#ashroiidwrites

Regardless. Jane liked his face. Usually, she was more partial to the neglected, the hard to love. But she seemed to be of popular opinion in this instance. That was… different. That was difficult. 

Whoever the girl was, she was pretty, in that objective apple pie kind of way. That Rhea kind of way. Only she was blonde and cheerful and actually looked interested in Tristan. Jane watched them from the kitchen, a crow in wilderness minding her prey. She perched on the counter top with her legs crossed like a defence. If anyone wasn’t getting ice from her posture, they weren’t paying attention.

Or, they were Beau. 

He was closer to Jane than she would’ve liked, but she maintained a level of tolerance for Beau that she didn’t have for many others.  He reminded her of Chris, if Chris had been castrated at a young age and wasn’t aware you could hurt people if you tried. She liked and disliked him in equal measures because of it. 

“You gotta let him spread his wings, Mama Bird.” Beau breathed. Jane turned her gaze from Tristan and his new friend in the living area to stare at Beau, who had a fist either side of her hips. The funny thing about it was, she could have felt trapped, but the curve of Beau’s spine was soft and boyish. His solar plexus practically begged to be punctured if he so much as moved a hand unexpectedly. Beau couldn’t be threatening if he tried. She tilted her head to the side, tilting her chin up to observe the gentle wave of his platinum blonde hair. But her eyes didn’t miss his toothy smile. “Really. You should be proud of him. Baby’s first crack house hook up. Damn, I’m proud. But… space, mama. Space.” 

That was ironic. Jane made a point of raising her knee just slightly, making contact with his stomach, and pushing forward. Beau chuckled a little, lifting his hands in surrender and stumbling half a step backward.

“Space.” Jane repeated. “Maybe there is something to that.” 

“That’s my bad. I’m like a niffler. Always gotta be close to pretty things.” He winked at her, crossing arms casually behind his head in a surrender of a stretch. She knew Beau didn’t mean anything he said half the time. It was hard to mistake him for a man with any kind of direct intent. That was probably how he’d managed to live this long. That was probably why Chris hadn’t taken even a single swing at him yet. 

Bored of the situation, Jane’s eyes wandered back to their default target. Tristan was smiling now. From where she sat, Jane could see one of his dimples. She blinked a couple of times, suppressing the urge to smile herself. Ridiculous. But the feeling was fleeting, squashed the moment Tristan’s companion shifted from the ottoman across from him to the sofa cushion beside him. It looked like she was showing him something on her phone. Or maybe asking for his number. 

“Put the death glare away, baby!” 

Beau again, in her ear. She clenched her jaw, rolling her neck on her way back to looking at him. “Well,  which is it?” 

Beau smiled. “Which is it, what?” 

“Am I your baby, or am I your mama?” She asked, not in a friendly way. Now, he grimaced. 

“Ah, shit. I’m being an asshole again, aren’t I?” When Jane didn’t respond, he gave her a sheepish smile. “You’re neither. To me, anyway. Chris’s baby. Tristan’s –” 

“Nothing.” 

Beau seemed to consider. “Okay… Well, okay. But he’s still your something.” His smile was coming back. “Your baby bird.” 

“We’re not a nature documentary, Beau.” 

“No, but. If you were.” He turned around, lifted himself up to sit beside her. “Now, if I was being cynical, I’d say you were a lioness and he was a sweet little giselle.” Beau’s head lolled to the side, resting on his shoulder as he looked up at her. “But I’m not being cynical. I don’t think you’re hunting him, you know? Just caring about him. Nothing wrong with that.” 

Nothing wrong with that. 

“Only thing is, though, if you never let your little babies fend for themselves…” Beau shrugged enigmatically.

The truth was, Tristan had fended for himself plenty. And Jane wasn’t looking out for him. She wondered at external perceptions, not for the first time. It seemed she had a penchant for being misunderstood, first in isolation, and now in relation to Tristan. 

Very few people understood what she wanted. Very few people understood her in general. 

“Beau.” He tilted his head back to his other shoulder, smiled with all his teeth. “You’re the only baby here.” 

“Aw.” Touched.                 

“Why don’t you go and find a relationship to ruin?” 

“Aw.” Not touched. 

She watched him pout for a moment, contemplated pressing further on the soft spot. Why do what you do if you can’t face it without hurting? But she pushed off the edge of the counter. Heard the clack of her heavy boots on the linoleum. She was tired of being around Beau, who so deceptively appeared to bare his soul to anyone who asked, but who couldn’t face himself. 

Be honest. 

She turned on her heel, ignored Beau’s call after her – “He’s gotta spread his wings!” – and moved toward the sofa. Tristan’s back was half turned toward her, but as she circled around him to sit on the ottoman, his head swivelled to follow her. 

“Hey.” He smiled at her, his full smile, with the dimples, and she blinked slowly back. After a moment, he held out the beer in his hand. “Drink?” 

She took it, though she wasn’t thirsty. Their fingers brushed as he handed the bottle over, and now she did smile back at him. Not intentionally. Jane turned her head to look at their company, and waited. 

“This is…” 

“Cammie.” Cammie supplied, smiling warmly at Tristan out the corner of her eye. Which meant that they hadn’t exchanged names. Jane wondered what they’d been talking about. It was odd not to introduce yourself. Wasn’t it? “And you are…?” 

After a long moment of silence, Tristan answered, “Jane.” 

Jane let out a breath in response. Raised the beer bottle to her lips. Continued to look at Cammie. 

Seeming to gather that Jane wasn’t here for conversation, Cammie redirected her attention to Tristan, and the two continued to chat amongst themselves. A flush was picking up in her cheeks, but Jane thought it had less to do with talking to Tristan than it had to do with being subjected to her scrutiny; Cammie kept throwing glances her way, nervous laughter escaping the corner of her mouth every time she met Jane’s gaze. 

If she was being fair, Jane would’ve looked away. Given the girl a break.  But that wasn’t really in her spirit. 

She watched Cammie build up confidence again, speaking to Tristan more fluidly than before, and liked her a little more. 

“But… when this wraps up, there’s a little something going down at my friend’s house, so if you wanted to come –”

Well. Jane didn’t like her that much. “No.” 

Now, Tristan and Cammie both looked at her. She took a sip of the beer. It was warm. Surprise was written across both of their faces, maybe because Cammie hadn’t been talking to Jane.

“Oh?” Cammie squeaked. 

Jane shouldn’t have stared her down for so long. “We’re busy.” 

Cammie raised her eyebrows, pointed at Tristan, as if asking we as in you and him, and when neither disagreed, she nodded gamely. “Cool. Okay. So are you two, like, a thing, then?” 

Jane smiled. Big of her to ask. She sounded a little annoyed, too, like her time had been wasted, which was funny. 

“What do you think?” Jane handed the bottle back to Tristan, who looked as uncomfortable as he did confused. 

After a moment of deliberation, Cammie seemed to make up her mind. She gave Tristan a quick, tight lipped smile, Jane a nod, and left like a champ. Jane tucked a hand under her chin, elbow rested on her knee. Tracked her eyes back over to Tristan. “That was mean, wasn’t it?” 

Tristan tilted his head this way and that noncommittally, either because he didn’t know or didn’t want to admit that he did. At his lukewarm response, she shrugged her own shoulders, looking around the room as if she’d never seen it before. She could feel Tristan’s eyes on her, but finding Beau watching her from the kitchen was a surprise; he raised his eyebrows at her disapprovingly, mouthing, baby bird. She rolled her eyes when he started to flap his arms. 

“What?” Tristan asked, and Jane pulled her gaze back to his own slowly. She didn’t answer right away. His hair was starting to fall into his eyelashes. She extended a hand, brushed his hair off of his forehead gently. She could trim it, she thought. But Jane liked Tristan’s hair long. She liked that it curled around his face like a lowered halo. But she would ask him later what he wanted. For now, she leaned back on her palms, maintaining eye contact as she did so. 

“Beau. He’s under the impression that I think I own you.” 

“Oh.” Tristan seemed to process this for a while, not looking at her. “Uh… do you?” 

She tilted her head, trying to catch his eye; he let her, and she smiled. “Think I own you? Or own you?” He laughed a little, and she wished she hadn’t said it when he looked away again. Missing the connection of meeting eyes, she let her ankle meet his calf in substitute. “I do. Just a little bit. Not enough to share.” Tristan looked up at her again. She didn’t allow herself time to process his expression before she admitted, “You own a lot more of me.”