bambi eyes || tradley

21. veronica

"Tris, wake up. Trrriiissssyyyyy."

Tristan wasn't sure how long he'd slept, but it was nighttime when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. He'd reluctantly opened his eyes and looked into Brad's smiling face. His boyfriend, apparently. Tristan wasn't sure when their "romantic relationship" began, but he wrote a mental note to question the boy on it another time. Now he had to worry about the government and helping the country. Tristan wanted to bang his head against the wall. He remembered when his problems involved whether he had enough money to pay for his utility bill or fix his shit ceiling - not saving a bunch of strangers from having their lives taken away from them.

"We have arrived," the brown-eyed boy informed him.

The dark-haired boy clapped a hand over his mouth and let out a yawn as Bambi unbuckled his seat belt for him. "Arrived where?"

"The house," Brad answered, like Tristan should be familiar with it. The twenty-one-year-old furrowed his brows. "The warehouse is a few miles away, but I think we are going there once morning. I want you to meet Joe. He told me he's the mastermind in the group."

Tristan slowly nodded, even though he barely understood what he was talking about, like usual. But he was wondering who this Joe was after Brad had mentioned him. "Well, okay."

"Give me your hand," he instructed.

Tristan eyed the hand he was offering him. "Why?"

"Boyfriends are supposed to hold hands all the time. I know because Connor told me."

He laughed. "Connor doesn't know everything."

"Give me your hand!"

Tristan instantly slipped his fingers into the younger boy's palm. It didn't feel strange holding his hand. They had held hands before, but Tristan never thought much of it. It kind of just happened. "You know what Connor didn't tell you, Bambi?"

"No?"

"You can't just decide who your boyfriend is," he told him. "He has to have an opinion on the relationship, too."

"I do not want your opinion." He opened the door for the two of them. "MY TRISTAN HAS ARRIVED!"

"My Tristan?" he questioned the younger boy, raising an eyebrow. Bambi ignored him and dragged Tristan into a hallway, closing the door behind the two boys before the taller boy was being dragged into a large living room with a TV playing some action movie about dogs. 

"This is Joe," Brad said, pointing a finger to a man typing at an inhuman speed on a laptop's keyboard without having to look down at the keys. The mastermind automatically jumped up from the couch at the introduction and approached the dark-haired boy, holding a hand out.

Tristan shook his hand, Joe reciprocating his action, but way more firm, nearly dislocating Tristan's shoulder. He forced a smile and tried to seem like he hadn't just crushed his hand. "Brad has said a lot about you," Joe told him.

"That's an understatement," another man muttered. Tristan widened his eyes at the familiar face sitting on the floor alongside a bowl of popcorn. He hadn't heard him talk when he'd nearly killed him with a gun, but his voice sounded strangely familiar.

"That's James," the curly-haired boy informed Tristan with a scowl. "He's a grouch, but only because he wants to protect himself so I deal with it."