“Tristan!” Loud bangs onto his bathroom door woke him up, and for a moment he was disoriented and lost. Until he saw the bloody havoc wreaked on his dress shirt and bathroom floor, and the memories of his midnight incident returned to him in full.
“Tristan?” Anya yelled again, and he could hear a bit of desperation creep into her voice. Shite no, wait – she can't see me like this.
“Yeah? Sorry, I fell asleep last night.” He answered back as he wetted a towel and tried to clean his mess up. The blood had dried onto the floor, and all he did was ruin his towel while making a discoloured spot.
“Why the hell would you sleep in the bathroom?!” Anya exclaimed, rather irritated by her brother's weird habits.
“I was tired okay?” He yelled back, annoyed by her questioning everything he did.
“I need to pee.”
His heart sank as she said it, and he tried to clean up even faster.
“Do you really need to go now?”
“No, tomorrow. Of course I need to go now! Why are you still in there.”
“Well er… I'm getting dressed.” He half-lied, as he tried to figure out what to do with this dirty towel now he'd scrubbed off the blood.
“I really need to pee Triss.” She whined, and he could hear the 'I need to go'-dance in her voice.
“Well just give me a minute.” He said back, increasingly frantic as to what to do.
“I don't have a minute!”
“And I am not wearing clothes yet!”
His gaze fell on his clothes hamper, and he quickly ran over to it when he remembered that he hadn't done his laundry yet that week.
“Just hurry the fuck up already then!”
“Language!” He yelled, actually taken aback by her swearing. At the same time he dug through the hamper and fished up the most clean looking dress shirt. This is sacrilege…
“Please hurry up?” She begged.
“I am.” He said back, as he stuffed the dirty towel and shirt on the bottom of the hamper.
“Hurry up more.”
Quick as he could, Tristan washed the remainder of the blood from his arm and hands. He dried it with toilet paper, and stuffed the wad in his pocket.
“Why are you washing your hands?! You're doing this just to torture me!”
“Just shut up already!” He hollered back, genuinely having had enough of Anya's complaints. The moment he did, he already regretted yelling, but all he could focus on was putting on his shirt. After two buttons he gave up and instead unlocked the bathroom door. Immediately Anya pushed it open, nearly hitting him in the face as she ran past toward the toilet. He rapidly darted out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

“Hey, what do you want for breakfast?” He said loudly once he had buttoned up his shirt in full. He figured he would put on clean clothes afterwards anyhow.
A loud ‘Er…’ came from behind the bathroom door. “Waffles?”
“Why would you think I have a waffle iron?”
“I don't know? You seem like the kind of person who would own a waffle iron.”
“Anything else you want?” He ignored her comment, as he suspected it wasn’t a compliment.
“Pancakes?”
“How about something healthy instead?”
“Aww, come on you make the best pancakes. Just once? Because it's my birthday?”
“No it's not.” He said, rather puzzled as to why she'd use that as an argument. “I was there, you can't get that one by on me.”
“Every day is my birthday, because I was born every day.”
Tristan just rolled his eyes at her smart-ass comment.
“If I make pancakes, will you stop being a moron?”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll give it a go then.” He said, as he pulled a bowl and mixer from his cupboard and gathered the ingredients he needed.

In the midst of flipping the first pancake over, two arms wrapped around his waist from behind. For a second he was caught off guard, but realising it was only Anya, he smiled.
“You're the best brother. Even if you're really annoying, and stupid, and sometimes I just want to punch you.”
Tristan's smile faltered for a second, but he pulled himself back together as he knew she didn't really mean the last parts.
“You’re only saying that because I make you pancakes.”
“Yeah, but who else is going to make me pancakes?” She said as she let go and hopped onto the half wall to sit and watch him cook.
“Maybe you can learn how to make them yourself?”
“And have mom kill me because I ruined the kitchen?”
Tristan shrugged a little at the comment, not sure how to answer that in a positive way.
“Do you have whipped cream?” Anya asked, oblivious to his silence. Her question did provide a distraction for him though.
“I don't, but I can make you some?”
She nodded excitedly, clasping her hands together and grinning.

One bowl of whipped cream, a plate stacked with pancakes and Anya stealing a spoonful of said whipped cream later, breakfast was ready. They both sat down on the couch under his loft bed, using the coffee table to set their plates on.
While Anya immediately dug into her first pancake, Tristan poured himself a glass of fruit juice.
“So what do you want to do today?” He asked as he took a sip, then used his knife and fork to pull a pancake from the stack onto his own plate.
“I dunno?” Anya said with her mouth full, in between inhaling bites of pancake.
“How about we go into town? Maybe longingly stare into some shopping windows?”
“But it's cold…” She said with a point outside, towards the dreary, grey skies.
“Well then you put on an extra jumper. You've sat inside all weekend long, we should do something fun.”
Tristan said with a wide, excitable grin.
“Who are you and where is my brother?” Anya narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious of this sudden outgoing streak in her otherwise introverted brother.
“Oh come on, I just want to do something fun together, is that a crime now?”
“No… but if you’re the fun one, what am I supposed to be?”
“The spoiled little sibling of course.” Tristan said with a wink as he took a pancake for himself and poured some golden syrup over it.
“Ooooh,” Anya exclaimed as her face lit up. “I can settle for that.”
“See? Now if you finish your pancakes, you can play games until I’ve finished taking a shower.”
The moment he said it, Anya began to shovel her breakfast in with the furor of a thousand wronged Spartan warriors. Tristan could only watch in silent awe – and try to remember how exactly the Heimlich manoeuvre went, as half an hour’s worth of his effort was devoured in the span of mere minutes.

Tristan held up his navy-coloured umbrella against the soft drizzle, as the two of them walked through the mostly deserted shopping street. The golden glow of warm, inviting vitrages proudly showing the latest fashion, technology and jewellery reflected on the wet street, bringing some light and colour to the otherwise grey world. Despite the dreary weather, Anya excitedly tugged him along whenever something caught her attention. Which in a street full of fashion was nigh every store.
Despite his own ignorance on clothes, aside from perhaps what looked good on him in the mirror, he listened to Anya describe everything from fabrics, to stitching, to colour combinations as she dug through racks of clothes and put them in her basket so she could fit them on – even if she wouldn't buy them. It wasn't long before she realised that her brother would function even better as a dress up doll for her social media posts.
“Do I really have to?” Tristan asked her as she plucked clothes in styles he hadn't even known existed from the men's department.
“If you don't try it out how would you know what looks good on you?” She said as she tried to match another set of clothes together for him to try on.
“Suits look good on me?”
“But that's too easy. You need style.”
“I'm stylish, nobody ever complained?” Tristan said, his voice trailing off as he plucked the edge of his jacket wondering if she saw something bad that he couldn't.
“It's okay, but it looks a bit worn?”
“That's what clothes are for, to wear.”
Anya rolled her eyes and grabbed both his wrists, already tugging him along towards the fitting room.
“Clothes are what you use to tell other people who you are. And right now you're telling me you're a huge book nerd.”
“But I am?” Tristan protested, not sure if he really wanted the fashion advice of a fourteen year old girl.
“That doesn't mean you have to wear it.” She said as she pushed him inside one of the stalls, handing him the bag full of clothes. “I tried to keep it geek chic.”
“What?” He sputtered, not sure if he had heard that right.
“It'll suit you.”
He didn't believe one word of that, but he decided to play along with her.

Unsure where to start in this mess of allegedly fashionable clothes, Tristan just took most out of the bag and laid them out on the bench in front of him.
“Er… Annie? How did these go together?” He asked sheepishly, as he quickly pulled her in. She immediately moved a few pieces of clothing around, the way she'd envisioned them.
“Like that.” She said with a smile, before stepping out and leaving him to it.
With a soft sigh, and a shake of his head, Tristan set to wearing the things she had picked. The things I do for you…
 
He took off his jacket and tie, and unbuttoned his vest and shirt. While he carefully folded his clothes up, he tried not to look at his arms, pretending he couldn't see the scars and the clean bandages he had done doubly to avoid any repeats of the night before.
At least until he was faced with his own image in the mirror. He tried to smile at himself, but it only made him look awkward since he didn't mean it, so he stopped. Part of him was well aware that he was pretty, and that he should be happy about that – but rather he'd been anyone else, so he didn't have to see the amazing person he could have been, yet wasn't. So he didn't have to look at those scars he gave himself because his body was wasted on someone as awful as him.
Pull yourself together, you self-absorbed twat. My body is too good for me, boohoo. Why can't I just be happy with what I have? I had to ruin the one good thing about me… 

In an attempt to distract from himself, he picked one of the sets of clothes and put it on. At least I can try to make her happy today.

“I am not really sure about this…” he said feeling a little uncanny, as he stepped out of the fitting room wearing a green, diamond pattern cardigan over a grey dress shirt and dark grey pants of which he couldn't tell if they were meant to stop above his ankles, or simply three sizes too small – it felt like the latter. Judging by Anya's excited smile however, it appeared she approved.
“What are you talking about? You look like a supermodel.” She said with a grin, and despite all his hang-ups and awkwardness he couldn't help but smile a little.
“If you say so?” He said, still unsure. Anya just groaned and grabbed his shoulder turning him around and pointing at the mirror. All he saw was the same him as before.
“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to that mirror.”
“I mean, it's a department store mirror… I'm surprised it hasn't dropped off the wall yet to end it's misery.”
Anya just rolled her eyes, and gave him a push back in.
“I want to see the rest now. You’re going to look great in them.”
He sighed and shook his head as if in disbelief he was even considering it..
“Pretty please?” She said in the sweetest tone she could muster, giving him puppy eyes.
“Fine.” He grumbled as he closed the curtain again and mentally prepared himself for the next set of clothes.
He deliberately skipped the short sleeved polo shirts Anya had picked, hoping that she wouldn’t notice. But after the third set she inevitably picked up on it.
“You don’t like the shirts?” She asked with a hint of disappointment, causing him to shake his head. “Why not?”
“I just er… I’m feeling a bit cold.” Although that wasn’t entirely a lie, since he did feel a little chilly, he knew it was a bad excuse. So did Anya, as she looked at him rather confused. Please don’t find out…
“Cold?” She narrowed her eyes into a suspicious glare. Shite, she knows I’m lying. What do I say,- “You just don’t want to wear them, do you?”
“Er…” He said sheepishly, as the tightness in his chest was relieved again. “Yeah.” He admitted softly, rather disappointing her like this, than having her find out and be mad at him.
“Oh well, that’s okay,” she said with a shrug. “Was there anything you liked? So maybe you can have a few different looks, other than suits?”
“Er… I don’t know, maybe that green jumper? And I think I liked the colour of the jeans, just not that they were short?”
Anya grinned widely as he said it, her face lighting up bright like the sun.
“What?” He asked slightly cautious, wondering if he should worry about her. She just let out a happy, nearly humming chuckle with her mouth closed.
“I helped.” She beamed.
“Yeah, I suppose you did.” Tristan said as he gave her a well-deserved pat on her head. She took it with glee. “Now can I take these clothes off?”
“Wait, one more picture.” She said, immediately snapping a picture of him in the midst of sighing. “There, now you can.”

The way back to the entrance took nearly as long as they had taken on their way in, since Tristan insisted on putting all the clothes back the way they had found them. All the while, Anya tried on different accessories, like hats and scarves. Until she took a moment to read the signs indicating what they had on which floor. She grabbed Tristan, who was in the middle of folding one of the shirts she had plucked out of a pile back up, and drug him with.
“They have a jewellery department in the basement!” She said, pointing it out with a grin.
Oh no…
“How about you just go ahead, while I put these things back?” He said, and without a second thought, Anya hurried down the escalator, pushing her way past an elderly couple. Tristan just shook his head and smiled, not quite sure whether to be charmed or annoyed by her excitedness.