Troye's pov
Three days.
I've got three days to finish my portrait. Three days to say goodbye.
Jacob is sat back on my bed playing music for me while I continue working on the drawing. I've got three days, I can do this in three days.
We're both having a mellow Sunday, thankfully. It is going much better than Friday did when we went to go visit Mum. That evening Jacob came in my room at around five in the morning and wrapped my blanket back around my body, settling in next to me in bed. I'm glad he didn't say anything, mostly because then I would've been forced to respond and it would end with me breaking down. It always does on those nights.
Anyway, when I woke up this morning with the boy's arms holding me close against him, I nearly melted on sight. 'Twas the comfiest sleep I had endured in a while. I stayed in his embrace for a half hour until I decided I wanted to paint before picking back up on my portrait.
So I did, I mixed my paint until I matched the colours with the fading ones on Jacob's face. I painted ugly purples, greens, and light yellows all over my canvas until it looked like a diluted sky from the eyes of a drug addict.
When Jacob woke up he pointed it out, saying it reminded him of his favourite painting in my room. It was a bittersweet feeling when he muttered that, but I thanked him, of course, and decided to make room on my wall and hang the painting up right next to Dylan's. It surely would've been weird if he knew who it was I painted, but after seeing him go back to it every other day and just stare at it, I think maybe he wouldn't mind. Maybe he'd learn a little more about me. When it happened, neither of us said anything and I went on to my portrait, vaguely telling him it was my main focus of the day.
It's been a few hours and since then Jacob has changed into one of my cute crop tops, matching me now, and torn off his sweats. He proclaimed that it was far too hot in my room, but I think he's just trying to show off them ankles.
"Jakey, y'know that painting you like?" I break the comfortable silence between us and keep my eyes on my paper.
I hear him shift around on the bed and pause the music.
"Mhm, what about it?" He murmurs softly as if it were a touchy subject. It's surely not news that it is.
"Have you ever wondered who it was I painted?" I ask as I shade in the strong cheekbones of my model.
"Yes."
I turn my head back and glance at him, "Do you want to know?"
He hesitantly nods, attempting to keep his eyes locked with mine. I don't allow him to, turning my head back to my working hands and nodding.
"It's my late ex-boyfriend." I whisper, feeling my eyes sting at the words.
The silence following is enough to make my chest feel heavy. I let out a breath I wasn't aware I was holding in and try to keep my shaky hands from ruining my drawing.
"What's his name?" He finally asks, relieving some of my anxiety.
I crack a smile, "Dylan."
"What was he like?" He asks quickly, almost shocking me. I didn't imagine him to be this interested.
"He was an arsehole," I let out a forced laugh.
I turn back to Jacob to see an eyebrow quirked up. He is quick to get up from the bed and pull a chair up to my desk.
"He was the bully of the century, I tell you... His parents were awful to him and he always used that as an excuse to torture me and my friends at the time. I'd come home bruised like some rotten orange every day for two weeks until Dad finally had enough and went up to the academy. He demanded that he see this twit of a kid. Me, being his main target, I was bloody petrified. This kid was now going to be even harsher now that my father has spoken to him. It was weird though, because when he came back he apologised immediately and begged me to call my father off from "beating his sorry butt"! I found it hilarious, but back then I was a feisty one. I fibbed to him and told him there was no way I'd call my father off for what he'd done to me." I pause and look over at Jacob who's watching in pure entertainment.
