7
Troye could never be happier, waking to find Connor's warm body curled into his, and his face just centimetres from Troye's. Sometimes he would find Connor already awake, sitting under the covers with his laptop on his lap scrolling through Tumblr. Other mornings Connor would be tracing shapes on Troye's chest with his fingers. Some rare mornings Troye would be up first. Most times he would get up to light a candle before snuggling back into bed and watching Connor's beautifully placid sleeping face. Sometimes, if the lighting was right, Troye would take photos of Connor's sleeping face, or the top of the sheets where their almost intertwined figures were vaguely defined. Other times, Torye would lay and close his eyes, listening.
Today was one of those days. He closed his eyes, matching Connor's breathing pattern, imagining the rise and fall of his chest. Dear gracious that chest. Troye had no words for which to describe it. It was a masterpiece- Connor himself was a masterpiece. Troye often times wondered what he'd do if he hadn't met Connor.
Troye found himself lightly stroking and playing with Connor's silky hair. At one point Connor flinched, and Troye retracted his hand. Connor opened his eyes and blinked sleepily, before taking Troye's hand and moving it back towards his hair. Troye felt himself smile as he continued to stroke Connor's hair. Troye began to hum softly, and the corners of Connor's mouth twitched upwards into a blissful smile.
"Hey Con?"
"Hmmmmm...?" Connor yawned and stretched, before opening his eyes just as Troye rolled out of bed.
Troye rummaged about in his closet, before producing a brown paper gift bag with pale lavender tissue paper sticking out of it.
"Happy birthday."
