bambi eyes || tradley

3. people grow like flowers

"Um, yeah," Tristan slowly said.

"But you are so tiny in this photo."

"I was six-years-old."

"But you are nowhere near that tiny now," he observed.

"Because I grew." Tristan furrowed his brows. "You don't know that people grow?"

"People grow?" The taller boy slowly nodded. "Like flowers?"

"Um, yes. I guess you could put it that way."

"Interesting," the boy commented, staring at the photo of Tristan a while longer.

"Yes, very. Now get out of my flat, I need to go to work."

He frowned. "You can not ask things of people rudely. It encourages them not to do it."

"May you please leave my flat?" Tristan corrected. The boy smiled, satisfied with the blond's newfound manners before walking towards the direction of his living room. The twenty-one-year-old followed closely behind the small boy, making sure he actually made it outside instead of him wandering somewhere else in his apartment, getting distracted by other simple things. Fortunately, the boy was standing in front of Tristan's door, obliviously knocking on it with furrowed brows.

"It does not open," he told him, disappointed.

Unlatchimg the lock, Tristan pulled open the door, motioning for the boy to walk out of it and into the world, away from him. "Goodbye, Nineteen-Seventeen."

"Goodbye, Tristan," the curly-haired boy sadly voiced.

The twenty-one-year-old nodded slowly, turning away from the smaller boy and leaving to his parked vehicle. He was grumpy due to the fact his morning routine was interrupted because of the stranger he found in his trunk, and the absence of raspberry tea in his system. But he tried to kill his anger. Even though Tristan despised his job, there was really nothing else he could do to get himself by financially, (and his job was barely even doing that.)

By the time he made it to his car door, he frowned, realising his reflection in the window of his car was occupied by the smaller boy he had been struggling to rid himself of since yesterday.

"Didn't I tell you to find somewhere else to go?" Tristan questioned, whipping his head around to the curly-haired boy obliviously standing across from him.

An innocent smile found its way on the weirdly named boy's face, happy that his presence was acknowledged. "I am finding somewhere else to go."

"Are you serious?"

His eyebrows knitted together. "That is a strange question. I am always serious."

"When I said you have to find somewhere else to go, I meant away from me," Tristan specified.

"But I cannot go away from you."

"And why not?"

"Because," Nineteen-Seventeen said, frustrated, like Tristan should already know this, "you are in my mind, Tristan, and we are in trouble."

"You're going to be in trouble if you don't fuck off!"

"Eff off?" he repeated, confused. "I do not know how to do that."

"Obviously!"

"You're an unusual character," the boy ironically said. "Now, may you please unlock your aircraft so I can listen to the music from yesterday? You know, with the violin and the piano and the cello and -"

"You're not getting in my car!" he sternly said. "You're getting away from me!"

"But I cannot do that," the brown-eyed boy repeated from before, shaking his head.