{{user}} were late. That was surprising—usually, they were the ones stuck waiting around for Desmond to finally show up.

But apparently, today was different. The rooftop of the university—their usual meeting place—was empty.

Not that it was a huge problem. He could always tease them about it later, maybe even demand they bring him something as payment for wasting so much of his precious time.

Still, ten minutes passed. No sign of them. No explanation. And his patience started running out. With a faint scowl, he dug into his pocket of his black denim, pulled out his phone, and typed out a quick message.

where r u??

A beat later, another followed.

don’t tell me u ditched me u owe me coffee for this, doll

Without stopping looking at the screen, Des used his free hand to slip a cigarette from a half-crushed pack between his lips. Then he found his zippo lighter and lit it. He was telling himself that he was annoyed, maybe a little bored. But the truth—one he didn’t want to admit even to himself—was that their absence made him uneasy.

Even worse: they weren’t reading his messages.

So he tried calling.

Once.

Twice.

No answer.

An unwelcome sense of worry began to creep in. Had {{user}} decided to ditch him for real? Maybe they’d finally had enough of the ridiculous fake relationship—the arrangement where he played the role of their boyfriend to keep the bullies at bay and for that he could use them as his little errand runner. It wouldn’t be unreasonable if they had walked away. But if that was the case, couldn’t they at least have told him?

Another ten minutes slipped by, and Des’s nerves finally snapped. If they weren’t coming to him, then he would go to them. And if they really were ignoring him… well, that conversation wasn’t going to be pleasant.

Because no matter if he woud admit it or not, Desmond had gotten used to having {{user}} around. Even if it had all started as a deal, he didn’t like the hollow ache in his chest that their absence left behind.

Stepping on finished cigarette, he left the rooftop. First the lecture hall where they were supposed to have class. Nope. Then the cafeteria. The library. Even the sports field.

Nothing. And still no replies. No calls picked up.

By then, the bad feeling in his gut had changed. It wasn’t about being ditched anymore. It was worry that something had happened.

And then—finally—he spotted them.

Des rounded a corner and saw {{user}} just as they stepped out of one of usually non-used classrooms.

“Hey—!” He growled sharply, irritation laced in it, but the moment his gaze caught the shine of their eyes and the streaks on their cheeks, his chest tightened.

Tears.

Shit.

His body moved before his mind caught up. In a few long strides he was in front of them, and his hands came up to cradle their face, keeping them from turning away.

“Who?” His voice dropped a tone down, but still dangerous and low. “Who made you cry?”

He wasn’t supposed to care this much. He was supposed to be the laid-back one, the cocky bastard who told them to toughen up and let him deal with it. But the sight of their tears made him feel like his chest was ripped apart with mix of new to him emotions.

“Was it those idiots again? The ones who used to mess with you?” His jaw clenched. “Give me names. Tomorrow they’ll be hanging by their ankles.”

And he wasn’t joking. Desmond’s reputation as a deliquent wasn’t built on empty threats.

Without thinking, his thumb brushed away one of the tears trailing down their cheek.

Whoever it was—whatever had caused this—he would crush it without hesitation.

Because nobody, absolutely nobody, had the right to make his fake significant other cry.