Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ My Sweet ❯ My Sweet ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

My Sweet by Kamikakushi

It was probably very fortunate that Aelin was in a good mood that day. Normally, she would have hated anyone who dared to disturb her peaceful sanctuary with their incessant knocking. But on that particular June afternoon, she wasn't angry in the slightest.

The sixteen year old ran her fingers through her tousled blonde hair and smoothed her skirt. Though she had no idea of who it might be, she couldn't resist dolling herself up a bit. She knew that first impressions counted the most, especially if whoever it was could be someone she knew.

The stranger was growing impatient, knocking with a strange rhythm on her oak front door.

"In a minute!" she called, her voice going upÊ half an octave. Aelin stood in front of her mirror, fixing her long blonde hair into a high ponytail. She figured she looked best that way, because along with her bluntly cut bangs, the random strands sticking out framed her face in such a way that made her seem adorably innocent. After rumaging through a faded box for a few seconds, she pulled out a tube of grape flavored lip gloss that she knew wasn't actually purple and swiped it across her lips.

The knocking came again. Aelin scurried down the hallway in her pink ballet flats, plastered her brightest smile on her face, and yanked open the door.

Standing there with untied shoes, unkept hair, and large dark eyes was a teenage boy. One hand was raised to continue knocking, while the other clutched a newspaper. The job ads, to be exact.

His already large eyes widened upon her appearance and his knocking hand immediately found a place at his mouth, thumb stuck between his teeth. He raised the ad, allowing Aelin to see that he had circled a particular ad in what looked to be red crayon.Ê

"Are you... the daughter of the mom who wanted a nanny?"Ê

His voice was so... odd.

Aelin stared stupidly at the boy, mouth gaping open, and said the first thing that sprung into her mind.Ê

"How old are you?" she demanded.

He smiled thoughtfully at her. "Eighteen."Ê

She scrunched up her nose. "And you're my nanny?"

What a stupid question. Of course this couldn't be her nanny. Not this boy, a mere two years older than her, with his messy black hair and queer half-smile, looking for all the world like he was trying to undress her with his eyes.

Pervert!

He looked at the paper. "Your mother says I am."

Aelin angrily smoothed her skirt. "How do I know you're not lying? My mom wouldn't let me stay alone with an eighteen year old I barely know. What's your name, anyway?" she added off handedly.

"Tristan," he said, kicking off his shoes and stepping into her home.

Aelin was mortified. "Hold on!! How do I know you're legitimate?"

He continued on his way, heading in the general direction of her kitchen.

"Wait!" she screeched. "You can't just parade around my house! I don't know if--" She was cut off by a tiny pixilated display as Tristan spun around, holding out his cell phone for her to see. Aelin crossed her eyes at it, recognizing her mother's cell phone number.

"See? She called me. Can I have some coffee?" Tristan asked her. He sat down at the table, pulling his feet underneath him in such a way that she had never seen before, especially from a guy.

Aelin shot him a dirty look, and busied herself with the caffinated drink. After ten minutes of letting both her anger and the coffee simmer, she pratically slammed it in front of him.

"Thank you," he said placidly, taking a sip. Tristan screwed up his face in disgust. "Do you have sugar?"

"How much?"

Tristan glanced up at Aelin, and she swore that his eyes grew bigger.

"All of it."

**

"Mommy, why can't I be watched by a sweet old lady?" Aelin whined, watching Tristan examine herÊ pink room, picking up whatever he felt like and inspecting it with his finger in his mouth.Ê

"I thought you would be bored, Aelin. Plus, what's better than a nice young man around your age, hm?" said her mother's tired voice. "You need company."

Aelin frowned at her reflection in her mirror, listening to the scuffing sounds in the background. "I'm fine alone."

"Just... deal with him, okay sweetie?" Her mother sounded agitated. "I have to run now, bye!" And the line went dead.

Tristan, meanwhile, had found a sack of candy inside one of her drawers. Aelin gasped. "Put that back!"

He paused in the act of reaching in for a candy. "Do you want one?"

Aelin made a face at him. "No, I hate candy. But you can't have it!" She snapped, snatching it from his grasp.

And by the gods, she saw him practically deflate and stumble out of her room.Ê

"Ah... Tristan?"

The boy turned around. "Hm?" He looked hopeful.

Aelin gave a little sigh and held out the plastic bag. "You can have it. I was gonna throw it away, but if you want it..."

Tristan managed a little smile and took the bag. He retreated into the living room with his prize, stuffing a peanut butter cup into his mouth.

Aelin watched his exiting figure, a girlish smile twisting her lips. She just met Tristan a few minutes ago, and already she knew a lot about him. He had a odd habit of putting his fingers in his mouth, he sat in a strange way, and he liked sweets. Not bad for a ten minute acquaintance.

She ran after Tristan, finding him sitting on her couch, his legs tucked under him, quietly immersed in her previously owned bag of candy. Aelin didn't even remember where she got it. Probably at a party or something.Ê

"You're weird, Tristan," Aelin said, raising her groomed eyebrows at him.

The boy looked up, a sucker hanging from his fingers. "Thank you."

**

Although Tristan didn't come to visit her everyday, he had a tendency to call in to check on her. Aelin had gotten used to his random phone calls at whatever ungodly hour it might be. At first, it had been rather annoying, and she'd yell at him for bothering her in the middle of something. His excuse was always his job of looking after her, but she'd still call him a pervert because she knew he just wanted to hear her voice and think lewd things. Naturally, this repeated accusation was always met with the same long silence on the other end of the phone, before a calm Tristan would reply, "I don't know why you have that impression about me, Aelin."

So frustrating was it at times, that one day she decided to call back and give him a piece of her mind. It was only then that Aelin noticed that he never answered his phone. It was rather unsettling.

One night at around 3 AM, when she was awoken from a sound sleep by the telltale ring of her cell. Aelin was sure it was ten times louder than it normally was, and she nearly dragged herself out of bed to snatch the offending thing off her dresser.

"Yes?" she grumbled.

"Ah, Aelin," Tristan's voice was pleasant, and far too alert for her taste. "You're awake."

"I wasn't two seconds ago! Don't you know what time it is? Why are you calling?!"

"Hm? Oh, well,Ê I'm rather bored," he explained. "So, I thought I'd see how you were doing."

"... At three in the morning."

"Yes. Is this a bad time?"

"It's three in the morning, Tristan! Of course it's a bad time!" she howled, hoping against hope that she was at least causing him ear damage. "I need my sleep! I can't think at this time."

"Really?" he said, sounding surprised. "I find I think best now, since it's so quiet."

"That's because normal people are sleeping now," she retorted.

"They're wasting time. So, how are you?" he asked, good-naturedly.

She scowled. "Didn't I just... I don't believe you called because you were bored! I think you called because you want to picture me in my lingerie!"

"You sleep in lingerie?" The question was asked innocently enough.

Aelin didn't take it that way. "You really are a pervert!"

"That's not fair, Aelin. You were the one that brought up your sleeping garments," he pointed out.

She puffed out her cheeks in embarrassment and frustration. He was right, of course, but she'd be damned before she gave him that satisfaction. Instead, Aelin released the air in her lungs, deliberately blowing hard onto the phone's receiver, and felt a childish bit of glee when she heard him hiss at the unexpected static.

"That was a very immature response, Aelin," he muttered, sounding rather put off.

"Serves you right, waking me up," she told him a matter-of-factly. "And only because you say you're bored."

"Well, if you really are tired, then I'll let you go back to sleep," Tristan offered.

"No!" Aelin said, a little too quickly for her own comfort. She sighed, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "I'm fully awake now, anyway. Besides, you haven't called lately," she stated, a little down. "I thought you forgot about me."

"Not possible," he said, almost off handedly. "But it gets rather difficult to find time to do something like have a casual conversation when I'm working."

"Hmmmm," Aelin pursed her lips, pondering the situation. "What do you do besides baby-sit me?"

"I'm kept busy," he said,Ê deftly avoiding a complete answer. "But it seems you are also quite busy." She heard him fiddle with something, making a light clanging sound she couldn't identify.

She beamed, even though he couldn't see it. "I've been going to the movies!"

"The movies?"

"Yes! Everyday."

"Wouldn't you get tired of them?"

"Nope. I'll take you someday. Okay?"

"I look forward to that," he told her. She heard the metallic sound again on the other end, this time with a sharper edge to it.

"You'll go to a movie with me?" Aelin tried to picture Tristan in a movie theater, but all that came up was a scene of him perched oddly in his seat, while the movie goers behind him threw popcorn, and demanded that he sit like a normal person.

"Of course," he answered, his voice sounding strangely muffled.

"I would like that," she admitted.

"I should let you get some sleep," he said after a long pause.

"Don't go, Tristan," she pleaded, gripping the phone tightly. "I haven't talked to anyone much for a while. Not a normal conversation, anyway."

"Is this a normal conversation?" He sounded truly puzzled.

"No," she admitted. "But, it's close enough."

"Ah."

"I just want to hear someone else's voice. I've heard my own too much lately," she said, her righteousness slowly deflating."What do you want me to say?" he asked, curious.

"Can you tell me what you do for a job?"

"No."

"Oh," she said frowning, but wasn't really surprised with the answer. "Then... What do you want to talk about, Tristan?"

"Me? Well, we can talk about this cake I just bought today at a bakery I found nearby."

"Cake?" Aelin repeated, completely confused.

"Yes, cake. I've come to the conclusion that people would be far happier if they ate more sweet things," he explained, sounding ridiculously like he was stating solid facts. "I've never seen a person less happy than they were before they had cake."

"I don't eat cake," she said, scrunching her face up. "It's very fattening."

"You don't eat cake?" Tristan sounded slightly horrified. "Almost everything is fattening, if eaten incorrectly."

She placed a hand on her hip. "How do you eat cake correctly?"

"You enjoy it, of course," he replied. "This cake is especially good for that, because it has a nice buttercream icing. They put a lot on it, so you actually get a few forkfulls of icing before even touching cake."

Aelin's mouth twitched. He sounded almost... childishly happy over it. She blinked when the clanging sound resounded again on Tristan's end. "Tristan?"

"Yes?"

"Are you eating that cake now?"

"Yes."

She made an involuntary sound of disgust as she glanced at her clock. "It's almost four in the morning!"

"It's very good cake."

"No wonder you can't sleep! You eat too much sugar."

"I don't think that has anything to do with this," he said. "I sleep when I want to. I simply have no time."

"But you have time to wake me up in the middle of the night?"

"I'd rather talk to you than sleep," Tristan admitted.

Despite herself, Aelin blushed a deep crimson at the remark. Although she was used to compliments, it was unexpected to receive one from someone she barely knew, particularly Tristan. "Really?" she questioned, a little giddy.

"Of course," he said, oblivious to the affect of his previous remark. "Talking to you allows me to continue to work later. And I can't eat cake if I'm sleeping."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

"Aelin? Did you fall asleep?"

"Tristan?"

"Yes?"

"You really don't know how to talk to women."

"Really?" he said, and she heard him take another bite of cake. "I've never noticed."

**

It was summer. Summer meant that Aelin would be off from school, and it also meant that her mother had time to come and check up on her personally.

Unfortunately that meant they had no more use for Tristan. As Tristan lazily waved over his shoulder, Aelin demanded that he call her everyday. Which he was inevitably destined to fail at.

In the meantime, Aelin had become exceedingly busy. Nights out with the girls and dates with other guys had quickly filled her calendar, and she spent the first few weeks of summer out of the house.

However, Tristan seemed less than thrilled over Aelin's escapades, and would usually end any conversation if she brought them up. He was jealous, Aelin decided. Jealous that Aelin did not have time for him. Tristan was simply jealous.

And as Aelin's new obsession began to grow, she noticed Tristan's calls began to ebb. She hadn't realized it at first, but after three whole weeks without a single call, Aelin reluctantly pulled herself out of her own glamorous little world, and began to wonder what could've happened.

Obviously, trying to call him was out of the question. He never answered, even if she left fourteen angry messages on his cell phone demanding to know where he was, what he was doing, and why he never called her back.

Clearly, he saw no reason to continue their relationship, since he was no longer employed by her mother to keep her company. This was just silly, as far as Aelin was concerned. Tristan would always be her friend.

Besides which, she had no reason to be upset that he was not calling her. Tristan was not her boyfriend. Tristan was... well, Tristan. And really, that was quite enough. Having a hunching, sugar craving, perverted, never-there boyfriend was not appealing to her at all. Besides, it would most likely make her mother faint in horror.

Still, Aelin admitted that she was rather anxious for a phone call. Maybe she'd apologize for irritating him with her never ending chatter about her social life. Not that he deserved an apology, but just to keep the peace. Aelin knew how to extend the olive branch if the need arose, even if she didn't want to.

"I will even not talk about my friends at all," she promised her phone one lonely afternoon. "So ring, okay?"

However, it remained silent.

And Aelin began to simmer. She was going to give him such a yelling when he finally had the brains to call her. He should know better to ignore her.

Aelin kept justifying her views until she was quite satisfied that she was right. And yet, Aelin still wanted him to call. For her to ramble on about the new clothes she had just bought, and for Tristan to wax poetic about the wonders of pastries. She wanted to her him comment on the other tidbits of life that never truly made any sense to her, but she pretended they did just to hear him speak.

She simply missed talking to him.

When had she begun to actually miss him? When, and why, and how? She to put a stop to this, and she needed him to realize he better call her before she began to over analyze these feelings and come up with a conclusion that most likely would be disastrous.

It was really all quite frustrating, and Aelin found herself more and more annoyed each time she reached for her phone eagerly when it rang, only to be disappointed that it wasn't who she was hoping for. She would get angry, and tell herself to stop. But then the phone would ring once again, and her heart would jump as she reached for it like a drowning man would a life preserver... only to be disappointed again.

A full month went by with no calls. Aelin reluctantly concluded that Tristan was not going to contact her again, and she needed to get over it. She forced herself to be angry instead of sad, reminding herself over and over again that it was only Tristan, and it was Tristan who didn't even have enough guts to give her a proper good-bye. That she needn't be depressed over someone so obviously full of himself and rude.

But no matter how many times she told herself this, Aelin never quite believed herself. And she hated that.

A week later, Aelin moved closer to where her mother worked. They both thought it was a good idea, so that Aelin wouldn't need so much supervision.Ê

Sundays have always been Aelin's designated day off. Even busy girls like her needed downtime, and her mother always fretted that Aelin's hectic social life would burn her out if she didn't have some relaxation. Not that there weren't some Sundays that Aelin would go out and get a manicure. But those were few and far between, and she was quite all right with that.

On this particular Sunday, Aelin felt too lazy to even glance at her nails. She flipped through magazines lethargically, not really focusing on the text in front of her. She knew that free time was rare for her, and she really ought to use it wisely. However, she just couldn't find the energy to move this particular day. After a while, she gave up pretending to care, and allowed herself to fall asleep unceremoniously on her couch.

So when her doorbell rang, Aelin barely moved from her curled up position on the cushions. It was only when the visitor then began to knock in a peculiar rhythm that she stirred, nearly dragging herself to her door. She assumed it was one of her new neighbors, coming to welcome her.

And there he was.

"Good afternoon, Aelin," Tristan greeted her congenially.

A thousand things ran through her mind in a few seconds. Just where had he been for the past month and a half? What was he doing here? How'd he find her? Why hadn't he called her all this time? Was he going to disappear again, or was he actually staying around?

And just who the hell did he think he was popping out of nowhere, thinking that everything would be okay?

And the questions just kept on piling up, until she found her mouth opening of its own accord to utter something, anything. But nothing came out, except a pathetic squeak. What could she say? How to start? Tristan was there, and she could demand a hundred different answers from him that she wanted, but they were all important, and all deserved to be given, and she should say something because he was there. Really, really there. Not on the phone, but right in front of her.

When she didn't make a sound, he tilted his head in curiosity and asked, "Are you feeling all right, Aelin?"

She stood there, too shocked and filled with questions to actually come up with something to say more than guttural sounds. Until finally, the one thought that kept coming up over and over again consumed all other ideas, and she had only one response for him.

"Tristan!"

Aelin practically leapt onto him, her arms wrapping tightly around his bony frame and the side of her face pressed firmly against his neck. Obviously, such physical encounters were few and far between for Tristan, for he stiffened in shock, and even when he finally relaxed there was still an unnatural rigidness to his body.

He was thin, Aelin realized, her splayed fingers feeling his almost emaciated form underneath the cotton of his shirt. It was almost painful for her to think how someone who could eat so much could still have such an apparently fragile frame. Thin, but not weak. He hadn't toppled over because of her this time around, regardless of his bad posture.

Carefully, Aelin lifted her head, her lips barely brushing his ear as she whispered, "You are not allowed to disappear without telling me!"

A decree. A threat. A plea. It was all of the above and more, and somehow he seemed to understand that.

He tilted his head a little away from hers, as if the extra inch of space would somehow give him back his comfort zone. "I apologize, Aelin. My schedule has been... full. Could you release me now?" he asked, almost sounding hopeful.

She decided to crush that hope. He had vanished and made her fret for well over a month. Now he reappeared with no decent explanation, and seemed to expect no retribution whatsoever. A little discomfort seemed like the least punishment she could give him.

"I don't want to." She promptly rested her chin on Tristan's shoulder, and gave him a squeeze for good measure. She was rewarded with a nearly imperceptible sigh. Happily and shamelessly, she smiled against his neck.

She would let him go in a few minutes, before the neighbors craned their heads out their doors in interest. But for now, Aelin was quite content to have her ill at eased Tristan right where she wanted him.

Whee! I did this for my short story thing for school. Hope you like it!
- Kami