For Him (Tracob)

Jacob's pov

I let myself into the house through the front door and kick my shoes off. I can hear babbling from somewhere in the house, so I follow my ears and they lead me to the living room, where I find Troye and Nash and the twins sprawled out on a blanket spread across the rug. Blue and Rose are a year and a half old now, and they can sit up, crawl and toddle around. Blue is independent - she doesn't like to be helped or carried. She always wants to do everything herself. Rose is her opposite. She didn't roll over until she was 7 months old. She can walk but she doesn't like to because she knows one of us will carry her. Sometimes she doesn't even open her own mouth when we feed her, she'll have us wiggle it open instead. Actually, she's just like Troye.

Both of the twins are sitting up and banging around chunky plastic blocks and talking to each other in their own baby babble way. They can talk, a little bit, but they don't usually to each other. Nash is beside them, because he considers himself to be their full time nanny and hardly ever moves away from them. Every time they drop or throw a block, he nudges it back at them with his little wet nose. Troye is stretched out on the floor, flat on his back, head turned so he can watch the twins.

"Hey guys, I'm home," I say, and Blue drops her block, knocking down the stack she had set up. "Dada?"

Rose looks up when she hears her sister talk. "Where Dada?"

I vault over the back of the couch and sink down in between Troye and the twins, giving both girls a kiss on their fluffy heads, and they give me big drooly grins in return. I glance over, looking at Troye. He's still watching the twins, having made no move to greet me.

"Hey," I poke his stomach where his shirt is riding up. "I'm home."

Troye turns his head to face me. "Hi." He says shortly. His expression is clouded, and I can tell right away that he's upset about something.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

He looks away from me, back at the twins. "Nothing."

I scoot closer to him, picking up his hand and kissing his knuckles. He keeps it completely limp. "Something's bothering you."

"I'm not bothered, I'm fine."

I reach out and push his curly hair off his forehead. "Are you mad at me?*

"No."

The twins are back at their building and stacking, completely unconcerned by Troye's attitude. I tug on lock of his hair. "Hey, talk to me."

He brushes my hand away. "I'm fine."

"Hey." I move so I'm sitting right next to him, my crossed legs tucked against his side. "No, you're not, you're upset. Don't insult my ability to read your moods, please. We've been together for six years Troye, I already know. Tell me why you're upset."

He sighs, turning away from the twins, sitting up, and grabbing his phone from the floor a couple feet away. "Fine." He swipes through his phone a couple of times and then hands it to me. "Read that."

It's a news article on a media site. In bold font the headline reads

"Troye Sivan - the little popstar that tried too hard."

My heart sinks. I don't even need to read the article to know what I'll find, but I skim through it anyways, little fragments popping out at me.

Three lackluster albums that nobody asked for.

Bland pop ballads with a forced queer twist to appeal to an audience

All in all should have stuck to recording small scale YouTube music covers in his bedroom - don't bother the world.