This week I watched boy erased(it wrecked my emotions), beautiful boy (timothee's acting is so good!!), drew troye, caught up on schoolwork, felt sad alot and reread couple of tracob stories which made me feel better :)
How has your week been so far?
Also stream "im so tired" on 24th jan sisters, the song title is already a mood and its with LAUV i can't wait.
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When they reach the record shop, Jacob's stomach feels sufficiently lighter than it has for the past week, Troye's buoyant laugh and curls and footsteps lifting most of the strain away. It almost makes Jacob feel like himself again, his mind shut off, his body relaxing, his phone silent in his back pocket. Somewhere in his brain he's aware that he's still involved in a great, big mess, still owes Timothee and needs to suck it all up and stick with the plan...
But today is not that day.
Today is dedicated to the autumn breeze and pink cheeks, pinker lips, and bright eyes that reflect the golden sun hovering above the horizon, skimming over the rooftops and soaking into the shop windows, reflecting back prisms. Today is dedicated to Jacob finally feeling some physical relief, finally feeling a smile form naturally again. To feeling Troye's elbow bumping into his side intermittently when he ducks his head in a smile and glances at Jacob beneath his lashes, when he thinks Jackb can't see him. But Jacob always sees him.
"After you," Jacob smirks as he holds open the door of the shop for Troye , watching him trip over the leaf-covered cracks in the pavement and gathering himself with a complete lack of grace or composure. He laughs when Troye sends an adamant glare, laughs even more when he can't maintain it for the life of him.
"Thank you," Troye replies haughtily, but his whole air is diminished by his wide smile that pulls a small dimple from his cheeks. It's one of those odd little details of Troye that just make him more enchantingly unforgettable, that smile, that asymmetrical indent, those large teeth and full set of lips.
"You're just so bloody adorable, aren't you?" Jacob finds himself cooing in a tease, holding open the door with one hand and extending his other to firmly press his thumbprint into Troye's cheek. It feels good, so he keeps it there; the alarm bells inside of his head are muted, instead replaced by a peaceful hum, so he doesn't think about it because this is probably part of the plan and probably something Timothee would approve of. Mostly, though, it's no big deal. Just nice. So he stops it at that.
Troye seems to think it's nice, too.
He's full-on stopped, caught in the threshold between inside and outside, just staring at Jacob with a horrifically beautiful sort of wonderment in his eyes, lips slack and eyes wide. His skin is shaded in reds that would make nearby leaves envious and he nearly blends into his surroundings with the orange of his jumper. Everything bright and warm.
"I am?" he questions, his grin slow to grow as he stares at Jacob unblinkingly. Without breaking the gaze, he lifts his own hand, gently wrapping his fingers around Jacob's wrist, holding it in place against his cheek. Just keeping it there as Jacob's thumb brands itself into Troye's flesh.
A low swoop jumbles Jacob's small intestine. Maybe his liver, maybe the kidneys and gallbladder, too. Maybe he's been sufficiently scrambled up, like an egg. Jacob is a fucking egg.
One, two, three, four seconds pass with Jacob's thumb pressed hard into Troye's smile, Troye's hand delicately wrapped around his bones, their eyes tangled up and their smiles chapping in the cool evening wind. It's oddly nerve-wracking and it makes Jacob feel winded, so he eventually pulls his hand away—but not before brushing his thumb down the slope of Troye's jaw, and the boy's eyes infinitesimally flutter at that. Flutter like Jacob's seen them flutter before.
He swallows, taking a step back and gesturing Troye inside. "C'mon, pup," he says as he attempts a smile. "Better get inside before all the rats do."
"Oh, you mean, rats like you?" Troye questions sparklingly, and he giggles like a music box when Jacob squawks and ushers him forward with a warning pinch to his back.
"You're the rat"
Troye rolls his eyes at Jacob's statement.
Laughing softly, they step inside, Troye holding the door for Jacob as he casts him a genuine smile. Everything about him.
"Hey!" they suddenly hear, just as Jacob's about to tease troye about the state of his hair (which doesn't look too far off from the piles of leaves outside) and they both jerk a bit, spinning to look at the counter.
Julian's not here today—rather, it's Dylan, accompanied by the voice—Jed. Of course.
Jacob smiles, immediately waltzing over, Troye following close behind. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Beauty and the Beast."
Jed's elated grin falls into confusion. "What? Who's the beast?"
Dylan is grinning at him from the stool, eyes hazy. He's got his eye-meets-yin-yang necklace on, as well as a string of plastic emerald beads, and he's wearing a brown tie-dyed waffle shirt, his hair messy and swept to the side. Such a gorgeous little thing. Jacob is only somewhat surprised to realize the thought is felt with more a familial fondness than a sexual one. Huh.
"Hopefully me," he says, playing with Jed's fingers that rest on the counter. "I sympathize with misunderstood characters." He grins dopily when Jed tilts his head in confusion, and Jacob laughs at the pair. He looks over, sees Troye smiling, but his eyes are on Jacob and for some reason that makes Jacob laugh again as he unconsciously puts an arm around the boy's shoulders, pulling him to his side without thought.
Troye beams, immediately gripping Jacob's side in clenched fingers, pulling him even closer.
A couple of heartbeats fill the air, but Dylan and Jed are fairly oblivious, already muttering in their own little lingo as Dylan offers him his thermos of tea.
"Nah, it's shit," Jed mutters, but is taking a sip as he says it, his face contorting.
Dylan grins, nodding to nothing in particular, before gripping Jed's hand (which still lies splayed on the counter in front of him) more fully, lacing their fingers lazily, and turning his gaze to Troye.
"You've met my soulmate, right?" he asks, nonchalant.
Jed grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his peacoat sleeve, setting down the thermos on the countertop. Apparently, he's just as emotionally 'all or nothing' as Dylan because the lad doesn't even bat an eye at the label. Rather, he looks pleased and confident—as if this were some universal truth, or something. Weird kids, them.
"Um, yes. A couple of times, actually..." Troye blinks slowly, glancing at Jacob in confusion.
Jacob smirks, suppressing a bark of laughter; since Jed's come around, he's been at the shop every single day. Therefore, Troye has met him almost a dozen times by now.
Oh, Dylan.
"Don't mind our Dylan," Jacob waves dismissively, giving Troye's shoulder a little squeeze; he receives a bitten smile and flicker of eyes-to-lips in response. Pitter patter, goes the heart that Jacob pretends he doesn't have. "He forgets the details of life sometimes. Smokes too much of that weed. That blasted weed those hooligans keep getting their hands on." He grins, turning his gaze to Dylan and Jed, offering up a wink.
Jed bursts into a startlingly loud laugh, rattling the records on the shelves, as Dylan shrugs, completely unfazed. "I don't think you can smoke too much weed. That's like saying you can grow too much. I don't think it's possible," he says, eyes the color of cooling espresso.
"Well, depends," Jacob grins. "Grow how?" He waggles his eyebrows. Because he can.
At that, Dylan's steadfast composure actually breaks and he giggles, flushing and dropping his gaze to the counter; Jedlaughs even more, head tossed back, his loosely clenched fist pressed to his mouth while Troye just smiles and shakes his head.
"He's gone all red," Jed laughs, shoulders shaking with the effort as he brushes a knuckle against Dylan's jaw, who reddens even more, bowing his head a bit and smiling. Jed positively cackles, completely endeared, bending over to push his head into his space. They may or may not kiss, little giggles and touches and random sounds wafting between the two. Sickening.
Still, though, Jacob puffs his chest purposefully, turning to look at Troye with a smug sort of pleasure filling his face. "I'm funny," he states, gesturing towards the tittering pair of monkeys. "Look how funny I am."
"Really funny," Troye agrees, nodding enthusiastically enough to send a few longer strands of hair flopping into Jaclb's cheek. The fucker sounds far less than genuine, though.
So, of course, Jacob pinches him. And, of course, Trlhe shrieks like a newborn and tries (and fails) to pinch him back. It's obscene.
"You two are so cute," Jed suddenly comments, apparently having finished his impromptu cuddle time with Dylan, as he points a hypocritical littler finger at the pair.
Jumping a bit, Jacob and Troye pull their gazes from each other. It feels strangely like they've been caught and Jacob feels his skin warm at the feeling, blinking too many times as he attempts some composure. Whether it's in shame or pleasure or shock, he's unsure. But Troye's red as a beet as well, so, he figures it doesn't quite matter.
"Yeah, they're pretty cute," Dylan agrees fuzzily, but Jacob sees it in his eyes—that look of 'I know what's going on.'
Because Dylan does know, he knows that Jacob and Timmy have Troye as one of their targets. That this is the game. And, usually, that's enough to send Dylan walking out of the room, but for some reason, he's been silent on the matter lately, instead opting to play at being oblivious. Jacob's been tempted to ask him why, but he also sort of doesn't really want to talk about the whole situation. So it's currently just an unspoken thing between them.
Oh well. It's no big deal.
Dylan tugs on Jedidiah's hand then, and Jedidiah looks to him, smile ever present. "Hey, wanna go get dinner?" he asks, content and calm and soothing. "Troye's shift starts now. I'm done."
Jed brightens, already nodding halfway through the sentence. "Oh, brilliant! Yeah. Cool." He beams as Dylan shuffles on his thin jacket, picking up his tea thermos and the one book he brought with him. It's a Latin Dictionary. Jacob asks no questions. "That went by quickly," Jed states, sounding surprised, his hands in the pockets of his khakis. "Thought I was going to be bored today since it was so dead."
"I'm never bored, man," Dylan replies smoothly, stepping out from behind the counter, and Jacob can't help but smirk at that because it's the truest thing Dylan has ever said. He shares an amused glance with Troye from his peripherals.
"I know. I think it's brilliant," Jed beams, watching Dylan amble towards him with a child-like fluster. It's pretty cute to see how enamored they are with each other. Jacob can admit that. They're so swept away and nervous. Utterly precious.
Dylan nods, pleased, before he turns to Jacob, his eyes blinking slowly. "I'm gonna ask Timothee to join us for dinner," he says, simple as anything, placing his hand on the small of Jed's back. "I feel like he needs to socialize more. Get out a bit, you know?"
And, wow, that, coming from Dylan, is absolutely hilarious.
But Jacob doesn't comment or laugh, instead just nods. "Yeah, actually. I doubt he'll go because he was in a sour mood today, but yeah. Go for it."
"Why was he in a sour mood?" Troye asks, concerned.
Oh. Shit.
Jacob falters, catching Dylan's eye. "Uhm."
Shit shit.
"He has a lot of emotions," Dylan supplies, cool and sure. "I don't think he knows how to manage them very well, though. He's my brother. Did you know that?"
"Oh! Um, no, actually," Troye replies, surprised. "Not really. Jacob doesn't really talk about him much..."
Oh, great. And now Troye's eyeing Jacob, confusion marring his gaze. Splendid. Perfect.
This is not good subject matter. He doesn't wanna talk about Timothee. Not with Troye. He doesn't want Troye to know. None of it.
"Uhm, well. Well. There's not much to talk about, is there?" Jacob laughs, a little insanely, as Jed and Dylan and Troye stare at him. Just fucking splendid.
"I've never met him," Troye says slowly, brow furrowing. "Not, like, properly. He's in a few of my courses. We don't ever talk. Not really."
I know, Jacob thinks wryly, before stepping out of Troye's hold, releasing him from his grip. Too much, too much.
"He's one of your best friends, isn't he?" Troye continues, questioning, brow furrowing further as his own arm drops.
"He's a friend, yeah," Jacob clips, hoping his tone signals the end of this conversation, but Troye looks even more confused and put-out as Dylan watches with sudden sad eyes and a downward tilt to his mouth.
"I like him," Jed comments, boisterous and oblivious, breaking up the new-formed tension. "He's nice. Busy, but he's nice." Suddenly, he snaps his fingers, brightening as he turns to Troye. "Actually, he was at the gala, Troye, did you see him? He was with Jake the whole time—remember? Jacob, weren't you over in the corner with him—"
"Yeah, I don't know, the whole night was a blur," Jacob rushes, skin heating, wishing he could combust Jed with a gaze.
This is not a good direction to go in.
Jed seems oblivious to the hostility though, just blinking like a doe and smiling amiably between the pair as Troye blinks up enough dust clouds to create a storm. Big, confused blinks. Jacob might chew through his lip if he doesn't get a cigarette in his mouth soon.
Dylan, however, seems to have picked up on Jacob's sudden volatility, because he's now standing protectively close to Jed, their hands firmly entwined, sending a purposeful look Jacob's way.
"You looked so sick as that wolf, though," Jed continues with a grin, flashing a thumbs up. "Super cool, man."
That wolf.
And, well, then. Here it all is, lain out. If there was any doubt left in Troye's mind about Jacob's identity the night of the masquerade, it's certainly vanquished now. Which is good, but...
With a small chill up his spine, Jacob slowly looks to Troye, who's staring back with something like triumph and affection in his eyes.
"Thanks," Jacob murmurs, but he can't look away from Troye, unexplained nerves bubbling up inside.
Troye's eyes look hopeful. Why do they look hopeful?
"Uhm, hey. Let's go, Jed. I'm hungry," Jacob suddenly hears Dylan say, echoed in the distance.
"Alright, alright," Jed chirps briskly, chipper enough to snap Jacob out of Troye's gaze and back to the present.
Before Jacob can say a word, though, the pair is nearly at the door, Dylan ushering Jed along with a gentle hand and hunched shoulders.
"Good to see guys!" Jed calls out just before he walks outside. He waves, beaming pleasantly. "We'll have to all get dinner soon, yeah? Let's hang out!"
"Sure," Jacob nods. He still feels Troye's eyes on him. "Why not?"
Jed beams even more at that before sending one last wave as Dylan pulls him along, head pointed up towards the sky. The door shuts, jingles for a second or two, and then the silence settles.
And now it's just them.
Jacob needs every cigarette in the world. Maybe an oxygen tank, too. Maybe a self-help book.
"Fun pair, aren't they?" he coughs after three more silent seconds pass, feeling inexplicably tense. He continues to stare at the door, not wanting to look at Troye. Which is weird. He doesn't understand it, but he knows he doesn't want to look.
In his peripherals, he sees troye nod. "Yeah. I'm glad they found each other." It's softly spoken.
Jacob clears his throat. "Yeah. Good times."
Troye hums, nods slower. "Funny, how the world works."
"Yup I guess."
"Why won't you tell me about Timothee?"
Jacob nearly sheds his skin.
"Huh?" he splutters, turning full-on to face Troye without thinking, shock writ across his face and stopping the warm beat of his heart.
Shit shit shit shit shit shit.
Troye's peering at him, hands folded in front, looking timid and unsure as he nibbles nervously on the cushion of his lower lip, brows all punched together like old tree roots. "It's just, uhm, you never talk about him."
Jacob stares. "I don't talk about anyone."
The brows tangle up even more. "Yes you do. You talk about Dylan and Jed."
"Barely!" Jacob splutters, feeling rashes on his cheeks and chest and hands.
"Well, yeah, sure, you don't mention them all the time or anything," Troye rolls his eyes, but his pink cheeks give him away. "But, like. You still mention them. You never talk about Timothee."
Fuck shit fuck shit fuck ass shit. Jacob's eyes flit around the store, praying for a distraction or a good, old fashioned vice. Where do they keep the vodka in this joint?
"Don't I?" he asks, trying for nonchalant but it fails abysmally, his voice squeaking like a baby mouse. He clears this throat, feeling the rashes intensify. God.
For a moment, Troye just looks at Jacob, taking in his face and looking faintly disappointed. When he speaks at last, his voice is quiet.
"Never mind," he says softly, turning away and walking towards the counter. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to. I get it." With a heavy clunk, he sets down his bag on the counter, his face the very portrait of a storm cloud.
Well, shit. Now Jacob feels like an asshole.
With a sigh, he tries to unwind the never-ending spirals of tension wrapped around his body, instead choosing to breathe and focus on air (not cigarettes) and the boy before him who currently looks like he's just discovered his mother kissing Santa Clause.
Breathe. He can do this. Just walk and breathe and talk and breathe. Fortress, remember the fortress.
He moves forward, walks to the counter as his shoulders relax, trying to find a bead of language to use because he's fucking ineloquent and clumsy and shit at generally everything having to do with communication and...emotions, or whatever.
He sighs again.
"He's just a friend, alright?" he says with a tiny bump of a shrug as he shuffles forward. "I don't really know what to say about him. I don't have much... He's just a friend of mine who I've known for awhile now, is all. He's kind of a dick sometimes, as well, so there's that. What do you want to know?" He resists the urge to gnaw on his fingernails, instead walking until his feet bump the counter. He sets his hands on top, looking Troye in the eye with all the confidence he can muster.
Troye looks back at him, motions stilled, eyes still weary and doubtful.
"Well, like," he begins slowly, sitting down gently on the stool. He tucks his feet on the rungs beneath, folds his sweater-clad arms over his waist in a hugging gesture. "I know he's, like, super smart. He's number one in the school, I think. And he's really popular and everybody loves him and knows him and stuff. And he's in all these activities and sports and things. We're in chorus together. And we're both trying for the same university, I know." Jacob sucks in a sharp breath before he can help it, his blood instantly going so, so cold. Troye doesn't seem to notice, though, just continues mumbling. "I dunno. He just seems really popular and cool and I know you guys are friends, or whatever. So." Troye looks down, unfolding his arms to instead play with the hem of his jumper, his brows furrowing again, creating a harsh line across his forehead. "I've just never met him through you, or anything. Thought maybe... You didn't want him to know you were friends with me. Or something. I don't know." He shrugs uselessly, hands fumbling with his hem.
Jacob feels like electric mud. Does that make sense? Because that's what he feels like.
He stares at the boy right in front of him, his very soft skin and very lovely hair and very disheartened features and thin little hands and he stares at his bony shoulders and smooth neck and the spot on his cheek that somehow manages to appear charming. And he feels like electric mud.
"I'm not ashamed of you, Troye," he says, enunciating each word.
Troye glances up at him but doesn't say anything before returning to his hem-job.
"If anything, I'm ashamed of Timothee," he jokes, feeling a drastic need to make Troye smile and soften again. He walks his hands across the counter and tries to pull Troye's out of his nervous fumblings. He sees Troye swallow as their fingers link up, feels his own throat swallow as well. He ignores it, just tries to soften out Harry's locked knuckles and catch his eye. "I'm sorry I'm a shit friend."
"You're not a shit friend," Troye protests, immediately looking up. A guilty flush speckles his skin now. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't—I'm just—" He cuts off and sighs, his shoulders loosening. Thank fuck.
Jacob lets go of his hands but doesn't move away. This all just feels odd and precarious and he doesn't know what cards to play. So he keeps his mouth shut and instead just watches Troye, who looks to be in the middle of some sort of inner crisis.
"I dunno, I've never seen you two together or anything," Troye barrels on, and his gaze falls downward again, which makes Louis frown without control. "But I have heard him talk about you and stuff. I don't eavesdrop, or anything!" he rushes, looking up again, and Jacob is almost tempted to laugh with how careful he's being, how hesitant and odd. "It's just, I know you two are close. Obviously. And Dylan and Jed mention him a lot and Dylan always talks about how much you two are together. And how you stay there all the time. I just didn't know that, is all. And you never talk about him, you know? And it just seemed weird. Especially when Dylan said he was his brother, which, I dunno—I guess I should've put that together but I just didn't realize and..." He trails off again, now beginning to nibble on his thumbnail, sending the occasional nervous glance in Jacob's direction. "I'm not making sense," he says, words mumbled by his thumb. "Am I?"
Honestly, this is probably one of the tensest and worst subjects that Jacob and Troye could ever possibly talk about.
And yet. Jacob is sort of dumbly endeared by Troye entire awkwardness and nervousness and fidgety eyes. He just wants to, like... Wrap him up maybe? Tease him until he laughs? Pet his hair and ease the tension out? Which... Wow.
He is, maybe, becoming soft. Which is horrifying.
Jacob clears his throat and averts his gaze for exactly two seconds before his eyes betray him and find troye's again. Goddammit.
"You're making sense, yeah," Jacob responds at last, trying to keep the amused smirk off of his face. But he must not be doing a very good job at it though, because Troye's eyes narrow as he flushes again.
"Hey, don't make fun," he chides, flushing even moreso as he refolds his arms and averts his body on the stool, turned away from Jacob.
"No, no, no, I'm sorry," Jacob laughs, breaking up his composure because he has absolutely no control over himself. This is so bad. "I'm sorry," he laughs again, walking to the other side of the counter to face Troy fully again, resting his hands upon his sharp knees as he ducks to meet him at eye level. "I get it, I do. I just wasn't expecting... I don't know." He shakes his head, lost for the words. "How long has this been on your mind, then?"
Troye shrugs, begrudgingly meeting Jacob's eye. "I dunno. Not long."
Jacob grins, completely endeared by the pout he receives. "Long enough though, eh?"
Troye refuses to respond.
"Look, I'm not sure what to say, exactly," Jacob admits, affecting a more serious tone as he attempts to piece the situation together. "I can try to talk about him more, if you want. I don't think I've been leaving him out of conversation on purpose, though." Which is sort of true. Mostly true. When he's with Troye, the last thing he wants to talk about is Timothee, of all people. "It's just that Timothee is complicated, you know?" Pause. "And there are... Things, Troye."
He swallows, the humor suddenly gone. Suddenly, it all feels a bit more serious. Too serious. And Jacob really doesn't know what to say right now.
Troye stares back at him, his petulance fading as concern begins to trickle in. "Things?" he questions, the baritone of his voice somehow childlike.
Jacob bites his lip.
Yes. Things.
"I don't know what to do, Troye," he admits quietly in a moment of weakness, after the silence drags and nothing else surfaces.
And now Troye just looks confused.
"Look, Jacob, I'm not trying to make this a thing. It's fine. I shouldn't have mentioned it—"
Troye silences him with a look.
"Okay, so maybe it's good that I did," he amends in a mumble and Jacob offers a half-smile. "But, I guess... I just was concerned. Like. Scared."
Scared?
"About what?" Jacob prods, ice suddenly beginning to encase his entire body. His hands are still on Troye's bent knees, his face still close enough to see the details of Harry's flesh. Anxiety is surging through him like cars on a motorway. Car after car after car.
"I dunno." Troye drops his gaze. "That there was someone else?"
Oh god.
Someone else. Someone else. Troye is worried that Timothee is Jacob's someone else'. Troye is worried at all. Troye likes Jacob. Troye is admitting he likes Jacob.
This should not be a shit storm. But Jacob's insides and brain and appendages apparently did not get the memo because this is most definitely a shit storm and he feels a lot of blood being pumped to his head and feels a lot of prickles on the back of his neck. Is this normal? What the fuck is going on? This is a storm and there is a lot of shit in it.
"Someone else," Jacob repeats blankly, jaw slack and eyes staring as he removes his hands from Troye's knees, stands and straightens up. He resists the urge to back away, back all the way on out the door. The world feels small, the warning bells feel loud. His heart's beating louder.
Troye watches him, looking sad. "Yeah," he nods. "I wasn't sure if you had someone else."
"There isn't, I don't," Jacob assures instantly, before he can even register what he's saying, and the minute it spills out he sucks in a breath, taken aback by the firmness of the words and the desperation of their delivery.
What is going on? He feels like he's a puppet or something, possessed by something greater.
He stares at Troye, breath short and heavy.
"There isn't?" Troye asks after a moment, so soft it could be the patter of rain outside.
Swallowing, mind numb, Jacob shakes his head. "No," he affirms, and the word sounds scratchy.
Troye's looking up at him, eyes so intense and penetrating that Jacob has to look away because this is all entirely too much.
Timothee. This conversation is all about Timothee and Timothee is the reason he even knows Troye and Timothee is the reason that Troye has just, basically, professed his feelings and Timothee. Timothee is the problem, Timothee is the one who created this. Timothee is the one who will break this.
What does it feel like to want to cry?
Letting out a shaky breath, Jacob stares at the empty room, watches how the shadows shift beneath the falling sun.
"It's dead in here today," he husks out, eyes dry and burning, throat very tight. He wants to breathe, please.
"Yeah," Troye agrees softly. "It's always like this on Tuesdays."
"I'm sorry for mentioning all this," he says after a moment, watching Jacob . "I made it weird."
"You didn't make it weird. I made it weird," Jacob sighs.
Troye frowns. "No, you didn't. I did."
Jacob meets his eye. Quirks one eyebrow, his throat loosening a bit. "No, I did."
"I did."
"No, I did," Jacob insists with a huff, but his eyes aren't stinging anymore and instead of feeling a little suffocated and overwhelmed, the room feels a bit more breathable, Troye's eyes laced with amusement.
"I made it weirdest," Troye protests, but he's biting down a grin now and Jacob wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Hell, he wants to laugh at the fact that he wants to laugh. In the mere span of seconds, Troye sends him from paralyzing fear and sadness to amusement and that is all sorts of fucked up. Normally, Jacob has enough trouble feeling one emotion during the day and now here he is, being catapulted from one to the next to another and a fourth. Honestly.
"I made it infinity weird," Jacob smirks, sliding his hands in his back pockets.
"That's not fair, you can't say that," Troye protests, but he's not even bothering to hide his grin now.
"Don't be a sore loser, weirdo," Jacob grins, tapping the boy's shin with the tip of his shoe. And it all feels settled again, feels normal. Just like that. So Jacob smiles wider, reveling in the feeling of the tension now leaving his body. "How about instead, you put on a nice record for us? Some nice happy tune that I'll hate."
"So, any form of modern music?" Troye remarks dryly, already beginning to get up, and Jacob laughs then.
"Precisely, friend," he smiles, eyes lidded as he stares at the boy. "Precisely."
And, just like that, it's easy again. And somehow more difficult than ever.