Troyler Oneshots

Longing

A/N: Hello! I am very sorry I have been so absent. I have not abandoned these oneshots, but this year has been very busy. I am planning on updating quite frequently when school ends, so stay tuned! Warnings for this oneshot: death, mentions of blood, very brief mentions of suicide. I hope you enjoy!

November 16th, 2015

My dearest Tyler,

 Today was the day of your funeral. It was hard for everybody, especially your mother. There was a cloud of people surrounding her the entire day, like a forcefield, as if protecting her from the outside world during her period of grieving. As for me, well, I couldn't stop crying. Every time somebody said your name, a fresh wave of tears came, and by the end of the day, I couldn't wipe at my eyes anymore because they were raw and puffy and sore to the touch.

 I still haven't forgiven the driver who hit you. Jim, remember? Middle aged father who drank too much and smoked too much. He was as intoxicated at the court trial as he was when he hit us, by the way. Fucking idiot. I hate him, Tilly. I hate him. Remember how you made me promise not to hate anyone? Well, I hate him. He took away the most important thing in my life: you.

 I miss you like hell. I miss your hugs and staying at your apartment and going to get chinese food together and the way your face lit up when I said something funny. I was in love with you, you know. Makes no sense keeping it a secret now that you're gone. I still am and I always will be.

 I still get nightmares about the incident. I can still feel your fingers brushing my arm and how I felt when you looked at me and how your blue eyes were so deep I felt like I was caught in your orbit. In the seldom times when I let my mind wander back to that night, I stop the thought right before the accident happened, when everything, for a split second, felt perfect. 

I can still remember how you laughed with me and how you put your hand on my forearm and slid it down to my wrist, and I looked at you and you looked at me, and your palm lined up with mine. 

And that's where it stops. 

Because after that moment, my life fell to pieces. 

Because then you glanced to the windshield and gasped and then you threw your arm across my waist to keep me from being thrown forward as I heard the crunch of metal and the crash of glass. And after everything went dark, I awoke to flashing blue and red lights and the sounds of sirens and people yelling.

 Sage finds me screaming in my sleep a lot now. I wake up sobbing and wailing and with the image of you in my mind. Not a good image, like of you with your hair all messy and your voice gravelly from sleep. It's an image of you pinned behind the wheel of your car, blood matting your hair and soaking your hoodie. I can't look at the color red the same way anymore, Tyler. I had to get rid of all of my red shirts and jumpers because all I can think of when my eyes land on red is crimson blood spatters against your pale skin. And now my stomach turns every time I see a police car, because the memory of blue and red flashing lights dancing on your ashen face is still fresh in my mind.

The flashbacks keep happening, conscious or not. I keep seeing that night, when I had woken, and the night sky looked the same, and the corner store beside us looked the same, and the cracked leather of the passenger seat I was seated in looked the same. But when I looked over at you, you didn't look the same, and I started to hyperventilate and bile rose in my throat and I heard a loud, unpleasant noise that kept going and I realized it was my screams, and I kept screaming and screaming and screaming because I knew you were dead, and I knew there was no chance in saving you and the paramedics were wasting their time.

 My parents have tried getting my to see a psychologist, Ty. I went once, and the woman was so condescending and smug that I never went back. I think she was enjoying my pain. Isn't that weird for a psychologist? To look down upon people in pain? That's sort of the opposite of their job. One time, I mentioned that I was in love with you, and you know what she said? She said, "Are you sure you're in love with him? Perhaps you're simply grieving and have convinced yourself that you are." I just about got up and left at that point.

 God, I miss you. I've said it already and I'll say it again: I miss you. I miss you so goddamn much. Life isn't the same without you. I don't have anyone to Skype at any hour, day or night. I don't have anyone to text non-stop. I don't have anyone to have silly back-and-forth banter with. You know, sometimes I think about joining you. My life seems so pointless and stupid without the reminder of Skyping with you tonight or flying to L.A. to see you next month.

 A few weeks ago, I flew out to America to help your parents move your stuff out of your apartment. I got there before your mom and dad did, and at the sight of your flat I just broke down. I slid down the wall and sat with my back against it, my knees pulled to my chest. Your mom found me sobbing in your bedroom, clutching one of your hoodies and lying on your bed. She told me to go back to my hotel room and take it easy for a while. She never took the hoodie from me. I went back a few hours later when I had collected myself, and this time I managed to hold it together. I met your dad for the second time, who I had always been a little intimidated by, and he wordlessly pulled me into a hug. Connor and Korey were there too, and they patted my back and nodded sympathetically to me. Connor's in a lot of pain. He really looked up to you, Tyler. And I'm not too sure how Korey is so calm and collected. He must be really good at hiding his emotions.

 I helped your mom clean out your room while Connor helped your dad with your living room, and Korey took care of your kitchen. When we started, your mother squeezed my shoulder and whispered, "Keep as much as you like." The very first thing I pocketed was your cologne. I took my favorite clothing items you always wore: your forest green beanie, your blue flannel, your dark blue polka-dot button-up, and last but not least, your glasses. I don't really wear any of it, but they hang in my closet, and I can touch them and smell them and pretend it's you. Although, I would be lying if I said I didn't wear your hoodie to bed. It makes me feel close to you, even though you're probably as far away from me as possible.

 It's late right now. 2:47 am, to be exact. I have to be at the studio at 7:00 tomorrow morning. Or, this morning, I guess. I haven't written or recorded anything for a long time. I've wanted to write about you, but I get this feeling in my chest every time I try to and it feels like something's squeezing my heart as hard as possible and I feel like I'm suffocating. I'm going to try again, though. It'll be good to be able to sing about you like I always used to. There's a lot of notebooks stuffed in my desk drawers filled with nothing but songs about you. Most of them are shit, but I'd like to release some of them one day. Maybe.

 I should get some sleep.

 I'll write more to you later today. Maybe you won't ever see this, but it's what keeps me going.

 I love you, Tyler. More than you'll ever know.

  -Troye