Tristan heard a car pulling up into the driveway, signaling that his mom had returned. He pulled himself up, his legs shaking as he made his way up the stairs. He had just crawled into his bed as the front door opened.

"I'm home," his mom yelled as she shut the door and dropped her bags.

Tristan didn't respond, unable to find the strength within himself to answer. The quiet stretched out, filling the house with an uncomfortable stillness. After several minutes of silence passed, he could hear the unmistakable sounds of his mother's footsteps making their way up the stairs.

"You know an- are you ok?" His mother looked down at Tristan in concern, seeing his swollen eyes.

"I'm fine mom, just tired," Tristan lied, wincing as he heard how pathetic his hoarse voice sounded in response.

Deciding not to push the topic, his mom lent over and kissed his forehead, turning off the lights on her way out of his room.

Suddenly exhausted, Tristan closed his eyes.

At least there won't be any fighting tonight, since he's not coming home.

Light washed over Tristan's face as he opened his eyes, still sore from last night. He lay there, not wanting to get up, not wanting to face himself. He heard his phone buzz and rolled over, reaching for it off his nightstand.

He felt his heart clench as he saw that Miles had sent him two messages.

Tris, I'm really sorry.

Pls forgive me.

Tristan stared at the screen, his instinct to text back, but even if he could find any words to say, he shouldn't. He pulled back the covers and got up, placing his phone back on the nightstand as he exited his room, going into the bathroom.

Not ready to face his reflection, he peeled off his clothes and stepped into the shower, turning it on and feeling the cold water fall onto his face.

After he finished, Tristan got out of the shower, wrapping a towel around himself before he finally turned around to face full-length mirror. Tired, slightly red eyes stared back at him. His pale skin, bland hair- he stopped himself before his eyes could travel any further down.

Things couldn't go on like this, something has to change.

His eyes scanned the bathroom, looking for something, anything, until they landed on a box of brown hair dye, probably his mom's.

It wasn't exactly the change that he had had in mind, but it's a start.

Trying his best to appear confident, Tristan strode up the stairs and entered the school, reaching his locker as the warning bell rang.

"Nice hair," a voice commented beside him. Tristan turned, seeing Miles leaning against a locker, his voice full of its customary cockiness, but the uncertainty swimming in his eyes exposed him.

"Thanks," Tristan muttered, grabbing a book at random and shutting his locker.

Miles looked down at his feet.

"Tris, I-" But he was cut off by the final bell and Tristan took the opportunity to walk away, quickly making his way to his classroom before Miles could say anymore, before he could make another mistake.

Tristan spent the entire hour dreading Chemistry. When the bell rang, he slowly pulled himself up, slightly shaking as he gathered his things. Tristan shook his head.

Pull yourself together.

He took a deep breath, full of a sudden conviction, put on his mask, and turned to go to the Chemistry lab.

Miles looked up from the textbook that he had been feigning interest in as he heard the chair next to him being pulled back. Tristan busied himself with something in his book bag, ignoring Miles as he felt his eyes on him. However, he had to look up when the teacher walked in, and Tristan couldn't help but look over at Miles. Their eyes met. Miles' heart ached as he saw the hardness in Tristan's once bright and inviting eyes. He had caused that, and he hated himself for it. Miles broke their gaze, looking down, ashamed.

He shouldn't have done that, Tristan scolded himself as he too turned away, looking up at the teacher, determined to at least maintain a semblance of his façade. But his mind was now whirring.

Why would you do that?

Do you want him to pity you, is that why you can't look away?

Pathetic.

The voices hissed at him, and he could feel his composure slipping.

Tristan got up suddenly, interrupting the teacher midsentence.

"Can I have a washroom pass?"

The teacher looked shocked at the unexpected interruption but handed him a pass, resuming her lecture as he gathered his stuff and rushed out of the classroom.