For Him (Tracob)

Troye's pov

If I ever have to look at another baby car seat, or read another Amazon customer review I will forcibly remove my own eyes. And we haven't even bought anything yet. I've been sitting at my laptop for the past 4+ hours researching and comparing the best brands for... everything. We need everything. We need two of everything. Being a first time parent is hard enough. Being a first time parent to twins? Low key, a nightmare. I sigh and push my chair back. I need Jacob. My man always puts me in a better mood. He's in his studio, has been all day. He's partnered up with an up-and-coming brand to design his own line of Tee-shirts again, and he's supposed to submit the final graphics today for review. So of course he's been hyper-focused on that. I push open the door into his brightly lit studio, and step in with Nash trailing behind me.

"Hi Jakey," I say.

He looks up from where he's bent over his work. "Hey Tok, what're you up to?",

"Just looking at all the stuff we need to get, and all the best places to get it from." I sigh. "We need to go shopping."

"I know I know, we will. When I finally finish this project and I don't have to worry about it anymore." He pulls me into a one armed hug and kisses the top of my head. "What time's the appointment today, hm?"

"Three o'clock." I tell him. His shoulders droop.

"Really, three? I was thinking it was four."

"No, it's three, Jake."

"Crap." He turns back to his work. "Tro, I have to finish this in time, I really do." Jacob reaches out and touches my arm. "I might have to skip the appointment, baby."

I frown at him. "You can't."

"Well, darling, I don't want to but-" on his desk, his phone starts ringing. He glances at it. "Hold on, I have to take this, sorry."

He answers the call, and greets whoever is on the other end in a cheery, professional voice. He pulls me close and rubs my neck with his free hand as he talks, his way of apologizing for taking a call in the middle of a conversation. He hates it when anyone does that. I let him dote on me while he speaks, leaning up against him comfortably, until he says something about finding a pen and paper to take notes, and brushes me off him, mouthing I'm sorry at me. I roam around the room while I wait for him to finish his conversations, poking around and admiring the space. One wall is just a big window that overlooks the Los Angeles skyline and another is a big built in shelf, that's stacked with books of all kinds, papers, watercolors, various little knick knacks, and framed art pieces. Some of the floor space is taken up by easels and tripods, and a large potted plant and the remaining wall space stores several cameras hung on sturdy pegs, and dozens and dozens of pictures that he's taken over the years. All his favorites, spread out over the space. Intimate, artistic ones, others light-hearted and casual, or like big group photos or snaps from events. Many of me, some he took while I wasn't paying attention, and others he had me pose for.

The whole space is so purely Jacob. All of his work and passion in one place, it embodies him. It's my favorite room in the house. While I'm admiring the sketches on his desk, he finishes the call, and turns to me.

"So, you're not going to like this." He tells me.

"Great way to start a sentence, babe." I reply, setting down the half finishes charcoal sketch I'm holding.

"They asked me to have the designs ready an hour earlier than originally planned."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know, they just want to make sure we're making good time I guess."

"How're you going to finish before the appointment?"