Brown eyes took in the beautiful white house ahead, instantly capturing the attention of the small boy as the vehicle made its way down the long driveway leading to it. It was perfect - large and homey with a fake deer planted in the bright, green grass.
"Wow," Bambi whispered in astonishment, "is this your home?"
"No, I just parked in a random driveway," Tristan sarcastically replied.
The brown-eyed boy furrowed his brows. "What? Why would you do that?"
"Yes," Tristan told him, rolling his eyes, "yes, this is my home, Bambi."
"Oh." He questioningly blinked at the man before redirecting his eyes towards the house. "It is very pretty, Tris."
"Thank you," he said. "Now, Bambi, we have to figure out a name that we can use for you while we're around my parents."
He blankly stared at him before deciding: "I like Bambi."
"That's more of like a... nickname," Tristan tried. "Can you think of a name that's more normal?"
"A name more normal?" he questioned, like the blond was speaking gibberish.
"Like, I don't know... How do you like Gabe?"
"I do not know who Gabe is."
The twenty-one-year-old let out an exasperated sigh. "I mean, how do you like the name?"
"Oh." He pressed a finger to his bottom lip, contemplating the name with furrowed brows. "I do not like it," he decided.
"Can you think of anyone you've known before that you could use the name of?"
"Hm," he thoughtfully said, "I like the name Tristan. You can call me Tristan."
"You can't be Tristan, Bambi."
A frown replaced the smile on his face. "Why not?"
"Because"-he sighed again-"I'm Tristan."
"I know that. I want to be Tristan, too."
"You have to pick another name," he informed him.
The boy pressed his finger to his lip again, deep in thought before a smile grew on his lips and a metaphorical light bulb shined brightly over his head. "Oh, I remember a name."
"What is it?"
"It is Brad."
"Brad!" the blue-eyed boy exclaimed, letting out a sigh of relief. "That's perfect. From now on - as long as my parents are around - you're Brad, okay?"
"Okay." The blond extended his arm over the small boy and pushed the door open for him, waiting until he climbed out of the vehicle before climbing out of it himself.
Fear coursed throughout his body as they made their way up the three steps leading to the screen door, suitcase and shopping bags in hand. He had hoped his parents weren't upset that he'd randomly arrived to their house on such short notice, along with a stranger they most likely wouldn't understand. His mum and dad weren't quick to judge, though, and he knew if he explained the circumstances they'd welcome the two boys in their home with open arms. But the twenty-one-year-old already knew he wasn't going to mention how they'd met, or when they'd met. His parents would go mad, and then most likely kick Bambi out of their house.
Before the blue-eyed man had a chance to bring his finger to the doorbell, the young boy had already beat him to it, pressing his finger into it repeatedily, like the time he'd randomly shown up at Tristan's apartment. The blond quickly swatted his hand away as his dad questioningly appeared behind the screen door.
"Hi," Tristan sheepishly greeted, awkwardly waving a hand at his father, "miss me?"
"Um"-his dad slowly opened the screen door, motioning for the two boys to enter the house to a high-ceilinged foyer-"I thought your semester was ending in another month?"
"It is," Tristan replied, setting the bags and suitcase on the carpeted floor. The strange look he flashed Bambi was not left unnoticed. "But... I'll explain it to you and Mum later, okay?"
"Um, okay."
"This is my... neighbour," his son introduced, motioning towards the small boy beside him curiously taking in his surroundings. "His name is Brad. We met a few months ago."
"No we -" Tristan clapped a hand over the smaller boy's mouth, letting out a nervous laugh.
"Stop swearing, we're in front of my dad. Have some manners, man." He anxiously darted his eyes between his confused father and a confused Bambi. Slowly, he pulled his hand away from the small boy's lips and threw an arm around his shoulders, his hand dangling off from it. "So, we're just going to make our way upstairs. Is that okay with you?"
"Um, yeah," he slowly said, shooting Bambi another incomprehensible look.
"Nice to meet you, Mister... Evans," the brown-eyed boy slowly said, remembering Tristan's friend telling him the blond's last name earlier that day. He gave his father's hand a firm shake before the taller boy locked his fingers around the smaller boy's wrist and yanked him towards the direction of a staircase.
"Avoid talking a lot, okay?" Tristan instructed as he dragged him up the stairs. "They're going to think you're weird."
"Then that is their problem."
The blond rolled his eyes at the expected response from the young boy and pushed a door open to a widespread room, a large bed placed in the middle of the carpeted floor.
A smile instantly captured Bambi's features before he broke out into a run, flinging his small body onto the mattress. Happily, he rolled around in the sheets, like a puppy excitedly turning over and over in the grass. Tristan found himself chuckling and plopping down next to the excited boy.
"Why is everything so enormous in this place?" he questioned as he rolled over onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. "Why did you move away to your little flat when you have such a lovely, big house?"
"Because I wanted to find a life of my own," Tristan explained, rolling over onto his side so that he was facing the curly-haired boy. "I love it here, but I also love the idea of crafting my own life."
"Crafting your own life?"
"I want to live in something that I provided myself with," he rephrased. "You know, independence and all."
"Oh." Bambi nodded understandingly. "Good for you, Tris."
Tristan found a smile creeping its way onto his lips and he rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling fan turning into slow circles. "I wonder what's happening with me."
"I do not understand."
"What's so important about me that a man walked into my flat?"
"Maybe he was looking for something," Bambi guessed. He shrugged his shoulders and rolled over onto his side. "That'd make the most sense. I think. What if..."
Tristan furrowed his brows as his trailed off and shook his head. "No, Bambi, you can tell me. What is it?"
"No, it is rather impossible."
"Just tell me."
"What if he put me in your trunk?" Tristan widened his eyes, contemplating the assumption. "You said that he was standing by your aircraft. I don't know, it's stupid, but I am desperate."
"He could've..." He let out a gasp at the connection and jumped up into a sitting position. It made sense. Tristan remembered seeing him standing by his car, and then he found the brown-eyed boy stored inside after he left work. Bambi evidently wasn't inside before he'd left for a work, and the strange man was the only person who was near his vehicle in between the time he was at the bookstore. "Oh my, God."
"What is wrong?"
"I think we're getting somewhere!"
"But we're in the same spot, Tris."
"It's an expression," Tristan said. The boy blankly stared at him causing the blond to let out an exasperated sigh. "I mean, we're getting closer to figuring you out, and your past."
"How?"
"We have an idea of who could've put you in my trunk," he explained, "or at least who had something to do with it."
"Ohh!" A smile quickly spread on his lips at the realisation.
"And then maybe I can go back to my normal life again," he muttered.
. . .
"Hey, Mum and Dad..." Tristan slowly said, letting out a nervous laugh as he inched closer into his parents' bedroom. He didn't know why he felt so nervous about telling them of the alleged stalker in his flat. Maybe they'd call the police, like Tristan initially had, but he couldn't let them find his stalker. Not that Tristan didn't want him locked away. He just needed to grow some balls and speak to the creepy stranger face-to-face, especially after the sudden realisation of where Bambi could've came from. The curly-haired boy could find his home through Tristan's stalker, and Tristan could safely return the strange boy there.
"I'm sure you're expecting an explanation about all this," their son nervously added, glancing towards his dad, "and you, too."
"That'd be nice," his mum replied, carefully taking in the blond nervously standing across from him. Tristan's leg was doing the uncontrollable shake thing that always easily gave away how nervous the twenty-one-year-old was.
"Basically, Ithinkthere'ssomeoneaftermeandtheywereinmyflatandIdon'tfeelsafeanymoresoI'mstayingherepleaseletmestay," Tristan rushed into one word. He deeply inhaled once he finished and exhaled, staring at his parents with hopeful eyes.
They watched their son with concern on their faces, like expected. Tristan wasn't surprised. They were always concerned about him no matter what, which was understandable. He was their only child, and he was told they weren't able to have kids of their own. And Tristan was honestly concerned about his well-being, too. He wasn't sure what the alleged stalker's intentions were, and he would really appreciate if he could stay alive for at least sixty-nine more years.
"Wait - someone is after you?" his dad questioned, furrowing his brows.
"Yes."
"Tristan," he slowly said, confusing the man, "could you please sit down?"
Their son awkwardly nodded before sinking in the chair resting in the corner of the room. He was confused with the tone of their voices. It was like they were preparing to inform him of someone's death.
"We knew this day would come," his mum muttered to his father, causing the blond's eyes to widen.
Tristan was then even more confused, and a little frightened. "What do you mean?"
"Tristan," she carefully said, in the same hesitant tone his father used, "schizophrenia is common in your biological family."
"What?" Tristan angrily furrowed his brows. Out of all the people he expected to understand his situation, he expected his parents. He understood, someone being after him was kind of questionable, but it was definitely not all in his head. "But I'm not schizophrenic? I don't even have the traits or anything."
"And the orphanage did mention a case of schizophrenia," his dad sadly added, ignoring their son's objections. "I think we should go visit your doctor tomorrow."
"No!" Tristan screamed. His parents jumped at the volume of his voice. "Connor saw him, too! He saw him before I did! It's not in my head!"
"I think you need some rest." His mum stood from the bed and sympathetically rubbed a hand over his hair before dropping it on his shoulder. "C'mon, you need to lie down for a bit and get your mind together."
"My mind is together!" Tristan objected. He jumped up from his chair and angrily trudged to the hallway, his parents' reactions replaying in his head. He paused by the doorway and slowly turned to face his parents. "Goodnight," he mumbled before closing the door and making his way back to the bedroom.
The curly-haired boy was sat Indian style on the carpeted floor, struggling to chew on a piece of liqorice as he paid the TV all his attention. He glanced over to the taller man standing in the doorway and frowned at his expression. "You are upset," he noted.
"My parents don't believe someone is after me," Tristan muttered, plopping on the floor next to the concerned boy.
He handed Tristan the liqorice he found in the cabinet and gently patted his head. "It is okay. That is their problem."
The blond silently thanked him before rising the chewy snack to his lips.
"I believe you, Tris." He placed a hand on the twenty-one-year-old's knee, shooting an inexplicable feeling all the way up his thigh, like an electrical shock. "We can figure this out without them," the brown-eyed boy reassured him.
All Tristan could do was nod, and when he pulled his small hand away, the blond could still feel it.