bambi eyes || tradley

3. people grow like flowers

A small yawn fell from his mouth as he rolled over on his side, scratching his belly. Streaks of sunlight shined its way into Tristan's small bedroom, interrupting the darkness behind his eyelids, and slightly lifting the man's spirits. Surprisingly, he slept well, despite the trouble he had with falling asleep. A small smile somehow made its way on his face, but it dropped as soon as it came, because when he peeled his blue eyes open, he was met with a sleeping boy lying underneath the blankets beside him. The memory of allowing the stranger to sleep over returned back to his mind. But he was positive the boy had fallen asleep on his couch, and definitely not in his bed.

Nineteen-Seventeen's Bambi eyes fluttered open, like he could sense the man's anger. He obliviously smiled the sight of Tristan and rudely yawned in his face. "It is morning."

"Why are you in my bed?" Tristan angrily asked, scooting away from the small boy comfortably cuddling into his blankets like they're his own.

"It was cold and dark on the couch."

"It's August! It's not even that cold!"

"August," the curly-haired boy slowly said, pressing a finger to his pink bottom lip. "August is a month, correct?"

"Get out of my bed!" Tristan demanded, reaching his hands out to shove him off. As soon as the twenty-one-year-old's hands extended out towards him, fingers were wrapped around his wrist, twisting his arm in a way that limbs should surely not be twisted. Tristan screamed out in pain.

"Why did you reach out at me like that?" the brown-eyed boy asked, sadly looking at Tristan, like he was not a few movements away from breaking his wrist. "My reflexes can be dangerous."

"I see that," Tristan said, looking down at his twisted arm in the boy's small hand. "Please let go of me."

"You cannot try to hurt me," the smaller boy warned. "You will lose, and neither of us can control that."

"Wow, someone is full of themselves."

The boy cocked his head to the side. "Full of themselves?"

"Cocky," Tristan rephrased. "Please let go of me, this is beginning to become very painful."

"Oh." Nineteen-Seventeen released his wrist and innocently stared at him. "I am sorry, Tris. It probably would've been hard for you to go to work with a broken wrist."

Tristan widened his blue eyes at the realisation he still had a job to get to. Quickly, he jumped up from the bed, pressing his fingers to his temple at how suddenly he stood, before regaining his focus and frantically scrambling around his bedroom. "I have to get to work!" the twenty-one-year-old panicked.

"Oh, yes." The boy nodded, watching the blond yank clothes out of his closet and sprint over to his bathroom. He silently watched the door slam closed before extending his legs to the hardwood floor and unsteadily standing on his boots. For some reason, his legs were not very strong. He wasn't yet sure why, but he didn't pay much attention to it, and instead studied the picture of Tristan on his wall. At least he thought it was Tristan. The boy was too tiny to be the tall boy he'd just seen disappear into the bathroom. He was sitting at the end of a dock with his legs dangling over into the water underneath him.

Seconds later, the twenty-one-year-old burst into the bedroom, his light coloured hair darkened dark blond with water. "You need to leave! Remember our deal? I let you sleep here, and now you need to find somewhere else to go."

"Okay." The boy nodded, but he stayed still.

"Are you planning on leaving anytime soon?"

"Yes," he replied before pointing at the picture on Tristan's wall. Tristan looked at the only photo he had of himself from when he was little. "Is this you?"