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Tristan stood over the body of his father and bent down to scrutinize the trickle of blood from his hairline.

“I can feel your heart beating,” said Callum.

Tristan rose to his feet, carefully concealing the letter opener he’d slid from his father’s arsenal of hidden weapons. The one Adrian Caine had needed in the end, but hadn’t been quick enough to reach. 

“How does it feel?” asked Tristan

Callum rested a hand over Tristan’s pulse, fingers stretching out like the wings of a dove.

“Like madness,” he said, tongue slipping over his lips.

Tristan’s fingertips brushed the loop of Callum’s trousers. Dropped to the top of his thigh.

They both felt the presence of the blade at the same moment, reaching for inevitability like a climax.

Femoral artery. “Just a nick would do it, yeah?” said Tristan, voice gravely with effort.

Callum’s laughing mouth caught Tristan’s before he fell to the ground.

The impact is pillowed by Callum’s hand caressing the back of his head. Tristan throws the letter opener to the side, in favor of using his free hands to pull down the Callum’s waistband. He expected the other to tease him for his impatience. But Callum looks like he is just as desperate as Tristan is. Wildly pressing a kiss to every inch square of his jaw.

“Why me?” says a whisper on his neck. Tristan would’ve missed it if he weren’t alert of every touch Callum is currently giving him. A hand is inching down to his khakis. 

Why him? Why him? There is one(1) reason. One that changed everything. One that tipped the scales. Which is that Tristan chose Callum. But that is not an answer he will tell. For now.

He pulls from a bruising kiss. “I’m a masochist.”

The hand in his hair tightens, at the same time the other wraps around his shaft. An embarrassing groan escapes his throat.

“Oh really?” Callum’s bruised face becomes more recognizable when he smirks. “Wouldn’t have guessed.”

Tristan pushes up his hips to grind his cock against the other’s in retaliation. Encouraging Callum to take them both in his hand. He did. Stroking evenly. This time they both moaned in unison. 

Another kiss, softer than the rest. Like sitting near a fireplace wine in hand. Tristan will never admit he likes this, the strong scent of his cologne, incoherent mumbles of praise, taste of carelessness on his tongue. His terrible sense of humor. Okay, maybe a little. Maybe.

It continued on until they both spilled across Tristan’s chest. The fogginess of desire in his brain clears up as his senses come back to him in a sticky sensation.

“Gross.” He says, shirt now damp with what he'll explain for when they get back.

“If it makes you feel any better, we just fucked beside your deadbeat father’s corpse.”

Tristan’s eyes dance to the side where his once father lay still. Busy dying or decaying or whatever.

“What the fuck man.”

Callum shrugs and turns to pick up his sunglasses from the ground. “You’re no longer worrying about your dear shirt staining now.”

“You should've just taken off my shirt.”

“I’ll keep note of that for next time.”

“Next time. Who said there is a next time?”

Callum turns face fully neutral. “Do you want to?”

Tristan stares back. He is not fooled by what the man before him is asking him. He answers honestly. He owes him that much. 

“Later, I'll probably be soft for the next week after this.” He gestures to the body beside them.

Callum smiles, brightly enough a crease in his forehead appears. The blonde takes his hand in his (the clean one) and brushes the back of his hand with his thumb. As if checking if this was real. Which it is.

Because Callum loves Tristan, and Tristan loves Callum back.

Chapter Text

Tristan wipes a strand of ash blond hair from Callum’s forehead. Kissing where blood trickles from the bullet wound on his neck.

He picks up the gun his father abandoned, touching the barrel to the side of his head.

None of it mattered because Callum died.

Chapter Text

"I now pronounce you husbands!" Nico happily tosses a handful of rice in the air as Tristan steps closer staring into glacier blue eyes. His smile is content.

"I'm glad it's you," he said, Callum raises his brow.

He sighs, fine.

"I truly, deeply, fucking hate you."

Callum leans forward for a kiss.

"Who else would it be?"

Chapter Text

Tristan kneels on the ground. In Front of him is Callum's dying body. He feels ridiculous. For miscalculating the entire situation. Now he has to deal with the consequences.

Callum coughs and another handful of blood bubbles through his mouth. 

“What? Here to finish me off? Ha. That actually sounds quite nice.”

Tristan thinks of things to calm him down. Like the sound of crackling fire, the smell of an old book, a fully written out equation. Then, he presses his palm against Callum’s bullet wound located on his abdomen. Three centimeters in diameter, not bad but he’s losing blood rapidly. “Stop talking and keep your breaths even.”

Callum hisses at surely the most excruciating pain this man would have experienced in his life. “Changed your mind on killing me? Rhodes must really rub off on you.”

“Don’t get too excited I’m still killing you. The library needs a sacrifice, and I believe that my father doesn't really care about your existence.”

“Liar. And you know it. We’re both liars.” He gasps struggling to take in some air.
“We both- We both knew that we would be stuck in a stalemate until the damned bookshelves decided to give one of us arsenic poisoning.”

Tick.Tick.

“Just.. Just wait. Okay?” Tristan says “You look like you’re already decaying. We’re gonna get you help, for fucks sake, even if I’ll have to get Varona-”

“Don’t mention that child's name when I’m dying in your arms.”

“You’re not dying. I’m going to get-”

“You will not get help- or anyone Caine.”

A strong sense of power fills his senses. His brain. Suddenly his body is too heavy to move, his hand against Callum's abdomen fall to his side. Staining his tanned pants red.

“Shut that distracting mouth of yours and listen. I am dying and since I’m a sadist and a selfish bastard I want you to know this.”

His body locks up as Tristan attempts to respond. Or more correctly, to return to putting pressure on his wound to stop him from bleeding out. Every beat of his heart echo’s like a ticking time bomb.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“You know my murder plan? Sinister plan 2.0 if you will. It’s not as impressive as your butter knife and all; I plan to kill you with adoration. I’ll kill you by taking you to see the Titanic, feed you grapes like a god, brush your hair, make those garden salad you ate, peel your oranges, fetch you water when your thirsty, wine when you’re frustrated, laugh at you jokes even if they’re bad-” He huffs a bit, perhaps in humiliation but he goes on. 

“I’ve been waiting for inspiration. Something to convince me to mess the puppet strings in this useless world. But it turns out, I’m lazy!” He gasps out. His lips have turned pale. Tick. “And pathetic. Because all I want is you.” Tick. “To hold your hand,” Tick.  “put your needs before mine, until you grow tired of me. You see it. You see me, all of me. And you managed to stay. And I-”

His eyes and mouth spasm . He’s mouthing words that don't take form in the air. Seconds later he stills and the cloak of power drops off his shoulders.

The word that got stuck in his throughout their conversation escapes in a breath.

“why” 

Why? Why? Why?

Tristan doesn’t understand why he would do this. He doesn’t know what to say. Nor what he wants. 

None of it mattered because Callum died.

Chapter Text

CN

SUNDAY, AUGUST 14

So, Tristan, how do you think you’ll kill me?

No.

T, has blocked your number.

Chapter Text

Nico always believed that he and Libby were connected. Soulmates even, if you looked a little closer. They are constant, stars shooting in the same course. It’s hard to imagine a Nico without a Libby nor a Libby without a Nico. Sometimes a meteor comes by. Sometimes their courses change.

Sometime is a possibility of 0.0000000000000001%

So enter Gideon: A man that survived the impossible. That never died by his mothers assailants. Choosing instead to learn and heal. Despite all odds, Gideon Drake had become his roommate. His best friend. 

When Nico no longer felt the unique beat of his heart or heard the inescapable undying questions the moment he opened his eyes.

He screamed. 

It sounded like. pain. fury. Loss. A thousand feelings and none at all.

No, no, no. NO! 

 He didn’t agree to this. He curls an arm under Gideon's neck, no pulse. Something within him cracks. Memories of his sleeping form. Although he never really moves to much in his sleep he always has a few telling ticks. Like the flutter in his eyelids, hands that fidget and curl as if holding something, or small sounds that kind of sound like 'huff'. But right now he is as still as an ice cube. Magic melting from his hands. Nico's brain malfunctions at this possibility. The boy he protected all these years is now dead in his arms.

It should’ve been him.

A solid hand clamps on his shoulder, Tristan. His face painted with insulting pity.

“Nico, maybe you should take some breaths. You're hyperventilating.” 

“Why? You expect me to just do what?” He presses Gideon's head to his chest. “Calm down?” 

The house is shaking, he realizes. Books start falling from their shelves. Glass litters the floor. The floorboards start to splinter and the candlelight is threatening to swing high enough to pierce the roof. Everywhere but a safe barrier around Gideon’s too still body, left untouched but his arms he wrapped protectively around him. Not that it mattered anymore.

He looks at Libby. Curling into herself, shivering at what had been done, what she had done. He almost wants to scoff. For the first time in his life, he despises Elizabeth Rhodes. 

Libby’s eyes widened as they made eye contact. “Nico- I’m-”

“This has gone too far, Rhodes. You at least know that right?”

“I’m- I can fix this, I’m sure there must be a book.. A way that we can fix this.”

“Nothing can fix this, you hear me? Nothing . What you need to fix is yourself.”

He pauses a bit to prevent his voice from cracking. She’s crying but his heart doesn’t budge. It belonged to someone else this time.

 “I don’t know what happened through last year but I’m not excusing you for that anymore. Whatever it is, fix that.”

Nico hooks his arms under Gideon and stands. His body feels heavier than he remembered. Erasing that thought, he cuts between Libby and Tristan without a glance.

Dalton speaks up behind him and his movement looks strangely frantic. “Nico, we still need your power. The ritual cannot continue on. I- without it the house will choose for itself.”

Nico turns around when he reaches the doorframe. 

“Fuck you.” He whispers to no singular person.

Storming off with Gideon in his arms, Nico leaves everyone in the dust, the grim reaper looming above them all. 

Nico makes it to his room. Settling Gideon’s limp body on the bed. Slightly bending gravity to soften the landing. 

“Hey, Mister Sandman, bring me a dream

Make him the dumbest that I've ever seen

Give him two lips like roses in clover

Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over

Mister Sandman, I'm so alone

Don't have nobody to call my own

Please turn on your magic beam

Hey, 

Mister Sandman, bring me a dream

Make him the handsomest that I've ever seen

Give him the word that I'm not a rover

Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over

Mister Sandman, I'm so alone

Don't have nobody to call my own

Please turn on your magic beam

Hey, Mister Sandman, bring me a dream

Mister Sandman, someone to hold (someone to hold)

Would be so peachy before we're too old

So please turn on your magic beam

Mister Sandman, brings us…

Please, please, please

Mister Sandman, bring me a dream.”

Gideon does not respond. 

Ignoring the dampness of his cheeks Nico presses his thumb softly to Gideon’s forehead. It’s almost a reflex by now.

Precioso, querido, cara…

Chapter Text

Nico  wakes to the sound of hyperventilation. Immediately, Nico slips his left arm under Gideon's back and pulls him into an embrace.

“You were- Nico you were-” he breathes “gone.”

“Shh it’s just a dream. I’m your talisman, remember? If I’m here then it’s real.”

It's getting worrying how often this happens now. The first time it happened Gideon woke him up with a gentle shake asking him “Is this real?” With a voice so soft and unsure Nico could've reeled in the moon for him right then and there just for him to sleep a little better. After that night Gideon had attached himself to his hip through the entire week. He tried to hide his worries but Nico knew by the way he moved his thumb to the pulse point of his wrist whenever they held hands.

The nightmares seem to be a given by now after all their years together. At least six times a week. 

Every single one of them ends with Nico dying.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Gideon clutches the white fabric of his tank top tighter. Pressing his ears to his chest. Nico’s heart beats faster at the image.

“It was an experiment,” He starts with his breath hitching between sobs, “You were so quiet. I was yelling. At everyone. I didn’t mean it to say those things. I didn’t mean to. And that’s when,”

If he were Nico five years ago he’d interrupt. But now he knows it is much better to let it all out. To listen. So they can get through it together.

“–And then that's when I felt it. Your magic, your soul, leaving me.”

“I’m here amor . I’ll never leave you.”

Gideon surges up into a kiss. Their teeth clash on impact but he doesn’t care. Knowing the pain is like a pinch to the skin. He slips a hand in the nape of Gideon’s neck, nestled in the locks of sandy blonde hair. He shivers as the hand clenching his shirt slips under. Cold and gentle. Eyelashes flutter on his cheek and Nico knows Gideon is fighting to stay awake.

“Go to sleep.” Nico says, placing a soft kiss to his sweaty forehead. Hands circling the others back to draw him into sleep.

“The universe would have to rip me out of your arms before I’ll ever let you go.”