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Chapter 3:

Creaky Stairs and the Things That Keep Me Awake

Nothing ever seems to go my way; especially when it involves my parents. I just can't win, plain and simple, and I'm just sick and tired of it. When I play their game the rules are always stacked against me. Honestly, it is rather difficult to argue semantics with a pair of extremely well respected doctors. It's not like you can just decide your own medical view point and refute theirs just because. They've established themselves to such a degree that their word is almost like law. Once they say something they expect you to accept it as truth, and then if you want to refute that truth you can't: you can only attempt to bend it in your favor.

Having an argument with my parents is difficult to describe. It's like trying to curve bullets with a feather: Nearly impossible. Still, somehow I manage to move the projectiles, barely keeping each one from being fatal. But, no matter how you look at it, I'm still getting shot. I always end up bleeding out. That's playing my parents game. It makes them feel less alive and more like pure force. Something without weakness.

A gentle squeeze of my right paw brought me back down from my daydreaming, and I cocked my head to the side to peer at Trist as we walked. One squeeze of my hand, one seemingly insignificant act--that's all it took to remind me of who I was fighting for. Even if he wasn't himself anymore there was still evidence that Trist was inside this damaged fox. He may seem shattered and broken now, but I have something that all the king's horses and all the king's men never did: Love and determination. And, as arrogant as it may sound, I have to have faith that I can put Trist back together again.

He gave my paw another squeeze, this one a little harder, and so I hazarded a good look to see how he was doing.

"Hey there buddy, you doing ok?"

His head snapped to look at me so quickly that I winced, thinking he might have hurt his neck. His breaths were coming a bit too short and fast for my liking. "Breathe in and out slowly, ok Trist?"

"Yes, nurse Hardman."

His quick curt response told me that, even doped up and with blood loss, being outside and walking home was scaring him badly.

I sighed. I had to calm Trist down no matter the painful memories--somehow. Then an idea struck me. I spoke softly to him. "You know whenever I was very scared I used to sing a special sort of song. Would you like to sing it with me?"

He gazed sadly toward me. "B-But I don't know the words."

"That's fine Trist, just hum along with me once I get a few lines in ok?"

He nodded and I had to keep myself from crying. I started to sing 'Your Bones', a song by 'Of monsters and Men' that comforted me when I had to leave all those years ago, when I had to leave him.

"In the spring we made our boat, out of feathers out of bones, we set fire to our homes, walkin barefoot in the snow. Distant rhythm of the drum, as we drifted towards the storm, baby lion lost his teeth, now they're swimmin' in the sea..." The soothing tempo and pitch started to slowTrist's breathing. He hadn't started to hum or anything, but he was obviously feeling a bit better, which made me feel a little better too. So I strengthened my voice and lost myself in both the music and the painful memories.

"Troubled spirits on my chest where they lay to rest, the birds all laugh my soul friend as your body hit the sand, million stars up in the sky formed a tiger's eye, that looked down on my face. Out of time and out of place. So hold on"

Now I was the one squeezing Trist's hand. His pace had slowed and it seemed he was calm. I wasn't though. I was finally saying to him what I had wanted to all those years ago and he didn't even realize or understand. It was painful for me, but I hoped it wasn't painful for him to listen to.

"Hold on to what we are. Hold onto your heart." I started in on my interlude and Trist actually started singing the 'la's' with me. I thanked the small mercies life gave me as his house--the home of a broken heart--came into view. I wouldn't have to continue the song either, which I was glad of. I was on the verge of breaking down. At least Trist's humming had helped me keep it together.

"That's a sad song," he said softly as we drew nearer to his house.

I think seeing the familiar building had at last brought him some peace.

"Yes it is, but it helps me. It reminds me of what's important and of what things to truly fear."

"Like the cracks in the ground?" he chirped. "They keep telling me if I take too long they'll swallow me whole."

I gave him a serious look as we turned up his cold walkway.

"Well that is something to fear, but to me there's something even scarier."

"Like what?"

I smiled weakly. "Well, like losing your heart."

He gave me a confused look. "How can you lose your heart? It's in your chest right?"

We were standing at the door now.

I shook my head. "It's not that heart I worry about. It's the special heart that describes your soul. If that's lost then there's no telling if you can get it back. Bodies are temporary, but a single soul can impact many others; kind of like ripples in a pond. It can spread out and touch others in a good way or a bad way." I peered down at my chest as though I could see my own soul, and I clutched my paw over my beating heart, feeling the soft pounding of it within me. "I hope I never lose that soul, that special heart, so I can always be a positive force in other people's lives"

Trist yawned widely, looking a bit too tired to either comprehend or respond. I smiled at him. It was adorable to watch his tongue curl lightly and his eyes water in anticipation of sleep. Trist's paranoia had let him to invest in an automatic lock for his door, though. God, what if...

"Do you have your keys Trist? We should probably get you to bed, you had a big day."

He nodded softly. Disaster averted. Now I just had to hold myself back from holding him. I could tell he was about to give out. His ears gave it away; always drooping more and more as his tiredness grew. Right now his ear-o-meter was at about half mast. Pulling a key from the sill above the door he proceeded to unlock the door.

I figured a shower could wait until the morning. Plus, it would give me a chance to redress his wound if it needed it. So we headed up the stairs to where I remembered the bedrooms to be. As we were walking up the stairs I heard him mumbling softly, but I couldn't quite make out what he was saying.

Instead of turning into the master bedroom like I'd expected, Trist went into his old room which was a surprise to me. I guess he didn't feel comfortable sleeping anywhere else. That made sense.

He used to always sleep in his boxers, so--just like his room--I assumed that hadn't changed. Indeed, he began to strip down and take off his shirt.

"Hold on now, we don't want to hurt your tail while it's still healing."

He just nodded, and I helped him get out of his pants, slowly and carefully avoiding hitting his wound.

"Alright Trist, now we can just lay you down," I said to him as he dragged his feet onto the bed.

Seeing him at the door when I'd first arrived had already given me the impression that he was frail. Now, after actually feeling him when I helped him lay down in bed, it bothered me that he was so light and slender. I was careful when laying the duvet over him. It was stupid, but I worried that the heavy covers might hurt him.

I sat down on the side of the bed and watched him drift off, wondering what to do about him. I didn't think any nurses other than myself would notice how bad his mental state was by the physical indicators. I just had to battle my parents--the unstoppable force-- for the right to treat him. God, was it even worth it to try and get their approval?

Trist's soft voice at my side pulled me from my gloomy thoughts. "Nurse?"

I turned to him and smiled. "Yes?"

"Who's Habibi?"

I froze. Where had he heard that? I hadn't called him that by accident had I? Oh no--he can't know how much I care for him; if he figured me out than who knows what would happen. I was already convinced he had no concrete neurological condition: it was definitely psychological. I was worried that whatever had happened to him had split his personality and memories. It was like he was shattered into hundreds of pieces and all the emotions and past knowledge hadn't made it back into one person.

I decided to respond with a question of my own in case it was a memory resurfacing and not him overhearing me.

"Well now, where did you hear that?"

"You said it while you were sewing me up. You said it really, really soft but you said it two or three times. Now the stairs won't stop saying it. It's keeping me awake."

Now this was surprising; if not a little creepy. What should I do? How much should I tell him? What could I tell him? I thought for a moment and came to a decision. It wouldn't be a lot. I drew a line in the sand of my mind and it wouldn't be crossed.

"Habibi was a very good friend of mine," I said. "He helped me a lot when I was younger."

"He was your friend?" He giggled a little, and the effervescent sound made me smile. "Habibi's kind of a silly name."

"Well, Habibi isn't actually his real name; it's sort of a pet name."

"Really?"

"Yup, it has a special meaning."

"How'd he get it? What's it mean?"

He'd asked with such pleading in his eyes. It was like I was relating some awesome new secret to him. The way he acted, it was even more child-like than I remembered him to be, so I decided to treat him a little bit like a child.

"Well, I can tell you the story of how he got his name, but you'll have to sleep after ok?"

Trist looked around, and then he looked me straight in the eyes. His piercing violet irises ran a shiver deep through my spine.

"Ok," he sighed. "And the stairs say they'll sleep too if you tell us the story."

I couldn't help but frown a little. Is it alright to pretend that hearing the stairs talk is completely normal? In my experience it's not so much the stairs talking that's important but more so what they say. Since he was already sharing what the stairs were telling him I figured it was ok to just let it be.

I started into a story about a brave arctic fox warrior who fought with wit rather than strength, how the warrior managed to save a husky prince from his own dark side. This prince had hailed from a foreign land and gave him a special title from his home--'Habibi' or 'my love'. The prince took care of the warrior when his travels ended and they lived happily ever after.

Trist had started to nod off half way through the tale, and he stopped fighting against his sleepiness once it was revealed what Habibi actually meant. He was asleep before I wrapped up the story. Though, that didn't stop me from continuing to the end.

"But," I whispered to myself. "If the brave fox ever needs to be called into battle to save a lost heart, he can always be summoned by speaking the name the prince gave to him."

I sighed and thought about my own memories of Trist. To me he was so much more than just a fantastical warrior, and how I came to start calling him Habibi was a far less fantastical tale. Although, it is still a memory I cherish and hold close to my heart.

* * *

Trist fiddled with the green bandana I'd made him put on. "Why did you have to blindfold me?"

"Because it's a surprise"

"But I can't see your surprise like this."

It was comical to watch him struggle with wanting to please me but wanting to see where we were going. It was making him extra fidgety.

"'Patience is a virtue' seems to sound like rather sound idea right now don't you think?"

"Nope," he scoffed. "If I guess will you tell me where we're going? Because based on what I can see...it is definitely someplace green."

I rolled my eyes.

"Nope. Be quiet Trist, it's a surprise."

"Well it must be quite the surprise then, especially for you to cover my gorgeous eyes which you love soooo much." His normally high tenor had switched to a deep sultry sound that surprised me. Who knew the little guy could drop so low? He leaned over from the passenger seat of my little white focus and poked a kiss out to where he thought I might be, missing and instead making out with my right eye.

"Jesus!" I pushed him back gently. "Have I ever told you how insufferable you are blindfolded?"

He snickered. "Well the last time I was blindfolded, if memory serves, I was also tied to a few bed posts and you certainly weren't complaining then, love."

"Trist!" I started coughing harshly, blushing such a deep red you'd think my husky mask was actually red and not white. "You're going to make me hit something!"

"Well you shouldn't leave a fox without distractions! Especially not when his hunk of a boyfriend is soooo close and soooo gropeable." His paw shot out to where he thought my pants might be, but--like with the kiss--he missed miserably, hitting just below my arms and touching my chest. I grabbed his paw and put it back in his lap, looking up just in time to stop violently at a red light.

"Keep your paws to yourself you naughty fox."

"Or what? You'll turn this car around and punish me? Ooooooh daddy!"

Despite his playful banter Trist kept his paws to himself this time. I knew he loved to tease me because I was usually so uncomfortable with being touched; he liked being the only one that I'd let touch me at all. Believe me, after the huge battle we went through for that to happen he deserved to be able to touch me all he wanted, but there was a time and place. And that time was certainly not driving. The light turned green, and I was thankful to see our destination was close.

"No, I won't punish you, but the cops won't pull me over after hitting a pedestrian and say 'good job, 25 points'. High paws are generally not the reaction given out to people who mow over 75 year old grandmas."

Tristen out a sigh. "Good point, good point. When are we getting there though? I'm absolutely famished."

"Riiiiiiiiight now."

And before I even got a chance to finish pulling into a parking spot Trist had pulled off his blindfold.

The restaurant was brand new but it was one of those 'made to look old' places with fake cracks in the walls and 'peeling paint'. Above the two open wood doors read a sign that said 'Sunnin' in bluish-gray. There were flower pots everywhere filled with an assortment of different plants, and the light blue 'peeling' paint melded nicely to give a bright atmosphere to the dimly lit building. Looking in from the outside I wasn't even sure if they had lights in the place or if they just opened a bunch of windows to let the sunshine in.

"Oh. My. God."

"Hey!!! You were supposed to wait for me to-" and I was cut off by a deep kiss and a vision filled with white. It's a simple thing a kiss. It can stir up so many emotions, especially for me. I was just happy that Trist was so forward with his affection; he didn't mind that I never melted into kisses like others did. I was always tense, but he was patient with me while we worked through my problems. Or, as Tristan would so often correct me, 'our struggles--not problems--and most certainly not just yours.'

"Awwww so sweet." He winked at me, "I know you hate food that's so... different."

"Well, after all you've done for me..." I trailed off a little, the thought placing its own weight on us both, "besides I wanted to take you out somewhere special that I knew you'd love."

Trist hopped out of the car quickly and ran to my side to open my door for me before I even had a chance to finish unbuckling my seatbelt. He pulled me up out of my seat and into an embrace, giving me a quick peck on the lips again. He was full of so much energy and life, something I loved about him no matter if it got on my nerves every now and then.

Trist's overly affectionate nature compelled him to lean in and give me another kiss. "Lebanese food is my favorite." I tensed up when he leaned in, I could see this one coming. Thankfully he was interrupted by his stomach growling and, subsequently, me laughing. "What? I told you I was hungry you big meanie." He blushed a fierce red and looked down.

"I know." I took a breath in. "You're just so cute I couldn't help it." I lifted his muzzle and looked straight into those deep, violet eyes I loved so much. "Come on, let's go inside."

"Finally." He smiled and took my paw as we walked toward the front door.

You could see most of the inside through the giant windows. The tables had a menagerie of mismatching chairs stuck around them and little vases filled with daisies on their tops. Maybe they raided a few garage sales to open this place up?

"WELCOME!" came a big booming voice from where I assumed the kitchen was. "Habibi!"

"AH!" squeaked a small feminine voice

"Wha?" came a male voice--loud, strong, and defiant.

"Yes?" purred a calm female voice, almost sultry and seductive.

"Kassim?" was the response from a raspy female.

"Reem, Sabah, help our guests!" bellowed the original voice.

Two polecat females came out. One of the girls--who looked to be about twelve years old--was clutching menus to her chest and stumbling every once in a while over her very long, bushy tail. The other looked to be a few years older than us. She moved gracefully with two cups of water in each clawed hand and a bowl on top of each. One was filled with a questionable looking paste and the other with various sizes of flat bread.

Oh thank the lord for bread. I would starve here otherwise.

"Hello! And welcome to 'Sunnin'," squeaked the smaller girl. "Right this waaa~" and the poor girl tripped over her own tail and fell. "Owowowo, I hate this stupid thing!"

And Trist to the rescue. "Aww, but long tails are graceful things." He flicked his much longer than average tail out to his side. "They can be beautiful and are a part of your body; you just have to learn to respect them, just like you would respect a paw or your adorable little face." He reached down and helped her up, and the girl just stared at him when he brought her to her feet, still clutching the menus to her chest. "You think you can do that for me cutie?" The girl looked down bashfully.

"It's amazing," the older female said in astonishment. "She won't listen to a word her older sister says, but some foxy stranger comes by and-- poof!-- all is well with the world."

This caused the younger sister to stare daggers at her while she just chuckled lightly.

"Please," the younger sister pleaded to Trist. "Sit down wherever you want. I'll take care of you."

Now the older sister was staring daggers at the younger. Trist just giggled. The arctic fox always looked fairly flamboyant so I think he was just entertained to be hit on by a female. Even if she was so young and didn't know any better.

We took a seat by the window, and the younger sister sat my menu down on the table and handed one to Trist. She then skipped off with her tail dangerously swaying in front of her feet.

"Ah, that girl," the older sister muttered, placing down the water cups in front of us so she could remove the carefully balanced bowls and set them in the middle of the table. "Family," was all she could say, rolling her eyes. "So, any teas for you gentlemen? Coffee?"

Trist glowed. "Coffee please!"

"Come now dear, what is that, cup six today?"

The waitress raised one eyebrow at us, but I had failed to care. I could be a passive person, but taking care of Trist was too important. He knew I would never back down about his health.

"Nu-uh," Trist defended indignantly. "This would only be cup number three." And to punctuate his statement he held three digits in front of my face.

I rolled my eyes at him.

"Oh please, you're not going to count 'Big Thunder' as one cup. You're lucky I'm only counting it as two. That thing is what--40 ounces?"

Trist just whimpered softly and gave me the biggest puppy dog eyes I've ever seen. I was a dog myself, but his eyes could out class mine any day.

"Please Christian?" he pleaded.

Ok, so I cracked a little bit.

"Fine."

"Yaaaaay!!!"

He jumped up to give me a peck on the lips, but I held up a single finger to stop him. I wasn't going to lie to myself; my move had prevented a kiss that--thanks to my reserved attitude toward being touched--would have left me rigid and seemingly troubled, and that could have made the waitress think there was trouble with our relationship. Still...

I glared at him. "Before you get coffee, you know what I want you to do first."

His ears splayed out sideways and he looked down abashedly. "Fine." He cleared his throat. "Caffeine can cause dilation of blood vessels, weakening of synaptic ring formation, calcium leeching from the bones, dehydration, and increased heart rate."

"Which causes?" I pushed. He knew this.

He rolled his eyes wide and took a deep breath. "Kidney stones, lowered retention times of new information, high blood pressure, headaches, and a whole slew of other problems."

"Good boy." I turned to the now almost giggling waitress, "He'll have a coffee, and I'm fine with my water."

Her suppressed giggles turned into a small snort before she responded. "Yes sir, right away." She then sauntered off giggling to herself over the spectacle I'd just made of us.

"You know you don't have to do that to me every time," Trist huffed.

"Tristan Alexander Montgomery," I chided. "You know how I feel about this. Even if you decide to wreak havoc on your body-"

He interrupted me. "You won't let me because you want me to live a long, healthy and happy life. I know, I know. Seriously though, I think half of those are old wives tales."

"Believe what you want, but I'm not taking any chances." I leaned over and tapped him lightly on the nose. "Especially when it comes to you."

To that he responded by grumbling and sticking his nose down into the menu.

I grinned at him and picked up a little piece of flatbread to nibble on. I knew what I was going to get: Chicken. I didn't care how, or what way, I would just pick it out of whatever contraption they served it to me on and wipe off any strange sauces. You can't mess up chicken too badly.

"You're not even going to try the mujadara?" Trist asked.

"Nope."

"So should I make you list all the reasons you should be open minded to trying new things?"

"What if I'm allergic? You never know, it could kill me. How would you feel then?"

"New things aren't always bad dear."

"Oh really?"

"Yes really."

"How so?"

"Well, sex was new to you when you were a virgin, and I think you quite like that."

Commence deep red blushing. I swear it is Trist's life goal to make me Clifford.

"B-b-but I'm not allergic to sex now am I?" Ha! I had him.

"*achem*" he coughed.

Oh no. I know that clearing of his throat. This is the part where he quotes something back at me that I said earlier in his 'did you know Chris is a nerd' voice.

I was right. Here he went.

"Semen contains minute particles of many chemicals ingested as part of the individual's diet. As such it might be prudent to suspect that an individual's diet can affect the flavor of his semen." End voice, thank the lord. He cocked a prim eyebrow and locked eyes with me as if daring me to attempt to retaliate. "So, doesn't that mean if you swallow my cum--which you have--and I ate mujadara before that--which I have--and you were allergic to it you would have had an allergic reaction already?"

My maw moved up and down on its hinges a few times, and then I just let my ears paste themselves to my skull and I looked down, admitting defeat. I had a love hate relationship with Trist's listening skills. He was really intelligent, he rarely forgot a single thing, but sometimes the random 'fun fact' generator which was my mouth was used against me.

I picked up a large piece of the bread, dipped the tiniest amount that could possibly be measured with a micrometer into the mujadara, and bit it.

"I hate it."

"You didn't even try it!"

"Yes I did! You totally just saw!"

He sighed disappointedly. "What am I gonna do with you, crazy dog?"

I whimpered a little bit. Trist actually looked upset that I didn't 'for real' try the concoction. So my ears splayed out and I took a sizeable dip into the toxin and took my fatal bite. I rolled it around on my tongue, and I was quite surprised that the stuff wasn't so bad after all. Best of all Trist was smiling again. Even if I didn't really like the dip it was worth it just to see him light up.

"You like it?"

"Honestly?"

"Of course, it's the best of all policies,"

"Not really," I admitted, looking down. I didn't want to upset him because we didn't like the same foods. Which was something he already knew but still he was a child sometimes and there was no rationalizing with him. I felt a paw on my chin, and it lifted my head.

He was still smiling. "I'm just happy you tried for me. I didn't ask that you like it, just that you try."

So I smiled back at him. Making him happy made me happy.

"Soooo no more weird stuff for a while?" I asked hopefully.

"Awww, but I was SO looking forward to making you eat chocolate covered crickets."

My reaction must have been hilarious because he didn't stop laughing for a good 5 minutes. Even then I think he only stopped because our waitress came back out with his coffee, and if there's anything that can distract Trist from anything it's coffee.

"So are you boys ready to order?" The graceful polecat asked. She then looked expectantly to me, so I guess that meant I was supposed to start.

"Ummm is there anything with chicken you might recommend?"

She gave me a look that said 'as I expected'.

"Well, we have a 'Shish Taouk' that you might find enjoyable."

"Is it spicy?" I had felt the foreign burn too many times to not be cautious. What could I say? I had a delicate tummy. Children of the spicy lands had been training their stomachs with capsaicin regiments since they were little and had stomachs of foreign steel. Lebanese steel to be exact.

"We can make it as plain as you like."

"Thank you."

My eyes must have shown my gratitude, but she was not interested. I think she gets it all the time and is used to those people who want to be adventurous and 'try something different' but always get the safest thing on the menu. I was ok with that though, I wasn't here for the cuisine--Trist was.

"Your lamb 'kofte (kafka)' plate looks lovely," he said dreamily.

The waitresses eyes perked, and a small smile played across her face.

"Well you're certainly a surprise," she said. "Not going to 'chicken' out like your friend?"

Oh, ha, ha--like I'd never heard that one before. I rolled my eyes at her.

"Nah," Trist said with a devilish smirk. "But, what can I say? He likes peckers, big time."

"Tristan!" I almost growled at him. "Bad kit!" and I bopped him on the nose, making him snuffle lightly.

The waitress gave us an odd look. I couldn't tell if she was trying to figure out if it was ok to laugh, or if she was uncomfortable by what was going on.

"It really is a pity," she finally said, making me tilt my head and Trist's ears perk. "You're both so pretty." We both got a chuckle from that as she walked away with our menus and food orders.

"Well I for one don't think it's a pity at all," I whispered looking into Trist's sparkling, gem-like eyes. They were a perfect description of him. Purple is actually a fairly common allele to have, just like how I can see small bits of why I love Trist so much in a lot of people.

The problem is the trait for purple eyes is so recessive that any other allele will taint it, which is just like how--even though a small part of Trist can be found in a lot of people--it is hard to get his personality to shine through so perfectly unless it is unblemished from other factors. He was a rare culmination of hidden things in people that make them wonderful. So for me, despite our troubles, he was perfect: Unblemished like his deep violet eyes.

After a bit of silence caused from my unmapped thought trail I smiled at Trist.

"If you weren't mine I don't know what I'd do," I said. My soft admission caused him to smile lightly and bashfully.

"Then it's a good thing we have each other," he said. "We both know if I didn't have you around to keep my head on straight I'd have gone off the deep end a long time ago."

We both chuckled lightly, just holding paws across the table and sharing the moment. Though, as all moments have to do, this one came to an end interrupted by a loud and boisterous voice. It was familiar from our initial greeting to the restaurant.

"Well, well, well, it seems someone likes good food!"

And out came who appeared to be the chef, a very large polecat with similar markings as the two girls who had previously helped us. The very happy and large feline couldn't have been pleased with my order; it must have been Trist's. I guess the poor guy must never actually get to cook real Lebanese food very often.

I just pointed to Trist and smirked. "It's him! He's the one who loves your cooking!"

Trist stuck his tongue out at me briefly. "Yup!" he said. "I really do love Lebanese food!"

The chef then did something that surprised me, but especially surprised Trist: he wrapped the fox in a monstrous embrace.

"Ah, Habibi, do you know how long it has been since I have had a young fur who liked my cooking? And especially one who did not come from my own country?"

I smirked at Trist drowning in the polecat's arm flab and pleading for help.

"Uh, chef, I have a question." I said after my brief dance with schadenfreude. He released Trist, which was my main goal, but now I had a secondary motivation. I actually did have a question. "I heard you say it earlier, and then just now, but what does Habibi mean? A bunch of your workers answered the first time so it can't be a name."

The chef looked down bashfully like the little waitress from before and rubbed the back of his head with his left paw.

"Ah, well, in my country we use that word too much. We call everyone we're close to Habibi." He still hadn't answered my question. It was clear this wasn't a language barrier issue.

"Yes, but sir, what does it mean?"

He blushed a bit, perhaps embarrassed.

"It means 'my love', but it loses its feel in translation."

I looked at Trist and smiled a small and knowing smile.

"My love, huh?" Trist asked with a small giggle.

"Habibi," I tested out on my lips. The word was alright, perhaps a bit foreign, but seeing the way Trist smiled... I looked my Habibi directly in those gorgeous eyes. "I may not have been raised in Lebanon, but I think that perfectly describes who you are to me. Trist, you really are my love, my 'Habibi'."

* * *

Looking at his sleeping form and thinking about my parents, I couldn't help but find the strength to fight to once again be with Trist, to help him. I had to be Trist's nurse; I had to fight for my place by his side. No matter the trial, no matter the difficulty, I was going to do this. I was going to heal Habibi.