bambi eyes || tradley

10. to belong

"I can't do this for you every day and night," Tristan told him, throwing away the paper towel in the trashbin.

"Why not?" Bambi questioned as Tristan retrieved his foamy toothbrush in his hand and held it towards the boy's lips. He smiled widely and extended his neck up towards the man, allowing him to gently scrub the brush against his teeth.

"Because this is one of the many things you're supposed to do on your own," the twenty-one-year-old informed him. "Stick your tongue out."

The brown-eyed boy obeyed as Tristan flipped the toothbrush to the back and scrubbed it along his tongue. "That tickles." He chuckled at the feeling. Tristan frowned as saliva disgustingly drizzled down his chin.

Grabbing another paper towel off the thin roll, he wiped the curly-haired boy's chin and neck clean before instructing him to spit in the sink. Bambi buried his face into the white sink and loudly spit the toothpaste out before pulling his head out and widely smiling at the light-haired man.

"Did I do well?" he excitedly asked.

"Sure," Tristan muttered. He handed him a small paper cup decorated with black, swirly designs and poured a little mouthwash into it. "Swish this around in your mouth, and don't swallow it like last time."

"I do not like the blue juice, it burns."

"You'll be fine." Bambi frowned, but emptied the mouthwash into his mouth, anyway, swishing it around with big cheeks.

Tristan counted down forty seconds as the boy swished, his face momentarily scrunching up at the burn of the mouthwash. He rolled his eyes. "You can spit it out now."

He wasted no time to shove his face back in the sink causing Tristan to burst out into laughter. The boy frowned as he brought his head back up and Tristan ruffled his curls.

"Okay," he said, eyeing the small boy's oufit, "I think we're ready to go."

He kind of looked normal for once. Tristan had convinced him to wear lighter jeans, except the jeans he chose were still a dark blue, but at least they were getting somwhere; he was wearing a plain white tee shirt that also was a hassle getting the brown-eyed boy to pull on, and surprisingly, Tristan convinced him to put the thick boots aside and wear sneakers - black sneakers with black shoelaces, but it was better than no sneakers at all. Somehow Tristan convinced him to swap his normal for a Tristan normal, but for some reason he refused to give up his military jacket. He'd gone a bit without it to sleep, because he trusted the blond to safely return it, but after Tristan had actually ended up returning it to him, it was like he couldn't let go.

Tristan wondered what the story behind the jacket was, and if it even had one.

They finally ended up in the car, Tristan's mum seated in the passenger's seat, and part time Brad in the back, silenced like Tristan had requested. He was looking out the window behind the blond, watching the world whril by. One of the few things Tristan knew about the curly-haired boy was how much he appreciated nature. He'd never seen a person so captivated by a field of flowers, or falling rain. It was rather interesting.

"I know you don't want to do this," Tristan's mum told her son. "But you know, I'm worried about your mental health."

Before Tristan had a chance to inform her how his mental health is perfectly fine, Bambi's headful of curls popped in between the seat. "There's nothing to worry about, Misses Evans. Tristan's mental health is okay."

"So, Brad, you believe this stalker nonsense?" she questioned the brown-eyed boy.

"Yeah, and I also believe that his stalker put me -" Tristan instantly swerved the vehicle to prevent Bambi from finishing that sentence, almost sending the car crashing into a truck. He quickly redeemed himself from the close call and sped ahead of the other vehicles on the road before falling into a normal speed again.

"Sorry," the light-haired boy apologised with a sheepish smile on his face, "my arm just twitched. I don't even know. It... happens."

"Have you been working out?" she asked.

"You could say that," Tristan replied as the vehicle pulled into a parking lot. He let out a sigh at the sight of the little building ahead. He still didn't want to go to his doctor appointment. It was a waste his time, and the doctor's, too. He wished there were another way to convince his parents that his alleged stalker was very real, and ended up in his house for unknown reasons while the blond was away at class.

"Bambi's going in with me," Tristan informed his mother as the three climbed out of the car.

"Bambi?" his mum repeated.

The twenty-one-year-old slammed the car door closed, widening his eyes at the realisation he'd accidentally used the name he'd given the curly-haired boy. "Brad," he corrected. "I meant Brad."

For some unknown reason, she was beaming. "You know, I don't mind you using pet names for your boyfriend around me. I think it's cute."

"Boyfriend?" Tristan echoed. "You think this boy is my boyfriend?"

"Well... yeah."

"He's like two-years-old!"

"I am not two-years-old! I am not!" Bambi objected. He angrily crossed his arms over his chest. "I've been living for twenty years!"

"Twenty years?" Tristan laughed. "Lower that by like three and I'd believe you."

"I know how long I've lived! I remember the year I was born!"

"You do?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "I was born twenty years ago in nineteen ninty-five."

"Are you serious?" A smile widened on Tristan's face. "When did you remember that?"

"Maybe when he saw his birth certificate," his mum chimed in, furrowing her brows at the two boys. "Did you really not know his age after three months?"

"It's a long story," Tristan told her before locking his fingers around the smaller boy's wrist and dragging him towards the entrance of the building.

The twenty-one-year-old ended up on the edge of an uncomfortable bed as his doctor stood across from him, a serious expression etched on her face. Bambi sat in a chair close by, his brown eyes nervously darting around the small space as he took in all his medical surroundings. Tristan wondered what was going through his head.

"I've already been informed of a case of schizophrenia in your biological family, but are you aware of anything else about your psychiatric history?"

"No," Tristan replied. He accidentally let out a laugh at the question. "I don't know anything about my history."

She slowly nodded and plopped down in a chair across from the twenty-one-year-old. "Okay, how about we talk of the hallucinations you've been having lately?"

"They're not hallucinations," Tristan muttered, running a hand over his face. "I'm positive someone is stalking me. I've been feeling like someone has been watching me for a while now, and then I saw him twice. Once, by my car, and then in my flat."

"That is common in schizophrenia," she noted.

"I don't care if it's common in something I don't have!" Tristan angrily told her. "I'm not schizophrenic!"

"Have you been feeling violent anytime soon?"

"Violent?" Tristan echoed.

"Have you felt the need to hurt people?" the doctor elaborated. "It's okay to be honest. I'm here to help you."

"No, I don't! I don't want to hurt anyone!"

"Any thoughts of suicide?"

"Does right now count?"

"Hm," she thoughtfully hummed, "I want to make another appointment with you."

"For what?"

"A CT scan," the woman told him, causing the blond to angrily furrow his brows.

"I don't need a CT scan! I was just making a joke -"

"I'd also like to recommend a psychologist," the doctor casually interrupted the twenty-one-year-old. She pulled a card from the pocket of her jacket, like she had it stored in there especially for him. Tristan slowly took the card and angrily eyed it. "Now, I'll let you go after a few more questions..."