A/N:
in this fic, Troye lives in LA too...enjoy :)
- TYLER -
I sat on my couch, staring at the Skype window while planning how I would edit my video this week. Troye usually helps me with my thumbnails, but he couldn't today.
You want to know why he couldn't?
Because he was about to go on his 6-month anniversary date with Caleb.
I groan just thinking about Caleb.
He was tall, tan, muscular, and perfect. And Troye loved him. And I loved Troye.
Do you see why I'm frustrated?
Not to mention, I was helping Troye pick out the "perfect outfit" that would make him look hot but cute at the same time.
Troye doesn't need a special outfit. He could go there in sweatpants, and everyone would want to simultaneously pounce him and cuddle him.
It's Troye we're talking about.
This all sucks. I wasn't supposed to fall in love with my best friend. I mean I've always wanted to fall in love with my best friend, but preferably a best friend who isn't in love with another man.
His voice flows through my computer, and I sigh again thinking about the mess I've created for myself.
"Tilly? You ready?" he asks, poking his head in the frame.
I just nod back at him, tired of helping him get ready for his stupid date.
He jumps in front of the camera and I internally slap myself.
I can't be swooning when he is about to go on a date with someone else, it's not right.
"You look great, Troye" I say to him, trying to smile.
"You said that last time" he replies, slumping his shoulders.
"That's because you look great each time" I mutter.
He falls onto his bed, and places his head on his hands, looking at me.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
"Of course I am"
"Are you sure? You know you can tell me anything, right?"
"I know, I know. Don't worry about me, I'm fine" I insist.
"Really?"
"Positive. Anyways, what shoes are you going to wear?" I ask, distracting him.
"I don't know" he sighs, pulling off his shirt.
I avert my eyes, trying not to stare at the beautiful body on the screen.
"How about this one?" he asks me.
I try to mask the small whimper I just created.
The black skinny jeans hung low on his hips, wrapping his long legs gracefully. He wore a light green shirt that brought out the color in his eyes, and a loose black blazer to finish off the look. I glanced at his wrist, and smiled when I saw the green, braided bracelet I had bought him for his last birthday.
He was perfect.
Why was he perfect?
More importantly, why wasn't he mine?
"That's the one" I tell him.
"I thought so too. Thanks, Tilly" he replies, grabbing his hair gel to start doing his hair.
