lionheart.

As easily as falling asleep or snapping his fingers, familiar eyes and hands break through every ounce of tension that his body had been holding onto —a dysregulated nervous system, regulates; paranoia fades into knowing; panic becomes calm. Shoulders to toes, his muscles melt like butter or candle wax when the voice of safety speaks to him in assurances and reminders over the noise of conversation and his own mind. Two years of them — one blissfully unaware that their worlds weren't as far apart as they believed. Another, perhaps his favourite this far into their relationship, with Tristan's world becoming his own. A world that, perhaps, was always supposed to be his too. So many people in the brotherhood understood him, understood what it was like to be let down by the people you were meant to trust; systems, authority, other people. He fit in, a strange, wonderful thing to admit. He takes a steadying breath, staying silent for a moment longer just to enjoy the warmth between them before sighing. The world around him really did fade when Tristan was close. "I know, I know" It's almost a whine. "— but you know it's not about that entirely...we've been making waves together. I know what they're like, Tris. I'm just worried that it could be putting unnecessary attention on me and by association, you and everyone else."

We've been making waves together.

It's hard not to smile, far too self-satisfied, at that. Somehow, Tristan manages it.

"I don't want any attention on you." That, Tristan can agree with. "But baby, they know you — way too fucking well. They know that if you were dating a criminal, you'd tell them about it." Unsaid, goes the supporting fact: that Selim had told them before. "Which is why they would never suspect me. They know that if I was no good, you'd be the first one to sound the alarm."

( open to all / met gala ) Whether badged and vested, wired, or sporting event attire as he was now, Selim had never been a stranger to high profile events. While not his first with Tristan by his side, as he walks through crowds, for the first time in a long time, he finds himself checking over his shoulder, counting exits, visually patting down every one who came into close proximity to him or anyone who he now considered family — he knew where they set up, his former colleagues — on roof-tops, in the sidelines, dressed in all black, wired to the nines, holding negative and sometimes sick opinions of normal people. It's how one clocks him that unsettles his stomach this time - the more that he closed cases as a private investigator, the more eyes of his former colleagues fell on him. Were they worried, he wondered? That the next name brought to light would be their's?

A lover, turned enemy, turned the love of his goddamn life. Tristan could choke at the sight of him — especially now, watching Selim stand his ground and defending their own.

"Whoa, hey. Hey." Their bodies clash. It's never a bad thing. In the split second that their eyes meet, a thousand universes are communicated through silence alone. "They're watching to see if anyone stands too close to Kylie Jenner. They're not keeping track of us."

nia’s gaze slips past him, settling somewhere over his shoulder instead of meeting his eyes. she takes a slow breath, steadying herself before she answers.

“i’m fine, tristan,” she says, even, like it’s already the end of the conversation. her grip on her glass tightens for a second before easing. “just a long week. nothing new.”

It pinches a nerve.

"I'm your leader, Nia," he says the unwanted phrase out loud. "Reading you is part of the job I signed on to do." Beat. "You're looking at me funny. I'm asking what's up."

nia spotted tristan across the room before she meant to. it wasn’t dramatic, just a glance that lingered a second too long. she wasn’t sure what she felt anymore. knowing he had someone else now should’ve settled something in her, but instead it only pressed at old doubts she tried not to name. maybe it hadn’t just been about him not being ready. maybe it had been about her, too. about not being enough.

she’d kept her distance all night, careful. but the air inside grew too heavy, and she stepped outside for a breather, only to find him already there. the door shut softly behind her, and their eyes met in the quiet.

“tristan.” his name leaves her gently, a faint smile touching her lips.

"Nia," he says her name in the same tone in which she had offered his own. The thing about being someone in his position, is that one quickly becomes a person who can easily read people — if something is either wrong, or on their minds. And Nia... well, Tristan knows her inside and out. He can't catch those eyes and not see what's beyond them. "Come on, tell me. What's going on?"

mateo noticed him the second he stepped into the diner. some people just carried attention with them, and tristan zaire was one of them. there were rumors, sure, but rumors weren’t evidence, and mateo had built a career on knowing the difference. he set his coffee down slowly as the man passed his booth.

“you look like you’re searching for something,” he said, voice calm but steady enough to stop him. “need a hand?”

"Lookin' for a place to sit," he says, bullshitting his way through. "Is there an event going on around here? I haven't seen a place this crowded since the Timotheé Chalamet lookalike contest."

a light nudge in tristan's side with a laugh, not quite believing the part of him having looked good even all those years ago. he was going through some rough times back then... but rahi did tell him that the dark circles add to his sex appeal so... maybe. "hmmm, one thing's for certain: we're lookin' hot in the golden spot."

For a moment, he's taken aback — the tug at his wrist, the hurrying to somewhere private. "Good thinking." He says, producing said joint out of a pocket and placing it into Javi's and. "If the owners catch us, we're fucked."

the party has been a success. well... so far. even if javi isn't at his best with crowds, the amount of drugs in his system is making it all tolerable. and a bit sentimental. which is why he walks up to tristan, one arm wrapped around him, pushing a drink into his hand. "the place looks good. but you look even better in it." he spins to lean back against the bar, looking around before looking back at tristan. "feel like I should be smokin' a cigar or somethin'."

"Pffft." Playfully, Tristan rolls his eyes. "Now tell me something I don't know." Is there such a thing as a leader that isn't cocky? He hadn't personally met any yet. "You look good too, but you been looking good since I was fresh off the streets." True. Insane, but true. "Didn't think we'd be sharing the golden spot one day, did ya babe?"

Feel like I should be smokin' a cigar or somethin'.

Despite the low sun being blindingly bright today, there was still a dreadful chill in the air and although she was wrapped up warm Robyn found it went through to her bones. She wanted to leave Texas when she was young to avoid the painfully hot summers, but now she had to put up with painfully cold winters instead. Be careful what you wish for.

She liked being close to the water. There was something tranquil about it, even when the city was bustling and the gulls were loudly cawing. She loved watching the boats pass, reminded of when her grandfather used to take her and her siblings out to the lake near his summerhouse. Usually her mind wandered to work-related matters when she sat and pondered, but today she thought of her childhood. Strange.

As she stared at the glittering water, Robyn noticed someone approaching out of the corner of her eye. She picked up her satchel from where it sat beside her and put it between her feet.

“Did you want to sit?” She asked the other person. “Sorry about my bag; I’m always leaving it where it probably shouldn’t be.”

Still, even if not exactly pushing his luck, a detective's company isn't usually one he enjoys — yeah, yeah insert joke here — so why risk it?

But then Kennedy speaks to him, and it's too damn late for Plan A, his go-to. B it is.

"Are you poor?" Halil counters, "Or do you like the pity?" Brazen. Quick-witted. Still bright-eyed despite the position he held. All of Halil's aggression disintegrates when he realizes that Tristan was merely a kid with the world on his shoulders; and child kings were often crushed by such a weight. He'd let him enjoy his night. "It would not be out of character for him to wish that, no." The professor watches him out of the corner of his eye for a moment before laughing at his statement.

Then, he laughs. "I knew it! Me and Samar proposed a threesome and he acted all offended — but I knew he was playing. His face has 'down for anything' written all over it."

Love did many as many wondrous things as it did hideous, Selim was learning. Every new moment that they spent together, the ex-agent wondered if life between them would always feel like this — warm, flirtatious, easy — or if even after a year and a couple of months, they were still teetering inside the honeymoon phase. He was waiting for the ball to drop, for them to have an outlandish and explosive argument over something or to go to bed mad at one another. But it didn't feel like THEM. They bickered, perhaps because Simba kept ruining his plants or he 'accidentally' placed his cold foot on Tristan's calf in the middle of the night; sometimes, Selim would get frustrated with how many times he would have to remind Tristan to eat or drink water — 'how can you take care of an entire gang if you can't take care of yourself?!' —; others, they were simply hungry when tension grew between them. The leader was right, they'd had every opportunity to be unhealthy but their ability to communicate had won out. A small smile crosses his lips and although he wants to chuckle, he merely turns Tristan to face him, keeping him close and still. "You're not the only one..." Selim admits, "I feel like...every day there's some new that I love about you."

"We're so cute," he comments. "And hot." A squeeze to Selim's waist, then. "Do you think other couples are jealous of us? They should be."

Dungeons and Dragons. Well, at least it proves a point: nobody's perfect.

"Damn, baby. Why don't you ask for something a little more, ya know, doable? Do you want a million dollars? We'll rob a bank." He's only half joking. "A golden goose? It can't be that hard to find 'em. Do you want the moon? I'll get you the moon."

“thank you,” she adds a beat later. the word comes easy enough, even if the concern behind it doesn’t. there’s something about the way tristan says it that leaves her caught between comfort and unease. maybe part of him still cares. maybe it’s just the leader in him, always watching out for his people. she’s not sure which feels heavier.

How are you? After years, Tristan still answers that question the same way: “Not dead.” He sips his negroni. “How are you?”