A/N: A few things I wanna say before I get started on this story.

1.) I really hope AU was the right term to use to describe this fic. I've kinda pushed back and forth on it so let me explain just in case. In this story, anything that has happened to these characters on the show has never happened. They are meeting as complete strangers and living separately from their mutual story lines in the show. However, I'm keeping some of the back-story the same - especially with Miles.

2.) I really love writing songfics! My old FF account was filled with them, and this certainly is not the last you guys will see here. It's taken me a while to get one up because I've been looking for the right song to fit with Triles. When I first heard this one I had a completely different ship in mind because I could keep it canon. But for whatever reason I just couldn't get it out of my mind what it would be like to put Triles in this situation. I couldn't shake it off.

3.) I realize a few lyrics don't really tie in. I also changed the original lyrics from female to male pronouns/terms in places to make them relevant. Just play along please. Ignore the differences if you have to. The lyrics are in italics within every chapter.

4.) I'm REALLY, REALLY sorry...

Miles' POV

I stared straight ahead, my dim eyes fixated on one of the cheesy, supposedly uplifting paintings that lay askew against the scuffed white wall. I stayed as still as could be so my eyes couldn't accidentally stray from the focal point I had chosen. It was the only spot in the room I could look that wasn't incredibly depressing. All around me I could hear the sounds - wailing children, phlegmy coughs, frantic feet pounding against the linoleum floor, machines beeping at increasing rates. The temperature was cast ice cold by the shared realization that in that very instant, at least one person in the room was dying. Though, it's likely to be a lot more - and that is reason number one why I fucking hate hospitals. But that and the near toxic aroma of bleach was also what made it impossible to forget where I was. But I was going to try my damn hardest.

The woman to my right appeared only minutes ago and introduced herself as Dr. Sanders but otherwise remained noiseless as she sorted through a disheveled pile of papers in her lap. Curiosity got the best of me and I hesitantly studied her out of the corner of my eye. I hoped with all my might I wouldn't catch a glimpse of anything that I'd rather remain unseen. For somebody who was supposed to be heroic, she didn't seem very enthused to be there. Her bleary eyes were chased by stress lines that stood out against her mocha skin. She sat slumped over greatly, giving off the impression that she was anything but interested in my condition. When she finally spoke again, her voice was unmistakably exhausted and solemn. For a brief moment I wondered if she wanted to get out of this place just as badly as I did.

"It seems you took quite a thrashing Mr..."

"Hollingsworth." I finished for her, not bothering to remind her that it was not only printed on the paperwork in her hands but also across the much too tight ID bracelet on my wrist. The faster we could get this whole scene over with, the better.

"You're the politician's son?" She asked with an all too sudden interest as she actually looked at me for the first time

I grimaced at her words, wondering when the day would come where someone wouldn't immediately associate me with that monster. I had been living in this town for less than 48 hours. The last thing I needed was recognition. But of course it was going to happen. Everybody was bound to know about the hot-shot Hollingsworth's arrival to Toronto. So I assured her she was correct and pretended to listen to her opinions on unimportant political matters while she examined me. By then, her thin-lipped smile had cracked open and her entire demeanor had brightened at a disgusting pace.

"Your daddy sure seems to have his work cut out for him!" She finished with a chuckle before finally acknowledging the reason we had been brought together "Now, how did these injuries happen again?"

I wanted to tell her to ask my daddy how I got my injuries. That reaction probably would have brought some amusement to the situation. But like always I had to hide my tempted tongue behind clenched teeth.

"Motorcycle accident." I gave my rehearsed answer perfectly - not too rushed, not too hesitant.

I had mastered telling the believable lie long ago. This wasn't the first time my father's temper had landed me in the emergency room, and it most certainly won't be the last. Luckily for my parents' image, my reputation of being a wild child left all my excuses believable. My father had the media convinced I was some rebel without a cause by the time I could walk. Of course, that story was full of just as much bullshit as the rest of them. They said moving to Toronto would be a fresh start; that things would be different now. There was a new campaign brewing with new opportunities that would benefit everybody. Silly me for believing that wasn't just another empty promise like the rest of the garbage that spewed from my father's mouth. Out of anybody, I should have known better.

"Well, your self-diagnosis was spot on. Perhaps a medical degree is in your future?" Dr. Sanders was apparently full of jokes, but I was not amused. "Your left wrist is broken, and it's possible you're suffering from a mild concussion. But if that is the worst of you really should be grateful."

I refrained from rolling my eyes and went back to sulking over my boredom while she explained what needed to be done. The next hour was spent shoving my forearm in a cast and trying to cram as much information as they could into my mind. They talked about the proper care for my scrapes and bruises and how to nurse my concussion. I managed to nod along when appropriate, but in reality I was just going through the motions.

"Do you have somebody who can bring you and your motor bike back home safely?" Dr. Sanders asked as our meeting finally came to an end.

"Our driver is already on his way." I told her with a smile, and the one she gave back confirmed she had fallen for another one of my well-planned lies.

Sure, I could make a call and have a driver here within minutes to take me back home. But as much as I hated hospitals, I would rather stay there than return home in that moment. Once I went back home, I would have to deal with the mask. My father would no doubt be waiting with a plastic smile and some sort of lavish gift to try to win over my forgiveness. It was a close race, but sometimes I'd rather just take the beating than deal with that crap. So I wandered around aimlessly outside, eventually finding myself in the parking garage that connected the emergency room to the state hospital. My unharmed hand burrowed deep in my pocket and pulled a cigarette out from a crumpling pack. My fingers dug around every inch, but much to my dismay no lighter was found.

Being underage, I couldn't very well go buy one myself. The lingering smell of cigarette smoke from somewhere in the distance was tempting. I toyed with the idea in the same way I did my cigarette between my fingers, flicking it back and forth as I walked. Desperate times called for desperate measures, but the idea of bumming a light off a stranger seemed so invasive. I caught sight of a puff of smoke from behind a pillar and traced it straight to the source - which made itself known in the form of the most beautiful guy I had ever seen.

I tried my hardest to take in every detail before he disappeared back into my fantasies. He was dressed in all black - a hooded sweatshirt and skinny jeans that somehow still bunched up in areas around his legs. Porcelain skin covered the appendages that gripped the burning cigarette, which lead back to mauve colored lips that formed the perfect natural pout. There was not a blemish in sight along his sculpted facial structure besides the shadowy circles surrounding his weary chestnut eyes. The way they seemed to sink further into his head than normal should have been alarming, but was slightly alluring for a reason I couldn't come across. His pupils matched the thin hair atop his head that adopted the sexy-messy look you usually only found in models. He was about the same height as me, but just thin enough for me to imagine wrapping myself completely around his frame. Every exhale left his chest straining against his sweatshirt dramatically and left me dying to see more.

"Hey. You uh, got a light?" I asked nervously as I approached his right side.

He turned to me calmly as if I hadn't just appeared out of nowhere and opened his palm, revealing a red lighter already in place. He held it out for me to grab and I accepted, positioning my cigarette between my lips carefully as it caught flame. I thanked him with my first exhale as I handed the lighter back and turned to continue my unguided exploration.

"Where do you think you're going?"

The voice that rang through the air was not my own. As I peered back over my shoulder the sly look across the gorgeous boy's face confirmed it was his. He took another quick puff and peeled his back off of the pillar to face me.

"Nowhere, I guess." I shrugged closing the distance between us slowly.

"Well I'm not going to let you bum a light and leave if you're just going nowhere." He teased, his entire expression shimmering as he spoke.

The last word jumped sharply off the tip of his tongue, as if he was trying to place blame on me for something entirely rotten. The playful look in his eyes was as powerful as high tide. I was the helpless victim - being pulled in to his demise.

"Fair enough." I answered with a slight laugh as my feet planted firmly before his, trying hard to match his impeccable grin.

"You have a name?" His question came with a thick puff of smoke that forced him to suppress a cough.

"Miles. You?"

"Tristan Milligan. You got a last name?"

This time the cloud that released with much smoother and welcoming as if it went along side his name naturally. God damn, this guy was flawless.

"Uh yeah. Hollingsworth." I responded hesitantly but he seemed unfazed.

"And who is Miles Hollingsworth?"

I was taken back by his question. For fifteen years I had waited for somebody to act like they hadn't heard of me the moment they met me. But now that it came, I was at a loss for words. Opening up had never been my forte - mainly because there was so much to open up about but so little I felt I could actually say. The situation was as dangerous as a loaded gun.

"I'm me." I answered before realizing how dumb that actually sounded. Smooth move, dip shit. "I mean...what do you wanna know?"

"I wanna know you, Miles Hollingsworth." He spoke matter of factly, his eyes chasing the puff of smoke that left my shaky grip. "But if you need a place to start, you can start with how you apparently got your ass handed to you."

"Motorcycle accident." I gave the answer for the second time, just as convincing as the first.

"Bullshit." He answered almost immediately, his gaze flicking back up to mine.

"Excuse me?" My heart faltered as I choked the phrase out.

This was another new experience for me. My excuses had never gone detected before.

"That's bullshit and you know it. I can see it in your eyes."

"See what?"

"The pain." His voice suddenly grew softer. " It's not a physical pain. It's emotional pain. You didn't do this to yourself. Somebody did it to you. So spill. The correct answer this time. 'Cause I don't associate with phonies."

I sighed as he ashed the cigarette out as if his answer had been the easiest response in the world. My mind was spinning. My stomach felt as though it could betray me any moment. Every sense in my body told me to run, but my pounding heart coaxed me to stay. There was something so different about this Tristan - beyond his godlike looks and overpowering confidence - and different was just what I needed.

'By the time I was your age I'd give anything

To fall in love truly was all I could think

That's when I met your father, the boy of my dreams

The most beautiful man that I'd ever seen'