#tryst fakes

1. Dan Russo (clearly)

2. Tryst

3. Erik Campbell

4. Lars

5. Curtis

6. Julian Randol

7. Alex Wright

8. Max Borman

9. Joe Ferrera

WARNINGS: drug use/abuse, alcohol, addiction, cheating, implied domestic abuse (not by Tryst), cheating, unprotected smut, pining, general angst, etc. What's Playing:"Bad Idea" ~Waitress The Musical

"Shit Tryst what happened to you?" You move aside to let him in, not even questioning whether or not to invite him in. Based on how he looked, you could only assume he'd gotten jumped or something. The truth of Tryst's life still a mystery to you. Your boyfriend had made you cut contact once you'd graduated. You didn't quite understand why, but the way he phrased made sense. All you could do was trust his judgement, no matter how much it hurt you to lose your best friend.

"Long story." He doesn't want to give you the details. If you knew that he'd been involved in a fake ID making scheme you'd probably turn him away or worse, call the cops.

You lead him to the couch, something that probably cost more than his car. The whole house was elaborate and ornate, coming from the friend who's parents house was just like his, cramped and cluttered, this was a change. Tryst didn't like it one bit, it didn't feel like you or your style, too minimalist. there wasn't a hint of your personality that he so loved.

"Still moving in then?"

"No, we're pretty much done, why do you ask?"

He gestures around the stark and barren home. "It doesn't seem like you. Where's the decoration."

"Oh, he says the collect dust. Make it look too busy." You didn't have to drop a name for him to know who you were talking about.

"Of course he'd say that."

"Can you just be nice for once? Besides, you're not in a position to start arguments."

Unfortunately Tryst has to agree, so he settles down on the couch, trying not to think about the dirt and blood he might be getting on it. You didn't seem to mind, and that's all that mattered.

"So where's the boy toy now?"

You laugh a little at the nickname. "He's getting ready to leave, he does hybrid stay a few days downtown, a few here from home."

"Right, sure." Tryst didn't care about your boyfriend's schedule, focused on the fact that it would just be the two of you here, alone. When you were younger the concept was normal and familiar, now, there was unresolved tension settling, and a silent need on his end. "Is he going to be alright with me staying here?"

You wave off his concerns. "Oh for sure, he doesn't see you as a threat or anything."

Even though you didn't mean it as a slight, Tryst still took it that way. Your boyfriend saw it that was which meant that you were so far out of Tryst's league that he wasn't even worth being considered a threat. It stung.

While he mulls this over a door upstairs opens, descending the stairs is the prick himself, smug smirk as if he didn't have a care in the world. He takes in Tryst on the couch, the grin widening.

"Look who's here." His tone was mocking.

"Yo, how's it goin'?" Tryst laughs nervously, trying to ease the inferiority he feels in the other man's presence.

"You look like shit." Blunt, biting.

"That's what happens when you get beat up."

"Right, and how did that happen?"

Tryst clenches his jaw but doesn't take the bait. "Off to the office? Nice, maybe you can debate with your head and get it out of your ass."

Your boyfriend scoffs and leans in close so only Tryst can hear. "Make sure you're gone by morning, right? I wouldn't want the local junkie hanging around the house."

"I don't use any more, you know that." Tryst rolls his eyes at the attempted slight.

"True, but dealers always end up using." He straightens back before Tryst can question who had told him that he was a dealer. Someone had blabbed and now a live grenade had been placed into his enemy's hand, waiting to be detonated. "I'll see you later then?"

"Yeah- later-" He manages.

You deliver a dutiful peck on the lips, muttering a few terms of endearment as your boyfriend walks out the door.

"How can you stand that guy?" Tryst blurts out once the door closes.

"He's got his charm."

"Oh is that what you'd called that? I thought he was just being a prick."

You roll your eyes at his sarcasm. "Just try and rest, and maybe try to not look at the worst in him."

"Don't hold your breath."

"At least we can spend time together like old times, right?"

Tryst's breath hitches as you sit next to him at the couch. "Yeah. Like old times."

This was going to be his own personal hell.

Once upon a time the two of you spending time together was natural and something that you both looked forward to. Now you each sat on your opposite ends of the couch, pretending that the other one didn't exist. The movie on the living room TV was hardly capturing anyone's attention, merely serving as white noise in the echoing silence of the house and the unspoken thoughts that lingered in the air between. Tryst longed to close the distance, finally make good on everything he'd been keeping within for years. But he didn't think he would be able to handle your rejection. Better to stew in his longing than have everything crushed so completely. But that didn't change how much he was aching to pull you into his arms at this very moment.

Tryst watched you across the room, unlike him, you hadn't been paying attention to the movie for another reason. You were consumed with your phone, and not in the way a habitual phone checker would be, you seemed nervous or anxious. A worried expression crossed your face, foot shaking in an attempt to self-soothe, he couldn't just ignore it.

"Everything good?"

"Hm? Yeah, just fine."

Tryst lets it go at first, but your expression doesn't ease, making him prompt. "You sure? You don't seem fine."

"I just hate his voice to text, it always makes him sound angrier than he is."

His eyebrows furrow, that didn't sound quite right. "Does he often sound angry?"

"Not all the time, just when I fuck up."

Something in Tryst's bristles, that need to protect you like he always had. "And how often is that?"

You shrug noncommittally which doesn't help the situation.

"What's he texting you about?" Whether it was the fentanyl in his system that was blocking out the pain or some kind of righteous anger rising in Tryst he wasn't sure, but it was making him bolder than he needed to be.

"He just wants updates on what I'm doing."

He lets that hang a second to process exactly what the hell is going on here. "Like in a "I love you and am curious what you're up to" way or a weird way-"

You finally set your phone aside. "Oh come on, it's not like that. I told you he doesn't see you as a threat."

"Yeah about that- how many guys does he see as a threat-"

"I'm not getting into the grit of my relationship with you." You go back to your phone's incessant chiming.

"About that. Why did you cut me off after graduation? We were best friends."

"I don't know things happen."

"You told me he didn't want you messaging me."

"Well yeah, that's what I meant, things happen."

"Those are two very different things. Does he control who you talk to?"

"I told you it's none of your business."

"I think you're making it my business when I find out this guy is basically putting a leash on you and not in a good way."

"Is there a good way?" You attempt to joke.

"Don't change the subject." He stands to tower over you. "We're talking about this."

You rise to meet his gaze head on, not backing down. "Don't pretend that you haven't always hated him and are just looking for an excuse to make me push him away."

"Maybe you need an excuse if you can't see it yourself-!" His temper flares.

"Butt, out." Your tone is low, bitter.

"Not until you and I talk about this and I'm sure you're safe. You can't be so stupid like this! What do you even see in him? Don't you want someone who actually cares about you and doesn't tote you around like a prize!? What's going on through that head!? Why won't you let me in!?"

You stare at him, shaking with anger, not saying anything.

"Say something, what, you don't have a defence for him anymore!? Realized you're wasting time with him when you could be missing what's in front of you!?" Tryst realizes how that sounds and backs off. "I'm sorry, that sounded wrong-"

You don't let him finish, grabbing his face and kissing him deeply.

Tryst meets you in the kiss, matching your passion, tongues meeting, gripping each other like you're lifelines. The heat grows and you know that you can't ignore it.

You pull away for just a moment. "Can you with your injuries?"

"I'm so desperate I'll push through it-" He dives back in for your lips. After being denied for so long, to have you just as needy for him as he is for you is everything that Tryst had dreamed of since he was a teenager. The kiss was everything that he could have ever imagined, and here you were, inviting him for more.

He wasn't going to let a little pain stop him now.

Clothes torn off, scattered on the floor, lips stuck to each other in desperation as you straddled him, his cock hard and aching. Only slightly grinding on him made Tryst gasp and hiss with need. Normally you would've to tease him until he was begging, but the heat had reached an all time high and you didn't want to give it the chance to fizzle out.

Slowly you lowered your hips, taking him in all at once. You'd never felt so filled than in this moment, and based on Tryst's groan and the way his hands gripped the side of the couch he was feeling just as good. You don't give him a chance to rest, moving your hips on him while all he could do was hold on for the ride.

The sounds of gasps and moans fill your house that felt too clean and expensive for the filthy sounds and acts going on within. But it was too good to stop. All this time, years of you secretly pining for Tryst, wishing that he would notice you. When you thought he wasn't interested you'd met your current boyfriend, but it was a pale comparison between the two. Tryst acted like he actually enjoyed fucking you, unlike your boyfriend who saw it as stress relief, a type of ownership, nothing more. Tryst looked up at you like you were a divine being that he got to worship. His hands gripped your hips to both guide and steady you or rather himself, he never wanted you to stop, this moment to perfect. His thumb rested on your most sensitive spot, letting you rub it against him until you were clenching around him so tightly his head was thrown back in pleasure.

"Fuck- fuck- fuck-" He said it like a chant, like the soft curse was all that was keeping him with you in this moment. Each movement from you making it louder and louder until your sudden climax threw him over the edge, forcing him to push you off and finish on your lower stomach, protection forgotten in the moment.

As you both come down from your high, you stare at each other, realizing what you've just done.

"Shit."

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) He's drinking another redbull (yes he had one before you did anything too), offering one for you, he'll forget to clean you up at first and then apologize and rush to get you a cloth or something.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) He likes his dick, he knows it's nothing fantastic but he still thinks it's just good enough and hopes you like it too. On you he'll just shrug if you ask him, not being the picky type. Or he'll answer something cheesy like "your eyes" or "your heart".

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) Made that mistake once, wrapping up every time.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) He's never been one to indulge in his side hustle, but the idea of high sex has crossed his mind once or twice. Mostly just wondering what it would be like.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) More so when he was younger, nothing crazy maybe a handful of people, now he doesn't have the time.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) 69 all the way, he can eat and get blown at the same time, it's a win-win for him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) Very goofy, he's making lots of jokes, keeping things light and chill.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) Tried to bleach it once just as a dare, never did it again, now he just trims it on occasion.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) If you catch him at a vulnerable moment, aka when he's feeling super down about his situation then he's being super vulnerable and it comes out super romantic and sweet like: "I just love you so much, you're everything" or he's going all out to make you realize how much he cherishes you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) If he has the time it's mostly to help him crash.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Rimming, drunk sex, sexting, cockwarming, edging.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) Only his place if he's desperate and his mom isn't home, wherever he can is usually his go to. He does like fucking you in the bathroom at one of his parties, or the employee's only room at his work.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) Sending him sexy texts, the highlight of his day and he's waiting to get to you the moment he gets off work.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) Watersports, feminization, degradation

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) As mentioned in positions, loves both equally, but he prefers when you both can get some at the same time.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) He likes to mix it up depending on his mood.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) Quickies are an unfortunate must in his busy life, so when he has the time to draw it out, it's really special to him.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) He will try literally anything, he's so down to have some fun.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) One round, fairly long, but then he's crashing, so exhausted.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) He doesn't own any, but he's down to try just about anything on him or you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) Biggest tease, even during a quickie he'll make you practically beg for it like: "are you sure you want it? I don't think you want it" just to mess with you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) Some groaning, on the quieter side, he likes hearing you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) Sometimes he has to reign himself in from crashing out and fucking you in front of people just to prove that he's not a total loser and can still get some. It's only when he's really sleep deprived that he thinks about this though.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) 6 inches, good curve, a couple small veins.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) On the lower side, just because of his lack of sleep. If he got some good sleep he'd probably have it a lot higher.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) Out like a light, he's so fucking tired, the redbulls don't even help him anymore.

WARNINGS: drug use/abuse, alcohol, addiction, cheating, implied domestic abuse (not by Tryst), cheating, implied smut, pining, general angst, etc. What's Playing:"the cure" ~Olivia Rodrigo (Can you tell I like the new album?)

For the first time in years Tryst had hope that he was actually going to make something of himself. His investment with Guy and the girls continued to pay out. It was an efficient system, minimal risk, nothing that could land him in jail and make him out to be an even bigger loser to you.

Here and there Tryst would see you around town, on a run, walking through the mall he worked at. Each of these little moments he cherished. Yet you still didn't text. Whether it was you or it really was some kind of weird rule that your boyfriend enforced, Tryst didn't know, and wasn't sure if he really wanted the answer to. He'd take these moments, if all you could give him was you at a distance, that was enough. That was what he'd treasure.

Memories of the past filtered through his mind while he laid on the floor of the coffee shop, each moment you'd spent together some kind of precious gem that he had to keep safe at all costs. They were all he left at this point, that and the hope that some day there would be the opportunity to make more was all he could cling to.

The ding of the service bell pulled Tryst from his thoughts, duty called or so it would seem. He pulled himself from where he was laying, straightening upon seeing you standing there.

You seemed just as surprised to see him here, he hadn't been here a week ago. "Oh, Tryst, are you working here now?"

"Yeah well, I left my last job." He didn't mention that he was fired, he didn't want that negative connotation associated with him.

"Are you still opening to serving me?"

In any way you want. Was at the forefront of his mind, but that was the last thing that he wanted to say. Instead he settled on: "Sure, what can I get you, on me." He knew that you could afford it and the whole store, but he wanted to be able to give you something, even if it was something as small as a coffee.

You give him your order, and the awkward silence stretches as he makes it for you. Neither of you are really sure what to say, the familiarity that you'd once possessed now was gone, replaced by this tension that couldn't be cut.

"Moving in alright?" He ventures, a safe topic.

"Just fine, thanks for asking. You should come over some time."

"Your fancy boyfriend wouldn't like it."

You sigh. "I know you don't like him Tryst, but that doesn't mean you both can't try to get along. Maybe if you just got to know each other you'd see you're like-minded."

Tryst scoffs. "That's funny. He doesn't like anyone he sees as lower than him. He's been like that since high school. A royal prick."

You bristle, defensive of your boyfriend. "Can I just have my coffee?"

"Right." He sets it on the counter separating you both. "Wouldn't want to bask in the presence of the lesser than for longer than necessary."

A muscle in your jaw twitches and you pull out your card. "Let me just pay for it."

"I said it's on the house, and I meant it. Just, have a good day. Text me the address sometime and I'll swing by and visit. Maybe without high school drama me and the guy will get along."

You soften, your previous anger melting. "I switched phones, do you have yours on you I can put my number in?"

It was in the breakroom, already getting one too many warnings about having it out. "Uh- I'll have to go get it." He thinks a moment, not wanting her to disappear, he decides on the first thing that comes to mind. "Here." He hands you the pen he uses on the coffee cups. "Just write it on my arm."

"I can wait-"

"Nah, just do this, it's quicker."

You comply, gently holding his arm, your skin warm against his. Each touch while you write in your signature print is savoured. You're so close, he can smell your scent, the same one you used in high school. Some things never changed, for that he'd always be thankful.

When you finish you step back, taking your coffee in hand. "Take care of yourself Tryst."

"I always do." He gives you his lopsided grin as you walk away, his eyes following as you went. Something tugs at his heart strings, wishing that one day he wouldn't see you walking from him anymore, but to him. One day, he'd hold onto that dream of one day.

The dream ended.

Everything that Tryst had been hoping and dreaming of ended the day Guy's goons picked him up. Or more so, it ended when he had to make that phone call. He'd almost started to consider Zoe and Becca his friends, but their need for money was rival with his own. It hurt, but he wasn't about to let two innocent kids get stuck in the same cycle he did. He wanted them to thrive beyond this town, be better than what he was. He'd saved a nice chunk of money, he could afford a healthy investment into his Airbnb for Tinder idea. Even though it wouldn't come with a place of his own, it might in time. If it kept everyone safe, then it would be worth it to wait a little while before getting caught up in "one day" again.

Once Tryst was brought to that car, bag over his head, he knew that his dream had died. He wasn't going to make something of himself, he wasn't going to do anything, be anything. Just a pathetic excuse for an existence that lived and died with him. He hadn't even managed to protect Becca and Zoe, their scared voices in the seats in front of him. What had he done with his life? Wasted it.

When it was clear that neither Zoe nor Becca were so cold hearted that they would actually shoot him in the head, Guy's thugs beat him senseless. Blood filling his nose and mouth, pain exploding. By the time they were finished, Tryst lay there, a barely conscious heap.

"Leave him here, I don't want to waste time disposing the body." Guy's British accent was all that Tryst could use to identify him, his eyes closed to try and block out the pain.

There's a bit of scuffling and muffled yelling before the engine starts and the car leaves him there. Aside from the sounds of the night, all is silent. After taking a moment to muster the strength, Tryst fumbles in his pocket as best he can. Guy's man only searched him for a weapon, a fentanyl pill would hardly be something they cared about.

Tryst put it under his tongue, waiting for it dissolve and then the relief to kick in. Slowly the pain being replaced with the sensation of numbness. He wasn't the type to use the drugs he pushed, not anymore, but a concession could be made in this instance.

There was nothing left but to go home and reflect on how he'd fucked up again.

Finally Tryst makes it home, but when he tries to put his key in the lock, it doesn't fit. He tries a few more times before angrily pounding on the door.

"Ma! The stupid key won't work!"

"I changed the locks-!"

He blinked a few times in disbelief. "No- no no- you can't do this to me-"

"Until you turn your life around you'd better find somewhere else to live, I don't care that you're my son, I won't have a drug dealer in my house-!"

"Are you fucking kidding me!? Where am I supposed to go now?"

"You're a grown man, my responsibility to house and feed you ended when you turned eighteen!"

He kicks the door half-heartedly. "Damn it!" Once the initial outrage subsides, all there is to do is think about what to do now. Where could he go? He'd burned all the bridges he had. There was no one.

Unless.

You had been in the kitchen making tea for yourself when the doorbell rang. You checked the digital clock on the stove, surprised to have anyone at this time of night. Still, curiosity got the better of you, and since you weren't the only one home, your boyfriend upstairs, you felt safe enough to open it.

You'd never expected to find Tryst standing there, beaten to hell.

"I didn't know where else to go."

WARNINGS: drug use/abuse, alcohol, addiction, cheating, implied domestic abuse (not by Tryst), cheating, implied smut, pining, general angst, etc. What's Playing:"whats wrong with me" ~Olivia Rodrigo

Tryst never did become what he had set out to be. He never got to go to a college and get that cushy desk job where he never had to worry about anything ever again. Each penny he still counted, wondering where the next would come from. Hell, he never even made it out of this shitty town. He was stuck, completely and utterly. No end in sight. Tryst had wanted to be and do so much, and yet he was just a drug dealer working too many jobs, not getting enough sleep and wondering what the point of it all was. He didn't have anything, all his friends were really just sketchy contacts for work purposes, nothing lasting. Even his friendship with you, cut off. He didn't know why, Tryst had gone from being your closest friend to someone you ignored on Instagram. He'd messaged a couple times, trying to figure out if he'd done or said something wrong, no reply. It was something he had to deal with. You travelled the world with your rich boyfriend, he pushed pills and coffee. It was how it was supposed to be.

Normally Tryst had his MorMart orders brought out to him in the car, but that meant shorter time before he had to go back to his cramped bedroom in his mom's house, rotting and staring at the ceiling. This time he actually went in, mostly as an excuse to wander the aisles and try and find the will power to feel something other than this shallow emptiness he'd been experiencing since graduation. Since he realized that he wouldn't be able to afford college.

So far it wasn't helping.

As Tryst rounded the corner, his cart collided with another and for a moment the world seemed to come to screeching halt. Out of anyone to see here, it had to be you. Your stunning face and gorgeous eyes reminding him how much his feelings weren't as buried as he convinced himself they were.

He clears his throat to avoid the impending awkwardness. "Hey....you. Sorry about that."

You look at him with indifference. "It's no problem. It's good to see you."

All the air left Tryst's lungs, and for a moment he couldn't remember how to speak. "Uhm- yeah it's uhm good to see you too- how-" He takes in your expensive clothes, the expensive aura you radiate. You practically screamed money. "How are you doing?"

"Great actually, living my best life. We just got back from Greece."

He laughs awkwardly. "Yeah I know, saw it on your Instagram-" Shit, now he sounded like some crazy stalker.

"You still follow me?"

The question is honestly absurd, you guys were friends. "Of course I do, we've known each other forever, why wouldn't I?"

"We just haven't...talked. That much since graduation."

"Yeah well, I've always been here." It was a bit of an accusation, Tryst hadn't been the one to let the friendship die, you had.

You get the implication and wince. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. Things have been so crazy-"

"Too crazy to send a message?"

"Please Trystan-"

"It's Tryst now."

"Tryst. I wanted to reach out, it's just my boyfriend showed me how weird that was to be texting another man when I'm in a committed relationship."

Tryst's eyebrows furrowed, what the hell was that supposed to mean? "Why would he-"

"There you are honey." The masculine voice came around the corner as well, and it's there Tryst saw the over pressed boy toy you'd been with since sophomore year. He still looked like such a pretentious prick. "And if it isn't Trystan."

"Tryst. Thanks. How's it going...man-" Such a simple even casual greeting felt like a chore when Tryst couldn't stand the guy. The way he said his name like it was a curse, like he was dirty, undesirable.

"Tryst, right. Going well, the law firm has been more than profitable." Right, this asshole had went to school and landed a job in a big law firm. Rich asshole. "And you? Did you ever go to school for that...business thing?"

"Business marketing? Yeah that didn't work out."

"That's a shame." He said it like it wasn't at all, that he was revelling in Tryst's failure. "What are you doing now then?" He glances at his cart. "Buying glowsticks?"

"It's a work thing."

"Sure it is."

"For your information, I run a couple small businesses. Very profitable."

"Really? Where are you living then?"

"Same place." He spat it out, knowing the reaction which inevitably came. Amusement, mockery.

"With your mom? Aren't you a little old for that?"

"Well the economy's hard. Okay?" He raises his voice slightly, defensive. He couldn't believe that this guy was humiliating him in front of you.

"I'm sure it is. Well, it was good to run into you Tryst. I'm sure we'll see you around."

A strange feeling exploded in him at that. "Around? You're moving back here?"

You answer this time. "Yeah, we just bought a house on the other side of town. That's what we're buying things for."

The other side of town, the rich portion where lowlifes like him weren't welcome. Of course you'd be going there. But at the moment that didn't matter, you'd be in town, near by, he could see you more.

"Then I guess I will be seeing you around." It was more of a promise to you, hoping you wouldn't be opposed to rekindling your friendship.

You smile, spreading warmth through Tryst. "I'd love that."

As you walk away Tryst is left to mull over the interaction, and one thing becomes plain: he wasn't going to stay the loser punching bag that your boyfriend thought he was. He had money now, he could make a future for himself. With Becca and Zoe's idea, paired with his new investment opportunity, things might just finally be looking up for him.

While leaving the store, Tryst pulls out his burner phone, dialing the strange number.

"It's Tryst, I think we'll love working together."

With Guy's investment, the business starts to boom. More and more cash starts flowing in, each dollar saved and hidden away so that he could get his own place, maybe even invest in his own companies. Who needed random investors? He could start something from the ground up himself, he didn't need anyone. But just the IDs weren't enough, Tryst picked up more shifts at the mall, threw more parties, sold more pills. His cash hoard was growing, soon he'd be able to make his dreams come true. He couldn't wait to see your asshole boyfriend's face when Tryst was flying high like he was. Who would look down at who then? You'd be impressed, proud of him, maybe finally get your rose-coloured glasses off and realize what you were missing out on that was right in front of you.

Were his reasons slightly selfish? Yes, but after having everything taken from him in life, Tryst didn't see the harm in wishing for things he couldn't have. It wouldn't go anywhere, but dreaming was free.

Regardless, Tryst wasn't going to be the loser any longer. If it killed him, he'd make something of himself.

Otherwise, I rewatched Fakes for about 175 times , every time the show ends, I always kept thinking, what could’ve happen in season 2 if Netflix never cancelled the show. Because Tryst was done dirty. My baby tryst deserve better 😭😭

(A/N: So someone (Illi, looking at you) got me into another show so who am I but just a girl forced to write for it? This will come out every Wednesday but make no mistake I'm not post three series a week after this one ends, I just can't do it haha. But enjoy the extra uploads while you can. :)) WARNINGS: drug use/abuse, alcohol, addiction, cheating, implied domestic abuse (not by Tryst), cheating, implied smut, pining, general angst, etc. What's Playing: "stupid song" ~Olivia Rodrigo

Life was so much easier before high school, spending time together, sleepovers, birthday parties, everything that made kids crazy. You and Trystan had known each other all your life, growing up down the street from each other. Neither of you were entirely sure how the friendship started, it was just a matter of him noticing you playing on the street by yourself, drawing something in chalk. He'd come up, sat beside you and joined in without even a word passed at first.

You'd both sat in silence, drawing and colouring in your creations, before Trystan started talking about nonsensical things, what show he watched that morning, what he had for lunch, his new preference for crusts on his sandwich and how mature of him that was. It was nothing serious, and you liked that. The bullying at school was already too much to handle, you could never be perfect. There was always something about you that someone had a problem with, would tear apart in the mean middle school ways that left you crying by yourself. You missed before then, when it was nap times and colouring, before the world started to seem too real.

"You go to the same school I do."

You nod, you'd seen Trystan in the halls, always getting in trouble for something. Always intrigued by who he was and what he did to get sent to the principles office so much, but you'd never had the courage to approach him, or anyone.

"That's awesome, I'll sit with you at lunch." He gave you a lopsided grin.

"If you want to."

Trystan gives you a look, as if the idea that he wouldn't stick to his word was absurd. "I'll see you tomorrow."

You'd expected Trystan not to keep his word, leaving you to eat alone once more. But no sooner had you done another curious glance around the lunchroom did Trystan set his tray down beside you.

"Man I'm starving-"

You look at him in surprise. "You're here?"

"I said I would be, didn't I?"

"I just thought you'd change your mind."

"Why would I do that? Look, I've seen how the other kids pick on you, but don't worry, I'll protect you."

Your eyes shone with admiration. "You mean it?"

"Sure I do, I'll always protect you."

Everything changed in high school, the ease with which the two of you interacted became strained. Two losers who found comfort in each other now in different leagues. Trystan continued to be himself, a burnout who spent his time behind the school getting high instead of focusing on his studies. While you soared. He wasn't sure what exactly had happened but something about you shifted which drew in popularity. As a freshman, things had been the same, artsy, nerdy, keeping him from failing but just barely, the dynamic shifted when you met. Him.

When you got your first boyfriend, the popular smart kid, what once was shattered. You ran with a different crowd, one that didn't appreciate his type. Your group was made up of the jocks, the geniuses, anyone who was anyone. It wasn't the eighties anymore, cliques were divided based on who knew the best people, not what special interest they had. Somehow you'd fit in, flawlessly melted into their group while Trystan stood by the sidelines, watching and silently cheering you on. But all of it was bittersweet.

Trystan wanted the best for you, he always had. And yet seeing you with someone else while he'd been hoping that you'd look at him in the same you did to your boyfriend crushed him inside. He'd never pushed you, never wanted to risk the friendship, hoping that you'd take notice of him the same way he had of you. Trystan didn't know exactly what sparked the shift, but one day the idea of dating and kissing was gross, the next he caught himself staring at you. His mood lightened every time he thought of you, smiled when you came in the room. All his thoughts were of you, and he waited for your calls. His heart fluttered whenever he saw you, it was this all consuming fire that made him want to be a better person for you.

He was still happy that you'd found someone, no matter how much it hurt to see you with him. Even if he wished to be in that position instead, Trystan wasn't going to stop being there for you. Despite how your new friends pushed him to the back. They looked down on him, thinking that you could do so much better in the friend department. Slowly they started limiting your time, making you feel bad for spending your free moments with anyone but them. Trystan understood, he always did. He would be there, waiting. The silent protector. Even now, he wasn't going to give up his promise. He'd always protect you.

If anything, your recent shift made Trystan's determination to be a better person even stronger. If he couldn't be the best in high school, then after graduation he would really fly. He'd become successful, the type of man who had people like your friends working for him instead. See who was the loser then. He could be just as good as your pretentious friends, in fact, he'd be better. High school wasn't the pinnacle, it would be a stepping off point.

Trystan would prove them all wrong.