Infinite (Troyler Works Collection)

Kisses

He's born to kisses on his head, his cheeks, and quiet brushes of gentle lips cooing in his ears. His mother's voice is sweet and kind, though half delirious from the pain meds the doctors gave her to get through his birth. He smiles widely up at her, not any more aware of the rest of the world than she is.

He's a beautiful baby boy with wispy strands of light brown hair and stunning blue eyes that will only get more gorgeous as he grows. It'd be impossible not to love him and his parents certainly aren't resisting the pull of this giggling bundle of joy in their arms.

The kisses to his face mean love and support and incomparable appreciation and, really, he couldn't have asked for anything more. Or, at least, that would be true if he weren't far too young to know what he wanted past the basic food and sleep.

His mother looks down at him in wonder, smiling gently and kindly, and presses yet another soft peck to his bubbly cheek. It makes him grin even wider, an open mouth lacking any sharp teeth, and she can't help but think it's the most beautiful sight in the world. And maybe she only thinks that because he's hers, but no one else in the room can really deny it anyway.

Either way, he's a smiling mess of giggles and joy that comes into the world to kind and loving kisses. It's unfortunate things don't stay that way forever.

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When Troye is eight years old, he gets his first kiss from someone who isn't family and it's right on the lips. He scowls, disgusted by the ugly feeling this stupid girl has left him with, and wipes off his mouth to try to make it go away.

She doesn't stick around for very long after that.

It isn't until he's gone home, the unpleasant, wrong feeling still clinging viciously to him, that he realizes part of it might just come from the fact that it was a girl who'd slammed her lips onto his. He doesn't think he'd have minded so much if it had been that pretty new boy in their class.

Of course, he'll never tell anyone that. Something tells him this is the kind of thing he should keep to himself.

He doesn't mention the girl, though, either.

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Troye is twelve when he gets his first kiss on the cheek from another boy. It's from his best friend of three years now, a loud, colourful boy who proclaimed himself as "Tyler Oakley, the queen" on the first day of fourth grade. Troye has been clinging to him ever since with a shy smile and a worshipping expression that Tyler certainly seems to appreciate.

It's nothing like when he was eight and that gross girl decided it would be a good idea to plant one on him, even though this one isn't on the lips like that had been. It's not disgusting or unpleasant and it doesn't leave him feeling like he needs to wash his mouth out with soap and a whole bottle of disinfectant.

Tyler's lips are soft against his cheek, the giggle he offers up afterwards a bright melody to Troye's listening ears. He feels warm and tingly, happy and nervous, and he wants that feeling to stay with him forever. He blushes, too, and Tyler seems to find that hilarious because he breaks down into even louder fits of uncontrollable laughter.

There's not much meaning behind it, really. Troye knows this. Tyler was just saying goodbye because they wouldn't be able to see each other again until Monday. It's a natural thing and it makes sense and maybe that's why it makes him so giddy.

Tyler is still laughing as he boards his bus, leaving Troye standing alone on the sidewalk without even saying a goodbye.

Troye doesn't really care, though. He's too busy running his fingers over where he can still feel his best friend's lips against his cheek.