Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was just another autumn day. The wind howled outside like a restless spirit that couldn’t find peace. Stanley woke up to the eerie sound, even though the windows were shut tight. He stretched in bed, feeling the soft sheets wrap around him.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and sat up, taking his time. Outside the window, amber leaves trembled in the biting cold, a reminder that it was time to get up—autumn wasn’t the season for lying around in bed.

He brushed his golden hair out of his face, his curls catching the light like reflections of the autumn sun. His gaze drifted to the world outside. The swirling leaves looked like tiny flames dancing to the wind’s rhythm, but the sight didn’t bring him any joy. His chest felt heavy, like something restless was stirring inside.

Thinking about the new school year, Stanley let out a deep sigh. The same old routine—classes from morning till evening, endless homework, teachers’ nagging.

At school, his name was well-known, but he never cared much. Popularity felt empty, fleeting. He knew people were drawn more to his looks than anything beneath the surface. He tried to be sociable with some of them, just enough to not be completely alone, but there was no real attachment.

Stanley had changed over the summer. Since turning sixteen, he had grown taller, his shoulders broader, and his gaze… different. There was something in his eyes now, something unreadable, like a whole world hidden behind them. He looked different, but more than that, he felt different. Darker. More distant. A little detached. But he was ready to put on his mask and play his part in society.

Academically, he was solid, excelling in sports, and had a natural talent for shooting—something his father never failed to remind him of. But if he was being honest, none of it really mattered to him. Nothing sparked his interest. Everything felt dull, repetitive, meaningless. He was just drifting through life with no real purpose.

Day after day, the same cycle. And each year, it only got more exhausting. What was even the point?

"At least I’ll get to escape this house," he thought, already hearing his father yelling at his mother for not making breakfast. His gaze hardened.

Shrugging it off, Stanley stepped outside. The cold, biting wind greeted him like a lost soul searching for answers. It cut through his jacket, wrapping around him like chains. He stood there on the sidewalk, watching the street scattered with gray and yellow leaves, twirling to the rhythm of the autumn breeze.

A voice called out behind him.

— Dude, how long are you gonna make me wait? It’s freezing out here!

Maya’s voice was sharp, loud, as vibrant as her presence.

Stanley turned around and saw her tall figure standing out against the dull background, like a splash of color on a washed-out canvas. Maya was a force of nature—bold, full of energy, always confident.

— I didn’t ask you to wait, Maya, — he said, his voice calm, distant, like her words barely reached him. — You could’ve just walked ahead.

Maya and Stanley had known each other since elementary school. She was one of the few people in his circle. They trained together, went to the same classes, ran in the same competitions.

Talking to her was easy. She was always surrounded by guys, acted like one of them, loved sports, and could outmatch most of them in a heartbeat. She was strong, untamed, and every glance she threw promised something unpredictable.

— Damn, you really leveled up over the summer! — she grinned, her eyes full of mischief. — Bet the girls in class won’t leave you alone now! Though, your face is still a bit too pretty.

— Yeah, I’ve got more estrogen than you, gorilla, — Stanley smirked. — Not sure if that’s an insult to you or a compliment.

Maya laughed, her laughter bright and sharp, like the sound of bells on a frosty morning. She was so alive, so full of energy that even someone as cold as Stanley couldn’t ignore how her presence seemed to bring color to the world.

They walked to school together. While Maya rambled on about her summer adventures, Stanley walked silently beside her, nodding occasionally. She talked. He listened—sort of.

Don’t get him wrong, he was glad to have friends. But he didn’t feel connected to them. It was like they existed in a world where everything was shallow. He wasn’t looking for anything more. Just peace. Between them, there were only games, words, and smiles. Nothing deeper.

— So, how’ve you been? — Maya asked suddenly, her tone softer. — How was your summer? Anything new?

— Not really… just kept practicing my shooting. My dad won’t let up, — Stanley shrugged. — Keeps saying I have talent.

— That’s kinda badass, though. Bet all the girls will be all over you. Like some mafia guy or something.

— Don’t be an idiot, — he sighed. — You know I don’t give a damn about that.

— Man, you’re weird. Has anyone ever interested you? Like, ever?

Maya looked at him with curiosity, her eyes searching for whatever it was that made him such a mystery.The guy rolled his eyes and looked at her with slight irritation.

— Oh, come on! High school is different! Your life is definitely going to change, — she winked. — It’ll be just like in the shows! Just be a little friendlier, and everything will fall into place.

— Sure, — Stan grinned sarcastically, feeling completely unmoved by her words.

They reached the school. With every step, the thought slipped further from Stan’s mind that maybe this routine was all he really needed. He just wanted to get through it, do his thing, and move on. He wasn’t looking for excitement or joy in school life, and he didn’t expect that to change.

Inside, the hallways were already crowded with students, chatting excitedly about their summer break, catching up on everything. Avoiding all the noise, Stan focused on walking ahead—after all, he had Maya with him. Why bother with meaningless small talk? None of it was for him.

— Hey, look, the first victims have already taken the bait, — Maya whispered, her voice cutting through the background chatter.

Stan glanced over at a couple of girls nearby. They stood close together, and despite their youth, there was already a certain maturity in their eyes that set them apart from most. They were stealing glances at him, giggling flirtatiously. It annoyed him.

Every year, girls from the lower grades would find excuses to walk past him or his classroom, sneaking glances, whispering, and laughing. He never understood what they were trying to achieve, and honestly, he didn’t care to find out.

— Aren’t they more your type, Maya? — Stan teased. — Maybe that brunette’s your style?

— No way, she’s been staring at you nonstop. I don’t stand a chance, — Maya smirked.

— Ugh… Stanley, always the center of attention, — a mocking voice sounded behind them.

It was Brody—a solid-built guy of average height, someone Stan worked on school projects with and played basketball alongside.

— Maybe if we set him up with someone, they’d finally leave him alone, and we’d actually have a shot at getting some attention ourselves, — Maya snickered, throwing Stan a sly glance.

— Screw you guys… — he groaned, tilting his head back. — I’d give anything for them to stop trailing after me.

Brody and Maya exchanged looks, as if seriously considering whether they should help him with that.

— Alright, alright, — Brody raised his hands in mock surrender. — But, you know, you could at least pretend to enjoy it.

— Yeah, — Maya chimed in. — Just look at them. Sighing, sneaking glances… You’re like the lead in some cheap romance novel.

— Makes me wanna puke.

— Can’t argue with that, — Brody laughed.

After dropping off their things, they headed to class together. The hallways buzzed with voices; even though the new school year had just begun, students were already thrilled to be back with their friends and dive back into their social lives.

Stan glanced outside, watching the colorful leaves drift from the trees. Then something caught his eye—a sleek black car pulling up in front of the school, gleaming under the morning light. Even the principal and a few teachers hurried out to greet it, stumbling over themselves, exchanging nervous glances.

Some big shot? Stan wondered.

Then, the back door of the car opened, and out stepped a tall, slender guy in a black coat. His confident stride immediately drew attention.

— Some rich kid? — Maya muttered, folding her arms. There was an edge of disdain in her voice—he looked way too polished for the first day of school.

— Yeah… — Stan replied. — I doubt he’ll last here for long.

— Why do you say that?

— Just look at him, — Stan nodded toward the guy. — He’s too… clean.

Brody, who had been silent until now, chuckled.

— Another rich snob who thinks he’s better than everyone?

— As if one Lillian wasn’t enough, — Maya scoffed, crossing her arms.

— Oh yeah, our dear Lillian, — Stan drawled sarcastically. — The only person whose conversations have two topics: Look at this bag I got from Paris and Ew, the school lockers are so filthy, I can’t even touch them.

Brody smirked.

— Wonder if this new guy is the same way.

— If he is, Lillian’s gonna be thrilled, — Maya snorted. — She might finally find a boyfriend who actually enjoys her endless brand-name monologues.

— Though… — Stan said lazily. — He does seem… different. Not like her.

— Different? — Brody raised a brow.

Stan looked at the new guy again, who, unfazed by the attention, confidently strode toward the school doors.

— Forget it. Doesn’t matter, — Snyder replied.

This school might have been known for its strong academic programs, but the students? They never really lived up to its reputation. Rumors spread like wildfire, bullying was the norm, and anyone who stood out became a target.

That was just how things worked here—eat or be eaten.

Reaching the classroom, Maya took a seat in the back, Brody joined another group, and Stan chose to sit alone in the front. Better view of the board, better chance of actually hearing the teacher.

A few minutes later, their teacher entered, calling for silence. With a tired voice, he greeted the class.

— I hope you’re all ready for the new school year, dear students, — the class let out a collective groan. — Alright, alright! Today, we have a new student joining us. Thanks to his excellent academic performance, he was able to skip an entire grade and has now joined one of the best schools in the state! Please, come in, Xeno.

Stan recognized him instantly, even without the coat. Neat, dressed in expensive clothes, the guy stepped into the room. His shoes shone, his pants were perfectly tailored, and his silver hair, slicked back, looked impossibly smooth.

— Good morning. My name is Xeno Houston Wingfield. Nice to meet you all, — the new student introduced himself.

Stan couldn’t take his eyes off him. Skipped a grade? Is he a genius or something? The thought unsettled him. Not that he had ever cared about being the top student, but for some reason, the presence of this guy made him feel… lesser.

Xeno’s face remained unreadable, as if his mind was elsewhere, thinking of things beyond this room. Then, their eyes met.

For a brief moment, Stan felt an odd unease. Something unfamiliar and unsettling—but at the same time, intriguing. He stared into Xeno’s dark eyes, feeling as if they were pulling him in, like a black hole.

— Xeno, take any free seat, — the teacher said.

Without hesitation, Xeno walked to the front and sat down—right next to Stan. Flashing him a crooked smirk, he casually pulled out his notebook.

Chapter Text

Xeno was like he was made of knowledge—answering without hesitation, without a single mistake, as if he already knew all the questions in advance. Physics, literature, math—it didn’t matter. He absorbed information like a sponge and shared it freely, even when no one asked.

— But it’s obvious! — he’d exclaim whenever someone hesitated. — It’s a basic formula! How could you forget it?

He always had his hand up, impatient, eager—like he was desperate to leave the school walls behind and step into a world where there was still something left to discover.

— Can we move on? — he’d interrupt the teacher whenever he thought the topic was too simple. — There’s a much more interesting part at the end of the chapter.

The problem was, for him, there were almost no new topics. It seemed like he already knew everything, and lessons were just a dull repetition of things he’d learned long ago. The teachers adored him, seeing him as the perfect student, the embodiment of their dreams. But his classmates…

— Well, genius, why don’t you answer the question yourself?— they’d sneer whenever someone got called up to the board.

Xeno really did know the answer—but he didn’t always speak. Sometimes, he’d just sit there, lips pressed into a fake smile, as if he couldn’t be bothered to prove the obvious for the thousandth time.

At first, his classmates just couldn’t keep up with his pace. But over time, something worse appeared—comparison.

— Well, this kid is younger than you and understands everything on the first try. That means it shouldn’t be difficult for you either,— teachers would say with a light chuckle, not realizing their words were nails hammered into someone else’s pride.

No one liked being compared. With every new compliment Xeno received, the irritation grew. Some were convinced he was doing it on purpose—trying to humiliate them, show off his superiority, become the teachers’ favorite. And his appearance only made things worse—flawless clothes, polished expensive shoes, neatly combed hair. He always looked like he wasn’t just sitting in class but attending an important meeting where something significant was being decided.

But the thing that pissed them off the most was his gaze. Cold, distant, slightly narrowed—like an X-ray scanning them from the inside out.

It was as if his eyes were saying: I’m better than you. In everything.

And the worst part?

It was true.

The frustration built up. They couldn’t beat him in academics, but they could turn his life into a constant target for mockery. They came up with dozens of nicknames—everything from nerd to arrogant know-it-all. They teased him right to his face, sometimes even straight-up provoking him.

But Xeno stayed indifferent. It was as if he didn’t hear the insults. Or if he did, he considered them unworthy of a response. Like their mocking was just background noise, some meaningless buzz that couldn’t disrupt his inner calm.

Stanley couldn’t figure out what the deal was with Xeno. The guy just sat next to him one day, like it had been planned all along. No questions, no hesitation. And of course, that put Stanley’s reputation at risk—no one wanted to sit next to the school’s biggest nerd.

— Careful, — Carlos laughed, rocking his chair back on two legs. — You might catch the nerd disease. Next thing you know, you’ll be wearing round glasses.

— Yeah, and getting straight A’s, replacing ‘go fuck yourself’ with ‘I understand, sir,’— Brody added, tossing a ball back and forth with Maya.

— Hilarious, — Stanley muttered, rolling his eyes. — He sat next to me. Why do you guys care?

— Relax, man. — Carlos smirked, picking up a notebook that had fallen to the floor. — It’s just, you don’t see nerds making unexpected social moves every day—sitting next to the most popular guy in school.

— Actually, — Maya drawled, lazily twisting a strand of hair around her finger. — Maybe he has a crush on you?

— Ugh, Maya, that’s disgusting! — Carlos pulled a face and scooted his chair away dramatically.

— Oh, shit, imagine! — Brody jumped in, suddenly serious. — You’re just sitting there, minding your own business, and he’s already making plans…

— Jesus, shut up,— Stanley groaned, rubbing his temple in frustration. — I don’t even talk to him.

— I’m just kidding! — Maya laughed, nudging his shoulder. — But don’t get too comfortable. Nerds are all quiet at first, and then bam—a love confession in front of the whole class.

— You should be more worried about yourselves,— Stanley grumbled, staring down at his desk.

— No, but seriously, have you ever even talked to him? — Carlos poked Stanley with his pen.

Stanley stayed silent.

— Maybe he’s not even human,— Carlos mused, squinting. — They sent him here to spy on our failing grades.

— Yeah, and after school, he’s gonna blast off into space, — Brody smirked.

— You guys are complete idiots,— Maya sighed.

— Oh? And why are you defending him, huh? — Carlos squinted at her playfully.

— Yeah, yeah, exactly,— she waved him off. — I’m a secret agent from the Society for the Protection of Nerds.

— Betrayal! Unbelievable! — Carlos clutched his chest like he’d been stabbed.

— Are you guys gonna keep talking nonsense all day? — Stanley muttered.

— Alright, alright, we’ll stop,— Brody grinned. —But seriously, watch out, Stan. He might already be planning how you two will do homework together.

— I’m going for a smoke, — Stanley said, standing up.

— Dude, why do you keep running off? — Carlos called after him.

— Not your problem.

He walked out of the classroom, their laughter still ringing in his ears.

Stanley liked sneaking up to the school rooftop to smoke. Up here, the air felt cleaner, his thoughts clearer, and the world below seemed distant and unimportant. Most students didn’t even realize they could get up here—they all assumed the door was locked. But one day, he noticed the janitor carelessly leave a ring of keys on the desk. At just the right moment, one of those keys ended up in his pocket.

Now, the door always remained slightly ajar, and he had his own private escape—a place where there were no lessons, no mockery, no voices he didn’t want to hear.

From here, the school looked different. The faces that seemed so confident and loud down below were reduced to vague silhouettes. They never looked up. They never noticed him.

Stanley watched them move, watched their random gestures, their arguments, their laughter. And with every passing minute, a strange, lingering sense of superiority grew inside him. They rushed around, caught up in their small, trivial problems, completely unaware that someone was observing them from above, seeing right through their weaknesses.

He flicked his lighter, but the wind immediately snuffed out the flame. Tried again—nothing.

“Just like in class,” he thought bitterly.

The wind here was like Carlos, like Brody, like all of them—teasing, meddling, pushing into his space. Like Maya, who always knew exactly where to press to get under his skin. Like their stupid jokes about Xeno—annoying, senseless.

Bullshit.

Click. The flame finally caught, and the tip of the cigarette burned red. Stanley took a deep drag, feeling the bitterness and warmth fill his lungs, the smoke slightly burning his throat before dissolving inside him.

He exhaled, watching the thin trail of smoke fade into the sky.

Laughter echoed from below.

He squinted, searching for the source of the noise. A group of guys by the gates, a cluster of students, a teacher explaining something to a kid. Just tiny, moving figures against the dull gray of the schoolyard.

"What if they were all targets?"

His hand lifted on its own, fingers forming the shape of a gun. He aimed at one of the figures, inhaled, exhaled. An invisible trigger.

— Why do you breathe in that poisonous smoke?

Stanley flinched, fingers tightening around the cigarette.

The voice came out of nowhere, like someone had yanked him out of his own head. He spun around—and saw Xeno.

He was standing against the overcast sky, his head tilted slightly, studying Stanley with a lazy curiosity, like an entomologist examining a rare insect.

— What?! — Stanley snapped, but his voice betrayed him—there was a flicker of unease beneath the irritation.

This place was supposed to be a secret. No one ever came up here. No one knew the door was open. No one had been watching him… or had they?

Xeno didn’t rush to respond. He took a few slow steps forward, as if testing the roof’s stability, and finally spoke:

— I never understood why people smoke voluntarily. What’s the point?

His voice was calm, almost detached. No judgment, no real interest. Just a question.

Stanley scowled. The last person he wanted to discuss his habits with was this know-it-all.

— Hell if I know... — He shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. — I guess I just wanted to relax.

He took another drag, but this time, it didn’t bring the usual sense of calm. The presence of another person ruined the ritual.

Xeno watched in silence. Not with disdain, not with amusement—but there was something in his gaze that made Stanley feel like he was under a microscope.

And it pissed him off.

How did he even get up here? And more importantly—why?

Stanley couldn’t figure out what game this guy was playing. Xeno always carried himself like he didn’t care about anyone’s business but his own. But was he here to prove he wasn’t as perfect as everyone thought? That he had his own secrets? Or had he come for one reason only—to snitch?

Fucking nerds. Always sticking their noses where they didn’t belong.

Stanley kept his eyes on Xeno, but his mind was racing.
"If he tells… My dad will kill me. With the same gun we use at the range."

Xeno seemed to sense his tension—and for a brief second, something flickered in his eyes. Something playful, almost teasing. But instead of threats or smug hints about reporting him, he spoke in a completely different tone:

— Oh, so you want to relax? Well, that makes sense. Nicotine stimulates dopamine release—the pleasure hormone. It creates a short-term feeling of satisfaction.

— What..? — Stanley squinted, thrown off.

— But it’s deceptive, — Xeno continued, unfazed. — Nicotine also increases adrenaline, raises heart rate, and spikes blood pressure. Long-term, it leads to more stress, not less. And then there’s addiction. Every cigarette isn’t about pleasure, it’s just relieving withdrawal symptoms.

Stanley stared at him like he’d just started speaking an alien language.

— Thanks for the lecture, I guess…— He exhaled a puff of smoke. — But what are you even doing here?

The second he asked, he realized how dumb the question was. Xeno was new—he probably didn’t even know the rooftop was supposed to be off-limits. Maybe he just stumbled up here by accident.

— Whatever. Just don’t tell anyone you saw me here. Or about the cigarettes, okay?

Xeno tilted his head slightly, as if considering the offer.

— And why should I? — His voice had a trace of amusement. — Why would I break school rules to cover for you?

Stanley froze, unable to come up with an answer. Shit. He’d just handed this guy the upper hand on a silver platter.

Xeno seemed to enjoy watching him squirm. He stood still, unreadable, his gaze locked onto Stanley like he was piecing together a puzzle. He wasn’t in a hurry, wasn’t trying to push—like he already knew he had the advantage.

Then, just as the silence started to feel unbearable, he spoke—casually, like he was discussing the weather.

— Although… I could keep quiet.If you help me with my experiments.

Stanley frowned, trying to regain control of the situation. He wasn’t ready for this conversation, and Xeno’s calm confidence only made him feel like he’d already lost before the game had even begun.

— What experiments? — His voice came out dull, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

— Any experiments,— Xeno replied. A slight smirk tugged at his lips—subtle, not quite smug, but knowing. — I research what I want, and you just help. No questions.

There was something in his tone—so sure of himself, so composed—that the air around them seemed heavier, as if with every word, the space around them was tightening. The wind messed up his hair, and he stood there, like a statue whose fate had already been decided.

Stanley couldn’t figure out what exactly unsettled him so much. It wasn’t just that Xeno was strange or aloof. No, there was something… hypnotic about him.

Like he knew something.

Something important.

Something Stanley couldn’t ignore.

"Am I actually considering this?"

He exhaled sharply, as if trying to shake off the tension.

— Fine,— he muttered, half-hoping his answer would change something, even though he knew it wouldn’t.

— Good, — Xeno said, turning away. — Meet me after class. Chemistry lab.

Then he walked off.

His figure faded into the school hallway, leaving behind only the faint scent of expensive cologne and the heavy feeling that Stanley had just stepped into something much bigger than it seemed.

Alone again on the rooftop, he stood there for a moment, the weight of everything settling in.

"What the hell just happened? Did I just sign myself up as some nerd’s test subject?"

He glanced around, as if searching for answers in the empty sky and the cold wind.

His heart was beating too fast, and the unease he normally ignored had turned into something else—something sharper.

Something new.

He clenched his fists, as if to ground himself.

"Guess we’ll see how this plays out."

Stanley took one last look down at the basketball court, where the guys were messing around, chasing the ball without a care in the world. Their laughter was distant, just an echo of something far away, something unfamiliar. For a second, he thought that noisy game was all their world had to offer. But his world? It was way beyond these walls.

He crushed his cigarette, killing the habit like it was a small act of self-destruction. The scent of tobacco still lingered as he turned around and headed back to class, tension leaving his body but leaving behind something else—something that refused to let go.

The school day dragged on, blurring into dull lessons and thoughts slipping away into nothing. Stanley barely held back a yawn, his gaze drifting across the classroom until it landed on Xeno.

Same as always—unbothered, almost bored. He barely touched his textbooks, like schoolwork was nothing more than a formality to him. His eyes skimmed through the text like he was scanning for errors, and within seconds, he scribbled down an answer. Effortless. Like he already knew the result before the question was even asked.

Stanley could only watch as Xeno moved through his own world, completely disconnected from time and space around him.

When the final bell rang—more like a starting gun for escape—the classroom erupted into noise. The teacher hadn’t even finished his sentence before the place was filled with the sounds of backpacks zipping and feet rushing to the door. The old man sighed, accepting his fate, and started writing down homework on the board without looking back.

— Heeey, Stanley!

A bright, cheerful voice called out, and he turned to see Maya grinning at him. Her high ponytail bounced with every movement, like waves catching the wind. She swung her backpack over one shoulder and pointed toward a group of guys heading outside.

— Let’s go play basketball! The weather’s perfect!

For a second, Stanley was tempted. His gaze flicked back to Xeno. As always, the guy stayed in his own lane—calm, unreadable. He smirked slightly but didn’t say a word, slipping between the desks like a shadow and vanishing into the hallway.

Stanley watched the door where Xeno had disappeared, feeling something weird twist inside him. But Maya was still waiting for an answer.

— Why’s the nerd smirking at you? — Maya frowned, noticing the way Stanley’s eyes followed Xeno. Her voice had that teasing edge, her gaze sharp.

— You’re imagining things,— Stanley brushed it off, forcing his voice to stay casual. His nerves felt stretched tight, and he had to lie just to keep whatever that moment was from getting under his skin. —Can’t. Got plans. Another time.

Maya pouted, shaking her head. Muttering something under her breath, she turned and walked off, her footsteps fading into the noise of the hallway. The anticipation of the game buzzed in the air.

But Stanley didn’t move.

He just sat there, staring into space, his mind blank except for the restless feeling in his chest. Like he was waiting for something.

Like he knew there was no way out of this.

Because Xeno—the weird, unreadable Xeno, whose confidence was as terrifying as it was justified—wasn’t the kind of guy to let silence slide without getting something in return. And Stanley wasn’t willing to risk finding out what would happen if he ignored it.

With a sigh, he finally got up, exhaustion weighing on his shoulders, and headed toward the chemistry lab.

The hallways were bathed in soft golden light, like autumn itself was saying its last goodbyes. The sun was sinking, its rays slipping through the tall windows, casting warm patches of glow against the walls. That quiet, empty-school kind of peace settled in—like the chaos of the day had melted away, leaving behind only echoes of footsteps and the hum of a world slowing down.

Despite his irritation, Stanley felt it, too—that strange calm pressing into his chest, muffling his nerves.

When he reached the lab door and grabbed the handle, it didn’t budge.

For a second, all he felt was confusion.

"The hell? Of course, it's locked. Why would the damn classroom be open after school?"

Then came the frustration, hot and immediate.

"He played me. Wanted me to show up, then just left in his fancy-ass car. What a joke."

Scowling, Stanley turned to leave, already running through a mental list of insults for Xeno. But before he could take a step, he heard a quiet click—the sound of a lock shifting.

And before he even had time to react, a gloved hand grabbed his sleeve and yanked him inside.

— Hey—!

Stanley stumbled, barely catching himself on the edge of a desk. His knee smacked against the corner with a dull thud, sending a sharp sting up his leg.

The door slammed shut behind him.

Like it knew this place wasn’t for prying eyes.

Xeno stood in front of him, completely unfazed. The white lab coat he wore fit so perfectly it was like it had always belonged to him—more science than school uniform. In the fading sunlight, his silver hair almost seemed to glow, standing out against the darkness in his eyes—eyes that swallowed the light, like they were hiding something bottomless inside them.

Stanley, still trying to catch his breath, adjusted his jacket and shot him an annoyed glare.

— You could’ve just opened the door like a normal person, — he muttered, voice sharper than he intended. —Was it really necessary to drag me in like some criminal?

Xeno didn’t even blink. He just crossed his arms, wearing that same unreadable smirk that made Stanley’s skin prickle.

— No one was supposed to see us, —he said, completely unbothered. — We’re not exactly supposed to be here.

Stanley frowned.

— Wait… What? You’re a teacher’s pet. Don’t they let you work here whenever you want?

Xeno let out a quiet, amused hum.

— Hardly. My ideas are a little too ambitious for their tiny little minds. They wouldn’t understand.

— And how exactly did you get in here, then?

For a moment, Xeno didn’t answer—like he was savoring the anticipation. Then, with the same casual confidence, he shrugged.

— Stole a key. Made a copy from scrap materials. Nothing special.

Stanley just stared at him, completely thrown off.

There was only one thought in his head:

This guy is even crazier than he looks.

Perfect grades, never gets in trouble—yet here he was, casually admitting to breaking into the chem lab.

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken thoughts. Then, Xeno tilted his head slightly, his smirk sharpening.

— Mr. Snyder, right?

Stanley snapped out of his thoughts, rolling his eyes.

— Just Stan. No need for the fancy shit, we’re not teachers.

Xeno considered it, then, almost thoughtfully, repeated—

— Stan.

Like he was testing how the name felt on his tongue. Like he wanted to see how it sounded in his mouth.

— Well, then, Stan. I’ve got a job for you.

Stanley raised an eyebrow.

— A job?

Xeno gave a small nod and gestured toward a large box sitting beside the desk. It was stuffed with parts—wires, circuits, scrap electronics.

— See that? Found some old microwaves at the junkyard. I need you to take them apart, extract all the components.

Stanley eyed the pile. It looked messy, but not hard.

— Okay… but why?

The question slipped out before he could stop it.

Xeno’s expression flickered—just for a second, like he’d been waiting for that exact moment. Then he smirked, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

— What did I say about unnecessary questions?

— Is that unnecessary? I’m curious.

Xeno laughed—low, deep, almost dangerous. Like a predator playing with its prey.

— I’m building a rocket.

Stanley froze.

— Excuse me?

Xeno’s smirk widened.

— And I’m going to launch it.

— Why though? — Stanley’s voice had this mix of confusion and quiet admiration.

Xeno looked at him with this weird kind of seriousness, almost like an eerie sincerity that made Stanley’s heart beat just a little faster.

— Why? For science, obviously. I wanna see if I can do it. What it means to surpass everyone else.

Those words hung in the air, echoing in Stanley’s head, making him hold his breath like something invisible had wrapped around his soul.

— I see you pulling up to school in that fancy car, — Stanley said, trying to lighten the mood. — Can’t your parents just buy you all these parts? Then you wouldn’t have to dig through trash. Unless you’re into the thrill of finding cockroaches in old microwaves.

He laughed, but Xeno didn’t even crack a smile. Instead, his eyes turned cold, like something distant and deeply personal had just flickered through his mind. He shot Stanley a glance, and it felt like he had just ripped something invisible straight out of him.

— I don’t need their help, — Xeno said, his voice sharp, almost cutting. — They wouldn’t get a genius like me anyway. If anything, they’d probably just be scared.

The air between them turned ice-cold. Stanley shut up, realizing he had touched on something way bigger than just money. He didn’t know what to say and honestly didn’t want to push it. Instead, he just nodded, keeping his thoughts to himself, and grabbed a box of old tech to shift the vibe. It was heavy, but carrying it to the table was easier than dealing with the tension hanging in the air.

At least Stanley had physical strength—nothing crazy, but enough to dodge conversations about weaknesses.

While he kept tearing apart microwaves, Xeno focused on his chemistry experiments. His movements were smooth, precise, like he had rehearsed them a thousand times. Every action was calculated, every word deliberate. He filled test tubes with an effortless confidence, like this wasn’t just routine—it was an art.

— What are you doing? — Stanley asked, shaking loose another bundle of wires.

— An oxidizer. Using hydrogen peroxide and a few other compounds, — Xeno answered, not even glancing up.

— For a rocket? — Stanley asked, barely masking his disbelief.

— Exactly. — Xeno barely reacted to Stanley’s surprise. His words carried zero hesitation, just a certainty that could put any scientist to shame.

Stanley watched him, unable to look away. The way Xeno worked—it was mesmerizing. He handled chemicals like it was second nature, not even needing to check his tools, like he knew them by heart. Everything flowed effortlessly, and the air wasn’t just filled with chemical fumes but something almost… magical.

"This guy’s actually building a rocket. And the weirdest part? I believe him."

When all the ingredients were set, Stanley dropped the last circuit board and leaned against the table with a sigh, his expression thoughtful.

— You really think you can pull this off? — he asked, not even trying to hide his doubt.

Xeno smirked, tossing a test tube in the air and catching it like it was just a game.

— You’re asking if I can? — His voice was light, but the confidence behind it was unshakable. — I know I can.

Stanley scoffed, barely hiding a grin.

— You always this sure of yourself? Everything about you… it’s like you’re above all this. Even the way you look at people. Like you see them, but you don’t really care to understand them.

Xeno stilled for a second, his fingers letting go of the test tube, his gaze sharpening like he was studying Stanley now.

— That what you think? — Xeno tilted his head slightly, like he was debating whether to even answer. — You’re wrong if you think I don’t understand people. I just don’t play by their rules.

Stanley felt his patience wear thin under Xeno’s endless self-assurance.

— So, what, you just ignore them because you don’t like their games?

— No. I don’t ignore them. I don’t play at all. Because people always do what’s expected of them. They build their little schemes, make their deals. But I don’t buy into their theater. — Xeno stepped closer, absentmindedly running his fingers over an empty test tube, like it was the only thing that made sense in the room. — I’m not looking for approval. I’m looking for freedom. And that, trust me, is a whole different game.

Stanley felt those words cut through his own doubts, slipping into the cracks of his mind. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that kind of confidence, that kind of cold determination. It was both impressive and unsettling.

— You think everyone’s just wasting their lives, not realizing what actually matters? — Stanley asked, searching for some kind of common ground between his world and Xeno’s.

Xeno didn’t answer right away. His dark eyes softened just a little, something almost human flickering in them for a moment.

— People think their lives belong to someone else. Their family, their friends, society. Everyone’s playing these tiny games, trying to fit in, to be accepted. But I want something real. My own world, my own rules. No conditions.

Stanley realized he wasn’t just talking to some kid obsessed with rockets. Xeno was talking about something way bigger—something about freedom, about chasing something real in a world full of fake expectations.

— I… I don’t think I totally get it, — Stanley admitted, his voice wavering slightly, like he had brushed up against something important but couldn’t quite grasp it. — But I don’t think you’re the only one who feels that way.

Xeno smirked, watching him closely, like he was testing how serious Stanley really was.

— Yeah. I know I’m not. And I don’t wanna be.

The guys didn’t even realize how quickly time had flown by until footsteps echoed outside the classroom door. They exchanged glances, and Stanley’s heart immediately started pounding faster. Not knowing what to do, he looked at Xeno, but he had already whispered a command:

— Grab the box and hide under the desk.

Without wasting a second, they scrambled under one of the tables, clutching the box of spare parts and the vial of what would soon become an oxidizer. The doorknob turned, a key clicked in the lock, and a shadowy figure stepped inside.

— Who the hell leaves the lights on but locks the classroom?! — an irritated voice grumbled. — And just look at this mess on the teacher’s desk!

Stanley froze, gripping the box even tighter. The janitor kept muttering to herself as she moved around the room, her footsteps getting closer… Any second now, she’d look under the desk.

"We’re screwed," flashed through Stanley’s mind. He shot a look at Xeno, but he looked completely unbothered, as if none of this had anything to do with him. "Unbelievable. He can create complex chemical compounds, but apparently, he sucks at planning an escape," Stanley groaned internally.

Staying put was too risky. He waited until the janitor turned away, grabbing a rag to wipe down the teacher’s desk. The second her back was turned, Stanley seized Xeno by the wrist and yanked him toward the door.

— Run before she catches us! — he hissed.

They bolted out of the classroom, doing their best to stay quiet, but the moment they hit the hallway, a furious voice rang out behind them:

— HEY! STOP RIGHT THERE!

Yeah, not happening.

They tore through the empty school corridors, their breath ragged, hearts pounding.

— Faster! — Stanley gasped, practically dragging Xeno along.

Xeno was definitely not built for sports—he kept tripping, nearly falling, but somehow managed to keep pace. When they finally reached the lockers, they snatched their stuff and bolted outside without looking back.

Only when the school was far behind them and the cool evening air started to calm their racing hearts did Xeno finally grin.

— That was almost elegant.

— Elegant?! — Stanley groaned, nearly collapsing from exhaustion. — I nearly died. Did you even see how heavy this box is? We would've escaped way faster without it. Just wait for a call from the principal.

— Oh, stop complaining, — Xeno huffed, flipping his silver hair out of his eyes. — And anyway, I highly doubt she actually saw us. Now come on, we need to get this to my secret lab.

Stanley gave him a look.

— Secret lab? You didn’t tell me you had a whole villain lair full of chemicals and even crazier experiments.

— Shh, — Xeno smirked, giving him a playful wink. — Don’t tell anyone, or they’ll really start thinking I’m plotting world domination.

Stanley sighed, but despite himself, a small smile tugged at his lips. There was just something about Xeno—his whole presence turned even the most insane situations into something weirdly… alive. Unpredictable. Just like him.

They made their way toward the forest behind the neighborhood, the crisp autumn wind playing with their hair, rustling through the swirling golden leaves like some silent dance. Sunlight filtered through the dark canopy, casting flickering patterns on the barely visible path leading deeper into the woods. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves, the trees standing tall in their fiery red and amber coats, looking like something straight out of a painting.

— We’re here, — Xeno announced, stopping in a small clearing. — You can drop everything here.

Stanley glanced around. Boxes, broken glass, scraps of paper—it looked like a total mess, like someone had just dumped a bunch of random junk here. But there was something about the way everything was scattered—it wasn’t just trash. There was a method to the madness. This was Xeno’s workspace.

— This is your secret lab? — Stanley asked skeptically, shoving his hands in his pockets. — Doesn’t exactly scream “science.”

Xeno didn’t even blink.

— Doesn’t need to. — He absentmindedly twirled a strand of his silver hair between his fingers, like he’d heard this kind of comment before. — Everything I need to do my work is right here.

Stanley shook his head, amusement creeping into his voice.

— Whatever you say. But, uh, anyone could just find this place, you know.

Xeno shot him a look—one of those unreadable, knowing glances, like he was two steps ahead of everyone else.

— Not unless they’re looking for it, — he said smoothly, raising an eyebrow. — I chose to trust you with it.

Stanley blinked.

— Me? You’re trusting me? Why?

— Scientist’s intuition, — Xeno shrugged, tilting his head like he was observing something invisible. — I just decided to take a gamble on you and see what happens. But for some reason, I know you won’t betray me.

Stanley frowned, a weird, almost ridiculous feeling bubbling up inside him. "Why me? What does he even want from me? Is this some kind of mind game?" Thoughts swirled in his head, chaotic and restless. And yet, deep down, something about it felt… oddly nice. Like a part of him responded to it, refusing to push it away completely.

The past few hours had slipped away without him noticing, and suddenly, Stanley realized he wasn’t tired. He wasn’t stuck in the same old cycle, weighed down by routine. Instead, there was this strange lightness—like he’d shaken off an invisible burden he didn’t even know he was carrying.

Xeno was different. Unlike anyone he’d ever met. He was a mystery, and that mystery pulled at him, demanding attention, like an unfinished sentence you need to hear the end of.

"Hah, it’s like real science," Stanley thought with a smirk. Or something like that.

He dropped down onto an old tree stump, arms crossed, watching as Xeno carefully pulled components from yet another box, explaining each one with that calm, steady voice of his. But underneath that cool tone was something real—genuine excitement, like he was letting Stanley in on some grand truth. And despite all his usual skepticism, Stanley couldn’t ignore how his eyes kept trailing after Xeno’s hands, following every movement, every detail.

At some point, he noticed his breathing had changed. It wasn’t shallow or automatic like before—it was deeper, freer. Like he was actually taking in this new world Xeno was showing him, like he’d just taken his first gulp of fresh air after being stuck in a stuffy room for too long.

Then his gaze flickered to his phone screen, and his heart clenched. It was already past eight. The screen buzzed with missed calls and messages from his dad. Anxiety coiled tight in his chest, cold and suffocating.

He knew exactly what was waiting for him at home—an argument, accusations, maybe worse. The pressure of those unspoken words pressed down on him, heavier than before.

"I should go before it gets worse…" The thought was there, but his body wasn’t moving. Some part of him just didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to let go of this moment, this weightless feeling, this world.

Xeno’s voice cut through his thoughts like a sharp blade.

— You can leave if you want.

It wasn’t just a casual comment. It was a test. A quiet challenge. Maybe even a little mocking.

Stanley froze, meeting Xeno’s gaze. There was something behind his words—something more than just permission to go. The way Xeno looked at him made him feel seen, and not in a way he was used to. Not in a way he could easily brush off.

— Yeah… I should go.

His voice came out flatter than he intended, tinged with disappointment he didn’t quite understand.

— I’ve got training soon. And other stuff.

Xeno raised an eyebrow.

— What kind of training?

— Shooting.

The word slipped out before Stanley even thought about it. And suddenly, it felt… foreign. Like he was talking about someone else’s life, someone else’s habits.

Xeno turned to him sharply, something flashing in his eyes—surprise, maybe. Or something deeper. Like he had just uncovered a piece of Stanley he wasn’t supposed to see. The intensity of it sent a shiver down Stanley’s spine.

— Elegant skill, — Xeno murmured, lips curling into a slow, knowing smirk. — And a useful one.

Something inside Stanley tightened. For the first time, his training didn’t feel like just another obligation. It felt like something more. Something worthwhile.

He scratched the back of his head, suddenly unsure of himself.

— Anyway, I should go.

Xeno just waved a hand, dismissive.

— Yeah, yeah. See you around.

It was too easy. Too casual. No weight, no expectations. And somehow, that made it feel heavier.

Stanley turned and started walking home, but his mind stayed behind, stuck in that moment. In that conversation. In the way Xeno had looked at him, like he was something worth figuring out.

At first glance, he seems so suspicious. So distant. Everything about him is… off.

But unlike most people, Xeno wasn’t trying to sell some version of himself. He wasn’t loud, wasn’t fake, wasn’t desperate to impress. He wasn’t drowning in empty words or bragging or complaints.

And that was interesting.

That passion for science… the way he focuses on the process, not just the result… It’s weird. But somehow, it doesn’t piss him off.

The farther Stanley walked, the more he realized—he might’ve left, but a part of him was still there. With Xeno. With those unfinished words and unreadable expressions.

Like Xeno had already seen something in him that he himself hadn’t figured out yet.

Stan stopped in front of the door to his house. All the good and exciting feelings from the day seemed to evaporate, leaving only a cold, sticky sense of dread. His fingers clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm, but even the pain couldn't drown out the dull fear spreading through his chest. Ahead was nothing but hell, something he had to survive through just to make it to the next day.

He took a step into the darkness, and its wet, heavy walls immediately wrapped around him. The smells—burnt tobacco, old, moldy meals, the unpleasant stench of something that hadn't aired out—hit his nose, and each breath filled him with the suffocating feeling of disgust. He could feel the air thickening, each word he’d speak now carrying a heavy consequence. All that was missing was the creak of old floorboards beneath his feet to echo his fear throughout the house.

And there he was—the father, as always, a huge, dark silhouette in the corner, like some terrifying monument to pain standing in his way. His figure seemed to swallow the light, leaving only an endless shadow that itself seemed like a living thing.

— Where the hell have you been, you little bastard?! — His voice was like thunder, a storm ripping apart the silence. Stan felt the sound of his voice fill his chest, stealing his breath, making his heart pound so hard it almost jumped out of his chest. — Forgot all about your training, huh?

That look—the cold, probing gaze, the casual furrowing of his brows—made Stan freeze. He knew that look. It was like a whip his father wasn’t afraid to use. Without saying anything, Stan could still feel the strength leaving him under that stare. A sharp pain tightened in his chest, and for a moment, he thought he might not be able to take another step. He couldn’t lift his eyes, couldn’t say anything except the well-practiced lie:

— I was catching up on extra lessons after school. Didn't realize how fast the time went by,— he said, trying to make his voice sound steady, but the betraying tremor still crept in.

— I don’t give a damn about your lessons! — his father bellowed. His rage was so consuming, it made Stan feel his body coil up with fear. It was like the very air was suffocating him, and all that remained was to be what they wanted him to be. — You know the only thing you’re good for in this life is shooting! You can’t do anything else, and you’ll never be good for anything else, pup! Stop training, and you’ll be useless, no one will need you. How the hell will you pay back your country’s debt?!

Every word was like a knife’s edge, tearing his soul apart, leaving nothing but emptiness. Stan felt like his body was losing its shape, dissolving in this dark, suffocating space. In those words was everything—threats, mockery, the constant reminder that the only thing that mattered was the fear of being forgotten, abandoned, useless.

He knew he couldn’t say anything. Nothing would change anyway.

Stan glanced over at his mother, sitting on the big, once-soft but now sagging, dusty couch. Her gaze was blank, focused on the screen of the old TV that flickered dimly with cold light. She mumbled something under her breath, but the words were lost in the hollow emptiness of the room. She was there, but at the same time, she wasn’t.

Only the fresh bruise on her cheek proved that reality had, at least, managed to reach her.

His breath caught in his throat. A lump, heavy as a stone, wedged itself in there. He knew the next blow—whether verbal or physical—was inevitable.

— Now you’re really gonna get it! Not listening to me, huh?! — his father screamed, and his voice, heavy like a blunt blade, sliced through the silence. Stan instinctively shrank back.

— Get your ass outside! — he shouted, his face twisted in rage. — And don’t come back until you hit all the targets!

The cold night, trembling fingers on the trigger, the ringing emptiness inside. The question "why?" had long since stopped existing. He was just following orders.

Outside, it smelled of damp earth and old metal. The wind cut through his clothes, biting at his scratched hands, making the fresh wounds burn even more. Stan gripped the gun tighter, pointing it at the empty bottles of whiskey and vodka—his parents' only witnesses to the endless nights.

The metal barrel felt especially heavy tonight, as though it had absorbed all the weariness that had built up in him over the years.

A shot. Another.

The glass shattered, scattering across the cold ground. But his hands trembled, and his muscles ached from the tension.

Someone was watching from behind the heavy curtains. He knew it, but didn’t turn around.

"God, I really want a smoke…" For a moment, he could almost taste the bitter tobacco on his tongue.

When the last bottle exploded, Stan slowly lowered the gun. His shoulders slumped, his gaze empty. He knew what awaited him inside, but there was no choice.

The house greeted him with coldness—not just physical, but emotional too. The dim light in the room seemed almost hesitant to shine on what was happening there.

His father was already waiting.

— So, what was that? — His voice was scornful, but this time, there was no anger, just disappointment. It always hurt more than the yelling.

He crossed his arms over his chest and scanned his son with his eyes.

— Do you even try? You shoot like a blind man.

Stan stood silently. His fingers dug into his jacket sleeve, like it was the only thing holding him up in this house.

— What’s with that look? — His father’s voice turned harsher, like a lash’s crack. There was no rage in it—only cold disappointment that made Stan feel like everything inside him was tightening. — I’m doing this for you! Trying to raise you to be a disciplined, model soldier! And you’re still ungrateful?! I’m wasting my time trying to make you someone who matters, damn it!

The words sank into him like thin needles. They didn’t scream pain—they dripped into his soul like slow poison, soaking into his consciousness. It would have been easier if his father just yelled, if there had been any hint of fury in his voice. But no, it was this resigned tone.

He really believed he was doing the right thing. He really thought he was toughening him up, not breaking him.

— I know, I know…— Stan’s voice was hoarse, almost lifeless. He lowered his head, avoiding his father’s gaze. — I won’t make the same mistakes tomorrow.

The words fell from his lips automatically, rehearsed. Not an apology, not a plea—just what needed to be said to end the conversation.

His father didn’t reply.

Stan didn’t expect anything more. He turned and went to his room, feeling his tightly wound nerves pulse in his temples.

Behind the closed door, he finally exhaled. Here, in this tiny space, he could at least be himself—for a moment. Or the version of himself he hadn’t yet lost hope of becoming.

He slumped against the empty wall and slowly sank to the floor. A heavy weight settled in his chest, squeezing his ribs, until the air turned into a thick, sticky substance that he struggled to pull into his lungs.

"Why does everything go wrong when I have a good day?"

His own voice echoed in the silence of the room, but it only resonated within him. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember if he’d really had fun with that nerd, or if it was just a pathetic illusion he’d created in a desperate attempt to find something good in this endless grayness.

Stan wrapped his arms around his head and buried his forehead in his knees, curling up into a small ball—pathetic, but at least safe. In this enclosed space, it seemed like he could hide from everything. Sometimes, he felt that if he curled up tight enough, he would just disappear. No sound, no trace, no memories.

His lips quivered, and he took a deep breath, feeling the internal pain spread through his body, filling every cell.

"Everything feels so empty... What’s wrong with me? Why does even the good stuff turn into a lie? Why do I keep reaching for illusions that will never become real?"

The thoughts burned from the inside, but there was no answer—only the usual exhaustion and dull despair. He rubbed his forehead, staring into the emptiness ahead, as if there was some sign hidden there that could pull him out of this all-consuming darkness.

"But what’s the point? No one sees me like this. Maybe it’s better that way. I can’t let myself be this ‘me’—this weak, worthless ‘me.’"

He forced himself to stand, unsteady, and walked toward the mirror. The reflection didn’t bring relief. His tired, dull eyes stared back at him, his hair hung limply in strands, his lips slightly tinged with blue—the effects of sleepless nights, grueling training, and a life where he always had to be ready for the next hit.

He stared at himself, but immediately looked away. Deep down, he hoped to see someone else—the person he wanted to be. But the mirror always showed him the truth.

"But why? Why even try? Even if I change, who will accept me? No matter what mask I wear, underneath it’s always this... incomplete, broken person."

He looked into his own eyes again—and it was almost painful.

"You can’t be like this. You can’t let weakness show. They’ll find out. They’ll crush you."

He whispered this to himself like a mantra, as if trying to hammer the words into his skull, to seal them under his skin.

"Just pretend everything’s fine. No one will notice. I’m really good at it. Everything will be fine as long as I keep it under control. The main thing is not to let these weak parts show. Keep everything in its place."

He sighed, feeling the wave of emptiness wash over him once more.

"Or maybe... I’m just tired of pretending."

Stan flopped onto the bed and instantly slipped into the darkness of sleep.

Chapter Text

Stanley woke up to the sharp blare of his alarm clock. His head was pounding from the flood of memories from yesterday, and his whole body ached after the brutal beating from his father. He rolled onto his side, burying his face into the pillow, and groaned. The blanket was warm, the room was quiet, and the last thing he wanted to do was get up.

But school wasn’t gonna finish itself.

Dim morning light slipped through the curtains, painting the ceiling in cold shades of gray.

Stanley sat up slowly, rubbing his face with both hands.

“Why the hell did I even agree to this deal?”

The thought stabbed into his mind like a splinter he couldn’t pull out. That genius kid who seemed to live in a world of his own—a world of formulas, calculations, and ideas way too complicated for Stanley to care about. Xeno was… different. Not just smart—insanely smart.

And that scared Stanley more than anything.

He didn’t trust people who saw more than they were supposed to. People who could pick others apart like some kind of twisted science experiment.

“What does he even want from me?”

Xeno wasn’t the type to just forget about an agreement. He’d probably already mapped everything out, ready to drag Stanley into some new experiment, whatever the hell that meant. Stanley hated being a pawn in someone else’s game, but his gut told him—this guy was playing chess on a whole different level.

A quiet, unsettling fear stirred in his chest.

“What if he’s already figured it out?”

Stanley stared at his reflection in the mirror, but his eyes were empty. Dark circles under his eyes, pale skin, hair sticking up in every direction—he looked like he hadn’t slept in forever.

“I can’t be like this. No one can see me like this.”

He ran his hands down his face, trying to rub the exhaustion away, but it was carved into his bones, soaked into his very being.

His alarm went off again, slicing through the silence. Stanley flinched, grabbed his phone off the nightstand, and checked his messages.

Nothing. Socials? Empty. Not even Maya, who usually flooded his inbox with memes, had texted him today.

For a second, he thought about just… not going. Blowing off school, staying in bed all day with the curtains drawn.

But reality crashed down hard. His dad.

If he found out Stanley skipped, the conversation would be way worse than yesterday.

“Fine. I’ll go. Let’s see what this nerd has planned. Or maybe I’ll come up with an excuse not to show.”

With a heavy sigh, he dragged himself out of bed, feeling a weird, almost painful curiosity gnawing at him. He didn’t get Xeno’s motives.

But something about that guy kept pulling him back.

Stanley instinctively glanced around as he stepped out of the house, but no one was there. No Maya. Usually, she’d be waiting for him, rambling about something random, nudging him, trying to shake him out of his usual gloom with her endless teasing.

But today—silence.

He stood still for a few seconds, listening to the sounds around him. The city hummed in the distance, people hurried past, a dog barked nonstop somewhere nearby.

But no one was beside him.

And he was fine with that.

Stanley took a deep breath of the cold morning air, shoving his hands into his pockets. His fingers brushed against a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out, slipped it between his lips, and flicked his lighter. The tiny orange flame flared up, cutting through the gray morning, and a second later, smoke burned his lungs. A familiar, almost comforting sting.
Alone. No conversations, no voices, no need to respond or pretend he cared. He walked down the street, unhurried, letting himself enjoy this rare moment of solitude. The streets were still half-empty, the sun barely breaking through the dull clouds, and the crisp morning breeze felt nice against his skin.

Stanley exhaled a slow stream of smoke and smirked.

"Who cares why Maya didn’t show? Maybe she’s sick, maybe she overslept, maybe she just didn’t feel like it. Whatever."

Today, he was walking alone. And there was something… beautiful about that.

The noise at school was the same as always—voices overlapping, lockers slamming, bursts of laughter echoing through the halls. Stanley stepped inside, breathing in the stale mix of cheap deodorant, old textbooks, and the weird blend of breakfast smells wafting from the cafeteria.

Near the lockers, the usual crowd had gathered.

Maya and Carlos were talking with two girls. One of them—a tall blonde with perfect posture and the kind of expression that made it seem like she always knew exactly what she was doing. Charlotte. She didn’t talk much, but when she did, people listened. She acted like she didn’t care what anyone thought, yet somehow, everyone was drawn to her.

Beside her stood Luna—almost her complete opposite. Short, with wavy pink hair, wearing a flowy dress over a plaid shirt. Her eyes sparkled as she spoke, her cheeks always slightly flushed. Luna laughed a little louder than necessary and had this way of making things feel warmer, softer.

A lot of guys liked her.

But she only ever looked at one person.

Stanley.

As soon as he appeared in sight, her eyes found him instantly. She froze for a second, then quickly dropped her gaze, like she’d been caught doing something forbidden.

— Oh, look who’s here! Our sharpshooter! — Carlos was the first to spot him, smirking as he waved.

— You’re already lurking around this early? — Maya quipped, slamming her locker shut and turning toward him.

— Yeah, just what I needed—getting hassled by you at school too, — Stanley muttered, leaning his shoulder against the cold metal.

— Don’t worry, I’ll always find a way, — Maya grinned, tugging at the hem of her shirt. — We were just talking about plans, — she added, glancing at Luna. — Luna’s throwing a party at her place in a couple of days. You know, dancing, music, booze… the usual.

— And a bunch of people whining about their hangovers the next day, — Charlotte chimed in, rolling her eyes.

— That’s the whole point of a party, — Carlos grinned.

Luna bit her lip slightly, looking at Stanley.

— You guys should come, — she said, smoothing down a strand of her pink hair. — It’ll be fun.

She smiled, but there was the slightest hint of hesitation in her voice.

— Unless, of course, you have… other plans, — Maya added with a sly squint.

Stanley tilted his head, eyeing the group.

— We’ll see, — he said lazily, but he caught the way Luna’s face faltered for just a second.

— So, no, — Charlotte snorted, shutting her locker.

— Then we’ll convince him, — Carlos clapped him on the shoulder. — A party’s not the same without you. And the girls won’t come if you’re not there.

— I just don’t like crowds, — Stanley mumbled.

— Well, if anything, I know exactly where to find you—sulking in the corner, — Maya smirked.

— Wouldn’t rule it out, — he exhaled, reaching for his stuff.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, suppressing a smirk. A party? Seriously? He wasn’t in the mood for dancing, dumb small talk, and watching his classmates drunkenly wreck the place.

— I don’t know, — he muttered, tilting his head. — It’s just another party. What makes this one so special?

— Oh, dude, — Carlos grinned, slapping his shoulder. — Don’t be lame. Parties are always fun.

— Besides, — Charlotte inspected her nails before looking up at him with a bored expression, — it’s not every day someone like Luna throws something like this. It’s… kind of cute, actually.

Luna immediately flushed, looking away as she nervously adjusted her shirt.

— Oh, come on! — she mumbled awkwardly. — I just thought it’d be nice to get everyone together, dance a little, have a few drinks… Is that so bad?

Stanley studied her more closely. There was something in her eyes he couldn’t quite place—subtle hope, a quiet sense of expectation. She always acted a little differently when he was around. Her voice softened, her movements got slightly jittery.

— Well, — he stretched lazily, — maybe I’ll drop by for a few minutes.

— Now we’re talking! — Maya beamed.

— Pretty sure we just witnessed a miracle, — Carlos smirked. — Stanley agreeing to a party? Gotta mark this on the calendar.

— Alright, let’s go before the bell rings, — Charlotte waved them toward the stairs.

The others started heading to their classes. Luna lingered for a second, like she wanted to say something to Stanley, but then she hesitated, gripping her backpack strap nervously before hurrying after Charlotte.

Stanley stood in the hallway, watching them leave, lost in thought.

He walked slowly as the school filled with the usual morning chaos—lockers slamming, people laughing, others arguing way too loudly. Somewhere down the hall, the bell was already ringing, rushing along the ones who weren’t in a hurry. He ran a hand through his hair, wondering why the hell he had even agreed to that party.

He didn’t really want to go.

But whatever. He’d deal with that later.

He pushed open the classroom door and immediately felt a few eyes on him. Carlos and Maya had already found an audience, deep in some animated conversation in the far corner, gesturing wildly. Seemed like most people already knew about the party.

Stanley didn’t care.

He headed to his seat, not even bothering to listen in.

Xeno was already there—straight-backed, face unreadable, eyes locked on his textbook. Not a single unnecessary movement, even when Stanley dropped into the seat next to him.

Weird.

— Uh… hey, — Stanley muttered, feeling slightly off-balance.

Xeno slowly raised an eyebrow and only then looked up.

— Good morning, — he said calmly, then just as smoothly went back to his book, like that tiny exchange was nothing more than a formality.

Stanley frowned.

After last night, something about being around Xeno felt… strange. Not like he was afraid of him, but there was this nagging feeling, like he’d gotten himself tangled in something unpredictable.

Now what? Ask about his experiments? Or pretend like nothing happened?

He sighed quietly, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. This day was going to be long.

The door opened, and the teacher walked in, snapping Stanley out of his scattered thoughts. Conversations died down, notebooks rustled as people turned their pages. He inhaled deeply, deciding to focus on class. Or at least try to.

Of course, Xeno was the one to break the silence first.

— You look tired, — he noted, still writing in his notebook.

Stanley almost choked on nothing. Since when did Xeno start conversations?

— Nah, I’m fine, — he grumbled, eyes locked on the board, pretending to listen to the lesson.

— Hm. That’s weird. Usually, you look like you’re about to fall asleep. Today, you look more like someone who’s been thinking too much.

Stanley shot him a quick glance.

— What are you, a therapist now?

— No, but observation is a useful skill.

Xeno’s tone was so neutral it was impossible to tell if he actually meant anything by it. But there was something else in his voice—like he was messing with him, like he was trying to see right through him.

— Just didn’t get much sleep, — Stanley shrugged, looking back at the board.

But of course, Xeno wasn’t about to let it go.

— Because of the party they convinced you to go to?

Stanley frowned.

— Were you eavesdropping?

— You don’t need to eavesdrop if you know how to put things together, — Xeno replied, still writing like the conversation barely required his attention.

Stanley wasn’t sure if this was annoying or amusing.

— What, you gonna give me a lecture about the dangers of alcohol?

— No, — Xeno finally lifted his gaze, his lips twitching into the slightest smirk. — I’m just curious. You don’t really seem like the type who enjoys crowds.

Stanley exhaled, not even hiding his irritation.

— You know, sometimes people just want to relax.

— Huh. Relax, — Xeno echoed, but his gaze sharpened slightly, like he wasn’t buying it.

Like he saw something more.

That look held onto him, like Xeno was picking apart something hidden, something unspoken.

But before Stanley could say anything, the teacher called his name, snapping him back to reality. He straightened up, mumbling something half-coherent, while Xeno just let out a quiet chuckle, going right back to his notes like their conversation had never happened.

The lesson dragged on painfully slow, and Stanley could barely focus. His mind kept drifting, stuck on that weird exchange with Xeno.

What did he even want? And why the hell was he watching him so closely?

When the bell rang, Stanley was the first to get up, not waiting for Xeno to finish scribbling something in his notebook. He needed to clear his head.

Leaving the classroom, he headed to the bathroom—not because he actually needed to go, but just to be alone for a bit. Locking himself in a stall, he sat on the toilet lid and pulled out a cigarette. He twirled it between his fingers but didn’t light it—he’d get caught instantly, and he wasn’t in the mood for that. Just holding it was enough to calm him down.

“That Xeno… he’s weird. One moment he’s a stuck-up nerd, the next he’s all chatty. Maybe he’s just bored and messing with me?”

But something told him that wasn’t it. He could feel it.

The bathroom door swung open, and a few guys walked in. S

— Yo, is Stanley really coming? — someone asked.

— Yeah, he said he would, — answered Carlos, Stanley recognized this annoying voice instantly.

— Damn, that’s crazy. I thought he wasn’t into that kinda stuff. Well, whatever, we’ll get him so wasted he won’t even remember his own name!

The guys burst out laughing. Stanley rolled his eyes.

“Oh yeah, get me wasted. Watch me make a fool of myself. So fun for you, huh?”

He tightened his grip on the cigarette, irritation bubbling up. This party was starting to feel like a setup.

Then the door opened again, and the moment he heard the voice, Stanley knew exactly who it was.

— So, what’s the plan? — The tone was cold, slightly mocking.

Xeno.

The bathroom went dead silent.

— Uh… what’s it to you? — Carlos asked, clearly not expecting Xeno to show up.

— Just curious, — Xeno replied calmly, like he was asking about the weather. — You guys wanna get Stanley wasted. Why?

The room fell quiet again. No one seemed to know how to answer that. Stanley, still sitting in the stall, barely held back a grin.

— Relax, dude, it’s just a joke, why so serious? — Carlos finally said, trying to play it off.

— Funny, — Xeno said, his voice sharper now. — Judging by your tone, you’re saying that just so you don’t look guilty.

Stanley almost burst out laughing. He could practically see Carlos’ face twisting in annoyance.

— Chill, nerd. Not like you’re coming anyway, right? — Carlos was clearly trying to brush it off.

A weird silence followed—so thick it made Stanley’s skin prickle.

— Not sure, — Xeno finally said, sounding both interested and thoughtful.

Stanley nearly dropped his cigarette.

“What?!”

— Wait, you’re serious? — Carlos asked, completely thrown off.

— Maybe. I’m curious, — Xeno replied, like the decision itself wasn’t that important to him.

A few footsteps, then the sound of the door closing. The guys just stood there, stunned.

— Dude’s a freak… — one of them muttered.

— For real, what’s his deal? — Carlos scoffed, waving a hand like he was physically brushing off the conversation. — Whatever, forget it.

They left, and Stanley stayed where he was, feeling kind of dazed and… intrigued.

Xeno’s coming to the party? The thought made his heart pound a little faster. Suddenly, this party felt a whole lot more interesting.

After school, Stanley headed straight home, not wanting any distractions and to get beaten up by his dad again.

— I’m out for today, — he tossed at Xeno without even stopping.

Xeno didn’t try to argue. He just nodded, like it didn’t matter at all.

And that—that—was what pissed Stanley off the most. If Xeno had pushed or tried to convince him, he would’ve refused no problem. But now?

Damn Xeno.

When he got home, his thoughts felt like they were stuck in his throat. He didn’t waste any time—quickly changed clothes and headed straight for the basement, where his father kept old targets and training weapons. Shooting helped him clear his mind.

Something solid in his hands, focus on breathing, aim precisely. In that moment, everything else disappeared.

The first shots weren’t perfect, as usual. But then his body remembered the familiar rhythm, and the bullets started hitting dead center.

Bang. First shot, right on target.
Bang. Second one, a little to the left.
Bang. Third, straight in the heart of the painted figure.

Stanley shifted his position, reloaded, and kept going. But with every shot, it got harder and harder to concentrate.

That weird lab in the woods kept creeping into his mind—microwaves taken apart, empty flasks, the sharp scent of metal and ozone. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why it bothered him so much, but one thing was clear—he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

By the time he was done training, the clock was already pushing late evening. He put the gun back in its place, wiped his hands on his pants, and went upstairs.

His father was in the living room watching the news. His mother was somewhere in the kitchen. No one even looked up when he passed by and went into his room.

He sat on his bed, but the thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone.

Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
Then thirty.

And finally, he got up, threw on a hoodie, and carefully opened his window. No noise, no wasted movement. He slipped out, landed softly on the grass, straightened up, and walked toward the woods without looking back.

Stanley moved down the forest path, doubt creeping in with every step. This whole thing was strange. A little unnerving. But curiosity was stronger than fear.

When he finally stepped into the clearing, he saw him right away. Xeno stood among a scattered mess—broken microwaves, rusted metal parts, weird-looking boxes, like someone had gathered up all the junk in the world and dumped it here. The whole thing looked like a scene straight out of some old sci-fi movie, the kind where a mad scientist builds something dangerous.

Stanley knew this probably wasn’t that, but he couldn’t shake the feeling.

Xeno noticed him, not the least bit surprised. He smirked, eyes gleaming in the dim light.

— You actually came. — His tone was amused, like he knew Stanley wouldn’t be able to resist. — Thought you were serious about not showing up.

Stanley stopped a few steps away, unsure what to say. His thoughts were a mess, but the first thing that came out was:

— I… sorry I didn’t come earlier. — He muttered, feeling an unfamiliar weight of awkwardness settle in his chest. — I had training, couldn’t make it. But… you mind if I help now?

Xeno let out a quiet chuckle, like all of this was going exactly as he expected.

— Doesn’t matter that you didn’t come earlier. What matters is that you’re here. — He nodded toward one of the machines, covered in wires and metal pieces. — See these cables? I need them hooked up properly. This thing should work, but I’m not sure I can do it alone.

Stanley stepped closer, eyeing the mess of wires. The whole setup felt a little out of his depth, but curiosity was gnawing at him.

— How’d you even figure I’d be any good at this? — He raised a brow, glancing at Xeno.

Xeno just shrugged, like the answer was obvious.

— I’ve been paying attention. You’re good with technical stuff, even if you don’t think you are.

Stanley gave him a skeptical look, but Xeno continued.

— You train with guns. That takes precision, focus, knowing how things work. This? Not much different.

Stanley eyed the tangled wires again. He wasn’t convinced, but… maybe it was worth a shot.

— Alright, fine. I’ll help. — He sighed, still a little unsure, but the hesitation was fading. He reached for the tools lying nearby.

— Good. — Xeno nodded, satisfied. — Alright, this wire goes here, and this one here. Got it?

Stanley nodded, shifting his focus. The more he worked, the more he started to get into it. He liked order and discipline, but this—this was different. Messy, chaotic. And yet, it made sense.
And that, somehow, made it even more interesting.

When Stanley looked around, questions started flooding his mind one after another.

— You always have stuff like this here? — he asked, glancing at the mess of wires and broken electronics.

Xeno shot him a look, completely unfazed by his curiosity.

— Not always. Depends on what I decide to build. Sometimes it's a bit more organized. Sometimes… not at all. — He smirked, narrowing his eyes slightly. — Were you expecting some kind of genius-level project?

Stanley let out a small laugh but quickly realized Xeno wasn’t really joking.

— I don’t know. Maybe. — He ran a hand through his hair and went back to connecting the wires.

Xeno watched him for a while without saying anything. When Stanley finished, Xeno handed him a tool for the final connection.

— You’re not as dumb as you think, huh? — he nodded approvingly, though there was a teasing edge to his voice.

— Whoa, was that a compliment? — Stanley shot back, raising a brow.

— If you wanna take it that way, sure. — Xeno smirked.

Something in Stanley eased up. This weird, tense night was turning into something unexpectedly… fun.

He carefully picked up one of the metal parts, examining it. It was cold, rough to the touch, its edges polished smooth, like Xeno had been working on it for days. All around them were wires, tools, and odd pieces of machinery, forming a chaotic mess that somehow had its own logic.

Xeno stood slightly to the side, scribbling something in a worn-out notebook, occasionally chewing on the cap of his pen.

— You’re not seriously gonna turn this thing on right now, are you? — Stanley asked, still trying to wrap his head around whatever was going on here. — This… doesn’t look safe.

Xeno glanced up, his eyes sparking with something—excitement, amusement, or maybe both.

— What, you scared? — he grinned, snapping his notebook shut. — It’s not as dangerous as it looks. The key is connecting the wires correctly. Everything else? Just details.

Stanley frowned, eyeing the setup again. Some of the wires had weird markings, and the more he stared, the more something about the whole thing felt… off.

— I’m not scared, — he muttered, crossing his arms. — It’s just… weird. You’re really trying to make something work out of old microwaves?

Xeno let out a chuckle and strolled over to a pile of tools.

— You have no idea how much you can build from what people throw away, — he tapped a metal casing with his finger. — These microwaves, for example, could be the foundation for something completely new. You just don’t see the potential.

Stanley’s frown deepened, a little annoyed.

— I just don’t think you can turn a pile of junk into something useful. How do you even get all this stuff? This whole place looks like… trash.

Xeno gave him a curious look before breaking into a smirk and shaking his head slightly.

— To you, it’s trash. To me, it’s ideas. Do you even realize how few people know how to see possibilities in what’s right in front of them?

Stanley had no answer for that. Instead, he just sat down on the ground, lacing his fingers together.

— No, I’ve never thought about it, — he admitted. — I don’t really have time to mess with stuff like this. Maybe that’s why you’re always in your own world, and I’m just… a regular guy.

Xeno went quiet for a moment, then tilted his head with a small smile.

— Maybe. But if you wanna change something, you gotta learn to see things differently. You know it yourself—if you keep thinking like everyone else, you’ll stay exactly the same. But if you’re willing to take a risk, to try, you might find something new. Even if it seems weird at first.

Something inside Stanley tightened. Those words… hit. They made him think. He clenched his jaw for a second, then exhaled, shaking off the tension.

— You’re probably right… — he said hesitantly. — I’m just not used to thinking like that. It’s weird, but… maybe kinda interesting.

Xeno studied him for a second, then nodded.

— Good. Then let’s try. Together.

At school, the relationship between Stanley and Xeno remained... weird. They weren’t exactly friends, but they weren’t total strangers either. Xeno was still that same odd genius people didn’t like because of his confidence and the way he talked like he knew everything. Stanley, though not actively seeking friendship, couldn’t deny that their interactions had become part of his daily life.

In class, they barely talked—just exchanged quick remarks, glances, or sarcastic comments. But every time the teacher handed out assignments, Xeno would give him that look. Not mocking, not smug—just a quiet, insistent reminder: You’re not like them. You can do more.

And it was so damn annoying.

Carlos and Maya definitely noticed the shift.

— Okay, I’m missing something here — Carlos said one day as they sat in the cafeteria. He twirled a plastic fork in his fingers like he was about to stab some great truth into existence.

— Stan, are you actually friends with that guy now?

— With who? — Stanley played dumb.

— Him — Carlos waved a vague hand. — The nerd.

— Oh, come on — Maya smirked, sipping from her paper cup. — Just ‘cause they sit next to each other doesn’t mean they’re friends.

— Sit next to him, disappear after school… — Carlos muttered, narrowing his eyes.

— I’ve always disappeared — Stanley shot back.

— Yeah, but now you’re acting weird — Carlos squinted and jabbed his fork in Stanley’s direction. — Where the hell do you even go every night?

Stanley shrugged and focused on his food, pretending the question didn’t bother him. But the truth was, he was disappearing.

Every day, after school and practice, he went to the woods. Not because he had to. But because… he wanted to.

It had become part of his routine. Home, training, then the woods. In the dark, between the trees, at that same clearing—Xeno was always there, waiting with his strange experiments.
Sometimes, Xeno gave him tasks—taking apart old tech, checking things in his notebooks, carrying parts. Other times, he just talked, explaining how everything worked. And the more Stanley listened, the more he realized there was more to this guy than just wanting to be the smartest in the room.

— Do you even know why you’re doing all this? — Stanley asked one night, staring at yet another dismantled device at his feet, looking like a pile of junk.

Xeno didn’t even glance up, just kept scribbling in his notebook.

— Obviously. Do you know why you keep showing up here every night?

Stanley opened his mouth to answer—then froze. Because he didn’t know what to say. Or rather, he did, but he sure as hell didn’t want to admit it.

And so, they kept going. Day after day. Stanley stopped trying to explain to himself why he kept coming, but after practice, his legs just carried him to that familiar clearing.

And Xeno was always there. Sometimes with tech, sometimes just a notebook, and sometimes just sitting, leaning against an old TV he’d dragged out there for no reason Stanley could understand.

— Got a new task for you today — Xeno said as Stanley stepped out from between the trees. — Catch.

Something heavy flew at him. Stanley barely managed to grab it before it hit the ground. In his hands was an old battery.

— And what exactly am I supposed to do with this?

— Take it apart, obviously.

— …You’re serious?

— I don’t joke. Ever.

Stanley let out a deep sigh but sat down and started unscrewing bolts. At this point, he wasn’t even surprised when Xeno handed him random junk to dismantle. Microwaves, old computers, lamps, even some mechanism Xeno claimed was once part of an ATM. Where he got it from, Stanley didn’t even want to ask.

— Okay, but seriously, where do you even get all this crap? — Stanley muttered, wrestling with a particularly stubborn screw.

— Junkyards, dumpsters. Sometimes pawnshops.

Stanley raised an eyebrow.

— You actually go digging through dumpsters?

— Why not?

— I dunno… it’s just… weird.

Xeno smirked.

— Efficient. People throw out so much good stuff. All I have to do is grab it before it rots in the rain.

Stanley shook his head but didn’t argue.

A few minutes passed before he realized Xeno was watching him. Staring, actually.

— What? — Stanley snapped.

— You’re getting better with the tools.

— Well, yeah. How long have you been making me do this crap?

— I’d call it learning.

Stanley snorted.

— Sure. Learning. Or unpaid labor.

— Depends on perspective — Xeno said with a sly grin.

And, damn it, Stanley realized he liked this. The routine, the weird conversations, the challenge of taking apart things he never thought twice about before.
Maybe that was the scariest part of all.

The day of the party started like any other. His alarm screamed in his ear with its soulless metallic voice, yanking him out of a foggy sleep. He got up like a machine, threw on his clothes, stuffed his textbooks into his bag. Everything followed the usual script, but something felt off inside.

Because today, he wasn’t going to the woods.

Xeno told him that yesterday—casually, like it didn’t mean anything.

— Don’t come tomorrow. I have other things to do.

Stanley had just nodded at the time. But now, walking his usual route to school, that vague, sticky sense of unease was growing in his chest.

What “other things”? Why didn’t he say anything sooner?

His thoughts tangled together, twisting into an unpleasant knot. Xeno didn’t explain. Didn’t offer, didn’t ask—just told him, like he’d already made the decision for him. Like he knew better than Stanley what he was supposed to do.

And the more he thought about it, the more it pissed him off. Xeno wasn’t the type to throw words around. If he didn’t want Stanley there, he had a reason. But what was it? Maybe it was really about the experiments. Or… maybe it had nothing to do with them at all.

Maybe Xeno just decided he didn’t need him anymore.

The thought stabbed into his brain like a rusty nail, and the deeper it went, the more it burned. Stanley didn’t even know why it bothered him so much. Damn it, was he some abandoned puppy now? Left outside, whining at the door? Why did he even care?

But he couldn’t shake the feeling. It clung to him, tugging at his sleeves, whispering in his ear. And, hell, he had no idea what to do with it.

Xeno acted like nothing had changed. Sat in his usual seat, flipping through his textbook, completely absorbed—like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Not a hint of guilt, not the slightest hesitation, not even a glance in Stanley’s direction. As if he hadn’t noticed that Stanley hadn’t even said “hi” this morning.

And that? That pissed him off.

Pissed him off so bad his teeth clenched, so bad he wanted to march over there, yank that stupid textbook out of his hands, and make him look at him.

At lunch, when Stanley pulled a sandwich out of his bag, Maya suddenly plopped down next to him, poking him in the shoulder.

— You look like a thundercloud today — she grinned. — Tell me your favorite rifle didn’t break, or I’ll actually start worrying.

Stanley shot her an unimpressed look.

— Uh-huh — he muttered, not in the mood to talk.

— Oh, so it did break? — Carlos smirked.

— Maybe he ran out of ammo? — Maya added lazily.

— What’s up with him, anyway? — Brody strolled over, eyeing him closely. — He was stomping around this morning like he was about to kill someone.

— It’s nothing — Stanley said sharply, biting into his sandwich.

— Oh, sure, “nothing” — Maya drawled, narrowing her eyes. — Maybe it has something to do with a certain very smart someone?

Stanley’s gaze snapped to her.

— What are you talking about?

— Oh, nothing — Maya shrugged casually. — Just that Xeno’s been acting a little too calm in class lately. He always had his nose up in the air, but today… he’s different.

Stanley frowned.

— Different how?

— Well, usually he looks bored — she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. — But today…

— Today, he looks kinda irritated — Brody finished for her.

Stanley felt something unpleasant twist in his chest.

Bullshit.

Irritated? Xeno was as calm as ever. Maybe even too calm. Like he was waiting for Stanley to snap.

Like he was deliberately pushing him toward it.

If he wanted to piss me off, congratulations. It’s working.

— Whatever, drop it — Stanley muttered, going back to his sandwich.

— If you say so — Maya hummed, but there was still curiosity flickering in her eyes.

Stanley could barely sit through the rest of the school day. The party was the only thing he was trying to focus on. Alcohol. Music. Voices filling the silence in his head. The relief of not having to think about anything for once.

But that damn feeling was still there. Like a splinter lodged under his skin.

When the final bell rang, he was out of there faster than usual. Didn’t wait for Maya or Carlos. Just slung his bag over his shoulder and headed home, one thought pulsing in his mind.
Xeno never did anything without a reason. That much, Stanley was sure of. Which meant he really was planning something. Or—worse—he’d already decided there was no place for Stanley in whatever he was doing.

That thought burned more than he wanted to admit.

The moment he got home, he went straight to his room, threw his bag into the corner, and collapsed onto his bed.

— Shit — he exhaled, staring at the ceiling.

He needed to get ready for the party.

Stanley had already heard it a thousand times—if he showed up in that same old dark T-shirt and worn-out jacket, Maya would personally kill him, resurrect him, and dress him properly herself.

Not that he cared.

His mind wouldn’t let go.

At first, he tried to distract himself—ate, washed the dishes, checked his gun. The usual routine, things that usually helped him get his thoughts together.

But even when he stepped out into the backyard to practice shooting, he couldn’t focus.

Bang. First shot.
Bang. Second.
Perfect aim, steady hands, but his head was somewhere else.

What if Xeno was hiding something?
What if he decided to shut him out of his experiments?
What if this was just a way to… push him away?

Bang.
The shot went off course.

— Shit — Stanley muttered through clenched teeth.

He set the gun aside and ran a hand over his face.

This is ridiculous.

He was acting like an idiot. Why the hell did it even matter so much if Xeno wanted to see him or not?

And yet…

Something inside him kept pushing him to go.

Just to check.
Just to make sure.

He got himself together quickly, confirmed his dad hadn’t come back yet, and slipped out the door.

The forest was quiet. Too quiet. Stanley walked the familiar paths, feeling that strange restlessness grow in his chest. He tried to shut it down with logic—nothing happened, Xeno just didn’t want him there today. And yet…

Soon, he reached the clearing.
Everything was in place.
The bushes, the grass, the neatly arranged tools and scattered machine parts.

But no Xeno.

Stanley clenched his jaw.

— Where the hell are you? — he muttered, glancing around.

He was about to turn back when a cold, familiar voice sounded behind him:

— I told you not to come today.
Stanley spun around.

Xeno stood by a tree, arms crossed over his chest. His expression wasn’t surprised—just mildly irritated, like someone being asked the same obvious question for the hundredth time.

— Wanted to see what you were up to — Stanley admitted, stepping closer, narrowing his eyes. — But I’m starting to think you just wanna get rid of me.

Xeno tilted his head slightly, watching him with mild curiosity.

— Interesting conclusion.

— Is it true? — Stanley snapped.

Xeno didn’t answer right away. He just stared, as if weighing his options. Then, finally, a small smirk tugged at his lips.

— You think too much.

That only pissed him off more.

— Maybe because you never say shit.

— Maybe.

That damn calmness again.

Stanley’s eyes darkened with frustration, but he didn’t say anything. They just stared at each other for a long moment.

Then, as if already bored with the conversation, Xeno looked away and nodded toward the tools.

— Since you’re here… help me with this.

Stanley scoffed but sat down next to him. He was still annoyed.

By the time they were done, the sun was nearly gone, the air cooler, the forest quiet in a way that pressed against his ears.

Stanley stretched, exhaled, and glanced at Xeno.

He looked exactly the same as always. Calm, composed, like the whole conversation meant absolutely nothing.

"Does anything ever bother you?"
He wanted to ask.
"Why didn’t you want me to come? What are you hiding?"

But instead, he just stood up, dusted off his pants, and muttered:

— I’m out.

Xeno didn’t even blink.

— See you tomorrow.

Stanley scoffed.

— If you don’t decide to ditch me again.

He tried to make it sound like a joke, but there was a hint of something real in his voice.

Xeno didn’t reply. Just looked at him, a little too carefully, like he was considering something.
But in the end, he said nothing.

Stanley turned and walked back down the trail.

By the time he got out of the woods, the party was the last thing on his mind. But he knew if he didn’t show up, Maya and Carlos would be on his ass the whole next day.

So when he got home, he threw on something decent enough (Maya would still complain, but whatever) and headed for the party.

It was already dark by the time he reached Luna’s house.

The music was blasting all the way from the entrance, the light from the windows cutting through the darkness. Someone was already half-slumped on the porch, clearly having had too much to drink.

Stanley let out a heavy breath.

— Alright. Maybe this will be a distraction.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Stanley sat on the couch while everything around him was in motion. People were talking, laughing, the music thumped with deep bass, and the air was thick with a mix of perfume, alcohol, and cigarette smoke.

He raised his glass, took a sip — the bitterness of rum melted on his tongue, heat spreading through his chest. He wasn’t rushing, but he wasn’t holding back either. He felt the alcohol seep into his veins, his thoughts turning a little blurry at the edges.

— So? Having fun?

Stanley gave an uncertain smile and shrugged slightly.

— Yeah. It’s fine.

Carlos squinted at him.

— You always say that when something’s not fine.

— Just drop it, alright? — Stanley muttered without much bite, taking another sip.

The sharp burn of rum made him squint. Each sip made the world feel lighter, but only for a moment before something heavy crept back in.

Maya switched topics, arguing with Carlos about the music.

— Bet you a hundred you don’t even know the name of this song.

— Pff, are you serious? This is a classic! — Carlos fake-gasped in offense.

Stanley chimed in, laughed when they did, kept the mood going. He could talk, he could act like everything was fine. He pulled out the usual jokes, handed them out easily, like a magician who knew exactly how to dodge awkward silences.

He liked it when people listened to him. When his laugh sounded natural. In moments like these, he was part of something — part of the party, part of these people, part of the conversation. But the second he let his guard down, his mind snapped back to what he was trying to escape.

He didn’t realize he’d gone quiet until Maya poked him in the side.

— You zoned out.

— Huh? — He blinked, trying to refocus.

— You’ve been staring at your drink for a full minute. Maybe slow down?

Stanley smirked.

— You know I don’t get drunk.

— You know I don’t mean the alcohol, dumbass.

Stanley just shrugged.

Carlos clapped him on the shoulder.

— You’re a weird one, dude. You can be in the middle of a crowd and still look like you’re a million miles away.

— Maybe I am.

Carlos snorted.

— Well, come back. It’s more fun here.

Stanley smiled again, took another sip, and nodded.

— Yeah. We’ll see.

He tried tuning back in, listening as Carlos and Maya kept bickering over something pointless.

— You’re just deaf, — Maya rolled her eyes. — That’s not even the band you think it is.

— Oh, sorry, Miss “I Have Perfect Music Taste,” — Carlos scoffed.

Stanley smirked, took another sip.

The music got louder. Someone laughed from the other side of the room, someone else was trying to shout over the bass, voices blending into white noise.

Then, suddenly, he felt the pull to leave.

— Be right back, — he said, standing up.

— Where you going? — Maya asked.

— Just... need some air.

She gave him a look but didn’t press.

Outside was cooler than he expected. The party noise was muffled behind the door, but out here, everything felt different. Quieter. More real. Stanley ran a hand over his face, inhaled deeply.

“What the hell is wrong with me?”

He wanted to let go, to disappear into the chaos of the party, but here he was anyway — alone, in the middle of the night, stuck with the thoughts he was running from.

— Hey, what are you doing out here?

Stanley turned his head.

Luna stood on the porch, arms crossed.

— Why aren’t you smoking? — she noted.

— Just needed some air.

— What, not having fun?

— It’s fine.

— Liar.

Stanley let out a dry laugh.

— That’s all anyone’s been telling me tonight.

Luna took a drag, studying him through narrowed eyes.

— Maybe because you actually look like you’d rather be anywhere but here.

He didn’t answer. Just thought.

Every day was the same: school, training, then... the woods. Like always. He was already used to the rhythm. Used to sneaking away from everything, going to the one place where it was just him, the trees, the moon, and Xeno’s voice.

But not tonight. Xeno had told him he didn’t need to come.

And why the hell did that piss him off so much?

Maybe because he thought those meetings actually meant something. That Xeno wasn’t just tolerating him, wasn’t just using him as an extra pair of hands for his machines. That Stanley actually mattered to him. He could always feel it, even if Xeno wasn’t the best at showing emotions. But now, after hearing those words — “You don’t need to come” — doubt sank its claws into his chest, tight and unshakable.

He sat there among people who called him a friend, yet they felt like shadows — familiar but distant. The music pounded, laughter rang out, someone was hugging someone else, but he just sat there, feeling the emptiness inside him stretch wider with every sip of alcohol. The drink gave the illusion of ease, but each swallow only made that feeling stronger. That same sense of loss that had settled in him from the moment Xeno said those words. And now they echoed in his head, over and over:

You don’t need to come.

Why did he say that?

Xeno was always closed off, but he never seemed like the type to just shut someone out. He was weird, a little distant, but not dismissive. But now... now it felt like Xeno had shut a door in his face. Like he’d suddenly realized Stanley wasn’t worth the space he took up in his life.

Maybe he never was.

Maybe Stanley was just a temporary thing. Just another moving part in Xeno’s life, easy to remove, like he was nothing.

— You look frozen, Stan.

He heard Luna’s familiar voice, and only then did he realize she was already sitting next to him. She tilted her head, her eyes searching for his, but Stanley could feel the distance growing with every second. He avoided her gaze because he didn’t want her to see how everything inside him was falling apart. The wave of detachment kept building, gripping him the way cold clings to glass.

— Don’t worry. — He forced the words out, barely holding back his irritation, and grabbed his drink again. The sip was almost ritualistic at this point. He wasn’t drinking because he wanted to —he was drinking to disconnect. To stop thinking about what was happening inside him. To stop wondering if he’d just imagined all of it.

Luna kept watching him, her eyes not leaving his face. She was waiting for him to admit something, to say something she could understand. But Stanley felt her words sliding right past him, like there was this huge gap between them that kept widening. He knew she was trying to help, trying to pull him back to reality, but he just didn’t have the energy to explain what was actually going on in his head.

You don’t need to come.

Those words wouldn’t leave his mind. They hung in the air around him, a weight too heavy to ignore. Stanley stared into his glass again, watching the ice cubes slowly melt—just like his feelings. He knew he should stop, but he couldn’t. He kept drinking, like it could somehow drown out the chaos inside him, like it could make him forget, even for a little while, that his world was falling apart again. The bitterness on his tongue felt stronger now, and Stanley was starting to realize—it wasn’t just the drink. It was poison. And he was the one pouring it for himself.

— Are you sure you’re okay?

Maya’s voice cut through the noise as she stepped outside. There was concern in her tone, but everything else stayed the same—the laughter, the conversations, the music. Stanley felt like no words could reach him anymore. He tried to say something, but as he looked at them, all he saw was a reflection of himself in their eyes. What was he supposed to say? Yeah, I’m fine? Would that even be true?

He realized no words could explain what was happening in his head. All of it—the talking, the smiling, the glances people threw his way—it all felt meaningless, like smoke fading into the air. He couldn’t be the person they expected him to be. He couldn’t exist in a world where his soul felt like it had no place. Everything around him seemed fake, like a counterfeit coin he kept holding onto, pretending it was worth something.

And then it hit him—this was all just a game. A lie he had built for himself. Every laugh, every look, every little gesture—it didn’t matter. It was just an echo, something hollow that filled the space but never the emptiness inside him.

He couldn’t stay here anymore.

Stanley got up, almost stumbling under the weight of his thoughts and the alcohol, and made his way toward the bathroom. But even that felt difficult, like he was moving through thick fog, every step heavier than the last. The noise of the party felt distant, like he wasn’t really there anymore. He slipped inside, shutting the door behind him, feeling like the world outside was shifting away while he stayed here. Alone.

Standing at the sink, he leaned forward, eyes locking onto his reflection. He didn’t recognize himself. His face looked foreign—red, tired eyes, pale lips like some kind of ghost. He was just a shell now, empty, numb. This reflection, this body, this face—it wasn’t his. He searched for himself in it but found nothing.

His fingers twitched, reaching for the bottle again. He poured another drink, not caring what it was anymore. The bitterness filled his throat, but this time, it didn’t burn. It was the only thing that still felt familiar, the only thing he could actually feel.

His hand trembled, but not from weakness. His gaze shifted, catching sight of the purple lipstick, mascara, and eyeliner sitting on the shelf. And then a thought came to him—pointless, strange, almost painfully absurd.

Maybe if he put it on, if he hid behind the color and the lines, he’d become someone else.

Someone who wasn’t him. Maybe this disguise, this change, would give him even a little confidence. Maybe he could hide from himself, just for a while.

Time was his enemy, but this lipstick, this eyeliner—this tiny, insignificant detail—was real. In this ridiculous world, it was something real.

He picked them up like they were a lifeline. And maybe, in that moment, he actually believed that when he looked at himself again, something would be different.

But would it really be a change? Or just another way to numb the emptiness inside?

He uncapped the lipstick, running it over his lips. The color was bright, almost too loud, cutting through his mind like a sharp contrast to everything he felt. He couldn’t look at himself anymore—not at this empty shell that had nothing alive left in it. He smeared the lipstick with his thumb, like he was trying to blur out the pain underneath it.

The eyeliner traced a thin line along his eyes, but it wasn’t to highlight them—it was to hide them. He didn’t want to see himself like this. Hollow. Lost.

The mascara made his lashes look longer, but there was no magic in it. If anything, it only deepened the feeling of disconnect. He stared at himself again. He wasn’t himself, but he wasn’t someone else either. This was just a mask. A way to cover up what was tearing him apart inside.

His breath hitched as he felt the alcohol settle deeper into his body, dissolving him from the inside out. His heart was racing, thoughts swarming like wild birds, impossible to escape.
Why was it always like this? Why couldn’t it ever just be a little easier? Why did every time he tried to feel something good, it just slipped away, disappearing like water through his fingers?

He looked at himself in the mirror, and for a split second, fear clenched in his chest so hard he almost broke.

But no.

His fingers curled into fists, and he forced himself to lift his chin. Like if he held his head high enough, he could push it all down.

— No one can know.

He whispered it to himself. This was just weakness. Just another moment he had to get through. He wouldn’t break. He couldn’t let himself break.

Everything would be fine.

He just had to pretend everything was fine.

Stanley stood there, gripping the sink, breathing hard as his thoughts kept spinning, refusing to settle. He tried to pull himself together, but deep down, something told him it was pointless. None of this mattered. The alcohol didn’t help. The makeup didn’t save him.

This fight with himself was a losing game.

And then—

The bathroom door creaked open.

Stanley flinched, turning sharply, heart slamming against his ribs.

A figure stood in the doorway.

It was Xeno.

Xeno stood there in the dim light, his eyes making Stanley’s heart pound faster, like time had suddenly slowed down.

— Whoa, are you getting ready for a parade? — Xeno stepped into the bathroom, his voice soft but carrying that usual hint of teasing.

He took in every detail — the bold lipstick, the slightly smudged mascara, the sharp eyeliner that gave Stanley an air of mystery. A small smirk tugged at his lips.

— It suits you, — Xeno said, not looking away. And without waiting for a response, he moved closer.

Stanley felt something tighten inside him when Xeno got that close. His mind went blank. Everything felt unreal, surreal. He tried to step back, but the sink was right behind him.

— Don’t hide, — Xeno murmured, placing a hand lightly on Stanley’s cheek.

His fingers barely touched his skin, but it was enough to make Stanley feel like his heart had stopped, like time had turned to syrup.

He had no idea what to do with that touch. All he knew was that he wanted this moment to end. Or maybe… to last forever. But no matter how much he wanted things to stay the same, he couldn’t ignore how much Xeno’s attention unsettled him.

Xeno was looking at him so intently, like he could see straight through him. Words didn’t matter — that gaze said more than anything ever could. Deep. Searching. Like he knew too much.

— You’ve always been elegant, you know? — Xeno’s hand didn’t pull away, his thumb barely brushing over Stanley’s skin. — Always so good at hiding everything buried inside. But now… — his smirk deepened, something soft and unreadable in it — now you’re different. And it suits you.

Stanley froze, his thoughts spiraling. His head was a mess, his body felt like it was burning from the inside out. He wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. They got stuck somewhere in his chest.

— I… I don’t… — he started, but nothing else followed.

The alcohol mixed with his confusion, and Xeno’s gaze only made him more unsure of himself. Why couldn’t he shake this feeling? Why did Xeno still have this effect on him, after everything?

— Don’t try to run, — Xeno whispered, his fingers now trailing just a little more firmly across Stanley’s cheek. — You don’t have to be perfect. No one needs your perfection. You just…

He hesitated, like he was thinking something over, and then finally said:

— You just need to be you.

Stanley felt his eyes sting, and he hated it. Inside, it was like a storm had broken loose — pain, relief, confusion, all tangled into one unbearable mess. Xeno knew him too well somehow. His words cut through Stanley, leaving him raw, more vulnerable than ever.

Xeno’s eyes held something unreadable, something Stanley couldn’t figure out. It was familiar, but also… new. Like some invisible wall between them had started to crack. He didn’t know how to react, what to do when Xeno looked at him like that — like he was the only person in the world Xeno could actually see, not just on the outside, but completely.

— You have to trust me. I need you the way you are, — Xeno said, voice low, steady, like every word mattered.

Stanley stopped breathing for a second, like those words had cut straight into him, slicing through the emptiness he carried inside. Fear, confusion, hope — it all crashed together in that moment, and something clenched tight in his chest. It was terrifying. And maybe a little comforting too.

— It doesn’t matter what other people think. They can laugh, say whatever they want… but none of it means anything. You don’t have to be who they want you to be. I need you the way you are. And that’s the only thing that matters.

Xeno’s words hit like a punch to the gut, and Stanley felt his whole world tilt. He never thought anyone could accept him like this — with all his doubts, his flaws. But right now, in this moment, he wanted to believe it. And yet, even if he wanted to, he wasn’t sure how. There was too much inside him — the alcohol, the fear, the self-hate, and that dangerous, impossible hope he wasn’t ready to face.

— You don’t have to be perfect, — Xeno said again, his hand still resting on Stanley’s face, like he was trying to make the words sink in. — And if you ever decide to change something, to feel better, I’ll be here. But just know — you don’t have to hide. I need you as you are.

The words shattered something inside him. His heart pounded, his eyes burned again. And right then, standing on the edge of something unknown, he felt like Xeno was the only thing keeping him from falling.

Xeno noticed how Stanley froze, like the whole world had stopped, and his thoughts were tangled. Without a word, Xeno gently pulled him along, confident, like he knew Stanley wouldn’t resist. His hands wrapped around him, and Stanley, as if obeying some invisible force, found himself right next to him before he could even process what was happening.

— Come on — Xeno’s voice was quiet but firm, like this was the only option. — Wanna see the sky?

Stanley just nodded, meeting his gaze, dazed. He couldn’t say a word, but he didn’t want to stay here either—in this bathroom, where the air was thick with alcohol, where everything felt fake. He needed to change something, even for a moment, to believe that not everything was lost.

Xeno led him outside, into the crisp, freezing night. The air was sharp against his skin, biting, but it carried something else—something freeing. The wind whispered through the trees, blending with the sounds of the forest, a never-ending melody fading into the dark but lingering somewhere deep inside. Stanley didn’t know why Xeno had chosen this path, but there was something about it—a quiet kind of magic, like the forest itself had called them.

— You already know, I come here a lot — Xeno said as they reached a clearing hidden deep in the woods.

He stopped, turning to Stanley, his gaze softer now, his voice carrying a quiet certainty, like everything was already decided.

— It’s peaceful here — he said, his tone calm, almost soothing. — Like you’re standing on the edge of something else. In this silence, you can be whoever you want.

They stood in the clearing, the ground covered in soft grass. Even with the cold, Stanley felt his body relax. Around them, strange equipment was scattered, but it didn’t feel out of place—it was part of something bigger. This was Xeno’s space, where there were no rules, no limits. And now, somehow, Stanley felt like this place was becoming part of him too—unseen, but real.

They lay down together on the grass, their heads resting on folded jackets, looking up at the endless night sky. The stars shimmered, filling the darkness with their quiet glow. The cold seeped through Stanley’s clothes, but he didn’t care. This silence, this whole vast universe above them—it was too perfect to think about anything else.

Xeno was right next to him, his hand barely brushing against Stanley’s shoulder. But it didn’t feel awkward. If anything, it felt grounding, like his presence alone was an answer to all the questions Stanley didn’t know how to ask.

— You know — Xeno’s voice was almost a whisper now, like he didn’t want to break the moment — every star is a story. They’re so far away that we see them as they were millions of years ago. But they still shine, even if they’re already gone. That’s kinda amazing, isn’t it?

Stanley stared at the stars, feeling something inside him shift. It hit him all at once—no matter how much time passed, no matter what disappeared, their light remained. Everything fades, but something always stays behind—in memories, in those tiny sparks that ignite in someone else. It was so simple, but somehow, that made it even deeper.

— Space isn’t just emptiness — Xeno continued, his voice thoughtful, almost distant. — It’s something more. It’s this huge, mysterious thing you can never fully understand. But you can still be part of it, even if you don’t know how.

He paused, like he was choosing his next words carefully.

— We’re all like stars — he said. — We go through different stages. Burn out, disappear… but our light stays, even when we can’t see it. Everything we go through—pain, happiness, all of it—it stays in memories, in those little sparks that light up in someone else’s heart.

Stanley listened, his heart beating in sync with the endless sky above them. The stars weren’t just distant specks anymore. They felt personal.

— I don’t know who I am or what I’m supposed to do — he said quietly, almost too soft to hear. — But… I want to believe it all means something. Even just a little.

He turned to look at Xeno, his voice unsteady, but there was something in him that hadn’t been there before. He had no idea what was coming next, but for the first time in a long time, it felt like anything was possible.

Xeno turned too, their eyes meeting. And in Xeno’s gaze, there was something more than just the reflection of the night sky. It was a silent promise—to be there, even when everything else felt uncertain.

— If you don’t know what to live for — Xeno’s voice was soft but deep, filled with something real, something that came straight from his soul — then live for me. Live to see what I can do. I’ll share my dreams with you, my goals. You’re not alone. You can be part of what I’m building. And I… I’ll take some of your pain.

Something tightened in Stanley’s chest. His gaze locked with Xeno’s, and suddenly, he knew—this wasn’t just words. This was a light in the middle of his endless night.

— But what if I don’t know who I am? — Stanley’s voice shook, but he held it all in. — What if I’m so lost I can’t even figure out what to do?

Xeno leaned in slightly, and suddenly their faces were way too close. His hand brushed against Stanley’s shoulder, his gaze warm and real, like the distant glow of a star.

— Then I’ll be here, — he said. — You can live for my dreams, my goals. You can be part of what I create. And if you don’t know where to go, I’ll tell you: just hold on to me. I’ll take your pain and make it part of my path. You’re not alone. We’re not alone.

Stanley felt his heart stop for a second. He wasn’t sure about the future, but right now, under the stars and the quiet night, he felt like he had a place. A place where his light wouldn’t burn out.

— I’ll stay with you, Xeno, — he whispered, his voice barely audible in the vastness of space. — And maybe, someday, I’ll figure out why I’m supposed to be here. But for now… I just want to be here with you.

Xeno smiled softly, meeting Stanley’s gaze.

— You’re already here, and that’s enough.

There was still a shadow in his eyes—something unspoken, something Xeno either couldn’t or wouldn’t say. It lingered in the air, heavy, like a cold wind cutting through the silence.
Stanley, not knowing what else to say, slowly lowered himself to the ground, pressing his palms against the damp earth. The cold seeped through his skin, but his heart stayed warm.

— Why didn’t you want me to come today? — he finally asked, forcing the words out, filled with uncertainty and unease.

Xeno didn’t answer right away. He looked away, like the words he needed had lost their shape in his mind.

— Because… — his voice was barely there, more like an exhale than a sentence. And in that breath, there was so much emptiness that for a moment, Stanley felt his own heart stop. — Because sometimes, I want to be alone.

Something sharp and cold pierced through Stanley’s chest, like his world had cracked for just a second.

— What? — His voice was quiet, like he was afraid of shattering the fragile moment between them.

— It doesn’t mean I don’t need you, — Xeno added quickly, almost like he was trying to soften the inevitable sting. — It’s just… sometimes I need space.

Stanley didn’t say anything. His mind was a mess, tangled in thoughts he couldn’t untangle.

The silence felt heavy, like the air had thickened around them.

Xeno went on, his voice searching for something in the darkness, something he wasn’t sure how to explain.

— You… you’re becoming part of my world, but this world has always been mine. I’ve always been alone in it. My thoughts have always been my only companion. I never knew someone could step into it and actually stay.

Stanley’s chest tightened. It was terrifying, hearing this from someone who always seemed so confident, so strong. It was terrifying, seeing Xeno afraid of being vulnerable.

— You’re scared? — Stanley asked, not sure if he believed it. Like the words just didn’t make sense coming from Xeno.

— Yeah, — Xeno smiled weakly, but there was sadness in it. — I’m not used to sharing my thoughts. Not used to someone staying in this space I built for myself.

Stanley clenched his fists. Something inside him was breaking, shifting in ways he didn’t understand.

— I’m not going anywhere, — he said, his voice steady.

Xeno looked at him, and for a brief second, something flickered in his eyes—something like gratitude, something that spoke louder than words ever could.

— I know that now, — he murmured, and there wasn’t a single trace of doubt in his voice.
They sat there, staring up at the endless sky, drowning in the silence between them. But it wasn’t an empty silence. It was deep, like the night ocean, pulling them in without fear of getting lost.

Then, finally, Xeno broke the stillness, his smile lighter, almost careless.

— Next time, I’ll just tell you if I need space, — he said, like admitting that playing the whole “don’t come” game was pointless.

Stanley smirked, his heart feeling lighter, like the world wasn’t as heavy anymore.

— Good.

Xeno nudged his shoulder, and there was so much warmth in that simple touch that Stanley felt his fears start to melt.

— You really think you can put up with me? — Xeno teased, but there was something vulnerable underneath the words.

— So far, yeah, — Stanley shot back with a grin.

Xeno chuckled, and for the first time tonight, his eyes held that spark—that light Stanley had been searching for.

— Then hold on to me. And I’ll make sure you never regret it.

Stanley looked back up at the stars. They felt closer now. Those distant specks of light that had burned for eternity—they were his own reflection. Both far away and right here at the same time. And despite the shadows hiding in their hearts, every moment with Xeno brought a light bright enough to cut through the dark.

Chapter Text

Stanley woke up to a dull, splitting pain in his temples. His head was buzzing, like a distant bell ringing inside his skull. His stomach twisted into a painful knot, and his tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth, dry as if he’d downed a glass of stale wine. The world felt thick, heavy—like the air before a storm.

Fragments of memory floated up chaotically: dim lighting, floors sticky with spilled alcohol, shrill, fake laughter, Carlos’ smug, irritating voice, Luna’s worried gaze… And then—silence. A stranger’s bathroom. The dull pounding in his skull. The feeling that something inside him had cracked.

But one thing stood out the most:

“If you don’t know what to live for, live for me.”

Xeno.

The image hit him like a flash—Xeno standing in the doorway, silent, unnoticed, not appearing but materializing. His gaze held no judgment. Just calm. That usual, slightly tired focus.

“You wanna leave?”

Stanley had followed him. No questions. No resistance.

He was grateful. Grateful that Xeno had pulled him out of that stupid, disgusting party, away from the hollow, sticky noise.

— Shit… — Stanley groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

He sat up too fast and immediately regretted it. The world tilted, his stomach clenched painfully. He needed to get up. Wash his face. Pull himself together. But his thoughts wouldn’t let go.

Another memory cut through the haze of his hangover: a mirror. Smudged eyeliner, slightly swollen lips, long lashes catching the dim light. He looked good. Hell, he looked incredible.

— It suits you — Xeno had said.

No emotion. No fleeting smile. Just a fact.

Stanley smirked, remembering his blank face. Xeno didn’t say things just to say them. If he pointed something out, he meant it.

Stan unlocked his phone, notifications flooding the screen. A few missed calls from Maya. The group chat was pure chaos—memes, people arguing over where to drink this weekend, someone whining about life.

Luna had sent a short message:

“You alive?”

Stanley rolled his eyes and tapped out a lazy thumbs-up emoji. She could think whatever she wanted.

But buried under all the noise was one message that made his heart skip.

Xeno: "See you Monday. Hope you’re not dead."

Stanley held his breath. He didn’t even remember when Xeno had added him on social media. But here he was. Real.

A grin tugged at Stanley’s lips, a strange warmth spreading through his chest.

Monday. He couldn’t wait for Monday.

But first, he had to survive. And next up—shooting practice.

— You’re pathetic, Stanley. Do you even realize that?

His father’s voice was level, but the anger simmered beneath it. Not in shouts, not in wild outbursts, but in every sharp, cold word, in every glance that cut like a blade.

Stanley stood in front of him, slightly swaying. His head still pounded, a dull echo pulsing inside his skull. The hangover clung to his thoughts, dragging them down into a thick swamp of exhaustion. But that wasn’t the only reason.

— You’re sluggish. Weak. Can’t even hold a gun properly. How do you expect to do anything if you collapse after a few damn shots?

His father paced the room, slow and predatory, like he was searching for an opening before the kill. His shadow stretched across the walls, shifting, curling into something almost menacing.

— I don’t understand how you can be this… worthless. All that talent, wasted.

Stanley stared straight ahead, his eyes empty. Sometimes, he could tune it out. Usually, the words tore through him, left invisible scars that ached long after. But now… now it was just noise. Distant. Muffled, like it was coming from another world.

He just had to wait for it to end.

But his father hated silence. He grabbed Stanley’s shoulder, fingers digging in so hard his nails pressed into the skin.

— Where’s your fight? Where’s your will? For fuck’s sake, Stanley, at least try!

Stanley lifted his eyes, but it wasn’t his father he saw.

It was someone else.

Cold. Steady. Unreadable.

Xeno.

Xeno wouldn’t yell. Wouldn’t stomp around, filling the air with accusations. He’d just look at him, tilt his head slightly, and say something simple. Something precise.

“If you’re gonna train, do it for something that matters.”

The difference between them was stark. His father could scream himself hoarse, could try to beat strength into him with words, but none of it sank in. None of it left a mark.

But if Xeno told him he was weak…

That would hurt.

If he was gonna train, he’d do it for him.

Finally.

Stan had been waiting for this moment since Saturday, feeling the tension in him grow with every passing minute. He watched the hands on the clock, tracking their slow, agonizing movement until Monday finally arrived.

Just another dull, gray day for everyone else. But not for him.

Today, he was going to see Xeno again.

The thought shot through him like a spark, shaking off even the last traces of morning drowsiness. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this impatient. Usually, time just slipped past him, blending into an endless, monotonous blur. But now… Now every second mattered.

He stepped outside, inhaled the crisp air—

And nearly crashed into Maya.

— Finally! — she huffed, crossing her arms.

Stanley rolled his eyes, barely hiding his annoyance.

— What do you want?

— Are you okay? — Maya narrowed her eyes, scanning his face. — I tried texting you, but you just disappeared. What even happened at that party? And where the hell did you go after?

Stanley shrugged lazily.

— Nothing special. Got bored—left.

— Alone?

A smirk tugged at his lips.

— Of course. — He dragged out the words, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Maya scoffed, not believing a single word.

— So you’re telling me you just up and left? No drama? No consequences?

Stanley stayed silent. He wasn’t really here, not in this conversation. His mind was already ahead, racing toward today.

— Do you even remember anything from that party? — she pushed, still eyeing him suspiciously.

Oh, he remembered. Blurry, hazy flashes. The walls of the bathroom closing in on him, the world tilting, his body shaking—

And then, a voice.

— If you don’t know what to live for, live for me.

Xeno.

Stanley suddenly realized he was smiling.

— Yeah, I remember.

Maya raised an eyebrow.

— And..?

— And nothing.

She let out an exasperated sigh, waved him off, probably realizing she wasn’t getting anything more out of him.

— You’re impossible, you know that?

— Thanks, I try, — he replied with a smirk.

She muttered something about his terrible personality, but he barely heard her.

The school was buzzing as usual. Some people were hunched over their notebooks, scrambling to finish homework in the hallway. Others were deep in some dramatic argument by their lockers, hands waving wildly. A few already looked drained, despite how early it was, practically hanging off their friends for support.

Stanley didn’t care. He walked through the chaos, ignoring the noise—

Until an elbow slammed into his side.

— Hey, look who it is! Our party king! — Brody’s voice rang out. — Still alive? Or should we have come with flowers and a eulogy?

Stanley shoved his arm away, giving him a lazy glance.

— How do you even know?

— Luna told me. — Brody grinned. — Said you freaked out and bailed. At least you didn’t puke on Carlos. That’s a win.

— Ha-ha. Hilarious, — Stanley muttered, rolling his eyes.

Right on cue, Luna appeared, lips pressed into a thin line.

— I was worried, you idiot.

— Sure you were, — Brody smirked.

— No, seriously, Stanley, you were acting weird, — Charlotte chimed in, finally looking up from her phone. — I thought you broke something and ran off.

— Would’ve been fun, — Stanley mused.

— Hey! — Carlos shoved through the group, arms crossed. — You were acting like a total dick. Normal people don’t lock themselves in a bathroom and have a full-on breakdown in the middle of a party.

— Oh, sorry, didn’t know you were the expert on normal, — Stanley shot back.

Carlos narrowed his eyes.

— Well, I know who got you out of there.

The hallway seemed to get quieter for a second. Stanley tensed.

— Xeno, right? — Carlos watched him closely.

Stanley didn’t answer, but his face gave everything away.

— Oh my God, seriously? — Luna scoffed. — That creepy guy?

— He’s not creepy, — Stanley snapped automatically.

— Nah, he kinda is, — Brody laughed. — Dude’s always in his own world.

— Yeah, and no one really knows anything about him, — Charlotte added. — Where did he even come from?

— I don’t know, — Stanley cut her off, sharp.

Silence. The group exchanged looks.

Carlos smirked.

— Alright, alright. But when your new bestie murders you in your sleep, don’t say we didn’t warn you.

Stanley rolled his eyes.

— Wow, thanks for the concern, — he muttered, turning on his heel and leaving them behind.

Brody chuckled.

— Yeah… I think he’s already a goner.

When Stanley finally got to class, he was hit with a cold shock.

Xeno wasn’t there.

At first, Stanley figured he was just late. Maybe something held him up. Maybe he was already in the building, talking to a teacher or standing in the principal’s office with that same unreadable look on his face.

But time kept passing.

First period started. No Xeno.

By the second period, the unease was clawing under Stanley’s skin, thrumming in his ribs. He couldn’t sit still. His fingers tapped anxiously against the desk, his gaze darting to the door, but every time someone walked in, it was the wrong person.

What if something happened to him?

What if he was sick?

What if—

Stanley gritted his teeth, forcing the thoughts down.

But the worry refused to leave.

By the third lesson, his brain had stopped processing anything the teacher was saying. Words blurred into a distant hum, the board in front of him melted into a hazy smudge. The whole world had narrowed down to a single expectation.

And then—just when he had almost lost hope. Just when he was ready to accept that today, he wouldn't see him.

Xeno walked into the classroom.

Stanley noticed him immediately—like a flash of light in a dim room.

Straight posture, smooth, precise movements, eyes that gave nothing away. He walked past without so much as glancing at Stanley, oblivious to how he’d been waiting, how he was hanging onto every tiny shift in his presence. But there was one difference.

He was holding a sleek, small black bag.

Stanley frowned.

What’s that?

Xeno sat down, placed the bag beside him, and finally, finally spared Stanley a glance.

Stanley wanted to ask about the bag, but his tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. So instead, he just watched as Xeno, unhurried, methodical, laid out expensive little boxes in front of him, like he was assembling weapons before a battle. Every movement—precise, measured, almost lazy.

Stanley squinted, watching as Xeno pulled a lipstick from one of the boxes. A deep, rich red. Almost dark, like a late sunset.

— You rob a fancy boutique or something? — Stanley smirked, unable to hold back.

Xeno didn’t even look at him.

— No. Just bought something that actually suits you.

For a second, Stanley thought he misheard.

— What..?

Xeno finally lifted his head. His expression was as calm as ever, but something in his gaze was sharp, almost studying him.

— You looked good that night. I figured it was worth investing in.

No teasing. No sarcasm. He said it flatly, matter-of-factly.

Something about that made Stanley freeze. Not just you looked fine or it was different.

You looked good.

Heat crept up his neck, but he forced himself to stay cool.

— Huh. Didn’t know you could give compliments.

— I don’t give them without a reason.

Xeno smoothly opened another box, checking the texture of another lipstick, then pulled out an eyeliner. A mascara next.

— Want me to help? — he asked suddenly, tilting his head in a way that was almost playful.

Stanley raised a skeptical brow.

— What, are you a makeup artist now?

— No. But I know how to do things that interest me.

For a second, their eyes met, and suddenly, the air felt warmer. Stanley wanted to say something snarky. Or laugh. Or just brush off this weird, charged atmosphere.

But instead, he just exhaled, holding his gaze.

— Alright then. Show me what you’ve got.

The classroom was too loud. Too many stares. Too much whispering behind his back. Stanley could feel Carlos smirking at him from across the room, could sense the curious glances from the other row. Any second now, the snide comments would start.

Yeah, no way he was doing this here.

— Let’s go somewhere else, — he muttered, standing up.

Xeno nodded without a word.

The second-floor bathroom was empty. The door shut behind them, muffling the school’s noise, leaving only the faint echo of dripping water and the distant hum of voices from the hallway.

Stanley hopped onto the windowsill across from the mirror, lazily crossing one leg over the other. The light in here was harsh, unforgiving, but he didn’t care.

He tilted his head, eyeing Xeno.

— Alright. Show me what you can do.

Xeno pulled out the eyeliner, stepping closer.

— Close your eyes.

Stanley obeyed. He felt the lightest touch on his eyelid—cool, barely there. The line glided over his skin smoothly, perfectly, without hesitation. Xeno’s hands were cold, but the way he worked was careful, almost gentle.

— Don’t move, — Xeno murmured.

— I’m not.

— You’re breathing too fast.

Stanley cracked an eye open, smirking.

— Trying to fluster me?

— Not ruling it out.

A faint, fleeting smile crossed Xeno’s lips—real, barely there, but there.

Stanley shut his eyes again. His heartbeat was steady, but somewhere deep inside, something shifted—light, unfamiliar, brushing against his awareness.

The brush moved against his skin with the precision of a surgeon.

— You do this often? — Stanley asked out of nowhere.

— Do what?

— Put eyeliner on guys in school bathrooms.

— No. But I know how to do things that interest me.

Xeno’s voice was even, calm—but there was something there, something subtle, something just barely teasing.

— And I interest you?

Xeno didn’t answer right away.

— Who knows.

He was way too close.

The warmth of his body, the faint scent—nothing too sharp, but somehow completely impossible to ignore. Something woody, a little cool, with a barely-there sweetness that lingered in the air.

Stanley could’ve pulled away.

But he didn’t.

Xeno leaned in slightly, studying his face like he was checking for imperfections, deciding if anything else needed to be added. His gaze was sharp, observant—yet without a shred of hesitation. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

— Now the lips.

Stanley expected him to just hand over the lipstick. But Xeno, like it was the most natural thing in the world, slowly twisted the cap, rolling up the stick. A deep, rich dark red, with a slight purple undertone. A color that could easily look too bold, too daring—but Xeno clearly knew what he was doing.

— Open your mouth.

Stanley raised a brow.

— Do you always give orders?

— When I know what I’m doing, yeah.

Xeno didn’t wait.

He pressed the lipstick to Stanley’s lower lip, dragging it in one slow, smooth stroke. Stanley’s heart skipped a beat.

He felt everything—the slight pressure, the glide of color, then another careful, precise pass. His breath hitched for a second, but he didn’t move.

Xeno kept going, now tracing his upper lip with the same level of focus, the same methodical care—like he was painting something valuable, something that had to be done with absolute precision.

— Are you serious? — Stanley’s voice came out quieter than he meant.

Xeno glanced at him, calm and unreadable, but there was something in his eyes. Something warm, something alive, just beneath the surface.

— Do you trust me or not?

Stanley was about to say something—

— Oh, damn, and here I thought Stanley was just wasted that night, but turns out he’s actually doing this for real!

Carlos’ voice cut through the air, slicing the moment apart like a blade.

Stanley’s eyes snapped open, locking onto his reflection in the mirror. Carlos was standing in the doorway, smirking, with two of his buddies behind him, exchanging looks full of barely hidden amusement.

— Seriously? — Carlos crossed his arms. — You’re letting this science genius do your makeup? This isn’t even funny anymore. It’s just sad.

Stanley clenched his jaw, but before he could get a word in, Xeno had already set the lipstick down and turned.

His gaze was ice-cold.

Carlos’ smirk twitched.

— You jealous? — Xeno asked, voice flat.

— W-what?

— You want attention so badly you’re willing to embarrass yourself barging into other people’s conversations? — Xeno continued, utterly emotionless. — That’s pathetic.

Carlos’ mouth opened, but no words came out.

— Oh, wait. — Xeno tilted his head slightly, like he’d just realized something. — It’s not that Stanley’s wearing lipstick that bothers you. It’s that you can’t let yourself do what you really want.

Carlos flinched like he’d been slapped.

— Bullshit!

— Sure. — Xeno studied him with a detached curiosity. — If you hate this so much, then why are you still here?

Carlos’ fists clenched.

— It’s just funny watching you turn him into a clown!

— A clown? — Stanley finally spoke, a smirk tugging at his lips. — If I’m a clown, then what does that make you? A little mutt barking at everything he doesn’t understand?

Carlos’ scowl deepened.

— What, cat got your tongue? — Stanley’s smirk widened. — Wanna stay and watch the whole thing? Maybe I should do your makeup next.

Behind Carlos, his friends let out barely stifled snickers, clearly enjoying the show but not brave enough to openly laugh.

Carlos’ ears burned red.

— Let’s go, — he muttered, shooting one last glare at both of them before turning on his heel and storming out.

Xeno didn’t even spare him a glance. He just turned back to Stanley, picked up the lipstick again, like nothing had happened.

— We weren’t finished.

Stanley huffed a small laugh, tilting his head slightly.

— Then keep going.

The noise of the outside world faded away.

The only thing left was the faint scent of expensive lipstick and Xeno, standing too close to ignore.

— Not bad how you shut him down, — Stanley muttered, still smirking.

— I just told the truth.

Xeno rolled the lipstick over his fingertip, testing the color.

— So. Shall we continue?

Stanley didn’t answer right away.

He watched as Xeno carefully wiped the test swipe onto a tissue, his fingers—long, steady—deftly clicking the cap back into place.

— You know, this is kinda intimate, — Stanley finally said, leaning forward slightly, his hands braced on the windowsill.

Xeno didn’t move away.

— In what way?

— Well, you’re basically touching my lips.

Xeno finally looked at him.

— And?

— And normally, people do that in… a different context.

Stanley had no idea why he was even pushing this conversation forward. Maybe because Xeno was too calm, too unaffected. Maybe he just wanted to get a reaction out of him.

— Open your mouth.

Xeno tilted his head slightly, and somehow, the movement was both funny and ridiculously cute.

He ran the lipstick over Stanley’s bottom lip again, then his top, slow and smooth.

And suddenly, Stanley realized he was right.

This was too personal.

It wasn’t just putting on lipstick in front of a mirror. It wasn’t just trying out a new look. No.

It was something else entirely.

Xeno wasn’t just applying color. He was watching him. Studying him. Like he was trying to figure something out—something he hadn’t quite grasped yet himself.

— Lick your lips.

Xeno’s voice was quiet. Almost a whisper.

Stanley shivered.

— …What?

— The color will settle better.

It was a normal tip. Logical. A basic technique.

But for some reason, it felt like a challenge. Like a dare. And Stanley felt it.

Slowly, deliberately, he ran his tongue over his lips, blending the creamy texture.

Xeno didn’t look away.

The air between them suddenly felt too thick.

Stanley exhaled, letting his mouth close, the taste of lipstick lingering—rich, slightly sweet. Like sin.

Xeno leaned in just a fraction more, gaze calm, almost analytical.

— Satisfied?

Stanley opened his mouth, about to say something—anything, really, just a couple of words to break the tension—but right at that moment, the door swung open.

— Oh, for fuck’s sake!

Maya stood in the doorway, breathing heavily, like she’d just run across the entire school looking for them. She froze, her gaze darting from one to the other—Stanley, with his noticeably altered appearance, to Xeno, who didn’t seem the least bit surprised by the scene.

— I’ve been searching for you everywhere, and you two are just… — She cut herself off, frowning. Her eyes locked onto Stanley, her expression a mix of confusion and something like... interest. — Did you… put on makeup?

Stanley tilted his head lazily, smirking like he was enjoying her reaction.

— You like it?

Maya blinked, her face softening, like she was trying to process what was happening.

— Actually… yeah, — she admitted after a short pause, but then quickly frowned again. — But what the hell is going on here?

Stanley glanced at Xeno, who remained as nonchalant as ever, carefully closing the lipstick like this was the most casual thing in the world. But Stanley knew—it wasn’t just makeup. This was something else. Something was shifting.

Xeno took a slow step closer, and Stanley caught his scent—faint, but so familiar it sent a shiver through him. The space between them suddenly felt too small, too intimate. His heartbeat picked up. A strange, almost tangible tension filled the air as Xeno, still holding his gaze, said:

— You do trust me, don’t you?

There was something quiet, deep in his voice, a slight strain that hadn’t been there before. Stanley froze. He wasn’t ready for a question like that. Seriously, why now? Why in a moment like this?

Maya furrowed her brows, shifting her gaze between them, clearly not understanding why Xeno’s words carried so much weight. Stanley swallowed, feeling something inside him tremble with uncertainty.

— Of course, I trust you, — he finally said. His voice was a little uneasy, but the honesty in it was undeniable.

Xeno studied him for another second, then gave a small nod, like he’d come to some kind of decision.

Maya, noticing whatever was happening between them, tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing as she observed.

— Okay, great, love that for you two, but don’t you think this whole makeup thing and… whatever this is… is a little much? — Her tone wasn’t judgmental, more cautious than anything. — Like, what’s this all about, Stan?

Stanley thought for a second, running his tongue over his lip, still tasting the lipstick. Maybe she had a point. But he hadn’t just let Xeno do this for no reason. This wasn’t some game, some random impulse. It was something deeper—trust, acceptance, a shift in how he saw himself.

— I just… like how I look, — he finally said, voice steady, sure of himself.

He didn’t look away from Xeno, and Xeno, in turn, didn’t hide the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. There was something almost approving in his eyes, like he’d been waiting for that exact answer.

Maya squinted at them, eyes scanning their faces.

— Uh-huh, — she said slowly, crossing her arms. — Alright, fine, I won’t even try to understand.

— A wise choice, — Stanley remarked, watching for her reaction.

— No way, I still wanna know if you’re planning more of these little experiments in the future. Just give me a heads-up next time, yeah? Kinda hard to keep up with your… plans.

— I’ll think about it, — Stanley smirked.

Maya huffed but didn’t argue. She hesitated for a second, like she had something else to say, then just waved her hand dismissively.

— Whatever, I’ll leave you two to… whatever this is.

She turned on her heel and left, shutting the door behind her. The silence in the room suddenly became heavier, more noticeable.

Stanley exhaled, turning back to Xeno.

— Pretty sure she’s onto something, — he muttered, raising an eyebrow.

— That was inevitable, — Xeno replied easily, tilting his head slightly. — But honestly… does it matter?

Stanley let out a short laugh.

— Guess not.

He turned back to the mirror, studying his reflection. In this new look, he felt a little different—like a version of himself he’d never really considered before. His lips, coated in a deep shade of lipstick, the sharp eyeliner, the subtle but precise accents—it all made him feel confident in a way he never had. He traced his finger along the corner of his mouth, evaluating the result.

Behind him, almost silently, Xeno stepped closer. He didn’t say anything, just stood there, slightly leaning in, as if taking in every detail. Stanley caught his reflection in the mirror—tall, composed, watching him with that unreadable but intense gaze that sent something warm curling in Stanley’s chest.

— You look elegant, — Xeno said, like it was just a fact. His voice was calm, even, but there was something genuine in it.

Stanley blinked. That… caught him off guard. Not because he doubted the words, but because hearing them from Xeno meant more than he expected. He looked back at the mirror.

Before, he would’ve felt awkward, self-conscious. But now… now it was different. Something new stirred inside him—something close to acceptance. He did look good. No, not just good. Beautiful.

A small smile crept onto his lips—hesitant at first, then growing, more confident. He took a few steps forward, letting himself settle into the feeling.

— Maybe you’re right, — he said, unable to hide the amusement in his voice.

Xeno watched him from behind, unmoving, gaze steady. His presence was so tangible, almost overwhelming. Stanley could feel it, every inch of him hyper-aware.

— It suits you, — Xeno added after a pause.

— Yeah? — Stanley turned to him, raising an eyebrow, almost like a challenge.

— Yeah, — Xeno answered without hesitation. — You look different, but it feels… right.

Stanley bit his lip, testing the sensation of this new version of himself. He hadn’t expected Xeno to be the one to make him see it.

— You might be onto something, — he admitted. — I like how I look.

Xeno’s lips curled into the faintest smile—barely there, but enough.

Stepping out of the bathroom, Stanley still felt a lingering buzz, like static under his skin. He was hyper-aware of the way people looked at him. Normally, he wouldn’t even notice, wouldn’t care. But now? Now, he could feel it—curious glances, quick double-takes, some people openly whispering.

And yet, more than anything, he felt Xeno’s gaze. Walking just a little behind him, unhurried, calm, his presence grounding Stanley in a way that was almost ridiculous.

Taking a deep breath, Stanley made his way to Maya’s table. The nerves still lingered, humming under his skin. His hands were steady, but there was an undeniable spark running through him.

Maya looked up immediately, raising an eyebrow the moment she saw him.

— So, gorgeous? — she asked without any preamble, crossing her arms. — How’s it feel?

Stanley hesitated for a second. He’d expected the question, but now that it was out in the open, the answer got stuck in his throat.

— I like it, — he finally said, his voice carrying a cautious kind of confidence. — Xeno helped.

Maya blinked, clearly not expecting that.

— Xeno? Wait… so it wasn’t your idea? He suggested it? — There was something weird in her tone.

Stanley tilted his head slightly, trying to keep his cool.

— Well… — He ran a finger down his jacket sleeve, as if testing the smoothness of the fabric. — He said I should try it. And… he was right.

Maya stared at him a little too long for it to be a normal conversation.

— Okay… — she drawled, finally setting her phone down. — But are you sure you wanna be hanging out with him?

Stanley frowned, thrown off by the way she said it.

— What do you mean?

Maya raised her brows, giving him a look that felt almost… suspicious.

— You seriously don’t see how people are looking at you two? Everyone’s already talking, and now you’re wearing makeup. This is a lot. Do you really want this?

Stanley felt his face go cold, something tightening in his chest. He’d always told himself he didn’t care what people said, but for some reason, this hit harder than usual.

— You don’t get it, — he muttered. — It… doesn’t matter what they think. I can make my own choices.

Maya’s gaze was sharp, and Stanley had to look away first.

— Just… think about what you really want. I’m not judging you, I just… — She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. — People aren’t as nice as you think.

Stanley looked at her, and for the first time in a while, he realized he didn’t actually care what she thought.

— I already did, — he said. — And I don’t give a damn.

Maya held his gaze for a moment before shrugging.

— Alright. Just make sure you know what you’re getting into.

She picked up her phone again, and Stanley acted like that didn’t bother him. But deep down, he knew—something had changed. And there was no going back.

At first, Stanley barely noticed the shift. It was subtle, like a breeze brushing the back of his neck. But with every second, it got stronger. The air around him felt heavier, like the whole hallway had tilted slightly off-balance.

It wasn’t louder, exactly, but somehow the whispers were clearer. Sharper. As if his hearing had just leveled up against his will.

And then he felt them. The stares.

He looked up, only to meet a few lingering gazes—quick, assessing, a little wary. Others held eye contact longer than necessary, like they were trying to figure him out.

The hallway suddenly felt suffocating. Or maybe that was just him.

And then—laughter. Loud, but held back, like a spring wound too tight.

— Yo, look who it is! Stanley with makeup. Guess it’s all for his nerd boyfriend! Maybe he’s gay now too. Who knows.

A second. A heartbeat.

And then that tension snapped. The first quiet snickers. The hushed side comments. Someone’s stifled laugh, sharp like a spark.

— What, is he, like, queer now? Seriously, looking like a clown with all that makeup, — a high-pitched voice sneered, the words echoing way too loud in his head.

Stanley’s steps slowed. For a second, it felt like the air had vanished, like someone had pressed an invisible hand to his throat.

"Queer."
"Gay."
"Nerd."

The words hit like tiny electric shocks, buzzing under his skin, curling around his ribs.

He was supposed to ignore it. That’s what he always told himself. That people’s opinions didn’t mean shit.

So why did this feel so goddamn heavy?

He forced himself to keep walking, but his movements felt sluggish, like he was wading through wet cement. The confidence he’d had earlier—it had been chipped away, leaving something raw and exposed in its place.

He curled his fingers into his sleeves. He wasn’t stopping. He wasn’t backing down.

But something inside him had cracked.

The moment Stanley walked into the classroom, he already knew the silence wouldn’t be normal.

It was stretched tight, filled with the weight of glances, the unsaid thoughts hanging between people like static before a storm. He knew it was coming. But he wasn’t ready.

He inhaled slowly, as if that could build some kind of invisible wall around him, something to block out the words that were about to be spoken. His steps were measured, careful, like he was walking a tightrope.

One rule repeated in his head: Don’t let them see it get to you.

But from the way his stomach twisted, he had a feeling his face was already giving too much away.

A whisper, light as a feather but heavy as a rock, drifted from the corner of the room.

— He really went full-on gay, huh? Look at him, all done up. And always hanging with Xeno. Kinda obvious.

Stanley didn’t turn. Didn’t slow down. But the hit landed.

Sharp. Precise.

His throat tightened, but he kept moving. He wouldn’t let those words sink into his skin, wouldn’t let them settle in his blood. He could say something. He could snap back.

But what?

What could he say that wouldn’t make it worse?

Then his gaze landed on Xeno.

He was at his desk, head down, scrolling through his phone like nothing else in the world existed. Focused, detached. But as Stanley got closer, Xeno suddenly looked up.

Their eyes met.

No questions. No judgment. Not even surprise. Just silence.

And somehow, that silence felt steadier than any reassurance could.

Stanley sat down next to him. And for the first time all day, his heartbeat wasn’t so loud.

But the thought had already settled in his mind.

Before, no one really noticed him. People passed by, threw empty jokes his way, but never really looked at him. He was background noise, something unimportant. And in a way, that had been freeing.

But now?

Now the eyes were stuck to him, like wet leaves clinging to glass. Every move he made sparked a reaction. People turned, whispered, laughed.

Now, he was visible.

And it was unbearable.

He hated being the center of attention. Hated the way their stares pressed into him, how he could feel their opinions weighing down on his skin. He wanted to be indifferent. He really did.

But it was like standing in an open field with an icy wind cutting through him—his skin burned, but there was nowhere to hide.

Even when he bent over his notebook, even when the teacher started talking, even when he forced himself to focus on anything else—their words still clung to him.

And for the first time, Stanley realized that now that people had noticed him, they weren’t going to stop.

By the time the break started, Stanley knew he couldn’t just sit there and take it.

He got up, moving toward the door, barely acknowledging the few people who immediately started whispering again. He stepped outside, hoping the fresh air would help.

Xeno wasn’t around, and the weight on Stanley’s chest only grew heavier.

Then, footsteps. He turned slightly and saw Maya approaching. She stopped beside him, not saying anything at first, just waiting.

— Maya… did you hear anything? — he asked, breaking the silence.

She frowned.

— About what?

— People… saying I turned gay or whatever. Because of the makeup. Because of Xeno.

Maya let out a slow breath, hesitating.

— I told you this would happen. But… just don’t pay attention to them.

Stanley knew it wasn’t that simple.

And then, behind him, a voice cut through the air—calm, steady.

— Let them talk. You know what matters. You know who you are.

Stanley turned.

Xeno met his eyes.

And for some reason, that was enough to make him breathe just a little easier.

— It still stings, though, — Stanley murmured.

Xeno raised an eyebrow, but not in a judgmental way. He just smiled slightly at the corner of his lips.

— So, it matters to you. And what if they think you're weird? You know who you are. And if it’s important to you, you’ll handle it.

The way he said it—so simple, so sure—made something inside Stanley feel lighter, even if the weight in his chest was still there. It was like Xeno was the kind of person who could help him deal with it.
Maya, who had been watching them, smiled in a weird, knowing way.

— You know, you really should stop stressing. And if anyone keeps running their mouth, I’ll be right there to show them who’s actually the weird one.

At that moment, Stanley felt some of the tension start to fade. With people like this around, he didn’t feel so lost anymore.

After school, he had to wipe off his makeup so his dad wouldn’t notice. And as soon as practice was over, he headed straight to the forest—to their little hidden clearing, the place they always went to mess around with science stuff. No noisy conversations, no judgmental stares. Just the rustling leaves and the crisp, clean air.

By the time he got there, Xeno had already spread out a couple of blankets. Stanley walked over to an old tree, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. He lit it slowly, taking a deep drag, feeling a strange kind of calm settle over him—something he hadn’t felt in days.

Leaning his head back a little, he watched the smoke curl up into the air, disappearing into nothing. The quiet, the solitude—it was the only time he really felt like himself.

His mind kept circling back to how he had looked with makeup. The face in the mirror had caught him off guard. He’d never thought lipstick, eyeliner, and mascara could change his whole vibe so much. But today, he’d seen something different—something bold, something real.

He took another drag, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before letting it go, watching it swirl and vanish.

— You really think it suits me? — Stanley asked, glancing over at Xeno, who was sitting on the blanket, watching him with quiet interest.

Xeno leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady.

— Yeah. You looked beautiful that night, Stan. And you do today too. It’s not just makeup. It’s you. Your confidence.

Stanley nodded, trying to process that. He didn’t know why, but something inside him clicked when Xeno said it. Like this moment was something he’d been waiting for without even realizing it.
He stubbed out the cigarette, letting the last bit of smoke drift into the forest, then sat down next to Xeno, staring at him.

— I always thought I didn’t need this. That I didn’t need to change. But now it’s like… I see myself differently. — His own words surprised him.

Xeno nodded, a soft smile on his lips.

— You didn’t change. You just became yourself.

Stanley felt warmth spread through him. Maybe this was the moment he finally started to understand who he was. And for once, there was no fear in that. Just the feeling that everything was okay. That he was in the right place, with the right people.

The clearing stayed quiet, the night creeping in slowly, but Stanley knew this moment mattered. This wasn’t about how others saw him.

This was about him.

Chapter Text

The darkness in the room felt alive—thick, heavy, almost tangible. Stanley sat in the corner, melting into its cold embrace, staring into the emptiness that was slowly filling with thoughts.

He remembered how it all started. How his hands, clumsy and uncertain, had first traced the delicate lines Xeno drew—those effortless brushstrokes that turned him into something new. Back then, it had felt almost forbidden, something foreign. He remembered that first glance in the mirror—strange, bold, thrilling.

But now? Now his fingers moved with confidence, and the reflection had become something familiar. Applying dark eyeliner, outlining his lips, adding mascara—it wasn’t just makeup. It was a ritual. It was transformation. It was the feeling of taking control over his own skin, his own image, his own heart.

And Xeno…

Xeno wasn’t just a friend.

He was the start of all of this. The spark that set fire to everything Stanley thought he knew about himself. Now, his mornings didn’t just start with waking up—they started with the thought that he needed to become someone worthy of Xeno. It wasn’t something spoken out loud, wasn’t something put into words, but every morning, his hand reached for the makeup bag not just for himself, but for him.

Every morning in the school bathroom mirror—it wasn’t just getting ready. It was crafting himself anew. He studied his reflection, checked the lines, experimented. But behind it all, one thought lingered: Xeno would notice.

When he walked into class, he only searched for one gaze.

When he spoke, he only listened for one voice.

When he smiled, he only hoped to see one smile in return.

And Maya…

She noticed. First with curiosity, then with mild surprise, and now with a careful silence that didn’t need words. Her eyes, watching him, felt heavier. Her quiet moments—more deliberate. She didn’t ask directly, but Stanley could feel that she had figured out something before he had.

But did it matter?

He didn’t care. He didn’t need Maya’s words, didn’t need her questions. The only thing that mattered was that one single moment—when he walked into the room, and Xeno looked up at him. And smiled.

Stanley stood before the mirror, his hands moving with practiced ease—a layer of lipstick, a sharp flick of eyeliner. Everything was the same as always, yet every time the brush touched his skin, he felt something shift inside him. His reflection no longer felt foreign. This wasn’t just about looking better—it was transformation, a small victory he didn’t fully understand but could feel in his bones.
There was no more trembling. Every motion was precise, every movement confident. He no longer needed the mirror to know he was satisfied with himself. This wasn’t just a face—it was his face, his reality, something he had built with effort, something that now felt essential to his existence. The boy he used to be felt distant, blurry, like a shadow he had no interest in chasing.

And when he caught Xeno’s gaze again—that gaze he now sought every day, the one that made him want to be his best self—Stanley realized this wasn’t just a game. It was more than that. It was like an addiction, pulling him in deeper with every passing day. His face, his image—it was all a result of their moments together, their conversations, his desire to be someone who could stand beside him.
He smirked slightly at his reflection.

This wasn’t the same person who used to struggle with questions about himself. This wasn’t uncertainty.

This was him.

When he finished, the door creaked open, and a silhouette appeared in the doorway.

Xeno stood there, watching him like he had been waiting for this moment, a quiet satisfaction playing at the corners of his lips. He didn’t rush, and there was something magnetic about it. His words cut through the silence like a blade—

— Elegant look.

The compliment hit deeper than it should have. Stanley felt his chest tighten, his breathing quicken. He tried to keep his composure, but every word from Xeno seeped into him, filling the space between them. He glanced at the mirror—his reflection wasn’t just what he saw anymore. It was what Xeno saw, too.

— Thanks. You too… — Stanley hesitated, unsure how to continue. The words stuck in his throat, but maybe they didn’t matter. With a barely-there smile, he added— You really think I look elegant?

Xeno stepped forward, closing the space between them, and suddenly the air felt heavier—charged, like every breath brought him closer to something inevitable. Their eyes met in the mirror, and Stanley felt his presence like a weight, like something solid, something real.

— I think… you’re starting to look like the person I always knew you could be.

Xeno’s voice was soft, but there was an undeniable certainty in it. A certainty that made Stanley freeze. That voice—it was like magic, and something about it made him feel things he had never felt before.

His heart pounded faster.

They walked out together and ran into Maya. She froze for a second, noticing how they exchanged glances, then looked Stanley up and down, scanning his face and entire look.

— Stan, did you put on makeup again? — she asked, first with mild surprise, then with genuine curiosity, though there was a hint of concern in her voice.

Stanley kept his composure, forcing himself not to show the anxiety bubbling inside his chest. He hesitated, locking eyes with Maya, but all he could manage was a simple:

— Yeah. — He shrugged slightly. His face was already slipping into a mask, hiding the mess of emotions starting to break through.

Maya narrowed her eyes, her expression turning more cautious, like she was searching for something deeper.

— So you don’t care about what people think anymore? — There was a bit of confusion in her voice, like she hadn’t expected that answer but wasn’t judging him either.

An invisible hand squeezed Stanley’s chest. His heart pounded at the question. There was so much in those words that she couldn’t possibly understand. And he wasn’t sure if he could ever get back that quiet indifference he used to have.

His gaze drifted to Xeno, who stood beside him, so steady, so familiar. There was something in Xeno’s expression—soft yet piercing, like every moment between them mattered. And Stanley realized he couldn’t go back. He didn’t want to.

— I like how I look, — he said calmly, masking the storm inside him.

Maya pressed her lips together but didn’t say anything, letting the silence hang between them. Stanley could feel Xeno’s words lingering in his mind, shifting something inside him. There was no going back.

— I should get to class, — Xeno said abruptly, throwing a sharp glance at Maya.

She just nodded in response.

— I’ll go with you— Stanley started, but she cut him off.

— Stan, wait, — her voice wasn’t harsh, but there was something firm in it, almost demanding. — We need to talk.

A weird, uneasy feeling stirred in his stomach. He didn’t want this conversation, but he knew there was no avoiding it.

— About what? — He tried to keep his voice light, but the tension crept in anyway.

Maya crossed her arms, her gaze locked onto him like she was studying him.

— You tell me. What’s going on? Why are you acting so… different? It’s not just your appearance, it’s Xeno, it’s everything. You were never like this before. You were always more social with me, with others... and now I don’t get what’s happening to you.

The weight of silence pressed down on him like a shadow. Stanley had no idea how to answer. All he knew was that his life was different now, and there was no ignoring it. The emotions inside him churned, threatening to spill over.

— I just… wanted to try something new, — he said, forcing the words out. — Xeno said it would suit me, and I liked it. It’s not that deep, Maya.

She shook her head sharply, like she didn’t believe him.

— Stan, you didn’t just ‘try’ something. You’re changing. And not just how you look. You’re not yourself anymore. Don’t you see that? You’re changing yourself for some guy. You’re following him around like a lost puppy! You even stopped hanging out with me and others.

Her words hit like a slap. Something flared up inside him, something dark and sharp, and his voice wavered just slightly.

— He’s just… helping me. He sees something in me that’s more than just some boring high school nobody. I trust him, and… it’s fine, Maya. Don’t stress about it. And stay out of it.

Her eyes widened, and she took a small step back, like she wasn’t expecting that. His breathing was uneven. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know who he was right now. And he didn’t care. But one thing was clear—Xeno was important to him. In a way he couldn’t explain.

— I’m fine, — he said, forcing the words out. — I’m just figuring things out. I just want to be who I actually am.

Maya gave him another long look, and in her eyes, he saw a mix of disappointment and concern.

— I just hope you’re not making a mistake, Stan. Because I don’t want to lose you, but… you’re disappearing. — She shrugged and turned away, walking down the hall.

Stanley stood there, unable to move, his emotions tangled in a knot he couldn’t undo.

Maya was gone, but her words lingered like ghosts in his mind. He didn’t get why she suddenly cared so much. She never used to. She never asked how he felt, never questioned the bruises his dad left on him. She used to joke about them, like it was just another fight he got into. And now, when he was actually trying to change something, she was acting like it was a problem.

His gaze darkened, his chest tightening like something sharp was pressing into him. Anger spread through his veins like poison. Why did she, of all people, suddenly think she had the right to judge him? Why was she so concerned now, when before, she couldn’t care less?

“Like things were any better before,” he thought bitterly. He used to be a ghost, fading into the background, dragging himself through each day, feeling less alive by the second. And now that he was changing, now that he was trying to become something, she had a problem with it? All that don’t lose yourself talk was just bullshit.

His fists clenched until his knuckles went white. It pissed him off. Why did she get to act like some moral judge? Why did she think she had the right to tell him what to do? Like she could possibly understand.

“What the hell do you know, Maya?” the thought cut through his mind like a blade. ” I don’t owe you an explanation. I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

And honestly? He didn’t care what she thought. Because aside from the fact that Xeno was looking at him differently, he liked his new reflection.

He liked how it looked in the mirror. Liked how it made him feel more in control, more confident. Like every time he saw himself like this, he was getting closer to something real. Something that had been buried for too long.

Maybe he was losing himself.

But at least, for the first time, he felt alive.

And if Maya didn’t get that?

That was her problem.

The first school term was coming to an end, and that meant only one thing—exams. Stanley hadn’t been spending much time with his textbooks lately; his mind was occupied with something else entirely.

Sometimes, he’d catch himself thinking about Xeno—his insane ambitions, the way he looked into the future like he had it all figured out already. Other times, he was yanked back to reality, where his classmates threw mocking glances his way, thinking he didn’t notice.

But right now, he had one goal—to pass his exams. Not just to avoid giving his father another excuse to yell at him, but also to not look like a complete idiot in front of Xeno.

Stanley glanced at him—Xeno sat straight, scribbling something in his notebook, completely focused, like the rest of the world didn’t even exist. Teachers said he picked up everything instantly. Exams probably felt like nothing more than a formality to him.

Stanley swallowed hard. Then, summoning his courage, he asked quietly:

— Hey… wanna study together for the exams?

Xeno lifted his eyes from the page, raising a brow slightly. He clearly hadn’t expected that.

Stanley felt the nerves creeping in. If Xeno said no… No, he had to make this sound more interesting somehow.

— I… uh… — He hesitated, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. Then, as if it was the best bargaining chip in the world, he added, — I’ll make you dinner.

Xeno narrowed his eyes a little, like he was evaluating the offer.

— My place. After school.

Stanley blinked.

— Your place? — he repeated, not quite processing that Xeno had actually agreed.

— Yeah, — Xeno confirmed, looking back down at his notebook. — It’s more convenient at my house.

Stanley barely stopped himself from grinning like an idiot. He wanted to say something else, but he was too afraid of sounding too eager. Instead, he just nodded.

— Cool, — he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

When the final class ended, Stanley felt his chest tighten—not from exhaustion, but from how fast his heart was beating. He still couldn’t believe Xeno had agreed. And now they were actually gonna study together. At Xeno’s place. It felt unreal.

— You ready? — Xeno’s voice cut through the air, calm but carrying that quiet confidence he always had.

Stanley turned and saw him standing by the door, backpack slung over one shoulder, gloves on. As always, he had that unreadable expression, like he was prepared for anything—even the impossible.

— Yeah, of course, — Stanley nodded, shoving his stuff into his bag, though his hands fumbled with everything. His thoughts felt scrambled, like his whole world had suddenly shrunk down to just Xeno and this moment.

They stepped outside together. The evening air was colder than usual for this time of year, making Stanley shiver, but he quickly covered it up by walking faster. The sky was painted with warm shades of orange and pink as the sun dipped lower—beautiful, almost unreal. But in Stanley’s head, there was no room for sunsets.

— Just so you know, I’m not gonna explain every single thing to you, — Xeno glanced at him, smirking.

— I’m not an idiot. I had some of the best grades before you showed up, you know, — Stanley shot back, but even he could hear how unconvincing he sounded. He didn’t want to seem too eager, but something about this whole situation made him anxious.

Xeno studied him for a moment, then a playful glint flickered in his eyes.

— Hm. Though, you know… it’d be kinda cute if you needed me for your studies.

Stanley almost tripped.

— What?

Xeno smirked, clearly enjoying his reaction. He slowed his pace slightly, voice carrying a teasing edge.

— Just imagine it. You, struggling over some problem, looking at me all helplessly, and then—boom—I save the day.

Stanley felt his face heat up so fast, it was like he’d been set on fire.

— You’re such an idiot, — he muttered, walking faster to escape the embarrassment.

— Oh? You fluster easily, huh? — Xeno drawled, catching up without much effort.

Stanley clenched his jaw, eyes locked on the pavement. He hoped the cold air would cool down his face, but it didn’t help. Why was Xeno even talking to him like this? It wasn’t exactly an insult, but something about his tone and words made Stanley feel completely thrown off. Was it just teasing? Or… something else?

— Are you messing with me? — he asked, trying to sound indifferent.

— Nope, — Xeno said, his voice low, amused. — Just observing. You’re getting more… interesting.

— Okay, so do you live far or what? — Stanley changed the subject immediately.

— Not really. Just a couple more streets.

They kept walking, talking about school, teachers, and which exam topics everyone was dreading the most. Stanley gradually relaxed, almost forgetting about his earlier embarrassment.

But then, as they reached Xeno’s house, he suddenly said:

— By the way, you’re the first person I’ve brought over.

Stanley froze mid-step.

— What? Seriously?

— Yeah, — Xeno confirmed casually, unlocking the door.

As they stepped inside, Stanley was immediately struck by the strange silence of the place. The rooms were spacious and bright, the minimalist interior giving everything a strangely lifeless feel. It was neat—too neat. Almost like no one actually lived here.

— Where are your parents? — Stanley asked, slipping off his jacket, his eyes scanning the empty hallway.

Xeno was quiet for a second before shrugging off his coat and walking further inside.

— My dad left. Mom… — His face shifted slightly, as if he was hiding something, but he quickly smoothed his expression out again. — Always traveling. Meetings, work, business trips…

Stanley hesitated, caught off guard.

— So… you’re alone here all the time?

Xeno gave a small shrug and kept walking.

— Pretty much. But it’s not boring. Our science lab is way more interesting than this place. — He glanced over his shoulder, lips curling into a small smirk. — What, is that pity on your face?

— No! — Stanley snapped back, realizing too late that his voice came out too sharp, too defensive. — I just… I don’t know, I’m not used to this.

Xeno chuckled quietly, heading toward what looked like the study.

— Well, get used to it. Now, let’s see if you’re actually as smart as you claim to be.

He wasn’t even sure what exactly was bothering him. Maybe it was the loneliness hanging in the air. Or maybe it was the way Xeno, despite all his confidence, seemed to be covering up some kind of emptiness.

He couldn't imagine what it was like—coming home to an empty house every day. Though, honestly, he’d prefer that over his own family.

Xeno scoffed, like he was laughing at himself.

— Don’t worry. I got used to it a long time ago.

Stan thought about that, but before he could say anything, Xeno was already heading to the kitchen. His footsteps echoed off the bare walls, like the house was still waiting for life to finally fill it.

— Alright, since you promised dinner, — he threw over his shoulder without stopping. — Let’s see what you got.

Stanley pulled open the fridge, scanning the shelves. It was practically empty: a few bottles of water, some yogurt, a chocolate bar, and a box of something that he really didn’t want to check the expiration date on.

— You barely have any food, — he said, shutting the door with a frown. — Do you even eat properly?

Xeno, now sitting on the kitchen counter, leaned back against the edge lazily. He didn’t seem in a rush to answer. His expression was indifferent, like the whole topic wasn’t even worth discussing.

— When I can, — he shrugged. — Sometimes I grab something on the go. Sometimes I order.

— And what do you usually eat? — Stanley squinted, still trying to wrap his head around this.

— I dunno, — Xeno ran a finger along the counter, as if searching for the right words. — Mostly sweets. Helps with brain activity.

Stanley raised an eyebrow.

— Sweets? That’s your entire diet?

Xeno smirked, his eyes gleaming with a cocky spark.

— Well, you know I’m smart. Guess it works.

Stanley rolled his eyes, failing to hide the small smile creeping onto his face. He checked the fridge again, hoping to find something remotely edible.

— Smart, but clearly clueless about what your brain actually needs to function, — he muttered under his breath, rummaging through the shelves. — Alright, how about burgers?

— Oh, sounds interesting. You know how to make them? — Xeno raised a brow, as if the idea genuinely surprised him.

— Of course, — Stanley said, rolling up his sleeves. — I’m about to show you what real food tastes like.

Somehow, he managed to find a pack of ground beef, a few veggies, and some burger buns. He heated up a pan and started shaping the patties, stealing glances at Xeno, who was watching him with an amused glint in his eye.

— How thoughtful, — Xeno drawled.

— Not really, — Stanley grumbled, flipping a patty.

— Cooking for me, worrying about my diet… All that’s left is for you to scold me for staying up too late.

— Maybe I will if you actually do that, — Stanley huffed.

Xeno chuckled softly.

— Maybe you just wanna take care of me?

Stanley set the spatula down a little too hard and turned to him.

— If you keep eating like this, then yeah, I might have to.

— Oh, so you do want to?

— I just don’t want you keeling over from malnutrition, — Stanley muttered, going back to the burgers.

Xeno rested his elbows on the counter, tilting his head slightly as he watched him with interest.

— And what if I said I wouldn’t mind being taken care of? — his voice was casual, but there was something else underneath it.

Stanley froze for a second, focusing way too hard on slicing the buns.

— Then I guess I’d have to feed you every day, — he mumbled, barely believing he actually said it out loud.

A brief silence settled between them.

— Alright, I’ll hold you to that, — Xeno said softly, and Stanley was almost sure he heard something… pleased in his tone.

Stan set a plate with a burger in front of Xeno, then sat across from him, arms crossed.

— Well? Go on, try it. — There was a hint of satisfaction in his voice as he admired his handiwork.

Xeno eyed the burger with slight suspicion, but when he caught the smug look on Stan’s face, he just smirked and picked it up.

— If this sucks, you’re losing my respect forever, — he warned before taking a bite.

The second he started chewing, his expression shifted. He froze, furrowed his brows like he was analyzing the taste, then looked up at Stanley in surprise.

— …This is really damn good.

Stanley grinned, leaning back in his chair.

— Of course it is. I made it.

Xeno took another, bigger bite and shook his head.

— Honestly, I expected it to be… okay. Like, edible. But this? This is better than half the places I’ve eaten at.

Stanley leaned forward on his elbows.

— So what, does that mean you’ve just been eating garbage your whole life?

Xeno snorted.

— I just never really had home-cooked meals. Can’t even remember the last time I ate something that wasn’t takeout or a quick bite on the go.

Stanley frowned.

— Not even your mom cooks?

Xeno let out a short laugh, eyes still on his plate.

— Told you. She’s always busy. I got used to taking care of myself a long time ago.

The room went quiet for a moment. Stanley looked at Xeno, feeling some weird heaviness settle inside him. But Xeno didn’t seem to care, just kept eating like he hadn’t just said something kind of important.

Stanley sighed, grabbed his burger, and took a bite.

— Well, now you know I can cook you real food.

Xeno glanced up at him.

— What, planning to feed me now?

— And what if I am?

Xeno narrowed his eyes, watching him closely.

— Then I guess I should start inviting you over more often.

— With the way you eat, — Stanley snorted, — you might as well just move in with me.

Xeno let out a soft laugh.

— Oh, Stanley, you have no idea what you just suggested.

Stanley felt his face heat up but acted like he didn’t catch the implication. He just focused on his food, hoping the redness in his cheeks wasn’t too obvious.

After dinner, they moved to the bedroom, where textbooks and notebooks were already spread out across the desk. Xeno leaned back in his chair, lazily flipping through a book before stopping at the right section.

— Alright, where do we start? — he asked, glancing up at Stanley.

— Start by explaining how the hell any of this even works, — Stanley grumbled, eyeing the equations like they were some kind of alien language.

Xeno smirked and leaned in closer, starting to explain. His tone was casual, teasing, but surprisingly clear. At first, Stanley frowned, struggling to follow, but soon his eyebrows relaxed, and he focused hard on solving the problems.

Xeno went quiet.

He watched the way Stanley absentmindedly bit his lip, the way he furrowed his brows in concentration, the way his fingers tightened around the pen. The warm glow of the desk lamp highlighted his face, making his features stand out, and Xeno realized he had been staring for way too long.

— Why are you looking at me like that? — Stanley muttered without looking up.

Xeno smirked.

— Just thinking… you’re kinda cute when you’re focused.

Stanley’s hand froze, leaving a messy line across his paper. He snapped his head up, and Xeno barely held back a laugh at the sight of his flushed cheeks.

— Shut up, — Stanley grumbled, turning away.

— But I’m serious, — Xeno propped his chin on his palm, watching him with that same amused glint in his eyes. — You get all serious, frowning and scribbling down notes… it’s kinda mesmerizing.

— Do you actually care about studying, or are you just here to mess with me?

— Why not both? — Xeno grinned.

Stanley exhaled deeply, trying to focus on the problems, but he could feel Xeno’s gaze still on him. He tried to ignore it, but every word Xeno said kept replaying in his mind, making his heart pound annoyingly fast.

— If you keep staring at me, I’m leaving, — he muttered, leaning closer to his notebook.

Xeno had no plans of stopping.

— No, you won’t. You’re too stubborn to leave without finishing the problem.

Stanley hated that he was right.

Then Xeno suddenly leaned in even closer, close enough that Stanley could feel his breath against his cheek.

— Maybe I should distract you more often, — he whispered, his voice laced with amusement.

Stanley swallowed hard, gripping his pen tighter.

— Maybe you should just focus on actually helping me.

— I already explained everything, — Xeno drawled, tapping the edge of Stanley’s notebook. — Now it’s your turn to prove you understand.

Stanley clenched his jaw but forced himself to concentrate, pretending not to notice how Xeno was still watching him, that damn smirk never leaving his face.

Time passed, and Stanley found himself getting lost in his own thoughts. The problems were getting harder, but focusing was even worse. He didn’t get what Xeno was trying to do. He liked it, but he wasn’t about to admit that.

At some point, his hands started shaking slightly. He quickly glanced at his notebook, forcing himself to refocus. But Xeno wasn’t making it easy.

— You’re so serious, — Xeno murmured with a lazy smile, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. — It’s kinda elegant.

Stanley let out a sharp breath, feeling his patience wearing thin. He knew he was either going to hold it together or… let everything he was feeling spill out. And honestly, he wasn’t sure if he could keep quiet anymore.

— You’re always messing with me, — Stanley said, his voice coming out steadier than he expected as he turned to face Xeno. — Do you ever shut up?

Xeno tilted his head, completely unfazed by the irritation in Stanley’s voice.

— Don’t think I will. You still like me when I talk, don’t you?

Stanley felt his cheeks start to burn. He glanced at his notebook, clenched his teeth, and said:

— What if I say that I like it when you look at me… like that?

He couldn’t believe he’d actually said that out loud. It was unbearable, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Xeno froze, his eyes widening for a split second. Then, a slow smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned in closer, so close that their faces were only inches apart.

— You serious? — he asked, like he was savoring the moment.

Stanley looked at him, something deeper flickering in his gaze. His heart skipped a beat. He had no idea what to do with this moment. He could brush it off, pretend he didn’t understand, but deep down, he knew exactly what he meant.

— Yeah, — Stanley said firmly, his voice steady now. — I like it when you look at me like that.

Xeno went still, like he was processing those words. Then, reluctantly, he averted his gaze and muttered:

— Maybe we should actually focus on studying.

Stanley went back to solving equations, but his mind was a complete mess. He noticed how Xeno had stopped teasing him as much, how the usual playful spark in his eyes had dimmed. The lightness was gone. He wasn’t cracking jokes anymore. Instead, he seemed… lost in thought.

Stanley couldn’t shake the feeling that it was because of what he’d said. The words still echoed in his head, and now there was this weight in the air between them. He didn’t want Xeno to overthink it, but he also couldn’t ignore the way he had suddenly withdrawn.

— You alright, Xeno? — Stanley asked, unable to hold it in any longer. He needed to know what was going on, especially now that it was clear Xeno was feeling off.

Xeno hesitated, still staring at the page in front of him. His face darkened slightly, like he was trying to keep something buried.

— Yeah, I’m fine, — he said, but there was hesitation in his voice. — Just thinking.

Stanley immediately knew that was a lie. His heart started pounding. There was something strange about the way Xeno said that, something that made it obvious he wasn’t okay.

— Sorry if I said something weird, — Stanley said, trying to keep his voice light, even though his stomach twisted with unease.

Xeno let out a quiet laugh, but it was strained, like he was forcing it.

— You didn’t, — he replied, glancing at Stanley again. And for the first time, he couldn’t completely hide what was behind his eyes. This wasn’t just some casual moment. Something had shifted. The usual confidence in his gaze had wavered, like a wall that had finally cracked. — It’s just… I’m not used to people saying things like that to me, — he admitted, his voice quieter now.

He dropped his gaze for a second, fingers twitching slightly like he didn’t know what to do with them. Then he scoffed, shaking his head, but there was no real humor in it.

— I guess I’ve always been the one doing all the talking. You know what I mean?

Stanley stayed quiet, letting him speak, because for once, it felt like Xeno actually needed to.

— People don’t usually listen to me, — Xeno continued, voice steady but strangely distant. — They hear me, sure. But they don’t listen. They either nod along, waiting for their turn to speak, or they get uncomfortable and try to change the subject. I got used to that. To just… filling in the silence myself. It’s easier that way.

He exhaled sharply, like he was irritated with himself for even saying this much.

— But then you said that, and I just— — he paused, tongue running over his teeth as he searched for the right words. — I didn’t know how to respond.

He met Stanley’s eyes again, and this time, there was no trace of his usual cold amusement, no sharp edges to his smirk. Just something unguarded.

— It’s weird, — he muttered, mostly to himself.

Xeno let out another laugh, but it felt hollow. That’s when Stanley realized—this wasn’t a joke to him. This moment, these words… they meant something.

Xeno was always the one in control. He decided how far things went, how people reacted to him. But now, with Stanley’s words hanging in the air, it was like he didn’t know what to do.
For the first time, he looked unsteady.

He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but the words just wouldn’t come out.

— I get it, — Stanley said, calmer now. — I didn’t mean to mess with your head.

Xeno was silent for a moment. His gaze softened slightly, like he was wrestling with something inside him. Then, after what felt like forever, he finally looked at Stanley again.

— Sorry. I’m… too complicated, — he muttered, and for once, his voice was completely honest.

He exhaled sharply, as if trying to push out something heavier than air.

— It’s just… hard for me to be with people. I’ve always built walls around myself so I wouldn’t feel vulnerable, so I wouldn’t look weak. But you… — He paused, his jaw tightening, like forcing the words out was physically painful. — You make me feel like I should open up, and that scares me.

Stanley froze, like his whole world had just flipped upside down.

He had never seen Xeno like this. Normally, he was untouchable—confident, unreadable, always in control. But now… something in his eyes was completely different. The usual fire was gone, replaced with something uncertain, something lost.

And Stanley’s chest tightened.

It didn’t make him want to pull away. It made him want to stay.

Without thinking, without second-guessing, he reached out and wrapped his arms around Xeno.

Xeno tensed immediately. His whole body stiffened, like he had been caught off guard. Like physical closeness wasn’t something he knew how to deal with.

Stanley could feel it in the way Xeno barely moved, the way his breathing hitched for just a second. But what struck him the most was how thin he felt—how his frame, always hidden under layers of confidence and sharp words, was fragile. Like he had been carrying too much weight for too long. Like something inside him had been held together by sheer willpower, and now, for the first time, it was starting to crack.

And then, after what felt like forever, Xeno finally moved.

He didn’t hug Stanley back—not fully. But his hands clutched onto the fabric of Stanley’s sleeve, gripping it tight, like he was afraid to let go. Like this—this closeness—was something he had never let himself have.

Stanley hesitated too, feeling the tension in Xeno’s shoulders. For a moment, he wondered if he should pull away. If this was too much.

But then… Xeno didn’t move. He didn’t push him away. He just stayed there, frozen, like he was trying to figure out what to do with something as simple as a hug.

The next moment, he pulled away, glancing nervously at Xeno’s eyes, where a hundred unspoken questions seemed to swirl.

— Sorry, — he whispered, fumbling for words. — I just… wanted to be there for you. Was that too much?

No answer. The silence was so thick, Stanley could almost feel its weight pressing down on him. But then, as if he couldn’t hold back anymore, Xeno threw himself into his arms again. His whole body practically melted against Stanley, his face buried in his shoulder, hiding emotions he either couldn’t or didn’t know how to express.

Stanley froze, feeling how his shirt grew damp from Xeno’s warm, shaky breath. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to do. But maybe that didn’t matter.

— Thanks, — came the muffled, almost imperceptible reply.

Xeno pulled away just as fast, like he was rejecting whatever had just happened. He ran a hand over his face, wiping away any trace of weakness he couldn’t quite conceal, then sank onto the edge of the bed, staring down at the floor. Stanley followed silently, sitting next to him. Seeing Xeno like this—fragile, exposed, his eyes holding some invisible pain—was unbearable.

The silence between them stretched, thick and suffocating, like a room filled with unspoken screams. It wasn’t just quiet—it was heavy, pressing down on them, on Xeno, like the weight of something unseen, something too much to carry alone.

And then, finally, breaking through the tension, Xeno spoke. His voice was flat, almost lifeless, like he wasn’t talking to Stanley, but to the emptiness itself.

— There’s one thing you should know… Everyone who gets too close to me ends up scared of me.

Stanley scoffed, trying to shake off the weight of those words.

— Why? You seem pretty cool to me.

But Xeno didn’t react the way he expected. No sharp retort, no smug smirk. Instead, he just looked at him—really looked at him—like he was trying to understand why Stanley wasn’t running yet. Like he was waiting for him to realize something ugly.

And then, Xeno gave him the faintest, coldest smile. It wasn’t amused. It wasn’t cocky. It didn’t even reach his eyes.

— That’s because you don’t know me, — he murmured, his voice low and almost detached.

Something in his tone made Stanley’s chest tighten, but he didn’t interrupt. He let him speak.

— People think they know me. They think I’m just quiet, just different. And for a while, they pretend it doesn’t bother them. They pretend they don’t notice how I look at things, how I talk about things. But then—sooner or later—something happens. I say the wrong thing. I show too much of myself. And that’s when they finally see it.

He exhaled sharply, his gaze flickering downward, but only for a second.

— And they run.

His hands curled into fists on his lap.

— My own mother won’t even look at me properly.

Stanley opened his mouth, about to say something, but Xeno cut him off before he could. His voice grew sharper, colder, filled with something deeper, something festering.

— You wanna know why? Because I’m weird, Stanley. I’m wrong. And I hate them for making me feel like I should apologize for that.

The words came out heavier now, each one sharper than the last, slicing through the air like a knife.

— I hate all of them. Every single one of them. The school kids with their empty lives, the teachers who pretend they care, the strangers who exist just to take up space. Even my mother—oh, especially my mother.

Stanley’s stomach twisted, but he stayed silent, listening, watching the way Xeno’s fingers tensed, the way his jaw locked tight, like he was barely holding something in.

— I can’t stand them, — Xeno continued, and now there was a sharpness in his voice, a barely contained edge, like something just beneath his skin was struggling to break free. — All these pathetic creatures with their empty heads, blindly following the herd, never thinking, never feeling anything real. They don’t deserve anything except—

He stopped abruptly.

For a second, the words hovered between them, unspoken, but Stanley could hear them. Could feel them pressing against the air, just waiting to be released.

And then, finally—soft, quiet, but absolute—

— Death.

The room felt smaller. The air colder.

Stanley didn’t flinch. He didn’t recoil. He just… sat there, letting the word settle.

He had heard things like this before. He had felt things like this before. That creeping, clawing rage, that desperate, overwhelming need to burn the world down just to see if the ashes would feel warmer than the life that came before them.

But hearing it from Xeno—hearing it from him, from someone who had always seemed untouchable, unreadable—was different.

Because this wasn’t just some fleeting teenage angst. This wasn’t just anger.

This was truth.

And that’s what made it terrifying.

Stanley swallowed, his throat dry. But he didn’t move away. He didn’t look away.

Instead, he did the opposite.

He leaned in.

— Well… I don’t think you could actually kill someone, — he said, a hint of amusement in his voice, though his hands were gripping his knees a little too tightly.

Xeno’s eyes snapped to him, sharp, questioning.

— What?

— I mean, look at you, — Stanley smirked, gesturing at him lazily. — You’re kinda scrawny. You’d probably struggle just getting someone to hold still long enough.

For a second, Xeno just stared. And then something shifted—his expression changed, the coldness flickering just slightly, like the flame had been touched by a passing breeze.

And then… he laughed.

It was short. Dry. But real.

— You’re unbelievable, — Xeno muttered, shaking his head.

Xeno was still watching him, his gaze unreadable but sharp, like he was dissecting Stanley’s every movement, every breath, trying to pick him apart piece by piece. Stanley expected him to maybe sneer and roll his eyes like he usually did. Maybe throw out some sarcastic remark, dismiss the moment like it meant nothing.

But he didn’t.

He just stared.

Long. Scrutinizing.

Like he was looking at something new.

Like he was looking at something dangerous.

So Stanley dropped the act. The lazy smirk, the casual indifference—it all slipped away like a mask peeling off too easily.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, voice calm, steady, certain.

— But I think I could.

The words fell between them like a knife, sharp and final.

For a moment, nothing moved. Not the air, not the flickering light above them, not the weight in Stanley’s chest that suddenly felt lighter.

Xeno’s head tilted slightly, curiosity flickering behind his dark eyes. But then his expression hardened.

— Were you even listening? — he demanded, voice sharp, almost biting. — I just talked about genocide. Any normal person would’ve called me insane by now. Even my mother—the woman who raised me—won’t look me in the eyes anymore.

He leaned back, crossing his arms. His expression was blank, but his fingers tapped restlessly against his sleeve, betraying something—annoyance, frustration, maybe something deeper.

— Run while you still can, Stanley. I won’t judge.

Stanley exhaled slowly through his nose, unimpressed.

— Yeah, well, I’m not exactly normal, am I?

Xeno’s gaze snapped to him, eyes narrowing.

— Besides, — Stanley continued, voice lower now, more deliberate, — I get it. If I had the chance, I’d put a bullet in my father’s head without a second thought.

Something in Xeno’s face twitched. He didn’t react the way Stanley expected. No mocking smile, no sardonic laugh. Just a sharp inhale, barely audible, and the way his body stiffened—like he hadn’t seen that coming.

For once, Xeno looked like he had been caught off guard.

Stanley didn’t let him speak. He just rolled up his sleeves, wordlessly, without hesitation.

The fabric slid down his arms, exposing them—marked, bruised, discolored. Some were old, fading into ugly yellow stains. Others were fresh, dark and angry, painting his skin in a language no one had ever bothered to read before.

They weren’t stories of war. They weren’t victories.

They were just proof that he was still standing.

That was all survival had ever been.

Xeno’s breath hitched—so soft, so small, Stanley almost missed it.

His fingers twitched before reaching out, hesitant but deliberate. And then, slowly, he traced over the bruises.

Lightly. Carefully.

Like he was trying to understand something intimate.

Like he was trying to understand him.

Stanley felt a strange sort of stillness settle inside him as Xeno’s fingertips ghosted over his skin.

No one had ever looked at him like this before.

Not with pity. Not with judgment.

But with interest.

Real, piercing interest.

— I had no idea… — Xeno murmured, almost too quiet to hear.

Stanley let out a short, dry chuckle.

— No one did, — he said. And his voice—calm, even, unwavering—held something it had never held before.

Warmth.

Not for himself. Not for what happened.

But for the fact that Xeno knew.

Knew and stayed.

The thought didn’t terrify him the way it should have. If anything, it settled inside him, lodged deep into his chest like a second heartbeat.

Xeno’s fingers pressed a little harder over one of the darker bruises, testing the shape of it.

Stanley didn’t flinch.

Instead, he let the realization sink in.

— Killing people doesn’t sound so bad, — he mused, tilting his head slightly.

It wasn’t said to shock. It wasn’t said to be edgy.

It was a realization.

A cold, quiet, inevitable realization that unfolded in his mind like an answer he should’ve always known.

Like it had been waiting for him to understand.

Xeno didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away.

Didn’t tell him he was wrong.

Instead, he studied him.

The sharp, assessing way his eyes flickered across Stanley’s face—lingering on the slight smirk at the corner of his lips, the way his fingers flexed absentmindedly as if testing the thought.

And then, a new expression crossed Xeno’s face.

Not fear. Not disgust.

Something deeper.

Something alive.

Something hungry.

— Stan… — he murmured, voice slow, deliberate.

He tilted his head, just slightly, in that way he did. That dangerous way. That knowing way.

— Tell me… would you kill for me?

Stanley didn’t hesitate.

He reached out, grabbing Xeno’s chin with two fingers, forcing his gaze to meet his own.

Their faces were inches apart now, breaths mingling in the space between them.

Xeno’s lips parted slightly, but he didn’t move away.

Didn’t resist.

Just watched.

Just waited.

And then, with all the certainty in the world, Stanley smiled.

— Yes.

Not a second of doubt. Not a trace of hesitation.

Just a simple, absolute truth.

— I trust you, Xeno, — he murmured. His thumb brushed over the curve of Xeno’s jaw, deliberate and slow. — If you say it should be done… then it should be done.

The words settled between them, thick and unshakable.

Xeno didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

His fingers curled slightly, as if fighting the instinct to reach out, to pull Stanley closer.

And in that moment, Stanley realized—

He hadn’t just said something.

He had given something.

Something precious. Something irrevocable.

Xeno hadn’t just found someone who understood him.

He had found someone willing to follow.

And Stanley…

Stanley had never felt so alive.

Chapter Text

The two of them sat in the dim glow of the lamp, the air between them thick with something unspoken. Silence wasn’t unusual with them—it was comfortable, charged, not awkward. But this time, it felt like the weight of everything unsaid was pressing down harder than usual. Then Stanley’s voice cut through it, lazy and teasing.

— So, who’s getting shot first? — He stretched, slow and deliberate, like a predator lazily flexing its claws. — Who pissed you off enough? Give me a list, I’ll grab a pen.

Xeno let out a short laugh, his head tilting back slightly, eyes gleaming under the warm light. It wasn’t his usual sharp, calculated smirk—there was something almost genuine in it, something unguarded for just a second.

— You’d run out of paper, — he muttered, shaking his head. — Trust me, the list is long.

Stanley leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, watching him with casual curiosity.

— Go on, tell me.

Xeno sighed, his fingers drumming lightly against the desk as he thought for a moment. Then he exhaled through his nose, like he was debating whether or not to say what was already on the tip of his tongue.

— Alright. Here’s one for you. There was this summer camp they forced me into. Thought it’d be fun, some ‘bonding experience’ garbage. — His voice dipped into something bitter. — One of the activities was this stupid ‘Guess the Celebrity’ game. Some dumb team challenge. Everyone had to take turns naming a song or movie, whatever. I couldn’t name some pop singer’s track—because why the hell would I care? And for the rest of the trip, they treated me like I was some kind of alien.

He rolled his eyes, scoffing under his breath.

— Like, tell me—why does that even matter? Who gives a damn if I know what actor is dating who or which pop star had a scandal this week? That’s what makes someone interesting? That’s what makes you cool? But knowing how to build a working engine, or actually understanding how the world functions—that’s just nerd shit?

He fell silent, jaw tightening slightly as he realized how much he had just let slip. He wasn’t the type to rant. Not like this. But now that the words were out there, lingering in the air between them, there was no taking them back.

Stanley didn’t speak at first. He just watched Xeno, his gaze steady, his fingers absentmindedly tapping against his knee.

Then he smirked.

— So… I take it we’re adding your entire summer camp to the list?

Xeno blinked, caught off guard for a moment before his lips curled into an amused smile.

— Please. It’d be doing society a favour.

Stanley chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.

— I get it, though. People are ridiculous. Everything’s a damn popularity contest, and the things that actually matter? No one cares.

Xeno exhaled sharply through his nose, his smirk faltering just a little.

— I figured that out a long time ago. — His voice was quieter now, his fingers idly playing with the edge of a notebook. — This world is rotting. Most people? Just a waste of space, mindless drones following the same script. What do they even do? Nothing. They just exist. Take up oxygen.

Stanley leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head.

— Yeah, yeah, I get it. Just making sure I’m not on that list.

Xeno glanced at him sideways, his smirk returning.

— If you were, I wouldn’t have invited you over.

Stanley’s smile shifted into something slower, more knowing. He tilted his head slightly, his voice taking on that familiar teasing edge.

— Well, if you ever decide to clean up the gene pool—you know, weed out the weak links—give me a call. I’ll handle the dirty work. Your hands should only be used for science, after all.

Xeno stilled for just a second. His expression didn’t change much, but something flickered behind his eyes—an almost imperceptible shift. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a grin. Not his usual smirk. Something different. Something darker. Something pleased.

— I’ll keep that in mind, — he murmured, his voice low, as if sealing an unspoken pact.

His gaze flickered to the desk, the mess of textbooks and notebooks sprawled out between them. The soft, golden glow of the lamp cast long, uneven shadows across the pages, the ink smudged in places from hurried writing. The room smelled like paper, fading ink, and the faint bitterness of coffee that had long gone cold.

Stanley glanced at the books, then at Xeno, before exhaling dramatically.

— I’m guessing you actually expect me to study now, huh?

Xeno hummed in amusement, flipping a page in his notebook without looking up.

— Well, you did say you’d handle the dirty work.

Stanley groaned, dropping his head onto the desk.

— Damn it. I really walked into that one, didn’t I?

Xeno just chuckled, and for the first time that night, the weight in the air felt just a little lighter. Stanley lazily leaned back in his chair, pulling one of the worksheets closer. He squinted at the equations, tilting his head like he was trying to decipher some ancient script.

— Alright, professor, explain this to me, — he smirked, propping his head up with one hand.

Xeno rolled his eyes, though the corners of his lips twitched in amusement.

— Don’t call me that.

— What should I call you then? A genius?

Xeno let out a short, unimpressed huff but didn’t take the bait. Instead, he flipped open his notebook and, with precise, calculated movements, began sketching out diagrams and equations, his handwriting neat and deliberate. He spoke in that steady, confident tone of his, like he was stating absolute truths, like the universe itself bent to his logic.

Stanley listened, nodding at the right moments, but every now and then, he’d toss in a question—not because he didn’t understand, but because he knew it would make Xeno pause, rethink, and come back with double the intensity, just to prove he was right.

— Hold up, hold up, — Stanley interrupted, biting the cap of his pen in thought. — What if we do this instead?

He leaned forward, scribbling down an alternative method in the margins. Xeno’s sharp gaze flickered over the numbers, and his brow furrowed in immediate disapproval.

— No, that won’t work. — He quickly corrected the formula, adjusting symbols with the same ease as breathing.

— Oh, come on, you just hate admitting that I’m a genius, — Stanley teased, watching him with a lazy grin.

— If you were a genius, you wouldn’t have mixed up the signs in the third line, — Xeno shot back smoothly, tapping his finger against the mistake.

Time blurred as they worked. The city outside had already melted into a sea of flickering streetlights, casting reflections against the window. Inside, the room had settled into a quiet rhythm—the scratch of pen on paper, the occasional tap of a pencil against the desk, the rustle of pages turning. Their words filled the spaces between, stretching between banter and actual discussion.

Sometimes they argued—Xeno, his voice laced with that signature, almost arrogant certainty, and Stanley, pushing back just enough to keep things interesting.

— Alright, fine, you win, — Stanley finally sighed, throwing his hands up dramatically. — I swear, your brain must be its own universe, and here I am just trying to keep up.

Xeno scoffed, brushing eraser shavings off his page.

— At least you’re trying, — he remarked, the smugness in his tone barely hidden.

Stanley leaned back, stretching his arms above his head before tilting his chair onto two legs, gazing up at the ceiling.

— You know, — he mused, voice lighter now, — sometimes I think you could actually take over the world if you wanted to.

Xeno paused, his finger idly tracing the edge of a notebook, before letting out a quiet chuckle.

— Maybe, — he admitted, his smirk curling at the edges. — But for now, I’d settle for just passing these goddamn exams.

Stanley laughed, shaking his head.

— Wow, the great Xeno actually concerned about grades? What’s next, world peace?

Xeno shot him a dry look before flicking a crumpled piece of paper at him.

— Shut up and keep working.

Stanley caught it mid-air, grinning as he tossed it back onto the desk. Then, without another word, he picked up his pen again, leaned over the notes, and fell back into the steady rhythm of work.

Hours had passed, and the air in the room had grown heavy, thick with the lingering scent of paper and ink. Stanley could feel his brain slowly overheating, every number and formula blurring into meaningless scribbles. With a tired sigh, he dropped his pen, rubbing his fingers over the bridge of his nose before leaning back in his chair.

— I’m done. — He groaned, stretching his arms over his head before letting them fall limply onto the desk. — That’s it. My brain’s officially fried.

He cast a glance at Xeno, who still looked like he could go for another few hours, completely unfazed by exhaustion. Stanley shook his head.

— Let’s take a break, — he suggested, lazily pushing himself up from the chair. — A walk would be nice.

Xeno finally looked up, one eyebrow slightly raised, as if only now remembering that the outside world existed.

— I’m not against it, — he said, a slow smirk creeping onto his lips. — Actually, since we’re talking about breaks… there’s something I wanted to ask you.

Stanley narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

— What now?

Xeno leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand, the smirk never leaving his face.

— You were bragging about knowing how to shoot, weren’t you? So… show me.

The way he said it was casual, but there was something deeper flickering in his eyes—curiosity, anticipation, maybe even a challenge. Like he was waiting to see how far Stanley would take it.
Stan let out a short laugh, crossing his arms over his chest.

— So, you’re really interested, huh? — His tone was teasing, but there was a hint of amusement underneath. — You want me to enlighten you?

Xeno tilted his head slightly, his gaze unwavering.

— Maybe, — he replied smoothly.

For a few seconds, Stanley just studied him, weighing whether Xeno was serious or just messing with him. Then, with a slow exhale, he shrugged.

— Alright, since you’re asking so nicely, — he said, finally standing up.

He rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension from hours of studying ease up, then reached for his jacket. As he slipped it on, he shot Xeno a sideways glance.

— We’re gonna have to stop by my place first. I need to grab a few things.

Xeno immediately got to his feet, moving with an eagerness that he didn’t even bother to hide. It was clear he had been waiting for this.

— Then lead the way.

Stanley smirked at his enthusiasm but didn’t comment on it. Instead, he grabbed his phone, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and headed for the door. The second he pushed it open, the cold night air rushed in, brushing against his skin, clearing the fog of calculations and theories from his head. Outside, the world was dark but not silent. Streetlights cast long, golden streaks on the pavement, their glow barely reaching the shadows pooling beneath the trees. The branches swayed gently in the breeze, their movements whisper-like against the quiet hum of the night. Stanley stepped forward, his boots crunching softly against the ground. Behind him, he could hear Xeno’s steady footsteps, light and controlled, almost too quiet.

As they slipped into Stanley’s house, the air inside felt thick, steeped in the scent of wood and metal. The hallway was narrow and dark, only faint streaks of moonlight sneaking through the half-closed curtains, stretching long shadows across the floor. In the gentle glow, Stanley moved without hesitation, his steps soundless, his body knowing the way by heart. His mother was calmly sleeping in the bedroom since his dad was out of town today.

He crouched in front of an old wooden drawer, fingers expertly skimming through its contents until they met something cold and heavy. The weight of it in his palm felt familiar—like shaking hands with an old friend. With a swift, practiced motion, he checked the gun, the sound of metal clicking into place barely a whisper in the quiet house. Then, slipping it beneath his jacket, he gestured for Xeno to follow.

— We should probably do this somewhere we won’t get arrested, — Xeno murmured, amusement lacing his voice, though he instinctively kept it low, like they were actually planning something illegal.

Stanley smirked, tilting his head slightly as he cracked the door open.

— Relax. I know a few places.

He slipped outside without another word, and Xeno, without hesitation, followed him into the night.

The forest greeted them with a hushed stillness, disturbed only by the occasional crackle of twigs beneath their boots and the distant whisper of wind shifting through the trees. Here, away from the city, the night felt thicker—alive in a way that urban darkness never was. The twisted roots clawing through the earth, the towering branches reaching toward the sky as if trying to steal the stars. The moon hung high above them, its silver glow dripping down onto the wet grass, creating a chaotic pattern of light and shadow that rippled with each step they took.

Xeno inhaled deeply, the cool air filling his lungs. Out here, the silence wasn’t empty—it was full of secrets, of unseen movements in the dark.

— So, where exactly are we going? — he finally asked, his voice light, but edged with curiosity.

Stanley, walking a few steps ahead, didn’t turn around.

— Patience, professor.

Xeno rolled his eyes but didn’t press.

A few minutes later, the trees thinned, giving way to a small clearing. The grass here was flattened in places, and in the moonlight, several glass bottles gleamed, abandoned by someone earlier that day. Stanley came to a stop, his gaze flicking across the scene with quiet approval.

— Perfect targets, — he muttered, pulling the gun from his jacket.

Xeno said nothing, only watched.

Stan moved with a calm precision, his fingers sure as they checked the magazine again, even though he’d already done it before. Every motion was fluid, effortless—like second nature. His stance shifted slightly, muscles coiled but loose, a perfect balance of tension and control. The quiet focus in his eyes was something Xeno had never seen before, something sharp, almost predatory.

Then—

A shot.

The sound cracked through the stillness, sending birds fluttering somewhere in the distance. The nearest bottle exploded, shards scattering like fallen stars against the grass.

Xeno blinked. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t startle. But something inside him tightened.

Not fear.

Fascination.

— Again, — he said, voice barely above a breath.

Stanley smirked—just a small twitch of his lips, almost imperceptible in the dark. Then he fired again. Another shot, another bottle shattered.

And then another.

Xeno couldn’t look away.

The way Stanley moved—the easy, almost lazy confidence, the way he barely seemed to blink as he pulled the trigger—it was… mesmerizing. He had always known Stanley wasn’t as simple as he pretended to be, but seeing him like this, seeing the way he handled something so deadly with such ease—Xeno had to admit, he was impressed. More than impressed.

— Honestly, — Xeno whispered, stepping closer, — that’s probably the most impressive thing I’ve seen in a while.

Stanley turned his head slightly, lips curling in a slow, lazy grin.

— That easy to impress you?

— Oh, not at all. — Xeno’s voice dropped just slightly, smooth, unhurried, stretched out like he was savoring the moment. He stepped forward, stopping just a few feet away. — But I’ll admit… you do look good in the dark.

Stanley raised an eyebrow at that, but in his eyes, there was something else—something intrigued. He was grateful the night hid the heat rising to his face.

— What? Are you trying to flirt with me or something?

— Who knows? — Xeno’s smirk widened just a fraction, tilting his head playfully, stepping even closer.

Stanley didn’t respond right away. He only huffed a short laugh, eyes still locked on Xeno’s as he smoothly reloaded the gun. The sharp metallic sound of the slide clicking into place echoed between them.

— Then keep watching, — he said, lifting the gun once more.

Xeno didn’t look away. Didn’t step back.

The night stretched around them, filled only with the rhythmic, controlled sound of bullets meeting glass, and the slow, steady beat of Xeno’s pulse against his ribs.

The last bottle shattered into nothing, and silence settled over the clearing like a thick fog. Only the distant chirping of insects and the occasional rustling of leaves in the wind reminded them that the world hadn't stopped spinning along with them.

Xeno didn’t take his eyes off Stanley, tracking every detail—the barely-there tension in his shoulders, the slight furrow in his brows, the way his fingers still gripped the gun even though there was nothing left to shoot. Like it was the only thing grounding him.

— So… your father made you learn? — Xeno finally asked, breaking the quiet but not softening it.

Stanley turned his head just enough to glance at him, his expression unreadable. A flicker of something passed through his eyes—too quick to catch, too deep to decipher.

— He figured I wasn’t good for much else, — his voice was flat, practiced, but Xeno noticed the slight tremor in his fingers, the way they flexed against the gun’s grip before stilling again. — Said if I was going to be useless, I might as well know how to pull a trigger.

Xeno let out a slow breath, shoving his hands into his pockets. He recognized that tone. Knew that look all too well.

— And if you made a mistake? — his voice was quieter now.

Stanley gave a dry chuckle, one that didn’t reach his eyes.

— Then he made sure I remembered it.

Xeno didn’t need to ask what that meant. He had already seen the bruises. He understood without words.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The forest around them whispered with the wind, trees swaying like silent witnesses to a conversation that had been waiting to happen. The air was thick—not just with the lingering scent of gunpowder and damp grass, but with something else, something heavier that neither of them acknowledged out loud.

— Parents really love punishing children for their mistakes, huh? — Xeno muttered, kicking absently at a stray rock.

Stanley turned slightly, watching him, his gaze sharp but not unkind.

— Yours too? — His voice wasn’t as indifferent as before. It was careful. Like he wanted to know but wasn’t sure if he should.

Xeno inhaled deeply, held it, then let it out slow. When he spoke, his tone was almost too casual.

— I… hurt my dad.

Stanley’s grip on the gun slackened slightly. His brow furrowed.

— How?

Xeno dragged his hand absently over his knee, stalling, his fingers twitching like they wanted something to hold onto.

— Doesn’t matter, — he muttered, shaking his head.

Stanley didn’t buy it. He didn’t push, but he didn’t look away either. Just waited. Xeno clenched his jaw, exhaled hard through his nose.

— I built something. Miscalculated. He was too close and got hurt. That’s it.

The words were clipped, forced out like they were being pried from his throat. Stanley didn’t react, didn’t jump in with sympathy or some useless reassurance. He just… listened. Xeno swallowed, feeling the weight of that silence, feeling it pull at something raw.

— After that, he left, — he said flatly, like the words meant nothing.

Stanley’s expression barely shifted, but there was something there—an understanding that didn’t need to be spoken.

Xeno forced a smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

— My mom couldn’t even look at me after that. Not the same way. She thought I did it on purpose.

His voice dropped, turning light, detached, like he was talking about something usual.

— I think she hates me. Or maybe she is scared.

His foot dragged over the dirt, pressing a line into the dust.

— Guess I don’t care enough to figure out which.

The wind stirred through the trees, rustling the leaves above them, filling the silence Xeno refused to break. Stanley watched Xeno carefully, his fingers flexing at his sides, itching to reach for something—words, maybe. But the way Xeno’s voice had flattened, the way he stared ahead without really seeing anything, made it clear he wasn’t offering anything more.

Stanley wanted to ask. Needed to.

Because Xeno wasn’t just brushing past the details—he was burying them. Cutting them short before they could take shape. And whatever he wasn’t saying hung heavy between them, like a storm that had already passed but left destruction in its wake.

Stanley’s throat felt tight. He wanted to know how bad it had been, what really happened that day. If his mother’s fear had turned into something worse. If she said it out loud. If she ever looked at Xeno and let him believe, even for a second, that she wished he wasn’t there. But the tension in Xeno’s jaw, the way his fingers dug into his knee as if holding himself together, told Stanley exactly what he needed to know—Xeno wasn’t going to give him that story. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

So Stanley didn’t push. Didn’t ask how bad it got, how long Xeno had to live under that gaze that no longer saw him as her son. He didn’t demand details. Xeno clearly didn’t want to spill. Instead, he swallowed down the questions, letting them settle deep in his chest, and simply sat there, the silence between them filled only by the rustling wind and the things left unsaid.

— Guess we hit the jackpot with families, huh? — Stanley muttered, finally breaking the tension.

Xeno let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh.

— Yeah. Real lucky.

Stanl studied him for a second too long, then, without a word, turned back to the empty space where the bottles used to be. He raised his arm, took aim—not at anything in particular, just at the darkness in front of him.

A pause.

Then, suddenly, he pulled the trigger.

The shot cracked through the air, ricocheting off the trees, shattering the stillness. Xeno didn’t even flinch. He just watched. Watched how Stanley's shoulders tightened instead of relaxed, how his fingers clenched around the grip as if letting go wasn’t an option.

Even with the gun in his hands, Stanley wasn’t in control.

He was just trying to pretend he was.

Stan sat in silence, watching as Xeno stared out into the dark forest, his gaze distant, like he was deliberately avoiding looking at him. For the first time, Stanley saw him without that usual arrogance, without the sharp-edged smirk that made it seem like nothing could ever touch him. Just Xeno, sitting there, lost in his own memories.

The wind moved through the trees, rustling the leaves in soft, hollow whispers. Something in Stanley's chest tightened. He recognized that feeling—the kind that made it seem like there was a crack inside you, one that no one noticed until it split too wide to ignore. He wasn't sure what the right thing to say was. Maybe there wasn’t one. But he knew one thing—he didn’t want Xeno to sit in that silence alone.

Stanley shifted closer, his shoulder brushing against Xeno’s. He felt the way Xeno tensed for just a second, but he didn’t pull away.

— It wasn’t your fault, — Stanley said, his voice quiet, steady.

Xeno let out a slow exhale, a short, humorless laugh.

— It was, though, — he answered, shaking his head. — I was trying to make something. Something dangerous. Even if it didn’t work the way I expected, it still did what it was meant to do—it hurt someone.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his fingers interlocked tightly, like he was holding onto something only he could see.

— Maybe I really am a monster.

Stanley clenched his jaw. The way Xeno said it, so flat, like a truth he had already accepted, made something ugly twist inside him. Lying wouldn’t help. Saying it wasn’t true wouldn’t fix it, not when Xeno already believed it. So Stanley didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached out and placed a firm hand on Xeno’s shoulder. Xeno flinched, barely noticeable, like he wasn’t used to being touched. But he didn’t move away.

— You’re not a monster, — Stanley said finally. — People screw up. Especially when no one ever bothers to teach them the right way to do things. Don’t let the past swallow you.

Xeno inhaled slowly, like he was letting those words settle inside him, then let out a quiet huff of laughter. He nudged Stanley lightly with his elbow.

— Then you don’t have to prove anything either, — he said, his voice softer now. — Whatever happened before—it stays there.

Stanley turned his head, meeting Xeno’s gaze. It was the first time all night that Xeno had looked at him like this—no teasing, no smirking, just raw honesty.

— Right now, — Xeno continued, — I see who you are. And that’s what matters.

He hesitated for just a second, as if deciding whether to say what came next. Then, with a small, knowing smile, he added:

— My favourite sharpshooter.

Stanley felt his face heat up immediately.

— God, are you seriously starting with that again? — he muttered, turning away so Xeno wouldn’t see the way his ears burned.

— What? — Xeno stretched lazily and, before Stanley could move, clapped a hand against his knee. — You’ve got the whole action-hero thing going on. Sharp aim, tragic backstory, brooding attitude—just missing a leather jacket and a tragic love interest.

Stanley rolled his eyes, but something warm settled in his chest despite himself.

— You’re not exactly an action hero either, Xeno.

— Maybe not. But you know what? — Xeno’s voice dropped lower, more playful, more deliberate as he leaned in close—so close that his breath brushed against Stanley’s ear. — I still like being around you.

Stanley froze.

Xeno pulled back casually, as if he hadn’t just said something that made Stanley’s heart feel like it was trying to escape his ribs. He looked away again, glancing back at the trees, acting like nothing important had happened.

Stanley exhaled sharply, trying to ignore the way his pulse had just gone completely off the rails. He glanced at Xeno, his lips pressing into something that was almost a smile.

— Do you always have to be right?

Xeno looked at him through half-lidded eyes, lazy and self-satisfied.

— It’s one of my best qualities.

A quiet settled between them. Somewhere in the distance, the trees creaked, the wind stirred through the branches, and the air turned colder. The moon hung high above them, painting the clearing in silver light. Xeno shivered slightly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

— We should head back, — he said finally, glancing at the time. — If we fall asleep in class tomorrow, all this studying will have been for nothing.

Stanley sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.

— Damn it… I really don’t feel like letting you go yet.

Xeno let out a small chuckle, but it lacked his usual sharpness. His eyes were tired, but there was something else there, something Stanley couldn’t quite name. He stood, brushing non-existent dirt off his clothes, stretching until his spine cracked.

— It’s fine, Stan. We’ll see each other tomorrow.

He turned to leave, but before he could take a step, Stanley reached out and grabbed his wrist.

Xeno stilled.

His eyes flickered to Stanley’s hand, then to his face. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t speak.

— Wait, — Stanley said, not even sure why. Not sure what he was doing, just knowing he didn’t want this moment to end yet.

And then, before he could think twice about it, he tugged Xeno toward him and wrapped his arms around him in a firm, solid embrace.

Xeno’s whole body tensed. He went rigid, his breath catching, like he didn’t know what to do with it. For a moment, he didn’t react at all. But then, slowly, he exhaled and hesitantly patted Stanley’s back, like he wasn’t quite sure if he was doing it right.

— Alright, alright, — he muttered, voice slightly muffled against Stanley’s shoulder. — You know I suck at this whole… emotional thing.

— You’ll have to learn, — Stanley replied quietly, not letting go just yet.

Xeno huffed out a laugh, low and warm.

— Trying to fix me, huh, Stan?

— Maybe, — Stanley whispered. But Xeno could hear the smile in his voice.

They stayed like that for a few moments longer before Stanley finally, reluctantly, loosened his grip.

Xeno tilted his head, studying him. His expression was unreadable, something deep and unspoken swirling behind his gaze.

— See you tomorrow, — he turned, slipping into the darkness of the trees.

Stanley stood there for a long time, his skin still tingling with the lingering warmth of Xeno’s presence. After a moment, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, shaking one loose before lighting it. He took a slow drag, watching the ember glow against the night. It wasn’t until he started walking home that he realized how hard his hands were trembling.

Not from the cold.

Not from the gun.

But from the way Xeno had let him in.

And from the fact that Stanley knew—he wanted more.

Stanley woke up feeling like he hadn’t slept at all. His head was heavy, his muscles ached, and the remnants of last night clung to him like a weight he couldn’t shake off. He had stumbled into bed past midnight, barely managing to kick off his shoes before crashing onto the mattress. He didn’t even remember falling asleep—just darkness swallowing him whole.

The clock read a little past six in the morning. Useless. Even if there were exams today, he’d probably fail them.

Except…

His brain, sluggish as it was, started replaying fragments of last night—Xeno’s voice, low and steady, explaining equations to him in a half-whisper. The way his breath felt too close in the pale light. The slight furrow in his brow when he got too absorbed in a problem. And somehow, it all made perfect sense now.

Stanley groaned and ran a hand over his face, as if that would stop the heat creeping up his neck.

— Shit… — he muttered, trying to suppress the stupid grin tugging at his lips.

He shook it off, rolling out of bed with a groggy sigh. The cold morning air outside didn’t do much to wake him up, but at least it numbed some of the exhaustion. He barely had time to take a few steps down the street when he spotted Maya waiting for him near the gate.

She greeted him with something almost hesitant, like she was testing the waters.

— So… how’ve you been?

Stanley gave her a lazy shrug, keeping his tone neutral.

— Fine.

No way in hell was he telling her where he had been or what he had been doing.

— See? Didn’t get lost, like you were so worried about.

Maya huffed and flicked her hair back.

— Yeah, yeah. I might’ve overreacted, okay? I just… — she hesitated, then sighed. — People have been talking too much, Stan. About you and Xeno. And I guess I said some dumb shit to you too.

Stanley slowed his steps, narrowing his eyes.

— What kind of talking?

Maya looked at him carefully now, like she was debating how much she should actually say.

— You know… that he's been changing you. That you used to be… I don’t know, cooler? You at least used to hang out with us sometimes, play basketball with the team…

Stanley stopped dead in his tracks. His gaze sharpened instantly, all traces of tiredness evaporating.

— Who’s saying that?

Maya hesitated, sensing the sudden tension in his voice.

— Just… people. The team, some classmates, even random kids who see you two always together. They say he’s a bad influence. That he’s making you—

— Making me what? — His voice was low, steady. Too steady.

Maya shifted her weight, rubbing her arm, looking almost regretful that she had brought it up.

— Weird. Outcast.

That was all it took. A slow heat started burning in his chest, something dark and seething. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, jaw tightening as his pulse pounded in his ears.

— Maybe the problem isn’t me, — he said, voice quieter now, but somehow even sharper. — Maybe the problem is all of you.

Maya blinked, startled. But she didn’t argue.

— If anyone else talks shit about him, — Stanley continued, and though his voice was calm, there was something undeniably dangerous about the way he said it, — I’ll handle them personally.

Maya let out a small breath, shaking her head slightly.

— See? This is exactly what I mean. You never used to get like this. Quite aggressive, don’t you think?

— Maybe I finally figured out who’s worth my time.

With that, he turned and walked past her, his strides even, controlled. But inside, his blood was still boiling. Maya hesitated for a moment before catching up to him, her footsteps softer now.

— Stan, wait! — Her voice had lost its defensive edge. Now, she just sounded… tired.

Stanley stopped but didn’t turn to face her.

— I didn’t mean to piss you off, — she continued, voice quieter. — I just don’t understand why you… change when you’re around Xeno. I wasn’t trying to make you mad.

He took a slow breath, forcing the tension out of his shoulders. The anger was still there, simmering beneath his skin, but exhaustion was starting to drown it out. When he finally turned, his expression wasn’t as hard as before.

— Just don’t talk about him like that, — he said, voice steady but firm. — He’s not like everyone else. You don’t get it, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna stand around and listen to whatever bullshit people say about him.

Maya held his gaze for a second, then sighed, nodding.

— Alright, I get it. I won’t say anything anymore.

Stanley didn’t respond. He just turned and started walking again. This time, Maya followed silently, keeping pace beside him but leaving the space between them untouched.

When Stanley walked into the classroom, the usual low hum of early morning conversation filled the space. A few students exchanged lazy remarks across their desks, too tired to be fully engaged in anything. Everything seemed as normal as ever—except for one thing.

In the far corner, at his usual seat, sat Xeno.

And he looked wrecked.

His eyes were red-rimmed, weighed down by exhaustion, his hair slightly dishevelled like he had run his fingers through it too many times without bothering to fix it. His shirt was wrinkled, buttoned unevenly, as if he had thrown it on in a rush. He sat slumped forward, elbows resting on the desk, hands clasped loosely together, his chin barely hovering over his fingers. His gaze wandered aimlessly across the room, unfocused, as if he wasn’t really seeing anything.

Stanley lingered by the door, something twisting uncomfortably in his chest. Xeno wasn’t the type to look like this. Even when he was tired, he carried himself with a certain sharpness, a cool detachment that made it seem like he was always in control.

But now…

Stanley smirked to himself, shaking off whatever weird feeling had settled over him, and moved toward Xeno’s desk, sliding into the seat beside him without a word. He leaned his elbow against the table, tilting his head slightly.

— You look like hell.

Xeno exhaled sharply through his nose, not quite a laugh, not quite irritation. He blinked at Stanley, slow and unfocused, like his brain was struggling to catch up.

— I feel like I got hit by a train. Then it reversed just to make sure.

Stanley chuckled, watching as Xeno rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, his movements sluggish.

— Well, that’s on you. No one made you stay up talking to me the whole night.

Xeno made a noncommittal sound, barely a grunt, before slouching lower into his seat.

— Yeah… Remind me why I suggested that?

— Because I’m the only person in this godforsaken school who can keep up with you, — Stanley teased, shifting a little closer.

Xeno arched a brow, unimpressed, but the ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

— That’s debatable.

— Oh, come on, if I was boring, you’d have dropped me weeks ago.

Xeno exhaled through his nose again, and Stanley caught the tiny flicker of amusement in his eyes.

— Maybe. But next time, I need coffee.

— No problem, — Stanley shrugged. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of candies, unceremoniously dropping them onto Xeno’s desk. — Here. It’s not coffee, but it’ll at least stop you from passing out mid-lesson.

Xeno stared at the candy for a moment, then slowly looked up at Stanley, tilting his head just slightly, an unreadable expression crossing his face.

— You take care of me too much, — he murmured, voice edged with something between teasing and curiosity.

Stanley hesitated for half a second.

Yeah. Too much.

He wasn’t even sure when it had started. Maybe it had always been this way.

— Just don’t want you face-planting onto the floor from exhaustion, — he deflected, lazily leaning back in his chair.

Xeno hummed, picking up one of the candies and rolling it between his fingers.

— Sounds like an excuse.

Stanley rolled his eyes, kicking lightly at Xeno’s foot under the desk.

— Eat the damn candy.

Xeno smirked, unwrapping one of them slowly, deliberately, like he was enjoying the moment.

— Yes, sir.

Stanley groaned, but he couldn’t hide the grin tugging at his lips.

As soon as the lesson started, the atmosphere in the classroom shifted. Stanley tried to focus on the assignments in front of him, but his thoughts kept drifting back to last night’s conversation.

The way Xeno spoke… His voice had been quieter, softer than usual. He had talked about things he never shared with anyone—his childhood, his loneliness. And at some point, Stanley realized he wasn’t just listening like a friend. His feelings were getting too complicated, too… important.

He stole a glance at Xeno. He was sitting back in his chair, eyes closed, lazily spinning a pen between his fingers. As if sensing the stare, he turned his head slightly, his lips curling into a faint smirk.

— You’re not paying attention, — Stanley whispered, leaning in just a little.

Xeno cracked one eye open, looking completely unbothered.

— You see… I already know all of this, — he said lazily. His voice was barely above a whisper, like he wasn’t even trying to engage.

Stanley glanced at his empty notebook.

— Sure, genius, — he scoffed, but the warmth in his tone betrayed the tease.

— Exactly, — Xeno hummed, stretching slightly.

The school bell rang, cutting through their conversation. Students immediately started shuffling around, some gathering their things, others chatting about the upcoming break. Xeno started to stand up, but before he could, Stanley casually offered him a hand.

For a second, Xeno hesitated.

It was a simple, almost playful gesture, but something about it felt… like more than that. Xeno’s fingers hovered near Stanley’s, his expression unreadable.

— You really think I can’t handle it? — Xeno asked, voice quiet.

Stanley didn’t drop his gaze. He just held his hand out, waiting. Xeno exhaled heavily, then finally took it, his grip surprisingly steady. As Stanley helped him up, Xeno’s tired eyes flickered with something mischievous. He studied Stanley’s face, as if debating something, then suddenly tilted his head.

— Hey, what if we just… skipped today? — Xeno said, completely casual, as if he were suggesting grabbing a snack instead of ditching an entire day of school.

Stanley blinked.

— What?

— We came here out of pure habit. You’re distracted, I’m too tired to care. It’s not like missing a few classes is gonna kill us. We should take a break.

Stanley stared at him, caught off guard. He knew Xeno could be impulsive sometimes, but this? This was different. It was so… unlike him.

— Skip everything? — Stanley raised a brow. — You’re serious?

Xeno shrugged like it was no big deal, but there was something in his eyes—a challenge, a silent dare.

— Why not? No one will even notice we’re gone.

Stanley hesitated. His father would definitely kill him if he found out. And if that happened, Stanley would be screwed. But somehow, in this moment, he didn’t care. The idea of just leaving—walking out and forgetting about everything, even for a little while—was too tempting to ignore. Being with Xeno, without rules, without expectations… That was something he wasn’t willing to pass up.

He took a deep breath, exhaled, then grinned.

— Alright, — he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. — Let’s get the hell out of here.

As soon as the bell to the next lesson rang, they slipped out of the classroom unnoticed, heading down the hallway at a brisk pace. Stanley felt a strange rush of excitement from what they had just done, a rebellious thrill sparking in his chest. The idea that they didn’t have to be in class, that they could just leave—it lifted his mood in a way he hadn’t expected.

With Xeno, everything felt easier. Maybe not always smarter, but definitely easier.

As they reached the exit, Xeno suddenly stopped, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, still looking half-asleep.

— Hey, wait. Mind if we stop by the store? — he muttered, voice low and sluggish. — I’m starving. Didn’t eat anything except your candy.

Stanley glanced at him, amusement tugging at his lips.

— Of course, you didn’t. You never do. — He let out a small sigh, shaking his head. — But, yeah, I wouldn’t mind grabbing something too.

The convenience store was quiet, mostly empty except for a bored cashier scrolling through their phone. Xeno headed straight for the snack aisle, barely paying attention to anything else. His movements were slow, lazy, like he was running on autopilot. Stanley trailed behind, arms crossed, watching with increasing skepticism as Xeno began tossing things into a basket—chips, more chips, a couple of chocolate bars, and two bottles of soda. Then, just for good measure, another pack of chips.

Stanley groaned, reaching out to snatch a few of them back.

— Seriously? This again? — He held up one of the bags like it was evidence of a crime. — Do you ever eat actual food? You do know meals exist, right?

Xeno barely even blinked. Instead, he grabbed another chocolate bar and dropped it into the basket, completely unbothered.

— Relax, mom, — he said, voice dripping with lazy amusement. — I’m just grabbing something to keep me from passing out. Besides, I can’t cook. And I am exhausted, in case you didn’t notice.

Stanley stared at him for a second, unimpressed.

Then, without a word, he turned and started loading their basket with real food—some chicken, fresh vegetables, pasta, a few seasonings. Xeno stood there, watching, his expression blank. When Stanley finally glanced back at him, he was met with a tired but amused smirk.

— You’re really not letting this go, huh? — Xeno muttered.

— Nope, — Stanley replied flatly, shoving another item into the basket.

— Unbelievable, — Xeno sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. But he didn’t take anything out.

When they reached the checkout, Xeno looked about three seconds away from passing out where he stood. His head kept tilting slightly forward, like he was struggling to keep himself upright. As he sluggishly dug into his pocket for his card, Stanley rolled his eyes.

— You look like you're about to collapse, — he said.

— Probably, yeah, — Xeno murmured, handing over his card without even looking.

Stanley grabbed the bags before Xeno could, shaking his head as they stepped out of the store.

— Just wait. You’re gonna thank me when you eat actual food again, — he said, adjusting the weight of the bags in his hands.

Xeno yawned, stretching out his arms.

— Alright, fine. Thanks in advance, I guess. Now let’s move before I pass out in the parking lot.

Stanley snorted.

— You do realize you could’ve just stayed home and slept, right? No one forced you to come to school today.

Xeno let out a small huff, his eyes still heavy with exhaustion.

— Couldn’t, — he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. Then, after a pause, he glanced at Stanley from the corner of his eye. — I told you I’d show up.

Stanley didn’t know why, but those words hit him harder than they should have. He glanced at Xeno—tired, worn-out, but still here.

Still keeping his word.

Something about that made warmth spread through Stanley’s chest, even if he wasn’t quite ready to admit it.

— Idiot, — he murmured under his breath.

Xeno smirked, like he heard him anyway.

As soon as they stepped into Xeno’s house, Stanley felt an odd sensation—like the day was just beginning, despite the exhaustion weighing down his limbs. Here, in this quiet space where they didn’t have to think about school, about who might’ve seen them slip out, or about the consequences waiting for them later, everything felt strangely… light.

He was about to head toward the kitchen to make something from the groceries they’d picked up, but just as he stepped forward, he felt a sudden tug on his wrist.

— Hey, what—? Aren’t you gonna eat? — Stanley turned sharply, slightly caught off guard by Xeno’s sudden pull.

But Xeno had already made up his mind. His tired smile held a flicker of something playful, something teasing, but beneath it, there was something else—something more vulnerable.

— It can wait, — his voice thick with exhaustion. — You promised to take a break, remember? Just lie down for a bit. Food’s not going anywhere.

Before Stanley could protest, he found himself being pulled into Xeno’s room. It was dim, the soft glow from the curtains casting long shadows over the furniture. The silence here was different—heavier, more intimate. As if the whole world outside had quieted, leaving only the two of them in this small space. Xeno barely made it past the doorway before collapsing onto the bed, dragging Stanley down with him in one smooth motion.

— Seriously? — Stanley huffed, but he didn’t fight it.

Xeno only let out a contented hum, curling in slightly, pressing his face into Stanley’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. His body was warm, light, his breathing already evening out.

— Don’t even try to tell me you’re not tired, — Xeno murmured, voice slow, already slipping into sleep.

A few seconds later, he was gone.

Stanley’s mind went blank.

His heart kicked hard against his ribs, his body suddenly tense in a way that had nothing to do with discomfort. Xeno looked so… different like this. So completely unguarded, stripped of his usual arrogance and sharp-tongued wit. He always had this air of control, of effortless superiority, but now, with his face relaxed in sleep, he seemed almost fragile.

The room felt still, time itself pressing in around them. Outside, faint sounds of the city drifted through the window—passing cars, a distant dog barking, the low hum of life continuing beyond these four walls. But here, right now, there was only the quiet rise and fall of Xeno’s breathing.

Stanley let out a slow breath and hesitated before lifting a hand, barely realizing what he was doing. He placed it gently on Xeno’s shoulder, feeling the warmth beneath his fingers. The soft fabric of his shirt, the steady rhythm of his breath—it grounded him, kept him from completely unravelling under the weight of something he wasn’t ready to name.

His eyes traced over Xeno’s face, memorizing the details he rarely got to see like this. The faint shadows along his cheekbones, the curve of his lips slightly parted in sleep, the way his dark lashes cast thin, delicate shadows over his skin. Something inside Stanley tightened.

He swallowed hard, willing his pulse to slow, but it was useless. His fingers moved before he could stop them, grazing along the edge of Xeno’s jaw—barely a touch, so light it could’ve been imagined. His skin was warm, impossibly soft under his fingertips. Stanley’s breath caught in his throat.

He should stop.

He needed to stop.

But he didn’t.

Slowly, carefully, he let his fingers skim upwards, brushing against the strands of silver hair sprawled across the pillow. They were softer than he expected, slipping through his fingers effortlessly. The sensation sent a quiet thrill through him, something dangerously close to reverence.

And then—without thinking, without meaning to—his fingers ghosted over Xeno’s lips.

It was barely a touch. A fleeting, trembling graze.

But it burned.

Stanley’s entire body locked up, heat rushing through him so quickly it made him dizzy. Xeno stirred slightly, shifting just enough for his breath to warm the tips of Stanley’s fingers, but he didn’t wake. Instead, he exhaled softly, unconsciously leaning in the slightest bit closer.

Stanley didn’t breathe.

His hand hovered, his mind caught in some endless loop of what the hell am I doing? but also I can’t stop. His heartbeat was loud, too loud. He knew he should pull away, pretend this never happened, bury this feeling somewhere deep, where it could never resurface.

The room was thick with silence, bathed in the soft, golden light of the sun slipping through the curtains. The air was still, unmoving, as if time itself had stalled in this small space where only the two of them existed. Stanley could feel the warmth next to him—Xeno, lying so close that their breaths almost mixed together.

He didn’t know what made him do it again, but before he could stop himself, his hand moved once more. His fingers brushed lightly against Xeno’s cheek, tracing the warmth of his skin, the slow, steady rhythm of his breath. There was something intoxicating about it—something that made it impossible to pull away.

Then, suddenly, Xeno exhaled, his breath hitching just slightly, and his eyes fluttered open.

Stanley froze, caught in something he hadn’t meant to be seen doing, but Xeno didn’t pull back. He didn’t shove him away, didn’t look startled or confused. Instead, there was something almost amused in the lazy, sleep-heavy way he blinked at him, a slow smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

And then, just like that, he moved.

Without hesitation, without warning, Xeno reached out, wrapping an arm around Stanley’s waist and pulling him closer—so close that Stanley barely had time to react before he was pressed up against the warmth of Xeno’s body.

— So, you like watching me sleep? — Xeno’s voice was thick with lingering sleep, laced with amusement.

Stanley’s stomach twisted into a tight knot.

— I— That’s not—

Xeno let out a soft, breathy chuckle, his lips barely grazing the shell of Stanley’s ear.

— Don’t even try to deny it, — he murmured, voice too soft, too close.

Stanley’s pulse pounded, each beat loud and unsteady in his chest. He didn’t know what was worse—the way Xeno’s breath ghosted over his skin, or the fact that he wasn’t doing a damn thing to stop it.
Xeno’s fingers moved lazily, trailing down Stanley’s wrist, his touch light but deliberate as he laced their fingers together. He squeezed, just enough to make Stanley feel it.

— I like you like this, — Xeno admitted, voice almost teasing. — A little lost.

The way he said it made something coil deep inside Stanley, something restless and hot and unfamiliar.

Xeno pressed in just a little more, so close that Stanley could feel every inch of him—his warmth, the way his chest rose and fell with each slow breath, the way his voice dropped lower, thick with something unreadable.

— You’re not gonna push me away, are you?

Stanley tried to think, tried to find the words, but his mind was blank, hazy. Xeno’s forehead was almost touching his, his lips just a breath away.

— I… — Stanley started, but the words died in his throat.

Because Xeno leaned in.

Closer. Closer.

Their lips were about to touch when everything suddenly tilted, the world spinning in a sickening shift.

Stanley jolted, his body stiffening as his eyes snapped open.

He was still in Xeno’s bed.

But Xeno wasn’t wrapped around him. He wasn’t speaking in that low, teasing voice.

He was still asleep.

The warmth of his body was still there, his breathing steady, his face relaxed in peaceful sleep, completely unaware of the fact that he had just shattered Stanley’s entire reality.

It had been a dream.

Just a dream.

Stanley swallowed, his throat dry. His heart was still hammering against his ribs, the ghost of Xeno’s voice lingering in his head. He dragged a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the heat that refused to fade. But it wasn’t working.

Because it felt real.

Too real.

He turned his head, slowly, cautiously, and let his gaze settle on Xeno. He was curled up, his silver hair slightly tousled, his face free of its usual sharp smirks or taunting expressions. He looked peaceful, untouched by whatever had just happened inside Stanley’s head.

Stanley exhaled shakily.

It was just a dream.

Then why the hell did his body still remember the weight of Xeno’s arm around him? Why could he still feel his breath against his skin, the phantom press of their fingers intertwined? Why did something inside him twist, tighten, ache in a way he didn’t have the words for?

His eyes lingered on Xeno, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest.

This means nothing.

It was just a dream. A stupid, meaningless dream.

But as he turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling, trying to steady his breathing, something in his gut told him—no, warned him—that this wasn’t something he could just brush off.

Stanley heard the soft grumble of Xeno’s stomach, and despite himself, a small smile tugged at his lips. Of course, he’s hungry. A quiet huff left him—half amused, half exasperated. But it wasn’t real frustration, not really. It was that kind of irritation that only surfaced when someone mattered too much to be genuinely mad at. He let out a slow breath, trying to ignore the strange warmth curling in his chest at the sight of Xeno, curled up like a lazy cat, completely unaware of the effect he had. Moving carefully, Stanley sat up, making sure not to wake him. Xeno barely stirred, his body shifting slightly under the covers, his silver hair falling messily across his face. For a moment, Stanley just watched, his gaze lingering longer than it should have.

And then, like a slap to the face, the memory of his dream crashed into him.

The lazy smirk on Xeno’s lips, the way he had leaned in so casually, fingers tracing along his skin as if he had every right to. His voice—low, teasing, almost smug—wrapping around him like a slow-burning fire. He had been so close, so impossibly close, and Stanley had felt it—had wanted it, even if he didn’t dare admit it.

His hand clenched unconsciously.

“Shit.”

The dream wasn’t just a passing thought. It had dug its claws into him, remaining beneath his skin, stubborn and persistent. Even now, he could feel the ghost of it—Xeno’s warmth, the soft press of their hands, the unbearable closeness of lips that never met but almost did.

The worst part?

Some part of him wished it hadn’t been a dream.

Stanley clenched his jaw, shaking his head as if that could erase the weight of it. He forced himself back into reality, into this moment—into Xeno, still fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the chaos wrecking through Stanley’s mind. He sighed and reached for the blanket, pulling it up over Xeno’s shoulders with absentminded care. His hand hovered for a second longer than necessary, fingers brushing against the soft fabric.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair as he stood up. His voice was barely a whisper, more for himself than for Xeno.

— You’ll thank me for this later.

And with that, he turned and made his way to the kitchen.

Cooking was the only thing now that kept his hands busy enough to quiet his thoughts, at least for a little while. He settled on something simple—chicken pasta. Something filling, something normal. He chopped the meat with precise, practiced motions, the rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board grounding him. The scent of garlic and spices filled the air as he tossed the ingredients into the pan, listening to the sizzle of the oil.

But no matter how much he focused, his mind kept drifting back.

Back to the way Xeno had looked in that dream—so open, so completely unguarded. The way his voice had dropped into something softer, the way he had moved closer, testing boundaries, waiting for Stanley to break first.

The way Stanley almost had.

He stirred the sauce a little too aggressively, jaw tightening.

It was just a stupid dream.

So why did it feel so damn real?

Why could he still feel the phantom touch of Xeno’s fingers on his wrist? Why did his body still react to the memory of warmth that had never actually been there?

It wasn’t fair.

Xeno wasn’t even awake, and yet, somehow, he was still messing with him.

Stanley sighed through his nose, forcing his focus back onto the food in front of him. The pasta was done, perfectly coated in sauce, steam rising from the plate as he set it down with a quiet sense of satisfaction. At least this was something he could control. At least this was something tangible. Unlike whatever the hell was happening inside his own head.

He grabbed the plate and turned toward Xeno’s room, his grip tightening just slightly.

“It was just a dream,” he reminded himself.

The soft afternoon light spilled into the room, casting warm shadows across the walls. Xeno was still sleeping. In the quiet, he looked almost peaceful—almost exactly like he had in Stanley’s dream. And just like before, something inside Stanley twisted at the sight. But before he could dwell on it, Xeno’s stomach let out a loud, insistent growl, effectively shattering the moment. Stanley snorted, the tension easing from his shoulders.

— So hungry, huh?— he muttered, shaking his head in amusement. Without thinking, he reached out and gave Xeno’s cheek a light poke. — Wake up, Sleeping Beauty, — he teased, forcing an easy smirk onto his lips, pretending like nothing inside him was still rattling from earlier.

Xeno scrunched his nose in irritation but didn’t open his eyes. Stanley poked him again, harder this time.

— Hey, get up. I actually made food for you, so don’t make me regret it.

Xeno groaned something incoherent, rolling onto his side. A few seconds passed before his lashes finally fluttered open, revealing groggy, unfocused eyes. Stanley caught himself staring, caught himself comparing this moment to the dream again, and quickly looked away before his thoughts could spiral.

— What’re you looking at? — Xeno mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Stanley snapped back to reality, clearing his throat as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

— Your stomach was begging for food, so I took pity on you, — he said, hoping his voice sounded normal, hoping Xeno wouldn’t notice the way his hands had curled slightly into fists.

Xeno propped himself up on his elbows, glancing lazily at the plate of pasta before flicking his gaze back to Stanley.

— You… made this? — he asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

Stanley rolled his eyes.

— No, a group of kitchen fairies broke in and cooked it for you. Of course I made it. Now eat before it gets cold.

Xeno stretched, yawning, then smirked as he sat up properly.

— You’re starting to sound like a housewife.

Stanley stiffened, but refused to react. He just grabbed a fork and shoved it into Xeno’s hand.

— Eat before I decide to feed you myself.

Xeno chuckled, clearly enjoying the way Stanley was avoiding the topic, but he didn’t push. Instead, he lazily twirled some pasta around his fork and took a bite. Stan folded his arms, watching him expectantly.

— Well?

Xeno chewed slowly, squinting slightly like he was a judge on some high-stakes cooking show. He swallowed, then gave an exaggerated, thoughtful hum.

— Not bad, — he finally said. — I mean, I expected something more… poisonous.

— Next time, I’ll make sure to dump a whole bottle of chili powder in it just for you, — Stanley shot back, but he felt oddly satisfied seeing Xeno actually eat something decent.

Xeno smirked but didn’t say anything, just kept eating, watching Stanley with that same unreadable expression. The room felt strangely comfortable, the silence between them less like an absence and more like something full.

Then Xeno set his fork down and tilted his head.

— You didn’t sleep.

Stanley tensed.

— Huh? What are you talking about?

— Your eyes are red, and you’re acting weird, — Xeno said bluntly. He leaned back against the headboard, shaking his hair out of his face. — What’s up?

Stanley hesitated, his fingers twitching slightly. He didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to let those thoughts slip past his carefully built walls.

— Just… weird dreams, — he muttered after a moment.

Xeno studied him, then lazily picked up his fork again and went back to eating.

— Next time, wake me up, — he said casually. — We can not sleep together.

Stanley let out a short, incredulous laugh.

— Yeah, because you’d be so helpful at keeping me awake.

Xeno just shrugged, finishing the last bite of pasta. The empty plate sat between them now, a quiet testament to the fact that, for a moment, everything had felt easy. Normal.

Stanley glanced at the clock—already past four. He sighed and stretched, his muscles stiff from sitting for so long. Xeno watched him, expression unreadable, before leaning back against the pillows with a lazy smile.

— Guess you really are the caring type, huh? Cooking for me, making sure I eat, worrying about my sleep… What’s next? Gonna tuck me in?

Stanley scoffed, shaking his head.

— Dream on.

But as he stood up, he caught the way Xeno was still looking at him—soft, warm, like he saw right through every excuse, every half-hearted attempt to deflect.

And the worst part?

Stanley wasn’t even sure if he minded anymore.

"That went by too fast…"

The thought flickered through Stanley’s mind, and he realized he’d almost forgotten everything that had been weighing on him before. It was strange—this feeling, like he could stay here forever. But just as quickly, unease crept in. His father’s face flashed through his mind.

"I need to go back and deal with him… And… I just need to clear my head, get myself together." The thought struck him like a bolt of lightning, sharp and undeniable.

Xeno must have caught something in his expression because he said something, his voice low and soft. But Stanley barely registered the words. His chest felt tight, like something was caught inside, something he couldn’t let out. Right now, all he wanted was space. Air. Silence.

— I… I gotta go, — he said, adjusting his shirt, avoiding Xeno’s gaze. His voice was steady, almost convincing, but beneath the surface, something was off. — I need to get back home. You know… my father. It’s important.

Xeno watched him closely, and Stanley knew he wasn’t fooled. His sharp eyes darkened, filled with quiet understanding, but he didn’t press.

— Are you sure? — Xeno asked, his voice calm, but not indifferent. He wasn’t prying, but he wasn’t letting it go either.

Stanley gave a small, empty nod, forcing a smile like that would make it true.

— Yeah. Just… need some time, that’s all, — he muttered, shaking his head slightly. — I promise I’ll be back. Don’t worry.

The words sat between them, heavier than they should’ve been. Stanley could feel it—the shift in the air, the unspoken questions hanging between them like ghosts. He busied himself with gathering his things, each movement mechanical, his mind looping the same thought over and over.

Go home. Get through it. Survive. Then come back.

When he reached the door, he hesitated. Just for a second. The storm inside him was building, pressing against his ribs. He shook his head, forcing himself to keep moving, but then—

— Don’t forget your promise, — Xeno said. His voice was quiet, but something about it hit deeper than Stanley expected. — I need you.

Stanley’s breath caught in his throat.

It was simple. Just words. But they felt too real, too raw. For a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t respond.

He swallowed, gripping the doorknob a little tighter before finally nodding.

— I’ll be back. It won’t be long.

Then he stepped out, leaving behind a room still filled with the lingering scent of pasta and something else— something waiting.

Stanley walked home with heavy steps, feeling like each movement took more effort than it should. His body moved mechanically, but his mind wouldn’t stay present—it kept pulling him back into the past, forcing him to relive everything he didn’t want to. He stopped in front of his house, hesitating, staring at the door like it was some kind of final battleground. A part of him wanted to turn around, walk away, disappear. But he knew that wasn’t an option.

He had to go in. He had to survive this.

The second he stepped inside, his father’s voice hit him like a thunderclap.

— Where the hell have you been?! — The man’s voice was sharp, slicing through the air like a knife. He was standing in the middle of the room, fists clenched, his face contorted in anger. — I got a call from school! You skipped it! Are you out of your damn mind?! What kind of behavior is this?!

Stanley felt something cold settle in his stomach. The fear was always there, like a dull ache, but every time it still managed to take over. He stood frozen in the doorway, unable to find words, his chest tightening with a pressure he couldn’t shake.

— Well?! Are you just gonna stand there like an idiot?! — His father took a step closer, his voice rising. — Skipping classes, running around doing God knows what—do you even realize what you're doing?! You think you can live without responsibility?!

Stanley clenched his jaw but didn’t answer. Any response would be the wrong one. He knew that. He knew how this played out. No matter what he said, no matter what he did—it wouldn’t matter. His father’s rage wasn’t something that could be reasoned with.

The man’s glare darkened at Stanley’s silence.

— Answer me, you little shit! — He raised his hand so fast that Stanley barely had time to react. The first hit was sharp, sudden, sending a stinging pain through his cheek. Then came the second—harder, angrier.

Stanley tensed, his body bracing instinctively for more.

— You’re pathetic! — his father snarled, shoving him back. — All you do is disappoint me! You can’t even handle something as simple as going to school! What the hell do you even want from life?!

The next blow landed in his stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs. Stanley stumbled, his back hitting the wall as pain exploded through his ribs. His head was swimming, his breath short and ragged. He tried to straighten up, to stand his ground, but it didn’t matter. His father wasn’t done.

— You keep screwing up, over and over again! — The man’s voice was a cruel growl. — You’re a disgrace! A waste of space!

Something in Stanley snapped. The words should’ve stung. They always had before. But this time, as his father’s voice raged in his ears, something inside him shifted. The anger, the resentment—it all boiled over in a way it never had before.

“I wish he was dead.”

The thought cut through him like a jagged knife, swift and sharp, its clarity almost suffocating.

“I could do it. Right now.”

The idea took root, dark and visceral. His hands tightened into fists, nails digging into his palms, the pain spreading through his fingertips like fire. His heart was a pounding drum in his chest, slamming against his ribs with such intensity that it seemed to shake him from the inside out. The blood in his veins felt like it was thickening, the world around him growing smaller, until all he could focus on was that one brutal thought: it would be so easy.

“A knife. A gun. My hands around his throat. It wouldn’t take much. One move, and this would all be over.”

His father was still shouting, his voice a never-ending stream of venom, but Stanley barely heard it anymore. The words became distant and muffled, lost in the whirlwind of his mind. His thoughts were too loud now, deafening.

“He’s hurt me my entire life. Every damn day. He’s never stopped, never cared. He never will. So why should I keep taking it? Why should I let him keep doing this?”

The walls around him felt like they were closing in, suffocating him, but his focus didn’t shift. His breath came out in shallow gasps, his body trembling, his vision narrowing until his father was the only thing left in his line of sight. The weight of every year, every painful word, every blow he’d ever endured felt like a thousand hands pushing him forward, forcing his body to act. The urge to end it, to stop it all, felt like an instinct now, something primal that surged through his veins.

“It’s so simple. Just one move, one choice, and it all stops. No more pain. No more fear. Just silence.”

The thought was intoxicating, like an escape from a prison that had held him for far too long. The silence of death—his father’s death—was the only thing that could bring him peace. He could end it. He could finally take control.

But then—something flickered at the edges of his mind.

Xeno.

The thought hit him like a lightning strike, snapping him back into himself, dragging him from the edge. His breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened. Xeno. His face, the way his smile softened when he was too tired to keep pretending, the warmth in his gaze when he looked at Stanley, like he was seeing something worth saving. The way he said, "I need you." The words echoed, like a lifeline in the chaos.

The air in his lungs felt like it was choking him. His vision swam, everything spinning with the realization that this one choice, this one moment of giving in, would not only destroy everything he’d ever hated about his father—it would destroy him, too.

“And if I do it... I’ll never see Xeno again.”

The thought struck with brutal clarity. The sharp sting of the consequences hit him hard. Jail. The loss of everything he had ever cared about. The life he had, the person who saw him for more than just a broken, hurt child—Xeno. He would never feel Xeno’s warmth again. Never hear him laugh. He would be a monster, locked away in a cage of his own making.

Stanley’s breath caught in his throat, and the rage inside him began to ebb, replaced by a sick, hollow emptiness. He blinked, his chest tight, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. The blood in his veins felt cold now, as the reality of what he'd almost done washed over him.

All he could do now was endure. His father’s voice cut through the silence again, sharp and cold.

— You’ll never be anything if you don’t toughen up. You want to be a man? Then act like one. Start your training.

His father motioned toward the old punching bag hanging in the corner of the room.

Stanley hesitated, his entire body screaming against it.

“This doesn’t make me strong. This just keeps me trapped.”

But he knew how this worked. If he refused, it would get worse. He had no choice. So, with the last bit of energy he had left, Stanley stepped forward. His hands ached, his body ached, but he curled his fists anyway and threw the first punch.

Stanley kept throwing punches, each one heavier, slower, but fuelled by something deeper than just exhaustion.

Anger. Pain. Desperation.

His muscles screamed with every movement, his knuckles stung from the repeated impact, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. Not when his father’s eyes were watching him like a hawk, waiting for him to falter.

— You getting weaker? — his father sneered, arms crossed as he loomed over him. — Don’t think you can stop just because it hurts. Pain is your friend. You need to learn that.

Stanley’s breath came out ragged, his body screaming for a break. But he didn’t dare stop. His father took a step forward, the gloomy light casting long, sharp shadows across his face. The kind of face that knew how to break people.

— If you slow down now, I’ll make sure you regret it. You don’t deserve to rest.

Then came another blow. A hard, punishing strike that sent him staggering forward. Stanley barely managed to stay on his feet, his vision flickering for a second. The coppery taste of blood coated his tongue, and a warm, sticky sensation began to trail down from the corner of his mouth. He lifted a shaking hand to his face and wiped at it, only to see the dark smear of red staining his fingertips. His arms ached too much to lift, his legs barely holding him up, but he had to keep going.

He took another shaky breath, forcing himself to steady his stance. The air around him felt thick, suffocating. His father was watching, waiting for him to fail.

— You think that’s pain? — his father’s voice cut through the haze in his mind, sharp and cruel. — You don’t even know what real pain is. But don’t worry, boy, I’ll teach you.

Another hit. Stanley gritted his teeth, but his body betrayed him—he flinched. A mistake. His father noticed. And another hit. A drop of blood splattered onto the back of his hand, then another. He could feel the slow stream from his nose now, pooling against his upper lip before sliding down in a thin line. It tickled, almost, but he refused to wipe it away. He refused to give his father the satisfaction of seeing him react.

If he gave up now, it would only get worse.

He knew that.

He had always known that.

By the time his father finally got bored, Stanley was barely standing. His body felt foreign, heavy, drained of everything but the dull ache of pain. Bruises already blooming under his skin, cuts stinging with every breath. He felt raw—like a ghost of himself.

When his father walked away, Stanley stood there for a few more seconds, just breathing.

He had survived. Again. That was the only thing that mattered.

His legs almost gave out when he finally moved, dragging himself toward his room. Each step sent sharp jolts through his muscles, but he clenched his jaw and forced himself forward. The moment the door shut behind him, the weight of everything crashed down.

Stanley collapsed onto his bed, curling his fingers into the sheets like they were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. His breathing was still shaky, his mind a mess of thoughts that refused to settle.

“Why am I still so weak?”

The thought hit him hard, lodging itself deep in his chest. He had trained, he had endured, and yet—nothing changed. On the outside, maybe he was stronger. Maybe he could take more hits without crumbling. But inside? Inside, he was still the same scared kid, hoping for something that would never come.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

But then, as if instinctively, his mind drifted to Xeno.

Xeno, who was the only person who made him feel like he wasn’t just a product of his father’s expectations. Xeno, who looked at him like he was something more.

“He’s my reason to keep going.”

That thought alone should have given him comfort. It should have been enough to push the pain away, to ground him. But it didn’t.

Instead, it made him feel even more helpless.

Because if he was still this weak, how could he ever be enough for Xeno? How could he protect him, stand beside him, be the person Xeno deserved?

“I have to be stronger. I have to be more.”

But no matter how much he told himself that, no matter how much he wanted it, he still felt like he was drowning. Stanley curled in on himself, exhaustion pressing down on him, but the echoes of his father’s voice wouldn’t leave his head.

"You’re weak."

"You’ll never be enough."

Maybe, deep down, Stanley was starting to believe it.

Stan stood up and his heart pounded as he stared out the window, his body aching with every breath. The pain was everywhere—a dull, throbbing reminder of what he’d just been through—but his mind was already miles away. Already out there, where Xeno was.

And then he saw him.

A figure standing in the dim light just outside his house, a small rock in hand. Stanley barely had time to process before the first pebble bounced off his window.

— Stan! Stan, I got something for you! Science made! — Xeno’s voice rang out, triumphant, as he held up a paper bag like it contained the secrets of the universe.

Stanley squinted, noticing the slightly burnt edges of what was clearly questionable homemade cookies. A laugh bubbled in his chest despite the pain clawing at his ribs.

He had to get to him.

Ignoring the screaming protests of his muscles, he moved toward the window, gripping the frame. Every inch of his body fought against him, but the thought of Xeno waiting down below made him push forward. One leg swung over, then the other. He gritted his teeth, forcing his body to obey.

And then—his balance shifted.

Before he could react, his footing slipped, pain exploded through his limbs, and suddenly he was falling. The impact hit like a freight train. A sharp, breath-stealing jolt ran up his spine as he crashed onto the ground right in front of Xeno. Everything blurred. The edges of his vision darkened, and his mouth filled with the metallic tang of blood. His head spun, his limbs too heavy to move.

Xeno was there immediately, his eyes wide with shock as he dropped to his knees beside him.

— Stan! — Panic cracked in his voice as he grabbed Stanley’s shoulders, his fingers tightening in real fear. — What the hell was that?!

Stanley blinked up at him, trying to focus, but his head felt like it had been split open.

— You’re bleeding, holy shit—Stan, what happened?! — Xeno’s hands roamed over him, frantic, searching for the worst of the injuries.

Stanley exhaled sharply, trying to sit up, but the pain was instant, searing through his ribs like fire. He sucked in a breath, barely suppressing a groan.

— I’m fine, — he muttered, though his voice barely held steady. He tried for a smirk, failed. — Just... gimme a damn cookie.

Xeno lost his breath.

For a moment, Xeno just stared at him, and Stanley could see the exact second it clicked—that sharp, sickening realization that everything was worse than he’d ever imagined. His grip on Stanley’s shirt tightened, his fingers curling into the fabric like he was trying to anchor himself, trying to stop the flood of thoughts from crashing over him. His breathing hitched, his chest rising and falling just a little too fast.

And then, suddenly, he yanked Stanley closer.

— Don’t do that.

His voice was sharp, but his eyes—God, his eyes—were raw, filled with something Stanley had never seen in them before.

— Don’t act like this is normal. Like this is just another day for you. It’s not. It shouldn’t be.

His jaw clenched, and Stanley could feel the tension radiating off him like static electricity before a storm. Xeno shook his head, like he was trying to clear it, trying to make sense of something that refused to be rational.

— You’re not fine. — The words came out almost strangled, like they hurt to say. His grip on Stanley’s shirt didn’t loosen. — You look like you got thrown off a goddamn building, and then, what? You fall out of a window, like that’s nothing? What the hell is wrong with you?

Stanley forced himself to laugh—instinct, reflex, a desperate attempt to lighten the mood. But the second he did, pain shot through his ribs like a blade twisting deep inside him, cutting off the sound. He winced.

Xeno didn’t laugh. Didn’t let go.

His breathing was uneven, and for a moment, he looked like he was about to say something else. Something worse. But when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, barely above a whisper.

— You’re in danger, Stan.

Stanley swallowed hard.

— You know that, right?

Xeno’s eyes burned into him, as if trying to make him understand something he refused to see.

— You can’t keep— he hesitated, his voice breaking just slightly before he forced the words out, — you can’t keep living like this.

His fingers finally loosened their grip on Stanley’s shirt, but he didn’t pull away. He just sat there, his hands still resting against Stanley’s chest, like he was scared that if he let go completely, Stanley would just slip away.

For a moment, Stanley wanted to tell him. Everything. How the walls of his house weren’t walls at all, but a prison. How every day felt like a fight just to stay on his feet. How the bruises he showed him weren’t temporary and not from making a mistake during training. How they were permanent. But the words didn’t come.

Instead, he forced himself to smirk—shaky, not quite convincing.

— I just wanted to eat your terrible science cookies.

Xeno let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head. But he didn’t let go. If anything, his grip on Stanley’s shirt tightened.

— I mean it, dumbass.

Stanley could feel his pulse pounding. Not just from the pain, but from the way Xeno was looking at him. Like he saw too much, like he knew too much. And suddenly, everything felt too much. Stanley’s body was screaming for rest, his mind was too loud, and Xeno was too close. He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly.

— I know.

Xeno’s fingers twitched against his shirt.

— Good.

Xeno shifted slightly, his hand still hovering near Stanley as if he was debating whether or not to reach for him again. There was something unspoken in the air between them, something heavier than the night itself. Stanley felt it pressing against his ribs, curling tight in his throat. He wasn’t used to this—someone sitting with him through the silence, through the weight of everything he couldn’t say.

Eventually, Stanley exhaled, slow and uneven, the warmth of it ghosting in the space between them. The moment stretched, fragile, but he knew it couldn’t last.

It never did.

With effort, he forced himself to move. The cool night air bit at his bruised skin as he pushed himself up, ignoring the way his muscles screamed in protest. Xeno followed without a word, and together, they stepped away from the fragile comfort of the moment, falling into an unspoken rhythm as they moved.

They walked in silence, heading toward Xeno’s house. Every step sent waves of pain through Stanley’s body, but he refused to slow down. He couldn't show weakness. Not in front of him. But it was getting harder. His legs felt like they’d collapse under him at any moment, his vision blurred at the edges, and exhaustion pressed down on him like a weight too heavy to carry. He tried to shake it off, to keep moving like nothing was wrong, but Xeno, walking beside him, noticed. Of course he did. He always did.

— Why’d you stop? — Xeno asked, his voice quieter now, laced with concern. He stepped closer, hesitating before resting a hand on Stanley’s shoulder.

Stanley stiffened. For a moment, the world faded away, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning everything else out. The pain, the exhaustion, the sharp sting of every bruise on his body—it was all too much. He couldn’t pretend anymore. He just couldn’t.

— I just… I just need a second, — Stanley’s voice was hoarse, like it physically hurt to get the words out.

Xeno’s fingers tightened slightly on his shoulder.

— Stan, you look like hell, — his voice wavered, but he tried to mask it. — You need to sit down. You need to let me clean you up, do something. You can’t just—

Stanley barely registered the words. His chest felt too tight, his body too heavy. The world tilted. His knees buckled before he could stop them.

— Stan! — Xeno caught him just as he collapsed against the door of his house.

Stanley’s breath was ragged, his body shaking, but he clenched his fists, trying to force himself back up. He refused to fall apart, not here, not in front of Xeno. But his body betrayed him. His muscles burned, his lungs fought for air, and the pain was too overwhelming to ignore. He sank to the ground, pressing his forehead against the door, fingers digging into the wood.

— I… I can’t… — His voice was barely a whisper. A confession he never meant to make.

His breath hitched, a sharp, painful intake of air. But there was no room for control anymore. He couldn’t hold it in, not any longer. Without warning, the tears came. They poured from him, hot and unstoppable, as if the very weight of his entire existence had cracked open, and he couldn’t stop it, not anymore. His body trembled violently with each sob, his chest heaving, gasping for air between the shuddering cries that clawed their way up from the depths of him. He clenched his fists harder, nails digging so deep into his palms that the pain barely registered.

— Why… why am I so weak? — The words were gasped, broken, torn from him like a confession, everyone a jagged edge cutting through the silence.

Xeno went still. Stanley felt it—the weight of Xeno’s gaze, heavy with something unreadable. It was there, in the pause, in the way Xeno’s breath seemed to catch. But when he reached out, Stanley flinched, his body recoiling as if Xeno’s touch could burn him.

He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve the softness, the warmth of Xeno’s concern. Xeno wasn’t like this. Xeno was strong, solid, unshakable. He wasn’t crumbling in front of him. He wasn’t falling apart the way Stanley was.

— Stan, — Xeno whispered, voice soft, but tinged with uncertainty, like he was unsure of what to do, unsure of how to fix this mess.

Stanley could hear the hesitation, the vulnerability in Xeno’s voice, and it shattered something else inside him. Maybe there was no fixing this. Maybe there was nothing that could be said. Because at that moment, Stanley wasn’t just hurting physically—he was drowning in his own brokenness. His body shook harder, each sob so sharp, so deep, that it felt like his ribs would split. His head fell forward, forehead pressing into his knees, his whole body wrapped in silent tremors that he could no longer control.

For so long, he had fought alone. For so long, he thought he had to. But now, here he was, collapsing in front of the one person he never wanted to show this side of himself to. He had kept this mask in place for years, hiding the jagged edges, the cracks, and now the shame of it all clawed at his chest. The pain in his body was nothing compared to the shame he felt in his heart.

— I… I can’t do this anymore, Xeno, — his voice broke, falling apart on the words. It was barely a whisper—just raw pain bleeding into the space between them. He couldn’t form a sentence anymore. He couldn’t hold himself together.

Xeno was silent for a moment, his gaze flicking over Stanley, his expression went blank, but there was something in it—something that broke through the uncertainty. He didn’t speak. He didn’t try to offer any more words or hollow reassurances. He simply moved.

Not with words. Not with false promises.

Xeno wrapped his arms around Stanley. Firm. Solid. Real.

At first, Stanley’s body went rigid, tense with the instinct to push away, to pull back. He didn’t know how to accept this, how to allow himself to be held, to be vulnerable like this. He didn’t deserve it. His entire being screamed to resist, to stay locked in the cage of his own pain. But Xeno didn’t let go. He just held on tighter, pressing Stanley’s trembling body against his chest, grounding him in the warmth of his presence.

Stanley didn’t pull away. His body finally gave in, every inch of him unravelling as he buried his face into the crook of Xeno’s neck. He let the sobs consume him. He let the walls that had been holding him together crumble completely.

The tears came like a flood—each one, each sob, felt like it was tearing him open. The sharp, jagged pain of everything he had buried for so long burst through him, and he couldn’t hold it back. He wasn’t as strong as he wanted to be. He wasn’t strong enough to keep it all together. His body trembled with each ragged breath, each sob that shook his chest. The realization that he wasn’t strong enough to face the world, that he wasn’t even strong enough to face himself, crushed him.

Xeno held him tighter. His arms were firm, unwavering, like a fortress, a wall Stanley could lean into. He didn’t let go. He didn’t try to fix it. He just was there.

— Stan, — Xeno said, his voice quiet but steady. — You’re not alone. You hear me? You’re not going to feel like this forever, I promise.

Without another word, he dragged him inside. Stanley barely had the strength to resist, but even if he did, Xeno wasn’t letting go. Not now. He guided him through the door, his grip never loosening, his hands firm on Stanley’s shoulders, holding him up, keeping him together. The moment they stepped into the dimly lit room, Stanley’s legs finally gave out. He collapsed to the floor, his back hitting the bed frame as his body folded into itself. He looked so small like this. So tired.

Xeno sat on the bed, watching him struggle to breathe, watching the way his hands gripped at his own face, trying to stop the tears, trying to pull himself back into something whole. But the tears wouldn’t stop. They kept falling, each one carrying the weight of everything he had been holding for so long.
Then, suddenly, like his body couldn’t take it anymore, Stanley moved. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Xeno’s knees, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Xeno eyes widened. He did the only thing that made sense. His fingers slipped into Stanley’s hair, hesitant at first, then steady, tracing slow, comforting strokes along the back of his head. He wasn’t sure if it was enough, but he kept doing it, over and over, letting Stanley fall apart without pulling away.

— It’s okay, — Xeno murmured, voice softer than ever. — It’s okay, I’ve got you.

Stanley couldn’t stop shaking. It wasn’t just his body—it was everything. His thoughts, his breath, his heartbeat, all spiralling, unravelling at the seams. He tried to will himself to stop, to shut it all down like he always did, but it wasn’t working. The walls he had spent years fortifying had cracked, and now everything was pouring out—raw, exposed, ugly. He hated this. Hated himself for breaking down like this.

"Get up, you’re fine. You’re always fine. Don’t be weak. Don’t let anyone see."

But the words—his father’s words, his own words—had no power here. Not with Xeno’s fingers carding through his hair, grounding him, quieting the chaos even if just a little.

His breath hitched. His chest felt too tight, as if there wasn’t enough air in the room, as if he was suffocating under the weight of everything he had been holding in. His ribs ached from the force of it, from trying to breathe through the pain, through the guilt, through the voice in his head screaming at him to pull himself together. But he couldn't.

He gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut, willing himself to stop, to just stop. But the harder he tried to suppress it, the worse it got. The trembling turned into full-body shudders, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. His fingers curled tighter into the fabric of Xeno’s pants, gripping like a lifeline, like if he let go he’d lose himself completely.

Xeno never pulled away. Never shifted uncomfortably, never told him to stop. He just stayed, his touch gentle, constant. His other hand rested on Stanley’s back, rubbing slow, absentminded circles between his shoulder blades. There was no judgment, no impatience, just quiet, steady reassurance.

— It’s okay, — Xeno spoke sweetly again, softer this time. His voice was warm, laced with something unfamiliar. Care. Protection. — I’ve got you. I’m right here.

Stanley let out a choked breath, his face pressing harder against Xeno’s knee, as if he could disappear into the warmth, into the safety of it.

He hated this. Hated being seen like this, hated how exposed he felt. But for once, he wasn’t being mocked for it. Wasn’t being told to toughen up.

Xeno didn’t try to fix it. Didn’t ask him why. Didn’t tell him to calm down. He just kept running his fingers through Stanley’s hair, slow, as if soothing a wounded animal. And maybe that’s what Stanley was. Something broken, something hurt, something barely holding itself together.

And Xeno was just there.

Minutes stretched into something hazy, immeasurable. The sobs eventually dulled into ragged breaths, but Stanley didn’t move. He couldn’t. His limbs were too heavy, his mind too drained. The adrenaline had burned out, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. His face was still pressed against Xeno’s knee, his hands still clutching at him, but the shaking had finally started to subside.

Xeno exhaled, slow and steady, his hand never leaving Stanley’s back.

— I know it’s hard for you to open up to me when all you have from the past is evidence why you shouldn’t. But I beg you to believe me, you’re safe here with me, — he said tenderly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. — You don’t have to hold it in anymore.

Stanley clenched his jaw, his breath still ragged, his body stiff beneath Xeno’s touch. The words hit something deep inside him, something raw and festering. Safe. That word felt foreign—something he didn’t even believe in. His whole life, he had been taught that safety was an illusion. That at any moment, the floor could be ripped from under him, fists could come flying, and there was nothing he could do but take it.

His breath shuddered, and his fingers twisted tighter into the fabric of Xeno’s pants.

— I’m not— — he rasped out, voice breaking. He sucked in a sharp breath, trying to force the words back down, trying to swallow them whole. But he couldn’t. His chest ached with the pressure of it, and suddenly, everything started spilling out before he could stop himself. — I’m not okay, Xeno. I never fucking am.

The words cracked as they left his mouth, his voice shaking, unsteady. His body trembled harder now, but not from exhaustion—this was different. It was something deeper, something that had been clawing at his insides for years, something he never dared to let out because once it started, he wasn’t sure he could ever stop.

— It’s not just when I mess up, — he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, yet somehow more powerful than any scream. — He just does it whenever he wants.

His breath hitched, and he forced himself to keep going. If he didn’t say it now, he never would.

— It doesn’t fucking matter what I do, Xeno. I could breathe the wrong way, and he’ll hit me for it. I could walk into the room at the wrong time, and I’m on the floor before I even know what happened. He doesn’t need a reason. He never has.

His fingers curled so tightly his knuckles turned white, his nails digging into his own skin through Xeno’s clothes. The weight of his own confession felt suffocating, pressing down on him like he had just ripped open a wound too deep to ever heal.

— And I just— I fucking hate that I can’t do anything about it. I just stand there, and I take it. Every single time. Because if I fight back, if I even flinch the wrong way, it only gets worse, — he paused — And every single fucking time somebody asks me how I am doing, I fucking collapse. I always tell that I am tired because it is easier than saying I am completely broken. I am halfway drowned in the ocean but all these stupid people keep asking if I am okay. Can’t they see that I can’t speak underwater? I can’t even breathe there.

His voice broke entirely, his breath ragged and uneven, as if speaking had physically drained him. His entire body tensed, shaking uncontrollably, waiting for something—rejection, disgust, pity. He didn’t know which would be worse.

But none of that came.

Xeno didn’t say anything at first. He just moved, just shifted slightly before tugging Stanley forward into a proper hug. It wasn’t hesitant, wasn’t unsure—it was firm, grounding, a silent promise that he wasn’t going anywhere. One hand curled around the back of Stanley’s head, the other pressed gently against his back, holding him together when he felt like he was untangling completely.

Stanley let out a strangled breath against Xeno’s shoulder, his whole body tensing at the contact, then slowly—so slowly—relaxing into it. His hands clenched into fists, pressing against Xeno’s chest as if he wanted to push him away, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Because for once, he wasn’t being told to man up. For once, he wasn’t being met with cold indifference or told to get over it like it didn’t matter.

— I don’t know what to do. I’m stuck in this fucking loop, Xeno. I’m too tired to act, too broken to try and too lost to care, — Stanley whispered hoarsely, his breath hitching. He wasn’t sure if he was talking about his father, about himself, or about the way he was holding onto Xeno like he was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

Xeno just held him, his grip careful, like he knew Stanley was on the verge of shattering completely. His fingers curled against the back of Stanley’s head, threading through his hair in slow, grounding strokes. He could feel every tremor running through him, the way his breath hitched, how his entire body tensed as if he was still bracing for another hit that wasn’t coming.

And that—that—was the part that made Xeno’s chest ache the most. That even here, in the quiet safety of this moment, Stanley was still waiting for the worst.

So Xeno exhaled, slow and steady, letting the silence stretch just long enough for Stanley to feel it—really feel it—before he finally spoke.

— You know, the world keeps spinning no matter what happens to us. The sun rises, the stars flicker out, and nobody stops to ask if we’re okay. It just keeps going. And sometimes, that makes me wanna say fuck this place and watch it all burn. But then I think… maybe the fact that it doesn’t stop means we don’t have to either.

His voice was soft but sure, like he wasn’t just talking for Stanley’s sake—like he needed to hear it too.

— You think you’re weak, but you’re not. You take it. You survive. That’s not weakness, Stan. That’s the strongest thing a person can do. And yeah, it fucking sucks. It’s unfair, and it’s cruel, and it makes you feel like nothing you do will ever be enough. But you are.

Xeno paused, just for a second, just to make sure Stanley was listening, was really hearing him.

— And I swear to you, one day, you’re gonna realize that. One day, you’re gonna look back and see that every single time he tried to break you, you didn’t let him win. Maybe you don’t feel like it now, but you’re already fighting back just by existing.

Stanley let out a shaky breath, his fingers still gripping at Xeno’s shirt like he was afraid to let go.

— And the best part? — Xeno continued, his voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial, something almost like a smirk curling at the edge of his lips. — You don’t have to do it alone anymore.

He pulled back just slightly, just enough to tilt his head so he could see Stanley’s face. His eyes were red, his expression raw, but he was still here. Still breathing. Still fighting.

— You’ve got me, dumbass. And I may not be the most emotionally stable person in the world, but I do know one thing.

Xeno tapped two fingers against Stanley’s chest, right over the spot where his heart was still pounding, still beating.

— This? It’s still going. And as long as it is, you’re still in the game.

Stanley swallowed hard, something thick and painful lodging itself in his throat. His chest felt tight for an entirely different reason now, like Xeno’s words had filled every hollow space inside him that he didn’t even realize was empty.

After what felt like forever, Xeno spoke again, voice barely above a whisper.

— Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.

Stanley tensed, just for a second, then nodded weakly. Xeno didn’t give him time to argue. He gently pulled him up, keeping his hands steady, keeping Stanley anchored. His legs were unsteady, his body worn down, but Xeno didn’t let go, not once. He guided him to the bed, easing him down before stepping away.

— Don’t move, — he ordered, his tone firm but not unkind.

Stanley didn’t argue. He didn’t have the energy to argue. He just sat there, hands limp in his lap, as Xeno disappeared for a moment. When he came back, he had an old first aid kit in one hand and a bottle of antiseptic in the other.

— This is probably gonna sting, — Xeno muttered, kneeling down in front of him.

Stanley barely reacted. He just let Xeno take his face in his hands, tilting it slightly to inspect the damage. Cuts, bruises, dried blood—it was worse up close. Xeno swallowed hard but didn’t say anything. He just grabbed a cotton pad, soaked it in antiseptic, and pressed it gently against a split lip.
Stanley flinched but didn’t pull away.

— You should’ve told me you were walking into a damn battlefield, — Xeno muttered under his breath as he worked.

Stanley let out a dry, humorless laugh.

— And what would you have done?

Xeno didn’t answer right away. He didn’t know. But the thought of Stanley going through this alone made something dark coil in his chest.

— It’s not your problem, Xeno, — Stanley continued, voice quieter now, almost bitter.

Xeno looked up sharply.

— You’re an idiot, — he said, not with anger, but with something softer.

Stanley let out a slow breath, feeling the warmth of Xeno’s fingers against his skin as he carefully wiped away the dried blood. His touch was careful, precise—so unlike the sharp edges he usually carried in his voice.

— Sorry, — Stanley muttered, though even he wasn’t sure what for.

Xeno rolled his eyes but didn’t comment. Instead, he grabbed the hem of Stanley’s ruined shirt and hesitated.

— I need to see the rest, — he said, voice lower now, almost cautious.

Stanley stiffened.

— Relax, I’m not a pervert, — Xeno added, rolling his eyes again, though there was something almost nervous in his tone.

Stanley exhaled a weak laugh and let him pull the shirt off.

Xeno froze.

His breath caught, eyes tracing every bruise, every cut, every mark. His stomach twisted painfully. He had known—of course, he had known—but seeing it like this, right in front of him, made something in his chest tighten.

— Jesus Christ… — he whispered.

Stanley didn’t react. He just sat there, waiting. Xeno forced himself to move. He grabbed the antiseptic again, working in silence, gently dabbing at each wound, each swollen bruise. His fingers were careful, lingering just a second too long.

Stanley didn’t stop him.

By the time Xeno finished wrapping the last bandage around his ribs, the room had gone eerily quiet. The air between them was heavier than before, thicker. Stanley felt it pressing down on his skin, sinking into his bones.

Xeno finally leaned back, exhaling deeply.

— Done, — he muttered.

Stanley looked at him, then lowered his gaze.

— Thanks… — The word was so quiet Xeno almost missed it.

After Xeno had finished carefully tending to his wounds, Stanley didn’t move. His body, already drained from the pain and exhaustion, felt heavier now, as if all the emotions he had been burying had finally caught up to him. Without a word, he shifted slowly, curling himself up and laying his head in Xeno’s lap. His chest was tight, his breathing shallow, and his heart weighed down by something deep and unexplainable.

Xeno’s hand froze for a moment, his fingers stilling in mid-air before gently settling on Stanley’s head. He didn’t speak, didn’t try to do anything —didn’t even ask what was wrong again. He simply let Stanley hide himself there, in the safety of his presence.

Stanley buried his face against Xeno’s thighs, his tears unspoken but heavy. The silence between them was heavy, punctuated only by the sound of Stanley’s quiet, broken breathing. His chest shook with each stifled sob, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to explain the weight he carried, the storm inside him that he couldn’t stop.

— Hey… — Xeno murmured, tilting his head as he placed a hand on the back of Stan’s head.

Stan let out a heavy breath, his face buried in the rough fabric of Xeno’s jeans. He couldn’t do this anymore. His father, the pain, the humiliation, the fear — it was too much.

— I… I just… — he started, but his voice cracked before he could finish.

Tears welled up again. He tried to control his breathing, but it was no use. The sobs shook his shoulders, raw and unrestrained. Xeno ran his fingers gently through his hair, his touch steady and grounding.

— It’s okay, — Xeno said quietly. — I’m here.

He watched Stan, feeling a deep, gnawing weight settle in his chest. Guilt. It clawed at him with every second that passed. He had convinced Stan to skip school, joked about it like it was nothing, never even considering that it might lead to something like this. If he had just let him go that morning, if he hadn’t pushed… Maybe things would have been different. Maybe Stan wouldn’t be here now, broken and shaking against him.

— I am sorry. This is my fault… — Xeno exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper.

Stan stirred slightly.

— What? — His voice was hoarse, rough from the crying.

Xeno clenched his jaw, his fingers curling into a fist against his knee.

— I shouldn’t have made you skip, — he forced out. — If it weren’t for me, this wouldn’t have happened. You wouldn’t have been beaten.

Stan shook his head weakly, finally lifting his gaze, his eyes swollen and red.

— No, — he said, voice quiet but firm. — Don’t you dare think that.

He dragged a shaky hand across his face, wiping away the lingering wetness.

— It would’ve happened anyway. Sooner or later. With this or without it. — He swallowed hard. — This is just my life.

Xeno felt something twist deep inside him.

— That’s not normal, — he muttered, a sharp edge to his voice.

Stan let out a tired, humorless chuckle.

— Of course, it’s not. But I don’t care anymore.

Xeno pressed his lips together, frustration coiling tight inside him. He wanted to argue, to tell Stan how wrong all of this was, how he should care, how none of this was okay. But Xeno knew better. Now wasn’t the time for words, not when everything felt too heavy to fix with anything so simple. He knew that now wasn’t about the battle of convincing, but the quiet presence that spoke louder than anything he could say. Instead, he reached for Stan’s wrist, pulling him up gently, careful not to hurt him more than he already had been.

— Come on, get in bed, — he said softly, his voice a low murmur meant to soothe.

Stan blinked at him, his eyes clouded with exhaustion and confusion, but the strength to resist wasn’t there anymore. He allowed Xeno to help him up, the movement slow and painful as every bruise and cut made itself known. His body ached in places he hadn’t even realized. Still, he didn’t protest, too worn out to do anything but follow Xeno’s gentle insistence.

When they reached the bed, Stan collapsed against the mattress, his breath shaky as he lay back against the pillows. Xeno stayed close, hovering for a moment, his gaze soft but filled with concern as he watched Stan, making sure he was comfortable.

Stan let out a quiet exhale, feeling the weight of the day and everything before it pressing down on him. It felt like it had been a lifetime since he’d allowed himself to just be.

Xeno didn’t hesitate. He didn’t second-guess his decision. Without thinking, he lay down beside Stan, the bed creaking slightly beneath them. The room was quiet, the only sounds the soft rush of air from their lungs. Xeno moved closer, close enough that their breaths mingled in the stillness, their proximity so close it almost felt like an embrace without touch.

Stan’s eyes flickered open again, confusion clouding his expression as he turned his head slightly, unsure of what was happening.

— What are you doing? — he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Xeno didn’t immediately answer. Instead, he shifted even closer, his forehead brushing against Stan’s, his breath warm and steady against his skin. For a long moment, there was nothing but the gentle rhythm of their breathing and the comforting, unexpected closeness.

— Sometimes it’s better to lie down in bed and hope you fall asleep before you fall apart. I will make sure you fall asleep this time, — Xeno murmured, his voice gentle, quiet, like a promise.

Stan wasn’t prepared for this. The warmth, the closeness, the feeling of Xeno so close to him—it made his chest tighten, but not from pain. This was something else, something deeper and softer, something that felt unfamiliar but so desperately needed. A strange kind of calm washed over him.

It wasn’t the kind of peace he was used to—this wasn’t a solitude he was accustomed to—but something in Xeno’s presence made him feel like he could breathe again.

Stan closed his eyes, his muscles finally releasing their tension, his body still aching but no longer in the forefront of his mind. The warmth of Xeno’s body next to his, the soft pressure of his forehead against his, felt like a shield. A comfort.

Xeno’s fingers, warm and steady, traced slow, soothing patterns on Stan’s arm—small circles, gentle strokes that seemed to quiet the storm inside. It wasn’t a magical fix, but in that moment, it was enough to lull him into a kind of peace. It was enough to make him feel safe, like he didn’t have to carry all the weight alone anymore.

— Tomorrow it will be better. And if it’s not, I’ll say it again, — Xeno whispered, his voice barely audible, a quiet reassurance.

Stan didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The words were there, wrapped in the quiet, in the rhythm of their breaths and the softness of the moment. And maybe, for once, that was enough.

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Stan’s lips, a fragile thing that didn’t quite reach his eyes but felt like a quiet acceptance, a surrender to something that felt right. Within minutes, the tension drained from his body, his breathing evening out as sleep slowly claimed him. The pain, the fear, the worries—they all blurred at the edges, fading into the background as he sank into the warmth of Xeno’s presence.

Xeno stayed still, his heart steady as he listened to Stan’s breathing deepen, the weight of the moment wrapping around them both. He was there. He was going to stay there.

Chapter Text

Stanley drifted back into consciousness, pulled from the depths of sleep like a drowning man breaking through the surface of dark, endless water. A dull ache twisted through his body, but it wasn’t the worst part. No, the worst part was the slow, creeping burn of shame spreading through his chest as memories from the night before resurfaced. How he clung to Xeno like some pathetic, broken thing. How he trembled, how his voice shook, how he let himself crumble in someone else’s hands. Again.
He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to sink back into unconsciousness, to disappear into the void before reality could fully take hold. But then he felt it—warm, steady breaths brushing against his cheek.

Xeno.

Still here.

Still next to him.

Still holding him.

Stanley didn’t open his eyes. His body felt too heavy, his muscles sore and sluggish, but that wasn’t what kept him frozen in place. He just listened. The room was thick with silence, the kind that pressed down on his skin, but underneath it, he could hear the slow rhythm of rain tapping against the window. The sound felt distant, like something from a dream. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe Xeno wasn’t really there, and all of this was just some cruel trick of his exhausted, broken mind.

A sharp sting pricked at his eyes, and before he could stop it, a single tear slipped down his cheek. He didn’t want to be alone again.

Then, just as doubt started sinking its claws into him, Xeno shifted in his sleep. His forehead brushed against Stanley’s, a fleeting, warm touch.

Real.

Not an illusion. Not a ghost conjured up by loneliness.

Stanley let out a slow breath, his body instinctively sinking deeper into the mattress. The pain was still there, gnawing at the edges of his senses, but something else was starting to take its place. A strange, unfamiliar kind of quiet. Not the empty, suffocating quiet he had grown used to, but something softer.
He let himself relax. Let the warmth of another person anchor him, let the weight of exhaustion pull him back under.

The nightmares came, thick and heavy, but they weren’t the kind that made him wake up gasping for air. They were just shadows—distant, harmless, like echoes from another life. And when he surfaced again, caught between sleep and waking, the only thing he felt was the steady warmth of Xeno’s hand, still wrapped around his own.

He didn’t move. Didn’t dare. Because for the first time in as long as he could remember, the fear was gone.

Morning crept in slowly, careful not to disturb the fragile peace of the room. The air was thick with silence, broken only by the soft rhythm of raindrops tapping against the window—distant, steady, almost soothing. Xeno had been awake for a while, but he hadn’t moved. He just lay there, watching Stanley sleep. Watching the way his face, for once, wasn’t twisted in pain or exhaustion. Watching the way his chest rose and fell, slow and steady. He stared too long, probably, afraid that if he looked away, even for a second, Stanley would disappear. That he’d come back to him bloody, shaking, with empty, hunted eyes.

The memory of yesterday clung to him like a splinter lodged too deep to pull out. Stanley, beaten to hell, half-conscious, collapsing right outside his door. Grabbing that awful excuse for a cookie like it mattered more than the blood dripping from his knuckles. Breaking apart right there in front of him. Xeno had never thought he was capable of worrying about someone like this. And yet, here he was, his chest tightening with something uncomfortably close to fear. Not fear of Stanley’s father. Not fear of what had already happened. Fear of how much he wanted to fix this. Fear of how much he hated himself for not knowing how.

Guilt curled inside him, thick and suffocating. He was the one who convinced Stanley to skip class. He was the reason they stayed out late. If Stanley had just gone home when he was supposed to… would this have happened? Would his father— Xeno clenched his jaw, forcing himself to exhale. No point thinking about it now. The past was already gone, slipping through his fingers like sand, impossible to hold on to. But the present—he could still do something about the present.

With a final glance at Stanley’s sleeping form, Xeno carefully slid out of bed, moving as quietly as possible. The last thing he wanted was to wake him up. He stepped out of the room and made his way to the kitchen.

Cooking turned out to be… harder than expected.

The recipe for pancakes seemed simple enough: flour, eggs, milk, a little sugar. He squinted at his phone screen, nodding to himself as if that would somehow make him more competent. Easy. Totally doable. He could handle this.

Reality proved otherwise.

First attempt—too thick. The batter barely spread on the pan, just sat there like a sad, lumpy mistake.

— Shit… — he muttered, gripping the spatula a little too hard.

Second attempt—something between rubber and burnt toast. Charred edges, weirdly raw in the middle. Absolutely inedible.

— Motherf— — Xeno cut himself off, scraping the failure off the pan with pure resentment.

Third attempt… no. He wasn’t giving up. Not when Stanley was still asleep, still resting after everything. He shot a quick glance toward the bedroom, making sure he hadn’t woken up to the smell of smoke and disappointment. His fists clenched as if he were about to walk into battle. Somewhere between the failed tries, the kitchen had filled with the scent of frying batter, burnt butter… and sheer frustration. Xeno slumped against the counter, staring at the latest batch of ugly, misshapen disasters piled onto a plate.

— Fucking hell… — he groaned, running a hand down his face. — Why the hell am I so goddamn useless at cooking?

It was stupid. They were just pancakes. He could mix chemicals with perfect precision, but apparently, flour and eggs were beyond him. But somehow, in the quiet weight of this rainy morning, it felt like more than that. Like if he couldn’t even make breakfast for Stanley, then maybe he couldn’t take care of him at all.

— What the hell kind of experiment is this? Trying to burn the house down?

Xeno flinched, spinning around so fast he nearly knocked over the mixing bowl. Stanley was standing in the doorway, barefoot, drowning in an oversized t-shirt, his hair a complete mess—sticking up in random directions like it perfectly reflected the chaos of the past twenty-four hours. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, the dark circles under them more pronounced than usual, but there was a faint, lazy smirk on his lips.

Xeno let out a long, exhausted breath, throwing a kitchen towel onto the counter.

— I was trying to make you breakfast, — he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

— Uh-huh. — Stanley’s gaze swept over the kitchen, which now looked more like a crime scene than a place for cooking. Flour dusted the counters, sugar had melted into sticky puddles, and a half-full bowl of batter sat nearby, looking a little too thin to be right. He cocked a brow. — “A” for effort.

Xeno grimaced.

— Just sit down, I’ll make them properly this time.

— Maybe I should just do it.

— No way, I have to go through this.

Stanley snorted but didn’t argue. Not because he believed in Xeno’s sudden passion for cooking, but because he barely had the energy to stand. His body still ached, his mind was wrapped in a dull haze, but none of it felt as suffocating as it did yesterday. Because Xeno was here. And he was trying.

It was weird—having someone care. Not in the way that people usually pretended to, not out of politeness or obligation. Xeno actually cared enough to stand here, covered in flour, stubbornly cracking another egg into the mixing bowl even though he had clearly failed at this at least five times already. He looked determined, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away—he was nervous.

Stanley tilted his head slightly, watching him, then smirked.

— You’re acting like your whole reputation is riding on these pancakes.

Xeno huffed, rolling his eyes.

— I just want to do something right. Especially for you.

For you.

Stanley froze for half a second, something in his chest tightening before he could push it down. He wasn’t used to that. Wasn’t used to anyone doing things just for him. No one had ever stuck around after the nightmare. No one had ever tried to make the morning easier. He had always been the one taking care of himself, because if he didn’t, then no one would.

And now here was Xeno, swearing under his breath, hands dusted with flour, making god-awful pancakes just because he wanted to.

It was... unsettling.

— Hey, you still here? — Xeno snapped his fingers in front of his face.

Stanley blinked, shaking off whatever the hell that was.

— Just thinking about how, at this rate, we’re both gonna starve.

Xeno exhaled through his nose, but the corners of his mouth twitched up. That was good. Stanley was still cracking jokes, which meant he was feeling a little better.

This time, the process went smoother. Xeno added more milk, whisked out the lumps, let the pan heat up properly before pouring the batter. He was focused, carefully watching as the pancakes spread into decent circles instead of whatever abstract shapes they were before. Stanley leaned his elbow on the table, resting his chin in his palm as he watched. There was something oddly calming about it. Somewhere outside, a car drove by. Someone called out to their neighbour. But here, in the warm, flour-dusted kitchen, everything was still. Everything was easy.

Eventually, a plate was set down in front of him—pancakes that weren’t perfect, but at least they weren’t charcoal. Xeno raised an expectant brow.

— Alright, taste test.

Stanley picked up a fork, twirling it between his fingers before cutting off a piece. He brought it to his mouth slowly, dragging it out on purpose, just to mess with him.

— If I die from this, just know I’ll haunt you in your nightmares forever.

— I can live with that. Just eat the damn thing, — Xeno muttered, looking anywhere but at him.

Stanley took a bite. The taste was… edible. A little chewy, slightly too sweet, but fine. He chewed thoughtfully, then nodded.

— Not bad. Probably better than that disaster of a cookie from yesterday.

— Seriously? — Xeno perked up, looking almost hopeful.

— Yeah. But next time, I’m cooking. Gonna show you what real pancakes taste like.

Xeno sighed dramatically, shaking his head, but the satisfied grin tugging at his lips betrayed him. After nearly setting the kitchen on fire and wasting half the ingredients, they finally sat down, eating their not-so-perfect pancakes and laughing over how badly the first few attempts had gone. Stanley even took another bite.

And honestly? It wasn’t half bad. Even with the slightly burnt edges.

Xeno volunteered to clean up before they left for school. He hummed some unfamiliar tune under his breath, the sound barely carrying over the soft clatter of dishes and the steady rush of water from the sink. Morning sunlight had finally broken through the rainclouds, slipping through the fogged-up kitchen window and casting golden patches on his arms as he worked. He looked relaxed—almost peaceful—and for some reason, Stanley couldn’t stop watching him.

A weird warmth curled in his chest.

His body was still weighed down by sleep and lingering aches, but he pushed himself up anyway. Quiet. Careful. Xeno didn’t even notice as Stanley stepped closer—until he pressed his forehead against his shoulder.

Xeno froze.

The water kept running, soap suds still slipping between his fingers, but he didn’t move, didn’t even breathe for a second. The warmth against him was unexpected—but not unwelcome. Stanley didn’t say a word, just leaned in slightly, like he was grounding himself. Like he needed this.

— What are you doing? — Xeno’s voice was low, almost cautious.

Stanley didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t even sure himself. He just liked the warmth, liked that Xeno wasn’t pulling away.

— Just felt like it, — he finally muttered, his words muffled against Xeno’s shirt.

Xeno let out a short, amused huff, shaking his head slightly.

— You’re so damn weird.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t shrug him off. If anything, he adjusted his stance just a little, like he was settling into it.

Stanley let his eyes slip shut, taking a slow breath. The scent of soap, fabric, and something else—something distinctly Xeno—filled his senses. He wasn’t used to this. Wasn’t used to letting himself need something. But right now, this was the only thing he wanted.

Xeno resumed washing dishes, but his movements were slower now, less mechanical, like he was giving Stanley time. Like he was letting him stay.

— You gonna stand there the whole time? — Xeno said, raising a brow as he rinsed the last plate.

— Maybe.

Xeno snorted, but didn’t argue. He shut off the water, shaking his hands dry before grabbing a towel.

— Alright, now you’re just stuck to me, — he said, tilting his head slightly. But Stanley didn’t pull away.

Xeno rolled his eyes but didn’t tease him this time. Instead, he let his shoulders relax, letting Stanley lean in just a little more. A few seconds passed, quiet, steady. Then, almost absentmindedly, Xeno reached up and ran his fingers through the back of Stanley’s hair—just once, slow and deliberate. Stan wasn’t sure what got to him more—the touch itself or how natural it felt. Like it was normal. Like it was okay.

Xeno didn’t say anything. Just let his fingers linger for a second longer before pulling away.

Stanley swallowed, suddenly aware of how close they were, of the heat pooling under his skin. His hands twitched slightly at his sides, as if debating whether or not to move.

— We’re gonna be late, — Xeno murmured eventually, voice quieter than before.

— So?

Xeno sighed, but there was no real frustration behind it. He didn’t really want to leave either. Not yet.
With one final stretch, he tossed the towel onto the counter and, before he could overthink it, gave Stanley’s hair one last tousle.

— Come on, clingy. Get your stuff.

Stan rolled his eyes, stepping back just enough to let Xeno move. But the warmth lingered. Neither of them mentioned it as they grabbed their jackets and books, rushing to head out the door. But Stanley caught the way Xeno’s fingers lingered just a second longer than necessary when he handed him his bag.

Walking beside Xeno down the quiet morning streets, Stanley could feel the crisp air against his skin, fresh and cool. But there was still something heavy sitting deep in his chest, something that refused to let go. Xeno walked in sync with him, his usual casual stride a little more attentive today, as if listening to every uneven step Stanley took. Then, after a moment of silence, he spoke, his voice careful but warm.

— You could stay with me.

Stanley blinked, turning his head slightly.

— What?

— Stay. At my place, — Xeno repeated, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He wasn’t looking at Stanley, but his voice was steady. — As long as you need. My mom’s barely home, no one’s gonna give you shit, and you wouldn’t have to… — he hesitated for a second, then exhaled through his nose. — You wouldn’t have to go back there.

Stanley’s steps slowed. The word stay echoed in his head, hitting something raw. It was an escape, an actual escape being handed to him on a silver platter. No more rules. No more walking on eggshells. No more bracing himself for whatever mood his father was in that day. He could breathe.

And yet… He swallowed hard, shaking his head.

— I can’t, Xeno.

Xeno stopped walking completely, turning to face him.

— Why the hell not?

Stanley ran a hand through his hair, his fingers catching in the tangled mess. He wasn’t even sure how to explain it.

— It’s just… it’s not that simple.

Xeno let out a sharp breath, his patience starting to fray.

— What’s not simple? You just don’t go back. What’s he gonna do, drag you out of my house? He doesn’t even know where I live.

— It’s not about that.

— Then what is it about, Stan?

Stanley clenched his jaw, dropping his gaze.

— I have to do what he says.

Xeno stared at him like he’d just said something completely insane.

— What? No, you don’t.

— I do, — Stanley muttered.

His voice wasn’t defensive. If anything, it was almost… resigned.

— If I don’t, it’s just worse. If I fight back, if I push too hard, he makes sure I regret it. At least if I go along with it, I know what’s coming. I can handle it.

Xeno’s stomach twisted.

— Handle it? Stan, he beats the shit out of you for breathing wrong. That’s not something you just ‘handle.’ That’s not something you survive by playing along.

Stanley exhaled, his breath shaky. He wished Xeno wouldn’t say things like that. Wouldn’t force him to think about it too much.

— It’s just until I turn eighteen, — he said, quieter now. — Once I’m legal, I can leave for good. No more rules, no more training, no more… him. I just need to make it until then.

Xeno ran a hand down his face, looking more frustrated than Stanley had ever seen him.

— That’s years, Stanley. Years of taking this shit and pretending it’s fine.

— I don’t have a choice, Xeno.

— Yes, you do. You have me.

The words hit the air so suddenly that even Xeno seemed a little surprised by them. But now that they were out, there was no taking them back. Stanley swallowed.

— Xeno…

— No, listen to me, — Xeno stepped in closer, his voice quieter now, but no less urgent. — You don’t have to wait. You don’t have to survive another year of this, or another month, or another damn day. You have somewhere else to go. You have me.

Stanley’s breath caught in his throat. Xeno didn’t look away.

— I swear to you, if you stay, I won’t let him touch you again.

For a moment, just a second, Stanley almost let himself say yes. But the weight of everything—his father, the rules, the way things had always been—came crashing back down. He shook his head.

— I can’t, Xeno.

Xeno’s jaw tightened, his expression shifting into something unreadable.

— Why?

Stanley exhaled shakily, looking down at his hands.

— Because if I leave now, he’ll come looking for me. And I don’t want you involved in that.

Xeno made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a scoff.

— Oh, now you’re thinking about protecting me?

— It’s different.

— No, it’s not. You’re just making excuses because you don’t think you deserve to get out.

Stanley flinched. Xeno sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

— Fine. Whatever. I won’t push you.

Stanley let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

— But if you ever change your mind—

— I won’t.

Xeno shook his head, looking away for a moment before meeting Stanley’s gaze again.

— I’ll still be here.

Stanley’s chest tightened painfully. They stood there for a long moment, the silence stretching between them. Then Stanley cleared his throat, forcing himself to push through it.

— I’ll meet you at the clearing after training. Like always.

Xeno didn’t look convinced.

— You better.

— I will, — Stanley promised. — Just… don’t wait forever.

Xeno huffed, tilting his head slightly.

— I’d wait a long time for you, Stan.

Stanley’s breath hitched. He didn’t have a response for that. They started walking again, side by side, their shoulders brushing as they moved through the empty streets. And even though neither of them spoke, something unspoken lingered between them, stretching out into the quiet morning air.

As soon as Stanley and Xeno approached the school building, Luna, Charlotte, and Carlos spotted them right away. They were standing by the entrance, their conversation dying out as their gazes locked onto the pair walking side by side. Luna’s expression twisted with irritation, while Carlos narrowed his eyes, sensing the perfect opportunity to stir up trouble and humiliate Snyder.

— Look at him. It’s actually pathetic, — she sneered, her voice dripping with venom. — Stan used to be the guy everyone wanted to be around. Now he’s just trailing behind that loser like some lost puppy. It’s embarrassing.

Charlotte flipped her hair over her shoulder, her lips curling in distaste.

— He doesn’t even look like himself anymore. Remember when he actually cared about who he hung out with? Now he’s stuck to Xeno like glue. Bet he doesn’t even realize how bad he’s tanking his reputation. And all this make-up?

Carlos let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

— Oh, he knows. He’s just too far up Xeno’s ass to care. I mean, come on. The guy ditched us—for that?

Luna clicked her tongue, rolling her eyes.

— Right? It’s disgusting. He was one of us, and now he’s wasting his time with some useless, miserable freak. I bet Xeno guilt-tripped him into sticking around, acting all pathetic and broken, just to get Stan to play hero.

Charlotte snickered, throwing a smug glance at Luna.

— What, you jealous?

Luna shot her a glare.

— No. I’m pissed.

Carlos leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, watching the two boys as they moved closer to the entrance.

— You know what’s funny? Stan used to be cool. The kind of guy people actually wanted to be around. Now he’s just some lovesick idiot chasing after a guy who drags him into his weird, depressing bullshit.

— Lovesick? — Charlotte grinned, raising an eyebrow.

Carlos shrugged.

— What else do you call it? He’s obsessed with him. No way he’s not into Xeno. Look at him. He follows him everywhere, ditches us for him, and probably sits around all night listening to him whine about how hard life is. Tell me that’s normal.

Luna wrinkled her nose, disgust flashing in her eyes.

— Ugh. You’re right. He’s been so different lately. He used to be fun—now he just looks miserable all the damn time.

Charlotte smirked, nudging Luna with her elbow.

— Maybe Xeno’s that good at getting inside his head. Or maybe Stan’s just that desperate for attention.

Carlos chuckled darkly.

— Either way, it’s pathetic. And honestly? If Stan wants to ruin himself over some unstable freak, maybe he deserves it.

Luna exhaled sharply, her fingers digging into her arms.

— No. I’m not letting that happen.

Her tone was final. Cold. Carlos smirked, glancing between her and Charlotte.

— Well then, we better do something about it. And I’ve got just the thing.

As soon as Stanley and Xeno reached their usual seats, Stanley exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself before the lesson started. His mind still felt restless, but at least with Xeno next to him, the weight on his chest didn’t feel as suffocating. Instinctively, he reached into his bag, pulling out his eyeliner and mascara. His hands moved quickly, almost mechanically, as he started applying the makeup, the routine giving him something to focus on—something that didn’t involve the bruises beneath.

He knew hiding it completely was impossible, but at least he could make it less obvious. Less like he’d gotten into another fight he never signed up for. His fingers trembled slightly, but he pushed through it.

Just as he finished, a familiar voice cut through the air.

— Stan, where the hell have you been?

Maya.

She practically appeared at his desk, her arms crossed, her brows knitted in frustration. Her voice was sharp, but beneath it was something softer—concern.

— I went to your house yesterday. You weren’t there. You didn’t pick up your phone. Then I find out you ditched school?

Stanley sighed, already feeling the exhaustion creep in again.

— I stayed at Xeno’s, — he said, keeping his voice even, but there was a quiet hesitance in the way he said it.

Maya blinked, taking a second to process his words.

— You… stayed over?

Her tone wasn’t judgmental, but there was definite curiosity laced in it. She glanced between him and Xeno, then back at Stanley.

Xeno, who had been sitting quietly the entire time, just leaned back slightly, arms crossed, watching the interaction unfold. He wasn’t tense, but he wasn’t exactly comfortable either.

Maya finally let out a small sigh, rubbing her temple.

— Okay. I mean… if that’s what you needed.

Her voice had softened. She still looked unsure, but she was trying. Then, her eyes locked onto his face, and her expression immediately shifted.

— Stan… what happened to your face?

Her fingers reached out slightly, but she hesitated before actually touching him. Stanley stiffened, but he forced a smirk, leaning back to avoid her inspecting gaze.

— Oh, that? Nothin’ serious. Just tripped down the stairs.

Maya’s eyes narrowed.

— Tripped down the stairs?

— Mhm.

— …And landed face first?

— I have incredible aim.

Maya didn’t look amused.

— Stan.

— What? It’s fine.

She exhaled through her nose, clearly not buying it.

— And if I ask Xeno?

Xeno, still watching the exchange, casually shrugged.

— He technically did fall.

Stan shot him a glare, but Xeno just smirked slightly. Maya, however, still didn’t seem convinced.

— Look, I’m not gonna push if you don’t wanna talk about it, but… I am sorry I was a shitty friend lately. So if you need, you know you can, right?

Stanley forced a grin.

— Of course, Maya. And I promise, when I do actually get murdered, you’ll be the first to know.

She rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed.

— You’re so stupid.

— That’s what everyone keeps telling me.

Maya sighed, shaking her head before deciding to let it go—at least for now.

— Whatever. But seriously, you’ve been avoiding everyone lately. Feels like we barely talk.

Stanley glanced at her, guilt creeping up his spine. He had been distant. Maya wasn’t wrong.

— Yeah… I guess I’ve been kinda caught up with stuff.

— Well, let’s fix that, — she said, tilting her head slightly. — I’m throwing a party this Saturday. You are coming.

Stanley hesitated, but before he could respond, she added:

— And before you even try to come up with an excuse, no, you don’t have plans, and yes, you will be there.

Stan exhaled a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

— Yeah, alright. I’ll be there.

Maya’s face brightened just a bit, but then, she turned to Xeno.

— And you. You’re invited too.

Xeno raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised.

— Seriously?

— Yeah, why not? If you and Stan are so inseparable these days, might as well get to know you.

Xeno studied her for a second, as if trying to figure out if she was serious.

— Huh. Didn’t think I’d ever get a party invite from you.

— I’m full of surprises, — she smirked, then added, — Besides, if Stan’s gonna be there, you might as well tag along so he doesn’t run off and hide somewhere halfway through.

Stanley groaned.

— I hate how accurate that is.

Maya just grinned.

— Then don’t disappear, dumbass.

Xeno chuckled, shaking his head before finally nodding.

— Alright. I’ll come.

Maya seemed satisfied with that answer.

— Good. Then I’ll see both of you Saturday night. No backing out.

She shot them one last look before heading back to her seat.

As soon as she was gone, Stanley leaned forward, resting his forehead against his desk with a muffled groan.

— What the hell did I just agree to?

Xeno smirked.

— Guess we’re going to a party.

Stanley groaned again, but despite everything, despite the bruises, despite the exhaustion, he felt just a little lighter. Maybe things were getting a little easier.

The school day dragged on like an eternity, each minute stretching longer than the last. Stanley could barely focus on his classes, his mind constantly drifting back to the events of the previous night. His father’s fists. The weight behind them. The way pain settled deep into his bones, lingering like a ghost he couldn’t shake. But then, there was also Xeno. The way his voice softened when he spoke. The way his fingers moved through Stanley’s hair, grounding him. The way, even now, across the desk, their eyes met, and something unspoken passed between them—something solid, something safe.

It wasn’t just support. It was something deeper, something that went beyond words.

But not everyone in that classroom was watching with quiet understanding.

From the back row, Carlos leaned forward, his eyes locked onto Xeno with a calculating glare. Every movement, every glance, every damn breath Xeno took seemed to irritate him more. His grip tightened on the desk as he listened to Luna and Charlotte whispering, their voices sharp with distaste.

— He’s always sticking to him now, — Luna muttered, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, her lip curled in irritation.

— Like a damn parasite, — Charlotte added, crossing her arms.

Carlos smirked. He could use this.

Luna wasn’t paying him any attention—she rarely did—but she had said she wanted to put Xeno in his place. And what better way to impress her than to be the one to do it?

His plan was already forming in his mind. After school. Just a little push. Just enough to knock Xeno down a peg, remind him where he actually stood in the social hierarchy. Maybe throw in a few words, make him squirm a little. If he could get a few guys to join in, it’d be easy. Just a lesson. Nothing too serious.

But the thought of Stanley stuck in his head too.

Carlos had known him for years. Back then, Stanley hadn’t been like this. He hadn’t been soft. He was sharp, confident, someone people actually respected. Now? Now he was letting some freak wrap himself around him like a damn leash.

— So, do you think Stan’s actually into that weirdo? — Carlos mused, his voice dripping with mockery.

— Obviously, — Charlotte scoffed. — You see how he looks at him?

Luna narrowed her eyes.

— I don’t get it. What’s so special about Xeno? What did he even do to make Stan act like that?

Carlos huffed, shaking his head.

— Dunno. But if I get the chance, I’m gonna make sure he stops acting like that.

Luna shot him a glance.

— Oh? And how exactly are you planning on doing that?

Carlos just grinned.

— Wait and see.

By the time the last bell rang, Stanley felt an odd sense of relief wash over him. School was done. He could finally just breathe. But there was something lingering beneath that relief—something unsettled. Xeno hadn’t rushed out the door like he usually did. Instead, he had waited for Stanley by the lockers, hands stuffed in his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels. When Stanley finally made his way over, Xeno didn’t say anything at first.

Then, without warning, he pulled Stanley into a hug.

Stanley barely had time to react before he felt Xeno’s arms tighten around him—not in a desperate way, but firm and deliberate. The scent of his clothes, a mix of faded cologne and a faint trace of chemicals from the lab, was oddly comforting.

— Be careful, alright? — Xeno’s voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it, something serious lingering underneath.

Stanley’s breath caught for a second.

— What?

Xeno pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes.

— Just… watch your back.

Stanley frowned, his fingers unconsciously gripping Xeno’s jacket.

— Xeno, what the hell—

— Just promise me.

The intensity in Xeno’s gaze made his chest tighten.

— …Yeah, okay.

Xeno hesitated, like he wanted to say more, but instead, he gave Stanley one last look before stepping back.

— I gotta go prep some stuff for chem. I’ll catch you later.

The hallway was empty except for the faint echoes of footsteps and the distant hum of voices from outside. The air felt thick, charged with something unspoken. Hidden just beyond the turn, Carlos and his crew lingered in the shadows, waiting like vultures circling their prey.

Xeno walked in without a second thought, his focus elsewhere, unaware of the trap closing in around him—until a sharp shove slammed him backward against the lockers. The metal rattled, the cold surface biting through his shirt.

— Well, well, look who finally showed up, — Carlos sneered, stepping into the light with a slow, deliberate swagger. — You ready for your reality check, freak?

Xeno gritted his teeth, pushing himself upright. His eyes flicked over Carlos and his goons, unimpressed.

— Oh, it’s you, — he drawled, dusting off his sleeve like Carlos was nothing more than an inconvenience. — I was really hoping for someone with at least half a brain, but I guess I’ll have to settle.

Carlos’s smirk twitched. His fingers curled into fists.

— You always got something smart to say, huh? Like you actually matter?

Xeno gave him a slow, deliberate look, tilting his head.

— I mean, considering how obsessed you are with me, I must matter to you at least.

Carlos’s jaw tightened, and before Xeno could blink, a fist slammed into his chest. Pain exploded through him. His breath hitched as he doubled over slightly, but he forced himself not to fold. He straightened with a sharp exhale, staring Carlos down.’

— That it? — Xeno muttered, voice a little strained. — I’ve had worse from a chemistry mishap.

Carlos’s expression darkened. Another hit—this time to his ribs. Xeno staggered back, catching himself against the lockers, a grimace twitching across his face. His breathing was more uneven now, but his eyes still burned with defiance.

— You’re really making this too easy, — Carlos taunted, rolling his shoulders. — Stanley’s little pet project, acting all tough. But guess what? He’s not here to save you now.

Xeno clenched his jaw, but he didn’t look away. Carlos moved in again, grabbing Xeno by the front of his shirt and slamming him back against the lockers.

— You think you belong here? You think you can just changr him and turn into some nerd?

Xeno’s lips curled slightly, even as he struggled for breath.

— Change him? Man, you sound like a jilted ex.

Carlos’s fist connected with his cheek. White-hot pain flashed through Xeno’s skull, and for a second, everything spun. He tasted blood on his tongue.

— Bet Stan wouldn’t even recognize you like this, — Carlos muttered, voice low, mean. — Beaten, pathetic. The way you should be.

Xeno spit blood onto the floor between them, then slowly looked back up, a ghost of a smirk still clinging to his split lip.

— You done? — he rasped.

Carlos moved to swing again—

— HEY!

The sharp voice cut through the air, freezing everyone in place.

Maya.

Carlos’s grip loosened just enough for Xeno to yank himself free, stumbling slightly but catching himself before he could hit the ground. Carlos stepped back, his crew already blending into the background, slipping away like nothing had happened. Maya stormed closer, her expression set in frustration and confusion.

— What the hell is going on?

Xeno barely spared Carlos a glance as he wiped at his lip, swallowing back the coppery taste. Carlos’s crew had already disappeared down another hallway, and from Maya’s angle, she hadn’t seen who had been there with him—just him, slumped slightly against the lockers, bruised and bloody.

— Xeno? — Her tone shifted, softer now, concerned. She stepped closer, looking him over. — What happened?

Xeno inhaled through his nose, then exhaled slowly.

— Nothing.

Maya’s eyes narrowed.

— Nothing? Xeno, you’re bleeding. That doesn’t just happen.

Xeno let out a dry laugh, shaking his head slightly.

— You’d be surprised.

Maya studied him for a long moment, arms crossing.

— Who did this?

— Doesn’t matter.

She let out a frustrated breath.

— Xeno.

He looked at her then, really looked at her, and something in his expression—something exhausted and guarded—made her pause. He wasn’t just refusing to talk. He wouldn’t.

— Just leave it, — he muttered, running a hand through his hair, wincing slightly when his fingers brushed his split brow.

She hesitated, her mouth pressing into a thin line.

— Should I call Stan?

The question made his entire body tense. He dropped his hand, staring at her for a second before shaking his head.

— No. And he doesn’t need to know.

Maya frowned.

— Why? He’d want to know if something happened to you.

Xeno exhaled sharply, as if just the thought exhausted him.

— That’s exactly why I don’t want him to know.

Maya’s brows knit together.

— You don’t have to deal with this alone, you know.

Xeno looked at her, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

— I know. But this isn’t his problem.

Maya hesitated. She wanted to argue, to tell him he was being stupid, but… she could see it. The way his shoulders were held just a little too stiffly, the way his voice had a quiet edge of finality. He wasn’t going to budge. She sighed, rubbing her temples.

— Fine. I won’t tell him.

Xeno blinked, like he hadn’t actually expected her to agree so quickly.

— But, — she continued, pointing a finger at him, — if this happens again, I will get involved. Whether you like it or not.

Xeno smirked, but it was tired.

— Noted.

Maya shook her head, muttering under her breath.

— Come on. You need to clean up before someone else notices.

Xeno let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders before pushing off the lockers to follow her.
But even as he walked, Carlos’s words echoed in the back of his mind.

Stanley couldn’t get to the clearing fast enough. His legs burned from the run, his muscles sore from the brutal workout earlier, but none of that mattered. He just needed to be there. To see him. The familiar crunch of leaves beneath his boots, the whisper of branches swaying above—it all felt like home in a way nothing else did.

And then he saw him.

Xeno was already there, sitting under their tree, legs stretched out lazily, fingers absentmindedly twisting a blade of grass. He looked so effortlessly at ease, like he hadn’t been waiting at all. But Stanley knew better.

— Xeno! — he called out, practically tripping over his own feet in his rush to get closer. — You have no idea how much I needed to be here today.

Xeno barely turned his head at first, just flicked his gaze up at Stanley with that familiar half-lidded expression, his lips curling into an easy smirk.

— Didn’t know you missed me that much, Snyder.

His tone was light, teasing. Nothing seemed off. And Stanley, too caught up in his excitement, didn’t notice the way Xeno sat just a little too stiffly. How his fingers clenched the grass too tightly, like he was grounding himself. How he barely shifted when Stanley all but collapsed next to him, as if any sudden movement would send pain shooting through him.

Instead, Stanley just grinned, chest still rising and falling from the run, warmth bubbling inside him just from being next to Xeno again. It was stupid how happy it made him, but he didn’t care.

— Man, today sucked, — Stanley groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. — Training was brutal.

Xeno huffed a quiet laugh. Stanley elbowed him playfully, not noticing the way Xeno subtly tensed, his jaw clenching ever so slightly before he forced himself to relax. If Stanley had been paying attention, if he had really looked, maybe he would’ve caught the way Xeno’s movements were just a little slower, a little more deliberate—like he was being careful not to let anything show. But Xeno was good at hiding things. And Stanley, too happy just to be there, didn’t notice a thing.

Instead, they got to work, tinkering with their latest project—an old, beaten-up camera they were trying to attach to their makeshift rocket. Stanley focused on tightening a few loose screws, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught how Xeno barely moved from his spot, how he didn’t lean forward or shift like he usually did.

— You good? — Stanley asked casually, testing the stabilizers.

— Yeah. Nothing interesting, — Xeno replied smoothly, not missing a beat.

And Stanley, satisfied with that answer, nodded and let it go.

— You know, — Stanley said after a moment, changing the subject, — I still can’t believe you agreed to go to Maya’s party. I mean, it’s basically just a bunch of idiots getting wasted in someone’s backyard. I didn’t think that was your scene.

Xeno smirked, finally shifting enough to lean back on his elbows.

— Someone’s gotta keep you from locking yourself in another random bathroom.

Stanley froze, colour rising to his cheeks.

— That was one time, — he grumbled, glaring at Xeno, who just looked way too pleased with himself.

— Still hilarious.

— Shut up.

Xeno snickered, but there was something… softer in his gaze when he looked at Stanley.

— But yeah, — he said, rolling the wire between his fingers, — I think it’ll be tolerable. If you’re there.

Stanley’s breath caught for half a second. His fingers tightened around the screwdriver.

If you’re there.

That… felt different. Or maybe he was imagining it. He wasn’t sure. He cleared his throat quickly, looking back down at the rocket.

— Well, at least one of us is getting something out of this. But you’re not drinking. No way in hell.

Xeno raised a brow, amused.

— What, afraid I’ll get drunk and start spilling all my dark secrets?

Stanley rolled his eyes.

— No, I just don’t want to be the one carrying your ass home when you inevitably do something dumb.

Xeno snorted.

— Bold of you to assume I’d let you carry me.

Stanley blinked, then immediately shook his head, trying to push whatever the hell that mental image was out of his brain.

— Yeah, okay, not having this conversation.

Xeno smirked but didn’t push it.

When they finally finished up, Stanley wiped the sweat off his forehead, stretching his sore arms. Xeno was already standing, ready to leave, but something about the idea of parting ways after a day like this just didn’t sit right with him.

— Hey, uh… I was thinking, — Stanley started, rubbing the back of his neck. — What if we went to the party together?

Xeno, who had been about to step away, paused.

— What, like a date? — he teased.

Stanley sputtered.

— No! I just— I mean, I’d rather go with you than show up alone. People there are… you know.

Xeno studied him for a second, his face unreadable. He could see the way Stanley was avoiding his eyes, the way he was trying so hard to sound casual. And despite himself, something in Xeno softened.

— Alright, — he said easily, shoving his hands into his pockets. — If it makes you feel better, I’m in.

Stanley let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

— Cool. Yeah. Uh, I’ll be at your place on Saturday by eight.

Xeno just nodded, already turning away.

— See you then.

Stanley watched him go, a small smile tugging at his lips. He had no idea why, but somehow, just knowing that Xeno would be there made the whole idea of that stupid party feel a little less awful.

The days slipped by fast—too fast. Time blurred together like smeared ink on a page, and before Stanley even had time to process it, Saturday had arrived. The whole evening stretched ahead of him, filled with anticipation, excitement, and a lingering unease about how everything would play out. He had spent the morning rushing around, getting everything ready, double-checking details, making sure tonight would go right.

Training went by in a blur. He pushed through every rep, every drill, every order his father barked at him without hesitation. He didn’t give the old man a single reason to criticize him. And when his father finally flicked a hand dismissively—you’re done, get out—Stanley wasted no time. He slammed the door to his room, leaned against it, and let out a long breath. His arms trembled slightly from exertion, sweat clinging to his back, but none of that mattered now.

His mind was already somewhere else. Already thinking about him.

Crossing the room, Stanley reached for the back of his closet, fingers brushing past layers of forgotten clothes until they found what he was looking for—a bottle of wine, dusty from neglect, tucked away like a secret. The cool glass sent a shiver through his fingertips, and as he traced the worn edges of the label, a slow smirk ghosted across his lips.

He had almost forgotten he had this. Tonight’s perfect for it.

The keys in his pocket jingled softly as he fished them out, using one to pry open the cork. A soft pop, and instantly, the air was filled with the deep, rich scent of something aged and smooth, like stolen warmth from another life. Stanley exhaled, letting the aroma settle in his chest, sink into his bones.
He brought the bottle to his lips and took the first sip—deep, indulgent. The wine was cold, gliding down his throat before unfurling into a slow-burning heat that spread through him, loosening the last bit of tension in his shoulders. Another sip, then another. His body relaxed against the wall, head tilted back as the alcohol settled in, making everything feel a little softer, a little lighter.

Letting out a slow breath, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and placed the bottle on his desk. Alright. If tonight was going to be right, he needed to look perfect.

Stanley crouched down, reaching under his bed for a small black case tucked out of sight. His fingers traced over the smooth zipper before pulling it open, revealing its carefully curated contents. A liquid liner, sleek and sharp. He picked it up, rolling it between his fingers before leaning into the mirror. His golden eyes stared back at him—steady, focused. Lifting his chin slightly, he dragged the liner across his upper lash line in one smooth, precise stroke, then flicked it outward, sharp as a knife. One eye, then the other. He stepped back, assessing. The effect was instant—his gaze turned sharper, more intense, something untamed lurking beneath the surface.

But he wasn’t done.

Reaching back into the case, he grabbed a tube of mascara, twisting it open with a quiet click. He ran the wand through his lashes, thickening and darkening them, making his already striking features even more defined. His reflection in the mirror shifted, his cheekbones cast into sharper relief by the shadow of his lashes.

Not bad.

Then came the final touch—dark plum lipstick. He twisted the cap off and swiped the color over his lips, slow and deliberate, pressing them together to even out the pigment. The deep shade gave them a sultry, almost bruised look—bold, unapologetic. His lips parted slightly as he admired the way they gleamed under the light.

A smirk curled at the edges of his mouth. Perfect.

Grabbing the bottle again, he took a few more long, slow sips, letting the warmth seep deeper into his limbs. The edges of the world softened just enough to make everything feel lighter, like gravity had loosened its grip on him.

He turned to his closet next, pulling out a pair of black Converse, running a thumb over the white rubber toe to check for dust. Satisfied, he laced them up tight, grounding himself in the familiar weight of them.

And then—the final piece. He reached for his leather jacket. The material was heavy in his hands, cool against his skin as he slid it on, the scent of worn leather filling his senses. It fit like a second skin, draping over his shoulders just right. He left it unzipped—intentional. Standing in front of the mirror, he took himself in—black, sleek, sharp edges, dark lips curved in a half-smile that bordered on dangerous. His pulse thrummed in his throat.

Tonight, he wouldn’t be just anyone. Tonight, he would be impossible to ignore. Especially to him.

Stanley stood outside Xeno’s house, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, eyes darting around the dimly lit street. The night had fully settled in, and the streetlights cast a hazy, golden glow over everything, making the air feel thick with something charged. He exhaled slowly, tapping his fingers against his thigh. He wasn’t sure why he was nervous—it was just a party. Just a normal night. But something about this moment felt heavier, more important.

He had just sent Xeno a message, and within minutes, the front door swung open.

And there he was.

Stanley’s breath hitched for just a second.

Xeno stepped out onto the porch, effortlessly cool, dressed in a crisp black button-up tucked into slim-fitting black pants. He wasn’t just wearing the outfit—he owned it. The cut of the shirt made his frame look sharp, the way the fabric clung in just the right places made it obvious that this wasn’t just thrown together last minute. The gloomy light of the streetlamp caught in his tousled hair, giving it a soft, almost golden sheen.

He looked… good. Too good. Like he was walking out of some high-end photoshoot instead of his front door.

Stanley swallowed.

— Damn, — he muttered under his breath before he could stop himself. Then, catching himself, he cleared his throat and quickly tried to sound casual. — You, uh… you look really good.

Xeno’s lips twitched into that signature smirk, his head tilting just slightly as if he’d caught something in Stanley’s tone.

— You too, — he said smoothly, eyes flicking over Stanley’s outfit before raising an eyebrow. — Kinda thought you’d show up in a hoodie or something. Didn’t expect… this.

Stanley felt his face heat up immediately, a mix of flustered and defensive. He knew damn well he’d picked this outfit with purpose, but admitting that? Not happening.

— I just didn’t wanna look like I rolled out of bed, alright? — he said, glancing to the side.

Xeno huffed a quiet laugh, taking a step closer.

— Right. Not like you dressed up for any specific reason or anything.

Stanley shot him a look, but Xeno was already one step ahead, turning slightly as if to start walking, though there was an unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes.

— You ready? — Xeno asked, voice easy, unbothered, but still holding that sharp, knowing edge.

Stanley rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to push past whatever weird tension had suddenly wrapped itself around him.

— Yeah. Let’s go.

They fell into step together, walking down the gloomy lit street, the quiet hum of the night settling around them. And for a second, just a second, Stanley let himself glance sideways—at the way Xeno’s fingers flexed slightly at his sides, the effortless way he carried himself, the way the shadows moved with him. He looked away before Xeno could catch him staring.

As soon as Xeno and Stanley stepped into Maya’s apartment, the atmosphere hit like a wave—thick, loud, and almost tangible. Music pounded through the air, bass vibrating through the floor, while conversations and laughter clashed together in an almost chaotic symphony. The walls were lit up by scattered fairy lights, casting colourful glows over groups of people already loose from drinking. It had the perfect energy of a party just hitting its peak—a space where people could forget about everything outside and just exist in the moment.

But the second they crossed the threshold, Stanley could feel it.

Someone was watching them.

Xeno felt it too. His body tensed just slightly, the shift barely noticeable, but Stanley caught it anyway. Their eyes flicked toward the source at the same time.

Carlos.

He was leaning against the wall with a drink in hand, surrounded by a few of his usual group—Luna and Charlotte included. The second their eyes met, Carlos smirked, slow and deliberate, like he had already decided something. A quiet, unspoken tension stretched between them, an echo of what had happened at school.

Stanley barely had time to react before Carlos leaned in toward the girls, his voice low but still sharp enough to cut through the noise.

— Look who showed up, — he sneered, taking a lazy sip from his cup. — What do you think? What’s a nerd like him doing at a party like this?

Luna scoffed, tossing her hair back dramatically.

— No idea. Maybe he’s just here to “learn” from us. Or maybe he got tired of being alone in his little science dungeon.

Charlotte snickered, glancing over at Xeno, who was still standing close to Stanley, talking to him quietly.

— Kinda weird, though, right? What does he want? It’s not like he’s gonna have fun or anything.

Carlos huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.

— Honestly? Probably just trying to prove he has money for nice clothes. But let’s be real—he doesn’t belong here.

His voice had an edge to it, one that wasn’t just casual teasing. It was something uglier. He didn’t like Xeno. And maybe it wasn’t just because of the way he acted—maybe it was because, despite everything, Xeno never gave a shit what Carlos or his friends thought. And that pissed him off more than anything. Carlos took another sip of his drink, licking his lips before adding, almost too casually:

— Or maybe… maybe he’s just here for Stanley.

The words hung in the air like smoke. Luna turned sharply, her eyes narrowing.

— You think so? That’s disgusting.

Charlotte tilted her head, pretending to think.

— I mean, it is weird how close they are lately. Sneaking around together. Skipping school. And now showing up at a party together? It’s almost pathetic. What do you think, Carlos? Think Stanley’s caught real feelings?

Carlos let out a low chuckle, setting his drink down.

— Oh, he’s obsessed. Can’t even go anywhere without that freak following him around.

Meanwhile, across the room, Stanley had no idea he was being talked about. He had other things on his mind—like the way Xeno was standing just a little too close, the way the LED lights made his features look sharper, more intense. And the fact that Xeno looked so out of place at this party but still somehow managed to stand out. They moved toward the drinks table, and Stanley immediately started scanning the bottles.

— What do you want? — he asked, a teasing smirk on his lips.

Xeno shrugged, looking at the selection like it was all written in a foreign language.

— No idea. I’m not exactly an expert at this.

Stanley snorted, grabbing a bottle of vodka and a carton of orange juice.

— You must be a lightweight.

— I haven’t even had a drink yet, — Xeno deadpanned.

— And I already know you’re a lightweight, — Stanley shot back. — Alright, I’ll make you a screwdriver. Vodka and OJ. It’s easy, doesn’t taste like straight gasoline, and does the job.

Xeno watched him, tilting his head slightly.

— You drink that?

— Yeah. — Stanley poured the vodka first, then added the juice, swirling it around in the cup. — It’s good. Not too strong.

Xeno eyed the drink sceptically.

— And what if I hate it?

Stanley grinned, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to be teasing.

— Then spit it in my face.

Xeno rolled his eyes, but there was something almost amused in the way his lips twitched upward. He took the cup from Stanley, his fingers brushing against his for half a second longer than necessary. He didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t even flinch—but Stanley did. Xeno lifted the drink, pausing before taking a sip.

— If this is disgusting, I’m making you finish it.

Stanley raised an eyebrow, taking a long gulp of his own drink without breaking eye contact.

— Oh, I will.

There was something in the air between them—charged, electric, something neither of them wanted to name. And maybe it was the party, the alcohol, the late-night energy buzzing around them. Or maybe it was just them. But Stanley wasn’t thinking about that. Not yet. Xeno finally took a sip.And his face immediately scrunched up.

— Oh my god, this is so strong.

Stanley threw his head back in laughter.

— Oh, come on. It’s mostly juice!

Xeno coughed, shaking his head.

— No. No way. You’re lying.

— You’re just a baby, — Stanley teased, nudging him with his elbow.

Xeno huffed, taking another sip, slower this time.

— I hate that you’re right.

Stanley grinned, pleased with himself.

— Get used to it.

Xeno shook his head, a quiet smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He let out a slow breath, lifting the cup to his mouth again, taking a cautious sip. Stanley watched him, hyper-aware of every little movement—the way Xeno’s lips parted, the way his throat moved as he swallowed, the slight furrow of his brows as he let the alcohol settle on his tongue. Everything about it felt slower, heavier, almost magnetic.

The bass of the music vibrated through the floor, making the air itself feel charged.

Push me

And then just touch me

Till I can get my satisfaction

The lyrics pulsed in Stanley’s head, as if they were being whispered directly into his thoughts.

He couldn’t stop watching Xeno.

The weak lights played tricks, casting shadows across his face, catching in the strands of his hair as he tilted his head slightly. His usual sharp edges seemed softer in the glow of the party. He took another sip, this time slower, and Stanley’s gaze locked onto the way a single drop of liquid clung to the corner of his mouth. His grip tightened on his own cup. He had no idea why it made his chest feel like it was caving in.

Before he could even think, before his brain could scream at him to not be a complete idiot, he moved. His hand lifted slightly, instinctively, his fingers twitching toward Xeno’s cheek—toward the stray drop of alcohol he suddenly had the ridiculous urge to wipe away.

But just before he could, a voice cut through the noise.

— Stan! There you are!

Stanley blinked, his fingers snapping back like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His whole body tensed for a second before he turned, forcing his expression back into something neutral. Maya stood there, all smiles and high energy, her presence slicing through whatever had just been happening between him and Xeno.

— Hey, we just got here, — he said, quickly shifting his focus. He could still feel Xeno beside him, still feel the weight of his own almost-movement lingering in the air, but he pushed it down. He wasn’t even sure what he was pushing down.

Maya grinned, completely oblivious.

— You guys need to come to the living room! Luna’s reading palms or whatever, it’s kinda weird but, y'know, fun.

She wiggled her eyebrows dramatically before spinning around and disappearing back into the party.
Stanley exhaled, dragging a hand down his face.

— Jesus Christ, — he muttered, already annoyed.

Xeno, who had been watching him closely, let out an amused breath.

— You don't believe in that stuff?

Stanley scoffed, grabbing a bottle from the table and unscrewing the cap.

— Do I look like the type of guy who thinks my “lifeline” means something?

Xeno didn’t answer right away. Instead, he watched as Stanley poured himself another drink—something stronger this time, something meant to burn. His movements were a little sharper, a little more restless.

— What? You think she’s actually gonna predict our futures? — Stanley glanced up, raising a brow.

Xeno smirked, taking a step toward the living room.

— I dunno. Maybe she’ll tell you you’re doomed.

Stanley rolled his eyes, tipping back his glass, letting the alcohol do its job.

— Yeah, yeah. Let’s just get this over with.

When they stepped into the living room, the energy in the room shifted slightly. The air was thick with the sound of laughter, conversations blending with the thumping bass of the music. At the centre of it all, Luna sat cross-legged on a low couch, her fingers skimming over a deck of tarot cards, a sly, knowing glint in her eyes. Her pink hair was thrown up in a messy bun, loose strands framing her face as she grinned up at them.

— Finally! Took you two long enough. — She gestured to the empty spots in front of her. — C'mon, sit down. Let’s see what fate’s got planned for you.

Stanley hesitated for a second, but before he could say anything, Carlos slid in first, smirking as he held out his palm to Luna like he was handing her something valuable. She took his hand, tilting her head as if she were actually seeing something beyond the lines on his skin. Everyone around them leaned in slightly, waiting for the reading. The room quieted, anticipation settling like static in the air.

— Love, — Luna murmured, tracing a delicate finger over the crease in his palm. — You act tough, but deep down, you're scared to open up. You think you're in control, but soon, someone’s gonna come along and make you realize that control is just an illusion.

Carlos chuckled under his breath, but there was something a little uneasy in his expression. She moved on to Brody next, her expression sharpening slightly as she traced his hand.

— You’ve got unfinished business, — she said simply, her tone softer now. — You keep looking back instead of forward. There’s someone you never really let go of, and it’s messing with everything else in your life. You think you’ve moved on, but you haven’t. And until you do, you’re gonna keep running in circles.

Brody’s jaw tightened, but he just nodded, saying nothing.

Then came Maya. She hesitated before placing her hand in Luna’s, like she wasn’t sure she even wanted to hear whatever would come next. Luna’s gaze flickered over to her face before she spoke.

— You love hard, but you love wrong, — she said. — You keep giving to people who don’t deserve it, hoping that one day, they’ll give back the same way. But that’s not how it works, is it?

Maya stiffened, her fingers twitching slightly in Luna’s hold.

— You want love, real love. But the problem is, you’re not ready for it yet. Because you don’t know how to let someone love you back the way you need them to.

Maya exhaled slowly, pulling her hand away with a small, unsure nod. Luna moved on to Charlotte next, who handed over her palm with an easy smirk. But Luna’s expression didn’t shift.

— You’re gonna have to make a choice soon, — she said. — A real one. Between the life you know and the one you don’t. One’s safe, familiar. The other… the other is something risky. And I think we both know which one’s calling to you.

Charlotte’s smirk faltered for just a second. But then she rolled her eyes.

— You’re so dramatic, — she muttered, pulling her hand back.

Then, Luna’s gaze slid to Xeno. And the energy in the room changed. It was subtle, but Stanley felt it—the way Luna’s grin sharpened just slightly, the way she adjusted her posture, as if preparing for something. Xeno hesitated for only a second before he sat down across from her, his expression unreadable. He didn’t like being the centre of attention, and Luna understood it. She took his hand, turning it over in hers. The moment stretched, and then she spoke—loudly, intentionally, making sure everyone could hear.

— You judge love by appearances too much, — she announced. — You act like you don’t care, but you do. And that’s why you’re gonna get hurt. Because you keep pretending you’re above it all, like you’re untouchable. But you’re not.

Xeno didn’t flinch, but something in his jaw twitched slightly.

— See, the problem with people like you is that you think you’re too complicated to love. Like no one could possibly understand you. But the truth is, you’re just scared. Scared that if someone does understand you, they won’t like what they find.

Stanley felt something tighten in his chest. The room was silent for a beat, everyone waiting for Xeno to react. But he didn’t. He just exhaled through his nose, pulling his hand back as casually as possible.

— You should charge for these therapy sessions, — he answered dryly, leaning back against the couch.

Luna’s lips curled, satisfied.

Then she turned to Stanley.

The moment her fingers wrapped around his hand, her expression changed slightly. Less smug. More… curious. She traced his palm slowly, and when she spoke, her voice was quieter.

— You don’t see what’s right in front of you, — she murmured. — You keep searching for something bigger, something that’ll make you feel whole. But the thing you’re looking for… it’s already here. Right next to you.

Stanley swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of Xeno sitting just a few feet away. His pulse jumped. Luna didn’t break eye contact.

— You’re gonna realize it soon. But when you do… you might be too late.

Something about those words settled deep in his bones, heavier than they should’ve been. He wanted to ask what she meant, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He just nodded, forcing himself to pull his hand away.

He glanced at Xeno.

For a second, he thought Xeno might look back.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Xeno reached for his drink, downing the rest of it in one go before reaching for another.

Stanley frowned slightly. He hadn’t really been paying attention before, but now that he looked closer… Xeno was drinking too fast. More than he should. His fingers tightened around his glass.

— You good? — he said under his breath, just for Xeno to hear.

Xeno barely glanced at him.

— Fine.

Stanley didn’t buy it. But before he could say anything else, someone turned the music up, and the conversation shifted, dragging the moment away. But the feeling in Stanley’s chest remained. At some point, when people got more comfortable, Carlos—already tipsy, eyes gleaming with mischief—lifted his drink and grinned.

— Alright, how about we take a shot and play Truth or Dare? — he suggested, his voice carrying over the low thrum of music. — But here’s the deal: if you refuse to do your dare, you take a shot of the strongest shit we’ve got.

For a second, there was silence. Then laughter broke out, and people exchanged looks—some excited, some wary, but all intrigued. Charlotte, always down for chaos, immediately jumped in.

— I’m in! Who else?

Stanley narrowed his eyes slightly, hesitating for just a moment. This wasn’t exactly his thing, but the night had already taken a different turn than he expected. Might as well roll with it.

— Sure, why not? — he said, lifting his glass before his gaze flickered toward Xeno.

Xeno, strangely enough, already looked intrigued. His fingers tapped idly against his empty glass, and before anyone even asked him, he reached for another drink.

— Guess I’m in too, — he said, his voice calm but a little heavier than usual.

Stanley watched as Xeno poured himself another shot—faster than necessary, like he wasn’t drinking for fun but for something else. The way his fingers gripped the glass just a little too tight, the way he avoided eye contact when he tilted it back—it wasn’t just casual drinking anymore. Stanley didn’t like it. But before he could say anything, the game was already moving forward. Luna, always the one to take charge of social disasters, clapped her hands together.

— Alright, let’s get started. Truth or Dare, who’s first?

Carlos, smug as ever, chose truth. All eyes landed on him. Maya raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with a knowing smirk.

— Alright, Carlos, tell us who you actually like. You’ve been flirting with Luna all night, and we all see it.

A wave of laughter erupted as Carlos groaned, rubbing a hand down his face.

— Man, come on, that’s not even a real question.

— You can take the shot if you’re too chicken to answer, — Charlotte teased, tapping the bottle.

Carlos hesitated, eyes darting toward Luna, then exhaled sharply.

— Fine, fine, yeah, whatever, okay? I do like Luna. Who doesn’t? Happy now?

A chorus of “Ooooohs” filled the room as Luna mock-gasped, placing a dramatic hand on her chest.

— Wow, Carlos, I had no idea, — she said, biting back a grin.

Carlos rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched up as he threw back another shot, his ego somewhat bruised but still intact. Next up was Brody, who struggled to pick between truth and dare before finally giving in.

— Dare, but if it’s some embarrassing shit, I swear—

— Dance to whatever song is playing right now, — Charlotte interrupted, grinning like she had been waiting for this moment.

Brody groaned, slouching back.

— Of course you’d say that.

— A dare’s a dare, man, — Maya shrugged. — Unless you wanna take a shot.

Brody sighed dramatically but stood up anyway. The current song—some bass-heavy pop track—blasted through the speakers, and with obvious reluctance, he started moving. At first, his movements were stiff, but as the group cheered and clapped along, he gave in, throwing in an exaggerated spin that had everyone howling.

— Alright, alright, I did it! — he laughed, flopping back onto the couch. — I better not see any of y’all posting that.

As the group kept laughing, Stanley’s attention snapped back to Xeno. His drink was almost empty again. Xeno wasn’t playing along, wasn’t laughing at Brody’s dumb dance moves. He just kept drinking, his hand steady, his expression unreadable.

Stanley nudged him lightly with his foot under the table.

— If you drink so much, you are gonna get wasted too quickly, — he muttered, low enough that only Xeno could hear.

Xeno flicked his eyes toward him, and for a split second, Stanley saw something he didn’t like. Something raw, something heavy. But then Xeno just smirked like always and leaned back.

— I am perfectly fine, mom, — he said, tipping his glass in mock cheers before downing another sip.

Next up was Xeno. He grinned, clearly feeling the alcohol buzzing through his veins, making everything seem just a little funnier, a little lighter. His usual sharp edges dulled by the warmth spreading through his chest.

— What’s it gonna be? — Maya asked, eyes glinting with mischief.

Xeno tilted his head, pretending to consider it, but in reality, he already knew the answer.

— Dare, obviously.

A collective "ooooh" rippled through the group. Maya smirked, leaning in like she was about to drop something devious.

— Alright, since you’re feeling brave… give someone in this room a dramatic love confession. And I mean dramatic—like you’re on stage, in front of a thousand people, pouring your heart out. No holding back.

The room erupted in laughter and teasing whistles, and Xeno ran a hand through his hair, chuckling under his breath.

— Oh, you’re evil, — he muttered, shaking his head.

Then, without hesitation, he grabbed another shot off the table and downed it in one go, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The liquor burned down his throat, but it made the moment even funnier, even easier to roll with. He stood up, wobbling just slightly, and spread his arms like he was a Shakespearean actor taking center stage.

— My dearest audience, — he began, voice rich with fake passion. — I stand before you tonight with a confession that has weighed heavily on my heart…

People were already laughing, some clapping like they were at an actual performance. Xeno turned dramatically, eyes scanning the room before settling on the most obvious choice.

— My love… my devotion… my entire soul belongs to…

A pause. A devilish grin.

— Stanley.

Laughter exploded in the room. Stanley felt his stomach drop, his breath catch in his throat as every single person turned to look at him. The warmth that had been pooling in his chest twisted into something overwhelming, something he wasn’t sure he knew how to handle. Xeno, oblivious to Stanley’s internal panic, pressed a hand to his heart, taking a step closer to him, fully committing to the bit.

— Oh, Stanley, my sweet, sweet Stanley, — he continued, voice thick with fake longing. — You are the moon to my night, the fire to my soul, the reason I wake up every morning.

The laughter around them grew louder, and Stanley could barely process anything past the rush of blood to his ears. His body tensed. His hands clenched into fists against his thighs. His heart was pounding, but it wasn’t from embarrassment—not entirely, at least. It was something else. Something deeper.

He tried to force a scoff, to roll his eyes like this was just another one of Xeno’s stupid antics, but his throat felt tight, and his body refused to play along. Instead, all he could do was look at Xeno—who, even through his exaggerated performance, had this look in his eyes that made everything worse. Xeno, still tipsy and caught up in the moment, wasn’t paying attention to the way Stanley was reacting. He was having fun now. The alcohol had loosened something in him, made everything a little shinier, a little easier. He was laughing along with the crowd, enjoying the ridiculousness of it all, completely unaware of how deep the moment had cut into Stanley.

From the corner of the room, Charlotte and Carlos exchanged a glance, whispering to each other with amused smirks on their faces. Stanley didn’t hear what they said, but he knew exactly what it was about. He could feel it. The way they were watching him, watching them.

His stomach twisted.

The confession was supposed to be a joke, but suddenly, it felt like something much bigger than that.
He needed this moment to end. Before he could think it through, he grabbed Xeno’s wrist and yanked him down to sit next to him on the couch, his grip a little tighter than necessary.

— Next time, — he muttered under his breath, voice low and tense, — pick truth.

Xeno blinked at him, still grinning, but now slightly out of breath. His cheeks were flushed, eyes a little glassy. He leaned in a little too close, his breath carrying the scent of alcohol and laughter.

— Awww, did I make you blush, sweetheart? — he teased, nudging Stanley’s shoulder.

Stanley shoved him lightly, rolling his eyes.

— Shut up.

Xeno snickered and took another long sip of whatever was left in his glass. He could feel the alcohol settling in now, making his limbs feel lighter, his thoughts slower. The game moved on, people refocusing on the next person, but Stanley could still feel the weight of what just happened lingering between them. And when he glanced at Xeno again, watching the way he was drinking—he felt something else creeping in. A quiet kind of worry.

Now it was Maya’s turn. Maya hesitated for a moment, then sighed and nodded.

— Truth.

Brody smirked, leaning forward with interest.

— If you had to kiss someone in this room, who would it be?

The group went quiet, everyone watching her expectantly. Maya blinked, lips parting just slightly in thought, before finally answering with a small smirk.

— Hm… I think I’d choose Charlotte.

Laughter erupted around them, whistles and teasing remarks filling the air. Charlotte raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard but playing along.

— Well, damn, Maya, didn’t think you had it in you, — she said, raising her glass before knocking back a shot.

Still riding the energy, Charlotte picked dare next. Luna, already grinning like she had something planned, tapped her fingers against her knee before suggesting:

— Confess your love. But not to someone here—confess it to yourself. Like, look in the mirror and say the most dramatic, heartfelt shit you can.

Charlotte rolled her eyes but stood up anyway, making her way to the mirror in the corner of the room. With a dramatic flick of her hair, she placed a hand on her chest and said in an exaggeratedly passionate voice:

— Charlotte, I love you. You’re stunning, brilliant, and absolutely deserving of the best. You will be happy, and you deserve it!

Everyone clapped and cheered, making the moment even funnier. Charlotte, still smirking, took another shot, clearly unbothered.

The mood in the room had shifted—lighter, looser, filled with excitement and a growing recklessness fuelled by alcohol. Maya, riding the wave, turned to Stanley with a playful gleam in her eyes.

— Alright, your turn.

Stanley, who had been enjoying the chaos from a distance, suddenly felt every pair of eyes land on him. He straightened up, rolling his shoulders, already knowing there was no way out.

— Truth or dare? — Luna asked, her voice full of anticipation.

Stanley debated for a second before deciding he wasn’t about to let them dig into his personal life tonight.

— Dare.

Carlos’ smirk widened as if he had been waiting for this moment.

— Perfect, — he drawled. — You’ve gotta walk across the room in Charlotte’s heels. Ten steps, minimum. Fail, and you drink.

Charlotte let out an amused laugh, kicking off her heels and nudging them toward Stanley.

— Good luck, Snyder, you’re gonna need it.

Stanley hesitated, eyeing the heels like they might bite him, but he wasn’t about to back down. He grabbed them, slipping his feet in awkwardly before carefully standing up. The moment he straightened, he wobbled slightly, cursing under his breath as the group burst into laughter.

— This is such bullshit, — he muttered, but he took a deep breath and started walking.

The first few steps were unsteady, and he could hear the barely contained laughter from everyone around him. But as he moved, something shifted—his steps became more confident, more controlled. He adjusted his balance, shoulders straightening, movements turning smooth, almost graceful. By the time he hit the tenth step, the laughter had turned into something else—something more impressed, more interested.

Stanley exhaled, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips as he turned to face them.

— Told you I’d pull it off.

Xeno had been watching the whole time, leaning forward slightly, a drink in his hand. And he hadn’t just been watching—he had been staring. There was something hypnotizing about the way Stanley moved, something effortless and sharp all at once. Xeno didn’t even realize how much he had been drinking until his vision blurred slightly when he blinked.

And before he could stop himself, the words slipped out—his voice low, a little too loose from the alcohol, but completely honest.

— You’re… really elegant.

Stanley froze.

For a moment, it felt like the entire room fell away. The words settled between them, heavier than they should have been, curling around Stanley’s chest and squeezing. His breath hitched, and heat rushed to his face before he could control it.

Xeno, completely unaware of the effect his words had, just smirked lazily, taking another sip from his drink.

— I mean, seriously, you should wear them more often, — he continued, his voice a little slower now, a little rougher. — You’ve got the whole runway model thing going on.

Stanley scoffed, shaking his head like he could brush off the way those words made something tighten in his stomach.

— Shut up, you’re drunk, — he muttered, stepping out of the heels and tossing them back to Charlotte.

Xeno chuckled, but his eyes lingered on Stanley just a little too long before he finally turned away, downing the rest of his drink. Stanley sat back down next to him, heart still hammering in his chest. He barely heard the next dare being called, barely registered the way the game continued around them.
Because all he could think about was how Xeno’s voice had sounded when he said those words.

The room was thick with lazy drunkenness. The floor was littered with scattered pillows, empty beer cans and vodka bottles, and jackets tossed carelessly about. Music played in the background—broken chords that no one really listened to—and the light from the lamp seemed dimmed, like it had gotten just as drunk as everyone else.

— So, — someone’s voice cut through the chaotic laughter. — Since we’re all in such a state… how about a spin the bottle game?

— Ah, the classics, — Carlos grinned, already leaning back, intrigued. — How do we play?

— One person picks where to kiss, another spins the bottle, and whoever it points to has to kiss the one who spun it, — they explained to him.

— Alright, let’s do this, — Carlos smirked, eager for the madness to unfold.

He looked at the one who had suggested the game, waiting for the task to be given.

— On the foot, — came the voice, sharp and amused.

— Seriously? — Carlos rolled his eyes but grabbed the bottle anyway and gave it a spin.

The glass spun, glinting in the dim light, and then stopped, pointing straight at Brody.

— Well, shit, — Carlos groaned, eyeing him like a judge about to pass sentence.

Brody smirked, stretching his leg forward, wiggling his toes.

— Come on, Carlito, you got this.

Carlos let out an irritated sigh but, being a man of his word, leaned down, glanced at Brody’s heel, and quickly planted a kiss right on it.

— Ugh, gross, — he muttered, pulling away and wiping his lips. — I feel insulted on a deep, existential level.

— Oh, stop being dramatic, it was cute, — Brody laughed, snatching the bottle back. — Alright, my turn…

Carlos paused for a second, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

— Only because you’re my friend, on the cheek.

Brody spun the bottle, watching as it twirled, the tension rising in the room. This time, it landed on Maya.

— Well, at least something normal, — he grumbled, leaning forward slowly. His lips brushed against her cheek—a brief, almost weightless kiss.

As the bottle clinked to a halt, the room seemed to quiet for just a moment. Xeno, lounging nearby, rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide a smile.

— Man, seriously, who even comes up with this stuff? — he snorted, pulling himself up from his spot on the couch, clearly amused. His gaze flickered from Carlos to Brody and then landed on Maya, who was still pretending to look indifferent, but everyone could see the slight blush creeping up her neck.

— Oh, I see how it is, — Carlos shot a teasing grin at Xeno, who was trying his best to keep a straight face. — You’re just waiting for your turn to be all suave, huh?

Xeno gave him a look that could have melted ice.

— Yeah, sure, because that’s what this is all about. I'm just here for the fun, not like you guys, making a competition out of everything.

Brody rolled his eyes, clearly not caring about Xeno’s jab. He took a swig from his beer and looked back at the bottle.

— Anyway, what’s next, guys? Gonna spin it again, or is someone too scared to face the consequences?

Maya lazily smiled and reached for the bottle.

— I’ll give you a regular kiss, — Dudley said thoughtfully, as if considering her options.

She spun the bottle, and a second later, the glass came to a stop, pointing right at Charlotte. Charlotte raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, only giving Maya a waiting look.

For a brief moment, Maya paused, as if giving Charlotte a chance to change her mind, but Charlotte didn’t budge. Then Maya slowly leaned forward, her hands pressing against the floor, and their lips met—a soft but confident kiss, lingering just a little longer than necessary for politeness.

As they pulled away, someone from the group whistled approvingly.

— Now the party’s really started, — came a voice, and the bottle began to spin again.

The game continued, gaining momentum with each turn of the bottle. Laughter grew louder, some people had already leaned back on the pillows, sipping from bottles, while others exchanged glances, evaluating the possible combinations that fate—or, to be honest, their own clumsy spins—might throw at them.

— Alright, let’s keep this going, — Brody said, taking the lead. — So, you… — he pointed at the guy in glasses, who was already squinting suspiciously. — You kiss Xeno on the hand.

— Oh, a hand kiss? — Xeno smirked, extending his hand dramatically.

Stanley, who had been lazily watching the whole thing up to this point, suddenly felt a strange, uncomfortable tightening inside. It was stupid, just a dumb game, but he suddenly realized he didn’t want anyone else touching Xeno.

He tried to push the feeling away, but it was hard to ignore. He watched as the guy with glasses hesitated, looking at Xeno’s outstretched hand, and for some reason, Stanley felt a weird surge of jealousy flood his chest. It didn’t make sense—why did it bother him so much? It was just a game, after all.

Xeno, ever the showman, wiggled his fingers like he was inviting the kiss, his smirk growing wider.

— Come on, don’t be shy. It’s just a hand, — Xeno teased, clearly enjoying the situation.

The guy in glasses, still uncertain, leaned forward, brushing his lips lightly against Xeno’s hand, his gaze flickering to Stanley for a second, as if he could feel the tension in the air. Xeno didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he was just too amused to care.

Stanley ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the weird feeling. It was just the game. That was all.

— Okay, let’s keep the madness going, — Brody called out, sensing Stanley’s discomfort but choosing to ignore it.

— Alright, enough, — Carlos waved his hand dismissively. — Your turn, Xeno.

Xeno grabbed the bottle, but just before he could spin it, he heard the new challenge.

— And you… — Carlos paused dramatically. — You give the next player a French kiss.

The room immediately erupted into loud chaos.

— WHAT?! — Luna shouted, clutching Charlotte.

— No, no, please not me… — Charlotte mumbled, as if hoping her desperate plea could change the odds.

— Whoever the bottle points to is cursed, — Carlos smirked, folding his arms.

But the moment Xeno spun the bottle, Stanley suddenly caught himself thinking something completely absurd.

“I don’t want it to land on anyone here. I don’t want him kissing anyone else.”

“What if it lands on me?”

The alcohol was blurring the lines between desires and reality, and as the glass spun, Stanley could feel a strange, silly, warm anticipation growing inside him. It was like a whisper in his head:

"Spin, bottle, spin... I want it to be me. Point to me."

He didn’t even want to figure out where this desire came from—whether it was from the drunkenness, or from all the teasing words and gestures from Xeno that he had gotten used to. But he could feel it clearly.

"It has to be me."

The bottle slowed down, and everyone in the room held their breath. Stanley didn’t take his eyes off it. It seemed to spin so painfully slowly, as if dragging out the moment, as if playing with him just like alcohol was, blurring the boundaries of what was allowed and turning coincidence into fate.

"Come on, come on... Please, show me."

He could feel something tightening in his chest, as the anticipation coiled into a tight knot right in his throat. He didn’t even know what he wanted more—whether for the bottle to really land on him, or to spin past him, leaving the tension hanging in the air, unresolved. Because if it landed on him… If it landed on him, everything would change.

Somewhere off to the side, someone laughed loudly, another person exhaled quietly, but Stanley didn’t hear anything except the rhythmic tap of the bottle on the wooden floor. His heart beat in sync with it. Maya, watching her friend, smiled sweetly, already sensing what was going through his mind. Almost without thinking, her hand moved slightly, as if nudging the bottle a little harder.

The bottle slowed down… just a little more… a little more… And then it stopped.

On him.

For a split second, the world held its breath. Stanley’s pulse raced as his gaze locked on the bottle, heart hammering in his chest. His hands were clammy, his thoughts spinning, but at that moment, it didn’t matter. All he could feel was the electricity in the air, the weight of what was about to happen.

The room fell into a sharp, ringing silence.

— …Oh, fuck me, — Brody breathed out, his eyes wide in shock.

— Ooooh, — Carlos dragged out, like he’d just won the lottery, even though the stakes clearly didn’t involve him.

Luna and Charlotte clung to each other in sync, clearly unsure whether they were more horrified or in shock at the scene unfolding before them.

And Xeno… Xeno, who had clearly had drunk too much, silently stared at Stanley, then smirked.

— Well, looks like you’re lucky, — Xeno said, his voice low and almost amused.

Stanley felt everything inside him twist.

Lucky?

He didn’t know what the right expression was supposed to be. He didn’t know what he was supposed to feel. Everything in his head was blending into one sticky, alcohol-fueled mess. But one thing was clear: he needed to say something.

— …Well, rules are rules.

His voice came out steady, even a little mocking, but inside, everything was trembling. Xeno raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for some kind of reaction, but Stanley didn’t give him that. He didn’t give anyone anything. He just clenched his fist and waited for Xeno to move closer.

Stanley tried to breathe evenly, but he couldn’t. His chest felt like it had been squeezed, like he’d been thrown into ice-cold water. Everything was happening slowly, unnaturally stretched out, like his mind was refusing to process the reality around him. Xeno leaned in slowly, and now there was barely any space between them. Enough for Stanley to catch the scent of his skin—warm, mixed with alcohol and a subtle, sharp note of his cologne.

"Shit."

Xeno’s lips were so close. Stanley could feel the heat of his breath against his face, and it made his head spin. He couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. Everything inside him froze in tense expectation, his heart pounding against his ribs with some kind of frantic force.

"It’s just a game."

"Just a fucking game."

Xeno smirked a little. He was dragging this out, almost like he was teasing, or maybe just making sure Stanley wouldn’t pull away at the last second.

— Ready? — his voice was almost lazy, but his gaze was too intense, and his words came out far too drunk.

Stanley didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He just stared. Then Xeno kissed him.

But it wasn’t just a kiss. Xeno’s lips brushed gently against his, slow and careful, almost hesitant, and before Stanley could even process what was happening, Xeno’s tongue slipped inside, tasting him. Stanley shuddered, but didn’t pull away. Instead, it was like he was being drawn in closer, not knowing if he wanted this, or if he simply couldn’t stop himself. Xeno’s warm fingers slid over his jaw, tilting his head just enough to deepen the kiss. It was too close, too sensual, too damn real. There was no game anymore. No teasing. No sarcasm.

Stanley felt his pulse race as the kiss deepened, the world outside them disappearing entirely. Xeno’s presence was overwhelming, his warmth, his taste, everything about him flooding Stanley’s senses. Every touch sent a shockwave through him, making his whole body ache with tension. He didn’t know how to process it. Was this real? Was this what he really wanted? Or was it just the alcohol, playing tricks on his mind, making it all feel too vivid, too immediate?

But Xeno wasn’t stopping. He didn’t pull away. He held Stanley in the kiss, firm but gentle, like he was marking something, claiming it. And Stanley, in the grip of something too powerful to fight, let him. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know how to make sense of it. But right then, there was only Xeno and the feeling that this was something deeper than either of them had anticipated. Somewhere in the distance, someone gasped sharply.

— No fucking way, — Carlos exhaled, his voice full of disbelief.

— What the… — Luna covered her mouth with her hand, clearly stunned.

Charlotte looked like she desperately needed a new glass of wine. But Stanley heard them as if they were underwater. All that existed in the world right now was the warmth, the taste, the breath of another person mixed with his own. His lips moved slightly in response, and he felt Xeno’s fingers tighten around his skin. A strange, terrifying pull of fear bloomed in his chest—the fear that he wanted this too much.

When Xeno finally pulled away, his gaze was half-lidded, and there was a trace of lipstick on his lips, along with a barely noticeable smirk.

— Well, now you can definitely say you’re mine, — Xeno teased, his voice a little hoarse.

Stanley couldn’t respond right away.

Because his fingers were shaking.

Because his heart was pounding like it was trying to escape.

Because, fuck, he realized he had fallen hard.

Chapter Text

The party was still going strong. Music blasted from the speakers, laughter mixed with loud conversations, and bottles clinked against the table as someone poured another round. Everyone was having a great time—everyone except Stanley. He sat in the corner, gripping a water bottle, but he wasn’t hearing the music or the chatter. Everything around him blurred into background noise, because something way more important was happening inside him.

After the game of spin the bottle, it was like he sobered up in an instant.

After that kiss, he knew.

It hit him like a lightning bolt—sudden, undeniable, impossible to ignore.

He was in love.

The realization crashed into him, overwhelming, too big to handle. His chest felt tight, like something inside was desperate to get out, but he had no idea what to do with it.

Xeno. Fucking Xeno.

Stanley replayed the moment over and over, trying to figure out what the hell was going to happen now. But as he snapped back to reality, he noticed something—Xeno was gone. His eyes darted around the room, searching. Then, he spotted him. In the kitchen. A small crowd had gathered—Maya and a few others, all hyped up, chanting:

— Chug! Chug! Chug!

And Xeno... was drinking. Straight from the bottle, downing it like his life depended on finishing every drop. Something twisted hard in Stanley’s stomach. Everything else in the room faded into nothing. He got up so fast his chair scraped against the floor. Pushing through the crowd, he reached the kitchen and grabbed Xeno’s wrist.

— Hey, — his voice came out sharp, filled with tension. — You’re gonna feel like shit if you keep going.

Xeno turned to him, and his eyes were glazed, unfocused—but behind the drunken haze, there was something reckless. Something defiant.

— Buuuut, Staaaaanleeeey… — Xeno slurred, and before Stanley could react, he collapsed against him, his entire weight pressing into Stanley’s chest. The scent of alcohol, leather, and something that was just Xeno filled his senses. — Just a little mooore…

Stanley barely managed to steady him, gripping his waist to keep him from sliding straight to the floor.

— Bro, Xeno literally outdrank all of us! — Maya laughed, slapping his shoulder. — Respect!

Stanley wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t even hearing them anymore. His entire focus was on the person leaning into him, half-conscious, mumbling something incoherent.

"Fuck, Xeno, you have no idea what you're doing to me."

— That’s enough, — Stanley said firmly, tightening his grip on Xeno’s shoulders. — You’re coming with me.

Xeno mumbled something but didn’t resist. And that was when Stanley knew—he was screwed. So completely, hopelessly screwed. He adjusted his hold, keeping Xeno steady, feeling just how fragile he was like this. Vulnerable. And somehow, Stanley was the one he was leaning on. The only one. Pushing past the noise, the laughter, the chaos of the party, Stanley had one thought: Get Xeno home. Make sure he’s okay. When they reached Maya, she was still chatting with a few others, but when she saw them, she raised a brow.

— I’m leaving, — Stanley told her, not bothering to explain. — Taking him with me. He’s... — He hesitated, glancing down at Xeno, who was barely standing. — He’s had too much.

Maya tilted her head, her voice laced with amusement.

— Aww, Stanley, leaving already? That’s a shame, the party was just getting fun.

She smiled, but then something flickered in her expression—like she was holding something back. She wanted to say something. She should have said something. But instead, she hesitated, biting her lip.

— If this is about the spin the bottle thing… — Stanley started, misreading her silence, — save it for later. I’m out.

Maya blinked, then her voice came out a little softer, almost uncertain.

— Yeah… okay. See ya, then.

And in her eyes, there was something off. Something almost like guilt. But Stanley didn’t stop to figure it out. He gave her a quick nod and turned for the door, supporting Xeno as they stepped outside.

— You’re my hero, Stan, — Xeno slurred, resting his head against Stanley’s shoulder. His breath was warm, his words slow and heavy. — Saaaaaving me… again.

"Jesus Christ." Stanley swallowed, his heartbeat hammering way too fast.

The night air hit them like a slap, crisp and cold against their flushed skin. Xeno let out a quiet snort.

— Damn, it’s cold as hell out here…

Stanley didn’t reply. He just pulled Xeno a little closer, steadying him. Trying to ignore the way his own pulse was completely losing its mind.

When Stanley and Xeno left, it was like the whole room shifted. The laughter, the conversations, even the music—all of it suddenly felt a little quieter, like someone had turned the volume down for just a second. But the silence didn’t last. In the corner, away from the main crowd, whispers had already started. Three people. Three voices. And one topic.

— Did you see how Stanley just dragged him out like that? — Charlotte rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. — Like Xeno’s his damn boyfriend or something. That’s not normal. I mean, the spin-the-bottle thing was one thing, but now they’re running off together like they’re about to make out in some dark alley.

— Yeah, definitely more than just ‘friends,’ — Carlos scoffed, twirling a plastic cup in his fingers, his voice dripping with disgust. — Who would’ve thought Stanley of all people would end up being one of them?

Luna stood a little off to the side, jaw clenched, fingers curled so tightly around her drink that her knuckles turned white. She wasn’t laughing. She wasn’t smirking. Her gaze was locked on the door they’d disappeared through, her face flushed—not from embarrassment, but from pure frustration.

— I can’t believe that idiot Xeno already got his hands on Stan, — she sneered, lips curling in disgust. — Stanley… He’s not like that. He’s not the type to just ignore girls.

Her nails dug into her palm, the sting barely enough to pull her out of her spiraling thoughts.

— And that little… thing with his stupid confidence, — she continued, her voice sharpening like a blade. — What does he even have to be confident about? He’s a freak. A rich, arrogant freak. And now he’s probably out there, holding Stan’s hand, batting his pathetic lashes at him, trying to lure him into bed.

She took a deep gulp of her drink, but instead of calming her down, the alcohol only fueled the fire inside her.

— God, it pisses me off.

Carlos chuckled, shaking his head.

— Damn, Luna, you’re really worked up over this. But yeah, I get it. Xeno’s so desperate for attention, he’ll take whatever he can get. Even if it means turning Stanley Snyder into his next project.

Leaning back against the wall, he casually scanned the room, making sure no one else was eavesdropping before lowering his voice.

— And seriously, who the hell does that in front of everyone? He clearly doesn’t care what people think. Maybe he’s just collecting guys like trophies now.

Charlotte let out a mean little laugh.

— Are you saying Stanley’s just another notch on his belt?

Carlos smirked.

— I mean, did you see the way he kissed him? That wasn’t a first-time move. He’s been practicing on someone.

Charlotte shook her head in fake disappointment, her gaze flickering toward the door.

— This whole thing feels like some dumb teenage love story. But with them? It’s… weird. Xeno’s always hanging around Stanley, and Stanley… just lets him. Like he forgets the rest of us even exist.

She paused, then scoffed, flipping her hair.

— And the worst part? He doesn’t even notice how many girls would love to be with him.

The words barely left her lips before Luna snapped her head toward her, eyes flashing with irritation.

— That’s exactly what pisses me off.

She slammed her cup down on the table so hard that the liquid sloshed over the rim. Carlos and Charlotte exchanged glances.

— Chill, Luna, it’s not that deep, — Carlos shrugged. — You do realize this isn’t gonna last, right? Xeno’s the type that gets boring real fast.

— Yeah, but until Stan realizes that, he’s just ruining everything, — Luna muttered through gritted teeth.

Her gaze flicked back to the door, like she was waiting for it to swing open, for Stanley to come back—alone. But the door stayed shut. The music pulsed on. The party raged. But for these three, the night had taken on a different tone—a quieter, more bitter one. Because what they didn’t know was that, somewhere outside, under the dim glow of streetlights, Xeno was laughing drunkenly, leaning heavily against Stanley’s shoulder.

What they didn’t know was that, in this moment, nothing else mattered to either of them.

Not the rumors.

Not the whispers.

Not the people left behind.

The night had wrapped the city in a heavy blanket of silence, broken only by the occasional flicker of streetlights casting long, distorted shadows across the pavement. The air was crisp, biting, but to Stanley, everything around him felt hazy, like he was walking through a dream he couldn’t quite wake up from. He kept a steady grip on Xeno’s shoulder, making sure he didn’t stumble too hard, didn’t veer too far into the empty streets. Xeno swayed, occasionally bumping into buildings, his movements loose and careless, but his expression was anything but tired. If anything, he looked alive, buzzing with something electric, eyes gleaming with that signature mischief that always set him apart from everyone else.

Stanley, on the other hand, had gone completely quiet. His head was a mess.

The kiss.

He could still feel it—hot, reckless, completely unexpected. It had hit him like a spark to dry wood, sudden and consuming, leaving nothing but smoldering embers in its wake. He couldn’t push it out of his mind, couldn’t shake the way everything inside him had flipped upside down in that one instant. How, for a second, the world had shrunk down to just one person.

Xeno.

His gaze flickered to him.

Xeno was still unsteady, still radiating that careless confidence that came with being completely wasted. He didn’t even seem to realize just how drunk he was, talking non-stop, his words tumbling out too fast, too loud.

— Stanley! — Xeno suddenly threw his hands up, grinning so wide it almost looked like he’d won something. — Did you see how much I drank?!

Stanley flinched at the sudden outburst.

— What?

Xeno spun toward him, grinning like a madman, his entire face lit up with excitement.

— Dude, you wouldn’t believe it! I downed the whole thing in one go! — He flung his arms out for emphasis and immediately lost balance, stumbling forward.

Stanley caught him by the arm, exhaling sharply.

— Watch it, idiot, — he muttered, steadying him. — Do you even realize how much you spilled on yourself?

— Oh, who cares? I’m totally fine, see? — Xeno puffed out his chest dramatically, slapping a hand against it like some kind of drunken war hero.

Stanley just shook his head, half-annoyed, half-something else. Because Xeno looked… happy. Genuinely, stupidly, freely happy. Like, for once, he wasn’t trying to be sharp-edged and unreadable. Like, for just tonight, he wasn’t carrying whatever the hell it was he always carried.

And that was weird.

Weird, because Stanley had never seen him like this before. Weird, because he wasn’t just looking at him anymore—he was watching him. Taking in every detail. How his lips parted slightly between words, how the streetlights reflected in his dark eyes. How his breath was uneven from laughter, and how, even wasted, he still carried that frustrating, magnetic energy that made it impossible to look away.

— Why are you staring? — Xeno’s voice cut through the moment, his head tilting to the side, curiosity flickering across his face.

Stanley’s breath caught for a second before he quickly looked away, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.

— I’m not.

Xeno snorted, stepping closer, completely ignoring the personal space Stanley definitely needed right now.

— Liar, — he sing-songed, his grin turning sly.

Stanley’s jaw tensed. This is fine. He’s just drunk. It’s nothing.

But then Xeno leaned in.

Close.

Too close.

The scent of alcohol was strong on him, but beneath that, there was Xeno—something sharp and warm, something Stanley never let himself think about for too long. His brain screamed at him to move, to push him away, to break whatever weird tension was building between them, but his feet stayed firmly planted where they were. Xeno grinned lazily, completely oblivious to the internal war Stanley was fighting.

— You’re looking at me like I just did a magic trick, — he murmured, voice slow, almost teasing. — What, never seen a drunk genius before?

Stanley exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to keep his cool.

— More like an idiot with a death wish, — he shot back, gripping Xeno’s wrist and dragging him forward. — Come on, let’s get you home before you faceplant into the sidewalk.

Xeno huffed but didn’t resist, letting Stanley half-guide, half-haul him down the street.

— You’re so boring when you’re sober, — he mumbled, resting more of his weight against Stanley like he was getting way too comfortable with being held up. — Maybe you should drink with me next time.

Stanley absolutely did not shiver at the way his voice dipped slightly at the end.

— Maybe you should stop acting like a dumbass, — he muttered instead.

Xeno just laughed, low and amused, like he knew something Stanley didn’t. They kept walking, but Xeno’s pace slowed. The wild energy that had carried him through the night was fading, replaced by something quieter, something almost contemplative.

— Stanny… — his voice broke the silence after a long pause.

Stanley glanced at him, instantly on edge.

— Yeah?

Xeno hesitated for a moment, then tilted his head slightly, studying him with an unreadable expression.

— Do you… remember what happened during the bottle game?

Stanley’s heart slammed so hard against his ribs that for a second, he thought it might be audible in the empty street. He swallowed, heat rushing through his body, setting his nerves on fire.

Of course, he remembered.

Every second.

Every movement.

Every touch.

— I remember, — his voice came out lower than usual.

Xeno stopped walking, turning fully to face him. There was no smirk this time, but it wasn’t full seriousness either—just… something else. Something curious, searching, like he was looking for an answer on Stanley’s face.

— I’ve been thinking… — he said slowly, scratching the back of his neck.

His voice was drowsy, soft, like he was piecing his thoughts together as he spoke. He took a small step closer.

— Maybe you should… kiss me now?

Stanley froze.

For a moment, everything stopped.

The city disappeared.

The night sounds faded.

It was just them.

Xeno stood too close, his presence impossible to ignore. That glint in his eyes, flickering somewhere between a dare and an invitation, made Stanley’s breath catch. His lips were slightly parted, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. His eyelashes flickered, and there it was—that hesitation, that strange mix of confidence and uncertainty that made Stanley’s head spin. He was waiting.

Stanley’s heart was beating way too fast. His hands felt cold. His entire body felt like it wasn’t his anymore. His thoughts tangled, his brain trying to make sense of it, trying to rationalize, but every instinct screamed at him that this moment was real, undeniable.

Xeno was looking at him like he was expecting something. Wanting something. But Stanley wasn’t sure how much of this was real and how much was just the alcohol talking. Because Xeno was drunk. Because tomorrow, he might not even remember. Because this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.

— Xeno… you’re wasted, — Stanley’s voice came out rough, strained. Too much. Too full of something he couldn’t name. — You won’t even remember this tomorrow.

Xeno shook his head, his lips parting slightly like he was about to argue, but instead, he just took another step closer.

— Then kiss me hard enough that I won’t remember anything else, — his voice was low, almost pleading, but there was an edge to it, something desperate, something that made Stanley’s stomach drop. — Make me forget everything.

It wasn’t just a request. It was a need. There was something wild in Xeno’s eyes, something raw and exposed, something so unguarded that it terrified Stanley. He wasn’t supposed to do this. He knew that.

But Xeno was standing there, under the dim glow of a streetlight, his lips slightly trembling, his half-lidded eyes locked onto Stanley like he was the only thing keeping him grounded. And Stanley realized: he was done for. The decision snapped inside him like a rubber band stretched too far. He grabbed Xeno’s shoulders, shoving him back against the cold metal pole of the streetlamp. Xeno didn’t resist. Instead, he smirked, tilting his head slightly, that teasing glint back in his eyes, but there was something hesitant beneath it, something unspoken.

— So… you changed your mind? — Xeno’s voice was husky, but there was still that last bit of uncertainty hiding beneath the bravado.

It was a challenge. It was a test. And Stanley had no intention of failing.

He leaned in closer, feeling the heat radiating off Xeno’s body, clashing with the cold bite of the night air. His breath came hotter, shallower, his fingers tightening around Xeno’s shoulders, like he was trying to anchor himself before he lost all control.

And then he kissed him.

The world around them vanished. Nothing else mattered. No sound, no movement, no thoughts. Just this. Just them.

At first, it was soft, almost hesitant—like they were both testing the waters, feeling out the boundaries that were already beginning to blur. Stanley could taste the lingering burn of alcohol on Xeno’s lips, feel the slow drag of his breathing against his skin. It was careful. Slow. But beneath that restraint, there was something else. Something bigger. He wasn’t supposed to want this. But he did.

Xeno’s breath hitched as he melted into the kiss, his lips parting slightly, like he was silently asking for more. Stanley could feel it—the shift in energy, the way Xeno’s fingers twitched against his chest, the way he tilted his head just enough to let the kiss deepen. It wasn’t just some drunk impulse. This wasn’t a game. This was something raw, something real. And it hit Stanley like a tidal wave.

The second he realized Xeno wasn’t pulling away, something inside him snapped. His hand moved from Xeno’s shoulder to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair as he tugged him in harder. Their lips clashed, rougher, hotter, no longer careful—this was hunger. The kind that burned, the kind that swallowed you whole.

Xeno made a noise—something between a gasp and a groan—as he grabbed onto Stanley’s jacket, pulling him closer. His hands were shaking, but he didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate. His body pressed against Stanley’s, heat meeting heat, and suddenly it didn’t matter that they were standing in the middle of an empty street, beneath the flickering glow of a streetlamp.

Stanley could barely think. All he could focus on was the way Xeno’s lips felt under his, how impossibly soft they were, how they moved against him like they belonged there. His pulse was out of control, hammering in his ears, and when Xeno tilted his head just right, their mouths slotting together perfectly, Stanley lost it. He kissed him deeper, harder, pressing him back against the cold metal of the streetlamp, his other hand sliding down to grip his waist. Xeno let out a muffled breath, one of his hands moving up, fisting Stanley’s shirt, pulling him in so close their chests nearly fused together. He was warm. Too warm.

Stanley didn’t know how long it lasted—seconds? Minutes? All he knew was that when Xeno suddenly bit his lower lip, everything inside him burned. A low groan slipped from Stanley’s throat before he could stop it, his grip on Xeno’s waist tightening involuntarily. Xeno smirked against his mouth, like he knew exactly what he was doing, like he wanted to push Stanley past his breaking point. And maybe it worked. Because Stanley didn’t hold back anymore. His fingers slid beneath the hem of Xeno’s shirt, skimming across the bare skin of his lower back, burning hot despite the night air. Xeno’s breath caught, his whole body tensing for half a second before he melted against him, exhaling a quiet, shaky laugh into the kiss.

— Damn, Snyyyder… — his voice was wrecked, nothing but a breathless slur, but there was that usual cocky amusement laced through it. — Didn’t think you had it in you.

Stanley pulled back just enough to look at him, both of them panting, foreheads nearly touching. Xeno’s lips were kiss-bruised, red and slightly swollen, his pupils blown wide. His eyes were hazy, unfocused—but there was something there. Something almost… dazed. Stanley swallowed hard, his pulse still pounding, his entire body still buzzing with want. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Xeno licked his lips, exhaling another shaky breath, and then—smirked.

— Well, guess I’m definitely not remembering anything tomorrow, huh?

His voice was hoarse, teasing, but there was something else beneath it—something that Stanley couldn’t quite place.

His fingers twitched at his sides. His heart ached.

Because what if tomorrow Xeno really wouldn’t remember?

Xeno didn’t give Stanley a chance to respond—he just grabbed his hand and started dragging him down the road, laughing like nothing had happened. His steps were unsteady, but his grip was firm, warm, and for a second, Stanley couldn’t even think about pulling away.

Xeno kept talking, his words spilling out in a drunken haze, disorganized and chaotic, but something about them felt raw, too real—like he wasn’t filtering anything anymore. He kept looking at Stanley, his gaze darker than usual, but not in the way that usually meant trouble. There was something else there. Something soft. Something painfully genuine.

— You’re sooo good, Stan, — Xeno drawled, his voice rough like he’d been holding those words back for too long. He leaned in, so close that Stanley could feel the heat of his breath against his skin.
— You’re actually… — Xeno squinted a little, like he was searching for the right words. Like it actually mattered to him to say it right. — You’re so goddamn pretty. Do you even get that?

Stanley tensed.

— What?..

But Xeno didn’t let him say anything more.

— And also, — he continued, flashing a wide grin. Drunk, carefree, radiant. — You’re the best. I mean it. I feel so fucking good when I’m with you. Even when you’re just standing there, not even saying anything, it’s like— boom, everything just feels... right.

He fell silent for a moment, like he was debating whether to say something else. Then, out of nowhere, he laughed—a real, deep, unrestrained laugh that made Stanley’s chest ache in the worst way.

— I don’t even know how the hell I got so lucky that you put up with me.

Stanley swallowed hard, something inside him twisting. Xeno never talked like this. He always hid behind sarcasm, behind that effortless confidence, behind something that made him untouchable. But right now... right now, he wasn’t untouchable at all. He was right there.

— We’re almost home, — Stanley muttered, trying to focus on the road ahead, trying to act like his entire world wasn’t shifting beneath his feet.

But Xeno wasn’t done.

He stepped a little closer, his shoulder brushing against Stanley’s arm—casual, unthinking, but it sent a shiver racing down Stanley’s spine. That touch lingered. Maybe Xeno didn’t even notice. But Stanley did.

— Stan... — Xeno’s voice dropped, quieter now, almost warm.

He moved in just enough for their breaths to mix in the cold night air, his body swaying slightly.

— I’m so, so glad you’re here with me, — he murmured, and before Stanley could even process it—

Xeno kissed him.

Not on the lips. Just a quick, fleeting press of his lips against Stanley’s cheek.

But it destroyed him.

It was barely even a kiss. Just a light touch. A passing moment. It shouldn’t have meant anything.

But it did.

Stanley could still feel the warmth of it burning into his skin, like an imprint, like a brand, even as they kept walking. What the hell was that? His brain was a mess, his thoughts a whirlwind. Everything that had happened tonight suddenly felt small compared to that single, effortless kiss. He wanted to say something—anything—but before he could even open his mouth, Xeno clapped him on the shoulder like nothing had happened.

— Heeey, you good? You cold?

Like nothing had happened.

Like that kiss didn’t matter.

Like he was just... playing around.

Stanley sucked in a sharp breath, trying, failing to get his heartbeat back under control. His chest was still tight, still burning, still caught up in the shockwave of what just happened. He glanced at Xeno—that easy, carefree grin still on his face, like he hadn’t just shaken Stanley’s entire fucking world apart.
But in his eyes, there was something else. Something unreadable. Something Stanley could feel.

They kept walking, but the silence between them got heavier, pressing down like something unspoken, something that neither of them was ready to face. Stanley glanced at Xeno, knowing damn well that alcohol had a way of pulling the truth out of people. Maybe tonight, he'd hear things that Xeno would never say sober.

— So, how was the party? — Stanley finally asked, deciding that the best way to get the truth was to ask the right questions. — Fun? Or do you still hate everyone?

Xeno let out a short chuckle, turning away, rubbing his cheek so hard it left faint red marks.

— Oh yeah… — he dragged out the words with fake enthusiasm, but there was no real bite to it this time.

For a second, he hesitated, like something was clawing its way out of him, and then, quieter, almost like a confession, he muttered:

— Every single one of them.

But this time, he said it differently. And Stanley knew. Tonight, Xeno was going to say too much. And he wasn’t ready for it.

Stanley noticed the slight way Xeno slowed down—not just the sluggishness of being drunk, but something heavier, something exhausted. His voice wasn’t dripping with sarcasm, wasn’t sharp with mockery, wasn’t filled with that familiar fire of irritation. This was something worse.

— If I’m being honest… — Xeno furrowed his brows, eyes locked on the pavement, voice dropping lower, like it physically hurt to say this out loud. — I don’t even know how to explain it. I sit there, looking at people, listening to them talk, laugh, joke around, just live their dumb, meaningless little lives… and all I feel is worse.

His words were slow, like each one was too heavy to just throw out carelessly.

— Everything is so easy for them. So simple. They don’t have to pretend. They don’t have to be someone they’re not. They can be whoever the hell they want, and no one’s gonna call them… — his voice wavered, something breaking underneath it. Something real. — A freak. A mistake. A loser. A nerd. A nobody.

There was a rawness in his voice that made Stanley’s chest tighten. His hands curled into fists in his pockets. Anger bubbled inside him—not at Xeno, but at every person who ever made him feel this way. At a world that convinced him he wasn’t enough. Xeno let out a deep breath, his lips pressing together like he was holding something back.

— And then… — he stopped walking, his shoulders sinking slightly. — Then I start thinking… what if they’re right?

Stanley tensed.

— What if I really am just… a mistake?

The words hit like a goddamn blade straight to the chest.

Something inside Stanley cracked. Xeno’s words—spoken so plainly, so honestly—hit harder than he was ready for. He heard the pain in them. He felt how hard it was for Xeno to admit it. This wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. But Xeno believed it. Stanley looked at him and hated the world for making him feel this way.

Xeno took another step forward, but then—he just stopped. His breath hitched, like his body had suddenly forgotten how to move.

— They all laugh at me… — he murmured, and it wasn’t just a fact, it was a sentence. — But you… you never say shit like that, Stan.

Stanley couldn’t answer. His throat felt like it had closed up. Xeno lifted his gaze, and the way he looked at him—God, it hurt. Because Xeno expected this. Expected that one day, Stanley would turn away too. That one day, he’d call him a mistake, just like everyone else.

— But even you’ll leave, right? — Xeno whispered.

He tried to smirk, but it was so fucking pathetic that Stanley wanted to break something. Like even he didn’t believe what he was saying. Like he was just waiting for it to happen.

And in that moment, everything crumbled. The confidence. The sarcasm. The cool, untouchable mask. Everything Xeno had spent so long building just collapsed. And standing in front of him wasn’t the cocky, sharp-tongued Xeno. It was a boy who had convinced himself that no one would ever choose him.

Stanley didn’t know what to say. He could see Xeno’s fingers curling into fists, like he was trying to hold something in, but in the end, he just sighed. Like he was giving up. And there was something so painfully real about that breath, something too heavy, something that worried Stanley more than he wanted to admit.

He was used to Xeno being strong. Sarcastic. Untouchable.

But not this.

Never this.

The night pressed in around them, cold and quiet, the only sounds their footsteps against the pavement. Streetlights flickered above, casting long, stretching shadows, but Stanley barely noticed. His mind was tangled, caught somewhere between the weight of Xeno’s words and the ghost of his touch. Something about this moment felt irreversible, like they had crossed a line neither of them could come back from.

Xeno exhaled sharply, his breath curling in the frigid air. His steps slowed, his usual lazy confidence now replaced with something heavier, something raw.

— Maybe if you kiss me again, it’ll stop hurting.

Stanley’s breath hitched. The words were soft, almost uncertain, but they cut through him like a blade. Xeno’s gaze flickered to his lips, then back to his eyes, searching for something—permission, escape, anything to make this feeling go away. His fingers barely grazed Stanley’s wrist, so light it was almost like he was afraid to reach out fully, afraid of what might happen if he did. He stepped in, slower than before, with none of his usual bravado. There was no teasing smirk, no smugness, no game. Just a boy, exhausted from running, trying to disappear into something else.

Stanley could have stepped back. He should have. But he didn’t. Because Xeno leaned in, cautiously, almost carefully, and Stanley let him. The kiss wasn’t like before. It wasn’t fire, wasn’t heat, wasn’t something that sent his pulse hammering so hard it drowned out the rest of the world. It wasn’t something that made him lose his breath. It wasn’t something that made him forget himself.

It was something else. Something wrong. Because Xeno wasn’t kissing him. He was running away. Stanley felt it. The way Xeno clung to the fabric of his jacket too tightly, fingers curling in like he needed to hold on to something, anything. The way he pressed closer with a kind of desperation that wasn’t about wanting—it was about needing to drown something out. The way his lips trembled just slightly, like he was trying to convince himself this was working.

And that’s when Stanley knew.

This wasn’t right.

He wasn’t going to be another temporary fix.

His hands, which had instinctively gripped Xeno’s shoulders, stiffened before he forced himself to pull back. His breath came in short, sharp exhales, his chest tight with something he couldn’t quite name.

— Xeno… stop.

Xeno froze.

For just a second, something flashed across his face—something fragile, something broken, something that made Stanley’s chest ache with the sheer weight of it. But then, like clockwork, like muscle memory, like a reflex too deeply ingrained to fight, Xeno put his armor back on. The smirk came first, sharp and lazy, but his eyes didn’t quite match it. The laugh followed, light and dismissive, like none of this mattered, like he hadn’t just needed this.

— Tch. What, was it that bad?

Stanley clenched his jaw, hands still tight at his sides.

— That’s not… that’s not why.

Xeno shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets, looking anywhere but at him.

— Whatever.

Stanley hated this. Hated how quickly Xeno could build his walls back up, how effortlessly he could make it seem like none of this meant anything. Hated how good he was at pretending. But Stanley saw it. The way his fingers still trembled, just slightly. The way his shoulders hunched in, like he was bracing for something. The way his breath was just a little too uneven, as if he was still trying to convince himself he hadn’t just let something slip that he couldn’t take back.

— Xeno, let’s go inside, — Stanley said quietly, keeping his voice steady even though his insides were coiled with tension. — You’re exhausted. You need to rest. It’s gonna be okay. I’m not going anywhere.

He wasn’t sure if Xeno would even register the words in his current state, but he said them anyway. Said them because they were the truth.

When they finally made it inside, Xeno was barely keeping himself upright. His steps were slow, unsteady, and his body felt heavier with every passing second. He would've probably collapsed in the doorway if Stanley hadn’t been holding him up, guiding him toward the bedroom.

It felt strange—seeing Xeno like this. Vulnerable. Dependent. But Stanley didn’t hesitate. He just did what needed to be done.

He helped Xeno onto the bed, sitting him down carefully before reaching for his jacket. The guy was practically useless now, arms limp at his sides, his entire body sluggish like he was running on an empty battery. When Stanley started unzipping the jacket, Xeno barely reacted, only lazily lifting his arms to let him pull it off.

— Let’s get you changed, maybe you’ll feel a little better, — Stanley muttered, trying to keep his hands steady as he reached for Xeno’s shirt.

He shouldn’t be this nervous. This was just helping a friend. So why did it feel so different?

The second he pulled the shirt over Xeno’s head, his eyes flickered downward. Right below Xeno’s collarbone, spreading like a deep, ugly bruise, was a dark, purplish mark. Stanley’s stomach clenched, something sharp and cold twisting inside him. His entire body tensed, a dull throb starting behind his temples, and then, before he could stop himself, his voice came out harsher than intended.

— Xeno, where the hell did this come from?

Xeno blinked slowly, tilting his head to look at him, and—smirked. Smirked.

— Oh, that? — he mumbled, lazily shrugging. — Just fell. No big deal.

Stanley felt something crack inside him. Fell? Did he seriously expect him to believe that? The shape, the depth of it—it wasn’t from a fall. It was from a hit. Someone hit him. Stanley clenched his fists, jaw locking so hard it ached. Every muscle in his body was coiled tight, screaming at him to demand answers, to shake the truth out of him, to find out who the hell did this and break them in half.

But before he could say anything else, Xeno met his eyes. And Stanley stopped. Because his eyes—those usually sharp, vibrant eyes—looked… empty. There was no pain in them. No resentment. No frustration. Just—nothing.

Like he wasn’t even surprised. Like this was normal. Like he’d already accepted it a long time ago.

Stanley felt sick. His stomach twisted with something ugly, something helpless, something furious. But what made it worse—so much worse—was that Xeno just closed his eyes, getting another shirt on and inhaling deeply, as if he was trying to let himself disappear into the quiet.

Stanley wanted to say something—anything—but his throat tightened, and the words just wouldn’t come out.

The room was too warm, too quiet, thick with the scent of alcohol and something faintly, unmistakably Xeno. The soft glow of the bedside lamp stretched shadows across the bed, highlighting the curve of his shoulders, the way his body seemed too tense even as exhaustion weighed him down. The silence between them was suffocating, pressing in from all sides, thick and oppressive, as if the walls themselves could feel the pain buried inside Xeno, the kind of pain that had no words, no sound. And that was the scariest part.

Xeno’s jaw tightened as he turned away, his entire body curling in on itself like he was trying to keep something from slipping through the cracks. His shoulders hunched, his back curved inward, and for a second, it looked like the weight of everything he’d been carrying had just dropped on him all at once. He sat at the edge of the bed, stiff and distant, his fingers flexing over his wrist as if he was trying to ground himself, as if the pressure would keep his thoughts from spiralling. His gaze was locked on the floor, empty, searching for something that wasn’t there.

This wasn’t right. Xeno was never like this. Xeno was sharp edges, biting remarks, a constant fire that refused to be put out. He was the guy who always had a comeback, who never let anyone see the cracks. But right now… right now, he looked small. And that—that—was the worst part.

— You know… — Xeno’s voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper, like he wasn’t even speaking to him, like he was just throwing his words into the void and hoping they disappeared. He turned his head slightly, but his eyes remained distant, unfocused, staring at something that wasn’t there. — I’m so fucking alone. Here. In this house.

His fingers curled around his wrist, squeezing so tight that his knuckles turned white, the skin beneath his grip reddening as if he was trying to feel something, anything, beyond what was already eating him alive. His posture folded in on itself even more, like just the thought of it hurt.

— Always alone. And it’s all my fault.

Stanley frowned, opened his mouth to say something, but Xeno wasn’t done. His voice was low, raw, stripped of the usual sarcasm, as if every word was being ripped from his throat.

— My dad left because of me. I… I can’t forgive myself for that.

A laugh. Hollow, empty, wrong. It cut through the air like broken glass, sharp and jagged.

— I used to think… if I tried hard enough, if I actually did something that mattered, maybe he’d be proud of me. Just once. Just for a second.

His lips trembled. He swallowed hard, like the words physically hurt to get out.

— But no. I just ruined everything.

His fists clenched, nails biting into his palms. His breathing was uneven now, and when he spoke again, his voice dropped, barely above a whisper.

— I remember everything, Stan. Every fucking detail of that day.

Stanley felt himself stop breathing. Xeno’s fingers twitched, his whole body rigid like a string pulled too tight.

— I was in the garage. Working on my prototype. Checking, rechecking. Everything was perfect. The calculations were perfect. It should have worked.

His breath hitched, sharp and shaky.

— But it exploded. Right when my dad decided to step in and take a look.

Stanley’s stomach plummeted. Xeno sucked in a breath, like just remembering was physically painful.

— I remember how the glass ripped through the air. How it sliced into his skin. Everything slowed down. I could see it—each piece of metal, each shard of glass—tearing into his face, his neck, his chest.

His fingers curled in his lap, twitching slightly.

— Blood. There was so much blood. It ran down his arm, dripping onto the floor, staining his stupid white t-shirt.

Stanley felt like he was going to be sick.

— He clutched his side. That’s when I saw it—the biggest piece, lodged right there.

Xeno exhaled sharply, his whole body trembling.

— I couldn’t move. I just stood there, watching him struggle, gasping for breath, his eyes clouding over. And then…

His breath caught.

— Then he looked at me.

A pause. A crack. Xeno’s voice dropped, turned fragile, like glass on the verge of shattering.

— He didn’t scream. He didn’t curse me out. He just… looked at me.

He ran a shaky hand over his face, like he could physically wipe the memory away, but Stanley knew—he couldn’t. It was carved into him, burned so deep that it would never leave.

— Like I was the worst mistake he ever made.

Stanley clenched his jaw, his fists, his entire body. Every nerve in him was on fire. Xeno let out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking his head.

— And I… I didn’t know what to do.

His voice broke, really broke. Not just a crack—something caving in.

— I just stood there, watching him bleed out, and all I could think was, “God, don’t let him die. Please.” Because if he did…

He sucked in a sharp breath, a laugh that wasn’t a laugh escaping his lips.

— If he died, I was going right after him.

Stanley’s stomach twisted violently. His throat locked up. Hearing Xeno say that—admit that—was like someone took a baseball bat to his ribs.

— Ever since then, my mom hasn’t looked at me the same way. She doesn’t say it, but I know. I feel it. The resentment. The hate.

He ran his fingers through his hair, exhaling like he wanted to disappear.

— And maybe… she’s right.

That was the final fucking straw.

No. She wasn’t right.

Stanley felt his pulse hammering, his hands shaking, his entire being vibrating with something too big to hold in. He didn’t know how to make Xeno understand. Didn’t know how to grab him by the shoulders and shake the truth into him. But he had to. He had to.

Stanley felt like his entire body was running on pure instinct. His mind wasn’t thinking, wasn’t processing—just reacting. He had to do something. He couldn’t let Xeno sit there, drowning in his own head, suffocating under all that pain like it was his own fault. It wasn’t. It never was.
He reached out, hesitated for a second, then placed a firm hand on Xeno’s shoulder.

— Xeno, stop.

Xeno flinched at the touch. Just barely. But then, as if realizing what he’d done, he shook him off.

— Don’t, — his voice came out sharper than intended, cutting through the heavy silence.

Stanley didn’t move his hand right away, but Xeno leaned back, forcing him to let go. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with something unspoken—something that screamed: Don’t touch me. Don’t try. Don’t waste your time.

Stanley exhaled through his nose, fingers flexing at his sides. He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to tell him that none of this was his fault. That everything he was saying was complete bullshit. That he wasn’t broken, wasn’t a mistake, wasn’t someone that people just… endured. But Xeno wouldn’t listen. Not right now. Not when he was like this.

So Stanley swallowed back all the words pressing against his throat, the ones that should have been enough to make Xeno understand. And instead, he let him talk. Because maybe—just maybe—letting it out would help more than anything he could say. Xeno let out a quiet laugh, bitter and humourless, running a hand through his hair as if trying to steady himself.

— You’re acting like you can fix something that’s been broken for years, Stanley. Like, what, a couple of reassuring words from you are suddenly gonna change everything?

Stanley clenched his jaw but didn’t interrupt. Xeno scoffed, shaking his head.

— I’ve heard it all before, you know? The whole ‘it’s not your fault’ speech. The ‘you’re not a mistake’ crap. People like you love saying that shit because it makes you feel better. But it doesn’t change anything.

His voice was getting quieter, like the weight of the words was pressing harder against his ribs with each one.

— My mom looks at me and sees a reminder of everything she lost. My dad looked at me that day and saw the biggest regret of his life. I know that. I live with that. Every. Fucking. Day.

His hands curled into fists on his lap, his knuckles white from how hard he was squeezing.

— And now you’re sitting here, thinking you can—what? Save me? That if you just say the right thing, I’ll suddenly stop feeling like this?

Stanley inhaled sharply through his nose, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for him again. But he didn’t. Because Xeno wasn’t wrong about one thing. Stanley couldn’t fix this. Not with words. Not with anything. This wasn’t something that could just go away. And God, he hated that. Hated how much he wanted to grab Xeno by the shoulders and shake the bullshit out of him. Hated how much it hurt to hear him talk about himself like this. But he kept listening. Because that was all he could do.

The room felt suffocating. The silence was no longer just silence—it was a living thing, pressing in on them, filling every inch of space between them. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast flickering shadows over Xeno’s face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the tension in his clenched fists, the way his shoulders hunched as if he were physically bearing the weight of everything he was saying. Stanley could only watch, feeling utterly helpless. Then, Xeno spoke, and the air cracked apart like glass.

— I’m a monster.

His voice was low, empty—but beneath that emptiness, rage simmered. This wasn’t just some drunken rant. This wasn’t meaningless. This was his truth.

— Not a bad person. Not a mistake. A monster. Something that shouldn’t exist. When I look in the mirror, I don’t see myself. I see his burns. His blood. His wounds. I see shards of glass lodged in his skin. I see the fear in his eyes. But it’s not for me. It’s because of me.

His words were sharp, precise, like he had spent years refining this speech in his head.

— The longer I live, the worse it gets. I ruin everything I touch. I destroy. It’s what I was born to do. I feel it. In my veins, in my bones, in every single disgusting part of me.

Stanley’s throat tightened. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

No, Xeno. That’s not true.

— People hate me? Good. That makes sense. That’s right. Because I was made to be hated. I was born for it.

He laughed. That same bitter, twisted, humourless laugh that made Stanley’s stomach turn.

— They think I’m just rude. Just weird. Just an asshole. But they don’t know. They don’t see me.

He tilted his head, eyes glinting in the dim light.

— Because if they did, if they really knew what I could do…

His voice dropped into something dangerous.

— I could rip them apart.

Stanley flinched.

“No. No, you wouldn’t.”

But the way Xeno was looking at him—like he wasn’t even talking to Stanley anymore, like he was talking to himself, trying to figure something out—made his blood run cold.

— I watch them. I see their empty fucking faces, see them laugh, live, breathe, and something inside me twists. It rots. It bubbles up like something thick and black, and I hate them. I hate them for being so… so normal. For not even realizing that they live in a world where I exist.

His shoulders shook.

— But what if they did know?

His voice softened, almost gentle, but it sent a shiver down Stanley’s spine.

— What if they knew that I could hurt them? That I could erase them if I wanted?

His tongue darted over his cracked lips, and his fingers twitched.

— I could kill them all. Fast. Slow. Leave evidence or wipe away every trace.

Stanley’s breath hitched. This wasn’t Xeno. This wasn’t the real Xeno. This was the version of himself that he believed in. And that was the scariest thing.

Xeno sighed, the energy suddenly draining from his body as he leaned back against the wall. He exhaled, and for a second, he looked so tired, so small, that Stanley’s chest ached.

— Their fear would fill the air, their blood would warm my cold hands.

His fingers curled, nails digging into his palms.

— I’d watch the light go out in their eyes and… maybe then I’d feel better.

His voice shook, just a little. Just enough for Stanley to hear it. But Xeno wasn’t done. He tilted his head, brow furrowed, eyes unfocused, like he was really considering it.

— Would I, though?

The silence was deafening. Then, a small, hollow chuckle.

— Or would I feel better if I was the one who disappeared?

Stanley’s heart stopped. Xeno’s eyes glazed over, staring at the floor, at the wall, at nothing.

— If I just… wasn’t here anymore. If I sank into nothing. If my body was ripped apart by crows, scattered so thin that no one would ever remember I existed.

He paused, exhaling shakily.

— Would that be easier?

Stanley couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. Xeno let out a quiet, shaky laugh, but it wasn’t really a laugh at all. It was hollow, detached, like he wasn’t even inside his own body anymore. His fingers twitched against his palms before going limp at his sides. His voice dropped lower, almost conversational, but there was something in it—something dark, something final.

— Maybe that would be best. If I just… stopped. No more weight. No more thinking. No more looking in the mirror and hating what I see.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes flickering up toward Stanley but not really seeing him. Like he was looking through him, past him, beyond him, to a place where he didn’t exist at all.

— If I was gone, I wouldn’t have to wake up every morning feeling like something inside me is rotting. Like I’m just carrying this thing in my chest, this… this sickness that never goes away.

He swallowed hard, shaking his head, jaw tightening.

— Maybe people would stop looking at me like I’m something they have to tolerate. Like they’re just waiting for me to finally self-destruct so they can say, ‘Well, we saw it coming.’

Xeno laughed again, but this time, his voice cracked right down the middle. His fingers curled back into fists, nails digging into his skin, but Stanley saw it—the tremble.

— Maybe they’re right. Maybe I am just a ticking time bomb. Maybe I’ve always been.

His breath hitched, his body stiffening for a moment before his voice dropped lower—so quiet it almost disappeared.

— Maybe I should just do it already.

The room shrank. The air froze. Stanley’s pulse pounded so loud in his ears that he thought for a moment he might not have heard it right. But he did. His entire body locked up, something inside him snapping so violently that he thought he might scream. His hands clenched at his sides, his lungs burned, his vision blurred at the edges because “no, no, no, Xeno, don’t you fucking say that, don’t you even think that—“

But Xeno was still going, still lost in his own voice, his own storm, unravelling right in front of him.

— I think about it sometimes. How easy it would be. How fast.

His eyes darkened, glassy, distant, like he was already halfway gone.

— Just one moment. One decision. And then it’s over. No more waking up and feeling like my own body is a cage. No more trying to be someone I’m not.

His voice cracked. His shoulders curled in. He took in a breath, deep and unsteady.

— Just peace.

He moved before he could stop himself, grabbing Xeno’s wrists and yanking him forward so suddenly that their knees bumped, their breaths collided, their worlds crashed together.

— Stop. Shut the fuck up.

Xeno blinked at him, almost dazed, like he hadn’t realized he had spoken out loud. Stanley’s grip tightened but hands were shaking. His entire body was shaking. His nails dug into Xeno’s skin, but he didn’t care. He needed him to hear this.

— You don’t get to say that shit like it’s nothing.

Xeno scoffed, but his voice was weaker now.

— Why? It’s true.

Stanley’s stomach twisted, and before he could stop himself, he pulled Xeno against his chest, wrapping his arms around him tightly, as if that alone could stop him from disappearing. His voice wasn’t calm anymore. It was raw, stripped bare, filled with something desperate and terrified and furious all at once.

— You don’t get to fucking talk like you don’t matter. Like you don’t mean something. Like you’re just some goddamn mistake that was never supposed to be here.

Xeno’s body tensed in his hold. His breath hitched, and Stanley felt the way his fingers twitched, hovering near his back like he wanted to hold onto him, but couldn’t let himself.

— Do you think I’d be here if you didn’t fucking matter? Do you think I’d be staying, fighting, begging you to fucking listen to me if you were just some mistake?

His voice cracked. He didn’t care. He was holding onto him too tightly now. Holding onto him like he was afraid Xeno would disappear if he let go.

— I don’t care what you think. I’m still fucking here.

Xeno’s lips parted, but no words came out. Stanley’s fingers dug deeper into his wrists, his breathing harsh and uneven, his voice breaking apart, but he still didn’t let go.

— You want to know why I’m here? Because I fucking choose to be.

Xeno’s breath shuddered. His shoulders shook. His lips pressed together. Stanley inhaled sharply, forcing the words out, forcing them to reach him.

— And I’ll keep choosing you. Again. And again. And again. Until you fucking understand that you are not leaving me.

Stanley clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. Xeno was saying this like he’d thought about it a thousand times. Like it was a fact, not something he could be convinced out of. Xeno tensed beneath Stanley’s grip, his body stiffening as if the weight of those words had finally hit him—too hard, too raw, too much. His breath was shaky, uneven, his fingers still curled into the fabric of Stanley’s shirt like he was holding on for dear life. But then—he moved.

Not to pull him closer.

Not to stay.

But to push him away.

It wasn’t a violent shove. It wasn’t fueled by anger or rage. It was slow at first, hesitant, almost regretful. His hands, still trembling, pressed against Stanley’s chest, his fingers curling as if he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to let go. But then, with a sudden burst of force, he did. He shoved Stanley backward, just enough to break free from the embrace, just enough to put distance between them.
Stanley stumbled back, his breath caught in his throat, watching as Xeno recoiled like he’d just touched something burning hot. His chest rose and fell sharply, his eyes wide, clouded with something Stanley couldn’t quite read—was it panic? Regret? Shame?

Xeno wiped a hand across his face, rubbing roughly at his eyes as if trying to erase the evidence of his weakness, of the moment that had just passed between them. His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching at his sides, his entire body vibrating with something frantic—like a caged animal looking for an escape.

— No.

The word came out harsh, final, but it wavered at the end, like he wasn’t even sure of it himself. He took a step back, then another, breathing too fast, his pulse visible at his throat.

— You don’t get to do that.

His voice cracked, unsteady, as he shook his head, violently rejecting everything Stanley had just given him.

— You don’t get to hold me like that. You don’t get to talk like that. Like you… like I…

He exhaled sharply, running a shaky hand through his hair, frustrated at himself, at Stanley, at this entire goddamn night.

— Just… stop.

Stanley’s chest ached.

— Xeno…

— No!

Xeno’s voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and almost desperate. He turned away, fingers digging into his arms, gripping himself like he was trying to hold himself together.

— I can’t… I can’t do this. I don’t know how to—

His voice broke. His body shook. He looked like he wanted to run. Like he wanted to disappear into the floor, into the walls, into anything that wasn’t this.

Stanley clenched his fists, his own breath uneven, his mind screaming at him to pull Xeno back in, to refuse to let him go. But he didn’t move. He just stood there, watching as Xeno wrapped his arms around himself instead, like that was the only way he knew how to be held.

— I tried hating everyone. Tried convincing myself I was above them, that I didn’t need them.

He let out a dry laugh, but it barely even sounded like one. Just something broken, something hollow, something that rattled inside his chest like an empty echo of a feeling he barely remembered.

— But maybe… I’m just scared to admit that I don’t hate them.

His voice dropped lower, sharpening like a blade pressed too hard against skin, like it was cutting through him just to say the words out loud.

— Maybe I just hate myself.

His fingers curled into his pants, gripping so tight his knuckles turned white, shaking like he was trying to hold himself together through sheer force alone. But his breathing was ragged, too fast, too shallow, like something inside him was caving in.

— Every breath I take. Every fucking word that comes out of my mouth.

He exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling like it hurt to even do that much. His eyes flicked up, locking onto Stanley’s, and something inside Stanley twisted.

His eyes—God, his eyes.

They didn’t hold life, not really. They held something else. Something heavy, something that was one wrong word away from completely breaking apart.

— Everything I touch falls apart. Everything I reach for turns into pain.

He sucked in a breath, but it barely helped. His shoulders were too tense, his whole body coiled too tight, like he was holding something in—something sharp, something violent, something that wanted to claw its way out.

— I hate it.

His voice cracked. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

— I breathe in hate.

His hands dragged down his face, slow and heavy, like he was trying to wipe something away, trying to erase himself, trying to make the thoughts stop for just one second.

— And maybe one day, I’ll just choke on it.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Heavy. Unforgiving. It pressed down on them like an invisible weight, like something tangible, like the air itself was rejecting the words that had just been spoken. Then, Xeno let out a bitter laugh.

— And you’re still here.

His voice was quiet, but it cut through the air like a blade. Stanley couldn’t answer. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, because this wasn’t just some drunk teenager running his mouth. This was real. This was Xeno’s truth. The kind of truth that ate someone alive from the inside out. The kind that didn’t just appear overnight. The kind that was built, brick by brick, over years of rot.

— Why aren’t you afraid of me? Why don’t you hate me?

His lips twisted into something resembling a smirk, but there was no humor in it. Just something ugly. Something self-destructive.

— Do you even know who the hell you’re talking to?

Stanley’s stomach dropped. Xeno shook his head, leaning back against the wall, putting space between them, as if he was realizing something too late. As if this conversation had gone too far and now he needed to backtrack before he lost whatever was left of himself.

— You should run. While you still can.

But then, suddenly, something in his face twisted. Something more bitter, something more self-loathing, something that made his own words taste like acid in his mouth. His hands clenched into fists on his lap, and his voice turned quieter, but no less vicious.

— God, I’m pathetic.

His laughter was sharp, but it wasn’t real. It was a knife dragged across his own throat.

— Look at you. Look at your life. You’re the one who should feel this way. You should be the one breaking down, not me. But no, here I am, crying over my own goddamn existence like it’s some tragedy, when you—

His breath hitched, his nails digging into his palms.

— You have it so much worse.

His head tilted back against the wall, staring at the ceiling like maybe if he didn’t look at Stanley, this would all hurt a little less.

— I have everything. And I still can’t fucking stand myself.

His voice wavered, the words shaky, barely hanging onto their own weight.

— It’s selfish. I’m selfish.

His shoulders rose and fell, but he wasn’t breathing properly. It was all jagged, uneven, like he was trying to keep something from spilling out.

— I have no right to feel this way. No fucking right. But I do. And I hate myself even more for it.

He let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head, shaking all over, fingers gripping at his sleeves like they were the only thing keeping him grounded.

— Tell me, Stanley.

His eyes flicked back to him, sharp, searching, something painful buried deep inside.

— If I disappeared tomorrow, if I just—stopped existing—who would give a shit?

His voice was soft.

— Who would actually give a shit?

Stanley clenched his fists so hard his nails bit into his skin.

— Don’t—

— No, answer me.

Xeno’s voice was cold, distant.

— My mom? She barely even looks at me anymore. My teachers? My classmates? No one would care, Stanley. Life would just keep moving, and I’d be—

He swallowed hard, looking down at his lap.

— A moment of silence before the world starts spinning again.

He forced out another laugh, this one even worse than the last.

— And that’s all I’ll ever be.

His fingers twitched, curling slightly like he was reaching for something—anything—to hold onto. His body swayed, and Stanley didn’t know if it was the alcohol or something deeper, something more dangerous clawing at him from the inside.

His eyes met Stanley’s, and for the first time all night, Stanley understood. This wasn’t a warning. It was a plea. A desperate, silent please leave. Please walk away. Please let me disappear. And that—that—was what shattered Stanley’s resolve completely. Because Xeno wasn’t just talking like the world would be better without him. He was convinced of it. Like he truly believed he shouldn’t exist.

The air in the room was thick—so heavy it felt like drowning. Stanley could barely hear his own breathing over the pounding in his chest, the burning behind his ribs, the way his entire body felt like it was about to snap from the sheer force of emotion flooding through him. He couldn’t believe what Xeno was saying. Couldn’t believe he could think of himself like that. How the fuck was he supposed to just stand here and listen to this? How was he supposed to let Xeno believe, even for a second, that he was nothing? That he didn’t matter?

— You really think I’d leave? — Stanley’s voice trembled, but not with fear. With rage. With the kind of fury that only came from knowing that no matter what he said, Xeno still wouldn’t believe him.

Xeno’s breath hitched, but he didn’t respond. He just looked at him, guarded, wary—waiting for Stanley to get tired of this and finally walk out. But he wasn’t leaving. Not now. Not ever. Stan took a step forward, his whole body tight with frustration, his eyes burning with something dark and unyielding.

— Fuck you.

Xeno flinched. His eyes snapped to Stanley’s face, caught off guard, like he wasn’t expecting that. But Stanley wasn’t done. Not even close.

— You’re the best person I’ve ever met, you hear me? The only one like you. You can shove me away, you can try to force me out, you can beat me into the fucking ground, and I will still get up and come back. Because you’re worth it.

His voice was raw, edged with something desperate. His fists clenched so tightly his nails bit into his palms, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about the pain, because it was nothing compared to the thought of losing Xeno.

— And if it’ll make you feel better, if it’ll take away even a fraction of what’s eating you alive, if it’ll make the world hurt less, I’ll fucking kill everyone myself.

The room went deathly silent. Xeno stopped breathing. His body tensed, his fingers twitching, his expression unreadable. He was watching him now. Closely. Too closely. Like he wasn’t sure if Stanley was serious or just saying shit to prove a point. But Stanley was serious. Dead fucking serious.

— All of them. Whoever you want.

His voice was eerily calm, soft even, but there was something terrifying in the way he said it.

— Just say a name.

Xeno’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He was staring at Stanley like he’d never seen him before. Stanley stepped closer, his pulse hammering so hard it felt like his whole body was vibrating.

— Carlos? His asshole friends? The whole fucking school?

Xeno’s throat bobbed, but he still didn’t speak. Stanley’s voice dropped even lower.

— Tell me, and I’ll rip their rotten hearts out so you never have to see them again.

He wasn’t threatening. He wasn’t trying to intimidate. He was promising. Xeno inhaled sharply, something flashing across his face—something raw, something shaken, something real. But his shoulders didn’t relax. His body didn’t ease. Instead, something in his expression hardened.

— You think I give a shit about them? — Stanley’s voice grew rougher, his anger barely contained. — They’re nothing. They’re dust. But you—

His jaw tightened, his entire body burning with the force of everything he couldn’t say.

— You matter.

Xeno’s breath stuttered. His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to argue, but nothing came out. He looked stunned. But not in the way Stanley expected. Not like he was about to believe him. Like he was about to reject it. And then—Xeno’s whole face twisted. A bitter, painful laugh forced itself out of him, sharp and cutting, slicing through the air like glass.

— No, I fucking don’t.

His voice cracked, and suddenly, he was angry. Angry in a way Stanley hadn’t seen before. Not like the sarcastic, cocky, bullshit anger he threw at people when he didn’t want them to get too close. No, this was something worse. Something venomous.

— You think just because you say that, it changes anything? That it fixes anything?

His eyes darkened, his breathing unsteady.

— I don’t matter, Stanley. I never have.

His voice wasn’t just angry anymore. It was hopeless.

— And you—

He laughed again, but this time, it sounded like something breaking apart.

— You’re so fucking stupid.

Xeno shoved him. Hard. Stanley stumbled back, barely catching himself before he hit the edge of the bed.

— What the fuck is wrong with you?! — Xeno shouted, his voice raw, his hands shaking. His entire body shaking. — I told you to leave!

He pushed him again, this time weaker, like his strength was draining out of him.

— I don’t want your fucking pity.

Another shove.

— I don’t want your stupid, self-righteous, bullshit promises!

Stanley let him push. He let him shove. Let him throw every ounce of frustration, self-loathing, and exhaustion into him. And then, suddenly, Xeno just—stopped. He stood there, chest heaving, hands clenched at his sides. His whole body was trembling. His breaths were ragged, uneven, like he’d just run a marathon. Xeno’s breath hitched, like the words physically knocked something loose inside him. Like he didn’t know what to do with them. Didn’t know how to process them.

— No. Listen to me.

Stanley’s voice cut through the air like a razor-sharp blade, leaving no room for argument. His body was burning, every nerve set ablaze with frustration, anger, and something deeper—something he wasn’t ready to name.

— I won’t let you talk about yourself like this.

He took a step closer, closing the space between them, so close now that Xeno would have to physically move away if he wanted distance. But he didn’t. He stood there, stiff, his breath uneven, his body trembling like he was waiting for the final blow.

— I won’t let you think you’re nothing.

His fingers curled at his sides, his nails biting into his palms, holding himself back from grabbing Xeno outright, from shaking him until he understood.

— I don’t care what you’ve done. I don’t care what you feel. I don’t care how much you hate yourself.
Stanley leaned in slightly, his breath warm against Xeno’s skin, his voice dropping into something quieter, steadier—but no less sharp.

— I don’t care if you hurt me.

Xeno’s breath stopped. His entire body went rigid. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he wanted to shove Stanley away again, like he wanted to scream shut up, shut up, shut up, but no words came out. He could only stare, his chest rising and falling too fast, his pupils blown wide. Stanley didn’t blink.

— I don’t care if you take all of your anger, your pain, your self-hatred, and throw it at me. I don’t care if you try to tear me apart.

His heartbeat was wild, pounding so hard he could barely hear himself speak, but his voice didn’t waver.

— Because I’m not leaving.

The silence that followed was suffocating. It crashed between them, thick and unbearable, pressing down on both of them like a weight that neither could shake off.

And then, finally, Stanley saw it. The cracks. The way Xeno’s walls were breaking. The way his eyes flickered, his breath hitched. He was unravelling. Stanley tilted his head just enough for their foreheads to brush, his voice lowering to a whisper, but no less fierce.

— I’ll come back, even if you tell me to drop dead.

Xeno’s lips parted, but no sound came out. He wanted to argue. Stanley could see it—the way his throat bobbed, the way his fingers twitched, the way his whole body tensed like a wire about to snap.

— Even if you knock me to the ground.

Stanley’s hands itched to reach for him. To hold him. To do something to make him understand.

— Even if you say you hate me just as much as everyone else.

Xeno suddenly sucked in a shaky, uneven breath. It was the breath of someone losing control.

— You don’t understand…

— I do understand.

— No, you—

— I. Understand.

Xeno clenched his fists, shaking, his entire body coiled tight like he was about to lash out, to scream, to do something, but Stanley wasn’t going to let him escape.

— So get used to it, Xeno. — His voice was low, but unrelenting.

It wasn’t a reassurance. It was a sentence.

— Because I’m not leaving.

He let out a slow breath, his lips quirking up into a small, sharp smile. But there was no teasing in it. No joke. No sarcasm. Only the raw, undeniable truth.

— Not now. Not ever.

Xeno didn't shove him anymore. He didn’t yell. He didn’t fight. He just… stood there. His shoulders sagged, his arms hung limply at his sides, his fingers barely curled like he wanted to make fists but couldn’t even bring himself to try.

Something inside him had broken.

Stanley saw it happen in real-time—the moment Xeno gave up. His entire body went still, like something inside him had finally snapped, like whatever fire had been keeping him going had burned out, leaving behind nothing but smoke and ashes. His breath was shallow, his chest barely moving, his eyes glassy, unfocused. He wasn’t looking at Stanley anymore. He wasn’t looking at anything. Just standing there, breathing like every inhale was a battle, like every exhale was a surrender.

Stanley felt it in his bones—that terrifying, suffocating stillness.

— Xeno?

His voice was softer now, but it didn’t reach him. Xeno didn't flinch. Didn’t react. Stanley moved closer, slow and careful, as if any sudden movement would shatter him completely.

— Xeno, talk to me.

Nothing. No biting response. No sarcastic quip. No anger. Just silence. Stanley’s stomach twisted. His fingers twitched at his sides, itching to grab him, to do something, but he didn’t know how. This was worse than the screaming. Worse than the shoving. Worse than anything Xeno had done before. Because Xeno had never been silent. And now? Now, he just stood there, breathing like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

Stanley swallowed, forcing down the panic rising in his throat. He stepped forward again, hesitating for half a second before he reached out, carefully resting a hand on Xeno’s shoulder. Xeno barely even blinked.

— You're still here?

His grip tightened, just slightly, like he was trying to ground him, trying to pull him back.

— You’re still here, Xeno.

Xeno finally moved, but it wasn’t what Stanley expected. Slowly, almost mechanically, he lifted a hand to his own chest, pressing it lightly over his heart, like he was checking if it was still beating. His fingers trembled.

— I don't know why.

His voice was hoarse. Hollow. Like he was disappointed that he was still standing. Like he didn’t understand why his body hadn’t just given up already.

— I don’t know why I’m still here.

Stanley’s chest ached.

— Because you’re supposed to be.

Xeno let out a quiet, bitter laugh, but there was nothing in it. No real amusement. No real feeling at all. Just emptiness.

— I don’t think so.

Stanley clenched his jaw. His own heart was pounding. His body was practically vibrating with the need to shake him, to make him understand.

— I do.

Xeno’s fingers twitched against his chest, and for the briefest second, something flickered in his expression. Something vulnerable. Something like hope. But then, just as quickly, it was gone. Xeno’s lips parted, like he wanted to say something, but he hesitated. He hesitated. And that was what finally convinced Stanley to do what he’d been resisting all night. He closed the distance between them in a single step and wrapped his arms around him.

Every muscle locked up, his breath caught in his throat, his fingers clenched against his own chest like he physically could not return the gesture. Like he didn’t know how. Stanley didn’t let go. He didn’t say anything. He just held him. Firm. Solid. Here. For a second, Xeno didn’t move. He didn’t react at all. But then—barely, barely—his fingers curled into the fabric of Stanley’s shirt. His grip was weak, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold on. Stanley just held him tighter.

— You’re not alone.

Xeno’s breath shuddered. He wasn’t crying. Not really. But when he exhaled, it sounded broken.

— I feel like I am.

Stanley pressed his forehead lightly against Xeno’s shoulder, eyes shutting tight.

— You’re not.

Xeno’s fingers clenched tighter. And then, in the smallest, quietest voice Stanley had ever heard from him—

— I don’t know how to stop feeling like this.

Stanley ached. He ached everywhere.

— Then let me stay until you figure it out.

Xeno inhaled sharply, like the words had hit him somewhere deep, somewhere he wasn’t prepared for.
Stanley braced himself for him to push him away. To tell him to go. But he didn’t. He just… stood there. And held on.

The room felt like it was caving in, suffocating under the weight of words that had long lost their meaning. Xeno wasn’t trembling anymore. He wasn’t thrashing, wasn’t fighting back, wasn’t even pushing Stanley away. He just stood there, staring past him, past the ceiling, past everything, his expression eerily blank, like a puppet with its strings cut. His chest rose and fell, but it didn’t feel like breathing. It felt like muscle memory, like his body was going through the motions of staying alive while his mind had already slipped away.

Stanley could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, the only sound in the crushing silence. The rage, the desperation, the overwhelming need to make Xeno see himself the way Stanley saw him—it all twisted into something raw and cold when he looked down and saw nothing staring back at him.

— Go home, — Xeno muttered, but the bite was gone. The fight was gone. It was just words, empty and dull, like he was repeating a script he didn’t believe in anymore.

— No, — Stanley answered, but there was no fire in his voice either. Just quiet certainty.

Xeno exhaled, his fingers twitching like they should be curling into fists, like his body still remembered how to resist, but his mind… his mind had already given up.

— Stanley, just…

He didn’t even finish. Stanley was already moving, pushing him down onto the bed, straddling his waist, pinning him there—but it wasn’t a fight anymore. Xeno let him. He didn’t struggle, didn’t snarl in anger, didn’t even tense up like he had before. He just lay there, blinking slow and detached, like it didn’t matter. Like nothing mattered. And that was worse than anything.

— Are you even gonna tell me to get off?

Stanley’s voice was sharp, but Xeno didn’t react. His lips parted, his breath shallow, but he didn’t speak. His wrists lay still under Stanley’s grip, limp and unresisting. His eyes flickered, focusing on Stanley for half a second before slipping away again, drifting toward the ceiling like he was looking straight through it. Like he was already gone.

— You’re not even fighting me anymore,— Stanley murmured, and his stomach twisted violently.

Xeno closed his eyes.

— What’s the point?

Three words. Quiet. Distant. They shattered something in Stanley so completely that he almost let go right then and there. Almost. But he couldn’t.

— You don’t get to say that.

Stanley’s voice cracked, but he didn’t move off of him. He couldn’t move, because if he did, he was terrified Xeno would slip right through his fingers.

— You don’t get to talk like that, like it’s already over, like you’re already—

His breath hitched. Xeno didn’t open his eyes.

— I don’t know how to be anything else, — Xeno finally whispered.

Stanley clenched his jaw.

— Bullshit.

Xeno let out a quiet breath—maybe a laugh, but there was no humor in it, just exhaustion.

— I mean it.

His voice was hollow.

— I don’t know how to be anything but this. I hate myself so much that I don’t even feel it anymore, — Xeno murmured.

His own words didn’t even seem to faze him. Like he was stating a fact. Like it was just true. Stanley’s grip on his wrists tightened.

— I hate everything about myself.

Xeno let out a slow exhale, his chest barely moving.

— I hate my voice. I hate my face. I hate every fucking second I exist.

His lips barely moved, but the words hit Stanley like a sledgehammer.

— I should’ve disappeared back then.

Stanley’s body locked up.

— I should’ve been the one bleeding out on the ground.

His voice was so quiet now. So detached. So completely, horrifyingly empty.

— It should’ve been me.

Silence. The words just… sat there, in the air between them, like lead in Stanley’s lungs. Xeno’s hands twitched. Not to push Stanley away. Not to fight. But to do something else. Something worse. Stanley saw it the second before it happened. And he didn’t let him. He grabbed his wrists tighter, pushing them down against the bed with more force than necessary, grounding him, making sure he couldn’t slip away—not into his own mind, not into his own hands, not anywhere.

— No.

Xeno made a small noise in the back of his throat—something broken, something weak. And then—
He stopped breathing for a second. And then— His whole body caved in. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t violent. It wasn’t an explosion. It was slow. It was silent. A collapse.

His fingers twitched under Stanley’s grip, but that was all. His throat bobbed, his breath shuddered, his eyelashes flickered against his cheeks. The first tear rolled down his face soundlessly. And then another. And another. He wasn’t crying. Not in the way people cried. There were no sobs. No shaking shoulders. No gasps for air. Just a slow, quiet, empty kind of breaking. Stanley watched, frozen, as Xeno’s chest rose and fell in shaky, uneven breaths. His lips pressed together, trying to hold back the rest, but the tears still came.

— It just… hurts so fucking much.

It was barely a whisper. Stanley exhaled slowly, finally loosening his grip, but he didn’t move. He didn’t let go completely.

— I’m here.

The words weren’t loud. They weren’t commanding. They weren’t desperate. They were just real.
Xeno squeezed his eyes shut, his body trembling beneath him. His breath hitched, stuck in his throat, like he wanted to say something—like he wanted to believe it. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

Stanley wasn’t expecting him to. So he didn’t move. Didn’t let go. Didn’t say anything else. Because if he let go now—he was afraid Xeno might disappear entirely.

The silence between them stretched endlessly, thick with everything unsaid. Xeno lay there, unmoving, staring up at the ceiling like he wasn’t really there at all. His breaths came slow, hollow, like he was dragging himself through each one. Stanley felt his chest tighten. He had seen Xeno break before, seen him lash out, seen him rage against the world like it had wronged him personally. But this—this wasn’t breaking.

This was giving up.

Stanley couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take looking at him like this, couldn't take the way Xeno was just accepting his own destruction like it was inevitable. Like he didn’t even think he deserved to fight it. His throat burned, his pulse pounded in his ears, and before he could stop himself, he was moving.

He grabbed Xeno and pulled him in.

Tightly. Desperately. Like he could hold him together if he just held on hard enough. His arms wrapped around Xeno’s body, pressing him close, anchoring him to something real. Xeno stiffened in shock, his breath catching against Stanley’s neck, but he didn’t push him away. He just… stayed still.
Stanley tightened his hold.

— You have no fucking idea how much I care about you.

His voice came out rough, raw, filled with something too big to name. Xeno shuddered against him.

— If you disappear… — Stanley’s voice broke, his grip tightening, his fingers digging into the fabric of Xeno’s shirt like he was terrified he might slip through his hands. — If you ever fucking leave me like that—

His throat closed up. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to say it, to make Xeno hear it.

— I don’t think I’d make it either.

Xeno’s breath hitched. His body trembled slightly against Stanley’s, his fingers twitching against his sides.

— I’d follow you.

Stanley felt Xeno freeze completely. His breathing stopped, his entire body going rigid, like he couldn’t comprehend what he was hearing. Stanley buried his face into his shoulder, gripping him even tighter, like saying the words out loud made it real, and now he needed to hold onto something before he drowned in it.

— You’re not nothing to me, Xeno. You’re everything.

Xeno sucked in a sharp, uneven breath. His fingers curled slightly in the fabric of Stanley’s shirt, but he still didn’t push him away.

Stanley exhaled shakily and tilted his head slightly, enough for his lips to brush against Xeno’s temple.

— Do you care about me? — his voice was softer now, quieter, but no less urgent.

Xeno’s breath came unsteady, slow. He didn’t answer right away. For a second, Stanley was terrified he wouldn’t. That he’d go silent, shut down completely, refuse to acknowledge what was happening.
But then—

— Yeah.

The word was barely a whisper, but Stanley felt it, felt it against his skin, against his chest where Xeno was pressed so close.

— I do.

Stanley shut his eyes for a second, relief crashing through him so hard he almost couldn’t breathe. He pulled back just enough to look at him, just enough to search his face, and Xeno met his gaze—wide-eyed, uncertain, vulnerable in a way Stanley had never seen before. Stanley swallowed, then spoke again, slower this time.

— Remember what you told me?

Xeno blinked, lips parting slightly.

— What?

— You told me to live for you.

A flicker of recognition passed through his eyes. He nodded slowly, almost hesitantly.

— Yeah.

Stanley reached up, brushing his knuckles lightly against Xeno’s cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin, the quiet tremble beneath it.

— Then you have to live for me too.

Xeno inhaled sharply.

— That’s the deal now. You don’t get to back out of it.

Xeno swallowed, hard. He looked like he wanted to argue, like he wanted to push back, to tell Stanley that wasn’t how it worked. But he didn’t. He just stared at him, something breaking apart in his expression, something giving in. Stanley pressed his forehead against Xeno’s, closing his eyes.

— If I have to stay, you have to stay too.

Xeno’s breath was unsteady, his fingers twitching against Stanley’s chest. There was too much between them, too many words left unsaid, too many things he couldn’t explain. But he knew this—he knew Stanley was right.

Stanley pulled back just enough, just enough to see him, really see him. His hand moved slightly, tracing the line of Xeno’s jaw, then brushing his thumb against his cheek again, slower this time, grounding him. Xeno didn’t flinch, didn’t move away. He just breathed.

And then, Stanley leaned in.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was gentle. A whisper of a kiss, barely there at first, just the soft press of lips, warm and slow, like a promise. Stanley could feel Xeno exhale against him, feel the way he didn’t pull away, didn’t break. His fingers curled weakly into Stanley’s shirt, holding on, just barely, just enough.

When they pulled apart, Xeno’s eyes were heavy, tired, but he didn’t look away.

— Stay, — he murmured, voice so small it almost wasn’t there.

Stanley nodded, pulling him back into his arms, letting Xeno press against him, letting him breathe, letting him exist without breaking apart.

— I’m not going anywhere.

The space between them barely existed. The warmth of their breaths mingled in the quiet, the only sound in the room being the uneven rise and fall of their chests. Stanley could still feel the ghost of the last kiss lingering between them, soft and fleeting, but something in Xeno’s eyes had changed. Something had settled.

Xeno wasn’t trembling anymore.

His fingers, which had been curled weakly into Stanley’s shirt, suddenly pressed tighter. His gaze flickered between Stanley’s eyes and his lips, hesitation warring with something deeper, something raw and unspoken. His breath hitched, and then—finally—he moved.

Slowly.

It wasn’t hesitant, but deliberate. A decision. A choice.

Xeno leaned in, tilting his head just slightly, closing the distance between them with aching slowness. Stanley barely had time to process before he felt it—the softness of Xeno’s lips pressing against his own. It was different from before. There was no desperation, no reckless urgency. It was deep, but careful. Intentional. As if Xeno was memorizing the feeling, tracing the shape of Stanley’s mouth with his own, committing this moment to something beyond memory.

Stanley inhaled sharply through his nose, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. He let Xeno guide him, let him set the pace. He could feel the way Xeno’s fingers clenched in his shirt, pulling him closer—not in panic, not in fear, but as if grounding himself in something real, something safe.

Xeno kissed like he was trying to understand something. Like he was searching for an answer in the way their lips moved together, in the way their breaths tangled, in the way Stanley didn’t pull away. He kissed like he wasn’t sure if this was real or if it would slip through his fingers the second he let go. Stanley made a quiet noise in the back of his throat and lifted a hand, cupping the side of Xeno’s jaw, his fingers trailing up to tangle into his hair. It was damp from sweat, soft beneath his touch, and when he gently tilted Xeno’s head, deepening the kiss just a little, he felt the way Xeno exhaled against him—a shaky, broken breath melting into him.

Their lips parted slightly, just enough for Stanley to taste the remnants of vodka on Xeno’s tongue when he hesitantly pressed forward again. The kiss wasn’t rushed, wasn’t urgent, but it was thorough. Like Xeno was learning something in the way Stanley responded to him, in the way he pressed back, in the way he let himself be wanted.

Xeno’s other hand found its way to Stanley’s ribs, fingers ghosting over the fabric of his shirt, before gripping onto him like he needed something to hold onto. Like he was afraid of what would happen if he let go. And Stanley let him. He let Xeno take it. Let him touch. Let him feel. Because this wasn’t about hunger. This wasn’t about some reckless impulse. This was something else entirely. Xeno pulled back first, but just barely. Their foreheads remained pressed together, their noses brushing as their breaths mixed, ragged, and uneven. Stanley swallowed, his fingers still tangled in Xeno’s hair.

They just melted into each other, the weight of everything settling between them like a silent understanding. Stanley held Xeno close, his arms wrapped tightly around his back, one hand splayed between his shoulder blades, the other buried in his hair. Xeno fit against him perfectly, their bodies pressed together in a way that felt natural—like he belonged there, like he always had.

Xeno sighed, a deep, exhausted exhale against Stanley’s neck. His body was warm, heavy with fatigue, but for once, he wasn’t tensed up like he was ready to fight. He just… let himself be held. His fingers gripped at Stanley’s shirt, slow, lazy, like he needed to remind himself that he wasn’t alone.

— I am still so wasted… — Xeno mumbled, his words slurred, barely above a whisper. — Feel like my head’s full of helicopters.

Stanley huffed a quiet laugh against his temple, his fingers still moving gently through Xeno’s hair.

— Helicopters?

— Mhm… — Xeno groaned softly, pressing his face further into the crook of Stanley’s neck, his breath warm against his skin. — Everything’s… fuckin’ spinning.

Stanley tightened his grip just slightly, his thumb rubbing slow circles against Xeno’s back.

— Yeah, that’s what happens when you drink like you’ve got something to prove.

Xeno let out a weak chuckle, but it was barely there, like even that was too much effort. He shifted, curling closer, his legs tangling lazily with Stanley’s under the blankets. He felt too drained to even hold himself up, and Stanley didn’t mind at all. He just adjusted, letting Xeno rest all of his weight against him.

Xeno was quiet for a moment, his breathing steadying, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion pulling at him. Then, barely audible:

— Sorry you had to see me like this.

Stanley froze for a second, then sighed, resting his chin against Xeno’s head.

— I’m not.

Xeno shifted slightly, but didn’t pull away.

— Bullshit…

— It’s not. — Stanley squeezed him just a little. — I’d rather see you like this than not see you at all.

Xeno inhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around the fabric of Stanley’s shirt. He didn’t have a response to that. Stanley felt him exhale, his breath shaky, uneven, but a little calmer than before. He nuzzled closer, his body slackening further, his weight fully pressed against Stanley now, like he’d finally let himself collapse into something safe.

— You’re warm, — Xeno mumbled sleepily.

Stanley let out a soft chuckle, his hand still moving slowly, soothingly up and down Xeno’s spine.

— You’re clingy when you’re drunk.

— Shut up…

But Xeno didn’t move. He didn’t pull away. He just sighed again, softer this time, his fingers loosening against Stanley’s chest as his breathing grew slower, steadier. Stanley didn’t move either. He just held him.

Chapter Text

In the morning, Stanley was the first to wake up. He slowly opened his eyes, his body aching with the weight of a sleepless night. Though calling it sleep would’ve been generous — it was more like a series of restless dips into unconsciousness, from which he kept surfacing, gripped by anxiety. Every twenty minutes or so, he’d jolt awake, listening to the stillness of the room and the barely audible sound of Xeno’s breathing, just to make sure he was still alive, still there, still breathing — that nothing terrible had happened in the few seconds Stanley had dared to drift off.

He knew how ridiculous it was. Irrational, illogical. And yet, something deep inside wouldn’t let him relax. The night’s silence had felt too thick, too heavy — like it was hiding something he couldn’t see or predict. In the dark, fears took on shapes, and dread grew stronger. Stanley could only breathe properly again when he caught the faint rise and fall of Xeno’s chest, proof that he was still here, still at peace — completely unaware that someone next to him was quietly falling apart.

Now, as the morning light filtered softly through the curtains, everything felt calmer. The room was washed in a pale gray glow of a rainy day, the air cool and fresh, carrying a faint trace of last night’s alcohol. Raindrops tapped gently against the window in a steady rhythm, creating a sense of safety, as if the world had hidden them away on purpose — tucked them into this small, quiet space to give them time to recover from everything that had happened.

Stanley turned his head slowly, eyes drifting to Xeno, still asleep beside him. His breathing was deep and steady. In the morning light, Xeno looked like a different person — fragile, vulnerable, even delicate. Soft shadows fell from his lashes onto pale skin, his hair was tousled, and one unruly strand had fallen across his forehead. Stanley’s chest tightened painfully. He was used to seeing Xeno a different way — always composed, always in control, shielding himself from the world with a cold smile or a sharp word.

But last night… last night, Stanley had seen someone else entirely. Someone tired of carrying everything alone. Someone who, for once, let himself be weak — let someone else be close. That trust, even if born from necessity, felt like the most precious thing in the world. The memory of falling asleep next to him, warmed by his presence and wrapped in the fragile quiet between them, stirred something in Stanley that was both beautiful and unbearable.

He rubbed his eyes gently, trying to push away the emotions rising in his chest — but it didn’t help. The longer he looked at Xeno, the clearer it became: he was in love. Deeply, undeniably. And last night had only made that truth impossible to ignore.

Stanley had just managed to turn away, trying to hide the turmoil on his face, when he felt movement beside him. He turned his head again — and saw Xeno slowly blinking awake, wincing slightly at the light. His gaze was distant, unfocused like he was still trying to piece together where he was and how he’d gotten here. For a few long seconds, he stared at the ceiling, his expression vacant as his mind seemed to catch up with reality.

Then, as if sensing Stanley’s eyes on him, Xeno turned his head — carefully, cautiously — and their eyes met.

— Stan? — His voice was hoarse, thick with sleep, but there was something else in it too — a strange, quiet confusion, like he wasn’t entirely sure who he was right now, where he was, or what was supposed to happen next.

Stanley adjusted the heavy blanket and turned onto his side, eyes never leaving Xeno. And once again, he caught himself seeing him differently. Last night had stripped everything away — the sarcasm, the mocking smirks, the perfectly constructed masks. For the first time, Stanley had seen the real Xeno. Not the cold, put-together boy everyone else saw, but someone small, shaking, unsure of himself. Someone who hated himself far more than he could ever admit. Far more than he could bear.
Xeno always looked unshakable. Controlled. Icy. But last night… last night he wasn’t strong. He wasn’t calm. And it was terrifying. Terrifying to watch the image he had built so carefully begin to crack. Terrifying to realize that beneath all the distance and detachment, there had always been this — doubt, self-loathing, fear. Fear that no one was supposed to see.

And it hurt. It hurt because now Stanley knew. Now he had seen the truth. And he couldn’t unsee it. It hurt to realize Xeno had been carrying all of that alone. It hurt to think that maybe, just maybe, last night was the first time he’d let someone see him like that — lost, tired, vulnerable. It hurt even more that it had taken alcohol to get him there. And now, that raw, exposed piece of him was lodged inside Stanley’s chest like a splinter he couldn’t get rid of.

— Hey… you okay? — Stanley asked softly, trying to keep his voice even. But the worry in his eyes was impossible to hide. — Do you remember what happened last night?

Xeno frowned slightly and lifted his head, only to let it fall back onto the pillow with a quiet groan. His face tensed like he was trying to grab hold of something slippery, some half-formed memory just out of reach.

— I… remember in pieces, — he murmured, rubbing a hand across his face. — It’s all a bit fragmented. The beginning, yeah… and then it gets blurry. But… I remember enough.

He paused, eyes flicking away in embarrassment.

— I remember talking too much. Way more than I should’ve. God… that was so embarrassing.

Stanley let out a soft breath, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.

— Embarrassing? — he echoed, eyebrows raised. — Xeno, come on. That’s what you’re worried about?

Xeno didn’t answer, just turned his head slightly, clearly hoping to avoid Stanley’s gaze. His jaw tightened in that familiar way, the one he always did when trying to pretend he didn’t care — when he was already spiraling inside.

Stanley watched him for a moment, then shifted closer without a word. He hesitated for half a second — then carefully wrapped an arm around him, drawing Xeno against his chest. It wasn’t graceful, and he had no idea if it was even okay, but he just… couldn’t sit there and watch him retreat into himself again. To his surprise, Xeno didn’t pull away.

— I don’t think it was embarrassing, — Stanley said quietly, resting his chin lightly against Xeno’s hair. — I think it was real. Maybe kind of messy, yeah, but… honest. And brave. I’d rather have that than silence.

Xeno tensed, just a little. But then something in him seemed to deflate — the kind of exhale that felt like letting go. His fingers brushed against Stanley’s shirt, uncertain, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold on or not. Stanley gently tightened his hold.

— You don’t have to apologize for being human, Xeno. Especially not to me.

There was a beat of quiet between them. Just rain tapping on the glass and the faint sound of their breathing. And then, in a barely-there voice, Xeno muttered:

— I really didn’t want you to see me like that.

Stanley smiled, a little sad.

— Too late, — he whispered. — But I’m still here.

They lay like that for a while — tangled up in the kind of quiet that felt both fragile and warm. Xeno’s body was still, tense at first, but slowly, slowly began to melt into Stanley’s. His head rested just below Stanley’s collarbone, his breath brushing faintly against his skin. Stanley could feel the thud of Xeno’s heartbeat through the thin fabric of his t-shirt — quick at first, then steadier, syncing with the rhythm of the rain.

Stanley closed his eyes for a second, letting his hand drift gently up and down Xeno’s back, not trying to soothe, not trying to fix — just… be there. There was a kind of peace in holding him like this like he was shielding something precious, like the world could wait.

But inside, his mind wouldn’t stop turning. He wanted to say something. Needed to.

About last night. About how it had felt to hear Xeno’s voice crack, to watch the cracks in his armor finally split open. About the way he had kissed him — like he was terrified and starved and desperate for something real all at once. About how it hadn’t felt like some mistake or fluke, but something raw and painfully honest.

Stanley wanted to talk about all of it. Not to analyze it or force it into a box, but to understand where they stand now. What it had meant for Xeno. What it meant for them. He shifted slightly, brushing his nose lightly against Xeno’s temple.

— Hey… — he started softly, voice barely above a whisper. — About yesterday. I was thinking maybe we could—

— Don’t, — Xeno cut him off, his voice quiet but firm.

Stanley blinked, surprised by how quickly the tension snapped back into Xeno’s body like a coiled spring pulled tight again.

— I just… I don’t want to talk about it. Not now.

His words weren’t cold, but they were clear. Not defensive — more like a door being gently closed before Stanley could step through. Stan hesitated. His hand froze mid-motion on Xeno’s back, then resumed, slower this time.

— Okay, — he said after a long pause. — We don’t have to. Not until you’re ready.

Xeno didn’t respond, but he didn’t move away either. His fingers found the edge of Stanley’s shirt and curled there, gripping lightly like he needed something to hold onto. Like maybe silence, in this moment, was the safest place for both of them. And Stanley stayed quiet. He didn’t ask again. He just held him closer, letting the weight of unanswered questions settle between their bodies like a blanket. Heavy, yes — but not unbearable. Not as long as they were like this.

They lay there in the hush of the rainy morning, bodies close, breathing slower now. The air between them was thick with everything unsaid, but neither moved to fill it. Stanley’s hand rested lightly on Xeno’s shoulder, his thumb drawing lazy, absent-minded circles against the fabric of his shirt. He could feel the rise and fall of Xeno’s chest — not perfectly calm, but no longer on the edge of panic either.

Time seemed to stretch, softened by the rain and the warmth of the bed. The quiet wrapped around them like a second blanket, and for a while, neither of them broke it. Then, after a long, slow breath, Xeno groaned softly.

— God… I think I’m dying.

Stanley blinked, and pulled back just enough to look down at him.

— What?

Xeno didn’t lift his head. His eyes were still shut, brow furrowed in pure, pitiful agony.

— My skull is going to split open. It’s official. Worst hangover of my entire life, — he muttered, voice low and gravelly. — And I think my stomach is trying to mutiny.

Stanley let out a quiet laugh, one hand brushing a stray lock of hair from Xeno’s forehead.

— That’s what you get for finishing half the bottle by yourself.

— Don’t remind me, — Xeno groaned, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. — I already want to disappear into the earth. Everything hurts. My brain. My face. My… soul.

Stanley grinned despite himself.

— You’re so dramatic.

— I’m literally dying, — Xeno replied without missing a beat. — It’s not dramatic if it’s true.

He rolled onto his back slowly, like every movement was a betrayal of his body, and draped one arm over his eyes to block out the gray light filtering through the curtains.

— How are you even alive? Didn’t you drink too?

— Yeah, but I stopped when I realized you were about to spill your entire emotional history onto the floor.

— Don’t. You. Dare.

Stanley laughed again and leaned over, pressing a soft, almost teasing kiss to the side of Xeno’s jaw.

— Relax. I said we wouldn’t talk about it. Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the theatrics.

Xeno groaned again, but this time there was a faint, reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

— If I die today, bury me in silence and shame.

— Noted, — Stanley said, still smiling. — But first, you’re drinking water. And maybe eating something greasy. I heard that helps.

Xeno made a small, miserable noise under his breath, then turned his head just enough to peek at Stanley from beneath his arm.

— Will you make it for me?

Stanley smirked.

— I already planned to. Hangover meals and emotional aftercare? Lucky for you, I multitask.

Xeno gave a soft huff — something halfway between a laugh and a sigh — and let his arm fall away from his face. His eyes, though glassy with exhaustion and headache, found Stanley’s.

— You’re too good to me, — he muttered.

— Maybe, — Stanley whispered, brushing his fingers gently down Xeno’s cheek. — So get used to it.

Stanley stood up, glancing down at him — and suddenly, the idea of leaving Xeno alone, even for a second, felt impossible.

— Hold on, I’ll get you some water.

He left quickly, footsteps light across the floor and came back a minute later holding a glass of water in one hand and a painkiller in the other.

— Drink this. It'll help.

Xeno took the glass, but when he reached for the pill, his fingers trembled just slightly. Stanley noticed — and without thinking, he reached out and covered Xeno’s hand with his own, steadying him, guiding the pill toward his lips.

— Careful, — he murmured, feeling the warmth of Xeno’s skin under his palm — still warm, still weakened, but still stubborn as ever.

Xeno looked up at him, and for a second, something flickered in his eyes. Something almost shy.

— I’m not that helpless, — he muttered, but he didn’t pull away.

— Just take it, — Stanley said gently, not lifting his hand.

Xeno sighed but didn’t argue. He swallowed the pill and took a few slow sips of water. Then he held the glass a little tighter, like he was about to say something else — but thought better of it. Stanley watched him, noticing the way his lashes trembled slightly, the way he still looked a bit lost in his own skin.

— You’re way too caring, — Xeno mumbled with a crooked little smirk, trying to slip back into his usual sarcastic tone. — Is that your secret skill?

— Just got used to looking after you, — Stanley replied with a soft grin, but he didn’t meet Xeno’s eyes.

The words came out quieter than he’d meant them to — almost uncertain like they had slipped free before he’d had the chance to hold them back. And when Xeno heard them, his lips parted slightly, as if to ask something — but he didn’t. Instead, he just let out a breath, his shoulders dropping a little, the tension between them thinning like fog in sunlight.

— Thanks, — he said softly.

Stanley didn’t answer. He just watched him — watched as Xeno’s body slowly eased into the morning, the harsh lines of exhaustion softening, the sharp edges of his expression dulling to something gentler. Then, without thinking, Stanley reached out and took his hand — just a light squeeze, just enough to feel the warmth of his fingers. Xeno blinked at him, a flicker of surprise passing through his eyes. But again — he didn’t pull away. Didn’t resist. So Stanley gave his hand a small tug.

— Come on, — he said quietly, his voice careful, calm.

And just like that, he led him toward the kitchen.

Stanley stood by the stove, stirring the eggs in the pan, but his mind was far from breakfast. Every so often, he stole glances at Xeno, who sat slouched at the kitchen table, sleepily rubbing his eyes. He looked pale, and drained, the dark circles under his eyes stark against his skin. Like someone had reached in and scraped out all his energy. And yet, even now, Xeno was trying to play it cool — lazily tracing the rim of his water glass with one finger, pretending like nothing had happened. Stanley turned his attention back to the pan, swallowing the heavy sigh pressing at his chest.

— How’re you feeling? Did the pill help at all? — he asked, keeping his voice neutral.

— Not really. Still feel like crap, — Xeno muttered, dragging a hand through his tangled hair. — But hey, at least it seems like the party was a success, right?

He gave a crooked smile, but there was nothing real in it. No spark. Just a hollow curve of his lips, as if smiling would make it all easier to carry. Stanley pressed his lips into a thin line. Last night… he remembered the weight of Xeno in his arms, how he’d nearly lost balance more than once. He remembered the slurred words, the exhaustion in his voice — the hurt hiding underneath it all. He remembered that damn bruise.

— Xeno… about the bruise… — Stanley’s voice was quiet but steady.

Xeno stilled for half a second. Then he sighed and waved a dismissive hand.

— I just fell.

Just fell. Of course. Stanley had heard that one before. The tone too — light, indifferent, like it didn’t matter. Like it wasn’t worth thinking about. But it did matter. It mattered to him.

— Really? — Stanley asked, flipping the omelette with forced calm.

Xeno leaned back slightly in his chair, arms crossing over his chest as he narrowed his eyes at him.

— Are you always this suspicious in the morning?

Stanley placed the plate down in front of him and sat across the table, his gaze steady.

— You know you can tell me the truth, right?

Xeno’s eyes lingered on him for a beat. Then he let out a dry, tired laugh.

— Sure thing, wifey.

— Xeno, — Stanley didn’t return the smile.

Xeno rolled his eyes, grabbed a fork, and started poking at the omelette like it had personally offended him.

— What do you want to hear? That I got into a fight? That someone hit me? Would that make it more exciting than “I missed a step and ate pavement”?

— I just want the truth, — Stanley said calmly, not looking away.

— And I gave it to you.

Stanley’s fingers curled against the edge of the table.

— You could just tell me if something happened. You know that, right? I’d do anything for you.

Xeno exhaled slowly, dragging his hand down his face, his fingers lingering at his temples.

— It’s nothing, okay? Don’t stress about it.

Stanley clenched his jaw. He wanted to push — to ask again, to get the truth out of him, to make him stop shutting him out. But just as he opened his mouth, the sound of the front door unlocking cut through the air like a blade. The house, until now wrapped in quiet tension, shattered into noise.

— Xeno?! — a woman’s voice rang out sharply.

Stanley turned around—and saw her. Tall. Impeccable. Cold. Her hair was styled in flawless waves, and rings glittered on her fingers, but her eyes carried the weight of exhaustion and irritation as if just stepping back into this house was already a punishment. Standing beside her was a man—a hunched posture, sharp predatory eyes scanning the room like he was inspecting merchandise. His gaze landed on Xeno and Stanley, and something flickered across his face — confusion first, then annoyance.

— You didn’t tell me you had kids, — his voice was cold, lined with disbelief, like he’d just caught her in some kind of trap.

Xeno tensed. He knew exactly how this would go. He’d seen it play out a hundred times. Same scene, different day. The woman — his mother — let out a long, exhausted breath and looked away.

— I don’t want a girlfriend with baggage, — the man snapped, his voice slicing through the room with cruel precision, not even trying to hide the disgust in his tone.

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed out, the front door slamming shut behind him like a gunshot. The silence that followed was so heavy, it felt like the house itself had stopped breathing.
Stanley shifted awkwardly, unsure if he was supposed to move or speak or just vanish into the floor. He coughed lightly into his fist and tried to break the tension.

— Um… excuse me—

But Xeno’s mother didn’t even glance at him. She walked to the kitchen cabinet, opened it with too much force, and grabbed a bottle of wine. Her movements were brisk and angry like she could shake off what just happened if she moved fast enough. The cork spun out of the bottle, and she took a long, unapologetic swig straight from the neck.

— Get out, — she rasped, not looking at him.

Stanley froze.

She didn’t care. Not about him. Not about Xeno. Not about anyone in this house except herself. He could see it in the way she didn’t even acknowledge Xeno’s presence. The way her hand gripped the bottle tighter than necessary. Stanley turned his gaze to Xeno, searching his face for any reaction—anger, shame, pain. Anything. But Xeno just smiled.

— It’s fine, Stan, — he said, his voice unnaturally calm. Too calm. It almost sounded like he meant it. But in his eyes… there was nothing. Just a hollow stillness.

— Xeno… — Stanley slowly sank back into the chair, ignoring his mother’s order like it had never been said.

Something inside Xeno flinched. He didn’t want Stanley to leave. God, he didn’t want him to leave. Every part of him ached to reach out, to say don’t go, to ask for something—anything—that might crack the script wide open. But it was too late. He’d already smiled like it didn’t matter. Already delivered his lines. Played his part.

— Stan, really… go. I don’t need anything.

Stanley didn’t move. He could feel everything — the thick air, the bitter smell of wine, the ache left in the wake of slammed doors. He could see it — how tense Xeno’s fingers were, gripping the edge of the table just a little too hard, how his shoulders were held too perfectly straight like he was bracing for a blow that might still come.

— I don’t believe you, — Stanley said softly, locking eyes with him.

Xeno’s lips curled into something faintly resembling a smirk.

— You never do.

— Because you lie.

Xeno huffed a quiet laugh and looked down at his plate, stabbing at the omelette like it was suddenly very interesting.

— It’ll be fine, Stan. We’ll talk later.

But there was no belief in his voice. Not a shred. Stanley’s chest tightened. Everything inside him was screaming to stay, to hold him, to not walk away after everything that happened last night — after the vulnerability, the closeness, the quiet tremble of Xeno’s voice when he finally let someone in. Leaving now felt like a betrayal.

— I’m not going anywhere, — Stanley said, voice hoarse. — Not after last night. Not after you—

— Go, Stanley. — Xeno's voice cracked like ice. He still wouldn’t meet his eyes. — Just go. It doesn’t matter what you heard. What you think you saw. Just… go.

Stanley drew in a slow, steady breath, his fingers curling into tight fists at his sides. The air in the room felt thick—too heavy, too cold—and for a moment he simply stood there, unmoving, like if he stood still long enough, something might change. But nothing did. The silence stretched, and he finally exhaled sharply, forcing himself to stand. His body moved before his heart was ready, before his thoughts could catch up. He didn’t want to leave. God, he didn’t want to leave—not now, not after last night, not after seeing the real Xeno break through that carefully crafted exterior. But the boy sitting at the table wasn’t the same one who had trembled in his arms hours ago. That version of Xeno was gone, buried again beneath the same familiar armour. The mask was back—cool, effortless indifference painted across his face like none of it had ever happened. Like the vulnerability Stanley had seen was a mistake, a glitch in the system, something to be erased by morning light.

He reached for his jacket, his hands shaking slightly as he fumbled with the zipper, the metal teeth refusing to catch at first. He could feel Xeno watching him from across the room, but he didn’t lift his eyes. He couldn’t. He knew that if he met his gaze, even for a second, he’d fall apart. He’d stay. He’d throw everything aside just to sit back down and hold him again. But Xeno offered him nothing—not a word, not a plea, not even a glance that might betray how tightly he was holding himself together.
The silence dragged on, deafening in its finality, and Stanley wanted to scream into it, to shake Xeno and force the truth out of him. Tell me to stay. Just say something. Anything. But instead, all he got was that same crooked smile, too rehearsed, too empty, and painfully familiar. The kind of smile that said I’m fine, even when everything underneath was splintering.

— Guess I’ll see you around, — Stanley said, barely above a whisper, the words catching against the tightness in his throat. He hated how small they sounded, how far away. Like a lie neither of them believed.

Xeno gave a short nod and raised his hand in a careless wave, as if this was nothing more than a casual goodbye, as if tomorrow would look the same, sound the same, feel the same. But both of them knew that nothing about this was normal, and tomorrow wouldn’t be the same at all. Still, Xeno said nothing. Didn’t ask him to stay. Didn’t tell him not to go.

Stanley stood at the doorway for one more breathless moment, hope and hurt battling in his chest, his heart silently begging for something—one word, one glance, anything real. But it never came.

When Stanley stepped outside, the cool morning air wrapped around him like a blanket that should’ve felt refreshing — grounding — but somehow only deepened the weight in his chest. He tried to focus on his breathing, on the crunch of gravel beneath his boots, the ordinary details of reality that might pull him out of his spiraling thoughts. But nothing helped. His mind refused to let go.

He didn’t know what unsettled him more — the cold, hollow detachment in Xeno’s mother, her cutting disregard… or the way Xeno had smiled. That blank, well-practiced smile, like none of it mattered. Like he’d already accepted that this was all he’d ever get — and maybe worse, that he deserved it.
Stanley had barely made it to the edge of the driveway when he heard her voice again, drifting out through the slightly open window. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. The quietness made it worse.

— I threw my whole life away because of you. Do you even realize that?

Stanley stopped in his tracks, frozen in place. He didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to. Her voice wasn’t trembling with anger or hysteria. It was flat. Measured. Tired — like she'd been rehearsing these words in her head for years, and now they were finally escaping as inevitable truths, not accusations, but conclusions.

— Your father left because of you. And here you are again, ruining everything — even after I let you stay under my roof. Ungrateful.

There was a pause, and in that silence, Stanley felt something ancient and ugly settling into the air, like the weight of a lifetime pressing into the walls of that house. He could almost feel it — the years of resentment, the bitterness that had no place left to hide.

— You push everyone away. Everyone. Do you think I have anything left in this world except for you? Have you ever thought about that? Have you ever thought about me, about your mother? Or do you even care about anyone’s life but your own?

More silence. Stanley held his breath. Xeno said nothing.

— It’s not like I ever wanted you anyway.

The words were quiet. Barely more than a murmur. But they landed like glass cracking under pressure — sharp, irreversible. Stanley clenched his fists at his sides, the fury in his chest choking him. Still, he didn’t move. His body wouldn’t let him.

— You’re a burden, Xeno. When are you going to grow up and start thinking about someone other than yourself? When are you going to stop making problems for me? When are you going to start taking care of your own mother? Oh—right. I forgot. You’re a goddamn sociopath.

Her voice cracked slightly, not from emotion, but from how long she’d held it in — resentment curdled into something rotten and permanent. And then came the deeper cut — the one she’d been holding like a knife.

— No man is ever going to stay with me as long as I have you in this house.

The words were whispered now, soft in the way that hurts more than shouting ever could. She sounded like a woman mourning a life she never had, blaming a ghost for every regret.

— You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? — her voice rose, shaky now, twisted by a bitterness she could no longer swallow. — You ruin everything. You ruined my marriage. You’re ruining my life. Is this your revenge? For what? For not loving you enough? Can you really blame me for that?

She was gasping now, not from crying — but like the weight of those words was finally starting to choke her too. And still, Xeno said nothing.

— You hate me, don’t you? Then why are you still here? Why are you clinging to this house like it’s home? What are you even staying for?

Stanley could feel it — every single word sinking into Xeno’s skin like shards of ice, slicing from the inside. He wasn’t in that room, but he could feel the silence radiating from it, could imagine Xeno sitting completely still, too frozen to move, too numb to speak. Then her voice dropped again, shifting into something soft — mockingly soft — the way a blade feels gentle before it cuts deepest.

— I’m feeling generous today, so here’s a bit of motherly advice. No one wants you, Xeno.

She let the sentence hang there, like smoke.

— Not me, — she said, exhaling as if releasing a truth that had weighed on her for years. And then, with a cruel little laugh, low and hollow: — Not your little boyfriend either. He’s going to leave too — sooner or later. They always do. Don’t be stupid. Who else but your own mother would tell you the truth?

Stanley’s throat burned. His fists trembled at his sides, his nails digging into his palms so hard they might bleed. He could barely breathe through the rage and helplessness swirling in his chest. A part of him wanted to storm back inside, to say something, to scream or throw something or do anything.

— I just wanted someone to stay…

Stanley clenched his jaw so tightly it ached in his temples.

— Just one person. Anyone… but even you—

She didn’t finish. But she didn’t have to. The silence that followed carried more weight than words ever could. It pressed down like fog, heavy and thick, leaving no room to breathe. And Stanley knew exactly what Xeno was feeling in that moment. The guilt. That dull, soul-draining guilt for simply existing — the kind that crept in so quietly it felt like it had always lived there, waiting.

He forced himself to keep walking, step after step down the street, but each one felt like betrayal. Like he was leaving something behind that wasn’t supposed to be left.

He was heading home, but his mind stayed behind — trapped in that cold, hollow house with its tall walls and bitter air soaked in wine and resentment. The woman’s voice echoed through his head like a curse he couldn’t shake, her words sharp, emotionless, brutal in their simplicity. They weren’t shouted. That would’ve been easier. No, she said them with clarity, like facts she’d long since accepted — and that made them cut deeper.

You push everyone away.

You’re a burden.

No one wants you.

The sentences didn’t just loop in Stanley’s head — they scraped something raw inside him, igniting a quiet fury that had nowhere to go. He wanted to scream, to break something, to run back and prove her wrong just by standing there, holding Xeno in his arms and not leaving. He wanted her to see that Xeno wasn’t a burden — that he mattered.

But more than the anger, there was something else burning hotter — fear.

Because Xeno hadn’t said a word. He didn’t yell back, didn’t get angry, didn’t leave the room or slam the door. He’d just… sat there. Listening. Taking it all in like he always had. Like it was normal.
And that terrified Stanley more than anything else. Because silence wasn’t strength. Silence was surrender.

Stanley didn’t even remember how he got home. His feet had carried him on autopilot, but he hadn’t seen the road, hadn’t noticed the people he passed. The city itself felt muted — as if the world had lowered its volume, all the sounds melting into the quiet roar of his thoughts. Only when he slammed the door shut behind him did reality begin to take shape again, solidifying around him like fog slowly lifting.

But there was no relief. No sense of safety. The house felt just as it had outside — empty, heavy, like the air had thickened, and breathing now took more effort than it should. He shrugged off his jacket, missing the hook entirely, and let it fall to the floor. Immediately, he pulled out his phone, unlocked it with trembling fingers, and opened his chat with Xeno.

“You okay?”

He typed it quickly, but then stared at the screen, motionless. It wasn’t enough. It felt stupid — shallow. He wanted to say more, to say something that mattered, something that would remind Xeno that he wasn’t alone. That he was needed. That every cruel word his mother had spit out was a goddamn lie. He wanted to say You don’t have to go through this alone. You don’t have to pretend with me.

But what was the point?

He could already see it in his head — the lazy reply, some sarcastic joke, a brush-off disguised as indifference. Or worse — nothing at all.

Still, he hit send.

The message flew off into the digital void, and then the screen remained still. No typing indicator. No quick reply with a wink or a joke to lighten the air. Just silence.

Stanley let out a slow breath, dragged a hand down his face, and collapsed onto his bed. The ceiling above him stretched out in dull, endless gray, mirroring the storm of questions circling inside his head. Why? Why hadn’t Xeno ever told him? Why had he just sat there, smiling, while his mother tore him apart? Why didn’t he ask for help? Why didn’t he say something?

Stanley had known Xeno’s mom was hardly ever home. He’d heard the occasional comment, the subtle bitterness in Xeno’s voice — always brushed off with a smirk and a “whatever.” But he hadn’t imagined that. He hadn’t imagined a house that cold. Words that sharp. A silence that deep.
He stared at the chat screen, the empty space beneath his message growing more suffocating by the second. And for the first time in a long time, Stanley felt something real and raw curling in his chest.

Fear.

He didn’t even realize how tightly he was gripping the phone until it buzzed in his hand, jolting him upright. His heart leapt as he glanced at the screen — but the name that appeared wasn’t Xeno’s.

Maya.

“Hey. Are you free? I wanna see you.”

Stanley frowned. She rarely texted out of the blue, and never asked to meet without a reason. Something was off. He typed a reply quickly, fingers stiff.

“Yeah. What’s going on?”

There was a pause. He flipped back to Xeno’s chat. Still nothing. No response. No read receipt. No little dots. Just silence. A few moments later, Maya replied:

“ I’ll tell you in person.”

Stanley exhaled through his nose, gripping the phone tighter. She could’ve just told him what it was. But the fact that she didn’t... that she couldn’t, maybe... meant it wasn’t nothing. It meant it was serious. He looked back at Xeno’s chat again. It had been more than fifteen minutes now.

Still nothing.

He set the phone on the bed beside him, but the gnawing anxiety inside didn’t let go. Something was wrong. Really wrong. He could feel it in his bones, that quiet, crawling dread that no logic could talk him out of. And all he could think about was Xeno, still sitting alone in that house, surrounded by silence, still not answering. Still pretending he didn’t need anyone.

Xeno stood still, frozen. He’d heard every word. Every sound, every pause, every sentence soaked in disappointment and fatigue. This wasn’t rage. This wasn’t some emotional outburst he could write off as heat-of-the-moment anger.

No — this was what she truly thought.

He wasn’t just a nuisance. He was the weight she’d been dragging behind her for years. The reason her life hadn’t turned out the way she wanted. The reason people left. The reason she was alone. And the worst part wasn’t hatred — hatred, at least, required feeling something. But there was nothing left in her. Just a numb, bitter kind of contempt, worn like a second skin.

“If it weren’t for you, my life would’ve turned out different.

You’re the reason I failed.

No one stays with me because of you.

No one wants you.”

Xeno took a step back, then another — not even thinking, just moving like his body had made the decision for him. Like it knew staying there, standing in that space, would break him. He reached his bedroom door, pushed it open, stepped inside, and shut it quietly behind him. Then he leaned back against it and slowly slid to the floor. His breathing was even. Too even. His chest ached, like the air had turned to something thicker, heavier — something that had to be forced in. His head buzzed with her voice, the words still ringing, still echoing through his skull like they had been carved into the walls.

“You ruin everything.”

He gritted his teeth. Don’t think.

“No one wants you.”

His fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms, sharp enough to leave half-moon dents in his skin. Don’t think.

“Even that boyfriend of yours — he’ll leave you too.”

Shut up.

A sharp breath tore from his chest as he pressed his hands against his temples, squeezing as if he could force the thoughts out physically, as if he could crush the words before they rooted deeper. But they didn’t go. They never did. They grew like rot, spreading through him, black and sticky, consuming every other thought until they were all he could hear.

“You’re a mistake.”

That one landed like a knife. A cold, clean cut — final. And real. He tried to block it out. To breathe. To feel something else. Anything else. But the numbness returned too fast, too strong. It wrapped around his limbs, his throat, his heart. And the cruellest part? Just an hour ago, he’d felt a flicker of warmth — just a flicker, but it had been real. He’d woken up to Stanley’s eyes, Stanley’s voice, Stanley’s hands holding him like he mattered. For a few fragile moments, he’d let himself believe he wasn’t completely alone. That maybe, just maybe, someone did care.

And now?

Now those moments felt like a lie. Her voice had shattered them with terrifying precision, every word finding the softest, weakest place in him and driving itself in like a nail.

“You’re not wanted. Not by me. Not by him. Not by anyone.”

He needed to move. To do something. To stop the screaming in his head. His breath hitched as he reached up and hit himself — a soft slap to the side of his head, as if that would reset his thoughts, knock them loose, make space for something else.

But it didn’t.

So he did it again. Harder. And again. And again. Until pain bloomed under his skin, sharp and hot — but still not enough. Not enough to numb what was inside. Not enough to make it stop.
His body curled in on itself, hands tangled in his hair, breath trembling as he rocked slightly, chasing silence that refused to come.

No one wants you.

The voice in his mind sounded just like hers.

It wasn’t just his mother’s voice echoing in his head — it was her truth. The kind of truth that didn’t scream or break. It settled deep into his bones, curling around his thoughts like smoke, reshaping the way he saw himself. Each word she’d spoken hit like a bullet, piercing through layers he hadn’t even known were still intact. He couldn’t outrun it. He couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened. And he didn’t know when it all began — when he became someone it was so easy to push away. Someone disposable. Someone who could be cast aside like trash.

His body moved before his thoughts could catch up. He rose unsteadily to his feet, legs weak, balance off. He wavered for a second, reaching for something — anything — to hold on to, but there was nothing. Nothing that grounded him. And then, like something inside him had taken control, he staggered toward the dresser, yanked open a drawer with a rough pull — and stopped.

It was pointless. All of it.

Nothing in that drawer could help him. Nothing anywhere could.

His gaze drifted and landed on something in the far corner of the room. A small glass figurine. A fox — sleek and smooth, with pointed ears and a delicately arched tail, its body frozen mid-step like it had been caught in motion. Xeno stared at it, heart tightening. His father had given it to him when he was a kid.

“Foxes always find a way out. They're clever. Like you.”

Back then, those words had sounded gentle. Kind. Warm, even. He remembered clutching that little figure in his hands so tightly he thought it might shatter — because it felt like the only thing in the world that meant something. Something worth holding on to. He’d believed it. Believed in that small, fragile promise of escape. That foxes were survivors, and so was he. But now, as he picked it up again, his fingers trembling around the cool glass, it felt hollow. Lifeless. The clever fox hadn’t found a way out — and neither had he.

“This is your fault.”

The words rang in his head like a curse. Over and over. Louder. Sharper. His chest tightened until it felt like he couldn’t breathe, like the air itself was caving in on him. He wanted it to stop. He wanted the moment to pass. For the pain to dull. For everything to go quiet.

But it didn’t.

The pain stayed. Sharp and constant. Heavy and patient. It wasn’t going anywhere.

The fox felt warm in his palm — almost alive — and yet it meant nothing. It was as empty as he was. Just a memory of something that had once given him hope. Now, it was a lie. Foxes don’t always find a way out. Not when the walls keep getting higher. And suddenly, without even thinking, Xeno gripped it tighter. His fingers clenched so hard around the figurine he could feel the pressure building — and then, in one sudden motion, he threw it against the wall. The sound was sharp, delicate. Glass cracking. Then shattering.

For a second, the room went still. Even the air felt frozen. The wind outside quieted like the world had paused to listen. The shards scattered across the floor, glittering like broken stars, spinning across the hardwood until they stopped, motionless.

Xeno just stood there, chest heaving, fingers still curled like he was still holding it. The crack of glass echoed in his skull long after the sound had faded. He stood among the fragments, unmoving. Everything inside him felt stalled — like even pain had given up trying to roar. It was still there, but quieter now. Not gone. Just settled. Like dust after a collapse. Like something that wasn’t going to leave — something he would have to live with.

He sank onto the edge of the bed, hands shaking as they rested in his lap. His breathing was unsteady, heavy, like he’d just run for miles and gotten nowhere. He stared up at the ceiling, eyes open but vacant.

He didn’t cry.

He wasn’t allowed to cry. He didn’t even know how to anymore.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

Everything still hurt.

Everything still felt empty.

And the worst part was — he couldn’t even tell if this was the lowest point.

Or just another quiet place before the next fall.

Xeno sat motionless on the cold wooden floor, his eyes locked on the scattered shards around him. They were scattered haphazardly, cruelly reflecting the state of his own insides — sharp, fragile, useless. He knew he should get up. Grab a towel, clean up the mess before someone saw it. But his body wouldn’t move. It was like he’d fused with the floor, paralyzed by the crushing weight pressing down on his chest.

His gaze wandered across the fragments, each jagged piece of glass catching the light in distorted glimmers — like broken mirrors, splintering reality into a thousand warped reflections. In their shattered surfaces, he saw pieces of himself. His face — fractured and ruined, just like he felt. Like someone had ripped his soul to pieces and he was now helplessly trying to gather the remains, knowing deep down that some wounds would never heal.

It was laughable. Pathetic. So much so that Xeno almost wanted to laugh — not out of humour, but desperation. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Not from words. They were just words. Nothing new. Nothing he hadn’t already suspected for years. His mother had never said those things out loud before, not so bluntly, not so brutally — but she didn’t need to. He had always felt it. In her tired stares, in her cold silences, in the way she said his name like it was a burden. Like she was always on the verge of calling someone else instead. Always wishing there was someone else.

So why now? Why did it hurt so much? Why did it feel like her voice had carved straight through him for the first time, like it caught him completely off guard, like it tore open something that had barely begun to heal?

Why couldn’t he just forget it?

Xeno dragged his hand down his face, as if he could wipe away not only the exhaustion clouding his eyes but the weakness itself — the unbearable, humiliating weakness that had taken hold of him so easily. He hated it. He hated the way he felt. Hated himself for feeling it. Weakness was the one thing he couldn’t afford right now.

But worst of all was the lie.

He’d lied to Stanley. Pretended and claimed it was a blur, all haze and fog, like nothing had really stuck. But that wasn’t true. Not even close. He remembered everything. He remembered every second, every devastatingly beautiful detail. He remembered the way the alcohol had first settled into his veins like fire, easing the tension in his muscles, and numbing the noise in his head. He remembered how the world had blurred, how the sounds around him had grown too loud, too fast, too bright — and how, in the middle of it all, Stanley had been there. Clearer than anything else.

He remembered Stanley standing close. Too close. Closer than he’d ever been before. Remembered how his back hit the streetlight post behind him, how Stanley’s hands had held him there — not rough, not careless, but firm. He remembered the warmth of Stanley’s breath against his mouth, the way the kiss started gentle, unsure, then deepened — messy, desperate, undeniable. And Xeno had kissed him back. Despite every voice screaming at him not to. Despite knowing he shouldn’t. He had kissed him back. At first hesitant, cautious — but with every passing second, he’d leaned in more. Let himself want it more. Until everything else faded, and there was only that heat, that closeness, that impossible sense of being wanted. He hadn’t wanted to pull away. He hadn’t wanted it to stop.

But the morning had come. And with it, clarity. Guilt. The horrifying knowledge of what he’d done. And so he’d decided to pretend. To erase it. To lie. Not because it hadn’t mattered — but because it had mattered too much. Because pretending was safer. Because he wasn’t allowed to feel that way. Because people like him didn’t deserve that kind of softness.

He clenched his hands into fists, hard, barely noticing how his nails bit into his palms until his skin stung. Inside his head, the voice returned — low and merciless, echoing from somewhere deep, where her words had taken root.

“You’re the one who’s supposed to take care of him. You’re the one who’s supposed to be strong. You don’t get to be weak. You’re nothing but a burden. You’ll ruin him, too.”

And it didn’t matter how many times he tried to block it out — because he believed it. Every single word.

He wiped a shaking hand across his face, as if that could erase more than just the exhaustion stinging behind his eyes — as if it could rub out the weakness itself. He hated how small he felt. How pathetic. He hated that he was sitting there, wallowing, while Stanley — Stanley — carried pain far worse than his, and still stood tall.

He remembered the bruises. The ones Stanley had tried to hide, glancing away when Xeno noticed. He remembered the way he’d held his ribs sometimes, like even breathing hurt. He remembered how Stanley’s fists would clench at his sides, giving away the pain his voice never did, his expression never allowed. Stanley had always looked unshakable. Unmovable.

And what was Xeno? He was sitting on the floor crying over words. Over things he already knew.
How could he expect anyone to care about him, when someone like Stanley was out there carrying so much more?

He didn’t want the attention. Didn’t want the pity. He didn’t want to pull Stanley into his mess — not now, not ever. Stanley deserved someone solid. Someone who could hold him up when he stumbled. Someone who could offer strength and warmth and hope. Not someone cracked and useless like this.
He glanced down at the glass again, and felt something burn behind his eyes — not tears, not really. Just the sting of pressure that never quite spilled over. The glass looked so much like him — glittering, broken, sharp. Unfixable. No matter how carefully you tried to piece it back together, it would never be whole again.

Xeno pulled his knees to his chest and held them there, as a wave of pain and confusion crested inside him. He tried to breathe deeper, slower — but it was no use. The thoughts in his head were spinning too fast, voices clashing and overlapping until each one screamed louder than the last. Every thought scratched against his mind like nails, leaving invisible wounds that deepened with each heartbeat. His body trembled, his chest tightened, and it felt like the walls were inching closer, threatening to crush him beneath the weight of everything he hadn’t said.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

He needed to stop it — to silence the spiral, even for just a second. His eyes flicked to the glass on the floor, and something inside him cracked. His hands moved before his mind could catch up, reaching out, seizing the largest shard. It glinted in the low light, a beautiful, cruel thing. He clenched it in his hand, feeling the sharp edges dig into his skin, slicing into him, sharp and immediate — and for a moment, it was a relief.

But it wasn’t enough.

Without thinking — without hesitating — he brought the glass to his thigh and drove it into the flesh just above his knee.

The pain was immediate, blinding. It stole the breath from his lungs and sent a hot, white flash through his vision. Blood rushed to the surface instantly, warm and fast, sliding down his skin in a single, deliberate line. It stung like hell — but it cut through the noise. For the first time in what felt like forever, the chaos stopped. The voices quieted. And all that was left was the ache. The real, physical ache.

He exhaled, a broken, shaking breath, and closed his eyes. Letting the pain center him. Letting it wash over everything else.

And it helped. God, it helped.

For a moment, he forgot the voices. The guilt. The look in Stanley’s eyes. There was only this: the bite of pain and the steady warmth of blood sliding down his skin, trickling onto the floor, painting the shards in a deep, jarring red. He stared at the way it mixed with the glass — clear and crimson — and for a moment, he felt like he was in control again. Like maybe he could still feel something. Maybe he was still alive.

But as the sharpness dulled, the thoughts crept back in. Soft at first, then louder, crawling beneath his skin again, winding themselves tight around his throat. Panic stirred in his gut, and he looked at the shard still clutched in his hand — ready, waiting.

He thought about doing it again.

His hand trembled. And then — a flash of light broke the stillness. His phone screen lit up, glowing from where it lay forgotten on the floor. The name on the screen made his breath catch in his throat.

Stanley.

Xeno froze.

His fingers loosened around the glass. The shard clinked softly as he set it aside with trembling hands, then reached out and picked up the phone. The message was short. Simple. But somehow, it cracked something open in him.

“You okay?”

Just those two words. No pressure. No judgment. Just warmth — quiet, steady, real. Xeno stared at the screen, chest rising and falling as something inside him stirred. Something fragile. Something still holding on.

Xeno’s fingers uncurled, and the phone slipped from his hand, landing softly on the floor. His gaze dropped to the bleeding wound on his thigh, and a quiet, bitter smile pulled at his lips. He needed to stop the bleeding. Clean the cut. Make sure Stanley never saw it. Make sure he never knew what had happened. That he never had to worry. That he never saw how badly Xeno was coming apart — how completely he was shattering into sharp, useless pieces.

With a deep breath, he pushed himself off the floor, his leg throbbing with every slight movement. The pain was sharp and real, but it didn’t matter. Only one thing mattered now — Stanley couldn’t find out. He had to believe Xeno was fine. Even if it was just another lie. Even if it meant piecing himself together again in silence, alone, over and over.

Stanley reached the diner about fifteen minutes later. It was a small place tucked away on a quiet side street, dimly lit from the outside with fogged-up windows and the glow of a flickering neon sign. The air inside smelled like grease and fries, and something sweet — probably the milkshakes the place was known for.

He scanned the room. Maya was already seated by the window, tapping her fingernail absently against her glass of soda. When she spotted him, she waved him over without hesitation. Stanley slid into the booth across from her, tugging down his hood and lacing his fingers together on the table. His eyes were distant, unfocused, like his mind was still somewhere else entirely.

— Hey, — he said quietly, trying to keep his voice steady, composed. — So… what’s going on? What did you want to talk about?

— I’ll tell you in a sec, but let’s order first, — Maya replied, grabbing a menu and flipping through it without actually reading anything. She wasn’t here for the food — that much was obvious. She just wanted to figure out what the hell was going on in her friend’s head.

Stanley picked up his menu too, but the words didn’t mean anything. Everything blurred together — letters, names, numbers — all swimming in and out of focus. He sighed and shut it again.

— I’ll have a burger. And water, — he told the waitress who had just walked up, wearing a tired smile and holding a small notepad.

Maya glanced up, offered a brief nod.

— Same for me. But with a strawberry milkshake, please.

Once the waitress disappeared toward the kitchen, Maya folded her hands on the table and leaned forward, eyes fixed on Stanley.

— You look like you haven’t slept at all. And you left early last night, too. Did something happen?

Stanley rubbed his forehead, as if trying to scrub the exhaustion off his skin. His reply was slow, reluctant.

— Just didn’t get much sleep. It was a long night.

— This have anything to do with Xeno? — she asked gently, lifting an eyebrow. There was a kind of quiet care in her voice that made Stanley flinch a little, like it hit too close to something he wasn’t ready to unpack.

He shrugged, gaze dropping past her shoulder to the rain-slick glass of the window behind.

— Sort of. He got really drunk last night. Like, bad. I couldn’t just leave him like that, so I stayed with him until he finally passed out.

Maya let out a short laugh, leaning back in her seat and shaking her head with an amused smile.

— Huh. Honestly, I thought he’d keep it together the whole night. I was betting he’d be gone within ten minutes. But no — turns out he was practically the life of the party. Who would've guessed?

Stanley gave a soft, humorless snort, shaking his head.

— Yeah, trust me. I was surprised too. That’s not usually him. Last night… it was like he was trying to prove something. To himself, maybe. Or to someone else.

— You mean he got drunk on purpose? — Maya asked, her tone curious as she leaned in slightly.

— I don’t know, — Stanley fell silent for a moment, thinking, then added uncertainly,

— Maybe. I mean, he’s usually so composed, always in control. But last night… it was like something snapped. I don’t think he was drinking to have fun. It felt more like he was trying to forget something.

Maya frowned, studying his face carefully before speaking again, her voice quieter now.

— You’re worried about him, aren’t you?

Stanley shrugged again, but this time it was tighter, stiffer — like the movement itself resisted the truth.

— Maybe. I just… I don’t want him to do something stupid. He was acting weird yesterday. Drinking in silence at first, then suddenly cracking jokes, laughing too loudly, and the next minute just staring off like he wasn’t even there.

Maya nodded slowly, her expression growing more serious.

— Yeah, I noticed that too. Like he was trying to drown something out with the alcohol. Do you know what’s going on with him?

Stanley let out a heavy breath, his fingers lacing together tighter than before.

— I sort of do… But he doesn’t really talk about stuff. I don’t think he trusts anyone enough to open up. And that… that kind of gets to me.

— Have you tried talking to him seriously when he was sober? Like, really talking — no jokes, no trying to lighten the mood? — Maya asked gently.

Stanley gave a crooked smile and dropped his gaze.

— Of course I’ve tried. But it doesn’t work with him. He shuts down. Puts on that “I’m fine and I don’t wanna talk about it” act, and I know it’s not true. It frustrates me, you know? That he still thinks he has to deal with everything alone, like no one else has the right to care.

— And that hurts you, — Maya said softly, like she wasn’t asking but stating something she already knew.

Stanley didn’t answer right away. Then, quietly, he said:

— Yeah. I just… I want him to see that there are people who actually give a damn. That I’m not around by accident. But it’s like he builds this wall every time, and no matter what I do, I can’t get through it.

Maya offered him a gentle smile, and lightly squeezed his hand in support.

— Maybe he just needs more time. You know how it is — trust builds drop by drop, but it can disappear in a second. Don’t give up on him so fast.

Stanley tightened his grip around the glass in front of him, trying to focus on the condensation sliding down its side instead of the cold unease creeping into his chest — like thin threads of ice slowly spreading through his veins.

— Hey, Stan, can I ask you something? — Maya said suddenly, her voice quiet but firm.

He tensed instantly, already guessing where this was headed.

— Go ahead, — he muttered, not looking up.

Maya leaned forward slightly, her tone soft and careful, the way someone speaks right before they peel back a truth:

— You like him, don’t you?
Stanley froze. Just for a second. Almost choked on his water. He set the glass down a little too fast, a grimace twisting across his face as he avoided her eyes.

— What makes you think that?

— Just an observation, — she replied calmly, with a small, knowing smile. — You’re not exactly the “checking on people” type. No offense. I mean, you care, but usually… you keep your distance. And last night? You stayed. You didn’t sleep. You took care of him like it was the most important thing in the world. You’re worried about him in a way that’s… more than friendly.

Stanley sighed, lowering his gaze, feeling that awful warmth creep up the back of his neck and settle across his cheeks.

— I… I’m just worried about him, okay? That’s normal, isn’t it?

Maya’s smile softened, her expression gentle, almost apologetic.

— I’m not judging you. I’m not trying to push. I just… wanted to ask. I know I haven’t exactly been the best friend lately. But I’m trying. I want to understand.

Stanley nodded, a short, almost mechanical motion — but inside, something knotted painfully tight. Saying it out loud was harder than he thought. Like ripping something out of his chest. But he still did it.

— He’s… important to me, Maya. It’s hard seeing him like that. Shutting everyone out, carrying all that pain like it’s normal. I care about him. And I hate watching him go through it alone. That’s all.

Maya gave him a small, triumphant smile, her eyebrows lifting just slightly.

— That’s not “nothing,” Stan.

He groaned and rolled his eyes, exhaling through his nose as he looked away again.

— Just… don’t tell him. Please. He’s already carrying too much. If he finds out how I feel, he’ll close off even more. I can’t risk that.

Maya nodded, still smiling, but with understanding now.

— I won’t. Promise. Just… don’t ignore what you’re feeling. I think he really does need someone. Someone who can prove he doesn’t have to keep shutting everyone out. And I think that someone… might be you.

Stanley rubbed his forehead, trying to chase away the tightness building behind his eyes — the ache of exhaustion, of worry, of too many things unsaid.

— If only it were that simple…

— Sometimes it is, — Maya said gently. — Just stay close. That’s all he needs right now.

He let out a long breath, dragging a hand down his face like he was trying to wipe away the hesitation clinging to him. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy — just still. Calm. Only the faint ticking of the diner’s wall clock reminded him that time hadn’t stopped while he tried to piece himself together.
And then, almost too quietly to be heard, Stanley spoke.

— I like being around him.

The words felt thick, like they’d come from somewhere deeper than his throat — from somewhere buried. He didn’t look at her. Couldn’t.

— He drives me crazy, Maya. It’s not just that I like him. I think… I think I love him. And I want him to look at me and see someone who’s never going to walk away. Someone he can believe in. Someone who won’t let him down. Not ever.

She raised an eyebrow, smirking — but softer than usual, a little more gentle.

— So it’s that serious?

— Yeah. It’s that serious. So serious I’m completely fucked, — Stanley muttered, lifting his head, his voice suddenly firmer, like the weight of finally saying it out loud gave him something solid to hold onto. — And the worst part? Today he looked at me like I nothing happened. Like none of it mattered. And you know what? That hurts. It hurts knowing I remember every little thing — every glance, every touch — and he doesn’t want to talk about it. Like it was nothing.

Maya looked at him with a soft, amused smile, one laced with something warmer, more understanding than teasing.

— Well, finally. Took you long enough to say it out loud. You’ve been walking around acting like you don’t care about anything.

Stanley let out a bitter breath through his nose and tightened his grip around his water glass, avoiding her eyes.

— I’m just tired of pretending. I want him to acknowledge me. I want him to realize that it wasn’t just a moment, wasn’t some accident. I don’t want him thinking it meant nothing to me — because it did. It does. More than I can explain.

His voice cracked on the last word, and he went quiet, eyes fixed on the table like he could disappear into it if he stared hard enough. Maya’s teasing faded instantly, her smile softening into something gentle and warm.

— Have you told him that? — she asked.

— I’ve hinted… — Stanley let out a breathy, humorless laugh. — But how can I tell him? He’s dealing with so much already. I want to be there for him. Even if he doesn’t notice. Even if he doesn’t need me. But I can’t shake this fear that maybe… maybe it didn’t mean anything to him at all.

Maya leaned a little closer across the table.

— Maybe you should just tell him anyway. Clearly, it means something to you.

Stanley gave her a small, sad smile and shook his head.

— No, Maya. He’s barely holding himself together as it is. I’m not gonna be the one who makes it worse. I don’t want him thinking he has to feel bad about it. I’ll just wait. Be around. And maybe someday… he’ll believe he can trust me. And maybe then he’ll want to talk about what happened at the party.

— You’re a good guy, Stanley, — Maya said softly, looking at him with quiet fondness. — Honestly? Maybe too good for him.

— I just want him to be happy, — Stanley whispered, turning his head away like saying it too clearly might make it more real. More painful. — And if that means waiting forever… I’ll wait.

Maya smiled, this time with warmth that didn’t hide behind sarcasm. She pulled her hand back from the table and slipped her phone out of her pocket.

— Well, at least now you sound like someone in love. Congratulations — it’s official.

Stanley closed his eyes and took a slow breath. Her words annoyed him a little. But they also gave him something he hadn’t had in a while — clarity. And a strange kind of peace. At least now he wasn’t lying to himself.

The waitress returned with their order, balancing a tray full of heat and scent. She placed it all down with practiced ease — a tall burger with a glossy bun, steaming hot fries sprinkled with just enough salt to tempt, and Maya’s milkshake, pink and frothy, which she immediately pulled toward herself. She twirled the straw slowly, lost in thought, not yet taking a sip. Stanley reached for a fry and popped it into his mouth without even tasting it. He wasn’t hungry. He felt hollow — like someone had wrung out whatever was left inside him and left him here to sit in the aftermath. Quiet. Tired. But at least now he knew the truth.

Maya wasn’t in a rush. She lazily stirred her milkshake with the straw, eyes fixed on the soft pink swirl like it held answers she hadn’t quite figured out yet. There was a long pause before she finally looked up and spoke, her voice careful.

— Hey, Stan… did you hear what people were saying about you two last night?

Stanley’s brows pulled together as he glanced at her, confused.

— No. What are you talking about?

She gave him a hesitant smile and let out a slow breath, like she didn’t really want to be the one to say it, but knew she had to anyway.

— Well… after you guys left together, some rumors started going around. A bunch of people were shocked you even talk to him. And then, yeah… some started saying crap.

Stanley tensed immediately, his fingers tightening around the glass in front of him.

— What kind of crap?

— You know… that he’s arrogant, full of himself, thinks he’s better than everyone. Some were saying he only got drunk to draw attention, — Maya pulled a face and turned toward the window, clearly uncomfortable. — Honestly, I wouldn’t have brought it up, but I thought… maybe you should know.

— That’s bullshit, — Stanley said, voice low and hard.

— I know it is. But when has that ever mattered to people like them? They’d rather keep their version of the truth. It’s easier for them that way.

Stanley didn’t respond right away. Instead, a vivid image flashed through his mind — Xeno curled up on the bed last night, his face buried in the pillow, that bitter, crooked smile on his lips as he mumbled that everyone hated him… and that he hated himself too.

— They were probably just shocked to see how close you are to him, — Maya added with a quiet sigh. — Someone even said you were just hanging around him out of pity.

Stanley’s head snapped up, his eyes suddenly darker, sharper.

— That’s bullshit too.

— Of course it is, — she said gently. — But it doesn’t stop them from saying it.

Maya picked up her burger but didn’t take a bite. She just held it in her hands like the conversation had drained her appetite.

— Some people think he’s faking it. That he’s pretending to be broken just to get sympathy out of you.

Stanley felt something twist inside him, something tight and angry. His hands curled into fists beneath the table.

— They don’t know shit.

— Exactly, — Maya said calmly, watching his reaction. — But you get that there’s no convincing them, right? They’ll believe whatever makes them feel superior.

— Then screw them, — he muttered through clenched teeth.

Maya let out a soft, amused breath.

— That’s one way to deal with it. But I don’t think Xeno knows how to just… stop caring.

— So what, I’m supposed to keep my head down too, just to keep people happy?

— Of course not, — she shrugged. — But you know how he is. He might act like none of it gets to him, but I’m pretty sure it does. Those kinds of things always hit harder when you’re already barely holding on.

Stanley ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, trying to hold back the wave of frustration bubbling up in his chest. Maya went back to stirring her drink, eyes downcast, like she was trying to organize her thoughts before saying something more.

— And one more thing… — Maya hesitated, like she wasn’t sure if she should even say it.

Stanley frowned, rolling his shoulders with a sharp exhale.

— Just spit it out.

Maya sighed heavily and glanced at him, her expression tinted with reluctant concern.

— People are saying Xeno’s dragging you down. That he’s ruining you.

Stanley’s head snapped up, eyes burning with anger.

— What the fuck?

— And that’s not even the worst of it, — Maya added, nervously twisting the ring on her finger like it could somehow ground her. — Some of them think he’s just using you.

Stanley let out a sharp, bitter laugh — but there wasn’t even a trace of humor in it.

— What?

— I’ve heard them talk. They’re saying he’s the type who treats guys like trophies. That he gets what he wants and then moves on. Sleeps with them, then tosses them aside.

Stanley slammed his water down so hard it sloshed over the rim, the fizz hissing against the sides of the glass.

— Are you fucking serious? — His voice shook with rage.

— That’s what people are saying, — Maya said quietly. — After that kiss at the party, the rumors just exploded. They’re saying you’re just his latest toy — and once he’s bored, he’ll find someone new.

Stanley’s jaw clenched, and he felt something in his chest snap. It wasn’t just dumb. It was disgusting. Cruel. He could barely stop his hand from shaking as he gripped the edge of the table.

— Those assholes don’t know anything about him, — he growled, each word forced through his teeth.

Maya watched him carefully, then let out a quiet breath.

— You know you can’t convince them otherwise, right?

— I don’t give a shit what they think, — he barked, but the fury inside him only grew hotter, tighter.

Maya slowly shook her head.

— I don’t know, Stan. You look like you care. You look like you’re ready to kill someone.

He gripped his fork so tightly his knuckles turned white.

— I wish they had the guts to say it to my face.

— And what would you do if they did?

He exhaled slowly, trying to keep his voice from cracking.

— I’d punch them first. Then I’d tell them they’re brain-dead assholes who have no idea what the hell they’re talking about.

Maya gave a dry little laugh.

— Okay, well, maybe skip the punching part. But yeah, I don’t think they’d even listen if you did try to talk sense into them.

— Let them choke on their own bullshit, then.

— They won’t choke. They’ll just keep talking, — Maya muttered, pressing her lips together as she studied his face. — But you know what’s worse?

Stanley looked up, tension radiating from him like heat.

— What?

Maya’s voice dropped a notch.

— These rumors… they might get back to Xeno.

Stanley tensed, head snapping up like he’d been struck.

— What?

— What do you think, Stan? — Maya said carefully. — Rumors don’t just stay rumors forever. Sooner or later someone’s gonna say it to his face — and when that happens, it’s not gonna be pretty.

Stanley felt something twist deep in his chest. He already knew Xeno felt like an outsider. Already believed everyone hated him. What would happen if he heard what they were saying? What would happen when it wasn’t just in his head anymore? It was like Maya read his mind.

— You told me yourself something’s going on with him. He’s clearly not in a good place. If he hears people think he’s… like that, what do you think he’ll do?

Stanley’s jaw clenched.

— He’ll act like he doesn’t care.

— But in reality?

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared down at his plate, breathing slow and heavy, then finally let the truth out with a quiet exhale:

— It’ll destroy him.

Maya nodded, her eyes steady, serious.

— You can’t shut everyone up. But you can make sure he knows he’s not alone.

Stanley didn’t respond. He was always there. Always. But was that enough? Maya pressed her lips together like she was debating whether or not to say something else. He noticed instantly — the way her fingers tapped restlessly on the side of her glass, the way her eyes avoided his like she was stalling.

— What is it? — he asked, voice low and tense.

Maya bit her lip, spun her milkshake a little, then finally let out a long breath.

— Xeno told me not to say anything…

Something inside Stanley jerked hard. A sharp, cold knot of dread twisted in his gut — and right behind it, a wave of heat. Frustration. Anger.

— But I think you deserve to know, — she said quietly, finally meeting his eyes. There was worry in them now. Guilt. — Someone beat him up at school recently.

The fork in Stanley’s hand clattered loudly against his plate.

A silent beat.

A heartbeat so loud it echoed in his chest.

Then—snap.

Rage.

It surged through him in a hot wave, gripping his chest, pulsing in his temples, tightening every muscle in his body until his shoulders ached and his jaw locked.

— What? — His voice came out low and sharp, like steel pulled through fire. — Who?

Maya rubbed her arms nervously, as if she were trying to comfort herself.

— I… I’m not sure. He didn’t say, — she started carefully. — But I was there. When it happened.

Stanley’s head shot up.

— You saw it?

— I didn’t see the actual moment. I just heard shouting, and when I got there…

She hesitated, her voice dropping.

— I saw Xeno. They had him shoved up against the lockers. And in front of him was this jerk in a white jacket.

Stanley froze. His eyes lit with instant recognition, like a match had been struck behind them.

— Carlos, — he growled through clenched teeth.

Maya nodded slowly.

— He said something, I don’t even remember what — I just yelled from down the hall and they scattered, — she sighed and rubbed her temple. — I tried to check on Xeno, but he just stood up and told me he was fine. Then he left. Refused to say a word about what actually happened.

Stanley clenched his fists, jaw locked so tight it ached.

— Why didn’t he tell me?

— You already know why, — Maya replied gently, her eyes fixed on him. — He didn’t want you getting involved. He knew you wouldn’t let it slide.

Stanley didn’t answer. His stare was fixed on his plate, but his thoughts were already miles away.

— I’m gonna find him, — he said finally, voice low but taut, like a wire stretched to its breaking point.

— Stanley… — Maya frowned, clearly worried.

— Don’t. Don’t try to talk me down. I can’t just sit here and do nothing.

She rolled her eyes, but her gaze softened with concern.

— Fine. Just don’t do anything stupid.

— Can’t promise that, — he muttered, already reaching for his jacket.

Carlos. That asshole. Always hovering around that group of smug wannabes — the ones who thought mocking people made them powerful. Always waiting for a chance to push someone down, to humiliate, to isolate. He’d always hated Xeno — not openly, just enough to keep things subtle and nasty. Until now.

Stanley could feel the rage boiling up again, thick and hot, clawing its way up from his chest like it needed out. All he wanted to do was get up, find that piece of shit, and wreck him. He sat there like a lit fuse, body tense and ready to explode. His gaze stayed fixed on the table, but his breathing had turned shallow and quick, hands curled into tight fists against his legs. Thoughts of Carlos swirled like wildfire — of what he’d done, of how he’d dared to lay a hand on Xeno. The urge to move, to act, to do something was almost unbearable. Every nerve screamed for release.

Maya sat beside him, watching carefully. She kept opening her mouth like she wanted to say something — anything — but stopped herself every time. Her eyes flicked over his clenched jaw, his trembling hands, the fury barely held beneath the surface. She knew this was one of those moments. The kind where a person either breaks… or does something reckless.

Stanley couldn’t breathe. His chest was tight, too tight. His heart pounded so violently it felt like it might tear right through his ribs. His thoughts were spiraling, heavy and fast and dark — every one a brutal reminder that he hadn’t been there. That he hadn’t protected the one person who needed it most.
He wanted to leap up. To punch something. To scream. To find Carlos and make him pay for every bruise, every insult, every second of fear he’d carved into Xeno’s body.

But his legs wouldn’t move. They felt anchored to the floor — heavy, frozen — like all his fury had nowhere to go except back inside, where it festered and boiled and burned.

Then, in the middle of it all, his phone buzzed quietly in his pocket.

Stanley flinched like it shocked him. He yanked it out, heart already racing faster — and stopped cold when he saw the name glowing on the screen.

Xeno.

Two words. That’s all the message said. But they hit like a brick to the chest.

“I’m alive.”

Stanley stared at the screen, unmoving. And everything in him — the rage, the panic, the guilt — cracked a little more. Those three simple words hit Stanley harder than he could’ve ever expected.

I’m alive.

And yet, it felt like so much more — a storm of feelings crashing into him all at once. Relief, fear, guilt, sharp-edged sorrow — all tangled into one overwhelming knot that twisted deep inside his chest. His throat closed up. His hands had started shaking.

Alive. But at what cost?

What had Xeno gone through to send a message like that? Like it wasn’t meant to reassure, but to report. A quiet declaration that he’d made it through the day — barely — and was still buried in the same darkness he couldn’t crawl out of.

Stanley swallowed hard, the guilt slicing through him like glass. He hadn’t been there. Not when it really mattered. And that truth hit him with unbearable force. He stared at the screen again, and this time his eyes burned with tears. Not the soft kind. The kind that came from anger, from helplessness, from the raw ache of knowing he’d let someone down when they needed him most.

In his head, he pictured Xeno alone — curled up somewhere in that cold house, drowning in his own thoughts, fears, everything he refused to share. Stanley could imagine him trying to keep it all inside, hiding every crack, because trusting people had never done him any good. His chest hurt. A deep, searing pain that sat heavy right beneath his ribs. But beneath it all was something sharper — rage. Not at Xeno. At himself. Because Stanley should’ve known. He should’ve seen it. He should’ve done something.

— Stan? — Maya’s voice pulled him back. She was watching him now, worry written all over her face. She looked hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if he was about to shatter.

— I need to go, — he said quickly, not meeting her eyes.

— What happened? — she asked, reaching across the table, trying to catch his gaze.

— I just… I have to go, okay? I’ll explain later.

He stood so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor, drawing looks from the nearby tables. He didn’t care. He didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. He just moved, pushed open the door, and stepped out into the cold. The wind hit him hard, stinging his face — but even the sharpness of it couldn’t douse the fire burning in his chest. He kept walking, fast, aimless, fists in his pockets, head low. But his eyes kept drifting back to the screen, to those two words he’d already memorized.

I’m alive.

And every time he read them, something inside him cracked again. Sadness turned into fury. Fury into grief. Grief into this sick, clenching helplessness that made him want to scream. “Alive. That’s it? That’s all you think you are?” The thought hit like a gut punch. As if Xeno believed the only thing that mattered was that he’d survived. That he didn’t mean anything more than that. That he’d gotten so used to the pain, he couldn’t imagine anything else.

Stanley stopped walking, frozen in the middle of the sidewalk. Cars passed. People moved around him. But he stood still, breathing hard, staring up at the gray sky that matched the way everything inside him felt. He had to do something. He had to show Xeno that being alive didn’t just mean breathing. It meant living without fear. Without shame. Without that quiet, invisible kind of suffering, he carried like a second skin. Stanley looked back down at his phone. His fingers moved without hesitation this time. He typed:

“I will do everything to protect you.”

When Stanley stepped into the house slowly, his entire body still brimming with a storm of emotion — a mess of rage tangled up with sharp-edged desperation. He took a deep breath, trying to clear the chaos in his head. Right now, training was the only thing that could quiet his thoughts, dull the weight of his worry for Xeno, and push back that choking sense of helplessness lodged in his throat like a stone.

His father was already there.

Tall. Cold. Unmoving. He stood in the center of the room like a statue carved from resentment, his face blank except for that usual expression — disappointment sharpened into quiet fury. Stanley knew that look all too well.. That look always came first — and then came the words. And if the words didn’t work, the fists did.

— You’re late, — his father snapped, his tone like ice. — You think you can show up whenever the hell you feel like it?

Stanley’s jaw clenched. His heartbeat started to race. Normally, he would've just stayed quiet, absorbed the blow, swallowed the words — the way he always did. But today? Today, everything was different. Today was already too much. He just needed one moment — one second — where someone didn’t tear into him.

— Let’s just get this over with, okay? — he muttered, his voice low but tight. He hadn’t meant for it to come out so sharp.

His father raised an eyebrow, a cruel smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth as he took a slow, deliberate step forward — like a challenge.

— Getting bold, are we? You forget who’s in charge here?

— No, I didn’t forget, — Stanley bit out, teeth clenched, barely holding back the wave of fury building inside him. — I’m just not in the mood today.

That earned a cold laugh. His father stepped closer, until he was right in Stanley’s face.

— I don’t give a damn about your mood. If you want to be anything in this life, you listen to me. You follow my rules.

— I’ve been listening to you my whole damn life, — Stanley snapped before he could stop himself. The words shot out like a spark hitting gasoline. His heart slammed against his ribs — hard — but there was no going back now. — What else do you want from me? I’m tired, okay?

For a second, his father actually froze — like he couldn’t believe his son had spoken back. His eyes narrowed, glowing with something darker.

— What did you just say?

Stanley felt the cold shiver down his spine. He knew how this went. He knew what came next. First the shouting. Then the grabbing. Then the bruises. Always in that order. But something inside him cracked — maybe for the last time — and he couldn’t stay silent anymore.

— I said I’m tired, — Stanley repeated, slow and clear, staring straight into his father’s eyes. — I’m tired of putting up with you. Tired of how you treat me like I’m nothing.

His father’s face twisted, red blooming on his cheekbones. He stepped in and grabbed Stanley by the shoulder — hard. The pain was instant, sharp.

— You’ve really lost your mind, haven’t you? — he hissed. — You should be grateful I even put up with you. You think you get to talk to me like this?

Stanley’s breath caught. His pulse was racing. Every part of him was tensed like a loaded spring. But for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel afraid. He felt done.

— You call that putting up with me? — he said hoarsely, throat tight with years of swallowed anger. — You humiliate me. You beat me for nothing. You call me weak, worthless. That’s not putting up with me. That’s abuse.

His father’s eyes went dark — fury blinding. He lifted his hand, fast, ready to strike.

But Stanley moved first.

His body acted before his mind did. He yanked free, stepped back, and pulled the pistol from the holster at his side. In one clean motion, it was aimed straight at his father’s chest.

— Don’t come any closer, — Stanley snapped, voice fierce and loud in the tense silence. His hand didn’t shake. His eyes were wild with emotion, but steady — so steady.

His father froze. Stared at the weapon like it was the first real threat he’d ever felt from his son. There was surprise there — maybe even fear — but it didn’t last. A cruel, mocking smile twisted his face.

— What, you think you’re tough now? Think I’m scared?

— I don’t care if you’re scared. Just don’t touch me, — Stanley growled. His voice had dropped, low and deadly. Full of years he could never get back.

They stared at each other in silence. A taut wire pulled between them — ready to snap.

And then… his father stepped back.

Just one step.

His eyes were still burning, but he didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, in a voice like poison, he murmured:

— You’ve made a huge mistake, Stanley.

He turned, walked to the basement door, and left. The sound of it shutting echoed like a gunshot in the stillness. Stanley didn’t move. His heart was pounding so violently he thought it might shatter his ribs. His arms trembled. His chest heaved with every breath. He stood there for a long moment, the gun still in his hand, until finally… he lowered it. And then the weight hit. Not just physical, but something deeper. He felt hollow. Exhausted. Shaken to his core. Because for the first time ever, he’d stood up to the man who had made his life a quiet, endless war. But there was no relief.

Chapter Text

The morning for Stanley started with a heavy, sticky silence and a suffocating mix of fear, rage, and emptiness. He woke up suddenly, cold sweat on his forehead and a dry throat, as if the room had no air. Beside him—under his pillow—laid a knife. He could still feel the way he’d gripped it in his sleep, his fingers remembering the cold of the metal. His heart beat loudly, unnaturally strong, and every breath felt like a stretched string.

Yesterday, he crossed the line. For the first time in his life, he didn’t just snap back—he said out loud to his father what had been building up for years. It all came pouring out—messy, harsh, no filter. He didn’t remember the exact words, but he remembered his father’s face well. Not anger. Not irritation. Something else. Something more dangerous. Contempt, like a person realizing that his son no longer feared him. This wasn’t an argument. It was war. And now, even in his own house, Stanley felt like he was on enemy territory.

That night, when the house was already drenched in dead silence, he quietly got out of bed. He went to the kitchen, opened the drawer with the knives, and picked the heaviest one, the one with the sturdy wooden handle. He turned it in his hand a few times, checking its weight. Then he went back to bed and hid it under his pillow. He slept through the night, clutching it, like it was his only anchor to reality.

But all that—fear, his father’s shadow, the tension in his shoulders—faded into the background the moment he remembered that today was another school day. Today he would see Carlos. And everything flared up again. Carlos, who dared to lay a hand on Xeno. Xeno, who already had to fight for his survival every day under the weight of indifference, mockery, and a cold-hearted mother.
Rage began to rise in his chest like boiling steam. It didn’t shout, didn’t rush out, but slowly, steadily filled him from the inside. Every breath became heavier, every movement more tense. Stanley zipped up his jacket sharply, like it was suffocating him, and all he wanted now was to get to school, find Carlos, and... not just talk.

Outside, the weather was gloomy, gray, and cold. November rolled across the ground like fog, the wind threw damp air in his face and knocked the last leaves from the trees. Everything around him looked like nature was tired. But that cold couldn’t break the fire inside him. On the contrary—it only highlighted how much everything inside him was burning. Stanley’s steps grew faster, more urgent. He didn’t look to the sides or behind him. There were only two images in his mind: Carlos. And Xeno. And the thought, like a hammer blow: no one would hurt him again. Not at school. Not anywhere. He walked like a storm, and this storm knew its target.

— Hey! — came the familiar, clearly angry voice from behind. — Hold up, where are you rushing off to? You didn’t even notice me!

It was Maya. She caught up with him in a few quick steps and stood next to him, breathing heavily, but her face was already wearing that familiar mix of worry and trying to stay calm.

— Sorry. I... was lost in thought, — Stanley said without looking at her. He didn’t slow down.

— Lost in thought about how you’re going to kill Carlos? — she scoffed, glaring at him.

— Could be.

He pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket, stuck one in his mouth, and flicked the lighter. The first breath was heavy, burning—like it almost muted the voice of rage inside him. He exhaled the smoke through his teeth and looked ahead again, as if he saw the target in the distance.

— Listen... — Maya lowered her tone, matching his pace. — I get how badly you want to knock Carlos out. But it’s not the right move to just jump into a fight. Not now.

— What do you think I should do? — he finally turned to her, his eyes red from sleeplessness and anger. — Watch them torment him? Bully him? Like Xeno’s not a person, but trash? He deserves at least a moment of peace in this goddamn school!

— I know, Stan. I know how you feel about him. I see it all.

— I don’t care who sees it. He’s mine. And if anyone touches him again, I’ll... — He didn’t finish, his fist clenching again.

— You’ll be the one in the wrong, that’s what, — she grabbed his wrist and forced him to stop. — If you throw the first punch, you’ll be the monster. And then you won’t be next to him—you’ll be expelled. Or worse—arrested. And he’ll be a hundred times worse off than he is now.

A second of silence. His chest boiled, but her words were like nails in the truth. He hated that she was right. Hated that he knew it himself.

— Carlos won’t stop, — she continued, her voice softer but firmer. — He loves the drama. Plus, you know—Luna’s definitely involved here. That snake’s just waiting for a chance to ruin everything Xeno touches.

— Another bitch should be gone from this school, — he growled, staring ahead where the school gates were already visible in the distance.

— You’re too blunt, Stan. It’s not a bad thing, actually, it’s kind of sweet. But if you want more than just to react, if you really want to get back at him, you need to think. — She stopped in front of him, forcing him to stop. — Let Carlos make a fool of himself. Let him mess up when no one’s around. And then—do what you’ve been planning. No shouting. No witnesses. So no one can save him later. So he doesn’t get a chance to paint you as the bad guy.

— You want me to use Xeno as bait? — His voice dropped low, dangerous.

— You’re a stupid, love-struck idiot, aren’t you? — Maya snapped, but then quickly lowered her voice, staring at him. — What are you gonna do if you get expelled or arrested? Huh? Have you thought about that? How’s Xeno gonna deal with that? Do you think he’ll manage on his own?

He froze. The cigarette was still between his fingers, forgotten. Her words hit like a slap.

— You think I don’t know that? — he finally exhaled. — I think about it every day, every night. Every time I look at him and realize how he’s living. And I just... can’t stand it.

— Then don’t stand it. Just do it right. — She gently touched his shoulder. — You’re strong, Stan. You can rip Carlos apart. But be strong in your head, too. Right now, you need to be more than just a protector. You need to be a hunter.

He took a deep drag again, almost with rage, then exhaled and said hoarsely:

— You’re damn right.

Maya smiled, shaking her head in relief.

— Finally. Let’s go. It’s time to give Carlos a personal hell—pretty, but smart.

They kept walking, side by side, in silence. Stanley still felt the fire raging inside, but it was no longer wild and uncontrollable. The anger had transformed. It was sharp, clear, almost cold. This wasn’t just an impulse anymore.

The moment Stanley crossed the school threshold, he felt it—something had changed. The air was thick with foreign silence. People were staring. Turning around. Whispering behind his back. Some giggled, some openly pointed fingers, some just watched him with the look usually reserved for incidents, for rumors. As if he was no longer a student, but a piece of gossip. A spectacle. He clenched his shoulders, gritted his teeth, and quickened his pace as if he wanted to break free from the sticky cloud of unwanted attention.

— What’s going on? — he muttered, leaning a little closer to Maya, who was walking beside him.

— I’m not sure, — she frowned, looking around. — But... maybe it’s because of the party. You and Xeno... well, you kissed, so now there’s a rumor going around.

Her gaze flickered around, her expression hardening.

— Yeah... could’ve been worse.

Stanley exhaled sharply, quietly, as if letting off steam through gritted teeth. His hands instinctively clenched into fists.

— Obviously, those three fuckers had something to do with it, — he hissed. His voice was low, slower, like ice was swirling beneath his words, ready to burst. — Let the whole damn school turn against me. I don’t care. I need to find Xeno.

— So what, you’re going to defend him from every look? Every word? — Maya raised an eyebrow, but there was no mockery in her tone, only concern.

— If I have to—yeah.

They turned a corner—and froze. Up ahead, by the lockers, a crowd had gathered—about six people, mostly girls. In the center were Charlotte and Luna. They were laughing, joking, and in their hands—bright markers, as if they were bought just for this purpose: to leave a mark.

Xeno’s locker was right here.

Stanley’s heart skipped a beat. He saw one of the girls adding a heart, another drawing a swirl. Their laughter was carefree and loud, like they were decorating someone’s life, not tearing it apart. He didn’t remember when he ran forward—only that his legs carried him, and his pulse beat in his ears.

— What the hell do you think you’re doing?! — he shouted, his voice booming, echoing down the corridor, making even the far-off students turn around.

The crowd parted. Charlotte turned to him with a lazy smile—indifferent, fake, sickeningly false.

— We’re doing art, — she said, not breaking eye contact, as if testing how far he was willing to go. — Come on, Stan. Isn’t it beautiful?

She stepped aside, gesturing to the result. On the metal door of the locker, in thick black letters, it read:

SLUT AND COCKSUCKER XO XO

Around it—silly hearts, flowers, arrows, swirls. It looked like they were trying to make the insults cute and fun.

— Didn’t you know, Stan? — Luna told, tilting her head as if speaking to a child. — That’s just how Xeno is. He plays with you. Everyone knows. Maybe it’s time for you to open your eyes? Stop being his toy.

Her words were soft, almost sweet, but the wicked gleam in her eyes showed she was enjoying this. She was reveling in his anger. Something inside Stanley snapped. Not just rage—pure, cold hatred flooded his veins. He stepped forward, fast and determined, and grabbed Luna’s wrist.

— Ow, what... — she squeaked, but stopped instantly. He wasn’t looking at her like a student to a student. He was looking at her like an enemy.

— Listen here, you dumb, slutty bitch, — he started in a whisper, but every word hit like a punch. — If I ever hear you touch him, with words or actions... you won’t want to know what I’ll do to you. — His voice was even, cold, terrifyingly calm. He wasn’t threatening—he was passing judgment. — And I don’t care that you’re a girl. I don’t care who stands up for you. I don’t care what anyone says. I will kill you on the spot. Understand?

He tightened his grip on her wrist—not to hurt her, but to make her understand that everything he said wasn’t a show, wasn’t intimidation. It was a promise. Luna’s face turned pale. All her fake joy, condescending nastiness, smiles, and taunts—disappeared. Her eyes widened in panic. She tried to say something, but her lips trembled, and no sound came out. Tears welled up in her lashes, as if the mere fact that someone dared to press her like this was unfathomable to her.

— Hey, are you crazy?! — Charlotte yelled, stepping forward. — Let go of her, you asshole!

— He’ll break her arm!

— Someone, call a teacher!

Voices began multiplying, growing like a swarm of bees. The corridor filled with a tense hum. Some were already pulling out their phones, some stepped aside, some froze with wide eyes. But Stanley didn’t react. He kept his gaze fixed on Luna. Unblinking. Unchanged. There was no anger in his eyes—only a quiet, cold finality. Only when he felt her start to tremble did he release her. She immediately yanked her wrist back, clutching it to her chest as if that could protect her.

— Damn, Stan... — Maya said quietly, stepping closer. Her voice was almost frightened. — You just made Luna piss herself, emotionally.

He straightened up, took a step back, and turned toward the crowd.

— Anyone else wanna say something? — he said softly, but clearly. His voice was like a knife cutting through skin. — Go ahead. Who’s next?

No one answered. Faces were blank. Some averted their eyes. Some turned away. Some backed off.
Maya stepped up next to him. He was still breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling. His eyes were full of readiness for battle. But now, that battle was openly declared.

Stanley silently took off his jacket, crouched down, and began wiping the fat, disgusting letters off the locker door. He scrubbed furiously, as if he wanted to erase not just the words but the very essence of what they were trying to put into them. Word by word, letter by letter—he wiped them off the metal, as though cleaning a wound, not caring that his jacket was getting dirty, that the paint smeared on the fabric, that someone behind him was laughing or whispering. He didn’t hear any of it. He was here for one thing—to erase the humiliation, to give Xeno at least some dignity, something he had barely left.

Maya stood silently behind him. Her face was dark like a storm over the school, and her eyes sparkled with the same fury Stanley had. She didn’t interfere, didn’t try to stop him or calm him—she just stood there, like a wall, ready to jump into the fight at any moment. When someone from the crowd flinched, as if to speak or get closer, her voice sliced through the air like a blade:

— Anyone dares come near, I’ll break their neck. I’m serious.

The crowd recoiled, like a wave hitting a cliff. Stanley kept going—scrubbing until the metal door was just scratched, pale streaks remaining, but clean. He ran his hand across it like a scar, checking that everything was gone, and only then did he exhale—shortly, low, heavily—as if he had just allowed himself to breathe.

He wiped his hands on his jacket, which now looked like a rag, and without casting a glance at anyone, turned and walked away. The crowd parted before him. Some were whispering, some lowered their eyes, some, on the contrary, watched him, like they were waiting for the next act.
But for Stanley, this was no longer a game. He didn’t hear the words, the footsteps. He was—like a shadow, like will, like fury, and all that was inside him coiled into one desire: to see Xeno. Now. Immediately.

He moved quickly, as if there was an invisible pull between them. He didn’t know what state Xeno was in right now, didn’t know if he had seen the words, but he felt it—he had to be there. Just be there. He turned toward the classroom where the first lesson was supposed to be and, without a second thought, shoved the door open.

The classroom was almost empty. A few students were sitting in their seats, some flipping through notebooks, others dozing off, heads resting on their arms. None of it mattered. Because Stanley’s gaze immediately found him. By the window, at the front desk—Xeno. He was slumped forward, head resting on his crossed arms, as if he was barricading himself from the world with his own body. He wasn’t moving, like he had become part of the furniture, and only the faintest movement of his shoulders indicated that he was still breathing. It wasn’t sleep. It was escape. From the school. From other people’s eyes. From the pain.

Stanley walked slowly toward him, trying not to make a sound, not to startle him—like approaching a wild animal, one that was about to bolt any second. He crouched next to Xeno’s desk, leaning in just enough to be at eye level, and only then did he notice the way his hair was tucked behind his ear, the way his fingers were trembling, the shallow, erratic breaths. He understood—Xeno wasn’t asleep. He just didn’t want to be seen.

— Xeno... — Stanley whispered, reaching out and gently brushing his hand over his, almost weightlessly. — Hey... it’s me. It’s okay.

Xeno flinched at the touch but didn’t raise his head. He just curled in tighter, shoulders shaking, as though he wanted to disappear. Stanley felt something inside him break. He wanted to hold him, pull him close, shield him from everything, but he knew—now wasn’t the time. Now, only words.

— I saw it, — he said quietly, his eyes tracing Xeno’s disheveled hair, his hunched back, the way his breathing hitched. — I wiped it off. The words. I won’t let them do that again... You don’t deserve that. No one has the right to treat you like that. No one, do you hear me?

There was a pause. No answer. Just silence. And breathing.

— I’m so sorry, — he whispered. — For them. For those... bastards. For what you have to put up with.

He swallowed, feeling his throat tighten, like a scream was building up inside that he couldn’t let out. He exhaled and then said, louder now, with more force in his voice:

— I won’t let them do it again. Not one word. Not one look.

And in that moment, as though to confirm he had really heard him, Xeno slowly lifted his head. His face was pale, almost translucent, his eyes red and tired, like he hadn’t slept in ages. But in his eyes, despite the pain, there was no fear. No shame. No questions—just simple, silent pain. And a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of something else—something like acknowledgment.

— It’s okay... — Xeno rasped, his voice rough, like he hadn’t spoken out loud in days.

Stanley shook his head, meeting his gaze head-on:

— No, it’s not okay. And you have the right to admit that. And you have the right to not be strong all the time. You have the right to just be you. And I... I’m here.

Stanley settled beside him, not too close, but not leaving that painful, distant emptiness between them that he had seen so often in Xeno’s eyes. He sat sideways, shoulder to shoulder, almost like he was protecting him—even from the space around them. The classroom slowly started to fill with voices, rustling, heavy footsteps, and lazy yawns. Some people chuckled in the corner, some handed homework to their neighbors, some, on the other hand, slept with their heads in their arms. But for Stanley, all of it faded into dust. All that existed was Xeno. His hand, propped up against his cheek, his unreadable face, his breathing. Everything else was background noise. Loud, unnecessary, annoying.

— Hey... — Stanley began, leaning a little closer, trying to speak quietly so no one else could hear. — Want to go somewhere after school?

Xeno didn’t respond immediately. It took a few seconds for him to slowly turn his face toward him, not lifting his cheek from his crossed arms. His eyes were sleepy, clouded, like he hadn’t fully come back to reality yet. He didn’t say anything. He just studied him. Then, slowly, almost lazily, like it was all going through a fog, he spoke:

— Don’t you need to go home?

— Well... — Stanley shrugged, giving a half-smile that carried a certain pride. — Let’s say I scared my dad with a gun. Now, he won’t bother me. Peace and quiet.

— You... what?! — Xeno shot upright, all the previous grogginess falling away as his face shifted from slack and detached to tense, sharp, anxious. — Are you serious? You pointed a gun at him?! Stan, have you lost your mind?!

— Hey, hey, calm down. — Stanley raised his hands like he was surrendering, but his expression remained cocky. — Everything’s under control. He can’t even look my way anymore. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.

— That’s what scares me, — Xeno muttered darkly, dropping back into his original position, but now with some nervous disappointment in his voice. — You can be... how should I say it... suicidal sometimes.

— Uh-huh. And you’re sometimes the kind of person that makes me not want to sit back and watch you rot in silence, — Stanley snapped, leaning forward, trying to catch his gaze. — I just want you to take a breath. Let’s go somewhere after school. No plans. Just... the two of us. Got any crazy ideas? Maybe an experiment or something? Or... I don’t know, let’s just wander around. I want you to smile for once today, not tired.

Xeno was silent for a moment. He stared out the window, and for a second, he seemed farther away than he was. Then, slowly, as if testing the thought, he murmured:

— I’d... like to drink.

Stanley raised an eyebrow, smirking, both surprised and ironic:

— Seriously? After all that hangover hell?

— Yeah, — Xeno replied briefly, and a tired, but real, smile appeared on his lips. — I think I’ll go home and grab a couple of bottles of wine. My mom’s been drunk for the past two days, she won’t notice. Or maybe she will. I don’t care.

Stanley pressed his lips together, wanting to say something, but looking at Xeno, he realized—this was the first time today he had seen a spark of life in his eyes. Even if it was reckless. Even through alcohol. But it was something. It was... something.

— Fine... — he exhaled, tired, almost stunned. — You win.

And from that moment, Stanley never left Xeno’s side. He was there like a shadow. Like a guard—quiet, grim, sharply aware. In the hallways, he walked behind him or a little to the side, watching every glance that was cast at Xeno. The moment anyone’s gaze lingered for a second too long—he’d look right back at them. And that look was a warning: Don’t even think about it.

At first, Xeno smiled a couple of times—almost condescendingly, like it was all childish, stupid. Then he stopped noticing. Or pretended not to, because it felt natural. Like it was supposed to be this way.

But the worst part for Stanley that day wasn’t the sideways glances, the whispers behind his back, or even the disgusting words scrawled on the locker that had been burned into his retina all morning. No. The worst part was seeing Carlos—his smug, stupid face, the stretched, sticky grin, his walk full of that disgusting confidence, like he was still untouchable, still here, still strutting through these hallways like nothing had happened, like his hands hadn’t held Xeno, hadn’t shoved him, hadn’t slammed him against the wall. He was still here. Breathing the same air. And it was driving Stanley insane.

He felt the tight coil of a spring in his chest all day. His fingers, clenched under the desk, joints whitening, but he stayed silent. He waited. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake—too much was at stake. But his control began to crumble when, during a normal, monotonous lesson, Xeno raised his hand and, without looking up, quietly said that he wasn’t feeling well, had a headache, and wanted to go to the nurse. The teacher nodded distractedly, not really listening. And Xeno left—quickly, like he wanted to disappear.

Less than two minutes later, Carlos lazily stretched from the other desk, exaggerating his yawn, rolling his shoulders, and without waiting for permission, headed toward the door like it was his personal show, the one where he was the star. Stanley felt the tight knot inside him twist into something sharp, hard, cold.

“Fucking prick…”

He didn’t think, just stood up, pushed his chair back like it was thrown by electricity, and muttered as he passed:

— I’m gonna puke.

— Snyder! — the teacher shouted, but his voice faded into the furious sound of Stanley’s pulse.

The hallway greeted him with a hollow silence, cool air, and the dim light of the lamps. Stanley ran, as if he knew exactly where he was going. Like his feet were carrying him to where his heart already knew—something wasn’t right. He took the stairs to the floor where the nurse’s office was and stopped dead in his tracks. Because he saw what he had been afraid to see.

Carlos had Xeno pinned against the lockers, almost pressed up against him. He leaned in close, whispering something in his ear, his lips stretched into a disgusting, predatory smile. One hand braced against the wall by Xeno’s head, the other gripping the edge of his shirt, as if threatening to rip it off. And Xeno... he was just standing there. As if frozen. His shoulders were tight, his face pale, his eyes lowered—like he had switched off—frozen in fear, helplessness, disgust.

Stanley heard his own breath—short, ragged, muffled, like something had snapped inside him. He approached almost soundlessly. His movements were calculated, like a predator who no longer feared anything, only waiting for the right moment.

— Hey! — That was all he managed to shout before grabbing Carlos by the shoulder and yanking him away from Xeno with force. And in the same instant—he hit him. His fist connected with Carlos’s jaw with so much force that Carlos was thrown against the wall, a deep, muffled groan escaping his lips as he stumbled to the floor, losing his balance, his smugness cracking like glass.

The hallway filled with a heavy, almost leaden silence. Only the sound of Carlos wheezing, the ringing in Stanley’s ears, and the rapid thudding of his own heartbeat echoed in the air. Carlos was writhing against the wall, his hand on his face—blood seeping from the corner of his mouth, his eyes burning with fury.

— What the fuck, man?! — he screamed, gasping for air. — You lost it?! I’ll—

— Shut up, — Stanley said quietly.

He stepped forward slowly. Not in a rush. Slowly. Like a storm that was just beginning to make its way toward its target. There was no hysteria on his face. Just cold, controlled rage.

— Open your mouth— and I’ll go to the police, — he spoke, each word stabbing like a nail. — I’ll say you’re dealing. We both know it’s true. Think they won’t burn you? Think they’ll cover for you long? One hint. One phone call. And it’s over for you.

Carlos froze. His face twisted, but it wasn’t from anger anymore—it was from realization. He knew. If anyone could ruin him—it was Stanley.

— You... you’re asking for it, man! — Carlos spat, pushing himself up, his voice filled with venom, but now there was fear in his eyes. — You’re not a saint! Think anyone’s gonna stand up for you?

— I don’t care. I’m not gonna live while you touch him like that, — Stanley’s voice was low, slow, like thunder rumbling from a distance. — He’s never gonna be scared of you again. Never. And you—you remember that for the rest of your worthless life. You don’t come next to him. Not with words, not with looks, not with your shadow.

Carlos stood still. He didn’t reply. Didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. Like something clicked in his head—something important. Something dangerous. He knew Stanley wasn’t bluffing. He knew that guy, with his fists clenched and eyes full of icy determination, was capable of anything—especially now that Xeno was standing there. Especially now that this fragile, vulnerable, quiet guy had become his whole world, the one thing he was ready to burn everything for, without a second thought.

— So deal with it, — Stanley hissed, taking a slow, heavy step forward, looming over Carlos. His voice was quiet, but in the silence, it carried a threat so palpable, so ruthless, that it made the air freeze. — And stay the fuck away from him. Forever. Got it?

Carlos looked away. Just for a second, but that was enough—a sign, an acknowledgment of defeat, of cowardice, of understanding that he had lost. And in that moment, something inside Stanley snapped. Like an alarm ringing inside him, sharp and final—it was time. Enough with words. Enough holding everything inside. Everything he had bottled up—his helplessness, anxiety, pain for Xeno, anger at doing nothing, all the insults that Xeno quietly endured—exploded out. Not as a scream. Not as a lunge. But as an eruption.

He roared silently—through his chest, through his body, with everything he had—and he hit. The first blow landed on Carlos’s cheekbone—Carlos flew back, but Stanley was already on him, throwing himself on top of him, fists raining down like hail. Each punch was precise, sharp—like he had known exactly where to aim, like every bone in the enemy’s face was a target for all his pain.

— For the locker from Luna and Charlotte, — he exhaled, another hit.

— For the sad look Xeno gave me, — another one.

— For daring to touch him.

The hits kept coming, one after another. His fists sank into Carlos’s skin, into the bursts of blood, into the muffled groan and Carlos’s attempts to protect himself with his hands, but all it did was add fuel to the fire. His pathetic movements didn’t make Stanley feel sorry. It made him feel disgusted. Carlos deserved this. For everything.

Carlos was wheezing, coughing, choking, a fresh cut appearing on his lip, a bruise blooming under his eye, but Stanley was blind to the pain. He wasn’t hitting a person. He was hitting everything Carlos represented—the entire system of torment that poisoned Xeno from the inside. He was hitting fear, shame, loneliness, and doing it for both of them.

And only when the fury peaked, when the air in his lungs became too heavy and his trembling fist raised for the final blow, did he hear it. A quiet, hoarse voice. But still strong.

— Stan... stop.

That voice cut through everything, like a knife. It broke through the fog. Through the blood. Through the pulse in his ears. Stanley froze. His hand was still raised, but it didn’t move forward. Slowly, with a breath, he turned his head. Xeno was standing in front of him.

He was pale, his lips trembling, his pupils dilated from the fear he had just lived through and... compassion. His face held no fear. No judgment. Just something else—exhaustion, like he had seen it all before, in different forms, inside himself. And... gratitude. Xeno was looking at him. Silent. Not pleading. Not accusing.

Stanley slowly stood up, pulling his bloodied hands away from Carlos. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving, his eyes still full of rage, but it was receding now—like the tide pulling away after a storm. He looked at Xeno, and for the first time all day, his eyes reflected not anger, but fear—not for himself. For him. That he might have scared him. That he had become a monster in someone else’s eyes.

— I’m sorry... — he whispered, his voice hoarse, but he didn’t get a chance to say more.

Before Stanley could speak again, Carlos was gone, and Xeno walked up to him. Just walked up, and hugged him—no words, no warning, no hesitation. He wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him close, burying his face into his shoulder, like that was the only way he could stay standing. And Stanley just stood. He didn’t understand what was happening at first, but then... his hands rose, lifting gently, almost reverently, as if afraid to break something fragile. He hugged him back—tightly, but carefully, like he was holding himself, the part of himself he had been searching for his entire life.

— Are you okay...? — he whispered, tightening his grip, brushing his lips against Xeno’s hair.

— Now I am, — Xeno exhaled into his neck. — Only because of you.

And in that moment, everything else faded. The hallways, the blood, the blows, the threats. Only this point remained—where there was no pain, no fear, no words to hurt. Just silence. Just warmth. Just the two of them.

They never discussed whether they should go back to class. They didn’t ask each other, didn’t make any formal decisions—it just hung between them, like an invisible agreement formed without words. After everything that had happened—after the punch, the blood, after Stanley snapped, and Xeno stopped him—they both knew: going back to their desks, pretending the day could go on as if nothing happened, was simply impossible. It would’ve been cruel.

Stanley was the first to yank open the fire escape door, knowing well that no one ever went in there. It was a small refuge—dusty and concrete, with a faint smell of rusted metal, the scent of old stairs and silence. There were no voices here, no mocking laughter, no Carlos. Just the hollow echo of their footsteps and a faint draft slipping through the gap beneath the door.

They settled on the steps, somewhere in the middle of the stairwell—Stanley sat slightly lower, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees; Xeno was beside him, half a step away, as if hesitating, waiting for something, unable to move closer… and then, slowly, but infinitely naturally, he simply rested his head on Stanley’s shoulder. No words. No asking. Just a movement—gentle, careful, like touching something forbidden. And to Stanley, it wasn’t just a gesture. It was… almost sacred. He froze. Held his breath. As if any sudden motion might shatter that fragile moment, turning it to dust. Xeno’s head weighed almost nothing, but it felt like an anchor—something real, needed, warm, irreplaceable.

– Sorry, – came Xeno’s voice, quiet and muffled near his ear, thick, like it was said through tension in his chest. – I keep causing you problems...

Stanley snorted, looked away, but didn’t move, didn’t pull back, didn’t shift a muscle.

– Nothing like that, – he replied in a low, steady voice, though inside everything was still boiling. – I’m just putting… filth in its place. Rot that doesn’t even deserve to breathe next to you.

Xeno let out a soft sound, somewhere between a huff of surprise and a thank you. His nose shifted slightly, nuzzling into Stanley’s shirt, and in that small motion there was more intimacy than in a hundred words. Stanley felt every molecule of that moment, like he himself had become a raw nerve.

– You really decked him, though… – Xeno murmured, his voice trembling but laced with admiration. – I’m impressed. Like in a movie… only better.

Stanley’s cheeks lit up instantly, his ears flushed with heat. He scratched the back of his head quickly, as if trying to hide behind the motion, and mumbled toward the wall:

– Yeah, well… it’s not like I planned it. He just… asked for it, – his voice wavered slightly, but a smile lingered beneath it.

He looked at Xeno, at the way he was sitting there—and after a deep breath, like standing at the edge of a high dive, he wrapped an arm around him, gently, carefully, as if offering rather than imposing. Xeno didn’t pull away. On the contrary—he shifted slightly closer, as if letting himself relax. As if allowing himself to need that touch. Stanley began moving his hand in slow circles across his back, feeling the tension gradually melt away from Xeno’s body.

– Always at your service, Professor, – he muttered, trying to add a touch of levity.

Xeno, still silent, smiled—a real one, tired but sincere. He burrowed deeper into Stanley’s shoulder, like into a blanket. He could smell him—tobacco smoke, a hint of soap, and something that was just him, something familiar. And somewhere inside, in that place that had hurt and been cold just an hour ago, a strange calm began to spread. New, unfamiliar, but something he didn’t want to let go of.

– Don’t go anywhere… – he breathed out, barely audible. – Please…

These weren’t just words. It was a plea that had clawed its way through his throat, through fear, through years of loneliness. It was a scream lost in a whisper. Stanley held him tighter. Not because he decided to. Because he couldn’t do anything else.

– Not a chance, – he whispered, pressing his lips to Xeno’s hair. – I’m not going anywhere. No matter what.

He was almost ready—Stanley’s hand slowly reached forward, as if on its own, seeking contact, like there was only one breath, one second between their fingers—and he could interlace them, squeeze them, feel that simple, fragile we’re here together. He wasn’t thinking about the reaction, wasn’t analyzing. He just wanted to be closer.

But then… a creak. Long, metallic, unfamiliar. Somewhere above—on the upper flight of stairs—the door opened, dull and distant like in a bad dream. It was just a sound, possibly routine, someone choosing a shortcut through the fire escape. But Xeno flinched. Hard, with his whole body. His shoulders tensed like electricity had passed through him. He immediately pulled away, as if someone had fired a shot nearby. He jumped to the edge of the step, pressing into the concrete wall, his face pale, eyes wide—and in them wasn’t just fear, but panic. Thin, instinctive, real. As if he hadn’t just been startled—he’d expected it. As if the whole world could collapse if someone saw them right now.

Stanley clenched his fists, heart pounding faster—not from fear for himself, but from pain. For him. For Xeno, who lived like he always had to hide. He stood up slowly, almost silently, shielding him with his body, peering upward—toward the source of the footsteps. He was ready, if necessary, to fight again, to protect again, no questions asked.

But it was only a janitor. A man with a bucket, who glanced down lazily, said nothing, didn’t pause—just walked by. He hadn’t even noticed them.

When the footsteps faded, when the echo melted into the concrete shaft of the stairwell, Stanley turned around. Xeno sat hunched on the step, arms crossed over his knees, pressed into them like he wanted to disappear. He was breathing quietly, quickly, and tension still swam in his eyes.

– It’s okay, – Stanley said gently, slowly sitting back down beside him—not touching, but returning. – He didn’t even look. No one saw. Nobody cares.

Xeno didn’t respond. He just nodded. His face was blank, like he was trying to disconnect from reality, like he feared any movement would shatter the fragile peace that had just begun to form. Stanley didn’t hug him. Didn’t reach out. He just stayed. Simply stayed close, letting the silence settle between them again

And then—the bell. Sharp, dry, like a gunshot, it rang through the stairwell, shattering the heavy silence, as if to remind them: reality was still here. Class was over. The school continued on. People were packing up their bags, chatting about homework, dreaming of sleep. Life moved forward. As if nothing had happened.

Xeno lifted his head. Slowly, as if from deep underwater. His eyes were still a little clouded, but something more alive had surfaced in them—not quite light, but movement. Presence. He exhaled. Stanley looked at him, and in that look was so much quiet care that even the air between them seemed to tremble. He didn’t say let’s sit a little longer. He knew—this wasn’t the moment to linger. It was a moment to be near, not to hold back.

They got up, almost soundlessly. Walked through the corridor side by side—not touching, but as if connected by a thin, invisible thread. The school was buzzing again: lockers slamming, doors swinging open, someone laughing, someone calling to their friends, someone shouting jokes in passing. A few people turned when they saw them—Stanley and Xeno, together. Someone whispered something, someone smirked. But Stanley met every glance—direct, hard, quiet. His gaze was ice-cold, precise, full of silent warning. And the stares vanished—faded like dust in the wind.

They entered the classroom almost last. Xeno, moving on instinct, headed to his desk without looking at anyone, without breaking stride. He sat down quietly and began packing up his books—carefully, mechanically. As if trying to focus on something simple. Stanley stood beside him, leaning against the desk’s edge, saying nothing, watching. His own things remained untouched—he hadn’t come for them. He came for him.

– Ready? – he asked softly, once Xeno zipped his backpack closed.

– Yeah, – came the quiet reply. His voice was still subdued, a little hoarse, but the terrifying emptiness was gone.

They left school together. Outside, evening had begun to fall. The sky, gray and washed out, was tinged with soft pink and smoky hues, as if the city itself was exhaling after a long day. Leaves rustled beneath their feet, the air had grown cooler—not harsh, not cruel, just autumny. The city felt slower, quieter. And in that chill, in that light, they walked side by side. Without discussing where. Without asking unnecessary questions. Just walking.

There was none of that emptiness that often settles between people tired of one another. Their silence was different—not heavy or dead. It was a warm, living pause, one no one rushed to fill. Sometimes their shoulders brushed—just barely, by accident, uncertainly—and every such moment seemed to affirm: I’m here, I’m with you. Sometimes a few centimeters of space would reappear between them, but even that felt like part of the rhythm.

As they neared Xeno’s house, he quickened his pace a little. His shoulders gave a small twitch, like he was trying to shake off some lingering tension. And just before the doorstep, he slowed, turned, and gently touched Stanley’s hand—carefully, almost imperceptibly, as if he wanted that touch to say more than words.
– I’ll sneak in alone this time, – he said, dropping his voice to almost a whisper. His eyes flicked to the door, as if a storm might already be waiting behind it. – Mom’s still home… I don’t want another fight. Not today.

There was no obvious fear in his tone—no shaking, no panic. It was something else: exhaustion. The kind that grows in someone who’s lived too long waiting for an explosion. When home isn’t a fortress, but a minefield you have to cross carefully, without stepping wrong. He wasn’t complaining. He was just stating a fact—like mentioning the weather. Stanley nodded. He wanted to say — I’ll wait outside, let me come with you, let her dare raise her voice at you, I’ll…—but he didn’t. Because he knew. That wasn’t what Xeno needed to hear right now. Not now. He was asking for a little space, a little quiet—and Stanley could at least give him that.

– Alright, – he said simply, his voice holding no pressure, only acceptance. – I’ll be here.

Xeno gave him a short, almost invisible smile in farewell. It didn’t linger on his face—light as a breeze. Then he slipped through the door, quiet, without looking back.

Stanley remained standing on the path by the house, his hands in his pockets. He didn’t move, just stared at the door. As if, by focusing hard enough, he could feel Xeno walking through the hallway, hiding in the shadows, opening the cabinet, carefully pulling out the bottles. Behind the wall, faint sounds could be heard: distant footsteps, the dull click of a lock, a woman’s voice—sharp, cutting. Then silence again. And waiting. The minutes passed slowly, like honey in the cold.

And then—the door opened once more. Xeno slipped outside like a sneaky cat, clutching a bag in both arms as if it were something precious. His face was slightly flushed, either from excitement or from rushing. He looked younger—almost like a kid who’d just escaped with stolen candy.

– Ta-da, – he said with quiet but genuine triumph, pulling two bottles from the bag. One had a dark burgundy label, the other was translucent, with a soft golden shimmer. The glass clinked as he moved, and in that sound was all the thrill of a little crime. – Red and white, – he announced with the air of a connoisseur. He was clearly excited, his mood noticeably lifted. – Your choice. Or, if we’re feeling totally insane—mix them and regret it later.

Stanley smirked. He looked at Xeno and saw something bright in his eyes. The weariness hadn’t left, but now it had motion. The person who’d just been hiding behind his own door now stood before him—with wine, with the shadow of a smile, and slightly tousled hair.

– A top-tier selection, – Stanley replied, taking one of the bottles in hand. – I vote we experiment.

– Me too, – Xeno chimed in.

They started walking, unhurried, as if the evening itself were nudging them forward, down a slightly damp path where leaves rustled beneath their feet and trees swayed in the light breeze. Stanley walked just behind, letting Xeno lead—not because he didn’t know the way, but because he understood—this was Xeno’s space. His forest. His quiet, hidden corner where he could be himself, if only for a moment without the weight of stares and masks.

They turned off the street, passed a few old lots with crooked fences, stepped into the shadow of the pines, and slowly the world began to quiet. The city was behind them now—its noise, its windows, its painted stairwells, and its foreign voices. Here, it was different. The air was cleaner. The earth underfoot—softer. The forest accepted them as its own. And the path brought them to a small clearing, covered in dry leaves and a thin carpet of faded grass. Sunlight filtered through the tall canopy above, falling in uneven golden patches on the ground, and the air was filled with the scent of pine, damp earth, and that fleeting autumn warmth that only lasts a couple hours before the shadows grow.

– Our secret place, – Xeno said, glancing around as if checking that everything was still where it should be.

His voice was quieter, calmer, like in these woods he was finding his balance again. Stanley looked around, too. It really was a good place—quiet, secluded, like they’d stepped out of time.

– I like it here, – he said, sitting down right on the fallen leaves. – Especially… if you’re here.

Xeno didn’t answer with words. He just sat down beside him, stretched out his legs, and set the bag down. He looked tired, but there was no tension in the way he moved—like here, he could allow himself to sit without expecting to be yelled at or kicked out. He just sat.

– Open it? – he said, holding out the white bottle, looking at Stanley with a hint of laziness—but there was something warmer in his eyes too. Trust. A quiet hope that he’d get it right.

Stanley didn’t reply. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his keys, found the right one, popped the cork with practiced ease and it came free. With a slightly smug grin, he handed the bottle back.

– Handy with everything, aren’t you, – Xeno commented, accepting it.

– Not me, – Stanley shrugged. – Life forced me to learn.

Xeno chuckled and took a couple quick, short sips. The wine was cold, sharp, with a faint bitterness, but he didn’t flinch. He just let out a deep exhale and passed the bottle back.

– What a headache my mom gave me last night… – Xeno muttered, leaning back slightly and staring up at the treetops.

Stanley stayed silent. He didn’t want to interrupt. He had heard everything—standing by the door, fists clenched in his pockets, listening as the woman’s voice rose into a shriek, not a single word about her son, only accusations, complaints, irritation. And in response—silence.

– And how are you? – Stanley asked quietly, not turning his head, eyes fixed ahead, where fog was slowly gathering between the trees.

Xeno shrugged, restrained, as if it didn’t matter anymore.

– It stings, sure, – he said, and strangely, his voice didn’t tremble. – But now… it doesn’t. She’s… she’s always been like this. Brings men home like she’s collecting them—like bottles in a bar. Could sleep over at their places if she wanted. No one would even know she has a son. I think she’d prefer it that way.

He gave a short laugh, but it was bitter. Like he was repeating a joke he’d told himself a hundred times just to avoid crying.

– Does that happen a lot? – Stanley asked, gently, like he was afraid to touch a fresh wound.

Xeno took the bottle again, drank—this time longer, with a pause. He didn’t answer right away.

– Not really, – he finally said. – Usually she just ignores me. I’m furniture. I’m background noise. Sometimes a sound that annoys her. But yesterday, I guess… she noticed you. Saw that I was living too well. That someone came over. So she had to remind me that I’m nobody. That she’s the one who decides how I should live. And who I can let breathe my damn air.

He handed the bottle back. Stanley took it, but didn’t drink. Instead, he shifted a little closer, quietly. The forest had grown noticeably cooler, shadows stretching longer, the air touched with that crispness that hints at the evening settling in. He looked at Xeno—who sat slightly hunched, as if the cold wasn’t coming from outside but rising from within, from the oldest, sorest parts of him.

Stanley leaned in closer, and their shoulders touched—warm, real. He turned slightly and gently wrapped an arm around him, slowly, as if asking permission with every motion, as if giving him time to pull away. But Xeno didn’t flinch. On the contrary—he leaned into it, letting himself fall into that support. His body softened, trusting the warmth beside him, and he rested against Stanley with the rare kind of calm that only comes when you finally understand you won’t be pushed away. His head gently came to rest on Stanley’s shoulder, as if that was where it had been trying to land all day, and his fingers clung instinctively to the edge of Stanley’s sleeve—not tightly, but firmly, like that fold of fabric was the only anchor keeping him steady.

– You don’t think I’m just complaining, right? – he whispered, barely audible, like the question wasn’t meant to be answered at all, but slipped out before he could hold it in.

Stanley replied instantly. Quick, firm, without a hint of doubt—as if he knew this was exactly what Xeno was afraid of deep down.

– No, – he said. – I think you’ve been holding it in alone for too long. Thinking you weren’t allowed to speak. And that’s not true.

Xeno didn’t answer. He just pressed closer. His face stayed hidden, his eyes closed, but there was no detachment in that silence. It was full of trust. And in that quiet—thick and soft—between the last traces of sunset light and the dry tang of wine in the air, it felt like nothing else was needed.

For a while, they simply sat there, letting the evening unfold as it pleased, until the sky, through the leaves, began to deepen into a darker, richer blue. Stanley leaned back slightly, his gaze lost in the narrow bands of light breaking through the branches.

– Don’t you want to continue building the rocket? – he suddenly asked, swallowing another sip of wine that pleasantly burned from within, dissolving sharp thoughts, softening the world into half-tones. His head began to spin slightly, as if he’d just taken a ride on an old children’s carousel and now stood unsure of which way was east or west – yet he didn’t care.

Xeno, still gazing off into the distance, smirked – not sarcastically, but lightly, warmly, with a laziness that only appears under wine and autumn light.

– Nah, – he replied, – today I don’t feel like proving anything to anyone. Not to my mom. Not to school. Not even to myself. I think the rocket can wait. Today… I just want to be here. With you. And not rush anywhere.

He reached for the bottle, took a sip, and passed it back. They drank in turns – like a ritual, slowly, yet at the pace where the alcohol begins to weave into the blood, leaving warmth in the fingers and on the cheeks. When you don’t feel like getting up. When everything that’s happening is enough. The bottle was slowly but surely nearing its end, and Stanley, without asking any questions, opened a second one – a thick, burgundy wine, tart, with a heavy aroma, like the blood of the forest. Suddenly, Xeno laughed softly. His laughter was deeper, lazier, with a slight rasp, yet it held a real lightness. The kind that Stanley might have heard for the first time in forever.

– Damn… – Xeno drawled, leaning closer and looking at him with a sly squint. – I could really go for some chips right now. With salt, with dill, and with this wine… Maybe we could go get some when we finish? And grab some more wine along the way.

– You and your chips again, – Stanley snorted, – did you even eat properly today?

Xeno took the bottle back, took a long sip, exhaled, and only then, with a crooked half-smile, said:

– Nah. Fasting is my way of punishing myself.

He smirked, but there was neither lightness nor irony in that smile. Only a thin, painful truth that he tried to cover up as one might shield a wound with a hand. Stanley frowned. His fingers, as if on their own, reached forward. He gently cupped Xeno’s chin, turning his face toward him. Xeno’s face was a bit fogged from the wine, his cheeks slightly flushed from drinking, but in his eyes – those clear, open eyes – there was something incredibly vulnerable. Like a kitten that’s been accidentally hurt, pretending it doesn’t feel the pain.

– Looks like I’ll have to feed you properly, – Stanley said softly, his voice carrying both care and a warning. – I’ll buy you some nuggets. For protein. And chips… well, if you must, we can have those too. And the wine? Where are you planning to get that?

– Pfft, – Xeno waved it off. – I’m just gonna steal it. I’ve been swiping chocolate bars; a bottle should be no different. The key is to be quick and look confident.

– Clever idea as always, – Stanley smirked. – But how are you gonna carry it? It’s not like you can hide a bottle like a Bounty bar up your sleeve. The glass clinks…

– There’s this small shop nearby, – Xeno explained with the air of a seasoned criminal. – They don’t have any sensors. Just grab it – and run.

Stanley shook his head, looking at him with mild amazement that mingled admiration, irritation, and an involuntary “damn, you’re priceless.”

– You’re setting me on a criminal path, Wingfield, – he muttered. – Just a little – and I’m already in jail. All for chips and warm wine.

Xeno stretched, leaned back lightly, gazing through the gaps in the canopy where the evening shades of blue deepened. Then he turned his head back to Stanley, and this time his gaze was a little different. Softer. Deeper. A touch sadder.

– Perhaps, – he said quietly, – but you decide for yourself… do you allow me to spoil you or not.

Stanley froze. His heart skipped a beat – not from fear, not from guilt, but from something else, something fragile and important. The feeling that he was being entrusted with a choice. He leaned forward slightly, his voice coming out even softer, more intimate:

– You’re late, Xeno. You’re already doing it. And, to be honest… I think I like it.

Xeno just burst out laughing. Not a dry laugh, not with a hint of irony or bitterness as he often did – but a genuine one. Loud, open, unrestrained. His laughter was almost musical, as if something light and pure had burst out from within, leaving only air and warm light in its wake. In that moment, there were no defensive masks, no anxiety, no shadow of pain on his face. Just him – alive, sincere, amusing. Stanley sat back on his arms, simply watching him as if enchanted, as if something rare, elusive, and impossibly beautiful were burning like a bonfire before him. In that laughter was more hope than in all the words spoken throughout the day. Xeno’s cheeks were pink – either from the wine or the laughter. His eyes sparkled, his lips slightly moist from alcohol and his smile. He reached out, and still laughing, playfully nudged Stanley’s chin, not roughly but teasingly – as if trying to extinguish the fire he himself had sparked.

– Back off, – he exhaled through his laughter, – you act as if I’ve completely ruined you.

– Maybe that’s true, – Stanley smirked, leaning back and taking a generous gulp of red wine. It turned out to be much sharper after the light white – sour, full-bodied, with a distinctly bitter edge, and in stark contrast to the atmosphere, it struck the taste buds almost maliciously.

Xeno, after taking another sip, suddenly lowered his head onto his knees, exhaling heavily. His shoulders slumped a little, and he seemed smaller – not physically, but inwardly, as if he were tired of pretending that the day hadn’t left its mark on him.

– Oh, Stanley… – Xeno murmured without lifting his head. – Your makeup looks especially… mesmerizing today. You’ve really gotten the hang of it, huh?

Stanley took the bottle, took a sip, and smirked crookedly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

– How could I not, – he said in a slightly hoarse voice, – when I’ve got a muse like you sitting in front of me? I paint my face every time so you’ll only look at me.

He didn’t think before saying it. The words just slipped out, like a drop sliding down glass. And the moment the sentence left his lips, he realized he had said aloud something he usually kept locked deep inside. The wine had drawn it out—all the forbidden, the vulnerable, the parts he normally hid behind jokes, ironic smiles, and guarded glances. He went quiet. And the silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Deep. As if the world held its breath, watching a fragile line between words and feelings tremble on the edge.

Xeno looked at him, eyes steady. There was no fear in his gaze—only warm, honest surprise. Like he was hearing Stanley for the first time, really hearing him. His fingers tightened slightly around the bottle, and he abruptly looked away, as if trying to hide in the shadows. Then, without hesitation, he took a huge gulp—almost in defiance of himself. A quarter of the bottle in one go. As if he hoped to drown everything waking up inside him in that wine. Everything that had suddenly become too close, too real. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, stayed quiet for a couple of seconds, and then said slowly, like testing each word:

– For me?.. – his voice trembled, as if he himself didn’t believe what he was asking. – You really… did that for someone like me?

Stanley didn’t smile. He didn’t turn it into a joke. He just nodded. His voice was steady, quiet, but solid, like the ground beneath their feet.

– Yes. Not for anyone else. For you. And only you.

Xeno looked at him again. And this time, there wasn’t a mischievous grin, no playful “oh, you” expression—but something new. A smile—shy, barely there, but real. The kind of smile someone gives not for others, but because something warm blooms inside them. His eyes sparkled—as if a soft, gentle light had flared up inside, and for a moment, he allowed himself to live in it.

– Thank you, Stan, – he whispered. – I don’t think… well, no one’s ever said something like that to me before.

And with that line, it was like the whole world paused. The wind in the leaves, the drops of wine clinging to the inside of the bottle, the rustle of the forest around them. It all faded into the background. The center of the universe was right there. Just them. Their breath. Their eyes. Then Xeno looked away and suddenly broke the moment, as if scared of how much could be said if it kept going.

– Uh… – he mumbled, like trying to reboot himself. – Let’s put our money together in and buy… twenty nuggets?

Stanley blinked. For a second, he couldn’t process what he’d just heard.

– What? – he snorted. – Are you being serious right now?

– Dead serious, – Xeno replied with the most serious face he could muster, as if nothing remotely emotional had happened between them in the last five minutes. – You have no idea how hungry I am.

Stanley burst out laughing. His laughter was deep, ringing, like an exhale after tension, like water after heat. He laughed until his stomach hurt, until he had to brace himself against the grass to avoid falling over.

– God, Xeno… you really are like you’re from another world, – he breathed out, still chuckling.

– I do my best, – Xeno nodded proudly, getting to his feet and swaying slightly. – Alright, I need carbs. Immediately. Or I’ll melt like a ghost in the sun.

They finished off the last of the wine, swaying slightly where they sat, laughing more than speaking. When they finally got up and grabbed the bag, their steps were soft, a bit unsteady—like the ground beneath them had lost its sharp edges, and the world around had grown kinder, slower, almost… theirs.

– Damn, Stanley… – Xeno exhaled, swaying slightly, as if the wine was speaking separately from his body. He ran a hand over the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the ground, then lifted them again to look at him, squinting just a little. – You being here… makes me feel better again. Despite everything that’s happened these last few days.

He didn’t say it as a joke, not with irony. Just as a fact. Like he’d only just realized it himself. Stanley smiled slightly and looked up at the sky, which had darkened completely. Between the branches, the first stars had started to flicker—faint and timid, as if afraid to peer too deeply into their conversation.

– I like being with you too, – he said calmly, without lowering his gaze. – You know… it’s like everything stops. No noise, no faces, no shouting, no responsibilities. Just you and me. And nothing moves except us.

Xeno went quiet for a moment, his eyes narrowing—not from the wine, but from something tense creeping into his voice as he asked:

– Hey, tell me… if I had a time machine, would you come with me?

Stanley turned to look at him. He didn’t look surprised, didn’t laugh it off, didn’t raise an eyebrow. He just listened.

– Would you leave with me, – Xeno continued, – drop everything… family, school, this shitty town? Everything… just to be somewhere with me?

It sounded casual, almost playful, but beneath the words was something much heavier. A plea disguised as fantasy. A need to hear that someone would go with him—and not leave him behind. Stanley slowly reached into his pocket, pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, took one out without hurrying, and lit it. He inhaled, exhaled. The smoke drifted slowly into the air between them, like another visible layer of conversation. Only then did he respond:

– Without hesitation. No questions. Anywhere. Even the damn Stone Age—if you're there.

A warm, slightly dazed grin lit up Xeno’s face, and he dropped his eyes, as if caught off guard by the sudden heat in his chest.

– I’ll try to build it before you die from your own poisonous gas, – he chuckled, nodding toward the cigarette.

– You better, – Stanley nodded, taking another drag. – I’ve got big plans for you.

They fell silent. Not because there was nothing to say, but because everything between them had grown too full, too dense to risk breaking it with words. The forest seemed gentler. The world—less hostile. But as always, Xeno couldn’t sit in it for long.

– Let me try, – he said suddenly, turning to Stanley. His voice carried both sincerity and a flicker of challenge.

Stanley raised an eyebrow, confused.

– What?

– The cigarette, – Xeno clarified, reaching out. – It’s… scientific curiosity. Research. Pure science.

– You serious? – Stanley laughed. – You always yelled about how pointless it was.

– All the more reason to prove it. Confirm the hypothesis. I respect data, you know, – Xeno said solemnly, interlacing his fingers and jutting out his chin like a professor.

– Just don’t say I didn’t warn you, – Stanley snorted, handing over the cigarette.

Xeno took it between two fingers like it was some strange, suspicious artifact. He brought it to his mouth, inhaled—and immediately doubled over, coughing hard. His eyes watered, and he waved his hand like he could swat the poison away, then croaked out:

– What the hell… Jesus Christ… – he groaned, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. – That’s enough. Hypothesis confirmed. It’s disgusting.

Stanley couldn’t hold it in. The laughter burst out of him, rough and loud, catching him off guard. He laughed until his stomach ached, until he had to brace himself against the grass to keep from toppling over.

Xeno just breathed heavily at first—but then he, too, broke into laughter. They laughed until their breathing went uneven, until their cheeks ached from the strain, until they felt, just for a moment… alive.

McDonald’s greeted them like a world from another reality—sudden, bright, so full of light and smells that after the muted, chilly forest and the fresh, bitter air of the autumn evening, the place felt almost aggressive in its ordinariness. The yellow lights stabbed at their eyes—harsh and without a hint of mercy. The smell of fried oil, warm buns, fries, and cheap cheese wrapped around them the moment they stepped inside—sticky, insistent, like someone had thrown a blanket made of fried salt and sugar over their shoulders.

The second they crossed the entrance, the wine, which until then had been just a pleasant warmth in their stomachs and a soft haze in their heads, hit hard and fast. As if the space itself—too warm, too bright—had decided now it was time to be fully drunk.

Xeno slowed his step, squinted, rolled his shoulders as if checking whether the world was still standing. His lips curled into a crooked smile, and his eyes sparkled with a warm, flickering fire.

– Oh yeah, – he drawled, sniffing. – Now I feel it. We’re officially drunk.

– Welcome to the phase of nuggets or I’ll die right here on the floor, – said Stanley with dead seriousness, like he was reading a verdict.

– Got it, – Xeno nodded, folding his arms across his chest. – So, how many do we get? I’m mentally ready to gnaw on the tray.

– You asked for twenty, – Stanley reminded him, rolling his eyes. – But I’m starting to think that’s nothing. We need… twenty-nine. Just to be safe. So no one dies or bites anyone’s wrist off.

– I’m like a dog, – Xeno replied without the slightest shame. – Loyal and starving. But if you don’t feed me on time—you’re losing a hand.

– Settled then, – Stanley nodded. – Twenty-nine it is. Plus sauces, fries, and soda, so we don’t perish.

They stepped up to the counter. The girl at the register looked like her soul had already left during the last order and she was now running on stubborn principle alone. When she saw two slightly swaying teenagers—one with a suspiciously cheerful expression and the other with the unshakable enthusiasm of someone who might start singing for fries—her gaze went glassy.

– Good evening, – she mumbled, clearly beyond hope that the evening would actually be good.

Xeno stood tall, shoulders back, and announced loudly, with a regal tone:

– Twenty-nine nuggets, please! Yes, that’s right! – He turned to Stanley with an arched brow. – Two cheese sauces, or are you a man without taste?

– I beg you, – Stanley said, tilting his head. – Add a large fries and…

– Two Cokes, – Xeno cut in, looking at the cashier like he was doing her a favor.

– Card, – Stanley added, already digging it out of his pocket.

The cashier muttered something, stared blankly at the screen, rang up the order, and said dryly without lifting her eyes:

– Payment at the terminal.

Xeno turned to him, already giggling.

– You know, under different circumstances I’d say this was a date. But the lights are fluorescent, there’s ketchup on the floor, and I feel like an idiot.

– Then it’s real, – Stanley shrugged. – Life’s not a movie. You and me—we’re more of an arthouse comedy with a budget of twenty-nine nuggets.

– And one shared cigarette, – Xeno added as they moved to a table to wait.

They settled by the window, at a table covered in tray marks and sticky ghost-drops of soda. Xeno immediately dropped his head into his arms and laughed—quietly, tiredly, but genuinely.

– I’m gonna eat this whole bag and dissolve into space, – he mumbled. – That’s it. We’ve hit rock bottom—but it’s soft and warm. Made of chicken.

Stanley looked at him without looking away, smiling. Because if rock bottom was made of nuggets—then being there with Xeno wasn’t such a bad place after all.

Their order arrived with the soft scrape of a tray across the table and a lifeless “enjoy your meal” from the cashier, who clearly dreamed of disappearing along with the last customer. But they didn’t care.

Xeno, wasting no time—as if the food might vanish—grabbed the nugget box and flung the lid open like a pirate with a chest of gold. He seized the first piece, dunked it in sauce, and was already chewing, not even glancing at Stanley.

Stanley shook his head, suppressing a grin, and gently slid the fries to the center of the table for fair sharing. He had just opened the sauce and picked up a nugget, ready to dip it, when he noticed something: the fries were slowly but surely drifting toward Xeno. Xeno, deft as if playing chess, was drawing the tray closer without taking his eyes off the food.

– Uh-huh… – Stanley drawled, narrowing his eyes. – So my half just… teleported into your zone?

– This is my zone. And in my zone the rule is: my table, my fries, – Xeno said without blinking, lazily stabbing a long, crispy fry and dramatically dipping it into cheese sauce.

– Oh, that’s how it is, huh? – Stanley nodded with mock indignation. – I, for the record, almost killed a man for you, opened wine for you, defended your honor—practically shielded you with my chest from the filth of this world. And you—you steal the salty happiness.

– Well… – Xeno smirked, – you’re a hero. A great one. Deserve a medal. Maybe two. But you’re still not getting the fries.

– This is betrayal, – Stanley said with theatrical tragedy. – I will remember this moment.

Stanley was eating slowly, with a kind of lazy focus, as if the wine was slowing his movements, turning every action into a small ritual. Out of the corner of his eye, he kept glancing at Xeno, who had propped his cheek on one hand and was eating with the other—lazily, distractedly. His gaze drifted across the room now and then, but it always returned to Stanley, like something about him needed to be held in place.

– You know, – Xeno said suddenly between bites, – right now, you look… very homey.

– Homey? – Stanley raised an eyebrow.

– Yeah… in this lighting. With nuggets in your hands. You look like the kind of guy someone wants to watch a dumb movie with under a blanket and argue about which Pringles flavor is best.

– That’s… a very specific fantasy, Wingfield.

Xeno shrugged, not the least bit embarrassed.

– It’s the wine. It opens a portal to my sentimental, useless thoughts.

– Noted, – Stanley nodded. He was quiet for a moment, then sat up straighter, leaned over the table, and added softly: – Then I’ll say something too.

Xeno froze mid-bite with a fry near his mouth, raising an intrigued brow.

– When you smile, – Stanley said, looking straight at him, – the world feels a little less stupid. Like it has at least one thing that’s right.

Xeno didn’t answer right away. He looked away, took a careful bite of his fry, chewed slowly, silently—like something inside him had melted and was now flowing shapelessly through him. Then he nodded without looking back.

– Well… – he exhaled, – that’s disgustingly corny. But still nice.

– Sorry, – Stanley smirked, leaning back against the seat. – I’ve had some wine, so my filter’s temporarily offline.

– You don’t need a filter, – Xeno said quietly, still not meeting his eyes. – It only gets in the way.

They ate in silence for a while. But it was a good silence—not heavy, not filled with thoughts or fears. Just food, a light buzz, the scent of sauces, and the occasional glance filled with something… unspoken. Stanley sighed and looked at the ceiling like the answer might be up there.

– You know, – he said more softly, – for the first time in a long while, I feel like I didn’t screw everything up. Like I did something right. Small, but real.

– If you ever start doubting yourself, – Xeno said calmly, – just remember that today, you brought me here. For nuggets. That’s already a feat.

– I’m the hero of our time.

When the food was almost gone and their bodies were heavy with fullness and wine, they both leaned back into the plastic seats, as if they’d exhaled the last drops of tension that had kept them afloat all day. It felt like the world had slowed down. Everything around them was still noisy—the beeping registers, kids laughing at nearby tables, loud music playing from the speakers—but it all felt distant, like it was on another frequency. Here, there was just them. Their own radio wave.

Xeno reached out, opened one of the boxes, and took the last nugget—still warm, perfectly golden. He turned it in his fingers thoughtfully, like it was a coin that might decide fate. Stanley, meanwhile, was lazily poking around in the fries tray, picking out long, overcooked pieces and popping them into his mouth without rush.

– Bet you want this one, – Xeno said, holding the nugget up like he was offering a deal with the devil.

– I always want the last nugget, – Stanley admitted, squinting. – But I’m always too noble to take it. My tragedy lies in the greatness of my soul.

– That’s tragic, – Xeno sighed dramatically. – Poor noble idiot. Guess I’ll have to free you from this moral agony.

With exaggerated elegance, he dipped the nugget in the last of the cheese sauce, lifted it to his lips like he was about to recite a poem, and theatrically swallowed it, eyes rolling back like he was tasting fine art. Stanley just shook his head and smirked.

– Barbarian. Didn’t even offer me half. Where’s your conscience, Wingfield?

– Conscience? – Xeno repeated, waving the empty box around dramatically. – I sold that the day I stole the first bottle of wine. I’m literally ruining your reputation here.

– Too late. – Stanley leaned on the table, looking at him lazily from under his brows. – I lost that reputation somewhere between your cigarette and the cheese sauce.

– Perfect, – Xeno nodded with satisfaction. – Then I can be even worse.

– I’m afraid to imagine what’s next, – Stanley chuckled. – You gonna steal a straw?

Xeno leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, and started studying him. Carefully. Quietly. There was no arrogance in his gaze, no teasing. Just a soft, almost gentle focus. He watched the way Stanley absentmindedly bit the end of a fry, how he chewed on the straw, how his brows furrowed slightly like he was debating whether to finish the ketchup. And how the corners of his mouth lifted when he wasn’t paying attention.

– You look weird… – he said finally, thoughtfully.

– Weird? – Stanley raised an eyebrow. – Like… suspiciously attractive?

Xeno bit his lip for a second, and something flickered in his eyes. He looked away, toward the window where the neon from the entrance sign reflected faintly.

– No, just weird, – he said quietly. – No one likes people like me. They either tolerate me or fear me. You must be a pervert.

Stanley slowly reached out and gave him a light shove on the shoulder—no force, just enough to pull his attention back.

– I’m not a pervert. I’m just lucky enough to have met someone who’s not like the rest. That’s rare.

Xeno smiled—tired, but warm.

– You know, maybe you really are saving me. Or maybe you’re just feeding me like a stray cat. Either way—I’m still here. And that’s… weird. But good.

– Weird and good is the best thing we’ve got, – Stanley said. – And I think it’s the only thing I really want.

They stepped out of the warm, cozy McDonald's, and the cold hit their faces like a wet rag—sudden, sharp, with that special kind of November contempt. Inside, it had been warm, smelling of fried food; they’d been sitting like under a blanket, laughing and sharing fries. Now—this was the street. The city. The hum of streetlights, the occasional car, and a chill that made them both instinctively hunch their shoulders like a pair of startled hedgehogs. But there was something bracing in that cold, almost freeing—as if it made you feel alive again, completely, from head to toe.

The wine inside them was doing its job. It didn’t just warm anymore—it gently rocked them from within, making the world feel slightly off-center, toy-like, unreal. Like a clay city where you could do absolutely anything. Even dumb things. Even pure madness.

– Listen, – Xeno began, stuffing his hands into his pockets and swaying from foot to foot like he was dancing to music only he could hear. – Let’s go to a store and steal more wine.

Stanley rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth were already beginning to betray him by curling upward.

– Oh God, – he exhaled, half-laughing. – Here we go again. Seriously?

– Yep. But wait, that’s not all. I want chocolate too. Lots of it. Like in the movies, when the main character has a breakdown and buys a mountain of sweets. Except for me it’s the opposite. I’m just… in a good mood. Like, really good.

– You’re not a main character. You’re a criminal. Small, loud, and drunk.

– Correction: a cheerful criminal, – he nodded with conviction. – With a shopping cart.

Stanley squinted, straightening up and leaning a shoulder against the nearest lamppost. The light fell on his hair, making it look a bit lighter, and for a second, he looked like a character from a teen movie about breaking all the rules in one night.

– Hold on… what cart? – he asked cautiously, because he already had a feeling where this was headed.

– Well… – Xeno put on his thinking face. – I thought… if they try to catch us, and we’ve already got bottles and chocolate, we just hop in the cart and ride off. Fast. Whoosh! Gone. Cart heist. Vanished. The plan of the century.

– That’s the dumbest plan I’ve ever heard. And that’s saying something, considering you tried smoking earlier today.

– First of all, that was a scientific experiment. Second—it’s fun. And you’ll say yes. Because deep down, you’re unbearably soft.

Stanley snorted, slowly stepped closer, leaned in slightly, and said quietly, with challenge in his voice:

– I’ll agree… on one condition. You get in the cart. Right in the store. So you, dear God, understand what it looks like when the great and terrible Xeno Wingfield is sitting in a cart among chocolate and wine like a runaway kid from a candy commercial.

Xeno didn’t flinch—instead, he lit up. His eyes literally sparked with the fire of recklessness and delight.

– Deal, – he said, extending a hand. – I’ve always dreamed of feeling like an expensive product.

They laughed, and then, not losing momentum, headed toward the nearest 24-hour shop. It was exactly the kind Xeno had described: old, beat-up, peeling façade, windows plastered with faded stickers—“sale,” “discount,” “always low prices.” The light inside was dim and yellow, like in a hospital. The security guard at the entrance had bags under his eyes from a week of exhaustion and a trembling plastic cup of tea in his hands. He didn’t even look their way as they entered.

– Alright, – Xeno whispered like they were breaking into a guarded museum. – Operation Hedonism begins.

– I don’t think we have a plan, – Stanley muttered, smirking.

– The plan’s simple: you—distract everyone with your beauty, I—steal the cart, and the wine jumps into my arms out of admiration.

– You’re high.

– I’m enchanted. Big difference.

The cart stood in one of the aisles like it had been waiting for them their whole lives. Xeno, without hesitation, climbed inside with theatrical grace, legs crossed, elbow resting on the edge like it was his personal throne. He looked absurdly pleased with himself—slightly drunk, thoroughly smug, and absolutely reckless.

– I am ready, my charioteer, – he declared grandly, looking down at Stanley like a king addressing a peasant. – Take me to sin.

Stanley buried his face in his hand, nearly choking with laughter, but managed to gather what was left of his dignity.

– You’re serious?.. You look like a psychopath in a low-budget yogurt commercial. If someone films this, we’ll be a meme. Forever.

– Perfect! At least we’ll be remembered. Now onward. The plan is clear, the mission—achievable.

And off they went. Stanley kept a deadpan face, as if pushing a drunk person around in a shopping cart was just part of his daily routine, while Xeno waved his arm with royal authority, pointing out directions like they were leading a caravan through the desert.

They rolled up to the alcohol shelf. Stanley stopped, bent down, and with a precise movement grabbed two bottles—red and white, just like the first time, already an unspoken tradition between them. He carefully tucked them into a bag hidden at the bottom of the cart, then threw a quick glance around. Coast clear. For now.

– Just one thing left, – Xeno slipped into a conspiratorial whisper and pointed toward the candy aisle. – To the chocolate, Snyder. Full speed ahead.

– Yeah, sure, go ahead and give me coordinates while you're at it. Maybe draw me a treasure map?

– I'm the navigator here. You're just the muscle.

When they got to the candy section, Xeno stretched forward without standing up and grabbed a whole handful of Snickers, Twix, nut bars, no-nut bars, cocoa and other bits, dumping it all in his lap with a proud expression like he was looting a museum.

– Armed and dangerous, – he declared, clutching the chocolate. – You may now initiate the getaway from the scene of the sweet crime.

And as if the world heard his words, the security guard, who had been peacefully dozing by the entrance, lifted his head, squinted, and stared suspiciously at the cart. His brows began to furrow like gathering storm clouds. He took a step forward.

– Hey! – he barked. – You two! Stop right there!

– PLAN B TIME! – Xeno screeched, clutching the sides of the cart.

– Oh shit, – Stanley hissed, and bolted. The cart jerked over the tile, rattling, bouncing on the first seam, and Xeno, screaming – FLIGHT! – flung himself backward, clutching the wine bottle to his chest like it was his only hope of survival.

They flew past vegetables, chips, candy, and behind them came the rapid thud of footsteps and muttering that sounded more like a demon groaning in agony than any human language. Stanley didn’t look back. He only gripped the cart tighter and yelled:

– You're heavy as a bag of bricks, goddamn it!

– It's all the chocolate! – Xeno shrieked. – I carry my sins with pride!

They burst out of the store, the cart clattering over the asphalt, wheels howling like wolves under a full moon. Stanley swerved around the corner, nearly flipping them, and skidded to a stop, heels digging into the ground. They tumbled onto a narrow path behind the store, where there were no lights—just heavy darkness and a storm of ridiculous, uncontrollable laughter. Xeno leapt out of the cart with a crash, fell to the ground, and spread his arms wide, staring up at the sky like he’d just survived a plane crash. The chocolates spilled across the asphalt like victory medals, one wine bottle rolled into the grass.

– That… – he rasped, – that was… divinely elegant!

Stanley doubled over, bracing himself on the cart, gasping, still laughing.

– We’re insane. Completely, irreversibly insane.

– But happy, – Xeno replied. – Drunk souls and arms full of sugar. That’s the American dream right there.

Once they caught their breath, they pushed the cart again—this time slowly, almost meditatively. Stanley walked lazily, pushing the creaky metal with one hand while Xeno climbed back in, cradling one wine bottle like a trophy. He held the other by the neck, swinging it like a pendulum.

– Seriously, – he said, staring ahead into the night, – we really just stole wine. Together. And a cart.

– And you really sat in it the whole way like a clown at a fair, – Stanley muttered. – I still don’t know how you didn’t fly out on that turn.

– Natural sense of balance. And, you know, a little flexibility. I was born for a life of crime.

– You were born for chocolate and endless whining.

– You’ve figured me out, – Xeno smirked. – I’m just a sweet tooth with the soul of a tragic poet. And tonight—with the best partner-in-crime on the planet.

Around the corner, where the streetlights dimmed and asphalt gave way to earth, they came upon an old playground. Small, surrounded by a rusty fence barely holding onto its peeling paint. The sandbox was dry, the swings creaked even in the wind, the slide was mossy at its base, and a tall jungle gym stood cold and darkened with age. It looked like no children had played there in ten years. And yet—it didn’t seem dead. It was a place forgotten by everyone, except those who had nowhere else to go. Which meant—it was real.

– Perfect, – Xeno exhaled, gripping one of the bottles. – Our home for the night.

– Cozy, – Stanley agreed, eyeing the swings. – Kinda like our brains.

– Sad, rusty, and drafty?

– Exactly.

Xeno chuckled, but instead of answering, climbed first onto the jungle gym like he knew every bar by heart. He clambered up to the highest rung, sat, legs wrapped around the metal, and looked down at Stanley as if to say, come on, slowpoke prince. Stanley followed without a word, and a few moments later, they were sitting side by side in the dark, under the open sky, above it all. Below—the fence, the trees, the empty yard. Above—the thickening black sky, scattered with the first stars like dust hanging in the air.

– Open it? – Xeno handed him one of the bottles, resting it on his knees. – You’re my personal wine butler tonight. You’ve got talent.

– I wish I had a different talent, – Stanley smirked, pulling an old key from his pocket, already worn from years of use. – But hey, we work with what we’ve got.

He popped the cork with practiced ease and handed the bottle back. Xeno took a sip—loud, like he was mentally bracing himself—and winced, but his face showed satisfaction.

– You know, we’ve only known each other for… two months, – he began, still not looking away. – And here I am, sitting with you on an old playground, at night, with stolen wine and chocolate in my pockets, and I’m not scared at all. It’s weird… how peaceful it feels.

– Maybe it’s not about the place, – Stanley replied, taking a sip and wincing at the sourness, – but about who’s next to you. Or… how you look at it. Sometimes someone becomes closer in a week than others ever do in a lifetime.

– That was poetic, – Xeno nodded, swaying forward. – Did you rehearse that?

– No. You’re just here, and my brain works… differently.

– Oh, my poet. Finding inspiration even in rusty surroundings, – Xeno sighed theatrically. – Soon you’ll be writing me a sonnet that rhymes with “shopping cart.”

– No, just a ballad about chocolate and the heist of the century.

They laughed again, and the sound melted easily into the air. The playground suddenly didn’t seem so old. The metal—less rusty. And the evening—cozy, despite the wind tugging at their hair and carrying with it the smells of autumn and asphalt. Xeno went quiet for a while, staring into the distance, until he whispered:

– I feel good here. Better than anywhere else I’ve been in a long time. You’re just sitting next to me… and it feels okay.

– Because that’s how it’s supposed to be, – Stanley said quietly, looking at his profile. – I’m not here to make everything right. I’m here so you don’t feel alone.

Xeno didn’t reply. He just took another sip, and slowly, a little unsure, let his head rest on Stanley’s shoulder. Stanley didn’t move, letting him stay like that. He didn’t shift, just held the wine in one hand, and with the other, slowly placed his palm over Xeno’s. Xeno’s fingers didn’t flinch. They just curled slightly in return.

They kept drinking. The wine didn’t warm them anymore—it softened reality. Made it malleable, slippery, like the night was turning into wax from which any feeling could be molded. It smelled of rusted metal, soaked with years of children’s hands and rain, of damp earth churned by time, and of alcohol—sour, bitter, unpleasant, but somehow necessary. Every sip stretched like a thread, tying them to this place, this moment, to each other.

Stanley sat on a bar high up, his legs dangling, swinging in the rhythm of the light wind. His cheeks were flushed, from the cold or the wine—maybe both—and his hair was tousled like he’d lived through a hurricane. His eyes had that look—the one you get when your tongue stops filtering thoughts. When everything inside just spills out, unfiltered, undefended, because the soul is tired of staying silent.

Next to him, almost lying down, stretched along the metal like on a narrow bridge, Xeno dangled his head downward, staring into the darkness beneath. The bottle sat nearby, like a partner in crime. He swung his legs like a child again—only now with the shadow of adult pain woven into every motion.

– Hey, Xeno, – Stanley said suddenly, a little quieter than usual, like he was afraid to startle something delicate hanging in the air.

– Mmm? – Xeno replied reluctantly, not lifting his head. He just turned it slightly to catch a glimpse of Stanley’s silhouette from the corner of his eye.

– Sometimes I feel like everyone else is just blind… and they don’t see what I see.

He went silent. For a long time. In his head, the words had felt louder, heavier, but out loud, they came out simple. Almost casual. But inside, everything roared.

– I look at you, – he continued, – and I think… you’re fucking amazing. You’re special, complicated, but not cold. Never cold. You’re made of feelings. They’re just deeper than you let yourself believe.

Xeno smirked. Not cruelly, but with tired irony. Almost like a reflex.

– Yeah. There you go again, – he said.

Stanley turned toward him, eyes full of question.

– What?

– Thinking you’ve got me figured out, – Xeno’s voice was low, rough. – You keep saying I’m actually good, that I deserve things. But all that rot inside me… it doesn’t just go away. You can’t rip it out. I just live with it, knowing I’m… extra. And when someone says they see light in me—it’s like telling a wall it’s the ocean.

He exhaled. Slowly. Like the words were molten metal burning his throat.

– And the worst part is… even for a second, I always want to believe it. Every time. And that… hurts the most.

Silence. No other voices nearby. Just the whisper of wind through the leaves, and some distant tapping—somewhere far off in the city. Up here, on the forgotten height of a playground, it was like time itself had paused to listen. Stanley didn’t speak right away. He didn’t rush to comfort, didn’t flood him with words. He knew—when pain is spoken aloud, it doesn’t ask for answers. It asks for presence. He just shifted a little closer. Not touching. But close enough that his shoulder almost brushed Xeno’s. And the silence filled with his warmth.

– I don’t want to fix you, – he finally said. – I don’t want to prove you’re not broken. Or force you to believe in yourself. That’s… not my job. I just want you to know—I see you. Not some version. Not a mask. Not what you put on display. You. The real you. With all the holes, and cracks, and all that hate. With the pain. The exhaustion. And fuck it—I don’t think any of that’s ugly. I… don’t want to run from it.

He paused. Then, softer, almost in a whisper:

– When I’m with you… it’s easier. I don’t know why. It just is. Like everything you’re hiding doesn’t push me away—it pulls me in. I don’t want protection from you. I want to be where you keep it all.

He didn’t move. But his fingers twitched slightly. Xeno slowly touched the metal beneath him, as if checking whether he was really there. His gaze was still downcast, but his breathing changed—it became uneven. He exhaled sharply, loudly. And gripped the bar with both hands.

– This... – he said, but didn’t finish. Just gave a dry huff. – You’re weird, Stanley. Really weird.

– So are you. But here we are, sitting drunk on a rusty metal bar. So at the very least, not completely insane.

– Or exactly insane, – Xeno whispered, and his voice… had a tired kind of warmth to it.

Stanley looked at him, and something inside him kept tightening, like the same metal bar they were sitting on was being clenched by some invisible force. He didn’t know how anyone could bear it—seeing someone you love hunched over, quiet, with that stubborn downward stare, like even the air around him was ashamed to hold him. It wasn’t pity that made Stanley want to scream. It was rage. Helpless, low-burning rage. At Xeno. At the way he treated himself. At how easily he believed he didn’t deserve happiness—or even the simple act of being close to someone. Like his soul was just… interference.

He slowly raised a hand and carefully wrapped his arm around Xeno’s shoulders, trying to do it not like someone taking control, but like someone asking for permission. The touch was almost weightless, but firm, like he wanted to say with this embrace: I’m here. I’ve got you. And I don’t give a shit what you think about that. Xeno didn’t pull away. He only tensed slightly, like trying to retreat deeper into himself, disappear. Stanley lowered his gaze to Xeno’s hair and let out a quiet, pained sigh.

– Shame you don’t want to talk about the party, – he said quietly, staring somewhere up at the farthest stars—easier to speak to them than straight into Xeno’s face.

Xeno didn’t answer right away. A few long seconds passed, thick with silence. Then he gave a crooked little smirk and said with dry irony:

– You mean the kissing… or my emotionally devastating whining?

Stanley turned his head sharply. His eyes held genuine surprise.

– Wait… so you remember?

Xeno nodded slowly, like giving up. He sighed, shrugged—barely, like even that took effort.

– Yeah. I remember everything. Every damn kiss. And every word I said. – He paused, then spoke again, softer. – I just… didn’t say anything because I didn’t know what it meant. For you, maybe it was just… a moment. A drunk night. A mistake that’s easy to erase. And if I brought it up, if I asked—and you told me it meant nothing… I think I’d fall apart.

He looked up—for the first time in a while—and in his eyes there wasn’t the usual sarcasm. Just fear. Raw, human fear of hearing the one thing he couldn’t handle: “It meant nothing.”

Stanley opened his mouth, but the lump in his throat stopped him from speaking right away. He looked at Xeno, and something inside him clicked.

– You think I would’ve just brushed it off? – Stanley whispered. – God, Xeno… I was going out of my mind. I kept waiting for a sign. A glance. Anything that would say “me too.” But you stayed silent. I thought you didn’t remember. Or that you regretted it. I felt like an idiot, honestly.

Xeno smirked.

– I only regret pretending like nothing happened. It’s not because I didn’t care. It’s just… – he paused, biting his lip, – I don’t know how. You get that? Feeling something is hard enough, but having to talk about it… that’s worse. I just don’t know how to do it.

Stanley hugged him again—this time closer, tighter. He pulled him into himself slowly, patiently. He pressed his chin to the top of Xeno’s head, breathing in the smell of wine, autumn, and something stubborn and familiar—something that smelled like Xeno. Xeno didn’t resist. He just gave in. Pressed his forehead into Stanley’s shoulder like there—somewhere between the bones and the fabric of his shirt—was a place to hide from the world. From himself. When he spoke again, his voice was low. Barely audible. Like it came from deep inside him.

– I just… I was scared. Scared that I’d once again come crashing down on someone—with the kisses, the breakdowns, the fears—and that you’d break. Or turn away. Or lose yourself being near me. Your life’s already a mess—your dad, school, all that pressure. I see it. And then there’s me. Like a weight on your neck. I don’t want to be another problem in your life, Stan. I don’t want you spending your strength on me. I… I’m not worth it.

He went quiet. For a long time. Too long. And in that silence, everything became deafeningly clear. Stanley looked at him. Looked like he was seeing him for the first time. And what he felt in that moment—wasn’t pity. Wasn’t fear. It was that wild, inexplicable, desperate kind of love that can’t be dulled, no matter how hard you try. He leaned in, held him tighter, and whispered into his hair:

– You’re wrong.

The very moment Stanley finally allowed himself to look straight at what he’d been feeling all this time—what he’d kept buried beneath jokes, guarded glances, and cautious touches—his heart clenched so tight it knocked the breath out of him. This wasn’t just a confession. It was like opening up his chest and offering it—bare, pulsing, defenseless. He couldn’t stay silent anymore. Couldn’t hold back what had been building since the day he first saw Xeno—not perfect, not convenient, not like everyone else. But real.

He reached forward carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. Slowly, almost reverently, he turned Xeno to face him—not forcefully, not rough—more like he was asking: Please, let me see you. Let me truly be with you. And when their eyes met—tired, anxious, full of some strange calm and crashing chaos at once—he spoke. No pretty words. No rehearsed lines. Just truth. Bare, warm, trembling, like a candle flickering between his hands.

– I love you.

The words were quiet, but they rang out like thunder. He didn’t look away. Didn’t mask it with a smile. Just looked—deep, direct—letting the feeling speak for itself.

– I love you, Xeno. Not because you won’t break me. And not because you have to be someone else, someone better, more right… – he exhaled, and a small, shaky, almost guilty smile curved his lips. – But because even if you do break me someday—I’ll still want to be here. Because you’re worth it. Because even when you hide behind your sarcasm, even when you hate yourself—you’re the most alive, the most real, the most beautiful person to me.

Silence wrapped around them like a blanket. It wasn’t threatening—just thick, echoing with the weight of what had been said. Xeno stared at him, wide-eyed and glistening, but his gaze trembled. And so did his lips. And his shoulders. Like something inside him had cracked—not something broken. But the thing that held the brokenness in.

– You… – he breathed out, barely audible. – You don’t even understand…

He looked away, as if the eye contact was too much to bear. His voice cracked, went uneven.

– No one… – he said, and every word sounded like a battle with himself, – no one’s ever said that to me.

He shook his head, like trying to shake off the rising emotion, but it didn’t let go. And the tears… they didn’t come in sobs. They just flowed. Down his cheeks, his jaw, slow and unstoppable. Like rain no one expected—but couldn’t stop.

– No one ever said they wanted me around. That they were willing… to put up with this whole damn mess I am. That I could be more than a problem. Not something temporary that people tolerate. But someone they could be with. Someone they could love.

He suddenly gripped his knees, fingers digging into the fabric like he needed something to hold onto, to keep from falling apart. The words poured out of him like he had finally given himself permission to be heard.

– I don’t know what it’s like—to be needed. I don’t know what it feels like—to not be afraid that someone will leave the moment they see the real me. That I’m not just weird. That I’m… broken. I don’t believe I can be anything good in someone’s life. I don’t believe it. And still… – he looked at Stanley, fear still in his eyes, but with no wall left between them, – I want to believe you. More than I believe myself.

Stanley leaned in. Quietly. Without interrupting, without rushing. He just came closer, reached out, and with the tip of his thumb, gently wiped away a tear from Xeno’s cheek. So softly. Almost like a blessing. As if he were touching something sacred.

– Then… let me stay while you learn how, – he whispered.

Xeno closed his eyes. He didn’t answer with words. He just stepped forward. Pressed his forehead to Stanley’s shoulder, hiding like a child who’s finally been told it’s okay to cry. Stanley wrapped his arms around him. Firmly. Steadily. Not like someone holding something broken—but someone holding a survivor. And in that moment—when Xeno’s breathing finally started to steady, when his hands came to rest on Stanley’s back like they couldn’t keep fighting—everything became clear.

Xeno leaned in slowly, like something stronger than him was pulling him forward. No words. No overthinking. Just because, in that moment, it was the only thing that made sense. His lips touched Stanley’s unevenly, unsure, almost clumsily—like he didn’t know the right way to do it. The kiss was warm, slow, flavored with wine and the catch of nervous breath. Almost drunk, almost shy—but it held everything: suppressed longing, fear, gratitude, crushed tenderness, and a fragile hope he wouldn’t be pushed away. This wasn’t a kiss for the sake of a moment—it was a confession that could no longer be kept in. And in the gentle, trembling awkwardness—in the way his lips shook, in the way his fingers clutched at the fabric like it anchored him—there was something so real, it made the heart stop.

When they pulled apart, just barely—just enough to see each other’s faces, but not enough to let go—the air between them still pulsed with something fragile, but unshakable. Like their breathing had merged, their hearts synchronized. Stanley, still holding close, his forehead nearly resting against Xeno’s, whispered, barely audible, laced with trembling hope and the shyest thread of joy:

– So does this… mean we’re dating now?

His voice was like a little dream, asking for permission. Not loudly, not demandingly—just hoping. Hoping he wasn’t alone in this. That the feelings echoing in him for so long had finally found a home. Xeno, still with tears at the corners of his eyes, let out a soft, choked laugh. He leaned in and bumped Stanley’s shoulder with his forehead, just a little, almost playfully. His smile was crooked, tired—but alive.

– You… are such an idiot, – he breathed.

He was about to turn away, as always, take a step back, hide, pull away—a reflex built up over years. But this time, Stanley didn’t let him. He lifted his hands slowly, gently but steadily, and cupped Xeno’s face—like he was holding something infinitely precious, fragile, and long-awaited. He looked at him without shame, without fear. Only with warmth. And love he couldn’t hide anymore.

– Xeno, – he began, his voice lower, softer, like every word was flowing straight from his core. – You think I’m an idiot… but you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this. Waiting for you.

Xeno frowned slightly, searching his eyes for sarcasm, the usual deflection—but he found none. There was nothing there but the truth.

– Since we first started talking… from those early days, when you just sat in class with that “don’t come near me” look. When you threw words like knives, thinking it would protect you. – Stanley gave a sad smile. – Even then, I could feel it: whatever was behind those words—it was real. And I wanted… to be near it. I wanted you not to turn away. To let me look in, even just a little.

Xeno didn’t look away. He listened, like he was afraid to interrupt, like every word Stanley said was a thread pulling him back toward the light.

– I fell for you slowly. Not all at once. Not with a snap. It was with every glance. Every time you tried to hide how much it hurt. Those mornings you walked into class with tired eyes but still pretended you didn’t care. And I… I never didn’t care.

He brushed his thumb over Xeno’s cheek, where tears had recently fallen. And his gaze softened even more.

– I love you. All of you. With your exhaustion, with all the noise inside you, with the desire to disappear, with what you think is broken. I love even the parts you can’t accept. Because you’re real. Alive. Just as you are.

He paused. Took a breath. And finished—barely above a whisper:

– And because with you, for the first time in my life, I feel like I want to stay. Not just survive the day. But be. Here. With you. Always.

Xeno didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But his eyes changed. Slowly, deeply—like something frozen inside began to thaw, giving way to fire. He exhaled, like he was surfacing from deep underwater, and whispered:

– I don’t even know what to do with this, Stan…

– You don’t have to know, – Stanley interrupted, his smile so honest it hit not in the chest, but straight in the heart. – Just be. Everything else—later.

And without waiting for permission, he leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t a kiss of burning passion, not a cry or a pull—no. It was something deeply personal, warm, real. Slow, like the first snow. Quiet, like a whisper before sleep. Stanley’s lips brushed Xeno’s gently, as if echoing everything he had just said. Not in words. In touch. Xeno didn’t pull away. He didn’t even hesitate. He just slowly closed his eyes—and kissed back. His hands landed tentatively on Stanley’s chest, then tighter, closer, like he had finally allowed himself to believe this wasn’t a dream.
When they pulled away—not fully, just enough to see each other again, still breathing the same air—Stanley let out a quiet laugh, pressing his forehead against Xeno’s temple.

– So that’s a “yes”, huh?

Xeno snorted, wiped his nose on the edge of his sleeve, and muttered with that expression that sounded like “I give up”:

– You’re impossible.

The night wrapped around them in a warm, thick silence, and it felt like the whole city had faded somewhere outside that rusty playground, where two boys—lost, drunk, real—sat together as if they were the only ones left alive in some strange, made-up world.

Stanley still had his arms around Xeno’s waist, their foreheads nearly touching, breaths shaky and uneven, and the kiss—hot, bold, full of longing—still tingled on their lips, like a taste they weren’t ready to let go of. Xeno was the first to try speaking, but his voice betrayed him—it came out softer than he meant, almost a whisper:

– Do you even realize what you’re doing to me?

Stanley looked at him, eyes gentle, still holding a smile—but no sarcasm now. Only warmth.

– I hope I do, – he said, fingers trailing lightly down Xeno’s back. – Because I don’t want to stop. Ever.

He paused, then tilted his head slightly:

– I know you’re scared. And maybe you think this won’t last. That I’ll change my mind. That you’ll mess it up.

He touched his forehead to Xeno’s temple, soft as a dream.

– But you won’t. You can’t. Even if you try really hard.

Xeno exhaled through a small smile, restrained but warm, lowering his gaze to Stanley’s chest, like he couldn’t hold eye contact any longer.

– You know, when you say things like that… I want to believe you. And then I remember I’m Xeno Wingfield—a walking compilation of glitches, trauma, and ruined conversations.

He snorted, hugging himself over Stanley’s arms.

– I wasn’t made for happiness, Stan. Even chocolate sometimes feels like too much.

– And I think, – Stanley said softly, – that you just lived too long in a world where no one ever offered you any.

He looked at him with a gaze that said he wanted to hold more than his body—he wanted to hold everything inside him: the fears, the wounds, the scars.

– But Xeno… I’m not going to be someone who gives and leaves. I’m here. And if you weren’t made for happiness—then I’ll be the exception. I’ll build it for you. Even if it’s made out of wine, chocolate, and rusty swings.

Xeno buried his face in his chest, fingers clutching at his jacket, holding on like he wanted to melt into him completely.

– Shit… – he whispered. – This is terrible… terribly not my style. I’m used to the cold. And you… you’re like a blanket. One that smells like cigarettes

– Then don’t let go, – Stanley replied, kissing his temple. – Even if it’s scary. Even if it feels like this can’t be yours. Because I swear, all of this—it’s exactly yours.

And they sat like that, holding each other, on the old metal bar, where the rust creaked underfoot and their fingers were still laced together.

Xeno was finishing off one of the chocolates, lazily rolling it between his teeth while the crumpled wrapper glinted in his fingers like a victory flag. He looked relaxed, but there was still a hint of guardedness in his gaze—the kind he always had on the edge between real pleasure and a reflexive defense. He was sitting slightly sideways, leaning his back against the metal bar, and Stanley, facing him, was still holding his hand. Their fingers were tightly interlaced, and from that simple, intimate contact, a quiet, heavy warmth spread through him—almost like the wine, but deeper.

Stanley looked at him closely, not breaking eye contact, and that familiar spark had already lit up in his eyes—not just teasing, but something tenderly playful, almost predatory, like he knew exactly what he was about to say would make Xeno either roll his eyes or bury his face in Stanley’s shoulder to hide the embarrassment.

– You know... – he drawled slowly, shifting closer, as if deliberately shortening the distance between them – after you devoured half the city's supply of chocolate, I have a theory.

He narrowed his eyes, his smile lazy.

– By now, you should be the sweetest thing in the whole damn area.

Xeno didn’t turn his head but raised one eyebrow. He chewed the last bite of chocolate and, casually tossing the wrapper to the side, replied with a smirk:

– Is that sweetness in the chemical sense? Taste-wise? Or are you planning to lick me and check?

– Mhm, – Stanley chuckled, already leaning in – the last one.

And before Xeno could say anything or react, Stanley softly, almost fleetingly, brushed his lips against his—short, cautious, like a taste test, like the first sip of new wine. He pulled back right away, biting his lower lip.

– Hm… weird. Didn’t quite catch the flavor.

Xeno frowned, but a half-smile had already begun to curl the corners of his mouth.

– You’re kidding me…

– Maybe, – Stanley nodded, and before Xeno could finish the sentence, he leaned in again and kissed him a second time—longer, a little bolder, with a gentle pressure. The kiss was warmer now, but still restrained. And again—he pulled back, squinting like a gourmet.

– Still not it. Must be hiding deeper.

– You... – Xeno started, but didn’t get to finish. Because in the next second, Stanley leaned in again—this time with no hesitation, no pause, no testing. Their lips met for a third time, and this kiss wasn’t playful anymore. It was real. With tongue, with hungry pull, with an open need to feel as much as possible—warmth, closeness, truth. It wasn’t just a touch anymore—it was a dive into the heart.

And in that moment, everything else vanished—the playground, the wine, the city, the autumn. There were only the two of them. Only lips, only breath, only heat rising in the chest like a fire that couldn’t be contained. Xeno didn’t have time to hide, to pull away. He responded immediately, instinctively, like something inside him had been wanting this for a long time. His hands clenched the fabric of Stanley’s jacket, pulling him closer, while his heartbeat pounded in his ears. He felt every movement, every millimeter, the tongue sliding in—cautious but insistent. The kiss drew him in, slowly, like it was pulling him into a warm, calm darkness where there was no fear, only the desire to be closer.

Stanley pulled him tighter, wrapping an arm around his waist, holding him like he was trying to prove with the embrace: you’re here, you’re with me, you’re safe. There was no aggression in the kiss—only feeling. A scream disguised as tenderness. They didn’t break away until the air ran out, until their bodies started trembling from the tension. Both their cheeks were flushed, lips red and swollen, breath uneven. Stanley, still holding Xeno’s face, ran his thumb across his lower lip and whispered, smiling almost triumphantly:

– Now… I’ve got the flavor.

Xeno stared at him for a few seconds, as if not believing it had happened, that it was real. Then he snorted, tilted his head to the side, and muttered with a half-suffocated grin:

– You’re an idiot. I feel like a microwave inside. Burning, hissing, and about to explode.

– So it’s working, – Stanley replied, not letting him go. – I told you—I’m a genius chef.

– Uh-huh… with a street degree and a kissing resume at the level of fine dining.

Then suddenly, without a word, Xeno tilted his head slightly to the side, raising one eyebrow—that signature expression of his, always laced with audacity, grace, and unbearably theatrical calm. He swung one leg over Stanley’s thighs and, without rushing, settled into his lap, as if taking his rightful place on a throne.

– What are you… – Stanley swallowed hoarsely, eyebrows lifting. – Xeno. What the hell are you doing?

– Positioning myself – Xeno replied in the same casual tone he might’ve used to explain why he preferred dry wine over semi-sweet. He shifted slightly, leaned an elbow on Stanley’s shoulder, sat upright, reached into the bag and pulled out the remaining bottle. A smug, slightly self-satisfied smile tugged at his lips.

– You can’t just… – Stanley started, but trailed off, because right then Xeno, staring straight into his eyes, uncorked the bottle, took a generous sip—so theatrical, so exaggerated it was like he was toasting to the madness they’d both fallen into.

– Why are you so tense? – Xeno drawled, playfully unwrapping another chocolate bar. He bit into it slowly, looking down at Stanley with a gaze that set blood simmering. – What, are you full already, Stanley?

– You’re messing with me… – Stanley exhaled, staring at him like Xeno had just challenged the laws of the universe.

– A little bit – Xeno chuckled. – Or did you change your mind and decide I’m not worth having in your lap?

– You’re… you’re just teasing – Stanley muttered, feeling his voice falter. He wasn’t sure what was stronger: the wine, the closeness, or that tone—light but so... provoking.

– Possibly – Xeno nodded, leaning in slightly, their lips almost touching. – Or maybe… I’m just seeing how far you’re willing to go.

And that was the final straw.

Stanley couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed Xeno by the waist—firm, sudden, like he was afraid he’d vanish if he let go—and pulled him closer, erasing what little distance remained. Their lips met again—but this time, no slow approach, no playful banter. This kiss held everything that had built up over the past weeks. Everything he had hidden. Everything he feared. He kissed him hungrily, with heat, with that desperate honesty that doesn’t ask for answers—only return.

His hands slid under the jacket, under the sweater, palms running along spine, shoulders, waist, like he was checking—are you real, are you breathing, are you here? And Xeno laughed—short, breathless, right into the kiss, biting his lip but not pulling away. On the contrary—he leaned in even closer, responding with the same hunger, in which, no matter how much he wanted to deny it, there was far more than just passion.

– You’re insane… – he gasped, brushing his lips against Stanley’s ear. – I just sat down…

– You knew what you were doing – Stanley growled, kissing him again, trailing his hand down his back, gripping his thigh. – You did it on purpose. Now live with it.

The chocolate bar, crushed, fell somewhere on the railing. The bottle rolled along the metal, tapping softly, but neither of them noticed. The world narrowed down to breath, skin, warm hands and the trembling body beside them.

The wine had fully taken hold—not harshly, not with weight, but like a warm tide that washed over everything inside with a soft, hazy wave. It mingled with breath, with skin, with kisses that grew longer and deeper, with trembling fingers on spines and laughter that turned into breath between words. Their movements became clumsy, drunk—not from alcohol, but from the feelings spinning their heads harder than any bottle.

Stanley was still holding Xeno by the waist. His hands slid along his back—sometimes gripping tighter, like he was afraid to lose him, sometimes stroking gently, like he was searching for a way to calm that anxious heart. He pressed closer, kissing—lips, neck, temple—as if trying to leave a mark on every inch, prove he was here, prove he wasn’t going anywhere.

– I love you – he breathed between kisses, voice raw, trembling, filled with that dense, defenseless sincerity that could no longer be held inside. – God, Xeno, I love you so much. I’m losing my mind over you. Over every word you say, your breathing, those faces you make when you’re annoyed… everything.

Xeno froze, his eyes lifting to meet Stanley’s—but he didn’t look away. He didn’t smile, didn’t joke, didn’t hide—he just looked. In his eyes swirled confusion, growing tenderness, and that silence that held a thousand unsaid things. Words he never had the right to say before. And now—he no longer had the strength to hold them back. Stanley brushed a hand across his cheek, his thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone, and his gaze softened almost painfully.

– I love the way you read, squinting like the world needs to be kept at a distance. How you go quiet when you’re angry because you don’t want to explode. How you’re scared to show it hurts—but still stay anyway.

– Stan… – Xeno whispered, so quietly it barely registered. He seemed like he wanted to interrupt—but couldn’t. Because everything inside him clenched—at the words, at the fact that he believed them… and that terrified him most of all.

– Even if you never believe you deserve it – Stanley continued, whispering against his lips – I’ll still feel it. Because you’re the best person I’ve ever met. Even when you hate yourself. Even when you want to disappear. I love that in you. All of it.

Xeno buried his face into Stanley’s neck. He wasn’t hiding—he just didn’t know how else to handle it. His breath faltered, shoulders trembling, hands that had been clenched into fists slowly relaxed and wrapped around Stanley, pulling him closer. He pressed his face into Stanley’s jacket like he was trying to hide from his own heart.

– Do you really feel all of this?.. – he whispered so quietly the words barely passed his trembling lips. – Or is it just the wine? Just the night?..

– I’ve felt it since the first week – Stanley smiled, pulling him in tighter. – Before the carts, before the chocolate, before that fucking party. And I’ll still feel it even when you start hissing at me for not washing a cup or breathing too loud while you’re trying to read.

Xeno let out a rough laugh, but there were tears in that laugh. Funny, bitter, freeing.

– Idiot. You really plan on staying even when I’m unbearable?

– I’m already here. And I’m not planning to leave – Stanley replied. – Even if you kick me out with a dramatic “I need space,” I’ll still come back later with your favorite chips and sit on your doorstep until you let me back in.

They sat like that for a long time, without a word. The world around them seemed to exhale—the wind died down, the trees stilled, even the light from distant street lamps felt hesitant. Only the occasional hum of a bus echoed somewhere far away, and light, almost weightless leaves drifted onto the metal railing. The wine no longer spun their heads—it had settled, spread through their blood like the night settling over the city. But between them pulsed something else—not alcohol, not leftover adrenaline, but quiet, steady warmth. The kind that lingers when feelings have been spoken and the person doesn’t leave.

Xeno lay still, face tucked into Stanley’s neck. He barely moved, except his breathing gradually steadied, as if his body had finally been given permission to rest. His lips trembled slightly, but not from cold—more from the fact that he had allowed himself to just be. Be here. Be with him. Stanley kept slowly stroking his back, the same motion over and over, like he was drawing a spell on his skin. Sometimes his fingers caught on the edge of the jacket, as if he were afraid Xeno would disappear. That it would all end as suddenly as it began.

And then, after the long silence, Xeno’s voice came so quietly it was as if it hadn’t existed for centuries:

– I’m… cold.

He didn’t lift his head. Didn’t move. Only pressed closer, like that small, innocent-sounding word had forced him to hide again. But Stanley understood. He understood immediately. Because that “I’m cold” had nothing to do with the temperature. It meant something much more. It was about what had frozen inside. About the silence that lives in those afraid to feel. About the emptiness that builds up over years of pretending you don’t need warmth.

Stanley didn’t ask anything. He just held him tighter, wrapped him in his arms like he wanted to press him into his chest, melt him into his own body, shelter him with everything he had. His hand slid under Xeno’s jacket to his slender back, and through the layers of fabric, he could feel just how cold he really was. But what he felt even more was the hunger—for warmth. Not of the body—of the soul.

– Then don’t go – he whispered, his lips brushing Xeno’s hair. – Just stay like this. Stay here.

He began shrugging off his jacket—not thinking about the cold or the wind, only about him—and draped it over them both. His arm slid back around Xeno’s waist, the other wrapping around his neck.

– We’ll warm up everything now – he said softly – not just hands. Everything that’s been cold for too long. Everything you’ve been hiding.

Xeno nodded faintly. His fingers clung to the shirt on Stanley’s chest like he was afraid of being pushed away again. He pressed closer, his breath quickening.

– I’m cold… – he whispered again. His voice broke. Almost childlike. – But next to you… it’s not so bad.

Stanley exhaled quietly, kissed his temple, and whispered:

– I’m here. And I’ll stay until you kick me out yourself. Though… – he added with a small laugh, trying to ease the weight in the air – even then I’ll probably set up camp outside your door.

Xeno gave a shaky snort—not from tears, but from something in between a laugh and an attempt to hold himself together. He looked up, and in his eyes there was no mask, no trace of self-mockery. Only warm, scattered gratitude.

– You… you’re really not afraid? Of me? Of my mood swings? That I’m always either burning or freezing?

– I am afraid – Stanley admitted. – Afraid that one day you’ll decide you’re better off without me. That your cold will win. But I’ll still stay. Because I’d rather get burned by you than live without you.

Xeno placed his hand on Stanley’s cheek—warm, slightly trembling. He didn’t say anything else. He just looked at him—with love, with awkwardness, with a crack in his voice, with a cautious hope that maybe, just maybe, it was real. And then Stanley said:

– I promise… you won’t ever have to freeze alone again. Never.

Chapter Text

Last night, they stayed out on the playground till midnight. The air was getting colder, but Stanley barely noticed—he was sitting there holding Xeno, wrapping his jacket around him, gently stroking his back, trying to warm him up, not only from the wind but from all that icy sadness built up inside him for years. He remembered feeling Xeno start shivering, and at some point, he knew—it was time to go. He didn't want Xeno getting sick. Couldn't even imagine him feeling any worse.

The walk home was quiet, but somehow precious. They walked side by side, holding hands. And Xeno's hand—it was cold, but there was trust in it. Stanley squeezed tighter, as if he could pass on a little bit of his own warmth, like it was the most important thing he could do.

— You sure everything's gonna be okay at home? — Stanley asked when they stopped outside Xeno's place.

Xeno nodded, tired but smiling.

— Thanks for tonight, — he said. — For all of it.

— For what exactly? — Stanley didn't let go of his hand.

— For making me feel like less of a loser. At least for one day.

— Hey, — Stanley gently touched Xeno's cheek, — you're not a loser. You're literally everything I have. I love you, got it?

Xeno didn't answer, just pressed himself closer, burying his face in Stanley's jacket like it was a lifesaver. Then he stepped towards the door, but at the very last moment, he turned back. His gaze was quiet but piercing, with a tenderness Stanley didn't even know existed. Then he pulled away and vanished behind the door.

Stanley stood there for another minute, waving one last time as Xeno went inside, and only then, as if peeling himself away from something warm, did he head home. He knew—things would be different now.

When he got home, Stanley tiptoed through the dark hallway. Dad was probably asleep already. Everything in his room was exactly the same—the silence, the lamp on the table, its warm glow feeling alien now after the magic outside. He carefully shut the door, immediately checked under his pillow—the knife was still there. Stanley clutched it, exhaled. Good, he could sleep. He'd decided: from now on he'd come home only when dad was already asleep. And he'd leave early in the morning before he woke up. Fewer conflicts. Less risk. Now he had to take care of himself, because now there was someone who made it important.

He crawled under the blanket, pulled it up to his chin, curled up like a kid, and smiled. So wide his cheeks hurt. He couldn't sleep for a long time—thoughts of Xeno flashed through his mind one after another: his eyes as he whispered he wasn't cold when Stanley was next to him. His voice trembling from the wine. His lips as he laughed through a kiss.

Morning greeted Stanley reluctantly—a dim light peeking through curtains and a headache pulsing somewhere deep inside his skull. The hangover made itself known, but instead of irritation or nausea, he felt almost… grateful. This pain felt right. Proof everything last night was real, that he hadn't imagined that night with Xeno—warm, crazy, genuine. He stretched in bed, burying his face in the pillow, not opening his eyes right away—afraid to scare away that warm glow still humming inside his chest.

Everything that happened—it was magical. There was no other word. Every touch, every look, every whisper in his ear, every kiss that made him dizzy more than the wine—all of it now belonged to him, real, inseparable.

Outside, it was chilly but sunny—one of those autumn days when the air crackles with freshness and the trees are just memories of leaves. Stanley stepped outside with his collar up, yawned, rubbed the back of his head—not from sleepiness, but from the lingering hangover. But it was one of those rare mornings when even the headache felt justified. He walked slowly, and with every step something bright, stupidly beautiful swelled inside his chest. And all because of one person. Because of Xeno.

Walking down the street, Stanley noticed a familiar figure at the edge of the block, where the asphalt started cracking and the houses on both sides faded like wind blew their colors away. Maya stood under a skinny tree whose last few leaves clung stubbornly, afraid to let go. The wind plucked them off, one by one, tossing them down into puddles covered in thin, fragile ice. November was definitely taking over—not quite winter yet, but no longer autumn either.

As always, she wore a dark jacket, her backpack hanging from one shoulder, an earbud stuck in one ear—he could almost hear through the shaky silence something playing with a lazy guitar and a voice full of unspoken stuff. Maya shifted her weight from one foot to the other, tapping the ground with her shoe. Phone in hand—a familiar weapon against loneliness. But the moment she spotted him, a smug grin spread across her face, and her gadget instantly vanished into her pocket.

— Holy shit, — she dragged out, squinting like the sun was in her eyes. — Forgive my bluntness, Snyder, but either you spent the night in some Chanel sheets where air smells like vanilla and money, or someone seriously inspired you last night. You're literally glowing, dude. Seriously. You've got the look of a guy right after his first time.

He snorted, waved her off, but couldn't—didn't want to—hide his smile. It grew from the inside, warm, goofy, ear-to-ear. He really was glowing, not pretending, not faking—like suddenly everything inside him had turned weightless. Even the dull pounding in his temples from last night's wine didn't spoil it.

— You wouldn't believe me… — he breathed, raising his eyes to the sky, where a flock of birds suddenly took flight from the wires, vanishing somewhere. — It was probably one of the weirdest and at the same time most beautiful nights ever. Everything was just… not how I expected.

Maya raised an eyebrow, her gaze attentive but without pressure—like she was listening to music barely audible over street noise.

— Bullshit! Are you and Xeno seriously… did you already… for real, this fast?

He laughed, rolled his eyes, slowing his step. The air was getting colder, the wind rising from the river, biting through his jacket.

— Not exactly. — He inhaled the icy air, felt it scratch inside. — We just sat at an old playground. Drank wine from bottles, like two school kids in some crappy French movie. I was sure I wouldn't say a word—just sit there next to him, hug him if he let me. That seemed enough. But then he suddenly talked. And not in that usual smart-ass way with distance in his voice, but as if he let it all out—simple, honest, no walls. And then… I just cracked open too. Said a few things, maybe ten words tops. And he kissed me. And after that, everything just went off the rails—just happened naturally.

Maya stopped, grabbing his jacket, peering into his face. Her eyes flickered with worry, but happiness shone through.

— So you're seriously telling me right now that you guys are… what, together? For real? Not some “we just stared at stars” bullshit, but legit… you and him?

He nodded. His eyes darkened with tenderness, his voice almost a whisper:

— Something like that. I don't know what it'll become. But I know for sure that I want it.

She suddenly smiled wider than usual, smacked his shoulder—not hard, but firmly—then pulled him sharply into a quick, strong hug.

— I told you, Snyder. I told you. That stubborn, permanently sad boy looked at you like you're the last real thing in this whole damn city. And you were always mumbling “Nah, can't be.” Well, there you go. I'm a freaking psychic!

He laughed, took cigarettes out from his jacket, pulled one, flicked the lighter. Flame shivered in the wind, reflecting in her eyes. He took a drag, exhaled towards the sky, smoke dissolving in the cold.

— It all still feels wrong, y'know. But in a good way. Not the thing you're ever ready for. Can't remember the last time I woke up and the day didn't feel heavy. But today, I woke up and thought: “I wanna do something nice for him.” Just because he's near. Just because he's him.

Maya squinted, crossed her arms, nodded barely noticeable—like just for herself.

— You know, you've carried enough shit, Snyder. If someone's finally walking beside you now, ready to take some weight off—then, hey, that's worth a toast. Or two, just to be sure.

Stanley smiled faintly, but suddenly froze, as if struck by lightning. He stood right in the middle of the sidewalk, leaves rustling beneath his feet, the occasional cars rumbling by. The wind whipped at his scarf like the whole universe was trying to push him forward.

— Damn it. I have to do something nice for him. He's probably more hungover than I am... and—shit, I've got it! Coffee!

— What? — Maya raised an eyebrow, stopping a bit ahead.

— COFFEE, Maya! Get it? I'll bring him coffee. Like in those romantic movies, but without that cheesy soundtrack in the background. He’ll be sitting there, all gloomy, blurry-eyed, stuck in his thoughts, and then I show up, put a cup down and say: “I knew you'd need this.” And he—seriously, I can totally picture it—he’ll look up, surprised and warm, and say: “Can you read my mind or something?” And maybe… I don’t know… we kiss or something. By the chalkboard. Or next to his locker. That’d just be… perfect.

Maya snorted so loudly a passerby turned around. She almost stumbled trying to catch up to him.

— God… I've known you for years. I've seen you pissed, drunk, indifferent—but only now I realize: you're disgustingly cheesy. Totally whipped. Not even regular whipped—like, fragile and delicate whipped.

— Don't be jealous, — he shot back, tossing his cigarette butt into a trash can. — But… shit, there's one problem. I don't even know what he likes. What if I bring him something disgusting, and that's it—complete failure. He’ll look at me like I’m a total idiot. What if he hates, I don’t know… vanilla?

Maya rolled her eyes, pressing her hand to her forehead and sighing dramatically.

— Stan, it's coffee. Not the afterlife. Not the nuclear launch codes.

— It's not coffee, — he said, deadly serious. — It's a gesture. A sign. It's my “I think about you even before I'm fully awake.” It's what tells him he matters. That I care. I have to guess right, understand? Like a biology test, except instead of a grade I get his happy face. Or... disappointment.

Maya squinted at him.

— Good luck then, Captain Whipped-Ass. I'd say go for a mocha—coffee and chocolate, nice and safe. But you don't need nice and safe, you need epic. With syrup made from suffering and foam of tragic backstories, no less.

— Maya… — he gave her a wounded look. — Please, no jokes right now. I need support. Let's go to Starbucks. We'll figure out his taste like the sorting hat picks houses at Hogwarts. And I need to be a goddamn wizard.

She chuckled, tucked a stray hair behind her ear, and sighed.

— Fine. Let's go see if you can find coffee flavoured like “Please keep loving me.”

They walked into the cafe. The bell on the door chimed like the ringing in your ears after a sudden wake-up, and warm air instantly embraced them, smelling of spices, pastries, and sweetness lingering on the tongue even before the first sip. Soft lighting behind counters and displays created a sense of morning quiet, hidden from the harsh November wind.

There was barely any line, but Stanley froze at the counter as if the decision meant life or death. He leaned over the menu, squinting like it wasn't a list of drinks but some formulas for happiness, some spell written in the language of feelings.

— God, — he muttered, — what the hell do I pick so I don’t screw it up...

Maya crossed her arms, watching him with exaggerated patience.

— So? Come on, detective. What intel do you have on your crush?

— Umm… — he rubbed his cheek, digging through his memories. — He... he likes sweet stuff. Seriously. Last night he looked at me like he was ready to trade a kiss for a Twix. Then he ate two chocolate bars in a row. And caramel. Anything sweet enough to give you diabetes just by smelling it.

— Then get something with syrup, — she shrugged. — Seems logical enough.

— No, you don't get it, — he whispered tensely. — It can't just be sweet. It has to be like him. Sweet, sure, but with some weird, kinda bold note. Something that screams from the first sip: I'm not basic. Makes you fall in love with its warmth and aftertaste.

Maya closed her eyes and theatrically dragged her hand down her face.

— I swear to God, if you don't order something right now, I'm leaving for Mexico. Without my passport. On foot.

— Kill me if you want, — he said without looking up, staring at a bright poster with fall-themed drinks, — but I have to get this right.

She surrendered, shrugged, and went off to get her cappuccino. And he stayed. Alone with his choice. His eyes flickered through the options, but instead of the menu he saw Xeno's face—sleepy, tired, shadows of the night beneath his eyes, and that soft smile that changed everything. And there. He saw it.

Spiced latte with dark chocolate and a pinch of cinnamon.

Something clicked inside him. Like his heart whispered: that's it. Warmth. Sweetness. Character. Autumn itself.

— This is it… — he breathed, as though finding the key to a door he’d been locked out of his whole life.

He stepped forward and pointed dramatically at the menu.

— This one. Grande. To go. No whipped cream. And… if possible, a bit extra syrup. And it has to be hot, okay?

The barista blinked, slightly startled by his seriousness, but nodded.

— Good choice. Slightly spicy, a bit bitter, but with chocolate—it’s a very smooth flavour.

When the drink was ready, Stanley picked up the cup as cautiously as if it held some precious jewel. Maya came back with her cappuccino, looking him over skeptically.

— Hope that drink carries your lovesick ass safely through the minefield.

— It's not just a drink, — he replied, insanely confident. — It's a confession in a paper cup.

— If he says he doesn't like chocolate, you’re buying me a ticket out of town so I don’t have to watch you implode.

— I won’t implode, — Stanley straightened his shoulders. — He ate a pile of chocolate last night. If he doesn’t like chocolate, I’m literally the president of America.

They stepped outside. The cold wind instantly bit into their faces, tugging at collars, brushing across their fingers. But Stanley had something warm in his hands. And it wasn't just coffee—it was anticipation. Hope. A tiny, vulnerable "I want to be closer to you."

The school lobby was buzzing with its usual, unbearably loud chaos: doors squeaking, lockers slamming, backpacks hitting floors, distant shouts of "Hey!" followed by bursts of laughter. All these sounds merged into background noise, like a distant highway—close enough to hear, but too far away to care about. Stanley moved through the crowd barely noticing faces, stares, whispers behind him. He’d turned into glass: letting the light pass through, reflecting nothing.

— Hey, — Maya’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, making him turn around like he'd been yanked up from deep water. — You ever gonna ask Xeno to the winter dance?

He blinked, startled, as if she'd interrupted an internal soundtrack.

— The winter dance? You mean that thing where the floor’s sticky, the DJ plays TikTok songs from five years ago, and the cafeteria serves sliced hot dogs like it’s gourmet?

— Yep, — Maya smirked, adjusting the strap of her bag. — That’s the one. Only now it’s officially the “event of the month.” People are already putting on those public proposal shows—in the cafeteria, by the entrance, next to the lockers. Flowers, guitars, fireworks, dramatic “will you go with me?” moments. And, of course, those cringey rejections with applause and everything. Peak teenage drama.

— Great, — Stanley muttered, rolling his eyes. — A cultural disaster zone in one location. But... — he stopped, his gaze softening. — If Xeno wanted to... I’d go. No question. Even in a suit, if I had to. With a bowtie. Or those suspenders that make you look like a tortured character in some indie movie.

Maya raised an eyebrow slightly, and when she spoke, her voice had that warm, almost serious tone that always came unexpectedly after a joke:

— Maybe that’s exactly what he needs. Not the bowtie—just... to be noticed. To be important in someone’s gesture. For a guy who’s spent his whole life in the background, in the shadows, who maybe never had a “beautiful school memory,” it could be that moment. The kind that keeps you warm for years. Sometimes your whole life.

Stanley looked down at the cup in his hand. It was warm—almost too hot. He turned it slightly, and the lid loosened just a bit—the smell hit him right away: chocolate, spices, a touch of cinnamon. Everything he’d picked with care.

— Yeah… — he exhaled slowly. — You’re right. But just a plain “wanna go?” doesn’t feel right. I want him to know he matters to me.

— Then make it beautiful, — said Maya. — But for that… you’ll definitely need cash.

— A lot of it. — He smirked. — Bare minimum: string lights, a banner, music, chocolate fountain, horses, and a golden carriage. Ideally—some little play where I step out in robes waving a flag that says “Xeno, go to the dance with me.”

— Well… — she tilted her head, smiling. — I could ask my mom. Her cafe is short-staffed in the evenings. Washing dishes, carrying trays, serving soup with a resting bitch face—that’s basically your vibe.

— Maya, — he sighed with exaggerated relief, — you’re literally saving my poor, exhausted, dramatic soul. Future romance sponsor.

— Anytime.

He shot her a look over the top of his cup, half-teasing, almost brotherly.

— So, who do you wanna go with?

She froze for a second, glanced out the window where the morning pressed against the glass, and her lips twitched just a little.

— A while ago I would’ve said Charlotte. She seemed cool and stylish. Confident. But then—that party. Those drawings, the rumors. And I realized: she’s just cruel. Cold as hell. Now… I don’t know. Maybe I won’t go at all. Or I’ll go alone.

He nodded, raising an eyebrow just slightly:

— Well hey. If Xeno shoots me down—you’re my backup. We’ll shine together. You—in red. Me—in wounded pride and a cheap tie.

— Deal. — She held out a fist, and he bumped it with his own.

When Stanley walked into the classroom, his heart stumbled, like it tripped over a rib on its way to beat properly, then started pounding faster, warmer, louder. His eyes instantly locked on a familiar figure at the front desk—slouched back, messy hair, and that usual posture: Xeno sitting sideways, buried in his phone, totally zoned out in his own world. Like nothing touched him—he just existed, raw and unbothered.

Stanley’s throat went dry. He froze in the doorway for a second, just letting himself look. There was something painfully familiar, something fragile in the way Xeno’s hair stuck out, the way his thin neck peeked from under his collar, how his fingers trembled slightly tapping the screen. He looked tired, and damn it—that only made him cuter.

Stanley took a deep breath, trying to suppress the grin blooming across his face, and walked up quietly. He placed the coffee cup next to Xeno’s hand, barely brushing his fingers—a quick, maybe-accidental touch that sent a jolt across Stanley’s skin. He sat down in the chair beside him, smiling just a little:

— This is for you, sweetheart.

Xeno slowly looked up, like surfacing from deep water, blinking at him with genuine surprise. His voice came out a bit hoarse, still sleepy, but warm:

— Did you... buy me coffee?

— Yep, — Stanley shrugged, trying to sound chill, though his voice still had that trace of nervousness. — Figured after last night, this morning might suck. And I just… wanted to do something nice. So you’d feel cared for.

Xeno stared at him for a second—curious, a little thrown off—and then finally smiled. Barely, just a twitch of his lips. He carefully picked up the cup like he was afraid to mess something up, and took a sip. His eyes widened slightly—surprise flickering through them before soft satisfaction settled in.

— Whoa… this is amazing. Sweet... chocolatey… — he murmured, taking another sip, — God, I didn’t even know coffee could taste like this.

— I spent forever picking it, — Stanley admitted, looking away, rubbing his neck with a sheepish grin. — I wanted you to think: “Damn, this guy really listens to me.”

Xeno let out a quiet snort, almost a laugh, and then... hesitated. His cheeks flushed just a little, and he looked off to the side, like he was gathering courage.

— Okay… but promise you won’t laugh, — he said, awkward but sincere. — This is a coincidence. I swear.

— What? — Stanley tilted his head, intrigued.

Xeno sighed, like he was pushing through something heavy, dug through his backpack, and pulled out another cup—setting it in front of Stanley. He avoided eye contact, clearly embarrassed, trying to look casual, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

— I… also got something. A spiced chai latte. With cinnamon and stuff. I thought... it reminded me of you. Warm and cozy. Just don’t go telling anyone I said that. It’s kinda dumb now that we both brought each other drinks…

He shrugged like he was defending himself, but there was this shy warmth in his voice.

— Seriously?! — Stanley almost dropped his backpack, a huge, real smile lighting up his face. — Xeno, that’s… that’s the sweetest thing ever. Thank you. Honestly, I don’t even know what to say.

He leaned forward a bit, instincts pulling him into a hug, even just a quick one, but Xeno flinched slightly, suddenly remembering where they were. His eyes darted around the room, fast, nervous.

— Hey… not here, — he whispered, rubbing his neck, clearly uncomfortable. — I don’t want people to see. It'll start all over again…

Stanley paused, his smile dimming a bit but not disappearing. He nodded, calm, understanding.

— You’re embarrassed of me? — he asked quietly, not hurt, just needing to know.

Xeno shook his head, lips pressed together, then said softly:

— No. I’m embarrassed of people. All those stares, whispers behind your back. I just want what we have to be real. Without all the high school crap. You get that, right?

— I get it, — Stanley nodded, his voice softening to a near whisper. — I won’t push. It’s already enough for me that you’re here. That I can just sit next to you… and see you.

Xeno looked at him — the kind of look that said thank you without words, deep and steady. He leaned in slightly, letting his shoulder just barely brush Stanley’s, like it was an accident.

— Thanks for understanding, — he murmured, sipping his coffee again. — And, by the way… you’ve got great taste.

— Maybe this is our new tradition — bringing each other drinks? — Stanley smiled, leaning back in his chair.

Xeno rolled his eyes, but there was warmth sparking in them.

— God, Snyder, we’ve seriously turned into a cliched rom-com. I warned you this would bring nothing but trouble.

— But you love trouble, — Stanley winked, nudging his shoulder gently.

— Shut up and drink your tea, — Xeno huffed, scooting a little closer.

They sat there, quiet and calm, not openly touching, but feeling that kind of closeness that runs deeper than skin.

After first lesson, the hallway buzzed with its usual chaos. Someone laughed too loud, their voice echoing off the walls. Others shoved through the crowded hall, trailing clouds of perfume and muttered apologies. And someone just stood there, glued to their phone, blocking the flow like a rock in a river.

Stanley and Xeno walked at the tail end of the crowd. Stan deliberately slowed his pace, like going slower would somehow stretch the minutes beside Xeno. But Xeno, on the other hand, was charging ahead, rubbing the bridge of his nose with an irritated look in his eyes — a look that said one thing and one thing only: food. Not romance, not conversation — just pure, hungry determination.

— You sure you won’t die without that bun for another five minutes? — Stanley teased, watching him frown and rub his forehead again.

— One more minute and I’m chewing the wall, — Xeno muttered, not slowing down.

Their easy banter was cut short by a sudden noise up ahead: claps, whistles, someone yelling excitedly. The crowd thickened into a wall. Stanley and Xeno stopped instinctively, craning their necks to see what was going on.

In the middle of the hall stood Carlos — looking awkward but trying to hold himself like a confident guy. A solid black eye bloomed beneath one of his eyes, making the whole dramatic scene even more surreal. He was gripping a huge bouquet of bright red roses, and in his other hand — an enormous, homemade sign, the kind with big, shaky, borderline kindergartener letters: “LUNA, BE MY STAR AT THE WINTER DANCE!” The letters were smudged, some crooked, like he’d made it in a rush or with shaky hands.

Across from him stood Luna, clearly caught off guard. Her posture was tense, arms at her sides, face locked in a polite mask that barely hid her clear discomfort. Her eyes flicked through the crowd like she was searching for a fire escape, but there was nowhere to run — the students had formed a tight circle, hungry for drama.

— Now that’s a circus, — Xeno muttered, arms crossed. — Carlos never fails to impress. I’m almost impressed he’s humiliating himself in HD now.

— Yeah, — Stanley smirked. — Luna’s always acted like a queen… and now she’s got the school jester at her feet. Karma at its finest.

— Although, — Xeno added, — if you think about it, it’s kinda sad. She clearly doesn’t want this. Look — she’s smiling like she’s about to puke.

At that moment, Carlos — clearly at the emotional peak of his performance — dropped to one knee, bouquet outstretched:

— Luna, I look at you every day like a star — so bright, so far away, — he declared dramatically, glancing at the crowd. — And if you’ll be my date to the dance… I’ll be the happiest guy on this planet!

The crowd burst into giggles and applause. Luna stepped back, eyes darting from the flowers to the sign to Carlos. Her lips twitched awkwardly.

— Uh… that’s very unexpected… and… sweet, I guess. But maybe we should talk about this not… in front of the whole school?

— Oh… — Carlos lowered the bouquet, clearly confused. — So that’s… not a yes?

— It’s not a yes. And not a no. It’s a… let’s talk later, — she muttered, rubbing her temple.

The crowd buzzed. Some booed, some gasped, and others were already filming everything.

— So like… how do you feel about all this? — Stanley asked suddenly, watching him with a little spark of hope. — You know, the whole invitation thing... the dances?

Xeno was quiet for a second, then shrugged.

— Dances themselves are fine. Sometimes even kinda pretty. But this... public proposals, full-school attention, risking looking like a complete idiot in front of everyone… not my thing. I’m all for quiet convos. No letters the size of a refrigerator door.

— And if someone just came up to you… and asked? — Stanley asked carefully.

Xeno slowed down. His expression softened, turned thoughtful. Like he was weighing something invisible.

— Depends on who. And… on the cafeteria buns, — he added with a smirk. — I’m not going with the prom king if he brings me one of those rubbery croissants instead of real food.

— Got it. So in my case, it has to be a cinnamon bun. And then maybe…

— …maybe I’d even say yes, — Xeno finished, giving him a sly look.

— A bun instead of a bouquet, — Stanley nodded. — And a second one so you don’t cuss me out while I try to be romantic.

Xeno snorted and bumped his shoulder.

— God, Snyder, you’re the least romantic romantic ever.

— You have no idea, — Stanley murmured, smiling softly. His heart beat with this joyful, almost childlike kind of hope.

Xeno grabbed three buns from the counter — soft, golden, dusted with powdered sugar and cinnamon. They smelled so good the air around them felt warmer. He shoved two into the pockets of his dark hoodie without hesitation, glancing around like someone might snatch them away any second, like a kid at a snack machine. Then he spun around, grabbed Stanley by the sleeve, and silently dragged him away from the noisy cafeteria — toward the fire escape stairs.

— Whoa! Okay, chill, you almost ripped my arm off — Stanley laughed, going along with him even though he was a bit out of breath. — Or are you secretly planning to dispose of me somewhere no one’ll find me?

— You’ll survive. I’ll buy you a new sleeve if it tears, — Xeno muttered, pushing the door open with his shoulder. — I just… wanted quiet. And you.

The stairs were dusty, the air smelling of metal, old paint, and something faintly musty — but it felt like a secret little hideout, a place where the world couldn’t reach them. They sat down side by side on the cold concrete steps. Xeno, elbows resting on his knees, pulled out one of the buns and silently handed it to Stanley without meeting his eyes. He sat close enough for their shoulders to almost touch — but didn’t move away an inch.

— Is today, like, a special occasion or something? — Stanley asked, accepting the bun. He was trying hard to sound casual, but the small, shy smile already tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Xeno shrugged. He tore off a piece of his bun and started picking it apart slowly, like every crumb deserved attention.

— Not really. Just… — he paused, then quietly added — Mom’s away on another work trip. Won’t be back till Sunday. I’ll be alone.

He said it like it didn’t matter, all offhand and light, but there was the tiniest tremble in his voice.

— I thought… maybe you could come over after school? — he continued, sounding unsure. — We could watch a movie. Or just stare at the ceiling or something. Better than freezing outside.

Stanley forgot how to breathe for a second. His heart clenched—and then melted. There was a soft glow in his eyes, like someone had lit a small lantern behind them.

— Are you serious? Of course I’ll come! You don’t even know how badly I want to. Honestly, I’d show up every day if you didn’t think I was some annoying clingy mess.

Xeno let out a low snort, hiding his smile as he took a tiny bite of his bun.

— You already are clingy. Like gum stuck to a sneaker. Won’t come off, — he muttered. — But… I don’t really mind. Just… don’t disappear on me, okay? And if you do get bored—sneak out quietly. We’ve already got enough melodrama in our lives.

— Not a chance, — Stanley said softly, smiling, and after a single moment of hesitation, he gently wrapped an arm around his shoulders. — You’re not getting rid of me that easy. Even if you throw me out, I’ll still come back. With a bun. Or two.

Xeno didn’t pull away. If anything, he relaxed into the hug, like it was exactly what he’d needed all day. He didn’t say anything—just stayed close, shoulder pressed against Stanley’s, pretending he was super focused on his bun.

— Don’t even think about bringing more than two, — he grumbled eventually, tilting his head a little. — My closet already smells like a bakery. The neighbours probably think I’m hiding from life in a patisserie.

— You kinda are, — Stanley teased, nose brushing against Xeno’s hair. — Just not from life—more like from people. And you’ve weirdly made an exception for me.

Xeno gave a tiny chuckle, turning his head just a little closer.

— Maybe you don’t count as “people,” — he said quietly. — Or maybe you’re just… my person. Even with your disgustingly sweet smile and annoyingly kind heart.

— Write that in a Valentine’s card, — Stanley whispered. — “My person, despite being disgustingly sweet.”

— Shut up and eat your bun, — Xeno smirked, but didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned in a little more—just enough to say this was the only place he felt safe.

— By the way… — Stanley started, scratching the back of his head like he was a bit nervous. — So, uh… I might be getting a part-time job soon.

Xeno stopped mid-bite, eyebrows raised as he turned fully toward him.

— A job? Seriously? What for?

Stanley hesitated for a second, eyes flicking off to the side, then let out a breath and looked straight at him, squinting a little like he wasn’t sure if this would sound dumb—but said it anyway:

— Well… first, to buy you coffee and chocolate. Since you’re kind of a cocoa-and-cinnamon addict. And second… I wanna start saving up. Like, seriously saving. So after graduation, we can leave this place. This school. This town. These walls… together.

Xeno froze. His whole face stilled—no smirk, no sarcasm, no frown. Just stillness. He looked at Stanley like the words didn’t quite register, like he was trying to decide if this was real. Then slowly, almost without meaning to, a small, warm, bashful smile crept onto his lips.

— You’re insane, — he said, quietly amazed. — Stanley, you’re actually crazy. We’ve known each other for what, a few months? We’ve been dating for less than a day. And you’re already planning our great escape?

— Yep, — Stanley nodded, trying to look serious even though he couldn’t stop smiling. — I’m just… a forward-thinker. A strategist. And also… I know what I want.

— Oh yeah? And what’s that? — Xeno asked, glancing up at him, soft and almost melting a little.

— You, — Stanley said simply. No drama. No hesitation. — I want you. I want you eating real pastries, not those cafeteria knock-offs. Living somewhere you choose, not somewhere you’re stuck. I want us to be together—without having to hide.

Xeno looked away like he was trying to hide something in his expression, but his ears had gone red. He gave a fake snort and lowered his eyes, fingers twisting together in his lap. They were shaking, just slightly.

— God… you’re impossible. How is anyone supposed to deal with you? — he mumbled, softer now. — Why are you saying all this?

— Because you matter. Because I’m happy with you. Because I want you to know that even if you’re not fully ready yet… I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here. For as long as you need.

Xeno didn’t answer at first. Then, almost too quiet to hear, he whispered:

— And what if I wanted to leave tomorrow?

— Then I’ll start delivering food on foot just to save faster, — Stanley grinned. — Or I’ll sell buns. Stand on the street like, “Buy a pastry from a guy in love—he’s saving up for his dream life.”

A real, warm smile broke across Xeno’s face—finally unguarded. He shook his head and bumped Stanley’s shoulder gently.

— Alright… deal is this, — he said, finally turning toward him again. — You work, you save, you build your grand plan. And I’ll… I’ll keep putting up with you. At least until you become totally unbearable.

— Fair enough, — Stanley nodded seriously. — But just so you know, you’re gonna be putting up with me for a long time. I’m one of those people you can’t get rid of, even if you try. I’ll just show up with more buns.

— Buns are your backup plan for everything, huh? — Xeno chuckled, but he leaned in closer, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder. — Alright… if you’re that stubborn, maybe I really should give all this a chance.

— You already did, — Stanley said quietly, wrapping his arm around Xeno’s shoulders and pressing his nose into his hair. — You just haven’t realized it yet.

They sat in silence, the muffled noise of the school fading behind the door, and in that quiet moment, there was no rush. No awkwardness. Just warmth. And the sense that maybe—just maybe—something real was beginning. Xeno gave a soft little laugh, but this time it wasn’t sharp or sarcastic. It was gentle. And without saying a word, he rested his head on Stanley’s shoulder. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Stanley felt his heart open up in his chest, warm and full, like someone had wrapped him in a blanket that smelled like cinnamon and sunlight.

— So... how often are you gonna work? — Xeno asked quietly, eyes not leaving Stanley’s face. He looked at him with this calm, focused expression—like he was trying to read the answer not just from the words, but from every glance, every breath.

Stanley shrugged, smiling a little, answering with that easy, honest confidence that made him unbearably sweet sometimes.

— Honestly? I don’t know. As much as I can. Extra money never hurts—especially when I want to spend it on you.

Xeno looked down, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smile, but something in him clearly shifted. He tried to hide how flustered he was, but his voice gave him away—quiet, a little clumsy, completely sincere.

— Listen… you don’t have to spend it on me, — he mumbled, eyes fixed on his fingers laced together over his knees. — I’m fine. My mom always left money for me when she traveled. Figured I’d need it to survive, eat, stay afloat. But I barely used it. I’ve got enough saved up. So don’t feel like you owe me anything, okay?

Stanley frowned softly and laid his hand on Xeno’s shoulder—gentle but steady.

— Hey. Look at me, — he said, and when Xeno finally lifted his eyes, Stanley spoke seriously, but with that same warm, unwavering kindness that always made Xeno want to either laugh or hide. — I’m not trying to “take care” of you. I don’t want you to feel like you’re some kind of obligation. I just… I wanna make you happy sometimes. Do something nice. Just because I can. Because I want to. Is that so bad?

Xeno stayed quiet for a few seconds, then exhaled—like letting go of something that had been stuck in his chest for a while. He tilted his head slightly.

— You’re such a hopeless romantic, — he said, shaking his head, but the gratitude in his voice outweighed the sarcasm. — Fine. It’s… actually really nice. But only if you still come see me after your shifts. Or I’ll have to show up at that cafe and pretend I’m a customer just to catch a glimpse of you.

— Ooh, mysterious guy in the corner, always ordering the same tea and staring longingly at the waiter. It’s giving indie movie, — Stanley smirked.

— Yeah. Except without the happy ending. ‘Cause the waiter’s always busy.

Stanley laughed and gently squeezed Xeno’s hand.

— I’ll come. Always. This isn’t me getting a job to escape you—it’s for us. I want more for us. I want us to be able to do something amazing. To leave. To live the way we actually want. To be sitting on some rooftop in another city one day, remembering how it all started.

Xeno didn’t say anything. Not because he didn’t have something to say—he just looked like he wanted to remember it all. The moment. The words. The look on Stanley’s face, without even a trace of pretence. Then, slowly, he reached out and gently cupped Stanley’s face in his hands. His fingers were a little cold, but the touch was soft—fragile, almost.

— You seriously need to stop being this sweet, — he whispered, smiling faintly. — I might actually start believing I deserve all this.

— You do, — Stanley said, barely audible. — You deserve even more.

But he didn’t get to finish the sentence—because Xeno leaned in and kissed him. Carefully. So lightly it was almost nothing, like he was scared to shatter it. Like he had to check if it was real. But once he was sure—it deepened, steadied. Stanley kissed him back without hesitation, pulling him closer. The world around them dissolved—there was only warmth, softness, and that dizzy feeling you get from something so real, so sweet, it knocks the air out of you. When they pulled back, both a little breathless, Stanley smiled and whispered, still holding him close:

— So, who’s the sweet one now?

Xeno laughed quietly, pressed his forehead against Stanley’s, and closed his eyes for a second.

— Still you, Snyder.

They stayed like that for a while, foreheads resting together, breathing slowly, steadily. The space between them wasn’t just closed—it was gone. Not just physically, but that invisible space that used to keep them each locked inside their own walls. The stairwell, usually cold and echoing, now felt… cozy. In this forgotten corner of the school, smelling like dust, metal, and cinnamon, it was like a tiny universe bloomed—just for the two of them. Xeno pulled back slightly—just enough to meet Stanley’s eyes. There was still tenderness there, but now a spark of mischief too. It made everything feel lighter. Warmer.

— You know… — Xeno started softly, fiddling with the edge of his hoodie sleeve again — When you first started talking about your job, about leaving town with me… I’ll be honest, I freaked out a little. Like, seriously? Plans already? Suitcases packed? It felt fast. Too fast. Like I was suddenly supposed to understand everything. Decide. Be ready.

He paused, shaking his head slightly.

— But then… I thought, maybe I want that too. Not right now. Not tomorrow. But someday—if you’re still around.

Stanley didn’t let go of his hand. Instead, he squeezed it—gently but firmly. Like an answer, not just a gesture.

— I’m not rushing you, — he said calmly. — I just wanted you to know: I’m here. Not for a day. Not for a moment. I’m here, even if things get messy.

Xeno exhaled with a small smile—but this time, there was no defensiveness in it.

— Thank god. I was already figuring out how to tie you to the radiator. With wire. Or duct tape. You’d actually look pretty good—very “stay-at-home boyfriend” vibes.

— I’ll stay without the radiator, thanks, — Stanley chuckled. — Especially if I get pastries and random kisses out of it. Seems like a fair deal.

Xeno laughed—really laughed, loud and sudden—before clamping his hand over his mouth.

— Shhh, you idiot. Someone might hear us. There goes my reputation.

— What, you mean this isn’t a date? — Stanley raised an eyebrow, all mock innocence. — Secret kisses, pastries, deep conversations…

— Shhh! — Xeno hissed, already standing and brushing off his pants. — I’m supposed to be a loner with no friends and a bad attitude, remember? Meanwhile half the school already thinks I’m a secret hookup machine. You’re ruining the mystery. You’re an actual disaster with pancake eyes.

Stanley blinked, rising with a grin.

— Pancake eyes?

— Don’t ask, — Xeno muttered, cracking the door and peeking out. — Come on, before the bell rings and we get caught like a pair of romantic fugitives.

They slipped out of their hideout and melted into the hallway crowd. Xeno walked a step ahead, holding a half-eaten bun in one hand, and with the other—he casually hooked his fingers around Stanley’s sleeve. Barely noticeable. But enough to hold on. And Stanley, feeling that tiny tug, felt warmth spread through him—gentler than a kiss, but just as powerful.

— Oh, by the way — Xeno glanced back over his shoulder — if anyone tries to ask you to the dance... kick them. Right away. It’ll be our secret code.

— Got it, — Stanley nodded, serious. — And what if someone asks you?

— Then you kick them. Twice. And maybe in the face for good measure.

— God, you’re such a cutie, — Stanley laughed, following him into the classroom. — A total flower of rage.

— Yep. I’m a delicate little blossom in sneakers, — Xeno muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. — And if anyone says I’m cold again, I’ll just point to you and say, “Here’s my human space heater.”

— Glad to be of service, — Stanley whispered, and as he passed, he brushed his fingers lightly against Xeno’s—brief, but carrying the same warmth they’d shared on the stairwell.

After the final bell, the school exhaled like it had been holding its breath all day. Doors burst open, and noisy waves of students spilled into the halls—some laughing, some chasing after friends, some already moving to the beat of that “after-school mood.” But Stanley and Xeno didn’t rush. They were among the last to leave, like they didn’t want to hurry a day that had already become something more.

Stanley walked beside Xeno, trying not to stare too obviously, but noticing everything anyway—how he tugged his hood tighter, how his hair was wind-tousled and catching the sun, how he slouched just a little against the chill. Stanley wanted to take his hand. Just... naturally, like it was no big deal. But every time his fingers twitched inside his pocket, his heart sped up and his throat tightened.

“You kissed. He invited you over. He’s happy when you’re around. It’s okay.”

Logically, yeah—it made sense. But his hand still stayed right where it was, afraid it might be too much, too soon. They turned into a familiar side street—cracked pavement and ivy-covered walls like pages from an old book. It was always quieter here, and their footsteps seemed louder. And then, as if by accident or fate, Stanley’s fingers brushed against Xeno’s hand. Barely a touch.

He froze. Felt warm skin—real, alive. And then jerked his hand away like he’d tripped over himself.
Xeno slowed down too. Not suddenly—just gradually, until he stopped completely. A few seconds dragged by like hours. He stared down at a crack in the asphalt, like it held the answer he couldn’t find in Stanley’s eyes.

— If you want… you can hold it, — he said suddenly, barely above a whisper. His voice was rougher, lower than usual.

Stanley looked up. Xeno’s cheeks were pinker than usual, lips slightly bitten—that habit he had when he was nervous. He looked like he was waiting. For something to break. Or finally fall into place.

— I just wasn’t sure, — Stanley said, matching his quiet tone. — I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

Xeno let out a soft huff. His eyes finally met Stanley’s—and there was no annoyance, no hesitation. Just a weird, flustered kind of tenderness.

— I’ve already been uncomfortable around you. In a good way, — he murmured. — Honestly… I was too scared to do it first.

Stanley smiled a little, exhaling like something heavy had just been lifted off his shoulders.

— I want to, — he said. — I just didn’t want to push.

So he reached out. Slowly. Like even the slightest rush could shatter the moment. Xeno didn’t rush either. He placed his hand in Stanley’s like it was some kind of quiet ritual—something sacred. Their fingers intertwined. Careful, almost reverent. Neither of them squeezed, like both were holding their breath, waiting for the other to change their mind.

They kept walking, silent, step for step. Fingers laced. Breaths steady. Heartbeats—almost synchronized. Their shadows stretched across the sidewalk, eventually blending into one—swaying slightly in the breeze, but inseparable.

— It’s weird, — Xeno said after a long pause.

— What is? — Stanley turned toward him.

— That it’s so simple. Holding a hand. But it feels like the whole world tilted just a little.

— That’s how you know it’s real, — Stanley said, gently brushing his thumb over Xeno’s knuckles. — When something small feels that big.

Xeno let out a quiet laugh, but it sounded different now—unarmoured.

— Everything’s weird with you. But... I don’t mind.

— You’ll have to deal with it, — Stanley whispered. — Because I’m not letting go.

— I hope you don’t just mean my hand, — Xeno murmured, still not letting go—of Stanley’s eyes or his hand.

And they kept walking—through the evening, through autumn, through all their fears and hesitations, and this strange, new, but very real thing growing between them. When they reached the house, Xeno only let go to pull out his keys. The lock clicked, the door creaked open, and he stepped inside. As he turned back to close it, he paused, like something was holding him there. A little embarrassed, he mumbled:

— You can take off your shoes… make yourself at home… if you want. I’ll, uh… grab a blanket. And maybe some tea?

— I want to, — Stanley said softly, eyes never leaving him. — Especially if you’re staying close.

Xeno lingered in the doorway for a second longer. His fingers still touched the frame, his eyes searching Stanley’s face like he needed confirmation—like he couldn’t believe this was real. He didn’t say anything. Just nodded. Then disappeared into the house.

Stanley’s heart was going wild in his chest. He ran a hand through his hair, like he was trying to shake his thoughts into place—but his head was still full of one name: Xeno. His voice. His hands. That unguarded look. It wasn’t infatuation—it was the pull of wanting to stay, to care, to matter.

— I’m just gonna change into something comfy… I’ll be right back, — Xeno called from down the hall. His voice was calmer, but still carried a note of hesitation—like he was half-expecting this to all fall apart.

Stanley stayed in the living room. Everything here felt strangely familiar—the stack of books by the couch, the half-empty shelf, the warm glow from the old lamp. It wasn’t his house by ownership, but it felt like his by feeling. He sat on the edge of the couch, hands on his knees, silently running through everything he wanted to say. Everything he was afraid to forget.

In the kitchen, Xeno—now in an oversized t-shirt and pajama pants—opened the fridge. Inside was a cake. The one his mom used to buy when she couldn’t get out of bed. He remembered her eating it straight from the box with a spoon, not saying a word, not looking at him—or herself. The taste was still there. Like a memory with frosting. Sweet, but heavy.

He washed his hands. The citrusy scent of the soap hit his nose like it was trying to scrub away the past. He carefully cut two slices, set them on plates. The kettle was almost boiling. He grabbed the teapot. But as the water poured from the spout, the lid slipped. Boiling water splashed across his leg.

— Agh, fuck! — The sharp, angry cry split the air like shattered glass.

Stanley shot to his feet, heart in his throat, and ran into the kitchen.

— What happened?! Did you burn yourself?!

Xeno stood there with his pant leg rolled up, foot already under the tap. His face was contorted in pain, lips pressed tight. But what hit Stanley hardest was the look in his eyes—not just pain. There were tears. And fear. Like this was more than just an accident.

— It'll cool down. It’s fine, — Xeno rasped, avoiding his gaze.

— Fine?! Look at you—Xeno, you’re shaking!

Xeno clenched his jaw, turned away like maybe if he didn’t look, the pain would go away faster.

— Where’s the first aid kit?

— On top of the fridge…

Stanley darted over, grabbed the first aid kit, and rushed back. But when he knelt beside Xeno, his eyes caught something—just above the knee, poking out from beneath the hem of the pajama pants.
A bandage. Damp. The edges darkened with old blood. This wasn’t from the burn. It was already there.

— What is that?.. — Stanley’s voice was gentle, but inside, everything had gone cold. — Is that from before? Were you… hurt?

Xeno didn’t answer. He just lowered his gaze, slowly, like even that small movement had gotten heavier.

— Xeno… — Stanley reached for him. — Do you hear me? What happened to your leg?

— Forget it, — came the reply. Sharp. Too sharp. — It’s not your business.

— Not my—? — Stanley’s voice broke, quiet but shaking. — You held my hand ten minutes ago. You kissed me. You asked me to come over. And now this is “not my business”? Sorry, but I’m not walking away like nothing’s wrong.

Xeno’s jaw clenched. His lips had gone pale. He looked like someone who might explode… or vanish.

— Take it off, — Stanley said, quiet but firm. — I want to see.

— No.

— Xeno… please.

A pause.

— Then I’ll do it myself, — Stanley whispered. — Carefully.

He reached out—slow, giving Xeno time to stop him. But Xeno didn’t. He just took a shaky breath, quick and sharp, like someone about to jump into freezing water. The bandage unwound with a dry rustle. Underneath, a jagged, uneven cut. Not fresh. Not healed. The edges were still red, still raw. . Not an accident. Stanley froze. Everything in him twisted. The air felt heavier—like the room itself was pushing in.

— Who… — the word barely escaped. — Did you do this yourself?

Xeno didn’t respond. Just turned away, fists clenched so tightly they trembled.

— Why? — Stanley asked, quieter now. — Why didn’t you tell me?

— Because I didn’t know if I could stop, once I started, — Xeno said, voice hoarse, barely more than breath. — And because if you looked at me with pity… I don’t think I could take it.

Stanley reached for his hand—slowly, firmly.

— I’m not looking at you with pity, — he said, eyes steady. — I’m looking at you with love. And hurt—because you matter. Because I care. Because I want to be here. Even for this. Especially for this.

Xeno closed his eyes. Tears gathered again—quiet this time, no sound, no resistance. Stanley pulled him into a hug—gentle, but strong. And Xeno didn’t push him away. He just buried his face into Stanley’s shoulder, like maybe this touch could make the pain disappear, even if only for a moment.
Silence draped over them like fog—thick, soft, and full of all the things they couldn’t say. The only sound left was the steady drip of water in the sink. It was almost ritualistic—marking the space between past and present, fear and trust, hiding and letting go.

— Why? — Stanley asked softly. It wasn’t an accusation. It wasn’t pressure. Just a quiet, fragile wish to understand.

He wasn’t expecting a perfect answer. Wasn’t expecting anything, really. But deep in his chest, there was hope. Hope that Xeno might say something—just enough to make this moment less terrifying, less breakable. Xeno stood at the sink, shoulders slumped, body deflated like he’d just lost a war he never wanted to fight. His eyes were distant—empty, but no longer angry. Just tired. Bone-deep tired.

— I don’t know, — he whispered, not turning his head. — It was a few days ago. Everything just… crashed down on me. And I couldn’t handle it.

He shut his eyes for a second, like that might keep everything from collapsing.

— It got too loud, — he added, voice quiet and painfully clear. — Inside. Everything was tearing. Screaming. Like the whole world shrank into this one noise I couldn’t shut out. I didn’t want to die, Stanley. I swear. I just… needed the noise to stop. Just for a bit.

The words hung in the air like exposed wires—fragile, dangerous, honest. They didn’t need a response. They just needed to be. Stanley didn’t speak right away. He lowered himself down beside Xeno—no sudden moves, no pressure. Just quiet presence. He opened the kit, pulled out the antiseptic, some wipes, clean bandages. Somehow, these things felt like more than medical supplies He didn’t ask again. Didn’t push. Just poured antiseptic onto the cotton pad. He waited a second, then said softly, barely a whisper:

— It’s gonna sting. Sorry.

Xeno didn’t open his eyes. Just gave a tiny nod and gripped the edge of the stool like the physical pain was nothing compared to what was already inside. Stanley started with the burn, smoothing cold cream onto the skin. Then he gently dabbed around the burn and then the cut. Every movement was steady and soft—deliberate, but never rushed. As if every inch of Xeno’s skin needed someone who wouldn’t flinch at the sight of it. Xeno exhaled sharply through his nose, but didn’t pull away. Just flinched slightly. And stayed.
— Almost done… just a little longer, — Stanley murmured, voice low, careful, like a prayer.

Once the wound was clean, he pressed a fresh gauze pad against it and started wrapping it—tight enough to hold, but not to hurt.

— I never thought I’d show you, — Xeno whispered, barely audible. — I wouldn’t have. But now it’s like… it’s out. And I don’t know what you see when you look at me now.

Stanley finished tying the bandage and gently took Xeno’s hand again. His fingers were warm. Steady. They didn’t grip—they held.

— I see you, — he said quietly, eyes never leaving his. — Just you. And I’m not scared. And I’m not leaving.

Stanley reached for a clean wrap and carefully adjusted it over both the burn and the cut, working with quiet focus—the kind that only comes from fear of hurting someone more. Every movement was precise. Gentle. Almost tender. He worked in silence—not because he didn’t have anything to say, but because he knew now wasn’t the time for words. This silence… this warmth between them… it said more. And whatever Xeno searched for in Stanley’s eyes—there was no disgust. No fear. And absolutely no pity. Only that same steady thing. That stubborn, soft warmth that didn’t need to shout.
It simply stayed.

When the bandage was snug and clean and perfect—not too tight, not too loose—Stanley paused. His fingers lingered on the edge of the wrap, like he wanted to say something but stopped himself. He looked at the wound again—not with fear or shock, but with quiet attention. Like he wasn’t just seeing the cut, but all the pain behind it. And still choosing to stay.

Then, without saying a word, Stanley leaned in—slowly, carefully, like he was asking permission—and pressed a light, soundless kiss to the fresh bandage. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t drama. It wasn’t a gesture meant for anyone but them. It was a quiet, steady, unwavering promise. A vow. You’re not alone.

Xeno didn’t move. He just watched. Eyes wide, still wet, filled with the kind of disbelief that only comes when someone touches not your body, but something buried deeper—your fear, your hurt, the parts of you you never thought anyone would see and not run from. He couldn’t speak. But he didn’t need to. Stanley raised his head and looked at him—really looked—eyes locked, unwavering. His voice, when it came, was soft but firm, like everything he had to give was packed into those few words.

— Don’t do that again. Ever. Not any day. Not any night. I won’t let you. Got it?

Xeno didn’t respond right away. He just nodded slowly. Carefully. Like any sudden move might shatter the fragile thing he’d only just realized was holding him up. Like—for once—the ice beneath him wasn’t cracking.

— Do you hear me? — Stanley repeated, leaning in just a little, gently but insistently. — Do you promise?

Xeno swallowed hard, then exhaled, voice rough and low:

— Yeah… I hear you. I promise… I’ll try.

Xeno sat slightly hunched forward. His pajamas were rumpled, creased, faintly stained. He didn’t care. His lashes were still damp, clinging together, leaving faint trails on his cheeks. He looked like someone who had just crawled out of a storm after treading water too long. Stanley stayed on the floor, palms pressed to the warm tiles, gaze somewhere near the ground—empty of thoughts, empty of intention, just letting the silence fill everything between them. His back slowly straightened, he stretched a little, arching like he was pushing out the last bit of tension. Then, lazy and casual, he stood up, and with a crooked half-smile, broke the quiet:

— Man… you really can’t even make tea without me, huh?

His voice was light, teasing—but not mocking. Just enough to tug Xeno a step out of the heaviness. A gentle thread, pulling him toward normal. Xeno looked up. The corners of his mouth twitched—barely. Like a shadow of a smile. Shy. Uncertain.

— Guess you’re irreplaceable, — he croaked.

— Damn right I am, — Stanley sniffed proudly. — Saving lives, patching wounds, monitoring tea situations. I’m like a one-man trauma support center. They should give me a diploma or something.

He walked over to the stove, knees cracking as he straightened, and picked up the kettle from the floor. Warm air drifted from the burner, spreading slowly through the kitchen like a sigh. A hint of something safe. Something close to home. Xeno didn’t answer, but his eyes never left him. And this time, he wasn’t watching like he was waiting for the next move. He wasn’t guarding himself. He just… watched. Like there was something in Stanley’s every move that made sense. Something like trust. Or maybe the first flicker of it. Stanley set the kettle on the burner, opened a cabinet, rummaged around, and pulled out a packet of black tea. He glanced over his shoulder:

— Black, yeah? Or you feeling fancy—wanna try chamomile or something?

— Yeah. Black, — Xeno nodded.

— Just… try not to pour it all over yourself this time, — Stanley added with mock seriousness. — Tea’s supposed to be hot, not traumatic.

— I’ll try, — he muttered. — No promises.

The water started to boil. The steam rose, curling in the air like something delicate. Something beginning. Stanley shut off the stove, poured the water over the tea leaves in a tall glass pot, and closed his eyes for a moment—just breathing in the scent, like it was fresh air after a storm. Inside, something shifted. Just a little. But he felt it.

— Almost ready, — he said, opening his eyes.

Xeno nodded. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet—not uncertain, just a little raw. But not from pain anymore. Just from being open.

— You want the cake? Or is it officially cursed?

— Oh, we’re having cake, — Stanley said, grabbing the box from the fridge. — We earned it. Minimum one slice. Honestly, I could eat the whole thing, but I don’t want you thinking I’m stress-eating my feelings.

He sliced two generous pieces, found a pair of warm, mismatched mugs, poured the tea, and placed everything on a tray. Every movement was gentle. Intentionally soft. Like it wasn’t just tea and dessert—but proof.

— C’mon, hero, up you go, — Stanley said, setting the tray down next to the couch. — Living room, movie, tea, emotional recovery arc. Or at least a decent attempt.

Xeno frowned slightly, but there was a faint curve to his lips. He stood slowly. His leg ached—not sharp pain, just a dull, deep kind of tired. But there was no weakness in how he moved now. Just exhaustion. Real, human exhaustion.

They made their way into the living room—unhurried, like they didn’t want to break whatever fragile balance they’d found. Stanley set the tray on the coffee table, quiet and careful, like the whole night depended on getting the clink of the cups just right. He sat down first, slightly to the side—close, but not crowding. Just enough to say I’m here, without taking up too much space. Xeno sat beside him, carefully adjusting himself so he didn’t tug at the bandages. He winced slightly at the pull, but didn’t make a big deal of it. Their knees brushed, just barely.

— So… what are we watching? — he asked after a pause, like the whole evening hadn’t just turned his heart inside out. Like they were just two regular kids, picking a movie after school.

— Something chill, — Stanley replied, already scrolling through the menu. — Old comedy, maybe? Or something totally dumb. No tragedies. No gore. No philosophical voiceovers in the rain.

— Mmm… let’s pick something where no one ends up cutting themselves or spilling boiling water — said Xeno dryly, but with a flicker of lightness as he leaned back and tugged the blanket over his lap.

— Deal, — Stanley nodded with a half-smile.

They picked an old movie—soft around the edges, the kind that felt like it was made in a world before everything had sharp corners. It didn’t ask for focus. It didn’t poke old wounds.

The tea had cooled to that perfect temperature—no searing anxiety, no cold detachment. The cake, which Xeno had hesitated to even touch at first, turned out to be surprisingly good—soft, sweet, with a hint of cherry. And somewhere in between all of it, things felt… calm. Really calm. No words. No heavy “are you sure you’re okay?” Just silence. Gentle, welcome silence.

Fifteen minutes in, while something absurd unfolded onscreen, Stanley slowly shifted closer. Not pushing. Just moving. His hand rested on the couch between them. It stayed there for a while, like he was debating with himself. Then—quietly, carefully—he reached for Xeno’s fingers.

Xeno didn’t pull away.

Their hands laced together like it wasn’t even a decision, but something that had started long ago and was just finally finishing the motion. Like their fingers already knew each other better than their hearts did. Stanley gently, almost absentmindedly, ran his thumb along the inside of Xeno’s palm—not trying to get a reaction.

— Does it still hurt? — he asked after a long stretch of silence, not looking directly at him, like he knew sometimes eyes could be too loud.

— Not really, — Xeno murmured.

— Don’t lie, — Stanley replied, soft, not accusing.

— Not like before, — Xeno admitted. And then, like it meant something, he tightened his grip just slightly—like he was saying: Thanks for asking. Thanks for not pushing.

Stanley paused, then traced his thumb again, lingering near the curve of Xeno’s wrist. His voice was barely a whisper:

— If I could… I’d take all that pain away. All of it. Even the stuff you haven’t said out loud yet.

Xeno turned his head. His eyes were calm, but there was something flickering beneath them—something warm, a little fragile. Like there were words inside him waiting for the right moment.

— I know, — he said. — That’s what scares me. That you’re like this. That I want to… believe you.

— I’m scared too, — Stanley admitted honestly, still not looking away. — But not being with you? That’s worse. It’s worse not knowing what you’re feeling. Worse not knowing when you’re hurting. It’s worse thinking I could lose you—even if I don’t have all the words yet for what I feel.

They went quiet again. The movie continued on in the background—plotless, weightless. Tea in the mugs slowly cooled. The cake was almost gone. But their hands stayed together. Stanley leaned forward, resting his head against the back of the couch so that his hair barely brushed Xeno’s shoulder. And Xeno, like answering a question without asking, leaned slightly closer—just enough to let it stay.
In the silence, there was everything that didn’t need to be said.

The screen flickered, the actors’ voices blending into the low hum of the room. But neither of them was watching anymore. The only thing that mattered was the dim light, the fading warmth of tea, and the feeling of fingers, slow and steady, tracing presence into skin. Stanley’s fingers kept moving lazily, drawing soft, invisible circles on Xeno’s palm. And Xeno sat with his shoulders finally loose, like someone who hadn’t felt relaxed in a long, long time. There was still that small shadow behind his eyes, an edge of worry—but it wasn’t sharp anymore. It was melting, slow and silent, like frost under morning light. And then, out of nowhere, almost like it surprised him too, Xeno turned and said:

— Let’s build a fort.

— What? — Stanley blinked, sitting up slightly. — Like… with what?

— Blankets. Pillows. Chairs. — Xeno was completely serious, but his lips were tugging upward in a way that made him look younger, softer. — Like when we were kids. I wanna hide. Only this time… not alone. I want you in there with me.

Stanley laughed—and there wasn’t a trace of teasing in it. Just soft joy, unexpected and a little shaky.

— Are you actually serious right now?

— Dead serious, — Xeno nodded, brushing his hair out of his face. — I think we’ve earned the right to be kids again. Just for an hour. Plus, I’ve got really good pillows. Would be a crime not to use them for architectural purposes.

— Well then, — Stanley said dramatically, standing. — Let’s build the coziest fortress in history.

They moved slowly, almost playfully. Like the room itself had shifted—like they weren’t just making a fort, but building a place where everything could be quiet for once. They dragged in chairs from the kitchen, two blankets, three comforters, four pillows, a beanbag, and even a massive stuffed seal from the corner of the room. Stanley brought a floor lamp with a warm glow. Xeno added two candle jars and a tiny fan.

— For airflow, — he explained, setting it up at the entrance. — Don’t want our tent suffocating. We’re gonna have to survive in here, after all.

— You sound experienced, — Stanley snorted. — Emotional Recovery Camp for Gifted Weirdos?

— Exclusive membership, — Xeno grinned.

They fumbled and laughed as the chairs creaked, the blankets slid off, and someone inevitably stepped on a corner of a sheet. Their laughter wasn’t loud or wild—it was quiet, breathy, the kind of laughter people forget how to make until someone reminds them they can. At one point, Xeno knotted the corner of a blanket to the armchair, leaned forward for a pillow, and lost his balance. His leg jerked. Stanley caught him by the elbow instantly, steadying him.

— Careful, builder, — he said, not letting go. — Accidents on the construction site are not in the budget.

— Good thing you’ve got experience, — Xeno smirked, still holding. — Especially considering you signed up with such a dysfunctional architect.

Stanley didn’t let go. His eyes were still soft, but his voice was steadier now.

— You’re not dysfunctional. You just… sometimes need someone to catch you.

Xeno didn’t answer right away. He took a deep breath—and gave a small nod. Not because he couldn’t speak. Just because, right then, words weren’t needed.

When the fort was finished—under a canopy of blankets stretched between chairs and lamps, glowing with candlelight and faint tea-sugar air—it felt real. Like something sacred. A hideaway not from the world, but for each other. They crawled inside. The light was warm and amber-soft, like the last glow of a sunset. The pillows were perfect. The hush was real.

— So? — Stanley asked, leaning back into the blanket wall. — Better than a movie?

— Better than… almost anything, — Xeno whispered. — Especially with you in it.

The fort came out a little crooked, with a slanted roof and hastily knotted blankets, but inside, it was perfect in its own messy way—like a reflection of what was happening between them: not flawless, but real. The whole space under that improvised tent was lined with pillows and soft throws, and the lamp’s glow filtered through the folds of fabric in warm, quiet patches, like a cocoon where the outside world simply didn’t exist. Stanley put on some music—low, slow, the kind that sounded like a whisper in the dark. Not overpowering, just... there. A soft, rhythmic backdrop, like a second heartbeat. Xeno settled on his side, gently stretching his injured leg out and propping it on a pillow. He leaned back on one elbow, his brows drawn from the leftover sting, but said nothing—used to pain, used to silence. Stanley laid beside him, shoulder to shoulder, close but not crowding, leaving space where space was needed. The air inside was warm, faintly dusty from the blankets, and smelled like tea, skin, and something that could only be described as stillness.

— This is almost magical, — Xeno whispered, eyes locked on the shifting ceiling, where the folds of the blanket swayed ever so slightly, like they were breathing with them.

— Almost? — Stanley replied with soft teasing, raising an eyebrow.

— Well… if not for the throbbing burn and the bandaged leg, I’d say this was straight out of a lifestyle magazine.

Stanley turned on his side, propped himself up on an elbow, and studied him quietly. He didn’t respond right away. He just reached out and let his fingers drift down Xeno’s arm—slow, thoughtful like he was checking: you’re here, you’re real, you stayed.

— I’m glad you’re here, — he said finally, his voice low, gentle, and warm like the tea still lingering in the air.

— Me too, — Xeno answered, softer still, like he was afraid to say it louder and break the spell.

Silence returned, but now it didn’t sting—it breathed. Stanley didn’t rush. He just laid there, feeling how their shoulders touched barely, how Xeno’s breathing slowly evened out. Then he moved closer. Not fast—inch by inch. His hand found Xeno’s again, this time without hesitation. Their fingers laced together tightly, securely.

— In this fort, you’re safe, — Stanley said, eyes steady. — Even from yourself.

Xeno flinched slightly, like the words hit a little too deep. He squeezed Stanley’s hand tighter, holding on not just to the touch, but to the meaning.

— Then maybe I’ll stay here a while longer, — he whispered, barely audible.

— Stay. As long as you want. Forever, if that’s what you need.

Outside the fort, the movie still played—flickering shadows moved across the blankets, muffled sounds drifting in from another world. The tea was nearly gone and the music kept humming low through the half-light.

They lay side by side. Xeno’s face looked tired, but not broken—more like someone who’d finally let themselves relax. He turned his head to look at Stanley: half-lidded eyes, soft lashes, the line of his brow, the faint shadows from the lamp catching against his temple. Slowly, carefully, like he was asking without words, Xeno squished his hand harder. Stanley didn’t speak. He just squeezed back, shifted slightly, pressed their shoulders together, and slipped an arm around him—casually, like a habit. Their bodies touched through layers of fabric and quiet, but the contact was more intimate than a kiss. It pulsed with presence, with belonging, with a promise. And, without looking away, Stanley whispered:

— I’m not going to let you hurt like that again. Not ever.

Xeno turned on his back, eyes fixed on the blanket ceiling above them, watching the gentle ripple as the air stirred it—like their fort was breathing, too. His fingers traced lazy paths over the inside of Stanley’s arm—absently, subconsciously, like he was checking: you’re here, this is real. He said nothing. He didn’t have to. Everything that mattered had already been spoken in silence—in the way their hands found each other without pause, in the way their breathing synced, and in the fact that neither one of them made any move to break it. Stanley rolled onto his side, resting his head on his hand, just watching him. His gaze traced the curve of Xeno’s cheekbone, and lingered on his lips—barely trembling, like a leaf in the wind.

— You’re shaking, — he whispered, voice soft as breath but hitting like lightning.

Xeno smiled faintly, still staring at the ceiling.

— It’s from happiness, — he murmured, like he couldn’t believe he said it out loud.

Stanley lifted himself up on an elbow, leaned over him, paused. Their eyes met—Xeno’s dark and deep, Stanley’s warm and steady, reflecting something endlessly tender. The space between them felt charged, like the air before rain. And when their lips met, the world quieted. The first kiss was slow—reverent. Careful, hesitant, like testing a word for the first time, afraid of mispronouncing its meaning. Their lips brushed—barely, softly—and parted again as if asking: Was that real? Stanley looked into his eyes, silently asking: More? Xeno didn’t answer. He just smirked, a little crooked, a little alive.

— That’s it? — he teased, raising an eyebrow. — That’s what you call a kiss?

— Wow, tough critic, — Stanley grinned. — Should’ve filled out a feedback form first.

— You’re just holding back because your hands are busy, — Xeno said lazily, tilting his head back in mock challenge.

— Oh really now… — Stanley murmured, still smiling, then pulled him in swiftly by the waist with one arm—confident, a little reckless.

Xeno didn’t resist. In fact, it felt like he’d been waiting. He slid closer, chest against chest, and their lips crashed again—different this time. Not cautious. Not testing. The kiss was deep, with breath and heat and a quiet gasp slipping between them. Stanley kissed him harder, like he was trying to say all the things he never had the words for. He bit Xeno’s bottom lip—gently, almost apologetically—then pulled back just a bit, cheeks flushed, eyes blazing.

— Better? — he asked, husky, smiling in a way that gave everything away.

— Much, — Xeno whispered, then kissed him again—no more holding back.

They kissed for a long time, shifting between soft and slow, then hungry, urgent—like they needed to make up for every minute they didn’t know each other. Their hands moved over backs, ribs, jaws, hair—like mapping a world they wanted to memorize by heart. A blanket slipped. A pillow slid sideways. The fort’s ceiling drooped open a little—but neither of them noticed. Inside the fort, time obeyed different rules. Gravity worked softer. Reality bent. Xeno laughed suddenly, forehead pressed against Stanley’s cheek.

— Pillow fort of emotional instability, — he breathed against his skin. — We should trademark that as a book title.

— Or just us, — Stanley whispered, brushing his nose against his temple. — With a happy ending. And a guaranteed sequel.

Xeno lay close to Stanley—chest to chest, hip to hip. Their bodies pressed together, and there was no awkwardness, no tension. Only quiet closeness, like the whole evening had been leading here—to this chance to just be, without explaining, without shame. Their breathing matched, even and steady, like a shared heartbeat. Music played softly in the background, now just part of the silence.

– Stan... – Xeno whispered, lifting his head slightly to see his face. His voice wavered, like he was fighting something inside, but still pushed through. – Don’t you think… all this is happening kind of… too fast?

Stanley, still holding him, smiled a little. His eyes were warm, a little sleepy, but glowing with something simple and deep. He brushed his hand along Xeno’s cheek, then slowly through his hair, fingers weaving into the soft strands like that motion was its own answer.

– No – he said so quietly it felt like he didn’t want to disturb their breath. – Not fast. It’s just… love hit me. You know, like when you’re walking and it suddenly starts raining. No warning, no first drops. You’re just already in it. And you don’t want to run.

Xeno froze. His eyes widened a little, filled with everything at once—surprise, worry, quiet hope, and… fear. The kind that makes your heart beat faster because suddenly everything feels too important.

– You said… love?

Stanley didn’t look away. He held Xeno’s gaze openly, calmly—like that word didn’t need any apologies.

– Yeah. – He gently squeezed his hand. – I love you. Not like in books, not all dramatic. Just… you exist. And I want to be near you. To hear you breathe, to talk to you, to make you tea, to sit beside you when you’re quiet. All of it—it’s about you.

Xeno, like he was trying to catch his breath, pulled back a little. He looked like he didn’t know where to put his hands, his eyes, his feelings—everything inside him was a whirlwind. But then he just covered Stanley’s hand with his own and pressed it to his chest.

– And what if… you get tired of it? Of me?

– Then we’ll leave – Stanley said immediately. – Together. Start fresh. Somewhere no one knows us. Where there’s just us.

He propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze more serious now—but not heavy. More like… full of something dreamy and bright.

– After school, I want to leave. And I mean it. I want to take you with me. Picture this: an apartment—not huge, but full of light, with big windows. A place that’s yours. Your studio. Or lab. Or just a room where no one interrupts you being yourself. No stares, no whispers. Just your wires, your rockets, your sketches, tape, coffee, your blanket… everything you need. And I’ll be there. Sitting with my tea while you work on something. Holding pieces when your hands are full. Reminding you to eat. Just… being there. Always.

He leaned in and kissed his forehead. Warm. Soft. Almost sacred.

– We can even build forts – he added, smiling. – Every night if we want.

Xeno couldn’t hold it in. He laughed quietly, hiding his face with his hand like he was embarrassed, like the warmth inside him had melted everything.

– You… it’s like you’re reading my dreams out loud.

– Then I guess we share the same dream – Stanley whispered. – And that means… it’s not just a dream.

Xeno turned toward him, like he was surrendering. His fingers found the edge of Stanley’s shirt and curled there—then he leaned in. They kissed, lost in each other’s arms, in breath, in the hum of their own pulse. Inside the fort, everything paused. The blankets shifted slightly, the light grew even warmer, and the rest of the world faded away. Just skin. Just lips. Just whispers. Xeno turned his head, looked at Stanley. His eyes sparkled in the half-dark, lips twitching with a shy, honest smile.

– Stay the night – he whispered.

Stanley blinked, like he wasn’t sure he heard right.

– What…?

– Just… stay. – Xeno spoke calmly, no pressure. – I just don’t want you to leave. And I don’t want to wake up alone. Not tonight.

Stanley froze. His eyes drifted away, scanning the fort walls and the pillows like he was searching for an escape. His cheeks lit up immediately.

– I… um… my toothbrush is at home.

– Amazing excuse – Xeno snorted, not breaking eye contact. – I’ll share mine. Or… we’ll forget about teeth. We’re almost adults.

Stanley opened his mouth to say something, but leaned the wrong way and bumped his elbow on a chair. One side of the fort collapsed instantly, the blanket sliding down, a pillow thudding onto the floor. The whole thing sighed and gave in, burying them in a pile of soft fabric. They sat there in the middle of the mess—surrounded by blankets, pillows, and the flickering ruins of light. A moment of silence. Then Xeno laughed. That rare, husky laugh that sounded like relief—like an embrace all by itself.

– Well. Fortress fell. Zero resistance.

Stanley chuckled too, quietly, covering his eyes with a hand:

– Sabotage. I knew that chair was suspicious.

– Been waiting for its moment of glory – Xeno smirked and held out a hand. – Come on. I know a place with sturdier walls. And a bed that doesn’t rest on four pillows.

He stood first, pulled Stanley up with him. Their fingers intertwined like it was something they’d done a hundred times. They stepped out of the fallen fort, slowly, not letting go.

The bedroom greeted them with soft shadows. Everything was familiar: the gray-blue sheets, the pale blanket, the slightly messy pillows, books on the windowsill. Stanley had been here before. Slept here. Ate pasta on the floor. Talked to Xeno. Hugged him. Listened to him. But now it felt different. Not the room—the feeling. He sat on the edge of the bed and felt something tighten in his chest. Not fear. Not awkwardness. Something subtler. Maybe… responsibility. Or just how new everything felt. His palms rested on his knees, fingers tensing slightly.

— Stan… — Xeno’s voice was soft, but playful around the edges as he stood in front of him, one hand casually resting on his own hip. His head tilted slightly, eyes flicking down to where Stanley sat like he was trying not to fall apart. — You look like you’re about to faint. You okay?

— Yeah. — Stanley nodded a bit too fast. Then again, slower, brow furrowing. — I mean… yeah. I’ve just… stayed here before. But tonight it feels… I dunno. Different.

— It is different — Xeno murmured, taking a half-step closer. — You’re different.

Stanley huffed out a nervous breath, lips twitching.

— That supposed to scare me?

— Kinda hope it does — Xeno grinned, eyes gleaming — You get this cute little crease right here when you're flustered.

Stanley glanced away, flustered. Just as predicted.

— It’s stupid. I’ve literally slept in this bed before. But now it’s like… it actually means something. And I guess I didn’t expect to feel like such a— — he paused, face warming — virgin.

Xeno laughed, low and delighted.

— Oh my god. That’s adorable.

Stanley shot him a look.

— Don’t mock me.

— I’m not — Xeno said, voice smooth now, like velvet brushing along a bruise — I’m just really enjoying this unexpected role reversal. You — awkward and shy — while I get to stand here looking hot and predatory.

Stanley groaned and rubbed his hands down his thighs, like that might ground him.

— I didn’t say you were predatory.

— You were thinking it.

— No, I wasn’t—

— You were absolutely thinking it — Xeno cut in, stepping between Stanley’s knees now, close enough that his thigh brushed the edge of the bed. — And if you weren’t, allow me to officially start giving you reasons to.

Stanley looked up. Xeno was so close. His shirt hung loose over his frame, collarbone peeking out slightly where the fabric had slipped lower. His gaze was direct, half-lidded, mouth curved like he was already halfway through undressing Stanley with his eyes.

— You’re doing the thing — Stanley muttered.

— What thing?

— The look. That look.

— The “I want to eat you alive” look?

— Yes. That one.

Xeno smirked.

— Good. That’s the one I was going for.

Stanley tried to swallow, but his throat felt dry. He was warm all over — not just because of Xeno’s closeness, but because of the weight of being wanted. Desired. Seen so clearly and still… not pushed away. Xeno bent slightly at the waist, his fingers brushing under Stanley’s chin, tilting it just enough that their eyes met again.

— You don’t have to say anything — he murmured, the playfulness dropping into something slower, heavier — You don’t even have to do anything. But don’t pretend you don’t feel it too.

Stanley didn’t move. He didn’t pull away. His hands were still curled on his knees, knuckles pale.

— I do — he admitted, voice low — I just… I don’t know how to be right now.

— Be shy. Be weird. Be quiet. Be mine — Xeno murmured — I’ll take all of it.

He leaned in just a little closer, but still didn’t touch. Let the tension stretch like a held breath. Let Stanley want it.

— You sure you don’t want to go brush your teeth first? — he teased — Or fold something? Maybe alphabetize the books on the shelf

Stanley laughed, and it cracked something open — the tension in his shoulders, the self-consciousness in his chest. His hands lifted, finally, fingers grazing the hem of Xeno’s shirt.

— No. I just want you to stay right here — he said, breath a little shaky, eyes softer now.

Xeno grinned, eyes dark and fond.

— Say no more.

The kiss was slow, but not unsure. It was confident—anchored in a truth that had been building for weeks beneath every look, every touch, every moment that brushed too close to meaning and stayed there. It felt like a long breath before a leap, like warmth finally allowed to surface. There was no rush—only heat unfolding gradually between them, wrapping itself into every breath, every brush of lips, every soft gasp.

Xeno moved with that unshakable grace he always seemed to carry—his body poised and precise, like it had memorized every inch of Stanley without ever touching him before. His lips didn’t just kiss—they mapped, slowly, thoroughly, charting the corners of Stanley’s mouth, the dip of his jaw, the edges of his smile. He kissed the places where Stanley trembled.

Stanley leaned forward, hands resting on Xeno’s thighs—tentative at first, then firmer, anchoring himself. His breath caught. His chest rose and fell too quickly. But he didn’t stop. He kissed back with a kind of blooming urgency—like the truth in his chest had finally found its way out through his mouth.

Xeno shifted closer, the weight of him sinking in, hips pressing forward in a way that made the air stutter between them. He kissed him again—deeper this time, less careful, and Stanley let out a sound he hadn’t meant to make.

— Are you… okay? — Xeno whispered against his ear, lips brushing skin, voice full of warmth and wanting.

— Too okay — Stanley murmured, voice low and breathless. — You’re… driving me insane.

— Perfect — Xeno smirked, and without pulling away, began to kiss lower, sliding toward his neck, soft and hot and steady. His lips found the sensitive place just below Stanley’s jaw and lingered there, slowly, until Stanley tilted his head back, eyes fluttering shut.

Stanley’s hands moved now, less afraid—up Xeno’s back, finding the space beneath his shirt, fingers tracing the warmth of bare skin. Xeno reacted to each touch, shifting into it, his own hands sliding under the hem of Stanley’s shirt, drawing it higher. He paused just long enough to meet Stanley’s eyes.

— Can I?

His voice was low—gentle, almost reverent. But the question was deeper than skin. It asked something neither of them had fully put into words yet. Stanley’s lips parted. He looked at him—and for a moment, he felt himself leaning forward again, breath shaky, chest open, heart pounding loud enough to drown out the world.

But then—he stopped.

Not because it didn’t feel good.

Not because he didn’t want him.

But because suddenly, the moment felt too full. Too fast. Too precious to let slip into something they couldn’t slow down.

He pressed his forehead to Xeno’s shoulder, arms tightening—not with hunger now, but with meaning. He held his breath, then whispered softly, almost too quietly to hear:

— Wait… please.

The word wasn’t a wall. It wasn’t a door slamming shut. It was a whisper, a request for pause. A need to hold on to the moment without moving further into it. Xeno didn’t pull away. He didn’t sigh. He didn’t tense. He stayed still, arms still around Stanley, body still close. He leaned back just enough to look down at him, and in his eyes, there was no frustration—only concern. Only care.

— What’s wrong? Are you okay? — he asked, voice quiet and steady, as if he could feel something shifting between them but didn’t want to force it.

Stanley nodded—but didn’t speak right away. He looked at Xeno’s chest, where his heart was rising and falling beneath the skin, then up to his face. And finally, slowly, he spoke.

— Yeah. I am. I just… I want to be sure I’m not doing this to fill some kind of silence inside me. That I’m not rushing to touch you just because everything else feels too big.

He swallowed, his voice tightening at the edges.

— I want you. You have to know that. But I want this to mean something more than the heat in my body. I don’t want to confuse love with urgency. I don’t want to make you a place to hide from myself. I want to be with you… because I love you. And I don’t want the first time I show it to be something we crash into.

He drew a breath, hands resting gently on Xeno’s sides now, holding him—not pushing him away, but grounding them both.

— I want this to last. Not burn out. And right now… I just want to stay here like this. With you.

There was a pause. And then Xeno kissed his forehead—light, slow, and lingering.

— Okay — he whispered. — We’ll go as slow as you want. We’re already exactly where I want to be.

He stayed on Stanley’s lap, hands brushing his hair, his jaw, his back—small touches that didn’t ask for more, didn’t push. Just stayed. Stanley didn’t move right away, and neither did Xeno. The room had grown quiet, but not empty — the kind of quiet that felt sacred, heavy with meaning, like the moment itself didn’t want to be disturbed. It wasn’t silence between people; it was silence with someone. The kind that felt full of breath, of heartbeat, of something wordless but entirely understood.

And Stanley could feel it now — the way his heart had slowed but not calmed, the way something in his chest kept blooming even though they weren’t moving anymore, weren’t kissing, weren’t undressing each other. Something softer. Something fuller. The weight of what he felt for Xeno wasn’t pressing down on him — it was lifting him, steadying him, making him feel more real than he’d felt in days.

His fingers fidgeted slightly where they rested on his own legs, and after a beat of silence, he looked at Xeno — eyes wide and a little shy, but bright with a kind of tenderness that didn’t ask for permission so much as offer a choice.

— Hey… — he said, his voice quiet, but clearer now, as if the hesitation from earlier had melted into something gentler — would it be okay if we just… cuddled?

Xeno blinked once, like the question had genuinely surprised him — not because it was unusual, but because it was so perfectly Stanley, so soft and deliberate and utterly sincere that it made something in him crack open a little.

— I mean — Stanley continued quickly, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand, looking adorably flustered now — I know it’s not like, dramatic or anything, and we’re both already here and this sounds way less cool out loud, but… I just kind of want to hold you right now. Just hold you close. Nothing else. I want to feel your back against me, and your hair in my face, and your breath slowing down. I want to pull you under the blanket and wrap myself around you until I stop overthinking, and you stop laughing at me — and maybe even after that too.

He paused, then added, a little more bashfully, cheeks turning pink:

— I’m a really good cuddler, by the way. Five stars. Verified.

Xeno stared at him for a beat longer, and then — without a word — that soft, stunned smile spread across his lips again, the kind that wasn’t wide or showy, but warm enough to change the temperature of the room. He tilted his head slightly and let out a quiet laugh, not teasing, not mocking — just full of something happy.

— Yeah — he murmured, voice full of light — I would really, really like that.

Stanley smiled, relieved and glowing, and then shifted gently on the bed, lifting the edge of the blanket and patting the space in front of him like he was inviting Xeno into the safest place in the world. Xeno scooted closer, turning onto his side, and Stanley moved behind him slowly — arms wrapping around his waist with all the care of someone placing something precious into a box lined with velvet.

Their bodies fit together easily, naturally, like the space between them had always been meant to disappear. Stanley’s chest pressed to Xeno’s back, steady and warm, and his arms found their place — one resting around Xeno’s stomach, fingers spread like he was memorizing the shape of him, and the other tucked under the pillow, hand gently cradling Xeno’s shoulder. He buried his nose into the back of Xeno’s neck, exhaling slowly, letting the scent of his hair and the rhythm of his breathing calm whatever was left of his nerves.

And Xeno, for his part, melted into it completely — his body softened under Stanley’s touch, the tension that had once lived between his shoulders now gone. He let himself be held, fully, like the idea of resistance had never even occurred to him.

They lay like that, quiet and wrapped in warmth, their bodies tucked into each other like two pieces of the same soft breath. The blanket covered them, the night curled around them, and for once, neither of them felt like they needed to say anything more. But after a long, slow moment, Xeno whispered — barely above a breath, like the words were only meant for the space between them:

— Thank you.

Stanley smiled against his skin.

— For what?

— For loving me like this. For not rushing. For making me feel like this is… enough.

Stanley pressed a kiss to the back of Xeno’s neck, slow and careful.

— It’s more than enough — he murmured. — You’re more than enough.

Chapter Text

The café was called Mea Culpa—those old Latin words that sounded a little cheeky, a little apologetic, like an invitation not just to drink coffee, but to take a breath. The sign above the entrance was carved from wood and, despite the passing years, still looked neat—almost tender. Each letter was hand-painted, with gentle curls, like someone had written it with a brush on a warm evening, unhurried, with love and a touch of daydreaming. In some spots, the paint had chipped away, but even that didn’t ruin it—instead, it added to the charm, like laugh lines on a kind grandmother’s face. The kind who always has cookies in the cupboard.

The building itself looked like it had wandered out of an old storybook—or like a postcard someone forgot to send. Faded red brick, carved wooden shutters that didn’t creak even in the wind, a low awning over the door where raindrops gathered like little pearls. The café looked as if it had accidentally been teleported from a gentler world—a world where sidewalks are swept each morning, neighbours greet each other by name, and people play board games in the evenings. It seemed lost, stuck in this half-forgotten neighbourhood—wedged between a pharmacy that always smelled like dust and gauze, and a store with a flickering “50% OFF” sign that hadn’t changed in three years.

And it was because of that contrast that Mea Culpa felt almost magical. Warm golden light poured from the wide windows—not too bright, just enough to soften faces and make eyes look more honest. Inside, fairy lights dangled from the ceiling, soft jazz played in the background—sometimes French chanson, sometimes something that sounded like old vinyl records.

And the smell—God, the smell. It was its own kind of miracle. It clung to the street even when the door was shut tight: cinnamon, buttery pastry, a hint of vanilla, a little burnt sugar, strong espresso with thick foam, and something else—something you couldn’t quite name. Maybe the scent of morning hope. That smell curled into coats and scarves and thoughts like a whispered invitation—come in, rest, sit by the window while life rushes by outside.

Inside, there were squishy chairs, tables with worn-out cloths, tiny vases with real flowers, and shelves stacked with books, board games, and photos. Nothing was perfect—but everything felt real. You could tell this place was made by a person, not a designer: a favourite lamp in the corner, an embroidered napkin under the teapot, a plush teddy bear on the windowsill who’d been missing one eye for five years but never got thrown away—because he belonged here.

Stanley stood at the entrance, tugging at his jacket zipper, a flicker of nerves rising in his chest—not fear, not exactly. More like the feeling you get before an important conversation, or a big test. He didn’t know what he was hoping for. He just knew that working was better than staying home. Staying home meant thinking. And thinking meant sinking.

He pushed open the door, and the little bell above it chimed—clear and cozy. The space inside wrapped around him like a hug: shelves with jars of jam, soft music playing low through the speakers, golden lamplight, tables with embroidered doilies, and tiny cracks in the tiles that somehow didn’t feel like flaws, but like personality.

From behind the counter, as if she’d sensed him walking in, Maya’s mom appeared—a tall, broad-shouldered woman with warm-toned skin, deep eyes, and hands that smelled like dough and honey. She wore a colourful apron stained with jam, her hair wrapped up in a dark scarf, and her smile was big and bright and loud.

– Oh my God, Stanley! – she called, squinting like she couldn’t believe her eyes. – You’ve grown up! I haven’t seen you since you and Maya were screaming at each other during that basketball tournament, remember? She smacked you in the leg with the ball, and you still covered for her when the teacher came. That was something.

– Hi… – he said with a small, shy smile. Something inside his chest fluttered—a warm, dusty kind of memory, like an old photograph.

– Look at you – she said, planting her hands on her hips. – You’ve gotten handsome. Not a kid anymore—almost a fiancé, huh? I bet girls are throwing themselves at you left and right, and here you are, walking around with that serious face like you’re carrying the whole world. Maya’s told me about you. Says you’re smart. Focused. Always taking care of everyone.

He looked down, flustered, but her words wrapped around him like a blanket fresh from the dryer.

– So… you came to work?

– Yes, ma’am – he replied, half-joking but respectful. There was something kind of military about it—and weirdly, it fit the moment.

– Well, if you’re looking after my daughter, I guess I can trust you. I need help, and you’re no slacker. Five bucks an hour, cash. I’ll pay fair, and I’ll feed you too. And if you ever bake something yourself—you get a bonus – she winked, already rummaging under the counter for an apron.

He didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded.

– Put this on. And take a cap too.

She handed him a sturdy apron with Mea Culpa stitched into it, and a dark baseball cap with the same logo. Stanley, still a little stunned by her energy, took the items and headed to the tiny changing room—a glorified closet with a hook and a stool—and changed. He could feel the apron’s fabric brushing against his skin, the cap sitting slightly crooked, and when he caught his reflection in the mirror, he looked like someone… new. A little unfamiliar. Like even he didn’t fully believe this version of himself yet.

He left his jacket in the locker, took a deep breath, straightened his back, and walked back into the café.

And now he was behind the counter. In this strange, almost enchanted café where the smells felt like they came from another era. And for the first time, he wondered—maybe this wasn’t just a job. Maybe it was the start of something his. And if Maya came by sometimes—or maybe even Xeno—if there were always pastries in the oven, warm mugs in his hands, and if he didn’t feel like a stranger anymore… Then maybe—just maybe—things wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The first few days at the café were a weird mix of confusion and quiet pride for Stanley. He tried. Really tried. But reality had a way of pushing back harder than any good intentions. The apron kept slipping off one shoulder, the cap never sat straight, his hands got tangled when carrying two trays at once, and by the end of each shift, his fingers were covered in syrup, flour, and drops of milk—all at the same time. Sometimes he forgot which table ordered what. He mixed up drinks, brought a strawberry milkshake instead of vanilla, set a cappuccino in front of someone who asked for tea.
He dropped spoons. Broke a cup—luckily an empty one. Bumped his shoulder into a sugar container, spilling a white hill onto the floor. Once, he even knocked over a tray full of pastries—right in front of customers. While he burned with embarrassment, Maya’s mom just waved it off and told him to clean it up, then winked at him like he wasn’t about to get fired.

He started coming in earlier than everyone else. To sweep the floor, wipe down the display case, arrange the fresh pastries so each one looked like it had been baked just for someone special. He practiced making cappuccinos with the right foam, pouring tea in a neat little stream, wiping down tables with perfect lines, and setting pastries on trays like they belonged in a catalogue.

He messed up. He laughed at himself under his breath. And he learned. And the whole time—through every clumsy move, every sugar spill, every shy little “sorry”—there was one thought behind it all, burning bright in his chest:

Xeno.

Not money for himself. Not praise. Everything he did—he did for him.

He imagined the day he’d finally get paid—even if it was just a small, hard-earned pay check—and spend it on Xeno. Buying him his favourite candies, the ones he secretly chewed on in class. Gifting him books—odd, rare ones with worn pages and postcards used as bookmarks. Paying for coffee when they’d sit together in the corner booth, soaking in the warm light of the lamp. Maybe even saving up for bus tickets—so one day, they could leave without looking back. To a city where no one knew them. Where they could be anyone. Live without whispers behind their backs, without sideways glances.

Sometimes he pictured it so clearly it stole his breath—and he’d snap out of it by scrubbing the display glass again or shoving dishes into the washer, just to keep himself from falling too deep into that daydream. Just to not feel strange.

He wanted to feed Xeno the best pies in the world. Buy him warm scarves when it got cold. See him smile—really smile—not the half-squint he wore like armour.

And every time he messed up—every time someone shook their head at his clumsiness—Stanley bit his lip, looked down, and stepped forward anyway. Because in his mind, something always whispered:
“I’m doing this for us. For you. For both of us.”

The work was tough—not physically, but in a different way. Constant, repetitive, the kind of job that demands patience he didn’t always have. But day by day, he moved faster, more precisely. Started remembering orders without writing them down. Recognized regulars by face. Noticed who liked extra cream, who always asked for their bun slightly warmed.

Sometimes, especially on quiet weekdays, when the café had already survived the daytime rush and slipped into its evening rhythm—low music, nearly empty tables, soft pace—Xeno would show up.
He never texted ahead. Never asked “are you working today?” Never said “I’m coming.” He just appeared, like he knew Stanley would be there—and he always was.

He walked in quietly, almost like a breeze. The bell would chime, Stanley would turn—and there he was: slightly dishevelled after school, jacket open, scarf half slipping off his shoulder, notebooks and paper poking out of his bag, and that semi-smile that existed just for Stanley.

He always ordered the same thing—hot chocolate and a cinnamon bun. Even if the display was filled with brand-new, fancy desserts. He said it the same way each time, tilting his head slightly:

– Hot chocolate. And a cinnamon bun. You know the one – and he’d wink, like they were sharing some secret game only they knew the rules to.

And Stanley did know. He’d already start making the order before Xeno even reached the counter. Always picked the softest bun, warmed it up just enough so the scent would rise stronger. He arranged the tray like it was a sacred ritual—so the chocolate wouldn’t spill, the foam sat just right, the napkin wasn’t crooked but perfectly angled. Because it wasn’t just an order. It was for him.

Xeno always sat in the same spot—by the window, in the warmest corner. The lamp’s light fell just right there, and nobody ever bothered him, no matter how many notebooks, books, or sketch piles he spread out from his bag. He never rushed. He’d open his journal, flip open a book, scribble something down. He could sit there for hours, completely locked in his own world. Doing homework. Taking notes. Drawing diagrams and blueprints, running ideas through his head—and Stanley knew not to interrupt him when he was like that.

But still… he watched him. Out of the corner of his eye, like watching fire: don’t touch it, don’t interrupt it—but never stop watching.

Because Xeno was watching, too.

Not dramatically. Not in some over-the-top way. Just… with love. His gaze lingered on Stanley longer than anyone else’s ever did. Even if he pretended to read. Even if he was scribbling down formulas. Somewhere between the lines, between the numbers, between sips of hot chocolate—he’d look up. And in that look, there was something that made Stanley’s breath catch every single time.

He felt it. Felt it in his skin—that kind of gaze that doesn’t just see you because you’re there, but because you’re his. Because there’s something in you worth watching—even when you’re just wiping down a table, adjusting your crooked cap, blowing hair from your forehead, or dropping a spoon. It made him a little shy. But warm, too.

Sometimes Stanley tried to act normal—joking with guests, washing mugs, pretending not to notice. But still, he’d catch himself smiling. For no reason. Just because Xeno was there. Just because he was sitting in the corner, drinking hot chocolate and watching him. And every time their eyes met, Xeno would smile back—and in that smile, there was no need for words. No explanations. Just everything.
And then, when the night wound down, when the café emptied out, and Stanley wiped his hands on his apron, Xeno would slowly gather his things, finish the last sip of chocolate, and stand—not rushed, but sure. He’d walk over, toss his backpack over one shoulder, and quietly ask:

– Wanna go home?

And in that “home”—there was everything. Not an address. Not a place on the map. But the way he looked at him. The way he waited. The way he held the door while Stanley turned off the lights.

That day had been especially long. Classes dragged like sticky gum. The weather was heavy—low gray skies, damp air, that strange floating feeling when you’re not sure if you want to sleep or disappear for a few hours.

As soon as the bell rang, Stanley didn’t stick around. He flew down the stairs, pulled on his jacket, shoved his hands in his pockets, and almost jogged to work. The café always greeted him the same way: warm dough and coffee in the air, soft lighting from the lamps, the gentle rustle of tablecloths. He changed into his apron and cap, adjusted his nametag out of habit, and stepped behind the counter—grateful for the silence, the rhythm, the routine. Anything was better than being stuck at home with his thoughts.

Work flowed as usual—cleaning tables, pouring tea, smiling at regulars. Everything was calm… until the bell over the door jingled, and a gust of cold air brought in Maya and Xeno.

He spotted them instantly. Maya—in her usual hoodie, ripped jeans, beaming as she glanced around the café. Xeno next to her—hair neat, bag slung over one shoulder, looking like the world around him was just a stage, and the real scene was playing out somewhere between him and Stanley.

– Well, well, if it isn’t our head chef – Maya grinned – coffee boss and lord of the mop! – She winked and strolled to the counter.

– Hey… – Stanley said, and just like that, all his work-mode calm vanished, replaced by a strange, warm confusion.

– Two milkshakes – Xeno added, leaning in just a little – one strawberry, one chocolate. And maybe your famous cinnamon bun—if you’re feeling generous?

That voice—teasing, soft—had that signature hint of mockery that somehow calmed him and shook him up at the same time. Stanley nodded, looked away quickly, and got to work, feeling his ears heat up.

While he made the order, they picked the corner table, the one Xem always took. Notebooks spread out, textbooks opened. Sometimes they chatted, sometimes argued over formulas, sometimes burst into laughter. Maya gestured wildly, drawing imaginary graphs on the tablecloth with her finger, while Xeno calmly corrected her mistakes, explaining things with quiet patience.

– This is impossible! – Maya groaned, dramatically throwing her hands up. – Who even decided sine and cosine belong on an exam?

– Probably someone who wanted you to stop talking in class – Xeno replied without blinking.

– Ha-ha, hilarious – Maya huffed. – Hold up, let’s ask an expert – she turned to the counter and called out. – Stanley! Save me! What’s the sine of thirty? Or have you officially forgotten everything except how to bake cinnamon rolls?

Stanley, pouring the last milkshake, felt a rush of warm embarrassment in his chest. He laughed, trying not to spill, and tossed back:

– Rolls don’t ask tricky questions. But sine of thirty? That’s one-half. Thanks for the faith.

– Oh wow, we’ve got a genius over here – Maya clapped. – I’m hiring you as my tutor, effective immediately!

Xeno smirked, tilting his head slightly, and added quietly:

– Only if I get paid in pastries.

When Stanley brought over the milkshakes and a plate of cinnamon buns, he felt their eyes land on him—not teasing, not mocking, just warm. Especially Xeno’s gaze—heavy with affection, calm and sure. The kind of look that said he was here not because he had to be, but because he wanted to. To look at him. To be with him, even with a whole counter and two milkshakes between them.

They were technically studying—really trying—but every time Stanley walked by with a tray, or bent down to pick up dishes, Maya couldn’t help tossing out some comment, and Xeno always smiled in response. That smile carried everything—pride, admiration, quiet joy at simply seeing him in this little place that felt like home.

And Stanley smiled back—shy, unsure, but real. The kind of smile that made his chest ache in the best way. Because in this strange world of gray days and thick air and random people, there was this. They were they. Their small, perfectly imperfect trio.

After clearing a few more trays, Stanley glanced over at the corner table again. Maya and Xeno were still there, hunched over open notebooks like the outside world didn’t exist beyond algebra problems. Though really, Xeno was lazily sketching some mysterious diagrams while Maya gnawed on her pen and groaned over the difference between sine and cosine.

Catching Xeno’s gaze—because of course, Xeno was already looking—Stanley couldn’t help it. He walked over, wiping his hands on his apron.

– How’s the progress, geniuses? – he asked, crouching beside their table to meet them at eye level.

– Terrible – Maya replied instantly, tossing her pen aside like it personally betrayed her. – This guy – she pointed at Xeno – explains trigonometry like I’m a lovesick cat seeing a laser pointer for the first time.

Xeno didn’t even flinch—he just shrugged, completely unbothered:

– I’m using the most effective teaching methods – he said, glancing at Stanley like he wasn’t really talking about math at all.

Stanley chuckled and looked down at their notebooks, where neat formulas had long since turned into arrows, hearts, and absurd margin notes. He opened his mouth to say something, but just then, Xeno casually dragged a finger across the page, then lifted his eyes—slow, warm, with that familiar lazy squint Stanley knew way too well.

– Maybe you could help out? – Xeno said softly, leaning in just a little. – Explain the math to Maya… while I admire someone very attractive in an apron.

Stanley’s face flushed with heat—like, full-body warmth from his ears to his fingertips. His first instinct was to bolt back behind the counter, hide behind the espresso machine, and pretend to be very, very busy. But he didn’t move. He just stood there, smiling like an idiot, awkward and glowing, because Xeno was looking at him like that—and with that look, running was impossible. Maya, with a loud groan, dropped her head onto the table and flopped her arm dramatically across the surface like she was actually dying.

– Oh my god, please no! I am begging you—save the rom-com energy for after my academic breakdown!

Xeno laughed—deep, real, reassuring—and, still looking at Stanley, added lazily:

– Sorry, Maya. Nature > algebra.

– Nature, huh? – she muttered, rolling her eyes. – If your stares were any stronger, we’d have a fire hazard. Or at least the smell of burnt sugar.

Stanley laughed with them—still flustered, still feeling his heartbeat way too fast, but happy. So happy. It was that pure kind of happiness—the kind that sneaks up on you when everything just feels right. Seeing Xeno smile at him, Maya teasing them like a sibling, and that warm thread connecting them, fluttering between every glance and word.

When the old clock on the café wall ticked past six, the air changed—softened into that special kind of quiet that only happens in small towns at dusk. The busy hum of the day faded into the gold reflections in the windows. Outside, the light turned honey-gray, like someone had poured syrup over the streets. It felt safe. Like the world had exhaled.

Only a few regulars remained, sipping slowly at their drinks, flipping through half-read paperbacks.
Xeno yawned, stretched, and closed his notebook with a soft thud. He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it from hours of leaning over the page.

– Alright, nerds – he muttered, standing up and slinging his jacket over his shoulder – time to go before my homework jumps out the window without me.

He lingered for a few seconds longer than necessary beside the table—clearly in no rush, even though he pretended to be. His eyes skimmed over Maya, then landed—slower, deeper—on Stanley.

And that look… it was the kind of look that made Stanley’s throat go dry and his bones feel like glass. Long. Lazy. But with something in it that you wanted to hold in your hands and never let go. Xeno stepped a little closer, like he was about to say something—but instead, he gently touched Stanley’s shoulder. Just his fingers. Just for a second.

Then he leaned in, close enough that his voice was a warm brush against his skin, and said with that rough half-smile:

– Walk me to the door?

The question sounded almost innocent. Almost.

Stanley froze, not sure if it was a joke.

But Xeno was already walking—headed toward the back corner, behind the counter, where the small dark storeroom was. The one where staff changed, and where Maya’s mom kept half the café’s dry goods.

Before Stanley had time to sort out the mess in his chest, he found himself following. Xeno walked with that relaxed kind of confidence he only ever had when he knew exactly what he wanted.The door clicked softly shut behind them, and instantly the world seemed quieter. Dim lighting, the scent of cardboard boxes, old coffee grounds, a little dust and vanilla. The space was tight, like wearing someone else’s shirt—but somehow, it was easier to breathe here than out there in a room full of eyes.
In the old humming light above, his face looked painted—soft, vivid, like something seen only in moments of real closeness.

– I just… – he started, but didn’t finish. Instead, he stepped forward—just a small movement, but enough to be near.

His hand slid to Stanley’s collar, fingers curling around the fabric with that casual boldness that had long since replaced hesitation. There was no awkwardness now—just quiet certainty. He tugged, just slightly—not rough, but with that silent dare that didn’t need permission anymore. Not in their world. That question had been answered a long time ago.

– Come on – Xeno whispered, smirking sideways like it was a game he already knew Stanley would play. – We’ve got what… thirty seconds? Before Maya’s mom starts wondering where you disappeared to?

Stanley didn’t answer—because that silence was an answer. He stepped forward, grabbed Xeno by the front of his coat, and pulled him in without hesitation. Their mouths crashed together—not softly, but not with greed either. It was the kind of kiss that builds up over weeks, full of quiet, stubborn want. A kiss that didn’t ask. It declared: you’re mine, I’m yours, and everything else can wait.

Xeno let out a soft sound, tipping his head back just enough to give Stanley more space. His back pressed to the storeroom wall as his arms wrapped around Stanley’s neck, fingers tangling in his hair and pulling him closer—harder—like he was scared it would all end too fast. Stanley moved carefully, but inside, he felt himself being pulled deeper—into Xeno’s warmth, the curve of his neck, the tremble that ran through him when their bodies pressed together.

– You kiss way too well – Xeno breathed when they finally broke apart, foreheads touching in the dim air that smelled like coffee, paper, and something dangerously sweet.

– Didn’t mean to distract you – Stanley whispered back, kissing him again, slower this time but just as firm – but you asked.

– I asked for an excuse – Xeno laughed hoarsely, scratching lightly at the back of Stanley’s neck – and you gave me a full-blown addiction.

They kissed again—hot, messy, like they were trying to pour everything into those stolen seconds. Deep breaths, fingers gripping fabric, Xeno’s quiet gasp when Stanley held him tighter. It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t even lust. It was that feeling when you just can’t let go—not until you’ve memorized the way they taste, the way they feel, the way they look when they’re that close. When they finally pulled apart—still breathless, cheek to cheek—it felt like they were coming back from some other universe. Xeno grinned, voice rough, eyes glowing with happiness:

– Okay… now I can go home. Probably.

The door clicked softly shut behind Xeno. Stanley stayed frozen in place. His hands trembled slightly. His lips still tingled. His chest was heavy—not in a bad way, but in that way that makes it hard to fully breathe because you’re holding something too big, too precious. His heart thudded—fast, loud, like the wings of a bird in a too-small cage.

He stared at the door—the one the boy he loved had just walked through—and inside his head, everything buzzed: Do something. Say something. Show him. Before it’s too late. He hesitated—just for a heartbeat. Then spun on his heel and rushed back out toward the tables.

Maya was still sitting at the corner booth, slowly finishing the last sips of her milkshake, like nothing in the world had happened. Like her best friend hadn’t just been swept into the most cinematic kiss ever to happen under the glow of a single storeroom bulb.

– Maya… – Stanley began, and his voice gave him away: the awkwardness, the fear, the determination—and that fragile, reckless hope.

She looked up slowly—and yeah, she knew. There was a spark in her eyes already. A knowing squint. A predator-level sense of drama.

– Oh yeah – she said, leaning back with her arms crossed – that face tells me something’s about to happen. Come on, Romeo, give me the plot twist.

– I… – he rubbed his fingers on the hem of his apron like he could wipe off how nervous he was – can you stay a bit longer? I need… help. Special help.

Maya set down her glass, tilted her head, and narrowed her eyes like a cat getting ready to pounce.
There was everything in her look: curiosity, mischief, and that warm kind of teasing that only real friends can pull off.

– What are you planning, lover boy? Stealing the moon? Buying Xeno a puppy? Or wait—don’t tell me. You’re about to play a love song on a guitar under his window? You don’t own a guitar, right?

Stanley sighed, blushing all the way to his ears, and gave a small, guilty smile—with a spark in his eyes.

– I… want to make a gift for Xeno. And ask him to the dance. Like… officially. With the whole “may I have this dance?” and all that cheesy stuff I used to think was cringe.

Maya froze for a second—then literally bounced in her seat, slapping her palms against her knees.

– Oh my god, Stanley, finally! – she gasped, so excited she looked like she might shake him if she got the chance – You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to start doing something like this. Okay, spill it! What’s the romantic master plan?

He didn’t say anything—just reached under the counter and, almost ceremoniously, set a large box down on the table. Maya peeked inside—and her teasing grin slowly shifted into something soft and genuinely touched. Inside were fresh, bright red strawberries, a few bars of wrapped chocolate, wooden skewers, ribbons, and sheets of clear wrapping paper, neatly folded with tiny bows resting on top.

– I thought… – Stanley began, lowering his voice like he was afraid saying it too loud would make it vanish – he loves chocolate. And I… I want to make him a bouquet. Not with flowers. With something he’ll actually eat. Something pretty, but real. So he’ll understand.

He looked at her with such open vulnerability that Maya didn’t say a word. Not a joke. Not a smirk. She just stared at her friend, eyes filling with something too big to name. She breathed in, then wiped an imaginary tear from under her eye with exaggerated drama.

– God, you’re the main character in a rom-com – she mumbled, already getting up. – If he doesn’t cry after this, I will. Alright, let’s build you a masterpiece. One that’ll knock him out cold right in the middle of the school hallway. But, you know—tastefully. Like in the movies.

Stanley laughed—relieved—and carried the box toward the kitchen door. He didn’t feel tired. He didn’t feel scared. All he felt was something blooming inside him—something like spring. And he wanted to give that to Xeno—not just chocolate-covered strawberries, not a bow, not a formal ask.
But hope. Warmth. And Maya walked beside him, smiling for real this time—not like a sarcastic sidekick, but like someone who knew she wasn’t just helping him make a bouquet. She was helping him make a confession. And that was everything.

They moved behind the counter, into the warm leftover air of the evening. The café still smelled like fresh pastries and cinnamon, and the espresso machine, just recently turned off, let off a quiet puff of steam. The light over the prep counter was soft and honey-yellow, like it had been dimmed on purpose—for moments like this, when something real happens between the lines of conversation and motion.

Stanley rolled up his sleeves and tied his apron tighter. He got to work on the chocolate: double boiler, neatly snapped bars, smooth spoon strokes. He looked intensely focused—like he wasn’t just melting chocolate, but every ounce of tension inside him. Like he was letting his nerves dissolve into the thick, glossy swirl. He moved with near-scientific precision—careful not to overheat it, not to burn it, not to mess it up. Because this wasn’t just dessert. It was an invitation.

Maya, meanwhile, laid out the strawberries on a kitchen towel—bright, juicy, hand-picked from two containers. She examined each one under the light, turning it slowly: was it too soft? Bruised on one side? It was like she was selecting jewels for some sacred ritual.

– So you’re going all in, huh? – Maya squinted, nodding toward the chocolate and berries. – Planning to outshine the school’s entire decoration budget?

Stanley smirked, still stirring the chocolate.

– I just want him to know this isn’t about some dumb dance with cheesy music and free lemonade. I’m not asking him to an event. I’m asking him...

– Whoa – Maya raised her brows, spearing the first strawberry – if you say “to my heart,” I’m walking out. Dramatically. In tears.

– I was this close – he admitted, grinning – but you beat me to it.

Maya shook her head, groaning like a disappointed movie critic.

– Of course you would come up with a chocolate strawberry bouquet – she muttered as she started sticking the skewers into a stand to cool – If Brody tried this, he’d show up with a bag of M&M’s and say, “You like sugar, right?”

– Who are you going to the dance with? – Stanley asked, dipping another strawberry, turning it slowly so the excess chocolate dripped off cleanly.

– Oh, no one’s asked poor Maya – she sighed, dramatically resting a hand on her heart – Everyone’s afraid of girls who are sarcastic, intelligent, and capable of speaking in full sentences. Apparently, I’m intimidating.

Stanley shot her a knowing smile.

– What about Brody?

Maya snorted—but her gaze softened a little.

– Well… Brody and I kind of… made a deal. We’re both partnerless, so we figured we might as well show up together. Since we’re gonna spend the whole night roasting people anyway. Not like… together together – she added quickly. – Just… it’ll be more fun that way.

– You know, you two weirdly fit together. Like… you’re the fire, and he’s the pile of wood. Just waiting to catch.

Maya burst out laughing so hard she nearly dropped a skewer.

– Wow, thanks. That’s the most romantic metaphor anyone’s ever used on me. Please tell me you’re not including that in your speech for Xeno.

– I don’t even have a speech – Stanley admitted, gently transferring the cooled strawberries into a box. – Just… a note.

By the time the bouquet was nearly finished—the skewers lined up in a neat arrangement, the chocolate shining like polished lacquer under the light—Maya pulled out the wrapping paper. Together, they bundled the strawberry masterpiece: first the clear sheet, then soft crinkled craft paper, then a wide satin ribbon the colour of ivory. She tied it in a bow, adjusted the edges, and when the whole thing rested in Stanley’s hands… even he could barely believe he’d made it. Hidden inside, nestled between the skewers, was a rolled-up note. His handwriting—slightly slanted, a little shaky, with faint pencil marks smudged along the edges. It read:

“Will you go with me…where the whole night feels like it’s just ours?”

Maya peeked over his shoulder and immediately pressed a hand to her chest like her heart couldn’t take it.

– You’re serious?.. This is—this is lethal. You’re not just going for his stomach. You’re going for the soul. Stanley, I swear, he’s not just gonna smile. He’s gonna melt.

Stanley looked down, gripping the wrapped bouquet like it wasn’t a candy arrangement, but something delicate and sacred.

– I just… want to see him smile – he said quietly.

Maya didn’t answer right away. She just nodded, then nudged his elbow and whispered with unexpected softness:

– He will.

The next morning, the universe was out to get him. He woke up five minutes before his alarm—and somehow, that made it worse. The room was still dim, but his heart was pounding like the alarm was already going off inside his chest. He lay there staring at the ceiling, mind running wild with every possible version of what could go wrong.

Xeno laughing.

Xeno saying, “You’re kidding, right?”

Xeno saying, “This… is too much.”

Xeno saying nothing at all. Just… staring.

He got up and checked the gift three times. Took the box down from the shelf, lifted the lid, held his breath. Strawberries. Chocolate. Skewers. Note. Everything still there. Ribbon holding. Paper uncrumpled.

He tilted it under the lamp to make sure the chocolate still shined evenly. Checked for smudges. Retied the bow. Then undid it. Then tied it exactly the same way it was to begin with. It had to be perfect—but not fake. He wanted it to feel like him. A little nervous. But real.

Clothes were a whole separate battle. He tore through his closet like it was the end of the world, and in the end, he picked the usual. A black, slightly worn jacket. Comfortable. Familiar. Him. And if Xeno loved him—he definitely didn’t fall for the polished version. Stanley reminded himself of that again and again as he tied his scarf and double-checked the pocket where he kept his cigarettes.

When he stepped outside, the air was cool and heavy with fog. The pavement shimmered like the city had handed him perfect stage lighting for a confession. He held the box with both hands—as if it wasn’t dessert, but something sacred. Fragile. Almost alive.

People passed him by—talking on the phone, smoking, laughing—and he walked forward, head slightly down, watching his steps. Careful not to bump anyone, not to shake the skewers, not to let the wind tug at the ribbon.

By the time he reached school, his heartbeat was louder than his footsteps on the damp stone steps.
Inside, he kept his head low, passed through the hallway without meeting anyone’s eyes, and made it to his locker. It was quiet. He opened the metal door carefully, placed the bouquet inside, and closed it with a soft click. The latch sounded like sealing a secret. He exhaled—slowly, fully—and headed to class.

Xeno was already there, sitting by the window as always—half-relaxed, book in hand, pen between his fingers. Stanley paused for a second in the doorway. Just to look. Then he walked over and sat down beside him like it was nothing. Like any other day.

Except inside, everything trembled.

He felt like a soldier going into battle, only his weapon was a handwritten note and strawberries dipped in chocolate.

They exchanged a few lines about homework. Made a joke about their teacher. Xeno threw a crumpled napkin at him and Stanley actually laughed—for real, for the first time that morning. Then, casually—like it didn’t mean anything—he leaned in slightly. Didn’t quite meet his eyes, but smiled. That soft, nervous smile he wore when the moment did matter.

– Hey – he whispered – at lunch… can we meet on the fire escape?

Xeno looked up from his notebook. His eyes narrowed, and the corners of his mouth twitched up—like he already knew what this was.

– The one?

– The one – Stanley nodded.

The bell for the lunch break rang like a starter pistol, and the classroom immediately burst into motion—chairs scraping, backpacks rustling, someone already sprinting into the hallway, tossing jokes and shouting over shoulders. Stanley and Xeno locked eyes—and that one look was enough to set something warm and bright burning inside. No words. No signals. Just a short, easy smile between them, like a handshake between hearts.

– Good luck – Xeno said softly, standing up – you think you can convince me in ten seconds?

– Five – Stanley smirked, already heading toward the lockers.

He walked fast, but didn’t run. The bouquet was waiting—wrapped, ribboned, with those words tucked inside. His fingers trembled slightly, and fragments of possible opening lines spun through his mind, but they were all background noise. All he could think about was how real this was about to be.

Xeno, meanwhile, slipped into the familiar hallway and headed for the fire escape. It was always their place—their private pocket of air, away from eyes and ears and sideways stares. A space that belonged to no one else. He pushed the door open, expecting the echo of his own footsteps, maybe a couple birds fluttering by the window.

But someone was already there.

Charlotte.

She was curled up on the step, her whole body folded in on itself like the cold, concrete staircase had pressed down not just on her shoulders and spine, but on her heart too. Her hair, usually sleek and precisely styled, stuck out at strange angles, like someone who couldn’t keep playing the role to the end. Black mascara traced faint lines beneath her eyes—tired remnants of something she hadn’t managed to hide. Her arms wrapped around her own shoulders like she was trying to hold together everything inside her that had started to fall apart—without warning, without explanation.

She wasn’t sobbing. She cried the way people do when they’ve lost the strength to cry out loud—quietly, steadily, without drama, without sound. Like each tear carried away something important she hadn’t realized she’d already lost.

A dozen emotions flickered across Xeno’s face—surprise, confusion, some automatic flicker of sympathy… and a bitter satisfaction. He squinted slightly, tilted his head, and when he finally spoke, his voice rang sharp and dry, like glass on concrete.

– Well, isn’t this something – he said quietly, though every word landed like a small, deliberate cut – Charlotte. Queen of Arrogance. Crying. On the fire escape. Nobody would believe it. Not even me.

She flinched, like the sound of his voice physically struck her. Looked up—and even behind puffy eyes and smudged mascara, there was still anger. The defensive kind. Stubborn. Worn like armor.

– What, you come here on purpose? Just to mock me? – her voice trembled, but not from pity. – Thought it was finally your moment of glory? Want to tell me I had it coming?

Xeno leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, and the corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, more a weighty smirk, like iron.

– I mean, I’ve thought about it. Sure. There’s something weirdly satisfying about seeing the person who made your life harder finally crack. Finally drop the mask. But at least you’re admitting it. That you were—let’s say, kindly—a real piece of work. And that already puts you above most people. Most of them don’t even notice who they’re crushing underfoot.

Charlotte leaned back, her head hitting the cold wall with a dull thud. She wiped her face with a sleeve, not even caring about the makeup anymore—like none of it mattered now.

– I don’t need your sarcasm – she muttered, drained – I know who I am. I’ve always known. I used to think it made things easier. That if I threw the first punch—no one could hit me first. And then it just… became habit. A word. A look. A jab. It all started happening on autopilot. But now… – she exhaled hard, looked up at him – now I’m just sitting here. And it feels like I’ve burned myself alive. And honestly? I’m not even mad about it. I’m just… tired.

Xeno’s expression softened. He stepped closer, hands still in his pockets, and when he spoke, his voice had lost its edge, replaced with something quieter, less sharp.

– What happened?

She hesitated. A few seconds passed in silence. She stared at the wall like she was watching some long, slow battle inside her own head—tell him, or swallow it again. But then her eyes met his, and she said:

– The guy I like – her voice cracked, like the words themselves were painful to speak – asked Luna to the dance.

She exhaled like she’d taken a hit to the gut, then kept going—fast, sharp, without giving herself room to stop. Like if she paused, she’d never get it out.

– I told her. No games, no drama. I told her he meant something to me. That he wasn’t just cute, that I… I hoped. I pictured us there, together. I actually let her see a part of me I don’t show anyone. And what does she do?

She laughed—loud, sudden, almost manic—but it wasn’t joy. It was a cracked sound, a reflex, like her body didn’t know what else to do with the ache.

– She looked at me. Smiled. And said yes to him. Just… nodded, like it was no big deal. And I swear, Xeno—there wasn’t sympathy in her face. No awkward guilt. There was something else. Something like… victory. Like she won.

Xeno frowned, sat down across from her on the opposite step, arms still crossed over his chest.

– That’s classic Luna – he said, slowly – she knows how to wound without ever chipping a nail. She smiles, acts like everything’s fine—and then cuts deep. And when you fall? Everyone assumes you just tripped. No one sees her hand behind the shove. She’s got this gift. The art of being a predator while dressed in innocence.

Charlotte stared down at the concrete beneath her feet. For a long time. Then her shoulders gave the slightest tremble.

– I was always there. Always close... She was the sun, and I was the shadow everyone accidentally stepped on. – Her fists clenched. – When I laughed, people thought she was laughing. When I went quiet, it felt wrong—because she never goes quiet. And when someone gave me a compliment, I’d hear someone whisper, “She’s just copying Luna.”

She suddenly lifted her head, eyes shining again.

– I hate that I let it happen. I hate that I lived by her rules. That I let myself grow in her shadow. She wrote the script—I played the part. And yeah, I said cruel things to people. I wanted to seem useful. Wanted to stay close. Because otherwise she would’ve picked someone else to hold on a leash.

– So you’d rather be second… than be no one at all? – Xeno asked quietly.

– I just wanted to exist somewhere – she said, locking eyes with him – to be in some kind of light. Even if it was from the back row. I thought that was better than nothing. But now… now I look at all of it, and I get it. I earned this life. The one where I’m always “someone else.” Where people say, “She’s almost like Luna—but not quite.” Where I don’t even like myself.

Her voice cracked, but she didn’t stop.

– I deserve to be the one who gets betrayed. Used. Cut out of the frame. Because maybe I chose it. I was meaner than I needed to be. Sharper. I pushed people away before they could get close to the real me. And now—here I am. Sitting on a stairwell, crying. No best friend. No role to play.

She looked up at him. Her eyes were full of tears—but also something else. Pain, yes. Exhaustion. But for the first time in a long time—something honest.

– Maybe I really am a bitch. Maybe I deserve to sit here like this—alone, irrelevant, and already lost.

Xeno stood up slowly, brushing the concrete dust from his palms, already reaching for the door—when it swung open with a sudden bang.

Stanley stood in the doorway.

His face—confused at first—shifted into something sharper, more guarded. In his hands was the bouquet—carefully crafted, strawberry-red and dark chocolate-glistening, tied with a soft ribbon that fluttered slightly from the hallway draft. He froze in place, his eyes darting between Xeno and Charlotte, who was still hunched on the step. His lips pressed together. His fingers tightened on the bouquet handle until his knuckles turned pale.

– Charlotte? – he breathed, and there was already ice laced through the name – What is she doing here?

Xeno looked up at him, voice calm—soft, like something meant to soothe.

– It’s okay – he said – we were just… talking.

Stanley shot him a look, searching—wanting to know if it was the truth. He found nothing but steady calm in Xeno’s eyes, and it cooled the fire in his chest, though not completely.

Charlotte stood now, tugging her sweater into place, wiping the streaks of tears from her cheeks in a mechanical kind of way. She met Stanley’s gaze and gave a crooked smile—not mocking, just… bitterly accepting.

– Relax, hero. I’m not here to ambush anyone. Just… fell lower than usual, that’s all. But – she nodded toward the bouquet in his hands – at least someone’s day is real. That’s beautiful. In a good way. I… envy that.

Her eyes lingered on Xeno a moment longer. They were still red, but something had shifted in them—clarity, maybe. Even a hint of lightness. She inhaled deeply, like someone standing at the edge of a high dive.

– Listen, Xeno… I know there’s no sorry big enough to erase how I treated you. I really… I was awful. Said things that weren’t fair. Laughed when I shouldn’t have. Knocked you down just to feel taller. You didn’t deserve any of that.

She hesitated, then took a small step forward and looked him in the eye.

– But you’ve been kinder to me in these five minutes than I’ve been to you in half a year. And… thank you. Just—thank you.

Xeno gave a small nod, and the corners of his mouth twitched in the softest, smallest smile. He didn’t say anything.

Charlotte turned to Stanley. He was still watching her warily, clutching the bouquet like it was a shield instead of a gift.

– And… to you too. I’m sorry. – She said it fast, looking away – I know you hate me. You should. I was a jerk. And now it’s catching up with me. That’s it.

She didn’t wait for an answer. Just turned, and walked past them—like she wasn’t just leaving the fire escape, but stepping out of an old life. Out of a role that no longer fit. The door clicked shut behind her. Xeno turned to Stanley, his expression warm, a little apologetic.

– Sorry that got… weird. But I’m really glad you’re here.

Stanley still held the bouquet tight—but now, he was only looking at Xeno. And in his eyes was everything—jealousy, worry, relief… love.

– Am I too late? – he asked softly.

Xeno smiled and stepped closer.

– You’re right on time.

They stood on the empty stairwell, the echo of Charlotte’s exit still fading behind the closed door. Light poured in through the windows in clean diagonal stripes, splitting the concrete floor into warm and cool, and the air around them fell into silence—strangely soft, almost intimate, like even the stairwell itself had decided to hold its breath and let them have the moment.

Xeno was watching Stanley, head tilted just slightly, as if only now realizing what he was still holding. Now that the world had quieted down—he saw the bouquet. Large. Careful. So deliberate in its creation that just looking at it made you want to smile. The strawberries were flawless, like they’d been hand-picked for a museum display. The chocolate glistened with a mirror sheen, smooth and dark like lacquer on something precious. And tucked right at the centre, between the skewers, was a note—rolled into a tight scroll, tied with a thin thread. The handwriting was familiar even from a distance.
Stanley gave a small shrug, his smile crooked, uncertain—but his eyes were serious.

– I wanted this to feel… a bit more formal. Or at least, you know, not with an audience. – He held the bouquet out with both hands, gripping it like it might vanish if he let go. – But. This is it. Everything I wanted to say is in there. And, well… I think you already know, don’t you?

Xeno took the bouquet carefully—so gently it looked like he thought it might bruise. For a few seconds he just stared at it, then slowly pulled out the note and unrolled it.

“Will you go with me… where the whole night feels like it’s just ours?”

He looked up. There wasn’t shock in his eyes. No cinematic fireworks. Just something real. Warm. The kind of silence that only ever holds one thing—yes. The kind that doesn’t need decoration or dramatics. He nodded. Once. Small, but solid. Like something he’d never question again.

– Of course I’ll go – he said softly, almost a whisper – where else would I be?

And in that one sentence—there was everything. Stanley exhaled like his lungs had just remembered how to work. His shoulders relaxed, his grin widened, all the tension melting from his frame like steam.

– Well… great. – He scratched the back of his neck, bashful – You still have to eat the whole bouquet, though.

– Oh, that was the plan – Xeno grinned up at him – First I eat. Then I kiss. Then I dance. In that exact order. Prepare yourself.

They sat together on the bottom steps, where the concrete had soaked in a little sun through the window and gone pleasantly warm. Stanley had laid out his jacket for Xeno to sit on so he wouldn’t get cold, and now they were shoulder to shoulder—close enough to feel it, but just shy of touching.
The bouquet sat in front of them, already missing one skewer. Xeno had pulled it out earlier, and now the strawberry glistened in the light, slick and glossy, smelling dangerously sweet.

– So. The dance – Xeno said, looking up toward the glowing window – I never thought I’d go with someone who actually… – he hesitated – who actually means this much to me.

Stanley glanced at him, squinting slightly against the light.

– I didn’t think you’d go at all.

– I wouldn’t have. Before you.

Xeno reached for another skewer. Brought it slowly to his lips. His eyes never left Stanley—watchful, playful, a little lazy in that signature way of his, the half-smile already curling at one corner like a secret he wasn’t quite ready to share.

– You realize – he started, biting into the strawberry with almost theatrical slowness – I care less and less what people think. Who’s whispering where. Who’s passing rumours. Especially… – he licked a stray streak of chocolate off his lip but deliberately missed a spot – especially now that Luna’s losing her little followers one by one.

He grabbed another skewer. This time, he ran his tongue slowly along the chocolate trail down the side of the strawberry, like he was checking the temperature—then gave Stanley a look that was almost innocent.

– You’re doing that on purpose – Stanley muttered, voice low and thick. His eyes darkened, gaze slipping away for half a second before dragging back – That was… illegal.

– What was? – Xeno raised a brow, taking another bite – Eating strawberries?

– Eating strawberries like you want me to make out with you right here on the stairs.

– Mmm. Not right here – Xeno hummed, lips glistening with another stubborn drop of chocolate he refused to wipe – but the idea’s tempting.

Stanley froze. His gaze locked on that one spot—just below the corner of Xeno’s mouth, where the chocolate sat like a dare. He swallowed hard. Every inch of his body screamed restraint. Every inch except his body.

– You’ve got… – he started, voice almost hoarse – right there...

Xeno leaned in, just enough.

– Where exactly? – he whispered.

Stanley didn’t answer. He moved. One motion. Quick. No pause. No words.

Their lips crashed together—not soft, not tentative, but hot.

Too fast to be cautious. Too tender to be just hunger.

Stanley traced the chocolate with his tongue, slow, savouring it like something forbidden—and then stayed, kissing for real this time. Deep. With that kind of shiver that blooms in your spine when something matters. Xeno answered immediately, grabbing for his collar, pulling him closer, closer, like he couldn’t stand even a millimetre of space between them. For seconds—or maybe whole minutes—everything else dissolved. There was only this. Heat. Breath. The taste of strawberries and chocolate and everything they hadn’t yet said but already knew. They sat impossibly close—nothing between them now but air, and even that felt shared. Even the space seemed to hum with a quiet electricity, warm with the scent of sweetness and the tension of touches that hadn’t yet happened. The rest of the bouquet—now considerably thinned—rested beside them, forgotten, nothing more than a backdrop now.

Xeno wasn’t looking at the strawberries anymore. He was watching Stanley. Watching the blush that crept from his neck to his cheeks like fire climbing a wall. Watching his mouth, still parted just slightly, like he wanted to speak but couldn’t decide how. Watching his eyes, wide and stormy, where everything swirled together—embarrassment, want, and something raw and open that looked an awful lot like love.

Xeno reached for the biggest strawberry in the bouquet—the one Stanley would’ve definitely saved for last, maybe never even taken. It was glossy, dark chocolate dipped, beaded with what looked like dew—those little droplets clinging to the sides like it had been waiting to be noticed. And Stanley noticed. Xeno caught the flicker of his gaze—quick, almost dismissible, but hungry enough to make him smirk.

A soft smile, warm, but laced with just enough mischief to be dangerous.

– You know – Xeno said, turning his head slowly so their eyes met directly – I didn’t realize you wanted a bite too.

Stanley half-laughed, started to shake his head, something like “me? no way” forming on his lips, but he didn’t even get the words out—because Xeno was already lifting the berry to his mouth and sinking his teeth into it. Slowly. Intentionally.

His lips parted, juice glinting on his teeth, chocolate melting just enough to leave a mark at the corner of his mouth. He chewed with maddening ease, like time had folded in on itself. And before Stanley could even gear up for a sarcastic comeback—Xeno reached out, took hold of his shirt collar, and tugged him gently closer. Not rough. Not rushed. But with that kind of intention that makes your knees go weak before you even realize why.

– But you know me – Xeno whispered, lips barely an inch away – I’m generous.

And without waiting for an answer, he leaned in and kissed him. Not a casual kiss. Not a teasing brush. A real kiss—with the strawberry still lingering on his tongue, warm and sweet and so sudden that Stanley froze for just half a second—surprised, and then entirely, instinctively in it. Their lips met in a slow, breathless rhythm, hesitant at first, then stronger, deeper. The chocolate melted between them and Stanley almost groaned—not just from the taste or the heat, but from how easy this was. How right. And how utterly impossible it felt to stop.

Xeno’s hand slid up behind his neck, fingers threading into his hair, tugging—not harshly, but with enough control to say stay here. Stanley responded by pulling him closer, gripping his waist, shifting until they fit together like something practiced. Like a secret language spoken without words. Their bodies moved in sync—slow, sweet, a little dizzying.

When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless—like they hadn’t kissed, but run straight through a thunderstorm. Their cheeks were flushed, lips swollen and slick, but neither moved away more than a breath.

Stanley brushed the corner of Xeno’s mouth with his thumb, gently wiping off the chocolate, and the way he did it—delicate, almost reverent—felt more like a promise than a touch. His voice dropped, low and a little ragged, without him even noticing.

– A heads-up would’ve been nice – he murmured – if you were gonna feed me with your mouth.

His eyes were still locked on Xeno’s lips.

– Not that I’m complaining.

Xeno lazily licked the spot where Stanley’s thumb had just been, then glanced up at him with that half-lidded, too-knowing look from under his lashes.

– Oh? Do you have complaints about my serving methods? Or are you just looking to sign a subscription plan?

– I want to sign anything that includes you, strawberries, and as little space between us as physically possible – Stanley whispered, leaning in again like the words themselves had drawn him closer.

Xeno propped himself up on his elbows, the smile turning sharper, slower, more like a dare than an answer.

– Mmm. So you wouldn’t mind being my… personal taste tester?

– Only if the tasting comes with a second course – Stanley replied, dragging a hand slowly down Xeno’s knee. – I’m guessing that was just a sample?

– Babe – Xeno said, voice a low, dangerous purr – I haven’t even handed you the real menu yet.

Stanley huffed a laugh, but it came out breathy, hot, his mouth twitching with something between amusement and desire. He hugged his knees loosely, trying to cool down even as he kept stealing glances at Xeno from under his bangs.

– Remind me again why I agreed to go to this dance with you – he muttered – if you’re planning to torment me all night looking like that in a tux?

Xeno leaned close, close enough for his nose to graze Stanley’s cheek.

– Because you love when I drive you crazy. And because—be honest—you’ve already imagined exactly how I look in a tux.

– Oh, I have – Stanley sighed. – And how I’ll be taking it off later.

– Post-dance scene? – Xeno grinned.

– Let’s call it a reward for excellent behaviour.

They were still sitting on the stairwell, bathed in the late afternoon haze, the kind of soft, dusty light that only old windows can cast. The bouquet lay nearly empty beside them, the scent of chocolate and fruit still hanging in the air, but the warmth between them hadn't faded—it had only grown. Everything was slowing down. The teasing. The touch. The silence.

Stanley leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, and for a while just traced the seam of his jeans with one fingertip—like grounding himself. Like gathering up something hard to say. And then, without looking up, his voice softer than usual—vulnerable in a way he almost never let himself be—he said:

– Hey, I’ve been thinking…

He hesitated.

– I took the day off work today. On purpose – Stanley said, his voice quiet, almost like a secret. – I figured I could give myself one day. Just one. To breathe. To not be stuck always being "on shift."

Xeno looked at him with a softness that held no judgment, just quiet curiosity. It wasn’t like Stanley to slow down. Even the people closest to him knew—if Stanley moved forward, he did it until he crashed, until he burned out completely. So when he allowed himself even a pause, it meant something more than just taking a break.

– I got my first real paycheck – Stanley continued, finally lifting his eyes. – And I want to buy something for the dance. Not something borrowed. Not something people hand me because they feel bad. I want to pick it myself. Something that makes me feel… not just "fine", but the way you sometimes look at me. – He gave a crooked smile, as if he couldn’t believe he’d actually said that out loud. – And… I want you to come with me. After school. Today. I want you there. So you can tell me if I pick something ridiculous. But mostly… I just want the day to be with you. Not on a staircase. Not in the café. Not in school hallways where it still feels like we have to hide. Just… us.

Xeno didn’t answer right away. His gaze softened, turned careful, but not distant. He reached out, fingers brushing lightly against Stanley’s wrist, sliding up—maybe to catch his pulse, maybe just to remind him: I’m here. I hear you. I get it.

– You have no idea how stupid that sounds – he said with a smile that held no sting, only warmth. – Like you think you need to look a certain way to be someone to me. You already are. Even in a wrinkled t-shirt with caramel sauce on the sleeve. But… – his fingers gently squeezed Stanley’s wrist – I’ll go. Of course I’ll go. But fair warning: if you try on even one boring grey jacket, I’m rolling my eyes and heading to the women's section to try on dresses out of spite.

Stanley finally let out a laugh—not loud, but with a kind of relief, like something inside him had been unknotted. He nodded, leaned in close enough to rest his forehead against Xeno’s shoulder, voice almost a breath:

– No grey. I swear. Just what you like. And after… coffee? Or cup noodles. Whatever. Just… with you.

Xeno huffed a soft laugh, wrapping an arm around his neck.

– Consider this a date. Shopping edition.

After school, the day peeled away like golden dust over the pavement. The halls had gone quiet—just creaking lockers, slow footsteps, sleepy whispers. Stanley waited by the gates, leaning casually against the rail, backpack slung over one shoulder, wearing that kind of soft smile he only wore for Xeno now.

Xeno appeared a few minutes later, walking slow, zipping up his jacket with that familiar squint in his eyes—the one that said, I’m not rushing, because I already know exactly where I’m going and who I’m going with. He waved his phone as he approached.

– Want me to call a ride? Mall’s kind of far, and I don’t feel like cramming you into a bus like a sad little sardine.

He was already opening the app when Stanley calmly reached over, gently covered his wrist, and pushed the phone down.

– Nah. Don’t. Let’s just take the train.

Xeno raised an eyebrow, but didn’t argue—he knew that tone. If Stanley said something with that kind of stillness, it wasn’t about stubbornness. It meant it mattered. He was about to ask why… but Stanley beat him to it.

– I just… want more time with you – Stanley said, almost shyly. – I don’t need it fast. I just need it close. Even if it’s longer. Even if it smells like dust and old plastic. As long as you’re beside me.

He smiled again, soft, grounded, so real it made Xeno’s chest ache. Xeno chuckled and slipped the phone back into his pocket. In that moment, he didn’t want anything more than just this—walking beside Stanley, however long it took. Hell, if Stanley had suggested a scooter ride, Xeno would’ve been game.

They walked together to the train stop—paint peeling off the bench, the timetable covered in marker graffiti and bad declarations of love. Stanley bought the tickets himself—insisted on it. Even when Xeno reached for his wallet, Stanley nudged his elbow and said simply:

– My paycheck. My rules.

They took two seats by the window. The carriage was mostly empty—a couple students, a man in a dusty jacket, a little girl sucking on a lollipop while staring at her reflection. The train jolted to life beneath them, humming into motion. The windows fogged at the corners. Outside: grey streets, faded buildings, nothing special—except that it was real.

Stanley reached into his jacket and pulled out a tangled mess of earbuds—warm from his pocket, a little too knotted. He unravelled them carefully, then, without a word—like it was the most natural thing in the world—he passed one to Xeno. No explanation. No "here, listen to this." Just this is ours. Xeno took it without question and slipped the bud into his ear. Their shoulders touched—barely—but it felt anchored. Then the music started—slow, weightless, intimate.

Apocalypse by Cigarettes After Sex.

That song. That one Stanley had saved ages ago. Long before this. Long before them. He used to lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, playing that song over and over, thinking and daydreaming. Stanley gently rested his head on Xeno’s shoulder. No words, no asking. He just… allowed himself to. Xeno’s body was warm, his breathing even, and through the fabric of his jacket, Stanley could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest. The music wrapped around them like a soft, private fog — intimate, weightless, like a sound cocoon where for just a moment they stopped being students, stopped being “him and him,” stopped being afraid.

Xeno didn’t move. He only turned his head slightly to brush his lips against the top of Stanley’s hair — a touch so light it barely existed. Their hands found each other at the seam between their seats — first just fingertips brushing, then fingers intertwining. Effortless. Unceremonious. The kind of touch people share when they already know — this is forever, at least in this moment.

And as the train carried them forward, as streets shifted past the windows and sunlight laid across their shoulders, all Stanley needed was this rhythm. This shoulder. These notes. And that feeling — impossible to name — that finally, finally, something was happening right.

The train pulled into the station with a soft, dull jolt, and the doors hissed open. A rush of air swept through the cabin — smelling of metal, city, someone’s perfume, coffee from a nearby kiosk, and shopping bags still fresh from the register. Xeno was the first to step out, never letting go of Stanley’s hand, and when their shoes hit the concrete, their fingers were still laced — not tightly, but steady. Like there was no question between them anymore, no need to ask for permission.

– Alright – Xeno smirked, glancing at the shiny glass entrance of the mall, slick and silver like some oversized fish tank – the great wardrobe quest begins.

Stanley nodded, but something trembled inside him — maybe it was the noise, the too-bright lights, or just the quiet pressure of making the right choice. He had never in his life picked something “for an event.” It was always clearance racks, hand-me-downs, or the same shirt since seventh grade. But this… this time, he wanted to look good. Wanted Xeno to see him and think: That’s him. That’s mine.

They stepped through the glass doors, and everything came alive at once — music from the speakers, the rattle of carts, the soft crunch of shopping bags, mannequins frozen mid-strut behind display windows. Stanley slowed, scanning from store to store, sign to sign, not sure where to start, or what to look for, or how to not look completely lost. Everything felt too shiny. Too expensive. Too not meant for him. Xeno noticed. Of course he did. He leaned in, close enough that Stanley felt his breath graze his ear as he whispered, amused:

– You look like you're about to bolt back to the train.

– I just… – Stanley ran a hand over the back of his neck, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips – there’s so much stuff. All of it’s… glowing. I feel like I’m gonna get lost in here.

– Perfect – Xeno said, turning on his heel and dragging him forward – because I was just about to kidnap you and drag you into a store anyway.

– Where are we even—?

– That one – Xeno nodded at a store where the mannequins wore hoodies instead of suits, and the window proudly shouted in bold lettering: “STYLE SHOULDN’T BE EXPENSIVE.”

– You’re kidding – Stanley huffed, but didn’t resist.

– Absolutely not. We’re not here to find you a suit from Versace. Not yet. – Xeno grinned. – And if you keep whining, I’ll change my mind and put you in a miniskirt.

– If you walk up to me at the dance and say ‘babe, you’re glowing tonight,’ I will cut a path through the gym wall and vanish.

– So you are imagining us at the dance. Which means you’re not that against the idea.

Stanley didn’t respond. He just laughed, squeezed Xeno’s hand tighter, and let himself be pulled into the store — the one that smelled like cotton, budget cologne, and something else: that strange, quiet possibility that maybe, just maybe, someone in here might accidentally dress you like the person you’ve always wanted to be.

The fitting room was narrow, with mirrors slightly warped by time and lighting that gave their skin a weird honey tone. Stanley kept ducking behind the curtain and reemerging in new combinations — a blazer here, a pair of slacks there — while Xeno sat lazily on the little bench across from him like some judge on a reality show, legs crossed, commentary unfiltered.

– This one makes you look like a lawyer suing the school cafeteria – Xeno said, eyeing a grey pinstripe jacket.

– Good – Stanley smirked, brushing his bangs out of his face – maybe I’ll win free cinnamon rolls in court.

– No one wins baked goods unless they know how to tie a tie. – Xeno stood, stepped forward, and in one swift move began adjusting Stanley’s collar. – And you’ve twisted it again. Give me that.

Xeno’s fingers were warm and sure, and Stanley couldn't help noticing how close he was — how his breath touched his neck, how focused his eyes were. It wasn’t like he was tying a tie. It was like he was carving something delicate out of crystal.

– You’re dangerous when you’re focused – Stanley muttered, and it wasn’t entirely a joke.

– You’re dangerous when you smile – Xeno shot back without thinking, then quickly looked away like the words had surprised even him.

After a few more failed attempts — one blazer too short, one pair of pants that made Stanley look like he fronted a bad boy band from 2003 — he slipped behind the curtain again. This time, though, he didn’t come out right away. From behind the fabric, his voice came, low, maybe a little nervous.

– Hey… can you come here for a sec? I need you to take a look. It’s kind of… a special look.

Xeno raised his brows, standing from the bench, curiosity blooming in his expression.

– Just don’t tell me you tried on a velvet tailcoat – we’re not going to a royal gala.

– Worse – came Stanley’s voice from behind the curtain – and you brought this on yourself.

And then, without warning, Stanley yanked the curtain aside and stepped out… wearing a miniskirt. Black, tight, slightly shimmery. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his expression perfectly calm, eyes locked straight on Xeno.

– Well, Mr. “I’ll put you in a skirt,” – he said slowly – congrats. You’re looking at the consequence of your own threats.

Xeno froze. For one very long second, his face flickered with that same look people get when they’re torn between laughing and dropping to their knees in reverent awe. His gaze traveled — waist to knees and back up again — then he swallowed, hard, and looked away.

– Honestly? You… look elegant. In the worst way possible.

Stanley burst out laughing.

– Elegant is all you can manage? You’re blushing. Admit it — it’s because I look fabulous.

– It’s because I’ve never experienced a visual catastrophe with such undeniable results – Xeno muttered, trying his best not to stare – I don’t even know anymore if people will cheer harder at the dance for your outfit or your legs.

– Keep guessing – Stanley smirked – I’m saving this look for blackmail. Or karaoke night. Could go either way.

Xeno shook his head, but the smile never left his face. He stepped closer, gently touched Stanley’s wrist.

– Alright – he said – now take off that… masterpiece, and let’s find something I can look at without needing therapy. But after this, you owe me a private fashion show. Just for me.

– Deal. Just for you — but only if you try on something scandalous too.

– I already picked the riskiest thing in this store. You.

They made their way through the rest of the shop, and the farther they went, the more they both felt it — this place wasn’t it. The shelves were stacked with shirts in the same three tired shades, the blazers fit like they were tailored for mannequins with no spines, and even the bold prints felt like they’d given up halfway through trying to be interesting. Stanley stood in front of yet another mirror in yet another attempt — this time, a washed-out navy blazer with shiny buttons that belonged more at a family reunion than a high school dance. He sighed, rolled his shoulders, looked at Xeno with mock despair.

– I look like a school librarian whose soul aches with every breath.

– Wrong – said Xeno, tossing a shirt onto a nearby rack – you look like a librarian who secretly fled to Rome and now teaches decadent literature. Tragic, but cultured.

– That’s… not selling it.

– Well, neither is this store – Xeno huffed, turning toward the exit – let’s go before I have to witness you age ten years in real time.

And so they left. Stanley shrugged off his jacket as they stepped back into the mall’s echoing hallway, exhaling deeper than he meant to. Relief and panic fought in his chest — relief that he wouldn’t be forced into something soul-crushing, panic because he still hadn’t found it. The outfit. The one that would make him feel like he could stand beside Xeno in a room full of lights and whispers and own it.
They passed a few boutiques without really looking — until one, tucked quietly between a beauty store and a sushi bar, caught Xeno’s eye. There was no bold logo. Just frosted glass and dark displays. He stopped abruptly, squinting.

– Give me five minutes. Or no, just… come with me.

The store was small, but it felt like it belonged to a different world — the kind of place made for people who didn’t want to be seen, but still wanted to be remembered. The clothes didn’t crowd the racks, they breathed. Colours were deep, cuts were just a little unexpected. And in the far back corner, under a muted spotlight, it hung. The suit. Black, sharp at the shoulders, with a soft velvet sheen that didn’t shout — it spoke. Quietly. Confidently. Silver chains gleamed subtly at the lapel and belt — not punk, not loud, but like details from armor, like quiet defiance made elegant. Xeno stepped back, eyes steady, then turned to Stanley.

– Try it on.

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command — and somehow, Stanley didn’t want to resist. He paused for only a breath, then nodded slowly, like something inside him clicked. He took the suit from the display gently, like it was something precious. Something he maybe didn’t deserve — but wanted to.
When he came out of the fitting room — slow, fists clenched at his sides, nerves written in every careful step — Xeno didn’t joke. Didn’t say a word. He just looked. For a long, still moment. And the way he looked at Stanley — that’s what made his chest tighten.

– Well? – Stanley asked, trying to sound casual even though his voice cracked a little – who do I look like?

Xeno stepped forward, slowly, never breaking eye contact.

– Like someone it’s absolutely impossible not to fall in love with.

Xeno raised his hand and ran his fingers along the edge of the chain, then gently touched the lapel. His movements were slow, careful. Not to adjust anything. But to confirm — yes, this was Stanley. His. Exactly the way he was meant to be.

– This is your suit – he said softly – not because it’s black. Not because of the chains. But because in it… you’re fully yourself. Strong. Odd. Beautiful. The version of you, even you haven’t even admitted exists yet.

Stanley exhaled — not confidently, but with a strange kind of relief. Like someone had finally seen him not just as the boy always trying to hold it together, but as someone worth noticing, loving, dressing in black — and leading into the kind of night where people watch you walk in and think, that one.

Xeno was still standing close, studying the way the suit hung on Stanley’s frame, his gaze drifting from shoulders to chains, from lapel to the collarbones peeking out beneath the dark fabric. He looked oddly focused — like he wasn’t just seeing, but committing it all to memory, placing it in a private gallery in his mind titled this is how he looked — and I won’t forget. Then, with a subtle flick of his eyes, he glanced over his shoulder, scanning the store. At the counter, an employee was arguing with a girl about a return; the cashier was tapping the card reader; two teens were laughing by the accessories wall. No one was watching them.

– One second – Xeno whispered.

And before Stanley could ask what was happening, Xeno slipped into the fitting room behind him, grabbing the edge of the curtain and yanking it closed in one smooth motion.

– Hey – Stanley started – what are you…

– Shhh – Xeno pressed a finger lightly to his lips – urgent suit testing in progress.

– Testing what?

– Just making sure it holds up in situations where you really, really want to kiss your boyfriend in a dressing room.

Stanley leaned back slightly, surprised — but his lips were already twitching with a barely-contained smile.

– So this is scientific research now?

– I’m a strong believer in empirical methods – Xeno whispered, and then he leaned in, and the air between them was gone. His lips were warm, sure, but unhurried — like he was really testing the durability of the fabric, and maybe also the strength of Stanley’s heartbeat. It was slow, with pauses, with shared breaths between kisses, with that faint, amused smile playing at the corners of his mouth every time he felt Stanley’s breathing hitch.

The fabric rustled as Stanley pulled him closer, one hand slipping under Xeno’s sweater, the other curling around his back like it was the only thing tethering him to the world. Everything else faded — the store, the mall, the rest of the afternoon — until there was nothing but this narrow, half-lit space behind a curtain, the scent of new clothes, and the quiet hum of the outside world being gently shut out.

– Xeno… – Stanley breathed between kisses, like he was trying to stop but couldn’t quite commit to it.

– What? – Xeno murmured against his cheek – You look too damn good in this for me not to steal a few minutes.

– So this is what the suit was for. An excuse to break fitting room rules?

– I didn’t pick the rules. I picked you.

Later, when the curtain finally slid back into place and Xeno plopped back down on the store’s little bench looking perfectly innocent, Stanley stepped out — cheeks pink, hair tousled, eyes lit up like someone who had just tried on more than a suit. Someone who, maybe for the first time, got a taste of what it meant to be truly wanted.

When the suit was folded into a sharp, branded shopping bag and Stanley — still a little stunned by how everything had unfolded — paid at the counter, Xeno stood just beside him. A little too close. Just enough to feel intentional. His gaze never left Stanley, like he wasn’t looking at a person but at some kind of quiet miracle. His whole body radiated contentment — the half-lidded eyes, the hands in his pockets, the lazy way he rocked on his heels, as if holding back an overflow of joy by sheer muscle memory.

When they stepped out of the store, the mall had started to quiet, like the city itself had lowered its voice. The lights were softer now, shadows sliding underfoot, and in Stanley’s hands wasn’t just a suit — it was something he’d chosen. For a night that mattered. With the person who did too.

– So – said Xeno, stopping suddenly in the middle of the mall’s wide hallway – I have an urgent proposal.

– Let me guess – Stanley deadpanned, clutching the shopping bag – another fitting room mission?

– Close – Xeno grinned, leaning in just enough for his voice to drop a little – a celebratory dinner. And let’s call it our unofficial engagement, now that you’re officially my date to the ball. – He raised an eyebrow meaningfully. – My treat. No arguments.

– Not even a “we’ll split it”?

– Especially not. You’re a guest at my private festival now.

Stanley narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

– And what exactly are you picturing? Candles? Violins? A tuxedoed waiter?

Xeno laughed, bumped his shoulder gently.

– No, you beautiful romantic disaster. I’m thinking ramen. Hot, messy, with an egg, bean sprouts, and noodles you’ll try to eat with a fork while accidentally dripping spicy broth on your jeans.

– Ramen? – Stanley blinked – I… honestly, I’ve never had it.

Xeno’s grin widened, one eyebrow lifting like this was the greatest news of the day.

– Then this is basically a spiritual awakening. C’mon, suit boy — time to ruin your life with flavour.

Xeno froze for half a second. Then he rested a hand on Stanley’s shoulder, looking at him like a man who had just made a life-altering decision.

— Well then — he said solemnly — today you're losing your innocence. Culinary, obviously. You haven’t lived until you’ve eaten ramen on tired legs after a day of shopping.

— Convincing — Stanley smirked — Lead the way, oh wise enlightener.

— With pleasure. Just don’t whine if I end up eating half your bowl. You love me — that means sharing is part of the deal.

The ramen place they found was tucked away in a quiet corner of the food court, almost hidden from view. The neon sign flickered like a tired sun, and the smell inside was borderline magical — broth, ginger, fried garlic, ocean salt, and something else entirely, something so warm and deep it made Stanley’s stomach growl in anticipation. Inside, it was cozy and cramped — wooden tables, a few partitions, paper lanterns overhead, and soft music that felt like rain in headphones. They took a table by the window, away from the other diners, and Xeno grabbed the menu with the confidence of someone born with chopsticks in one hand and a soup spoon in the other.

— Get this one — he pointed — miso base, a bit of heat, rich broth, soft-boiled egg — perfect for rookies. And don’t worry, I’ll teach you to eat like a proper samurai.

— Right — Stanley snorted — except I’m more like a samurai who broke his sword and was told to fight using a spoon.

He ordered exactly what Xeno recommended… except he tapped the line just below it. It looked almost the same — but had a little red flame icon beside it. Stanley didn’t notice. Ten minutes later, their bowls arrived. His looked perfect — until he took the first bite.

Fire. Literal fire. In his mouth. His throat. His brain.

— …Holy shit — Stanley gasped, coughing, then hiccupping as he grabbed for water — Why is this… so freaking spicy?!
— Sweetie — Xeno cracked up — why’d you order “Taste of Hell” with triple pepper level? — He reached across the table — Gimme that. I’m saving you. Can’t have you choking to death before the dance.

He swapped their bowls like it was nothing, sliding his own toward Stanley. When Stanley took a careful sip of the new broth — softer, a little sweet — he exhaled in actual relief.

— Oh my God. Bless you and your ability to read fine print.

— I just saved your life. You’re officially in food debt now.

— That’s how this works?

— Absolutely. Every time I say “feed me,” you’re legally obligated.

— Fine — Stanley grinned — but only if you keep making that face you make when you're happy with your food.

And honestly, Xeno did look absurdly content, spinning noodles around his chopsticks like he was born doing it, pulling them up to his mouth in one smooth, practiced move. Meanwhile, Stanley… Stanley was struggling. He picked up his chopsticks. Looked at them. Grabbed a noodle. It flopped right back into the bowl. Tried again — the noodle slid away like an offended eel.

— You’ve gotta be kidding me — he muttered, cheeks going pink. Another attempt. Another fail.

Xeno watched him with the expression of someone trying very hard not to burst out laughing. But on the fourth miss, he lost it. Laughed loud, openly, setting his chopsticks down with a clatter.

— You’re like a baby eating spaghetti for the first time. Just in a slightly more formal setting.

— That’s it — Stanley sighed and reached for a fork — I give up. The East is mighty and wise, but I am a creature of spoon and fork. Judge me if you must.

— Judge you? — Xeno leaned forward with a wicked grin — I’m about to cry from how adorable this is. You’re eating ramen. With a fork.

— Sorry I’m not a ninja.

— You are my ninja. With your dumb fork and your blushing cheeks — he winked — Honestly, if you want, I’ll feed you with my chopsticks.

— Try it and I swear I’ll splash broth right into your eye.

They both cracked up — soft, honest laughter that melted into the steam rising from their bowls. And then they just ate — one with chopsticks, the other with a fork, hunched over their ramen, the scent of warmth and home curling in the air. Outside, the sky dimmed into dusk, the mall shifting into its evening rhythm, but inside their little corner, everything felt simple.

They rode the train back side by side, in near silence, leaning into each other. Some mellow indie track still hummed faintly in their shared earbuds, blending with the rhythmic clatter of the tracks below. Xeno had insisted they head to his place — he said it casually, almost offhand, but in a way that made Stanley feel like he’d never even had the option of saying no.

— It’s late anyway — Xeno murmured, eyes tracing the neon-lit buildings passing outside the train window — and I’ve got a warm blanket, leftover pie, and complete silence. You’re staying, right?

Stanley just nodded — trying not to smile too wide.

— Have I ever said no to warm pie and… your voice in the background?

— Hah — Xeno snorted — Keep talking like that and I’m keeping the blanket for myself.

— Okay, I’ll be quiet — just get me home safe and in one piece.

— Already on it — he said simply.

When the train pulled into the nearly empty platform and they stepped off into the cold, the walk to Xeno’s house took less than ten minutes. The street was lit by the occasional lamppost, lawns dusted with snow, the bare trees cutting long shadows through the dark.

Xeno unlocked the door, and they stepped inside. The house was quiet — not empty-quiet, but warm-quiet. Somewhere, a clock ticked. The air smelled like apples and old books. The room held that same hush that only came late in the evening — when the streets were asleep, and even the wind outside sounded like a lullaby. The lamp was dim, as if it too had grown tired. The air carried a hint of laundry and the cocoa they never quite finished. Under the blanket, it was warm — not from heat, but from the body beside him.

Xeno lay on his side, arms around Stanley’s waist, his forehead resting against Stanley’s chest. His fingers moved in slow, almost thoughtless circles over the soft fabric of his shirt, brushing the edge sometimes, like they weren’t ready to let go. Stanley was curled into him, one arm around his back, the other resting on his chest, feeling the steady, calm thump of his heart beneath his palm.

— The dance is tomorrow — Stanley murmured, eyes fixed on Xeno’s pale silhouette in the low light. — Can’t believe how fast time flew.

— I still can’t believe you showed up with a strawberry bouquet and a love note — Xeno replied with a lazy grin — You sure you don’t have a secret life as a romance novel lead?

— My secret life… is just me really wanting to dance with you — Stanley whispered, pressing his forehead softly to Xeno’s — And letting everyone see that you’re mine.

Xeno didn’t answer right away. He just pulled him closer, tight enough that they were chest to chest, legs tangled under the blanket, breathing in sync.

— You think people will stare? — he asked quietly.

— Let them — Stanley mumbled into his hair — Let them choke on it. You’ll be the best-looking person at that dance. Well, after me, of course.

— Arrogant little thing — Xeno chuckled.

— And you love that about me — Stanley murmured, soft and half-asleep.

They didn’t talk after that. They just held each other closer. Body warmth, cotton against skin, the steady rhythm of breath that occasionally shook with a laugh — it was enough to make the anxiety of tomorrow melt away. Whatever happened, they’d be there together.

The day before the dance was... chaos. Not just busy — loud, relentless, electric. The school buzzed like a hive: people finishing homework at lightning speed, whispering and shouting about who was going with who, others scrambling last-minute to find dates so they wouldn’t end up on the unofficial "sad loner list" the hallways loved to gossip about. The stairs, the lockers, the cafeteria — it all felt like the lead-up to a movie scene, as if something huge was coming and the whole building could feel it. But more than anything, people were whispering about the crown.

— So, who’s gonna win it? — echoed in every hallway.

— Definitely Luna — someone groaned in the bathroom mirror — She’s already acting like they’re handing it to her on a gold plate.

— Did you hear? Whoever wins gets to pick the final dance song — like, full-on movie moment.

That particular rumour flew around school like wildfire.

Luna herself already floated through the halls like she was wrapped in invisible glitter. Not in a dress yet, of course — but her walk said everything. Chin high, glossed lips, laughter tuned just loud enough to draw attention. She flirted by the lockers, exchanged flirty small talk with a teacher who clearly melted a little, and eventually strutted past the classroom where Stanley, Xeno, and Maya were sitting by the windows.

— God, it’s like the crown’s already in her purse — Xeno muttered, looking up from his book. He was in his usual hoodie, the hood messily tucked back, hair a little wild, eyes squinting with that look of pure judgment — She’s walking around like the universe owes her something.

That’s when Maya dropped into the seat beside them, tray in hand, smiling wide like she’d just had five cups of coffee.

— Alright, guys — she chirped — Who are we voting for?

— Anyone but Luna — Xeno snapped — Honestly, I think Stanley’s got a shot. Right?

Stanley, sitting a little sideways with his backpack still on his knees, blinked up at them, one brow raised.

— Me? Uh — no. Absolutely not. That’s... not my thing. I’m not trying to—

— Too late. Decision made — Maya grinned, slamming her tray down with dramatic flair — We’re voting for Stanley. I already know like five people who’ll vote if I ask. And then we’ll pick a song — maybe some Katy Perry track, just to make everyone cry from jealousy over how romantic you two are.

— You don’t have to bother — Brody cut in, sliding onto the desk nearby — The crown’s already going to our Lunar Princess. Although... — he tilted his head toward Stanley with a teasing smirk — You’ve got that accidental royal face. Could work in your favour.

Xeno shot him a sideways look — sharp and fast, like the tip of a blade. He wasn’t exactly jealous, but Brody still rubbed him the wrong way. People who flirted too smoothly were never to be trusted.

— Don’t be a clown — Xeno muttered.

Brody shrugged.

— Just saying.

— Better get ready to be crowned, Stanley — Maya said with a grin, looking at him like he was the clear frontrunner in their own private ballot.

Stanley groaned and pressed a hand over his face, dragging his fingers down like he was physically holding back a scream.

— God. Please let that not happen.

— And if it does? — Xeno asked, his eyes narrowed, watching him like he already knew the answer — What then? You gonna Cinderella your way off the stage?

— More like combust from shame right there under the spotlight.

— Then I’ll catch you — Xeno said, completely deadpan, and Maya and Brody rolled their eyes in perfect sync.

But even if it sounded like a joke, there was something quiet and steady in Xeno’s voice — like no matter where Stanley ended up, under stage lights or at the centre of the crowd, he’d never be standing there alone.

They were sitting on the floor by the bed — surrounded by jacket covers, the garment bag with Stanley’s suit inside, and a half-unpacked box of accessories. It looked like a beautiful kind of chaos before something big. The lamp cast a soft amber glow. Music played low from the speaker. The room breathed with the slow anticipation of a night they’d been dreaming of for weeks.

Xeno sat quietly, watching Stanley.

The way he leaned against the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone with absent fingers. The way his hair fell across his forehead. The way his eyes drifted in and out of focus like his mind was somewhere else. And then — Xeno tilted his head slightly, voice soft, almost hesitant.

— Hey... can I do your makeup tonight?

Stanley looked up, raising an eyebrow.

— Random. You trying to polish me up for the big event?

Xeno smirked, resting his chin on his hand.

— Just… feeling nostalgic. I want to paint your face again. Quietly. For no reason. Just you, with a little of me written on your skin.

Stanley huffed a quiet laugh and set the phone down.

— With lines like that? How could I say no? Get the kit, darling — just don’t go overboard.

— Zero promises — Xeno said, already moving to clear space on the desk — Sit here. Lighting’s better.

Stanley settled into the chair by the mirror. Xeno didn’t start right away — he just looked. Studied. Like every line, every angle was both familiar and brand new. His fingers were warm when they touched his face — soft at first, almost asking permission, then growing more confident as he swept a brush across his cheekbone.

— You’re too good-looking. It’s honestly kind of rude — Xeno murmured.

— Wow. That impressed, huh? — Stanley grinned, trying not to move.

— Don’t flatter yourself — Xeno rolled his eyes — I just respect quality materials.

The shadows built slowly, warm tones laid in soft layers across his eyelids. Xeno blended with the edge of his thumb, like he was sculpting instead of painting. His breath brushed Stanley’s cheek with every movement. When he leaned in to fix the corner of his eye, their faces were so close they almost touched.

— Don’t breathe — Xeno whispered.

— Already not breathing — Stanley replied, just as low.

The makeup wasn’t loud. It was subtle. Warm glimmer across his lids, a hint of definition to his lashes, a flicker of light in the corner of his eyes, and a whisper of color at his lips. It didn’t turn Stanley into someone else — it made him look more like himself. Like the version Xeno saw every time he stared too long. When he finally set the brush down, Xeno stepped back and smiled — not wide, but satisfied.

— Done. You can look now.

— I already feel dangerous — Stanley said, not even glancing at the mirror, his eyes on Xeno instead — But tell me the truth — was this about the makeup or just an excuse to touch my face?

Xeno stepped forward, hooked a finger gently under his chin, leaned in close and whispered with that wicked edge:

— Are you complaining?

Stanley didn’t get the chance to answer — their lips met before he could even think. And the kiss wasn’t rushed — it was light, warm, tinged with the kind of shiver that only comes when the night hasn’t even started yet.

Xeno finished the eyes — sunset shades blended perfectly, like he'd caught a little bit of dusk and smeared it across Stanley’s lashes. He sat back, fingers still resting lightly on Stanley’s jaw, gaze thoughtful, like he was memorizing something important. Not just a face — a feeling.

— Just one last thing — he murmured, pulling out a tube of deep red lipstick. The colour was rich, dark, like wine and crushed berries and maybe a little bit of sin.

Stanley parted his lips without a word — obedient, curious. Xeno leaned in again, dragging the colour across his lower lip slowly, carefully, like the act itself was sacred. Then the upper one, adjusting with his finger, smoothing the edge. It would’ve been perfect — if Stanley hadn’t leaned in and kissed him right in the middle of it. Quick. Soft. But it left a mark. Xeno froze, narrowed his eyes, and pulled back just enough to glare at him.

— You just smudged it.

— I knew what I was doing — Stanley grinned lazily — But I couldn’t not kiss you. You were right there.

— You’re a menace — Xeno sighed, but his voice was all fondness — Sit still. I’m fixing it.

He reapplied the lipstick — gentle, precise — already knowing it wouldn’t last. Because those lips would find him again. And they did. A moment later, Stanley leaned in again, this time not to smudge but to kiss his cheek. Then the other. Then the corner of his mouth. Then his chin. He kissed Xeno in small, steady touches — not hurried, not hungry. Just soft. Certain. Like it was second nature.
Like loving him was the easiest thing in the world.

— You… — Xeno exhaled, leaning back as Stanley kept going — a kiss to the temple, another to the forehead, then one along his jawline.

— I’m just expressing love the only way I know how — Stanley whispered, lips hovering barely a breath from Xeno’s. — If I’m the artist, then I only paint in one shade — my lipstick.

Xeno let out a low, breathy laugh. He glanced at the mirror beside them — there were at least five smudged lipstick prints on his face already. His cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, even his neck. He looked like someone who’d barely survived a very romantic photo shoot in red tones.

— Jesus. I look like a victim of a passion-themed editorial — he muttered, rubbing at one of the prints with his finger. — And you’ve already ruined the whole thing. Again.

— Guess that means it’s time for a touch-up? — Stanley offered with a smug grin.

Xeno shook his head, already popping open the lipstick tube for the third time.

— You’re gonna be the death of me.

— That’s the plan — Stanley winked.

And again — the colour settled onto his lips. And again — the touch. And again — the kisses. As if they didn’t speak in words anymore, only pauses between breaths and the constant rhythm of their mouths finding each other. By the time they finally collapsed side by side, Stanley with his lipstick half-smeared across his grin and Xeno covered in crimson memories, they were completely content. Exhausted, maybe. But completely, utterly in love.

Steam curled through the bathroom as Xeno splashed cool water into his palms and leaned over the sink. He washed his face slowly — deliberately — like he was rinsing away not just the lipstick stains but the leftover tension of the past week. Red marks slid from his cheekbones, chin, temples, dissolving into the water like they’d never been there at all — but the softness in his expression remained, a quiet smile still flickering in his eyes as he met his own reflection. A little tired. A little dishevelled. But somehow, for once, genuinely handsome in his own gaze.

Back in the bedroom, Stanley held the lipstick between his fingers. He twisted it open carefully, glanced at the small mirror on the dresser, and dragged the colour across his lips — slow, intentional. The red settled back where it belonged — rich, bold. It looked a little reckless on him. But not out of place. Like maybe this colour was always his, equal parts defiance and tenderness.

When Xeno stepped out of the bathroom — dark shirt on, sleeves pushed to his elbows, hair still damp and darker from the water — he stopped dead in the doorway. Stanley was standing there. Fully dressed in his new black suit with the thin chain details, lips glowing with that deep red that cut through the low light like a slash of art on a monochrome canvas. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame the cowlick that refused to behave — and in that moment, something shifted.

Xeno froze. Their eyes locked. And the room, somehow, went quiet. Even the music from the phone in the corner paused or seemed to. There was only breath. Only the shape of them in this silence. Xeno — with droplets still clinging to his collarbone, a smile forming like it didn’t need to be invited. Stanley — composed but glowing, his eyes reflecting something close to disbelief. Not because he didn’t feel it. But because the moment was almost too perfect to believe.

— You... — Xeno started, but didn’t finish. He just stepped closer. Close enough that their breath could mix. — How do you even exist?

Stanley dropped his gaze, smiled just a little.

— I could ask you the same thing.

Xeno lifted a hand and brushed his fingers along Stanley’s lower lip — gentle, reverent, careful not to smudge what he’d just redrawn. The lipstick was flawless again. And this time — he didn’t kiss it. He just looked.

— Shall we? — Stanley whispered.

Xeno nodded. And just like that, they turned to the door — not breaking eye contact, not needing words. Two silhouettes in the low glow, beautiful in different ways. One with eyes full of light, the other with lips carrying love like a poem.

The dance was already loud. Inside the gym — now barely recognizable, transformed by fairy lights, streamers, and disco balls — the air was thick with heat, perfume, and anticipation. Light shimmered against the ceiling like reflected water. Music pulsed — rising and falling like breath. Girls twirled in dresses like shards of stained glass. Guys fidgeted in too-tight jackets and borrowed ties, gathering in awkward clusters, laughing too loud, whispering in corners.

When Xeno and Stanley entered, no one looked right away. But then — heads began to turn. Slowly. Like the air had changed density.

Xeno walked just a step behind — out of habit, maybe — but there was no hesitation in his stride. His hair still looked a little mussed, like he didn’t care. Warm shadow still clung to his eyelids, subtle but magnetic. And Stanley’s lips — that bold red shimmer — were like a dare. His suit, dark with chain details that caught the light, hugged his shoulders like a second skin. And when he glanced back at Xeno and held out a hand — like it was the most natural thing in the world — Xeno took it.

They walked through the crowd like the music was written for their steps. No one said anything. Not out loud. The people who’d once laughed — now just glanced at each other, unsure how to process a confidence they’d never possessed.

— Punch? — Stanley asked, leaning in close to Xeno’s ear over the music.

— Only if it’s not from that cursed bowl with the floating oranges from 1997.

— Too late. I scooped it from there just for you — Stanley grinned, offering one of two plastic cups, fizzy pink liquid bubbling inside.

They clinked cups. The sound was light, ridiculous. Stanley took a sip and grimaced.

— Tastes like a dollhouse having an emotional breakdown.

— But with a kick — Xeno smirked, sipping his. — Honestly? Not bad.

The DJ flipped tracks — something more upbeat surged through the gym. People started forming loose dance circles, shuffling toward the middle of the floor. But Stanley had already grabbed Xeno’s hand.

— Come on.

— Where?

— Pictures. I want to remember this. I want you like this — in this light, in this night — on film. Just in case you run off with someone from the chess team.

— Only if they offer cake — Xeno said, letting himself be pulled toward the photo setup.

In the far corner of the gym, under an arch overloaded with fairy lights and crumpled paper stars, a bored photographer scrolled through his phone. When Xeno and Stanley stepped up — he sat straighter.

— You two together?

— Very — Stanley said, slipping his arm around Xeno’s waist, angling him toward the lens.

— Look at me like you love me — he whispered.

Xeno looked. He didn’t need to fake it. And just as the corners of his mouth curled — the flash went off.

— Done — said the photographer.

— Wait, not yet — said Stanley, pressing his cheek gently to Xeno’s temple. — Now.

Click.

— And another. Just… in case.

Click.

The photos were all different — but each one was real. In some, they were laughing. In some, looking right at each other. But one stood out — Xeno’s lips slightly parted, eyes warm and soft, and Stanley’s subtle half-smile like he was looking straight at the entire world and calling it his. Stanley was already turning to pull Xeno away from the photo zone when a familiar voice rang out behind them:

— Oh no you don’t! You’re not escaping with your fairytale romance without me crashing your balcony scene!

Maya stormed toward them like a glittering meteor, silver dress catching every light, slightly breathless with her phone in one hand and a half-empty cup of punch in the other. Her eyes sparkled — with the lights, with the buzz, and definitely with two full servings of spiked fruit juice.

— What, you thought I’d miss my chance to be framed against your cinematic backdrop? — she said, already wedging herself between Xeno and Stanley. — I’ve got makeup on. I have to be in the shot.

— Maya… — Stanley groaned, but he didn’t push her away. She was already wrapping an arm around his shoulders and flashing a lip-popped smile toward the camera.

— Brody! — she called over her shoulder. — Stop lurking and get over here. I need someone to balance the sass levels on the other side!

Out of the crowd came Brody — slightly awkward in his rolled-up shirt sleeves, carrying the vibe of someone who’d been lured to this dance under the false promise of pizza.

— Seriously? — he asked, eyeing the trio. — I’m just here so the group doesn’t tilt from all the sarcasm?

— You’re here for symmetry, darling. We’re too perfect without you — Maya smacked his shoulder playfully. — Stand right there. Don’t breathe. Smile. Or at least fake that you aren’t dead inside.

Xeno and Stanley exchanged a look — the kind that said, “we didn’t plan this but, sure, why not” — and both burst into quiet laughter. Stanley slipped an arm behind Maya, tugging her a little closer. Xeno shifted slightly toward Brody.

— Okay, on three. One… two…

— Wait! — Maya squeaked. — I wanna be on the left! My left side is my good side!

— Who said you even have a side? — Brody snorted.

— Every girl has a side! You just don’t notice because you think everyone’s only got a back!

The photographer sighed but waited patiently until they shuffled into place, and finally — when everyone had frozen, more or less — he snapped the shot. The frame was a little messy: Stanley half-blinking, caught off guard by the flash, Xeno with the softest smile, Maya glowing like she just won Prom Queen, and Brody staring deadpan at the lens like he had no clue how this became his life.

— Perfect! — Maya beamed, checking the preview. — Drama, friendship, fashion… and just the right hint of existential fatigue. Gorgeous.

Stanley laughed, pulling Xeno gently by the hand, and finally they stepped out of the frame — leaving behind not just a photo, but a piece of the night. One that would stay, even after the music faded.

When the flurry of camera flashes dimmed and Maya and Brody got caught up arguing about the best angle for their next masterpiece, Stanley slid his hand along Xeno’s wrist and gave a small, silent tug — no words needed. Just a glance, just a pull. Like the whole world had shrunk down to one thing: closeness.

— Where are you taking me? — Xeno whispered, obediently following, already smiling
.
— Somewhere you won’t be distracted by anyone’s lipstick but mine — Stanley smirked without turning back.

They stepped into the centre of the gym — into the swirl of soft, slow-dancing couples. The lights dimmed just enough, the DJ easing into something hazy and drawn-out, like even the music had slowed down to let them breathe.

Stanley turned to him, took his hand, and then — so gently — placed his other on Xeno’s waist. Xeno inhaled, a little surprised, but he didn’t pull away. He let his hands settle on Stanley’s shoulders, their eyes meeting — and everything around them fell silent. The rest of the world retreated, like a stage light dimming on the crowd and focusing on just them.

And then they moved.

Not like trained dancers. Not like boys worried about how it looked. But like people who already knew the shape of each other in the dark. They turned slowly, almost without moving — each shift of weight, each sway, just for them. Chest to chest. Forehead to forehead. A quiet conversation of limbs and breath, where language wasn’t needed.

The song faded into the background of their heartbeat. The overhead lights flickered like stars. And in that warm glow, Stanley watched the way Xeno’s lashes caught the light, the way his lips parted slightly, and the way his cheeks flushed with something soft and unspoken.

— It’s weird — Xeno whispered. — We’re standing in a crowd of people… but it still feels like it’s just us.

— Because it is just us — Stanley murmured, pulling him closer. — The rest of it? Just background noise. But you… you’re everything.

They turned again. Slowly. Weightlessly. Stanley’s heart beat in rhythm with the music — or maybe the music bent to him. Xeno pressed his nose into the curve of Stanley’s neck, closed his eyes for a moment, and whispered:

— If the dance ended right now… it’d still be the best night of my life.

— It hasn’t even really started — Stanley said with a smile. — And I already don’t want it to end.

Another turn. Another breath. The rest of the gym blurred — the voices, the sparkle underfoot, the buzzing lights overhead. None of it mattered. Because in the hush of two bodies swaying, in fingers tracing slow circles against a back, in lips barely brushing a cheek, they found the one thing that mattered most.

Carlos sat above it all — not just above the gym floor, but somehow above everything that was unfolding. Perched at the lighting panel, arms draped over the control board, he watched with the expression of someone who’d long since stopped believing in the emotions he could so easily read in others. He was alone, as expected — no date, no glittering outfit, just a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up and that tired, half-sardonic look in his eyes, like he’d already seen every kind of heartbreak this place could offer.

Around him, indicator lights blinked gently, wires hummed, and under his fingers sat the levers that could pull someone out of darkness — could spotlight them like a stage, like a window display, like a confession. And then his gaze caught on a pair down below — caught on them.

Stanley and Xeno were standing near the dance floor, just off to the side. They weren’t spinning in dizzy circles or showing off in some rehearsed choreography like the others — they were just… moving. Slowly. Softly. Like the world outside them was on mute, like this whole night was happening behind glass.

Carlos went still. There was something about them—something he hated with such a passion he couldn’t even describe. He turned the projector right into them wanting everyone to see what Stanley really is and who he spends all of his time with.

The spotlight bloomed instantly — bright but soft, warm like dusk — and cut through the glitter of fairy lights and mirror-ball shimmer. It landed directly on them. And in that moment, it didn’t feel like a spotlight. It felt like the light had chosen them.

Around the room, the din of conversation and the shuffle of shoes stuttered. People stopped mid-laugh, mid-sentence. Heads turned — first a few, then the rest — until the whole gym was facing the same direction.

Xeno felt it first. Like a shift in air pressure. Like a whisper turning into a roar. His eyes widened. He took a step back, shoulders tensing, breath hitching. Not in fear exactly — more like déjà vu. His mind flooded with all the times people had stared before — not with wonder, but with judgment. With laughter. With knives. His gaze darted. And then Stanley caught his hand. Steady. Gentle. Unshakable. He looked at him — and in his eyes, Xeno saw it: the kind of gaze that doesn't let you drown. That says, I’m still here.

— Stan… — Xeno breathed, voice like a string pulled tight between panic and hope. — They’re… they’re all looking…

And in that voice lived every hallway whisper. Every too-loud joke. Every moment he’d ever flinched. And still — buried in it — a question: Are we really doing this? Stanley’s smile was small — not smug, not nervous. Just calm. Like a step taken with both feet on the ground.

— Let them, — he said.

And before Xeno could protest, joke it off, retreat behind armour, Stanley reached for him. One hand at his waist, the other at his cheek, and then he kissed him. Not secretly. Not halfway. Not as an if-I-could.

He kissed him like the whole night had been written for this exact moment. He kissed him like someone who’d decided, once and for all, that love isn’t something to be hidden.

The room exhaled. Someone gasped. A few whispered. Phones came out. A handful turned away. Others didn’t move at all. But Stanley held him. And Xeno — Xeno didn’t pull away. He kissed back.
Not because he had to. Not because it was expected. But because for the first time in a long time — maybe ever — he didn’t care. He was tired of being afraid. Tired of performing. He just was. And he was with the person he’d chosen.

When their lips finally parted, Xeno stood still — chest rising fast, cheeks flushed, eyes still lost in the blur of everything — but there wasn’t a flicker of doubt in him anymore.

— You… — he started, but didn’t finish.

— I know, — said Stanley. — And I still do.

Xeno hadn’t fully come down from it — his breath uneven, his fingers trembling slightly from the adrenaline, from the kiss, from the shameless joy that now dared to exist — but Stanley, as if reading that unspoken question in his pupils, didn’t give fear a chance to slither back in. He leaned in again. This time slower. With that same quiet defiance, like he knew: yes, they’re watching, yes, they’re whispering — but if he wanted to kiss his boyfriend right now, he would. And he did. This kiss wasn’t about making a point. It wasn’t rebellion. It was declaration. It wasn’t fire — it was heat. The kind that stays. The kind that tells you, you’re safe here.

He held Xeno by the waist like nothing else in the room mattered, like no one else in the room existed. And Xeno let him. He parted his lips — let him in, let him claim the moment, let his own body answer back: Yes. I’m yours.

The air between them was tight as a pulled string. Stanley didn’t let go right away — his eyes still held the gaze, his hand still rested against Xeno’s cheek, one finger trailing along the edge of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips, wiping away the lipstick but leaving behind something heavier — the echo of being claimed. And then he spoke — low, a little rough, like the words had to climb their way back through the haze of a kiss.

— You look too good in this light. Like someone painted you. Like I can't breathe right when you’re this close.

He closed his eyes for just a second, inhaled deep — the kind of breath someone takes when they're about to lose balance and need to anchor themselves on anything they can.

— I need to breathe. Just for a second. Step out. Catch some air. Maybe smoke one — I don’t know. My head’s spinning and it’s not from the punch. You — he gave a breathless little smile — you’re like my own personal earthquake.

Xeno almost stepped toward him — an automatic gesture, like saying “then I’ll go with you” — but Stanley reached out gently, stopped him with a hand to his arm, a soft shake of his head and a crooked grin full of warmth rather than distance.

— No. Go first. I’ll catch up. I just... — he bit his lip, searching for the words — I just want a few seconds to watch you from afar. Walking across this stupid auditorium like you own it. Like a future king who doesn’t have to look back, because he knows — I’m right behind him. I’m not disappearing. I’m not changing my mind. I’m just... following you.

Xeno froze for a beat. Something flickered in his eyes — not fear, not exactly, more like quiet awe at how the smallest things had started to matter so much. He nodded. Slowly. Just once. And without a word, he turned. Not for show, not with any kind of drama — just walked. Smooth, controlled, a little tense in the shoulders but steady in his pace. He knew this night belonged to them. And Stanley — Stanley would come. He always would.

The roof was cooler than inside — wind tracing across his cheekbones, catching in his hair, tugging at the lights strung along the railing. The night that had begun with so much noise now felt faded up here — quiet wrapped around the space like a blanket, and the lights from below only made the height more surreal.

Xeno stood at the ledge, back to the door. Music from the gym below thudded faintly, like underwater echoes. His palms pressed against the cool stone as if the chill might steady him, help settle the weight of everything he was feeling. The wind tugged at his shirt, straightened the creases in his pants. He closed his eyes. He waited.

The door opened almost soundlessly, but Xeno still turned — like he’d known all along who it would be. Stanley stepped into the night, lighter in one hand, a slim cigarette in the other. He moved slow, unhurried, not with swagger but with a kind of ease that belonged only to people who knew they were exactly where they were supposed to be. Xeno watched him come closer, silently, until Stanley was standing right beside him.

Click. A tiny spark, then gone. Smoke drifted upward — slow, lazy, curling into the night air. Stanley exhaled, deep and drawn-out, like letting go of everything that had pressed on him since the night began.

— You really picked the roof, huh, — he murmured, blowing smoke at the sky. — Guess some people really don’t change.

Xeno chuckled softly, still not looking at him.

— And you really showed up. Some people know exactly when not to talk.

They stood in silence after that. Just listening — the flutter of fairy lights in the wind, the distant murmur of lights flicking off in apartment windows. Then Xeno turned, slow, deliberate, eyes landing on Stanley with a quiet kind of softness that only comes from a long walk through doubt.

— Do you remember how it started? — he asked, voice low, almost lost to the wind. — When I first talked to you... right here?

Stanley smiled around the cigarette, not moving it from his mouth.

— I remember. You were impossible.

— I was efficient, — Xeno said, lazy grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. — Morally flexible, maybe. Just a little.

— You blackmailed me. Straight up. Said you’d tell the teacher about my smokes if I didn’t help you with that experiment of yours.

Xeno snorted.

— It wasn’t blackmail. It was... aggressive outreach. I just needed someone to help. And you seemed... different. Quiet. Arrogant. Kind of annoying. I thought, “this one might be interesting.” And turns out, I was right.

— Happy to be your science fair project, — Stanley muttered, not bitter, and stubbed his cigarette against the ledge. Smoke still clung to the air around him, soft and sour. His eyes lifted, caught Xeno’s for just a moment — brief, but warm. — Did you actually think anything would come of it?

— Honestly? — Xeno turned to face him more directly. — I thought you’d blow me off. Thought you’d say “fuck you” and walk away. But you didn’t. You sat down. You looked at me like you got it, even though you didn’t know a damn thing about me. And for the first time in a long time, I thought maybe... I wasn’t the only one built weird. Not the only one with wires where feelings should be.

Stanley moved a little closer. Their shoulders brushed — soft, easy. The sky above them was moonless, endless, and still, as if everything they needed was already here, in this height, in this quiet.

— You’re not weird, Xeno, — he said quietly.

They stood at the edge of the building, side by side, looking out over the city — soft and far away, glowing in neon and distant traffic. Wind snuck between them, tugging at jackets, lifting hair, brushing cold fingertips along their skin like someone invisible making sure they were still alive, still real.

Stanley looked down for a second, then slowly reached out — no words, no hesitation, just a gesture full of promise. His fingers found Xeno’s wrist, smoothed over the warm skin there, then laced with his hand — tight, gentle. Xeno didn’t move at first, just tilted his head slightly, looked down at their joined hands, then up at Stanley’s face. And in his eyes bloomed that rare, quiet smile — the one that only showed up when he felt safe. He didn’t say anything. Just squeezed his hand in return. Like saying, I’m here.

Stanley took another drag — casual, almost thoughtless — and turned his head to press a kiss to Xeno’s temple. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t meant to start anything — it was soft, almost weightless, but filled with something no clock could measure. Xeno, however, scrunched his nose the moment the smell of smoke hit him.

— Ugh. Again? — he muttered, stepping away with mock disgust. — You smell so bad.

Stanley smirked, narrowed his eyes slightly — and with that reckless, boyish defiance, he exhaled a slow stream of smoke right into Xeno’s face. Carefully, precisely, like it was some kind of weird romantic ritual. The smoke spun between them before the wind snatched it away — but not before Xeno recoiled with a noise that was half cough, half scandalized gasp, waving his hand like someone who’d just been personally betrayed by second-hand smoke.

— Are you out of your mind?! — Xeno yelped, stumbling back and batting the smoke away with one hand. — You just literally smoked me like a damn housecat on a windowsill!

Stanley burst out laughing — low and warm, that kind of wheeze-laugh that sounded like it was caught halfway between mischief and apology. He flicked the cigarette off the edge of the roof and lifted both hands in mock surrender.

— I’m sorry! I swear! It was just... reflex! I just thought it’d be like... I don’t know. A little smoke cloud between us. Romantic, kinda?

— Oh sure, romantic — Xeno scoffed, rolling his eyes. — An ashy veil between us, and then you drag me into it like some emotionally complex ashtray.

— I said I’m sorry, — Stanley grinned, stepping closer again and slipping his arm around Xeno’s waist. — Come on, isn’t there something kinda beautiful about ruining the moment with my terrible nicotine habits?

Xeno tried to keep sulking — really, he did — maybe even opened his mouth to fire something back, but he couldn’t hold it. A grin cracked through. Then a laugh, soft and sharp, biting his lower lip before resting his head against Stanley’s chest.

— Even your smoke’s easier to breathe, — he muttered. — But if you ever try to romanticize ash again, I swear I’ll throw a hairpin at your face.

— Deal, — Stanley whispered, kissing his hair.

They walked back slowly, like there was no rush to return to the light and noise, to the punch bowls and awkward photos and strobe lights that felt too sharp after the softness of the rooftop. The stone stairs creaked beneath their shoes, the railing was cool beneath their fingers, but there was still a quiet pulse of warmth in both of them — from the words, from the touch, from the simple, glowing fact that someone was walking beside you, someone you trusted enough to share even silence with.

Just as they neared the door leading back into the gym, the muffled thump of music returning to their ears, Xeno stopped. He turned suddenly, caught Stanley’s wrist — and without a word, tugged him into a dark little corner beside a janitor’s closet, a place swallowed in shadow where no one could see them, where the light barely reached, and time felt like it stalled just for them.

Before Stanley could ask anything, Xeno pressed him gently against the wall, stepped in so close their hips touched, their breath tangled, and the air between them tightened like a wire pulled too far. His hands framed Stanley’s face, and he kissed him — not tentative, not careful, but starved. It wasn’t a kiss of greeting or confession — it was possession. A kiss that said, you’re mine, and I need to feel it down to the bone.

— You taste like cigarettes, — Xeno muttered between kisses, his voice edged with annoyed affection, like it didn’t sit right with him but he couldn’t stop wanting it either. — And if you keep kissing me like that, Stanley... I swear I’m gonna get addicted to you and the damn tobacco. Do you realize how unfair that is?

Stanley tried to speak, but Xeno was already back on him — deeper, rougher, as if he could carve the flavour of him into memory, into muscle, into the tremble in his breath. His fingers slid down along Stanley’s jaw, over his neck, to his collarbone just beneath the open button of his shirt. He didn’t pull him in — he held. As if the moment might be stolen, and he needed to hold it still with both hands.

— You’re such a menace, — Xeno whispered, not quite pulling away, his lips barely a breath away. — You know I don’t wanna go back in there, right? I wanna stay in this stupid closet and kiss you until I forget my own name.

— I wouldn’t mind, — Stanley rasped, head tipped back slightly, arms locked around Xeno’s waist. — But like... wouldn’t it be weird if we got announced as “missing in the janitor’s storage” right before the whole king-or-queen thing?

Xeno laughed, nose brushing his cheek, still not letting go.

— Okay, fine. But promise me something. If either of us gets crowned tonight, I hope that crown’s kiss-compatible.

— Otherwise, — Stanley murmured back, — I’m taking it off. And putting it on you. Because, corny as it sounds... you’re already my king anyway.

Xeno didn’t say anything. Just smiled — that quiet, dangerously soft kind of smile — and for one more second, they stayed there, breathing each other in before stepping reluctantly back into the noise.

When they returned to the gym, the light felt even brighter, the music even louder, and the crowd even more alive — but in their eyes was something calmer. That low, glowing kind of peace that only comes after a moment you weren’t supposed to get but stole anyway. Their hands stayed linked, but in a new way — casual, relaxed, like the thread between them had always been there.

The movement of the crowd swept them up instantly — people cheering, someone already dancing, the DJ playing something funk-infused with a bouncy rhythm. Stanley didn’t say a word, just turned to Xeno with a lifted brow and tugged him gently. Xeno rolled his eyes, but followed — willingly, a smirk tugging at his mouth and something soft flickering behind it.

They melted into the rhythm like it was theirs alone, like the whole gym was just a cardboard set and they were the only real thing in it. Xeno moved with that natural grace he always had — a little theatrical, a little cocky, but smooth like a song. And Stanley — stiff at first, then looser, easier with every spin. When Xeno caught his hand and twirled him, Stanley laughed — rough and honest, the kind of sound that only shows up when you’re genuinely, totally happy.

Somewhere nearby, Maya was dancing with Brody. Some freshmen were trying to mimic the older kids. Someone was filming it all. But none of that was the centre. The centre was this: the beat under their feet, the warmth under their skin, the way Xeno’s smile lit up his eyes when Stanley caught him off guard, and how Stanley looked at him like he was gravity itself.

Time slipped past them — the way it always does when you don’t want it to. And maybe that was the real magic: not the crowns, not the punch, not the flash photos. But how light everything suddenly felt when you’re dancing with someone who chooses you — again and again — and you choose them right back.

The crowd began to gather near the stage like it was the start of some high-fashion runway — girls in dresses that rustled like candy wrappers, guys in too-tight jackets nervously straightening their ties, someone taking selfies in front of the Christmas tree backdrop.

— I hope it’s me, — Charlotte hissed, not looking at anyone as she adjusted her curls with the confidence of someone who’d already tried the crown on in her head.

— Only if the vote counter was legally blind, — Luna scoffed, sipping her punch. Her dress sparkled aggressively — like it was fighting for the crown itself. — I am the face of the generation. I am the vibe. I am the legacy of this school.

— You’re a scandal in nail polish — said Maya coolly from a few feet away. — This week alone you fought with the chemistry teacher, your ex, and the principal. That’s too much drama even for Netflix.

Luna threw her a sharp look.

— Better than being just a lonely wallflower.

When the principal stepped up to the mic, the entire room tensed. Spines straightened. Someone held their breath. Even the fairy lights seemed to dim. The principal — tall, composed, with the kind of hairstyle no storm could ruffle — held a box. Inside it: the crown. Plastic, of course, but it glittered like it knew it mattered.

— Good evening, everyone — she began, her voice smooth, authoritative, practiced — and welcome to this year’s Winter Dance. I hope you're all enjoying the evening, the music, the magic — and staying off each other's toes.

A few polite laughs rippled through the crowd. She smiled — the kind of smile that knew exactly how much space it was allowed to take up.

— Now, I won’t keep you long — I know you’re all eager to get back to dancing and pretending final exams aren’t creeping up behind you like ghosts — but we have one very important tradition left for tonight.

She lifted the box slightly, and it caught the light. Inside: the crown.

— And now… — her voice rang out, crisp as a snapped bone. — By the vote of the student body… this year’s Winter Rule is…

The pause hung heavy. Like the whole room leaned forward in unison.

— …Xeno Houston Wingfield.

Silence. Awkward. Long. Freezing.

— What?! — Luna whipped around, her curls smacking Charlotte across the face.

— Whoa… Xeno just did that, — Charlotte whispered, nearly dropping her drink, before she started clapping — slow, deliberate.

Then someone else clapped. Then another. Then more. Applause began to swell, crashing like ocean waves. Someone whistled. Someone screamed YES! and whipped out their phone. But Xeno just stood there — frozen. A slow flush rising in his cheeks, his lips slightly parted.

— Is this… — his voice was barely a breath, like saying it out loud would snap the moment. — Is this a joke?

— It’s your night, Xeno, — Maya said gently, almost proudly. — Go. Before they change their mind.

— Or before Luna tackles the principal, — added Brody, frowning.

Xeno stepped forward. The first step — like leaving cover. The second — like crossing into another world. The air around him felt like it rippled, parting slowly like water around a boat. Faces turned, parted, shifted — as if obeying some unwritten rule of this new reality. Whispers fluttered. Hands clapped. Some just stared, speechless, unable to make sense of what was happening. But he felt their eyes — sharp as blades, hot as flames, constant as rain on glass. Still, he kept walking.

Each step felt like a quiet revolution. Heavy. Earned. His heart pounded somewhere in his throat, his breath uneven, his fingers trembling — not from fear, but from a strange, reverent kind of awe. This didn’t feel like a real moment. It felt like a dream someone else was having. Or maybe, finally, his own.

The stage, washed in spotlight white, had become the centre of the universe. The principal stood there waiting, box in hand, her smile soft, a little tired, like she too understood something important was happening. And when he climbed the steps and stood before her, the entire hall seemed to hold its breath — even the music seemed to fade.

In the crowd below, Maya — still clapping — slowly turned to Brody. Her cheeks glowed, not from the lights, not from the noise of the crowd, but from something quieter, more intimate — the feeling that she had just witnessed a moment that might change someone’s life. Maybe two.

— I can’t believe Xeno actually won, — she whispered, like saying it louder might break the spell. The smile on her lips wasn’t from surprise or excitement — it was pride. Real. Warm. Deep.

— Yeah, — Brody muttered, grimacing like he’d bitten into something sour. He raised one eyebrow and scoffed. — Who even voted for him?

The answer didn’t come from her. It didn’t rise from the crowd. It came from somewhere else — soft, casual, like sunlight slanting through a window at the end of the day. A voice that didn’t push, didn’t plead. Just was. Lazy-sounding, but so solid it might as well have been a vow. Tender, wrapped in boldness. Strength, hiding behind a smirk.

— I did, — said a voice behind them. — About a hundred and fifty times.

Maya turned first. Then Brody, slower, like he didn’t trust what he’d heard.

Stanley was standing near a column — half in shadow, tucked under the glow of tangled fairy lights, but his stare was a spotlight of its own. His black jacket looked carelessly thrown on, like he hadn’t checked a mirror. The white shirt beneath was unbuttoned at the collar, the fabric rumpled. A silver chain caught the light just enough to glint.

His hands were empty. He wasn’t clapping. He just stood there — watching. On his lips played that signature almost-smile of his — lazy, like the whole situation mildly amused him. But his eyes… his eyes were something else. No amusement. No detachment. Just knowledge. Quiet, absolute certainty. And he was looking at only one person — up on stage, where Xeno stood bathed in light, crowned, heart open like a snowflake melting in someone's palm. Maya narrowed her eyes at him.

— You’re… serious?

He nodded — barely. A small tilt of the head. Not really for her — just because he saw no point in pretending.

— You… hacked the voting system?

— Not exactly, — Stanley replied, his voice like honey in warm tea. — I just… convinced it to count me a few more times. Honestly, it was way too easy.

— And why would you even do all that? — Brody snapped, brows furrowed.

Stanley didn’t answer right away. His eyes didn’t move from the stage. It was like he hadn’t heard the question — or didn’t think it mattered. Then, after a pause, his voice came soft, almost like a secret:

— Because he needed to know what it feels like — to be chosen.

Up on stage... Xeno stood frozen, like any movement might break the spell. His heart pounded in his ears, his fingers shook, and he regretted not bringing gloves — his palms were slick with sweat. The spotlight was blinding. Music from below thudded like a wave crashing too far away to stop. And he… was here. Alone.

The principal opened the box. The crown — plastic, with fake gems — suddenly looked like gold. She lifted it in both hands, like it was sacred, and stepped toward him.

— Congratulations, Xeno, — she said, her smile gentle, encouraging.

He dipped his head just slightly, and she placed the crown onto his hair. He didn’t breathe. The warmth of her hands, the cool of the plastic, the sudden weight — it all felt symbolic. He slowly straightened.
Applause picked up again down below. Louder now. Rhythmic. Like it was holding him up, step by step, second by second.

Xeno’s lips trembled. He looked out into the crowd and still couldn’t believe it. He wasn’t hiding in the corner tonight. Wasn’t sitting in the dark watching someone else’s life. Tonight — he was in it. Centre stage. They were calling to him. Shouting things like — “You look good, Xeno!” and “King!” and “Dude, that’s insane!”

He laughed. Quietly, almost like a kid. The smile broke through like sunlight between clouds. He glanced across the crowd — caught a few faces, nodded at someone. But the one person he wanted to find… he couldn’t see him yet.

Below the stage, Stanley was still watching him. Calm. Steady. Wordless.

— You really… did that? — Maya whispered, not looking away from his face.

— Told you, — Stanley replied, the corner of his mouth lifting just a little. — And if I could’ve done it more, I would’ve. A thousand times. Until that crown landed right where it belongs.

Brody snorted — half laughing, half exasperated.

— You’re insane. A beautiful, lovesick idiot.

— Maybe, — Stanley shrugged. — But look at him. Tell me he isn’t worth it.

Up on stage, Xeno stepped toward the mic. His voice shook. But he didn’t back down.

— Um… thanks, — he said into the crowd. — I… I didn’t think… thank you to whoever… just… thank you for letting me feel this.

He lifted his eyes. And for one small moment — unsure who he was searching for — his gaze landed on him.

The room hushed when the DJ announced that the Winter Ball King had the right to choose the final song for the last dance. Heads turned. People whispered. Some already had their phones out — it was that moment where chaos gives way to something slower, softer, almost magical. Up on stage, standing in his slightly crooked crown, Xeno lifted the mic and, without lifting his gaze, said quietly:

— Good Looking Boy...

A wave of sound swept through the gym — somewhere between a collective ooh and the hush of curiosity.

— Dude, that’s a slow song, — someone muttered from the back.

— I don’t even have a date, — added another, but quieter, like he was admitting it to himself more than anyone else.

But some people smiled — slow, wide, knowing smiles. Couples drifted toward each other. Someone grabbed their friend’s wrist. Some just stood still, listening as the first few notes rolled through the room.

Xeno didn’t explain. He didn’t need to. He just stepped down from the stage — unhurried, steady — and within a few seconds, he was in front of Stanley. Soft light traced his cheekbones, danced across his fingers. He reached out — not dramatically, not like a scene from a movie, but with quiet openness. An invitation.

— Will you dance with me, my good looking boy? — he said, low enough that only one person could hear.

Stanley looked at him and smirked, lifting a hand to fix the tilt of the crown on Xeno’s head.

— Always, my king.

“Ides thrash inside, baby, I'm high octane...”

They stood facing each other, and Stanley’s fingers slipped gently to Xeno’s waist. Their bodies met in the quiet, in a stillness that erased everything else.

“Fever in a shock wave. My core vibrates in an opium haze...”

Xeno rested his hands on Stanley’s shoulders, and being this close, he could feel the heartbeat through fabric and skin. Their eyes met, and Xeno smiled — not wide, not polished, but real. A little shaky. Full of something too big to hide.

“Yet you think we're the same...”

They started to move. Slowly. Barely shifting. As if the entire gym vanished. They weren’t dancing for anyone else. They were dancing like the world was ending in a few minutes and all they had left was each other.

“The skyline falls as I try to make sense of it all...”

Stanley brushed a fingertip along Xeno’s cheek, like he was testing if he was real. Like he needed to touch something to believe it wouldn’t disappear.

“I thought I'd uncovered your secrets but, turns out, there's more...”

Xeno leaned in closer, forehead resting softly against Stanley’s temple. Their breath merged. Their fingers intertwined.

“You adored me before. Oh, my good-looking boy...”

Someone was filming them. Someone else was whispering. A few watched with envy. None of it mattered. They danced like they were alone in the world.

“Play casino halls on one of my eyeballs...”
Xeno pulled back slightly, just enough to look Stanley straight in the eyes — so directly it knocked the breath out of him.

“You stopped for breath and I sped up just to impress you...”

Stanley suddenly pulled him close again — and kissed him. Not for the room. Not for the title. Just because his chest couldn’t hold it anymore.

“The skyline falls as I try to make sense of it all...”

Xeno laughed — a soft, whispered laugh, right against Stanley’s lips. His hands slipped under the jacket, pressing into his back.

“You adored me before / Oh, my good looking boy...”

They kept dancing. Every movement was filled with a kind of tenderness that had long outgrown fragility — it had become certainty.

“You're not who you are to anyone, to anyone these days...”

Xeno leaned his forehead against Stanley’s cheek.

— If this is a dream… don’t wake me up, — he whispered.

“I'm not who I am to anyone these days, not at all...”

Stanley squeezed his hand tighter.

— It’s not a dream. It’s you. It’s us.

“Oh, my good looking boy...”

And as the final chord faded, and the song drifted into silence, they stood there in the center of the dance floor, still holding each other. Still — like the entire night had built itself around this one moment.

— Let’s get away from here, — said Xeno quietly, close to his ear.

— Let’s run, — Stanley answered.

They left in silence, shoulder to shoulder, walking into the crisp December night, every step crunching over frost that clung to the sidewalks. The city around them kept spinning — cars honked, streetlights blinked, someone laughed a block away, unaware that sometimes, all a person needs is silence. Silence, and someone walking next to them. Sometimes, the world between two people is deeper, more terrifying, and infinitely more beautiful than any lit-up street or buzzing ballroom.

The asphalt shimmered with melted snow, every breath escaping like steam — like the soul was leaving him in slow, ghostlike trails with every step. Stanley walked just ahead, like always. Steady. Like he knew the way — not just through streets, but through life. Like he wasn’t just leading himself, but unknowingly leading Xeno too. Or maybe knowingly. Maybe he knew he carried light with him.

Xeno fell a step behind, and inside him, a storm was building. Quiet but relentless — growing like a wave, gathering fragments of thoughts, memories, everything he’d kept buried for so long. It wasn’t nerves. It was something heavier. A confession. One that had been rising in his chest and was finally clawing its way out. He stopped.

— Stan...

His voice broke from his lips louder than intended. Cars thundered nearby, and for a moment, headlights lit them like a stage — a cold yellow flash slicing through the stillness of the night. Stanley turned. The wind tousled his hair, a strand falling across his forehead. He stopped too — like he sensed this wasn’t just a pause. It was something breaking open. He looked at Xeno — question in his eyes, but soft, that kind of still silence behind his gaze that only shows up when something really matters.

— You know... — Xeno started, stepping forward. His boots cracked over thin ice, the sound taut like nerves snapping beneath his feet. He glanced down, as if searching the pavement for meaning, then lifted his eyes — and in them was every fragile thing in the world, like he was holding the sky in his hands and afraid to drop it. — I never told you. Not really.

A pause.

— That I love you.

The wind held its breath, same as Stanley. Somewhere in the distance, a truck tore through the silence, its horn slicing the air, making the streetlamp above them shiver like even it couldn't handle the weight of the moment. Xeno didn’t move.

— You... — he exhaled hard, like he was ripping the fear out of the deepest part of his lungs — you make me believe that life... isn't as empty as I thought. That it’s not just a series of failures, not a locked-up room with blacked-out windows. Everything used to be grey. Even when I laughed, it felt like someone else’s voice in someone else’s body.

He stepped closer. His breath hit the cold like smoke.

— And then you came. First like an accident — a flicker of light, a tiny star someone dropped into my night. And since then... everything’s changed. I started seeing. Hearing. Feeling.

He shut his eyes for a second, like he needed to gather everything that was left of himself.

— I want to live, Stan. Not just survive. Not run from the days. But live. Wake up knowing you’re next to me. Fight, make up, brew you coffee, hear the way you grumble, or laugh under your breath when you think I’m asleep.

He opened his eyes — and in them, love was stripped bare, so raw it almost hurt to look at.

— I love you. Not for who you are. But just... because you became part of me. I don’t even know how it happened. But now — without you, I’m not me.

A few seconds passed — long as a lifetime — and they stood there in the winter hush, snow settling on their shoulders, their hair, their lashes, like the world was trying to purify this moment, to make it holy.

Stanley stared at Xeno, and something in him gave. Not broke — no. Unfolded. That part of him he’d hidden even from himself, that he’d armoured over again and again — it cracked open, not like a collapse, but like a door. And everything he’d held back finally moved forward — gently, surely, not to destroy, but to release.

He stepped closer, slow and careful, like he wasn’t walking toward a person, but toward a miracle he didn’t want to scare away. No air between them. No distance. Just their eyes — direct, unflinching, full of everything: fear, hope, and a desperate, tender kind of love. Stanley looked into that, into all of it, and finally understood — he didn’t want to keep pretending that being near was enough. He wanted it all. All of Xeno. Forever.

— I know, — he said finally, barely a whisper. — I’ve known from the beginning. I guess... I needed to hear it out loud, not with words, but with your heart.

He reached for Xeno’s hand and laced their fingers together — gently, reverently, like each one was part of a prayer.

— I already told you I love you — and you know that, — he went on, his smile soft and a little nervous — but... there’s something more important than just saying it. Saying I love you is the beginning. But I want to be with you for the rest. I want to fall asleep beside you in silence, when words don’t matter anymore. I want to see you wake up — messy, grumpy, and still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I want to wash your shirts, make your tea, get mad when you leave socks everywhere, and make up with kisses in front of the fridge. I don’t just want to love you — I want to live with you. Every day. Beside you. For a long time.

He breathed in, dropped his gaze for a second, then lifted it again, locking eyes.

— You’re scared of being too much. Of not being needed. But you don’t even realize how much you hold me together. Just knowing you exist makes everything feel a little less sharp. A little less cruel. A little less lonely.

He leaned in. Their foreheads touched. Their breaths mixed in the cold. Xeno didn’t flinch. He stayed still — not from fear, but because he felt held not just by hands, but by something much deeper.

— I don’t know what comes next. What tomorrow’s gonna be. But I know I don’t want it without you. Not because I need you to be whole. But because with you... I’m me.

He nudged the tip of his nose against Xeno’s, smile ghosting at the corners of his mouth.

— So yeah. Let’s live. Not just breathe. Let’s do all of it. Together.

Xeno leaned in, just slightly, as if there still might be one final unsaid word lingering between their lips. His gaze dropped — to Stanley’s mouth, soft, parted, warm with breath. And Stanley didn’t move. Didn’t pull back, didn’t blink. Just waited — breath caught, body still — ready to meet the moment like it was the only thing in the world that ever mattered. Xeno’s lips barely brushed his. Not a kiss, not really — just breath against breath. A thread between them. A whisper of love that didn’t need language. It was a promise. It was I’m here. It was we exist. And Stanley’s heart seemed to stop beating for half a second, unable to hold all that warmth inside him.

Somewhere down the road, trucks thundered by, trying their best to ruin it with their noise and hiding all the sounds in the dark.

Xeno suddenly flinched. Not from tenderness, not from embarrassment—something else, something far worse. His body jerked as if something inside him had snapped all at once. His face twisted. His brows drew together in a kind of desperate confusion, and the corners of his eyes began to tremble from a panic that was only just beginning to rise. He didn’t collapse right away—no, he just swayed a little, like the ground beneath his feet had suddenly gone soft, and in that strange, stretched-out moment, Stanley instinctively caught him by the waist, trying to hold him up, to pull him closer—like someone trying to hold on to a dream slipping through their fingers.

– Are you okay? – Stanley breathed, not realizing until the words left his mouth that his voice was already trembling with fear.

Xeno didn’t answer. His hand, moving as if in slow motion, came to rest on his own chest—right where, just a second ago, his heart had been beating, where sincerity had lived, and hope, and love. And under his palm, it felt warm. Too warm. Wrong.

Warm... and wet.

Stanley’s eyes dropped, and what he saw made the blood drain from his face. His own hand, still resting on Xeno’s chest, was covered in blood. Not a blotch. Not a drop. Blood. Thick. Dark. Hot. It was slowly soaking through the fabric of Xeno’s coat, spreading like a flower that was never meant to bloom in that place.

– Shit... – he choked out, stepping back half a pace before lunging forward again, catching him, refusing to let him fall. – Xeno… what is this? What happened?.. Hey… look at me, please, say something, anything…

Xeno looked at him. His eyes were wide, filled with terror—not for himself. No. For him. For them. His face was trembling like a leaf in a storm. And in that same second, Stanley turned—without even realizing he was moving.

Behind them, deep in the street’s shadows, shadows that looked as though they were spun from another world—a world where neither light nor conscience could reach—stood a man. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t hiding. He wasn’t shaking. He just stared. Straight ahead. Silent. Steady. As if he’d been waiting for this exact moment all along—not as some fluke, but as the end of a story already written. He didn’t hold the gun like a frightened criminal. He didn’t look like someone who had just committed something horrific. No. He stood like someone who believed he had the right to do it.

Father.

And in the moment Stanley understood who it was, something tore open inside him—like an old wound that had only ever been scabbed over, never healed. A flood of memories crashed through him, memories stored since childhood. A gaze that had never been warm. Hands that didn’t hold to protect, but to command. Words that didn’t teach, only crushed—like slabs of concrete. He remembered being ten and afraid of every small sound in the hallway. Remembered being fifteen and giving up on the idea that a parent’s love was something unconditional.

He feared him. Then hated him. Then feared him again. Then tried to forgive. Not because his father deserved it, but because Stanley wanted to break the cycle. Wanted to stop carrying it. Wanted not to be the heir of that darkness. But now—everything he’d run from stood right in front of him. In the flesh. In the shadows. Gun still warm in his hand.

The gun hung low, but Stanley could feel it—still hot. And that awareness, sharp and suffocating, burrowed deep into his skin, his mind, his soul. It wasn’t a threat. It had already happened. There was no anger on that face. No regret. No doubt. Only emptiness. Cold, horrifying, death-like emptiness. Like stone. Like a corpse. That stare held no fatherhood. Not even humanity. Just a warped, dead certainty that he had the right to take. To punish. To decide what was right and what was wrong. As if Xeno had been a mistake. As if his son’s love was a disease—something to be burned out with a bullet like mold.

Their eyes met, and that stare burned straight through Stanley. There was no recognition. No “son.” Only a challenge. A declaration: “see? I told that you will regret. I won anyway.” His temples pounded like his heart wanted to rip itself out. His chest tightened. His vision blurred with fury—not loud fury, but the kind that scorches everything, the kind born in the deepest dark. He wanted to run at him. Scream. Grab him. Strike. Tear him apart. Make him feel just a sliver of the pain he’d caused. But he didn’t get the chance.

The man stepped back—slow, almost lazy—and vanished into the dark. Melted into it, like karma you can’t outrun, like fear buried in your DNA, like evil that doesn’t die with one blow but hides in the corners of your mind until you learn to live with it. He left. Never looked back. Left behind nothing but silence and blood. As if he knew—he didn’t need to do anything else. He’d done enough. The blow was struck. The scar would remain.

Stanley lunged. Wanted to chase. Wanted to do something, anything. But at that exact moment, he felt fingers—thin, warm, trembling—clutching at his wrist.

He looked down.

Xeno. Still here. Still breathing. Still holding on—as if in that touch, in that one desperate grasp, there was a final thread tying him to life.

– No… – Xeno rasped. His voice cracked like it was being torn from the deepest part of him. – Don’t… leave me.

It wasn’t a plea. It was a prayer. Not to God. To him. To the one holding on. The one still here. The one who could still stay.

– It’s okay, do you hear me? – Stanley whispered, choking on panic. – You’re gonna be okay. I’m calling for… help. I… I’m here.

He fumbled for his phone, but his fingers wouldn’t obey—they shook so badly it was like they’d given up on reality altogether. Blood ran down his wrists, dark and thick, hot like betrayal. It smeared the screen, made it hard to press anything, the sensor barely recognizing his touch. Everything blurred—fingers, screams, breath, snow, terror. But somehow, he managed. He dialled. 911. His heart was pounding like it was trying to break through his chest and scream into the phone itself.

– Hello?! He’s… he’s hurt! Please! There’s blood—so much blood—he’s dying, please, someone come, now! – Stanley screamed, not even aware of himself anymore. His voice had no shape, no structure, just pure collapse—panic and sobbing and desperation all tangled together. He wasn’t speaking—he was begging, cursing, clinging to every second like it might be the last.

And Xeno, lying in his lap, was still breathing—but it was heavy, laboured, like each inhale came with a price. His lungs wheezed with every breath, like a broken accordion slowly letting go of its last notes. His eyelids kept slipping down, his eyes struggling to focus, and it felt like his body was no longer really his—just a shadow, just a shell. But he was fighting. He was still here.

– I’m scared… – he whispered, and his voice was thin, almost childlike. – I don’t want to die. Please… I’m so scared, Stan…

And in that one “Stan” there was everything. More than just a name. There was trust, and heartbreak, and love, and a plea, and helplessness. There was an entire world that didn’t want to let go. Stanley shook with him. He held him tighter, stroked his head, his shoulders, wrapped around him like his own arms could hold in Xeno’s soul, like he could keep him alive just by not letting go.

– I’m not letting you die! – he screamed, voice cracking as he tried to wipe away the blood, not even knowing why. – You can’t—do you hear me?! You just said you wanted to live! That you wanted to be with me! You promised, damn it! You can’t go… you can’t…

But Xeno was already somewhere in between. Between here and not-here. His lips had gone pale, his breathing was faint, barely there. He looked up at Stanley like he was staring from the bottom of some deep pit he was slowly slipping into—and in those eyes, those gray, beautiful, terrified eyes, there were tears. From pain. From fear. From love.

– If I… die… – he exhaled, each word cutting through him like glass – time will go and you’ll forget all that was. You’ll grow. You’ll change. Maybe… maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe it’ll make it easier for you…

He paused, just for a moment. Then smiled, weakly. Not from happiness. But so Stanley wouldn’t remember him like this—twisted in pain, pale and dying. So he’d remember him laughing. Kissing. Wrapped in a blanket in the basement. Loving.

– Promise me… – he whispered, lips barely moving – that you’ll live. Really live. That you’ll forget me. That you’ll make a life worth something. For me. For yourself. Just… promise.

Stanley couldn’t answer at first. All the words that usually came so easily—hundreds of them, thousands, ones he’d thought about a million times in silence—suddenly got stuck in his throat. Like they were too sacred. Too terrifying to say out loud. He just nodded. Roughly. Like maybe that one desperate movement could carry all the love, all the rage at the sky, all the burning grief that pulsed in him while he held Xeno in his arms, feeling life slip through his fingers like water. He was drowning—not in tears, but in terror. Not in panic, but in the purest kind of horror: the kind where the person you love more than anything might not live to see your “someday.”

He held him tightly, as if he could meld himself into flesh, into a cocoon—any kind of shell strong enough to stop the warmth from fading, to slow down death, to undo what had already been done. He ran his hands through Xeno’s hair, over his neck, pressed him closer, like he could pour life back into him through touch. And then the voice came back—hoarse, cracked, but full of that raw, human desperation that makes people impossibly alive.

– You’re not going to die, do you hear me? – he whispered, lips trembling, unable to hide the shaking in his voice. – You can’t. Because I won’t let you. Because we just got started. Because everything’s still ahead of us. I won’t let you go. Not now. Not ever.

He pressed his forehead to Xeno’s, to his temple, to his hand—like he was checking, over and over, that he was still here, still warm, still breathing, however shallow, right next to him.

– I won’t forget you, Xeno. Never. Even if you disappear, I’ll still remember—how you looked at me, how you drank hot chocolate in the corner of that café, how you held my hand like it was the safest place on earth. I’ll remember how you laughed. How you spoke. How you whispered my name. I’ll carry that inside me like a second heart. And if you now… if you…

He couldn’t finish. He choked on air like it was pain. His eyes blurred.

– But you won’t die. Because that’s not how this ends. Because life can’t be that cruel. Because we deserve a chance. Just one. Even one. It’ll be okay. It has to be okay… – he repeated, like a mantra – because if it’s not, then what’s the point of any of this? Why did you even come into my life if it was just to leave? I don’t believe in that story. I won’t accept that ending.

And then, far off, muffled like sound underwater, came sirens. At first—faint, like someone breathing through sleep. Then louder, closer, cutting through the night like a voice screaming into the void. It was the sound of another world. A world where things could still be undone. Where people showed up when you called. Where hands in latex gloves could hold tighter than his could now. Where there were IVs, and oxygen masks, and gurneys, and hospital hallways. It was the sound of hope—brutal and beautiful, like a beam of light breaking across the eyes of someone almost gone.

And the snow kept falling. Soft. Gentle. So fragile it barely felt real. It landed on their shoulders, in their hair, on their locked hands. It kissed their skin and melted—not from heat, but from fear. The snow mixed with blood, dissolved into it, streaking the sidewalk with red like brushstrokes on a white canvas. Red on white. Life on the edge. A heartbeat between two worlds.

Xeno was still breathing. Uneven. Strained. But breathing. His lips trembled like he wanted to say more, but his tongue wouldn’t obey. He was holding on. He was here. And Stanley could feel it—as long as he stayed, as long as he didn’t let go, they still had a chance. He leaned closer, pulled him tighter.

– Will you hold my hand? For the last time… – Xeno whispered.

– You’re with me. You’re staying with me. We’ll get through this. Do you hear me? You are my future.