A Touch of Courage (Troyler AU)

Chapter 43: Call me friend but...

If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than because he was he, and I was  I.         

- Michel de Montaigne

Tyler's POV

The next morning was eerily quiet. He came out to Troye passed out at the table under a pile of papers, cheek pressed against a sketchbook. He carefully moved it out from underneath his face and put the kettle on.

Troye wouldn't sleep long, not with the sunlight pouring through the windows, creeping steadily closer to his face. And he'd want tea when he woke up.

Tyler sliced bread and popped it into the toaster and straightened all of the papers, figuring if they were in such a mess underneath Troye and on top of him, they couldn't possibly be in a particular order. The kettle whistled and Troye jolted upright in the chair, wide-eyed and alert.

Tyler stepped away from him, holding up his hands. "Just the kettle."

Troye slumped forward, pressing his face into his hands, blowing out a low breath.

Tyler wanted to touch him. He didn't know exactly where they stood, and right then wasn't the time to figure it out, but he didn't know what to do with the need clawing at his bones. The need that said the way to comfort him was to reach out and touch him. Not even kiss him or any other kind of touching other than his fingertips on his cheeks, absorbing the bloodshot from his eyes and the tired circles curling from his tear ducts toward his cheekbones. He wanted to absorb it all, take it all away from him, so that he could be the mirror to the world. Troye was so bright sometimes. He only reflected back to the world what existed. In this much darkness, he was reflecting shadows.

Tyler saw those shadows in the irises of his eyes and his heart beat faster, sweat gathering in the lines of his palms. He really wanted to touch Troye but something held him back.

Instead, he retreated and slid the kettle off the stove, silencing the awful noise, and silently made a cup of coffee for himself, and a cup of tea for Troye.

Tyler placed the tea in front of Troye and he smiled, picking it up without seeing it.

"Thanks," he said softly, his eyes trained on the table.

After a moment, he dragged his slouched form upright and turned to face Tyler, studying him silently. He hesitated, opening a hand to him. Tyler stepped toward him slowly, unsure of what Troye was asking for. Another moment of hesitation, then Troye looped an arm around his legs and rested his head against Tyler's hip bone.

"Tyler," he mumbled, still sleepy, "it's okay."

Tyler swallowed and put a hand on top of Troye's dark hair, running his fingers through the soft curls.

"Okay."

"Tyler?"

"Hmmm?"

"The toast is burning."

"The-oh, crap."

Tyler reluctantly untangled himself and rescued the toast, leaning against the counter and studying Troye as he yawned and stretched.

"I wish I could stay."

Troye put his head down on the table, smiling at Tyler easily. "I know. I do too, but-"

"I know, I know," Tyler sighed. "Just-I hope today is good for you."

Troye nodded and straightened, looking at Tyler over the rim of his cup. "It will be."