Valentine (troyler AU)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Tyler’s pov

I gripped my hair tightly in both of my hands, pulling it ruthlessly in every direction, trying to make it cooperate. No matter what I seemed to do, it continued to look like shit. Angry tears pricked at my eyes, which only made me more annoyed. I rarely ever cried, and I normally only got the urge when I was extremely frustrated. I glared at my hair in the mirror in anger, wishing I could style it simply by staring at it hard enough. Or perhaps with magic.

I sat down on the toilet seat, resting my chin in my hand grumpily. I couldn’t see how I was going to be able to go to school today, not when I looked like this. I grumbled under my breath, mainly about my hair, but now that there was one thing that I couldn’t stand about my appearance others seemed to be sprouting up. I could see loose threads dangling from the end of my sleeves, and I couldn’t help but notice how much of the dye seemed to have faded from my favorite pair of jeans, making them less than fabulous. No, school was practically off my list of doable things today. Surely my mom would understand?

“Tyler!” She called, (speak of the devil!) and I held back an annoyed groan. Couldn’t she sense the dilemma I was going through? On a normal day I already would’ve had about four breakfasts already, and today I wasn’t even wearing socks. “Troye’s waiting!”

I quickly threw myself to the floor as carefully as I could manage, and pressed my face against the ground. Here I proceeded to groan as obnoxiously as I could, already fed up with how this day was going. My hair was a disaster, my outfit was less than perfection, and now my mom and Troye probably thought I was masturbating because of that noise. This thought made me continue to bang my forehead against the floor in aggravation. What a horrible day.

“Tyler?” Troye’s voice called tentatively, closer than where my mom’s had sounded from. It seemed as though he were climbing the stairs and getting closer to my bathroom. Little did he know that he was about to find his best friend close to tears and lying on the floor.

I grumbled a response, not bothering to make myself heard. I couldn’t find it in myself to care about anything other than my appearance at the moment. I was still lying sprawled across the floor when I heard the door creak open and heard Troye’s quiet steps enter the bathroom.

“Are you okay?” He asked, squatting down next to me and placing a hand on my shoulder.

“No,” I moaned.

“What’s wrong?” He asked quietly, though I could hear the worry in his voice.

“My hair isn’t quiffable. Everything’s going wrong,” I complained, finally sitting up and leaning against the cabinets. Troye eyed the disaster that was my hair, before standing up and holding out a hand for me. I grabbed it and let him pull me to my feet, before leading my over to the already closed toilet. He sat me down on the lid and I threw my face back into my hands, sulking.

Not a minute later Troye was again standing in front of me, this time accompanied by my high hold low shine, crew styling control paste. I shared a wary glance between him and my hair product. I don’t know what he thought he would be able to accomplish if I hadn’t been able to get anything out of my hair.

“Are you trying to rob me?” I asked, glaring at his grubby little hands on one of my most prized possessions.

“No, now calm down,” he said, and I sighed, rolling my eyes at him. I figured that I’d just let him do whatever he wanted, seeing as I wasn’t in the right state of mind to do anything with my hair right now. Usually I turned on some music and danced it out when my hair wasn’t working with me, but today I’d skipped that step and gone straight to lying on the floor.