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#Post#: 1395--------------------------------------------------
Adam and Louie
By: Minyaagar Date: February 15, 2026, 8:33 pm
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The Cat’s Lair was a dive bar soaked in cheap liquor, loud
music, and dreams too big for the grimy stage. Adam Lennox fit
right in.
Slouched on a cracked leather stool near the end of the bar, he
nursed his third whiskey and coke like it owed him something.
His well-worn AC/DC tee hung loose over lean muscle, faded from
too many washes—or maybe just too many nights like this. He’d
swiped it from his older brother years ago and never gave it
back. Paired with ripped black skinny jeans and his scuffed
boots propped on the metal rung, he looked like someone born for
the backstage. Piercings glinted in both ears and from his
bottom lip, catching the low red lights above. The snake inked
across the side of his neck twisted just slightly with every
swallow of his drink, its scaled head resting just beneath his
jaw.
The band currently playing was forgettable, though Adam bobbed
his head anyway, eyes only half on the music. He wasn’t here for
the music, not really. He was here for the mood, the alcohol,
and the people—especially the pretty ones with amps slung over
their backs and stage dreams in their eyes.
That’s when they stepped onto the stage to set up—the next band,
the ones everyone had been murmuring about since the flyer
dropped. Adam’s gaze sharpened.
There he was. Lavender hair pulled back in a messy bun that
shimmered beneath the flickering overheads, tattoos climbing
down toned arms and across collarbones barely hidden beneath a
sleeveless mesh shirt. Damn. That grin, too—wide and a little
cocky, the kind of smile that knew how to wreck people. It was
directed at one of his bandmates, but Adam couldn’t help feeling
like it landed on him anyway.
He leaned an elbow against the bar, chin resting on his
knuckles, drink in the other hand. He let his gaze linger,
dragging it slowly from the guy’s boots up long legs, past the
teasing sliver of skin showing through a rip in his jeans, up to
his lips—plump, curved into mischief—and finally his eyes. Adam
didn’t look away when the guy glanced over.
Instead, he tilted his head slightly, letting a lazy smirk tug
at the corner of his mouth. His lip ring gleamed when he ran his
tongue along it. It wasn’t subtle. He didn’t do subtle.
Adam raised his glass in a mock toast, letting his gaze drop
just long enough to appreciate the way lavender-hair’s fingers
curled around the neck of his guitar.
Interesting. He could feel the slow heat coil in his belly, both
from the liquor and that look.
As the band finished plugging in and tested the sound, Adam
leaned toward the bartender and slid a crumpled bill across the
bar. “One more,” he said, nodding toward his nearly-empty glass.
“And keep ‘em coming.”
He intended to enjoy the show.
And maybe, if that grin was anything to go by, a whole lot more
after.
-Fin-
The spotlight casts a golden glow as Louie strums the first
notes of his original song, fingers deftly exploring the
strings, crafting a melody that's raw and magnetic. His
concentration is palpable, but with a quick glance at Natalie,
he murmurs with a grin, "Ready to steal the show?" She responds
with a playful wink, her voice soon cutting through the
air—ethereal and haunting, reminiscent of a siren's call. Their
eyes meet briefly, a spark of unspoken understanding, their
connection resonating in every note.
Behind them, the drummer, a blonde with a wolfish grin, taps his
sticks together and shouts, "Let’s make ‘em feel it!" before
launching into a beat that syncs seamlessly with Louie’s rhythm.
The pulse of the music grows, each strum, beat, and lyric
bearing the weight of their camaraderie. The music thrums, alive
and electric, woven tightly with laughter, shared glances, and
the deep emotional ties that define them—not just as a band, but
as a family.
Louie felt the familiar ache of loss creep in as his fingers
danced over the strings, a shadow of Dahlia lingering in the
edges of his mind. The heartbreak had once dulled his passion,
leaving him adrift in silence. But tonight, the music surged
through him like a lifeline, each chord unraveling the knots
she'd left behind. He was back—not the fractured man she left,
but someone rebuilt through melody and grit. As the song soared,
the crowd responded in kind—their faces lit with awe, bodies
swaying to the rhythm, voices rising in unison during the
chorus. Some closed their eyes, lost in the raw emotion woven
into every note, while others clapped to the beat, their cheers
a thunderous wave washing over him. The crescendo marked not
just the song's peak but his own resurgence. As the final note
faded into the roar of applause, Louie stepped off the stage, a
satisfied grin etched on his face, heading straight for a drink,
just like he always would.
While he was healing, some habits died hard—one of which was
drinking and sleeping with whoever came his way. This tendency
only increased when he managed to get his band going again.
After the show, the crowd surged with excitement, eager fans
clamoring for his attention. Amid the buzz, a girl approached
Louie with a mischievous grin, boldly asking him to sign her
chest. Louie chuckled, shaking his head slightly but obliging
with an easy grin, his signature scrawled confidently across her
skin.
He watched Natalie sulk out immediately after, her posture
stiff, clearly uncomfortable with the throng of admirers. The
woman had to be convinced to stay in scenes like this, but her
aversion to crowds often led her to dip out quickly. Louie’s
gaze lingered on the door she disappeared through, the fleeting
moment of connection on stage already a distant echo amidst the
chaotic aftermath.
He tapped for another calling for a stronger one as he wanted to
keep the good feeling going. Enjoying the buzz that was hitting
him.
-fin-
Adam tossed back the last of his drink, the burn sliding smooth
down his throat. He licked the edge of his lip ring, eyes fixed
on the stage even as the crowd surged around him. The set had
ended minutes ago, but the energy still hung thick in the
air—sweaty, electric, intoxicating.
Lavender Hair. That was what Adam had been calling him in his
head all night, though now he knew his name—Louie—thanks to a
screaming girl near the front of the stage.
That grin, the tattoos, the goddamn voice. Louie had torn the
room wide open with that song, and Adam hadn’t looked away once.
Not even when the blonde drummer nearly knocked his kit over
during a particularly wild fill. No, Adam’s focus had been glued
to the lead guitarist—his fingers flying over the strings like
they were born there, the way he glanced at the singer like they
shared some secret world.
But now the lights had dimmed, and the crowd was eating up the
aftermath. Louie had retreated to the bar, surrounded briefly by
the usual chaos—fangirls, overexcited locals, a woman
practically throwing herself at him asking for a signature on
her chest. Adam rolled his eyes.
Still, the guitarist’s eyes had followed the singer—Natalie—as
she stormed out, posture stiff, head low. Something passed over
his face. Something Adam recognized.
Loneliness. Regret. Maybe both.
He slipped off his stool, the floor tilting slightly under his
boots. Buzzed, not drunk. Just enough to feel warm, confident,
like the world might tilt in his favor if he smiled the right
way. His gaze locked on Louie—now leaning against the bar,
sipping his drink like he was trying to draw out whatever peace
he had left.
Adam slide onto a closer stool , casual as hell, resting his
forearms on the bar. “That was one hell of a set."
Adam let his smirk curl slow. “Almost made me forget how trash
the last band was. Seriously. They made my ears consider
divorce.”
“I’m Adam,” he added, holding out his hand like this wasn’t
already half a pickup attempt.
“I’d buy you a drink, but…” Adam glanced at Louie’s glass, still
half-full, then flagged the bartender anyway. “Screw it. Another
of whatever he’s having. Double it.” he added and fiddled with
the silver stud in his left ear.
---fin--
Louie was savoring his second drink when he was approached
again. It wasn’t hard to guess what the guy wanted—his confident
smile and swagger hinted at a buzzed bravado.
A flicker of doubt crossed Louie’s face as the man criticized
the other band. Deep down, he felt they were far better than
him. Despite this, he aimed to be the best, with his biggest
rival being Imperfect Elysium.
Forcing a lopsided smile, Louie politely shouted, "Thanks!" over
the roar of the crowd as that very band took the stage.
Noticing his drink mysteriously refilled, he prepared to down it
when Luka shot him a familiar warning glare—the one that meant
he'd be cut off if he kept drinking like that. Louie side-eyed
her, feigning compliance by sipping slowly. But the moment she
turned her back, he defiantly downed it in one gulp. Fortunately
for him, the other bartender, oblivious to Luka’s vigilance,
handed him another.
“Adam hm? You can call me Louie, and thanks, nice to meet you.”
Said the lavender haired man before sipping down the alcohol
about half way. “So… Adam… you into dancing?” He asked.
Louie was in one of his moods- drinking- partying and if fate
had it- someone’s bed. The guy was easy looking on his eyes, and
certainly fit his type.. and lastly- wasn’t tied to his band in
any capacity.
After the backstabbing by dahlia he fell into three rules for
himself. Don’t sleep with his band members, don’t get any girl
Pregnant, and lastly- never sleep with the same person twice. He
feared of even remotely getting close like that again to only
being shafted, and potentially stolen from.
—fin—
Adam watched with open amusement as Louie blatantly ignored the
warning glare from the blonde bartender. It was kind of
impressive, really—the way he knocked the drink back like a
challenge and had another in his hand before the first one hit
his bloodstream. Bold. Rebellious. A little reckless.
Hot.
He’d introduced himself, got a name back, and now the guitarist
was sipping his drink with that devil-may-care gleam in his eye
that Adam had seen before in people who wanted to forget
something—or someone.
“So… Adam… you into dancing?”
The words were playful, but there was something behind them. A
test, maybe. A line cast out to see what Adam would bite.
He leaned in a little closer, his arm brushing Louie’s as he
smirked. “Depends. You trying to get me on the floor or into
your bed?”
Louie’s grin tilted wider, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Adam noticed that, too.
“I’m into both,” he added, more sincere this time. “But dancing?
Sure. If you’re leading, I’ll follow.”
It wasn’t just the buzz talking. There was something magnetic
about this guy—the energy, the wild streak, the broken edges
trying to pass as casual confidence. Adam had seen that kind of
damage before. Worn it, even. But Louie wore it like armor with
glitter glued on top.
And rules. Adam could feel them. Not spoken, not yet, but etched
into the lines of his smirk, the tight way he held himself when
he wasn’t performing.
Don’t get close. Don’t get attached. Keep it surface, keep it
sexy, keep it safe.
Adam knew that game. Hell, he played it too. But something about
Louie made him want to poke at it—just enough to see if it would
crack.
He watched Louie tip his glass again, and this time, Adam put a
hand gently over the rim.
“Pace yourself, Rockstar,” he said, voice low and teasing.
“You’ve got a long night ahead. Don’t burn out before the
encore.”
Their eyes locked again, tension humming in the space between
them.
Adam let his thumb drag lightly across the condensation of
Louie’s glass before pulling his hand back. “Come on. Let’s
dance before you drink your charm away.”
He stood and offered his hand with a tilt of his head, not
demanding, but sure of himself. Louie could say no. But Adam had
a feeling he wouldn’t.
Not tonight.
-fin-
The lean-in and the question only made him grin wider. He knew,
deep down, he'd never bring someone directly to his home—a hotel
room was different. "Maybe both," he replied, attempting to sip
his drink, only to be intercepted.
Though the words were playful, a flicker of annoyance
surfaced—brief, fleeting. It wasn’t the first time he'd been cut
off; his drummer did it often. Natalie, his singer, was a
hypocrite, frequently found baked somewhere.
"Oh, I won’t burn out. This is my last one anyway," he claimed
with a faint lie. He finished the drink, took the man’s hand,
and added with a grin, "Never waste alcohol." Leading
confidently, he guided the man to the dance floor.
Louie swayed to the rhythm with Adam, his movements surprisingly
fluid despite the faint flush on his cheeks. His steps were
sharp, each move reflected an innate sense of rhythm that gave
an appearance of the subtle buzz coursing through him. The
alcohol had just begun to settle into his bloodstream, casting a
warm haze over his senses, yet his coordination remained
impressively intact.
Louie’s body moved with an effortless grace, his feet tapping in
perfect sync with the beat, his arms loose yet controlled. The
slight glimmer in his eyes hinted at his tipsy state, but his
dance was a testament to his skill, undeterred by the mellow
intoxication that hummed beneath the surface.
The more he danced, the more his party spirit emerged, eagerly
grabbing shots from passing waiters. He was determined to match
the electrifying buzz and fun swirling in his mind.
He moved closer to Adam, their hips swaying in perfect sync. His
gaze was intense, edged with the unmistakable gleam of someone
teetering on the brink of intoxication. A slight stumble brought
him leaning into Adam, followed by a soft, amused chuckle.
->>>>
Who would have known that the fun would stop in a form of a hand
shoving him off Adam and a red headed woman smacking Louie
causing his head to turn. It stung as he placed his hand on his
cheek.
“What the hell are you doing?” The yell over the music and the
arms crossed.
Dahlia.
A shadow flickered across Louie’s face before a smirk curled his
lips. “Enjoying the single life, huh? Why would you care? Just
run back to your boy toy, Yuki,” he shouted, turning sharply
toward Adam.
His face displayed a whirlwind of emotions—rage among them—but
he knew better than to even approach Dahlia. The last time he
merely tried to pass by her, she accused him of shoving her,
faking a fall to support her claim.
His expression shifted abruptly, transforming from one of
drunken amusement to sudden sickness. As he attempted to hastily
leave, one of Dahlia’s friends tripped him, causing him to
stumble and create a mess on the floor—and unfortunately, on her
shoes as well.
Before Dahlia could kick him would Luka get in her way.”I’ve
told you no violence in my bar- get the hell out or I’ll ask
trick to bounce your asses out!” She called out.
Dahlia sneered to leave with the two that were with her.
Luka made a rather deep sigh of a look and looked to Adam and
motioned for help knowing Louie couldn’t walk on his own at this
point. And guiding the two to a more quiet room to get the man
to sober up.
—fin—
The music pulsed around them, thick with bass and flashing
lights, and Adam let himself sink into the rhythm—mirroring
Louie’s sway, matching his movements like they were caught in
some unspoken choreography.
Louie’s body was all fluid confidence, his hips rolling with the
beat, his flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes tempting in all
the right ways. Adam had danced with a lot of people, but none
like this—none who made it feel like something more than just a
prelude to making out in a shadowy corner.
They were magnetic. Every brush of Louie’s fingers across Adam’s
arm, every flash of a grin beneath that lavender fringe, made
the air between them burn a little hotter.
Adam stepped closer, the space between their bodies vanishing
until they moved together—hips aligned, shoulders brushing,
hands bold in the haze of drink and desire. Louie tossed back
another shot from a passing tray and laughed, the sound reckless
and alive, vibrating right through Adam’s ribs.
He leaned in close, breath brushing Louie’s ear. “If this is how
you dance drunk, I’ve gotta see what you’re like sober.”
Louie responded with a crooked smile, that kind of smile that
spelled trouble—and maybe a story Adam wasn’t ready for but
found himself wanting anyway.
But before Adam could steal a kiss or whisper something sharper,
the moment shattered.
A hand shoved Louie off him, forcing distance where there had
been heat. Adam staggered half a step back in surprise,
instinctively catching Louie’s arm to steady him.
Then came the slap.
The crack of palm against cheek sent a jolt of white-hot anger
through Adam’s chest.
“The hell?” he snapped, turning to see the redheaded woman
standing there, arms crossed like she was ready to spit fire.
Louie’s face had shuttered. All that spark, that laughter, gone.
What replaced it wasn’t just anger—it was the look of someone
yanked violently back into something he’d been trying to forget.
Dahlia.
Adam didn’t need the introduction. He knew.
He didn’t say a word at first. Just stood there, jaw clenched,
eyes narrowing as Louie fired back his retort and tried to turn
away.
Adam’s hand moved instinctively to support him again, but then
everything spun—Louie stumbled, one of Dahlia’s entourage
tripped him, and he went down hard.
Adam moved, fast—but not fast enough to stop the retching, the
sound of liquid hitting the floor, and Dahlia’s indignant shriek
as her shoes got caught in the splash.
And when she stepped forward, leg tensing to kick him—
“I’ve told you—no violence in my bar!”
Luka’s voice cut the air like a blade. Adam turned sharply, half
in awe as she stepped between them like a pissed-off goddess
with a bar towel in one hand and wrath in the other.
“Get the hell out or I’ll ask Trick to bounce your asses out!”
Dahlia and her friends didn’t argue. They knew better. Still,
the sneer she shot over her shoulder made Adam want to throw a
chair.
As she vanished into the crowd, Adam finally let himself
move—dropping to Louie’s side, brushing vomit-soaked hair from
his face without hesitation.
He didn’t care about the mess. Only Louie.
He turned back to Louie, who was clearly trying to pull himself
together and failing. There was vomit on the floor, a dazed look
in his eyes, and shame tightening the lines of his face. He
looked lost and exhausted, like all the life had been sucked out
of him in one blow.
Adam's first instinct was to deck someone. His second was to
stay.
When Luka shot him a look and jerked her chin toward the back
rooms, Adam nodded without hesitation.
“Yeah. I got him.”
He crouched beside Louie, his voice dropping to something
softer. “Hey, rockstar. Let’s get you out of the spotlight,
yeah? Come on.”
He wrapped one of Louie’s arms over his shoulders and stood,
taking most of his weight without complaint. He didn’t care
about the mess on Louie’s shirt or his own—only that the guy
looked like he might unravel if someone didn’t hold him
together.
The walk to the quieter back room was slow, Adam murmuring
nonsense encouragements—“You’re okay,” “Almost there,” “Don’t
worry, I’m not going anywhere”—and making sure Louie didn’t trip
again.
Once inside the room, Adam eased him down onto a couch, grabbing
a towel Luka had tossed in and wiping Louie’s face gently,
careful not to push.
“She always like that?” he asked, more to fill the silence than
demand answers. “All bite and no leash?”
Louie didn’t respond right away, so Adam sighed, settling beside
him, not touching, just there. A grounded presence.
“You don’t deserve that, you know,” Adam said quietly. “None of
it. Not the slap, not the trip, especially not whatever head
game she’s playing.”
He glanced over, meeting Louie’s eyes. “You good if I stay a
bit? I don’t mind waiting till you can walk without the walls
swaying.”
Adam’s flirty fire had simmered to something gentler now. No
expectations. Just calm. He knew when a guy didn’t need pickup
lines—just someone who wouldn’t walk out when shit got real.
And Adam wasn’t going anywhere. Not tonight.
---fin--
Louie was out of it and a mess. Embarrassment crossed his face.
His head stayed low from the laughter. What he didn’t expect was
the level of care from Adam- a stranger to him.
Every word Adam spoke was delivered with such care and
assurance, yet he couldn’t seem to find his footing. Whenever
Dahlia was around, he became a mess. By now, anyone he tried to
reach out to had already left. She’d catch him once in a blue
moon, creating a scene that inevitably left him looking bad in
one way or another.
Whether it was for show or her own amusement, he was never quite
sure.
Luka seemed relieved that Adam had received her message loud and
clear, promptly handing a towel to him. Seeing Adam’s
willingness to help, Luka went to fetch something to ease Lou’s
stomach.
Louie shook just a little bit- the violent way he threw up
apparent his eyes searching to see if Adam was just buttering
him up for something worse- or giving something almost as if
pity. His drunken haze keeping him from making his usual
choices.
Then the question.
Then a laugh and a dry heave to settle as there was clearly
nothing else coming out. “Not sure when it came out- she wasn’t
always like that..” he slurred. He felt gross- his shirt came
off in response to try and get away from the smell of his own
vomit so he’d stop feeling summer salts in his stomach.
“We’ve dated off n’ on till she did me dirty, n’ fucked my best
friend.” He muttered bitterly. Yuma, though an ass was someone
he thought was close enough to. “I need a shower.” He griped
before Luka came in to set some ginger ales down, and gave a wet
towel warmed as Lou took it to wipe whatever mess was left
making faces.
“… and this is why you should not drink like that.” Said the
bartender and friend.
“Fuck Off- like you care anyway” a biting response before the
blonde with make a huffy look.
She gave a mildly apologetic look to Adam before another slap to
Lou’s face- a more well deserved one came.
—->
“Of course I fucking care- your sleeping here tonight- already
told Mary to get the bed ready.” Said Luka as she saw the man’s
face dip more. “You’re beyond drunk to even walk let alone stand
without getting sick.” Griped the blonde.
“You’re not alone lou…” she said in a gentler tone before his
foot would kick out to shove the table making her flinch as it
scooted and the cups tipped over, making a mess.
“Coulda fooled me.”
Words like this without context- an outsider wouldn’t know. But
Luka’s face said everything and nothing all at once.
A soft sigh.”I know- but it was enough to get you to stop
getting with dahlia. That I’m not sorry for.” She said calmly.
“He might say some things .. Adam, “ she said as she recalled
his name from their brief introduction earlier at the bar. “He’s
just drunk- he won’t remember half later.. mind keeping an eye
just a little longer? I’ll be back with Mary to get his dumb ass
to bed.” She said.
—fin—
Adam knelt beside Louie, steadying the towel in his grip, quiet
as he dabbed gently at the mess clinging to Lou’s jawline. The
man was clearly spiraling, and though the words came out sharp
and bitter, Adam didn’t flinch. He’d seen worse. Been worse.
The slap surprised him more than anything Louie had said.
He caught Luka’s glance and returned it with a slight
nod—acknowledging her anger, but not judging it. Just... being
there.
When Louie kicked the table, Adam instinctively reached out to
keep it from toppling over completely, catching one of the cans
before it could roll off. The sound, the jarring scrape, the
muttered “coulda fooled me”—it all pressed something heavy into
the room. Like grief that couldn’t figure out what it was
mourning.
Adam didn’t speak until Luka’s footsteps retreated toward the
back. He kept his tone low but clear, his hand steady on Louie’s
shoulder.
“…She hit you because she gives a damn, you know.” A pause, long
enough for Louie to groan or curse or ignore him—Adam wouldn’t
take it personal.
“dahlia definitely did a number on you, and it sucks, it's not
something easy to get over, I've experienced it myself. But I do
know this—if someone sticks around after the vomit, the yelling,
and the table-kicking… you’re not as alone as you think.”
He exhaled, watching Louie with a guarded kind of patience.
“Drink this when you can,” he said, nudging a ginger ale closer.
“And if you hurl it up, that’s okay too. I’ve got time.”
A faint, wry smile ghosted his lips. “Luka says you’re crashing
here. I’ll help you get to bed when she’s back. I’ve carried
heavier.”
Adam leaned back a little but didn’t move too far. His voice
softened at the end.
“You don’t owe me anything. I’m just... here. That’s all.”
---fin--
Louie heard the first few words in the quiet of the room, his
jaw tensing as if the syllables themselves pierced deeper than
they should have. He shrugged off Adam’s hand with a sharp
flick, folding his arms tightly across his chest, a shaky
barrier against memories clawing their way up. His stance
shifted, a slight swagger attempting to mask the tremor in his
voice.
“You don’t know how it was!” he snapped, voice slurred not from
drink but from the weight of betrayal tangled in each word. “We
were high school sweethearts, man. The kind of story people
write songs about—we were the song. Our band was kicking it, on
the edge of something real, something big. And Dahlia? She—she
had a voice like no other, like velvet dipped in fire, you
know?”
His breath hitched, but the words kept spilling, tightening like
a noose. “We’d stay up late, while I wrote lyrics in the margins
of textbooks, dreaming about stages we’d rule together. God, I
thought she was my muse, my partner in crime. But you know
what?” His laugh was hollow, brittle. “Turns out, she was just
rehearsing her solo act.”
Louie’s hands gestured wildly now, frustration boiling over.
“She showed her true colors, bright and blinding. Manipulative,
selfish, always two steps ahead, while I danced to her tune. She
didn’t just leave!. She stole. My. Music.” His fists clenched
tight, before he’d hit it at the last word.He would gently shake
it as he had hurt it acting worried al the sudden to look over
his own hand carefully.
“Every chord, every lyric—we bled into those songs together, and
then—poof—she vanished like we never existed. Left me with
echoes and empty sheets.”
Breathing hard, Louie’s shoulders slumped, the rant draining the
last of his defiant energy. “Guess I was just background noise
in the melody she was crafting all along.”
>>>
“Been trying to make my own band again- I built it- convinced
Natalie with my drummer to join me, and rebuild..” he said
calming down.”I’ll take her little band down- and I’ll be on
top. You’ll see.” He said as he felt the world move as he
shifted for the soda that didn’t fall thanks to Adam to crack it
open and down it like it was the alcohol itself. He would swish
a little in his mouth and leaned a bit on his hands.
“An’ don’t be fooled by Luka- she abandoned me when I needed her
most- it took uncle Xander to even get free of what was going
on.” He muttered.
—fin—
Adam let Louie’s words crash over him like a wave—rage, grief,
betrayal, pride—all twisted up into one bleeding, brilliant
mess. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t flinch at the outburst or the
shaking fists. He just listened. Not like some passive
audience—but like someone who saw the man behind the curtain.
When Louie finally slumped, drained and defiant, Adam moved
slowly. No jokes this time. No flirty smirks. Just quiet
honesty.
“I get it,” Adam said finally, voice low, the kind of calm that
doesn’t try to fix pain but sits with it. “I don’t know exactly
how it was, no. I wasn’t there. But I hear you. And that? What
she did? That wasn’t just heartbreak. That was betrayal of the
worst kind—stealing your music? That’s like... cutting your soul
out and slapping their name on it.”
He paused, studying Louie with quiet intensity, but without
judgment. “You’re not background noise, Louie. You’re the damn
lead. Anyone with ears and half a brain can see that.”
Adam gently reached out—not pushing, just resting a hand on the
edge of the couch near Louie, open and unthreatening. “What
you’ve rebuilt already? That’s not nothing. That’s everything.
Most people would’ve just folded. Hell, they do. But you’re
still out there, still creating, still fighting. You’ve already
started climbing back up, man. And yeah... I believe you. You’ll
take ‘em down. You’ll blow them off the stage.”
When Louie reached for the soda and swished it like he was
trying to rinse the past out of his mouth, Adam leaned back a
little but stayed close, grounded. Protective.
“And Luka?” Adam’s tone darkened just a little, brows furrowing.
“If she walked when things got rough, then screw that. No one
who cares bails when shit hits the fan. But hey—uncle Xander
sounds like a real one. Sometimes it takes just one person
pulling you out of the wreckage to remind you you’re still
standing.”
He let that sit for a second before adding, softer this time,
“You’re not alone now, either. Even if this is just tonight.
You’re not some guy I danced with. You’re someone I see. And for
what it’s worth…” He let a breath out, his gaze steady. “I think
you’ve got more fire left in you than she ever had.”
He gave a small, crooked smile then, offering a tiny break in
the storm. “Besides, you already had the crowd wrapped around
your little finger out there. You didn’t just perform—you owned
it.”
--Fin--
Louie let out a deep breath, his eyes softening as Adam spoke.
Every word felt like a gentle echo, validating Louie’s feelings
with heartfelt sincerity.
When Adam called Louie the star—not just a backup singer—it
sparked a quiet pride inside him, a warmth he hadn’t felt in
ages.
But then Adam’s words dug deeper, stirring tears. He called
Louie resilient, with an unwavering belief that he could reach
the top.
Still, doubt lingered. Louie wanted to believe, but he’d heard
sweet words before, wrapped in pretty lies. It made him
cautious, no matter how kind someone seemed.
“You’re right,” he mumbled, hiding his thoughts. “I did own it.”
The truth felt solid on his tongue. Then, in a drunken haze, he
added softly, “Maybe… once I’m there, really rocking it… I’ll
finally be seen.”
The ache of loneliness and the crave of wanting attention- was
akin to the love he wished to have. He hadn’t seen Xander in
years- the man had wandered off after being bailed to what
seemed like the fiftieth time. He assumed Xander left due to him
yelling at the man.
Right then, a tall brunette would walk in. The fit woman came
over to sit on Louie’s other side to talk.”alright Lou about
time for bed- say goodbye to your friend, and you sweet boy-
leave him your number so I can make him remember you by
morning.” She said with a bright tone and a soft wink. “I know
you won’t let Luka help but I can get your ass up there.” She
said to stare at Louie who had quieted a little bit.
—fin—
Adam gave the brunette a quick, easy grin. “Don’t worry, I’m not
letting him forget me.”
He slid a hand toward Louie’s phone, holding it out with a
silent, trust me look. “Unlock it for me, rockstar.” Once Louie
fumbled it open, Adam tapped in his number, but didn’t stop
there—he snapped a quick selfie leaning in close to Louie, both
of them framed by the warm, dim light of the room. Louie’s eyes
were glassy but his smirk was pure trouble, and Adam couldn’t
help the faint laugh that slipped out.
“There,” Adam said, adding his name into the contact: Adam — the
hot groupie cheering you on last night (secretly). For good
measure, he dropped a short note in the contact info: The one
who thinks you’re headliner material. Drinks on me next time.
He saved it, then placed the phone gently back into Louie’s
hand. “Now even if you wake up tomorrow wondering if I was just
a tequila dream… you’ll have proof.”
Leaning back, Adam let the warmth of his grin linger, but his
voice softened as he looked at Louie. “You are seen, Louie. Even
when you think no one’s looking.”
He gave the brunette a nod, ready to let her get Louie where he
needed to be, but as he stood, he ruffled Louie’s hair
lightly—just enough to leave the ghost of a touch. “Get some
sleep, frontman. The encore’s still coming.”
--fin--
Mary went to lift Louie up the woman grappling around his lanky
form. Once he was leaning against her did he give his lopsided
smile.”an encore huh? Then make it a standing ovation.” He said
before walking with Mary.”now watch them feet of yours- can’t
have you stumbling down the stairs with me again.” She said with
a sigh.
Despite the fogged look, she saw how he touched his mussed hair.
Something about the stranger touched Louie in a significant way-
even if he was under the influence.
The soft creaks of the stairs accompanied Mary’s strained
footsteps as she struggled to support Louie. Though Louie was
sober enough to guide their ascent, Mary’s effort was evident in
her tightened grip and unsteady pace, each step a small battle
against his wavering balance.
But once they got inside would she let him fall on the bed with
a thud.
“Coulda been more careful Mary.” He slurred.
“"Mmhmm. But better this than having the big guy witness a
repeat of what happened, right?" she said as she noticed his
expression and quickly handed over a trash can that was set by
the bed, just as Louie vomited again.
"Right..." he managed to reply between another heave.
After a little bit and another cleanup, would he be dead to the
world. His eyes drifting close for the night.
Out on the dimly lit streets, another figure moved. Yuma had
departed the bar, having witnessed Louie’s crash out and
Dahlia’s dramatic exit. His goal was clear—steer clear of Dahlia
while finding an opportunity to connect with Louie.
“Well, that went up in smoke,” he muttered to himself, shaking
his head.
Stopping under the flickering glow of a streetlight, Yuma
reached into his pocket, retrieving a crumpled pack of smokes.
He pulled one out, patting his jeans for a lighter. His tongue
clicked in frustration upon realizing he didn’t have one. “Well,
shit,” he muttered, craving a nicotine fix as he wandered in
search of ‘work.’
>>>>
His attire was casual and slightly disheveled—tight jeans paired
with a half tank top that hung loosely off his shoulders.
Running a hand through his hair, he sighed as it stubbornly fell
back into his face. Just then, he caught sight of a passerby.
“Hey… got a light?” he asked with a mild smirk, hopeful for a
spark to ease his craving.
__fin__
Adam stood outside the Cat’s Lair, the muted thump of bass still
rumbling from inside. The night air was cool, carrying the faint
scent of rain that never came. His head was pleasantly warm from
the drinks, but he knew better than to walk home like this. A
quick whistle brought a cab rolling up, its headlights cutting
through the dim street.
As he slid into the back seat, Adam gave one last glance toward
the bar—toward where Louie had disappeared upstairs. He smirked
faintly, leaning back as the door shut. “See you around,
frontman,” he murmured to himself, before the cab pulled away
into the night.
-----
A block away, a tall figure in a dark hoodie kept to the edges
of the sidewalk, hood drawn low as if the shadows could make him
invisible. Andre’s stride was unhurried, though his pale silver
eyes scanned the street with a predator’s patience. He might’ve
passed right by the lone man leaning under a flickering
streetlight if the voice hadn’t called out.
“Hey… got a light?”
Andre’s gaze flicked to the source—slightly disheveled,
cigarette dangling from his fingers, smirk resting lazy on his
lips.
The hooded man tilted his head, a faint grin curling his mouth
as he reached into his pocket. “Only if you plan on sharing,” he
replied, his words laced with a low Creole drawl. A lighter
appeared between his fingers, the tiny flame dancing as he held
it out.
But before the cute guy could respond, Andre’s eyes narrowed,
his head angling subtly toward the far end of the street. Heavy
footsteps—too many for a casual stroll—echoed faintly from the
dark. His nostrils flared, picking up the sharp tang of
aggression on the air.
In one fluid motion, Andre stepped forward, his large hand
catching man’s arm with surprising gentleness for his size.
“Incoming possible danger,” he murmured, voice dropping to a
hiss. His silvery eyes flashed with a brief, unnatural light
before he guided shorter man off the street, pulling him into
the cover of a narrow alley.
--fin--
Yuma overheard the man mention something about sharing as he
fumbled with the lighter, ready to take a puff. Just as Yuma was
about to make a quip, a hand gripped his arm, pulling him away.
Moments later, they found themselves in a dim alley, Yuma’s
senses instantly sharpening.
“They’re dangerous,” a voice whispered softly, “but I can make
them go away, handsome.”
The echo of boots followed them into the shadows. Yuma slipped
seamlessly into his performance persona.
“Oh! Time to hand over the money I made?” he exclaimed, patting
his pockets theatrically before producing a wallet stuffed with
cash. “You guys really should wait until I’m done with a John,”
he added, jerking his thumb toward Andre. “The guy’s a bit
performance-shy. We were just heading to the room,” Yuma
continued, brushing back his hair with deliberate nonchalance.
The towering men remained silent, their expressions unreadable.
Yuma took their quiet as acceptance and turned to leave, almost
missing a hand shooting out to stop him.
That gesture told Yuma everything—enforcers, collectors—he’d
messed up. Panic flickered in his eyes, but he swiftly replaced
it with a fierce glare, his inner strength surfacing.
“Seriously... don’t make me,” he growled, his voice dripping
with venom. The enforcer hesitated, a flicker of fear betraying
his stoic facade—just enough time for Yuma.
“Fine… finish your job. Boss wants to see you about unapproved
purchases,” the man grumbled, his tone laced with uncertainty,
as if questioning the chill Yuma’s words had sent down his
spine.
Yuma kept as much composure he’d allow himself-he had to be
careful. He eased his ability to put fear into others as he
said.”Will do, “ he said as he turned to go and put his arm back
in Andre’s as his theatrics continued, listing prices and
services as they got out of view.
>>
His breath out slide out in a shaken way.”so.. what are you?” He
questioned. What was left of the smoke he took a draw from.”no
one has senses like that and is human.. or you got some hella
extra abilities.” He said as he flicked the ash some.
—fin—
Andre’s tall frame leaned casually against the brick wall of the
alley, one hand effortlessly plucking the cigarette from Yuma’s
fingers before he could react. He drew in a long, slow drag,
savoring the burn, and blew a perfect smoke ring into the dim
light, watching it curl lazily upward.
“You notice, huh?” he said, voice low and smooth, carrying that
soft Creole lilt. His silvery eyes flicked briefly toward the
shadows, reading the street with a predator’s precision before
returning to Yuma. “Not everyone’s got eyes, ears, and instincts
that twitch the second trouble steps close. And no, I’m not
human in the way you think.”
He exhaled another plume of smoke, the corners of his mouth
quirking into a faint, amused smirk. “Call it… enhanced. Call it
a gift. A curse, depending on the day. But it keeps me alive in
places most people wouldn’t last five minutes.”
Andre flicked the spent cigarette to the ground, crushing it
under his boot with measured force. “And right now?” His gaze
softened, just a fraction, sharpness tempered by the night. “I’m
here. Watching your back. Making sure the drama outside doesn’t
touch you. You keep up that bravado all you want, but—trust
me—you’ll want someone like me nearby when it matters.”
He tilted his head, the hood sliding slightly to reveal bleached
dreads framing his dark-skinned, muscular features. “Name’s
Andre,” he added casually, like it mattered little—but his eyes
said everything: I’m not going anywhere.
Then, quirking an eyebrow, he added, “So… what’s yours? And
don’t tell me that whole spiel back there—the prices, the
packages, the ‘John’ bit—was just an act, huh? Or were you
actually shopping for someone?”
His smirk was playful but laced with curiosity, silver eyes
glinting in the alley light, assessing the young man in front of
him with a mix of amusement and caution.
--fin--
Yuma frowned as he noticed the lingering smoke from his last
cigarette, fishing around for his lighter to light another.
"Naturally. It’s not hard to tell who’s what if you’re observant
enough," the man remarked.
Yuma shifted back slightly, his expression guarded. "How would
you ever know me? I’m just someone trying to live and survive. I
don’t even know who—or what—you are, besides your name, Andre."
"Call me Yu," the man replied coolly, the shortened name adding
to his enigmatic demeanor. Yuma felt a subtle unease; trust
didn’t come easily to him. And such promises were falling on
deaf ears- as it wasn’t the first time he had heard them.
“I’m working- that is for sure. If they hadn’t seen me working-
they’d hunt me down. Granted this time I messed up.” Said Yuma
with a sigh. Having paid for drugs to make up to his friend
Natalie for snatching them last was catching up to him.
“I gotta find a few johns and if there is Jane’s.... no offense-
it’s just me making money.” He said. “What are you a cop?” He
asked his brow raising a little.
—fin—
Andre chuckled, the sound low and unbothered. “A cop? Nah. Got
into way too much trouble as a teenager to even think about that
gig.” His eyes carried a glint of something—half amusement, half
memory. “I’m a musician. Looking for inspiration. And trust me,
I’ve seen enough shit out here to know it doesn’t take much to
ruin someone.”
He leaned back against the brick wall, pulling his lighter from
his pocket and flicking it open with a practiced motion. The
tiny flame danced in the dim light as he smirked, holding it out
toward Yuma. “Need a light?”
When the cigarette caught, he didn’t move away right away. “You
want some company, Yu?” His tone was easy, almost teasing, but
there was an undercurrent of genuine offer—no judgment, no
agenda. Just presence.
--fin--
“Take much, huh? You're not wrong there,” Yuma retorted with a
dry chuckle, arching a brow and tossing an exaggerated eye roll.
He crossed his arms with dramatic flair, shifting his weight to
one hip. “Granted, I’ve had the absolute worst taste in company
before.” He let out an exasperated sigh, flipping a stray lock
of hair from his face with a flick of his fingers. “And that, my
friend, tanked my music career faster than you can say ‘bad
decisions.’”
When the conversation shifted to company, Yuma’s eyes widened
theatrically. He leaned in slightly, smirking. “Look… you’re
cute, I’ll give you that,” he drawled, tapping a finger against
his chin as if considering a business deal.
Then he straightened up, snapping his fingers as if dismissing
the thought. “But I really should get to work. So, unless you’re
planning on paying me—or hey, even just tossing me some change
for a sandwich—I gotta hustle.” He winked, turning on his heel
with a dramatic flourish.
—fin—
Andre tilted his head, the corner of his mouth tugging into a
lazy smile. “You really think I’m gonna let you walk away after
that performance?” he asked, voice rich with amusement. He
reached into his jacket pocket, fishing out his wallet without
breaking eye contact. “I’ll pay you. But not for sex. Unless you
actually want that.” His brows lifted in a deliberate pause
before softening again.
“What I’m saying is… you can just hang out. Get something to
eat. Relax for once instead of working the whole night.” He
flicked open the wallet, slipping out a couple of hundred dollar
bills and holding them loosely between his fingers. “I’m feeling
inspired tonight, and I think you’d make a hell of a muse for
me. I’d rather have good company and a few stories than a quick
fuck I’ll forget by morning.”
He stepped a little closer, eyes scanning Yuma’s face like he
was taking in details for a portrait. “So? You in, or are you
gonna make me keep chasing you like some tragic artist in a
French movie?”
--fin--
Yuma had barely taken a handful of steps when Andre’s voice
floated after him, smooth and magnetic.
His head turned, sharp and fluid, him
Side eyeing Andre with a flicker of intrigue. But it wasn’t
Andre’s face that held him—it was the wallet, sleek and worn,
now open like a quiet promise. His gaze dipped, pupils narrowing
slightly as the crisp edges of not just one, but two one
hundred-dollar bills winked back at him. The crisp green, bold
against the leather’s dark backdrop, seemed to whisper louder
than words: all this for simply being present, for lending an
ear.
Yuma’s heartbeat fell into rhythm with the soft rustle of cash.
Not a toy, not a performer—just an ear. And a very
well-compensated one, at that.
Forgotten. That word seemed to cut deep, his head turning as it
seemed he was thinking.
“Alright- Andre- I’ll be your company for tonight.” He said.”you
can compensate half to me now, and the other half later.” He
said slowly. Part of him felt terrified at the amount, yet
thrilled. He was doing mental math as it seemed it be close to
paying off what was left of his stunt and being able to eat for
a few days.
“And what stories do you wish to tell me.. or ask of me I
guess.” Said Yuma as he turned to his side to let his face take
in Andre fully.
—fin—
Andre’s lips curved into a faint, approving smile as he watched
Yuma’s eyes flicker over the bills. “Half now, half later? Fair
enough,” he said, peeling one crisp hundred-dollar bill from the
stack and sliding it into Yuma’s hand with a soft flick of his
fingers. The other bills disappeared back into the worn leather
of his wallet, which he tucked safely into his jacket pocket.
“You can tell me whatever you want,” he said, voice low and
easy, with that subtle pull of authority that seemed to suggest
he meant it. “Stories, secrets, your day-to-day—anything. I
won’t judge, and I won’t pry unless you want me to.”
His silver eyes scanned the emptying streets, lingering on the
shadows that clung to the alleys. “But… it’s better if we get
somewhere safer than out here. I’ve got a spot I use to compose
music, share with some other night-owl musicians. Quiet,
private, and I usually only go there when it’s late, like now.
Or—if you’d rather—I can offer my own place. No pressure, just
somewhere you can relax and eat without worrying about the world
stepping on your toes.”
He let a pause hang, letting the offer settle between them, then
added with a faint smirk, “Take it as you want. But I promise,
no weird surprises. Just… company, and maybe some inspiration.”
--fin--
Yuma appeared surprised when told he could speak freely. His
eyes half-lidded as he glanced toward the bar he'd been at
earlier. "Well... how about I vent a little? Maybe you can give
me some advice. It's kind of a long story, though," he said,
crossing his arms.
"I don’t mind meeting at your usual music spot, but I’m not
exactly comfortable just heading to your place."
Yuma followed the man, adding, "Maybe it’ll inspire you—or make
you despise me. Time will tell."
After a leisurely stroll through the bustling streets, Yuma and
his companion decided to grab a quick meal at a small,
tucked-away café. The warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee and
sizzling street food mingled in the air as they exchanged few
words, each lost in their own thoughts.
With their hunger satisfied, they continued walking until they
stumbled upon a quiet, serene spot—a hidden alcove often
frequented by lyricists seeking inspiration. The soft rustle of
leaves and distant hum of city life provided the perfect
backdrop.
Yuma sat down with a heavy sigh, the weight of unspoken words
pressing on his chest. Uncertain of how to begin, his red eye
drifted upward to meet the gaze of the man sitting across from
him. After a brief pause, he exhaled deeply.
"I am an ass," he confessed bluntly. "I technically was friends
with a guy from my band, and yes, there was a woman involved."
His admission hung in the air, raw and unpolished.
"We never really got along—I still think the guy's a total
poser. Even after dyeing his hair and trying to be punk," Yuma
added, crossing his leg with a dismissive shrug. "But what I
did… that was far more unforgivable than just being a faker."
“We were on the road to fame together, bound by music and
dreams. Louie's lyrics? Unparalleled—raw, genuine, the kind of
talent you can't fake. Then there was Dahlia: captivating,
magnetic. I thought she was beginning to notice me for who I
truly was, to see beyond Louie and recognize my worth.”
>>
“But I let envy get a good hold of me.. I watched, waited, let
ambition fester. Dahlia and I grew closer—secret moments hidden
behind veiled glances and hushed whispers. We were careful. I
wanted what Louie had- her, the music.. and the rhythm..in the
end dahlia succeeded in getting a notebook of his music.”
Yuma took a long sip of soda, the sound ending with a slurp,
followed by a deep breath.
"After that, I rode the wave of fame—until I became her next
victim," the man said. "Louie's reputation was already shaky due
to his outburst and hitting me; he had plenty of issues to begin
with, so it wasn’t hard to bring him down further, given his
past. But me? She painted me as a monster—claiming I controlled
her, kept her from seeing people, and isolated her. In reality,
she was the one trying to keep me on a tight leash. Especially
when I caught her losing it as the notebook was nearly used up.
I wanted to warn Louie at least, tell him she was about to make
his life a living hell—and she’d already started. But even now,
I have no idea how to approach him without risking a punch to
the face." He rubbed the back of his neck, lost in thought.
—fin—
Andre leaned back on the worn wooden bench, elbows resting
casually on the backrest, the dim light filtering through the
leaves catching faint glints in his silver eyes. He didn’t speak
right away, letting Yuma’s words hang between them like the last
notes of a song that refused to fade.
When he finally moved, it was slow—pulling the lighter from his
pocket and flipping it open with a metallic click. He snagged
what was left of Yuma’s cigarette from earlier, stuck it between
his own lips, and took a deep drag, the smoke curling lazily
from his mouth before drifting upward.
“Mm,” he hummed, voice low and steady. “That’s a hell of a knot
you’ve tied yourself into, Yu.” His gaze sharpened, not
unkindly, but with the weight of someone who’s seen enough of
the world to recognize a dangerous pattern. “I’ve met
Dahlia-types before. Pretty, magnetic… poison in the veins.
They’ll smile while they strip you of everything worth
keepin’—and then find a way to make you thank ’em for it.”
He leaned forward slightly, forearms braced on his knees,
cigarette dangling between two fingers. “What you did to Louie?
Yeah, it’s a wound. Might not heal clean, even if you want it
to. But here’s the thing—some folks punch first, ask later.
Others? They just want the truth, raw and ugly. You don’t know
which one he is now, not ‘til you stand in front of him.”
Andre took another drag, then passed the cigarette back without
asking, his lips quirking in a half-smirk. “And for what it’s
worth… you’re not the only one who’s tried to claw their way up
and ended up gettin’ cut on the way. The streets are full of us.
Difference is, some of us learn not to bleed where the sharks
can smell it.”
His tone softened, though his eyes didn’t lose their edge. “So.
You wanna warn Louie? Fine. But you better figure out if you’re
doin’ it for him, or to put your own head to rest. ‘Cause the
second he smells guilt instead of respect, you’ll be pickin’
yourself up off the pavement.”
He sat back again, resting one arm along the back of the bench,
his smirk returning in a more relaxed shape. “Anyway… you’ve got
time tonight. No debt collectors breathin’ down your neck for
the next few hours. We can hash this out, maybe even come up
with a plan that doesn’t end with your face rearranged. Sound
fair?”
--fin--
Yuma listened intently as Andre spoke, his head tilting slightly
downward. A knot—that seemed like the perfect metaphor for his
situation. Hearing Dahlia described in such a light elicited a
soft sigh from his lips.
He knew he’d face consequences no matter what. But he felt that
if he at least warned Louie about what was coming, he could
intercept Dahlia’s actions and offer his support to the
purple-haired man as best he could.
“Louie is definitely a punch first and ask later. That’s what
landed him in hot water the first time.” Admitted Yuma.“In fact
that’s what made it easy to tear down his reputation..” he said
as he felt stupid for following along with that. Course he never
expected to get the same treatment.
He sat back in thought before he heard Andre’s offer to help
come up with a plan. “.. that be great- least somehow to get
Louie to talk to me..“ he said as he looked at the sky.
—fin—
Andre let out a low hum, watching the smoke from his last drag
curl into the cool night air. “Alright,” he said finally, “then
we figure out a way to get him to actually hear you without
swingin’ on you first. That means timing, place, and you walkin’
in with the right tone—because if you come in all sharp edges,
he’s just gonna bounce ‘em right back at you.”
He shifted, resting one ankle on his opposite knee, silver eyes
steady on Yuma. “We’ll map it out. Could be I spot an opening at
one of his gigs, or maybe we go through someone he actually
listens to. Either way, we do it clean, on your terms—not
Dahlia’s.”
Andre reached into his jacket, pulled out a pack of gum, and
slid a piece Yuma’s way. “Also… for the record, I wouldn’t mind
us bein’ friends. Or more, if that’s where you’d want it to go
someday.” His tone stayed casual, almost like he was talking
about the weather, but there was no mistaking the sincerity
behind it.
He cracked a faint grin, leaning back against the bench. “You’re
sharp, you’re funny, and you’ve got a story worth hearin’.
That’s rare out here. And I don’t waste time on people who
aren’t worth it.”
He let the words hang there before adding, “So, what do you say,
Yu? Friends for now… and maybe see where it goes?”
--fin--
Yuma glanced at the piece of gum, a faint smirk tugging at the
corner of their mouth. The cool night air felt heavier with
Andre’s words lingering between them, like echoes in a quiet
room.
Picking up the gum, Yuma turned it over thoughtfully before
sliding it into their pocket instead of unwrapping it. Their
gaze met Andre’s, sharp yet softened by something unspoken.
“Well,” Yuma began, voice low but steady, “I guess I could use a
friend who doesn’t sugarcoat things. That’s rarer than you
think.” A small chuckle escaped, more breath than sound. “And
yeah, you’ve got a knack for saying the right thing without
making it sound like a line. That’s somethin’ too.”
Yuma leaned back, mirroring Andre’s relaxed posture, though
their fingers tapped lightly against their knee—nervous energy
slipping through the cracks. “Let’s take it one step at a time.
Friends sounds good. Real good, actually. And if it turns into
somethin’ more… well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get
there.”
After a beat, Yuma added with a wry grin, “But don’t think this
means I’m easy to impress. You’ve set the bar pretty high
already, Andre.”
They both sat in companionable silence, the night air wrapping
around them like an unspoken promise.
—fin—
Andre’s grin widened slightly, genuine and warm.
“Friends it is,” he agreed, reaching out his fist toward Yuma.
When Yuma met him halfway, their knuckles bumped with a solid
tap.
Stretching his arms above his head, Andre rolled his shoulders
and added with an easy smirk, “I don’t try to impress, Yu. I’m
just myself. If that happens to impress you, then good. If not?
Well…” He shrugged, the motion smooth and unbothered. “I don’t
change myself for anybody. They either like me or hate me.”
Before Yuma could reply, the door to the nearby building creaked
open. A lanky man with headphones around his neck and a battered
guitar case slung over one shoulder stepped out, giving Andre a
nod.
“Hey, Spider,” the man greeted casually. “Building’s open if you
wanna work. I just finished up.”
Andre raised a hand in thanks. “Appreciate it, Zee. See you
around.”
“Later, man,” Zee replied before disappearing into the night.
Andre turned back to Yuma with a raised brow and a playful gleam
in his silver eyes. “Well, looks like we’ve got ourselves a spot
to crash for a while. Come on, Yu. Let’s go somewhere a little
less… public.”
He extended his hand in invitation, this time not just for a
fist bump, but for Yuma to take if he wanted to.
-Fin-
Yuma looked at Andre’s outstretched hand, a flicker of amusement
crossing his face. Brushing a stray strand of hair behind his
ear, he chuckled softly.
“You’re something else, Andre,” Yuma said, his voice light but
carrying an undertone of sincerity. Without hesitation, he
clasped Andre’s hand firmly, a spark of camaraderie igniting in
the simple gesture.
Pulling himself up with Andre’s help, Yuma added with a smirk,
“I’ve never been one for public scenes anyway. Lead the way,
Spider.”
As they walked toward the open door, Yuma glanced sideways at
Andre, his red eyes catching the dim light. “And for the
record,” he continued, his tone casual yet pointed, “being
yourself? That’s exactly what’s impressive.”
With that, he shoved his hands into his pockets, a small grin
lingering as they disappeared into the building, behind the man.
—fin—
“I don’t try to impress, Yu,” he admitted, his tone light but
honest. “I’m just myself. If that impresses you, then good. If
it doesn’t, well…” His smirk turned sharp and playful. “I don’t
change for anybody, so you get what you see. Makes it easier to
know who’s worth my time.”
Andre turned back to Yuma with a glint of excitement in his
silvery eyes. “Looks like the timing worked out perfect. Come
on, Yu—let’s see what kind of trouble you inspire tonight.”
Once inside, Andre settled into a worn stool, a well-loved
guitar resting against his knee. His long fingers danced over
the strings, coaxing out a low, moody melody that filled the
quiet space.
He glanced up at Yuma, the corners of his mouth curling in a
slow grin. “You know,” he said, voice rich and thoughtful,
“you’ve got a rhythm about you. A story in the way you move, the
way you talk.”
As his playing grew more confident, he hummed softly, rough
lyrics forming almost on instinct:
“Red eyes burning in the dark,
A shadow with a wounded heart.
Run from the pain, dance with the fire,
A muse born of hunger, and dangerous desire.”
Andre looked up at Yuma, his expression softer now. “Guess
you’re already workin’ your magic on me, huh?” he teased, but
there was an undercurrent of sincerity beneath the playful tone.
“Stick around, Yu. Might end up writing a whole damn song about
you.”
-Fin-
Yuma froze, blushing a little and clearly mixed on how he felt.
Right when the last note of Andre’s humming lingering in the
air, a soft tremor that sank into his chest. His fingers hovered
there for a moment, curling in unconsciously, as if protecting
the place where the words had struck.
“Red eyes… in the dark…” he murmured, almost to himself, his
voice brushing the quiet like a hesitant touch. Something
stirred in his gaze—hesitation, unease—but beneath it, a strange
glimmer of recognition, of being seen in a way that left him
both exposed and drawn closer.
A shaky laugh slipped out, betraying his nerves. “You… uh… you
really just come up with that on the spot?” His voice wavered,
soft, uncertain. He glanced down at the floor, shoulders curling
inward, caught between retreat and leaning in toward the warmth
of being understood.
When he finally lifted his head, his half-smile wobbled into
place—a shield, fragile and transparent. “You’re… kinda scary
when you do that,” he said, trying to disguise the tremor in his
words, “like you’re… reading me or something.”
The truth coiled in his chest, heavy and quiet: some of the
words of the lyrics had reached the part of him he tried so
hard to keep hidden, the restless, watchful thing he feared
anyone seeing. He slid his hands into his pockets, pretending
calm, even as a subtle chill ran through the room—a reminder
that being known could feel like both safety and danger all at
once.
“Well might as well hm?” He said easing back into his relaxed
form. Unsure of what might come out. The clear blush still on
his face at what was sung.
—fin—
Andre’s smirk softened into something more playful as he set the
guitar aside, resting it carefully against the stool.
“I could call it ‘An Ode to Yu,’” he said, voice smooth and
teasing. “Sort of a play on words, you know?” His silver eyes
flicked up, catching the soft blush that still lingered on
Yuma’s cheeks, and though Andre didn’t comment on it, the warmth
in his expression said plenty.
He leaned back slightly, stretching his long legs out in front
of him. “But really, I just… play what I feel. You sit there
with those sharp red eyes and that guarded little smirk, and my
head starts filling with melodies. Lyrics come with it, like
they’ve been waiting for me to notice.”
Andre tilted his head, his tone turning thoughtful, almost
reverent. “It’s not about reading you, Yu. It’s about… feeling
you. The energy you put out, the story you’re holding back.” His
smirk returned, slow and deliberate. “That, my friend, is
inspiration. And inspiration’s a rare
#Post#: 1495--------------------------------------------------
Re: Adam and Louie
By: Minyaagar Date: February 18, 2026, 12:35 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
thing.”
He reached over, plucking a string idly, the note low and
resonant. “So don’t go getting all scared of me. I’m not here to
expose you. Just to make something beautiful out of the pieces
you show me.”
Andre’s gaze lingered on Yuma a moment longer before he added
with a sly grin, “Besides, you wear a blush well. Even if you’re
trying to hide it.”
-Fin-
Yuma’s eyes widened slightly, the tips of his ears turning an
even deeper shade of red at Andre’s teasing. He averted his
gaze, pretending to straighten the hem of his sleeve.
“W-What? I’m not—! It’s just… the room’s a little warm, that’s
all,” he muttered, his voice catching halfway between indignant
and embarrassed. His sharp red eyes darted back to Andre for a
fraction of a second before skittering away again.
He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of
composure, though the faint heat in his cheeks betrayed him.
“…Still,” he added quietly, almost grudgingly, “thank you. For
the… compliment, I mean.”
Yuma’s fingers curled against his knee, and while he forced a
small huff, the corner of his mouth twitched upward despite
himself. “Ode to yu? Hm? Gonna be funny when they think is
Y-o-u.” He said before settling back again.
—fin—
Andre’s smirk softened into something more thoughtful as he
leaned back, his long fingers lazily strumming a few idle
chords. The soft notes filled the quiet room, lingering like an
unspoken promise.
“That would give the song a hidden meaning if I ever did release
it,” he said, his silver eyes locking onto Yuma’s red ones with
an almost mischievous gleam. “The whole world could think it’s
just about you—Y-O-U—but you and I? We’d know the truth. Who the
song was really written for.”
He let that hang in the air for a beat, the intimacy of it
wrapping around them like the fading echo of the last chord.
Then Andre tilted his head, his smirk edging back into
playfulness.
“Though,” he continued, “if I’m gonna make this song worthy of
you, I need more than just a spark. I need fuel.” His tone
deepened, the easy lilt of his voice carrying a hint of
seriousness now. “Tell me more about you, Yu. The real stuff.
The pieces you usually keep hidden.”
Andre leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his
knees, his entire focus narrowing in on Yuma. “Your favorite
places. The sounds that make you feel alive. What scares you.
Even the little habits you think nobody notices.”
He let his voice drop lower, softer, like a secret. “You said
earlier that you’ve made mistakes… that you’ve been burned. I
don’t need the whole history, not unless you want to give it.
But every detail you share? It adds layers to the music. To your
song.”
His smirk returned, subtle and knowing. “Besides… I like getting
to know what makes you tick. Helps me understand the kind of
muse you are.”
Andre’s hand drifted back to the guitar, his thumb brushing the
strings lightly, waiting for Yuma’s answer. “So, what do you
say, Red Eyes? You ready to give me some inspiration?”
-Fin-
Yuma hesitated, his gaze flickering to the side as if the
shadows of the quiet room offered him an escape. His fingers
fidgeted in his lap, and for a moment he said nothing, the only
sound the soft hum of Andre’s guitar.
“…I don’t know,” he murmured, voice low, almost swallowed by the
air between them. “It’s… not really stuff I talk about.” A
pause, a shallow scoff, like he was trying to brush off his own
hesitation. “I mean… favorite places, sure.. like this abandoned
stage in 4th and Walnut. I went there since high school-
probably the only place dahlia and Louie don’t know of.. least I
can breathe there.” He said.
He shifted in his seat, his red eyes finally meeting Andre’s
silver ones, guarded but curious. “As for the rest… the habits,
the fears… the mistakes…” He trailed off, his throat tightening
around the words. “I… guess it’s just easier to keep some things
locked up, y’know?”
“Besides I know I’m a shit person. Honestly just want dahlia to
hurt- even if our goals align I’m still cutting any sort of
sources she may have left.” He said and leaned back.
“Fears though- I- just am not one for violence.. getting hit
hurts yanno.” He said softly.
“Not gonna lie, I wanted Dahlia—she was stunning. I couldn’t
exactly look away. She has this way of drawing people in… she’s
hot, and she knows it,” he said, smoothing his hair back.
“Louie, though… I still don’t like him. He always came off as
fake. His music said otherwise, but the way he dressed, the way
he tried so hard to be one of ‘us’—he just wasn’t. At least,
that’s what I thought until I heard him a few nights ago. He
seemed desperate, arguing with his lead. Then he sang… and that
kind of raw emotion, you don’t hear every day.”
“Now I’m homeless- bandless and rock bottom I guess.” He
admitted.”maybe it’s karma for doing that to Louie.” He
said.”fuck- I’m one of the reasons he held back from singing at
first..”
-fin—
Andre stilled his hand on the strings, letting the last faint
note hum into silence. He studied Yuma for a long moment, his
sharp silver eyes softening, the easy smirk replaced by
something quieter, steadier.
“...Alright,” he said finally, his voice low and even. “Sounds
like I got ahead of myself.” His thumb tapped lightly on the
side of the guitar, almost like a heartbeat. “I was pushin’ for
more than you were ready to give, and that’s on me. Whatever you
feel like telling me, Yu—that’s all I need. No pressure, no
digging.”
He set the guitar aside and leaned forward, resting his forearms
on his knees. “You’ve already said a hell of a lot. More than
most people ever would.”
Andre’s gaze flicked toward the doorway, where the night air
seeped in through the crack, cool and unwelcoming. His jaw
tightened briefly. “I don’t like the thought of you tryin’ to
find a place to crash out there. Streets’ll eat you alive,
especially when you’re tired and your guard’s down.”
He stood slowly, towering in the dim light, and extended his
hand—not just for help up, but as a gesture of trust. “I’ve got
a couch. It’s not fancy, but it’s warm, and you won’t have to
keep one eye open all night. You want it, it’s yours, no strings
attached.”
Andre’s smirk returned, faint but genuine. “Consider it… a
friend making sure another friend doesn’t end up freezing on a
park bench. I’d rather know you’re safe than spend the night
wonderin’ if you made it through.”
He tilted his head, studying Yuma’s expression carefully. “What
do you say, Yu? You don’t owe me a thing. Just a night of rest
and maybe some peace.”
-Fin-
Yuma’s fingers twitched against the threadbare fabric of his
sleeves. His eyes flickered from the offered hand to the worn
floorboards beneath his boots. The offer hung in the air—solid,
kind, uncomfortably generous. But his caution pressed against
his chest- him fighting the decision as Andre posed no threat so
far.
“…You’re sure?” The words came out softly in disbelief. “We
barely know each other. This could be—” He stopped himself
short, jaw tightening. “You don’t even know what kind of mess I
am dragging around, let alone the danger of being with me.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, gaze shifting toward the door
like he was still trying to measure the cold against the risk.
“I’m not used to people giving without wanting something back,”
he said finally, voice tight. “Especially not something like
this. A place to stay? That’s big. That’s trust.”
There was a long pause, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly,
he exhaled—like the air was being pulled from him more than
released. “...One night. Just one. I’m not looking to settle in.
Don’t get the wrong idea. Just a night to rest my head then
work.” He said.
—fin—
Andre’s expression softened, the hard lines of his face easing
as he lowered his hand just enough to show he wasn’t pushing.
His silver eyes glinted with quiet understanding, but there was
no pity there—just a calm steadiness that Yuma could lean on if
he chose to.
“Yu,” he said evenly, voice carrying a low, soothing tone,
“you’ve already given me something back, whether you see it or
not.”
He moved toward his guitar, letting his fingers idly pluck a
string, the sound humming gently through the quiet space. “That
song I played earlier? Those lyrics? That came from you. The way
you talk, the fire in your eyes, even the mess you say you’re
dragging around—hell, especially that mess. It sparked something
in me.”
Andre glanced over his shoulder, his smirk small but genuine.
“So, don’t think this is me giving without getting. I’ve already
got inspiration to work with. You’ve already left your mark, and
you don’t even have to lift a finger for that.”
He straightened and stretched slightly, his massive frame
silhouetted against the faint glow from the streetlamp outside.
“One night’s fine,” he agreed, keeping his tone casual to match
Yuma’s own guardedness. “Just a couch, a warm place, and no
expectations. When the sun comes up, you go do what you need to
do.”
Then, softer, he added, “But I’ll sleep better knowing you’re
under a roof tonight instead of fighting the cold or the
streets.”
Andre gave Yuma a small, knowing smile. “You’ve already inspired
me once tonight, Red Eyes. That’s more than enough.”
_fin_
Yuma hesitated, his jaw tightening as if fighting words he
didn’t want to release. For a moment, he only stared at the
floor, the faint hum of Andre’s guitar string filling the gap in
the conversation. Finally, he exhaled, a sharp breath breaking
into something quieter.
“…You make it sound like I’m some kinda muse or somethin’,” Yuma
muttered, his voice low and rough. He shifted his weight from
one foot to the other, arms crossing defensively over his chest.
“
He risked a glance at Andre, catching the glint of silver eyes
in the dim light. It made something in his chest twist,
uncomfortable yet… not. “…But,” he added, almost grudgingly, “I
guess if it keeps you playin’ like that, maybe it ain’t the
worst thing.”
Yuma’s shoulders slumped a little, the tension in him loosening
just enough. Then he spoke. It was softer, barely audible,
“...Thanks, though.”
—fin—
Andre’s smirk softened, replaced by something gentler, almost
reverent. He set the guitar aside and leaned forward, resting
his elbows on his knees so he could meet Yuma’s gaze without
looming over him.
“Yu,” he said quietly, the low rumble of his voice cutting
through the stillness of the room, “you are some kind of muse.
Whether you believe it or not.”
His silver eyes caught the faint light, glimmering like
moonlight on water. “Music’s about truth—the raw, messy kind
that most folks hide from the world. And you… you’ve got that
truth woven into everything you say, everything you are. It
just… pulls the music out of me.”
Andre tilted his head, a small, warm smile tugging at his lips.
“You don’t have to do anything special. Just… be you. That’s all
it takes.”
He stood slowly, stretching before offering Yuma his hand—not in
expectation, but in solidarity. “Come on. Let’s get you settled.
You’ve had a long night, and my couch is way more comfortable
than you standing here trying to pretend the floor’s
interesting.”
Andre’s tone turned playful again, easing the moment’s weight.
“Besides, you don’t have to thank me. I told you before—you’ve
already given me something just by being here. That’s more than
enough.”
As they headed toward the door, Andre added, softer this time,
“And if I keep playing like that, it’ll be because you were here
to inspire it.”
-Fin-
#Post#: 1496--------------------------------------------------
Re: Adam and Louie
By: Minyaagar Date: February 18, 2026, 12:42 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Yuma hesitated for a moment, the weight of Andre’s words
settling over him like a warm blanket. He lowered his gaze,
unsure if he deserved the kind of reverence shining in those
silver eyes.
Yuma wasn’t sure how to feel or say in the moment. All he knew
was he didn’t feel special. And if this guy knew what he really
was? Despite the name he was sure that Andre would think twice
if he saw his spider side.
He glanced up, meeting Andre’s small assuring, smile, and
something in his chest loosened. “
“… thank you. For saying that.”
Yuma finally took the offered hand, letting Andre pull him
gently to his feet. The warmth of that simple gesture made his
throat tighten. He wasn’t use to such a kindness in a while.
Not since his own blowout with dahlia.
As they walked toward the couch, he let out a quiet laugh. “I
don’t know if I’ll ever get used to inspiring music like that.
But… if being myself is enough, then… I can do that.”
Yuma moved with Andre to the door, his eye roaming Andre a
little.. wondering what would be headed his way in life- that or
if it was a dream he might wake up from.
—fin—
Andre led the way through the quiet, late-night streets, their
footsteps echoing softly against the pavement. The walk was
peaceful, giving Yuma a chance to let the weight of the evening
settle. Andre didn’t rush him, matching his pace and
occasionally glancing over with a faint, reassuring smirk.
By the time they reached Andre’s apartment building, the city
noise had dulled to a distant hum. Andre unlocked the door with
an easy flick of his wrist and held it open for Yuma, his voice
low and calm.
“Before we go in, there’s something you should know,” Andre
said, a hint of amusement curling his lips. “I’ve got a couple
of… unusual roommates. Ghost and Vanta.”
“Not the human kind. They’re my tarantulas. Big, soft
babies—well, soft for tarantulas.” His tone was playful, but
there was a quiet pride there too. “They’ve got a tank in my
bedroom. Figured I’d warn you before you walked in and thought I
was keeping demons in a glass box.”
As they stepped inside, the apartment revealed itself to be
surprisingly cozy—warm lighting, mismatched furniture, and the
faint scent of coffee and guitar polish lingering in the air.
Andre’s instruments were propped neatly in one corner, a
notebook with scribbled lyrics lying open on the coffee table.
Andre guided Yuma down the short hallway and stopped outside his
bedroom door. He glanced back with a grin that showed a flash of
teeth. “Ready to meet them? They’re calm, promise. Ghost’s the
curious one—pale, almost white. Vanta’s jet black, likes to hide
until it’s quiet.”
He opened the door slowly, revealing a large, secure terrarium
lit with a soft, warm glow. Two massive tarantulas shifted
lazily inside, one pale and ghostly in color, the other a dark,
velvety black that blended into the shadows.
“They’re like me,” Andre said with a chuckle, stepping closer to
the tank. “Misunderstood at first glance. People think they’re
scary until they realize they’re just doing their thing—quiet,
patient, and watching.”
Turning back to Yuma, Andre’s silver eyes gleamed with a mix of
humor and curiosity. “So, what do you think? Deal breaker or…
pretty damn cool?”
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed casually. “If
you’re good with them, we’ll get along just fine.”
-Fin-
Yuma shifted his weight from one foot to the other, eyes fixed
on the terrarium. The soft glow lit up Ghost’s pale legs as it
inched closer to the glass, while Vanta lifted itself slightly
from the shadows as if noticing him for the first time.
“I… wasn’t expecting this,” Yuma admitted, his voice low but
steady. He stepped closer, hands tucked into the sleeves of his
hoodie. Ghost responded with a slow, graceful wave of its front
legs, and even Vanta shifted forward, its dark form no longer
just a shadow. “They’re… actually kind of beautiful. Ghost looks
like it’s made of moonlight, and Vanta—well, I guess I get why
it’s named that.”
He glanced at Andre, catching the faint smirk on his lips, and
felt some of his unease slip away. Ghost pressed gently against
the glass where Yuma crouched, and Vanta remained visible,
watching calmly.
He lowered himself to meet Ghost’s curious gaze again, heart
skipping at the small, almost friendly tap of its legs against
the glass. “Do you… think I could hold one?” he asked, glancing
up at Andre. “I kinda want to… you know… meet them for real, and
it seems they feel the same way.” He said as Vanta drew closer
to the glass.
He wondered if the guy would freak to see his true nature. Mean
compared to the smaller ones he was huge. But decided to keep
it tucked away for now.
—fin—
Andre’s brows lifted in pleasant surprise, a warm laugh rumbling
low in his chest.
“Really now?” he said, clearly pleased as his smirk softened
into a genuine grin. “Most people back away the second they see
Ghost move. But you? You actually want to meet them.” There was
pride in his voice, and maybe a touch of admiration.
He crouched beside the terrarium, speaking in a calm, low tone
as he gently unlatched the lid. “Vanta’s a bit unpredictable
with strangers,” Andre explained, tilting his head toward the
darker spider that watched them from the corner, its body coiled
like a shadow ready to spring. “He’s my brooding boy, likes to
keep to himself.”
Then Andre’s gaze flicked toward Ghost, who was already inching
toward his voice. “But Ghost here? She’s more social. Curious
little lady.”
Andre extended his hand slowly into the tank, his movements
deliberate and careful. “Hey there, Ghost,” he murmured, his
voice taking on a soothing rhythm as if coaxing a skittish
friend. Ghost hesitated only for a moment before climbing
gracefully onto his palm, her pale legs moving like flowing
silk.
“There we go,” Andre said softly, lifting her with steady hands.
Turning to Yuma, his silver eyes gleamed with a mix of pride and
excitement. “Alright, Yu. Meet Ghost.”
He shifted closer and held out his hand just beside Yuma’s.
“Keep your palm open and steady. She’ll decide when she’s ready
to crawl over. No sudden moves, no flinching—let her feel you’re
calm.”
As if sensing the moment, Ghost delicately tapped her front legs
on Yuma’s skin, then moved smoothly from Andre’s hand to his.
Andre’s grin widened, bright and boyish despite his towering
frame. “There,” he said, his voice filled with quiet triumph.
“Looks like she likes you already.”
Ghost climbed a little higher on Yuma’s hand, her pale form
striking against his skin. Vanta remained close to the glass,
its dark silhouette watching intently, like a silent sentinel.
“Guess you’ve made a friend tonight,” Andre added with a
chuckle, leaning back slightly to give them space. “And trust
me, she doesn’t do that for just anyone.”
-Fin-
Yuma’s lips curved into a faint smile as Ghost’s delicate legs
glided over his hand. He held perfectly still, his fingers loose
and relaxed, letting her explore at her own pace.
“Well, hello there,” he murmured, his voice soft but warm, as if
speaking to a cherished pet. “Aren’t you a graceful little
queen?” His thumb twitched ever so slightly, an unconscious
gesture of affection he quickly stilled, careful not to startle
her. “Your legs feel like silk.”
He angled his gaze toward the terrarium, catching sight of
Vanta’s tense, coiled form in the shadows. Something in Yuma
stirred—a quiet, instinctive appreciation, like recognizing a
fellow predator.
“And you…” he said, eyes glinting with a fleeting, secret
amusement. “You’re a fierce one, aren’t you? All that power just
waiting in the dark.” His tone carried an undercurrent of
admiration, genuine and almost reverent.
Ghost climbed higher along his arm, and Yuma’s smile softened.
“I think I like her too,” he said, keeping his voice even and
casual, careful not to betray how natural this all felt to him.
“She’s got a gentle heart… I can tell.”
He glanced toward Andre, silver eyes calm and steady, hiding the
thrill that stirred beneath his skin. “You’ve raised some
incredible companions, Andre.”
“Seems Vanta doesn’t mind me too much, being he’s out and
watching me.” He said with a chuckle.
—fin—
Andre watched in quiet fascination as Ghost climbed along Yuma’s
arm, the pale shimmer of her body moving like silk over skin.
His senses—the ones that tingled whenever something wasn’t quite
ordinary—stirred faintly, but he kept it buried behind a calm,
approving smile. Something about Yu was different, sure. But
trust? That had to be offered, not dragged out.
When Ghost finally decided her adventure was done and eased back
into Andre’s waiting palm, he murmured a soft “good girl” before
settling her gently into the terrarium. Vanta shifted back into
the shadows, the faint glint of his eyes following Yu until the
lid clicked shut. Andre’s gaze flicked back, silver eyes steady
and warm.
“She likes you,” he said simply, almost as if it meant more than
just a spider’s approval.
Andre stood, stretching his tall frame, and nodded toward the
bathroom down the hall. “You can wash up if you want. Got a
spare shirt and sweats you can change into—should fit well
enough.” He moved with a casual ease, pulling out folded clothes
from a dresser and setting them aside. “Blankets and a pillow’ll
be waiting on the couch for you.”
He paused, one hand braced against the doorframe as he looked
back at Yu with a small smirk. “And I’m making sandwiches. Don’t
argue—I’m hungry, and I’d bet good money you haven’t eaten
anything worth a damn today either.”
With that, Andre headed into the kitchen, the soft clatter of
dishes and the smell of toasted bread soon filling the small
apartment. He hummed under his breath as he worked, the same low
tune from earlier, as if Yuma’s presence was already woven into
his rhythm.
--fin
Yuma lingered by the terrarium for a moment, watching Ghost curl
delicately onto her webbed perch. The soft praise Andre had
given the spider still echoed in his head, strange warmth
threading through his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was the
spider’s acceptance or Andre’s that made his stomach twist in
unfamiliar ways.
“Guess I pass the vibe check, huh?” he said lightly, his voice
carrying a wry humor that didn’t quite mask his relief.
He slipped into the hall toward the bathroom, fingertips
brushing the wall as he went, steadying himself in the quiet hum
of Andre’s apartment. The promise of clean sweats and the smell
of toasting bread felt… safe, in a way he hadn’t let himself
feel in a while.
“Thanks,” he called back, soft but earnest. “For the clothes.
And the food. And… you know. Not freaking out.”
There was a pause, and then, quieter, almost to himself: “It’s
nice here.”
He turned on the faucet, letting the rush of water mask the
faint hitch of his breath, and for the first time in a long
while, Yuma thought maybe he could stay still without the world
tilting against him.
Steam curled through the small bathroom as Yuma let the warm
water cascade over his shoulders, rinsing away the dust and
grime of the day. He closed his eyes, letting the steady rhythm
of droplets soothe the ever-present tension coiled in his chest.
For a moment, the world outside — the dangers, the constant
awareness of his monster blood — felt distant.
>>
When he finally stepped out, the cool air met his skin. He took
a towel and began carefully drying his long, damp hair, strands
clinging to his fingers. He caught his reflection in the mirror,
and a quiet thought surfaced: *He’s really nice… kinder than I
deserved.*The memory of the man’s easy smile filled Yuma with an
unfamiliar warmth. But then, as always, worry crept in. *if he
knew what I am… if I ever lose control and shift…*
Yuma shook his head, forcing the darker thoughts back as he
pulled on his clothes, the soft fabric grounding him. The mirror
showed a simple man, freshly cleaned, but he knew the monster
inside never truly washed away. Still, for tonight, he allowed
himself a small hope — that maybe he could keep it hidden a
little longer.
—fin—
Andre was already setting down two plates on the coffee table
when he heard the bathroom door click open. The warm scent of
toasted bread, roast turkey, Gouda, and that homemade aïoli
filled the small apartment, carried on the low hum of the city
beyond the window.
He looked up as Yuma padded into the room, clean and
damp-haired, the too-big hoodie sleeves tugged over his hands.
Andre’s smirk curved slow and easy. “Not bad, Red Eyes. You
clean up alright.”
He slid one of the plates across the table toward Yuma, the
sandwich stacked tall with turkey, cheese, crisp lettuce, and
tomato. A glass of water sat beside it, condensation beading
down the side. Andre dropped onto the couch with his own plate,
leaning back comfortably, his long frame taking up more than
half the cushions without even trying.
“Figured you could use something decent,” he said, nodding
toward the food. “Better than whatever street cart or corner
store scraps you’ve been running on.” His tone was casual, but
there was that steady thread of care woven through it.
He picked up half his sandwich and took a bite, chewing with
obvious satisfaction before speaking again. “So,” he said around
a swallow, reaching for the remote and giving it a little wave,
“you wanna watch something while we eat? Got movies, old shows,
even some weird documentaries about bugs I’ve been meaning to
check out.” His smirk tugged wider, teasing. “Could be fitting,
considering my roommates.”
Andre set the remote down within Yuma’s reach, silver eyes
glinting as he added lightly, “Your call, Yu. Tonight, you’re
the one getting spoiled.”
-Fin-
Yuma hesitated at the edge of the couch before sinking into the
corner, knees tucked up, the plate balanced carefully in his
lap. He stared at the sandwich for a moment, then at Andre, an
uncertain flicker in his red eyes.
“…You didn’t have to do all this,” he murmured, voice softer
than the hum of the city outside. His fingers fidgeted with the
cuffs of the hoodie before reaching for the sandwich, the warmth
of the bread seeping into his hands. One tentative bite, and his
eyes widened just a little. “…This is… really good.”
He chewed slowly, shoulders loosening as the comfort of the food
settled in. After another bite, he glanced at the remote with a
small, cautious smile, the kind that felt out of practice.
“Bugs, huh?” he said, a trace of amusement in his voice.
“Alright… but if your roommates start crawling out of the TV,
I’m blaming you.”
Yuma leaned back a bit more, letting the hoodie swallow him as
he reached for the remote. “…Thanks, Andre. For… y’know.
Spoiling me.”
He ended up picking a channel. It showed up and coming bands.
Then his face- Louie’s. The battle of the bands coming up and
when and where. He ate as he listened to the songs that poured
from various artists. Enjoying the peace.
-fin-
#Post#: 1497--------------------------------------------------
Re: Adam and Louie
By: Minyaagar Date: February 18, 2026, 12:48 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Andre chuckled low at Yuma’s muttered thanks, the sound carrying
that mix of warmth and mischief. “You’d better get used to it,
Red Eyes,” he said, stretching out one long arm across the back
of the couch. “’Cause I want to spoil you. It’s my pleasure, not
a chore.” His silver eyes glinted as he added, softer, “Don’t
argue with me on this one. You deserve a little kindness.”
They finished their food quietly, the soft hum of music programs
filling the room. Andre leaned back, letting the last bite
linger, watching Yuma ease into the cushions like someone
finally allowing himself a breath. When the plates were empty,
Andre gathered them up without a word, taking them into the
kitchen.
The hiss of the shower followed not long after, a steady rhythm
that blended with the city noise outside. Yuma had the couch to
himself, the blankets folded neatly at one end, the faint glow
from the terrarium casting shifting patterns on the wall.
When Andre returned, towel slung low around his hips, he paused
in the doorway, water still glistening along the carved lines of
his frame. “Alright,” he said casually, though the steadiness in
his voice carried the weight of reassurance, “I’m turning in. If
you get hungry later, raid the kitchen—anything in there’s fair
game.”
He ran a hand through his bleached dreads, pushing them back as
he gave Yuma a small grin. “If you wake before me, knock me up
so I can lock the door behind you. Still get assholes in this
neighborhood. Don’t want you walking out unguarded.”
Andre padded toward the door, his size filling the small space
as he drew each of the four deadbolts with practiced ease before
locking the handle. The final click echoed like a seal of
safety.
Turning back one last time, his silver eyes softened, voice low
but certain. “Sleep well, Yu.”
Then he disappeared into his room, leaving Yuma with the faint
warmth of food in his belly, the weight of clean clothes on his
skin, and—for the first time in a long time—the quiet certainty
of being safe for the night.
-Fin-
Yuma let the quiet settle around him after Andre vanished into
his room, the apartment holding the soft echo of running water
and the muted hum of the city. He tucked himself deeper into the
couch cushions, feeling the warmth of the blanket and the full
heaviness of his stomach. The faint glow from the terrarium
swayed across the walls like gentle waves, and the rhythm of the
city outside felt far away for once. He closed his eyes, letting
each muscle loosen, savoring the rare sensation of security.
Sleep pulled him under slowly, the last thing he remembered
being the comforting click of the final deadbolt and the low
reassurance in Andre’s voice.
—
Morning crept in softly, muted through the blinds. Yuma stirred,
flexing stiff fingers before stretching his arms above his head.
His body sank into the couch as he yawned, a rare, unguarded
expression on his face. For a fleeting moment, he let himself
feel the peace of waking to safety instead of alarms.
Then his burner phone buzzed on the coffee table, its sharp
trill cutting through the calm. His stomach dropped. He snatched
it up, scanning the screen, and his face paled. Whatever message
blinked back at him was enough to yank him from that cocoon of
warmth.
In a flurry, he swung his legs off the couch and began pulling
on his street clothes, the softened edges of the morning
hardening into urgency. He hesitated only once, glancing toward
Andre’s closed door, then crossed the small apartment and tapped
lightly before pushing it open.
“Hey, Andre,” he said, voice low but tight. “I… I need to go.”
He shifted his weight, already half turned toward the exit, the
tension of the street creeping back into his shoulders.
——
The sun barely peeked through the curtains, casting a dull, gray
light over the room as Louie slowly stirred. The ache in his
head was like a heavy drumbeat, a constant reminder of last
night. His mouth was dry, and his body felt like it had been put
through a blender.
He groaned, squinting at the unfamiliar surroundings. It took a
second, but the memories of the night before started to trickle
back—just flashes at first. Adam’s words. His feeling of being
seen for the first time in a long while. Then the drunk haze.
Louie winced, regretting the alcohol that had made him so loose
with his emotions.
He rubbed his eyes, trying to piece together what had happened.
Had it really been that bad?
The door creaked open, and Mary’s voice cut through his foggy
thoughts. “How’s the star feeling today?” she asked, her tone
soft but with an underlying teasing edge. “Got a killer
hangover, huh?”
Louie groaned in response. “Don’t remind me,” he muttered, his
eyes still half-lidded as he pushed himself up in the bed.
Mary chuckled, walking in and sitting on the edge of the bed.
“You were a mess last night, Louie. But hey, I took the liberty
of getting that cute guy’s number for you.”
Louie blinked, confused, his head still spinning. “What... guy?”
“You know,” she said with a grin, nudging him lightly. “The one
you met last night. I think his name was Adam, right? Tall guy,
tattoos?”
Louie’s mind raced, trying to remember. He vaguely recalled the
conversation—Adam’s kind words, his belief in Louie, the way
Louie felt for a moment like maybe things could be different.
But everything else was a blur.
“Wait, was I really that much of a mess for Luka to come in?”
Louie’s voice was filled with a mix of embarrassment and
disbelief. “He had to clean up after me, didn’t he?”
Mary raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You don’t remember? He helped me to
get you to bed without falling on your face.”
>>
Louie let out a groan, covering his eyes with his hand. “Great.
I’m sure that was fun to witness.”
Mary chuckled again, standing up. “Well, it’s better than a
repeat of the last guy. You’re lucky I was around. And you’ve
got coffee in the kitchen—” she paused, raising an eyebrow “—and
you’re texting that guy, by the way. Don’t let the opportunity
slip.”
Louie raised his head and nodded slowly. He was still
processing, but the idea of reaching out to Adam had a warm pull
to it. The thought made him feel something he hadn't in a
while—hope, maybe.
“Right. Donuts and coffee,” he said softly, the words coming
back to him as he slowly sat up. “Yeah. I guess… I should text
him.”
Mary gave him a knowing smile. “Good boy. Don’t leave him
hanging. You’ve got this.”
As Louie stumbled into the kitchen to grab the coffee, he
fumbled with his phone for a moment before pulling up Adam’s
number. His fingers hesitated over the screen before he typed:
*Hey Adam, it's Louie from last night. I just wanted to say
thank you for your kind words and the drink. I’m sorry for…
well, everything else. Maybe we could grab coffee and donuts
sometime?*
He paused, rereading it. His stomach churned, nervousness
creeping in. But he pressed send before he could think too much.
>>
A soft breath left his lips, and as he took a sip of the coffee,
Louie felt a flicker of something different. A spark of
possibility, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe this
time, things wouldn’t end like they always did. Maybe he’d be
seen for who he really was.
Maybe, just maybe, this time, things would be different.
Louie finished his coffee, the bitter warmth easing some of the
fog in his mind, though the ache in his head still throbbed with
every movement. He turned to Mary, who was now standing by the
door, her arms crossed. Luka had already slipped out—likely to
her own plans—but Louie knew the girl had probably stayed up
late just making sure everything was taken care of.
“Hey, Mary,” Louie said, his voice rough from the night before,
“seriously, thanks. You didn’t have to... I know I wasn’t easy
to handle last night.”
Mary raised an eyebrow but smiled softly. “It’s fine, Lou.
Someone had to keep you from turning into a full-blown disaster.
Plus, you’re worth the trouble.” She gave him a small nudge on
the shoulder. “Just… next time, try not to get *that* far gone,
yeah?”
Louie winced. “I’ll try, no promises, though.”
“And you’re welcome, by the way. Luka’s always around when I
need her, even if she gives me hell,” she added with a smirk,
then became more serious, her expression softening. “But
seriously, take care of yourself. I don’t like seeing you get
like that. You know where to find us, alright?”
>>
He nodded, offering a weary but appreciative smile. “Yeah.
Thanks. Both of you.”
With that, she gave him one last wink and slipped out the door,
leaving Louie alone with his thoughts for a moment. He lingered
there for a second, trying to gather his bearings. After a few
deep breaths, he got up from the table, shuffled to the front
door, and stepped outside into the chilly morning air.
It felt nice to be outside again, even if it was just for a
quick walk. Ditto, his scruffy mutt, bounced around his legs,
wagging his tail like it was the best day ever. The dog always
had that effect on him, like the world could be falling apart,
and Ditto would still be there with that same goofy, excited
grin.
“Alright, boy,” Louie muttered as he clipped the leash onto
Ditto’s collar. “Let’s get this over with.”
The walk was short but calming. It cleared Louie’s head just a
little, though the lingering shame from last night still buzzed
at the edges of his mind. He didn’t regret the talk with Adam—he
was actually proud of it—but the alcohol, the messiness, the way
he’d let himself get that far gone… it bothered him.
>>
As they made their way back to the house, Ditto trotting beside
him happily, Louie took in a deep breath of the fresh morning
air. It was a small, quiet moment, but it felt important.
Sometimes, you just needed a dog and a little space to reset.
Back inside, Louie stripped off his clothes, taking a quick
shower to wash away the remnants of the night. The hot water
felt like a reset button for his body, waking him up in a way
coffee couldn’t. As he stepped out of the shower, the steam
clung to his skin, and he wrapped a towel around his waist
before heading to his room to get dressed.
He stood in front of the mirror for a moment, staring at his
reflection. His violet hair—half-shaven on one side—was still
messy from last night, the unevenness giving him that signature
chaotic look. He brushed through it with his fingers before
pulling it back into a messy ponytail. It was his way of
cleaning up but keeping things loose.
He kept his outfit casual—black skinny jeans, an oversized band
tee that hung just right on his frame. But the eyeliner was
non-negotiable. He lined his eyes carefully, the black smudging
just enough to give it that worn-in, almost effortless edge. It
wasn’t much, but it was the one thing that always made him feel
like himself. Like he wasn’t trying to be anyone else, even if
it was just a little mask.
The final touch was slipping on his boots, the worn leather
creaking slightly as he stood up, surveying himself in the
mirror. He looked okay. Maybe even good enough to not feel like
a complete mess, despite the aftermath of the night.
He grabbed his phone from the bed, half-expecting not to hear
anything from Adam yet.
His dog, Ditto, trotted over, nudging Louie’s leg wanting to go
with him. The guy chuckling
Louie bent down, giving Ditto a scratch behind the ears. “Yeah,
we’ll see how this goes, won’t we? Think we can take our date to
the park so you can have some real running.” He said as he typed
about a park with donuts and coffee.
>>
He grabbed his jacket, heading out the door with Ditto by his
side, feeling just a little lighter than before.
—fin—
Andre stirred at the sound of knuckles on his door, the steady
rhythm of sleep breaking as he pushed upright. His silver eyes
blinked open against the thin light creeping through the blinds,
and he rubbed a hand over his face before swinging his legs out
of bed.
“Yeah?” he rasped, his voice rough from sleep.
The door opened, and there was Yu, already half-dressed and
tense, shoulders tight like he was ready to bolt. Andre pushed
himself to his feet, moving with unhurried calm despite the
urgency written all over Yuma’s face. He stepped closer,
shirtless, the lines of his chest still marked faintly by sleep,
and leaned against the doorframe.
“Hold up.”
Andre reached into the pocket of his jeans draped over a chair
and pulled out the worn wallet. With practiced ease, he slid a
crisp bill free—the second hundred he’d promised. He pressed it
into Yuma’s hand, his expression steady.
“Don’t think I forgot I owed you the other half,” he said, his
voice low and certain. “A deal’s a deal.”
He lingered just a beat longer, then smirked faintly. “Oh, and
before you go—can I get your number? I’d like to see you again,
Yu. Not just… this. More. When you’ve got the time.”
Andre’s tone was softer now, stripped of the teasing edge. “I’d
really like to spend more time with you.”
He stepped back, giving Yuma space, but his gaze stayed
fixed—warm, steady, letting Yu know the offer wasn’t just casual
flirtation. It was real.
“Doors are deadbolted once you’re out,” Andre added. “But if you
want to come back? You know where to find me.”
-------
Adam rubbed his temples as he stared at the glowing laptop
screen, a half-finished essay blinking back at him like it was
mocking his ability to focus. He tried, he really did—but his
brain kept circling back to lavender-purple hair, tattoos, and a
grin that had nearly melted his spine the night before.
Louie.
Adam chewed his lip, wondering if the guy would actually
remember him—or more specifically, remember to text him. Louie
had been very drunk. The memory of slipping his number into
Louie’s phone made Adam smirk, though it was tempered with
doubt. He probably woke up, saw my name, and forgot who the hell
I was.
He sighed, running a hand through his spiky hair. Maybe I’ll
just swing by the Cat’s Lair again tonight. “Accidentally” run
into him. He leaned back in his chair, daydreaming about it,
when his phone buzzed. His heart jumped.
But the screen flashed Asher.
Adam groaned. “Of course.”
He answered anyway, listening as his older brother launched into
a rant about some new band problem. With an exaggerated sigh,
Adam shut his laptop and grabbed his jacket. “Fine, fine. I’ll
come help. But you owe me.”
By the time they’d wrangled amps, calmed down an egotistical
bassist, and patched together a broken string section, Adam was
sweaty and irritable. He flopped onto the curb outside,
scrolling his phone, and that’s when he saw it.
[New message: Louie]
*Hey Adam, it's Louie from last night. I just wanted to say
thank you for your kind words and the drink. I’m sorry for…
well, everything else. Maybe we could grab coffee and donuts
sometime?*
Adam’s chest did a quick somersault. His grin widened when the
second text popped up.
*Actually, meet me at the park. I’ll bring my dog. he’s cuter
than me, I swear.*
Adam barked a laugh, thumbs already flying over the keyboard.
*You’ve got competition then. I’ll grab the coffee and donuts,
see you in a bit.*
He pocketed his phone and hustled off, ducking into the café he
worked at. Even on his day off, the baristas knew him, sliding
his order across with the employee discount already keyed in. He
balanced a tray of drinks and a small box of donuts, grinning to
himself the whole way.
The park opened up around him, sunlight filtering through
leaves. And there—lounging on the grass with a leash looped
around his wrist—was Louie. Louie, with that lavender hair
catching the morning light, and beside him, an energetic dog
with floppy ears who perked up immediately at Adam’s approach.
Adam’s grin softened into something warmer as he held up the
bag. “So,” he called out, “is this enough to win over both of
you? Or am I still competing with your dog for first place?”
-fin-
Yuma hesitated, then nodded with a small, almost shy smile.
“Yeah… sure,” he murmured, tucking the bill and scribbling his
number on a scrap of paper from his pocket. He gave a brief wave
and slipped out.
The warmth that had lingered in his eyes faded the moment the
apartment door shut behind him. Out on the streets, the morning
air bit cold against his skin, and his steps grew sharper,
faster, each one carrying him further from the pause of safety.
By the time he ducked into an alley toward the row of run-down
buildings, his expression was all steel.
Turning the corner, he spotted the pimp leaning against a
graffitied wall, waiting. The man’s gaze flicked over him, heavy
with expectation. Yuma handed over a cut of the cash, keeping
his face blank, but the exchange didn’t go smoothly—a pair of
older men loitering nearby made lewd comments, one reaching for
his arm. Yuma jerked free, the tension coiling in his chest.
The pimp muttered something sharp about respect and knowing his
place, but Yuma didn’t stick around to hear the rest. He slipped
into the warren of backstreets, hopping a fence and cutting
through a narrow passage until the city noise swallowed the
shouts behind him.
Only once he reached the next block did he slow down, chest
heaving, the last warmth of Andre’s apartment feeling like a
memory already. But he was free—for now.
——
Louie chuckled as Ditto bounded toward Adam, tail wagging but
steps slow and deliberate, nose twitching as he cautiously
sniffed the newcomer. Louie rose from the grass, brushing off
his hands, and gave a little shrug.
“Careful,” he said with a smirk, watching Ditto circle Adam like
he was evaluating him. “He’s gotta approve first. He’s my number
one—always will be. But…” Louie’s lavender hair swayed as he
tilted his head, eyes glinting with something playful. “You
might just be my number one human.”
He whistled softly, and the German Shepherd pressed his head
into Adam’s leg in approval. Louie grinned wider. “See? Guess
you passed the sniff test. Now, about those donuts—maybe they’ll
get you bonus points.”
—fin—
#Post#: 1498--------------------------------------------------
Re: Adam and Louie
By: Minyaagar Date: February 18, 2026, 12:55 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Adam stilled when the shepherd approached, more cautious about
startling the dog than worried for himself. He let Ditto circle,
the wet nose brushing near his jeans, and a thought flickered
through his mind—wonder if he smells Asher on me. It wouldn’t
surprise him. Most dogs were drawn to his brother, with his wolf
blood; some reacted with nerves, others with instant affection.
Ditto, it seemed, was the grounded type—smart eyes, steady
steps.
Adam chuckled at Louie’s warning about needing approval. “I can
understand that. I’m sure he’s a very good judge of character.
Most dogs are,” he said warmly. Slowly, he leaned down, letting
Ditto sniff his open palm before scratching behind the dog’s
ears. The pleased lean of Ditto’s head made him smile. “Guess I
passed then.”
Straightening, Adam followed Louie onto the grass, dropping
cross-legged beside him. He set down the drink carrier, then
held out the paper bag. “I picked all the good-looking
ones—extra frosting, extra filling. The kind that make you hate
yourself later but love yourself in the moment.” He laughed,
grabbing his own coffee before stealing another glance at Louie,
this time slower, unhurried, letting his eyes linger.
He tilted his head toward the dog, watching Ditto settle
contentedly at Louie’s side. “You two come here a lot?” he
asked, curiosity softening his voice. “Seems like a good spot
for him to run, stretch his legs.” He took a sip of coffee,
smirk tugging faintly at his lip ring. “You into outdoors stuff
in general? Hiking, camping, that kinda thing? Or is this more
your speed—park dates and city grass?”
-fin-
Louie leaned back on his hands, a crooked smile pulling at his
mouth as he watched Ditto flop comfortably against his leg.
“Park dates and city grass, huh? I guess that’s more me than I’d
like to admit,” he said with an easy laugh. “Ditto here, he’s
got boundless energy, but I’m not exactly the
backpack-through-the-wilderness type. We come out here a couple
times a week. He gets his run, I get some sun, and nobody has to
fight off bears.”
He tore open the paper bag, peeking inside at the pastries Adam
had brought, and gave a low whistle. “Extra frosting and extra
filling? Dangerous combination. You trying to bribe me?” He took
a bjte to savor it.
After taking a sip of his coffee, Louie tilted his head as he
considered Adam. “I don’t mind a little hiking now and then, as
long as there’s a real bed waiting at the end of the day. But I
like spots like this best—simple, quiet enough to actually talk
without traffic drowning us out.” He reached down to ruffle
Ditto’s ears, then gave Adam a sidelong look, more playful than
shy. “And apparently good for meeting people who bring pastry
bribes. Also a nice place for me to work on lyrics.”
During their chatter, Yuma caught Louie’s eye. At first, the
man’s face tightened in annoyance, as if trying to pretend he
hadn’t noticed him. But when Louie saw Yuma getting manhandled,
he couldn’t ignore it any longer.”hold this.” He said as he
brushed off his pants, he strode over to Yuma, protesting as the
pimp tells him he shouldn’t have ran.
His fist shot out catching the pimp off guard and Yuma. “Fuck
off.” Simple and too the point before he’d get Yuma’s arm.”come
on- wondered where you were! Always late.” He faked some for his
sake.”was gonna show the cutie I met last night.” He gabbed as
if he was with a bestie. Once he got Yuma there and sat him
down took his phone out as the man was making his way up.
Yuma seeing it said.”lou- you don’t need to get mixed up in this
alright?!?” >>>
Louie’s grey eyes snapped to yumas.”thing is- I may not like
you- but I wouldn’t wish that on you.” He said as he shrugged
off his coat to get ready for a fight that was coming.
—fin—
Adam blinked when Louie shoved his coat at him, ready to wade
into a fight like it was nothing. For a split second, Adam felt
a rush of heat—half admiration, half what the hell are you
doing?
The pimp’s sneer, the looming shadows of backup starting to
circle—yeah, Adam knew this wasn’t going to be a one-on-one.
Louie looked ready to throw down, but Adam wasn’t the type to
watch from the sidelines.
He set the coffee aside, stood, and without a word slipped off
his jacket, rolling his shoulders like he was limbering up. His
fingers went to his ear, tugging out the small hoop, then to his
lip ring, sliding it free. He crouched slightly to press both
into Yuma’s hand, his gaze steady.
“Do me a favor—watch these. Don’t lose ’em.” His tone was calm
but edged with steel, the same way his eyes lit with a sharp,
dangerous spark.
Straightening again, Adam cracked his knuckles and stepped up
beside Louie, planting himself squarely at his side. “You didn’t
think I was gonna let you take on a whole pack by yourself, did
you?” he muttered under his breath, smirk tugging at the corner
of his mouth.
When one of the thugs moved forward, Adam shifted his stance
easily, his body loose but coiled, ready to strike. His voice
carried a daring edge as he called out, “So… which one of you
wants to find out first why people say not to pick fights in
broad daylight?”
He glanced sideways at Louie, smirk widening just a touch.
“Looks like you and me are about to make this one hell of a park
date.”
The park’s easy hum had shifted—the tension was sharp, thick
enough to choke on. One of the pimps’ muscle stepped forward, a
big guy with eyes that gleamed a little too sharp in the
daylight.
The man stopped mid-step, nostrils flaring. His expression
shifted, aggression faltering into something more cautious. He
tilted his head, sniffing the air again like an animal catching
a trail. His voice dropped low, just loud enough for the others
around him to hear.
“…Alpha.”
The word hit like a warning bell. The thug’s eyes darted toward
Adam, wary now, a flicker of recognition passing over his
features. He jerked his chin back at the rest of his crew. “We
don’t want this fight. Not with him here.”
A ripple of unease ran through the group. The pimp, clearly
irritated, tried to sneer past it, but the weight of the goon’s
words lingered.
Adam smirked, stepping a little closer, his presence
deliberately steady, almost daring. “Smart choice,” he drawled,
the steel in his voice making it clear that pushing further
would be a mistake.
He glanced sideways at Louie, his lip curling in a grin. “Guess
your buddy here knows when to quit. Shame not everyone’s that
quick on the uptake.”
-Fin-
Louie’s hands flexed at his sides, the tension rolling off him
in waves. He let the silence stretch just long enough for the
crew to really feel it, his gaze sweeping over each of them like
a slow blade.
He shifted his weight forward, just enough to make the nearest
guy flinch, then tipped his chin toward the open path out of the
park. “Go. Before I start changing my mind.”
When the crew hesitated only a second too long, Louie’s stare
hardened, and he barked, “Move!”
They scattered, the unease in their footsteps saying more than
words ever could. Louie exhaled through his nose, a sharp, quiet
sound, and glanced over at Adam with a half-smirk. “Guess they
ain’t as dumb as they look.”
He would turn to Yuma his eyes softening.”now what the actual
fuck did you get into- and how long!?!” He demanded to see the
guy shrink a little.”dahlia … turned on me. I was planning to
talk to you about it cause things were gonna get messy.. just
been doing this for months now. I needed money man.. and it
didn’t help that dahlia massacred my rep.” He admitted.
Louie seemed to tense at the name.”you can explain that to me
later.. for now have a donut and take a minute.” Louie said
giving up his coffee. “And thanks to you I now know my date can
fight.” He said with a chuckle.
—fin—
Adam let out a slow breath, rolling the tension from his
shoulders as the last of the crew scattered down the path. The
adrenaline that had spiked in his veins was already fading,
leaving behind a lazy grin.
“Fight?” he echoed, half laughing as he dropped back down onto
the grass. “Didn’t even have to. Guess the look did all the
work.” He shot Louie a playful side-eye. “You handled yourself
just fine without me throwing a punch.”
Turning toward Yuma, Adam crouched briefly to pick up the small
items the guy had been clutching. “Thanks,” he said, slipping
the hoop back through his ear and the lip ring into place with
practiced ease. The faint click of metal was oddly satisfying,
like the day resetting itself.
He sat back down beside Louie again, the corner of his mouth
curving. “You know,” he said lightly, “I was kinda hoping for a
normal coffee date. Didn’t think I’d be scaring off half a gang
before noon.”
Then, glancing toward the open donut bag on the grass, he nudged
Yuma’s foot with his boot. “Hey, save me one, yeah? Pretty sure
I earned at least that much.”
Adam leaned back on his hands, smirking toward the horizon.
“Next time,” he added, “let’s try for a date that doesn’t come
with background action scenes.”
-Fin-
Louie chuckled, shaking his head as he brushed a few stray
blades of grass off his jeans. “Normal coffee date? With you?”
He gave Adam a wry look, though there was a faint curve of
amusement to his mouth. “I didn’t know something like this
would happen. But hey… you didn’t look half bad playing the
scary boyfriend.”
He leaned back beside Adam, letting the sun warm his shoulders.
“And, for the record,” Louie added with a sidelong glance, “I
wasn’t about to let some punks ruin my morning… or your face.”
Yuma, crouched near the donut bag, hesitated before plucking one
out and nibbling at the edge. He shot Louie a wary look, his
voice low and uncertain. “Uh… thanks, I guess? I mean… you don’t
even like me, so…” His gaze flicked between the two of them,
clearly puzzled. “I… didn’t really expect you to step in.”
He took another small bite of his donut, chewing slowly, like he
wasn’t sure what else to do with himself.
Louie crossed his arms and stared Yuma down, his jaw tight with
anger. “You know what, Yuma? What you did to me was pretty
shitty,” he said, his voice low but sharp. “I need to know what
the hell just happened to you. And why the hell are you with a
pimp?”
Yuma hesitated, his eyes darting away, guilt and fear flickering
across his face. Louie leaned in closer, refusing to let him off
the hook. “I’m serious. I’m not leaving until you explain. Start
talking, Yuma.”
Yuma leaned back, his voice low and rough as he began to
explain.
“Dahlia… She was a fucking hurricane that tore through
everything I had. I found out she’d been cheating on me—like
what I did- course that’s karma. And when I confronted her, she
took my pain and twisted it. Turned the whole story around to
make herself the victim. Those bruises she paraded around? She
put them there herself.
-But no one would listen to me. No one cared to hear my side. My
name got dragged through the mud, and suddenly, nobody wanted to
work with me. It’s hard to fight back when you’re already down.
So I… I did what I had to do. I turned to prostitution. It
wasn’t pride. It was survival.”
Louie went quiet. His out burst- dahlia spun it as him being
verbally abusive. He was a bit luckier, “mean I did say once a
cheater always a cheater.. after we eat- how about I get you
home or some thin’ it’s kinda dangerous with what your tangling
with.” Said Louie.
“No home, and I’ll be fine.. I’ll just find a hotel or
something.” He said.that or something was Andre- the first time
he felt safe. “Fine- my number.” Said Louie as he wrote it down
and handed it to Yuma.”get in trouble call me alright?” Said the
purple haired man before biting in a donut to chew.
—fin—
Adam listened quietly, arms loosely draped over his knees while
Yuma’s story spilled out. By the end of it, he let out a slow
breath, glancing between the two men—Louie, still simmering with
quiet anger, and Yuma, visibly exhausted, hanging by what little
pride he had left.
“Man,” Adam said finally, his tone gentler now, “you’ve been
through it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his voice steady
but carrying that soft weight that came with real sincerity.
“Look, I don’t know everything about what went down, but I do
know this—nobody deserves to end up in that kind of situation.”
He leaned forward, catching Yuma’s eye. “You said you don’t have
a place, right? Finding somewhere safe should come first. I
volunteer at a shelter—good people, not the kind who judge. I
could help you get set up with something stable. Food, a bed,
job listings, even folks who help with record clean-up if you’ve
got crap lingering from the past.”
He paused, searching Yuma’s expression for resistance before
adding quietly, “You don’t have to keep surviving the hard way,
Yu. Doesn’t make you weak to take help. Makes you smart.”
Adam shot Louie a sidelong look, half a smile tugging at the
corner of his mouth. “Maybe between the two of us, we can make
sure this guy doesn’t end up in another mess, yeah?”
He picked up a donut from the bag and took a bite, licking
powdered sugar from his thumb with a small grin. “Besides,” he
said lightly, trying to ease the tension, “all I'd ask for is a
second date with Louie. Maybe dinner next time? And a game of
pool? Or another night of dancing, whichever you prefer more,"
-fin-
Louie snorted, the last of his tension finally easing into a
crooked grin. He shook his head, eyes flicking to Yuma and then
back to Adam. “You know what… yeah. I’m in. We’ll make sure he
lands on his feet.” He gave Yuma a firm clap on the shoulder,
not too hard, just enough to let him know he wasn’t alone. “No
more sleeping rough if we can help it, alright?”
Then Louie leaned back in grass, smirking at Adam with a spark
of mischief returning to his eyes. “And as for you… dinner,
pool, dancing—why stop there? Maybe we make a whole weekend of
it. I’ll even let you pick the music … maybe.” He popped the
last bite of his donut into his mouth and dusted his hands off,
already imagining how different the next few days might look.
“Deal?”
Yuma watched the two banter, his expression dry. “Just… drop me
off at this guy’s place—he helped me before. I can lay low,” he
said, making a small remark. “I mean, hate to ruin the vibe if
things get, y’know… more.”
Louie blushed hard. “It’s not even on that level! Heck, this was
a first date—” he stammered.
—fin—
Adam laughed, shaking his head at Louie’s stammering and Yuma’s
deadpan tone. “Relax, rockstar, nobody said we were eloping,” he
teased, giving Louie’s shoulder a light nudge. “Though dinner,
pool, and dancing? You’re setting some pretty high standards for
a second date.”
He stood and brushed grass off his jeans before motioning toward
the parking lot. “C’mon. Let’s get Yu to his friend’s place
before Ditto decides we’re moving in here permanently.”
The ride was easy, windows down, the dog’s ears flapping in the
wind while the city rolled by. Adam’s old car rumbled beneath
them, roomy enough for all three and Ditto stretched across the
backseat. When they finally turned onto a familiar street, Adam
slowed, eyeing the modest building ahead.
He let out a short laugh. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.
You're staying with Andre? That is too perfect," He exclaimed in
amusement.
He turned off the engine then glanced over at Louie for a
moment. "If you don't like spiders, you should probably wait
outside. Andre has two tarantulas he keeps as pets, Vanta and
Ghost." He warned. "He often answers the door with them riding
on his shoulder or head."
"I’ve been here before. My brother Asher’s band has jammed with
him a few times, and I got dragged along. Hell of a guitarist
and drummer. Great songwriter too. Dabbles in tattoo work when
he’s not making half the city swoon.”
He smirked, glancing at Louie. “I’ve actually been thinking of
asking him to design a wolf tattoo for me—something to match my
brother’s. He’s got that kind of creative touch that makes
everything look alive.”
Then, turning back toward Yuma, Adam’s expression softened.
“You’re in good hands, Yu. Andre’s solid people. If you ever
need a safe spot, he’s one of the best you could pick.”
He glanced between Louie and Yuma. "Remember..if you need
anything text me or Louie and we'll do what we can. If you need
more serious muscle..I'll call Asher. He might not look it, but
he and his boyfriends are tough as hell. They'll help too."
-fin-
Louie let out a breath, still grinning at Adam’s teasing. The
nerves from earlier had mostly faded, but his shoulders were
still a bit tight from the tension. The banter between Adam,
Yuma, and him had a calming effect though. He nudged Adam back,
his smirk playful but genuine.
“Hey, I’m just saying, dinner and dancing on a second date?
You’ve got *way* too much game for me to compete with,” Louie
quipped, but his eyes softened when he looked at Yuma in the
backseat. The ride had been easy, the hum of the engine
comforting, and Louie had already started thinking about what
Yuma’s life might look like if it weren’t so damn complicated.
“I think Ditto just likes being the center of attention,” he
added, referring to the dog with a chuckle.
As Adam mentioned Andre’s place, Louie’s face split into a
nervous gein,“Andre, huh?” he echoed, tapping his fingers
lightly on the door. “Yeah I’ll hang outside- me and spiders
don’t get along.” He said in a nervous tone.
He glanced back at Yuma again, giving him a softer look this
time, one that had a little more gravity to it. “But for real,
if you ever need anything—anything at all—don’t hesitate,
alright? You’ve got us. Hell, we’ve got *you*.”
---
Yuma leaned against the backseat, Ditto happily sprawled out
next to him, looking out the window with that relaxed canine
joy. His fingers were still lightly gripping the hem of his
jacket, but he had a little more ease in his posture now.
Louie’s teasing had pulled him out of his head, and Adam’s
reassurance felt like a lifeline he hadn’t realized he needed.
At the mention of Andre and the spiders, Yuma raised an eyebrow.
“I have met them- they’re pretty cute.”
Yuma leaned forward a bit to catch Adam’s eye as he mentioned
Asher. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said quietly. The mention of
"safe spots" hit him harder than he expected, and for a split
second, he felt something that wasn’t just fear or
worry—something like... gratitude. A soft edge to his voice
followed: “Thanks, Adam. That means more than you know.”
He shifted a little in his seat, gaze drifting to the street
outside. “But... if you ever need to drag me out for something,
just let me know. I can handle a bit of fun now and then.” His
smile was a little crooked, but it was honest.
—fin—
Adam parked along the curb and climbed out, the morning sunlight
slanting warm across the hood of the car. He motioned for Yuma
to follow, the quiet rhythm of their footsteps filling the
stillness of the street. When they reached the door, Adam gave a
light knock—three short taps—and waited.
The door creaked open a moment later. Andre filled the frame,
tall and broad as ever, with his pale dreadlocks tied loosely
back. Perched on his shoulder was a massive white tarantula,
Ghost, its delicate legs moving like silk across the fabric of
his hoodie.
“Yu,” Andre said, blinking in mild surprise. His silver eyes
flicked from Yuma to Adam and back again. “Didn’t expect to see
you back so soon.”
Adam gave a faint grin. “Yeah, well, the day took a turn. Yuma
nearly got jumped by his pimp. Louie and I managed to break it
up before it got bad.”
The protective shift in Andre’s stance was immediate—his posture
straightened, jaw tightening, eyes flashing with barely
restrained anger. “He what?”
Adam held up a hand. “It’s handled. We got him out clean.”
Andre’s voice softened, but the edge didn’t fade. “Come on in,
roomie,” he said firmly, opening the door wider. “We’ll go over
house rules later—after lunch. For now, you can rest. You’re
safe here.”
He glanced back at Adam, offering a short nod. “Thanks for
bringing him home, man.”
“Glad to help,” Adam replied, hands slipping into his pockets
with a faint smile. “I’ll see you both around. Keep him out of
trouble, yeah?”
Andre smirked faintly. “No promises.”
Adam laughed and turned back toward the car.
---
Sliding behind the wheel again, Adam looked over at Louie, who
was sitting with Ditto sprawled lazily in the backseat, tail
thumping against the seat. The tension from earlier had mostly
bled away.
“So,” Adam said, shooting Louie a sideways grin, “where to next?
There’s this little café a few blocks from here that’s
dog-friendly—good food, open patio, lots of space for Ditto to
charm people. Or…” His grin turned teasing, voice dropping a
touch lower. “We could head back to my place. I make a mean iced
mocha and my couch’s way comfier than park grass.”
He glanced at Louie again, one eyebrow raised. “Your call,
Rockstar.”
-Fin-
Yuma lingered just inside the doorway after Adam left, the sound
of the car door shutting echoing faintly down the street. For a
moment, he just stood there—hands shoved in his hoodie pockets,
trying to slow the hum of adrenaline still coursing through his
veins. Ghost shifted on Andre’s shoulder, the tarantula’s pale
body catching the light like spun glass.
“…Didn’t mean to cause trouble,” Yuma murmured finally, his
voice low and a little raw. He lifted a hand, rubbing at the
side of his neck where a bruise had already started to bloom.
“Guess I’m still good at finding it anyway.”
Yuma risked a glance up. “Thanks, Dre. For… y’know. Not asking
questions yet.” A faint, crooked smile tugged at his mouth. “And
for letting me crash here. I won’t be in the way.”
He shifted his weight, gaze flicking toward the hallway where
the sunlight spilled across the floorboards. “Might take that
nap you mentioned, today was exhausting.”
Ghost twitched, and Yuma gave a small laugh. “Hello to you too
cutie”
---
Louie leaned back in the passenger seat, one arm resting along
the window frame, watching the street roll by as Adam slid
behind the wheel. The late morning air was warm, scented faintly
with pavement and jasmine. Ditto gave a sleepy huff in the back
seat, tail still thumping lazily.
When Adam threw him that grin, Louie met it with one of his
own—half smirk, half sigh. “You really know how to lay out
temptation, huh?” he said, voice roughened by fatigue but
threaded with humor.
He glanced out the window for a beat, fingers tapping against
his thigh. “Café sounds good. Sun, and coffee... sounds
perfect.”His eyes cut sideways toward Adam, teasing glint
sparking there. “But the iced mocha offer’s dangerous. You know
how to weaponize comfort too well.”
>>>
Louie leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Tell you what,” he
said, grinning. “We hit the café first—let Ditto do her social
butterfly thing. Then maybe, *maybe*, I’ll let you prove your
mocha’s worth the hype.”
He reached over to nudge Adam’s shoulder lightly. “Sound fair,
Driver?”
Ditto barked once, as if in agreement, tail wagging harder now.
Louie laughed. “See? Even she’s voting for the café. Democracy
wins again.”
—fin—
Andre closed the door behind them, the click soft but final. He
leaned one shoulder against the frame, studying Yuma for a long,
quiet moment. Ghost shifted lazily along his collarbone, one
pale leg tapping idly at his jaw like she was listening too.
“You don’t cause trouble, Yu,” Andre said finally, his voice
calm but carrying that deep, grounding tone that always seemed
to steady a room. “The world just likes throwing you into the
middle of it.” He smiled faintly, the edges of his expression
warm. “And I’m not asking questions yet because I don’t need to.
You’ll tell me what matters when you’re ready.”
He stepped closer, reaching up to let Ghost crawl gently from
his shoulder onto his hand. “And for the record? I very much
want you here. Even if you’re loud, messy, or moody. Just be
you.”
Setting Ghost down on her tank lid, Andre gestured toward the
kitchen. “Now—go sit at the counter. I’ll make lunch. You want
eggs or sandwiches? I’ve got both. No more skipping meals while
you’re under my roof.”
His smirk returned, softer this time. “And before you try to
argue, Ghost already voted yes to food.”
----
Adam grinned as Louie leaned forward, that teasing spark back in
his voice. The tension from earlier had melted into something
lighter—comfortable.
“Café first, huh?” he said, glancing at Louie with mock offense.
“So my mocha’s just an afterthought? Cold.” He shook his head,
smiling as he started the car. “Fine, café it is. Democracy
wins—though I’m pretty sure Ditto’s just in it for the
biscuits.”
The car eased back onto the road, sunlight flickering through
the windshield. “You know,” Adam added after a moment, tone more
casual but threaded with warmth, “I don’t mind this kind of
chaos. You, coffee, dogs, random fights at the park—it’s kind of
got its own rhythm.”
He shot Louie a sideways grin. “Besides, I’m not letting you
dodge that second date. You promised me dancing—and I will
collect.”
Ditto barked again from the back seat, and Adam laughed, tapping
the steering wheel. “See? Even your dog’s backing me up now.
You’re officially outnumbered.”
--Fin--
Yuma let out a slow breath, shoulders relaxing under the weight
of Andre’s words. For a moment, they just stared at Ghost
tapping lazily against the glass, the soft rhythm grounding
them.
“…You make it hard to keep sulking, you know that?” Yuma
muttered more to himself as if Andre wasn’t in the room
listening. They shuffled toward the counter, dragging their
fingers along the edge as they went. “Fine… eggs. And maybe half
a sandwich... you wore me down.”
He glanced over and Andre eyes softer now. “Thanks, Andre. For…
wanting me here. Even when I’m a mess.”
——
He turned toward Adam, that teasing spark softening into
something more genuine. “~for the record, your mocha isn’t an
afterthought. It’s…strategically saved for last. Best things and
all that.”
Louie tapped his fingers on the door absentmindedly, watching
the road ahead. “As for that second date—you’re really not
letting me escape, are you?” A pause, then a grin. “Good. I was
kinda hoping you’d say that. Hope you’re ready for some dancing,
though. No refunds.”
Ditto barked again, and Louie laughed. “See? He’s already
judging me. Guess I better start practicing.”
—fin—
*****************************************************