Gods & Monsters

XVII

It's getting to be that time of night again. The shop is going to close soon, jacob will need to haul his ass back to someone's flat, and he'll have to say goodbye to Troye with... Well. With at least some sort of plan to move forward so he has something to report back to Timmy, who is currently waiting patiently.

He's been texting Jacob all night, pressing him with questions and nagging him to respond and just... Being generally needy, really. Which is odd but Jacob barely registers the vibrations in his pocket anymore, instead registering the dusty vinyls he makes a habit of sorting alphabetically while Troye studies his thick textbooks and flicks bits of paper at him. Little shit that he is.

"You think you're so funny," Jacob glares as he removes yet another crumble of notebook paper from his hair. They've been sticking entirely too easy—probably from all the grease, to be quite honest. Much to Troye's delight.

"I am funny," he protests. "My mum thinks I'm hilarious, in fact. Tells all her friends about my witty jokes."

Jacob quirks a brow. "In the entire time I've known you, pup, not once have you made a witty joke."

"Hey!"

Jacob's lips twitch as he takes in Troye's appalled expression. "The funniest joke you've ever made was when you told me your favorite movie was Anne of Green Gables."

"That was not a joke!" Troye squawks. "That is my favorite movie!"

"And it's still funny!" Jacob laughs, slapping his knee for emphasis because it spirals Troye into an attempt at a glare. "Every damn time! You are just a basket of jokes, aren't you?"

"Oh, hush," Troye scolds, but his attempted glare has been tossed aside and replaced with a fond smile. "At least my mum supports me, even if you don't."

Jacob laughs. "True. At least you have your mum."

Their smiles catch in each other's eyes and Jacob's stomach rolls around a bit uncomfortably so he stands from his spot on the floor, wiping the dust from hands onto the thighs of his trousers.

"What about your mum?" Troye suddenly asks, curious, from his spot at the counter.

Jacob freezes, mid swipe.

"My mum?"

Something akin to a chain link fence rattles inside of his brain.

"Yeah," Troye smiles, oblivious. "What does she think about that sense of humor of yours? And all of your, erm, 'quirks'," he smirks.

Something cold is now dripping in the lowest part of Jacob's stomach—maybe it's from the chain link fence in his brain.

His mum. Hah. The memories he has of Carrie are fuzzier these days. Did she find him funny? He thinks so. He remembers her laughing a lot... He also remembers her not hearing him a lot, too. And he remembers when he stopped trying, as well.

He brushes away the thoughts, reassembling himself. "I, erm. I'd prefer not to talk about that, actually," he replies delicately, hoping he hasn't just made it obvious or weird or tense in any way, hoping that Troye won't have that look in his eye.

But then Jacob looks up and, yep. Troye has that look in his eye.

"Oh," he says quietly. "I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"No, stop," Jacob sighs, holding up a hand. "Don't apologize. There's honestly no need, kid. I just don't like to talk about my family."

"Oh."

There's an awkward silence then and Jacob hates it, hates that whenever he's honest about shit like this, just honestly stating that he doesn't want to partake in a conversation that will lead to nowhere, it always feels so heavy and awkward and pitying afterwards. It's always filled with the other person's curiosity and unwanted empathy. This always happens.