Escort

XII

Firstly; hello! Secondly; there's a brilliant alternative cover for this fic by @Schnoodle31 attached to the media <3 thank you so much!! Thirdly; the song attached as a video is the soundtrack for this chapter (I've had Sam's album on repeat for several weeks).

Now THIS chapter is one I've been eagerly awaiting to write for quite some time now. Heaps and heaps of character development in this one. It's a bit angsty but yeah... such is life and I'm excited to see what you guys think. (And, no, this is not the last chapter) If it seems like the way things are worded is exaggerated, it's intentionally done so to reflect the weight of the events. It was almost a cathartic experience to type this one out, as I've been twisting and turning it around in my head for months and it was important to me to get it right. I hope I achieved my goals and that you, my lovely readers, enjoy <3

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Tyler rubbed the towel briskly over his hair a few more times before yanking it from his head with a bit more force than necessary, making it slap wetly against the sink when it fell. The bright lights of his bathroom, as well as the lack of his glasses made him squint a bit at his own image in the mirror above the sink. He stared at himself for a few moments, taking in the hint of puffiness under his eyes, the way his hair could do with a trim, and the dull gloom of his countenance. Sighing deeply, he shook his head before turning to hang up his towel and reaching for the hair dryer to begin his styling routine.

His mind was preoccupied, though not by the upcoming dinner and 'additional service' appointment he had this evening. What was going through his mind instead were thoughts of a man with a bright smile, a hesitant yet fierce nature, and eyes so wide and blue and beautiful that Tyler could drown in them and die a happy man. What - or rather who - occupied his mind was Troye.

It was late afternoon the Saturday after he'd seen and spoken to Troye last. Tyler hadn't been in touch like he'd promised he would be and guilt had begun to take small, painful bites out of him. Still he couldn't bring himself to call or show up unannounced at Troye's door like he'd had no problem with doing before. And, really, this wasn't the first time he'd found himself lost in thoughts about Troye, but it was all different now. It was different because Tyler's outlook on his and Troye's... arrangement was different. The dynamics had changed, at least on Tyler's part, from a flirtatious, carnal fling to something... else.

It had happened when he got back from dropping Troye off a week ago. He'd planned out an outfit that would fit the requirements that his client had left for meeting at a bar downtown, mentally picking the shirt that would go with that certain pair of black jeans and the black suede derbies to match. When he'd looked over the shoes standing in neat rows underneath the shirts in his closet, however, Tyler couldn't seem to find the pair he'd planned on wearing. Having been pressed for time, Tyler huffed in annoyance and started roughly pushing the shirts aside to be able to see his shoe collection better. Still not able to find the derbies he wanted to wear, Tyler had lifted his gaze to the top shelf where he kept the pairs he didn't wear that often in their boxes and began sorting through them quickly.

When he'd pulled out a box that was crammed in further toward the back corner, a flutter of black fabric had tumbled from the shelf as he pulled the box over the edge and into his hands. Tyler's movements stilled in recognition. He'd almost forgotten about putting it there. With a swooping sensation in his belly, Tyler had put the shoe box aside and bent to pick up the black t-shirt lying in a crinkled pile by his feet.

Handling the shirt with a care that resembled the way one would treat a piece of delicate bone china, Tyler had caressed the soft, worn fabric between his fingers as he stared at it. It was the shirt that Troye had given him to wear the morning after their first encounter. Once he'd gotten home that day, Tyler had stowed it away, wanting to keep it separated from the rest of his clothes as a memento of sorts.