Jacob thinks that the person who is best fit to love you isn't someone who makes you feel the happiest, but someone who makes you feel the biggest, the most. Troye does that. Even when Troye becomes jagged and figuratively cuts him like the broken glass he is, Jacob will still, and always be, in awe of how fucking stunning Troye looks shining in the light, colours bouncing off his broken tips into the world around them; Jacob wouldn't even care if he bled to death.)
Right now, they are lying on their sides, facing each other in bed; it is a gold-drenched sunny morning, 7:00 a.m. The sheet is tangled between their ankles, legs, each other; draping down their bodies in folds of cascades. The duvet is lost somewhere on the floor still, along with a mistful gleam of all they've done.
Troye's eyes shine with a certain tenderness, a silky shimmer running through his burnt-sienna curls and down to his temple, his skin a warm porcelain, and Jacob gets lost in his features, his winsomeness. An eyelash falls to his cheek, and Jacob thinks it is him falling for Troye all over again; every day.
For some reason in the back of Jacob's mind, he thought Troye would wake up crying after sex, he imagined him sobbing and cowering away; scared. He had this irrationally rational fear that he would have to remind Troye that he wasn't Mark, that he didn't hurt him, and never would.
(Troye woke Jacob up by brushing his thumb over his cheekbone, lips barely parted as his soft breaths trifled lightly against Jacob's face- no words.)
They still haven't spoken anything, they're just staring. Looking over each other's bodies like it is the first time they've ever seen each other naked, like it is the first day of their lives, and everything is new and exciting and they are untouchable.
Their arms drape around each other lazily, whilst simultaneously holding the most important thing in the universe- at this moment- the smell of euphoria filtering through the air, pure bliss.
"I still remember the number of steps to his apartment."
It is lifeless, the way he says it, staring directly at Jacob, whilst being so far, far away, departed from the bed that they lay on, and the life they live in. A bitter tear slips from his eye and Jacob lets it roll down his cheek, he thinks it is the best way to remind Troye that he is still viable in the most gentle of forms.
(He thinks about last night, about how beautiful Troye was, gasping beneath him; thin legs quivering and breaths short. The way his face scrunched up when he came, the sounds he made, god, Jacob doesn't understand why that wouldn't be enough. He doesn't get how someone could just take advantage of something that isn't theirs.
It hurts to know, but Jacob knows it is hurting Troye a hell of a lot more.)
Jacob isn't actually sure of what to do as a weak smile spreads across Troye's face. His fingers dance across his ivory-smooth skin, tracing a scar that goes down his side, trailing down his spine and back up again as he smiles in return. He traces, "I love u," into Troye's skin with his fingertips, delicate, and at first he isn't even sure Troye notices what he has done.
But Troye smiles, biting his lip as he traces "u 2" onto Jacob's back, and Jacob has never felt so full, so much.
**
There is sea of semi-colons contrived between the days that Troye is and isn't okay. They do not talk about the resentment; caving in on him as he tries to eradicate the touches, the words, and god, the taste.
Understand, that the day Jacob Bixenman fell in love with the lovely boy that is Troye, his life was no longer his. He thinks that it is the most unfair thing that the universe has ever, and will ever, do to him. Jacob's heart and body belong to Troye, and Troye's heart belongs to Jacob too, no doubt, but his body- it belongs to someone who thought it was okay to steal away someone's life without actually killing them.
