AN: This story is set about eight years into the future, which would place Serenity at about 21 and both Duke and Tristan at about 24.

Warning for strong language and questionable characterization.

Roommate, The

Tristan was still talking. He'd been talking for awhile now actually but about what, Duke couldn't say. His mind was otherwise preoccupied with, oh, just the absolutely, horrendously heart-shattering, immensely devastating news that he, Duke Devlin, had lost the Black Crown.

And it wasn't like he toyed with his business either. The parlour tricks, cheerleaders (all willing volunteers by the way; he never once asked them to do it) and theatrics had all been careful ploys to advertise and widen his clientele. He'd actually modelled his management style after Seto Kaiba's (a secret he'd take to his grave) and had very different professional and public lives. And, despite what everyone thought, Duke did own business suits – over two dozen of them in fact.

In his mind, Duke had done everything right. He'd checked his sales regularly, kept a hawk's eye on his labour costs, employed hours of intelligence testing before hiring executives, created a Facebook page and staffed it with techies, consulted, consulted, consulted and even used purple in his décor even though he despised that colour.

There should have been classes! Or, at a least, better classes. That way, he wouldn't have had to make the mistake to learn his lesson. He wouldn't have been -

"Dude, it's not your fault you were swindled. It happens to the best of them. And you can always rebuild, it'll just take some time." Tristan pointed, "What is that anyways?"

Duke stopped stirring and glanced down into his cup, "Speckled cream something," he mumbled, "I don't remember. It was cheap."

"A guy as depressed as you should be drinking booze, not… have you even tasted that yet?"

"No. And, you don't say."

Tristan was staring and Duke didn't have to guess twice to know that it was because of his lack of eyeliner, "Let me get you something. On the house," Tristan flipped to the back of a table menu, "What do you want?"

It didn't even occur to Duke that there was a drink menu. With the flower wallpaper, country music by people he couldn't identify and the old school furniture, the place felt like it'd been designed by a grandma. He couldn't even remember what it was called. Henny's? Penny's? Smenny's?

"Kenny's. And you're right, there isn't much but it's better than nothing, I guess."

"Don't worry about it."

"Are you sure?"

Duke took a sip of the brown, creamy drink and grimaced, "Yeah."

"I have something that you might be interested in," Tristan said, reaching into his back pocket to fish out his wallet. After fingering though old receipts and bills, he pulled out a newspaper clipping and dropped it in front of Duke. "My sister's been pressuring me to move out. I've been putting it off for a while and she's starting to give me the evil eye. She'll probably be giving me the boot any day now."

Duke took another sip, mainly out of pride, "Okay."

"And I was thinking…" Tristan slowed, weighing the words in his head, "that since you're moving out of your ma – the house you're in right now, you can room with me."

Duke looked physically ill and Tristan quickly amended, "The rent is a steal compared to the location. It's on the 18th floor, looks over the ocean; five minutes from a major grocery store, seven minutes from the closest train station and ten minutes from the mall, park, gym and this burger joint I really like. The owner is renting out two spare rooms, so…" he bobbed his head back and forth, "they'll be there too. But I'm hoping they'll stay out of our hair."

Duke could tell Tristan was oblivious to how much this was killing him. Even though his friend meant well, this was yet another reminder, among the oodles of others, that his life was turning upside down. He wouldn't say to his friend, of course, but he couldn't keep the pain from showing through his face.

"It's supposed to be a really nice place," Tristan pushed, after pausing for a response that never came, "And after we get settled, I'll help you figure things out."

Duke sighed and rubbed his stomach, feeling sick. He pushed the drink behind a napkin dispenser where it would be out of sight. After some thought, in which he felt guilty for not even considering the idea, he picked up the clipping, "It says here women and couples only."

"Yeah, well, I think that's just to keep, you know, shady people from responding to the ad. My parents did that once when we rented out our basement. It should be fine."

Duke clicked his tongue and lightly tossed the clipping back, "Sorry, but I think I'll pass on this -"

"Let's at least check it out!" Tristan interrupted, his hand in mid-air as he stopped himself from grabbing Duke. He froze, turned away and leaned back in his seat, clearing his throat.

"Is there something else going on here?"

Tristan dropped against the back of his seat and let out a huge breath, "My sister and I fought, again. It was nasty. I can't stand her. I wanna leave as soon as possible. It'll be months before I'd wanna talk to her again. Let's just keep it at that."

"So you're dragging me into this?" Duke couldn't help being somewhat offended.

"I'm not dragging you into anything, alright? Don't make me into the bad guy here," Tristan downed the rest of his coke and loudly clunked the glass back on the table, "I'm saying this is would be a win-win for both of us. You're gonna be moving out anyways, right? And I foresee, strongly foresee, that I'll be doing so too. What's the problem?"

Duke didn't want to explain things. He didn't have the energy and Tristan, in his desperation, would probably accuse him of being childish or selfish or the like. And he certainly wasn't in the mood to hear any of it. "I just think it's a bad idea, that's all."

"Oh come on ma -"

"Hey, isn't that Duke Devlin?" They both turned to see two girls in a different booth staring at them, "Oh my gosh, it is! It's Duke!" One of the girls squealed before going wide-eyed with apparent concern, "Is it true that you lost the Black Crown? I won't tell anyone, promise, it was just something on a blog I read so I wanted to make sure."

It was enough to break the dam. At first, he was speechless. But then, with a smack of his hand on the table, Duke retorted with fiery, "And why the hell would you care anyways? So you can fucking announce on Facebook or tumble or tumblr or whatever shit that you saw Duke Devlin in some shithole talking about how he'd lost his million-dollar business? And yes, by the way, I did lose it. Did you get that or do you I have to say it again? MY BUSINESS IS FUCKING GONE!"

Duke stood and looked out at the shocked faces, "Anyone else? Back corner there? You want me to fucking repeat myself? I don't give two fucks about what you," he started pointing at random, "or you, or you, or even you, grampa, think. Go ahead and fucking blog your shit and don't skip out on the details about how I made a fucking ass of myself. Here, I'll even stand on the table…"

"Dude, don't stand on the –"

"See? I'm standing on the fucking table! Blog that! Do it! Whip out your smart phones and tablets and blog it right now!"

Horrified, Tristan couldn't bear to look at anyone else. He reached across the table and tugged the hem of Duke's pants, "Duke, what the fuck?" he hissed, "You're making a scene!"

"Well of course I'm making a scene," Duke replied loudly, "That's what the people want, right? A scene?"

"Just, just sit down, alright? You're going to regret this." Tristan risked a glance around the diner and flushed, "I'm begging you, man! Just get the hell down!"

To Tristan's relief, Duke conceded, but not without almost slipping on the table and landing face-first in the condiment holder. When he was safely seated, Tristan, stone-faced, pushed the menu towards him.

"I said I don't need a drink!" Duke, more lucid now, said irritably.

"Hope you'd understand if I don't believe you."

Duke dropped his head in his hands and knitted his fingers through his hair, staring at the table, "Fine, we'll check out the apartment," he resigned.

"W-well we don't have to if –"

Duke glared, and it was somehow creepier without the eyeliner.

"A-alright, I'll give them a call tomorrow morning."

"Hi, we're here about the ad… for rental space?"

The middle-aged woman looked between them hesitantly and quirked her head before opening the door fully to let them in.

And both were awed by what they saw.

The ad hadn't done the place justice, not in the least. The place was pristine, as if newly renovated. When they got past the walkway, they were met first with a kitchen that glinted with stainless steel. Cooking utensils and paraphernalia hung over the induction stove, classy and easily accessible. The counters were wiped clean and, other than the necessaries, a small, potted cactus sat at the edge of the counter, in front of the strip that made up the bar seating. The spacious living room was adorned with artsy furniture that made a space look more expensive than actually was, its centre piece a slick HD television. In the air was a hint of cinnamon.

But the highlight of the apartment were the large, nearly floor to ceiling windows. The blinds were up, as expected during daytime, so they were veiled only by thin, nearly-transparent curtains.

They approached the windows almost hypnotically but before they could take a peek at the balcony, the woman stepped in front of them, "Well, here's the space," she said belatedly, "You've already seen the kitchen and living room," she pointed, "The bedrooms are that way, down that hall over there."

They followed her and were disappointed to find two of the three bedrooms empty and the third locked. "These ones haven't been occupied since the previous owners," she explained, "and she's left them this way since she moved in."

She?

"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot to explain," she said, smiling for the first time since they'd met, "I'm looking after this apartment while my niece is away. She insists on paying her parents back for this place, that sweet girl. She should be back by tomorrow. In the mean time, she asked me to help her with renting out the space." She paused, "I trust you've… considered the ad between yourselves?"

Duke and Tristan shared a glance, "Yes."

She hesitated before forging on carefully, "Then, and pardon any rudeness on my part, you must be… together."

Duke flinched and something in his gut told him that the proceedings beyond this point could take a turn for the very, very bad. He took a step back, ready to apologize and head for the door but Tristan's arm shot out unexpectedly, holding him in place.

"Yes. Yes we are."

"Wha -"

"In fact," Duke was suddenly pulled against Tristan's chest in a vice-like embrace, "We're married."

Fortunately, Duke, though on the edge of hysterical at this point, still had enough clarity to take advantage of the situation. "What are you doing?" he hissed harshly into Tristan's ear, "Are you out of your mind?"

"Is there a problem?"

Tristan laughed, squishing Duke against him, "Ah, no, none at all. My husband was just telling me we shouldn't consider renting until we've seen the balcony." He patted Duke on shoulder, signalling for him to either keep quiet or play along, "He's very detail-oriented, that's why I married him – well one of the reason anyways," he cheerfully added when Duke sent him a venomous look.

"Oh," she tilted her head and frowned, "of course."

Tristan rigidly ushered Duke towards the sliding glass doors, keeping behind the woman whom he desperately hoped was oblivious to it all.

All the while, Duke's mind combed through hundreds of ways he would murder Tristan. Underneath his friend's arm, he burned with rage, ready, when they'd finally be alone, to unleash his hell. But when they stepped onto the balcony and the afternoon breeze brushed past them, Duke's anger and confusion was momentarily doused.

The view trumped everything they'd seen within the apartment several times over. Beneath their feet, the city was laid out in a mosaic of sun-bathed colour, each tiny detail coming together to create a stunning picture. Tall buildings flanked the lush green grass of a park, which became a sandy beach that led to the sparkling blue ocean. Boats dotted the horizon, their white masts fluttering in the wind. Pockets of people could be seen going about their business, all of them simultaneously visible to the trio but unaware of each other. At that height, the sounds of the street below could still be heard but they were faint enough not to be a nuisance. He felt like he could reach out and touch each of the city's monuments. It was like being surrounded by a painting that had come to life.

"Wow."

The woman smiled, "I think that's a good sign," she said to Tristan.

"I can't believe," Duke made to grab Tristan's collar but Tristan caught both of his hands in time, "you set me up," so Duke kicked Tristan's shin with a pointed shoe instead, "you bastard!"

Tristan hissed in pain and shoved Duke off before hopping on one foot to rub his shin, "I didn't set you up, I swear! I panicked, okay? She put me on the spot and I panicked!"

"Well whoopee-doo, we're married now! This has got to be the stupidest-"

"I'm sorry, alright?"

"Sorry?" Duke hollered, ready to throw something, "I have a girlfriend!"

Tristan blinked, "Shawna? I thought you guys broke up."

"Oh thanks," was the sarcastic reply, "you're a real pal, you know that? Not only," Tristan opened his mouth but gave up, "not only is the business that I built from the ground up all by myself fucking gone, I'm forced to downsize to a tiny apartment, I've got a stupid-ass friend who does stupid-ass things and now he's gone and reminded me that I got dumped!"

"She dumped you? I thought you said it was mutual."

"It wasn't."

"Aw man, I didn't know. You said – aw, I'm sorry."

"Stop talking, Tristan."

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know, alright?"

"Shut up, Tristan!"

Tristan held his hands up defensively, "Okay, okay, we won't talk about it." He cautiously approached Duke, freed the potted plant Duke had raised over his head and placed it safely on the coffee table, "But we're here now so let's just make the best of it, alright?"

Duke wasn't done with his conniption. Through clenched teeth, he said something Tristan couldn't quite catch. But the click of an unlocking door stopped him from asking.

Together they turned as the door creaked open and Serenity Wheeler walked in.

"Tristan! Duke! You're the renters? And, and y-you're married?"

The handle of her luggage dropped to the ground as she gaped owlishly at them. The girl they hadn't seen in years; the girl they'd both used to have a crush on who looked pretty much the same except maybe hotter and bustier around the chest area then launched herself at them, hooking one arm around each neck in a three-way hug. "Congratulations! Oh my gosh, why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell Joey? We would have gone to the wedding, you know! I'm so happy for you!"

The girl who also seemed to have gotten a lot chirpier over the years…

She pulled back, a big grin on her face and tears misting her eyes, "And I can't believe we're going to be roommates! What are the odds, huh? It'll just be like old times! You'll have to tell me everything!"

It was almost like she'd morphed into a female Joey. Maybe she had been doomed for it all along, like a genetic predisposition. Like nature had kicked nurture in the hinny.

She shepherded them towards the kitchen where they were urged to take a seat. She pulled out some glasses and poured them orange juice while she chit-chatted, "You know, I totally expected to be living with girls. I've never lived with a roommate before so I've been thinking about how it would work out; the kind of people they'd be, how we're going to share the bathroom, whether they would want to change the decorations, that kind of thing." She took a sip and urged them to do the same, "But this is going to be really different. Anyways, never mind that," she shook her head, "I want to hear about how you guys got together!"

But they just stared. This was Serenity Wheeler. Joey's sister. That sweet, soft-spoken girl with the pretty red hair. Why was she here again?

"I mean," she braced herself on against the table with both palms, "there were signs. It was kind of obvious actually. At that time, I thought it was better not to ask," her smile momentarily faded and it'd looked as if she'd spaced out for a second, "and there was other stuff going on anyways. Hey, you guys aren't wearing your rings."

And what did she mean by 'signs?' They knew she had been 'blind' but they didn't think she had been blind. And she hadn't even been blind for that long anyways! Clearly she didn't know what she was talking about.

Tristan cleared his throat. Once again, he'd be the one to charge in and (blindly) clear the jam, "We, we're, that's to say Duke and I, don't believe in rings. Right, Duke? Right. So, uh," he leaned in, "just out of curiosity… what… signs?"

Surprised, she held up her hands defensively, "Oh, I'm sorry, I just, well, I'm not really familiar with your culture so I didn't know if that's the right thing to ask or not. I didn't mean to be offensive."

Tristan gave as sincere a smile as he could in hopes that she'd relax, "No worries, I'm not offended. Duke isn't either, right Duke? Right. I'm just curious about the 'signs' thing."

"Oh, it's nothing. Forget I asked."

"Aww, c'mon."

"No, no." She shook her head, "You have the right to be offended. You probably have to deal with a lot from society already and I just want to make it clear that I totally accept it and you can be open and honest with me. We're all equals here. And I love you guys."

If only it was in a different context. If only.

"No, really," Tristan laughed, "I'm not offended." He jabbed Duke with an elbow.

"Me neither," came a kind of shell-shocked reply.

"Did you guys pick which room you want yet?" She chirped, picking up their glasses and plunking them in the sink, "Let's do that. It'll be fun!"

"Serenity –" But before they realized it, they found themselves following her down the hall. They figured if they complied, they'd eventually get an answer from her. But Serenity kept talking, almost nervously, dodging a certain topic and they couldn't get a word in edgewise.

"They're both about the same size but I think this one has a better view," she said, jarringly switching from the topic of pickled bananas.

"I'll take that one," they declared, each pointing to a different room.

And then it hit them when she looked confused.

Crap.

CRAP.

CRAP!

"Fine, if you can't decide," she said with a mock sigh, "I'll pick one for you." She pointed, "You can have this one. It's the further one from my room so you can have your privacy and I…" They'd never seen her grin that way before and it was disturbing, "can get my sleep."

And that was basically how things went from then on. The girl that had once been dependent on them became the woman that, more or less, dictated their lives. She was convinced that they were gayer than they actually were (which was still 100% gayer) and insisted that they educate her on the gay culture, which they knew nothing of. She went with them to pick out a bed. And what reason did they have to get two beds instead of one?

Thanks to Tristan, none.

And, the first night in that bed together, Duke made it very clear how he felt about it.

Serenity had expected to overhear them occasionally but she hadn't expected it to be so loud. Or the noise to start right away. And she came to two conclusions. The first was that they didn't waste time. The second was that Tristan probably bottomed.

She was so glad she didn't have to outright ask. Still, it had been difficult pretending that she hadn't been curious.

She also couldn't help being a little afraid of Duke. One didn't see a shiner like that every day.

For the guys, one of the few positive aspects of their lie of a relationship was that they could say things like:

"You changed shampoo? Can I smell your hair?"

"I'll wash the delicates today."

"Go with the push-up bra. Not that one, that one."

"Here, let me zip that up for you."

"You should test that lipstick before you buy it. Kiss me."

"I like the yellow scarf better. Kiss me."

The overwhelmingly heavier downside, however, were the things that she said to them.

"I wish I could find a guy like you."

"I'd show you off to everyone if you were my boyfriend."

"Um, can I confess that I once fantasized about us making out on one of your duelling platforms? A-and that Cyber Commander watched? And Magician of Black Chaos?...And Dark Magician Girl?...And that they were all naked?"

"You were my first crush, you know."

And, of course:

(Big, exasperated sigh) "If only you weren't gay!"

If only you weren't gay.

On the days when that bomb dropped, the following night would be particularly loud and Tristan would emerge the next morning in particular need of being handled delicately. Serenity never made the connection between the things she said and Tristan's state-of-being but she had the foresight to keep their medical kit well-stocked. She also had the foresight to stay away from Duke during those mornings, but she never could figure out why he'd be in such a bad mood.

Wasn't it supposed to be amazing and hot?

Had the things she'd been reading online been lies?

Now, behind closed doors, the guys didn't actually share the double bed. At the first opportunity they could find, Duke was sent out to discreetly procure a sleeping bag. The arrangement that followed was that Duke would have the bed five days of the week (Wednesday through Sunday) and Tristan would get it for two (Monday and Tuesday). Tristan would be awarded increasing amounts of time with the bed for exceptional behaviour. At most, he'd earn himself a full day at a time. A point system was subsequently designed to work out the details of this, which caused bickering to ensue and the extra hour Tristan earned with the bed for having gotten Duke a contact with a business agency was quickly snatched away.

So Tristan became somewhat of a sleep ninja. On the occasional nights when Serenity came into their room to borrow Duke's hair straightener, Tristan had to shove the sleeping bag somewhere out of sight and scramble into the bed. He found that he had a maximum of seven seconds to do this. Two was given to waking up after the first soft knock, three was given to kicking the bag under the bed and two was allotted to slipping himself under the covers. At his best, Tristan could do it all in five.

And he was never caught; he was that good.

Duke, however, wasn't so good at this.

"Duke, Tristan, is everything okay with you guys?" If Serenity had one annoying habit, it was walking in before actually granted permission to.

Duke was lying on the ground with both legs propped up and in the middle of pushing himself upright. His feet were under the bed and Tristan, shirtless, had just sat up. They both stared at her, stiff as stone.

"Yes…"

She quirked her head, "Are… you sure?"

They shared a glance. Duke choked back a strangled cough but, again, Tristan would be the one to offer an explanation, "We're roleplaying."

Shutting Tristan up and offering better explanations that didn't get him into deeper crap were a packaged skill that Duke intended to perfect. But he wasn't quite there yet so the next best thing had always been to discuss it with Tristan after the fact. He braced for it.

"Yeah," Tristan rolled his tongue around in his mouth, "It's to, you know, spice things up. In the bedroom, that is."

Serenity flushed and slid the straightener carefully back on their dresser, "Oh. Hope I'm not… interrupting anything."

"Nah, we were just getting started, weren't we, Duke?"

Awestruck at the sheer size of Tristan's inanity, Duke couldn't bring himself to answer.

"Like, you know," Tristan continued, "With the part where we take our clothes off."

The girl flushed even harder and ducked her chin in her pyjama top, "Okay. Well, let me get out of your hair then."

"Alright, later Serenity. Sweet dreams," Tristan said as she closed the door behind her.

She nearly jumped when she heard the sharp 'thump' as she left for her own room. And she shook her head, attempting to erase the inappropriate thoughts flooding her mind before scurrying away.

Despite how much Duke and Tristan had to conform their lives for her sake, they quickly came to realize that they shaped her life as well. There were times when she needed them; times when they wondered who she would have turned to instead if they weren't there. They were there when she met someone and brought him home; there to celebrate with her as well as scrutinize every little detail about him. They helped her pick out a gift for her first anniversary and her second and stayed up through to the morning with her when the jerk broke her heart on the third.

And they got her the Crazy Glue, chocolate and spray paint she needed to get her revenge.

And they were there when the cycle started over again.

All the while, none of them really measured up. Duke couldn't see in any of them the courage that Tristan had and Tristan knew that none of them possessed even a fraction of Duke's resourcefulness. None of them dressed as well as Duke. None of them were as chivalrous as Tristan. None of them were as loyal. None of them could be as vulnerable.

But one managed to stay and they, as her friends, were happy for her.

It was the least they could do to throw her a little something for her engagement. Something personal, just for the three – four – of them. And Duke, with his taste for the lavish, wanted to go all out.

It wasn't difficult finding the time to do this. She went out with him nearly every other night, sometimes not returning until the wee hours of the morning.

The apartment would never be as transformed as it was that night. From floor to ceiling, the garish gold and red décor that Duke thought looked good costumed the walls, furniture, doorways and fixtures. They lit scented candles, hung balloons and strung streamers. They found a really expensive tiramisu cake, the kind with strawberries dressed in little chocolate tuxedos and icing made of pure sugar. They even got candles that lit like sparklers.

"I need to get this taped up here," Duke said, holding up the end of a metallic streamer, "Hold the table while I get on."

"Use the step ladder," Tristan yelled from another room.

"It's not high enough."

Tristan poked his head around the corner, "In a sec, I'm busy."

"I'll have to hold it like this if I don't tape it right away. It won't take long."

Something clanged in the sink and Tristan came into the living room, drying his hands and looking annoyed, "I don't think the table can hold your weight, man."

"Was that a dis?" Duke gestured with his head, "Hold the legs."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm taping this corner, not doing a belly dance. Hold the legs."

Tristan bent down to secure the table, mumbling something about Duke having to pay someone for them go through the trauma of watching him do a belly dance. The table shook slightly as Duke climbed on and strained to reach where he'd wanted.

"Got it?"

"Not yet."

"You're hurting the table, man."

"Haha."

"I'm serious."

"Just let me," Duke's socked feet lifted so that he was on his tippy toes and he used one hand to brace against the closest wall, "do this."

"Got it yet?"

"No."

One foot lifted off the table completely and the table wobbled as Duke's weight shifted. He stretched himself against the wall like a leather-clad Spiderman but was still within centimetres of reach. The outstretched leg then gave a reflexive kick, knocking over a vase and causing it to slowly roll across the table. When Tristan let go and dove for it, the table wobbled some more, unexpectedly throwing Duke off balance.

Duke barely had time to make a noise, his arms flailing and the socks doing nothing to help as he went crashing to the ground. Tristan, having saved the vase, had just enough time to look up and catch the look of abject horror on his friend's face before said friend's weight collapsed on top of him. They both went down on the hardwood floor with an 'omph.'

They groaned and Duke lifted his head off Tristan's chest, "What's up?"

"Nothing much. What's up with you?"

"Just wanted to say hi."

"Right back at 'cha."

"You changed your cologne."

"The old one ran out and I was too lazy to look for it again."

"Smells good. It suits you."

"Thanks."

The front door swung open. Serenity was home.

"Uh, guys?"

They didn't even bother looking up.

"When was the last time we kissed for her?" Tristan whispered.

"I don't remember."

"Is the fiancé with her?"

"Can't see."

"Go for it?"

"Whatever."

They kissed.

And they could hear her giggle before the door closed and the sound of two sets of footsteps faded into the distance.

-End-

AN: I read once that the colour purple makes people want to spend money but I'm not sure if that's true or not. I get the urge when I walk by a Purdy's though.

I realise that there are probably some unanswered questions in this. They're in my head, but it would make this fic ridiculously long if I tried to answer them all within the story.