hotel even in LA was that he didn't want to say goodbye so often. By staying in Connor's house, they both claimed, it would make it that much harder to separate because Troye always needed to leave again.
Saying goodbye less often became an excuse to not see each other.
Maybe it was the nose ring, that had once seemed so hot to Connor, but now it just looked childish to him. Maybe it was Connor's impulsive decisions to release merch that he hadn't run through Troye yet, that made Troye wonder if he was still Connor's creative consultant.
Maybe it was that on the second album, there wasn't a single song of love. Maybe it was that each song spoke again and again of frustration and not being able to be honest, that set Connor off.
Or maybe it was just the fact that neither had spoken a word of each other to their families in months, despite the fact that they were usually in the same city. A shaken Cheryl spoke to Laurelle and a concerned Sage texted Nicola, more often than Troye spoke to Connor.
While it had been easy to want to give each other everything, every ounce of skin and love and time, each felt like they needed to save a little bit of themselves from each other.
Maybe it was when Connor tweeted Taylor Swift's 'Clean' lyrics, right when Troye tweeted his own 'Talk Me Down' lyrics, and even their fans knew, then, that they both meant it.
~
This time, they knew.
Troye's tired hands roamed his own knee, fingering the frayed hole he had recently grown used to, instead of the slightly rougher touch of Connor's jeans. Even with Troye sitting next to him on his couch, Connor's fingers sifted only lint, not nimble fingers, in his own pocket.
It was still a tradition to get Indian food and watch a documentary together, though neither remembered the last time they had done so. Tradition had become routine, though routine no longer seemed to include cuddling, or sharing food, or endless teasing to brush their teeth before making out--kissing on this couch had gone extinct, and Connor almost chuckled out loud at the thought before the still air grasped the slightest hint of sound he could make, quieting him for fear of disturbing the glassy stare of the boy he loved.
When the documentary ended, neither moved. Troye couldn't speak; Connor held his breath as he watched the curls settle on a forehead that seemed to have accumulated little lines he didn't remember being there before. A peripheral glance was enough for Troye to take in the absolute beauty Connor was, though he looked tired, drawn, and to be honest, Troye wasn't sure he could swallow the lump in his throat any longer.
"I think--"
"Con. Please. Not now. I-- I think we both know."
"I'm so sorry, Tro. I'm sorry."
Troye wished with all his heart then and there that he could say it would be okay, but months of being beat up over not wanting to come home to this boy got to him.
"I know this isn't the right thing to ask, but can I? Can we? Just--"
The tears that threatened to breach Troye's usually courageous eyes almost broke Connor's heart more than the months he had spent wondering if this was the end. He beckoned, and the boy whose eyes had once been jewels of gratitude and love lowered his eyelids, and rested his body against Connor.
Troye couldn't help but feel Connor's slow heartbeat in his shoulder, and he let Connor's warm arms hesitantly encircle his frame, his stomach tightening involuntarily as it fought the touch he so desperately needed and feared at the same time. He tangled his cold feet with Connor's tensed calves, trying to reacquaint his body to Connor's limbs. The heaving breaths Troye took seemed so heavy, yet Connor didn't notice, as he himself was trying to catch a breath he would never find.
Connor hoped tonight would be enough. He hoped the soft kisses he placed in Troye's salty hair would be enough of a memory. He hoped that Troye would find his warmth welcoming, if even just for a moment, here, now. He hoped the seconds, minutes, hours, months, years that had led up to now, were enough for Troye. He hoped he had given enough of himself to Troye, hoped that he had protected him as adequately as he possibly could have, hoped the stars exploding would only shower more light and joy on the boy he would never stop caring about.
Like that day so many years ago, the silence was all Troye needed. To know that Connor was here, even if this was it, was enough. Troye hoped Connor knew that his personal growth and confidence would not have been possible had Connor not waited patiently with him. He hoped Connor knew the purple heart would always be his, and that perhaps no one ever could capture his heart as thoroughly as Connor had.
Perhaps it was when Troye craned his head up to look at Connor, their visions blurry, as their lips touched, gentler and sweeter than they had ever kissed, as if they were afraid to shatter the fragility and honesty of the moment. Neither was sure who to run to tomorrow, who to tell tomorrow, who to hold tomorrow. It wouldn't be each other.
It didn't matter what the next sunrise brought--it would come no matter what either of them did now, and so they awaited the inevitable, together, thankful, for what they both understood would be the last time.
Perhaps it was when they both fell asleep, breaths synchronizing, heartbeats relaxed, minds at peace, still clutching each other's hand.