Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING! This is purely for entertainment.

This is set during Run Away Little Boy. Tristan has just walked out of the rehearsal for the final act of Romeo and Juliet. This, and maybe the epilogue, will be the only chapter where we know Tristan's feelings. This is my first fan fic ever and certainly the only Trory story I've written. Please let me know how I'm doing. Hope you enjoy.

xoxoxoxo

"You make it impossible for anyone to be nice to you."

Her voice was ringing in his ears, over and over in a maddening loop. Not even the cool late fall air whipping around his car and into his head could shut it out. That didn't stop him from pushing the Porsche farther, faster through the back roads of Connecticut, wind rushing his ears.

He wanted to hate her. He wanted to be able to think of her as a frigid, supercilious bitch who had nothing better to do than tell people how they couldn't live up to her standards. He wanted not to think of her at all.

He thought he had pushed her out of his life. As soon as she said she hated him in front of the whole student body, the wall had come up. He was done with her. He was done trying to get to know her better, trying to find out her likes and playing them up. He was done playing the fool for her.

It was supposed to be over. Then this damn Shakespeare project came up and he was slammed into her again. Despite playing it cool, he couldn't stop saying things around her. Things he didn't want to say because he didn't want to say anything to her. He wanted to ignore her existence, but he couldn't seem to do it when she was five feet away from him.

His cell phone rang. Without looking, he knew it was Paris. She had rushed to the car as soon as she found out he was leaving rehearsal, screaming death threats at his tail lights. He had to smile. She couldn't drag him back into rehearsal if her life depended on it. She had to be boiling inside knowing he was out of her reign of control. He was out of reach to anyone.

Twenty minutes later, Tristan pulled into the parking lot of a vacant retail building on the outskirts of Hartford where Bowman and Duncan were waiting. They both sat on the flatbed of Bowman's truck, motionless until Tristan got out of his Porsche and walked over.

"Over with the Bard?" Bowman asked, sneering slightly at Tristan.

Tristan shrugged. "It was lame. I left as soon as a back was turned."

"You have your fake ID on you?"

Tristan smiled. "Don't I always?"

"We're going into Springfield. We heard there's a strip club where the bouncer usually turns a blind eye to a fake ID if he finds a Ben in his hand."

It was just his speed, but he was broke. Having Bowman and Duncan for friends usually made him broke by the end of the month with all the antics they schemed up. The last one, the car incident, brought him down to a measly $100 and that had to last the next two weeks. He couldn't ask his father for another advance. That would only make him suspicious.

"Hey, sorry, I'm out of dough."

"Yea, so are we," Duncan said with a smile.

"That's why we're going to borrow from my dad," Bowman stated.

"Right," Tristan said, keeping his laugh to himself. If anything, Bowman's father was stricter than Tristan's. "How are you going to manage that?"

"I have the key to my dad's safe. He keeps emergency money there. He never keeps track of it, though, so he won't notice if a couple thousand is missing."

Tristan's eyes went from Bowman's to Duncan's. They had to be joking. They had done some crazy things before, even illegal things, but nothing this serious.

"You want to steal money from your dad?" Tristan asked, wondering if he understood wrong.

Bowman shrugged. "It's no big deal. My dad gave me a key. Why would he give me a key if he didn't want me to have access to his safe? And why else would I want access to his safe other than to get some dough?"

It wasn't a big deal. Bowman had a key. His dad had given him a key. And Mr. Bowman wouldn't know.

"Maybe Duncan and Bowman aren't the best people to be hanging out with. They're not as smart as you Tristan, they don't have what you have going for you."

Her voice rang clear through his head. When did she become the voice of his conscience? Since when did he care what she thought about what he was doing? Since when did she care what he did in the first place?

But he couldn't deny the sense of dread he had in the pit of his stomach. Something was wrong with this, even more so than all their other pranks. Maybe because this wasn't a prank, just petty theft. But saying no because of fear wasn't an option. He couldn't appear weak in front of Duncan and Bowman. Tristan couldn't appear to be weak to anyone, especially not his friends.

His cell phone rang. He took it out of his pocket. The caller ID said it was Paris again and in a split second, he made a decision. Maybe a dumb decision, but a decision, nonetheless.

He held up a finger to the guys, indicating he was taking the call, before flipping it open. "Hey, Hannah. Can't get through the night without me?"

"What?" Paris screeched into his ear. "I'm not one of your bimbo girlfriend's, Tristan."

"I know you're lonely but we agreed to keep it casual."

"Tristan, you better hope my anger ceases before tomorrow because if I get my hands on you with this same temper, you won't have to act like you died."

"I'm sorry, you're wearing what?"

"Tristan!"

"I'll be there in ten."

He flipped his phone closed and smiled at his friends, a brief image of the flaming face of Paris flashing in his head. "I'm sorry, guys, but while you go play with girls you can't touch, I'll be playing with one I can."

"Come on, Dugrey," Duncan insisted. "You can't blow us off for a girl."

Tristan shrugged as he walked backwards toward his car. "I'll tell you what. Tomorrow we'll swap stories. You can tell me how far you went with a stripper and I'll tell you how far I got with Hannah."

Tristan got into the car as Bowman and Duncan looked at each other in defeat. Tristan knew he punked out. He didn't have the balls to steal from an adult, even if it was fool proof. Worse of all, he let Rory Gilmore get to him once again.

xoxoxoxoxo

The Chilton Grand Hall was hushed when Tristan sneaked into the building. From the looks of things, the play was already into the 2nd act. He was right on time.

He spotted the bagboy standing in the back of the audience, oblivious to Tristan's entrance. Tristan decided to keep it that way. He didn't want any fireworks going off before the real show began.

He went into the hall where he was immediately attacked by Paris. "Well, well. Look who decided to show up," she growled in annoyance. "For your sake, I hope you fit into your costume since you didn't show up for the dress rehearsal today."

"Gee, Paris, it's nice to see you, too."

She shoved a bundle of fabric at him. "Get dressed. Now!"

He was getting ready to pop into one of the empty classrooms to change when Rory came out of a room, donned in a blue Elizabethan dress and head dress. It was surreal, how angelic she looked, how pure. She looked like the perfect Juliet.

He didn't say anything. He didn't want her to read him if he said something too softly or uncharacteristic. He just turned away as aloofly as possible, ducking into the next room he found.

He dressed quickly, trying to keep down his anticipation. He was going to kiss her. Yes, it was out of obligation, but it was still a kiss, and better yet, it was in front of the bagboy. No matter what, that was going to bother him, and Tristan couldn't wait to see his face.

And how would Rory act? Probably cold. Stone cold. She wouldn't feel a thing, because he was nothing to her except a poor boy who lost his way and needed a help back. He couldn't wait for the night to be over. Then he could get as far away from her as possible again. Hopefully, they wouldn't be pit together again like this.

His brown doublet fitted like a glove. A little too tight but he would have to live. The orange pants were hideous but were a better fit. He couldn't believe he was in this get up. He didn't want to look in the mirror. He had the feeling if he did, he would probably walk out before the end of the third act.

"Let's get this over with," he mumbled to himself.