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Troye can honestly say that he is not fond of his next door neighbors.
When all six of them laugh at the same time, the windows in Troye's room rattle. Their obnoxious cats are always mean to Jagga. They wear the ugliest jumpers on Christmas. They even go jogging. Together. As a family. Like, they go on family runs. Who on earth actually does that?
Okay, maybe, the youngest one, Bryan or what's-his-face, is alright. They sit next to each other in science class, and this one time he saved Troye from setting a piece of dissected frog on fire.
Steele claims that the rest of the kids are also great but he has a tiniest bit of crushes on the Franta girl, so Troye doesn't trust his judgement.
For instance, no way in hell this douche-y snapback-wearing boy who spends 100% of his free time splashing like a crazed Aquaman in the pool is nice.
That is what a 13-year old Troye thinks until he catches the douche-y snapback-wearing boy at 2 a.m. not in the usual pool but in the Mellet backyard.
The guy looks pretty hammered in all his fuckboy glory, and his friend beside him is not the epitome of sobriety either but that doesn't baffle Troye.
Passed out Steele who is upright only because both his arms are wrapped around said boys' shoulders is what baffles Troye.
"What has happened?" Troye asks, his eyes wide, and one of the guys in front of him barks out a raspy laugh, only to be shushed by the other.
"Hush, Sawyer, you are going to wake up everyone in the fucking neighborhood," the Franta kid whispers angrily, failing to notice that his drunken slur is five times louder than his friend's laughter. "Is this your brother?" he asks Troye, indicating to Steele who hasn't gained any signs of coherence yet. When Troye nods silently, the boy continues with a bright smile, "You're... Tyde, right?"
"I'm Troye, Tyde is the youngest," he scoffs.
"Oops," the Franta kid adds unnecessarily, prompting another snort from his friend - Sawyer, evidently.
"What has happened to Steele?" Troye repeats, "Is he inebriated?"
"Such big words from such a little boy," the Franta kid teases, "Steele here is wasted off his ass, kiddo, that's what he is."
"Shit-faced," adds Sawyer. "Frazzled," he keeps on. "Corracho."
The Franta kid pulls a face at that, "Corracho? Are you stupid?" but he drops the issue quickly upon noticing Troye's exasperation, "Okay, let's dump this body into the house and get going," he pulls Steele up a little bit, with Sawyer mirroring his actions.
"Let's do it through the back door," Troye suggests.
Sawyer fails to contain his grin when the words leave Troye's mouth, "Oh, Connor here just loves when pretty boys offer to do it through the back door," he supplies with a sly smirk.
The Franta kid - as Troye has learnt, Connor - leans over and with his unoccupied hand gives Sawyer a slap upside the head which is so loud that it echoes through the dark living room of the Mellet household, "Get your head out of the gutter, you dick. He is just a kid."
As Troye leads them upstairs, he can't stop thinking about what Connor - the name feels foreign on his lips - has just said.
Just a kid.
***
Troye still isn't fond of Connor. His laugh is too loud, and he has elaborate, lengthy conversations with his cats, and why the fuck he insists on wearing sweaters even when it is almost 80 degrees outside is beyond Troye's understanding.
What bugs Troye the most, though, is Adam.
Or Ryan. Or whatever rich boy name Connor's boyfriend goes by.
Adam (maybe, Bradley) drives a big expensive car, and his golden hair shines in the sun, and he plays soccer. All in all, he looks like your typical high-school jerk, except he isn't.
He is soft-spoken, and somewhat shy, and every time he looks at Connor the corners of his lips twitch, as if fighting back a smile.
Adam (Ethan?) picks Connor up, always making sure to say 'hi' to his mom before driving him away, and returns him exactly by the curfew.
Sat on the front porch and concealed by the darkness, Troye day after day observes a slow progression from chaste pecks Connor and Adam exchange in the car to full-on sloppy make-out marathons.
Sometimes, on his way home, Connor notices Troye sitting alone in the dark, walks over to him with his usual greeting of 'Hey, kiddo', and chats for a couple of minutes. They don't discuss anything important, just babble on a bit about weather or school, it is mostly Connor who is talking, while fluffing up his own hair absent-mindedly, and his voice is raw and slightly hoarse, his eyes are bright, and all he looks at is just Troye.
"Goodnight, kiddo," is what Connor always says to him before going into the house.
Troye doesn't know what he hates more - the nickname or Adam's car (Troye has given up at this point to ever remember the guy's real name).
Unfortunately for Troye, neither of the two disappears from his life - Connor is still calling him a kid and is still dating Adam.
In fact, their relationship is escalating into something particularly disturbing. After Troye witnesses Connor and Adam frolicking - literally - on the hood of the car, he decides to stop coming to the front porch in the evening, burying himself in his room instead, and it works.
Until one day it doesn't because Connor and Adam take a level up in their grossness.
The Franta house looks dark and uninhabited but Connor is home and with his boyfriend, no less, since there are now two crazed Aquamen splashing each other in the pool. Which is an absolutely normal thing to do at 11:30 p.m. on a cool April night, apparently.
Troye is momentarily distracted by a text from Kayla but when he returns his gaze to the window, he sees that the two boys have already moved to the shallow side of the pool. Connor is trapped between the ledge and Adam's form, his head thrown back and his fingers digging into the other boy's shoulders.
Unamused by their odd hugging technique, Troye is about to avert his eyes from the two but then he notices the weird way the water of the pool is rippling around the boys, despite the fact that they seem to be stationary.
This is when Troye sees Adam's arm, slightly bent at the elbow, as it moves rhythmically up and down, not stopping for a second.
The pace quickens gradually, and the movement gets so fluid that it is almost blurry, and then Connor's head drops gracelessly onto Adam's shoulder.
The water around them is still now, and Connor pulls Adam into a slow, lazy kiss.
When Troye gets up from his observation point on the windowsill, he feels stiffness in his sweatpants. He is not new to it, and he knows that if he ignores it long enough it will go away, but this is the first time he doesn't want it to go away.
He thinks about them.
About the way Connor panted heavily through his slightly parted lips. About the way Adam pressed open-mouthed kisses across his collarbones. About the way Connor's body, completely taut, went fully limp in Adam's arms.
Troye tries to mimic the motion he has seen.
Up and down. It feels weird.
Up and down. Still weird, but not necessarily unpleasant.
Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.
Troye wonders what it would feel like if someone else did that to him.
Up and down.
What it would feel like if he did that to someone else.
Up and down. Up and down.
If he did that to Connor.
Troye bites down on the knuckles of his left hand, holding back a moan. He shudders violently once, twice, thrice and then he stops. The tightness in his stomach is replaced with a soothing warm of an afterglow.
The last thing Troye does before falling asleep is stuffing his ruined sweatpants under the bed.
***
Troye is walking back from his trip to the mall, iced coffee in his hand, but a handsome boy in a tuxedo, standing on the pavement, grabs his attention.
"Hey, kiddo," Connor greets with a smile, shuffling on his feet under the tree.
"S'up," Troye mumbles awkwardly, eyeing with caution the dress shirt the other boy is wearing.
Catching the stare, Connor adjusts the cufflinks - the movement looks unpracticed - and explains simply, "Prom today, remember?"
Troye nods silently, eyes still glued to the shirt. It is crispy white, and there is a myriad of tiny silver buttons. It would take ages to get this shirt off, Troye thinks for some reason.
Suddenly a car honk blares, and Troye half-expects it to be Adam but there are two cars pulling up in front of the Franta house.
A bunch of boys, all dressed in the same fashion as Connor (although none of them have a shirt with so many buttons on, Troye notices), and a few girls in dresses emerge from both cars.
"What took you so long, dumbass?" Connor calls over a tall boy who just flips him off in return.
Another boy complains, "I got Jenn's tail thingy stuck around the gear stick," to which a blonde girl protests loudly, "It's called train, you idiot!" The brunette sitting in the back makes a loud 'choo-choo' noise.
All hell breaks loose when the rest of the Franta family, armed with not one but two cameras, appear from the house. They want to take pictures of Connor alone, of Connor with his friends, of his friends without him, of all the boys, of all the girls separately, in couples...
Troye is swamped, so he slips, nondescript, away from the crowd and heads to his house.
"Take care, kiddo!" a loud voice calls.
Troye doesn't look back but he smiles.
This night he dreams about a myriad of tiny silver buttons.
He doesn't see much of Connor after the prom. The next thing Troye knows is that there are boxes, suitcases and a lot of tears from Cheryl and Nicola (Troye actually bothered to learn all of the names of Connor's family members). Once again at the front porch, Troye watches Connor hug his mom and siblings goodbye and hop into the car with his dad.
When they drive off, Connor suddenly turns his head and notices Troye. And even though he doesn't notice him the way Troye wants him to, Connor smiles, and it is enough.
***
The laughter in the Franta house is quieter now, and no one splashes in the pool anymore, and Troye doesn't come to sit on the front porch. Jagga is still harassed by Sam and Pre, though, so at least this hasn't changed.
And there have been a lot of changes. Junior year is a completely different ballgame for Troye.
He is taller, his voice is much lower, and the mess on his head is no more accidental but seasalt-sprayed to perfection. He sometimes sees cute boys here and there smiling at him welcomingly, invitingly, and he paints his nails different color every week.
Apparently, he also has a talent for acting, and although he isn't pumped about it as a career choice, he still goes with it. Modeling comes as a complement to the whole ordeal.
He has shoots at Thanksgiving and during Christmas holidays, and he can't be grateful enough for the fact that he's Australian and Jewish and doesn't celebrate either of the two.
Caught up in the endless whirlpool of things to do and places to be, Troye forgets about Connor. He remembers who he is, of course, but now Connor to him is nothing more than a childish fascination with an older hot neighbor, something to be left behind and reminisced about infrequently.
Connor, however, disrupts Troye's plans when he returns home in the summer. Troye doesn't notice him, until one day the boy knocks on the door of the Mellet house with Jagga in his arms.
"Hey..." Connor starts when Troye opens the door but doesn't finish the sentence in his usual fashion. "Troye?" he asks dubiously, his eyes dropping down for a split second to take in Troye's exposed torso. "You look..." he trails off again, making Troye wonder what he is going to say. "You look different," says Connor finally.
He gives out a small huff of awkward laughter, accompanied by Jagga's whine of complaint. She wiggles her fat body out of Connor's grip with ease and struts into the house past Troye. "She was playing with our cats in the backyard," Connor offers as an explanation.
"Okay," Troye answers simply, his hand still on the doorknob. He doesn't know what else to say to the beautiful boy who, as it turns out, still has this magnetic pull on him even though they haven't talked in almost a year.
So Troye raises an eyebrow at him, as if asking whether that is everything Connor wants from him because he clearly has more important issues to attend to, and Connor looks confused and a tiniest bit hurt, yet the expression doesn't linger, replaced with one of easy politeness, "Yeah, it was nice seeing you," but Troye is already slamming the door shut, and he only hears the last thing Connor says to him, "You are different."
Troye leans on the door he has just closed, and sighs.
He feels different but he feels the same.
***
Next year Troye is infatuated with a boy. He is intelligent, witty, and good-looking. He also dabbles in modeling, and understands how gruesome it can be. More importantly, he understands Troye.
Matthew is Troye's first crush, first boyfriend, first kiss. Troye wants him to become his first everything.
That is why he finds himself in the local 24/7 drugstore staring awkwardly at the condom display.
"Troye?" a familiar voice calls.
And Troye wants to curl up in a hole and die because this scenario couldn't get any more embarrassing.
"Hi, Connor," he cringes.
And Connor is beaming at him, DayQuil forgotten in his hand, because Troye is talking to him again, until he takes in the boy's reddened face and what aisle he is standing in. Connor turns his gaze from Troye to the display and back to Troye, and he visibly struggles to keep his facial expression neutral, and he still hasn't said anything, and it is unbearable.
"Fuck it," Troye swears under his breath, and turns to leave, but a firm grip on his shoulder stops him.
"No, sorry, shit, I'm being weird," Connor jabbers, "but you'd better buy what you've come here for," he pushes his fringe up in a nervous gesture and sends him a crooked smile. "Risks of teenage pregnancy and all, my dad is a physician, you know."
"I doubt that it is an issue for us," the moment Troye answers, he starts to wish he were born mute because Connor is looking at him suspiciously, as if internally debating whether Troye is being crude or just dumb. "Boys don't get pregnant," he adds, taking a shaky breath, his face feeling as if on fire.
Connor's eyebrows shoot up in understanding, and he steps forward and just hugs him tightly, and they are touching for the first time, and it is happening in front of a condom stand, and this is how Troye comes out to Connor.
"You're the first person to know, beside my family and Matthew," Troye says faintly, not sure whether Connor can hear him but he is relieved and exhilarated, and his heart is beating so fast, and he feels Connor's cold cheek against his own.
"So proud of you," Connor says, pulling back, and then orders Troye to wait for him outside.
By the time Troye gets really cold, Connor is out of the drugstore, shoving a brown paper bag into his freezing hands. "Here is my number as well," backtracking, Connor frowns, "That sounds extra-creepy, given what I've just bought for you. What I meant to say was that you can call me if you want," he looks at Troye earnestly, "I mean it. Whenever you need to talk about anything. I... I understand how hard it can be sometimes." He holds out a piece of paper, still not breaking eye contact.
Entranced, Troye reaches out, and their fingers touch for a moment, until Connor takes a step back.
"I feel a little bit like Humbert Humbert," he says with a forced laugh.
"Who?" Troye asks.
With a sad chuckle, Connor pulls up a collar of his coat, "You'll learn when you grow up. Stay safe, kiddo."
Troye stares after him. Wait for me, he wants to say, just wait for me, Connor.
***
Troye is lost.
He is one of the last people to jump onto the college applications bandwagon, yet he still doesn't know where he wants to go. Everyone in his life seems to have different opinions on what he should study at college and whether he should study at college in the first place but Troye doesn't know.
His parents, understandably, want him to have a steady income in the future but what they want more is for him to be passionate about his occupation. Matthew wants them to pursue modeling together, Sage wants him to become a hotshot actor, Tyde wants him to stay at home and never go to school at all.
They all wish him well, and they pull Troye in so many different directions that he feels like he is suffocating.
"Okay, but what do you want, Troye?" Connor asks him over the phone one day, and Troye freezes.
Deep down, he knows the answer, he has known the answer since he was, probably, 10 or even younger, but he also thinks he is not good.
"Then get better," is all Connor says, and the next day Troye announces to his family that he wants to apply to Juilliard. They are surprised but they have known him for his whole life so they kinda aren't - it makes sense for Troye who has been singing before he could talk to apply to the best music school in the whole country.
His voice is rusty, and his technique is lacking but he has pure talent, he is motivated, and his dedication is beyond compare.
When he makes it through to the live auditions, his mom cries tears of joy and his father pretends that he is sniffling because of the blasting AC and not because he is so fucking proud. Acceptance letter is somewhat expected but it still makes all the Mellets laugh so loudly that windows in the neighboring Franta house probably rattle.
Matthew is happy for him, of course he is, he is a great person and even better boyfriend, but they are drifting apart. Troye is always in the rehearsal room, and Matthew is always away, working at another shoot or event, and it's been weeks since they talked properly.
When Troye leaves his family house for New York for the first time on his own, his ex-boyfriend just hugs him and wishes him all the best, and Troye knows that it is sincere and that this is the end.
During the flight Troye thinks about a certain photography major who also happens to live in New York.
***
Connor rents the tiniest apartment in the whole city of New York, Troye thinks. Two bedrooms and a living room could all fit into the kitchen of Troye's old house but he says nothing because the place is warm, cozy, and it smells like coffee.
The first time Connor brings him here, there is a purple-haired guy, lounging on the couch in front of a TV with his legs propped up against the coffee table and watching something suspiciously looking like the 'Game of Thrones'.
Without even bothering to turn his head away from the screen, the guy proclaims, taking a swig of his beer, "I swear, one more sex scene with Oberyn Martell, and winter won't be the only one coming."
Connor looks vaguely amused and not at all surprised, as he looks at Troye and says, "And this is my live-in homosexual pervert Tyler, you can just ignore everything he says."
"Bitch, look who's talking about homosexual perverts," Tyler fires back easily before taking a proper look at Troye, "Hi, I'm Tyler," his face splits up into a shit-eating grin, "And you're way cuter than the last boy Con brought over."
Troye is blushing profusely at this point, and Connor is getting increasingly uncomfortable, sending his flatmate a warning 'Tyler!'.
The guy on the couch is having none of it, though, obviously unimpressed with Connor's intimidation, "Where are the lies?" he flings up his arms.
"Tyler, we've talked about this," Connor seems genuinely frustrated and a bit tired, and Troye just puts a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"We talked about me not saying shit to Brandon," Tyler counters.
Connor purses his lips, "It is basically the same thing," he says almost too loudly, "This is Troye, we've been neighbors for almost our whole lives, he's like a little brother to me. So, behave."
Troye blinks in confusion, remembering how Connor said 5 years ago that he was 'just a kid' and wondering whether it is ever going to change, and Tyler looks at them both, raising his eyebrows skeptically before letting the matter go and patting the spot on the couch next to him, "Okay then, Troye Lannister, come sit here and tell me all of Connor's embarrassing childhood stories."
Connor is frowning now, "Troye who?" and Troye hurries to switch his attention to something else.
"Just a 'Game of Thrones' reference, don't think about it. May I have a cup of coffee, please?"
As Connor leads him eagerly into his tiny kitchen, Troye hears a snort from Tyler and thanks his luck for Connor's dislike for the fantasy genre.
***
Troye likes Tyler.
Not the way he likes (if that is even the appropriate term at this point) Connor but still.
Tyler sees much more than he lets on and he insists on calling him 'Troye Lannister' but, other than that, he is a genuinely nice friend - he offers Troye beer when Connor is being queasy about underage drinking, he tells Connor that it is going to be fine when he frets about something too much, and he easily calls Troye out on his bullshit when Connor is too nice to say anything.
Tyler is a good kisser too.
Troye learns it one evening after a few too many bottles of beer. Connor is out because someone named Caspar has locked himself out of his apartment, and his flatmate is currently on another continent, and he doesn't know whom else to call. The guy sounds so frustrated over the phone that Troye can't even blame Connor for ditching him at his own place, left with six-packs of cheap beer, flat screen TV and Tyler.
Troye goes off on a tangent, ranting about how he is a legal adult, he is 18, and he can drive, vote and even join the fucking army, but he can't buy himself a drink at the bar.
"I'm not a kid," Troye repeats his mantra a several times, prompting a chuckle from Tyler. "I'm not a kid anymore," he says again, leaning in and capturing Tyler's lips with his own.
But the other guy presses a hand into his chest, putting a small distance in between them, "You don't need to prove anything to me," and Troye wants to cry a little bit because Tyler understands.
And this is exactly the moment when Connor decides to barge in - when Troye is still hovering over Tyler, pinning him to the couch, and when Tyler's hand is on Troye, their faces inches apart.
And Tyler understands everything, because he cringes, pushing Troye off of him, and rubs his temples as if he feels a headache coming, "Connor," he says simply.
Connor throws his keys on the table with a clank, and retreats to his room, his door shutting quietly behind him, and a loud song starts playing immediately after.
"Fucking..." Tyler doesn't finish his sentence, and sighs instead, "Troye, you'd better go, I'll take care of this."
Troye doesn't know what Tyler has told Connor, but two days later the boy calls him as usual, as if he didn't walk in on him almost shoving his tongue down his flatmate's throat, and they make plans to hang out this weekend.
Troye has got his own point to prove, and after their usual movies he insists on coming back to Connor's place. They find Tyler running from the bathroom to the bedroom and back, hairdryer and hair gel in his hands.
"No time for you, twinks," he waves to the two, "I've got a date."
Connor replies nothing but from the corner of his eyes he steals glimpses at Troye, waiting for his reaction.
"Is he hot?" Troye prompts with a smug smile.
"I mean..." instead of responding, Tyler pretends to fan himself exaggeratedly.
Troye leans back on the couch, "Then have some fun," and he realizes that he means 100% of what he has just said.
Tyler pauses for a second, before bursting out in laughter, "You too, big boy." He throws the hair gel at Connor, and leaves.
"Sorry about that thing earlier," Troye says when the door behind Tyler closes.
"Why? You don't have to apologize to me," Connor looks alarmed.
"And please don't blame Tyler, I sorta came onto him, he was not into it or anything. Neither was I, to be honest, it just... happened," Troye continues, ignoring Connor's response.
"I don't blame..." Connor struggles through his next sentence, "I mean, Tyler is great. I pretend to hate him a lot but he really is my friend, and he's great. And if it is what you want, then it's also great."
Troye closes his eyes and smiles, "I think that I've made myself clear at this point - it's not Tyler that I want, Connor."
He doesn't reply, and Troye doesn't open his eyes. They sit in silence for a few minutes.
"You know, I've read that book," Troye says light-heartedly.
"What book?"
"’Lolita’." Troye feels Connor move on the couch, and opens his eyes, placing a gentle hand on his chest. "You know that we're different to them, right?" He draws intricate patterns on the expanse of Connor's t-shirt, feeling his racing heartbeat with the tips of his fingers, "You're not a pervert, and I'm not a kid. What we have, Connor, it is different, it is real. I know that you feel it too."
And Connor is leaning into his touch now, and his lips are slightly parted, and he slips his hand around Troye's waist, but then Troye pulls back with a smile and combs through his curly fringe with his fingers. "It's late now, I'll get going," he jumps off the couch effortlessly.
When he is by the door, he turns to glance at the flustered boy in the living room one last time, "See you soon, kiddo."
It is nice to have Connor hot and bothered for a change, Troye thinks.
***
After that everything is awkward for them, and Troye revels in it.
Connor is constantly a blushing, stuttering mess of jumbled words and shy glances, and it finally occurs to Troye that the magnetic pull Connor holds on him works other way round as well.
Flirting with Connor is simultaneously weird and natural. Natural because Troye has been doing it for years now, without either of them realizing it; weird because Connor is sometimes too innocent to the point where had it been any other person, Troye would have thought that they are playing hard to get.
"Like what you see?" Troye quirks an eyebrow this one time when he catches Connor gazing at him dreamily.
The smile he receives as a response is so blindingly sincere that Troye can't think of a clever comeback and throws his head back in laughter.
He finds that he laughs way more often now.
"Take a picture, it'll last longer," says Troye, answering the door shirtless, when he knows Connor is coming over. He immediately regrets this decision because it is Connor, and he does take a picture. A couple of hundreds, to be more accurate.
Days pass, and Troye exhausts his assortment of banal pick-up lines, disarmed by Connor's honesty. There are still no labels, nothing official, and although Tyler, along with Caspar (who turns out to be a great guy), treats them as if they are married, they are still dancing in the middle ground, right where they started, because Connor - Troye realizes - is too hesitant to make the first move, too scared of 'corrupting the innocent', too reluctant to become Humbert Humbert he is so afraid of.
What Connor fails to understand, and Troye, however, understands perfectly is that you cannot corrupt someone who wants you to corrupt them.
"You know," Troye starts, when he gets Connor right where he wants him, squished in the corner of the couch in the otherwise empty apartment, "back home once I watched you and your boyfriend in the pool." Connor hums absent-mindedly, clearly more enthralled by the TV show on the screen than by what Troye has to say, "I touched myself to the image of you."
That gets Connor's attention immediately, as he splutters, "What?"
"You heard me, Connor," Troye is being unusually verbose and crass, "I jerked off, in my bedroom, on my bed, while thinking about doing the same to you." Connor gulps uncomfortably but - on the flip side - he doesn't think about the TV anymore. "I have imagined it so many times, Con," taking advantage of his bewilderment, Troye rearranges Connor's passive body the way he wants - sprawled on the couch, panting heavily, his mind hazy. Yes, that is definitely the way he wants. "And your prom shirt, God, Connor, your fucking prom shirt, I never knew that an article of clothing could give me a hard-on," Troye crawls up Connor's body slowly, until they face each other.
"What about this one?" Connor asks, indicating to the striped top he is wearing, and Troye sees the glint in his darkened eyes, and he loves it already.
He makes a point of looking at it, before faux-frowning, "Nah, I don't like it. You should probably take it off."
"I probably should," Connor agrees but doesn't move an inch, staring up at Troye instead. Just when Troye curls his fingers into the boy's t-shirt, exposing a bit of his stomach, Connor blurts out, "I should take you out on a date."
It is Troye's turn to splutter, "Huh?"
And there is this beaming, bright smile when Connor says, "You know, going to the movies, or to the museum, or to the restaurant, holding hands and stuff."
"We've done all that already," Troye grabs Connor's smaller hand in his own and raises their interlocked fingers, "See? Done."
"I want to do everything right."
Connor's request is huge, yet simple to its core, and Troye understands that the boy in front of him is still scared but he also understands that the only thing Connor has always been scared of is hurting Troye.
So, with a defeated sigh, Troye rests his head on Connor's chest, and says, "Okay."
He never lets go of his hand.
***
This year the Frantas' Christmas jumpers are exceptionally ugly. The family is good-looking enough to pull it off but still, the sweaters are a pure abomination. Connor looks great in red, though, Troye thinks, but then again, he looks great in everything and with nothing on as well.
"Hey, kiddo," a familiar voice calls Troye who has been freezing his ass off on the front porch for a good few minutes.
Troye doesn't detest the nickname anymore, he has learnt to love it. Yes, he is still younger than Connor, yes, they have known each other for almost their whole lives, yes, they have complicated history. Troye doesn't fool himself into believing that these things don't matter, instead, he embraces them because they are now a part of who they are.
"Look what mom has gotten for you," Connor smiles and passes Troye a colorful bundle.
A trademark Franta Christmas sweater to match their own.
Taking in Troye's stoic expression, Connor laughs, "Dustin's fiancée also got one. I'm just going to tell mom that you're allergic to wool or something."
"Tell Cheryl I said 'thanks'," Troye says, eyeing the sweater uneasily.
The pattern on it is too loud, and there is a cat on it with a Santa hat on, and it's too cheesy, and no way the material is nice, and it probably lints.
It is also warm, and comfortable, and soft to the touch, and Troye will take it to his New York apartment, and it is going to remind him of quiet evenings at home. And Troye hopes that he could wear it as long as possible, that he could wear it forever.
He loves it.