Two days later, in the afternoon, a boring Macroeconomics class had just ended. Shawn was stuffing his textbook into his backpack, preparing to slip back to his dorm to enjoy an undisturbed afternoon. However, a figure blocked the entrance of the lecture hall, like an unmovable wall.
It was Eric.
He looked a little off. Usually, he was like an energetic lion, with sharp eyes and a straight posture, as if surrounded by an invisible aura. But today, that aura around Eric had dimmed. He was wearing a simple gray hoodie, the hood pulled over his head, obscuring most of his face, revealing only a tense jawline. He leaned against the doorframe, his entire being exuding a low-pressure "stay away" vibe. The students passing by subconsciously gave him a wide berth.
Shawn's heart skipped a beat. He subconsciously wanted to slip out the back door, to pretend he hadn't seen him. Ever since that party, the atmosphere between them had become extremely strange.
But Eric was clearly here waiting for him specifically. As Shawn lowered his head, trying to blend into the crowd, Eric looked up, his gaze landing precisely on him.
"Shawn," his voice was hoarser than usual, with a hint of fatigue, "you got a minute?"
"I... I have to go back and do my homework," Shawn lied, his eyes on the floor.
"Have a drink with me," Eric's tone wasn't a suggestion, but a statement that was almost a command. But behind that command, there was a rare hint of vulnerability. "Just one."
Shawn looked up and finally saw Eric's face clearly. His eyes were bloodshot, with faint dark circles underneath. Those blue eyes, usually as clear as glacial meltwater, were now like a stirred-up, murky lake. He looked like he had been through a long and painful ordeal. The words of refusal were on the tip of Shawn's tongue, but he couldn't bring himself to say them. He had never seen an Eric like this.
"...Okay," he heard himself say.
At a bar on the west side of town called the "Rusty Anchor," the lights were dim, and the air was filled with the mixed smell of beer, tobacco, and old wood. It was far from the university town, a world of truck drivers and dockworkers. No one knew them here, making it the perfect place to hide one's troubles.
The two of them sat down in a booth in the corner, neither speaking first. Eric ordered six bottles of beer in one go and, as if drinking water, silently chugged them down one after another. The beer bottle looked particularly small in his hand. When he tilted his head back, the movement of his Adam's apple in the dim light looked both sexy and desperate.
Shawn sat beside him, at a loss. He didn't know what to say, so he could only take small sips of the beer in front of him. He could feel a volcano on the verge of eruption suppressed within Eric's body; the silent, destructive aura was almost tangible.
When the fourth empty beer bottle was slammed down on the table by Eric, he finally spoke.
"I saw something... I shouldn't have seen," his voice was incredibly hoarse from the alcohol, his gaze unfocused, as if he were talking to the air.
"What?" Shawn asked cautiously.
Eric didn't answer. Instead, he turned his head and stared at Shawn with his bloodshot eyes. "You know, my mother, Eleanor Dane. She's elegant, talented, as perfect as a flawless statue. Everyone loves her, respects her."
Shawn didn't know why he had suddenly brought up his mother, so he could only nod in silence.
"Madison... my girlfriend," Eric continued, a self-deprecating curve to his lips. "She's perfect too, isn't she? Pretty, cheerful, from a good family, a perfect match for me. Everyone thinks we're a match made in heaven."
He picked up the fifth bottle and took a huge swig, the beer foam wetting his lips.
"But you know what, Shawn?" he suddenly leaned closer, his blue eyes churning with madness and pain. "Just last night, I went home early, wanting to give my 'perfect' girlfriend a surprise. And what did I see?"
His voice was very low, as if sharing a dirty secret, each word squeezed from between his teeth.
"I saw my 'perfect' mother, and my 'perfect' girlfriend, on my family's sofa... being intimate."
Boom—
Shawn felt as if his brain had been hit by a bomb, instantly going blank. He stared at Eric with wide, incredulous eyes, suspecting he had drunk too much and was having auditory hallucinations.
But Eric laughed, a hoarse and broken sound that was worse than crying. "It's ridiculous, right? I stood there at the door like an idiot, watching them... They didn't even notice me. They were so into it... so..."
He didn't continue, just grabbed the beer bottle and finished the remaining half in one go.
His whole world had collapsed. The family he had always been proud of, the "perfect" relationship he had worked so hard to maintain, turned out to be a huge, absurd lie. The mother he respected most, and the lover who should have been closest to him, had betrayed him together. He felt like his life was a beautifully wrapped gift box, but when he opened it with anticipation, he found it was filled with rotten garbage.
Shawn's heart was viciously squeezed. He looked at the completely broken man before him, the Eric Dane who was usually so high and mighty, like a god, but was now as fragile and vulnerable as a lost child. All the awkwardness and distance between them vanished in that moment. He just wanted to do something.
"Eric..." he reached out and gently placed his hand on the back of Eric's, which was clenched around the beer bottle. "It's okay... it'll pass."
His comfort was clumsy and pale, but he didn't know what else to say. So, he picked up his own nearly untouched beer and drank it down. Then the second, and the third. He thought, if drinking could help him share a little of the pain, then he would drink.
As it turned out, before he could comfort anyone, Shawn, who couldn't hold his liquor, was the first to go down. The last thing he remembered was Eric's pained face, swaying before his eyes, and then his consciousness fell into a warm darkness.
Eric looked at Shawn, who was passed out on the table, and the destructive rage in his heart miraculously subsided a little. In this world full of betrayal and lies, this clumsy guy seemed to be a different kind of existence.
He paid the bill and half-dragged, half-carried Shawn out of the bar. The night wind was cool on his face, clearing his head a little. Where should he take this guy? The dorms were surely closed by now.
He fumbled through Shawn's pockets, trying to find his student ID or wallet. Finally, he pulled out a keychain with a single, lonely house key on it. The keychain was a very old, slightly chipped Pikachu figure.
Eric looked at the silly-looking Pikachu and couldn't help but let out a low laugh. He used Shawn's phone (thank God this guy never set a password) to send a message to Leo, asking for Shawn's home address.
"His brother's at summer camp, and his mom seems to be on a business trip lately. The house should be empty," Leo replied quickly.
He hailed a cab, stuffed the dead-drunk Shawn into the back seat, and gave the address.
Shawn's home was in a quiet, old neighborhood. Eric supported him and used the key with the Pikachu to open the door.
The house was quiet and tidy, full of the warmth of a lived-in home. There was a knitted cushion on the living room sofa, and a few pictures that looked like they were drawn by family members hung on the wall. Eric dragged Shawn all the way up to his room on the second floor, gently placed him on the bed, and even carefully took off his shoes and jacket.
Looking at the sleeping Shawn on the bed, Eric didn't leave right away.
He was driven by a strong curiosity and began to look around this space that was completely Shawn's. The room wasn't large, but it was very clean. There were a few sociology textbooks piled on the desk, with a game controller next to them. A few band posters were on the wall, all of them for some niche indie bands.
Everything here was like Shawn himself—ordinary, simple, yet with a stubborn sense of self in the details.
Eric's gaze finally landed on the wardrobe against the wall. As if possessed, he reached out and gently pulled the door open.
A few T-shirts and plaid shirts hung inside, neatly folded. And in the deepest part of the wardrobe, something caught his attention.
It was a small crystal bottle, about the size of his palm. The bottle was transparent, with a strange shape, like a budding flower with countless facets. Inside, it held a strange liquid that, in the faint moonlight coming through the window, shimmered with a pearlescent, flowing iridescence.
What is this? Perfume? Or some kind of decoration?
Eric reached out and took the cool crystal bottle. It was smooth to the touch, with an extraordinary texture, as if it were not a product of this earth. He held it up to the moonlight, examining it with curiosity. The flowing iridescence seemed to have a life of its own, swirling faster under his gaze, exuding a silent temptation.
Just then, for some reason, a thin layer of sweat suddenly appeared on his palm, and his fingers slipped—
Smack!
The crystal bottle slipped from his grasp, fell to the floor, and shattered with a crisp sound.
In the silent night, the sound was particularly piercing.
"Shit," Eric cursed under his breath and immediately squatted down to clean up the mess. But it was too late.
The moment the bottle shattered, a colorless, odorless, and invisible gas shot out from the fragments and, as if it had a life of its own, instantly drilled into Eric's nostrils.
A second of dead silence.
Then, Eric felt as if his brain had been suddenly smothered by a wet towel. All his thoughts, all his emotions, all his reason, were instantly sucked away. In his mind, there was only a boundless, heart-pounding emptiness.
Immediately after, an indescribable heat, from the depths of his lower abdomen, exploded like a nuclear bomb!
It wasn't ordinary desire. It was the most primitive, most savage, most unreasonable physiological instinct. Blood rushed wildly through his veins, like scalding magma, burning every inch of his skin, every cell. His muscles tensed uncontrollably, and every nerve in his body screamed, clamoring for an outlet, an outlet to release this destructive force.
"Ugh..."
A low, inhuman growl rumbled from the depths of his throat. His eyes were instantly consumed by blood, turning a solid crimson.
The chains of reason, in that moment, shattered link by link.
He slowly stood up, turned his head, and his beast-like, crimson eyes locked onto the defenseless, sleeping figure on the bed.
Prey.
That was the only thought in his mind.
He began to tear at his own clothes. The hoodie, the T-shirt, the pants... one by one, they were ripped off with brutal force and thrown to the floor. His naked body, in the moonlight, possessed an aggressive beauty, every muscle bulging, filled with a primal power.
Like a beast driven mad by hunger, he walked, step by step, toward the bed.
In his drunken dream, Shawn was immersed in a state of chaos. He felt as if something heavy was pressing down on him, so heavy he couldn't breathe. He wanted to open his eyes, but his eyelids were as heavy as lead.
He only felt a bear, a huge, scalding, heavily panting bear, pressing down on him.