His Beloved Criminal
Late February and the earliest of the spring blossoms were poking through the soil in the field back behind the little bookshop where Tristan worked. He was tempted to go out and pick some after his shift, delicate blossoms to pile into a clear glass and take to his grandmother at the nursing home just to see her face light up. He'd been spending a lot of time with her the past few months - ever since his lover had up and left without a trace.
He threw back the last of his hot chocolate and turned away from the window in the back room with a sigh. It hurt to still think of Nicolas. Especially because he wasn't sure if he should be in mourning over his death or wrap his sadness around him in a different way at having been dismissed without a word.
"Are you good to tend the front?"
His boss' voice broke him from his thoughts, and he nodded. "Of course, Louise," he said. "No problem."
She flashed him a quick grin and grabbed her purse and keys. "I might not make it back before closing," she said offhandedly. "Just shut 'er down as usual, and you can go. Waiting to bring the books in until tomorrow morning won't make much of a difference."
Tristan nodded, and followed her back out to the front of the store, taking his position behind the counter and pulling out the book he was reading. Turn the Page was a small used bookshop, the last one standing in the area - all the brick and mortar shops were hit hard by the rise of ebooks - and never did much business on a Monday afternoon. He expected a fairly quiet rest of the day, with Louise off collecting a truckful of books from an estate sale, a few more valuable collector's pieces making it worth the drive nearly an hour away. After all, the store stayed afloat because she also dealt in rare books. The internet had been a boon to business that way, at least.
The chair behind the counter was comfortable, if a bit worn - black pleather with a short back and footrests that hit at the right spot for him to stick his lanky knees under the top of the counter - and he was three chapters in, propped up on his elbow, before he heard the bell tinkle over the doorway.
He looked up and gasped, stuttering, "Why are you here?"
The man in the doorway was tall and intimidating, his face half hidden under a black hoodie. It felt strange for Tristan to see him out of a suit, to be honest - Nicolas' associate had always been impeccably dressed, much like Nicolas himself, with a black tie and shined shoes.
"Nicolas sent me," Ian said, and Tristan blinked.
"Nicolas?" he whispered, hardly daring to hope, but then he blinked up at him suspiciously.
*
"You know that I'm not a Dudley Do-Good," Nicolas said, and it wasn’t really a question.
Tristan swallowed. He'd been avoiding that conversation for months now.
"I work with dangerous people, Tristan," Nicolas continued, and Tristan bit at his lip, taking a step backward. He didn't want to have the conversation, because if he did, it would somehow make it real. He was dating a criminal . A charming, well dressed one to be sure, but not the sort of person you'd want to walk into a police station with. Nicolas reached out a hand to steady him, to hold him in place. "I know you don't want to talk about it," he said gently. "But I'd rather let you go than have you get hurt because -"
"You're breaking up with me?" Tristan interrupted, his voice stricken. He tried to pull his hand away, but Nicolas wouldn't let him, his fingers tightening and his grip tight.
"Of course not!" Nicolas said hotly. He stepped forward, crowding Tristan's space, his fingers at Tristan's cheek demanding he look him in the eye. "I'm giving you the choice to walk away or to have an honest conversation about how I'm going to make sure you stay safe."
*
"What's the message?" he murmured cautiously, his body tense as he waited. It wasn't that he didn't trust Ian - Nicolas had always said that if there was one person in his world that he would trust
Late February and the earliest of the spring blossoms were poking through the soil in the field back behind the little bookshop where Tristan worked. He was tempted to go out and pick some after his shift, delicate blossoms to pile into a clear glass and take to his grandmother at the nursing home just to see her face light up. He'd been spending a lot of time with her the past few months - ever since his lover had up and left without a trace.
He threw back the last of his hot chocolate and turned away from the window in the back room with a sigh. It hurt to still think of Nicolas. Especially because he wasn't sure if he should be in mourning over his death or wrap his sadness around him in a different way at having been dismissed without a word.
"Are you good to tend the front?"
His boss' voice broke him from his thoughts, and he nodded. "Of course, Louise," he said. "No problem."
She flashed him a quick grin and grabbed her purse and keys. "I might not make it back before closing," she said offhandedly. "Just shut 'er down as usual, and you can go. Waiting to bring the books in until tomorrow morning won't make much of a difference."
Tristan nodded, and followed her back out to the front of the store, taking his position behind the counter and pulling out the book he was reading. Turn the Page was a small used bookshop, the last one standing in the area - all the brick and mortar shops were hit hard by the rise of ebooks - and never did much business on a Monday afternoon. He expected a fairly quiet rest of the day, with Louise off collecting a truckful of books from an estate sale, a few more valuable collector's pieces making it worth the drive nearly an hour away. After all, the store stayed afloat because she also dealt in rare books. The internet had been a boon to business that way, at least.
The chair behind the counter was comfortable, if a bit worn - black pleather with a short back and footrests that hit at the right spot for him to stick his lanky knees under the top of the counter - and he was three chapters in, propped up on his elbow, before he heard the bell tinkle over the doorway.
He looked up and gasped, stuttering, "Why are you here?"
The man in the doorway was tall and intimidating, his face half hidden under a black hoodie. It felt strange for Tristan to see him out of a suit, to be honest - Nicolas' associate had always been impeccably dressed, much like Nicolas himself, with a black tie and shined shoes.
"Nicolas sent me," Ian said, and Tristan blinked.
"Nicolas?" he whispered, hardly daring to hope, but then he blinked up at him suspiciously.
*
"You know that I'm not a Dudley Do-Good," Nicolas said, and it wasn’t really a question.
Tristan swallowed. He'd been avoiding that conversation for months now.
"I work with dangerous people, Tristan," Nicolas continued, and Tristan bit at his lip, taking a step backward. He didn't want to have the conversation, because if he did, it would somehow make it real. He was dating a criminal . A charming, well dressed one to be sure, but not the sort of person you'd want to walk into a police station with. Nicolas reached out a hand to steady him, to hold him in place. "I know you don't want to talk about it," he said gently. "But I'd rather let you go than have you get hurt because -"
"You're breaking up with me?" Tristan interrupted, his voice stricken. He tried to pull his hand away, but Nicolas wouldn't let him, his fingers tightening and his grip tight.
"Of course not!" Nicolas said hotly. He stepped forward, crowding Tristan's space, his fingers at Tristan's cheek demanding he look him in the eye. "I'm giving you the choice to walk away or to have an honest conversation about how I'm going to make sure you stay safe."
*
"What's the message?" he murmured cautiously, his body tense as he waited. It wasn't that he didn't trust Ian - Nicolas had always said that if there was one person in his world that he would trust
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