Infinite (Troyler Works Collection)

Pretend We're In Love

Originally published Oct 20th, 2015.

Genre: hurt/comfort angsty kind of stuff based off Halsey's 'Is There Somewhere?'

Word Count: 4k

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It's moments like this where Troye finds himself hoping.

There's music thrumming through their veins, through the air, and a note of harmony trembling against the open windows. A sky of heavy rain that's yet to fall and a breeze of cold April wind ruffling unnoticed through their hair, damp clouds of condensation settling on their shifting skin. It's dark, broad brushes of colourless grey washing the stars away, and there's nothing to light their features but the stubborn streak of moonlight peaking through the fluttering curtains.

They're tired, of course they are, and he's hunched on his bed rubbing at drooping dull blue eyes that stretch painfully wide to keep the room in focus. His heart is a weak vibration of life weighing down his body, his lungs a heavy force trying so hard to press back against his collapsing chest. He wants to take his shoes off, they're like weighted iron balls around his feet, and throw his coat away, climb under the covers and just go to bed already, but he can't.

Tyler is so, so awake, like he always is when the sun goes down. Socked feet tapping beats harder than Troye's heart across the hotel carpet, head moving faster than Troye's lungs ever could in tandem with the music stretching out around them. He's in a t-shirt, in a pair of jeans, in a skin that radiates a comfort Troye knows he'll never feel himself.

It's moments like this where Troye finds himself wishing.

They're not speaking; Tyler's too immersed in the melody he's swaying to and Troye's too immersed in tracing the patterns of his dance. He wonders if maybe he's forgotten Troye's even there, forgotten they've been sharing a room for the past week, forgotten the blue eyes that can never tear away from him for fear of missing something ephemeral but vital.

The fear in Troye is paralyzing. It stretches through his body, through his lungs and his heart and even his head until it's stretched so thin it's like string digging trenches into every part of him. The gaping cuts inside him are reminders of the truth he's never once said out loud, reminders of all the reasons he never could.

He has so much to be afraid of.

He watches, silent like he always is now, as Tyler dances around their hotel room with his phone in hand, typing out tweets and texts and scrolling through websites and doing all the things Troye's found so meaningless lately. He's being Tyler, like he always is, and Troye is so very jealous of the certainty he has in himself because when was the last time Troye looked in the mirror and didn't cringe at the sight?

It's moments like this where Troye finds himself aching with the words caught at the tip of his poisoned tongue.

He doesn't move, doesn't say anything, doesn't breathe for the eternities he spends staring blankly at this boy he's never felt so far away from. He wants to do a lot of things, say a lot of things, breathe like he hasn't been able to in months, but there's something missing in the parts of him that care.

He feels apathy, grey and weighty and numb, settled deep into the hollows and trenches Tyler has left him with and he doesn't know how to make it go away. He's not so sure he wants it to.

But the music's gone, the track run out and skipping silent runs of tension all through the room, and suddenly Tyler's not distracted anymore. He's stopped dancing, set his phone down on the table, and turned blinking green eyes to the bed Troye's still seated stationary on like a broken puppet waiting for its strings to be jerked to life again.