Gods & Monsters

XXV

"Alright, mate. I'm out of here," Jacob calls, tugging his sleeves down as he picks up his jacket. His phone buzzes against his thigh. Probably Troye.

Alex looks up from where he's hauling up stools, an off-tinted cloth flung over his shoulder. He flashes a tired grin, nods. "Sounds good, mate. See ya. Happy Halloween," he adds with a small, shadowed smirk. The lights are dim in the pub; everything's yellowy orange and smoke stained, everything quiet and abandoned.

Jacob half-smiles, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "You too, obviously." He glances at the screen—yep. Troye.

'Text me when you're on your way! I saved you your favorites :)) x'

Of course he did. Jacob smiles.

"Alright, alright—get your blushing ass out of my pub so I can close, will you? Text your boyfriend somewhere else," Alex laughs, shooing Jacob with the rag, and Jacob can only return the laugh as he departs, valiantly ignoring to roll his eyes. Alex can be such a prick.

It's as Jacob's stepping out of the bar and sending his responding text ('Be there soon. I expect the best of the rest pup') when something shifts in the shadows to Jacob's right.

Immediately he pockets his phone, squinting into the lumpy shapes the cloudy moon and shitty pub lighting cast upon the pavement.

It's not long before his eyes adjust to the darkness.

It's not long before the figure of Timothee comes into clear sight, his curt, muscled body leaning against the wall of the pub.

"Fuck," Jacob breathes, loud enough for the other boy to hear, as he twists his head away in irritation, shoulders slumping.

Fuck. Fuck shit fuck. Now is not the time for this. Troye's waiting for him, he's exhausted from another tedious night of middle aged drunkards with thick skulls, now is not the time for this.

"Hello to you too, Jacob," Timothee's voice says, but it's quiet and it's smaller than usual and it's nothing that Jacob was expecting.

Surprised, he quirks one brow, slowly carrying his gaze over to the hunched, darkened figure. Timothee's hands are in his pockets, his head is titled a bit downward, thick brows pushed together. A small frown pouts his lips, his stubble is longer than usual. He looks out of character and, well—normal. He looks like a human. A teenage boy.

It's startling and Jacob isn't sure if he likes it.

"What's wrong with you?" Jacob grunts, blunt and to-the-point because Troye is waiting for him and it's cold outside. And he doesn't want to deal with this. Not now.

But Timothee. ignores the question, instead pushing off the wall with the same air of exhaustion one finds in someone at least four decades older. He seems old and creaky, tired and angry. Weaker, somehow.

"You're ignoring me, Jacob."

Yeah, obviously.

But Jacob keeps quiet, just stares with pursed lips.

It seems to unsettle Timothee further, his eyebrows twitching, his lips threatening to unfurl. He looks away, scrabbles shaky hands into his jeans. Jacob watches every movement, cold and confused and tired, wishing everything was simpler, so much simpler. Wishing he could walk away right now.

"Cigarette?" Timothee offers, voice adopting some of the unaffected cool he usually possesses so naturally. He extends the pack to Jacob, eyes intent, dark. They meld with the atmosphere.

Jacob pauses, regarding him, before finally shaking his head, just once. "No, thanks. Gave 'em up."

And Timothee's hand drops like a dead weight, any composure leaving his face. "What?" he asks, clearly taken aback.