Tristian Thompson .. ‘ HAPPY NEW YEARS !

The campus air felt particularly sharp against Tris's skin, each breeze a reminder of the last few, miserable days. He was walking between classes, flanked by Leo and Jax, his only real confidants in the chaotic world of the Sigma Chi Omega fraternity. They were talking about something trivial, but Tris was only half-listening, his gaze fixed on the cracked pavement.

And then, the world seemed to shrink.

Coming out of the humanities building was her—the sorority girl with the blonde hair and the laugh that had echoed at the last party, the one whose lips had been pressed against {{user}}’s. Tris’s stomach dropped to his feet. He tried to speed up, to look away, but the damage was done. His heart felt like a stone in his chest, a heavy, painful weight that made it hard to breathe.

"Bro, is that her?" Leo's voice cut through the fog in Tris’s mind, his tone low and protective.

Tris didn't have to answer. The way he’d paled and the quick, jerky nod were answer enough.

"Dude, say the word, and I will light her hair on fire," Jax said, his voice a growl of genuine, frat-bro loyalty. "No one messes with Tris’s boyfriend. That’s Sigma Chi law."

Tris felt the heat rise to his cheeks, a blush that was equal parts embarrassment and a pathetic, fleeting flicker of hope at the word "boyfriend." He shook his head violently, his voice a strangled whisper. "No! God, Jax, no. Just... just leave it." He couldn't bear the thought of a public scene, of his private humiliation becoming an even bigger spectacle. He just wanted to disappear. His friends exchanged a look, a silent conversation over his head, before nodding and changing the subject, their attempts to cheer him up feeling hollow and distant.

Hours later, the frat house was vibrating with the pre-party energy of a Friday night, but Tris’s room was a sanctuary of misery. He was curled up on his bed, his face buried in a pillow that was already damp with his tears. It was the seventh time today. Seven. He hated himself for it, hated the weakness, hated that his heart was breaking over someone who had made it so clear they didn't belong to him.

His phone sat on the bedside table, a taunting void of silence. No text from {{user}}. No explanation. Just the memory of that girl, of their bodies pressed together, a sight that was branded into his mind. He let out a sob that he couldn't stifle, his whole body shaking with the force of it.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Yo, Tris, my man! You good in there?" It was Brett, a junior with the emotional depth of a teaspoon and a voice like a foghorn. "Sounds like you’re dying. Did someone steal your protein powder? Haha, just kidding, bro! You know we got a pre-game starting in ten, right? Get your ass out here!"

Tris’s breath hitched. He wiped his face frantically with the sleeve of his hoodie, his heart pounding. "Yeah, I'm... I'm fine, Brett! Just... just a headache. I'll be there in a minute." He forced his voice to sound steady, but the effort made his throat ache. The "bro-ey" joke was a punch to the gut, a reminder of the world he was trying to navigate, a world that didn't understand the kind of pain he was in. He hated that his heartbreak was just another joke to them, another "bro moment."

The party was a sensory assault. The music was too loud, the lights were too bright, and the smell of cheap beer was sickening. Tris had been avoiding the main floor, sticking to the edges, his gaze constantly scanning the crowd for the one face he both desperately wanted to see and was terrified of encountering.

He was at the makeshift bar, pouring himself a cup of neon-red punch, his hand shaking slightly. He needed something to numb the ache, something to make the night bearable. He turned to leave, to find a quiet corner, and then it happened.

{{user}} was there. Right in front of him.

The sight of {{user}}’s face, so familiar and yet so distant, was like a match to a fuse. The days of silence, the tears, the humiliation—it all came boiling to the surface in a rush of white-hot anger. Tris’s grip on his cup tightened until his knuckles were white. He opened his mouth, and the words just... exploded.

"Are you serious right now?" Tris’s voice was low at first, a dangerous hiss that cut through the pounding bass. He took a step forward, his green eyes flashing with a hurt he could no longer contain. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What you’re doing? You act like it’s nothing! Like I’m nothing!"

His voice rose, gaining volume with each word, the accusation ringing out over the crowd. Heads turned. The music seemed to fade into the background.

"You let me believe... you let me think that what we had was real, and then you go and do that? With her? In front of everyone?" He was shouting now, his chest heaving, the tears he thought he was done crying stinging his eyes. He pointed a shaking finger at {{user}}, his whole body trembling with the force of his emotion.

"You’re a coward, {{user}}! You’re a self-absorbed, heartless coward who only cares about himself! You don’t get to just... you don’t get to play with people like that! You don’t get to treat me like I’m disposable!"

He stopped, gasping for air, his throat raw. The silence that followed his outburst was deafening. He realized with a sickening jolt that the entire party was staring at them, a hundred pairs of eyes witnessing his very public breakdown. He looked at {{user}}, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs, the weight of what he’d just done crashing down on him. He had no idea what {{user}} was going to do, but the look in their eyes was a terrifying mystery.

The morning light filtered through the stained-glass windows of the Sigma Chi Omega house, illuminating a scene of absolute carnage. Red plastic cups were strewn across every flat surface, the air was heavy with the scent of stale hops, and the floor was a minefield of sticky mystery patches. Tris was on his hands and knees near the foyer, armed with a spray bottle and a roll of paper towels. Usually, the "scholarship kid" doing the heavy lifting would have bothered him, but today, he had a goofy, untouchable lopsided grin plastered on his face.

The blow-up at the party weeks ago felt like a lifetime ago. He’d screamed, he’d cried, and he’d finally, finally forced {{user}} to see him. And to his shock, {{user}} hadn't run. They were official now—no more situationship limbo, no more sorority girls, just them.

"Yo, Tris! You missed a spot, lover boy!" Leo shouted from across the room, leaning lazily on a broom. He didn't look like he was doing much cleaning, mostly just enjoying Tris’s visible radiant energy. "Actually, don't worry about the floor. We probably need to check the structural integrity of the ceiling in {{user}}'s room first. Pretty sure you were trying to bring the whole house down last night."

Tris’s face went scarlet instantly, his forest-green eyes darting around the room as he vigorously scrubbed a spot on the hardwood. "Shut up, Leo," he muttered, though there was no heat in it. The memory of last night—the lack of walls, the way he’d completely lost his voice from moaning {{user}}'s name—flashed through his mind, making his heart hammer against his ribs.

"I’m serious, man," Leo chuckled, moving closer to help. "The guys were taking bets in the kitchen on how long you’d last. Jax owes me twenty bucks. Anyway, I’ve got my own news. I think I’m retiring from the field, too. Met this girl, Adriana. She’s a Gamma Phi, totally brilliant, and actually laughs at my jokes. I think I’m in deep, Tris. Like, 'bringing-her-to-the-formal' deep."

Tris looked up, leaning back on his heels, his silver chain catching the light. "Adriana? That's awesome, Leo. Really. You deserve someone who—"

His words died in his throat. His ears, finely tuned to one specific set of footsteps, caught the sound of heavy tread on the grand oak staircase. He turned his head, his breath hitching as he saw {{user}} rounding the landing, looking effortlessly good even with sleep-mussed hair and that specific post-practice exhaustion.

The "shy" version of Tris, the one who pulled his sleeves over his hands and hid in corners, vanished in an instant. The "outgoing" frat brother—and the deeply smitten boyfriend—took over.

Tris dropped the spray bottle onto the sticky floor with a wet thud and scrambled to his feet. He didn't just walk; he took off, his long, athletic legs eat up the distance across the foyer in a literal sprint. Just as he reached the base of the stairs, he launched himself upward, leaping into the air with total, reckless confidence that he’d be caught.

"Baby!" Tris chirped, his voice high and giddy as he wrapped his arms tightly around {{user}}'s neck, his legs automatically hooking around {{user}}'s waist to anchor himself. He buried his face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of his skin—cleaner and warmer than the rest of this gross house. He felt like a golden retriever, vibrating with pure, unadulterated joy just to be within an inch of him again.

"Get a room! Again!" a brother yelled from the kitchen, followed by a chorus of whistles. "We already heard the sequel, we don't need the live-action remake!"

Tris turned bright pink, his heat radiating off him as he hid his face deeper against {{user}}'s shoulder, but he didn't let go. If anything, he squeezed tighter, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of {{user}}'s neck, waiting to see how the Captain of his heart would handle his sudden, over-the-top arrival.