bambi eyes || tradley

1. the ceiling is crying

"Why is that man by your car?" Connor asked as the two prepared to leave. It only took four words for the blond to whip his head around to the glass, his blue eyes widening as a tall figure stood at an odd distance to his car in full black clothing, a hood pulled low over his head. Tristan sprinted out of the small building, senseless to the light rain drizzling over his head.

"Can I help you?" Tristan asked the man as politely as he could.

The stranger slowly looked up, his face shielded from the twenty-one-year-old's view. "We're not safe," he lowly said in a dark tone that sent a shiver down Tristan's spine, like a long, cold finger running down his back.

Tristan furrowed his brows at the man's words, fear drowning his confusion. "Who's not safe?"

"Remember," he simply told him, "and it'll all make sense."

"Remember what?" he angrily shouted. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Remember," the man repeated before turning and running away.

Nausea washed over him, his eyes fixed on the dark figure until the crying world engulfed him. Backing into the bookstore, Tristan sharply sucked in a breath.

"What was that all about?" Connor asked with furrowed brows.

Tristan wished he knew.

. . .

The three words are etched in his brain for the rest of the day: we're not safe. Tristan didn't understand. What was that supposed to mean? And how would that person know? As far as the the blond's concerned, he had no idea who that man was, and as Tristan thought about it deeper, how was he supposed to know if the stranger wasn't another insane person wandering the streets? He most likely was, but it still bothered him, especially with the paranoia he'd been having for a month. Nothing seemed right about this picture.

As Tristan pulled into his parking space, he quickly jumped out of the car, placing his sneakers on the ground and slamming the car door behind him. He carefully took in his surroundings before popping the trunk to retrieve the textbook he placed inside that morning. Once again, glancing around, he quickly walked towards his car, pulling the trunk fully open. But he wasn't met with textbooks in his trunk; he wasn't even met with the spare tire he placed inside three months ago. Instead there was a lifeless boy, curled into a fetus position.

Tristan jumped two feet into the air, letting out a scream at the top of his lungs. Instantly, the not-so-lifeless stranger jumped awake causing the light-haired man to scream once again, louder, his heartbeat wildly racing behind his chest.

"Get the fuck out of my trunk!" Tristan shouted. It was hard to sound tough with his body shaking. The curly-haired stranger looked confused. He blinked once, twice, before his brown eyes fell onto the shaking boy in front of him. "Get out!" the twenty-one-year-old shouted again.

The boy mumbled in response, and Tristan's blue eyes widened when he realised it sort of sounded like his name. "Tris..." the boy said more clearly. He slowly climbed out of the small space, still confused. Tristan fearfully watched him stand on his wobbly legs before he dropped into the taller boy's arms.

Tristan squealed like a little girl, quickly shoving the stranger off of him. The smaller boy fell to the ground. "How do you know my name?" the twenty-one-year-old asked, wide-eyed. When he received no response, he slowly poked the stranger in the shoulder with his foot. "Um, are you alive?"

"Tris..." the boy sadly groaned in response. Tristan wondered if that was the only word he knew.

He slowly backed away from him, his pulse wildly beating in his neck. "Who are you, and why were you in my trunk?"