sued into submission 🌷 tracob

24

Troye Sivan

I've decided twenty-three doesn't look that great on me as I hold my hands to my pale face at seven in the morning. My eyes bloodshot and bags underlined with purple from lack of sleep, gorgeous, obviously.

"You, Troye Sivan, are not going to let twenty-three be the year you off yourself." I tell- well, more or less, scold myself. 

Giving up with the mirror speeches I've been going at for hours, I slip on a robe and fasten it together with a light blue ribbon.

Once I'm dressed and have the slightest bit of a small smile masked over my face, I open the door to the bedroom and head downstairs. Why are you starting your day so early?? You may be asking. Well... I don't know. It's my birthday and if I want to get up at seven am for breakfast, god dammit I will.

Gentle steps down the stairs, I'm careful to try and be as quiet as possible. Pissing off Mr Bixenman is not on my to-do list today. Crying, sleeping, stuffing my face with food, and maybe getting off are though. 

To my surprise, there's a covered platter already out for one with a mister one standing beside it. 

"You take forever to get down the stairs." Mr Bixenman mutters, holding his hands behind his back, his suit jacket pulling back a bit.

I stand there a bit frazzled, tightening the ribbon around my waist.  

"Happy birthday, if you make a mess of the sheets, call for Margret and she'll take care of it." He instructs, gesturing to the platter with a silver cover and turning back towards his bedroom to walk away.

"Wait," I pipe up, confused as I walk up to the table, "What's even in there? I mean, thank you, but what is it? I'm worried."

To top it off, I can't bother to muffle my small awkward laugh. 

He shrugs, "Find out for yourself. Happy birthday."

He walks away without another word, seeming to be so urgent to get away from me.

It's probably because of the kiss. He hasn't spoken or touched me nearly at all since that night, so quick to escape from me. It's his house, he can just make me leave if he doesn't want me here...

Right, Happy Troye. It's your birthday, look at the damn gift already. 

"Thank you!" I call out, hoping he hears as I step forward and lift the cover off the plate.

"O-oh."

"Oh, um..." I whisper.

When I hear a light chuckle from around the corner, I whip my head up and look in the direction of the cheeky shit.

"You're-" I give up and sigh, "Thank you, Mr Bixenman."

A chocolate cake, yes. Beautiful, yes. The dildo on top of it, uh... yes.

I shake my head and cover the plate back up, turning to the stairs and deciding, welp, a shower is a better bet than eating breakfast near that clown. 

"Fucking men," I mumble under my breath.

"Be grateful, that costs money, you twat!" He yells back in mock, snickering to himself as he makes his way back to his room.

Making my way back to the bedroom, I pull the drawer out and pick out my outfit, having (quite literally) been in my birthday suit for hours. I toss the clothes on the washroom counter and fetch a towel, starting up a warm shower and preparing for the day. It's just any other day, Get Over It, Troye, I tell myself.

As I step into the shower, I sigh and turn the knobs until it's a bit warmer, steam barrelling around me. I turn to let the water hit my back, letting my head hang down and the water suffocate me just the slightest. Why is he like this? So distant yet persistent at the same time. He's there but not there at all. Attached with hands but detached at heart. Such an ass (but has a nice one).