Letters: A Troyler FanFiction

Chapter 7

Tyler's P.O.V.

Ping!

Ping!

Ping!

Another small ping from my laptop jars me from a groggy half sleep and signals quite obnoxiously that I have a Skype call. From who, I don't know, and I don't want to answer it, because I don't think I can hold it together. It doesn't help that it's 4:00 in the morning. As I sit up a little, I scold myself when my heart leaps in my chest, automatically hoping it's Troye. Lazily rolling over, I slide my laptop over closer and notice Zoe's picture on the desktop. Surprised, I click on her image to answer, and her reddened and tear-streaked face displays itself on my glowing screen.

"We're flying in right now," she automatically says, wiping her eyes carefully. I can tell she's been crying for a long time.

Earlier yesterday morning, I contacted some of my and Troye's closest friends to tell them about his leukaemia. Connor, Caspar, Marcus, Zoe, Alfie, and Joe were all on that list. It seemed unfair to keep everything from them. Somehow, it had felt wrong because I knew Troye wouldn't want them worrying about him, but I knew in my gut that they'd worry more if they didn't know what was going on.

"Zoe, you guys don't have to do this," I tell her thickly, wiping my own eyes. She laughs breathily, not putting any real feeling into it.

"We're not going to make you go through this alone. We want to come. Troye is our best friend as well as yours," she replies in a whispery voice, tugging on her oversized pyjama shirt absent-mindedly. "I promise you that everything's gonna be okay, Tyler," she continued to croon, half sobbing while she tried to comfort me.

Tears splash down onto the keys of my laptop as I let them out. Her sincerity and kindness overwhelms me yet again, and I know there is no way to repay what she is doing for me and Troye.

"Thank you, Zoe. He'd appreciate it," I whisper, clicking the "end" button on the screen just beore I dissolve into a sobbing mess. Her face disappears and I am alone again.

Just as I lay back and press my hands over my drying eyes, another series of pings emanate from my computer. Probably Caspar or Connor, since Zoe had already spoken for her brother and boyfriend. I answer this call, which is from Connor.

When his face appears, I can see he is also on the verge of tears, his voice thick and hoarse.

"Tyler, I'm so sorry...."

I spend hours answering Skype calls and talking, confirming that people were coming to see Troye. They were, surprisingly and miraculously enough, all on the same flight that had left yesterday afternoon. As far as I know, Zoe and Alfie are going to stay at the flat with me and hope swells in my heart that I won't feel so alone when they come. Everyone else will find a hotel. Tyde, Troye's brother, informs me that him and his parents would try to be here tomorrow, because of some other things they have to do first. I close my last Skype call with Caspar at 6:45 a.m. Exactly 15 minutes until visiting hours at the hospital. And in around 4 hours, everyone will be here with me.

I fish my glasses out from the blankets and shove them onto my face as I stumble out of bed. After a quick and hot shower, I run my fingers through my hair in an attempt to not look like hell and dress in a little nicer outfit than the ones I've been wearing recently. I go for a plain tee-shirt, comfy shorts, and my favourite pair of TOMS; it's getting hotter in Australia. Keys in hand, I pause to select a rose from the fresh vase I purchased yesterday. A rose for every time I visit.

I drive in silence, with no music playing and no sobbing. Emotionless. Robotic. There is no point in emotion anymore. Not without him.

The nurses greet me by name as I walk through the doors, and I give them all a small, meaningless smile and duck into Troye's room, where the familiar hum and whir of the machines greet me instead of him.