Chapter Text
Tristan stared at the pile of veterinary textbooks spread across their tiny kitchen table. Their kitchen doubled as study space, dining room, and general dumping ground for everything that didn't fit in their shoebox bedrooms. The flat was quiet except for the steady scratch of Richard's pen and the occasional rustle of turning pages.
Tristan had been trying to study for hours, but the words just weren't going in. Namely because Audrey, his brother's wife, kept trying to call and it was distracting. He’d been avoiding her calls for a week. The guilt was starting to gnaw at him like a persistent toothache.
His phone started vibrating again and each buzz made him wince a little more. He knew exactly what the conversation would entail: probing about his wellbeing, whether he was eating properly, getting enough sleep, keeping up with his coursework. That would all be okay, except Tristan was rubbish at lying to her.
"You know she'll just keep calling until you answer," Richard said from across the table, not looking up from his own studies.
Tristan groaned and reached for another digestive biscuit from the rapidly depleting packet beside his elbow. The phone stopped buzzing, blessed silence returning for thirty seconds before it started again with renewed determination.
"She's persistent, I'll give her that," he muttered, watching the screen light up with Audrey's name for the fourth time that morning.
Richard finally looked up, raising his eyebrows in that way that meant he thought Tristan was being ridiculous. "Just talk to her. What's the worst that could happen?"
Famous last words, Tristan thought grimly, but he swiped to answer before he could lose his nerve.
"Hello, Audrey."
"Tristan! Finally." She sounded relieved. "I was starting to think something had happened. You sound tired, love. Are you okay?"
The concern in her voice made his chest tighten with affection and guilt. Audrey had been looking after him in her gentle way since she'd married Siegfried. He was grateful, but sometimes her attention made him feel like he was still the hapless teenager who'd needed rescuing from his own poor decisions rather than the supposedly mature university student he was trying to become.
"I'm fine, honestly. Just studying."
Richard returned to his notes, though Tristan could tell he was listening to the conversation with half an ear.
The interrogation began in earnest. Was he keeping up with his coursework? Yes, mostly. Getting enough sleep? Define enough. Eating meals that didn't come out of tins or require only boiling water? Well, that was a more complicated question. But Tristan told her yes anyway, even if he knew Audrey didn't believe it.
Tristan found himself relaxing into the familiar rhythm of her questions. No, he wasn't drinking too much, yes he'd been to the library recently. The conversation flowed along predictable lines until Audrey's voice took on a different tone that was more wistful.
He could practically hear her settling in for a proper heart-to-heart. This was the bit he always hated.
"It would be so lovely if you brought someone home for a visit sometime. Someone nice to share things with. University can be such a lonely time."
Audrey was so worried about him being lonely. She always had been, ever since he'd moved away to London to study at the Royal Veterinary College, even when he protested that he definitely wasn't lonely, that he spent most of his time with Richard anyway.
Audrey didn't wait for him to respond. "I just worry about you being all alone in that big city. It's important to have someone who cares about you, someone to look after you when you're unwell or stressed about exams."
"My flatmate, Richard, he’s--," Tristan said, thinking of Richard's steady presence in their flat, the way he always made sure there was milk in the fridge and reminded Tristan about assignment deadlines.
"Oh, darling, that's not what I mean," Audrey interrupted gently. "Friends are wonderful, but I'm talking about a girlfriend, love. Or a boyfriend. Or whoever makes you happy."
The distinction hit him like a brick wall. She was talking about the sort of relationship that Tristan had spectacularly failed to develop with anyone, too busy with his studies and, honestly, too busy spending time with Richard to even think about anyone else.
"Oh," he said weakly. "That kind of someone."
Tristan didn't want to tell her that he'd never managed to keep a relationship going longer than a few weeks, that most of his dates ended with him realising he'd rather be at home with Richard watching terrible films and eating takeaway. He definitely didn't want to explain that his complete lack of romantic success was becoming a source of increasing anxiety as he watched his peers pair off around him. The thought of disappointing Audrey with yet another example of his failure to live up to adult expectations made his throat close up with familiar panic.
"Actually, I..." The words tumbled out before he could stop them, his brain apparently deciding that fabrication was preferable to pity. "I do have someone."
The silence on the other end of the line stretched long enough for Tristan to wonder if the call had dropped. Across the room, Richard's head snapped up from his book, pen frozen mid-sentence. His expression was one of complete bewilderment, eyebrows raised so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline.
Then Audrey squealed.
It was a genuine squeal of delight, high-pitched and joyful, the sort of sound that probably had dogs howling three streets away. Tristan had to hold the phone away from his ear as her excitement poured through the speaker.
"How wonderful! Oh my goodness, this is such lovely news! Tell me everything. Oh, Siegfried will be so pleased to hear you've found someone special!"
Richard was now staring at him with undisguised confusion and what might have been the beginning of amusement, clearly trying to work out what sort of hole Tristan had just dug for himself.
Tristan returned the phone to his ear once Audrey had stopped squealing.
"It's... well, it's actually a him," Tristan said, his mouth apparently now fully operating independently of his brain. He held his breath for a moment, realising he'd never actually told Audrey about his sexuality, but she didn't seem to bat an eyelid.
"Oh, Tris!" Audrey said his name with such warmth that Tristan felt even worse about the deception. There wasn't a hint of hesitation in her voice, just pure joy. "I'm so happy for you, love. Tell me about him. What's he like?"
Without thinking coherently, Tristan began describing the first qualities that came to mind.
"He's one of the kindest people I know. And so intelligent, sometimes he just gets stuff that makes my head spin." At first, Tristan wasn't exactly sure where these details were coming from, but as soon as his eyes settled on Richard across the room, everything seemed to click into place. "He's studying to be a vet with me, actually. He's always so organised with his notes, and he's got this habit of arranging his highlighters by colour. He makes these perfect diagrams that put my scribbles to shame."
Panic was driving his responses now, grasping for details that sounded plausible and impressive. His brain had latched onto Richard as a convenient template. It was pure desperation, really, describing the most readily available person who fit the basic requirements of being male, roughly his age, and someone Audrey might actually approve of.
The fact that Richard was sitting right there, looking increasingly bewildered by this development, made things even worse.
"He’s very down to earth, incredibly humble." Tristan added. His brain was scrambling for qualities that sounded appealing and respectable. "And he's good at cricket."
That last detail came from nowhere, apparently deciding that the fictional boyfriend needed some sort of interesting hobby to make him more realistic - and more likely to gain Siegfried's approval.
"Cricket!" Audrey exclaimed with delight. "How wonderful. Siegfried loves cricket. He'll be so pleased to have someone to discuss it with. And he sounds absolutely perfect, darling. Kind and intelligent and sporty. You've done so well."
The praise in her voice made Tristan's stomach twist with guilt. She was so genuinely pleased, so excited about this development in his life, and it was all complete fiction. By the time she'd finished peppering him with follow-up questions that required increasingly creative answers, Tristan had painted a picture of the perfect boyfriend: devoted, academically successful and athletically gifted.
"I cannot wait to meet him," Audrey said warmly as the conversation finally began to wind down. "You must bring him home soon. I'll cook that roast beef you love, and we can all get properly acquainted. It's been far too long since we've had any exciting news in this family."
After promising to visit soon, Tristan finally managed to end the call. He set his phone down on the table and stared at it accusingly.
The flat was completely silent except for the ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall. Richard had set down his pen and was looking at Tristan with an expression that suggested he was trying very hard not to laugh.
"So," Richard said slowly, his voice carefully neutral. "You have a boyfriend who sounds suspiciously like me."
"I panicked," Tristan said weakly, running his hands through his hair. "She kept pushing and I just said the first thing that came into my head. You were sitting right there, so I started describing you. Sort of."
"Sort of?" Richard's mouth was definitely twitching now. "You described me exactly, Tris. You described my exact study habits. The only thing you got wrong was the cricket, and that's because I couldn't hit a ball if my life depended on it."
"I had to say something to make him sound more interesting!"
Richard was quiet for a long moment, clearly processing this information. Then he burst into laughter, the sort of helpless, wheezing laughter that suggested he found the entire situation hilarious rather than insulting.
"Tris," he gasped between fits of giggles. "You've invented an entire relationship because you couldn't tell your sister-in-law you're single."
"It's not funny!"
"It's absolutely hilarious." Richard wiped his eyes, still grinning. "What happens when she wants to meet this boyfriend? Are you going to hire an actor?"
Tristan groaned and buried his face in his hands. The reality of what he'd done was starting to sink in, and it was considerably worse than he'd initially realised. Audrey wasn't the type to let something like this drop. She'd want details, updates, eventually a meeting. He'd created a problem that was only going to get bigger.
"Tell you what," Richard said, his voice still bright with amusement. "If you ever need me to play your boyfriend for a day, I'm game. It might be fun to see if we can convince your family."
Tristan looked up from his hands, surprised by the offer. "You'd do that?"
"Of course. What are friends for?" Richard smiled. "Though you might want to coach me on cricket first, since apparently I'm supposed to be good at it."
"Thanks," Tristan said, genuinely touched by the offer even though he hoped he'd never need to take Richard up on it.
Richard picked up his pen and returned to his notes, occasionally glancing over with barely suppressed amusement.
Tristan tried to return to his own studying, but he couldn't concentrate. Every time he looked at Richard, he was reminded of the increasingly detailed fictional relationship he'd just created between them. It felt strange to have described his friend in such intimate terms, even as a fabrication. Kind, intelligent, perfect boyfriend material.
All of which happened to be true, now that he thought about it.
***
Two days later, Tristan was sprawled across his bed attempting to revise, textbooks scattered around him, when his phone rang again. He'd almost convinced himself that Audrey would just return to her usual gentle inquiries about his health and coursework. The fictional boyfriend would fade into the background, mentioned occasionally but never requiring actual proof of existence.
He should have known better.
"I have the most wonderful news," Audrey said the moment he answered, her voice bright with barely contained excitement. "I've told Siegfried all about your young man, and he thinks it's absolutely marvellous. He's quite proud of you, actually, says it shows you're growing up."
Tristan's stomach dropped. Siegfried was proud of him. After years of disappointing his older brother with poor grades, bad decisions, and general irresponsibility, Siegfried was finally proud of something he'd done. The fact that it was all a lie made his chest ache with guilt, but the knowledge that he'd finally done something right in his brother's eyes was intoxicating.
"He's proud?" Tristan asked, his voice coming out smaller than he'd intended.
"Oh yes, very much so. Now, you are coming home for reading week, aren't you? You simply must bring him. I'm already planning a proper welcome dinner, and Siegfried wants to meet him properly. We'll make it a real celebration."
The enthusiasm in her voice was infectious and terrifying in equal measure. She was already making plans, already treating this fictional person as real, someone who would be joining their family gatherings. The web of deception was spreading faster than Tristan could keep up with.
"Audrey, I'm not sure--"
"Nonsense. Reading week starts Monday, doesn't it? Perfect timing. Oh, this is so exciting. It's been ages since we've had a proper family gathering with someone new. What are his favourite foods?"
Favourite foods? He had no idea what his fictional boyfriend's favourite foods might be. He was still formulating this person in his head, still trying to work out the details of someone who was part imagination and part Richard-inspired template.
"He's not fussy," Tristan said weakly. "Really, Audrey, you don't need to go to any trouble--"
"It's no trouble at all! I want him to feel welcome. This is such a big step for you, bringing someone home to meet the family. Siegfried is so pleased that you're serious about someone."
Pleased. The word hit Tristan in the gut. Siegfried thought he was being responsible, showing maturity and good judgment. His brother, who'd spent years despairing over Tristan's inability to apply himself to anything important, finally thought he was getting his life together.
Tristan's brain short-circuited.
"We're engaged!" The words exploded out of his mouth before he could stop them, driven by some desperate need to maintain this feeling of approval and success.
Audrey shrieked. The questions came at him like a barrage of artillery fire, each one requiring an answer he didn't have.
"Engaged! Oh my goodness, Tristan! When? How? Oh, you clever boy, why didn't you tell me last time? This is the most wonderful news! Oh, he must be absolutely perfect. Who proposed? Was it romantic?”
"Audrey, slow down--"
"Don't you dare think of saying no to bringing him home now. This changes everything! Siegfried will want to meet his future brother-in-law properly, give him the full interrogation."
By the time Tristan managed to extract himself from the conversation, he'd somehow agreed to bring his fictional fiancé home for an entire week. Audrey was already making lists of things to prepare, people to notify, plans to make.
When he finally managed to end the call, Tristan stared at his phone in horror. He'd gone from having a fictional boyfriend to being engaged to him in the space of a single conversation. And somehow, he'd committed to bringing this fictional fiancé home to meet the family in less than a week.
***
It took Tristan two days to gather the courage to tell Richard.
He found him in the university library, hidden behind a stack of textbooks in one of the study nooks near the back. He'd been rehearsing this conversation in his head for hours, running through various approaches and explanations, but now that he was actually here, actually having to explain himself, the words seemed to stick in his throat like poorly chewed food.
"Marry me," Tristan blurted out without preamble.
Richard looked up from his notes, blinking in confusion. His pen was poised over a diagram of the equine digestive system, and he had that slightly glazed expression that came from hours of concentrated study.
"What?"
"I'm desperate," Tristan said, sliding into the opposite chair uninvited. The plastic chair creaked under his weight, and several other students looked over with mild irritation at the disturbance. "She's planning a welcome dinner. She's already asked about wedding dates."
"Hang on." Richard set down his pen and rubbed his eyes. "The other day you had a fictional boyfriend who happened to sound like me. Now you're asking me to marry you. What exactly happened in between?"
Tristan explained the disastrous phone call, watching Richard's expression shift from confusion to disbelief to frustration. The conversation had escalated so quickly that even Tristan wasn't entirely sure how he'd gone from having a pretend boyfriend to being engaged.
Richard stared at him for a long moment, processing this information. "So let me get this straight. You told your sister-in-law that you and I are engaged. And now you want me to pretend to be your fiancé for an entire week. Meet your family. Convince them we're madly in love and planning to get married."
"When you put it like that, it sounds completely insane."
"It is insane." Richard shook his head. "What happens after that? Do we have a fake wedding? Fake children? Do I get to keep half your possessions in the divorce?"
"We don't have to actually get married," Tristan said quickly, aware that his voice was getting louder and earning disapproving looks from nearby students. "Just engaged. For now. Until I can figure out how to get out of this mess without completely devastating Audrey and disappointing Siegfried."
"Right. Because that's so much more reasonable."
Richard was quiet for a long moment, tapping his pen against his notebook. Tristan could practically see him weighing the pros and cons of the proposition in his mind.
"You realise that your family is going to expect us to act like a couple who are genuinely planning to spend the rest of our lives together?" Richard said finally.
"Yes."
"And that if we get caught, it'll be infinitely worse than if you'd just admitted to lying about having a boyfriend in the first place?"
"I'm aware of that, yes."
Richard studied him for another long moment, and Tristan found himself holding his breath. The whole plan was ridiculous, he knew that. It was the sort of scheme that belonged in a terrible romantic comedy, not real life. But the alternative was awful.
"Your brother is going to meet the man you're supposedly going to marry," Richard said slowly, "and you chose me. Your disaster of a flatmate who lives on beans on toast and once spent an entire evening reorganising the spice rack alphabetically because I was stressed about exams."
"You don't live entirely on beans on toast."
"I had beans on toast for breakfast this morning, Tris."
"Okay, that is kind of odd."
Despite everything, Tristan found himself smiling. This was why he'd thought of Richard when pressed to describe his fictional boyfriend. Underneath the self-deprecating humour, Richard was genuinely one of the kindest, most decent people Tristan knew. He was a bit of an odd-ball. But lovely. If he were actually looking for someone to bring home to meet the family, Richard wouldn't be a bad choice.
"So you're saying no?" Tristan asked.
Richard's mouth twitched. "I'm saying you owe me. Massively. We're talking years of washing up and hoovering and buying the milk. But fine. I'll be your fake fiancé."
The relief that flooded through Tristan was so intense it left him slightly dizzy. "Really?"
"Really. One extra condition."
"Anything."
"You buy me a ring."
***
The second-hand jewellery shop in Camden was cramped and dusty, its narrow aisles lined with display cases that looked like they hadn't been cleaned since the seventies.
The shop smelled of metal polish, with an underlying mustiness. Every surface was covered with rings, necklaces, bracelets, and various other pieces of jewellery that had probably seen more romance and heartbreak than most people experienced in a lifetime.
Tristan felt like a fraud the moment they walked through the door.
The elderly shopkeeper looked up from his newspaper as they entered.
"We're looking for a ring." Tristan cleared his throat awkwardly. "An engagement ring."
The shopkeeper's smile widened.
"We're students," Richard added. "On a budget."
The shopkeeper led them to a case with bands that looked considerably more affordable than some of the others around the shop.
Richard studied the options carefully, examining each ring as if he were genuinely planning to wear it for the rest of his life. Tristan hovered beside him, hyperaware of how domestic this felt, how much it looked like they were actually a couple planning their future together.
"This one," Richard said finally, pointing to a simple white gold band set with small diamonds and sapphires. "It's not too flashy, but it's still pretty."
The ring was perfect, actually. Elegant without being ostentatious. The diamonds caught the light without being blinding, and the sapphires added just enough colour to make it distinctive.
"Excellent choice," the shopkeeper said warmly, lifting the ring out of the case with careful hands. "White gold is very popular with young couples these days. Durable and practical, but still beautiful. Would you like to try it on?"
Richard held out his left hand, and Tristan watched the ring slide onto his finger. It fit perfectly, as if it had been made specifically for him. The stones caught the shop's fluorescent lighting, and something about seeing the ring there, looking so right and natural on Richard's hand, made Tristan's chest tighten unexpectedly.
"A perfect fit," the shopkeeper observed with satisfaction. "It looks like it belongs there. You can always tell when a ring is meant for someone."
Richard mumbled out a thank you and took off the ring again whilst Tristan fumbled for his wallet.
They decided to take a detour through Regent's Park on the way home, drawn by the unusually warm afternoon and the need to decompress from the strangeness of ring shopping with your best friend. The park was busy with people enjoying the unexpected sunshine, families with pushchairs and joggers making the most of the weather.
Halfway through the park, Richard suddenly stopped walking and tugged Tristan off the main path to somewhere quiet and not overlooked. It was underneath a large magnolia tree in full bloom, its branches heavy with pink and white flowers.
"What are you doing?" Tristan asked, bewildered.
"Well, if we're going to be engaged," Richard said with a grin, positioning himself under the flowering canopy, "you should at least bother to ask me properly."
Tristan looked around. No one else was watching; they were tucked away from the main flow of foot traffic, hidden beneath the magnolia's sprawling branches.
"You can't just hand me a ring and expect your family to believe we're madly in love," Richard continued, clearly enjoying Tristan's confusion. "What if they ask about the proposal?”
He was right, of course. Audrey would definitely want to hear the proposal story, probably in extensive detail. She was a romantic at heart.
"Fine," Tristan said, though the idea of practicing a fake proposal felt somehow more fraudulent than everything else they'd done so far.
Richard positioned himself in front of the tree with theatrical flair. "Go on then. Make it good. Remember, this has to be convincing enough for your sister-in-law."
It started as a joke. Richard was grinning as he stood there expectantly, clearly enjoying the absurdity of the situation. The magnolia was magnificent, one of those trees that seemed to exist purely to provide romantic backdrops, its flowers so abundant they nearly hid the branches.
But then Tristan looked at him standing there, sunlight filtering through the blossoms and catching in his hair, and something shifted inside his chest. The joke suddenly felt like something else entirely. Something tender and unexpected and absolutely terrifying.
Without fully meaning to, without really thinking about what he was doing, Tristan dropped to one knee on the grass and grasped Richard's hand.
"Richard," he said, and his voice came out softer than he'd intended, more genuine than he'd planned. He looked up at Richard, who was looking back down at him with wide, startled eyes, as if he wasn't actually expecting Tristan to do it. The world seemed to hold its breath.
“Will you marry me?"
For a moment they just looked at each other. The noise of the park faded away, leaving just the two of them under the flowering tree.
Richard's expression had gone from amused to something much more complicated. Surprise, confusion. His hands were visibly shaking as he looked down at Tristan kneeling in the grass.
"Yes," Richard said quietly, his voice barely audible above the distant sounds of traffic and conversation. "Yes, I'll marry you."
When Tristan slipped the ring onto his finger, both of their hands were trembling. For several seconds, neither of them moved, both caught in the strange intimacy of the moment.
"That was..." Tristan started, then stopped, unsure how to finish the sentence. He got up very slowly.
"Good practice," Richard said quickly, his cheeks still flushed. "Very convincing. Your family will definitely believe that story."
"Right. Practice."
Neither of them acknowledged why the moment had felt so much more significant than it should have. Neither of them mentioned the way their hands had shaken, or how long they'd stood there looking at each other.
They walked home in silence, both occasionally glancing at the ring on Richard's finger as if they couldn't quite believe it was there.
***
The days before departure were filled with increasingly desperate preparation. Richard spent hours hunched over his laptop watching YouTube videos about cricket, frantically taking notes in a notebook he'd dedicated specifically to the sport he was supposed to be good at.
Tristan tried to help, drawing hasty diagrams that only served to confuse Richard further. Things seemed so much simpler when you were actually playing the game.
"So the batsman hits the ball, and then what?" Richard asked for the fifth time, staring at Tristan's illustrations with obvious confusion.
"Then you run. To the other wicket."
Richard squinted at the drawing, trying to make sense of Tristan's artistic interpretation of a cricket field. "But why? What's the point of running back and forth between two sets of sticks?"
Tristan stared at his own diagram, trying to remember the logic behind the sport that had seemed so obvious when he was eight years old and following Siegfried around the village green with devoted younger brother enthusiasm. "You run to score runs."
"Runs?"
"Points. They're called runs in cricket."
"Right." Richard made a careful note in his dedicated cricket notebook, his handwriting as precise as ever despite the subject matter being completely foreign to him. "And how do you know when to stop running?"
"When the ball gets back to the wicket-keeper. Or when you get out."
"How do you get out?"
This innocent question led to an even more complicated explanation involving all the various ways of getting out that seemed specifically designed to confuse anyone who hadn't grown up with the sport as a background hum of summer afternoons.
By the time they had gotten through that, both of them were thoroughly defeated.
"Maybe you can just be modest about your sporting achievements," Tristan suggested weakly, looking at all the papers spread across the kitchen table. "And claim you don't like to boast about your successes."
"Right. I'm a brilliantly talented cricket player who's too humble to discuss my many sporting triumphs." Richard gathered up the scattered papers with a huff. "That's definitely going to be convincing."
"It could work. You're naturally modest anyway."
Richard looked at him with an expression that suggested he thought this plan was doomed to spectacular failure, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he grabbed his laptop and returned to YouTube to continue his research independently.
It was half an hour later, when he called out to Tristan who was now in his bedroom, that made Tristan yell in frustration.
“Tris, what’s a silly mid off?”