Tristan lay in his hospital bed, staring at the white ceiling. It was nighttime, and although the hospital wasn't entirely quiet, it was significantly less hectic than during the day, especially since he was staying in a private room. He could hear the occasional coughing and moans, along with the sound of nurses patrolling the corridors or responding to patients' calls. And most of all, he could hear Jake's steady breathing as clear as day.
Because Tristan was a child, a parent or a relative was allowed to spend the night at the hospital with him. However, Angela would never allow herself to suffer by sleeping in an uncomfortable hospital room if not absolutely necessary, and Matthew was nowhere to be seen. Tristan wasn't even sure if he knew about how the surgery went. He also doubted that his father cared about the outcome and the impact on his health. The only person that mattered in that cold man's heart was Angela; everyone else could drop dead, and he wouldn't care less, as long as it didn't affect his wife or his reputation.
In short, his parents were out of the question. And since Gabriel was with Misha tonight, the role of caretaker fell upon Jake. Even though he told him he was fine and could go home, his brother dismissed his protests and got permission from the staff to stay for the night.
While Jake was at the reception desk, Tritan saw a few nurses throwing him pitiful gazes, as if they were allowing a monster to enter his room. But in the end, no one spoke up, for it was not their place to intervene. Well, Jake was acting like a first-class asshole in front of everyone, and as such, Tristan couldn't exactly blame them for the huge misunderstanding they had about his brother. It was a misperception he had purposely engineered to mislead his mother, and all Tristan could do was play along, smiling wryly at the nurses.
"I don't know whether to laugh or cry when others are tiptoeing around you now," Tristan muttered to himself, staring at his brother's peaceful sleeping face. Because there was only one bed, both had to share it. It was almost three times smaller than Jake's bed, so there wasn't much space between them, allowing Tristan to get a good look at his brother's face. Like Gabriel and Misha, he had deep circles etched under his eye sockets, darkening his skin. He had removed his eyepatch for the night and placed it on the nightstand. It wasn't the most comfortable thing to wear for sleep, even if Stephan did his best to craft it as soft and loose-fitting as possible.
In the dimly lit and silent room, Tristan stared at Jake's eyelid that rested over his empty eye socket. He wanted to stretch a hand and caress it, but restrained himself. Even if his brother slept like a log, he still feared he'd bother him in his sleep. He needed that rest tonight.
His thoughts were starting to wander into dangerous territory when Tristan heard his phone vibrating on the nightstand. He frowned and glared over his shoulder, hesitating to fetch it. There was only one person who would be inconsiderate enough to send messages at this hour, and he wasn't sure if he could talk to him right now without lashing out. Whenever they conversed, he couldn't help the guilt twisting his guts. Although Jake didn't seem to mind that they exchanged text messages with each other, it nevertheless felt wrong. The asshole plucked out his brother's eyeball, for goodness' sake! It might have been years ago, but it didn't change the fact that it happened, and the injury would never heal fully. An eye couldn't regrow.
But in the end, Tristan grunted a few curses under his breath before turning over and snatching the darn phone. He couldn't ignore it, for he knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep without looking at what nonsense he sent. Curiosity would keep him awake even more than the dark thoughts.
'It seems like the surgery went well. So, why are you feeling so down? Your depressing thoughts are getting annoying and ruining my mood.'
The words made his mouth twitch, and Tristan snorted. What did he expect? It was always like this. The jerk wouldn't give them the crucial information they needed just because he wished for it. No, instead, he'd mock him. He was pretty sure Pierrot's mood wasn't actually ruined by his inner turmoil, and he must be relishing in it instead. So, Tristan decided to put down the phone and ignore him, but it seemed like Pierrot had other plans in mind and continued to spam his message box, causing the phone to vibrate constantly.
'I know you're awake.'
'I also know you're disappointed.'
'Stop pretending you didn't read my messages. There's a little 'read notification' telling me you did.'
'Keep ignoring me, and I'll call Gabriel instead.. Do you want me to ruin his weekend with Misha? I don't mind. It seems like a fun thing to do.'
The threat did wonder, and Tristan couldn't help but scoff in anger. He gritted his teeth as he swept his screen open and started to type a reply. He didn't mince his words and sent back:
'Stop acting like a kid seeking attention. What the hell do you want?'
'To talk, what else?'
'Too bad, I don't want to. Leave me alone.'
Right now, Pierrot was truly the last person Tristan wanted to talk to, and he was sure he knew why. How could he not? This guy took great pleasure in spying on him, reading his thoughts, and analysing his emotions. Sometimes, Tristan felt like he was a lab rat in Pierrot's eyes. It was an uncomfortable feeling he couldn't chase away.
'I'll leave you alone when you stop worrying. Did you honestly think that your feelings of jealousy and possessiveness would go away after they removed the tumor? Are you dumb? What the tumor would have first affected was your ability to feel empathy toward others, not your emotions as a whole. Being heartless doesn't mean you feel absolutely nothing.'
Of course, Pierrot didn't beat around the bush and twisted the knife, making Tristan wince as he read the merciless words. He knew it already! No need to remind him of how his hopes had been nothing but foolish fantasies. He just couldn't help it, for he hated these feelings that were twisting his guts. Misha was someone he adored, yet he still felt jealous as Gabriel grew closer to him and spent less time with him. Stephan was annoying, but he was someone who took care of Jake and would never hurt him. He knew that, too. And yet again, he couldn't stop the jealousy from clenching his heart. The dark emotions were churning in his stomach, whether he liked it or not. He was fundamentally possessive of his brothers and, deep down, wanted to keep them to himself. To isolate them and be the only one in their lives.
However, Tristan knew better. Even if his heart felt that way, he had long promised himself that he would always push these feelings aside and never act upon them. Unlike Pierrot, he wouldn't let his jealousy and possessiveness get the better of him. It was just that… learning he had a tumor, like his other selves, and that in his case, it would be removed, made him falsely hope that these feelings were caused by it and would be gone with the tumor. But reality was harsh, and he still felt that way. Even if he did feel undoubtedly happy for Misha and Gabriel earlier, a part of himself didn't want to let them go. It was a duality difficult to handle, driving him insane. So he did his best to do precisely the contrary of what these dark emotions were trying to push him to do.
'Shut up! I'm nothing like you. These feelings won't make me do the things you did to Jake. Never. I'd rather die beforehand.'
'When did I say you were like me?'
The question stunned Tristan, and he stared at his phone with a dumb look. Right. Not even once did Pierrot say they were alike. Instead, his biggest fun seemed to point out how different Tristan was, always mocking the thoughts and feelings he had, as well as his 'useless' anxiety. All of a sudden, he couldn't help but curl up and laugh. Never did he imagine, even in his wildest dreams, that he would find comfort after talking to this asshole. Yes, they were not the same, and no matter what, he would never let these emotions slip out and push him to cross the lines.
'Good, now go to sleep and rest. I need you to be in good health.'
The words made Tristan frown. He wasn't naïve enough to believe Pierrot cared about his health, unless he needed him for something, just as he was suggesting. It raised some anxiety in his guts, but he tried not to think about it. Even if he were to ask for what nefarious plan he needed his little person, he would have no answer. But whatever Pierrot wanted, he wouldn't play along and dance in the palm of his hand. They were both trying to get something from the other, and that was all there was to their relationship. It didn't matter if this guy was another self. For Tristan, he was no better than a stranger, and a mad one he wanted to avoid at all cost at that.