Gods & Monsters

XXXV

It's a beautiful day Jacob finds himself in when he walks to Troye's school. He's fucking freezing, though. His core is so cold and he can't keep warm, despite how many times he brushes his palms over his limbs. His throat feels so tight, he's not even sure if he can squeeze words out of it.

But he keeps walking, body tight and on the verge of breaking in some way—it just feels tense. Like he's in between crying or shouting or something. Which...really wouldn't be very uncharacteristic for him as of late. God, he hasn't talked much these past days. Hasn't laughed...maybe at all? It's best not to think about, really.

The library comes into sight and it actually stops Jacob in his tracks.

It's the place where he first talked to Troye. Wouldn't it be poetic if it's also the last place he talks to him?

The thought, as morbid and painful as it is, urges him forward until he's walking up the large steps, pulling open the heavy door. He walks to the very back, just like that first time. Back when he was still a predator, still itching with irritation and restlessness and nicotine and boredom... He was so sure of himself back then. So fucking empty. He was such a joke—thought he was so goddamn cool.

Now he's just pathetic and his shoes feel tight and everything just feels shitty. Yet, even still, he's more alive now than he was then. It's a funny thought. Humorous. Hah-hah.

It's because he's lost in his own thoughts that it takes a moment to register that Troye is there.

Because there he is—at that same fucking goddamn table. Not eating baby carrots like he had been, though. Not anything like he had been, probably. At the time, Jacob remembers wanting to know what Troye had been listening to in his earbuds. Now? Now he knows his favorite songs by his favorite artists. His favorite lyrics. His favorite playlists. His favorite songs to sing versus his favorite songs to hum. His favorite beats, his favorite vocals... He knows every fucking song on that iPod. He knows every fucking thing about Troye.

It's funny.

He swallows, staring, feet planted and hands limp.

He really can't think. His entire brain is jumbled up—whether it's from stress or lack of sleep or because he only just fucking called Carrie last night (his mother, his fucking mother, they talked, he has plans to call her again), he's not sure, but his brain is a mess. And that's probably why he finds himself walking up to Troye without another thought, body taking control.

Troye doesn't have his earbuds in today. Jacob knows because he's standing right behind him, staring unabashedly because he's too numb and chaotic and messy to realize that he shouldn't be. He's staring at how Troye's hands lie limp atop the table, framing a book. They look pale. It ushers a harsh exhale from Jacob, something sharp pressing his lungs—and it's apparently loud enough to startle Troye. Because he spins around in his seat.

When Troye's eyes slot into Jacob's, all the particles in the air dissolve away.

All the atoms in their surroundings disintegrate, leaving nothing but blank space, Troye, and Jacob. Didn't they say that, before space and time, there was Chaos? And from Chaos was born Light and Dark? Well, Jacob's just witnessed the reverse of the Big Bang, witnessed everything melt away, back into Chaos. He's the Dark, Troye's the Light. The world is over.

Or, actually. Maybe it's the beginning. Maybe the birth of a new world?

It certainly doesn't look that way, though. Not with the way Troye's staring at him. Jacob's muscles constrict at the sight of the hollows under his eyes, the exhaustion weighing his shoulders. He looks brittle, faded. Sleepless. And just infinitely sad. He looks how Jacob feels and it's shocking enough, painful enough, that all Jacob can do is stare, feeling like he's floating in space with no control of his body. Like he can't find his gravity.