noun

       • a group of people participating in a sport together; a group of people working together; two or more animals pulling a vehicle.

intransitive verb (with up)

       • to join in cooperative activity. 

"Hey," is the first thing Troye says when he enters their apartment. He drops his keys on the counter, making his way to where Connor watches cautiously from the couch.

"Hey yourself," he greets once his boyfriend has crossed half the distance between them. There's a little more to his tone than a simple acknowledgement of Troye's presence, but it's easily overlooked in favour of the kiss he pulls the other in for. Troye smiles softly against his lips, withdrawing to slip off his jacket and move back towards the kitchen.

Connor follows, picking himself up off the couch and retrieving his empty mug from the coffee table. "How'd it go?"

Shrugging, Troye yanks open the fridge and peers inside for all of two seconds before slamming it shut again. He reaches for the bread cupboard, checks that too, and proceeds to leave every drawer open as he continues his search for some edible delight. "It was good."

"Good," Connor repeats, dubious. He narrows his eyes, leaning back against the counter and closing the cupboards Troye's done riffling through. "That's it?"

Clearly finding nothing of real interest, Troye halts his distracting movements and sidles up to Connor. A slow grin works across his features, wider than any Connor's seen on him, and his hands slide around Connor's lower back with the kind of care he doesn't often display so blatantly. His eyes are bright, wild, but they calm to a gentle sway of the tide the longer they stand together.

"It was more than good," Troye concedes serenely. His gaze meets Connor's slowly, searching his whole face before settling in the forests it's come to call home. "I don't know, Con. I can't explain it, but I just feel like everything is good right now. Which is a terrible adjective, but it's the only one that's broad enough to... to fit."

"Okay," Connor mutters, frowning. He rests his hands on Troye's arms around him, scans his partner's features for anything out of place. Finding nothing, he laughs softly and shakes his head. "Okay."

Troye smiles back, and then leans in to kiss him so hard he thinks he forgets how to breathe. It feels like a reassurance and an act of hope both at once, like it's the kiss at the end of the movie after everything has changed and the whole world's looking a little brighter than when the opening credits started their sequence. It's not soft or loving or even sweet, but it rocks the earth beneath Connor's feet and reminds him that while the ground may be unsteady, he and Troye are stable where their skin touches.

It's long, long enough for the cameras to do their swooping loop around them and the orchestral music to play through its intro. Connor only pulls away when his lips start to hurt and he realizes his fingers might be digging too hard into Troye's forearms. It takes a moment, but eventually the cameras pan up to the end credits and the floor under his feet stops trembling like a sure contestant for earthquake of the year.

"You should meet him," Troye mumbles, after. His forehead rests on Connor's shoulder, his arms loose in their hold of his waist, and his lips brush the space above his collarbone. Breath warm like the sun setting through the window, it spans across Connor's neck and has goosebumps raising on his skin.

Connor hums, trying to assuage the last of the concern that's been building for the past two days. He focuses on the feel of Troye's chest pressed to his, warding away his near-constant worry with what reassurance he can find. Their heartbeats are steady, Troye's skin is marked only by the bruise he earned making the bed, and everything important they're feeling is out in the open. Shaun wasn't awful and Troye isn't hurt and Connor really doesn't have anything to be worried about.

It's easier to tell himself that than it is to actually believe it, though.

Still, it's much easier to convince himself that everything really is good when Troye himself doesn't seem the least bit concerned. If Troye is content, if even he feels safe, then Connor shouldn't even be experiencing a twinge of apprehension.

"That'd be nice," he agrees. He drops a kiss to his boyfriend's wayward curls, eyes finding the few remaining pools of sunlight settled on the tile floor. It doesn't fully register, his mind lost in thought, but the sunset is the kind he'd usually be itching to photograph.

"Connor," Troye whispers after another moment has passed. He's pulled back enough to meet Connor's distracted gaze, a frown twitching at his own as he squeezes his boyfriend's hip. "Stop worrying. It was nice, he's nice. Don't do that thing where you tell me what I want to hear and then let everything you're thinking eat away at you. Or watch me like a hawk and wait for something bad to happen. I'm fine."

Connor purses his lips, giving him an uncertain look. He doesn't concede, doesn't agree or tell Troye what he thinks he wants to hear, but he can't quite bring himself to protest, either.

Troye sighs. "Do you want me to tell you every detail?"

Connor thinks he might be joking, but the teasing light to Troye's eyes is so soft it's hard to tell. Besides, Connor doesn't want him to be joking.

"Yes," he admits, dropping his hands from Troye's arms and leaning back against the counter.

Troye snorts, but settles beside him nonetheless. "So I opened the door," he starts, and Connor feels like maybe he's about to be made fun of. "And the air was sort of warm but not so much that it was stifling. Like the middle of spring kind of warm. There was a little boy in red- no, pink shoes with, I think, brown hair that-"

"Okay," Connor interrupts, shoving Troye's shoulder. He laughs, the fond kind of laugh that makes his heart feel a little less claustrophobic. "Not every detail."

Troye grins, soft around the edges with wrinkles by his eyes. Leaning closer to Connor, he starts again - genuinely this time.