The door behind Grayson swung open with a rush of sound and heat. Then, her voice. Soft. Familiar. Warm in a way that almost hurt.
"There you are."
He turned his head slowly.
Holly stood in the doorway of the club, holding two drinks and squinting into the dark. Her hair was mussed from dancing, mascara smudged under her eyes, and she smiled at him like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't just sold his soul in a back alley and wasn't still trying to figure out what name he'd signed at the bottom of the contract.
"You okay?" She asked, stepping closer. "You look…"
She hesitated, head tilting.
"…rattled."
Grayson let out a breath that barely passed for a laugh. "Yeah."
"Yeah, you're okay?" She asked. "Or yeah, you look like someone ran you over with a truck?"
He didn't answer.
She handed him one of the drinks. "Vitamin C and vodka. Science says you need it. And by science I mean the guy in the bathroom line who gave me this recipe while he tried to sell me coke."
He took the drink, though his hand shook slightly as it met hers. She noticed but didn't comment.
"You sure you're alright?" Holly asked, eyes scanning his face now with more focus. The smile faded at the edges. "You just… disappeared."
"I needed air."
"Did someone say something? Was it that guy at the bar? Because I swear to God, if someone touched you—"
"No." Too quick. Too hard. He forced a breath. "No. Just… too loud. Too many people."
She nodded slowly. Not entirely convinced. "Right."
He took a sip of the drink. It burned all the way down.
He didn't speak again. Couldn't. His throat felt scraped raw. The weight of Kane's hands still lingered, and the press of his mouth like a brand stamped behind his lips.
Neither of them said anything for a while. Then , Holly slipped her arm through his and gently tugged him off the wall. "C'mon, sadboy. Let's walk before I black out on the pavement."
The city had quieted — the kind of quiet that never lasted long. Post-club lull. Late enough for the streets to feel hollow, early enough that morning still felt far away. Street-lights buzzed. Bar signs blinked their last gasps. Taxis drifted like ghosts.
Grayson barely registered any of it. His shirt clung to him in all the wrong places. He felt ruined. Still raw from the heat of Kane's mouth, his words, the way his body had betrayed him without hesitation. He was still hard when it ended. And that was the worst part.
Holly walked beside him, sipping her drink and swinging the empty cup in her other hand. She was telling some story — something about a guy in the bathroom line who'd been singing Adele into the hand dryer like it was a mic.
Grayson nodded at the right spots. Forced out a low chuckle when her voice lifted, expecting one. But he wasn't there. Instead, he was back in the alley. Back against the wall. Back under Kane's hand, Kane's voice, Kane's mouth. Still tasting the salt of him. Still hearing the way he said "you'll ask for it." Still wondering if he already had.
He swallowed. It didn't help. His jaw ached from clenching. His legs still felt shaky, like his body hadn't decided what it was supposed to feel — desire or disgust. The confusion was tearing through his chest like a slow-burn fuse. He hadn't stopped shaking, not really. He just learned to hide it better.
And then Holly's voice broke through, softer this time. Real.
"So."
He glanced at her.
"You gonna tell me what that whole exit-stage-left-into-the-void thing was?"
Grayson took a breath that didn't quite make it to his lungs. "I just… I don't know. I've been going through some shit."
She raised a brow. "That's new."
"I mean it. Stuff I haven't really sorted out yet."
"You mean emotional stuff, or like… illegal stuff?"
"Little from column A, little from column B."
Holly nudged his side with her elbow. "God, you're so dramatic sometimes."
"I'm serious."
She sobered, but her smile stayed. "Yeah. Okay. I get it."
They kept walking, the sound of their footsteps filling the silence that followed.
Grayson looked down at the pavement. "This thing between us—" he started.
"What, the mind-blowing sex we had or the part where I've been stealing your t-shirts?"
He snorted. "All of it. Look, I don't think I can be that guy right now."
She stopped walking. He turned to face her, his stomach already turning with guilt.
"I mean it," he said. "I'm… not in a place where I can be with anyone. There's too much going on in my head. And I don't want to lie to you. Or pretend like I can be something I'm not."
"Oh my God," she said, holding up both hands. "Grayson. Are you trying to break up with me?"
He blinked. "Kind of?"
She burst out laughing — a quick, surprised sound that filled the empty street. "Dude," she said, shaking her head. "I was never with you."
He stared at her, thrown by how easily she said it.
"I mean, don't get me wrong — you're hot. You've got that whole tortured-poet-who-might-accidentally-choke-you vibe going on. Of course I wanted to sleep with you. And I did. No regrets. High five me later. But I wasn't exactly drawing wedding plans in my notes app."
He opened his mouth. Closed it. "I thought you—"
"I like you, Grayson," she said gently. "I'm attracted to you. But I'm not invested in this fantasy where you suddenly become my emotionally available boyfriend who makes fresh coffee and rubs my back on Sundays."
She shrugged. "I figured out pretty fast that wasn't who you are."
The truth of that stung. Not because she was wrong, but because she was so right.
"I thought I was hiding it better," he muttered.
"You weren't." She smiled faintly. "But I didn't mind. I don't need everything to be some epic love story."
"You mad?"
"No." She looped her arm through his again, more out of familiarity than affection. "But if you ever do want to try emotional intimacy, maybe start before the girl sees you naked."
"I'll write that down."
"You better."
They walked a little longer in silence, her shoulder brushing his. It wasn't romantic. It wasn't comforting, exactly. But it was real. And that was something.
Grayson didn't know what he felt — the fallout from Kane still burning through his veins — but something inside him loosened. He wasn't okay. Not even close. But Holly wasn't asking him to be. And maybe that was the only reason he didn't fall apart right there on the pavement.
*******************
They reached the apartment building just past three a.m. when they saw him. A car was parked half on the curb, sleek and arrogant, the kind of thing that made noise even standing still. Leaning casually against the hood was Connor, sleeves rolled up, a toothpick between his teeth, and a look that said he'd been waiting long enough to be both patient and amused.
Grayson stopped dead. Holly followed suit, one step behind.
"Friend of yours?" Holly muttered.
Grayson didn't answer.
Connor spotted them and straightened with a slow, shit-eating grin. He strolled toward them like it was the most natural thing in the world, like standing outside someone's apartment in the middle of the night with a luxury car and an attitude wasn't suspicious at all.
In one hand, he held an envelope. He didn't say hello. Just held the envelope out toward Grayson like he was handing over a receipt.
"Next time," Connor said, tone dry, "just take the damn money."
Grayson stared at it. Didn't move.
Connor arched a brow. "Come on. Don't make me tuck it into your pants, unless we're doing that now."
Grayson snatched it from him, jaw tight. "You Kane's errand boy now?" He muttered.
Connor shrugged. "You know how it is. Some of us actually finish what we start."
Grayson's stomach churned.
Holly glanced between them, something flickering behind her eyes. Recognition. Confusion. Something else, too — and Connor saw it. His gaze drifted lazily from Grayson to her, then narrowed.
"Wait…" Connor tilted his head, squinting at her now like he was only just realizing. "You're—huh."
Holly stiffened. "What?" She asked carefully.
Connor tilted his head. "Well, this is awkward."
Grayson blinked. "What is?"
Connor grinned — not wide, not cruel. Just... entertained. "Let's just say... you've both had your hands on Kane."
Holly's face blanched. "Excuse me?"
Grayson's blood ran cold. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Connor laughed, not unkindly — more like he genuinely couldn't believe the situation had landed in his lap this perfectly. "Yeah. Blonde girl. Sucking Kane off under the table. I was there."
"You need to shut the fuck up," Holly snapped.
Connor just lifted both palms. "Hey. I'm not judging. I'm just connecting the dots."
Grayson turned to her. "He's lying, right? Tell me he's lying."
Holly looked away.
"Holly," Grayson said, sharper now.
Holly opened her mouth. Closed it. Then cursed under her breath and took a step back. "I was going to tell you. Eventually."
"You were at Elysium? You were—with Kane?"
"It wasn't like that."
Grayson's heart beat louder than her voice. "Then what was it?"
She met his eyes. "We were behind on rent."
He stared. "So you just—what? Blew him?"
She flinched. "I didn't know who he was. Not then."
The silence between them went razor-thin.
Connor leaned back against the hood, arms crossed again, as if watching a scene he'd already seen once and liked better the second time.
"I mean," Connor said mildly, "say what you want about Kane, but the man takes care of his people."
"Connor," Grayson snapped.
"What? I'm just saying. Must've been good. You're both still alive."
"You're a fucking asshole," Holly muttered.
Connor smirked. "You don't know me well enough to say that."
"I do now."
Grayson let out a long, ragged breath and rubbed both hands over his face. He didn't know what made him feel sicker — the envelope in his pocket, or the realization that Kane had somehow seeped into every corner of his life. Work. Sex. Friends. He felt tainted. Branded. And Connor — smug, sharp, observant Connor — was watching it all like he was waiting for the next bomb to drop.
Holly folded her arms, voice lower now. "It was supposed to be a one-time thing. But we needed the money."
Grayson said nothing.
She glanced at him. "You were always doing everything to keep us afloat. I just… I thought I could take one thing off your plate."
Grayson didn't look at her. Couldn't.
Connor stretched slightly, letting the silence hang. Then: "So, are we gonna stand here and unpack everyone's sex life, or should I go?"
Grayson didn't answer.
Connor clicked his tongue, turned toward the driver's side, then paused with the door half-open.
"Anyway," he said, almost too casually, "Kane says hi."
Grayson's voice came low and bitter. "Tell Kane I don't owe him a damn thing."
Connor glanced back. Shrugged. "He'd disagree."
Then the door shut with a clean click, and the engine purred to life — too smooth, too sleek — as the car pulled off the curb and disappeared down the street like it had never been there.
Holly and Grayson stood there for a beat, watching the street where Connor's car disappeared.
Then Holly exhaled. "Well that was fucking weird."
Grayson didn't say anything. His fingers twitched at his sides, like they still didn't know what to do, fight, confess or run.
She turned to him. "You wanna go upstairs or stand here like it's the end of the world?"
He finally nodded, and they moved up the stairwell, step by slow step. Grayson didn't know if it was exhaustion or the weight of what had just happened dragging at his feet, but every floor felt heavier than the last.
The apartment door clicked open, and they stepped inside. Dark. Quiet. Familiar — but not safe.
Grayson went straight to the kitchen, flicked the light on. He dropped the envelope on the counter like it might burn a hole through the laminate. It didn't make a sound, but it echoed loud.
Holly leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed, watching him. "You gonna tell me what that was?"
Grayson's jaw clenched. He opened the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, and let the silence stretch long enough to make a point.
Grayson didn't answer.
Instead, he leaned back against the sink, water untouched in his hand. His shoulders were tight. His mouth opened, then closed again.
Holly narrowed her eyes, the pieces starting to slide into place. "What happened between you and Kane?"
He didn't look at her.
"Grayson."
Her voice was quieter now, but firmer. Like she already knew.
He didn't want to say it. Didn't want to put it in the air where it could live, real and ugly.
"I let him touch me," he said finally, like the words scraped coming out.
Silence.
"I didn't plan it," he added quickly. "It just—happened and I didn't stop it."
Her face shifted — not in disgust. In something softer. Sadder. Understanding in a way he didn't expect.
He rubbed a hand over his face, rough.
"Look," she said, "we've both done shit we're not proud of. Doesn't make you less of anything. Just makes you human."
Grayson didn't answer.
She pushed off the wall. "I'm gonna take a shower. You should too. You smell like cheap vodka and regret."
Then she disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.
Grayson stood there alone, in the soft hum of the fridge, Kane's name still thick in his throat, and wondered if anything about his life still belonged to him at all.
*********************
The bathroom light buzzed softly as Grayson stepped inside and locked the door behind him.
Steam still clung to the mirror from Holly's quick shower, fogging the glass in blurred edges. Her towel was slung over the sink, the scent of her shampoo lingering in the damp air.
He sat on the edge of the tub first, head in his hands, elbows on his knees. For a moment, he just breathed — or tried to. Each inhale felt like it got caught halfway, like his ribs didn't know how to stretch anymore.
The envelope Kane sent — Connor's voice — Holly's silence. It all swirled like static in his head, rising and rising until there wasn't room for anything else. He stood. Stripped. Turned the water on too hot. Stepped under. It scalded. Burned the skin along his shoulders. He didn't move.
The water hit his face like a slap. He let it. Closed his eyes. Let it pour down over him, over the sweat and spit and Kane's fingerprints, like it could wash all of it away. But it didn't. He could still feel it. All of it. The pressure of Kane's thigh between his legs. The rasp of his voice in his ear. The way he came undone under someone he didn't even want to want.
His chest hitched.
Just once.
Then again.
And suddenly he was sobbing. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just sharp, silent gasps that clawed their way out of his throat like they'd been waiting hours for permission.
He gripped the tile wall with both hands, forehead pressed to the cold surface as the water beat down on his back. His knees buckled, and he didn't stop them.
It wasn't Kane. It was everything. The control he thought he had. The self he thought he knew. The shame of being used — and worse, the way some part of him wanted to be. He didn't know who he was anymore.
He stayed there until the water ran cold. Until his skin went numb. Until he couldn't cry anymore. Then he shut it off. Stepped out. The mirror had cleared just enough to reflect his face. Red eyes. Hollow cheeks. Bruised lips. A stranger. Grayson stared at himself for a long time. Then—without thinking—he drove his fist into the glass. The crack spiderwebbed instantly, slicing his knuckles open in red blooms. Shards hit the sink, the floor. He didn't feel it at first. Not really. Just the sting.
Wrapping a towel around his hips, he leaned both hands on the counter, blood dripping from his fist, breathing ragged, chest rising and falling like a storm still caught inside him.
Somewhere in the hallway, he heard Holly's voice, muffled. Probably asking if he was okay.
He didn't answer.
Didn't move, either.
Just stared at the blood pooling in the porcelain. Bright. Ugly. Honest.
A few seconds later, a knock. Softer than before.
"Grayson?" Her voice again, cautious now. "You've been in there a while…"
He let out a breath. Rough. Shaky. "I'm fine."
A pause. "That didn't sound like 'fine.'"
"I'm handling it."
A beat. Then the doorknob turned gently.
"Don't—" he started, but she was already pushing in.
She took one step into the bathroom and froze.
Her eyes scanned the room — the broken mirror, the blood, the thin white towel barely clinging to his hips. Her gaze landed on his knuckles.
"Jesus, Grayson."
"It's fine."
"It's not." She stepped closer, her expression shifting from shocked to grounded. She grabbed a hand towel from the rack and wrapped it around his bleeding hand, firm but careful. "Sit down before you pass out."
"I'm not going to—"
"Sit."
He sat.
She crouched in front of him, tying off the towel with quick fingers. Her brow furrowed as she worked. "What's going on?"
Grayson didn't answer right away. He looked past her — to the mirror, to the crack he'd made in it. Something about the fractured glass felt familiar.
"Kane," he said, voice rough, "is our landlord."
Her brow furrowed. "What?"
"The apartment. This building. He owns it somehow."
Her jaw dropped. "Are you serious?"
Grayson nodded.
"That envelope Connor gave you..." she said slowly, like she was solving a puzzle she didn't want to finish. "That was for rent?"
"I didn't take the money the first time," he said, as if trying to explain something to himself. "I gave it back, told Kane to shove it. But you can't walk out of something you never really escaped from."
Then, softly: "Grayson…"
He shook his head. "I didn't stop him tonight. That's the worst part. I just stood there. And let him."
"Because you were scared?"
"No." His voice broke. "Because a part of me—" He stopped. Swallowed hard. "Part of me wanted it."
"Grayson," she said, voice low. "I sucked his dick in a room full of people for rent money. You let him jerk you off in an alley. This city breaks people. That's what it does."
"I don't even know what this means now," he said quickly, like backpedalling might save him. "I'm not—I don't think I'm even—"
"Hey." She cut in, her voice firm now, fingers squeezing around his wrist. "Stop."
He ran a hand through his wet hair. Let the silence stretch.
"You're not broken," she said. "You're not disgusting. You're not weak."
He didn't speak. Couldn't.
She sat back on the floor, legs crossed beneath her, and let the silence breathe. Grayson blinked hard. Swallowed the lump clawing its way up his throat. "So what now?"
She sighed. "Now, you bandage your hand. We avoid Kane like he's the plague. And we figure out if you've got tetanus, because that mirror didn't look clean."
Grayson sat still for one more breath. Just long enough to let the weight of everything press down one last time. Then he stood, and followed her, only she turned back at him.
"And Grayson?"
He stopped in the hallway. Met her eyes slowly. Warily.
"I don't care if you're into him. I care if you let him own you."
The words landed like a quiet punch. Not cruel. Just true. Sharp in the way only honesty can be.
Grayson didn't respond right away. Didn't smirk or deflect or offer some half-baked denial. He just nodded once, as if the weight of it settled somewhere deep in his chest.