Gods & Monsters

IX

It's a music shop. It's called Spin Records. It's right across the street from the school.

And it's not what Jacob was expecting. (Add it to the list.)

"Is this seriously it? You've been working a stone's throw away this whole time? And in a music shop, no less?" Jacob questions, both eyebrows threatening to disappear into his hairline. He fixes a blank-meets-incredulous look at Troye. "I expected a dentist's office, if I'm being quite honest. Or a book shop, if I was feeling really creative."

"A dentist?" Troye questions, confusion writ across his brow, but his lips are still all jumbled up with a smile. The enormity of his mouth is making his grin all but consume his face and it almost looks as if he's putting genuine, vigorous effort into taming it down a bit. Jacob can't help but watch the phenomenon, slightly fascinated. "I'm certainly not qualified to be a dentist, Troye . Contrary to popular belief," he adds dryly, boldly, and it makes Jacob laugh.

"I know that, you sassy plum, but I pictured you as a desk employee or summat. A proper secretary." He smirks a bit, slides his hands into his pockets as they stand in front of the storefront, facing each other. Troye has yet to make any move to enter the building though, instead content to watch Jacob with a quiet, amused smile lying in the soft brightness of his eyes, hand on his bag which very heavily rests atop his shoulder. It's the burn of his whispering gaze that prompts Jacob to avert his smirk away, up to admire the spray painted sign of the building. It's black and red and bold, a hastily and cleverly drawn black record player set by the large letters. "You've got nice teeth, see," Jacob adds in a mumble, just a fraction of a second later. "Dentist seemed logical."

A lone eyebrow lifts on Troye's face, but the gentle observance in his expression remains intact, that smile still pillowing his lips. He really is lovely to look at, isn't he?  "General dental hygiene equates to being associated with licensed professionals?" he questions, but he punctures the sentence with a soft laugh. "I think I may have learned a different definition of logical, Jacob ." He smiles wider then, smiles because he knows he's a little shit.

It startles a short gust of a laugh out of Jacob as he rips his gaze away from the building, bringing it back to the boy in question.

Such a shit.

"Didn't realize I was talking to Sassper the Friendly Ghost," Jacob grumbles lowly under his breath, loud enough for Troye to hear.

It, of course, sends him into a fit of giggles. And it really wasn't that funny—it was a corny joke. A really bad joke. But damn. If Troye's not careful, he's going to inflate Jacob's ego even moreso. And then what will he do? He'll just float away and the world will never be rid of him.

"Sassper the Un-Friendly Ghost?" Troye suggests, still giggling, and he doesn't tuck his palm against his mouth or bite his lips to stifle the sound. He just glows a bit brighter and tilts his head a bit and... It's really familiar. Open. It feels personal. Does that make sense?

No, of course it doesn't. Jacob's still hungover. Nothing makes sense.

He silences all the nonsensical thoughts.

"The Bitchy Ghost," Jacob amends further, and, yep—there he goes again. Laughing like Jacob was actually clever or something.

He only feels that he's smiling when it starts aching his cheeks. And the minute he does, he immediately stops, forcing his face to smooth into something indifferent because Troye's sweet, yeah, and his laughter is something very enticing. But there's a line, see. A line between Jacob and his targets.

It needs to remain a firm line.

So he clears his throat, offers up a self-aware shrug and gestures to the door.