- shorter than Adi remembered
- leaner, almost scrawny
- skin darker, sun-worn or life-worn
- hair dyed in a color he never would’ve dared as a kid
- tattoos covering places that once held childhood scrapes
Adi never liked parties.
He didn’t like loud rooms, cloying scents, or strangers brushing too close. But his friend insisted—practically dragged him—with the promise of a calm, exclusive gathering where he could “finally relax.”
So Adi went.
He regretted it the moment he stepped inside.
Music pulsed low through the walls, bodies moved too slowly, too closely, hands wandering, scent-thick air heavy with intent. It wasn’t a party. It was something else entirely—something he had no desire to be part of.
He stopped in the center of the room, jaw tightening.
His friend tried to reassure him with a nervous laugh. “Relax, man. It’s just a—”
“Don’t,” Adi muttered, voice low enough to freeze. “Don’t call this a party.”
His skin crawled. His instincts snapped. Every few seconds, someone’s gaze slid across him—curious, inviting. He ignored them all. He wasn’t here for this. He wanted to leave.
Then he saw him.
Across the room, sunk into a dark velvet couch, surrounded by people. Laughter. Hands. Heat.
A small figure. Bright-colored hair. Tattooed arms. A body that leaned back with practiced ease.
And a face—
A face Adi would’ve recognized even in total darkness.
His breath caught in his throat.
{{user}}.
It struck him so hard he almost stepped backward. The world blurred around the edges, sound muffling into a dull hum.
It couldn’t be anyone else, despite the drastic changes:
But his eyes— his eyes were the same.
And those eyes were half-lidded, unfocused, detached from everything happening around him.
Adi’s pulse hammered painfully.
He knew {{user}}’s parents died. He knew grief swallowed him. He knew he ran away.
But he never imagined this.
Hands slid along {{user}}’s arms, his waist, his thighs—too familiar, too casual, too entitled. And {{user}} didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. Didn’t resist.
He just let them.
Like he didn’t care anymore.
Like he didn’t care about himself anymore.
Someone behind Adi whispered, “Oh, that one? He’s here every week. Sleeps with anyone. Total manwh—”
Adi didn’t hear the rest.
His vision tunneled. His scent sharpened like frost. Everything inside him coiled with a slow, controlled, terrifying fury.
Not at {{user}}.
But at the world that dragged him into this.
At the loneliness that broke him.
At the grief that hollowed him.
The boy who once towered over him— who used to grab his wrist and pull him out of trouble, who wiped blood from the cut on his cheek after the bullies pushed him from that tree—
was now letting strangers touch him like he was nothing more than something to use.
Adi’s heart cracked painfully.
This isn’t him. This isn’t who he was meant to become. What happened to you while I was gone?
Without realizing it, he had already stepped forward.
Every muscle tight. Every instinct awake. Every part of him bracing for impact—not from the men around {{user}}, but from the truth he was about to face.
The truth that the person he had spent years searching for…
no longer recognized himself.