Letters: A Troyler FanFiction

Chapter 1

Tyler's P.O.V.

"Troye? Troyeee?" I playfully sing as I enter through the door of the dimly lit flat, carrying a huge box that makes it all the more difficult to walk inside.

For a moment I struggle with positioning the box so it balances on one arm, and then fumble with the door handle, twisting the keys from the lock and shutting the door with a smug and triumphant grin. Quickly wiping my feet on the mat in front of the door, I proceed into the kitchen and toss the pizza box onto the counter, placing the keys in their usual spot and flipping on the light switch which brightens the kitchen and partly illuminates the next room.

"Troye?" I ask again, a little more tentatively, walking over to peer into the flat's living room where I last left him.

Of course he is still there, but he's practically unconscious on the couch under a mountain of blankets and pillows. They slowly move up and down with each of his soft breaths. On the coffee table along with an empty glass and crumb-laden plate is a new, fresh bunch of tissues stained with bright crimson. I sigh and softly and tiptoe over to his side, kneeling down next to him and turning on the lamp.. His forehead glistens with his sweat that's pasted his mussed hair to his forehead. That's good, though. It'll help him get over the fever I know is burning him up. Ever so gently, I press my wrist to his forehead. Burning hot. He's been like that for days. Sighing again, I shake him gently, trying to wake him up.

"Troye, wake up. I brought the pizza home," He stirs slightly, burying his face in the pillow and mumbling something inaudible. I shake him again. "Troye, c'mon you have to wake up," I whine again, trying to suppress a grin.

With more shaking and coaxing, he finally opens his usually sparkling eyes. But behind those eyes I do not see the usual sparkle. Instead they are dull and tired, with heavy purple-black bruise-like rings beneath them. They were like that yesterday, too. As far as I know, Troye has been sick ever since I came to stay at his flat here in Australia. He's had nosebleeds, fevers, infections, and even days of sleep all at one time. Though he keeps shrugging it off, saying nothing's wrong and that he's fine. Typical. He rolls over again and a weak grin flickers across his face as he wakes.

"Hi, Ty," he whispers, his voice croaky and soft.

"Hello sleepy," I give him a grin, and then motion behind me to the tissues. "Get another nosebleed while I was out?" He nods.

"Yeah... It wasn't that bad though," typical Troye, always trying to put things off so no one would worry.

Shaking my head, I push myself to my feet and begin to walk back toward the kitchen.

"I brought back the pizza. I'll get you a slice," I call as I bring out two plates from the cupboard, setting them next to the pizza box.

When I renter the living room, I see Troye has situated himself in a sitting position, most of the thick blankets pushed aside on the couch. He has obviously been running his hands through his hair, because it's now all swirled above his head like instead of matted down. God, he's so adorable even in this state.

"Look what I have!" I smile, holding out his plate to him.

He smiles weakly again and takes it, lowering it into his lap. Sitting hunched over, he nibbles on the end of the slice. We sit like this for a while, dead silent, me on the floor and Troye on the couch. He barely has eaten any, despite his constant nibbling. I can't help but notice how small and breakable he looks, even more now with his mystery illness. His usually rosy cheeks are gaunt, and chalky white. I want to just wrap him in my arms and hold him until he gets better.

"You can sit by me, Tyler, I don't bite," he teases, patting the blanket-laden spot next to him with a lopsided grin.

I smile and set my plate on the coffee table, plopping down next to him.