Chapter 55: After Hours, After Masks
The scent of roasted coffee and melted sugar still lingered in the air as the café staff bustled through their closing routine. Damian wiped down the counter with one hand while flipping a dishtowel onto his shoulder with practiced flair, chatting animatedly with one of the baristas about milk frothing techniques that he absolutely made up on the spot.
"You know it's all in the wrist, right? You gotta spin the milk like it's an elegant whirlpool—not a tornado," Damian said with a grin.
The barista rolled her eyes. "That makes no sense."
"Which is why it works."
The staff chuckled, brushing off the fatigue of a long shift. Damian was good at lightening the mood, but tonight, his thoughts were elsewhere. He subtly checked the time—8:53 PM. Closing time was ten minutes away.
Angel had her back to the register, counting the till. She moved with routine efficiency, lips pursed in concentration. Damian pretended to check the espresso machine, watching her from the corner of his eye.
At exactly 9:00 PM, the front door opened, and a familiar figure stepped inside.
Alex.
His uniform shirt was untucked, eyes darting anxiously around the café until they settled on Angel. He gave a tight-lipped smile and waved awkwardly.
Angel didn't smile back. She gestured sharply for him to wait outside. Alex obeyed, slipping back out the door like a scolded child.
Damian dried his hands and edged toward the window, pretending to adjust the blinds. From the glass, he could just barely see Angel through the door, saying something to the manager about taking out the trash.
Minutes later, she stepped outside, trash bag in one hand, and walked toward the alleyway beside the building—where Alex had retreated.
Damian waited a beat, then slipped through the back kitchen door, making his way down the side of the building with careful, silent steps. The alley was narrow and dim, lit only by a single flickering lamp near the dumpster.
He stopped just at the edge, back pressed to the brick wall. Their voices were muffled but close enough to hear.
"Where were you?" Angel snapped, stepping into the alley with sharp footsteps. "I called you three times."
Alex looked startled. "I was in class, Angel. I told you I had afternoon labs."
"You could've messaged. Do you know how it feels to be ignored like that?"
"I wasn't ignoring you," he said gently. "I had my phone off. It's not healthy to text nonstop."
"Don't start with the 'healthy' lecture again. I don't need to be reminded how to feel."
Damian, tucked around the corner in the shadows, leaned in slightly. Their voices bounced against the narrow walls.
"I'm trying my best," Alex continued. "You always say I'm distant, but I feel like I can't breathe sometimes."
"You feel suffocated?" she snapped, laughing humorlessly. "That's rich coming from the guy who panics if I don't answer in ten minutes."
"Because you lash out like this," he murmured. "I don't even know what sets you off anymore."
Angel's expression twisted. "Maybe you should grow up and stop being such a child, Alex. I don't have time to babysit your feelings."
Then, without warning, she reached out and pinched his arm hard—enough to make Alex flinch and pull away.
"Ow—what was that for?" he said quietly, rubbing the spot.
"For making me look like the villain again," she hissed. "You always do this—turn everything around."
"I'm not asking you to," Alex replied, voice trembling. "I just... I want to talk, like we used to."
"You're exhausting," she muttered, stepping back. "I can't do this every day."
Alex said nothing, shoulders slightly hunched as he avoided her gaze.
Damian froze as he heard footsteps approach. Angel was storming back toward the café.
He quickly turned, picked up a nearby broom leaning by the wall, and pretended to be sweeping when she rounded the corner.
"What are you doing back here?" Angel asked, startled.
Damian blinked. "Trash duty," he said quickly. "Thought I heard the broom crying. Figured it needed moral support."
Angel gave him a confused look, half-annoyed, half-exhausted, then walked past without another word.
Damian waited a beat, then turned slowly to glance down the alley where Alex still stood.
This was worse than he'd imagined.
And they were only just beginning to uncover it.
Damian left the broom leaning where it was and made his way back around the building, slipping in through the employee entrance before heading out the front. A quick glance confirmed Angel was now inside, busy resetting the register. The manager gave him a nod, and Damian offered a thumbs-up, pretending nothing was off.
Outside the café, the air was heavier, cooler. Just a block away, in the shadows of a quiet side street, Kenzo leaned against a lamppost, arms crossed. Audrey and Hana were already waiting beside a nondescript van, the soft glow of streetlamps casting a golden halo over their shoulders.
"Took your time," Hana remarked, raising an eyebrow. Her tone was dry, but her gaze was expectant.
Damian's usual smirk was absent as he stepped into the circle of light, jaw tight. "Had to improvise," he muttered.
Audrey's eyes narrowed, scanning his face like a scanner reading emotional residue. "Talk. What did you see?"
Damian exhaled. "They're not just fighting. It's bad. She was all over him—not just with words. She pinched him, hard. Not playfully. It was aggressive. He flinched."
Kenzo's frown deepened. "That's more than enough. It matches the patterns we've seen in the reports."
Damian nodded. "She's manipulative. Knows how to twist the narrative. And Alex... he's fraying. I don't think he even realizes how wrong it's become."
"That's what abusers do," Audrey said quietly. "They make the victim question reality until they can't recognize themselves."
There was a beat of silence. Then Hana spoke. "So what now?"
Damian's voice lowered. "Now? We get him out before he breaks completely."
They all nodded slowly, understanding the weight.
This mission wasn't just a job anymore.
It had become a lifeline.
—
Later that night, under the dim orange streetlamps of a quieter residential lane, Angel walked with Alex trailing slightly behind her. She clutched her bag tightly, her heels clicking sharply on the pavement.
"Why did it take you so long to get here?" she snapped without looking back.
Alex flinched. "I had to finish my assignment. I told you I'd be out by nine."
"And you think that's an excuse? You always have something more important than me. You don't care how it makes me feel waiting around like an idiot."
He reached out gently. "Angel, I do care. I just—"
She whirled around and shoved his hand off her arm. "Don't touch me when you're lying!" Her voice cracked through the still night.
Alex's voice dropped, trying to keep things calm. "I'm not lying. I just wanted to finish what I started."
"You wanted to avoid me! That's what this is. Every time I ask for something, it's too much!" Her voice pitched higher with each word. "Do you even love me anymore, Alex? Or am I just someone you're too scared to dump?"
Alex took a cautious step back, his shoulders folding inward. "I do love you. Please stop yelling."
Angel scoffed, rolled her eyes, and pinched his forearm sharply. "Then act like it. Or don't bother showing up at all."
When he didn't respond, she suddenly jabbed her finger into his chest. "You're pathetic! You think sulking will get you sympathy? You should be grateful someone like me even looks at you!"
Alex winced, his breath catching. "Please, can we not do this here?"
"Why? Embarrassed? You should be!" She gave him a shove toward the curb. Not hard enough to knock him down, but enough to rattle him.
As Alex stumbled back a step, a middle-aged man walking his dog on the other side of the street paused, eyebrows furrowed. He called out, "Hey, everything okay over there?"
Alex looked up quickly, hope flickering in his eyes. "Uh... sir, I think I'm being—" he hesitated, lowering his voice, "—harassed. By my... girlfriend."
The man blinked, his brow furrowing. He looked between the two of them—Angel standing calmly, even sweetly, with her hand lightly holding Alex's sleeve, and Alex looking rattled, his words unsure.
There was a pause. Then the man scoffed quietly, almost dismissively. "Harassed? By her? Come on, son. She looks half your size."
Angel leaned in with mock worry. "He's been under a lot of pressure lately. I think he's confusing things."
The man shook his head, already walking off. "Young people these days... making drama out of nothing."
Alex stood frozen, his hand still halfway raised, his mouth slightly open. His chest ached—not from the shove, but from the way his words had been dismissed so easily.
Angel turned to him slowly, her voice a venomous whisper. "See? No one's going to believe you. You're the guy. You always lose."
Later that night, Alex quietly slipped into his apartment. The silence wrapped around him like a suffocating blanket. He kicked off his shoes and made his way to the bathroom in a daze, barely noticing the dim hum of the light above.
He turned on the tap, splashed cold water on his face, and slowly looked up.
The mirror reflected a boy who barely looked like himself.
His eyes were rimmed with red, tired and glassy. His jaw trembled as he unbuttoned his shirt, fingers hesitating when he pulled it open.
There they were—faint bruises along his arm, a light mark near his collarbone where Angel had grabbed him, and another on his side. Small. Subtle. But real.
His breath hitched. The weight of everything—her words, her anger, her touch—crashed into him all at once.
He gripped the sink.
Then the tears came.
Silent, heavy sobs racked his chest as he crumpled forward, forehead pressed to the cool porcelain. For once, there was no one to see. No one to pretend for.
Just him. And the truth of what he was enduring.
From a distance, on the rooftop of a nearby building, a faint shimmer passed as Kenzo quietly observed the moment unfold through a surveillance lens, his knuckles tightening.
It was worse than any of them had feared.