The fog over Twin Peaks blurred the city lights below as Matthew Sinclair ran up the winding trail, his lungs burning, his legs trembling, his heartbeat punching through his ribs.
San Francisco stretched beneath him like a taunting jewel. Beautiful, distant, and full of people who seemed to have their lives together more than he ever could.
But he wasn't running for exercise.
He was running from the image burned into the back of his mind:
Brenda Grant, his ex-girlfriend, kissing Brandon Gomes in the OWL Pixel parking lot.
He squeezed his eyes shut as if the memory could be shaken off through sheer force.
"Stupid," he muttered through clenched teeth. "I'm so stupid. I introduced her to the damn company. I put her in the same room as him."
Brandon.
The marketing golden boy.
Brandon was everything Matthew wasn't. His skin had a warm bronze tone, the kind that made him look effortlessly sunlit even indoors. His hair was black and cut close to the scalp, sharp and clean, highlighting the strong lines of his face.
He had a naturally athletic build, the broad shoulders, thick arms, and defined chest of someone who did not need to try hard to look powerful.
His dark eyes were intense, almost intimidating, and the trimmed beard along his jaw only made him look even more masculine. Standing near him always made Matthew feel smaller, not just emotionally but physically.
Matthew's lighter frame, softer features, and pale skin seemed to fade beside Brandon's bold presence. Brandon looked like a man sculpted by purpose, while Matthew felt like someone still being sketched.
And now… Brenda was with him.
His stomach twisted.
The wind slapped against his wet face, mixing rain and sweat. The clouds had rolled in fast, dark and heavy, bringing the kind of storm that warned runners to go home.
But Matthew didn't stop. The drama felt… fitting. Cathartic. Like nature was matching the chaos inside him.
Lightning cracked somewhere far off.
He ignored it.
Rain poured harder, soaking his hoodie, weighing down his clothes. His sneakers splashed through puddles as the trail darkened under the storm.
His breaths turned ragged.
His thoughts spun.
His heart broke—again—each time he replayed their voices:
Lightning flashed again, closer this time. Thunder followed immediately, shaking the ground beneath his feet.
Matthew stopped at the overlook, chest rising fast, fists clenched.
"What's wrong with me?" he whispered. "Why am I not enough for anyone?"
The sky didn't answer. It roared.
And then everything happened at once.
A blinding white light split the air.
A deafening crack swallowed the world.
The metallic taste of electricity filled his mouth.
Then…
Impact.
Heat.
Light.
Nothing.
Blackness swallowed him whole.
***
He woke up floating. Or falling. Or drowning in a thick softness. Voices echoed around him. Muffled, blurred, distant.
Matthew's eyelids fluttered open. The world was white. No sterile… Bright. Too bright!
A hospital?
His head throbbed. His skin felt tight, bandaged in several places and his chest burned with every breath. An IV line tugged at his arm.
He groaned, painfully.
"Matt?"
A voice… Familiar… Deep… Worried?
Matthew forced his eyes to focus.
A silhouette leaned over him, coming into shape through the haze.
Broad shoulders.
Dark hair dampened by rain.
Those hazel eyes he'd seen across office halls too many times.
Brandon.
Brandon Gomes.
But not the Brandon who kissed Brenda in a parking lot, your stupid, asshole coworker…
This Brandon looked… broken, relieved on the verge of tears.
"Thank God," Brandon breathed. "Matt, baby, you scared the hell out of me."
Matthew blinked.
Baby?! What the…
Before he could speak, Brandon cupped his cheek, in a tender, intimate way, and whispered:
"I'm right here, love.",
LOVE?! WHAT THE…
Matthew froze.
What the… What was happening?
And then, without hesitation, Brandon kissed him.
Soft at first. Familiar. Like someone kissing their partner in relief after almost losing them.
A real kiss.
A kiss with history in it.
With emotion in the touch of the tongue.
Matthew's eyes went wide. His brain short-circuited. And then. he pushed Brandon's chest with his bandaged hands and jerked back, wincing from the pain.
"What the hell… WHAT ARE YOU DOING, MAN?!"
Brandon staggered, stunned.
"Matt…?"
Matthew blinked rapidly, heart hammering.
"Why would you… why did you just do that?!"
Brandon stared at him, completely lost.
"What do you mean?" he whispered, eyebrows knitting. "We've been dating for almost two years."
Matthew's mind blanked.
"We're… what?"
Brandon swallowed hard, voice trembling now.
"We're together, Matt. We've been living at my place half the week. You… you don't remember?"
Matthew's breath caught.
No.
No, no, no…
That made no sense.
They weren't dating.
They had never dated!
Brandon barely looked at him at work. Well, except for that polite smile in the elevator and he certainly didn't call him love.
Matthew's voice cracked:
"We're… dating?"
Brandon nodded slowly, fear flickering in his eyes.
"Matt… you're scaring me."
Matthew's mouth opened, but no sound came out.
His thoughts crashed into each other like tidal waves. His pulse raced. His brain screamed:
This isn't real.
This isn't my life.
This isn't my reality.
Pain shot through his skull.
Monitors beeped.
Brandon reached for him again.
"Matt, please…"
Matthew recoiled instantly.
"But… but we're not dating," he whispered hoarsely. "We never… I mean.., Brenda…"
Brandon's expression twisted in confusion.
"Brenda? What does she have to do with anything?"
Matthew felt the world tilt.
The edges of his vision darkened.
His voice was barely a breath:
"What reality is this…?"
Brandon grabbed his shoulders, desperate.
"Matt, look at me…"
Matthew's chest tightened.
His breath hitched.
A shiver ran down his spine.
He whispered, finally:
"Who are you to me?"
Brandon's answer came without hesitation.
"Your boyfriend."
The room spun.
Lights flickered.
Matthew's heart plummeted.
And the chapter ends on:
He wasn't dreaming.
He wasn't hallucinating.
He wasn't in the wrong bed.
He was in the wrong life.