bambi eyes || tradley

26. it's a big, big world

Only two more days were left. Tristan's nerves were worsening the more he sat around contemplating the much dreaded mission, and he was so worried about the e-mail. He hadn't mentioned its existence to anyone yet, and he'd planned to send it the day of the mission, but he still wasn't sure. It was difficult predicting what would happen on that day. And even though he always imagined the four of them freeing the humans without dying or something that could be worse (Tristan hadn't decided what that 'something worse' was yet,) there was a very much more realistic possibility that one of them wouldn't make it out of there in a full piece, or out of there at all.

"... tired of secrets!" the brown-eyed boy vented beside him, frowning as 'GAME OVER' flashed across Tristan's laptop screen. Tristan widened his eyes at the realisation he hadn't listened to any word his boyfriend told him. He loved Brad, of course, and usually he hung off every word the younger boy said, but as time ticked and ticked and ticked, Tristan was finding it way more challenging to concentrate, even when his boyfriend is venting about something he'd been pondering for hours. Tristan felt like a terrible person, and a terrible boyfriend. "Why can he not tell me? What is so bad about it?"

"Did you ask him to tell you?" Tristan questioned.

He paused, frowning at the older boy. "Of course I did. That is what all of this controversy about."

"Oh."

"You weren't listening to me," he realised. "My words are not interesting, yes?"

"I was listening..." Tristan trailed off as Brad just stared at him, a knowing look on his face. "... Sort of," he hesitantly added.

He smiled. "It is okay. I still love you, Tris."

Tristan couldn't help but smile back at him as he pulled the smaller boy into his chest. He wondered how someone could be so amazing. "I'm sorry, love. I keep thinking a lot."

"About the mission?"

"Yeah." He let out a sigh. "The whole idea of it scares me."

"It is okay, Tristan. I will be there to hold your hand the whole way through." The twenty-one-year-old nodded, trying not to think about how that sentence sounded way more like he was taking a trip to the tattoo parlor, instead of sneaking into the government's headquarters to try to make life better for a large group of strangers. "We should do something nice for everyone tomorrow," Bambi suddenly suggested.

"Like, what?"

"Biscuits are neat," he told him. "Everyone likes biscuits."

"Biscuits are nice," Tristan agreed.

"We should make little sandwiches with them!" he excitedly said. "In the middle, we should put ice-cream -"

"No!" Tristan quickly interjected. "No more ice-cream for us. I've had enough to last me for eternity, really."

Bambi frowned.

"But yes, biscuits sound nice," he repeated before Connor was hobbling into the living room, wrapped in a large quilt. He looked like a granny, all hunched over and shaky steps as if he'd came down with the flu. Tristan couldn't help but laugh at how torn he was behaving over a simple cold.

"Someone said biscuits," the nineteen-year-old weakly voiced, explaining his sudden presence. Tristan let out another loud laugh at the sound of his raspy voice earning the middle finger from Connor.

"Shh, Con," the curly-haired boy whispered, "the biscuits are a surprise."

He coughed into his sleeve. "I hate surprises," he muttered before hobbling into the kitchen, coughing loudly.