escort

0.9

It doesn't occur to Troye until then what a charmed life he's led. His childhood was hardly blissful, what with his father being an asshole and the whole why-don't-I-like-girls thing, but it wasn't miserable, either. There were birthday parties with Pass the Parcel and his mother's caterpillar cake (even if he found out later that she bought it from Marks & Spencer and rendered much of his childhood a lie). And there were summer holidays - Portugal with its crowded beaches and donkey rides and Cyprus with its all day breakfasts - places where the salt air made his hair frizz and the sun burnt his nose. But while the happier moments cancelled out the not so happy ones so it felt more like breaking even than winning, he still can't say that he's had a hard life, rather a disappointing one, if the last four years are anything to go by. And to think, when he graduated from Cambridge with youth and promise burning off him, he had the world at his feet and now he's getting the shit kicked out of him in an empty stairwell.

So he realises that he must have led a charmed life because he's never been in a fight before now and he's never needed to be because he's never had a problem that couldn't be solved with a smile and a self-deprecating remark. If only he'd known. He would have kissed all those boys he was too scared to talk to and scratched his initials into every desk at Cambridge, every bench, every tree, every wall, left something behind everywhere he went. At least then he might be able to find his way back and he needs to because he's so far gone that he doesn't even know how he got here. That's what shocks him, more than the first punch and the POP of pain that follows, the thought of why someone would want to hurt him. Charming, clumsy him, who apologises to furniture when he walks into it and has to stop if he sees a LOST CAT sign to look for it. That's all he can think as he watches the skulls on the guy's tie blur, the word knocking around in his skull like a pea in a whistle as he falls against the wall.

Why?

But he knows.

He knows.

+++

When he comes to, it's slow and sticky, like waking up on the sofa and realising that he's missed the end of a film. He has no idea where he is, but when he licks his lips and peels his eyes open, Jacob is looking down at him with a frown. He asks him if he's okay and Troye smiles loosely, his eyelids fluttering shut again as he feels the warmth of Jacob's hands on his cheeks, sure that he's dreaming, but when Jacob shakes him and asks him again, Troye finally feels the foghorn of pain through the haze and groans.

'Who the fuck was that?' Jacob asks when Troye tries to sit up and can't, his head spinning so suddenly it's as though someone's kicked in the face.

'I've called the police, Jacob.' Troye hears someone say and forces his eyes open to find a security guard standing over them with a matching frown.

Troye waves his hand. 'No police,' he says, trying to sit up again, Jacob's left hand moving around to cup the back of his head when the pain punches him back down.

The security guard ignores him. 'They're on their way, Jacob.'

'No police,' he pleads, looking at Jacob who's clearly furious, but takes the hint.

'It's alright, Neil,' Jacob tells him with a sigh, reaching into the pocket of his suit jacket with his other hand to hand him his keys. 'Just bring my car around, yeah?'

He does as he's told and as soon as they're alone, Jacob shakes his head at Troye.

'What the fuck is going on?' he asks, helping him to his feet.

'Nothing. I'm fine.'

'Sure you are,' Jacob murmurs, catching Troye and curling his arm around his waist when his legs buckle suddenly. 'Can you stand up?'

Troye nods, even though he's pretty sure that he can't, but he needs to get out of there - and away from Jacob - before the security guard comes back with his car.

'I'm okay,' he says, which isn't as convincing when he has to stop and reach a hand out to steady himself on the wall. He winces when he does, yanking his hand away and frowning at the rough gash on the heel of his palm. There's one on his left palm as well and when he catches himself looking at the stairs, he touches the tender spot on his cheek as he remembers how the second punch sent him falling back onto them. As soon as he thinks it, the small of his back throbs and he can't help but reach back and rub it with his fingers, sure that he already has a line of bruises from the edge of the step.

'You sure?' Jacob asks, the crease between his eyebrows deepening.

Troye nods.

'Where you going?' he asks when Troye begins walking towards the door. He has to stop after a few steps, every muscle in his body screaming, and when Jacob reaches for his elbow, he's suddenly so exhausted that he has to stop himself leaning against him.

'Troye, you can't even walk.'

'I'm fine. I just want to go home.'

'I'll take you home. Just wait for Neil to come back with my car.'

Troye shakes his head so furiously that he almost loses his balance again, his heart hysterical at the thought of Jacob in his flat, seeing the drying teabags in the sink and his unmade bed. Then he thinks of Jacob on his back on it, the sheets leaving pink creases in his skin, and Troye's heart starts to beat even harder.

'What if someone sees us? Just go back to-' He tries to say her name but can't.

'Like fuck am I leaving you in this state.'

'I'm fine. I'll just jump in a cab.'

'You're not fine,' Jacob tells him, not letting go when Troye tries to pull away. 'And if even if you were, no cabbie is going to take you when you're pissing blood.'

Troye feels it then, the wetness around his nose, and wipes it with the back of his hand. Touching it just for that second hurts so much it makes him gasp and when he looks down at the blood, too bright and too red against his pale skin, he gasps again.

'Let me see,' Jacob says, putting his hands on his shoulders.

'It's only blood.'

Jacob doesn't listen, turning him so his back is against the wall and taking his face in his hands, tilting it back. 'Stay still,' he hisses, when Troye turns his cheek away.

'I told you, I'm alright.'

'Does your neck hurt?'

'Everything fucking hurts.'

Jacob holds up three fingers. 'How many fingers am I holding up?'

'Eleven,' Troye says with a theatrical sigh then rolls his eyes and regrets it as a sharp pain stabs at his temples.

'Well your sarcasm is still in tact, so that's something.'

'What are you doing?' he mumbles when Jacob turns his face to one side then the other to check his ears then starts rooting through his curls to inspect his scalp.

'You'll live,' Jacob tells him, stepping back to look at him. 'You're welcome, by the way.' He plucks the striped handkerchief out of his breast pocket and hands it to him. 'If I hadn't stopped him, fuck knows what he would have done to you.'

'It was nothing.' Troye dabs at his nose and winces.

'Nothing? I thought he was going to kill you. Who the fuck is he?'

'Dunno.' Troye shrugs, looking at the blossom of blood on Jacob's handkerchief in case his cheeks look as hot as they feel. 'He just jumped me from nowhere.'

Jacob puts his hands on his hips. 'You're a shit liar, you know that?'

Troye almost laughs because he is. He wears his heart on his face, his mother always says, but it never occurred to him until he met Jacob that it was a bad thing.