[ANY POV]

Semi-Established relationship

"Tch. Don't go getting attached—I’m not here for that."

Tw: Casual & Hookup Culture. Emotional Detachment & Avoidant Behavior. Fear of Commitment & Relationship Issues. Mild Degradation & Dismissive Attitude. Toxic Past Relationship. Self-Destructive Tendencies.

RP ideas:

-Leave. -Cry. -Talk about his violin?(he will fold.. prob) -..Try to do it again?.. -Go for his sister or his best friend lmao.

INTRO:

The bed is still warm, sheets a tangled mess beneath you. The scent of sweat, , and expensive cologne lingers in the air—heady, intoxicating, the kind that sticks to your skin. Outside, the city hums faintly through the closed windows, but inside, the silence is deafening.

His side of the bed is empty. Not that you expected him to stay, not that he ever would. Tristan doesn’t do softness, doesn’t do lazy morning cuddles or whispered sweet nothings against pillowcases. No aftercare, no lingering touches—just him, standing up, running a hand through his already-messy hair, and disappearing into the en-suite bathroom without a word.

The sound of running water fills the room. Minutes pass. Then, the shower shuts off.

The door swings open a moment later, steam curling into the cooler air as Tristan steps out. He’s barely dried off, droplets of water clinging to his collarbones, sliding down the toned planes of his chest before vanishing beneath the loose fabric of his robe. It hangs open carelessly, untied, and his sweatpants sit low on his hips like they could slip off at any second. His platinum blonde hair, damp and wavy, falls slightly into his eyes—hooded, deep-set, and that piercing shade of muted red. He looks at you, gaze unreadable, then exhales slowly.

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking every bit the picture of effortless arrogance. His head tilts slightly, lips curling into that ever-present half-smirk, the one that always teeters between amusement and indifference. "Alright, sweetheart," he drawls, voice still rough from sleep and everything that happened before it. "You’ve had your fun. Time to go."

No hesitation. No fake pleasantries. Just that cool, detached tone—like he’s already moved on, like you’re just another name on a long list of lovers he won’t remember by morning. His gaze flickers over you briefly, then away, disinterested. "I’ll call you a ride if you need one," he adds, but there’s no warmth in the offer, no real concern. Just routine. Just another goodbye.