***

As darkness fell, the streets of the South Bronx transformed in a mesmerizing way, changing from just a drab neighborhood into a brick-and-barred monster, glaring at unwelcome visitors through the dark voids of broken windows.

Isaac, however, liked it here. Maybe it was a sense of sentimentality that had recently wrapped him in its sappy embrace. Or perhaps it was nostalgia for his younger years spent in similar areas. Or maybe it was the aching sense of longing for Victor.

Yes, the South Bronx reminded Isaac very much of his lover's hometown. The same bars on the windows, the same heaps of garbage piled under buildings, the same weary glances on the grim faces of the residents. Only the Bronx spoke a different language and fired its shots far more often.

Isaac turned the next corner and his thoughts returned to Victor. Or, more precisely, to his own failure. For years, he had tried unsuccessfully to wrest Victor from the tight grasp of his homeland, but each time he was met with inevitable disappointment.

Uncle Sam* didn't take kindly to uninvited guests, let alone offer every passerby a place under his roof. Before allowing someone to stay, he wanted assurance that the visitor wouldn't linger and would certainly return home. To ensure this, the guest had to have housing and family ties. The first requirement wasn't a problem, but the second presented a major obstacle.

The trouble was that parents didn't count unless they were disabled, and a sham marriage was riddled with pitfalls. Sure, Victor could always become a "widower," but even the thought that his lover might develop even the slightest warm feeling toward a fake wife filled Isaac with indescribable rage, as jealousy seared his heart like a red-hot iron. There was another option—fake documents and illegal entry—but Victor flatly refused such a scheme, insisting he had no intention of living in fear, constantly looking over his shoulder. In some ways, Isaac understood him, but the frustration and anger didn't go away.

After driving two more blocks, Isaac turned off the main road and found himself in an old industrial area, where underground trade and alcohol production had thrived in the 1930s. Now, almost nothing remained of that bygone "glory". Many factories had been demolished, replaced by low residential buildings that themselves were now abandoned.

But even in a pile of trash, you can find a treasure—if you know which heap of rotting junk is worth digging through.

The "Scarlet Cube" was located in an old piano factory. Restored and renovated, it had transformed from ruins into a garden—a beautiful greenhouse of vice and debauchery, where everyone could find a diversion to their liking. Squeezed between several tall buildings, once residential but now, thanks to the club owner's efforts, deserted, it was a sort of puzzle box, one not open to just anyone.

Stopping at the gate that blocked his way, Isaac waited while the security guard checked his license plate against a list of registered numbers. Only after this was he allowed to drive into the club's inner courtyard, surrounded by a tall brick wall topped with barbed wire. The parking lot was quite full, and Isaac felt a pleasant shiver of anticipation ripple through him in a light wave of languor.

Parking his car in the reserved spot, Isaac made his way to the club doors. Here, unlike the main entrance, there were no signs, no crowds, no loud music, and no endless chatter. Here it was quiet and dark, as it should be in the abandoned backlot of an old factory surrounded by derelict buildings under the watchful gaze of dozens of eyes.

Pushing the heavy door open, Isaac stepped into a narrow hallway that ended in what seemed to be a dead end. But it was only an illusion, artfully created by the precise selection of colors and materials used for the wall panels. The two guards at the entrance, their faces impassive, barely glanced at him, allowing him to pass without a word. But if anyone without a club membership card had entered, they would be politely escorted to a separate room and informed that sneaking into private property without an invitation was, to put it mildly, improper. Isaac had never given much thought to what happened next, but even with limited imagination, it wasn't hard to guess the fate of a curious intruder.

At the end of the corridor, Isaac turned left, counting off the seventh panel from the corner. Pulling out his membership card, he pressed the thin plastic to the right side of the panel, where, upon close inspection, a small scratch could be seen on the otherwise flawless lacquered surface. For a few moments, nothing happened; then a muted click sounded, and the panel opened slightly, allowing him entrance to the holy of holies of the 'Scarlet Cube'.

Isaac had been here more than once, but to a newcomer unfamiliar with the layout, it might seem as though they had entered the heart of total darkness. Compared to the calm lighting of the corridor, the room he stepped into felt almost pitch black. The dim light of wall lamps scattered around the perimeter of the spacious hall couldn't illuminate even the guests sitting closest to them, let alone the entire room. Standing briefly on the platform at the top of a broad staircase that descended downward, Isaac let his eyes adjust to the dark before leisurely descending to meet Videgrel, who waited at the bottom step, his gaze drawn to the giant cube veiled in black cloth at the center of the hall. But soon, all his attention was captured by the young man smiling at him with welcoming charm.

"As stunning as always, Mr. Roger," Isaac said, admiringly, without a hint of exaggeration. "I'm astounded by your father's courage - or is he simply blind in his old age? Even in this dim light, I can see the lust in the gazes directed at you."

Videgrel smiled innocently, though Isaac caught the flash of steel in his eyes.

"Oh, I assure you, my father's eyesight is excellent," Videgrel replied, shaking Isaac's offered hand. "And besides, all the guests of my club possess impeccable manners and, delightfully, a sense of self-preservation. It helps resolve many... delicate issues."

Isaac laughed sincerely at his words.

"You're absolutely right," he agreed. "Instincts bring predators to your club, and those same instincts make them obedient little creatures. Just half an hour ago, I was growling and baring my claws, ready to tear apart anyone in my way. But now, looking at you with loyal eyes, I'm practically wagging my tail, waiting for you to offer me some delicious treat from your beautiful hand."

"Shall we get to the main course right away? Or would you prefer an aperitif?"

Isaac considered this briefly and shook his head.

"No, I'm far too 'hungry' to keep myself waiting," he said confidently.

Videgrel nodded.

"Then, please, follow me." With a graceful gesture, he invited Isaac to walk with him toward the center of the hall.

Isaac walked behind Videgrel, feeling his heartbeat quicken in light anticipation. He'd seen the performances of skilled artists within the Cube before, but he never imagined that he'd one day become an active participant in the show. And something told him that the gift Mr. Roger had prepared would exceed all his expectations. Isaac had learned to trust his instincts.

Stopping in front of the massive structure, Videgrel smiled at him once more and clapped his hands twice, causing the soft music in the hall to fall silent, replaced by a bright, ominous red glow that filled the room.

"Dear guests!" Videgrel announced loudly, casting a radiant smile at the crowd. "Today is a special day. For all of us, autumn is a time of reflection. Endless worries draw us into the gray routine of dreary days, filled with rains and anxieties, leaving little room for joys and delights. But today, the eastern wind has brought us a touch of spring warmth, flavored with the crimson gold of the rising sun. And I sincerely hope that everyone here tonight will appreciate the gifts it has brought. Please welcome the newest star of the 'Scarlet Cube' - Roxy!"

With these words, Videgrel pulled a thin but sturdy cord hanging from the ceiling, and the black cloth flew up like a shadow, revealing a cubic structure made of thick transparent glass, illuminated from below by a blood-red glow.

Inside the Cube, on a massive glass table, sat a large gift box tied with a festive ribbon. At the table's corners stood vintage-looking chests filled with themed accessories and 'toys'. The base of the table held a set of levers that controlled the mechanisms, allowing adjustments to the tilt, height, and shape of the tabletop, adding to the charm and allure of this captivating setup.

Videgrel turned to Isaac, his voice blending into the soft melody that resumed playing in the hall.

"Please, accept my humble gift. I hope it's to your taste."

Isaac smiled in satisfaction, his gaze once again drawn to the waiting box.

"I'm sure it will be," he replied, stepping toward a door with a coded lock, which one of the club staff opened for him as he approached.

An unfamiliar, long-forgotten thrill washed over Isaac from head to toe as he crossed the threshold of the glass structure. His heart pounded in his chest, pulsing with anticipation, and his mouth unexpectedly went dry from the rush of excitement. The last time he'd felt this way was in his distant childhood when he still believed in Santa and eagerly awaited a touch of magic. But now, it wasn't Santa playing the role of a gift-giver—it was more of an elf, though far from a Christmas one. Elegant, refined, beautiful as a demon...

Isaac glanced back at Videgrel for a moment, a smile touching his lips. Yes, a demon. A true demon bearing gifts.

A wave of exhilaration coursed through him, and he licked his dry lips, savoring the razor-sharp sensations, not daring to speculate on the pleasures that awaited him that evening.

He looked at the box once more and smirked.

Behind him, the demon and his entourage. Ahead, the source of delights and pleasures. What lay hidden behind those cardboard walls? What was concealed behind the thin barrier of paper?

He didn't want to waste time on guessing, so he grasped the edge of the silk ribbon and slowly pulled it, allowing the box to open like a mystical flower.

And what surprise awaited him at the heart of that cardboard lotus—it was a Thumbelina. Petite, with long jet-black hair tied up in a high ponytail, enormous, anxious eyes blinking in astonishment, and a light scarlet dress with thin straps on her angular shoulders.

A woman? Seriously?

Mixed feelings of disappointment and renewed anger replaced the sweet thrill of anticipation, tainting his excitement with irritation. Isaac glanced back at Videgrel, but the man only offered a wicked smile before retreating into the darkness and disappearing from view.

Annoyance pricked his pride as Isaac looked at his "gift" in dismay.

The girl's thin wrists and ankles were bound with wide straps. Around her slender neck—one that could be snapped with minimal effort—a thick leather collar was fastened, adorned with a metal ring. She looked at him with a slightly dazed expression and remained silent. And what could she say, with the strip of cloth serving as a gag across her lips?

For a few minutes, Isaac simply stared at his gift, unsure how to react. At first, he thought Videgrel might be playing a joke on him, but the man was unlikely to be so reckless or tasteless, which meant that the "bee" in this "flower" must be producing some irresistibly sweet and intoxicating honey.

So, why not give it a try?

In fact, why not?

A sly, slightly wicked smile tugged at Isaac's lips as he slowly approached the "dessert" on the table. He circled it, then stopped once more in front of the gift. He came closer to the girl and gently grasped her chin between his fingers, lifting her head to make her look him in the eyes.

"Get up. I want to have a better look at you," he murmured, trying to tame the monster stirring within him, artfully awakened by Mr. Roger.

Roxy obeyed, kneeling on the sturdy glass, never breaking eye contact with the client.

The man who'd opened the box struck Roxy as a predator, ready to pounce on his prey at any moment.

He wasn't young anymore, but he still looked quite sharp. A somewhat fierce, attractive face, a well-groomed appearance, a fit body draped in a sleek, tailored suit that highlighted his lean physique, and a piercing gaze that seemed to see straight into one's soul. His skin and hair gleamed under the crimson light filling the Cube, making it impossible to clearly focus on any one detail. And on his thin lips played a strange, unsettling smile.

Roxy had never served clients like this one. Every other man who had come to him seeking pleasure had been gentle, submissive, and timid. They idolized him, worshipped him, and sought his approval in all things.

But this man was different. He knew what he wanted and made no attempt to hide his desires. It made Roxy tremble with both excitement and waves of panic.

Meanwhile, the man continued to gaze at him intently, as if appraising the value of his new toy.

The girl was clearly anxious but continued obediently kneeling as Isaac decided what to do with this gift. He regarded her with a dispassionate, evaluating gaze, struggling to ignite even a spark of interest in his heart. But he couldn't make himself see anything in this exotic "flower" that might kindle even a hint of passion.

There was nothing special about this girl. She was thin, slender, and flat-chested as a board. Her face was shaped like a delicate, sweet little heart, but even that didn't seem all that interesting. Only her eyes drew attention—large, dark, with incredibly deep pools of emotion that held sparks of red from some hidden depths of her soul. But Isaac was interested in very different depths, and they certainly weren't female.

Once again, disappointment brushed over him like the cold touch of childhood disappointment over unmet expectations. He sighed heavily and turned away from his gift. He glanced around, then walked over to one of the trunks, examining its intriguing contents. Selecting a few items that piqued his curiosity, he returned to the table and laid them out in front of his gift.

A strange shadow flickered in the girl's eyes before vanishing into the Cube's crimson glow. Her thin shoulders twitched ever so slightly, which rekindled Isaac's interest in her.

An intriguing reaction... quite atypical for this club's employees.

"Don't be afraid," Isaac smirked, gripping a sturdy, gentle crop in his hand and lightly tracing its tip along her quivering shoulder. "I won't be gentle, but you'll enjoy it."

Roxy swallowed hard, his skin prickling with goosebumps, and instinctively leaned to the side, a naive attempt to escape the unsettling contact with the object that frightened him.

He felt as though he were trapped in a snare from which he'd never escape. The crimson, ominous light only heightened his fears, making his heart flutter like a frightened bird, beating frantically in his chest.

The man only smirked in response to his movement, and Roxy, unable to keep looking at his ominous expression, cast his gaze downward, mentally willing himself to stay strong. He had to please this man at any cost. He'd made a promise... and he had to get through this ordeal, even if it brought unimaginable pain.

The light, almost weightless touch of the crop against the beauty's skin made the girl flinch, and Isaac caught something interesting out of the corner of his eye. It might have been nothing more than a play of light and shadow, but it was worth checking. Besides, his "gift" had become bashful and averted their gaze—a sweet and innocent gesture that Isaac found quite appealing.

The flat stroke of the cane glided to his gift's slender neck, leaving a kiss-like impression on the skin. It drifted down over the chest, grazing a tense nipple, causing goosebumps to bloom over the tan skin, and continued down to the hem of the dress.

Sliding the crop along the smooth thigh, Isaac hooked it under the edge of the flowing silk, lifting the fabric, and he felt his breath catch in a surge of exhilaration.

Underneath the delicate dress lay a secret. A surprise that sent a pulse of arousal through him, and a predatory, utterly satisfied smile spread across Isaac's lips.

"Oh! Well, look at that, a little devil in a box!" he laughed, giving a light slap with the crop to the penis caged in a metallic shell. "I'm impressed. And surprised. Pleasantly surprised."

Roxy shuddered and bit down hard on the leather gag, leaving deep marks in it. The man's actions sent a wave of heat through him, and his groin grew pleasantly heavy. He thought it must be from the effect of the supplement they'd given him half an hour before the performance. Roger-san had promised that his body would become more sensitive and responsive, that every sensation would be heightened. And, apparently, he hadn't been lying.

His arousal stiffened at the first touch, throbbing painfully within its metal prison.

The strange, unfamiliar sensations made Roxy squirm on the glass, unconsciously edging backward, away from the tool of torment held tightly in the client's hand. But rather than becoming angry at his retreat, the man seemed amused, and with an eager gleam in his eye, he delivered another slap to Roxy's most vulnerable area.

Roxy let out a muffled gasp, a low moan escaping him as pleasure surged through the lower half of his body. He froze, looking directly into the amused eyes of the man before him.

Roxy's reaction delighted Isaac. The surprise and uncertainty in the boy's widened eyes spoke of new, unknown sensations, stirring something deep in Isaac's heart, promising incredible, mind-blowing satisfaction. Oh, yes. Mr. Roget had truly outdone himself, finding him a raw diamond, one he would refine tonight to perfection, making it shine with the light of passion and lust.

Desire spread through Isaac's body, a fiery wave of escalating anticipation, and he licked his dry lips.

"What a melodic voice," Isaac murmured, appreciating the deep sounds escaping from the boy as he slowly loosened his tie and slipped it off. "I think it's time to remove this."

Isaac leaned forward and unfastened the clasp holding the gag in place, letting it fall, revealing Roxy's soft, full lips. The man's smile widened when he noticed a small penis-shaped bulge on the other side of the leather strip.

"What a shame to occupy such a beautiful mouth with something like this," he murmured, watching as Roxy shifted back instinctively. "Where are you going? There's no escape. The trap has already closed." Isaac beckoned guy with a finger. "Come here, my little timid mouse. You're in for a long, heated night with a very demanding, very hungry 'cat'."

Roxy had absolutely no desire to approach the man whose eyes resembled two bright, lust-flashing gems. He was at a loss, not knowing what to do next and how to respond to the client's demands.

What does he want? Submission? Fear? Passion? Tears?

For the first time, Roxy found himself in a situation where nothing depended on him. And he almost burst into tears from despair, realizing that he could fail the task that Igarashi-dono entrusted to him.

He looked back for some kind of clue, but behind the crimson glass walls of the cube he saw no one who could help him solve this problem.

"Do you want to run away from me?" the client asked with a mocking voice, not moving from his place. "What a stubborn little mouse. Are you trying to provoke me?"

He suddenly leaned forward and, grabbing Roxy by the chain that connected the leather handcuffs, roughly dragged his towards him.

The guy's heart almost jumped out of his chest from these actions. And when the man pressed him tightly to himself, slowly unzipping his dress, he almost lost consciousness altogether.

"What a good, sweet boy," Isaac said, caressing Roxy's back with his hot palm. "Tell me... are you afraid of me?"

The guy nodded timidly and flinched when the crop slid down his chest and rested on his nipple.

"Don't be afraid. It might spoil the experience for both of us."

The man pulled away from Roxy and ran his hand down his shoulder, pulling down the strap to admire the tiny, hard nipple, which he immediately began to play with.

"I see Igarashi-san must have great trust in your talent to have sent you to me. You're not a virgin, I hope?"

"No," Roxy breathed out in English, squeezing his thighs around his cock, which was pulsating painfully in the metal trap.

"Okay," Isaac smiled and caressed the boy's cheekbone with his finger. "But this, I imagine, is all new for you?"

"Yes..." Roxy admitted quietly.

"Oh, this Kano!" the man cheered up. "He knows how to please me. You are so sweet, Roxy. A little scared mouse who doesn't know what awaits him next. But I won't hide the truth from you. Today you will be in a lot of pain. You will scream, tearing your tender voice. You will cry, begging me to stop. Your body will burn in the fire of torment, but at the same time, it will betray you more than once, demanding more and more painful, passionate caresses. Tell me, mouse, do you want to stop all this?"

Roxy swallowed in fear and nodded, suddenly feeling the hot wetness of tears on his cheeks. But then, as if coming to his senses, his eyes widened and he clung to the man in a helpless attempt to fix what he had done.

What would Igarashi-dono think of him? That he was some kind of snotty crybaby who couldn't keep his promise? He promised he wouldn't let him down. He promised he'd try to satisfy the client. And in the end, he just trembled, afraid to even take a breath.

"Don't go, Eisen-san," the guy stammered in Japanese, clutching the jacket on the man's chest with his fingers. "I want to continue. Please take care of me."

A genuine smile touched Isaac's lips. His left palm slid onto the guy's thin thigh and gently ran up it, crawling under the light fabric of the dress and making its way to the elastic buttock, which he immediately squeezed powerfully.

Roxy winced at the discomfort but didn't pull away, and Isaac smiled graciously.

"I'll take care of you, my sweet little mouse," the man said in Japanese, and, lifting Roxy's chin, kissed it deeply and greedily, expressing with this simple act his readiness to reveal to this innocent creature all the delights of the blazing hell of pleasure.

Agreeing to a seemingly insignificant concession, Isaac could not have imagined he would be rewarded so generously. By sending Roxy to him, Kano, that cunning old fox, managed to take into account all the preferences of his long-time acquaintance. What initially didn't appeal to Isaac soon transformed into that very zest that turned a simple dessert into a divine delicacy within minutes.

Roxy was untainted. He had known the touch of other men, but Isaac became for him that deity who erased the boundaries of consciousness, opening the gates to an unexplored world of carnal pleasures, capable of driving one mad and lifting them to the peaks of ecstasy. And Isaac's own hunger turned him into an incubus, endlessly craving to savor the young, supple body spread beneath him.

Isaac took Roxy with both sophistication and passion. Like a lascivious guide, he led the unspoiled mind through gardens of delight by way of pain, transforming the delicate bird that fell into his hands into a magnificent and beautiful phoenix, burning in the inferno of passion and reborn from the ashes of torturous pleasure.

Time ceased to exist. The world beyond the crimson glass dissolved into darkness. And the entire universe concentrated within this intoxicating abode of lust and pleasure.

Isaac relished his gift for an incredibly long time. Unprepared for such fervor and stamina, Roxy found himself on the verge of fainting several times, but each time Isaac skillfully brought him back from oblivion. Only when his inner hunger was sated did Isaac allow the young man to pass out after yet another wild orgasm.

Isaac was pleased. For the first time in years, he was utterly content and satisfied. The only thing that slightly marred this state of utter euphoria was a tinge of regret that it wasn't Victor who had been with him in the Cube.

"That was... quite the experience," Videgrel shared his thoughts after the unconscious Roxy had been carried out of the cube, and Mr. Eisen restored his respectable appearance.

"It certainly was," Isaac agreed, feeling almost happy. "That young man is a real find. I must admit, Mr. Roger, working with you is a pleasure. Perhaps you'd be interested in another deal?"

"Oh, no," Videgrel laughed nervously. "One is more than enough."

"Hm... well, how about a request?"

Videgrel hesitated, then nodded.

"Why not."

"May I speak with Roxy when he comes to?" Isaac asked. "I believe there are things he and I should discuss."

Videgrel saw no reason to refuse the man, and so he invited Mr. Eisen to follow him.

***

Roxy was waking up reluctantly. Every time he tried to open his eyes, darkness would swallow him again, dragging his consciousness back into the depths of sleep. It felt as if he were swinging on a pendulum between wakefulness and deep oblivion, rising toward the light only to plunge back into darkness an instant later. Up and down, up and down, an endless cycle that left him feeling dizzy and sick from the relentless rise and fall.

Suddenly, he jerked upright in bed, taking a deep breath to hold back the wave of nausea, but a strong hand pressed him gently back onto the pillows.

Roxy slowly turned his head, though the effort cost him, and felt a spike of tension as he saw Eisen-san by his bedside.

Could it be that the man was still unsatisfied and had waited for him to wake up, ready to resume those torturous yet intoxicating ministrations?

The mere thought sent a shiver down Roxy's spine, and his gaze clouded with resignation. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for that large hand to slide under the blanket and begin tormenting him anew with its prolonged, refined cruelty.

But, to Roxy's surprise, nothing of the sort happened.

Eisen-san didn't torment him. On the contrary, the man displayed an unexpected gentleness, softly brushing a few tangled strands of hair from Roxy's face and letting his fingers caress the flushed skin of his cheek.

Roxy couldn't hold back a weak moan, slipping once more into a sensual haze. The drug still seemed to be affecting him, making his body react even to such innocent touches.

"Eisen-san," he muttered as if in delirium, opening his eyes with difficulty and barely breathing under the intense gaze of bright, green eyes. "Eisen-san, I can't... I can't take anymore..."

Isaac smiled.

"I know," he said quietly, bringing a glass of water to the guy's lips. "Drink. It'll make you feel a bit better."

The guy obediently took a few sips and, having caught his breath, opened his eyes, in which one could read universal doom.

"Don't worry. Yes, I enjoy exhausting my lovers, but I'm not a sadist," Isaac said, amusement lacing his voice. "You worked hard; you deserve a rest. So relax."

Roxy gave a faint nod, a silent gesture of gratitude, and lay still, focusing on the sensations in his own body.

Every muscle and several bones ached, and the skin around his ankles and wrists, rubbed raw by the straps, throbbed and itched as blood returned to the sensitive areas.

No one had ever treated him as brutally and mercilessly as Eisen-san. And yet, no client had ever given him such intense pleasure. Memories of his time in the large glass cube began to surface hazily, memories of begging the man to stop as he burned with pain, only to press himself against him, pleading for more. And Eisen-san had continued, submerging Roxy in a sea of pleasure where his very identity faded, and the concept of time vanished. He'd floated on waves of ecstasy, forgetting his own name, even forgetting how to breathe, until fresh waves of pain jolted him back. And so on ad infinitum, until he finally lost consciousness, violently cumming on the glass table.

A shiver ran through Roxy as the memory of reaching that pinnacle of pleasure resurfaced, and he sighed, feeling a mix of confusion and faint anxiety.

"Eisen-san, why are you still here?" he asked hoarsely when he realized the man wasn't planning on leaving.

"Because I wanted to make sure you were all right," Isaac replied directly, adjusting the blanket over Roxy. "And because I'd like to make you a small offer. Sometimes I feel lonely. Loneliness, you know, isn't the best companion for a man of my age. And in the grayness of everyday life, a spark of true pleasure is often sorely missed. You might find things a bit uncomfortable here for a while. We could help each other."

In the first instant, sheer terror overtook Roxy as he imagined Eisen-san tormenting him repeatedly, satisfying his desires over and over. His face even paled, revealing all his feelings to the man. But to his surprise, Eisen-san didn't seem angry at his pointed silence; on the contrary, he actually seemed amused.

"No need to answer right now," Isaac said with a smile. "Take your time and think it over."

"I don't think I'd be right for you, Eisen-san," Roxy murmured quietly, afraid to meet the man's gaze.

"All the same, consider my offer," Isaac said, running a hand gently through the boy's hair before rising to his feet. "You might change your mind in time. Mr. Rodger knows how to reach me. For now, rest. You've done well today. Take care of yourself."

Isaac's hand brushed Roxy's cheek softly, and after wishing him a good rest, he left the room.

Roxy watched him go, then sighed heavily.

There was a lot to think about, but for now, he wanted only one thing: to sleep for days and forget everything that had happened today.

***

Because of a ridiculous and completely absurd stunt by his neighbor, who fancied himself a walrus, Lenard had to forget not only about the rides Sandra had promised, but about any semblance of a peaceful weekend at home.

Ethelstan had fallen ill. And not just ill—he was down with a fever for the entire weekend.

By all logic, the consequences of the blond seal's thoughtless antics shouldn't have affected Lenard in the slightest, but as it turned out, the college's maddeningly meticulous rules had something prepared for just such a case.

Apparently, if one of the students sharing a room fell ill, no matter what—whether it was an ordinary case of the runs or an acute flare-up of chronic idiocy—the other was forbidden from leaving the campus until the first had fully recovered.

Lenard voiced his "delight" about this rule in the secretary's office, where the man refused to let him see the principal. As a result, he received three punishing whacks from Mr. Eigert's curse-cracking pointer across the back of his neck. Afterward, he returned to his room and spent almost two whole days beside the suffering Ethelstan.

And it would've been one thing if he only had to sit there. But no! He had to constantly check his roommate's temperature, go to the infirmary for medicine, bring food from the cafeteria, and try to feed the delirious boy, whose meals mostly ended up not in his mouth, but tangled in his hair or, worse, on the bed linens that Lenard had to change—a task far from simple.

But the worst part, in Lenard's opinion, wasn't the hauling of Ethelstan's limp body from bed to bed or acting as a makeshift maid. No, it was the cursed vinegar-and-water compresses and wipe-downs, which left the entire room reeking with a sour, eye-watering stench.

In these two days, Lenard was utterly drained. He felt exhausted and, in some ways, a bit humiliated, forced to act as a personal servant for the blond idiot who now lay peacefully dozing in his bed. And when Ethelstan finally came to his senses on Sunday evening and smiled sweetly at him, Lenard snapped.

"If you ever pull something like that again, I'll strangle you with my bare hands!" he hissed angrily and refused to say another word to his roommate.

Ethel immediately apologized, not fully understanding why, but Lenard brusquely told him where he could go and threw himself onto his bed, pulling the pillow over his head and stubbornly ignoring him.

***

On Monday morning, when Ethelstan finally dragged himself out of bed and barely made it to math class, Lenard was still sulking. Nevertheless, Ethel managed to pry the reason for his irritation out of him through relentless whining and pleading.

In the end, his roommate snapped, yelling at him and accusing him of selfishness and thoughtlessness, because of which both of them had been forced to stay at the college over the weekend. With a nasty grin, he added:

"Your stepfather came by on Saturday to see you. But since you were lying there in bed, agonizing and out of it, he left, leaving you a bouquet that I promised to place on your grave when you finally kick the bucket."

"Oh, and where are my flowers?" Ethelstan asked.

"I threw them out," Lenard replied with vengeful satisfaction. "And you should be grateful I didn't throw you out along with them."

Ethel scowled, upset at Lenard's treatment of Videgrel's gift, but this didn't faze his roommate in the slightest, so Ethel had no choice but to "forgive" him.

Ethel barely remembered anything about what had happened while he was sick. He remembered falling asleep on Friday, warm and comfortable in his roommate's arms, soothed by the heat radiating from Lenard's strong, young body. And then he woke up on Sunday on a sweat-soaked bed, his head heavy with pain and his throat raw. Lenard said he'd been taking care of him the whole time, but Ethelstan couldn't recall a single clear memory.

He tried several times to bring it up with Lenard, hoping to get some details and maybe apologize, but his roommate would only turn away, continuing his game of cold-shoulder.

Ethel hated being ignored, but he didn't have the energy for pouting or arguing. Besides, the teacher had entered the classroom, forcing him to stay quiet to avoid getting into trouble.

The day dragged on endlessly for Ethelstan. He still had a fever, chills, and an overall weakness in his body. But the doctor had flatly refused to give him a sick pass, hinting that he wasn't about to reward foolish behavior with an unscheduled holiday. So Ethel had no choice but to attend classes despite feeling miserable.

At least first-year's mentor, noticing his unwell appearance, allowed him to do his homework in his room rather than in the study hall. And, having failed to win Lenard's forgiveness, Ethel decided not to waste any more time on it and headed for the dormitory.

However, on the stairs, he was intercepted by a lingering Dancy, who brightened visibly at the chance encounter.

"Hello, sweetheart," Dancy greeted Ethel, stepping in his way and blocking his path. "Why are you running off again?"

"Oh, leave me alone already," Ethel said irritably. "I don't want to hook up with you. Back off."

"Who said anything about hooking up?" Dancy asked, feigning innocence. "Let's get to know each other better. Have a little chat."

"I'm not in the mood," Ethelstan replied, trying to slip past him, but Dancy let out a short whistle, and two more older students appeared on the stairs.

"What are they here for?" Ethel asked, realizing he was in trouble.

"For backup," Dancy said. "Just in case you get a bit too feisty and try to run."

He smiled, grabbing Ethelstan by the chin and breathing out right onto his lips.

"Today, I'll finally get what I want. First that sweet little mouth of yours, and then that tight little hole."

"What you'll get is a fist in your face, you'll hobble off to the solitary cell with a boot in your ass," came a voice from right beside them. "Dylan, I warned you, you scumbag, to keep your hands off the first-years. So why the hell are you getting handsy here?"

Dancy immediately let go of Ethel and took a few steps back, giving him a clear view of the towering third-year student—the same guy who had shoved them aside in front of the canteen a few days ago.

Now Ethelstan could get a better look at the towering figure before him, who radiated raw, primal alpha energy from a mile away. The guy was nearly six and a half feet tall, with a solid build that made him appear even more intimidating. The school uniform looked somewhat ridiculous on this massive figure, but it was doubtful anyone had the courage to make a joke about it. His fists were the size of a sledgehammer, and Ethel could easily imagine him sending Dancy flying down the staircase with a single, effortless uppercut.

Dancy seemed to be imagining the same thing, as his voice wavered slightly when he dared to speak.

"Rigard, I... didn't know you were a hall monitor today," he said, eyeing his classmate nervously.

"No, Dancy, it's not that you 'didn't know', it's that you were fucking freaking out," Rigard replied, his voice laced with menace. "If I catch you hanging around the first-years again, I'll rip your balls off and feed them to your buddies. Now get the hell out of here—all of you!"

"We'll see you tonight," Dancy hissed at Ethelstan, roughly shoving him aside before bolting down the stairs, away from the furious third-year.

Ethel watched him go with a heavy gaze, then looked up at the hulking upperclassman. Rigard studied Ethelstan for a few moments before saying gruffly:

"This goes for you too, squirt. Scram!"

"Yes, thank you," Ethel replied to his unexpected savior, edging past him and hurrying toward the dorm.

Once safely back in his room, Ethel let out a shaky breath, still reeling from the confrontation on the stairs. He settled down to do his homework, though he couldn't shake the tension.

Lenard returned to the room after dinner, continuing his silent treatment right up until lights out. No matter how Ethel tried to get him to talk, Lenard skillfully ignored him, pretending not to see or hear anything.

Ethel was far from satisfied with the situation. If things continued this way, he felt he'd lose his mind from loneliness. He had to come up with something to make Lenard drop the act and forgive him. But for now, no decent ideas came to mind.

So they went to bed without saying a word.

Lenard fell asleep quickly, while Ethelstan lay awake, tossing and turning as he tried to figure out how to resolve the situation. But eventually, exhausted from his illness, he began to drift off... only to be startled by a loud, metallic clanging right outside the door. He sat up abruptly, peering into the darkness in alarm.

There was a commotion in the hallway. Footsteps moved closer, then farther away from his and Lenard's door. He could hear whispers, curses, and a constant thudding, as if someone were dragging something heavy down the corridor.

Ethel's heart nearly leapt out of his chest as he imagined Dancy lurking just outside, plotting some nasty prank to force him out of the room.

Unable to tolerate the commotion any longer, Ethel called out loudly to Lenard. But the guy only cursed sleepily in response, telling his neighbor to shut up, before burying his head under the pillow.

"Alright then," Ethel muttered to himself, trying to muster some courage. "Looks like there's no other choice..."

He threw off his own blanket and, moving like a shadow, slipped over to Lenard's bed. Quickly, he slid under the covers and nestled against the broad, warm back of his neighbor. Once his heart stopped pounding so wildly, he took a deep breath, and with a quiet smile thought to himself how comforting it felt to fall asleep like this.

Lenard's skin was warm and had a pleasant scent. Ethel could make out sharp hints of cologne, shower gel, and something else that unexpectedly made his head spin, urging him to press even closer to the guy.

Now Ethel could hear his breathing and feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath his palm. The sounds and sensations soothed him, melting away all his anxieties, and he began to drift slowly into sleep, no longer thinking about the ruckus behind the door or Dancy's threats. His only thoughts were on how wonderful it was to have someone beside him, someone he could embrace so easily in his sleep and feel completely at peace, absolutely content.

***

Lenard didn't like the heat. Or rather, it wasn't the heat itself he minded so much as the discomfort it brought. It was one thing to bask in the sun on a beach somewhere, but entirely another to struggle against the suffocating cocoon of a blanket, which made it hard to breathe or sleep peacefully. In the few weeks he'd spent in college, he hadn't felt this unbearably hot until tonight, and his first thought was that he must be getting sick. That thought was quickly joined by another, bitter and vengeful: now the pampered roommate would have to bust his ass taking care of him. And Lenard would make sure that the "princess" fully experienced every bit of looking after a sick person.

These half-formed, sleepy thoughts brought a brief smile to Lenard's lips, a smile that quickly vanished when something stirred behind him. A hand wrapped around his torso, and a warm palm pressed against his stomach, gently caressing his damp skin.

Lenard's heart started pounding like crazy, threatening to jump out of his chest. He jerked up, twisting around to stare in bewilderment at Ethelstan, who had sprawled comfortably on his bed.

A surge of irritation prickled his skin, and Lenard clenched his teeth. His first instinct was to shove his audacious roommate onto the floor. Maybe even kick him over to the other bed—or better yet, toss him out into the hallway if he couldn't manage to stay in his own bed. Then he felt an intense urge to punch that smug face, and after that, he even considered throttling the insufferable brat.

Lenard's hands reached toward his roommate's exposed neck, ready to strangle the intruder, but then Ethelstan sighed heavily in his sleep, whimpering softly, and moved closer, hugging Lenard tightly as though he was afraid he'd run away.

And somehow, at that touch, Lenard's anger and irritation vanished, leaving only an overwhelming sense of resignation and a tinge of pity for this fool.

"Fine, princess, sleep if you want," Lenard sighed, rolling onto his pillow and turning his face to the wall.

Ethelstan immediately snuggled up against his back, pressing his whole body close and nestling his face into Lenard's shoulder, his hot breath grazing Lenard's skin and sending a pleasant shiver through him.

Lenard closed his eyes, mentally promising himself he'd make his roommate pay in the morning. But he didn't keep that promise—and paid the price for it, because Ethelstan began sneaking into his bed every night.

As soon as Lenard fell asleep, Goldilocks would show up under his blanket, brazenly hugging him, pressing close, sometimes even clutching his arm tightly until dawn. Lenard would simmer in quiet frustration, trying not to lose his mind, but for some reason, he never pushed Ethelstan away.

By the end of the week, Ethelstan's nightly advances presented Lenard with an unwelcome surprise: a very solid hard-on and a wave of undeniable arousal. Lenard chalked it up to missing Rachel, though. The next morning, he warned his roommate that if he pulled any more stunts that jeopardized his plans to go home, he'd seriously regret it.

In response to Lenard's threat, Ethelstan promised to behave. And to Lenard's surprise, he kept his word—not only this time but in the days that followed as well. Before long, Lenard found himself warming up to the odd, slightly clingy guy, even noting with some surprise that he was beginning to enjoy his company.

Notes:

*Uncle Sam is a personified representation of the United States. He is typically depicted as an elderly white man with sharp facial features and a traditional goatee, wearing a top hat in the colors of the American flag, a blue tailcoat, and striped trousers.

Uncle Sam likely emerged as a symbol of the United States during the British-American War of 1812. American folklore suggests that the expression "Uncle Sam" originated with butcher Sam Wilson, who supplied provisions to the military base in Troy, New York. Wilson marked barrels of meat with the letters U.S., meaning United States, and soldiers jokingly said the meat came from "Uncle Sam". (Wikipedia)

Enjoy your reading. The next chapter will be published on February 23, 2025.