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"Troye," Connor said with a curt nod as he walked past, missing Troye's wide eyes as he stumbled over his laces.
"Connor?" Troye spun around on one foot, feeling both electric and numb with shock tingling from every corner of his body. Willing himself to say something sensible, Troye clenched his hands by his sides before catching up to Connor. "How- how've you been?"
Connor stopped abruptly, shaking his head. "What do you want, Troye?" Their eyes met, Troye being the first to look away.
It felt too intimate, too close to what they had and what they don't have anymore. And It was wrong, wrong that he was looking at him like that after so long.
Troye shook his head, scuffing his shoes on the floor softly. "Connor, I'm-," he started, only to be cut off by a few fans calling him over. With a sigh, he looked back and forth before smiling tensely at the group of people. "I'm sorry. Please, just wait here."
Instead of waiting, Connor pulled on his camera strap and walked away. He'd come to take some photos and maybe meet some new friends, not to be reminded of old ones. It was his fault, really, for not checking the listings before booking a backstage pass. Realistically, it'd been over a year since he'd done any hard work towards avoiding his past. Hell, at one point he was too afraid to go to the supermarket on the off chance that Troye happened to be in LA.
He'd gone to extreme lengths on his journey towards reaching beyond his past self and he wasn't going to let Troye resurface ancient- and somewhat repressed- feelings.
Of course, that wasn't to say that he wouldn’t listen to Troye if he wanted to talk, not that Connor was preparing to stop for a conversation. So, when Troye's footsteps found their way alongside his own, Connor’s shock was at a minimum and his feet kept moving.
"Sorry, again. You know how it can be," Troye said, near-on jogging to keep up with him. "So, uh, you never answered my question."
"I'm good, Troye," Connor said, running his fingers along the seams of his camera bag. "What-,"
"- Troye! Connor!" Someone squealed as they rounded the corner, drawing the attention of a larger group.
"Shall we?" Troye said, using his thumb to point awkwardly at the door they'd stopped beside. Rolling his eyes, Connor opened the door, Troye trailing in behind him.
Once the door closed, Troye leaned with his back on the door, his eyes closed as he took a breath. His shoulders hunched before he opened his eyes again, the skin around his eyes slightly taunt (like they always did when he'd done something he shouldn't have, Connor's mind supplied).
"So?" Connor said, folding his arms over his chest as he glanced around the storage room they'd escaped to- or trapped themselves in; Connor wasn't sure yet.
"I don't know," Troye said, shaking his head. He put his hands in his pockets before pulling them out again, not knowing what to do with them. "I don't know why we're in here, I'm sorry-."
"Stop saying that," Connor said, exasperated. Pursing his lips, he took a step forward and pushed the hair from his face. "Stop saying you're sorry. It messes with my head and I- I don't want to forgive you."
"Con-," Troye said, his eyes widening when Connor took a step closer and prodded his chest with his finger.
"No, you hurt me," Connor said, his finger still on Troye's chest. "You didn't have to leave like that and you didn't have to write a song acknowledging that."
"You didn't have to write about it either," Troye said quietly, looking at a spot on the floor rather than at Connor's face, missing how it twisted into shock.
"You read my book?" Connor asked, just as quietly. His toes curled in frustration, possibly with slight elation, grasping at all of the reasons why Troye was his former friend and not is current love interest.
"You listened to my music," Troye replied pointedly and Connor huffed out a laugh. "I guess we both loved the heartache."
"I guess we did," Connor said, his eyes trailing Troye's eyelashes. After a few seconds of silence, he shifted his weight onto his left foot. "You dyed your hair."
"So did you," Troye said, running his hand through his hair consciously before pulling his hand away guiltily; another thing for the hair and makeup crew to sort out.
"You dyed it back," Connor said, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "It makes you look smaller."
"Don't you mean younger?" Troye said, daring out a smile and a head tilt.
In response, Connor shook his head. "No, smaller," he said, tugging his sleeves over his hands.
"You're the small one," Troye said, resting his head on Connor's shoulder. Connor sighed, wrapping his hands around Troye's waist before tugging him close.
"I miss you," Connor whispered into Troye's neck, the warmth from Troye's hands on his back both familiar and new at the same time.
"I miss you too," Troye said, breathing in Connor's scent as if it was the last time.
Maybe it was. Maybe Connor would decide that he didn't want to see him after this, that this was the gentler goodbye that they both needed. Of course, Troye wanted more. He'd made a mistake, a big one, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever get Connor's forgiveness.
Or maybe, just maybe, Connor would forgive him and they could get coffee and catch up, just like he and Tyler did.
"We're going to miss the show," Connor said, prying himself away from Troye, feeling heavier than when he walked in. He smiled at Troye's panic-stricken face, looking like something fresh out of a comic book.
"Shit," Troye said, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers before biting his lip. "Can we meet up after this?"
"Troye-," Connor said, looking sideways. "We shouldn't. Neither of us needs this."
"Look, bring Tyler if you want. I've already made this mistake once, I'm not ready to make it again," Troye said, his voice pleading. "One drink and then I'm gone if you want me to be."
"You don't get it. I never want you to leave, but it's what you do," Connor said, his voice straining with every word. In a low tone, he continued, "I'm at a place where I can think back at us and not want to cry. That's good enough for me."
"Ok," Troye said, letting out a shaking breath. "Tyler has my number. Just- send me a text if you change your mind. I've got to go."
And then he was gone, leaving Connor alone in a storage room with the smell of bleach and a static feeling in his heart.