Vinny exhaled, dragging a hand through his tangled hair.
The idea of resting crossed his mind, but it didn't stick. He lay in the guest bed, staring at the ceiling, restless. Because he was in Griffin's house. His internet crush's house. The thought alone made his chest tighten strangely.
A while ago, Griffin had been nothing more than a face on his phone screen, a digital fantasy Vinny used to linger on far too long.
Now, he didn't just know the man of his fantasies, he was here, breathing in Griffin's air, moving through Griffin's space. It felt so unreal, but he was ecstatic.
Curiosity pushed him up from the bed. Barefoot, he walked quietly into the hallway. The air smelled faintly of wood polish and something warmer, something undeniably Griffin.
The house itself surprised him. Everything was precise, every object placed with purpose. It clashed with the image Vinny had created of Griffin in his mind: messy, careless, chaotic. That mismatch only intensified his already intense curiosity and desire.
Eventually, he reached a door left slightly ajar, just enough to tempt him.
His fingers grazed the wooden door before he nudged it wider.
Griffin's bedroom.
He was in Griffin's bedroom.
Was this going too far? Was he crossing a line?
Random guilt-seeking questions flooded his mind, but the subtle scent coming from the room immediately dimmed any thought that tried to make him guilty, pushing it to the back of his mind.
The moment he stepped inside, something unnameable rushed through him.
The room was dim but cozy. A candle sat unlit on the windowsill, and the scent was stronger here: earthy, musky, intimate. The kind of scent that lingered on fabric long after someone left it behind.
Vinny's hand trailed across the sleek black sheets. On impulse, he lifted a pillow to his face. God. It smelled like him.
A heat stirred low in his stomach, his pants tightening with each deep breath as the smell wrapped itself around his senses.
His imagination betrayed him, flashing images of Griffin hovering over him, gripping his wrists, whispering his name in a voice that was all possession.
"Vinny."
The phantom sound jolted him. He dropped the pillow suddenly, as though it had seared his hands.
Get it together. He rubbed his face with both palms, steadying himself. But then something else caught his attention. Another door. Bigger than a closet. Too deliberate to be storage.
He opened it.
The shift was immediate. The air was darker, cooler, sterile.
At first, there was nothing. Just gray walls and little to no furniture. But then his gaze snagged on the far wall.
Photos.
Dozens.
All of him.
Recent shots, from work, from the street, even one that looked like it was taken through a shop window. Older ones too, university nights blurred by memory, his old self staring back with black lipstick, fishnets, eyeliner smudged into shadows.
Vinny's brow furrowed, confusion twisting through him.
A desk sat in the corner, a computer resting silent, its screen dark. He pressed the power button.
It was password protected.
His eyes darted around the room before they got caught by something.
On the desk, a photo frame with a picture in it. It was of him again, an older version of him from his past. Lip ring, big black hoodie, dark eyeliner, his eyes sharp.
Across the glass, in bold black marker was written:
MY DOLL.
Vinny hesitated, then typed it in. The computer unlocked. A single folder was on the computer's desktop.
"V."
Vinny clicked. Dozens of subfolders filled the screen, neatly lined, each one stamped with a date.
Some carried simple labels like "Morning Routine, Jan" or "First Rainfall." Others were stranger, almost intimate: "Workplace Glances" and "Sleep_Breathing.wav."
His eyes skimmed across the names, widening slightly with each one. His lips parted, but no words came.
He leaned closer to the monitor, as though proximity might make the strangeness settle into something that made sense.
It didn't.
He rubbed the back of his neck, then his jaw, fingers restless with nowhere to land. His brows pulled together.
He scrolled slowly, pausing here and there, his breath shallow.
The screen glowed back at him in silence.
Why him? Why this much?
He dragged a hand through his hair, almost laughing under his breath, though there was no humor in it. Only disbelief.
And then, from outside, a car engine revved.
The sound cut clean through the haze in his head.
Vinny's whole body stilled.
Griffin.
Vinny's blood ran cold.