Tristan had been lost in thought, walking from one end of camp to the other. How could there still be no word from Damien? He felt as if he were at the end of his rope, there was only so much left for him to cling to at this point. How would he be able to tell their -- the sound of a familiar voice pulled him out from his thoughts. Sure, certain people’s voices were becoming familiar; Doc, Roma, Lucas... but to find one that was immediately so? That was a rarity. The tone was different than he was used to, distant in a way he’d never heard before, but he knew that voice. “Right,” Tris mumbled, stopping in his tracks. “Merci.” Bright blues scanned over the man to the left of him, over and over again -- stuck on this loop, as if unable to accept who was right in front of them. “Guillaume?”
He tried to stop the excitement from being evident in his voice, things weren’t how they used to be, so why disappoint himself? Tristan was hardly the same person he was that morning, let alone three years ago. Why would Gui be any different? Perhaps that wasn’t the root of his excitement, perhaps it was the significance of their relationship. Tristan had never had many friends, more of choice than anything else. There were very few he allowed close to him, and oddly enough the person who knew him more intimately than anyone else was now here with him.
