Gods & Monsters

X

"Yes, I did."

There's one beat where they just look at each other from across the shop—and then they burst into simultaneous laughter. Such is the theme for the day, Jacob supposes.

God, it feels nice, though. To just laugh? So relaxed and genuine? It feels really fucking nice to laugh like this. It's been so long since Jacob has actually teared up from hysterics—he was beginning to doubt his ability to cry at all.

"You're so insufferable," Troye laughs, overjoyed, shaking his head. He wipes the moisture from his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie and it's cute as all fuck and very soft looking.

Jacob is proud, proud, proud. He made Troye laugh like that. Proud.

"I'm so chiseled," he corrects, smug as anything, but his voice cracks in a laugh upon seeing Troye's responding expression, and they laugh until it actually feels exhausting.

It's sort of fucking incredible.

**

It's nearing dark. The shop's going to close in an hour.

Their customer stream has been steady (Jacob has, mostly, been trying to keep his comments about their purchases to himself, much to Troye's amusement) and the entire night has been a calm, peaceful situation that almost resembles that of a dream. With Jacob sauntering around the aisles like he owns the place, eventually feeling comfortable enough to select the records to play, gently settling the needle onto the black plastic as it whirs and whirs.

Naturally, he makes Troye guess every artist he plays.

Impressively, Troye gets most of them right. Which isn't all that shocking, actually. Given that he works here.

Still though, Jacob finds himself begrudgingly impressed, smiling almost proudly at the boy when he immediately names off George Harrison's "I Live For You" with all the confidence of a true fan. Good boy.

"Well, well, well, Sasspup. Seems I may be a bit in love," he teases, the lilting chords filling up the now darkened shop, its lights glowing a bit oranger, a bit softer. The darkened windows display laughing passerby and the blobs of headlights, streetlamps. It's cozy in here, almost. Sort of cozy. Troye looks tired, sitting on his stool with puffy eyes that smile, his hoodie all big and swallowing him whole. He hasn't touched his textbook in an hour, his pen forgotten and capped, laying off to the side as he watches Jacob with an ever present smile.

At the words, Troye's face blanks out a bit, only momentarily. But it's enough for Jacob to look away quickly, feeling his insides twist unpleasantly, trying to focus on the sound of George Harrison's voice and ignoring the sour disappointment of a failed endearment. When he does chance a glance back, though, Troye's looking down in his lap with a smile lingering on the edge of his lips though, his expression akin to a billowy feather.

Troye's kind of like a billowy feather in general. Soft and pretty. Tickles your cheeks.

Jacob's tired. It's late.

"I should probably go," he says, already lifting his jacket from its spot on the ground, by the yellow lamp. He clears his throat, trying to seem unfazed and cool and natural. Trying too hard, probably. Goddammit.

Troye's head snaps up then. "Already?" he asks, disappointed. He watches Jacob's movements with a crease between his brows, his shoulders slumping just slightly. He looks exhausted. He looks fucking adorable. God.

"Well, yeah, Troye. It's late. Gonna close soon, anyway, aren't ya? Besides, I should get back before I fall asleep in the street." He half-smiles, tugging on his jacket. It feels rough and unwelcome. Sigh.