adjective

       • of, like, or from a mother; related through the mother's side of the family.

His mother's arms feel like sky-diving onto clouds of comfort, wrapped tight around his shoulders as she pecks his cheek and pulls away. Her eyes aren't bright the way his are, instead incomparably tender and brimming with proud affection, and Connor doesn't have to smile back because she's grinning wide enough for the both of them.

"I've missed you so much," she tells him in the same tone her voice carries every time she calls him. Connor kisses her forehead, squeezing her tight one last time before letting her go entirely.

"I've missed you, too," he says, despite the fact that he saw her just a month or so ago. It's the odd thing about his family, about Minnesota and the house he grew up in - he never realizes how much he misses it until he's breathing it all in and realizing it's just a little bit different from the last time he was here.

His mother's smile only widens when she turns away from him to cast her attention onto the boy hovering a few feet behind them. Connor turns himself around as well, lifting his lips into something both comforting and amused when he sees the way Troye shuffles his feet. He looks like he wants to sink deep into the earth where no one can ever find him again, though Connor knows all too well that he's probably the only one to pick up on it. He knows all too well that he's probably the only one that can read the slope of Troye's shoulders or note the crook of his jaw, find the tension in his hands and understand the meaning of each shade his eyes will show. Most of them, anyway.

"You must be Troye," his mother greets warmly, moving to bridge the gap between them while still keeping a respectable distance. Connor's glad she didn't go right in for the bone-crushing hug she usually offers to his friends - he's not sure how Troye would have felt about that. "You're just as stunning in person as you are in those photos Connie sent me."

"Oh my God," Connor finds the time to mutter in embarrassment while Troye blinks back at them in obvious surprise.

"Um, photos?" Troye questions, darting his eyes between the two family members with very apparent uncertainty. Connor's almost glad he chose to focus on that instead of the awful nickname, but he still finds himself groaning as he brings a hand to cover his face.

"Oh, yes," his mother supplies helpfully, glancing at her son out of the corner of her eye as a wicked glee lights up her expression. "Nine of them, to be exact. One is even from the night you met, or so I'm told."

"Oh my God," Connor repeats, a little louder this time. "Shut up."

His mother laughs, reaching for their suitcase to load it into the trunk of her car. She doesn't say anything more, leaving him to wallow in mortification as he tries to compose himself long enough to get in the vehicle with the woman and the boy she's just embarrassed him in front of.

He finally moves his hand away from his face, chancing a glance at Troye. He's intending to tell him with his eyes how sorry he is over what's just happened, but any notions of feeling apologetic are swept out the proverbial window when he catches the way Troye's looking back at him.

His eyes are one of those rare shades Connor can't pinpoint, full of unreadable hues of storming seas and blue chrysanthemums, and they're wide with something unrecognizable as they fix on Connor's face. He smiles when he realizes he's been caught staring, the kind of private smile generally meant for oneself, and steps forward to loop an arm around Connor's waist as he pulls him into a brief kiss.

"It'll be fine," Troye mutters into the quiet space between their lips, a repetition of Connor's own words from just a few minutes prior. He draws back as easily as he'd moved forward, pulling open the door to slide into the SUV's backseat.

Connor's throat feels a little tight as he stands there, alone in the airport terminal with the feeling of soft lips lingering against his own. He doesn't think he's embarrassed anymore. Instead, he glances back at the car behind him and the woman in the driver's seat, readjusting her rear-view mirror as she combs down her hair, and all he can feel is immensely grateful.

It takes a lot to make Troye feel okay like that. Connor knows this better than anyone.