[Bennett House, Early Morning]
The room looked like a tornado had thrown a party—books scattered, clothes piled like miniature mountains, and a rogue sock dangling from the lampshade like a flag of chaos.
Marc Bennett shuffled toward his wardrobe, muttering under his breath, "Where is it… where…"
He flung aside a hoodie, then a pair of jeans, until finally—"Ha! Found you."
He held up an ordinary white T-shirt printed with a chubby panda hugging a bright red heart. His grin widened as he tugged it on, smoothing the fabric and checking himself out in the cracked mirror.
"Perfect," he declared, finger guns blazing at his reflection.
Outside, morning sunlight spilled over the neighborhood, turning the cracked sidewalk gold. A boy zipped past on a bicycle, headphones in, oblivious to the world. Marc watched with a soft smile tugging at his lips.
"Mom... I'm leaving!" he called, dashing down the stairs.
His mother was by the stove, flipping pancakes with a practiced hand. "Oh, have some breakfast first, sweetheart."
Marc was already tugging on his shoes near the door. "Midterms, Mom! Plus, Mr. Hargrove's gonna kill me if I'm late again for his 8 a.m. lecture."
From behind the newspaper at the dining table, his dad grunted. "Tell that old fossil to get a life."
Marc laughed.
Eli, his younger brother, spoke up with his mouth full of pancake. "Dad, he's seventy and still teaches because he has no life."
They all chuckled. Even his mom let out a soft laugh as she set another pancake onto the stack.
"Alright, see you guys later!" Marc called, slinging his bag over one shoulder and heading out the door.
The screen door slammed shut behind him with a familiar squeak.
***
[Bright Beginning College, Later]
Marc chained his bike in the campus lot, the sun warm on his face. The college grounds buzzed with energy—students chattering, laughing, rushing between classes or loitering like time didn't matter.
Love was in the air, in all its forms. Couples strolled hand in hand—straight, gay, somewhere in between. Marc passed them all, a strange flutter rising in his chest.
He wasn't nervous because of exams.
He scanned the cafeteria as he walked past the glass doors. And then he saw him.
Jay.
Same tousled black hair. Denim jacket draped over the chair. Iced coffee sweating beside him.
Marc's heart lifted but just as he took a step forward, he stopped.
A girl sat beside Jay. Too close. Way too close. She leaned in, giggling, her fingers playing with her hair like she was in a commercial for bad decisions. Their shoulders brushed. Jay didn't pull away.
They looked like a couple.
Marc's grip on his bag tightened. The happy buzz in his chest fizzled.
Still, he walked forward.
"Hey!" he greeted, a little too brightly.
Jay blinked, as if surprised. "Oh. You're here?"
Marc slid into the seat across from him, trying to keep his smile steady. "Umm… Jay, who's this?"
The girl turned, smiling like sunshine on a loaded trap. "Hi! I'm Sophia."
Jay hesitated. "She's a fresher and my new neighbor."
Marc nodded, slow and careful. "Ah. Got it."
Sophia extended a perfectly manicured hand. "Nice to meet you!"
Marc reached for it—but Jay stood abruptly, grabbing his phone and bag. "Sophia, come on. I'll give you a tour."
Sophia beamed. "Seriously? Yay!"
Marc blinked. "Wait—Jay?"
Jay didn't meet his eyes. "You should head to class, Marc. I'll see you later."
Marc sat frozen. "But…"
Jay's voice sharpened. "Marc. Later."
And then he walked away. Just like that. Sophia trailing behind, laughing. Marc sat in stunned silence, staring after them until they vanished around the corner.
The cafeteria noise swirled around him—laughter, footsteps, forks on plates—but it all sounded distant. Like he was underwater.
He whispered, barely audible,"...It's our two-year anniversary today."
He stayed there for a beat longer, then picked up his bag with heavy hands and walked out, heart sinking with every step.
***
[Mr. Hargrove's Class, Later]
Marc slumped at the back of the lecture hall, eyes on the chalkboard, brain anywhere but here. The words "Ottoman Empire" floated through the air, but all he could see was Jay… and Sophia's hand on his arm.
Loop. Repeat. Rewind. Again.
His pen remained untouched.
Leo nudged James beside him. "Ask him."
James groaned but leaned over. "Hey, man. You good?"
Marc didn't look up. "I'm fine."
. . .
. . .
Leo raised a brow. "It's because of Jay, right?"
Marc hesitated. That pause was all the confirmation they needed. Leo's expression darkened, his usual playfulness giving way to irritation. He muttered to James, "For some reason, that bastard gets on my nerves."
"Same here," James replied with a quiet nod.
Marc caught the exchange and gave a tired smile. "Oh, come on, you two. Jay isn't that bad."
Leo rolled his eyes. "Not that bad? The guy walks around like he's some prince. Like he invented the concept of being hot and mysterious."
"And don't forget how he always tries to one-up us," James added, flipping a page in his book dramatically.
Marc laughed, though it lacked its usual warmth. "You guys are being dramatic. He's really sweet… once you get to know him."
Leo and James exchanged skeptical glances but chose not to push it further. They'd been down this road with Marc before.
Still, they looked at him—really looked. And beneath his joking tone, they could see the exhaustion.
"Are you sure it's nothing?" James asked, softer this time.
Marc sighed, eyes still distant. "It's probably nothing. Don't worry—I'm fine."
The bell rang, signaling the end of class. Students shuffled out, and Mr. Hargrove's voice was drowned out by scraping chairs and backpacks zipping.
Leo and James followed Marc out, walking a few steps behind him.
"Wanna hang out? Maybe it can calm you." James asked again as they reached the corridor.
Marc turned and gave them a faint smile. "I'll be fine. Thanks, guys."
Then he walked off, backpack slung over one shoulder, his figure slowly swallowed by the crowd of students in the hallway.
Leo watched him go, then sighed. "He's not fine."
James nodded. "Yeah. And I've got a really bad feeling about this."
***
[Convenience Store, Evening]
Marc stood behind the cashier counter, mechanically scanning items, but his eyes kept drifting toward his phone. The screen was dark—no new messages. His heart sank a little more with each passing minute.
A coworker came in, pulling off a hoodie. "Alright, your shift's over, Marc."
Marc gave a distracted nod. "Thanks."He trudged into the changing room and glanced at his reflection in the mirror. His panda T-shirt, once something that made him smile, now felt oddly mocking.
"We were supposed to spend time together today," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "The day's just… really going to shit."
He sighed, picked up his bag, and left the store.
Outside, the sky was bathed in the soft hues of the setting sun—orange melting into a lavender dusk. He walked slowly, pushing his bicycle with one hand, the other clutching his phone. His eyes were fixed on the message he had sent hours ago:
Wanna spend the night together?Read. No reply.
His chest tightened. He knew Jay sometimes got caught up with things, but today was different. It wasn't just any day.
It was their day.
He kicked at a stray pebble, jaw clenched. The golden hour glow did little to warm the chill settling in his chest.
And then—A scream. Sharp. Desperate.
"Help… Help…!"
Marc froze. His head snapped toward the source. It was faint, coming from the alley between two buildings just ahead.
"What the hell?" he whispered.
Another voice. Choked. Panicked. "Someone… please…"
Then silence. Muffled sounds.
Marc's legs moved before he could think. He should've walked away. Should've gone home. Called someone. But he didn't.
He turned the corner, heart thundering, and stopped dead.
A group of men in black suits stood around a kneeling figure. One of them—a tall, imposing man—held a gun loosely at his side. The setting sun cast a halo of light behind him, turning his face into a dark silhouette.
Marc stumbled back instinctively, pressing against the cold brick wall, breath caught in his throat.
"What… what is this…?" he mouthed silently.
The trembling in his fingers betrayed his rising fear as he slowly raised his phone and opened the camera. His thumb hovered, then hit record.
The man on the ground was sobbing. "P-please… I have a family. I didn't do anything, I swear—"
The tall man crouched slightly, his voice calm, almost curious."Why should I believe you?"
Then, without pause, he raised the gun and pulled the trigger.
Thup.
The sound was low, muted. A suppressor. The man on the ground crumpled, lifeless.
Marc slapped a hand over his mouth, a choked gasp escaping him. His phone trembled in his grip, still recording—and then—THUD!
His back had hit a loose metal crate. The noise echoed through the narrow alley, sharp and damning.
The tall man's head snapped toward the sound. As he stepped into the light, Marc saw his face clearly for the first time.
Damian Blake.
Strikingly handsome. Impeccably dressed. Broad-shouldered. A face carved from stone—smooth, regal, terrifying. But his eyes—
His eyes were cold.Empty.Menacing.
Marc's breath hitched.
Damian started walking toward him with an eerie calm, his footsteps slow, deliberate.
Marc trembled, his back against the wall, breath shallow. His phone had slipped from his hand during the fall, lying between them on the ground.
For a split second, the world stood still.
Then—Marc lunged.
With the last shred of courage in his bones, he shoved Damian with all his strength. The older man staggered back a step—not much, but enough.
Marc picked his phone from ground and bolted.
He didn't look back.He couldn't.
He ran like his life depended on it—because it did.
His legs burned. His lungs ached. But fear kept him going.
Back in the alley, one of the suited men approached Damian, eyes narrowed. "Should we catch him?"
Damian adjusted the cuffs of his dark coat, unfazed. His tone was calm, almost lazy."No. Just keep an eye on him. Find out who he is."
The man nodded and immediately made a call.
Damian turned back to the bloodied body on the ground. He stared at it in silence, then muttered under his breath—cold and detached—
"...and clear things up here."
The alley fell quiet once more. Only the fading echo of Marc's frantic footsteps lingered in the air, swallowed by the twilight.