transitive verb

       • to lessen or relieve (pain, worry, etc.)

Troye's curled on the couch by the time Connor finishes gathering his things for school. It's not that he hasn't gotten up yet - he shot awake like a rocket with low fuel the minute Connor stepped into the room - but if there's one thing Connor's learned about Troye in the past little while, it's that he's perfectly content to fall right back asleep no matter how many times Connor tells him he won't be getting any coffee if he does.

It may have something to do with the fact that it's a pretty empty threat. Connor's always going to make enough of the hot beverage for the two of them, but that's entirely beside the point.

The point is that Troye's curled on the couch like a cat and Connor can't help but take a moment to appreciate the way the sun reflects off his settled form. His fingers twitch for his camera and he can't resist, snapping a photograph at an odd angle before he can think twice about it. He never really has to think twice when it comes to pictures of Troye - they always turn out just this side of perfect.

Wrapping the device back around his neck, he swipes the car keys off his counter and heads for the door. It's not until he reaches it, casting another glance at the boy still asleep on his couch, that he finds himself pausing.

Troye's usually still asleep when he leaves for class and gone by the time he gets back, but Connor always finds himself worrying that he won't return when it starts to get dark. It's a pathetic thing to stress over, Troye can sure as hell take care of himself and it's not like he actually lives there, but he worries nonetheless. And on the nights Troye really doesn't knock at his door, Connor tosses and turns and flicks through his camera roll for hours before giving up on sleep and getting himself ready for the day.

He frowns, clutching hard at his heaping pile of textbooks and loose sheets of paper with a few photo prints mixed in. Setting the mass down on the counter, he snatches up a blank sheet and scribbles a quick note to Troye, hoping to God he'll actually see it before the young street musician leaves to grab his keyboard. He drops the spare apartment key beside it, feeling hopeful.

Be here when I get back?