A/N: This fic is dedicated to the fabulous Preya aka Amethyst Beloved! It is a bit late considering her birthday was last week, but I really don't think the timing could have been any better ;)

This is a two-shot fic, so expect a second chapter soon! I was going to post them both at once since part two was written well before part one, but she said she would like them spaced out a bit.

Shout out to Lauryn aka EvilValenStrife for mapping out the basics of this plot and basically coming up with the ending of this chapter for me. Yay teamwork!

Pieces from the following fics of Preyas are referenced in this fic, so make sure you guys go check them out and leave her some reviews! (She loves them!)

On - So What Now, Just Dance, Sexual Tension, Who's That Girl, Broken,

On Tumblr - Family/Doing Something Together, Spooning/Days, Gaming/Hours, Sound/On A Date, Eating IceCream/Taste, Birthday

...I really think that's it but if I forgot to give credit to any I will surely add the titles in in the author's notes on the next chapter!

Chapter One: The Answer

If he hadn't known better, he would have assumed the city was abandoned. The way the wind whistled as it rustled the leaves in the trees was almost eerie when surrounded by the darkness. As he trekked through the empty playground and across the sandbox he used to play in as a kid he could just barely make out the shapes of the familiar equipment around him. By memory he knew what was there but in his current line of vision every swing set and slide was no more than a smudge against a dark canvas. All around him things creaked and moaned to a collective soundtrack but none of them were urged by humans.

Nobody was ever around at this time of day. You know, that point when it's too early to be considered night but too dim for the typical sunlit illusion of morning. Of course some sleepless soul was still awake somewhere in Toronto. More likely than not, they were still in their nice cozy beds just struggling for peace beneath their sheets. Even the various neighborhood critters were tucked away in their homes by then for a pleasant snooze.

This was precisely what made the park the perfect place for Tristan to go and think.

He knew exactly where he was headed. This was probably the sole reason that neither the fog in the air nor the fogginess in his eyes had yet to stop him from moving. Exhaustion flowed through his veins but with his thoughts traveling at the speed of light it was impossible for him to sit still. He was conflicted. He needed answers - and he had always seemed to find the best answers at basketball courts.

It was where he discovered he indeed did posses some level of athleticism. Although he would never be able to compete with his sport star brother, it was nice to know the skills were there. It was where the question of whether it was ever okay to act out West Drive plots in real life for the sake of a cute boy was replied to with a definite no. It's never okay. Most importantly, it was where he learned just about anything he ever wanted to know about the same cute boy - Miles Hollingsworth III.

Tristan created the game in their sophomore year of high school. It came to him after the immense storm that lead to their second kiss, their first relationship together, and the even wilder storm that followed over the next two and a half years. The rules were simple to remember mainly because they were the same as any basic one-on-one. The only catch was whoever makes a basket gets to ask a question. It started as a way to clear their minds. It was the first instance they discussed the emotions remaining from Miles' concluded relationship with Maya and Tristan's manipulative situation with Yates. Though it certainly was not the last. Other games and life situations lead to additional serious inquiries about parental abuse, body image, drug use, trust issues, sexuality, failed friendships, and the straightforward yet never simple "what's wrong?".

But it also lead to uncovering the more fun, light-hearted details of each other. Facts that were essential to know even if they weren't crucial to their relationship. Little things like each other's favorite colors, movies, foods, and stories. What songs they couldn't live without and what celebrities they couldn't be paid enough to live with. Memories they cherished and ones they'd like to forget based on the red-hot color of embarrassment they brought to their cheeks. Secrets were spilled that made them laugh so hard they cried. Others made them cry so hard they had to search long and hard for a good laugh to lift their spirits. Although they'd probably deny it if asked by their friends there were even a handful of instances when the game got more than a little dirty - and not in regards of foul play. The curiosity of each other's turn ons and sweet spots often lead to showing by example that actions speak louder than words.

It wasn't always at the same court but the symbolism was just the same. That night it was strong enough for him to believe that even playing solo could suffice. The only problem with that was he had forgotten a ball. He didn't realize it until his feet met the edge of the concrete directly across from the towering net. He remembered a past when it seemed so intimidating. Now, even as the court was illuminated only by a single street light that flickered from old age and the dim glow of the pale white crescent in the sky it appeared so much less. Unable to prove it to himself he felt defeated and with a sigh pivoted on his heels to head home.

But he stopped short as he thought up one slightly unusual idea. He was an actor - and a brilliant performer such as himself should never need to rely on the existence of a prop to get their point across. With that he whipped back around, bouncing an invisible ball before him as he stepped further on to the court. Jogging forward he held it as his chest until he reached half-way, shooting in motion and stealing it back the moment it would have returned from its journey through the hoop. At first he was shy but soon he was on fire, metaphorically and literally as he ran from this corner to that dripping in sweat. He spun around on the three point line with so much force it knocked the hood of his jacket right off his head revealing hair as jet black as the after midnight sky. Sleep was a forgotten occurrence as he widened his stance and crouched down to dribble the air between his legs with enough determination as if there were a full team surrounding him. His imagination was so strong he could hear the sound of leather hitting the concrete ringing loudly in his ears. He caught the invisible ball behind him, faked right, broke left, aligned his body with the target, and...

"You know it might be a little easier to play with this."

The deep voice broke his concentration, visibly startling him even though he knew who it belonged to immediately. With no surprise when he turned around to face the noise he saw his boyfriend standing behind him with a dull orange ball in one outstretched hand. Tristan was hit with an intoxicating mixture of stun and shame that was hard to grasp when he was so winded. He doubled over with his hands on his knees, trying to avoid Miles' existence until he could gather up enough air in his lungs to speak. When Miles asked if he was okay he nodded his head vigorously, realizing that plan wasn't actually as practical as he would have liked it to be.

"How did you find me here?" Tristan panted, letting himself make eye contact with Miles just long enough for him to speak before it diverted.

The fragility in his voice along with the low slump of his thin shoulders and downward cast of his blue-gray eyes suggested he was upset. But the small puff of breath so different than the rest that clung to his last words carried a sense of appreciation and disbelief that showed maybe he was not exactly against being found.

"Tris, I knew where you'd run off to back before grade ten when I barely even knew you. We've been together over two years now..."

Miles' voice trailed off as he waited for some sort of reaction from the other boy. Although the facts Miles presented didn't directly answer his question, it was implied. Miles felt relief wash over him when corners of Tristan's mouth tugged upward in the most timid of ways. The brunette cautiously took a few steps closer and in response Tristan stood. His chest heaved magnificently against the tight zipper on his hoodie, reminding Miles of the slightly toned muscles he knew lied underneath. Tristan did nothing but gape as he tried to collect himself, with one hand expectantly on his hip and the other fanning his flushed face.

"I went to your house first. But mum said you went out a while ago..."

Miles continued, and it didn't go unnoticed that Miles referred to Tristan's mother as simply 'mum' without a 'your' placed first. He supposed that after 29 months together that was just something that happened. Although it happened without any consciousness Tristan had also caught himself doing the same on occasion. It was safe to say he didn't typically mind it. But in that instance it burned like a crackling flame underneath his skin.

"...And if I know anything about Tristan Milligan it's that you'll only go on walks when the sun's not out if you're with me or if you're upset..."

This was true. Tristan swallowed hard, moving his arms to cross lowly on his chest as he settled into his hip and waited for Miles to finish.

"...And the only way I wouldn't know about it before you left your house is if you're upset with me..."

Also true. Although they had gotten much better at communicating since they first started dating Tristan was notorious for needing time to think to himself. He liked to know exactly how he felt about situations before he brought them up to Miles. Talking in the heat of the moment and beating around bushes had only gotten them in trouble in the past. For him, it was all about knowing what he needed to say and how he wanted to say it. They weren't kids anymore. They were mature adults. The acceptance of childish insults and alternating screaming matches had long come to an end.

"...So, I guess instinct just took over because it lead me here, and here you are."

"You went to my house?" Tristan asked for clarification, wondering what reason Miles possibly could have had for appearing at his doorstep when the sun hadn't even risen.

"Hey. You know the drill." Miles threw the ball up in the air and caught it before chucking it lightly at his counterpart. "You already got one freebie."

The ball landed between Tristan's hands like second nature. He stared at it for a moment, spinning it between his thin fingers as if admiring the surface. Something told him that no matter how he went about the next shot Miles wouldn't try to stop him. With a daring look back at the brunette he darted forward, traveling with the ball bouncing steadily before him. Miles was aware of Tristan's every move but never got close enough to be a real threat. Without stopping Tristan gathered the ball at his chest and shot. It bounced off the backboard, making the old equipment rattle but ultimately met the goal of dropping through the net.

"Make that two freebies." Tristan teased, pointing out his lover's obvious lack of effort. "I know you can do better than that."

"Didn't you have a question to ask?"

It wasn't hard for Miles to brush off the other boy's minor insult - mainly because he knew Tristan wasn't wrong. Of course he had let him off easy on the first go. But they weren't there to be discussing Miles' sportsmanship. Tristan waited until he had retrieved the ball and was neighboring Miles once more before acting on his victory. There was a new softness to his tone, matching chillingly with the distance in his gaze.

"How long have we been together?"

Miles was clearly taken off guard. He hadn't been expecting a quiz on their relationship. Miles drew out the reply, looking up to the sky with a grimace as if expecting the gods feed him the information. But of course it was all for show. He knew the answer just as well as Tristan did.

"Coming up on two and a half years. Twenty nine months. Uh...let's see. That's like...126 weeks? 880 something days? Don't ask me to count the minutes, Tris. I'm not that good at mathematics."

"Okay, okay."

Miles had obviously made his point. Tristan wasn't sure why he was so thrilled with the rebuttal but it showed in the way he beamed brightly.

"Now, quit stalling Hollingsworth and bring on some real competition."

"Alright, fine."

Miles straightened his stance and stared the other boy down with enough valor to make Tristan gulp. With Tristan's focus locked directly on his expressionless face it gave Miles the perfect opportunity to smack the ball out of his grip. Tristan scoffed in a somewhat fake offense but Miles was already circling around him and making his way down the court. Tristan whipped around and chased behind him, jumping up just as Miles did in an attempt to block the shot with his own hand. But his aim was too far off, allowing Miles to sink the ball directly through the target with ease.

"How long were you out here before I found you?"

There it was again. Tristan could call out his boyfriend's protective mindset from kilometers away. He steadied his hands on his hips as he tried to grasp an idea of how to answer. It wasn't until then that he realized he hadn't had a clue on the amount of time had passed.

"Um. Well it took me like fifteen minutes to walk 'cause I took the long way around through the old playground." Tristan pondered out loud. "Then maybe another twenty or so since I reached the court and you showed up?"

Even though the thought of his beloved outside alone so late made his stomach churn violently, Miles fought to keep his anguish internal. Instead he only nodded once in acceptance and checked the ball to Tristan. Tristan pulled back as if he planned to send it to Miles but at the last minute pivoted and aimed for the net above their heads. It bounced off the rim but rolled the opposite way allowing both boys equal access to it. They ran neck and neck, jutting in front of each other every so often in an attempt to get ahead. Tristan managed to redeem himself by snatching the ball and sending it over his head to make a flawless basket. He met Miles with a self-assured smirk as he ran to go catch it post-landing, just barely brushing up against him as he moved past.

"Who do I consider to be the second greatest diva of our time?"

"Whitney Houston." Miles actually chuckled as he called out his answer to the seemingly odd inquiry. "Just behind Lady Gaga."

"Impressive." Tristan noted despite the fact that he looked incredibly bored as he returned and tossed the basketball back to Miles.

With each play they executed the boys found themselves getting increasingly aggressive in the typical athletic fashion. The clever tricks and playful shoves were really what kept the game so carefree and energetic. It became increasingly obvious that there was an issue at hand Tristan was trying to avoid - or rather, work his way up to carefully. Tristan never did a single thing without a method to his madness. Each point he scored came with another question about himself that he wanted to see if Miles could answer. Which he did, and all of them correctly. But obviously Miles' knowledge of him being a Libra, being a natural red head, or playing the french horn in 9th grade didn't show much relevance to anything. With each turn Miles only found himself deeper into the hole of confusion and frustration that Tristan was throwing him in. It took until the score was 10-11 with Miles in the lead for him to determine that they had let this drag on long enough.

Tristan had the ball, with Miles right at his tail as he sprinted towards the net. With a tremendous effort he ceased dribbling as he got into position to take the aim that would hopefully get them tied. But before he could even release the ball he was being pulled back against Miles in an unbreakable embrace. Tristan squirmed and struggled forcibly, chalk full of complaints about Miles being unfair. He could have screamed until his face turned red, but there was no way Miles was going to let him go just yet. He pinned Tristan's arms underneath his own, preventing him from being capable to throw the ball where it needed to be. At that point the best he would be able to do was drop it at their feet, but he didn't appear to be too concerned with letting go any time soon. The other boy remained as cool as a cucumber despite Tristan's struggles, simply shushing him as he pleaded for him to listen for a moment.

"Tris. Just let me say one think and we can get back to the game."

Miles brought his mouth as close to Tristan's ear as he could without actually touching it, allowing Tristan to feel the heat from his breath as he spoke. The black haired boy was stubborn as ever, leaving Miles no choice but to carry on anyways.

"Your middle name is James." Miles started, and for a brief moment he actually felt Tristan's vigorous movements calm. "Your favorite color is amethyst purple. You're six feet tall exactly. Your older brother Owen is in the NHL. Your parents split up at the end of grade ten. You came out in grade seven, but your first kiss was with your old best friend Tori. She moved away the summer we went to Paris. You're obsessed with West Drive, American Horror Story, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. You aspire to work with Quentin Tarantino..."

Miles was like a broken record that couldn't be stopped. As calmly as possible he spewed out the most random pieces of Tristan information he could think of. Every so often he could feel Tristan growing less tense in his arms only to start wiggling about a moment later as if trying to remind himself that he's somewhat ticked at Miles. More than anything Miles wanted to just pull him against him further and relish in their mutual warmth. He wanted to nuzzle his head into him and press his lips against that one specific spot on Tristan's neck that he knows is especially sensitive. But he refrained, not wanting to cross any invisibly drawn boundaries in Tristan's clearly moody state.

"...You hate eating carbs, but veggie pizza is always an exception. Your favorite role you've played to date was in Romeo and Jules. Your biggest fears are needles, snakes, and being alone forever. But you don't ever mention that last one. You had a minor heart attack when you were 13 after going on a crazy crash diet - even though you were just as handsome then as you are today. When we have sex, you prefer positions where we're facing each other so you can watch how you make me fall apart. You're not fond of giving hand-jobs but you do it anyways because you know I prefer it to going down. And you claim that you hate it when I ruffle up your hair after you've just finished doing it in the mornings. But I know you really don't mind that much because you always yell at me with a smile every single time."

Miles released Tristan from his hold, letting his hands grip the boys frail wrists and bring his arms back to the proper aiming position. He trailed his fingers all the way back up Tristan's arms, resting his hands lightly on the boy's shoulders. Tristan had every bit of freedom to flinch away now, but he didn't budge. He just stood there, staring at the worn Chucks on his feet like they were a fascinating new discovery.

"I can probably think of a hundred more if you need me to. And if that's what you want I'll stand here and answer Tristan trivia all fucking night. But can you at least tell me what all this is about?"

There was a new touch of desperation in his voice that hadn't been there before. Tristan himself was noticeably hesitant. A broken sigh that left his throat did not go unheard in the silence that had taken over since Miles' asked his question.

"I was trying to make a point." Tristan eventually shrugged, lifting his fallen head in search for his some degree of confidence. "Point being that you could answer any meaningless question I threw out at you. So how does the guy I've been with for two and a half years, 29 months, or 800-and-whatever days remember all these stupid little details a-and know where I'll be at the ass crack of dawn but fails to remember about the one day I've been looking forward to for all four years of high school?"

Realizing he'd already asked his question, he chucked the ball towards the hoop. He only used one hand and his body was nowhere near aligned with the target, sending the sphere flying much too far to the left to land in some bushes. He was so scatterbrained and no longer concerned with the game that it was really more of a way to channel his irritation than an honest attempt. Tristan didn't flinch. He could care less about going to retrieve it. Miles pondered the idea for a moment, but remained perfectly still once Tristan began to speak again.

"Miles, you know how crucial prom night was to me. It's like, the most crucial day in any young couple's life besides their potential wedding."

He paused for a moment, wondering if he was getting a bit carried away. But ultimately he shook that thought off. He was upset and he had every damn right to be. Their relationship thus far had been filled with many unique experiences. They got off to a rocky start, ultimately ending their first try to dating much too soon on the worst of notes. Since reconciliation that point in their relationship had earned the name "The Plague" and there was an unspoken promise to keep it unspoken unless absolutely necessary. Two dreadful months slugged by before their bromance turned romance turned bitter enemies took a giant leap back under the romance label - and it had been smooth sailing ever since. Yeah they still argued like all couples do. But once Miles learned to talk about what's bothering him and Tristan learned to not be so obsessively confrontational those spats were more like little waves in the water than a full-on tsunami.

They survived the intimidation of swanky Hollingsworth parties and exchanging details of their separate family drama. They took care of each other when ill and even put their care-giving skills to the ultimate test while babysitting Tristan's niece. A number of holidays, anniversaries, and birthdays were spent together or desperately wishing they were - and yes, Miles had somehow been able to make up for nearly forgetting Tristan's sixteenth. The quest for creative date ideas that further separated them from the average couples lead them through serenades in the park, surprisingly competitive Just Dance battles, and Tristan's unsuccessful attempts to get Miles to enjoy ice cream. As their feelings flourished innocent make out sessions in the backseat of Miles' car became infused with sexual tension and eventually lead to them sleeping together for the first time and many more after that.

Now it was their senior year, and the beginning of the rest of their lives was fast approaching. Once everyone gathered their diplomas and threw their caps into the air Tristan and Miles would both be furthering their education at Toronto University - Tristan as a theater major and Miles for music production. Their original intention was to take off to New York City. But two overprotective mothers skeptical about their baby boys living on their own so far away kept them grounded in Canada for now. Luckily that meant both sets of parents were willing to do whatever it took to keep them close by - including collectively springing for the initial expenses of their new apartment just off campus. The space was decently sized and placed in the liveliest part of the college town. Tristan had been hitting up yard sales for months gathering whatever decorations and furniture he could that screamed sophistication without screaming at Miles' set budget. Most importantly, it was theirs.

But before they jumped headfirst into adulthood there was still one major milestone left to conquer - prom night. The night that Tristan had been dreaming about since he was just a hopeless romantic of a little boy continuously watching Pretty In Pink on his living-room television. When his brother went to prom Tristan was green with envy over the fabulous night that lied ahead of him. He couldn't believe what he was hearing when all Owen had to say about the night was that he spent it drunk with his buddies like any other school dance. The thought of someone throwing that night away just seemed so grotesque. But Tristan didn't think he would have that problem. He'd managed to find the epic romance he had always longed for. And while that epic romance blossomed with strength not once did it ever cross his mind that prom night could potentially be anything other than perfection.

"I know you're not so big of an idiot to where you're immune to all the prom commotion, Miles. You'd practically have to be blind to miss it. Guess I should have taken you to get your vision checked."

Tristan added the last bit sarcastically, but Miles knew well enough to know he wasn't entirely joking. By the first week of grade 12 classes Tristan had already found himself on more than a few occasions lost in his own fantasies of them in coordinated suits slow dancing amongst the crowd as the elected prom kings. As the months droned on the prom buzz was the only think keeping his senior-itis at bay. Every corner of the school walls was bombarded with posters and D-TV had mentioned it in every announcement since before tickets even went on sale. The most boring school subjects were suddenly made much more interesting with all the gossip of who was taking who. He watched as everyone got their various invitations - Zig and Maya, Winston and Frankie, Tiny and Grace, even Zoe had managed to snag her former West Drive co-star Oliver Dean as her official arm candy.

For weeks upon weeks Tristan waited on edge for his day to come. Considering Tristan left for the park just before midnight that meant a new day had officially started amongst their basketball game and prom night had arrived. Mere hours were left until the hundreds of grade 12 students and their dates would be piling into their respective vehicles and be whisked off to the time of their lives. All except Tristan - because even though the day had come and would soon be gone Miles had never asked him. Tristan couldn't ask Miles of course. He had already ticked asking his boyfriend to a dance off of the to-do list for their grade 11 Homecoming. They ended up ditching the soiree for a 'movie night turned make-out session' courtesy of the Good TV at the Hollingsworths of course. But regardless of details that ship had sailed and this one was clearly Miles' turn.

"You know, with the stresses of final exams and university jitters on everyone's mind I tried giving you the benefit of the doubt at first." Tristan shook his head as if to represent the shame he felt in himself. "I dropped as many hints as I could Miles and you ignored them all. I even went so in your face as to get your sister involved."

He thought back to the incident that confirmed his fears of a prom-less senior year that happened at Miles' house just a few nights prior. He had been whisked away from his snooze-fest of an English assignment after receiving a serious fashion emergency text from Frankie. He arrived at the Hollingsworth house in no time at all and promptly stormed up the stairs to her bedroom where he found her waiting with Miles. The oldest Hollingsworth boy had basically proven himself useless as he did nothing but lie back on Frankie's bed and fiddle with his phone while Tristan consoled his younger sister and attempted to sew up the sizable tear on her prom dress just below her budding breasts. The only contribution he made the entire duration of Tristan's stay was after Tristan asked Miles for back-up while trying to ensure Frankie that the mishap wasn't due to any serious weight gain but rather the 'fast-acting wonders of womanhood.' To which Miles nearly begged never to ask him about his sister's 'womanhood' again. Tristan tried to take his presence to his advantage while discussing with Frankie any prom related topic that came to mind. But despite how clearly they gushed over the outstanding choice in theme and speculation over what hot tracks would be played all night, Miles stayed mum.

That day, the following day, and every other day they had left. Not once had Miles so much as even uttered the four letter word. Tristan supposed he could go by himself but by the time he considered that possibility tickets were already sold out. More than anything, he felt let down.

"Well I hope you're happy Miles because congratulations. You don't have to go to prom. Clearly, you didn't want to." Tristan continued with a sharp bitterness on the tip of his tongue. " I guess I'm just disappointed that after all this time you couldn't just tell me that instead of ignoring it as if it was just some other unimportant school function we decided to skip out on. Because whether or not you wanted to go is one thing but I never made that decision. Now I can't even go solo because I waited so long for you to ask me that tickets sold out. So thanks for being the one responsible for me having to miss out on something I've looked forward to for so long. Really shows how much you love me."

"Whoa, Tris. I do love you..." Miles started, but his counterpart cut him off before his sentence could go on any further.

"I know, I know you do. But. Seriously, Miles! Open your eyes for like, two seconds please?!" Tristan was raising his voice now, his upset state catching noticeably in his throat. "A few weeks from now we're supposed to be moving in together. Just the two of us, with nobody else around. We'll be learning how to grow up together and sharing a whole bunch of new responsibilities we've never dealt with before. That's going to be a lot of work. How are we ever going to survive that stuff if we can't even figure out what our plans are now?!"

"Tristan look. I think..."

"No, Miles! I don't care what you think right now. You know what I think? I thought with such big things ahead of us that we would be on board together for everything.Especially including the the last important breakthrough we have to survive as a long-term high school couple. It's a little hard to look for the bright light at the end of our tunnel when the train tracks seem to be going backwards."

"Okay...that was a terrible analogy." Miles laughed slightly, and although he couldn't see it he knew Tristan rolled his eyes dramatically by the groan that escaped.

"Tristan. None of those things I said earlier are stupid little details, first of all. They're important to know. I want to know everything about you. You're like reading my favorite book over and over - it never gets boring."

"Since when do you read?" Tristan countered, refusing to let Miles weasel his way out of his mistake this time.

"I guess that's fair enough." Miles chuckled as he allowed himself to be Tristan's punching bag a little longer. "Babe, you can't live life thinking about everything so pessimistically. A few weeks from now we'll be moving in together! Just the two of us! With nobody else around! For the first time ever we'll be able to do whatever we want! We'll be coming home to each other every single night. Doing things like cooking each other breakfast and watching shitty reality TV and sleeping together on a daily basis. You know, I've even been toying with the idea of getting a puppy if you're up for it."

Seeing Tristan upset in any degree had grown to become Miles' biggest weakness over the years. Just the sound of the despair in his voice made Miles' own troubled heart slow down its steady beating. It was almost like being so in love had connected them to a point where Tristan's pain became his own. Knowing he was the one that caused it made it so much worse, even if he knew he had the solution at hand. He reached out to lay a hand on Tristan's shoulder but he flinched it away, leaving Miles to huff hopelessly before getting to the biggest statement in his argument.

"With all those big things ahead of us I wouldn't think we'd need a petty high school dance to show us how solid our relationship is. We're ready for pro leagues here, Tris. We make the perfect team."

"I'd rather us get a kitten. They're cuter. And less destructive." Tristan stated matter-of-factly before folding his arms tightly across his chest. "And isn't communication a vital part of teamwork?"

"Of course it is. But sometimes-"

"No, Miles. I don't want to hear it! You can't just waltz in every time you screw up and think that you can say some sweet nonsense you've pulled out of thin air to make it all better."

"Tristan..."

"I'm not playing anymore Miles. I'm honestly really hurt that you didn't even have the decency to talk to me about any of this."

"Tristan..."

"Obviously I don't want to break up over this but honestly Miles it's going to take a lot more than an apology for you to make this one better."

"Tristan!" Miles was laughing now, in a way so unnecessary it pressed Tristan to turn around and shoot him a death glare that was more terrifying than castration. "Are you done yet? 'Cause I think these may help."

He watched as Miles slipped a hand into his back pocket with a grin so smug it nearly reached from ear to ear. He pulled out a simple manilla envelope, already torn open at the top and extremely crumpled. It wasn't very aesthetically appealing, but by the way Miles suddenly got giddy you would have thought he was pulling a million dollar bill out. He held it out to Tristan with a mischievous gleam sparkling like the night stars within his green eyes. With a suspicious eyebrow cocked Tristan hesitantly reached for the package, taking it in his own hands and peering inside.