Troye's pov
Music. The one thing I'd go mental without. That melody of hums, strums, and beats made of an idea.
"Well... play me something I'd go mental without." He said, smirking at me.
My lips curve into a lopsided smile at the memory.
My fingers find their way hovering over the screen of my mobile, tempting to play the song. Do it. Do it, do it, do it.
"If time is on our side, then maybe we're missin' a sign somehow. Waiting on a moment, but it never comes around."
I fall down onto my back, breathing out heavily into my cold room, the warmth of my cushiony bed being the only source of comfort I can find. Leaning my cheek against my blankie, I flutter my eyes shut before a tear can slip past. The sound of Stephen Wrabel's voice, my swift breezy fan, and my shaky breathing is all that's heard throughout my room. It's not much but it seems to bounce off my walls.
"Walkin' on the sidewalk like all the concrete is made of glass. All we need is a breakthrough, but we're too afraid to crash."
Blink away the tears, Troye. Don't think about the past, Troye. Don't think about him, Troye. Too late, Troye.
"Maybe we're goin' under, maybe we're both about to break. We're not goin' up, we're not goin' down, we're sideways, we're sideways."
Baby, you've changed. Baby, you're gone.
"Maybe a smile could save us, or maybe we're just a few tears away."
I smile as those few tears slip away.
"We're not going up," I hold my hand up in the air.
"We're not going down," I drop it down onto my chest, feeling my heart pound away beneath my hand.
"We're sideways, we're sideways, we're sideways."
My heart flutters at the bittersweet memory of what he said once he'd given it a listen.
"... hmm. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'd go mad without hearing that song just one more time." He smiles, pulling me up from the spot on his couch and holding me up against his chest.
"I'd go madder without you though." He whispers as he presses my head against his chest.
I listen to the heartbeat that beats oh so slow. I've fallen in love with it.
"Is madder even a word?" I question, sneaking a glance up at him.
He hums, "Yes... it just sounds immature. Like you've just learned multiplication and you're arguing with your classmates about your vocabulary words. Madder is *too* a word! No, it's not! It just sounds funny! You'd squawk and babble all day with them all day if your teacher didn't snap the few of you out of it, demanding you get back to work."
I grin at the thought, young Dylan arguing over one silly word.
"You must've had a wild childhood." -
My music and flashbacked thoughts are then interrupted by the chiming ring of my mobile going off. Someone's calling. The only someone in my phone is my father. Sighing, I wipe my tears and clear my throat, attempting my best act at not seeming as though I've been crying all day as I press accept.
"Hey, baby." Dad muses cheerfully.
"Hey," I mutter, sitting up on my bed and stretching my back.
"What's wrong?" He asks immediately, his cheery tone dropping in seconds.
"Wha- nothing Dad, I'm fine. Why are you calling?" I shake my head, clearing my throat.
I can imagine his frown growing stronger as my words sit in the air, the vulnerable feeling making me frown as well.
"... I have someone here who would like to talk to you." He finally replies after a few minutes of awkward silence.
Then the crinkly sound of Dad passing his phone to the hands of who I'd strangely assume to be my mother booms in my ears. I feel my cheeks grow hotter, I don't want her to be angry with me again.
"Troye Mellet," His smooth voice flabbergasts me out of my glum state.
"Who's this?" I ask suspiciously, sitting up straighter.
The bloke chuckles, "The cute kid your father just can't stop busting."
My cheeks swiftly flush a tinted shade of roseate.
"The name's Jacob. So... Troye, since your father is too much of a puss to ask you himself, is it cool if I spend the night? I've got nowhere else to go besides a cell if you say no." He explains, eliciting an immediate yes from my lips.
"Yes, of course. Jail cells must be cold... and scary. Of course. I-I'm sorry, I'm rambling." I stammer, slapping a hand to my head at my stupidity.
He chuckles again, only making my face feel hotter. "Thanks, hey, are you alright?"
My eyes widen, "Why do you ask?"
"You sound as if you've been sobbing all day," He murmurs, most likely being kind enough to try and not let my father listen in on our conversation.
"I-I'm fine, it's nothing." I brush it off, falling back on my bed with a light 'humph' sound.
"Alright, we've been waiting it out in your driveway by the way." Jacob replies amusingly.
"What?! Why? Come on in already, it's freezing out there." I exclaim, shooting up from my bed and quickly throwing on a grey dress shirt, mumbling incoherent babbles.
I realise I ditched my phone on my bed while still on the phone, the boy most definitely just heard me run around and squeal like a little girl. Running back to my mobile, I pick it up and press it back to my ear.
"Please, I'm praying to the lord and heavens above that you didn't just hear that." When all I hear is his breathing, I quirk up an eyebrow.
"Hmm?" I hum just in time for my bedroom door to open.
"Oh, I most definitely did." The boy snickers, his eyes quickly finding mine and scanning down my body. I drop my phone from my hands onto my bed.
In that moment, I don't think my cheeks have ever been so flushed. That warm sickening feeling like all of your body is the Norwegian Sea, which is a contrast from the warm feeling, your body being the Norwegian Sea. But it's the contrast that makes you feel so sick. It's as if your scolding hot skin is fighting with the rest of your frigid body and that small little heart sunken in the sea is someone trapped in a cage underwater, begging for their life. Alas, their screams were muffled by water and they drowned in minutes, a much more hopeful death than the one I'm craving.
My eyes land on him and me oh my, I feel as though I'm staring him right in the face again. I'm sure I've visibly paled in fright, a not so huge jump from my sickened feeling. I probably look as though I've seen a ghost, because in this moment, I believe I have. His pretty raven painted hair sticks up all over the place as if he'd just gotten the beating of his lifetime. The purple shiner on his cheek answers my assumption for me.
Snapping myself out of my thoughts, I hear Dad shuffling around in the living room. I bolt out passed Jacob, running right smack forward into Dad and wrapping my arms around him. He staggers back and holds onto me, quickly finding his composure and slouching down in my touch, rubbing my back.
"I'm sorry for being mean," I whisper, hugging him tighter and resting my head on his chest.
He nods, "I understand that you were only upset and me yelling didn't help. I'm sorry for what I said."
I nod with him, giving him a gentle squeeze and letting go, stepping back a foot.
"I understand. Thank you, Daddy." I bow my head down for a split second. I sure do take pride in doing just as he taught me, never saying the words 'it's okay' to an apology. That is because most of the time it really isn't and saying it is, that's lying. And no one likes a liar.
The sound of Jacob clearing his throat makes me turn around to face him.
"Ah, Troye, I'd like you to meet Jacob." Dad gestures to the bloke.
"Jacob, Troye. Troye, Jacob."
