It was evening by the time he entered the house. He had needed to buy too many necessities that Tristan had not known existed. Not just food and spices but utilities and kitchen appliances. He hadn’t apprenticed under a master chef for his cooking skill to go to waste. He started putting everything in place before he could make himself a cup of tea. It was as he waited for the water to boil, that he understood why something felt out of place. Everything was just as he had left, he always made sure to discreetly check that these days but since he entered the house he felt like something was wrong. It was as if he was still in the grocery store, or in the gallery. Like the space wasn’t his. Like there were others watching him. He hadn’t felt that way in the morning when he left. Something had changed. Was the house bugged?
He removed the kettle and put the Ceylon bag in before grabbing some milk from the fridge. He kept his face composed even as he inwardly thanked his instincts for not going to shower as he would usually do after a long day out. As he started adding a generous amount of honey to his tea, the Crazy Stalker Team won by a landslide. He sat at the coffee table and opened his laptop before waiting for his tea to cool a bit. It was probably bugged too. He couldn’t deconstruct it to check what they had done to it. Tristan knew nothing about tech and his stalker wasn’t someone whose attentions he could tolerate without showing suspicious behaviour. What was it with this guy anyway? First, relative disinterest and now illegal spying? He searched for new films while he made plans to buy a new smaller laptop in cash secretly tomorrow. After finishing his tea and having watched an okay sci-fi film (he really wanted to see some true crime on stalkers just for the face his patron would make at the subject, but he couldn’t risk hinting he knew something at this point), he used various excuses to check on each room. All of them were bugged. He kept staring at his bathroom, hoping his patron/stalker valued at least some of his privacy. He wasn’t about to display himself for some pervert’s perusal. But he had to shower, if not tonight, then tomorrow morning. He also had to use the toilet at some point. He wanted to curse something fierce.
He walked in as he prayed, please, don’t be a pervert. There were cameras in the closet. Please, don’t be more of a pervert than you already are. He entered and… nothing. No weird feeling. No I’m-being-watched shiver. Braver now, he checked the bathroom quite openly. No cameras, no mics. Huh. What a pleasant surprise. His stalker had some decency. There were still cameras in the closet. Nope, his stalker was rightfully a pervert.
He started to prepare a bath. Today was quite stressful. He needed to relax. But first, he took his nightclothes in the bathroom. He would have to change there from now on. How troublesome.
