It Takes Time

Chapter 1

Author's note: Backstory for Trist from It Takes Two. Read that one first or this will be spoilery.  TW for a little bit of suicidal ideation.

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.