—•TRISTAN•—
Am I dreaming right now?
I freeze, staring at the man standing at the bottom of the stairs, and my stomach drops so violently it feels like I’ve been punched.
He looks older. The boyish softness around his jaw has been replaced by something leaner, more angular.
But those eyes...
Those piercing blue eyes are exactly the same.
Eyes I never thought I'd see again.
And now he's standing in June's house.
Why the f**k is he here?
My pulse hammers against my temples. I can feel my composure cracking, the mask I wear so carefully slipping just slightly.
I grip the armrest of this disgusting chair, fingers digging into the worn fabric beside a mysterious stain, and force myself to breathe. In. Out. Just like my therapist taught me. Just like I've practiced for years.
It doesn
