Tristan frowned at his reflection, swiping his tongue across the new little piece of metal in his bottom lip. He looked so different. It was like he was staring at someone else. The only thing that felt like him were his sparking blue eyes that shined so brightly now with his dyed jet black hair flopping over his face. With a sigh, the twenty-one-year-old brought scissors to the dark strands of hair, hesitantly snipping the two blades through it.
"Oh my," Bambi commented as he stepped into the toilet, eyeing the strands of black fluttering from Tristan's head as the scissors worked their way through, "you look so different, Tris."
"A good different?" he questioned, pulling the two blades away once the ends of his wavy hair lied on top of his dyed eyebrows.
"Yes." He beamed up at him, slipping a pair of non-prescription glasses on the bridge of Tristan's nose. "There you go."
Tristan eyed himself again. He looked like a nerdy badass. "What about you? What are you going to do to change yourself?"
"Why would I change myself?"
"I'm not the one whose face is blasted on TV, Bambi," he said.
"I have shades," the curly-haired boy reasoned, slipping a pair of shades on with circular lenses. "See, no one will notice me."
Tristan rolled his eyes. "You look exactly the same."
"No, I do not, and I will wear a hat to hide some of my curls."
"You will still look the same," he claimed. The curly-haired boy thoughtfully furrowed his brows, pressing a finger to his lips. "I know what you should do. You should rid yourself of the curls."
"No!" Bambi instantly protested, backing away from him. "That is not an option! I will not do that!"
"Okay, okay." Tristan held up his hands. "The curls stay then. Damn."
He smiled, satisfied with his answer. "Thank you."
The twenty-one-year-old took in his new appearance, letting out another sigh. "It's going to take a long time for me to get used to this new look."
"I think you look sexy," Bambi replied before disappearing into the hotel room.
"Sexy?" the blue-eyed man repeated, a dark eyebrow cocking from behind his thick-rimmed glasses.
"Yes." He innocently smiled. "Can we go to the address now?"
"Okay." Tristan wrapped his fingers around the golden doorknob, slowly closing the door, "but give me a few minutes."
Bambi nodded, waving the tall man off before walking away. As soon as the door shut, Tristan sat on the edge of the bathtub, face buried in shaky hands as tears poured down his reddened cheeks. He wished he could just rewind to four weeks ago - before he ever met Bambi. None of this was the curly-haired boy's fault, and the blond hated the fact he'd lived through so many years of his life, listening to lies, but he liked it better not knowing. Four weeks ago he was sitting in his cheap apartment underneath a shitty ceiling, surrounded by shitty things, without much of a care in the world as he worked boring shifts at the shitty bookstore down the street. The blandness of it all was perfect for him. Tristan was a bland person, and he loved it. He loved have a simple life, surrounded by minimalistic things. He needed that bland life back. All this drama and running away and nearly getting injected by doctors was too much for him.
"Be strong," Tristan pleaded himself, tightening his hands into his dark locks. He deeply sucked in a breath, air travelling throughout his lungs before he slowly exhaled it into the air. He wiped the tears from his face and sat there, trying to breathe and trying to let go of all this pain seeping into his bones.
He wondered if maybe all this would be easier if he turned in Bambi. All he'd ever wanted was for the curly-haired boy to leave him alone, and for him to be able to live normally again. But there was this little part of his heart that the boy with the big, innocent pools of brown and the sweetest smile stole, and there was no way Tristan would be able to let him walk away with half of his heart.
Maybe his old life was easier. Maybe it was easier living a lie and living without stress.
But who wants easy?
Tristan jumped up from the bathtub, pushing the door open. "Okay," he said to the boy patiently waiting on the edge of the bed, "I'm ready."
. . .
The address lead to a house.
That was least expected. Tristan wasn't sure what he was imagining, but he didn't expect something so personal. He wasn't sure if he were supposed to knock on the door. He wasn't sure where he was supposed to look at all. All the person had left was an address. The blond was beginning to become frustrated with all of this.
"Maybe we should circle the house," Bambi assumed, pulling himself up from the bike.
"And look for what?" the blue-eyed man questioned. He sighed, running a hand through his dyed hair. "Fuck all of this. I'm tired of running around aimlessly. We're in so deep; there's no hope for us."
Bambi frowned, thoughtfully staring at the dying grass.
"I say let's drop all of this and run away to France." He grabbed the curly-haired boy's hands, lips pulling into a hopeful smile. "We could start over. We could live life together normally without all of this goverment shit. How does that sound, Bambi?"
"I do not know."
"I just can't do this," Tristan said. "I wasn't made for this. I'm tired of searching."
"I do not know, Tris. I cannot leave unfinished business. There is someone telling you something; you cannot ignore them."
"How do you know that?" Tristan whispered. "All of this could just be some silly trap!"
"You are just losing your head," Bambi claimed. "You are afraid and stressed, and you think that running away will solve everything. But just because you run away doesn't mean what you left will not still be there. There is a puzzle, and someone out there thinks you're capable of piecing it together."
"They're wrong, Bambi."
"I do not think they're wrong." He smiled. "You are intelligent, Tris. You just do not like using your head when you need it most, that's all."
Tristan sighed, running his tongue over his lip piercing. "Did your mind tell you that?"
"No"-he shook his head along with his answer-"I did."
"And what if I piece this puzzle together?" the twenty-one-year-old asked. "Then what?"
"We will cross that bridge once we get to it." He extended his bandage arm out to the older man. "Come on, Tris. We have a house to inspect and I cannot do this alone."
He eyed the curly-haired boy's hand before hesitantly taking it. As he pulled himself onto his shoes, their fingers interlaced tightly around each other's as they neared the dying grass surrounding the house. It was pale grey, vintage styled house. Something about it felt familiar; although, Tristan had never laid eyes on the house at all.
They both made their way through the browning grass, ducking behind the house and walking aimlessly through the backyard. There was a small shed behind it, a little rusty bike lying against the door and a broken swingset. It looked like no one had bothered nearing the place in ages, but with the weird four weeks the twenty-one-year-old had experienced, he wasn't quick to jumping to conclusions.
"We should check the shed," the curly-haired boy suggested. Tristan shrugged and headed over to the shed, a frown making its way on his face at the little lock bounding the two doors together.
"Locked," Tristan murmured. He quickly smiled. "Do you think you can break the lock?"
"Sure."
"Can I help you two?" Bambi and Tristan paused their footsteps, whipping their heads around to a blonde woman standing four feet away from them, questioningly eyeing the two boys.
"Um..." Tristan trailed off, realising he didn't have any words to follow the two-lettered word. All he could do was awkwardly scratch the back of his hair, racking his brain for an explanation. He wondered where the woman had come from. He hadn't seen any cars parked in the driveway when the two had pulled into the parking lot.
"Wait..." She stepped closer to Tristan, too close for comfort, narrowing her eyes at the twenty-one-year-old's face. He nervously darted his eyes around, stiffening as she extended her arms up and pulled his glasses off his face, studying the man's features carefully. "Tristan?" she questioned.
The blue-eyed man slowly looked her up and down. He'd never seen the woman in his life. "What?"
"Tristan!" the blonde exclaimed, embracing the tall man in her arms. Something weird sparked in him - warm and fuzzy. It felt strange. "I've been coming here every day for five years to find you," she said. Tristan widened his eyes at the tears streaming down her face. "I'm so sorry about everything."
"I'm sorry. I-I don't know you." He ran his tongue along the metal in his lip.
Sadness captured her features. She nodded sadly, handing him back his glasses. He slipped them back on his face. "I know. I just - I know why you're here."
"What?"
"The two clues," she explained. "I'm sure they lead you to the house."
"You've been leaving them?"
"No, but I've been informed." She pulled a key from her pocket and scurried over towards the shed, pushing it into the lock and pulling open the two doors. Tristan could only blankly watch, glancing down at Bambi who shared the same confusion etched on his face. She disappeared into the darkness, movements heard from outside as she searched through it.
"What do you think she's looking for?" Tristan asked.
Bambi shrugged his shoulders before the blonde made her way back outside the shed, an opened box in hand. There was a videocassette recorder placed in the cardboard along with a set of videotapes and two tan folders.
"Um, thanks," the twenty-one-year-old slowly said.
"I know you don't need this but - good luck." She smiled brightly and something about it seemed familiar. "I apologise for how terribly all of this turned out. But hopefully one day you'll remember again."
It was like listening to the words his alleged stalker had told him four weeks ago. And as the stranger pulled him into another familiar embrace Tristan was suddenly hit with a kaleidoscope of incomprehensible images - eight-year-old happily running through a playground into a man's arms, six-year-old him happily snuggling into bed with an unfamiliar man and woman as the woman dictated a book throughout the room, ten-year-old him riding on a bike down the street, smiling widely as the man and woman rode behind him.
Tristan gasped, taking in the woman one last time. "Mum?"