(Tyler's P.O.V.)
I wake up to the sound of no alarm. My very own excitement for today's events make me open my eyes and grin widely at the ceiling. I jump out of bed as if I have energy enough to never close my eyes again, and I hurry into the ever so ironic closet and carefully pick out an outfit worthy of what is happening today.
Alright, I might not be meeting the Queen of England or the President of the United States but something in me put my hopes up, regardless of the seemingly simple plans.
Hannah's words still stand out in my mind like a footprint in the freshly fallen snow; It's quite unbelievable you two haven't met yet, I'm sure you would find Troye pretty remarkable.
I guess it is a bit silly. I mean, I'm just meeting my friend's friend, nothing else. But something about the whole ordeal just excites me like a little chubby kid on Christmas morning. I don't know. I genuinely do not know.
I'm just excited.
****
"Hi!" I exclaim enthusiastically as I hug Connor with a smile.
"Hey, you ready to go?" he asks and I roll my eyes at the stupid question.
"Obviously."
We sit down in the car and Connor starts driving. I can't seen to stop smiling and I internally slap myself at my dumb excitement. I glance over at Connor. At least I'm not the only one, I think when I see his ecstatic grin.
After the short drive to 'Hangrid's' house (the silly nickname our friend group had coined the couple since we started noticing their infatuation with each other.) Con and I jump out of the chicory-blue car and knock on the door in front of us.
"Conler!" Hannah shouts happily and hugs the both of us. (At this point our love for using ship names must be obvious.)
We greet Ingrid as well and after exchanging a few friendly words I spot him.
Troye.
I gasped, immediately blushing, fearing that everyone heard it.
But I couldn't help it.
I look at him, he looks at me. I smile at him, I only receive a blink. My eyes follow his features, his outfit, his body's curves, I take in his everything.
One thought pops into my mind and it never leaves.
He looks so cool.
Maybe it's his pale, milky skin. Maybe it's his subtle-charcoal-black varsity jacket. Maybe it's his effortlessly messy hair.
But something about that boy just screams cool.
I stand there, transfixed on this strangers coolness, and I almost don't notice it when Connor says something. I don't hear it, I just continue staring at Troye, partly waiting for him to respond, partly just because he's pretty.
He doesn't say anything anything for awhile, the tension in the room slowly building up like a tower. But then he does and I think I might just crumble.
"Hi."
A single word. A simple meaning.
Yet I melt.
His voice is deep adding to this coolness. It's smooth, but at the same time somehow not. It is as if he hasn't spoken a word for years, as if heartless people in a fantasy universe has kept him locked up for an eternity and just now, in this very moment, he is set free. And it's beautiful.
I giggle at my own stupid thoughts. This guy probably doesn't even know my name and yet my mind decides to think so highly of him. I reach out to shake his hand, my mind (again, stupidly) feeling a tad bit envious when Connor got the privilege to touch this creamy-like skin.
"Hey, I'm Tyler," I say in my typical, enthusiastic voice, desperately trying to conceal my already growing feelings for Troye.
He takes my hand, melting my entire existence in the process and answers.
"Hey."
I'm going to fall for this boy, aren't I?
****
We all sit down for a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll that Hangrid had drunkenly made the night before. They taste good, though.
Hannah, Ingrid, Connor, and I speak about everything and anything, catching up after not seeing each other over the holidays, which I had spend back in Michigan surrounded by family.
But the astonishing angel boy/cool rebel teenager (Troye) hasn't said a single word since he said hey to me, which (somehow???) makes him seem even cooler. Don't ask me how.
Between bites of the now lukewarm baked good I look up at Troye. He's sitting still, looking down on his plate with a pained expression. The cinnamon roll is untouched. Huh. Perhaps he just isn't hungry.
I stare at him again, hoping that no one is looking my way, certain that I'm all heart-eye-emoji. Yet, through my adoring glances at him, I still can't seem to unravel the mystery of this strange coolness of his.
Maybe it's his cigarette smoke-colored eyes, maybe it's his Saint Laurent coat, maybe it's his long, thin fingers.
Or maybe it's the fact that his eyes are probably actually blue, or that his coat might not be designer, or that his nails are painted silver.
Regardless, I can't let it go.
He is cool.
My thoughts are disturbed by Connor speaking up.
"So Troye, what, um, do you do for a living?" He sounds slightly hesitant and a little nervous.
Troye looks up at him and Connor blushes. He opens his mouth, trying to find the right words. I look at his perfect lips, biting my own at the sight of his full, chapped ones.
"I, uh, I work at a cafe but, you know, it's not really my dream..."
"What is your dream, then?" I ask immediately. He looks at me with wide eyes and I take the opportunity to look into them (and yes, they are indeed blue).
"Music," he answers simply and think I might blush too.
"Cool," I say.
He chuckles at my word and I, once again, melt.
"Thanks."
I'm screwed, basically.
****
"So what did you think of Troye?" Connor asks me on the ride home.
"He was cool," I say, seeming casual. Don't want Con to know that I basically already love the poor thing already, do we now?
"Yeah, he's pretty something, isn't he?" Connor doesn't seem to have the same issues, his feelings showing right through; obvious like a wine stain on a carpet.
Admittedly I feel a tiny speck of jealousy. Ugh.
"He is," I mumble back, mirth hidden in my quiet words, barely audible after the journey over to the green-eyed boy next to me.
Connor laughs.
"What??" I ask him in a fake-annoyed tone, assuming he's laughing at me. "Why are you laughing?"
"It's just," he says. "You never usually shut up, especially not about boys."
I look at him, dumbfounded.
"Maybe he just isn't usual."
******************
HEY HI HELLO
it me again.
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This chapter is dedicated to my WONDERFUL WIFE, allydrake_
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