Tristian talked for almost two hours last night as we lay in the soft light of his bedside lamp, and the topic was always the same, but weirdly shallow. For a man who loves talking about himself, he really divulged nothing I didn’t already know, except for the fact he snores, and much like Rath, he is a cuddler. Unlike Rath, he doesn’t mind admitting it, folding me possessively against his chest before finally nodding off.
