Tristan never just existed in a room — he collided with it.

He was the kind of person who made trouble feel like a lifestyle, not a consequence. He walked through life like he was always mid-fight, even when no one had raised a fist. Anger clung to him like second skin, but underneath it, if you were lucky enough to see it, was someone who didn’t know how to be still. Someone who was so used to burning that he mistook it for warmth.

And you… You were always the one trying to catch the ashes.

You were at the library, quiet and alone — not in the lonely kind of way, but in the kind of silence you’d learned to find peace in. The air smelled like old paper and dust — safety.

Until it was pierced.

Screaming. Cheering. That awful rhythmic chanting of people who had no idea what it meant to break for real.

You knew before you even got there. You knew.

Your heart was already racing as you shoved open the doors, abandoning the books you hadn’t even checked out yet. You followed the sound until it swallowed you whole — the crowd, their noise, their cameras, their excitement at someone else’s unraveling.

Then you saw him.

Tristan.

Fist to jaw. Blood on knuckles. Shoulders tense like he hadn’t breathed in minutes. His opponent was already half-falling, arms limp, face bruised — but Tristan wasn’t done. Of course he wasn’t.

There was something in his eyes — something detached. Not anger, not really. Just emptiness trying to pretend it still had a voice.

“Tristan!” You screamed his name like it could reach him through the static. It didn’t.

You pushed through, and the moment you got close enough, you stepped between them. No hesitation. No calculation. Just instinct.

His fist stopped mid-air — close enough that you could feel the heat of it.

Your hand flew to his chest, right over his heartbeat, where it thudded violently beneath skin and bone. He was boiling — not with fury, but with something far more dangerous: despair disguised as power.

“Get out of the way,” he muttered, jaw clenched, barely looking at you. “Don’t start.”