A Touch of Courage (Troyler AU)

Chapter 11: It Doesn't Hurt

"To Sorrow I bade good-morrow, And thought to leave her far away behind; But cheerly, cheerly, She loves me dearly: She is so constant to me, and so kind."
―John Keats

Possible Trigger warning? I really don't think so but I'm being extra cautious

I'm dedicating this to @Capsels because I've been reading some of her work lately and she is just an exquisite writer.  Like, her work is so deft but also so filled with beauty and poetry and the fact that she is so young and already this good kinda scares me.  Also, she is quite a lovely person in general. 

Troye's POV

Troye sat at a secluded table, body almost motionless and breathing quiet. On one of the bare walls, a large clock ticked loudly and Troye resisted the urge to glance at it yet again. Hours later he finally gave in and glanced at the time, seeing that only 4 minutes had passed. Tyler was 45 minutes late...or he wasn't coming at all.

Troye's shoulders sagged and he let out a quiet breath. After a moment he opened his back and pulled out his textbook, half-heartedly flipping it to the assigned homework questions.

I can't really blame him, Troye thought, subdued. Who would want to spend their Friday night studying in the library? Still, he's the one who asked me...

Troye kicked his feet half-heartedly against the leg of his chair, the soles of his shoes scuffing the ground as he glanced, yet again, at the wall-mounted clock. 55 minutes late.

Frowning, Troye picked up a pencil and drew it lightly across a blank sheet of paper, sketching absentmindedly as he thought about what he should do. He could go back to his room but...what if Tyler came after he left? Troye's frown deepened as his fingers moved rapidly over the page. He could try to get some work done, but he really wasn't feeling up to it. What he really wanted to do was curl up into a ball on his bed and try to ignore how stupid he felt.

Troye shook his head slightly, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. He glanced down distractedly at his page, sighing in exasperation at the styled hair and crinkled eyes that greeted him. He laid his pencil down very slowly and stared at his drawing for another moment, before frowning and putting it away.

Troye got up from the seclusion of his table and walked forward until he could see the library's entrance. He looked forward, glanced to his left, to his right, and had to stop himself from looking up. Nothing.

His feet slowed to a stop before they turned and led him back to his table. He sat back down, dropping his head into his hand and trying to concentrate on anything but the whispered thoughts in his head vying for attention.

Why would Tyler tell him to come here if he wasn't going to show up?

He wouldn't.

How do you know? You don't know him.

I do know him...maybe something important came up.

He could have let you know he wasn't coming...

How's he supposed to do that, he doesn't have my number.

Troye looked around, but the seclusion of his table didn't allow for a good view of the library. Stop talking to yourself Troye, you're not supposed to be crazy anymore.

Fighting the urge to look towards the clock again, he leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms loosely by his stomach and just closed his eyes, breathed, let the quiet of the library seep into his skin and steady his nerves. Just a few more minutes, he thought, counting down the seconds in his head and pondering exactly what his definition of a "few" was.