Chapter Two-Hundred Eighty-Nine: Friendship Dinner
Chapter 289
Friendship Dinner
That evening, Tristan and Fabien stepped into Fortune Court, a Chinese restaurant in Little Tokyo. The cozy restaurant was quiet, filled with the rich, inviting aroma of ginger, garlic, and toasted sesame. Above, hanging lantern pendants cast an amber glow across the dining room, their red tassels dangling like punctuation marks against the dark ceiling. Carved mahogany lattice screens framed the room, separating the wide central aisle from a row of plush, high-backed burgundy leather booths that lined the far wall.
Waitresses in crisp black shirts navigated the restaurant with effortless grace, balancing trays. Toward the back, through an open pass-through window framed by intricate woodwork, a brilliant white blaze of kitchen fluorescent light cut through the haze. Every time the heavy kitchen doors swung open, clouds of savory steam billowed out, carrying the metallic roar of wok burners, the rhythmic thunk-thunk-thunk of heavy cleavers on end-grain chopping blocks, and the fiery scent of ginger meeting spitting oil.
The two Frenchmen scanned the dining room before Tristan gestured toward a quiet corner. They walked over and slid into a booth, settling onto the comfortable seats as they prepared to look over the menus.
Before they could open the leather-bound folders, a waitress in a crisp black shirt approached their booth with a small notepad in hand and offered a polite, practiced smile.
Waitress: “Good evening, gentlemen. Welcome to Fortune Court.”
She said, her voice warm over the low hum of the restaurant.
Waitress: “Will this be on one bill tonight?”
Tristan looked up from his menu and nodded.
Tristan: “Yes, one bill.”
Waitress: “Perfect.”
She replied, tapping her pen against the notepad.
Waitress: “Can I start you two off with something to drink?”
Fabien closed his menu and leaned back, settling into the burgundy leather.
Fabien: “I’ll have Glacier Lite on tap, please.”
Waitress: “And for you, sir?”
She asked, turning her attention to Tristan.
Tristan: “A Vesper Martini.”
She jotted down their orders with a quick, efficient hand.
Waitress: “Excellent. I’ll have those right out for you.”
With another brief nod, she slipped away toward the bar, leaving the two men to their menus.
Fabien: “Aren’t we feeling fancy tonight?”
He teased as he read through the menu.
Tristan: “Fabien, that stunt you pulled with Blair had better be a one-time deal.”
He said firmly but gently. Fabien drew a long breath.
Fabien: “Look, people told Blair to find another fat chick, and that advice fell on deaf ears.”
He said archly. Tristan raised an eyebrow.
Tristan: “That’s not what I meant. I am speaking to you, not Blair.”
Before Fabien could formulate a response, the low hum of conversation shifted as their waitress returned to the table, carrying a polished tray with their drink order.
Waitress: “Here we are.”
She announced with a pleasant smile, cutting through the sudden tension hanging over the booth.
With smooth, practiced motions, she placed a frosted pint glass brimming with golden Glacier Lite in front of Fabien, the cold foam settling beneath a gentle ring of condensation. Next, she set down a cocktail glass containing Tristan’s Vesper martini, complete with a thin curl of lemon peel loosely wrapped around a cocktail pick.
Waitress: “Enjoy, gentlemen. Take your time with the main menu, and I’ll be back shortly to check on you.”
Fabien offered a quick word of thanks as she gave a polite nod and glided off toward another table, leaving the two men alone with their drinks.
Tristan reached for his stemmed glass, the Vesper martini’s cold surface cool against his fingertips. He lifted it to his lips and took a slow, thoughtful sip, letting the crisp, potent blend of gin, vodka, and Lillet wash over his palate, punctuated by the bright, clean oils of the lemon peel.
Fabien wrapped his hand around the frosted pint glass of Glacier Lite, the condensation slick against his palm. He lifted the glass and took a deep, appreciative gulp of the cold beer, letting it soothe the evening’s dry heat and ease the lingering tension of their unfinished conversation. He set the pint back down with a soft click on the wooden table, wiping a speck of foam from his lip, his eyes meeting Tristan’s over the amber glow of the lantern.
Tristan: “What I meant was deliberately upsetting Ashley. Celeste could have gone to visit them at any moment and didn’t.”
He said resolutely. Fabien shrugged.
Fabien: “Celeste is a busy woman. She, along with you, Jordi, Deimos, Jiro, and me, has to stop your crazy uncle, your crazy mother, and Ichiro. Fatley’s biggest problem is that Jordi didn’t love her back, and Blair loves her. Stop blaming Celeste, man.”
He said sternly. Tristan raised his eyebrows.
Tristan: “I am not blaming anyone; I am merely pointing out that neither went out of their way to visit the other.”
He said evenly.
Fabien: “Might do her good to walk down to see Celeste or just to take a jog, rather than get fatter with Butter Fairy.”
He said with bitterness and gulped his beer.
Tristan took a sip of his martini.
Tristan: “You’re hurt because the woman you love is hurt. I understand that completely.”
He said coolly. Fabien threw his hands up.
Fabien: “So why are you antagonizing me?”
He asked sharply. Tristan raised an eyebrow.
Tristan: “I apologize for making you feel that way, Fabien. I’m not attacking you. I understand your actions completely. I was pointing out that Celeste didn’t visit Ashley herself. Your actions are not going to make Ashley see what they’re doing.”
He said gently but firmly.
Fabien: “Nah, that would take some brainpower, which she lacks.”
He clicked his tongue.
Tristan: “Fabien, Celeste is not fighting for this friendship either. Why are you trying to fight for something long dead?”
He said softly. Fabien looked away and ran his hand over his white hair.
Fabien: “I guess I want to understand why Butter Fairy over Celeste? Why move on so quickly?”
He said with irritation.
Tristan: “Whether we agree with Ashley’s lifestyle choices or not, how they choose to live is out of our control and frankly not our problem. People change, Fabien, and sometimes they grow in directions we don’t expect or understand. Holding onto bitterness over it only drains your energy when we have far larger threats to deal with—as you stated earlier.”
He explained.
Fabien: “She changed the person she’s obsessed with; it doesn’t mean she changed.”
He countered. Tristan folded his arms over.
Tristan: “Well, if that were true, they would have fallen in love with me after I confessed I wrote Lazaros’ cookbooks—the very books that made them fall for Lazaros.”
Fabien laughed a mirthless laugh.
Fabien: “Why would anyone fall for Lazaros?”
He raked his hand through his hair.
Tristan: “You and I know him; Ashley did not, and it’s evident.”
Before either of them could continue, the low rustle of the menus announced the return of their waitress, notepad and pen in hand.
Waitress: “Are you gentlemen ready to order your meals?”
Fabien nodded and leaned forward, glancing down at his menu one last time before looking up at her.
Fabien: “Yes, please. To start, I’ll take five spring rolls and five egg rolls. For the mains, I’ll have General Tso’s chicken, mushroom fried rice, and shrimp lo mein.”
The waitress jotted down the list with practiced swiftness, giving a small, appreciative nod before turning her attention to Tristan.
Waitress: “And for you, sir?”
Tristan closed his leather folder and set it neatly at the edge of the table.
Tristan: “I’ll have two spring rolls, sweet and sour chicken, chicken chow mein, and Cantonese chow mein, please.”
Waitress: “Wonderful. I’ll get these orders right into the kitchen for you.”
She collected their menus with a polite smile and glided back toward the rear kitchen window, leaving the two men in the booth.
Tristan took another thoughtful sip of his martini.
Tristan: “What do Celeste and Ashley have in common with each other anymore, other than their cat-like mannerisms?”
Fabien gazed at him as he drank his beer.
Fabien: “I guess nothing at all.”
Tristan: “You said it best: their biggest issue is Blair and trying to overcome Jordi. We have to contend with the likes of Narcisse, Charlotte, Ichiro, Ivy, and now possibly Balderico.”
Fabien shuddered, recalling how Balderico drugged him and kidnapped him.
Their conversation paused as the waitress returned to the booth, skillfully balancing a heavy tray filled with steaming appetizers.
Waitress: “Here are your starters, gentlemen.”
She placed white ceramic platters between them. In front of Fabien, she set down a generous spread of five golden spring rolls and five egg rolls, their blistered, crispy wrappers gleaming beneath the amber lantern glow. For Tristan, she arranged a smaller dish featuring two delicate spring rolls, accompanied by porcelain saucers of vibrant duck sauce and hot mustard. Curving tendrils of steam rose into the air, carrying the enticing aromas of fried garlic, seasoned cabbage, and crisp savory wrappers.
Waitress: “Careful, they are fresh from the fryer. Enjoy!”
Fabien offered a quick word of thanks as she glided away. The lingering tension in his posture gave way to appetite as he reached out, picked up an egg roll, and blew gently on the steaming end before taking a satisfyingly crunchy bite.
Fabien: “At least the food here is good.”
He mumbled approvingly around the mouthful, dipping the remaining half into the hot mustard sauce. Across the table, Tristan picked up one of his spring rolls, dipped the corner lightly into the duck sauce, and took a neat bite, letting the warm flavors of cabbage and garlic settle as they enjoyed their appetizers.
Not long after, their waitress returned to the booth, skillfully balancing a heavy tray filled with their main courses.
Waitress: “Here are your mains, gentlemen.”
She set down the piping-hot plates and steaming bowls across the wooden table. In front of Fabien, she placed the glistening General Tso’s chicken, a bowl of mushroom fried rice, and a platter of shrimp lo mein. For Tristan, she set down the sweet and sour chicken, chicken chow mein, and Cantonese chow mein. Beside each setting, she laid down a pair of wooden chopsticks.
Waitress: “Enjoy!”
Fabien and Tristan both picked up their wooden chopsticks, attempting to maneuver them. Fabien tried to pinch a piece of General Tso’s chicken, but the sticks crossed awkwardly in his grip and slipped. Across the table, Tristan attempted to pick up some Cantonese chow mein, only for the noodles to fall right back onto the plate. After a few futile attempts, they realized chopsticks were beyond their abilities.
Tristan: “Oh, golly, this is embarrassing…”
He rubbed his temples.
Fabien: “I got this.”
Fabien: “Excuse me!”
He called out politely before the waitress walked away.
Waitress: “Yes?”
Fabien: “Could we please get some forks and spoons?”
Tristan: “Yes, please.”
Tristan added with a quiet smile.
Waitress: “Of course! I’ll bring those right over.”
She smiled warmly and glided off toward the kitchen, leaving the two men waiting comfortably by their steaming meal.
The waitress returned shortly after with a small tray carrying metal forks and spoons. She placed the utensils neatly on paper napkins beside Fabien and Tristan's plates, wished them an enjoyable meal, then headed off to tend to other tables. Grateful, Fabien and Tristan picked up their forks and spoons and began eating their hot main courses—Fabien enjoying his General Tso’s chicken, mushroom fried rice, and shrimp lo mein, while Tristan dug into his sweet and sour chicken, chicken chow mein, and Cantonese chow mein.
Tristan: “Thank you for that, Fabien.”
He said earnestly and tenderly. Fabien smiled.
Fabien: “Come on, we’re French.”
Tristan: “Thank you for your kindness to me. I apologize for chiding you earlier.”
He bowed his head.
Fabien: “Don’t be. You feel sorry for that fat bitch, but she makes her own problems—like Blair. I tell people in my server who try to white knight him not to do that… They always regret it.”
He shrugged as he shoved a spoonful of mushroom fried rice.
Tristan: “Well, all I am saying is you got even, and now it’s time to move on.”
Fabien bobbed his head.
Fabien: “I am. If Celeste is done with that Jenny Craig dropout, then so am I. I always felt Celeste was above her anyway.”
Tristan cleared his throat.
Tristan: “Well, when Lazaros ended his relationship with them, they were drifting from us, and it more or less became complete after that whole ordeal with Jordi.”
He drew a puff of air.
With their conversation drawing to a natural close, Tristan and Fabien finished the remaining bites of their main courses. They set their forks and spoons down onto their empty plates and wiped their hands and faces with paper napkins.
Before long, their waitress returned to the booth, looking over the cleared dishes with a polite smile.
Waitress: “Can I clear these away for you gentlemen?”
She asked, efficiently gathering and stacking the empty platters, bowls, and used cutlery onto her tray.
Waitress: “Would you care for any dessert tonight, or are you all set for the check?”
Tristan folded his paper napkin and set it down neatly beside his glass, offering a courteous smile.
Tristan: “No dessert for us tonight, thank you. We’re ready for the bill.”
Fabien: “Just the check for us, thanks.”
Fabien added, relaxing back into the booth’s burgundy leather seating.
Waitress: “Right away, gentlemen.”
She gave a warm nod and glided off toward the register.
Moments later, she returned with a small presenter and set it down between them, containing the single combined tab, as agreed earlier.
Waitress: “Here you are. Whenever you’re ready, no rush at all.”
Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, Tristan pulled out his wallet and retrieved enough bills to cover the bill and leave a generous tip. He slipped the money into the presenter and folded it shut.
Tristan: “Thank you very much. The meal was wonderful.”
Waitress: “Thank you! Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen.”
She picked up the bill presenter with a warm smile. Tristan and Fabien stood up from the booth and walked out.
Fabien shoved his hands into his pockets as he and Tristan left the restaurant.
Tristan: “Thank you for suggesting that, Fabien. I enjoyed our outing very much!”
Fabien nodded.
Fabien: “Me too, actually! It was more fun than when Jordi and I did this sparingly.”
He laughed awkwardly.
Tristan: “How so?”
He raised an eyebrow. Fabien shrugged.
Fabien: “He was only around me ‘cause he felt sorry for me. I’m not fuckin’ Jiro. I don’t want to be someone’s sympathy case. Jiro needs people to validate his pathetic ass and feel sorry for him. I don’t want that shit.”
He folded his arms over. Tristan gazed at him.
Tristan: “I understand that completely, Fabien. Well, you know this is not why I am here. I have the utmost faith in you.”
He stated.
Tristan: “I always knew you were intelligent, even when we didn’t get along, and I knew you always had a good heart.”
He smiled. Fabien looked away and blushed.
Fabien: “I have a good heart? Hahahaha, no, I don’t.”
He stammered.
Tristan: “You wouldn’t have done what you did today for Celeste if you hadn’t.”
Fabien flushed an even deeper red, the color spreading to the tips of his ears. He quickly looked down at his feet, clearing his throat awkwardly as he tried to regain his composure.
Fabien: “Whatever, man... I just hate seeing people take advantage of her, that’s all.”
He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
Tristan chuckled.
Tristan: “We ought to do this more often.”
Fabien looked up at him.
Fabien: “Yeah! Yeah! Definitely. I will pay next time, though.”
~
Meanwhile, Celeste and Deimos stepped into Fred’s 50s Diner. Deimos wore an Iron Maiden tank top, ripped jeans, and cowboy boots. Celeste wore a Quiet Riot tank top with a denim skirt, leather mules, and a spiked collar. Together, they slid into one of the red vinyl booths. Celeste set her cat purse beside her, and they looked over the menus.
Celeste: “So did you see Tuxedo Blair on Fab’s server?”
Deimos: “Yeah, saw that shit and screamed at Blair. I don’t know, every time I see him, I want to beat the fucking shit out of him.”
He growled.
Celeste: “Why does Ashley get so upset with him?”
Deimos shrugged.
Deimos: “Fabien said Ashley loved him, and Blair did something or other to upset them. I didn’t buy it at first, but now I think I do. They fell for Lazaros, and he’s no different than Blair.”
He huffed.
Celeste: “That’s how I feel about Madelyn.”
She muttered.
Deimos gazed at her.
Deimos: “She briefly dated Jordi and always dressed up in some costume. There’s a time and a place, and then we saw Blair do that today, so.”
He threw his arms up.
Deimos: “Ashley has a type, and it’s the fucking strange.”
Before either of them could continue, a waitress approached their red vinyl booth with a notepad in hand.
Waitress: “Good evening! Will this be on one bill or separate bills tonight?”
Deimos looked up from his menu.
Deimos: “It’ll be on one bill.”
Waitress: “Got it. What can I get started for you two to drink?”
Deimos: “I’ll have a coffee. No cream, no sugar, no milk. Black… like my soul.”
Celeste: “And I’ll have a root beer float, please.”
She chirped. The waitress jotted down their orders on her notepad with a quick stroke of her pen.
Waitress: “I’ll have those right out for you.”
With a friendly nod, she headed off to fetch their drinks, leaving the two of them to look over the menu.
Celeste: “Isn’t it kind of late to order coffee?”
She drawled.
Deimos: “Nah, it’s never too late.”
Before long, the waitress returned to their booth carrying their drinks. She set down a mug of black coffee in front of Deimos and a tall root beer float with cherries, a straw, and a spoon in front of Celeste.
Waitress: “Are you ready to order your main meals?”
Deimos: “I’ll have a double bacon hamburger with everything on it, extra pickles, and fries.”
Celeste: “And I’ll take a double bacon cheeseburger with grilled mushrooms and cheese fries, please!”
The waitress jotted down their orders on her notepad with a quick, practiced hand and gave a polite nod.
Waitress: “Sounds delicious! I’ll get these right into the kitchen for you.”
With a warm smile, she turned and headed back toward the kitchen, leaving Deimos and Celeste at their booth to wait for their food.
Celeste: “How do you deal with friendships just… ending?”
She asked as she scooped some ice cream into her mouth.
Deimos: “Uh, friendships always end on me.”
Celeste: “No, I mean like… ending, not in fights or screaming or as you do.”
She blinked. Deimos looked up at the ceiling.
Deimos: “I don’t think I had a friendship or a relationship end like that.”
He admitted.
Deimos rested his elbows on the table.
Deimos: “Tristan is mad at me ‘cause I want to say somethin’ to Ashley about them ignoring you.”
He said with a sigh.
Celeste: “Why do you wanna say somethin’ to them?”
She asked as she popped a cherry in her mouth.
Deimos: “Because it’s upsetting you!”
He replied. Celeste shrugged.
Celeste: “I’ll get over it, Deimos. This is somethin’ they do, and I got you guys now!”
She nodded.
Celeste: “I think Tristan doesn’t want you making this worse when Ashley is dealing with their issues with Jordi… Which is super weird, ‘cause if they found someone else, why hang up about Jordi?”
She drawled. Deimos sipped his coffee.
Deimos: “I guess because they believed Jordi loved them. I knew he never did. He had a crush on Tristan, and then his dipshit sister did. Those fucking siblings jump from person to person, so yeah, no shit, Jordi never loved them. Also, how can someone from this planet love someone from their planet?”
He said irritably and threw his arms up.
Deimos: “Tristan himself mentioned this when they were involved with Jordi. He made that bird and fish analogy.”
He bowed his head.
Deimos: “...If I recall, they didn’t listen to Tristan, so why would they listen to me? Tristan is so wise, intelligent, and perfect… I am me.”
He said glumly. Celeste sipped her float.
Celeste: “Yup, and Tristan loves you!”
Deimos smiled a bit.
Deimos: “You think so?”
Celeste: “Yeah! He gets upset ‘cause he thinks this isn’t worth fighting for and… maybe he’s right. I didn’t see Ashley either. It’s awkward when you’re friends with the guy who broke their heart and their new flavor of the month is a weirdo, but here we are!”
She beamed. Deimos nodded.
Deimos: “Yes, if someone like Tristan loves a big, strong dope like me, I guess I am something!”
Not long after, their waitress returned to the booth, skillfully balancing a heavy tray carrying their main meals.
Waitress: “Here are your mains, folks!”
She set down the hot, towering plates across the red vinyl booth. In front of Deimos, she placed his double bacon hamburger loaded with everything, complete with extra pickles and a side of hot, golden fries. In front of Celeste, she set down her double bacon cheeseburger topped with rich grilled mushrooms and a side of crispy cheese fries. Celeste looked at her meal with sparkling violet eyes.
Celeste: “WOOOOW!”
Waitress: “Enjoy your meal!”
She offered a warm smile before heading off to check on other guests around the diner.
Celeste offered a quick, cheerful thank you as she walked away. Without missing a beat, they picked up their burgers and ate with hearty appetites, savoring every warm, savory bite.
Celeste: “Thanks for this, Deimos!”
Deimos: “Thank you for believing in me. I think I know how to make it work with Tristan.”
He said doggedly.
Celeste: “And look, don’t worry about Ashley and me. That friendship checked out. I’m a strong girl. I will get past this ‘cause something else will distract me.”
She drawled. Deimos smiled in return. Then he thought, I don’t know if I could do that.
~
Later that night, long after the diner lights had dimmed and the quiet calm of late evening settled, Fabien and Celeste lay curled together in bed. Fabien wore only soft green plaid pajama pants, his bare chest warm against the cool sheets. Celeste leaned close beside him, dressed in a comfortable black tank top and black panties, resting her head gently against his chest.
Fabien wrapped an arm around her, resting his cheek against her green hair as he drew a quiet, slow breath. The soft hum of the night outside wrapped around them, brushing away the day’s lingering exhaustion.
Celeste: “Thanks for being there for me today, Fab. You know… with Tuxedo Blair. That was the laugh I didn’t know I needed.”
She murmured, her voice barely above a whisper in the dark room.
Fabien: “Always, Celeste. You know I’ve got your back.”
He replied gently, tightening his hold on her just a bit as she snuggled closer into his side.
Celeste: “But if you’re looking to get even with Ashley, it’s okay. I’m over it.”
She circled his chest with her nail. He shivered.
Fabien: “Are you really, or are you saying that to get me to stop?”
He asked with a smirk.
Celeste: “I think I’m really. I did some thinking and… I never went to visit them. I never liked Madelyn, and I don’t wanna make things awkward. I guess I hope this one works… I don’t think it will, but… It’s not my problem anymore.”
She shrugged.
Fabien: “Butter Fairy vs. Tuxedo Blair: they fight for the fat maiden!”
He laughed.
Fabien: “I would love to see those two duke it out for her fat hand.”
He added.
Celeste smirked, a mischievous glint in her violet eyes as she shifted under the covers.
Celeste: “Oh, is that so?”
She drawled teasingly. Before Fabien could react, she slid down toward the foot of the bed and reached out, digging her fingers into the bare soles of his feet.
Fabien instantly let out a sharp gasp, squirming away as an uncontrollable burst of laughter erupted from his chest.
Fabien: “CELESTE! WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! DOHOHOHON’T!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”
He protested, kicking his legs as he tried frantically to pull his feet back under the blankets.
Celeste: “What’s the matter, Fab? I thought you were tough!”
She giggled, lightly scratching the arches of his bare feet, targeting his ultimate weak spot.
Fabien: “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!!”
Fabien barked out between fits of helpless laughter, curling his toes.
With a satisfying chuckle, Celeste let go and crawled back up beside him, snuggling back into his side. Fabien caught his breath with a heavy sigh, pulling the blankets safely over his legs while shaking his head with a breathless grin.
~
Tristan stepped out onto the private balcony outside of his bedroom, wearing a pair of silver silk pajamas. His long white hair hung loose over his shoulders, catching the soft glow of the two moons overhead. In one hand, he held a Sobranie cigarette; in the other, a polished silver Zippo lighter. With a smooth flick of his thumb, the metallic click echoed softly into the quiet night, and a flame flared to life. He lit the cigarette, taking a slow, thoughtful drag before snapping the Zippo shut and exhaling a thin stream of smoke into the cool night air as he rested his arms against the balcony railing.
High above, Deimos soared through the night sky. Gliding quietly through the evening breeze, he spotted Tristan resting against the railing of his private balcony. With a smooth tilt of his shoulders, Deimos descended gracefully from the open sky, touching down without a sound on the balcony right beside him.
Deimos: “Tristan…”
He began.
Deimos: “I talked to Celeste about Ashley.”
Tristan turned to him.
Tristan: “Did you?”
Deimos nodded.
Deimos: “She seems to be moving on.”
He rubbed his neck.
Deimos: “How can she? If someone did that to me, I would give them a piece of my mind!”
He huffed.
Tristan flicked some ash over the balcony and took another drag.
Tristan: “Indeed, Deimos, and that lies at the root of your issue—you rush into conflict without considering if the cause is truly worth the battle.”
Deimos threw his arms up.
Deimos: “Well, she was kind to them when Maxx and Blair were shitty to them, and then it was Lazaros!”
He flared hotly. Tristan drew a long breath.
Tristan: “That was in the past. Celeste and Ashley now lead entirely separate lives. Their friendship simply ran its course, and it is important to understand that a faded connection does not imply lingering malice. It’s merely a natural aspect of life.”
Tristan took another quiet drag from his cigarette, watching the smoke drift upward before continuing.
Tristan: “We often exhaust ourselves trying to preserve connections simply because of their history, rather than their present reality. People enter our lives to teach us something, to walk alongside us for a season, but not everyone is meant to finish the journey with us. Forcing a bond that has run its course only breeds resentment, Deimos. Accepting its natural end is not defeat; it is simply honoring what it once was while allowing yourself the grace to move forward.”
Deimos gazed at Tristan and turned his head to gaze at the twin moons.
Deimos: “Celeste asked me if I ever had this… Like a friendship just… end. I never had that. Every friendship I ever had that ended always ended in bad blood.”
He stated.
Tristan listened thoughtfully, taking a quiet drag from his cigarette before flicking the ash over the balcony edge.
Tristan: “Not every parting requires a battle.”
He turned his calm gaze back toward Deimos, offering a gentle smile.
Tristan: “You feel things with great intensity. You let your emotions control you instead of the other way around. That is why I pleaded with you not to intervene with Celeste and Ashley. This isn't your battle, and you don’t want to make it worse, especially for Celeste.”
He stated.
Tristan: “Celeste will prevail. She’s not going to fall apart.”
Deimos stared at his hands.
Deimos: “I want to help my friends… Otherwise, what good am I?”
He asked.
Tristan: “You are good simply by being who you are, Deimos. You’re true to your values. Your loyalty, your passion, and your desire to protect those you care about—that is your worth. You do not need to fight every battle to prove your value to us… or to me.”
He said softly as he put his soft hand on Deimos’ calloused hand. Deimos shivered and felt his hardness press against his jeans.
Tristan took one last slow, lingering drag of his Sobranie cigarette, the glowing amber cherry burning brightly against the balcony’s quiet gloom. He paused for a moment, letting the gentle silence wrap around them, before exhaling the final soft wisps of smoke. With a light, deliberate motion, he stubbed the ember out into a small ceramic tray resting on the railing, keeping his gaze fixed tenderly on Deimos as the quiet warmth between them lingered in the moonlight.
Tristan reached out, running his slender fingers over Deimos’ crotch. Deimos bit his bottom lip as his toes curled in his boots.
They entered Tristan’s bedroom. He unbuckled Deimos’ belt, unzipped his pants, and his soft hands reached in, curled around Deimos’ hard cock, and pulled it out. As he was about to place it into his mouth, Deimos released his load on Tristan’s face, getting it in his hair, on his glasses, and pajamas.
Deimos: “Oh, fuck yeah.”
Tristan: “DEIMOS!”
He screamed at him. Deimos flopped back.
Deimos: “You’re that amazing, Tristan.”
Tristan’s face burned red with pure fury and disgust. Snatching a plush feather pillow from the head of the bed, he swung it with all his strength, slamming it straight into Deimos’ chest.
Tristan: “YOU ABSOLUTE BUFFOON!”
He shrieked, striking him again with a loud, heavy thwack that sent a shower of white down feathers floating through the air.
Tristan: “MY HAIR! MY GLASSES! MY SILK PAJAMAS! YOU DISGUSTING OAF!”
Deimos threw his arms up to shield his face as the pillow repeatedly battered against his arms and shoulders. He snatched the pillow from Tristan and huffed.
Deimos: “HEY! Well, EXCUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSE ME, Prince Tristan!”
He angrily threw the pillow down.
The door swung open. Tristan gasped and fumed; he reached over to his nightstand, snatched a box of Kleenex, and furiously pulled out several tissues. With swift, angry motions, he wiped the mess off his face, scrubbed the lenses of his glasses, and frantically dabbed at his white hair and silver silk pajamas, gritting his teeth in utter indignation.
Jasper stood in the doorway and reddened when he saw Deimos lying back.
Deimos: “What?”
Tristan put the pillow over Deimos’ member and turned to Jasper.
Tristan: “Yes, Jasper?”
Jasper: “Sorry to bother you two, but my birthday is approaching, and I was wondering if I should propose to your father?”
Tristan stood in a regal posture.
Tristan: “Sure, Jasper, I don’t see why not.”
Deimos gaped at Tristan and raised an eyebrow.
Jasper: “My birthday is on October the fourth! I would love for you, your boyfriend, and your friends to attend!”
He smiled.
Deimos: “If Jordi is gonna be there, I am beating his fucking face in!”
He snapped. Tristan drew a long breath.
Jasper: “Well, it’s a special event, Deimos.”
He said gently.
Deimos: “I’ll give him a special punch then.”
He folded his arms over. Tristan rolled his eyes.
Jasper sighed.
Jasper: “I would love for you all to get along on this day… for your boyfriend’s father, Deimos.”
Deimos rolled his eyes.
Tristan: “I’ll try to keep Deimos in line, Jasper. I can try to keep Deimos in line, Jasper.”
He said genially.
Jasper: “Thank you, Tristan. I will leave you two to whatever.”
He closed the door behind him.
Tristan: “Whatever? Deimos finished, and I did nothing!”
He pouted.
Deimos: “You’re that amazing, Tristan!”
He smiled.
Tristan grabbed a fresh pair of clean white silk pajamas from his wardrobe. With a huff, he turned on his heel and stepped into the adjoining bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him to wash up and scrub away the lingering mess of the evening.
Closing the door behind him, Tristan turned the metal locks with a quiet click. He let out a long, heavy breath and stood before the bathroom vanity, staring at his reflection in the mirror as he removed his glasses and set them aside. He stepped into the shower and turned the gold handles, letting the water run until steam curled upward and filled the room with comforting warmth.
He unbuttoned his silver silk pajamas, shedding the soiled garments, and stepped into the shower. As the warm water cascaded over his head and shoulders, washing away the lingering frustration of the evening, his expression grew somber. Beneath the steady stream, his thoughts grew deep and troubled.
A heavy weight settled onto his chest as he realized he still hadn't brought himself to tell his father about the return of Narcisse and Charlotte—his mother, Victor’s wife, whom Victor and everyone else had believed to be long dead. Closing his eyes, Tristan rested his forehead against the cool marble tile, the cold reality of the secret weighing heavier on him than ever.
After his shower, Tristan dried off and put on a fresh pair of underwear and white silk pajamas. He unlocked the bathroom door and stepped back out into the quiet dimness of his bedroom. Deimos was waiting for him, lying back in bed dressed in a black tank top and dark plaid pajama pants. Tristan walked over, slid beneath the soft covers beside Deimos, and let out a soft, weary sigh as he settled into bed for the night.
Deimos: “Tristan?”
Tristan took off his glasses and placed them carefully onto his nightstand.
Tristan: “Yes, Deimos?”
Deimos: “Did you tell your dad about Charlotte and Narcisse?”
Tristan froze and shifted his eyes.
Tristan: “...No.”
Deimos turned to face him.
Deimos: “Why? Why are you putting this off?”
Tristan: “Because I don’t know how to tell him or where to start!”
He replied with frustration.
Deimos: “Tell him Narcisse is back with Charlotte.”
Tristan: “It’s not that simple, Deimos…”
He sighed.
Deimos: “It doesn’t have to be. I know it isn’t, but if you don’t tell him, he’s gonna find out the ugliest way possible.”
He said, knitting his eyebrows.
Tristan: “...You’re right. I believe he’s in bed now. I will tell him in the morning.”
He sighed and pursed his lips.
Deimos: “...You never put off anything. You do when it comes to Charlotte. Why is that?”
He asked him.
Tristan: “Because I am scared, and I sometimes don’t know how to keep this mask of bravery on.”
Deimos snaked his arm around Tristan.
Deimos: “Then I will tell him. You always help a big dumb-dumb like me. Let me help you now.”
Tristan: “Papa has spent this year building a life of peace, believing that chapter of his pain was permanently closed. That thing’s abuse ran deep, and hers and Narcisse’s return threatens to destroy everything Papa has rebuilt. I hesitate because I know the moment I utter those names, the illusion of safety shatters for him, and I cannot bear to be the one to break his world apart once more.”
He squeezed his eyes shut.
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