Kota slipped out of Unit 11D and let the door click shut behind him with the softest possible sound, like he was escaping a crime scene. The hallway felt colder than it should have, the fluorescent lights harsher after the purple-soaked ritual haze he'd just left. His legs wobbled on the first few steps, every muscle group from calves to core screamed in protest, thighs still trembling from holding himself up through eight relentless phases. He smelled like sweat, lube, cum, and that weird incense Beckett had burning the whole time. His jeans chafed against raw skin, boxers soaked through and clinging uncomfortably. He hit the elevator button three times in quick succession even though he knew it wouldn't come any faster.
The ride down to the third floor was silent except for his own ragged breathing and the faint groan of cables.
When the doors opened he shuffled into the corridor, past the same faded rent notices and lost-cat flyers he'd ignored for years. His key scraped the lock louder than he meant it to; he winced, half expecting Khalil to somehow hear it from across town. Inside, the apartment was dark and still, the familiar smell of yesterday's rice and beans hanging in the air. He kicked off his sneakers by the door, peeled off his shirt and jeans in the hallway, and left them in a damp heap. The bathroom light felt blinding after the dim ritual glow.
The shower was scalding hot enough to sting the overworked skin between his legs but he stood under it anyway, washing away layers of dried fluids and sweat. He scrubbed between his thighs carefully, wincing at the raw sensitivity, then just leaned his forehead against the tile and breathed. Eight times. He'd come eight fucking times in one night, and kin and yuki went for seconds and thirds. His balls felt like they'd been wrung out and left to dry.
He didn't bother with clean clothes—just boxers and an old T-shirt from the hamper. He collapsed face-first onto his bed, mattress creaking under his weight. The posters of pre-Vanishing football legends stared down at him like disappointed coaches. His phone buzzed on the nightstand—Theo. He fumbled for it, squinting at the screen through exhausted eyes.
Theo
9:28 PM
still don't wanna go to school tomorrow. kill me. or at least let me fake a stomach bug. i can moan into the phone really convincingly.
Kota huffed a tired laugh, thumbs moving slowly.
Kota
9:29 PM
You're the principal. Just cancel classes. Problem solved.
Theo
9:30 PM
Dad would literally disown me. "Institutional presence," he keeps texting. like i'm not already dying of boredom every day sitting in that office pretending to care about attendance sheets.
Kota
9:31 PM
Poor baby. Principal who does nothing but still doesn't want to work. Cry me a river.
Theo
9:32 PM
rude. i do things. i approve budgets. i yell at teachers who leave early. i exist in the building. that counts.
Kota
9:33 PM
Sure. You're a real pillar of education. Maybe close the school tomorrow. Say there's a gas leak or something dramatic.
Theo
9:34 PM
omg yes. i'm gonna find a way. watch me. i'll call in a bomb threat. no wait that's federal. i'll say the boiler exploded. or a pipe burst.
Kota
9:35 PM
You're ridiculous. I kinda miss class, though.
Theo
9:36 PM
why?? you have a guaranteed 4.0 now. no one's making you show up.
Kota
9:37 PM
Routine. Waking up, walking there, sitting through bullshit. It was normal. Now every day feels… weird.
Theo
9:38 PM
awww you miss me. admit it.
Kota
9:39 PM
Shut up.
Theo
9:40 PM
fine but… i want a lil something from you if i actually drag myself to school tomorrow.
Kota
9:41 PM
What?
Theo
9:42 PM
you know what ;)
Kota groaned into the pillow.
Kota
9:43 PM
Noooo. I won't be able to cum for like a week. I came… 11-12 times today alone. I'm emptied upon emptied. My dick is on strike.
Theo
9:44 PM
WHAT. 11-12?? with who?? why didn't you save any for me?? :(
Kota
9:45 PM
Long story. Ritual. Cult thing. Long story. I'm dead. Promise you later. Tomorrow. Please just go to school.
Theo
9:46 PM
tomorrow?? you better not be lying. i'm holding you to that. fine. i'll go. but only because you said please. and because i miss your stupid face in the hallway.
Kota
9:47 PM
Deal. Night, Theo.
Theo
9:48 PM
night daddy, don't die before tomorrow.
Kota snorted, set the phone on the nightstand, and let his eyes drift shut. The mattress felt like heaven after the sectional. He was already half-asleep when the front door opened.
"I'm back, kiddo," Khalil's deep voice rumbled through the apartment, followed by the rustle of a plastic bag and the smell of shawarma—garlic sauce, grilled meat, warm pita. "I brought shawarma also—"
Footsteps down the hall. Kota squeezed his eyes shut tighter, evening out his breathing, going limp. The bedroom door creaked open.
Khalil paused in the threshold. Kota could feel the weight of his stare even with his eyes closed the way his father always checked if he was really asleep or just avoiding conversation.
A long sigh. "Good work, son."
The door closed quietly. Footsteps retreated. The living-room TV clicked on—low volume, some old boxing match rerun. Kota exhaled slowly, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. He didn't move again until the house settled into its familiar nighttime rhythm: Khalil's chair creaking, the muffled commentary from the TV, the distant hum of traffic outside.
He was safe. For now.
The clock on his phone glowed 9:58.
Two minutes until ten.
He closed his eyes again and let sleep pull him under, the ache in his body fading into the background for the first time all night. Tomorrow he'd deal with school. Tomorrow he'd deal with Theo's whining in person. Tomorrow he'd pretend none of this had happened.
But tonight, he was just… done.