noun

       • something assumed for the purpose of argument; a theory to explain some fact that may or may not prove to be true; supposition; conjecture. 

They're in bed, tangled in sheets, tangled in dreams, and Connor's breaths are slow and Troye's breaths are even. The city is silent beneath their tranquil minds, bright lights dimmed by the blinds drawn across the window and the sheets drawn across their figures. Sounds are hushed and movements non-existent, blue eyes trailed lazily on a shadowed ceiling as green slip contently shut.

Troye would feel bad chipping away the peaceful quiet if he weren't so at ease here, so certain in his comfortability and the idea that he'll never gain bruises for giving a voice anymore.

"I'm sorry," he starts softly, words as faint as the city streetlights filtering through the windows. "About that night. I'm sorry if I scared you or hurt you or..."

Troye trails off, sighing as he sinks a little deeper into the pillows on his side of the bed. He's on his back, sheets drawn halfway up his stomach, and Connor's on his side faced away from him, his own back pressed comfortably against Troye's arm. A hum sounds through the muted room, tired but acknowledging, and Troye almost darts a glance at the other boy. He doesn't, but almost.

"I've never really felt safe before," he continues, careful and uncertain because some truths aren't real until they've been said out loud. Because some truths are harder than others when they've fed into the lies that have constructed his whole life. "Not like this. Sometimes it scares me, you know? Like maybe this isn't real or it's not going to last or I'm just going to fuck it up. Like- Like really you just want what people have always wanted and maybe you do and maybe that's okay, but maybe you'll just take it the same way they always have and-"

He takes a deep breath, shifts until he's on his side with an arm wrapped across Connor's stomach, forehead pressed into the nape of his neck as he breathes unsteady breaths down his spine. "And I know you wouldn't, I know that. But sometimes I forget that I'm not where I used to be and I have choices, like you said. Sometimes I forget and it's like I'm still there and I just feel so wrong, Connor. I feel like my skin's wrong and I'm wrong and everything's wrong and I don't know how to explain that to you when I'm so bad with words and I'd never want you to know the feeling."

He's choking up now, eyes wet where they clamp shut beneath his tangled hair. There's a hand covering his own where it rests on Connor's stomach, pulling it up until it's moving with the breaths expanding through Connor's chest. He takes a moment, matches his inhales to the exhales of the other, and presses himself a little more desperately into the comfort of his lover's warmth.

His voice is even softer this time, no longer alight with the sobbed strains of things he didn't think he'd ever feel such a need to say. "It hasn't happened in a while. It- I feel safe, here. With you. Because you don't demand anything and you don't ask for things I'm not sure I want to give and you make me feel like I'm worth more than what I've always had. Because you make me smile, for real, and you make me feel like it's okay to want things and have things and need things and-"

He knows his fingers are clenched too tightly into the front of Connor's shirt, laced too firmly through Connor's, pressing too hard into Connor's chest, but his breaths are shaky and his throat is locking and he needs to say everything now because he's started and if he stops he'll never finish.

"And that first night I spent here, I was terrified. I thought I was fine and we were fine, but your couch creaked, Connor. Your couch creaked and it's so fucking stupid but it made me forget for a moment that the only things you take without asking are my sweaters, like you think I won't notice you replacing them with new ones. And I'm sorry because I know I scared you and I hurt you and I didn't mean to- fuck, I didn't mean to. I don't... I don't think it'll ever happen again and I want you to know that, but I also want you to know that it might and I'm sorry."

That's it. That's all there is. Words in the air fading to silence and Troye's breaths muffled by his teeth digging sharply into his lip, Connor's hand clenched firmly around his and a bed that doesn't creak. Then, Connor pulls Troye's arm a little further around him as he mushes his head more profoundly into his pillow and Troye breaths out a softly disbelieving laugh.

"I know," Connor mutters, sounding half-asleep but much more awake than Troye had originally thought. There's something earnest in his tone, heavy and assertive but still gentle and comforting in that way only he's ever really been able to manage. "It's okay. I love you, PTSD and all."

Troye blinks. It's a decidedly weird moment for Connor to tell him he loves him for the first time, but his boyfriend's breaths have evened out already and the windows to his soul are no longer in commission.

Huffing out another shaky exhale of air, Troye snuggles in a little more comfortably against Connor's back. He'll chalk it off to Connor being barely conscious, especially with the extra words tacked onto the end of his grand statement.

Yet, somewhere in him, it feels a little bit right. That it's simple and unconscious, that it slipped out casually without a first thought, let alone a second, and there was no huge moment after where Troye was expected to profess it right back and pepper him in copious amounts of kisses.

It also feels right to have said his piece and know Connor heard him, half-asleep or not. That there didn't need to be a huge discussion around it, just his words and Connor's acknowledgement and a peaceful slumber to fall into when all is said and done.

Troye's not entirely sure how he's feeling right now, but that's okay. He's tired and there's no weight on his chest begging to respond to gravity and all he needs to do is sleep and know that there's nothing unresolved between them anymore. There's nothing for them not to talk about, to pretend never happened.

Their real first kiss sucked. They had a bad night. Troye has a bad past.

It's the truth, simple as that.