Tyler did not know what to do, Troye was so weak in his arns, so fragile, so young. After Troye had calmed down a little, Tyler took him into their bedroom. He moved Troye's laptop from the bed, and just about to put the lid down to perch it on the desk, he glanced at the screen. There were 4 tabs open. Twitter, Tumblr, and Facebook. The first tab, , was filled with 'Go die, bum fucker' 'Kill yourself gay shit' 'I 'm going to make you wish you were never born, you bent scum' and comments worse than that. Scrolling, they took up the majority of Troye's questions, but they were all dated this day's date. A few questions were 'Happy Birthday Troye x' but they were the tiny minority. The second, Twitter, was filled with the same remarks and comments, but they detailed that he should 'jump of a cliff' or 'hang himself' and other, more descriptive threats. The third, Tumblr, was not as bad, as there were many more 'Happy Birthday's and 'Love you Troye!'s, but the most recent post was the most disgusting. It read 'You are a ******* fag. You disgust me. I hate you, I hate you to the depth of my soul. Gay people make me sick, you are fucking gross. If I were your mum, I would have had an abortion. You need to go and kill yourself, go and fucking die ******. You are foul.' Tyler's heart sank as he looked on the next tab. It was on Troye's inbox, and the inbox was filled with hundreds or thousands of messages. Quickly scrolling, they were filled with the same homophobic remarks, death threats and comments as the others. He turned around to see Troye was huddled up, his knees to his chin, his head encased in his arms. He walked over and lowered himself on the bed, and gazed at him. Troye's arms, from the shoulder to the wrist, were covered in slits and scars. Blood was smeared all over, and Tyler could also see bruises mottled underneath. Tyler, slowly and softly, stripped Troye down to his boxers. He searched every part of his body, and discovered cuts that ran all the way up the inside of his legs. "Troye. I.." He whispered, his voice low. "I needed to have known about this babe. You could have rung me! I was just in town!" Tyler was desperate, he felt utterly guilty for this. "Gurl. My gurl. Come here." The two of them held each other, Tyler began to quietly sob into Troye's chest and this caused Troye to weep louder. "I.. I felt so horrid. Like I did not deserve anything. They made me feel like it was my fault. At first I answered them with jovial things like 'Sssh it ma birthday' or 'It me. It you. It just who we be' but it got worse. Much worse." Tyler reached over and scrolled up, watching Troye's responses go from happy, to distraught. "Then I told them to stop. That I could not do this anymore. That it hurt me. But they carried on. I couldn't do it. I'm so sorry. So so sorry." This sprouted another gush of tears on his behalf, and he cried on Tyler's chest. "Don't you apologise. They are the cunts." Tyler said, stubborn but truthful. "Come on you. Let's get you cleeaanned up." Whether it was from the way Tyler pronounced that word, or whether Troye was just too overwhelmed with sadness to keep control of his emotions, he giggled a little. But Tyler was serious. He took him into the bathroom, wiping his legs and arms down. Tyler winced as he picked up the razor that Troye had used, he winced when he used the anti-septic wipe on the slashes, he even winced when bandaging them up. Troye did not even blink. When Tyler was sure Troye's wounds were properly looked after, he sat him down on the bed. "Troye. Just for this week, Please, so we can focus on not only each other, but to get you happier, please can you deactivate your accounts." Troye was about to protest, but Tyler's face remained serious. "I will do the same, and you know how much I looovvee to tweet. I am willing to deactivate all my accounts, if you will, so we can figure out how to deal with this." "Together?" Troye said quietly, both their hands on the key pad. "Together."