Tristan was running late. He really hated that he was going to be late. The two of them didn't get much time together at all-
He still had some blood on the front of his shirt, dark blue, he hadn't had time to go and change, but he hoped that Taff wouldn't notice.
He pulled his coat tightly around himself as well as he stepped out of the pub that he'd floo'd into, quickening his pace towards the fountain.
He saw his little brother from a distance. And he had to- he had to run to him.
"Constantine," he called, jumping on his brother, wrapping his arms around him and pressing his lips to his throat a few times, smelling and tasting his brother. It had been so long. It was intoxicating.