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Interlude Chapter 271: Stella
🕑 Added 2025-09-20 18:21:37 +0000 UTCApril 8th, 2016
Leicester, England | Inside the Hale House
The camera wasn’t even on yet, and the chaos had already started.
“Tristan, it’s crooked. The tripod is leaning like it’s seasick.”
Barbara was crouched on the rug, one hand steadying the legs while her robe pooled around her like a blanket fortress. Strands of damp hair escaped from the towel wrapped around her head, clinging to her cheeks.
“It’s not leaning,” Tristan said from the couch, squinting at it as if the power of his stare might correct the angle. “It’s just… artistically tilted. I really tried to fix it it.”
Barbara turned her head slowly, her eyes narrowed in disbelief. “This isn’t a Blair Witch vlog, babe. I want this to look clean. Professional. Stella deserves a proper debut.”
Tristan was cross legged on the floor now, Biscuit sprawled across his lap like she was auditioning for the role of co-host. He absentmindedly scratched her ears, her tail thumping against his leg every few seconds. He wore a plain white T-shirt, soft joggers, and the slightly shell-shocked look of a man who’d been conscripted into service.
“I’m just saying, we could’ve had the media team do this,” Tristan muttered, watching Barbara crouch over the stubborn tripod. “You know the people who literally film us for a living. Ten minutes, done. With drones. Graphics. Maybe some dramatic Champions League music in the background.”
He leaned back against the sofa, arms crossed, wearing the put-upon expression of a man who knew he’d lost the argument before it even started.
Barbara didn’t even glance at him. She was too busy twisting knobs and muttering under her breath about uneven floors which wasnt even true.
They were about to record the first proper video for Stella, on the brand new YouTube channel they had launched barely a week ago.
And of course, the whole thing had been his idea. “Babe, the fans would love it. You should start a channel.” At the time, it had sounded brilliant. Now, as he watched Barbara line up a ring light like it was a surgical lamp, Tristan was starting to regret his own genius.
But then again he glanced at her, hair still wrapped in a towel, face glowing with the kind of excitement you couldn’t fake, regret wasn’t really the right word. Not when it was for her. Not when making her smile made everything else worth it.
Tristan sighed, long and dramatic, the kind of sigh meant to be heard. Then, quieter, almost to himself, he muttered, “What guys will do for a girl they love.”
Barbara didn’t bite. She was too busy tightening the last knob on the tripod, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Nope,” she said finally, straightening. “I want this to feel authentic.”
Tristan tilted his head, one brow arched, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Authentic? Babe, our channel hit a million subscribers in five days just because we tweeted it existed. I don’t think we get to use the word authentic the same way actual YouTubers do, you know, the ones grinding for years in their bedrooms with broken lamps and secondhand webcams.”
That earned him a look. Barbara turned slowly, finger raised like a teacher about to scold a particularly cheeky student. “And that’s exactly why it matters. Fans don’t want slick studio lights and a PR team doing everything for us. They want us. Messy, real, Biscuit-and-all authenticity.”
As if on cue, Biscuit sneezed.
Tristan stared down at the dog, scandalized. “Et tu, Biscuit?” he asked, clutching his chest like Caesar with the dagger in his ribs.
“Now sit still. You volunteered.”
Tristan laughed, quick and incredulous. “Volunteered? No, no. Let’s get the record straight. I said I’d help. That is not the same thing as becoming a makeup mannequin five hours after training while my own dog sits there questioning my life choices.”
Biscuit tilted her head at him.
“Same difference,” Barbara said sweetly.
Barbara flicked the ring light on with a snap of her fingers. The room transformed in an instant, bathed in soft white glow. It highlighted everything — the faint tired creases under Tristan’s eyes from a week of matches and media chaos, the shimmer of her promised ring catching the light, and the golden Stella compacts lined neatly on the table as if they had been waiting all along for this exact moment.
“You,” she said, slipping into mock-boss mode, her voice pitched higher with playful authority, “are my first test model. And this isn’t just makeup. It’s Stella. The brand you named.”
Tristan pressed his lips together, as if forcing down a laugh, eyes glinting. “Right. Stella. The future global cosmetics empire born right here in this very living room, with a tripod that leans like it had one too many pints and Biscuit acting as our official notary.”
Biscuit, almost on cue, yawned loudly and repositioned herself across Tristan’s knees like a furry empress on a throne.
Barbara’s grin widened, dimples showing. “Exactly. Now sit up straight.”
Tristan puffed out his chest, lifted his chin, and adopted the air of a monarch being painted for history. “Yes, my queen.”
She rolled her eyes, but her lips curved anyway. That was the thing with him, he could say the silliest, most ridiculous things, but the way his eyes twinkled when he said them… it made her laugh even when she wanted to stay serious.
Then the ring light blinked again. The small green dot on the camera flared to life.
The recording had started.
Tristan glanced at the camera, then at Barbara, then at Biscuit, who was now sprawled dramatically as though posing for a magazine cover. For half a second, he thought about what his life was: Champions of England one week, YouTube guinea pig the next.
But then Barbara leaned in, brush poised, her grin stretched wide and nervous, that little glimmer of excitement sparking in her eyes.
And that just made everything worth it.
The B&T Diaries had officially begun.
.
“Hi everyone!” Barbara beamed into the lens. “Welcome to the very first video on our channel! I’m Barbara…”
“And I’m Tristan,” he cut in quickly, flashing the camera a wide grin while Biscuit sat draped in his arms like a diva. “Co-star, emotional support human, and apparently today’s guinea pig.”
Barbara nudged him with her knee, laughing. “Today, we’re doing a Stella test video which I’m sure you guys have heard about the last two weeks and in this video I’m going to do my boyfriend’s makeup using the very first samples of our new brand.”
Tristan leaned toward the camera, raising his brows dramatically. “She says ‘samples’ like we’re sitting on a billion-dollar empire. In reality, we’ve got about… what, four compacts and a lipstick?”
“We don’t have a warehouse,” Barbara admitted, chuckling. “We have a few prototype kits, and everything else is still in the works. Also, our dog is officially head of PR.”
Right on cue, Biscuit sneezed directly into Tristan’s sleeve.
Tristan held her paw up like a microphone. “Would you like to comment on that, Miss Biscuit? … No? Okay, strong words, thank you.”
Barbara laughed so hard she almost dropped her brush. “Anyway,” she said, regaining herself, “while I apply the products, we’re going to answer your questions from Twitter and Instagram. So this is both a makeup video and a Q&A! Our very first one! Thank you to everyone for responding.”
Tristan pointed at himself with mock seriousness. “Translation: I’m being turned into a glowing goddess while you lot interrogate me. Wish me luck.”
Barbara grinned at him, brush in hand. “No luck needed. You’re going to look fabulous.”
Tristan winked at the camera. “You heard it here first, Leicester’s man of the match, future Ballon d’Or winner… and now, part-time beauty influencer.”
The camera’s little green light glowed. Barbara leaned into frame, brush in hand, grinning.
“Okay! Question time while I make Tristan absolutely fabulous. Today’s look..” she tapped the compact for effect, “is what I call the ‘soft boy glow.’ Think Timothée Chalamet but, you know… taller, broader, and with a footballer’s jawline.”
Tristan made a scandalized face at the lens. “Editors, please put Timmy on screen right now so people can compare. And then please circle my jawline in red so they know who’s winning.”
Barbara rolled her eyes, smiling. “Okay, Mr. Competitive. First step, foundation. Nice and light. Just evening out his skin tone.”
Tristan tilted his face obediently as she brushed. “Feels like a paint roller. Do I look pretty yet?”
“You’ve always looked pretty,” Barbara said, leaning close to dab under his eyes.
He smirked, catching her off guard, and quickly kissed her cheek. She huffed a laugh. “Don’t move, you’ll smudge it!”
The first question popped up on Barbara’s phone. She read it aloud: “Who said I love you first?”
Tristan raised his hand like he was in court. “Guilty.”
Barbara’s smirk softened into something warmer. “He said it on Christmas Day. In Hungarian. Keeping it a secret from me until I figured it out. I cried that night. It was so romantic.”
Tristan looked sheepish but proud. “It was worth it, all the extra efforts to learning a new language.”
Barbara laughed, swiping blush over his cheekbones. “I still remember every single detail of the night. The night is probably my favorite night ever.”
“Mine’s too.” Tristan said, turning suddenly to kiss her lips mid-brush.
“Tristan!” Barbara squealed, holding up the brush like a weapon. “I said don’t move!”
“Worth it,” he muttered, grinning at the camera.
Barbara shook her head, cheeks pink, before checking the next question.
Barbara glanced at her phone, then grinned. “Okay, next question: Biscuit’s weirdest habit?”
She didn’t even have to think. “Easy. She barks at the TV every single time a ad with Tristan comes on which is a lot.”
Tristan laughed, scratching Biscuit’s head. “She thinks I’m trapped in the screen. Little bodyguard can’t handle the idea.”
Biscuit gave a small huff, almost on cue, and Tristan lifted to the front of the camera. “Miss Biscuit, would you like to issue a statement? …No? Okay. Strong words. Thank you.”
Barbara giggled so hard she had to put her brush down. “Alright, next one: Ever argued over football?”
Tristan leaned forward, eyebrows raised. “We don’t argue. We… debate. Passionately.”
Barbara tilted her head, smiling sweetly. “Translation: yes.”
“Give me one example,” Tristan challenged.
“You wouldn’t let me manage your FIFA Ultimate Team.”
Tristan’s jaw dropped. He turned to the camera, betrayed. “She tried to sub herself in. As a centre-back.”
“I’m tall!” Barbara shot back.
Tristan’s laugh was instant, sharp. “You’re not Huth-tall. You’d get bodied by a gust of wind.”
Barbara gasped dramatically, swatting his arm with her brush. “Excuse me? I’d have scored at least once.”
“Yeah,” Tristan said, deadpan, “an own goal.”
She shoved him lightly, cheeks puffed with fake outrage, but her eyes were shining. “Don’t expose me like that.”
“Fine, fine as my lady commands” Tristan replied with a grin, then leaned closer to kiss her cheek before she could fire back.
Barbara shook her head, laughing despite herself. “Okay, moving on before this becomes a FIFA rant channel.”
She checked her phone again. “Next one: What’s Tristan’s worst habit?”
She sighed, giving him a side eye. “He can be very lazy sometimes. Like, truly lazy. He’ll lay in bed all day. Which, okay, sometimes is my fault too, because I don’t wanna get up either… so we just end up cuddling and napping for hours.”
Tristan looked at the lens like he was pleading his case to the world. “Listen. Rest days are important. Science says so.”
Barbara smirked. “Science also says get up and vacuum.”
He winced dramatically, clutching his chest. “Ah, chores, my nightmares”
She laughed, leaning into him. “He’s hopeless.”
Tristan grinned at the camera. “Hopelessly in love. See? Balanced out.”
Barbara glanced at the next questions. “Ooooh, here’s a good one. Tristan, what do you love most about Barbara?”
Tristan leaned back, rubbing his chin theatrically. “Dangerous question.”
Barbara narrowed her eyes, brush poised like a weapon. “Careful.”
He chuckled, then looked straight at the camera. “Honestly? When I first met her, she looked like a goddess. Milan, coffee shop, sunlight catching her hair, like she’d walked off a runway straight into real life…”
Barbara’s cheeks flushed pink. “You’re laying it on thick.”
“…but,” Tristan continued, grinning, “what actually caught my attention were her slippers. SpongeBob SquarePants. Bright yellow. No shame.”
Barbara buried her face in her hands, laughing. “I cannot believe you’re telling them this.”
“That’s when I knew,” Tristan said, softer now. “Since that moment, I’ve fallen for everything, her ridiculous slippers, her blue eyes, her laugh, her heart. I can’t pick one thing I love most about her. It’s all of it.”
Barbara bit her lip, visibly fighting back a smile. “Okay, you win that one.”
Tristan winked. “I always do.”
Barbara quickly shifted, tapping her screen. “Alright, next: Why start Stella? Why makeup?”
Her face lit up, voice steadier than before. “Modeling’s been amazing, but I wanted something of my own. Something that doesn’t depend on someone else booking me. Makeup’s always been one my passion, it’s art, it’s confidence, it’s creativity. Stella is my way of giving people a piece of that. Something outside of just ‘Barbara the model.’ It’s Barbara the creator.”
Tristan leaned closer, whispering dramatically: “And future world dominator.”
She elbowed him but smiled. “We’ll see.”
Another question popped. Barbara read it aloud: Tristan, favorite Leicester teammate?
Tristan shook his head immediately. “Can’t pick one. I love all of them. But…” he smirked, “if you force me, Kante and Ben are my best mates. Vardy and Mahrez are like older brothers. Annoying, loud, but I’d still follow them into battle.”
Barbara nudged. “Who’s the loudest?”
“Vardy,” Tristan said without hesitation. “He’s basically a foghorn in boots.”
Barbara scrolled again. “Okay, next: Favorite team to play against?”
Tristan burst into laughter before answering. “Manchester United. Every time. I don’t know what it is, but it’s just fun. The atmosphere, the rivalry… maybe because they really hate it when we win.”
Barbara giggled. “You sound evil.”
“Evil? No. Satisfied? Absolutely.”
Next question: Teams and players you want to face?
Tristan’s eyes lit up. “Real Madrid. Barcelona. Messi. Ronaldo. Two legends I haven’t faced yet, and I want that test. Also Bayern Munich because you don’t really know football until you’ve been pressed by Bayern for ninety minutes.”
Barbara arched a brow. “That sounds like torture.”
He grinned. “The best kind.”
Barbara put her phone down, satisfied. “Okay, last question while I finish the look. How does Tristan feel about being a makeup model?”
Tristan tilted his face dramatically toward the brush. “I feel fabulous. Like if De Bruyne and Beckham had a baby and sent him to Sephora.”
Barbara burst out laughing, nearly smudging his cheek. “Stop making me laugh, I’m trying to blend!”
Finally, she sat back with a triumphant smile. “And… done. Soft boy glow, complete.”
Tristan turned to the camera, mock serious. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is what peak male performance looks like. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Barbara shook her head, laughing. “Okay, that’s enough. Thank you for watching our very first video! Don’t forget to like, subscribe, and comment what you want us to do next—”
“—preferably something where I don’t end up in eyeliner,” Tristan cut in.
Biscuit barked once, perfectly timed, like a closing bell.
“See?” Tristan said, pointing at her. “Even PR agrees.”
Barbara kissed his cheek, her smile softening. “Bye, everyone.”
The recording light blinked off.
The B&T Diaries had officially arrived.
The little red recording light blinked off.
Tristan leaned back on his palms, stretching his legs out with a low groan.
“You know…” he said, glancing sideways at Barbara, “that was actually kind of fun.”
Barbara turned toward him, still cross legged, her cheeks pink from laughing so much.“You mean being turned into a glowing boy angel wasn’t complete torture?”
“Shocking, I know.” Tristan ran a hand through his curls, which now had the faintest shimmer from the leftover highlighter. “But yeah… I get it now. The whole ‘YouTube thing.’ It’s silly, but… kind of nice. Like, we’re just being us.”
Barbara smiled, brushing Biscuit’s fur off his joggers. “That’s exactly why I wanted to do it like this.”
She picked up her phone from the carpet, swiping quickly through a few folders.
“I’m sending it to Sofia and the social media team now,” she said. “They’ll trim it, add a logo, some cute graphics, maybe even a blooper reel.”
Tristan raised a brow. “Blooper reel?”
“You mean the part where Biscuit sneezed on you and you screamed like someone stabbed you?”
“That was instinct,” he said, deeply serious. “Dog snot is a biological hazard.”
Barbara laughed, tapping the screen. “Alright. Uploaded to our shared drive. Sofia should have it up by tomorrow.”
She hesitated, eyes flicking to him. “You’re… really okay with it? Me posting you like that? Full glam, pink blush, sparkly lashes and all?”
Tristan looked over at her, eyes soft. “Love,” he said, voice light, “my ego’s not that fragile.”
Then, without warning, he leaned forward and scooped her up from the floor, bridal style.
Barbara squealed, laughing as her phone slid from her hand onto the rug. “Tristan!”
He stood there with her in his arms, grinning like a fool. “If the world wants to see their Golden Boy turned into a dewy princess for fifteen minutes, I say let ‘em. I looked great.”
“You did,” she giggled, arms looping around his neck. “Though maybe not as great as me.”
“Never said I was trying to win.”
She leaned her forehead against his, brushing her nose against his. “You’re the best.”
He kissed her quickly, then again, slower. “I know.”
She narrowed her eyes, playful. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
Tristan spun her once in his arms, just to make her laugh again. “Too late.”
Biscuit barked from below, tail wagging furiously like she was demanding her turn.
“Alright, alright,” Tristan said, lowering Barbara onto the couch. “Come here, you little menace.”
He crouched down and scooped up Biscuit next. She licked his cheek with a tiny, delighted yap, making Barbara laugh all over again.
Comments
Bryhan Natan
You can't help but put the world's reaction to this video and it's extremely necessary.
Kylberg
fun chapter
