Letters: A Troyler FanFiction

Chapter 6

Tyler's P.O.V.

I didn't get much sleep last night. Partly because when I had tried to listen to my Spotify playlist, Troye's song played. His melodic voice instantly caused a wave of tears back to my eyes. I gave up on falling asleep to music entirely then. Me and Troye usually would've listened to it together, singing, dancing, or just sitting around.

It's only been one night. But the window still shows it's dark outside. I roll over and switch my phone on, eyes stinging with the immediate brightness. It's almost 6.

I roll back and press the heels of my hands into my eyes and choke back a sob. What am I supposed to do to pass the time of an entire month without Troye? Visitor hours don't start until seven. Breathing out slowly I wipe the tears from my eyes and try to swallow the lump in my throat. The blue glow of Troye's lights pierce my eyes with the painful reminder of having to wait a few hours before I can see him again. I close my eyes and attempt to relax. Which I quickly realize isn't going to work. I miss his arms around me and his side of the bed smells like him.

Shuffling over to the bathroom, I scoop up an outfit for today. Which is just sweats and a sweater, but I don't care. I just need to see Troye.

The hot water seems to wash away the sleep weighing down my body. And the wash of cool air as I step out and get dressed wakes me up even more. I don't bother doing my hair, sweeping it off to the side and I drag myself to the kitchen. I carelessly toss bread into the toaster and eat it while pulling up twitter. Same old things, but with more people asking where Troye is. I glance at the time, 6:24. I end up scrolling through tumblr and try to pass the time. When about 20 minutes come and go, I brush my teeth and walk outside and to the car.

The entire ride back to the hospital is painful. All I can think about is how Troye's doing. I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white as my worry builds. Stop worrying, Tyler. He's fine.

I walk down the familiar hallways winding through the hospital and stop at Troye's door with a single rose in my hand. Lightly pushing the door open, I see a nurse at his bedside, checking up on him. She sees me and greets me with a small hello. As soon as she leaves I sit in the chair next to him and look down at the rose I brought for him. "Hey, Troye," I say while twiddling with the petals. "It's me. Tilly. I'm here. I missed you last night, by the way. I hope you're feeling a little better." I look back up at him. His hair is messily ruffled and he looks so still.

"I brought you something," I say, holding the rose up. I frown when there's only quiet and I have to remind myself that he can't talk. I sniff and blink back tears. "It's a rose. I'll just put it here for you," and I lay it against the small teddy bear on top of the little table next to his bed.

I lean forward and grab his hand in mine.

"It's really quiet at the flat without you," I admit.  Then I bring his hand up to my lips then keep it against my cheek while I scooch a little closer. Then I just stare. He's so beautiful. Everything about him is perfect.  His eyes, his smile, his laugh, his voice, everything.

And I wonder if I might have let him slip through my fingers.

He was right in front of me the whole time, talking, smiling, laughing. But now he can't even stand the pain of being awake. More guilt fills my body. What if I don't get to hear him again? No. I can't let myself think about this. He's only been under for a night, he still has a while to go.

I take in a shaky breath when I look at the glossy pages of the calendar hanging on a blank wall across from me. "Your birthday is soon, Troye. You'll be 19. I wish you'd have told me what you wanted for it. But of course being you, you told me not to get anything. Nice try, Sivan." I chuckled lightly and almost wait for a response from Troye. Chewing absentmindedly on my bottom lip I continue to talk to him, about everything.

Every once and a while, a nurse or the doctor will silently come in, check on him, and then leave. They always look at me with pity, probably because of the way I'm latched onto Troye and talking to him. My throat starts to feel sore and one of the nurses even eyes me with a look as if to say, please be quiet.

I take the hint and sit awkwardly in the chair for a while, shifting uncomfortably.  I want to talk to Troye. It still takes me a while to figure out why he won't answer my questions sometimes. Instead of speaking more, I use my free hand and pull out a pen from beside me and scan the room before I see some stray paper on the counter behind me. There's no way I can reach it without letting go of Troye's hand, so I twist out of the chair and grab the paper while my hand unwinds from his. When I have the paper I take my seat and recline slightly and weave my fingers back into his. After writing for a while until my hand aches, I snap into reality when I notice the time. Visiting hours are coming to a close. I don't want to have to get forced out again by nurses so I lean in closely to Troye and place his hand by his side.

I peck his forehead and murmur a quiet "See you tomorrow, Troye. Miss you." I let myself stand there for a moment and I push the hair out of his eyes and turn around to grab my stuff. Taking one more look around the room and at Troye, I pull myself from the room and softly open and close the door.

By the time I make it back to the flat my heart aches, and I collapse onto the couch, not daring to go into the bedroom, where I know I won't get any sleep. And after laying motionless for a while, I feel myself fade off into a dreamless and Troye-less sleep.

A single tear rolls down my cheek when I remember his promise.