We Need to Talk!

Chapter 1

Derek’s pov

I adjusted my backpack strap as I left the lecture hall, the heavy doors swinging shut behind me with a dull thud that matched the rhythm of my footsteps. 

The campus quad buzzed with students rushing between classes, their laughter and conversations blending into a constant hum that felt distant, almost foreign. 

At twenty-one, I had perfected the art of moving through this world without truly belonging to it. 

Literature seminars usually grounded me, the weight of old books, the analysis of human longing but today even that felt hollow. My mind kept drifting to the night two weeks ago when everything had shifted.

The encounter with Marcus had been a blur of confusion and heat. 

Mom had stepped out for a quick errand, leaving us alone in the apartment. 

One moment we were talking about nothing important, the next his hand was on my shoulder, his voice low and steady. 

I hadn’t expected it. I hadn’t stopped it. And now the memory followed me like a shadow I couldn’t outrun. 

I had no interest in women, the thought of their touch left me cold but Marcus, Mom’s fiancé, had awakened something I didn’t understand and couldn’t ignore.

I pushed open the door to the library where I worked part-time. 

The familiar scent of aged paper and quiet dust welcomed me. Mrs. Hargrove, the head librarian, nodded at me from the circulation desk. “Derek, good timing. 

The new arrivals need shelving in the fiction section. And Professor Lang mentioned your name for a potential research assistant spot. Said you have a sharp eye for detail.”

I managed a small nod. “Thanks. I’ll check the email later.” The compliment should have felt good, but it landed flat. 

Professor Lang’s class on modern family dynamics had been my favorite this semester, but even that felt tainted now. 

I moved to the carts and started shelving, letting the repetitive motion steady my thoughts. A classmate, a guy named Alex with messy blond hair and an easy smile, stopped by the aisle.

“Hey, Derek. You nailed that last discussion on power imbalances. You Want to grab coffee after your shift? We’re forming a study group for the midterm.”

I hesitated. Alex’s offer was genuine, his smile open. For a moment I considered it breaking my usual pattern of isolation. “Maybe next time. I have some things to finish at home.”

He shrugged, not pushing. “No problem. Catch you later.”

As he walked away, I felt a flicker of regret. Part of me wanted to connect, to be normal. But normal meant risking questions I couldn’t answer. 

I finished my shift in silence, the quiet stacks giving me space to breathe. By late afternoon, the sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows across the quad as I headed home.

The walk gave me time to think. I had always been the quiet son, the one who read instead of partied, who never brought girls home. 

Mom was worried, but she accepted it. Until Marcus. Mom had met him six months ago at a work event. Tall, broad-shouldered, late thirties with silver threading through dark hair, he carried himself with quiet confidence that commanded space. The first time he came over, I felt the shift immediately. 

Then that night happened. Now every step toward the apartment felt heavier.

I turned the key in the lock and stepped inside. The smell of simmering sauce greeted me. Mom’s voice carried from the kitchen. “Derek? You’re just in time. 

I invited Marcus to help with dinner tonight. He’s got a great recipe for garlic bread.”

My stomach tightened. I hung my bag on the hook and walked into the kitchen. Marcus stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, chopping herbs with practiced ease. 

He looked up, his dark eyes meeting mine with that steady intensity. “Derek. Good to see you. How was class today?”

“Fine,” I replied, keeping my tone neutral. 

I moved to the sink to wash my hands, hyper-aware of his presence a few feet away. 

Mom chatted happily about her day at the clinic, oblivious to the undercurrent. 

Marcus passed me a knife for the vegetables, our fingers brushing. The contact sent a jolt through me,memory and reality colliding.

We worked side by side in silence for a few minutes. Mom stepped out to take a call, leaving us alone. 

Marcus’s voice dropped. “We should talk about what happened. Soon.”

I froze, knife hovering over a carrot. The words hung between us, heavy with possibility and danger. 

My heart was hammered. This was the first time he had acknowledged it directly since that night. Part of me wanted to bolt. Another part, the darker part,wanted to hear what he would say.

Before I could respond, Mom returned, smiling. “Is everything okay here?”

Marcus returned to chopping. “Just fine.”

Dinner passed in a blur of small talk. I contributed little, my mind racing. As we cleared the table, Marcus caught my eye again. 

The look held a promise and a question. I excused myself to my room, heart pounding, wondering what came next in this dangerous game we had started.