Chapter Text
“Why are you pacing like that?” Alexander’s teacup clattered against the table as he set it down. “Bloody hell, could you stop? It’s annoying.”
Tristan couldn’t be bothered. Annoying his eldest brother was rather low on his list of concerns at the moment. His steps wound back around to the towering panes of the upstairs parlor, and he risked another glance into the garden below. The landscaper’s son—who’d been aiding his father over the course of the summer—locked eyes with him instantly. The stupid boy seemed to always know exactly where Tristan was, especially when he didn’t want to be seen.
He had to be a year older, right? Maybe two? Tristan had been intentionally avoiding him. He knew nothing beyond his name being Adam and that he was absolutely stunning. He hadn’t even particularly cared about the boy’s presence until this morning.
That bloody dream. Tristan stopped chewing at his nail, instead pressing a finger to his lip subconsciously at the memory. He wasn’t sure if he was bothered more that he’d had such a risque dream about a gardener or a boy. Either way, he’d be quick to fall out of his father’s good graces (if he was ever there to begin with.)
Adam shot him a sweet smile, paired with an inconspicuous little wave. It sent a jolt up Tristan's spine, and his eyes widened at his own reaction. He turned on his heel, darting back toward his brother and draining his cup of tea. When had his throat gone so dry?
Alexander stared, bewildered. “What is wrong with you right now?”
“Nothing,” Tristan said quickly. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
The chair scraped the floor—in a manner that would likely cause their mother to faint—as Alexander stood and strode toward the window. He seemed baffled for a moment.
“There’s nothing down there. Just Simon and…” Alexander trailed off. “Why does Simon’s boy keep looking up here?”
Shrugging, Tristan poured himself another cup and continued his pacing. “They’re nice windows.”
-ˋˏ ༻❀❀❀༺ ˎˊ-
Over the next week, Tristan managed every excuse under the sun to find himself in the garden. It was a quick jaunt around the fountain and back at most. The walks quelled the impulsive need to further explore his curious—and concerning—new thoughts. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was getting out of it or if he was hurting himself rather than helping. Tristan had never even spoken to Adam—but not for lack of trying. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth every time he passed the blonde.
Adam greeted him the same way that day as he had all the others before—a simple ‘Young Master Alvarez,’ coupled with a dazzling smile. Tristan nodded in response and carried forward as usual. He smiled back, right? He couldn’t remember.
Seated on the edge of the fountain, Tristan pulled a book from his satchel—an excuse to linger this time—and thumbed through till he found where he’d left off. He was awful at remembering a bookmark, and his father would strike him down had he even thought to crease the corner of the page.
A glimpse around found Adam tending a flowerbed a short distance away, pale green eyes already trained on Tristan. The boy flushed red as the carnations below him and hurriedly fixed his sights back on his task. Tristan ducked his head toward his novel and bit down on his lip, stifling the smile threatening to split his face. The fluttering in his gut set his nerves on end.
The pair frequently caught each other’s gaze near the fountain for days after. Tristan never finished his book.
-ˋˏ ༻❀❀❀༺ ˎˊ-
Every day, the same greeting, the same gorgeous smile. He made sure to smile back.
Tristan shuffled where he sat against the fountain. He’d finally reached the final few pages of the novel he’d been so diligently neglecting, and he was determined to finish it before lunch. It was a good book, truly. He’d just had a terrible habit of finding entertainment elsewhere as of late.
After nearly two weeks, Tristan’s fingers finally won the opportunity to turn to the final page. Just in time, as well, seeing as it was nearly lunch. A beat later, a pair of worn, dirt-spotted boots stepped into view, startling Tristan from the final paragraph. He glanced up toward a halo of blonde curls reflecting the high-noon sun and pastel green eyes not quite looking him in the face.
“Young Master?” Adam wrung his hands behind his back.
“You can call me Tristan,” he blurted. “Away from prying ears, that is.”
“Okay—Tristan,” Adam repeated with a nervous smile. Lord Almighty, but his name sounded lovely from that boy’s mouth. “I have something I’d like to show you, if that’s alright?”
Tristan blinked owlishly. “Alright,” he said hesitantly, slipping the book back into his satchel and standing to trail behind Adam. Their trek took them further into the garden, past the walls of the secluded portion his mother was having redone. The portion that was currently off limits.
It was coming along well, truthfully. Flora lined the walls, stretching up into the pergola overhead in a wonderful array of color. A small smile played at his lips as he took in the rich, earthy scent. “Why the sneak peek? I’m not supposed to be in here, you know.” Tristan asked dubiously.
“I know, I’m sorry. I just…wanted to show you. I thought you might enjoy it.” Adam grinned sheepishly. “We won’t get caught—everyone steps away for the lunch hour. It’s only us here.”
‘It’s only us here.’ Tristan swallowed hard, his mouth uncomfortably dry. “Ah—right.”
Adam stepped closer—much closer—and opened his mouth to speak before snapping it shut once more and putting his hands on his hips. His brow furrowed as he attempted to work out what he wanted to say. Tristan hadn’t noticed before just how much taller Adam was, but he certainly noticed it as he was staring up at him now.
Standing this close, in fact, Tristan could also see a light smattering of freckles under the mild, but ever-present, sunburn across his nose. He could see just how long his pale lashes were—long enough to brush the tops of his cheeks with each slow blink. It took everything in him not to stare as Adam’s tongue dipped out to wet his lips.
“Am I presuming too much?” Adam asked finally, his voice low.
Tristan frowned, not quite following. “I suppose that depends on what you’re presuming.”
With a soft hum, Adam brought his hands up, brushing his thumbs along Tristan’s jaw. “That maybe you wonder how my lips taste as much as I do yours,” he rasped and leaned closer, brushing their noses together.
The air left Tristan’s lungs so fast he thought he might be faint. He was on his toes in an instant, closing the space between them and sealing Adam’s lips against his own. Tristan clung desperately to the front of his shirt, knuckles white and head spinning.
Both gasped for air as they broke apart—Adam attempting to give chase as the heels of Tristan’s feet hit the ground once more. He laughed breathlessly and kissed the tip of Tristan’s nose. His smile was so sweet, Tristan thought he might cry.
“Well?” Adam looked at him expectantly.
Mind still a bit fuzzy, Tristan only looked up at him questioningly. A mischievous grin crept across Adam’s face. “Did I taste as good as you hoped?” he asked, tracing a finger along the curve of Tristan’s lip.
Dear God, this boy was trying to kill him. “Better,” he giggled.
“We should sneak you back out of here,” Adam sighed after a moment. “I promised we wouldn’t get caught.”
Caught. The reality of what just happened began to settle over Tristan in harsh clarity. “Yes. Right.”
-ˋˏ ༻❀❀❀༺ ˎˊ-
“You’re late,” Adam chastised heatlessly.
“Yes, yes. I know.” Tristan was already falling into the grass and tucking himself into the boy’s side with their meal in tow.
They’d spent the last three weeks sneaking back to their hideaway during the lunch hour, sprawled out under the pergola. Some days were spent talking endlessly, baring their souls to one another and swapping stories. Other days, they simply basked in each other’s presence, sharing quiet kisses and soft whispers.
Still munching on the last bite of his sandwich, Adam stretched out onto the lawn, tugging a giggling Tristan down with him. “I realized I never asked you,” he started, swallowing the bite and propping himself onto an elbow. “How was that book?”
Perplexed, Tristan shook his head slowly. “What book?”
“The one you kept bringing to the fountain,” Adam chuckled. “You finished it, yeah?”
Tristan frowned. “Oh. No, I actually haven’t.”
“What? Why?” Adam’s brow furrowed, confused. “Weren’t you on the last page?”
Why, indeed?
It was just one paragraph, yet he couldn’t seem to bring himself to finish the damned thing. If he was honest with himself, he’d acknowledge it was because he’d come to associate the book with Adam. With this. With the fact that it will all inevitably come to an end. With the way his heart will break when it’s all said and done.
Tristan had no interest in being honest with himself.
“I’ve been rather preoccupied,” he answered, quirking a brow at Adam.
“For an hour a day,” Adam snorted. “You could’ve finished it by now.”
“I don’t think you’re accounting for the rest of my free time, which is entirely consumed by thinking of you,” Tristan chided. “You are actually incredibly distracting.”
It almost seemed wrong, seeing such a devilish grin plastered across such an angelic face—heaven above, did Tristan love it. He could feel his pulse rising rapidly with each bit more that Adam pressed into his body.
“May I distract you further?” his breath ghosted Tristan’s lips.
“Please.”
Fingers intertwined, Adam pressed Tristan’s hands into the grass above him and locked him in a searing kiss. He swung a leg over to seat himself properly against Tristan’s hips, exploring the boy’s mouth greedily when he gasped in surprise and swallowing every noise that followed.
“Tristan?” a voice called out from opposite the wall.
Saliva trailed between the pair as they broke apart. Eyes wide, they desperately scrambled away from each other. Alexander rounded the corner and slowed his pace, glancing between Adam and Tristan—who looked very much separated, and very much guilty.
“There…you are.” Alexander frowned, clicking his tongue and hiked his hands onto his hips. “Huh.”
Tristan was already on the brink of tears. Or perhaps vomiting. He couldn’t even look at
Adam, knowing he’d be in significantly more trouble than himself. His head was spinning, trying to decide the best excuse he could fabricate to—
“Damn it all. I suppose I owe Theo fifty after all,” Alexander grumbled.
“You—” Tristan blinked, vexed by the response. “What?”
Alexander rolled his eyes with a huff. “Theo insisted you fancied boys. I told him he was full of it. He bet me fifty, I took the challenge.” He narrowed his eyes. “And now you owe me fifty.”
If he weren’t already crying, Tristan might’ve laughed. His brother already knew there was something wrong with him—so assuredly that he’d been willing to bet on it. Lovely. A hushed sob escaped him, and his fists clenched at his side. What was he even supposed to say to that?
“Tristan, you look terrified.” Alexander’s face softened as he eyed both of them. “I’m not going to tell anyone. I couldn’t possibly.” Adam remained silent, moving to wrap his hands around Tristan’s. Alexander watched with a small, reassuring smile.
“Look, we can speak more later. Mother is home early. I’ll keep her occupied, and you can finish your…lunch,” Alexander gestured vaguely to the empty meal container abandoned on the lawn. He shook Adam’s hand quickly and clapped him on the shoulder before dismissing himself back to the estate.
The garden was still for a long moment in his brother’s absence.
“I…I was ready to go down in flames for you just now.” Adam pulled Tristan close and cupped his cheeks in his hands, eyes roaming his face with fierce intensity. “I was ready to shoulder the blame and not think twice,” he whispered, sounding almost shocked.
Tristan laced his fingers through Adam’s and kissed his wrist. “I wouldn’t have let you.”
-ˋˏ ༻❀❀❀༺ ˎˊ-
The last week of August. Tristan had been dreading the impending doom of it for weeks, willing it away. It came anyway.
In the evening, before his departure, Adam snuck away with him. One last passionate kiss—one last stolen moment—tucked away behind the wall in the garden.
He’d spent the past half hour staring from the parlor window into the garden. Quiet and still, aside from the late summer breeze shuffling a few leaves. Simon would be back come morning. Ten O'clock, on the dot. It never mattered much to him before, and now it frustrated him.
Blinking back the fresh set of tears threatening to fall, Tristan finally pulled his gaze from the garden and skimmed the room lazily. His eyes landed on that damned book, sitting on the table nearest the window. He seated himself, pulling the book toward him and flipping to the last page.
Tristan read the last paragraph slowly, deliberately, imprinting it into the memory of the summer as he had the rest of the book. A book in which the protagonist never once told his sweetheart how he felt—knowing one day they’d be separated.
And in that last line, a thought, never spoken aloud.
‘My dear, I love you.’