The sweet, happy yet fairly plain tune that had come pre-installed on Tristan’s phone permeated the dark room, spurring him up from a restless, anxious dream. A wave of deep relief spread over him as he sat up and realised he hadn’t been called on to answer a maths exercise that he had forgotten to do. He took a few seconds to breathe deeply, wishing he could go back to sleep, but the tune got louder and louder. With a soft groan he searched the sheets for his phone, finding it had somehow slipped into his pillow cover.
He unlocked it to turn off the alarm, and in the process checked his messages: a few documents from Liz concerning the fundraiser for his work with the Greens and an update on the upcoming Halloween party at the debate union, Sam who had sent him a few articles at two o’clock analysing why brexit still had made no progress, and a status update from Hibiki only a few minutes ago containing a picture of him and a large, white, grey and black dog with a curled tail and pointy ears somewhere out in the hills and some Japanese text with a ridiculously elaborate smiley below it. Realising that it was nothing of too much importance, he put his phone away again and started his day.

While he let the shower run to get warm, he took off the dress shirt he had slept in. As the cloth left his arms he was confronted with the bandages around his wrist once more, getting a bit frayed and dirty. Carefully he undid them, until all that was left was the gauze that got slightly stuck against the wound; he very slowly peeled it away, cautious not to open up the wound again. Luckily the cut had begun to heal quite well, and the gauze came off easily. The sight of the long, thin red line across his wrist was shameful, and part of him didn’t want to even acknowledge it, but another more insidious sense took some strange sense of pleasure out of seeing himself as broken and mangled on the outside as he felt on the inside – as if the distress and fear that constantly clawed on the inside of his mind now had a hole to spill out from, at least for a little while. It made him feel better, not good, but better; like how nausea was relieved by vomiting even if the sickness stayed.
He knew that maybe in five, ten years the scars would just be shameful, but scars were easier to live with than the pain that caused them.
Yet that was for a later him to worry about, for now he just tore his gaze away again and stepped into the warm water of his shower. The best distraction was simply to function, to try and go through his routine like every other day in the hope that one morning he’d wake up as the well-adjusted person he wanted to be, without having to pretend.

The warm water spilling over his back felt far too nice, but he had only allotted himself fifteen minutes and his aversion to being late was a more powerful motivator than the desire to shower a little longer. He stepped out and dried himself off with a clean towel, making extra sure that his wrist was dry before he disinfected and rebandaged it just in case.
Once his wrist had been taken care of, he picked up his usual morning routine by shaving and putting on a matching aftershave and deodorant, before getting dressed in the grey suit that he had set on wearing for that day. His only real concern was what tie he wanted to go with, but eventually he settled on a simple blue and grey striped one.
His breakfast consisted of a few eggs quickly scrambled over two slices of toast, which he ate at the counter since there was no-one there to judge him for it. Once he’d finished, he immediately washed off his plate and the pan, even wiping off the counter so there was no trace of him ever having been there.
Now he was showered and fed, he put on a black trench coat and buttoned it up all the way to his neck, before giving his keys and wallet a pat-check. Certain that he wouldn't accidentally lock himself out, he took up his messenger bag from his desk chair, which he had prepared the evening before with his books, notes and documents. A moment later he stepped out into the hallway, and locked his door behind him.

The fluorescent lights cast a sleepy, greyish light into the early morning dark, doing nothing to combat the chill that spilled from the bare concrete walls. The only thing that caught Tristan's attention was an unusually early Killian walking down the hall with a sports bag slung over his shoulder and a tired frown on his face, but his expression lit up slightly when he saw him. A second later Tristan was met with an arm around his shoulder, tugging him along so he couldn’t escape whatever gruesome tale needed to be told.
“Hiya mate.” He heard, and even after two terms, Killian's Scottish accent still caught him off guard, especially since he usually toned it down.
“Morning.” Tristan shrugged from under the weight of Killian's arm, already knowing that his only choice was to go with whatever story he was about to be subjected to. “Did you have an emergency? I heard you running down the hallway last night.” He asked, figuring he’d better get into it early so it’d be over sooner.
Killian let out a deep sigh and shook his head before replying.
“Yeah, some focking cunts went out on motorcycles last night, prolly stunting and racing on the carriageway, you know how those pissheads are when they get their hands on anything with more wheels than a unicycle. Anyhow, one of ‘em slipped, slid right under a passing lorry. Came in in three pieces.”
“Three?” Tristan asked rather incredulous, knowing Killian had a tendency to embellish from time to time.
“Left leg above the knee, right leg below and the rest of’m. He managed to live too, nearly lost him twice but that hardy sob kept coming back. Whenever we put blood in it’d just come out the other end.”
“Blimey…” Tristan stammered, unsure how he was even supposed to react to that. “So er… did it take long? I didn't hear you come back.”
“Think I got back at around four? Didn't get much sleep in to be honest.” Killian said while rubbing the side of his face and some stubble he clearly hadn't cared for to shave.
“You look like it.”
“Well I’d like to see what ye’d look like after holding a loose leg at three in the morning, ye overachieving little cunt.” Despite saying that, Killian pulled him in closer for a second to show it was the endearing kind of insult, but then let go as he went ahead down the stairs. Tristan wasn't sure how to respond, or even whether or not he should apologise. In his attempt to process it all, he froze up at the top of the stairs, only to have Killian notice and call out for him.
“You coming? Wouldn’t want to miss the bus, would you?”
“Oh er… right, no.” Tristan said, hoisting his bag up higher onto his shoulder before following Killian down the stairs.

The bus ride to his college building was a short one, only two stops down the road, but on cold, dark mornings it was absolutely packed, meaning he and Killian had to stand up and squeeze themselves in between a mass of other tired students. The smell was the worst; one of general body musk, wet breath with a hint of mouldy seats and whatever had been carried in by shoe soles. Tristan tried his best to not touch anyone, but in the end couldn’t prevent getting pressed between Killian, a chair, and someone behind him who seemed far more comfortable with this than he was.
While Killian had decided to try and take a powernap while standing up, a buzz in Tristan’s pocket offered him a welcome distraction. He checked his phone to see it was a message from Hibiki. Somewhat intrigued, and with little else to do, he opened it.

H: Morning
I just wanted to say thanks for staying with me Saturday
I thought I was soberder than I was

T: Good morning
And it’s no problem, I sort of figured.

Tristan texted back with one hand, trying to stay upright as the bus took a close corner.

T: I saw your picture this morning by the way, your dog is cute.

H: Thank you (^_^)
He’s called Maki

T: Maki? Does that mean something in Japanese?

H: It means ‘roll’, like ‘rolled up’
It’s because of the curly tail

T: That's adorable.
What breed is it?

H: It's called an Akita Inu
They're known to be aggressive because they were used as guard dogs, but Maki is very nice

T: It's a really cool dog :)

H: Thank you!
Do you have any pets?

T: Not here, but my grandparents have a farm with horses. They have one that's mine, called Alex. I'm on my way to classes now though.

He texted as the bus came to a stop, right in front of the main building he needed to be at. The braking stirred Killian a little, who opened his eyes for just long enough to catch him leaving.
“Good luck with your classes.” Tristan said, raising his hand as a goodbye before the doors opened.
“See ya mate…” Killian mumbled, closing his eyes again and trying to shut the world out. Tristan smiled a little, but that smile faltered quickly when he stepped out into the wet, mid-October cold.
The university building itself was old, resembling a church or palace as it had a courtyard and tall, sharp windows. A few trees that had begun to colour in autumn yellows and oranges dotted the courtyard, and a cobblestone way led up to the large double doors of the front entrance.
Tristan’s phone buzzed in his pocket but he let it be for a second to focus on finding his way in through the mass of students that were talking, smoking or walking at a snail's pace – sometimes all three at the same time.

Once he had stepped up the stairs into the main hall, and shared a few nods and 'morning's with classmates he vaguely recognised, he took his phone out again to check Hibiki's message.

H: No worries, I have a class on law too soon

T: Is it a difficult class?
I have economics right now.

He texted back once he walked out of the busy hall.

H: It's not so hard, it's about the justice system as a whole.
Nothing you couldn't Wikipedia
Yours?

T: Macroeconomics.

H: (T_T)?

T: Haha, yeah.

Hibiki's comment made him smile slightly as he made his way toward the lecture hall, while simultaneously trying to text and avoid the students that were standing about or going to opposite way.

T: How do you like it here? Are your classmates nice?

H: I don't really know?
There’s a ton of them
They’re all tall, confident and pretty
I don’t think they like dirt bikes
or heavy metal

T: Having trouble connecting with them?

H: You've seen Kazuya and Hideki
Real inviting (´-﹏-`；)
And I can't really go up and just say hi to someone
I'd have to shove my phone in their face

He felt his heart sink a little when he realised he'd forgotten that Hibiki was mute. Quickly he send an apology, hoping he hadn't come across as insensitive or rude.

T: I’m sorry.
It's early, and I don't think I'm awake... I just completely forgot about that. I'm sorry if I upset you?

H: Oh no it's okay, you’re good
I’m just saying it gets awkward
So I wanted to chat with you a little before class?
That's all really

T: Of course :)
What did you want to chat about?

Tristan texted as he sat down in the front row bench. The classroom was still fairly empty, with most not having arrived and the remaining few out chatting in the hallway. Although he had wanted to give his exercises a last check over, the prospects of talking to Hibiki interested him more; so he sat back and waited for a reply.

H: Anything will do
So do you really ride horses?

T: Yeah, I do.

H: That’s so cool!
I used to think everyone in Europe rode horses?
Like, in fairy tales and medieval knights
Because horses are common here, right?

T: It really depends?
It’s not common in the city at all, but my grandmother’s parents bred horses before WW2.
So I was sort of raised with them.
I guess they’re a lot more common in small towns and rural places?

H: It’s sort of the same in Japan
They’re very rare, except up North
In Hokkaidou
Where all the farmers and fields are

T: Have you ever ridden a horse?

H: No, of course not
They’re big, and they bite
I don’t like them, they’re scary

T: But you race dirt bikes?
And horses don’t bite often, it's the kick that's really dangerous.

H: I suppose so
But dirt bikes don’t bite, or kick
And they aren’t taller than me,
Or make weird movements
And sounds

T: haha, yeah, that’s true I suppose.
Alex gets grumpy if you don’t feed him apples.

H: See
I don’t need to feed my dirt bike apples
Also why is your horse called Alex?
That’s a human name

T: It’s short for Alexander II
Son of Alexander the Great.

H: Wasn’t that some history guy?

T: Yeah

H: Then why do you name your horse after him?

T: Haha, it’s a family tradition

You name your first horse after a person in history you like.

My grandma’s horse is Jadwiga XIV, named after Jadwiga, Queen of Poles.

H: Like a stripper?

Tristan barely managed to put his hand in front of his mouth in time to hide a short but sharp chuckle. He could feel an ache down in his stomach from the sheer effort of holding his laughter in, just so he wouldn’t sound like a lost seal. He couldn’t even tell if it really had been a joke; although he suspected it was, he decided to answer seriously.

T: No, it’s Poles, like the people from Poland.

H: Oh, why queen of Poles though?
Why not an English queen?

T: Because my grandma is Polish?

H: Really?
Then you’re a quarter polish?

T: Half, actually. My grandfather is Polish too, and my mother was born in England, but is Polish by blood.

H: Is that why your hair is so shiny?
Cause you’re half-polish? (^_-)-☆

The joke both surprised and amused him, causing him to smile before he took a lock of his hair between his fingers and looked at it. Is my hair that shiny? He thought to himself as he tried to figure it out in the dim light, to no avail.

T: I don’t know?
It’s not a problem though, right?

H: That you’re Polish?

T: Yeah

H: Of course not
Why would that be a problem?

T: I don’t know, sometimes people think that because you’re Polish, you wear track suits and paint walls?
Or they think I’m an immigrant, which I’m not. So I usually don’t tell anyone.

H: Ever tried being Japanese?
Everyone wants to talk to you about anime
Every.
One.
I don’t even like anime!
Or they start speaking really bad Japanese
Expecting an answer back
And I’m like
‘I can’t talk.’ (ーー;)

Just before he could respond to that, his professor walked in. As he looked up, he realised that the lecture hall had filled with students, and he’d chatted away all of the twenty minutes he’d been early. Not wanting to be spotted texting while in the first row, he quickly ended their conversation.

T: Haha, that sounds horrible.
My class is starting though, so I have to go now.
I’ll see you at debate though, right?

H: Of course!
Cya! (^_^)/

T: See ya :)

By then the hall had gone quiet, and hastily he put his phone on silent. Slightly embarrassed, he still had to dig through his bag and get his notes and pens out. The clatter on his tiny bench felt awkwardly loud and even if he knew it wasn’t some terrible offense to the sanctity of education, it certainly felt like one in the moment.