A Touch of Courage (Troyler AU)

Chapter 18: At Ease

Troye's POV:

Awareness was a slow thing to return. He first became aware of the quiet and the play of light and shadow across his closed eyes.

When his eyes slid open, the light streaming in through the curtains was startling. He looked at the rays of sunlight dreamily, his eyes following the dust motes that danced in them. He felt abnormally well-rested for the first time in a long while, his body languid and free of tension.

Troye sat up slowly, reaching for his phone. Then he stopped completely, holding his breath. This wasn't his room.

Cold fear kissed the back of his neck, curdling in his stomach as he became utterly still; utterly quiet.

"Night, Troye." Words echoed from earlier, a friendly, familiar voice.

Tyler.

Troye's memories swam to the forefront of his stupid, panicked brain, and he slumped forward.

He forced himself to breathe through his nose, trying to quiet his exhales. He didn't know how thick the walls were and he didn't want Tyler to find him like this.

Carefully, Troye listened to the house. When he heard nothing, he slid his legs out from under the covers and placed his feet on the floor. He walked with deliberate slowness to the living room, hesitating for a moment before making his careful way to the couch.

He crouched by the head of the sofa, feeling strangely weightless. The room around him briefly becoming grayscale and indistinct, a faint sketch beneath the vibrant colors of Tyler huddled under a layer of blankets.

Troye glanced at the window, watching how the pale sun trickled weakly though the window, kindling the room, burning color back into his corneas. His gaze focused on Tyler, his mind skittering over fragmented imaged. His closed eyelids, framed by pale eyelashes and dashed with faint shadows.

Troye remained kneeling as the sunlight strengthened, bruising his skin in reverse: first plum, then lilac, then salmon, and finally rippling over his skin, garlanding him in white-gold.

In art class, Ms. Magerelli had spent almost two weeks teaching them how to retrain their eyes. How to trick their brains into fully processing what they saw instead of automatically substituting shortcuts and shorthand. Not a purple-haired boy he'd first seen a lifetime ago, but Tyler. Not Tyler but a lopsided grin, the way he squinted when he laughed.

The urge to make art in that moment was a hurting. An ache to capture the bronze grit on Tyler's jaw, the softened hair curling over his forehead.

The comforter was twined around his torso and it slipped free when Tyler suddenly stirred, murmuring softly. Troye almost gasped, but some wiser instinct clamped his mouth shut. He stayed still, eyes glued to Tyler's face, but the other boy merely shifted before settling again.

For a moment, Troye crouched there, his heart throbbing in his fingertips. A frisson of indecision glided up his spine as he stared at Tyler's exposed shoulders and partially covered torso. Then he reached forward and carefully pulled at the comforters until Tyler was covered again. He slowly drew his hand back and stared at it. His skin tingled, almost burning, despite the fact that he'd be careful not to make any contact.

He blew his breath out carefully and shifted slowly to his feet, glancing at the window as he backed away. Red and orange leaves fluttered through the air, falling slowly, glittering in the light like jeweled dust.

Troye put on his coat quietly, opening the door with care, and stepping out before Tyler had a chance to know he was gone.