15. little me

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Tristan frowned at his reflection, swiping his tongue across the new little piece of metal in his bottom lip. He looked so different. It was like he was staring at someone else. The only thing that felt like him were his sparking blue eyes that shined so brightly now with his dyed jet black hair flopping over his face. With a sigh, the twenty-one-year-old brought scissors to the dark strands of hair, hesitantly snipping the two blades through it.

"Oh my," Bambi commented as he stepped into the toilet, eyeing the strands of black fluttering from Tristan's head as the scissors worked their way through, "you look so different, Tris."

"A good different?" he questioned, pulling the two blades away once the ends of his wavy hair lied on top of his dyed eyebrows.

"Yes." He beamed up at him, slipping a pair of non-prescription glasses on the bridge of Tristan's nose. "There you go."

Tristan eyed himself again. He looked like a nerdy badass. "What about you? What are you going to do to change yourself?"

"Why would I change myself?"

"I'm not the one whose face is blasted on TV, Bambi," he said.

"I have shades," the curly-haired boy reasoned, slipping a pair of shades on with circular lenses. "See, no one will notice me."

Tristan rolled his eyes. "You look exactly the same."

"No, I do not, and I will wear a hat to hide some of my curls."

"You will still look the same," he claimed. The curly-haired boy thoughtfully furrowed his brows, pressing a finger to his lips. "I know what you should do. You should rid yourself of the curls."

"No!" Bambi instantly protested, backing away from him. "That is not an option! I will not do that!"

"Okay, okay." Tristan held up his hands. "The curls stay then. Damn."

He smiled, satisfied with his answer. "Thank you."

The twenty-one-year-old took in his new appearance, letting out another sigh. "It's going to take a long time for me to get used to this new look."

"I think you look sexy," Bambi replied before disappearing into the hotel room.

"Sexy?" the blue-eyed man repeated, a dark eyebrow cocking from behind his thick-rimmed glasses.

"Yes." He innocently smiled. "Can we go to the address now?"

"Okay." Tristan wrapped his fingers around the golden doorknob, slowly closing the door, "but give me a few minutes."

Bambi nodded, waving the tall man off before walking away. As soon as the door shut, Tristan sat on the edge of the bathtub, face buried in shaky hands as tears poured down his reddened cheeks. He wished he could just rewind to four weeks ago - before he ever met Bambi. None of this was the curly-haired boy's fault, and the blond hated the fact he'd lived through so many years of his life, listening to lies, but he liked it better not knowing. Four weeks ago he was sitting in his cheap apartment underneath a shitty ceiling, surrounded by shitty things, without much of a care in the world as he worked boring shifts at the shitty bookstore down the street. The blandness of it all was perfect for him. Tristan was a bland person, and he loved it. He loved have a simple life, surrounded by minimalistic things. He needed that bland life back. All this drama and running away and nearly getting injected by doctors was too much for him.

"Be strong," Tristan pleaded himself, tightening his hands into his dark locks. He deeply sucked in a breath, air travelling throughout his lungs before he slowly exhaled it into the air. He wiped the tears from his face and sat there, trying to breathe and trying to let go of all this pain seeping into his bones.

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