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When Tristan told everyone he didn't get nightmares, he was very visibly lying. He gets them almost every single night, waking drenched in sweat and gasping for air for various reasons , usually about the Inventor or…Cycles again.
(Those red eyes were different from Rae's, he notes amidst his racing mind. Rae's eyes were a shade of soft vermillion and unlike the sharp blood-red eyes of his late tormentor nor the soft rose of when said tormentor before the…Incident. He fights back a tear before he went too deep down Memory Lane.)
Tonight was like any other, waking up to his entire body burning as if it were scorched by a flamethrower, his throat tangled like a ball of wool and unable to force any air into his begging lungs. He coughs, his eyes welling with hot tears, choking into the safety of his blanket burrito.
His panicked breathing slows to a shaky sigh as he finally knocks it into his head that he isn't living in a dream and he is very much wide awake, he flops back down into his soft mattress, squeezing his still-wet and very much uncomfortably sticky eyes closed.
But his mind and gut both unceremoniously kept him alert, his magic and energy flowing through the house by instinct, grabbing onto every edge, feeling every corner for any unwanted presence in his nightmare-induced paranoia.
Letting out a groan of frustration after around 20 minutes of tossing and turning and trying not to grab at and crush the flower that's literally his soul, he decides he needs a drink and some fresh air, he slithers off his bed stiffly and winces as his feet hit the ice-cold floor. Making sure he didn’t wake anyone nor anyone was up (especially Mnemosyne with the sheer amount of energy they put into protecting their new “turf”), he tiptoes out into the darkened hallway.
Walking out to the kitchen and grabbing his mug, filling it with cold water, he takes a sip before the sound of the door opening echoes in the darkness of the house brought along with a gust of cold wind. His eyes jolt open from enjoying his icy source of hydration and lock into the direction of the sound, his focus now drained into the walls as he lets his powers crawl through the woven infrastructure of the building and curl to its destination near the door, encase and grab at its target with its claws–
A gentle push of ambient magic interferes with his interception of the new arrival, Tristan bites his lip as he reaches farther to poke around, before he picks up on a familiar artificial frequency.
“Oh, just Euterpe.” Overcome with a wave of relief, he recalls all of his output with a flick of his hand and awaits his dear friend to appear around the corner.
A shadow practically crawls and stumbles through, their deceptively lanky figure curled inwards, and if Tristan looked hard enough he could see how his hair was messier than it usually was. Tristan frowns.
"Euterpe, I didn't know your job required you to fight intergalactic space demons." He spoke with strained sass when he noticed the new shadow in the room’s state of appearance and dishevelled clothes.
"Tristan? Why are you still awake?" Euterpe rubs his bleary eyes with a yawn before readjusting his silver spectacles. "It's 2 am."
(Don't let him know, he'll just worry again.)
Tristan blinks. "Then why do you look like you ran from an angry skunk and the entire Isonation Army?" he shot back with an ill-held smirk.
Euterpe spoke with hesitance. "I- uh, long story, give me a moment." He turns to the side and walks across the room. “ The hell is a skunk… ” He whispers to himself as he disappears into the corridor moments before a gentle thud of him putting down his backpack and a few rustles were heard. A bathroom break later the raven-haired man returns, his usual coat off and hair slightly less messy but still Tristan could see the dark shadows under his sterling eyes.
Tristan finishes his mug of water with a gulp, relishing in the feeling of arctic cold sliding down his throat. He looks up. "So you feeling better?"
"Yeah, uh," Euterpe awkwardly takes his place next to the messy ombre-haired man. "Sooo… you know I have an old group of friends that were like family to me, right?”
"Mhm."
"Well uh, one of them found me and we kinda…" Euterpe trails off, before dipping his head.
Tristan felt his mind halt, what did he mean? Did they hurt him? Try to kill him? He felt the embers of magic cluster around his fingertips and the space around him fizzle, but he forces it down, gritting his teeth.
"...Did they hurt you?" His eyes scan the other in the dark, which seems to scare the other a little by him pulling away by something related to reflex.
Euterpe gently laughs. "What? Uh, a bit, nothing too serious, really, just a small cut." He looks away, a blush dusting his cheeks and his eyebrows furrowed. “I can deal with it, I promise, no need for you to worry.”
Tristan narrows his eyes and grips his fist. "...Let me see."
The other seems to be surprised. "Oh, uhm, alright." Euterpe (reluctantly, he notes) rolls up his sleeve, revealing a quite terribly bandaged wound, the signs of a rushed treatment plastered all over its messy wrapping and gaps in the yellowed medical tape. Although the blood didn't manage to get anywhere on his sleeve, the cut was pretty long and deep, blood still threatening to drip out and stain his smooth pale skin through the admittedly secure bandage.
When Euterpe rolls up his shirt too, he can’t help but feel a little heat accumulate at his cheeks, but the sheer bloodiness hidden by again, poor medical tape skills but well enough swabs of cloth taped to them had his brain kick into overdrive.
Fire burns at his throat as he scrambles inwardly to suppress a growl, the shadows warp around him and for a second he spots the parasite within him skitter across the wall as newly formed limbs sprout from his shadow, only dispelled by the growing flame that engulfed his flower, but with practised ease he pushes it all down.
He can’t afford to scare Euterpe.
Tristan forces on a gentle smile. "Sit on the couch for a sec, alright? Don't move." Tristan speedily walks off to the bathroom only after seeing Euterpe nod, closing the door hastily as he slid into the pearly white-tiled room lit by a single bright fluorescent light.
“Someone hurt him.” Tristan falls to the cold floor (mopped clean hours before, mind you). “Someone hurt my friend and I wouldn't have known if I didn’t ASK!” The mirror cracks a little as he grabs at his hair, his forehead pressed hard against his bare knees. “Who do those pesky characters think they are?” Various bottles previously situated within the bathroom shower were now afloat, swarmed with a glitchy and intense red. “ They will know my wrath soon enough, and I’ll make them regret it as I tear them apart bit by bit.” Tristan’s shadows stretch and crawl as branches across the pearly white walls, ending with sharp curves into claws at the end. His eyes lock onto the lights by reflex, considering whether he wanted to destroy that one too. “ Then after I’m done I will, OH I WILL CONSUME THEIR MATTER AND-”
A knock came from the door, startling Tristan out of his murderous trance and in the process nearly dropped all of the levitating objects. He quickly catches all of them with a swipe before calling out to the disturbance. “I’m pissing! Gimme a sec.”
“Alright.” Euterpe’s voice filters through, quiet, small, fragile .
Taking a deep breath, he suppresses his strong urge of unleashing all hell on humanity and all other things. He pushes himself up, still shaken from his brief mania and releases all of the things he picked up back onto their shelves.
First, he had to get that wound healed. New kill-list can be constructed later.
Tristan slides open the mirror cabinet and grabs the bandages, the sewing kit and the alcohol along with a cotton swab, he eyes the painkillers, but remembering Euterpe told him he has internal painkilling modules he decides against it, but swipes the bruise cream off the shelf once he sees it.
(He hesitates but uses his magic on the bandages anyways, loading a couple of bits of healing magic into them with a press of his fingers, that’ll accelerate things.)
He opens the door, smile forced back on his face. “I told you not to move, you might open your wounds even wider.” He swoops to Euterpe’s side with barely hidden concern.
Euterpe fidgets, his eyes averted, Tristan feels a sharp pang in his chest.
He guides Euterpe back to the sofa, gently sitting down with him and motions for him to take off his shirt.
"Now hold still. I need to fix up those wounds for you properly." He grumbles with great restraint. His eyes travel briefly to the remarkably shaped gentle-muscular form the man usually hid behind thicker wear of clothes and into the crevices of shadows that near-perfectly defined every muscle, seeming to urge him to reach out and give all of that a feel, Tristan internally slaps himself before he starts his work.
Minutes of silence pass as Tristan makes careful work of the wounds, stitching up gashes with practised ease, disinfecting it before wrapping it up with what could be called muscle memory. As Tristan moved to dabble some cream on his bruises, Euterpe’s gentle words snapped him out of his reverie. “I’m sorry.”
Tristan doesn’t stop but accidentally pushes down on one of the angrier bruises, making Euterpe yelp. He whispers an apology before answering. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, you just seem…” Euterpe winces with guilt when Tristan magicks out a bottle of burn cream to treat one such wound. “You just seem really upset. I’m sorry I lied, but…I can still deal with it, myself.” He says, hesitance and caution lining his every word.
Tristan sighs. “It’s not you, Euterpe. Sure, I’m annoyed you tried to hide this disastrous physical condition from me, but…” He intakes another breath, desperately trying to keep his breath steady. “Look, I’m fucking pissed at whatever person you’re referring to and I am gonna kill them and dice their tendons into cubes.”
A hesitant hand brushes against his messy curls. "Calm down Tristan, I was just panicking when they arrived at work and they just hurt me by accident to get me to listen to their deal." Euterpe half-heartedly chuckles. “It’s largely my fault.”
“Don’t say that.” Tristan hisses through gritted teeth. His burning red eyes snap up to realize how much the other was squirming and looking away from his sharp glare. He softens. "Euterpe, if they didn't mean it your wounds would NOT be that deep."
"But- I-” Euterpe pauses for an uncomfortable moment, his eyes darting around as he fought to come up with another reason, but eventually his shoulders sag. “...fine.”
Tristan smiles in satisfaction when he finally cleans up the lesser of wounds, he stands up from his position, wobbly on his numb feet from all the kneeling. "If you ever need anything, call me, alright? I can’t have you throwing yourself off cliffs alone, can I?”
Tristan spies a flush of red under those cute round glasses and hums. He contemplates the action, but mustering all the energy he has at 4 in the morning he flicks a stray hair out of his perfect face, feeling his cheeks warm at how he puffs up his face in a very light protest. “But if you need anything other than my firepower…” Tristan winks. “I’d be more than happy to service.”
“...Hmph.” Euterpe grunts as he shifts to face away from him, but even that couldn’t hide the curve of his lips. Tristan felt as if his chest was going to explode when the other leaned on his shoulder with a sigh after he sat down next to him, struggling to keep down the stupid smile on his face.
“Tristan, I wanted to ask…” The man of mention heard Euterpe lick his lips. “Can we go find Foxine tomorrow? I’m sure she knows where those …soldiers set camp in.”
"You sure it's not because they tried to kill you earlier?"
A mischievous glint. "...maybe."
His eyebrows raise at the ambiguous answer before Tristan smirks. Did he pick that up from him? That was…kind of cute. "Hmm, alright, it's been a while since I fought people anyways, been lazing off at home since our multiversal venture…" Tristan stretches out his sore limbs on the sofa, Euterpe still next to him who jolts at the sudden action. “Whoops, sorry.”
The Protagonist pauses before rolling his eyes "Sir, from what I hear you've been on a bounty hunting spree yesterday and have an almost full schedule with your…shady clients next week.” A rare showstopper smirk morphs on his expression amidst the dark. “So,I'm asking about the time as well."
Though that rare display had his heart fluttering harder than the wings of a hummingbird, Tristan stops in his tracks, pulling his relaxed grin into a tighter one. "Who told you that?" He bites out.
Tristan winces at his tone when Euterpe’s face drops and his gaze flits to the side. "S-Simon, he's been a little worried about you lately and wants me to ask you for him, myself included."
"Ah, Simon…that goopy fuck." Tristan narrows his eyes before it softens into a pensive look. "Look.” He pats Euterpe’s shoulder. “You don't need to worry alright? I'm doing fine with my work and it's not too much for me."
Euterpe sharply glares at him.
Tristan nibbles on the inside of his cheek."Seriously, I'm fine, 'terps, you don't need to worry.” He gestures to the other’s battle-worn body. “Especially when you’re in no place to worry about that.”
Euterpe grumbles, sulking. "Fine, I'll believe you." He playfully leans over to boop his nose. “For now.”
The duo devolve into a juvenile bout of giggles. Tristan hooks his arm around Euterpe’s waist, careful not to touch his wounds despite his urge to feel the tones of his waist. He quickly squashes the thought by thinking of free time for their newly scheduled scoping mission.
"15 to 19?" Tristan thinks out loud. “Wait no, I have an appointment then.” He contemplates for a while longer with a low hum. “How about 19 to 23?”
“A little late for my taste but whatever works for you.” Euterpe leans closer, only stopping when he felt Tristan flinch. “Oh, sorry. Personal space.” He backs up to Tristan’s slight disappointment. “Regardless, I…need someone to pick me up then.”
Tristan struggles on replying with a straight face while he’s squashing down the urge to grab Euterpe and just confess and kiss him right then and there. He plasters on the most neutral of expressions he can muster with the heat burning his insides out."That, I can do. I can also massacre the entire square by accident."
Euterpe blinks, stuttering."I- What- ok I'm not even going to ask."
Tristan chuckles, before gently gesturing if Euterpe wanted to perhaps, also hang out on the sofa until dawn broke since he was still as unwilling to expose the reason why he was out so late, but it seemed like as if the other already answered that for him, because the second he looked down he found the man passed out on his side, incapacitating him to his spot due to not only his weight. He groans, before he takes this opportunity to gently pull Euterpe down to a more comfortable position to sleep.
As he did, he absentmindedly studies the other’s peaceful expression in the dark, how the brightening pale red glow of the fragile flower that sat on the back of his ear reflected off of his features , and as if the universe was purposefully taunting him Euterpe unconsciously readjusts his curl on the couch, resting his head on the crook of his arm before he could fully let go of him, and sealed his deal by (uncomfortably) tangling his metallic legs with his.
A blush warms the bite of winter cold on his organic skin, and he chortles to himself. “This guy…” Tristan sleepily sighs as he accepts his fate confined to the rather uncomfortable couch. “He’s going to be the end of me, isn’t he?”
Simon wakes up, nearly swipes his glasses off his table and gets up to dress in his usual clothing, and pauses in front of the mirror. He grunts, squinting at the reflective surface before silently deciding a change of color would be nice, his thoughts drifting to the navy blue sweater he scrounged out of the corners of Rae’s closet. He reaches for the cabinet he remembered he kept it in, before realizing-
“Damn, I left it in the dryer.”
He struts out into the hallway, taking mind in checking whether Rae was still in her room (Simon notices the mound on the bed and sighs) and upon feeling around for energy, realizes Mnemosyne probably went off to school themselves like they usually do after Euterpe stopped fussing over them all the time.
“Heh, he’s such a mom.” Simon jokes to himself as he unknowingly walks into a scene which he gapes at in utmost shock.
His oh-so mighty, frankly insufferable and overly bloodthirsty boss, arms curled and clutching the absolute genius of a man they picked up off the street like a year ago, legs tangled so much it would make the most dedicated of fangirls squeal and keel over and immediately evaporate into atoms.
“ God, Rae would be so jealous I saw this first, practically green! She would be raging! She would tear me apart into pieces!” Simon snickers, sidestepping a stray bag on the floor before pulling his phone out of his pocket and snapping a picture. “Blackmail.”
He silently giggles like a child as he jovially prances back to his room after retrieving his intended sweater from the dryer. He pauses to consider, before begrudgingly grabbing Tristan’s blanket from his room and draping it on them. He leans close to admire his work before he made a quick latte and dashing out of the door to return to the Archives.
Later in the day, Euterpe wonders why Rae and Simon were snickering in the corner while Tristan looked more murderous than when Simon stole the entire kettle of tea on the stove the week before. Oh well, it’s best if he doesn’t know. Oh Tristan! Don’t look at me like that!