An Adult Part 1

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The day drifted by in an unhurried rhythm, neither of them in any rush to break the spell. Hours passed in a lazy blur.

At some point, Tristan had ordered food, refusing to let Barbara survive on nothing but cheese and heavy cream for another meal.

She stretched her legs across his lap, watching as he unpacked the bags. "You know, I eat real food most of the time, right?" She raised an eyebrow. "I just don't have to be camera-ready for a while, so I'm enjoying myself."

Tristan handed her a plate, giving her a pointed look. "Right. And when's the last time you ate something that wasn't ninety percent dairy?"

Barbara tapped her fingers against her knee, thinking. "...Yesterday?"

Tristan didn't even look up. "A croissant doesn't count."

She rolled her eyes, taking a slow sip of her milkshake, letting the cold sweetness linger. "I think you just like telling me what to do."

"I think you're testing how much butter one person can consume before they turn into a croissant."

Barbara huffed out a laugh. "You're stuck with me either way."

Tristan shook his head, setting his soup aside. "That's what concerns me."

She grabbed a napkin and tossed it at him, laughing when it hit his face.

Outside, the city had settled into its own hush, the glow of streetlights flickering through the window. Inside, only the low hum of the television and the quiet rustle of fabric filled the room.

Barbara had melted into his side, her body draped over his.

Tristan exhaled, shifting just enough to get comfortable, his arm resting heavily around her waist. Their breathing fell into sync, slow and study. His fingers traced the curve of her spine absentmindedly.

She let out a sleepy sigh, curling closer. "Mmm. You're comfortable."

Tristan chuckled, his voice a quiet rumble against her temple. "You say that like I'm a mattress."

Barbara shifted, tucking herself even closer. "A very firm, very warm, very expensive mattress."

His fingers paused against her waist. "I should probably head back soon."

Barbara's eyes blinked open, the hazy comfort of sleep slipping away. She lifted her head slightly. "What?"

Tristan exhaled, brushing his thumb over her hip. "It's late."

She shook her head, pressing closer. "Stay."

He gave her a look. "Thought you liked sleeping alone."

Barbara dragged her fingers lazily across his stomach, tracing slow patterns over the soft cotton of his shirt. "Not tonight."

"Oh?" His voice was quieter now, his gaze settling on hers. "And why's that?"

Barbara exhaled, resting her forehead against his jaw, her voice softer now, more certain. "Because I like falling asleep like this."

Tristan didn't say anything right away. His grip tightened slightly, fingers pressing into her waist, like he was committing the moment to memory.

Barbara lifted her head, blue eyes meeting his—half-lidded, but intent. Without hesitation, she leaned in, brushing her lips against his in a slow, lingering kiss, warm and unhurried.

Tristan exhaled against her mouth, his hand sliding up her back as he pulled her closer, deepening it.

They might have stayed like that forever—if not for the sudden, unmistakable theme music of Match of the Day cutting through the room like a record scratch.

Barbara, fingers still idly playing with Tristan's curls, perked up immediately. "Oh, perfect timing."

Tristan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You seriously wanna watch this?"

Barbara didn't even look at him, already reaching for the remote. "Of course. You're the headline act."

He let his head fall back against the pillows, mumbling something under his breath, but didn't fight it. On screen, Mark was seated in the BBC studio, flanked by Alan, Danny, and Phil. The camera zoomed in on the Premier League standings—Leicester sitting 3rd with twelve points after six rounds.

"Alright, let's get into it," Mark began, setting the stage. "Leicester City—without their young midfield star, Tristan—fall to Crystal Palace, 2-0. And let's be honest, they looked completely lost out there."

Tristan groaned again, tugging his hoodie up over his face. Barbara turned fully toward the screen, eyes bright with interest.

Alan didn't hold back. "Lost is putting it kindly. They had no control, no tempo, no midfield presence. They looked like a completely different team."

Barbara stole a glance at Tristan, barely containing a smile. "Wow. That's tough."

"They're exaggerating," he muttered, voice muffled beneath the hoodie.

Barbara tugged it down just enough to see his face. "Are they?"

On screen, Danny leaned forward, gesturing toward the highlights playing behind him. "I mean, let's be fair—this is their first real game without Tristan running the midfield. He's been their heartbeat. Take him out, and of course, there's going to be an adjustment period. Even if they trained for it, to play without Tristan it will take some time to get used to it."

Phil pointed toward the screen. "You can see how much they rely on him. Leicester's fearlessness this season? A lot of that comes from Tristan dictating the game—when to speed up, when to slow down, when to switch play. Without him, there was no clear plan."

Barbara turned back to Tristan, her teasing smile fading into something softer. "That's kind of amazing, though. Knowing you make that much of a difference."

He shook his head, gaze fixed on the TV. "I'm just doing my job."

She studied him for a moment. His ears were pink, and he was blinking a little too much, like he was pretending not to hear any of it.

The numbers on screen told the truth anyway.

Tristan Hale this season (5 matches)

5 goals

8 assists

Highest average rating in the league (8.8)

Alan exhaled, shaking his head. "Let's be real—this lad has been the best player in the league so far. At 19, no one's running games the way he is. He's a complete midfielder. Goals, assists, work rate, vision. He's got everything."

Tristan's almost smiled at that but Barbara saw it—the flicker of satisfaction before he could stop himself.

Her head tilted. "Hmm."

He frowned. "What?"

"That little smile," she said, tapping his chin. "You like this."

His face burned instantly. "I don't—"

"You love this."

"I literally have no idea what you're talking about."

Barbara laughed, resting her head against his shoulder. "You're the worst liar I've ever met."

Back in the studio, Danny was nodding. "Look, Leicester struggled today, but let's not go overboard. The second half? They looked better. They started figuring things out. It's not gonna happen overnight, but they'll adjust. This is the first time in a long while that Tristan wasn't there to pull the strings. Of course, it was going to be rough."

Phil shook his head. "If Leicester want any shot at pushing for Europe, they can't rely on one player. Tristan has been the best in the league so far, but one injury, one suspension, and they're back to square one. They have to figure out how to win without him."

The conversation shifted to Chelsea, who had just steamrolled Aston Villa 3-0, keeping their unbeaten start intact.

Mark's voice filled the room. "Six games in, five wins, one draw, and Chelsea haven't looked vulnerable once. Are they already the team to beat?"

Barbara barely glanced at Tristan, but she felt the way his fingers slowed against her back for half a second before he adjusted his grip, resuming that same slow, steady rhythm.

Alan didn't hesitate. "They have to be. Mourinho's got them running like a machine. Diego Costa's ruthless, Fabregas is running the show, and defensively, they've barely put a foot wrong."

Tristan exhaled through his nose. Barbara bit back a smile. He liked that one.

The screen cut to highlights of Southampton's blistering start to the season—second place, despite selling half their squad over the summer.

Danny let out a low chuckle. "Now, if you'd told me Southampton would be sitting second after losing half their starting eleven, I'd have called you crazy."

Phil nodded. "No Lallana, Shaw, Lovren, Lambert—yet here they are. Pellè looks like a natural in the Premier League, Schneiderlin's been world-class, and defensively, they've been outstanding."

Barbara, still tracing light circles against Tristan's chest, hummed. "I love an underdog story."

His hand didn't stop moving against her back, but his grip shifted, fingers pressing just a little firmer into her sweater. "You already have your underdog," he murmured.

Barbara smiled. "Mmm?"

His gaze stayed on the screen, deliberate. "The one sitting right here."

Barbara grinned, her fingers stilling against his chest before she tilted her head up to look at him properly. "Oh, I know."

Tristan dragged a hand down his face, already regretting saying anything. "I walked into that."

Barbara curled up closer, resting against his chest. "You really did."

The discussion shifted to Manchester United, still trying to shake off the embarrassment of their 7-1 loss to Leicester the previous week. They had managed a narrow 2-1 win over West Ham since, but the inconsistency was impossible to ignore.

Mark didn't hold back. "United might be the hardest team to figure out right now. One week, they're getting smashed by Leicester, the next, they barely scrape past West Ham. What do we make of them?"

Alan let out a short laugh. "They're a mess. Going forward, they've got quality—Di María, Rooney, Van Persie—but defensively? They look like a Sunday League side."

Phil shook his head. "They're still in transition. Van Gaal's trying to fix things, but that backline isn't ready. Too many mistakes, too much uncertainty."

Barbara, still tracing slow circles against Tristan's chest, glanced at the screen. "So let me get this straight," she mused. "Leicester put seven past Manchester United last week… and then lost to Crystal Palace?"

Tristan exhaled, rubbing his face. "That's not happening again for a season or two" he admitted.

Barbara raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

His fingers stilled for a moment before he spoke again. "We came out swinging that day. From the first whistle. I wanted to put on a show."

Barbara's fingers trailed up to his jaw, tilting his face toward hers. "For me?"

Tristan huffed a quiet laugh. "You wanted a hat trick."

Barbara grinned. "And you gave me a hat trick."

His gaze flicked toward the screen, where the 7-1 scoreline was still being dissected. "And the whole team wanted to make sure I got it. We were playing harder than United expected, pressing like our lives depended on it." His thumb brushed absentmindedly along Barbara's hip. "Honestly, I think half of them just wanted to impress you."

Barbara laughed, nuzzling closer. "So I was your good luck charm?"

"You were the reason we went for blood." His voice was quieter now, more certain. "And we got it."

The show moved on, circling back to Leicester's current form. Tristan's stats flashed across the screen again.

Barbara, curled up beside him, gave him a look. "Oh, come on."

Tristan frowned. "What?"

She gestured toward the screen. "They're literally breaking down how Leicester falls apart without you, and you're sitting here acting like it's no big deal?"

His lips parted like he was about to respond, but Barbara didn't wait for an answer. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss just below his ear.

Tristan went completely still. "…What was that?"

Barbara pulled back, her expression unreadable. "Just showing my appreciation."

Tristan exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as the pundits continued their discussion. "Alright, that's enough of that."

He reached for the remote, but before he could grab it, Barbara was already moving. She snatched it up without breaking focus, tucking it securely against her side.

Tristan blinked at her. "Are you serious?"

"They're still talking about you," she said simply.

"Yeah, and I'd really love for them to stop." He leaned in, making another grab for the remote, but she shifted at the last second, rolling just enough to keep it out of reach.

Tristan shot her a look. "You do realize I can just take it from you, right?"

Barbara finally glanced at him, completely unbothered. "And you do realize I can make this difficult for you?"

He hesitated, squinting. "…What does that mean?"

Barbara just shrugged, settling back into the pillows.

Tristan exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "This is stupid."

Barbara patted his chest. "This is commitment."

His arm draped lazily over her waist as he muttered, "We can watch One Piece..."

Barbara didn't even try to argue. She simply turned the volume up.

The show continued, shifting from team performances to individual standouts. A new graphic flashed across the screen.

The show continued, shifting from team performances to standout individual players. A new graphic flashed across the screen.

Surprise Players of the Season So Far

Tristan Hale (Leicester City) – 5 goals, 8 assists, 8.8 avg. rating (Highest in League)

Jamie Vardy (Leicester City) – 3 goals, 2 assists, 7.8 avg. rating

Riyad Mahrez (Leicester City) – 2 goals, 2 assists, 7.6 avg. rating

Graziano Pellè (Southampton) – 4 goals, 1 assist, 7.9 avg. rating

Morgan Schneiderlin (Southampton) – 3 goals, 0 assists, 7.7 avg. rating

Diafra Sakho (West Ham) – 3 goals, 1 assist, 7.5 avg. rating

Cesc Fabregas (Chelsea) – 0 goals, 6 assists, 8.0 avg. rating

Diego Costa (Chelsea) – 8 goals, 1 assist, 8.1 avg. rating

Barbara stretched, pulling the blanket higher as she turned toward the screen. "Ooooh, best players segment. This should be fun."

Tristan groaned, tipping his head back against the pillow. 

She ignored him, watching as Mark Chapman read through the list.

"Alright, let's start with the big one—Tristan again," Mark said. "Six weeks in, and statistically, he's been the best player in the league. Four goals, five assists, highest match rating. At 19 years old. I don't even know what to say."

Alan didn't hold back. "It's not just the numbers—it's the control. Leicester run through him. Every attack, every switch of play, every moment of composure in midfield? That's him. He's playing like someone in their prime, not a teenager."

Tristan muttered something under his breath, shaking his head. "Jesus, you'd think I invented football."

Barbara ran her fingers through his curls, amused. "They're just stating facts, enjoy it."

On screen, Phil leaned forward. "And let's be real—Leicester without him? Completely different team. I mean, we saw it against Crystal Palace."

Danny nodded. "That's the issue, isn't it? If he keeps this up, the bigger clubs will come knocking if they haven't knocked down the door already. Leicester has to start building around him."

Barbara, still tracing slow circles against Tristan's chest, glanced up at him. "So? You gonna leave me for a bigger club, Hale?"

Tristan scoffed. "Barbara, I just signed a three-year contract."

Barbara hummed. "Mmm. Good."

Tristan hesitated, eyes still on the screen. "Not that good."

Barbara's fingers stilled against his chest. "…What?"

He exhaled, watching the highlights roll by. "I'm leaving after next season."

Barbara blinked. "You're what?"

His gaze flickered down to her, watching as she processed his words. "That's the plan."

Barbara pushed herself up slightly, studying his face. "And when were you gonna tell me this?"

Tristan sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "I haven't even told the club yet. It's just Mendes and me for now."

Barbara exhaled, shaking her head. 

She stared at him, trying to gauge whether this was something he'd just decided or if it had been in his head for a while. By the look on his face, she knew. This wasn't new.

Tristan leaned back slightly, his fingers still resting against her waist. "You got a favorite club?" he asked suddenly, voice quieter now.

Barbara's brows furrowed. "What?"

"You know—if you had to choose. Any club, any city. Paris? Milan? London?" His fingers tapped lightly against her hip. "Anywhere you'd like to be?"

Barbara frowned, confused. "What does that have to do with—" Then it clicked. He wasn't just talking about her. He was talking about them.

She sat up properly now, shaking her head. "Tristan."

He met her gaze, unreadable.

"I wouldn't ask you to pick a club based on me," she said, voice steady. "Just like you wouldn't ask me to change my career for you."

Tristan didn't answer right away. His fingers curled slightly against her waist, but he nodded once, like he already knew that would be her response.

Barbara exhaled, her hand sliding to his jaw, forcing him to look at her. "I like you. That doesn't mean I expect you to plan your career around me."

Tristan's eyes softened just slightly. "I know."

Barbara searched his face for a moment before shaking her head with a quiet laugh. "Jesus, Tristan. You really planned this whole thing out, huh?"

Tristan smiled, finally relaxing again. "That's the plan."

Barbara let out another breath, still taking it all in. "Guess I better enjoy my Leicester City era while it lasts."

Tristan tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch slow, deliberate. "Yeah," he murmured. "You should."

Barbara didn't say anything for a second, just curled up against him, resting her forehead against his shoulder. "I can't believe you kept this from me."

Tristan kissed the top of her head, voice softer now. "We just started dating like days ago, there wasn't a time where I could have told you without ruining what we were doing."

Barbara sighed. "Well. Too late for that."

He huffed out a small laugh. "Yeah. Way too late."

The TV continued in the background, but Barbara wasn't really listening anymore.

She had too much else on her mind.

Mark leaned forward as the camera zoomed in on the graphic. "Let's talk about another Leicester name—Jamie Vardy. This time last year, he was playing in the Championship. Five years ago? Non-league football."

Tristan let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Vardy's gonna be unbearable after this."

Alan continued, "And now? One of the hardest-working forwards in the league. His pace, his energy—he's a nightmare to defend against."

Barbara had already reached for Tristan's open as it was unlocked, her fingers moving quickly across the screen.

Tristan caught the motion and groaned. "Oh, please tell me you're not texting him this clip."

Barbara didn't look up. "Oh, I am."

Danny's voice filled the room. "You can see how much Leicester's attack thrives off his pressing. He doesn't stop running. And alongside Tristan, he's been one of the main reasons Leicester started the season so strong."

Tristan sighed, slumping deeper into the pillows. "You're a menace."

Barbara smirked. "You knew what you signed up for."

Phil leaned forward, nodding at the screen. "Another name that deserves a mention—Riyad Mahrez. He's been fantastic. Creative, unpredictable, skillful."

Tristan nudged Barbara's side lightly. "See? It's not just me."

She tilted her head, pretending to think. "Maybe Leicester just has really good scouting."

Danny chimed in. "And what a steal he was. Signed from Le Havre for almost nothing, and now he's lighting up the league."

Tristan gave her a smug look. "Or maybe we're just that good."

Barbara scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that."

The conversation moved to Southampton's shocking second-place start, with Graziano Pellè and Morgan Schneiderlin shining.

Alan's voice carried through the speakers. "Pellè's been brilliant. A proper number nine. Strong in the air, clinical in the box."

Barbara stretched her arms overhead, sinking further under the blanket. "Southampton being second still doesn't feel real."

Tristan glanced at her, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "I know. But they're playing great football."

The panel then shifted to West Ham's Diafra Sakho, who had three goals in his first four games since signing from Metz.

Phil shook his head, sounding impressed. "No one expected Sakho to hit the ground running like this. West Ham needed a goal scorer, and he's delivering."

Danny nodded. "Strong, fast, and clinical. A great signing."

Barbara smirked, shifting slightly so her leg slotted between Tristan's. "Careful, they might sign you next."

Tristan scoffed. "Yeah, no thanks."

Finally, the pundits moved on to Chelsea's stars.

Mark leaned back, hands folded in front of him. "One of the biggest signings this season—Cesc Fàbregas. He hasn't scored yet, but with six assists, he's pulling the strings in that Chelsea midfield."

Barbara let out a low whistle. "Chelsea really hit the jackpot with him, huh?"

Alan didn't hesitate. "And Diego Costa—eight goals already. Absolutely terrifying for defenders."

Tristan exhaled through his nose. "Yeah, yeah. They'll fall apart eventually. It's what Mourinho does."

Barbara laughed, shaking her head. "That sounds like wishful thinking."

 "Maybe." Tristan replied, knowing what was going to happen with Jose Mourinho.

Mark leaned back in his chair, nodding as the final graphic appeared on screen. "That's all for tonight! Six weeks in, and the Premier League is already full of surprises. We'll be back next week with more."

The screen faded to black, the soft hum of the TV lingering in the quiet hotel room.

Barbara shifted first, stretching her arms above her head as she sank deeper into the pillows. "Well, that was entertaining."

Tristan barely moved, only dragging a hand down his face before exhaling. "That was something."

She turned her head toward him, eyes glinting. "You sound thrilled."

"I just spent an hour listening to people analyze my every move." His voice was dry, muffled slightly as he rubbed his temples. "I need a break."

Barbara smirked. "Oh, you need a break? I had to sit through that whole thing while you sighed dramatically every five minutes."

Tristan dropped his hand, tilting his head toward her. "I did not sigh dramatically."

Barbara shot him a look. "Tristan, at one point, you groaned so loud the couple in the next room probably thinks we were doing something else."

He huffed, reaching blindly for the remote. "I'm turning this off before you start making things up."

Barbara was faster. She snatched the remote off the blanket, tucking it against her chest before he could grab it.

Tristan blinked, unimpressed. "Really?"

"They're doing post-match interviews," she said casually, adjusting the volume.

"Barbara—"

She curled up on her side, remote still secure in her grip. "Shh. I want to see if they mention you again."

Tristan groaned, flopping back against the pillows. 

Barbara nudged his side, barely hiding a grin. "Stop acting like a kid,"

"No," he muttered, but his arm had already settled comfortably around her.

Barbara laughed, tilting her head up toward him.

Tristan sighed, eyes flicking toward the screen one last time before finally giving up. "This is my life now, isn't it?"

Barbara patted his chest, victorious. "Get used to it."

The TV played on in the background, but Tristan wasn't listening anymore.

The night had settled around them.The hum of the city outside was distant, muffled by the warmth of the hotel room, the quiet rhythm of Tristan's breathing steady beneath Barbara's cheek.

Her fingers traced absent patterns over the fabric of his hoodie, following the slow rise and fall of his chest. She hesitated before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you… ever feel weird about me being a model?"

Tristan's hand, which had been lazily running along her spine, stilled for half a second before resuming its slow path. "Weird how?"

Barbara shrugged against him. "I don't know. Just—do you ever feel insecure about it? About what I do?"

Tristan hummed, considering her words. His thumb brushed lightly over her hip as he adjusted slightly, tilting his head so he could see her face. "No, not really."

Barbara lifted her head, searching his expression. "Nothing at all?"

He let out a breath through his nose, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Okay, fine. There are some things I'd rather not think about."

Barbara arched an eyebrow. "Like?"

Tristan's fingers toyed idly with the hem of her sleeve, voice casual but honest. "Kissing scenes. Shoots that involve… you know."

Barbara blinked, caught off guard by his bluntness. "Oh."

Tristan caught the flicker of uncertainty in her expression and shook his head, his voice steady. "Barbara, listen—I would never tell you what to do. You worked for this, and I'll never ask you to change it for me." His fingers tightened slightly against her waist, grounding. "I deal with it. Simple as that."

Something warm unfurled in Barbara's chest. His tone wasn't possessive or resentful—just honest. Mature. Secure. This is what she liked about Tristan so much.

She lifted a hand to his face, tracing a slow line along his jaw. "If it makes you feel any better, I've never done full nudity for a shoot."

Tristan's brow lifted slightly, amusement flickering through his expression. "Really?"

Barbara nodded, her fingers drifting idly over his cheek. "Some magazines asked, but it's never been my thing. Sexy? Sure. Lingerie, bikinis, whatever. But fully naked? Never felt comfortable with it."

Tristan's fingers brushed absently over Barbara's arm, his touch slow and steady. He had been quiet for a moment, processing what she had said. Then, with a small shake of his head, he murmured, "I mean, selfishly, I'm not mad about that."

Barbara huffed a laugh, nudging his shoulder. "Of course you aren't."

His lips quirked slightly, but there was something softer in his expression now, something thoughtful. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingertips lingering just briefly against her skin. "What about acting?" he asked. "You ever think about doing more of it?"

Barbara exhaled, considering. "Maybe, but only if it's something meaningful." Her fingers traced the fabric of his hoodie as she spoke, idly following the seams. "Hercules was fun, but let's be real—I was just standing there, looking pretty."

Tristan's chest rumbled slightly with a quiet chuckle. "Hollywood's specialty."

She hummed in agreement, shifting a little against him. The warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, made the silence between them feel comfortable. Safe.

But as her fingers stilled against his chest, something shifted in the air.

Barbara hesitated, then spoke, her voice quieter now. "Do you ever worry about… cheating?"

Tristan's breathing didn't change, but his grip on her waist tightened slightly—not in tension, just reassurance. His thumb stroked her side, a slow, grounding motion.

"I won't." His voice was low but steady. "I don't do things I know I'll regret."

Barbara swallowed, her fingers curling slightly against the fabric of his hoodie. "I know," she admitted. "But it already happened with Niall. I've seen what footballers can be like—the attention, the temptation, the stupid decisions." She exhaled, frustration flickering at the edges of her voice. "You're only nineteen, Tristan. You're already one of the biggest names in the world. It's only going to get worse."

He didn't answer right away. His hand slid up, fingers brushing along the curve of her cheek, tilting her face toward his.

"You think I'd risk this?" His thumb traced just beneath her jaw, the touch gentle but sure.

Barbara let her eyes close briefly, leaning into his hand. "It's not about trust," she murmured. "It's about fear."

Tristan studied her, his gaze unwavering. "Then let me make this simple for you." His fingers curled around the back of her neck, his voice softer now, but just as certain. "Losing you would be one of the biggest regret of my life."

Barbara lifted her head, her lips brushing his in a slow, deliberate kiss.

Tristan responded instantly, his arm winding around her, pulling her closer. The kiss was deep, steady—like a promise. When they finally broke apart, Barbara exhaled, forehead resting lightly against his.

"…Okay."

Tristan pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her temple, his hand smoothing along her back. "Okay."

Barbara stretched lazily, rolling onto her side as Tristan stood from the bed. Her gaze followed the easy movement of his hands as they hooked under the hem of his shirt.

Then—without hesitation—he pulled it over his head and tossed it onto the chair.

Barbara blinked. "Oh."

Tristan glanced over, catching the slight hitch in her breath. "What?"

Her eyes flickered downward before she could stop herself. She knew he was in shape—he was an athlete, after all—but knowing and seeing were two very different things.

Her fingers twitched slightly against the sheets. "…You sleep like that?"

Tristan wiped a hand down his face, ruffling his curls before slipping under the covers. "Yeah. Why?"

Barbara's gaze dragged back up, her lips pressing together like she was trying to seem unaffected. "No reason."

Tristan huffed a quiet laugh. "You're staring."

Barbara scoffed, but her hand had already moved before she could stop herself, palm grazing his chest, fingers tracing idly over the warm ridges of muscle.

Tristan's breath came out slow, controlled. "See something you like?"

Barbara rolled her eyes, but she didn't pull her hand away. Instead, she let it rest against his skin, her fingertips still absently skimming over the defined lines of his stomach. "Humble as ever."

Tristan shifted onto his side, facing her fully now. His hand slid over her waist, pulling her just a little closer, his voice dipping slightly. "I'm just saying… if you're gonna keep touching me, at least admit you're impressed."

Barbara hummed in thought, dragging her fingers down the length of his abs one last time before curling her arm around his waist. "You're decent."

Tristan let out a low scoff. "Wow. Such high praise."

Barbara only nestled further into him, her body molding easily against the warmth of his.

For a while, they didn't say anything. They just laid there, facing each other, the world outside slipping further and further away.

Barbara shifted closer without thinking, her leg sliding over Tristan's as she tucked herself against him. The warmth of his skin seeped into her, steady and grounding, the kind of warmth that made her eyelids feel heavier.

Tristan exhaled, the motion slow and measured. His lips brushed the top of her head before he rolled onto his back, taking her with him like it was second nature. His voice was low, still laced with the remnants of sleep. "Better?"

Barbara's fingers idly traced the lines of muscle along his ribs, her touch light and absentminded. "Mhm. You're warm."

His chest moved with a quiet laugh. "So that's what this is? I'm just a human heater now?"

Barbara hummed in response, shifting slightly against him. "It's a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Tristan tilted his head slightly, watching her settle against him. His hand slid up and down her back, his fingers grazing lazily over the fabric of her shirt. "Beneficial for who?"

Her breath fanned against his collarbone as she fought back a smile. "You get to hold me. I get to be comfortable. Seems fair."

Tristan sighed, though the weight of his arm tightening around her said otherwise. "You're spoiled."

Barbara let her fingers drift lower, smoothing over the ridges of his stomach. 

The quiet that followed wasn't empty. It stretched between them, easy and familiar, filled only by the rhythmic sound of their breathing falling into sync.

Barbara's fingers continued their lazy exploration, even as sleep began to tug at her. The weight of him beneath her, the warmth of his body pressed against hers—it was something she could get used to.

Tristan's eyes fluttered shut, his grip instinctively tightening around her. And just like that, they drifted off, tangled together.

…..

Part 1 I post the second half later today, so I'm going to need those power stones.

Discord Link: https://discord.gg/s2DVMbqSf4

It also in the story's synopsis as well. 

I saw a really good comment about the relationship, so allow me to respond.

@Gangnem: "I'm a bit confused—did I miss something? I noticed this with the previous chapter as well. When did their relationship advance so quickly? At first, they were going to take it slow, but then, without even talking about it (at least to my knowledge), they somehow became boyfriend and girlfriend and started calling each other "babe" and everything. When did this happen? How did they go from teasing each other and being sweet on the phone to suddenly dating the moment she landed, without anything actually happening in between?"

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Yeah, I kinda messed that part up. I didn't really notice until people pointed it out, but yeah—the relationship moved way too fast in the version that's up now. Thing is, the original chapter was like 17k words, and I had to cut nearly half of it for Webnovel. Some chapters were even 20k and I trimmed over 10k just to make them fit what readers here usually expect.

I actually did write all the buildup—the teasing, the slow progression, the emotional beats—but a lot of it got taken out. WB readers don't always vibe with slower pacing or long chapters, so I tried to keep things moving. But I get why it feels sudden now.

Also, I based parts of the relationship on my own, and in real life, things moved fast for me. From day one, I never called my girl by her name—it was always babe, love, whatever. We were just instantly there, if that makes sense. I tried to capture that in the story, but I know it might not hit the same for everyone.

At the end of the day, I can't make everyone happy—I just try to write what feels right to me.

Also, any form of criticism is welcome; I'm not going to get mad at them and suddenly drop that story because of them, lmao than come back like nothing happened. It gives me feedback on how to improve the story.