He's born to kisses on his head, his cheeks, and quiet brushes of gentle lips cooing in his ears. His mother's voice is sweet and kind, though half delirious from the pain meds the doctors gave her to get through his birth. He smiles widely up at her, not any more aware of the rest of the world than she is.

He's a beautiful baby boy with wispy strands of light brown hair and stunning blue eyes that will only get more gorgeous as he grows. It'd be impossible not to love him and his parents certainly aren't resisting the pull of this giggling bundle of joy in their arms.

The kisses to his face mean love and support and incomparable appreciation and, really, he couldn't have asked for anything more. Or, at least, that would be true if he weren't far too young to know what he wanted past the basic food and sleep.

His mother looks down at him in wonder, smiling gently and kindly, and presses yet another soft peck to his bubbly cheek. It makes him grin even wider, an open mouth lacking any sharp teeth, and she can't help but think it's the most beautiful sight in the world. And maybe she only thinks that because he's hers, but no one else in the room can really deny it anyway.

Either way, he's a smiling mess of giggles and joy that comes into the world to kind and loving kisses. It's unfortunate things don't stay that way forever.

.

When Troye is eight years old, he gets his first kiss from someone who isn't family and it's right on the lips. He scowls, disgusted by the ugly feeling this stupid girl has left him with, and wipes off his mouth to try to make it go away.

She doesn't stick around for very long after that.

It isn't until he's gone home, the unpleasant, wrong feeling still clinging viciously to him, that he realizes part of it might just come from the fact that it was a girl who'd slammed her lips onto his. He doesn't think he'd have minded so much if it had been that pretty new boy in their class.

Of course, he'll never tell anyone that. Something tells him this is the kind of thing he should keep to himself.

He doesn't mention the girl, though, either.

.

Troye is twelve when he gets his first kiss on the cheek from another boy. It's from his best friend of three years now, a loud, colourful boy who proclaimed himself as "Tyler Oakley, the queen" on the first day of fourth grade. Troye has been clinging to him ever since with a shy smile and a worshipping expression that Tyler certainly seems to appreciate.

It's nothing like when he was eight and that gross girl decided it would be a good idea to plant one on him, even though this one isn't on the lips like that had been. It's not disgusting or unpleasant and it doesn't leave him feeling like he needs to wash his mouth out with soap and a whole bottle of disinfectant.

Tyler's lips are soft against his cheek, the giggle he offers up afterwards a bright melody to Troye's listening ears. He feels warm and tingly, happy and nervous, and he wants that feeling to stay with him forever. He blushes, too, and Tyler seems to find that hilarious because he breaks down into even louder fits of uncontrollable laughter.

There's not much meaning behind it, really. Troye knows this. Tyler was just saying goodbye because they wouldn't be able to see each other again until Monday. It's a natural thing and it makes sense and maybe that's why it makes him so giddy.

Tyler is still laughing as he boards his bus, leaving Troye standing alone on the sidewalk without even saying a goodbye.

Troye doesn't really care, though. He's too busy running his fingers over where he can still feel his best friend's lips against his cheek.

.

His first real kiss with a boy, on the lips, comes when he's fourteen. It isn't with Tyler.

He's at a party one of the juniors is throwing, having been dragged there by his best friend who'd insisted they'd "never be anybody if we don't start getting into things now". Troye hadn't really understood the appeal, but anything that makes Tyler as happy as he is right now must be worth the headache he's started to develop from the loud music and the exhaustion that's seeping into his bones.

He isn't drinking like everybody else here, not wanting to turn out like all the rest of them and end up either knocking someone up or getting thrown in jail before he's even finished high school. He's only just started; he isn't about to go and fuck it all up now.

That doesn't mean people don't offer, though. Like the girl who'd appeared before him in nothing but a bra and a short skirt and tried to pass him a shot of whiskey, or the senior boy who'd slapped him on the arm and shoved some vodka in his hand, telling him to "lighten up". Troye doesn't want to lighten up. He wants to let Tyler have his fill of the party and then go home already.

It's the third boy who approaches him that he shares his first kiss with. He's a tall, muscular kid who's probably played for the school football team at one point or another and, really, he's not much Troye's type. Still, he has a pretty smile that kind of reminds him of Tyler's, as well as black glasses that must be identical. If he were shorter, maybe less unnaturally thin despite his muscles, Troye might think he's the most attractive man in the room, especially since Tyler's long since vacated it to go join some sophomores in the backyard. He's not, though.

But Troye's tired and lonely- he misses his Tyler already, since he's the only reason he came to this stupid party in the first place -and his headache is making it painful to think things through.

Which probably explains how he somehow ends up in the downstairs bathroom with a junior football player pressed up against him and crashing their lips together.

It's nothing like it was with the girl, or even the kiss on the cheek from Tyler. This kiss is rough, sloppy, and Troye is neither super grossed out nor super pleased. He doesn't really feel a thing, to be honest.

When the guy reaches for his belt, Troye shoves him off and heads back to the party. He almost tells Tyler about it when he finds him, but thinks better of it when he realizes Tyler will probably be disappointed that he got his first kiss before him.

It'll come up in a truth or dare game a few months after, but for now Troye's content not to say anything so long as Tyler is happy. Besides, it didn't even mean anything to him anyway.

.

Troye is still fourteen, though almost fifteen, when he gets his second first kiss- well, third, technically -and this time it's from someone he knows.

Connor is a friend he's had forever, probably since before he could walk, but they've never been particularly close. It isn't until the same truth or dare game that results in Tyler angrily sulking the rest of the night and giving Troye the silent treatment because he's upset that he kept something like that from him, that they bond just enough to consider themselves semi-close friends.

It's also, coincidentally, the night that Troye ends up kissing him.

They're no longer playing truth or dare, having moved on to spin the bottle after finally emptying one enough to be able to use it. Troye doesn't really want to play. He wants to talk to Tyler, to get him to stop being mad at him. He wants to apologize, to explain himself, to make it up to him. But even though Tyler is sitting right next to him, he can't with all these other people around.

There's eight of them in all, some of which he doesn't even know the names of. He does know at least four of them, though- Connor, Tyler, Zoella and himself. He thinks the others are probably in his grade, is certain one's dating Zoe, but he can't be sure. Two of them look like they could be juniors. He wonders if they know that guy from the party.

He doesn't really register that it's his turn until he sees Tyler go rigid beside him, his eyes hardening and his lips drawing into a tight line. It's an expression Troye isn't used to seeing on him and he frowns at it before turning back to fling the bottle into a spiral. When it lands pointing towards the brown-haired boy he's at least somewhat familiar with, Troye is relieved he won't have to kiss a total stranger. Beside him, Tyler flinches. Troye tells himself it's for a different reason. Maybe he's just been reminded of Troye's not telling him about the kiss at the party.

He doesn't even hesitate as he leans forward to half crawl across the center of the circle so he can reach Connor, ignoring the whooping coming from all around them. He doesn't see what the big deal is, but apparently two boys kissing in front of them is something they're excited about. Or maybe they're whooping because they think it's a horrible torture for the two of them, like they're going to be any more embarrassed about it than the girls and guys who've kissed each other were.

Troye sure isn't. He's not so sure about Connor, though, based on how red his cheeks have gone and the way he refuses to look at him.

He wraps a careful hand around the back of the other boy's neck before he leans in, worried he's going to miss or mess it up somehow if he doesn't have that connection. He can feel Connor's warm breath ghosting across his mouth right before he presses their lips together.

This one is different from all the other kisses, too. It's soft and gentle and it's not rough like with the boy at the party or exciting like with Tyler or disgusting like with that girl. It's... nice.

When he pulls away, meeting Connor's eyes, he thinks he might like to do it again.

But the cheering around them has only gotten louder now and the trance-like state he'd been in has vanished. So he offers Connor a shy smile and shifts back to his seat across the circle from him. He doesn't think to check for Tyler's reaction, too busy staring at the boy he's just kissed and wondering if it would be weird to ask him out later. Probably. He doesn't even know if Connor likes boys.

Later that night, he finds out he does. He also finds out that Connor might like to kiss him again, too. And, well, since it's what they both want-

The next morning, Troye wakes up to the pleasant feeling of having his first boyfriend.

.

Troye is fifteen when the kisses between them stop. He and Connor have been dating for months now, over half a year, and he's spent the entire time feeling blissful and giddy with the knowledge that he has a significant other, just like he's always wanted.

And maybe it's not exactly the person he'd always thought he'd wanted, but Connor is still just as good.

He likes the way their hands fit together, warm and kind and careful in a tender way that's so very considerate he can never be mad at Connor for not being as direct as he'd like. He also likes the way his boyfriend smiles just for him, a beautiful image that has him falling easily into the best dreams just from the thought of it when he's about to go to sleep. He likes how much Connor likes him, too.

He doesn't like the way Connor won't let him hold his hand around other people, the way he refuses to admit to anyone but Troye that they're together. He also doesn't like the way Connor tries to push him further when he's initiated a kiss, intending for it to be sweet and slow but having it turn into something rough and almost vulgar instead. He doesn't like how sad Tyler is that Troye won't tell him whatever he's so obviously been keeping from him, either.

It's not until Connor presses just a little too hard into a kiss, hands moving just a little too low, that Troye finally accepts the fact that they aren't going to work. The negatives seem so much bigger than the positives and Troye can't stand the idea of hurting his best friend anymore.

He tells Connor as much, saying he's sorry, but he doesn't want to be somebody's dirty little secret anymore either. His friend just takes a deep breath, smiles that beautiful smile he likes so much, and tells him he thinks that yeah, they'd probably be better off just friends, too.

Troye is happy. He'll miss their kisses, sure, and the peaceful feeling they gave him before they got too rough, too pressing, too demanding, too much like that boy at the party's. That's okay, though. He's pretty sure he'll have other kisses from other people in the future and they'll be just as good.

He goes to Tyler the day after and explains everything, with Connor's permission. He thinks his ex-boyfriend probably feels guilty for making Troye keep it from everyone for so long. Or maybe he's just tired of hiding and is ready for at least one more person to know. Either way, Troye finds himself seated firmly on Tyler's couch and spilling the secrets he's so diligently kept for the past six months.

Tyler listens, quiet and calm in that way he always is when he's processing. Troye waits patiently for a reaction, expecting the worst but hoping for the best. He gets neither.

Instead, Tyler just grumbles out a, "How come you got your first boyfriend before me? I'm the queen here."

Troye smacks him on the arm, laughing. Tyler's laughing too then, a bright sound Troye didn't realize he'd been missing so much until now. He ignores the thud of his heart that comes with the thought that he hasn't Tyler laugh like that in so long now, ignores the twist of his gut that comes with the realization he hadn't even noticed until now.

And then, when it's time for him to leave and head back to his own house, Tyler leans forward and presses another kiss to his cheek, just like before. It's warm and pleasant and leaves him tingling all over and yeah, Tyler's kisses are definitely better than any of the others, even if they aren't on his lips.

Though, if Troye's being honest with himself, he wishes they were.

.

The kiss he gets on the cheek for his sister's grade eight graduation is happy and light, sisterly and familial and it makes him smile proudly down at her, wondering how he got so lucky as to have the best and most beautiful girl in the world for a baby sister.

The one he gets from Tyde for his grade six graduation is reluctant and quick, pursed lips and a curl of the eleven year old's lips when he leans back, blinking from the flash of their mother's camera. Troye just smiles and laughs, ruffling his little brother's hair.

The kisses his mom still gives him are a combination of both, quick and almost like a daily chore but still as full of love and that feeling he's always attributed to family as they were the day he was born.

His dad doesn't kiss him, but he ruffles his hair every morning before he leaves for work. It's the same as his mother's kisses, in Troye's eyes.

.

Troye's first real kiss with a girl is gross and unpleasant, but necessary. At least it's with someone he knows this time and not some nasty little girl on the playground. He's sixteen.

Zoella is beautiful and sweet and a truly wonderful girl and he likes her, really, though most definitely not in the same way he'd liked Connor. She's kind and caring and so selfless sometimes it hurts and the kiss is nothing more than a favour to her because she deserves to have people helping her out, too.

Maybe it's not for the most moral of reasons, considering it's just to get the attention of the good friend she's been flirtatiously tiptoeing around for the past year and a half- a guy who, coincidentally, happens to have been there the night Troye started seeing Connor. And yeah, so Troye had thought the two of them were already dating at the time, but it's not like you could really blame him. They both acted like they were.

So yeah, the kiss doesn't have the best of reasons behind it, but that doesn't keep Troye from returning it as best he can when Zoe suddenly wraps a hand around his neck and yanks him down to her. He'd seen Alfie enter the room only moments before, drink in hand as he searched the crowd, and somewhere in him he just knows what's going on here. A part of him acknowledges that that may have something to do with the fact that Tyler is just across the room from them.

So he returns it and it's just as disgusting as he'd pictured kissing a girl would be, but hey, at least Zoella looks grateful that he didn't shove her off and embarrass her in front of nearly their entire school grade. Besides, she runs right off after Alfie as soon as it ends and he knows full well that she's completely aware he doesn't swing for her team, so it's not like he has to worry about hurt feelings or accidentally leading someone on, either.

The kiss is just a kiss, nothing more. It's just lips pressed together and pulled apart. There's no feelings here, no sparks, nothing but the unpleasant taste of strawberry lip-balm on his mouth and the lingering worry for one of his best friend's possible relationships with another good friend of his.

It isn't like with Connor or the girl on the playground or the boy at the party or his family or, best of all, Tyler; it's not pleasant, that's for sure, but it's a necessary evil that doesn't actually make him want to puke. It feels like-

It feels like nothing at all.

.

He's seventeen when it happens. None of the other kisses have ever been this painful.

They're at his house and it's late, somewhere close to midnight despite the fact that they both have school the next day and really can't afford to sleep in, considering how their grades have significantly dropped these last two years. Troye's sprawled out across the couch as some movie Tyler chose plays out on the screen, his head resting half in his best friend's lap. He's trying to ignore the tension he's projecting through the room. It isn't working.

Tyler must notice something's up, must feel the hesitation and uncertainty and discomfort dripping off of him, because as soon as the credits start rolling he's shifting Troye into a sitting position beside him and giving him a stern look, clearly demanding answers.

Except Troye doesn't want to give him any; he's seen the way he's been looking at Marcus, knows he'll just make things awkward between them if he does.

Tyler, though, has never been the kind of person to just leave things be when they're so obviously not sitting well with someone. "Come on, Troye. What's up with you?" he says, pushing at his friend's shoulder like that'll drag the bitter truth from his coldly sealed lips.

"It's nothing. It doesn't concern you," Troye tries, feeling the lies slide off his tongue like a vile acid burning its way out of a flimsy paper jar. He can't look at Tyler, knows that if he does he'll spill everything including what's left of the acid in his mouth, so instead he keeps his gaze fixed on the coffee table by their legs.

"Clearly it does, since you can't even look me in the eye when you say that. Why are you lying to me?" Tyler's angry now- Troye knows this, hates it, feels awful about it -and while that should scare Troye into sealing the truth away even further, like it normally would, it really just makes him want to spit it out a thousand times more.

He doesn't.

Instead, he swallows roughly and doesn't move a muscle, gaze still fixed on the chipped edge of the coffee table. "Please, Tyler," he mutters vaguely, not quite sure whether he wants to ask him to kiss him on the lips for once or just drop the subject already. He goes with the latter, finding comfort in continuing to hide the feelings that have been stirring up in him for the past five years, even when he was with Connor and had managed to convince himself they were just an ordinary appreciation for his best friend's beauty. "Can't you just leave things be? Just this once?"

He can't, Troye knows this. Maybe, subconsciously, he was even counting on it.

"No!" Tyler snaps, voice raising with both concern for his friend and irritation over having to fight this. He can probably tell this is something that's been going on for a while and is upset that Troye's been keeping it from him. They're best friends; they share everything. Only, they've both apparently now realized that they don't. Maybe that's Troye's fault, though, for not telling him about Connor or that stupid boy at the party or the way his heart jerks off beat every time he looks at him. "Jesus Christ, Troye. Would you just look at me already?"

He shouldn't have, oh God, he knew he really shouldn't have, but he's never been good at resisting Tyler's demands. So he does, despite the twisting of his gut as he lifts his head to face the music he's been dancing around for five years now.

But turning to meet his best friend's unyielding gaze isn't the only thing he does.

Oh, no. Brilliant, genius Troye decides it's an even more brilliant and genius idea to immediately jerk forward and kiss his best friend who has feelings for another guy and has never looked at him that way and-

Tyler pulls away just as fast as Troye leaned in, shooting off the couch with the wide-eyed look of a deer after it'd been in caught in the headlights and ran over by a ten thousand pound truck. He swallows, jerks a hand up like he might be about to reach out to his friend, but then abruptly halts the gesture and instead stumbles for the door, muttering excuses about how he should probably go.

Troye can't be completely certain, but he's pretty sure the sound of the door slamming behind him is the loudest thing he's ever heard.

He doesn't move for a long while after that, perched uncomfortably on the edge of the sofa with his hands frozen in his lap, staring unseeingly at the empty space in front of him. And then, suddenly, everything snaps back into focus and he's crying, angry tears of grating salt and burning water that scorch down his cheeks like reminders of how easily he's destroyed nearly nine years of friendship, all because he's an impulsive fucking idiot. He curls in on himself, wrapping his arms around his legs as he sinks into a laying position on the couch, his cheek rubbing painfully against the leather seats. He doesn't move from there; not even when the front door opens and the rest of his family comes pouring into the house, back from the dinner party he'd chosen not to go to.

He doesn't move when Sage makes a sharp gasp of a noise, rushing over to him and demanding to know what's wrong. He doesn't move when his mother comes in, too, drawn by Sage's verbal reaction, and crouches down by his head to run her fingers through his hair and ask, in much gentler tones than his sister, if something's happened to make him so upset. He doesn't even move when his father comes to hover by the back of the couch, uncertain over what to do with a crying teenage boy.

He does move, however, when Tyde finds his way into the room and sinks onto the couch at his feet, leaning forward to splay his body over that of his older brother and rest his chin on Troye's shaking shoulder. The latter shifts at that, pressing his face into his knees and sobbing even harder than before.

He doesn't tell them what happened; eventually, they stop asking. They'll ask him sweetly, gently, in the following weeks if he wants to go see a therapist when it becomes apparent that he isn't getting any happier and maybe he'll realize this isn't something he can just 'get over', but for now they leave him with the silent comfort of having them all curled affectionately around him as he cries.

Later, when he's finally found his way up to his bed and curled under the covers with aching eyes and a heavy heart, he can't keep his mind from wandering back to that single, brief moment before Tyler had responded exactly how he'd known he would.

Because that kiss, oh God, it had been the best Troye had ever had. Warm and pleasant and tingly and full of sparks and this rush of just everything and an effulgent joy and this gentle heat and that feeling of leaping off a cliff, but knowing there was someone there to catch you at the bottom, and-

Except, there hadn't been because Tyler doesn't feel the same. Tyler left. Tyler pulled away. Tyler probably didn't feel anything at all, probably felt gross and uncomfortable and very much like how Troye feels when he kisses girls. Tyler is never going to feel the same way he does, is he?

Nothing has ever hurt so much as that crushing realization.

.

He's still seventeen when it happens again.

Neither had said a word about it the last time, Troye too hesitant to ruin Tyler's attempts to act like nothing had ever happened and go back to being best friends and Tyler- Well, he doesn't really know about Tyler. He thinks he probably just wants to forget it, pretend it wasn't real, so he doesn't have to hurt his best friend's feelings by not sharing the ones said friend has for him.

This time, though, it's different.

Because Troye isn't the one keeping things from him this time and there is nothing warm or pleasant about the kiss that takes place here.

Tyler is the one keeping secrets this time and Troye finds this out at lunch not a month after the incident in his living room. He's eating with the rest of their friends, joking around with Zoella and Caspar, when he realizes his best friend has yet to grace them with his royal presence. Naturally, he voices this thought out loud. Not so naturally, Alfie snickers and says he's probably off with his boyfriend making out in a stairwell somewhere.

Troye's heart stops, plummeting straight into his stomach as the blood drains from his face, despite his best attempts to convince himself that Alfie's probably just teasing their friend behind his back and he doesn't actually have a boyfriend. Besides, Tyler would have told him before anyone else if he really was seeing someone... right?

"Oh," is the only response he gets from Alfie for a moment, his friend's eyes raking over his face before quickly darting over to his girlfriend's. "I thought you knew."

"Knew what?" he demands, trying to ignore how dry his throat is and the nausea now swaying through his body. When Alfie doesn't say anything, he turns to the rest of the people seated at their table, his eyes going from face to face and getting more desperate with every set of pursed lips and avoided gazes.

Finally, he gets to Zoella, who looks both like she really doesn't want to be the one to tell him, either, but also like she feels awful that no one else has said anything. She sighs, turning her eyes away from him as she responds in a resigned tone of voice. "He's been dating Marcus Butler since Grace's party the other week."

He does the math quickly, heart sinking and lurching and pulsing and breaking all at once.

Tyler's been keeping this from him for nineteen days.

They started dating six days after Troye kissed him.

He feels sick, like there's not enough air, like everything's closing in on him and getting farther and farther away all at once. Beside him, Zoella has reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder while hesitant conversation starts up between the others at their table, no doubt in an effort to give him room to process.

He doesn't like the way she's looking at him, doesn't like how she so obviously knows exactly how he feels, and he definitely doesn't like that Connor has been here the whole time, sitting beside Caspar, who's pressed up against Troye's side as he leans over the table to snatch something off Alfie's plate.

Not really thinking much about it, he simply gets up and leaves. He tries to ignore the two sets of eyes he can feel locked on the back of his head as he goes.

Somehow, he ends up at Tyler's locker right before the bell rings. He's not sure why; maybe he just wants confirmation of this awful truth, maybe he wants an explanation, maybe he wants to convince him he's making a mistake- maybe he wants to tell him that he has more than a crush on him. It doesn't really matter why, only that it happens and that Tyler shows up two minutes later with a happy grin and loud greeting that Troye might have thought too joyous if he hadn't become accustomed to it in the past month.

His friend launches right into the latest gossip of the school as he opens his locker, clearly not acknowledging the less-than-happy expression on Troye's face as he leans against the lockers beside him. He feels angry, then, seeing how easily Tyler can keep this from him and not even care.

Which explains why he's suddenly slamming his fist against the locker beside Tyler's and demanding to know why he didn't tell him in a very rare and uncharacteristic show of aggression.

Sucking in a deep breath, Tyler doesn't look at him when he responds. "So you found out, then?"

"Yeah," Troye snaps, feeling vindictively satisfied at the way Tyler's expression goes guilty, worried, at his violent tone. "And it wasn't from you."

Tyler's lips are pursed, his knuckles white where he's gripping the open locker he's staring fixedly into. He takes in a sharp breath through his teeth, releasing it slowly, before finally turning his head to look at Troye with searching eyes that are so unreadable he almost doesn't recognize them. "No," is all he says. "It wasn't."

For some reason he can't quite place, this only makes Troye even angrier. "And why the fuck not?" he shouts, pushing off from the lockers he'd been leaning against and slamming his fist to them for the second time. Tyler shoots a nervous glance around, clearly concerned someone's witnessing the commotion, but relaxes slightly when he apparently notes that the hallway is eerily empty already.

Finally, he turns back to Troye. "Because I knew you'd be upset," he says softly, his eyes losing their hard edges as he gives him an almost pitying look.

He doesn't want his fucking pity. In fact, it only makes his blood boil even hotter as everything he's ever felt for this stupid boy in front of him converts to a white hot rage that snaps viciously through his veins. How fucking dare this asshole pity him?

"You thought I'd be upset? I wouldn't have been so fucking 'upset' if you'd just told me yourself."

Tyler's expression goes even more pitying, softening more than it ever has. He gives Troye a sympathetic look that has him fighting off the urge to slap him. "Troye," he starts in gently. "I just didn't know how to tell you. You know I could never bring myself to hurt your feelings like that."

What?

He almost takes a physical step back at that, but in the end all he does is jerk his head back to scan Tyler's face for some kind of explanation. Because no, he can't be saying what he thinks he is. He has no fucking right to even mention it, after what happened.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he hisses, grinding his teeth together. He isn't sure why he feels more like ripping the world to shreds right now than hiding from it while he cries, but he can't keep the anger from tearing through him like a hurricane, destroying every other emotion that attempts to cross its path.

And Tyler- well, Tyler's expression stays sympathetic and soft and really only seems to grow even more in the pity department. Troye's clenching his fists tightly together, nails biting into his palms, and trying so very hard not to punch the look right off of his face. He reminds himself he'll regret it immediately if he does, that he doesn't actually want to hurt Tyler, even though Tyler's hurt him so much himself.

Then, his supposed friend gives him a tiny, sad little smile and the anger explodes a thousand times greater. "Troye," Tyler starts unreasonably softly. "We both know what that's supposed to mean."

"Enlighten me."

Tyler lets out a soft breath, running a gentle hand through his lilac hair as his gaze drifts around the empty hallway before falling back to Troye. "I know you have a crush on me."

Just like that, something in Troye snaps and suddenly he doesn't give a fuck about hurting Tyler. In fact, he feels the cruel urge to do just that in the worst way possible.

So instead of even bothering to bite back a response, he shoots his hand up to grab Tyler's jaw hard enough to bruise if he keeps it there for long and slams his lips against his as viciously as he can. It's an angry kiss full of teeth colliding and at some point he ends up biting Tyler's lip hard enough to bleed. It's bitter and vengeful and painful and cold and when he pulls back just enough to glare right into Tyler's eyes, he can see how wide they are with shock.

"I don't have a crush on you, Tyler," he spits, towering over him in more than just height. "I'm fucking in love with you."

And then he's gone, wrenching his hand away from Tyler's face and hitting his shoulder harder than necessary when he moves past him. Tyler doesn't move at all.

Troye's never kissed someone out of spite before, but he decides it's infinitely more satisfying than his last kiss with Tyler had been.

.

He's eighteen and it's not the same as it was before, but there's something even more satisfying in kissing Connor right in front of Tyler, whom he hasn't spoken to in two weeks now.

He almost feels bad about it, when it happens, but it only takes about two seconds for the guilt to vanish completely, replaced instead by the gratifying feeling of being able to see the look on Tyler's face out of the corner of his eye. He looks... Shocked. Confused. Worried. Troye would even go so far as to say he looks hurt.

Yeah, well. Serves him right, doesn't it?

The kiss itself isn't anything too spectacular. It's the same as kisses with Connor have always been; soft and rough and gentle and demanding. They're not even really kissing anymore- more like making out -and he almost thinks he should pull away so Connor doesn't get the wrong idea, but then he catches another glimpse of Tyler's face and decides he might as well milk it for all its worth.

Besides, he's sure Connor will understand. They both know they suck as boyfriends- and not in the good way, either.

Tyler, on the other hand, will probably never understand. He'll never try to. And, if he's being honest, maybe that's what really hurts Troye more than anything; the fact that his best friend so quickly dismissed his feelings as unimportant, a crush that would go away in a week or two, that he didn't even bother to try to comprehend how he felt.

And while two months ago that would have made Troye want to cry, now it just makes him want to scream and hit things, throw something made of glass and watch it shatter against the wall just like his heart when he was stupid enough to place it in Tyler's hands.

Eventually, the kiss ends. He's not sure who pulls away first, him or Connor, but the second they do he turns to face Tyler, who's still standing in shock across the hallway from them, wide blue-green eyes fixed on Troye's face. He quirks an eyebrow at him, ignoring the awful twisting that's now happening in his chest, and throws on the smuggest, most vicious smirk he can muster. Beside him, Connor has turned to look at Tyler as well.

Nothing happens for a long moment. They stand there, the three of them, with a hallway between them that feels more like a great chasm with no bridge to help them across. Troye's not sure what he's waiting for- Tyler to say something like he hasn't in weeks, maybe -but he knows he isn't going to be the first to make a move here. He's done his part, played his role. The next line belongs to Tyler.

Or, he amends soon after, it belongs to Connor. Because he can see out of the corner of his eye the exact moment his friend realizes what's going on here, doesn't miss the physical reaction he has to that revelation.

He feels awful when he sees it- the tensing, jerking, sinking of his face as it dawns on Connor that he was basically just being used here. Troye realizes then that maybe Connor hadn't completely gotten rid of his feelings for him like he had his and that maybe he just hurt one of his closest friends in the cruelest way possible, worse than with Tyler since Connor's so clearly done nothing to deserve this.

It makes him feel sick.

He doesn't have much time to ponder that, though, because soon after the bell is ringing and the halls are bustling once more as every student rushes to get to their next class before the second bell goes off. By the time the crowds have thinned once more and he's regathered his bearings, Connor is gone.

Tyler, however, is still standing across the hallway with an unreadable expression on his face. For a long moment, they do nothing but stare.

Then, abruptly, they're both springing into motion and the gap between them is growing smaller, their arms outstretched before their bodies collide and suddenly they're hugging, clinging to each other like the world is crumbling down around them. Troye doesn't say anything, just buries his face into Tyler's shoulder and inhales his scent- lilac and lavender and everything he loves - and draws him even closer in an effort to make up for lost time.

He's not angry anymore, the rage drained out of him the second he saw Connor's face, realized how awful he'd been both now and the last time he and Tyler had been in this very same hallway together. He feels lost, now. Almost... scared. Of what, though, he has no idea.

Tyler is the first to speak, voice muffled by the fabric of Troye's shirt. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize how much I'd hurt you. It's not that I think I'm too good for you or anything like that and I really, really, do think you deserve the world. It's just that you're my best friend and I can't see you like that and I hate that that hurts you, but-"

"Shh," Troye mutters, silencing him. He doesn't really want to talk about this now. Or ever, actually. Maybe if they don't talk about it, these stupid feelings of his will just go away already. "It's okay. I'm the one who should be sorry. What I did wasn't right- just now or two weeks ago. I- I'm sorry."

Maybe it's because he can hear the tears that are threatening to spill over, or maybe it's because he knows Troye better than anyone and always knows just what to do, but either way Troye's immensely grateful for Tyler's next words.

"I know," is all he says. And it's enough, it really is. It's more than Troye could have ever asked for.

They don't kiss; Tyler's still with Marcus, still doesn't return the feelings Troye's had for him since they were twelve. And Troye's not as patient as he was back then, silently waiting with all the hope of a little boy who didn't really know anything for the day when Tyler would like him back, but he's also not as upset or hurt or angry as he'd been throughout varying points in his life since then.

For now, he's content with the way things are. Even if it makes his heart ache every time he sees Tyler with his boyfriend.

.

He's nineteen when he has sex for the first time. It isn't everything he'd ever hoped for, which really isn't saying much since the only thing he'd wanted was for it to be with Tyler.

Obviously, it's not.

In fact, it's not even with anyone he knows.

No, stupid Troye thought it would be a good idea to start drinking at that stupid party Tyler dragged him to and also, stupidly, thought that the more he drank the easier it would be to ignore his best friend practically fucking his boyfriend in the middle of the dance-floor. He's such an idiot.

He blames the half a cooler of beer he's drunk already for the words that tumble from his lips when some random guy starts coming onto him. Because, really, that's the only way he can explain his suggestion that they go somewhere a little more private.

Or, maybe, he can blame this all on Tyler for being so fucking happy with a guy that isn't him. That would make him an asshole, though, so he tries to avoid that train of thought as best as possible.

Either way, they somehow end up in his room, which would have been bad had his family not all been off on their own adventures for the night. He's underneath the guy, pinned down by hands that are too rough for him to even pretend they belong to the person he really wants it to be. There are legs brushing his own, a tongue trailing down his torso, and the hands are wandering to places he doesn't want them to go.

He doesn't say a word through it all, trying too hard to convince himself that maybe if he goes through with this, he'll stop thinking so much about Tyler.

He'll stop being in love with him.

When it's over, the guy leaves as quickly as he'd come- no pun intended, though it wouldn't be a lie if it were. And as he lay there, naked in the center of his bed as he stares unseeingly at the cracked paint of his ceiling, he realizes he never even got the guy's name.

He aches, everything aches- his body, his eyes, his heart. All he can think is that he wants to take it back.

He ends up crying soon after, curled under the covers of his bed as he tries desperately to rid himself of the incessant thought that it should've been with Tyler. He's not angry anymore, not patient or hopeful or hurting or even upset.

He's just... tired. He wants this all to be over.

.

He's twenty by the time Tyler finds out. This, this is when the first kiss that really means anything to him happens.

They're in his apartment, Tyler having come down from Michigan to stay with him during reading week. Troye doesn't have to worry about school like he does- he'd chosen not to continue that line of education the second they graduated high school. Still, Tyler's classes keep them from seeing each other as often as they used to and it's made them more touchy, more deep with their words and more desperate with their catching up in the time that they do have together. Troye would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it.

Tyler's curled up on his desk chair, nursing a Coors Light while he sniffles angrily into the sleeve of his hoodie. Troye's reorganizing his CDs on his bookshelf, trying to keep himself from laughing at the pitiful sight his friend makes.

"It's not fair," Tyler whines, slumping down in the chair and cradling the beer closer to him like it's his newborn child. Troye does snort at that, shaking his head as he places Ultraviolence beside Born To Die and The Great Gatsby's soundtrack.

"I don't think it's supposed to be fair, Ty," he offers, not even bothering to try to keep the amusement out of his voice. He frowns down at the stack of CDs in his hands, wondering where The Eminem Show went. He'd had it just last week, so it has to be around here somewhere.

Behind him, Tyler takes another long slurp of his drink and collapses further into the chair. "But I did everything right."

Sighing with both the realization that the CD is nowhere to be found and that his friend probably isn't going to stop whining any time soon, Troye sets down his current stack of disks and picks up the next one while trying to control the amount of humour he finds in the other boy's current situation. "It must not have been meant to be," he throws out half-heartedly, ignoring the way his heart pinches at the words. He doesn't say what he wants to; that maybe Tyler is meant to be with him. Instead, he focuses on the pathetic image of his best friend and tries to work up that amusement again, having learned over the years that it's the best way to keep from being hurt or upset by Tyler's busy love life.

From his position slumped half out of the desk chair, Tyler lets out a pitiful groan. "You say that every time I have a break up."

"Because it's true every time," Troye tosses out indifferently, or so he'd like to believe. Really, he's quite busy staring at the CDs in his hands and trying not to let their current subject of conversation hit too close to home.

Unfortunately, Tyler remains wholly unaware as to his internal struggle- a fact that is made abundantly clear by his next words.

"Maybe I should just marry you and be done with this whole 'finding someone' thing."

Troye freezes. His heart clenches painfully, eyes blinking rapidly against the sudden wetness building in them. He can feel a lump forming in his throat, which he swallows down roughly in an attempt to hide how hard the words have hit him.

"Yeah," he chokes out with a sound that could hopefully be taken as a laugh and not the sob that it is. "That would solve all of your problems, wouldn't it?"

He's always been a good actor, true, but unfortunately Tyler's also always been irritatingly adept at seeing right through him when he's too upset to really cover up his feelings. This is one of those times, his hurt and the desperation he's had to rid himself of these feelings for the past two years too much for him to cover up in the brief moments before a response is expected of him. Tyler sees right through him, just like he knew he would but prayed he wouldn't, and he can hear the squeaking of the chair as the boy in question drags himself to his feet with a curse, sobering up even quicker than he'd gotten drunk.

"Shit, Troye. I'm sorry," he rushes out. Troye doesn't turn around, doesn't move, but he can hear from his voice that Tyler's approached him and is most likely standing right over his shoulder now.

He can't look at him. He feels so pathetic for it, for being so emotional when it comes to this. "It's fine," he manages to bite out unconvincingly. "It's not like you meant anything by it." But they both know that's the problem here, that this simple fact is what makes this so bad.

"Troye," Tyler mutters, confirming his suspicion that he was right behind him. He can feel his breath on his back. "Are you..."

He knows what he was going to say, even though the words never leave his friend's lips. He almost tries to change the subject, just like he has every other time it's drifted in this direction, but for some unknown reason he ends up doing just the opposite. Maybe it's the faceless numbers that have been building in his phone or the growing fear that one day Tyler won't come back to visit him. It doesn't really matter why, only that his voice is a lot less shaky than he'd thought it'd be when he throws back, "Still in love with you? Yeah, I am. Pretty pathetic of me, right?" But he's greeted by silence, neither confirming nor denying the incessant thought that's been ripping away at his sense of self-worth for the past two years.

Then, quietly, Tyler asks, "Is that why you never see anyone?"

"How do you know that I don't?" he demands, latching onto this instead of giving an answer. Because yes, Tyler is the reason he doesn't date. He's also the reason he goes out to bars so often, the reason he so rarely sleeps alone anymore. The reason he so rarely sleeps at all.

"Troye," is all Tyler says at first, his tone almost scolding and tough before it softens with a quiet sigh. "Maybe if you got out more it wouldn't be so bad."

Be so bad? Troye wants to laugh at that. At the way he's made it sound like he has some kind of disease, like he's depressed or something. And so what if he has a bottle of Prozac in the bathroom, one of Remeron in his bedside table. That doesn't mean his feelings for Tyler are some illness that needs to be treated, even if he does wish they'd go away.

It's his indignant feelings on this subject that lead him to his next words, which he regrets the moment he opens his mouth. "Oh please," he snorts. "I get out enough. Probably too much."

He can practically feel Tyler's frown. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm not exactly lonely, Tyler."

"Oh," says the man behind him. There's a ridiculous amount of confusion placed into that single syllable. "So you are seeing someone, then?"

Troye can't help the bitter laugh he lets out at that, or the shake of his head that follows. "Oh, yeah," he throws back sarcastically. "Someone new every night, in fact."

The moment it clicks inside Tyler's brain, Troye can feel the atmosphere here shifting from one of confused apprehension to angry concern. He doesn't need to look at him to know that Tyler doesn't like this new piece of information very much.

"For how long?" he says very carefully, clearly trying to gather as much info as possible in as civil a way as possible before blowing up on Troye for his life choices. Yeah, well, frankly Troye doesn't think he has much right to judge him here.

He shrugs, reaching forward to set the CDs down on the bookshelf so as to appear more casual than he actually feels. "I don't know. A year, maybe?" He does know, though, down to the exact date he lost his virginity to a total stranger he never saw again.

"You never even told me you'd..." his friend trails off, clearly uncertain as to whether he could even bring that up or not.

But, since they're being so honest already, Troye figures this is no place to stop. Why pull any punches when he's already broken bones? "What? Had sex? I hadn't until that party last year. You remember that one, don't you, Tyler? The seniors threw it to celebrate being done with school and you dragged me to it even though I'd told you I didn't want to go. And, of course, you spent the whole night with your tongue shoved down your boyfriend's throat while I got drunk and fucked some guy who's name I never did catch."

A little more info than he'd intended to deliver, but he can't say he regrets it when Tyler lets out a sharp breath like he's just been stabbed in the gut. He almost feels as vindictively satisfied as the last time he'd kissed his best friend, but he reigns that in quickly. He knows where that leads; he has no desire to head off down another awful warpath and hurt more people than he has already- Connor still barely speaks to him. Besides, he's pretty sure he's done enough damage already, what with Tyler's desperate sucking in of air behind him and apparent inability to form a single word.

Wincing, Troye sucks in a breath of his own and closes his eyes briefly before finally turning around to face the other man. "I'm sorry," he mutters, reaching out a hand to touch at Tyler's arm. He isn't looking at him, his gaze cast to the floor as his own hand remains pressed to his mouth. Troye thinks he might be fighting off tears, but he can't be quite sure. "That wasn't fair. I- I'm sorry"

Finally, after another long silence in which Troye starts to panic all over again, Tyler mutters out a quiet, "It's fine. It's true, isn't it?"

"I-" He can't finish that sentence. He has no idea what to say.

"You know, I had a crush on you for the longest time, Troye." He freezes at that, eyes going wide in shock as his heart lurches to a disbelieving halt. This- This isn't anything he'd ever in a million years thought this conversation would lead to. "I realized it when we were at that stupid party in grade nine and you had to kiss Connor for spin the bottle, or whatever. I was so jealous, it was kind of ridiculous, especially since I'd been brooding beforehand over your first kiss at the last party we'd gone to. And then I found out you two had been together for months and you hadn't told me and yeah, that hurt a bit, but that's when I told myself to get over it already so I wouldn't end up holding you back by being pissed every time you looked at another guy. And it-" Tyler pauses, letting out a soft breath as his gaze fixes on the bookshelf behind Troye. "I'd convinced myself it'd worked. I moved on. I crushed on other people, dated Marcus, and even when you kissed me that first time I managed to tell myself it wasn't what I wanted. That you were my best friend and I couldn't ever see you as anything else.

"But then- then you kissed me again in the hallway and you told me you were in love with me and I think I knew, then, that that wasn't true. But I was dating Marcus and you were so angry, so hurt, that I thought it would just be best to try to move on for real this time. I thought it would be easier for both of us. I thought I'd be less likely to hurt you, that way. And- God, I was so fucking stupid, Troye. I should have just kissed you back the first time and saved you all this- all this hurt. I didn't-" He breaks off, sucking in a sharp breath that sounds suspiciously like a hiccuping sob. "It was never my intention to hurt you like that, Troye."

Troye is still frozen, even as Tyler stops speaking to run a frustrated hand through his lilac locks. He can't breathe, can't blink, can't move, because he's suddenly terrified that if he does all those words that now hang between them like loaded guns will disappear. He doesn't want that, even if the barrel's pointed at his head and firing blanks, a cold terror rushing through him at every squeeze of the trigger for the possibility that there might be a real bullet in it this time.

It's only when Tyler's hand drops and he finally shifts his eyes to lock onto Troye's, full of desperation and distress, that he snaps into motion. He has to say something, do something, before Tyler gets the wrong impression and thinks he doesn't want this anymore- whatever this is.

His plan, of course, had originally been to say something. Probably to follow Tyler's example and divulge how he's felt all these years or even just to wonder aloud if this is just a dream. That's not exactly what ends up happening.

No. Instead, Troye jerks a hand up between them to wind around Tyler's neck and yanks them both closer together, slamming their lips against each other a little less accurately or gently than he'd intended. Or, that would have been the case if he had intended to kiss him at all.

The second Tyler's eyes finally slip shut after widening in surprise, though, Troye comes to the conclusion that this is not a moment he'll ever regret. Especially so when both their lips start moving; softly, gently, sweetly, with all the love neither has ever really expressed before.

This kiss isn't gross like when he was eight or rough like when he was fourteen. It's not empty like with Zoella or painful like with Connor. Not meaningless like that guy he has no name for or angry and spiteful and cruel like their last kiss had been. It's just-

Perfect.

It feels like coming home to the warmth and comfort you've known your whole life, like the songs you never get sick of no matter how many times you hear them, like the rush of adrenaline and excitement and satisfaction you get from finishing a good book. It's everything he'd thought a first kiss should be, back when he was young enough not to already know.

And yeah, okay. So they have a lot of shit to sort out and a lot of years worth of hurt feelings to deal with. Not to mention all their previous bad decisions and the fact that they now live states apart.

But, somehow, when he's kissing Tyler with love for the first time in his tiny little apartment, Troye can't bring himself to give a shit. Because he's happy and in love and Tyler loves him too.

Nothing else really matters.

.

He's twenty-six and Tyler's kisses are still the best, by far. Especially the one he gets at their wedding, hands locked together as matching bands of silver brush against each other.

.fin