Bryce slowly walked back into the house, each step heavier than the last. The strength that had coursed through his veins only minutes earlier had vanished completely again, leaving behind nothing but a hollow exhaustion that settled deep inside his bones.
He had made peace with one undeniable truth- he was trapped.
But not forever, he reminded himself. It couldn’t be forever. One day, somehow, he would leave. Whether sooner or later, he would find a way out.
That certainty was all he had left to cling to.
The cruelest part was that, despite desperately wanting to hate Dave with every fragment of his heart, he knew he still loved him.
That love remained, stubborn and unyielding, refusing to die no matter how violently Bryce wished to extinguish it.
But forgiveness...
Forgiveness was something else entirely.
That, Dave would never have.
Not after the manipulation.
Not after the lies.
The ache inside his chest was unlike anything he had ever endured before. It surpassed even the day his parents had thrown him out without looking back.
Back then, he hadn’t really felt the weight of his abandonment.
Because he still had Dave.
As long as Dave was beside him, everything else always faded into the background.
His entire world had quietly narrowed until it contained only one person.
And now that same person had shattered it.
He couldn’t stop wondering whether those feelings had truly been his own, whether he had fallen in love naturally, or whether the manipulation had what drew him in.
It hurt so much that part of him wanted to surrender to denial. He wanted to erase every ugly revelation from his mind and hold onto one thing alone- that Dave genuinely loved him, for him.
But every time he tried, the illusion collapsed almost instantly.
All he could see was how thoroughly he had been used.
How every smile, every touch, every whispered confession had been stained by another man’s shadow.
Perhaps Dave genuinely believed his feelings belonged to Bryce now.
But what if, in reality, Dave himself was simply confused? What if he could no longer distinguish one from the other?
Perhaps he no longer knew who he was truly looking at whenever his eyes settled on Bryce.
Bryce?
Or Eli?
The question made Bryce’s head throb. His temples pulsed painfully. His vision blurred for a brief moment.
He lifted his gaze toward the clock mounted on the wall, its steady ticking suddenly impossibly loud in the suffocating silence.
Midnight.
Only then did he realize how utterly drained he had become.
Two sleepless nights.
Days spent trapped in relentless anxiety.
Hours of thinking, questioning, breaking apart, and trying to piece himself back together again.
His body had finally begun to surrender.
A wave of dizziness swept over him, forcing him to steady himself before his knees threatened to buckle beneath him.
"...Where is my bedroom?"
The question came out barely above a whisper, his voice rough and hoarse.
Dave didn’t answer.
He simply turned and silently led him down one of the hallways before stopping outside a closed door.
He pushed it open.
Inside stood a large bed dressed in thick, luxurious bedding, so soft and inviting that Bryce’s exhausted body instinctively longed to collapse into it.
The room itself was spacious without feeling empty, meticulously clean yet lived in.
Two closets stood side by side.
One held clothes Bryce had never seen before, yet Dave’s style. They looked expensive, refined, worlds apart from the wardrobe Dave had owned in their old apartment.
The other belonged to Bryce.
Some of the clothes had been brought from their apartment.
The rest were new.
His chest tightened almost immediately.
They were going to share this room.
The realization settled over him like another invisible chain, tightening around his ribs until breathing became just a little more difficult.
Still, he said nothing.
Too exhausted to argue.
Too tired to fight.
He stepped farther inside.
His belongings had already been arranged neatly throughout the room. His books rested carefully on a shelf, organized exactly as he used to keep them.
His favorite painting hung securely on the wall, occupying a place that looked as though it had been chosen with deliberate care.
Everything was in its place.
Everything looked thoughtful.
Everything looked like home.
Bryce wanted, desperately wanted, to believe it meant something.
To believe Dave had done all of this because he knew him.
Because he loved him.
But his mind refused to grant him that comfort.
He pulled his phone from the pocket of his hoodie, placed it on the bedside table, then crossed the room toward a door he assumed led to the bathroom. He didn’t bother asking.
As expected, an elegant bathroom greeted him on the other side.
A pristine bathtub occupied one corner, its smooth porcelain gleaming beneath the soft lighting. Bryce had never used a bathtub before.
Beside it stood a spacious shower enclosed by crystal-clear glass panels, immaculate enough to look untouched. A nearby shelf held neatly folded towels arranged with meticulous precision.
Some bore small labels that read New.
His gaze lingered on them for a moment.
Why label them?
Did people visit this house often enough to make the distinction necessary?
The thought drifted through his mind before disappearing just as quickly.
A long mirror stretched across one wall, and as he absentmindedly looked up, his own reflection stared back at him.
His steps came to an abrupt halt.
His eyes widened ever so slightly.
For a moment, he hardly recognized the man standing before him.
Was...
Was that really how he had looked all this time?
His complexion had lost every trace of warmth, leaving him unnaturally pale. Dark circles rested heavily beneath swollen, bloodshot eyes that seemed incapable of hiding the sleepless nights behind them.
His hair was disheveled, strands sticking out in every direction as though they had long surrendered to neglect. Even his lips looked dry and cracked.
He looked...
Older.
A bitter, humorless laugh escaped his lips.
He hated what he saw.
No.
He hated what he had become.
Forcing himself to push the thoughts aside, he began undressing in front of the mirror.
He needed a shower.
More than that, he needed sleep.
His body was pleading for both.
Tomorrow, he was still going to work.
No matter what had happened, that much would not change.
He needed to earn his own money.
He needed stability.
In a strange way, Dave had unintentionally made saving easier.
He wouldn’t have to worry about rent anymore.
He wouldn’t need to spend money on necessities, either. He would only focus on saving.
Once he returned to the company, he would bury himself in work. He would focus on nothing except doing his job well, keeping his head down, and saving as much money as possible.
And Vincent...
He wanted absolutely nothing to do with him ever again.
If he could avoid seeing his face for the rest of his life, he would gladly do so.
That Chapter was over.
His thoughts wandered aimlessly from one subject to another as he continued undressing, each idea blending into the next without direction.
Then, all at once, they stopped.
His entire body froze.
His eyes widened in stunned disbelief as they landed on his own reflection once more.
The mark.
It was still there.
His fingers instinctively rose to his neck, hovering over it before cautiously brushing against the familiar shape etched into his skin.
His heart sank.
Wasn’t it supposed to disappear?
He had been rejected.
Shouldn’t that have erased it?
Or...
Did it remain forever?
The mere sight of it ignited something raw inside him.
Anger.
Frustration.
Resentment.
Without thinking, he began rubbing at the mark with desperate force, his fingertips scraping harshly against his skin as though sheer determination could erase it.
Again.
And again.
And again.
The skin surrounding it quickly turned pale beneath the relentless friction, growing increasingly irritated with every frantic movement.
But the mark remained exactly as it was.
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