Troye lay his head down gently on the pillow, finding comfort in the soft teal fabric. His sock-clad toes hit just the base of the Ethan-Allan couch. He dug the back of his head into the pillow, inhaling deeply, a small trace of a smile lining his lips as the faded cotton scent crossed his nose. Letting his eyelids flutter shut softly, as to block out the the pain they'd seen. He tried to believe it actually worked, maybe it did, maybe it didn't.
His foot rapped softly against the fabric, tapping along to the the strum of the seemingly timeless ukulele. Whispering the lyrics softly to himself, as he raised his milky white fingers to play the air gingerly. Soothingly as his fingers graced the air, he smiled to himself once more before setting his phone against his chest before settling his limbs down. The only sounds in the room were those of the wiry ceiling fan spinning outwardly too fast and the gentle tapping of the night-owls index finger rapping slowly on his collarbone.
A look into the room seemed to prove his existence was nothing but of pure simplicity. The red tiles lined in fours to create an intricate yet subtle flower, smooth and cool to the touch. A large vintage rug in the center of the room, (one where a coffee table sat, but that is another story for another time.) The carpet was outlined in fringed cloth, hand-stitched in the early 1920s, one made for fit for the time of Gatsby. Maybe it wasn't that grand, but, in all honesty, it had held together through the years, cleaned every six months by a steam cleaner rented from the store around the block.
Lamps using candescent bulbs in every corner of the room, sitting atop antique dressers Troye's grandfather had refurbished over the years. Oil painting lined the wall, sitting in no-frills black frames. They added a look of sophistication to the dimly lit room, adding something posh but not so overbearing you wanted to leave. The room emitted warmth and a sense of comfort as if it was screaming 'home.' Maybe it wasn't screaming that at all?
Nevertheless, Troye continued to lay on the couch, his headphones becoming loose in his ears. It was approaching two-am, not an unusual time for the boy who had grown fond of the late nights and new music finds. With his head swaying back and forth, the boy didn't even hear the door unlock.
In came Jacob, his best friend, his confidante, his first (and hopefully last) love. He'd been granted a key to the house for times when Troye needed rescuing from the hazel-eyed boy. Now, Troye didn't know he was coming, sometimes the older of the two showed up to surprise his 'angel' as Jacob called him. The eldest knew Troye would still be awake, crunching his eyes together to find thoughts he would forget by morning.
He slid his shoes off, walking towards the unaware boy. He glanced at him from afar in the most possible non-creepy way, He found joy in looking at the boy's features, the birthmark resting underneath his eye. He thought the off-color patch of skin was beautiful, complementing the boy strong jawline and soft cheeks all at once. He pulled Troye's left headphone from his ear, Troye looked up and smiled softly at him.
"H-Hey, how come you're here J?" The boy asked softly, almost in a whisper to not wake his brother or mom up. He smiled as Jacob picked up his hand, kissing the top of his knuckles.
"Sometimes, I just have to come and see my baby." He answered quickly, making Troye's heart flutter rapidly. The younger of the two looked down at his lap, a blush coating his milky-white cheeks. Jacob hooked his arm around the boy's waist, pulling him into his lap softly. He unplugged the headphones from the jack, a small spark of light coming from the gently damaged headphones.
"You've worn them out Tro, gonna have to get a you a new pair. Special for my chord finder," Troye put his hand up rejecting the stronger boys offer, Jacob just shook his head once more before humming out, "anything for my song bird."
Troye felt his breath hitch as air sucked in between his teeth. He leaned his head into the boys collarbone, seeking his comfort rather than anything around him. When Jacob entered the room everything melted away, the oil-paintings became nothing but messy sunsets and the vintage floor became nothing but a place for his feet.
Maybe that in fact was all they ever really were to anyone else, as they had not seen life through his vibrant eyes. The room was full of the things that kept Troye safe in his home, the sounds of the rackety fan to the polished pieces of oak wood. The way his body fell into the couch or the way his hand fit snuggly around the inevitable soda can sitting on the red tiles. Oh the red tiles, something Troye had adored, it was the floor he learned how to do a triple pirouette on when he was twelve. The tiles where Jacob and himself had shared their first kiss, a tale far too sweet for a moment like this.
"May I?" Jacob requested softly as he slid from underneath Troye, taking the younger boy's phone with him. He turned up the volume halfway as he stretched his hand out to Troye. The small boy placed his hand in the palm of his hazel-eyed lover, standing up slowly with assistance from the comforting boy.
Jacob set the music to half volume, placing his hands around Troye's frail waist. Troye melted into the boy's touch calmly, absorbing every piece of skin on skin contact with him. Troye let his head find Jacob's collarbone, laying right in-between the isthmus of his shoulder. An instrumental violin tune flowed from the speakers, making the whole room fade once more. The warm lights were soon Jacob's eyes, and he didn't need them to heat him anymore. He was okay, he had Jacob.
Troye felt his feet start to grow on Jacob's, his lightweight not affecting the strong boy at all. Troye sometimes found himself wondering how he'd gotten so lucky, he wasn't much to look at himself, (or so he believed) and Jacob was the catch of the town. Troye found himself breathing in the older boy's scent quite frequently, he smelt of pinewood and coffee, with just the slightest tinge of sweat, (as Jacob was an all-star athlete at school.)
The blue-eyed boy's eyelids began to grow heavy, Jacob taking charge as he swayed both of their body's together. Troye looked up and smiled weakly, becoming quite delirious from his sudden wave of tiredness.
"You're pretty," he stated slowly, watching as his boyfriend smiled sheepishly. The blue-eyed boy had of course only spoken the truth, Jacob was pretty, there was no denying that. The taller boy kissed Troye's forehead slowly, his lips lingering for just a bit too long but at the same time not long enough.
"Come on baby, let's get you to sleep." Jacob eased out, picking up the boy with what seemed no effort at all. Troye's arms were throw around his hazel-eyed walking dream, smiling into his chest before exhaling softly. Jacob walked himself and his bundle of boy that was slowly getting cold, he was met with Troye's mom in the hallway. With a cigarette in her hand, she pressed the other to Jacob's soft cheek.
"Get him to sleep please?" She requested softly, Jacob nodded before he walked away, he'd always had a hard time with Laurelle, but pushed it away for Troye's sake. Padding down the hallway in his socks, passing the framed portraits of cousins and baby pictures that all blended with another.
He found Troye's room smiling at the boy's decorations, fairy lights strung above his bed that shined a bright blue, a navy comforter with white pillows. Adorning the room was his computer sitting on a white desk, lined with cups of assorted colored pens. He smiled wider when his eyes were met with Troye's rocking chair. The chair was covered in grey fabric, it was modern and made for nursing mothers. Troye had bought it because he liked to spin the chair.
Jacob sat himself down, gathering Troye into his arms before pulling a thick quilt that was put together from strips of fabrics and shirts made by Troye's grandmother in the 90s'. Jacob rocked the chair back and forth slowly, soothing the boy in his lap. His long fingers ran up and down his back, hopefully ridding the boy of any anxiety from the day. Troye adjusted his head just once more before Jacob shushed him softly.
"Love you," the small boy mumbled out tiredly, letting his head furrow deeper into Jacob's chest.
"I love you more angel," Jacob echoed out, knowing he wouldn't get an answer as Troye had already let out a finale exhale signaling he'd fallen asleep. So maybe this was how it was supposed to feel, maybe Troye's home was not red tiles or fancy carpets, maybe it wasn't vintage light bulbs and warm fabrics, maybe it wasn't the smell of cotton or sea-breeze. Maybe it wasn't cigarette smoke that warmed his lungs in all the wrong ways or late nights searching for some sort of answer to a question unknown.
Maybe home was a pair of hazel eyes instead.
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hi?
