MasukRYDER'S POV "Meet me at the Grand Regency Hotel," Adrian cuts him off, not giving him a chance to refuse. "Room 412. Don't make me wait." He ends the call with a sharp tap of his thumb, the screen going black instantly. The phone is shoved deep into his pocket, the weight of it heavy against his thigh. Adrian strides out of the kitchen, his footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor. He passes his mother in the hallway; she offers him a small, sad smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners with a silent understanding that he isn't ready to accept. He doesn't stop. He pushes open the front door and slides into the driver’s seat of his sedan. The engine roars to life with a growl that matches the pounding of his heart. He throws the car into gear and peels out of the driveway, tires squealing on the asphalt, leaving the safety of his home behind and driving straight toward the desire he has denied himself for too long. ************ Ryder speeds through the city streets, the landsc
ADRIAN'S POV The water in the sink scalds Adrian’s hands, a sharp contrast to the cold, gnawing frustration knotting his stomach. He scrubs the ceramic plate with unnecessary force, his jaw clenched tight enough to ache. The remnants of the dinner he finally agreed to host swirl down the drain—a peace offering to his mother after months of rejection, all blamed on the relentless demands of academia. But the truth is, his mind isn't on the grading piles or the syllabus due next week. It’s on the silent black rectangle resting on the granite countertop. It is twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours since he clicked "Accept" on Ryder’s friend request. His thumb hovers over the screen every time the ambient light shifts, desperate for a notification, a vibration, anything. He remembers the way Ryder looked the last time they spoke, the subtle curve of his lips, the way his eyes held a challenge that made Adrian’s cock throb in his trousers. He wants Ryder to message him. He wants Ryde
ADRIAN'S POV The restaurant hums with the clatter of cutlery and the low murmur of lunchtime conversation, the air thick with the scent of frying grease and stale coffee. Adrian sits at a small, sticky table near the window, William already up and striding toward the counter to order. Adrian thumb flicking rapidly over his phone screen as he scrolls through Instagram account, It’s a memory from six years ago—a "On This Day" prompt featuring a photo of him in high school.He taps the image. It expands, filling the screen with the ghost of a boy who looks nothing like the man sitting here now. The sensory details of that time hit him like a physical blow. The metallic tang of blood in his mouth after a beating in the locker room. The rough scrape of concrete against his cheek as he curled into a ball. The sharp, cutting laughter of his school mate echoing off the tiled walls, slurs like "faggot" and "queer" hanging in the humid air. He remembers the teachers looking away, the isolation
RYDER'S POV Adrian stands at the front of the room, his usually composed posture rigid, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He doesn’t look at the class as he begins to collect the papers, moving down the rows with aggressive efficiency. The air around him practically vibrates with suppressed fury, a direct result of the filth Kai had spewed just while the test was going on. Ryder finishes his final sentence and stands up, approaching the desk. He watches Adrian closely, noting the tightness around the professor’s eyes, the way his fingers white-knuckle the stack of exam sheets. Ryder places his paper on top of the pile. Adrian doesn’t look up. He doesn’t offer a nod or a glance of acknowledgment. He simply scoops up the paper, turns on his heel, and marches out of the hall, the door clicking shut with a final, sharp snap. Ryder stands there for a moment, his hand hovering in the empty air. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots in frustration. He wants to go after A
ADRIAN'S POV The air in the exam hall hangs heavy, stagnant with the scent of graphite dust and nervous sweat. It is a suffocating silence, broken only by the rhythmic, aggressive scratching of pens against paper and the occasional, shifting creak of a wooden chair. Professor Adrian paces the narrow aisles between the desks, the heels of his polished oxfords clicking sharply against the linoleum, a metronome for the students’ anxiety. He moves like a predator, his gaze sweeping over the bowed heads, looking for the slightest twitch of dishonesty. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a stark, clinical light over the room. Adrian stops near the back row. Something is off. Kai, usually a slouching mess of arrogance, is sitting rigid, his eyes darting not to his paper, but downward toward his lap. Adrian narrows his eyes, taking a silent step closer. The blue glow of a screen illuminates Kai’s thigh, reflecting sharply against the varnished wood of the desk. He is cheating,
RYDER'S POV Ryder sits on the edge of the beige velvet sofa, his elbows resting on his knees, staring at the black charging cable snaking across the floor to the outlet. He told himself yesterday, and the day before that, that he would avoid Adrian. He promised to keep his distance, to stop showing up at the professor’s house like a lost dog looking for a handout. Yet here he is, sitting in the quiet living room, waiting for the red battery icon on his phone to turn green. The silence in the house is heavy, broken only by the low hum of the refrigerator and the rhythmic ticking of a clock on the wall. A sharp, wet sound echoes from the hallway—achoo. Ryder’s head snaps up. He knows that sound. Moments later, Adrian shuffles into the living room, clutching a fistful of tissues. His nose is pink, rubbed raw at the tip, and his eyes are watery and glassy. He looks wrecked, smaller than usual in a loose sweater that hangs off one shoulder. He opens his mouth to speak, but another
ADRIAN'S POV FIVE DAYS LATER He stands by the hospital bed, watching his mother sleep, while William hovers near the door, his arms crossed over his chest. The steady beep of the monitor counts the time since the incident. William’s mother has offered a spare room, a sanctuary away from the m
RYDER'S POV The sharp scent of Zamboni polish and cold ice fills the arena, mixing with the sweat-heavy musk of the locker room tunnel. Ryder skates off the ice, his chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temple and stinging his eyes. Usually, he lingers, trading jabs with his teammates, slappin
ADRIAN'S POV The fluorescent lights of the lecture hall hum with a low, headache-inducing buzz, but Adrian barely hears it over the drone of his own voice. He is dissecting the themes of repression in The Picture of Dorian Gray, but his mind is miles away, roaming the rows of tiered seating with
RYDER'S POV Rain hammers against the roof of the taxi, a relentless, rhythmic drumming that matches the pounding in Ryder’s skull. He sits in the backseat, water dripping from the soaked hem of his jeans onto the expensive leather upholstery. The driver shoots a nervous glance in the rearview m







