Say Something: Troyler AU

(I'm giving up on you.)

I've been in love with Tyler Oakley for seven years.

I've known him for nine. Our families had been close friends since long before the day I was born, and it was a surprise that we hadn't known of each other's existence since the day I turned 18. He was 24 years old at that time; bold, exciting, and possibly the complete opposite of the teeny, awkward me. From afar I had admired him, watching as he'd talk animatedly with my sister while simultaneously capturing my dog's heart with his attentiveness and enthusiasm. His hair was dyed a lilac shade, gelled up so nicely it almost seemed to sum up his whole existence.

The moment he'd approached and started talking to me was when I immediately knew we'd be the closest of friends. And after two years, the day where I tackled him into the pile of autumn leaves—the day when I pinched his nose and told him he was the worst and bestest person in the world, on my special bench—when he brought me to a beautiful restaurant to celebrate both my 20th birthday and the two years of our friendship—was when it dawned onto me that I had fallen for him.

That had been seven years ago.

I know what everyone is thinking. Troye, in all those years, why have you never told him you were in love with him? Why have you never told him about those nights you had yearned to hold him, tightly in your arms, about those days where you worry your head off over him, about those times that you've wanted to press your lips softly against his falling tears and hold his hands at nights when those stupid memories of his past monsters fills his mind?

Because it's not that easy.

-

(Remember that time when you realized? Where everything fell into pieces, and every hint of confusion left with that weight on your shoulders only to be replaced with the realization that yes, you did indeed—)

That day, that moment in the restaurant; I looked into his happy blue eyes and his smile stretched from ear to ear, the corner of his eyes crinkling in pure, unadulterated happiness. I'd noticed something fluttering in my chest, gradually expanding into a suffocating weight against my chest, and all of the sudden it was hard to breathe as the emotion started filling me. I grasped for air and willed for my heart to stop feeling like it was bursting, and right at that moment, as I watched the guy from the table behind Tyler lean over to kiss his wife, was when it all suddenly made sense.

I was in love with Tyler.

Everything seemed to halt to a stop. The man behind him sat back down and the waiters returned to the kitchen and the car driving by had parked at the end of the lot and the flickering fire of the candle in between us steadied and it was like they were letting me focus on this ridiculously beautiful man in front of me, who'd started laughing his unique laugh over the joke he'd said a second ago.

My heart had swelled from the sound and my eyes grew wide as the tie around my neck suddenly felt a tad bit too tight. I loosened it and excused myself from the bathroom - poking at the bridge of his nose and smiling at him when his own smile dropped from worry - before rushing into the restrooms. There I stayed in front of the mirror, letting cold water from the tap cascade over my face, chanting curses in my mind.

"I'm not in love with him," I vaguely remember telling my reflection, droplets of water dripping from my chin and onto my suit. The sentence felt like a bitter, blatant, big, fat lie on my tongue, but I repeated it anyway. "I have absolutely no feelings for him."

(—you did indeed love him.)

The restroom door opened shortly after, and through the reflection I saw Tyler peak through the crack of the door, eyebrows scrunched up in what I assumed was worry. "Troyeboy? You alright there?"