Nobody's Side

[Sansa]

((Tristan O’Hara continued from Expanding Your Horizons))


It was a regular relaxing evening of Netflix, sporadic Grindr messaging, and line learning for Tristan O’Hara when a buzzing erupted beside him. It took him a second to register what was actually happening — Tristan never really got calls from friends, and half the time, he forgot calls were even a function on his phone. So the very fact that whatever Nick wanted to say required the immediacy of a call piqued both his curiosity and made his heart heavy with dread.

He took a moment to breathe, picked the phone up, slid over the ‘answer’ option, and held it to his ear. This could be bad.

Before his customary greeting could even form in his mouth, Nick had already blasted his way through recalling his night. Gaelen. Ivy. Bret. Myles. Insults. Coffee. And by the time Nick turned the conversation back in his direction, Tristan could sense the shitstorm that was brewing — nay, had already started and was almost definitely going to sweep him up in its destructive wake.

Tristan paused for a moment. He felt right in doing so — Nick had sent forth an avalanche of information his way, and there were a thousand thoughts whirling through his mind right now. Surely he couldn’t expect some instant, gratifying reply?

“Okay. What was it Myles said exactly?” His tone was cool, collected, and hopefully unreadable.

That was alright, surely? Get a little more clarification, let Nick really explain himself, and give himself some time to let the reality of the situation really settle in. He pulled himself into a seated position as Nick replied, and closed his laptop and swept aside his script work so he could really concentrate on the task at hand.

“They…they called me useless. As a friend. They called me a useless friend. And that shit just isn’t on.”

That was so… vague. The sort of insult so generic and uncreative anybody could throw in anybody’s direction and it’d hit them. However, perhaps it was an especially sore spot for Nick, and Tristan thought for a second that given how long as they’d been dating he really ought to be more in-tune with his boyfriend’s insecurities.

But Myles was capable of a lot worse, of stuff that could really sting — heck, even Tristan had been on the receiving end on the odd occasion. But he’d smiled and weighed up the pros and cons of their relationship and thought ‘hey, let’s just let this one slide’ and they’d both moved on.

“That sucks,” he bit his lip, knowing that wasn’t a good enough response but unsure whether to carry on with his immediate train of thought. “But it’s like you said. Bret and Ivy arguing is a constant thing. Ivy and Myles throwing little jabs out is a constant thing. It’s not surprising and it’s to be expected. So why did you stoop to their level?”

“I didn’t stoop to their level, man. I stood up for a friend, and then they just pressed my buttons. I wasn’t getting in the middle of their shit.”

Tristan’s fingers tightened around his phone. He could hear the unmistakable resentment in Nick’s voice. It was a tone he was wholly unused to being addressed with, let alone by his boyfriend.

“Okay. I’m glad you told me and I hope you feel better soon. Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

“Is...is that it?”

His words had been flat and tired, wanting to escape the uncertainty of their conversation, so it came as no surprise to Tristan that Nick probed deeper, wanted something less vague and generic.

“I… what do you want me to say, Nick? What can I do right now that will help?”

“Just...Christ, man, just something. Just, you can’t not have an opinion, man. You can’t not have questions.”

‘Not have an opinion’. Not having an opinion was the way Tristan liked it to be. It meant he could toe the line of neutrality, never having to step too far over one side and risk losing a friend. And on the occasions where he’d had no choice but to pick a side, it had inevitably cost him something. No, better to stick to the middle and avoid risking losing anything. That was worth the sacrifice of being genuine, sometimes.

But Tristan knew those moments were unavoidable. And they always leapt on him without warning, without time to really measure up his options. He opened his mouth to speak, and a stream of jumbled syllables spilled forth before actual words returned to him.

“It’s shit that they did that and it’s shit that it made you feel that way. I hate knowing that people I care about have hurt each other. Is that not an opinion, Nick?”

“Well, you weren’t exactly saying that before, was my point.”

“It was a lot. That was a lot to take in, so I needed a little while to gather all my thoughts. But I mean it. I want to help you feel better.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Tristan held his breath while Nick paused, hoping that some other bite of conversation would come out. He didn’t like silence much.

“What’s… Just so you know, Myles, he...he weaponised your history together. Like, used it to attack me.”

That gave Tristan pause. The ramifications could be massive, could bring something out of him that would torpedo a friendship or two. Or it could just be Nick blowing things out of proportion and everything would be fine in the end.

“‘Weaponised’... What did he say? Exactly, I mean.”

“I can’t remember the exact wording, but it was after everything had simmered down a tad and we were all about to go our separate ways, and then Myles threw in some cheap parting shot about you two sleeping together. And whatever, open relationship and no judgement and all that, but he tried using it to attack me and...fuck, man, I dunno.”

Myles. How could he really address the Myles situation without going full force? Myles. Myles was a cutie. Myles was the person he was able to remain so cool and relatively collected around, always so sassy and flirty and it was always fine and fun with him.

But then it always seemed whenever he thought about it too much, or was under the influence, something else inside him would threaten to bubble up. And sometimes it would come loose and he’d be sending 2am texts of “luv ya” followed two seconds later by “just kidding xoxo” and then he would be throwing himself at anybody to distract himself because feelings were gross and he didn’t like it and he couldn’t be with Myles in that fashion anyways because he was with Nick and Beryl.

“What happens with Myles is, like, God... it doesn’t affect how I feel about you. Things with me and him are... just a bit complicated. If it upsets you, I can stop. No problem. I did make a commitment to you and Beryl, after all.”

“I don’t care who you go with, just...I don’t want that fucking Oompa Loompa weaponising it. That’s not unreasonable, right? Or am I just crazy?”

“You’re not crazy, Nick. It’s not okay for him to take something that should be special and wonderful and use it to piss you off.”

He paused, and took a deep breath. It seemed like nothing he was saying was working. His words usually worked so well. He could fix anything he got himself into through smiling and chatting and it always worked. He caught a glance of himself in his bedside mirror. Eyes bleary, Heathers sweatshirt, messy hair. He didn’t look his best, but that didn’t fully diminish the other shield he had in his arsenal.

“Fuck. I don’t like you being upset.” He lowered his voice, let a little husk into it. “Do you want me to come over? I can… help make you feel good again.”

“You sure, mate? Or are you gonna go fuck another one of my mortal enemies first?”

Tristan’s throat was suddenly dry, his jaw tight.

“Fuck you, Nick.”

“I can give you their numbers if you want. Maybe you can fly over to Scotland, fuck everyone there I didn’t like too?”

Nick was being cruel. The spite and anger in his words almost frightened Tristan. Boyfriends weren’t supposed to make you feel this way, weren’t supposed to punch you in the heart and make you feel no bigger than a bug.

“I always thought you were different, Nick. I don’t date people. I don’t like relationships. I don’t like getting all those feelings involved and I fucking hate feeling vulnerable. But with you it felt different. It felt like it was worth it because you respected me and let me be myself and didn’t judge me for it. Because you are the first person who hasn’t called me a slut or hasn’t used the fact that I can’t keep it in my pants against me. Guess I was pretty naive then, huh?”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that, Tristan.”

Tristan scoffed, barely able to contain his disbelief.

“What did you mean, then?”

“I meant that...Myles, man. Come on. Myles.”

Tristan breathed in. He knew he’d regret what he was about to say, but Nick had spent this whole conversation wanting honesty from him — so why not give him what he wanted?

“Myles is a dick. Myles is nasty and conceited. But guess what? Myles makes me feel good, Myles finds it in himself to treat me nicely, and honestly? That’s so much more than what you’re doing to me right now.”

“Well, why don’t you go feel good with him then?”

"Get fucked, Nick. I'd offer, but my standards just went up."

“Your standards just went up, eh? Guess that means you’re too - your standards are - guess that means that you’re - fuck off!”

“Goodnight, Nick.”

Tristan quickly ran his finger across the ‘End Call’ button, and threw his phone to the other side of his bed. He buried his face into his now-free hands and let out a single, wavering breath that, despite his best efforts, turned into a choked sob.

He glanced over at his closed laptop, half-tempted to open it and check his messages because he knew at least one of Myles or Ivy would’ve flicked something his way. Or maybe they were taking time to mull over the situation, get their emotions completely in check before they came to him. He couldn’t blame them if that was the case — if the situations were reversed, he’d likely do the same thing.

He pulled a bottle out from under his bed, and poured generously into the mug on his bedside table.

He wanted nothing more than to be in someone’s arms right now. To just melt away into them and forget what had happened. But not yet. Not while the sting of Nick’s words still lingered.

So wine it was.

He glanced over at the posters that that covered his wall, to the one for Guys and Dolls that contained his beaming, bright-eyed visage.

He returned his own smile, raised his glass, and drank deep.

((Tristan O'Hara continued in The History of Wrong Guys))