Gods & Monsters

XXXVI

The sky is very blue. Birds are chirping. People look very happy.

It's irritating as fuck.

Why must every day's weather be ripped right out of Disney? Why must this happen during the worst week of Jacob's life?

He ambles to the school, only to find that Troye's nowhere. Great. It's not entirely unexpected but it still kills him a little bit. A lot, actually. Maybe entirely. He's tired though, everything sunk, and he's just about to give up for the day when suddenly he looks across the street and sees, distantly, the record shop.

Fuck. The record shop. Jacob completely forgot.

Dylan's clearly not working today. So that means... Troye probably is. Troye's probably in there right now, most likely. Right over there. Fuck.

Maybe he can just talk to Troye. Maybe he can just go in, say his piece, and leave and then Troye will know.

He begins walking, his stomach twisting.

The record shop is their place. Surely, Troye will let him speak. It's where they had their first proper kiss, for Christ's sake.

He walks and walks and walks. When he finally reaches, heart thumping in the base of his throat, he opens the door with shaky hands; the bell dings like it does every time.

And, just like every time, there sits Troye.

He's just sitting there, looking quiet and small, a book opened in front of him, and when he looks up, his face completely blanches. Then it quickly dissolves into anger, as is custom. Before Jacob can even open his mouth, Troye hops off his stool, turning on his heel towards the backroom.

It's not surprising in the slightest, considering this is how every single interaction of theirs has come to pass lately.

Still though, Jacob feels desperate right now, panic beginning to erupt inside. He's losing, alright, he's losing, he's losing Troye every single day that nothing improves and he cannot just watch Troye walk out of his life right now, he fucking cannot let him think that Jacob never loved him—

He means to call out his name.

He means to call out Troye's name when he opens his mouth. But, somehow, something else falls out instead, something he never expected to hear himself say.

"I'm in love with you."

And, shit. It actually takes a little bit of breath away from him because Jacob's never said that before. Not to anyone. Ever. Never used those words in that order before, never out loud.

It stops Troye dead in his tracks. His back is facing Jacob; he can see the tightness in his lines, the cold cut of his bones. But Troye's stopped. And Jacob doesn't know if it's in anger or shock or what but Jacob will take this opportunity, goddammit.

"I'm so sorry," he calls, somehow already out of breath, his body falling loose. Every knot unravels, every spiral of tension; he just lets go, lets his exhaustion, his sadness, his pain, his anger, his fucking misery bleed through his voice, his face, his posture. He doesn't hold back, doesn't try to hide it or push it away; he just lets himself feel. And it's awful. But he keeps going. "I'm so, so sorry that I ever made you think that I was ever anything but sincere."

Fuck this is hard.

But he keeps going.

"I don't know what I'm doing and I don't know what to say and I've been trying not to stalk you for the past week," he laughs humorlessly, almost hysterically, rubbing a hand across his tired, tired eyes. "But, the thing is, I need you to know this, Troye. I need you to know the truth because I know how this looks and I know how it sounds and I know what you're thinking and I need you to know that that's not how it is."