By 8:30 a.m., Ryan was already caught up in a morning frenzy. He should have clocked out by now, but he just couldn't bring himself to.
The café was unusually crowded that day. On normal days, it either had fewer customers or had mid-high customers, never this crowded. And Mrs. Chen had stepped out earlier, promising to return as soon as possible, but still hadn't. The other part-timer he shared shifts with was yet to show up. So it was just him behind the counter, taking orders, making drinks, collecting payments, and clearing the tables. As soon as someone was out the door and another came in, the bell over the glass door was ringing repeatedly. Ryan cursed under his breath at how annoying and personal it felt.
The café was situated not far away from campus, and the campus itself was built for people with money, which meant the neighborhood did too. It had people rushing to work in the early morning, dressed neatly in suits and ties, smelling expensive, and stopping by for quick breakfasts because they didn't have time to cook. Or didn't care to. Ryan barely looked up as he served them, his attention fully focused on something else.
8:45.
It took ten minutes to get to campus by bus, but twenty if he ran and used shortcuts. Either way, he was running out of time.
That was when it hit him.
The assignment.
First thing that morning, Ethan had reminded him of it, and he even acknowledged it half awake, head still pounding and body still heavily sore. He'd told himself he would use a few minutes, five or ten maybe, after his shift to work on it.
Now the idea of it felt stupid.
He couldn't even slip away to the restroom or glance at his phone to check something. Cause as soon as he was done attending to one customer, another was calling him from another table. It all felt like the universe was totally against him that morning.
Ryan exhaled slowly, forcing his face into something neutral as he handed over another cup.
Of all days, it had to be today.
It was already 9 a.m by the time the other part-timer showed up then, hurling apologies at him the moment he stepped in. Ryan didn't even have the strength or time to get angry. He just grabbed his bag and left without a word.
Again, as if the universe was against him, the moment he reached the bus stop, the bus there began to drive off.
"Hey! Wait!" he yelled, breaking into a run, shouting at the top of his lungs.
But the bus kept moving anyway. He chased it until his chest burned and only stopped when his leg gave out, bending over and gasping for air
That was it for him. There was no way he could catch up.
He straightened slowly, already calculating his losses.
"The lecture's already started. I might as well just ditch it," he muttered before heading into an alley, instead of waiting for another bus.
An alley he took on days like this or on days his transit was empty.
It was that time of the year when late winter was starting to drag into spring. The cold hadn't fully left yet, but it wasn't hitting the way it used to. The air felt damp with a faint smell of wet soil, like snow had melted ages ago, and the sun refused to dry it up. Each side of the alley had blooming trees lined along it, with leaves falling into the pavements and gutters.
The deeper he walked, the quieter it got. The noise from the main road slowly grew distant, the horns, the engines, and the voices fading until the alley felt completely cut off from everything else. It was strange how close it was to the bustling city, yet how removed it felt. And even though he was really annoyed, he couldn't bring himself to hate this place.
The silence of it made him feel like he was the only person left in the universe... and he liked it. Whenever he walked down that alley, he made sure to shut his brain off. To think of nothing. Not deadlines, grades, or shifts.
Just empty space in his head and the quiet alley. These walks were the only times his thoughts ever stopped tripping over each other, the only moments he felt clear-headed and at peace.
The sight of a pharmacy snapped him out of it, reminding him of what he'd been meaning to do. He'd planned to get the ointment from a pharmacist near his dorm, the one Ethan had vaguely and hurriedly pointed out before rushing off to wherever he rushed off to. But after circling the area for a futile seven minutes, replaying Ethan's useless directions in his head, he finally found it. But it was closed.
He adjusted the black oversized hoodie he had worn, partly to shield himself from the cold and partly to hide the marks scattered across his body. With a tired sigh, he headed on to work, already deciding to check the university's health building instead and bracing himself for how expensive that would probably be.
"Morning, Mr. Benoit," Ryan said with a bright smile as he stepped inside.
"Morning, bud," the old man replied, lighting up at the familiar voice. He adjusted his glasses, leaning slightly over the counter. "You need something today?" he asked casually, in a routine friendliness tone.
They always exchanged pleasantries whenever Ryan passed by, but that was the first time he actually got something from the old man.
"Yeah," Ryan nodded. "I need an ointment. For skin irritation." He took out his phone, showing the old man the photo he had saved last night. "This particularly"
Mr. Benoit studied it, chuckling softly. "You students and your budgets." He shuffled toward the shelves, scanning them slowly. "Is it for you?"
Ryan shook his head quickly. "No. Not for me."
"For someone else then?" the man asked, bending a little to check a lower shelf.
"Yeah," Ryan answered. "A friend."
"Mm," Mr. Benoit murmured, clearly accepting the answer without question. He straightened up, then moved a step to the side, eyes scanning another row of shelves. "These days, when the weather gets like this, halfway between cold and warm, it tends to cause all sorts of irritation, and then the skin reacts badly to it. It's dry one day, and sensitive the next day. I don't know why it's starting to become a thing around this time of year."
He took his time, reaching for one box, reading it, then putting it back. Ryan stood quietly, his hands tucked into his hoodie sleeves, listening and watching him search.
"Here it is," Mr. Benoit finally said, pulling out a small tube, and walked back slowly, placing it on the counter. "Tell your friend to use it twice a day and not to scratch at it. Cause it will only make things worse," he pointed up, ringing it up unhurriedly.
He picked up the tube. "Thank you, sir."
Mr. Benoit smiled as he handed him the change. "Anytime, bud. Take care of yourself."
_____________________
By the time Ryan had reached the campus gate twenty-five minutes later, his wristwatch clocked 9:15. He slipped between buildings, following the familiar path to the library, while setting up a perfect plan in his headspace. Grab a desk, open his laptop, and finish the assignment before the second class starts.
The library was exactly what one could expect from a wealthy university. It had high ceilings with floor-to-ceiling windows, shiny wood floors, and shelves lined with neatly organized books, journals, and rare editions. Scattered around were couches, study chairs, and long desks with lamps for when it gets dark.
He claimed a corner desk by one of the windows, gently placing his stuff on the desk. He opened his laptop, pulled up his notes, and got himself busy.
At the mezzanine floor above, inside a glass-walled discussion room, the Climb Forum meeting was going on. It was a club made up of the top fifteen academically good students in the school. And just at the end of the long table, Adrian sat there attentive but his face beaming with discomfort as a tall, lean guy, apparently their leader, rambled. He spoke about who and who should be designated to certain upcoming interstate competitions. It was a meeting Adrian really detested, but dared not show it.
The club wasn't as impressive as it pretended to be. Every week, they held meetings to discuss grades, competitions, and which study lessons each member had attended. On the surface, they acted united and smiled at each other's faces, but Adrian could see right through all that.
Everyone was competitive and silently trying to outshine the others. About 70% were rich kids, the remaining 40 were average-poor. They wouldn't let go of the feeling that the rich ones had the ease of navigating life smoothly, and convincing themselves they wouldn't even be in the group without their wealthy background.
The rich ones, meanwhile, regarded the rest as beneath them because of their poor background.
No one says this aloud, but somehow Adrian could read the room. The school's president wasn't helping matters either, with the way they kept showcasing the club and parading them around like they were some VIPs. Not that Adrian minded being a VIP himself, not just in a club like this, not with these petty rivalries hiding behind a mask of unity.
His eyes drifted around the room until they stopped on Ryan entering through the sliding door, carrying his usual demeanor. An aura he hadn't noticed during their first encounter but did the second time, deciding to pay a little attention. Ryan had a slim frame that contrasted between softness and tiredness, with hazel eyes that looked dull at first, but focused when he scanned the room, searching for a place to sit. And plumpy rosy lips that looked out of place on someone who barely spoke. Yet beneath all of that was a stubbornness that didn't show in his appearance.
Then he remembered the text he'd sent the previous night, which was yet to be replied to or read.
"Didn't he see it?" Adrian thought to himself, tilting his head slightly. "Or maybe he remembered… everything… and just doesn't know how to respond. Maybe it's… awkward for him." He rubbed the corner of his mouth, a faint, sly curl forming on his lips.
Adrian sprang to his feet.
Unable to wait for the meeting to end, he excused himself under the pretense of using the restroom, stepped away from his seat, and went down the stairs, striding toward where Ryan was seated.
"Do you always study like this?" Adrian asked mildly. He pulled out the chair opposite Ryan and sat down. "If you were such a bookworm, why ask me to tutor you? Only to go mute when I finally accept?"
Ryan flinched slightly at the voice, instantly recognizing it. Deep and calm, yet still edging into something cold. He looked up to him.
"Adrian?" he whispered, trying not to disrupt the quiet of the room.
"Yeah," Adrian said. "Answer the question."
"What quest…" Ryan stopped halfway, his eyes widening gradually in shock. "…ion?" and his hands flew to his mouth, covering it.
Everything came rushing in, each fragment slamming together like pieces of a memory he hadn't meant to recover. That night after the party. The garage. Adrian's grip on his wrist, pulling him along. Everything he blurted out in the car, unashamedly. Adrian's apartment. The way Adrian's long, slender hands had wandered every corner of his body, the sensations that followed with every touch. The moans kept spilling out without restraint. How his eyes had fluttered open and shut, caught between awareness and haze.
He had been drunk, completely out of it that night. And yet now the fragments of each memory were painfully vivid as they replayed in his head like it were happening all over again.
Red-faced and burning with embarrassment, Ryan dashed out, leaving everything behind.