(𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄)

The sun peeked out from a small sliver of the curtains right into my eyes. I open my eyes to see white walls and grey curtains, the windows are open and the wind flows nicely through.

God, please tell me I didn't have drunk sex.

As I sit up, I see a few boxes on the floor, in a somewhat neat corner. I finally push off of the bed before looking down at my clothes.

A long tee-shirt hangs down to my knees and socks that barely stay up are on my feet.

A few loud thuds fill my ear causing me to follow the sounds until I reach a door that's open, revealing a very sweaty Tristan.

Beams of sweat drip down from his hair onto his forehead as he withdraws his fist from the punching bag. Shorts hang from his waist, and no shirt on his chest allows his abs to be on full display.

I lean against the doorframe with my arms crossed as I watch him swiftly punch the punching bag, his back muscles flexing with every movement.

He repositions the punching bag before turning his head towards me, "You're up?" He questions.

"Definitely still asleep," I mutter. He shakes his head with a small smile before unwrapping his gloves.

"There's an aspirin and a water bottle on my desk if you have a headache," he tells me and I nod.

"Also who put me in these?" I question, gesturing to the shirt on my body.

"All you guys dressed each other, I'm just surprised you and Kate didn't bite each other," he jokes causing me to playfully roll my eyes.

"I thought you'd be more comfortable with the bed so I just slept on the couch," he says and I nod.

"So is this how you please your fighting side?" I question, before walking over to him.

"I guess you could say that," he mutters.

"How about you try it," he says before placing his hands on my waist to pull me closer. He removes them as I stand in front of him then he places the gloves on my hands.

"I don't think I'll be any good at this," I say.

He turns me around before positioning my arms in a fighting stance. "You'll be fine," he mutters against my ear.

"Left leg in front of your right," he says, and I do just that.

He places his hand on my arm before extending it towards the punching bag. He then retracts it before doing it again.

"Tristan," I murmur.

"Hm?" 

"I don't get it," I shrug before turning to face him.

"It's easy, I could show you it more if you want," he retorts and I shake my head as I unwrap the straps from my hands.

"No not boxing, I don't get you," I mutter before placing the gloves into his hands.

"You're just nice one time then completely closed off the next,"

"Yesterday seeing my dad kinda upset me and I just didn't want anyone around, although that's not a valid reason," he pauses.

"I'm sorry I pushed you away," he says before placing the gloves on the ground next to his other stuff.

He rubs the back of his head before looking down at the floor for a slight second, "Since we've been talking, I've been apologising a lot," he chuckles just before looking up at me.

I chuckle lightly before shaking my head slightly at his remarks, "I don't want there to be any problems between us, and if you want to get to know me better you can, I won't stop you," he says.

His eyes are gentle and his expression is soft, something I'd only ever see when he wasn't being arrogant.

"Then you won't mind taking me breakfast," I say.

"Sure," he chuckles followed by a small smile.

── ·✩· ──

Thirty minutes ago we had gotten our food, we had decided to just go to the diner since it was something we both could agree on.

Tristan had his usual attire, a hoodie and ripped jeans. His hair was a bit messy since he didn't completely let it dry.

I somehow got Kate to let me borrow want of her legging and Tristan gave me one of his hoodies. And I say gave because he definitely won't see this in his closet a day in his life after today.

"Let's start with your dad," I say as he takes a sip of his Coke.

"What about him?" He questions with a raised brow as he places his cup on the table.

"You have a story to tell if he irritates you that badly,"

"When it comes to him, everything is about money, people are money, moments are money, that's just him," he shrugs leaning back into the soft chair.

"If you want me to be one hundred per cent with you, my mom had it rough growing up and my dad basically just bought her, I wasn't a planned baby, and I wasn't wanted," he pauses before releasing a low breath.

"And when I grew up I was just a burden to him, that's just not someone I can forgive,"

I didn't exactly know what to say, the whole situation was sad and anything I say could possibly turn this conversation south and he could just walk away again and push me away.

When I didn't reply, Tristan looked up at me with a raised brow. "One person speaks the other replies, that's a conversation works Ollie," he chuckles.

"I just didn't expect that," I manage to say.

"It may be a tough situation in your eyes but I've grown to not care anymore," he says.

Something in his eyes tells me that's not the truth or the entire truth but the same second I saw it, was the same second it was gone.

"Now what about your obsession with hating money?" I question, in attempts to change the dreadful conversation.

"It's not that I hate money, I just hate not earning it,"

I feel attacked but okay.

"My father thinks he accomplishes something when I ask him for anything, he feels good knowing I rely on him and his money,"

He speaks of the word as though it's a curse, a cruel and deadly curse.

"Have you tried talking to him?" I question. And he takes another sip from the straw before looking up at me, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Do I actually have to answer that?" He questions, I give him a raised brow before he speaks.

"No, I haven't because he's simply ignorant and arrogant,"

"That's what I thought about you and here we are," I mutter.

"That's different,"

"How?" I inquire.

"He's been an asshole to me my whole life,"

"I could say the same to you," I utter.

He gives me a sympathetic look before his face softened and he places his drink back onto the table.

"That's not fair," he says, his jaw clenches for a quick second before it disappears.

"You probably already know this but they host an annual event every year, you'll talk to him there,"  I tell him and he shakes his head.

"I'm not doing that," he says before pressing his back against the seat.

"Tristan, you're twenty-one, and you're telling me you can't speak to your dad for five seconds without wanting to break his teeth out?" I question.

"Your observation is correct," he says sarcastically.

"Why do you want me to talk to him so badly, nothing good ever comes out of it," he says.

Because you're lying to me.

"It's better to clear the air sooner than later," I tell him.

He looks at me before uncrossing his arms. He sits up properly and places his hands on the table.

"Fine, under one condition," he speaks.

"Which is?"

"You talk to Chase,"

Before the words leave his mouth, I shake my head causing him to chuckle and lean back into his seat.

"Then there's that," he says and I roll my eyes.

I really need him to do this, but to put my dignity deep into my soul for me to talk to that atrocious excuse of a human being is beyond me. But fuck it.

"You'll do it?" he asks and I nod.

"I'm slowly starting to feel like he told you to get close to me so you could push me back to him," I say sarcastically and he shakes his head.

He gets up from his seat and slides into the seat next to me. He places his arm around my shoulder before placing a kiss on my cheek.

"Not a chance he's getting you back," he smiles and I roll my eyes playfully.

── ·✩· ──

𝗼𝗼. ⁞ 𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 !

Hey guys, that concludes chapter twenty-seven
I greatly do hope that you liked this chapter. Chapter twenty-eight coming soon.

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