The cafe's neon "Open" sign flickered like a dying star, casting pink and electric blue across the cracked sidewalk outside. Inside, the air was heavy with roasted coffee, warm pastries, and a sticky sweetness of old syrup clinging to the vinyl booths. Faded posters of Nirvana and The Ramones peeled from the walls, their edges curling like old memories.
The jukebox in the corner churned out a scratchy '90s grunge tune, its notes tangling with the clink of dishes, the hiss of an espresso machine, and the low hum of patrons—a mix of tired students, a trucker nursing a coffee, and a couple whispering in the corner. The overhead lights buzzed, one bulb flickering like a nervous tic, casting shadows that danced across the checkered linoleum floor.
Alex slid into a booth, the vinyl squeaking under his weight, his faded black backpack thumping against the wall like a tired companion. He sank into the seat, shoulders slumping, the weight of his day—classes, a looming paper, and unpaid rent—pressing down harder than the chilly October air outside. His stomach growled, a loud, embarrassing reminder of his skipped lunch, and he winced, rubbing his middle.
*Why did I let him drag me here?*
Across the table, Francis leaned back, his leather jacket creaking as he stretched, one arm slung casually over the booth's backrest. His grin was pure trouble, hazel eyes glinting in the neon glow, like he was savoring every twitch of Alex's discomfort. At a table near the door, Jax and Rico sat like mismatched sentinels—Jax sipping a soda, his burly frame relaxed but alert; Rico scanning the windows, his lean form tense, hand never far from his jacket pocket.
Alex clutched the laminated menu, its edges worn and sticky, using it as a shield against Francis's gaze.
*Focus on food. Not him. Not his... everything.*
His phone buzzed in his pocket—Mia's third text in ten minutes: *"Okay, but is he HOT? Pics or it didn't happen!"*
He groaned, shoving the phone deeper into his hoodie, the fabric warm but no match for the heat crawling up his neck.
*She's gonna kill me with these texts.*
Francis leaned forward, elbows on the table, the sticky surface catching his jacket. "You're so cute when you're flustered, love," he teased, voice low and smooth, echoing their park encounter when Alex had tried to wriggle free. "That menu's not gonna save you from me."
Alex nearly dropped the menu, his cheeks flaming. "Can you *not*?" he sputtered, voice cracking as he fanned himself with the menu, the plastic flapping uselessly. "I'm here for the food, not your... whatever this is!" He gestured wildly, his hand almost knocking over the salt shaker, his heart pounding like the jukebox's bassline. *He's doing it again—making everything feel like I'm under a spotlight.*
Francis chuckled, a rich sound that drowned out the jukebox's hum. "Whatever this is?" he mocked, leaning closer, his breath warm with coffee. "You're the one who asked why I'm obsessed, darlin'. Don't act like you're not curious." His thumb brushed the edge of his coffee cup, a slow, deliberate motion that made Alex's pulse jump, his fingers tightening on the menu.
*Curious? Sure. Terrified? Definitely.* Alex's mind flashed to Francis's words in the park—*someone I couldn't save.*
The weight of that confession lingered, a puzzle piece he couldn't quite place. *Who was it? Why does he think I'm like them?* He sighed, shoulders slumping, and raised a hand to flag the waiter, a bored guy with a lip piercing and a stained apron. "Chocolate milkshake with ice and double chocolate cake, please," Alex said, his voice steadier than he felt. He glanced at Francis, daring him to order, one eyebrow raised. *Your move, gangster.*
Francis's grin widened, amused. "Black coffee," he said smoothly, eyes never leaving Alex. The waiter shuffled off, and Francis leaned back, smirking. "Chocolate for dinner? You've got the sweetest teeth in the city, love."
Alex rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips, betraying him.
*He's impossible.*
The milkshake arrived first, frosty glass sweating in the warm cafe, followed by a towering slice of chocolate cake, its glossy frosting gleaming like a promise. Alex's eyes lit up, a bright smile breaking through his defenses.
"My chocolate... I missed you," he murmured, almost to himself, as he took a sip of the milkshake. The cold, rich sweetness hit his tongue, and he sighed, sinking back in the booth.
"Hmmmm... this is what heaven feels like..." He took a bite of the cake, the moist chocolate melting in his mouth, and closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the brief escape from his chaotic life—the unpaid bills, the ignored parental texts, the endless shifts that left him bruised and tired.
For a second, it was just him and the chocolate, a small rebellion against the world.
Francis watched, his grin softening into something warmer, almost tender. "Heaven, huh?" he said, voice low, leaning closer. "Gotta say, love, watching you with that cake is pretty close to paradise." His wink sent a fresh wave of heat to Alex's cheeks, and he nearly choked on his bite, fumbling for a napkin.
"Stop it!" Alex hissed, wiping his mouth, his face practically glowing. "You're evil, you know that?" But his smile lingered, and he hated how Francis's teasing made his chest flutter.
*Focus, Alex. He's trouble.*
He stabbed another bite of cake, trying to ignore Francis's gaze. "You didn't answer me properly in the park," he muttered, voice muffled by chocolate. "You said I remind you of someone you lost. Who? And don't give me that 'cute when you're mad' crap again."
Francis's smirk faded, his eyes darkening with something raw—grief, maybe, or guilt. He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "Pushy, huh?" he said quietly, his voice softer than the jukebox's tune. "Alright, love. It was... someone close. Someone who didn't back down, like you." He paused, jaw tightening, as if the words were a wound he hadn't meant to reopen.
"Lost them to this city's mess. That's all you get for now." His grin returned, strained, like a mask slipping back into place.
Alex's fork froze mid-bite. *Lost them? To what?* His mind raced—gangs, fights, the kind of trouble Rico's tense glances hinted at. He glanced at the other table, where Rico's eyes flicked to the window again, his hand twitching near his jacket. Jax, oblivious, was stealing fries from Rico's plate, grinning like a kid.
*What kind of world does Francis live in?*
Before Alex could press, the cafe door swung open, the bell jingling harshly. Three hooded guys entered, their heavy boots thudding on the linoleum. They wore dark jackets, hoods shadowing their faces, and the air shifted, the espresso machine's hiss suddenly too loud. Rico stiffened, his hand slipping inside his jacket, while Jax's grin faded, his soda forgotten. Francis's posture didn't change, but his fingers tightened around his coffee cup, his gaze flicking to the newcomers before returning to Alex.
Alex's fork hovered over the cake, his stomach churning, not just from hunger. "Those guys," he said, voice low, nodding toward the hoods. "They're not just random, are they?
"Francis's grin was sharp, dangerous. "Not random," he murmured, barely audible. "Just some guys from the other side of town. Don't worry, love. They won't touch you." His hand grazed Alex's under the table, a fleeting touch that sent a jolt through him, equal parts comfort and warning.
Alex's pulse raced, the cake forgotten as he watched the hoods linger at the counter, their whispers sharp against the cafe's hum.
*They're here for him. For us?*
The trucker at the counter hunched lower, and the couple in the corner fell silent, the air thick with unspoken threat.*
* Alex set his fork down, the cake's sweetness fading as curiosity took over. "You can't just drop 'someone close' and expect me to move on," he said, voice firm despite the nerves knotting his stomach. "Who was it, Francis? Why do I remind you of them?" His eyes locked onto Francis's, searching for truth, the cafe's hum fading as he waited.
Francis leaned forward, voice barely above a whisper, rough with emotion. "My brother," he said, the words dragged out like they hurt. "He was 19, full of fire. Always fighting, never backing down. Got caught in a bad deal with a rival crew." He traced the table's edge, a reflex, his eyes distant. "I was too late to save him. Then I saw you, outside that bakery, stealing my damn cake like you didn't care who I was." His grin flickered, faint but real, softening the pain in his eyes. "Defiant. Alive. Made me think I could protect someone this time.
"Alex's breath caught, the milkshake glass cold against his fingers. *His brother? A bad deal?* The cake theft—a blurry memory of grabbing a slice in a fit of annoyance at his boss—suddenly felt like a thread tying them together. *He's not just a gangster. He's... broken.* He wanted to ask more, but the cafe door swung open, the bell jingling harshly, cutting through the jukebox's hum.
Three guys walked in, their heavy boots thudding on the linoleum. They wore dark jackets, hoods shadowing their faces, and the air shifted, the espresso machine's hiss suddenly too loud. Rico stiffened, his hand slipping inside his jacket, while Jax's grin faded, his soda forgotten. Francis's posture didn't change, but his fingers tightened around his coffee cup, his gaze flicking to the newcomers before returning to Alex.
* Alex swallowed, his voice low but steady. "Those guys," he said, nodding toward the hooded figures now lingering at the counter, their whispers sharp against the cafe's hum. "They're not just 'from the other side of town,' are they? What's going on, Francis? Why's Rico acting like we're about to get jumped?" His eyes flicked to Rico, whose hand was still inside his jacket, his lean frame tense as he watched the newcomers.
Francis's eyes narrowed, his grin fading as he glanced at the hoods. "You're sharp, love," he said, voice tight but steady. "They're with a rival crew. Been stirring trouble since I started skipping meets to... well, to see you." He leaned closer, his breath warm on Alex's cheek, sending a shiver through him. "They think I'm distracted. Makes them bold, thinking they can push us around." His hand grazed Alex's wrist, grounding but possessive. "But they won't touch you. I promise."
Alex's stomach dropped, the cake's sweetness turning sour in his mouth. *Rival crew? Pushing?* He glanced at the newcomers, one of whom was staring back, his eyes cold and unblinking under the hood. *This is way bigger than I thought.*
His phone buzzed again—Ben this time: *"Dude, you alive? Gangster boyfriend trouble?"* Alex ignored it, his mind racing, the jukebox's tune a distant hum. *I'm in a cafe with a gangster, and now there's some rival crew?*The hooded guys moved, one brushing past Rico's table, his shoulder grazing Jax's. Jax stood, his burly frame towering, and muttered, "Watch it, punk." Rico grabbed his arm, hissing, "Not here, man." The air crackled, the other patrons glancing nervously, the trucker at the counter hunching over his coffee, the couple in the corner falling silent.
Francis tensed, his hand tightening on Alex's wrist, his eyes flicking between the hoods and the door. "Time to go, love," he said, voice low but urgent, a steel edge cutting through his usual tease. He tossed a wad of crumpled bills on the table, grabbed Alex's backpack, and pulled him toward the exit, Jax and Rico falling in behind like shadows.
Outside, the city streets pulsed with life—car horns blaring, neon signs buzzing, the chatter of late-night crowds weaving through the chilly air. The smell of fried food from a nearby taco truck mixed with the sharp tang of exhaust, and puddles on the sidewalk reflected the neon in smears of red and green.
Francis kept Alex close, his arm brushing Alex's shoulder as they weaved through the crowd, past a group of laughing college kids and a street performer strumming a guitar. Alex's heart pounded, his half-eaten cake and milkshake abandoned, the sweetness lingering on his tongue but no match for the adrenaline spiking through him. *I should've run when I had the chance.* But Francis's warmth, his steady presence, kept him tethered, even as his mind screamed to bolt.
They turned into a narrow alley, the neon fading to shadows, the air cooler and thick with the damp scent of rain-soaked concrete. Graffiti covered the brick walls—swirling letters in bold reds and blues, crude skulls with hollow eyes, and a faded tag that read "No Mercy" in jagged white. The distant wail of a siren echoed, blending with the faint thump of music from a nearby club.
Rico's boots echoed behind them, his eyes scanning the darkness, while Jax trailed with a forced grin, his hand hovering near his belt. "Boss, you sure know how to pick 'em," Jax quipped, voice light but strained, like he was trying to keep the mood from tipping into chaos.
Francis stopped abruptly, turning to face Alex, his eyes intense in the alley's dim light. "You're not getting away from me that easy," he said, his voice soft but firm, echoing his words from the park. "I'm not letting go." His hand cupped Alex's cheek, thumb brushing his skin, sending a shiver through him that had nothing to do with the cold. The touch was gentle, possessive, and Alex hated how it made his chest ache, like Francis was anchoring him in a storm he didn't understand.
Alex's breath hitched, his sneakers scuffing the cracked pavement. *He's trouble. But he's... real.* The alley's shadows seemed to pulse, Rico's tension a warning of the rival crew's reach. *I need to get back to my dorm. But do I want to?* His mind raced, torn between the safety of his cramped room and the pull of Francis's gaze, those hazel eyes holding a promise he wasn't sure he could trust.*
* Alex hesitated, the alley's damp air clinging to his skin, the distant siren fading into a low whine. *Running's the smart move. Those guys back there...* He glanced at Rico, whose hand was still near his jacket, his lean frame taut like a coiled spring, then back at Francis, whose eyes held a steady promise—dangerous, but unwavering.
"Fine," Alex muttered, stepping closer, his shoulder brushing Francis's arm, the warmth grounding him against the cold brick walls. "But if we get jumped, I'm blaming you." He forced a smirk, trying to match Francis's bravado, though his voice shook slightly, betraying the nerves knotting his stomach.
Francis's grin widened, a flash of relief softening his eyes. "That's my boy," he said, voice warm as the neon lights they'd left behind. He slung an arm around Alex's shoulders, heavy and protective, guiding him through the alley toward a quieter street. "Stick with me, love. Nobody touches you while I'm around." The weight of his arm, the faint creak of his leather jacket as they moved, made Alex's chest ache, a mix of fear and something warmer he refused to name.
They emerged onto a street lined with flickering streetlights and shuttered shops, their metal grates rattling in the breeze. The air was thick with the scent of impending rain and the faint metallic tang of asphalt.
Alex's dorm loomed ahead—a squat, gray brick building with cracked windows and a buzzing neon sign that read "Student Housing" in flickering red letters. The steps leading up were chipped, littered with cigarette butts and a crumpled energy drink can, a reminder of Alex's own chaotic life.
Inside, he knew his tiny room waited—cluttered with textbooks piled on a wobbly desk, a sagging mattress with thin sheets, and a window that let in drafts and city noise. The hallway smelled of stale popcorn and laundry detergent, the walls marked with scuffs and faded flyers for campus events he never had time for.
*Home sweet home,* he thought bitterly, his stomach growling at the thought of the abandoned cake, the sweetness still lingering on his tongue.
Rico's phone buzzed, and he cursed under his breath, muttering, "They're still circling. We need to lay low." His voice was clipped, urgent, his eyes darting to the shadows behind them. Jax snorted, nudging Rico's shoulder.
"Relax, man. Boss's got his hands full with lover boy here." His grin was teasing, but his hand stayed near his belt, betraying the tension. Francis shot them a look, his arm tightening around Alex, a silent warning to keep it together.
They reached the dorm's entrance, the neon sign's buzz louder now, like a swarm of angry bees. Francis stopped, turning to face Alex, his hand lingering on Alex's shoulder. "You're safe here," he said, voice low, the city's noise fading behind his words. "But this isn't over, love. I'll be back." His thumb brushed Alex's jaw, a fleeting touch that left Alex's skin tingling, his heart pounding in his ears. The gesture was gentle, almost tender, but carried the weight of a promise—or a threat.
Alex stood frozen, the dorm's chipped steps cold under his sneakers. *Safe? With him around?* He wanted to laugh, but Francis's gaze held him, those hazel eyes burning with something that made his chest tighten. *He's trouble. But why does he feel like the only thing keeping me steady?*
Rico shifted behind them, his boots scuffing the pavement.
"Boss, we gotta move,"
he muttered, his voice low but urgent. "They're too close." Jax cracked his knuckles, his grin returning but edged with nerves. "Let 'em try something," he said, voice loud enough to carry. "I'm itching for a fight."
Francis ignored them, his focus locked on Alex. "Get some rest," he said, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. "You're gonna need it, love." He stepped back, his arm slipping from Alex's shoulders, leaving a cold ache in its place. With a final wink, he turned, his boots thudding as he walked away, Jax and Rico trailing like shadows.
**End of Chapter 2**
Alex pushed through the dorm's heavy door, the creak echoing in the dim hallway. The air inside was stale, smelling of old carpet and instant noodles, the walls marked with scuffs and faded flyers. His heart pounded as he climbed the creaky stairs to his room, Francis's words—*I'm not letting go*—ringing in his ears like the jukebox's tune. His phone buzzed again—Mia: *"YOU WENT TO A CAFE WITH HIM? DETAILS!"* He groaned, shoving it into his pocket, but the rival crew's shadow lingered, Rico's warning a low hum of danger. *What's he dragging me into?* He took a bite of cake, the sweetness grounding him, but Francis's touch—warm, possessive—followed him inside, heavier than the night.