-rainbow cookie, tracob

9,

-

Jacob was in the middle of a satisfying nap when someone banged on the door to the dorm room. He sat bolt upright in his bed, tearing the page of his textbook where he'd passed out with his face on the pages and wound up getting them stuck together. He peeled the paper from his cheek and looked at the clock. 8:27 PM.

"Who the fuck's come around this late?" Jacob mumbled, finding a beanie to tug on over his flattened hair as he made his way to the door. "Who is it?" he called, louder.

The reply that came through the door was broken and too quiet. "Jacob... Jay please let me in. Please. I'm sorry. Jay."

He ran the last few steps to the door and fumbled to get the latch open. "Troye?" he was asking before the door was even cracked. "What's the matter?"

The smaller boy collapsed onto Jacob, who struggled to support both of them as he wrapped his arms around Troye. "Jay. 'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here-"

"Shut up, of course you should have," Jacob shushed him. "Tell me what's the matter. Are you okay? Are you hurt?" There was something wrong with Troye's voice- was he crying?

"I'm alright. I'm sorry, I shouldn't-"

"Come on, let's get you to the couch, okay?" Troye quieted at Jacob's words and let him slip underneath one arm, propping Troye up as they stumbling across the room. "There we go, nice and easy... Troye, look at me. Please, darling, just tell me if you're alright."

But Troye wouldn't quite meet Jacob's eyes. "I think so," he whispered.

"That's not an answer," Jacob pressed on undeterred. "I need you to give me the truth, alright? Not what you think you ought to say, and not what you think I want to hear. Do you understand what I want when I ask you to give me the truth?"

"Yes."

"Okay. That's great. Now give me the truth. Are you alright?"

A few tears leaked from Troye's eyes and Jacob beat him to the punch wiping them away. "I don't know," confessed Troye. "I can't- I don't know."

"I believe you," Jacob replies, all gentleness, kneeling in front of where Troye's slumped on the couch. "Can you tell me if you're physically hurt, then? You can't hardly walk."

Troye hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah, I'm- my face. And my wrist. And sort of. All over."

"Let me look, my love."

Jacob gestures for Troye to sit forward, moving him gingerly with the softest of touches. He helps him shrug out of his coat, but as soon as it's gone, Troye has one large hand up blocking his neck from sight. "It's okay, really," he tried to insist. "I'm alright."

But assurances like that fall flat when your voice keeps cracking and breaking and nothing is above a whisper. One disapproving look from Jacob and Troye caved, another tear slipping out as his hand fell away.

Already a large, mottled bruise was forming on the curve of Troye's jaw. It was starting to swell, raised off of his face in an angry welt. The dark red mark was punctuated by the near-black of crusted blood on his cheek where a jagged cut ran from cheekbone to jawbone.

"F-fuck," Jacob said shakily, staring at the red marks on Troye's throat. He couldn't be sure, but- "Did somebody do this to you?"

Troye can't even lie, only sniffle a little harder than before. "It's okay though, I'm okay."

"'Okay?' Troye, you've got your face busted open, in what universe is that okay?" It comes out kind of high-pitched, and Troye seemed to shrink a little. "Who did this, Troye?" he tried again, softer. Curls bounced as Troye shook his head very firmly. Can't tell you. Jacob sighed. "Let me see your wrist, then."