Some days, Tristan felt like he was just going through the motions, stumbling from one thing to the next without thought or feeling. His manager constantly rode his ass about how much he sucked at customer service, but it took everything he had just to keep from looking like he wanted to off himself during his shifts at the bakery. By the time he clocked out, he was completely drained.
You'd think going home would be a relief, but as he rode the elevator up to the apartment he shared with his father and older brother, a fresh wave of exhaustion hit him. He took a deep breath as he trudged down the hallway, shutting his heart away somewhere deep inside of him where it couldn’t be hurt.
The moment he opened the front door, he knew he was in trouble. His father sat on the couch, eyes smouldering with barely contained rage as he held up a familiar sketchbook. "What's this?" he asked, his voice a calm surface concealing the simmering anger beneath.
“That’s mine,” Tristan snapped, marching over to grab it.
His dad yanked it out of reach. “Everything in this house is mine, including you. Though after seeing what was in this thing, I’m reconsidering that part. Your brother saw this shit, Tristan!”
Tristan's hands balled into fists at his sides. "He's fucking eighteen, dad. He'll get over it. Maybe next time he'll think twice about going through my stuff."
Tristan's dad shot up from the couch. "Don't you dare talk to me like that. Why are you drawing all this nasty shit? Huh?"
“What do you think, dad? Are you really going to make me say it?"
“Well, you’re not gay, I’ll tell you that. Not in my house.”
"Oh, okay then. Glad we cleared that one up."
“What did I say about your tone? You’re going to respect me and you’re going to stop with all of this disgusting shit, or you can find somewhere else to live.”
Tristan fought back the lump forming in his throat, determined not to let his father see him cry. "I can't just stop being gay, dad. It doesn't work like that."
Tristan’s father gave a careless shrug. “Then I already said what you can do.”
"Fine," Tristan spat, ripping the sketchbook from his father's grasp before he could react.
"Hey!" his father shouted, hot on Tristan's heels as he stormed towards his room.
Tristan blocked out his father's shouts, focused on the one thing he needed. He reached under his bed, dragging out Sadie, his faithful companion. Tucking the small, elderly dog under his arm, he made a beeline for the front door.
“You’re not taking the dog,” his father growled, his footsteps pounding behind Tristan. “Or the car. Tristan, stop.”
Tristan whirled around, a bitter fire raging in his chest. "She's my dog. It's my car. If I'm leaving, they're coming with me. Try and stop me, I dare you. I'm not afraid of you anymore."
“You’re being stupid.”
"I don't even know what you want from me," Tristan muttered, yanking the front door open with more force than necessary.
His father didn't follow him down the hall. A small part of Tristan felt strangely disappointed, but maybe it was better this way. Sadie was already trembling in his arms. He had no clue what he was going to do, but leaving her behind was never an option. His father never missed a chance to hurl insults at the dog, and while most of them were pretty spot-on, Tristan knew he wouldn't bother taking care of her. She'd probably end up right back at the shelter where Tristan had found her.
The elevator ride down to the parking garage was a blur. Tristan gently placed Sadie in the back seat before sliding behind the wheel. He slumped back, exhaling a heavy sigh. He felt numb, empty. Was that normal? At least when he was shouting at his dad, he'd felt something. Shame, anger, loathing—though maybe more for himself than his father. Now, he was just drained. It was all too much.
He started driving aimlessly, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. Almost on autopilot, he found himself at a familiar spot along the river, near a ferry stop that was always deserted after the evening rush. With Sadie tucked under one arm and his sketchbook under the other, he made his way down to the jetty, settling in to watch the water ripple and flow.
Tristan flipped through the pages of his sketchbook, a sickening knot forming in his stomach as he imagined his father and brother looking at each image. Some of them were… a lot. He knew it was risky to draw stuff like that, but the male body was just too damn beautiful. He couldn't help himself.
He paused on one particularly shameful image, the focal point a meticulously detailed, rock-hard cock. His dad would've flipped his shit even more if he'd known Tristan had drawn it from a live model. The guy, Dante, hadn't been quite that well-endowed in person, but Tristan had wanted to stroke his ego a bit. Without overthinking it, Tristan grabbed his phone, found Dante’s name in his contacts, and pressed the call button.
“Hey, what’s up?” Dante answered, a smile already in his voice.
“Hey,” Tristan mumbled, too drained to even pretend to be anything but dead inside. "Could I crash at your place for a night or two? Or... I don't know, something?"
The pause on the other end said it all. "Uhh, yeah, I don't know, man. Like, sixteen and eighteen isn't that big of a deal, and I don't think it's weird, but if I start having high school dudes crashing at my place, my roommates are gonna be weirded out. Besides, we both said we just wanted to mess around, right? Keep it casual?"
“Right.”
"What's going on? Family shit?"
"Yeah. My dad found my sketchbook, and well... you know why that's a problem."
"Oh, damn," Dante laughed. "Yeah, I bet. Probably shouldn't have left that thing lying around if your dad was gonna freak."
"It was locked up in my room, but thanks for the advice," Tristan snapped, his patience wearing thin.
"Okay, okay. But listen, you'll figure it out. Give your dad some time to cool off, and I'm sure it'll be fine. My grandpa's a bit of a homophobe too, but they get over it eventually."
"Maybe, but do I really want to live with someone who thinks I'm disgusting?"
“Well, you can’t live with me. Family’s important, even if they’re not perfect. What else are you going to do? We both know you’re too pretty to be out on your own. Selling your body for money would just be too easy to resist, and then where would you end up, huh?”
"Still might be better than living with my dad," Tristan grumbled.
"Oh, come on. He's not smacking you around or anything, right?"
"No," Tristan admitted, his voice barely a whisper.
"It'll be fine. Trust me. Everything feels like the end of the world at your age, but I promise it's not that big of a deal."
"If you say so," Tristan muttered. “Anyway, if you can’t help me, I’d better go.”
"Okay. Hit me up when you've got your shit sorted, and maybe I can take your mind off things."
"Yeah, maybe," Tristan said, hanging up before Dante could say anything else.
He ripped the raunchy drawing out of his sketchbook and started shredding it into confetti, keeping one eye on Sadie as she sniffed around the jetty. She seemed to know where the edge was for now, but she wasn't exactly a genius, so he couldn't completely trust her not to just yeet herself into the water.
Tristan tossed the tiny scraps of paper into the river, watching them float away. He shouldn't have expected much from a casual hookup, but it still stung. It was a reminder that he didn’t really have any real friends. No one he was close to. Not since his younger cousin, Bee, had moved six hours away. She was way better off where she was now, and maybe it had been kind of lame to consider someone three years younger than him such a close friend in the first place, but he still missed having someone around who actually gave a damn about him.
But that was gone now, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever have that kind of connection again. He just didn't know how to get close to people. Or maybe it was more than that. Maybe he didn't even know how to want to try. He craved that kind of bond, but he couldn't bring himself to let anyone in.
Tristan sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh. He scooped up Sadie and carried her back to the car. They cruised around until he spotted a drive-thru, grabbed a burger, and then parked nearby to share it.
After they were done with their food, Tristan drove around until he found a dark corner of a park parking lot where he figured they could crash until morning without anyone bothering them. He put down the front seats and made a little nest for him and Sadie using her dog blanket and his bakery uniform to make it a bit more comfortable. He drifted off with Sadie pressed against his side, licking herself with zero regard for his feelings or comfort. He loved that little old dog.
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