Gods & Monsters

XX

They arrive at the pub around seven, its dingy door slamming shut with repetitive thwacks as bodies flitter in and out for smoke breaks, purses clanking, heels scuffing the pavement, denim rubbing against denim.

jacob thinks he might spot Anthony darting in between bodies, carrying a tray of shots—he's pretty sure he's working tonight—and a handful of other familiar faces. It's not uncommon for everyone to come out here whenever they have their live shows. Especially for this band.

The small crowd gathered outside mostly consists of cool kids (those artsy types with bored, smoky eyes that Jacob hates and sometimes stares down, maybe) and a few older, stoic individuals with dusty leather jackets. On the whole, it's a sea of shitty tattoos, grungy t-shirts, and trendily hideous trousers, everybody clutching beer bottles as they cluster in groups, laughter blending in the air with the clouds of smoke pouring from the cigarettes pinched between their fingers.

Just a typical night in jacob's life, really.

"So, this is where I work," he explains as he opens Troye's car door, smirking down at the boy's wide eyes that appear to be soaking up every detail. "I know it's not much, but. It's decent money and requires little to no effort on my part, so. Right up my alley, really. Just serving the drunks, that's me."

"You're old enough to work at a pub?" Troye asks, blinking owlishly at him as he stands, immediately gluing himself to Jacob's side, as if it were second nature, and gazing at the scene before them in wonder. His body heat is instantaneous, Jacob feels it collide with his own immediately, and their jackets are brushing and their toes are pointed towards each other and they're sort of huddled and secluded away from the scene before them, which really doesn't mean anything at all. But somehow, it makes Jacob feel swollen with something, makes him feel warmer and jolted with excitement, just feeling Troye beside him and watching over everybody else. He'll never admit it in the light of day.

But the feeling's enough for Jacob to place his hand on the small of the boy's back, a tiny thrill shooting up his legs when Ttiye mirrors the motion on him, almost unthinkingly, eyes still wide and observing.

"I'm almost twenty, you know," Jacob comments amusedly, watching Troye's profile. "A bit older than you."

Troye blinks, sliding his gaze to Jacob. "I'm almost eighteen. You're not that much older."

Jacob shrugs, completely at ease. "Whatever. Age just becomes a number after a certain point, anyway. So." He grins, watching the spread of a smile glow on Troye's face as they stare at each other, voices and noise wafting in and out of the atmosphere. "You ready to see this gig? They're good, Troye, I warn you. Really good. You might get swept away with my incredible foresight and good taste, when you see them. I might become your music guru." They begin walking, Jacob letting his hand drop from Troye's back as he makes his way forward, grinning at the boy next to him and winking chummily, his chest so much lighter than it has been all night, his lungs filled with so much air. And secondhand smoke.

Troye laughs, pleased as he follows closely. "Is that so? Am I going to be wooed?"

"You're already wooed, don't play coy," Jacob teases, exaggerating a roll of the eyes.

"Coy?" Troye laughs again. "I didn't think I was," he smiles, wide and real and close, locking his gaze into Jacob's for a moment before they finally reach the entrance, past the bumps of bodies and elbows, and Jacob has to look away, suddenly feeling too much air.

When he pulls open the door, they're immediately assaulted with smoke and harsh, chaotic noise, a few older gents in the back throwing expletives like confetti and a few errant teens laughing far too fucking loud over in the corner. Everything smells pungent and sharp, like sour beer.