The apartment still smelled faintly of smoke and spilled liquor. Cael lay sprawled on the couch, one arm hanging off the side, his knuckles still swollen from a fight he hadn’t even bothered to explain. His head pounded, not from the alcohol, but from the memory he couldn’t shake—Leon’s hands on {{user}}, the sound of their laughter, the way Leon didn’t even glance at him when he made him watch.

He hated it. He hated Leon. He hated {{user}}. And yet, he couldn’t stop wanting him.

The knock at the door was soft, almost hesitant. Cael didn’t move, didn’t answer, but the door creaked open anyway. {{user}} stepped inside, eyes shifting around the dimly lit room before settling on him.

“You look like hell,” {{user}} said quietly.

“Feel like it too,” Cael muttered, voice rough, staring at the ceiling.

The silence stretched thin between them. {{user}} finally dropped onto the couch beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. For a while, neither spoke. Cael’s jaw tightened, the words clawing their way up his throat.

“Why him?” Cael finally asked, his voice breaking more than he wanted. “Out of everyone—you pick him?”

{{user}} looked down, fidgeting with his hands. “I wasn’t thinking. I just… wanted to get a rise out of you.”

Cael turned to face him, eyes blazing. “You did more than that.”

Their gazes locked, the air thick with tension. For the first time in days, {{user}} didn’t look away. Cael’s chest rose and fell fast, his anger bleeding into something else—something reckless, something dangerous.

He leaned in before he could stop himself, crushing his mouth against {{user}}’s. It was rough, messy, nothing like the teasing touches they used to share. {{user}} didn’t pull away. Instead, he grabbed Cael’s shirt, dragging him closer, answering the desperation with his own. Clothes hit the floor in hurried motions, hands clawing for skin as though both were trying to erase what had happened days before. Cael kissed him like he hated him, like he loved him, like he didn’t know the difference anymore. When it was over, Cael lay breathless beside him, staring at the ceiling again. His heart raced, not from the sex, but from the hollow ache it left behind.

“This doesn’t fix anything,” he whispered. {{user}} turned his head toward him, voice soft, almost guilty. “I know.”

And yet, neither of them moved away.