Gods & Monsters

XXIX

"Where'd you get that kind of money?" he asks, genuinely curious, as Jacob stuffs his wallet back into his jeans and unceremoniously totes the sleek, shiny bag of perfume and tissue paper in his slackened hand.

"Hm? Oh, that?" Jacob sniffs, bee-lining through the masses (and taking care to keep hold of the sleeve of Dylan's parka). "I've actually, uh, been saving up. Sorta."

"Saving up?"

"Yeah. Just, you know. I don't smoke anymore so I've stopped buying cigarettes. Stopped buying weed and shit. Don't drink as much, either. And, just... I dunno. I've been trying to get more hours at the pub so I have, like, something to fall back on."

He doesn't miss the wide-eyed stare Dylan is giving him.

Rolling his eyes and feeling a self-conscious burn in his cheeks, Jacob just keeps walking until he bursts through the doors, unleashing him to the sharp chill of winter. Oh well. At least it's away from the chaos.

"Are you saving up for a flat?"

"Maybe. I dunno. I'm just... Trying to gain some semblance of order."

"That's amazing, man," Dylan comments without blinking, voice low over the din of the street. Each slap of his feet crunches the snow. "I've been thinking about getting a job, too. But then I realize that it would probably just stifle my spirit and creative flow. I don't fit with society's constructs."

At that, Jacob barks out a laugh, head thrown back. "A job is more than a construct, Dylan. It's, unfortunately, a bit more important."

But all dylan does is shrug, unperturbed. "Maybe. Maybe not. I dunno." And it ends there, with Jacob's amused eyes and Dylan's thoughtful blinks as they huddle together in the sharp breeze.

Jacob really has been saving, though. He's been trying to rely on himself, and only himself, for (what might be) the first time in his life.

See, he just needs to prove something. To himself, to Troye.

He can take care of himself.

He doesn't need to rely on Timothee for things anymore. Doesn't need to rely on anyone. Troye's shown him that—he doesn't rely on anybody for anything. Rather, he's always encouraging others to rely on him while simultaneously shouldering his own burdens.

Jacob doesn't want to be another burden to Troye. He wants to show him he can support himself, can help carry any loads they may share. Wants to prepare for, like... Future things. You know—things. 

Somehow, it always seemed so impossible before—taking control of his life? It seemed...daunting and vast. But it's a quiet concern that he's had lately, something that'll disquiet him whenever he's at Troye's house, watching him study diligently at his organized desk in his organized room. In a house that's well cared for and filled with familial kinship and honesty and clean linens and scrubbed floors and fluffed pillows. Their windows have curtains and it smells like washing powder and butter almost always.

Jacob will sometimes look out the window, eyes far away, hands in lap, as he sits on Troye's bed, an unopened book in his lap. He stares unseeingly at a sky that threatens to swallow him up, reaching past the moist glass and snatching him right out of Troye's room, out of Troye's life.

"Do you ever feel aimless, Troye?" he'll ask, quiet and barely aware that he's voiced the question at all. He blinks, startled by his own forthrightness.

Troye turns in his seat, brows already delicately furrowed, one curl lying across the plane of his pallid forehead. The lilac of his jumper softens his skin and features, washing him out into a pastel watercolor creation that Jacob wants to absorb into his fingertips.