5' 3"
Why me?
Ethan put his palms in the water that was gushing from the faucet and splashed his face with it trying to calm down. His bad mood, combined with furious rage, turned him into a true powder keg that was ready to explode any minute now, threatening to wipe half of the city off the map. Even his cold water treatment couldn't put down the fire that was burning inside Thomson. The situation with Noah had already forced him to the boiling point, but the fan club… Freaking fan club? Seriously? Why on Earth?! For what?! Okay, there were indeed fan clubs of certain students, and, to be honest, there were far more of those fan clubs than it was needed. However, people usually preferred crushing on more interesting examples: sportsmen, artists, or musicians. Not damn lawyers!!!
Once in a while, Ethan attended different sports competitions. Usually they were volleyball tournaments, since Audrey's team took part in them (however, his sister preferred to ignore Ethan's presence, even if she noticed him among the audience). Sometimes, less often, Ethan would go to football or baseball games; again, it was because of Audrey, who was a huge fan since her childhood. On every game, Ethan would see groups of fangirls, usually swirling somewhere close to the field or sitting somewhere in bright clothes. They were usually easy to recognize. They loved dressing up in the same bright t-shirts with a picture of their idol printed on them. They screamed the name of their object of affection across the field and blew the whistles to draw everyone's attention. After the game they gave their idol enormous bouquets of flowers or candy baskets, no matter what the score was. And a so-called crush usually smiled broadly to his admirers and sometimes gave one of his sweatbands or sweaty t-shirts, which sometimes even caused physical fights. But those people were athletes. Half of them sometimes eagerly fucked those fangirls; another half just basked in the spotlight, welling with pride.
Why me?!
Ethan was repelled by this amount of attention. He always thought that he had done everything not to get any unnecessary attention towards himself, apart from those situations when he could leave the worst impression possible. He didn't need adoration; he didn't want to let strangers in his life, and he wouldn't even share his dirty socks with them. Universal love was the last thing he wanted to achieve in his life. Cold respect? Yes. Tension that everyone would feel as soon as he'd appear? Sure. Restraint and the sense of threat? Maybe. Not 'ETHAN THOMSON IS A CRUSH'! He didn't want some fanatic love that had no reason to appear and that was actually more similar to obsession, based on the misjudgment of a person. Fake feelings that one day could turn against the object of affection.
Thomson shuddered.
Why me???
He was getting more and more pissed each and every second, thanking his fans only for one thing: they weren't interested in him that much to start searching for actual information about his life. They decided it was far easier to make them up. However, Ethan imagined for a second how the plot would develop if the girls took the case seriously. Sooner or later they would definitely find out about the Anonymous Drug Addicts that he attended. Yes, Thomson held a speech there only once, but… Nothing could stop one of the smart fangirls from creeping into Paul's favor, pretending to be a drug addict. Of course, the curator wouldn't tell much. However, if someone asked a basic question like, 'Is everyone attending the meetings a former drug user?', and he would probably give a fair answer. Yes, everyone. Considering the fact that fanatics usually have vivid imagination, the lack of information would make them assume something so horrible that real facts would just be a baby talk. There was no doubt that all of his dirty laundry would immediately be made public. That was the worst thing about fanaticism: people who adore you the most don't forgive you for your mistakes or expectations that he hadn't met. Sooner or later fanaticism turns into hate; hate turns into social crucifixion and everyone's favorite stigmatization.
Why me, damn it?!
Nosebleeding wouldn't seem to stop. Ethan leaned against the sink, glanced in the mirror from under his brow, and felt an unpleasant sense of déjà vu. The darkness of tangled memories from the worst period of his time had suddenly opened Pandora's box, sharing that Ethan wanted to think about the least. Just like that, with his nose bleeding, Ethan was standing in the restroom of some night club. However, the nose wasn't bleeding because of anger, but because his client thought the blowjob wasn't enough for the price he had paid. And also, how does the narc boy dare to open his mouth and say something against his will? Nobody would find out anyway. Nobody would protect him anyway. He was just another young social outcast that would be found a couple of months later choked on his own vomit or with an OD. He wouldn't go to the police anyway. And even if he did, no one would believe a single word he'd say.
Shut up and spread your legs, bitch.
The body hurt unbearably. Dancefloor beats were pounding in his ears. The blood wouldn't stop, soaking into the t-shirt. His fake ID was messed up and lying on the floor near his feet. His knees were shaking. Maybe Ethan was crying. Maybe he was thinking about his mom, begging her to come and get him out of here. Though his mother was already gone at that time, and Thomson just couldn't process where he was and how he had ended up there.
…However, on the right side from Ethan, right on the dirty sink rim, the much-desired line of white powder was waiting for him. The presence of that thing was putting down the sense of frustration and terror from what he had gone through. Pain didn't go away, neither did tears, but he could just forget about everything. At least for some time. With drugs, everything seemed and felt easier. No matter what a person would do, willingly or not, if the nightmare ended with a ling on a sink rim, then it wasn't that bad after all. It was one of the reasons why it was so difficult to stop using them. As soon as you get sober, the reality would hit you hard, putting pressure on your temples—like it was a pressing machine—locking your throat and sinking claws into your broken heart. The head would get filled with thoughts that there was no place for you in this world anymore. No one waits for you, and nobody needs you. And the society had given up on you a long time ago and would rather bury you alive than give you a second chance, because there's no such thing as a former addict.
Ethan put his face in the cold water again. He felt cold water trickling down his chin mixed with blood. New and new blood blots were spreading in the sink. Did Thomson not have enough of the story of his fans and Noah's kiss? Did he decide to finish himself with some flashbacks from the past?
"I hate you," Ethan exhaled, looking at himself in the mirror, then wiped his face with paper towels, put a couple of pieces of paper inside his nose, and put on his face the third mask of the day.
He had to be fast. He didn't want to betray Noah's trust, but he didn't want to feel that tension of emotional leash either. Morgan looked determined in the cafeteria; however, he wouldn't be able to overcome his soft-heartedness overnight. He wouldn't, and he didn't have to. Not everyone in this world had to be a cynic. Noah could remain a sympathetic, kind, and sensitive guy. And Ethan was going to take care of the shit surrounding him. He had nothing to lose. Well, it would definitely be nice for Morgan to develop a better sense of justice, but it could wait a little. Ethan could easily imagine Noah forgiving his offenders, finding excuses for their behavior, and even defending them. It could seem cute if Morgan didn't suffer from that himself. Ethan knew too well what a loyal person could do. The more you forgive, the bigger the sense of impunity those people would develop. And sooner or later you might end up with a choice: you can either remain yourself in Hell, or you can become Hell for people surrounding you. Both options were shit.
Ethan left the restroom and, instead of going back to the cafeteria, he went straight to the exit from the building. Some gray clouds were floating in the dome of the sky; however, it wasn't supposed to rain that day. Ethan even felt a bit sad about that. After his cemetery walk in the rain, together with Noah, he rediscovered another obvious thing: the rain wasn't that horrible as he had thought. Well, of course it didn't feel pleasant at all. Besides, his brain took even worse images from the past out from the storage than it did earlier in the restroom. Still, even though Thomson had earlier thought that he wouldn't be able to handle that, now he thought of such obstacles as challenges for him. Somewhere deep down, Ethan still didn't like the weather like that, but now he didn't have the urge to lock himself at home and not go anywhere outside. The same urge he had before, though it was more about going outside in general, no matter what the weather was like. He could overcome his fears before; he could definitely overcome them now. Luckily, there was far more motivation this time.
The lawyers department, which was mentioned in a club schedule, was not far away. Ethan would get there by car in like five minutes, but he didn't let himself drive a car since he knew that he wasn't in his best emotional state. The rage was seething so much like never before. Cold water, deep breaths, and internal begging to calm down—nothing worked. Ethan continued trembling with fury.
Why me???
The question just wouldn't let Thomson go. Why did these girls choose him? How did he manage to grab their attention? Okay, he wasn't an athlete, but he wasn't among the top students either. In order to be among them, you needed to take too much initiative in community events; you had to be a part of some club that supported something or someone. And, which was even more difficult, he had to smile at every lecturer. Ethan was doing great in his studies, but his relationship with teachers wasn't as perfect.
Ethan couldn't even brag about his appearance. Okay, nature didn't rob his face of attractiveness, but… You still had to make it out, since Thomson would take his mask off extremely rarely at university. His height was also a sticking point. He was too short.
It was obvious for Ethan that he couldn't dream about becoming taller since junior high. Due to that fact, Thomson was always mistaken for his age, since it turned out to be older according to his documents. He was being mocked for that, too. Ethan was extremely irritated by that. Also, during his time of addiction, people surrounding him were even more sketchy. He was a perfect score for some pedophiles.
Stop thinking about those days.
Every time Ethan would start complaining about his height after school, his mother would make him sit down with her and watch movies with her favorite Danny DeVito.
"Just look at him," his mother used to always say. "He's only 4' 8"! Did it stop him from becoming a famous actor? Did it stop him from being an Oscar nominee? Or maybe from getting the Golden Globe Award?"
No, it didn't.
"But he's an actor. The majority of his roles are comedians," Ethan was still stubborn. "I'm afraid I'll never be taken seriously. And the role of the comedian isn't for me."
"The way people will treat you depends only on your words and actions, not on your height," his mother would answer in a patronizing way. Of course, she was right. However, Ethan continued measuring his height every day until he was fifteen. Then he understood that 5' 3" was never going to change.
It was funny to think about these stupid things that had bothered him before.
Ethan really wanted to kick the door of the department open. The trembling from the pure anger would seem to stop. He was so agitated that even the mask couldn't hide it. Why else would students, who were walking in front of Ethan, step aside immediately, letting him run past them quickly?
Thomson found the room easily. Voices and laughter were coming through the door. Ethan grabbed the knob and pulled the door. It was locked. The chattering sound stopped immediately. Thomson made his biggest effort to calm down and knocked on the door. There was still silence. Knocking didn't give any result. Ethan got mad again.
Should he say something? But would they open the door if they recognized his voice? And what if they didn't recognize him and thought he was just some random guy? His mind was clouded by raging fury, making it impossible to come up with any complex conclusions. In such a state, Ethan could only make simple decisions. The fire extinguisher hanging on the wall near the classroom seemed like a straightforward solution. Without hesitation, Thomson grabbed it and slammed it against the door handle with all his might. A few hits, and the handle broke off. The door, now unsecured, slowly creaked inward. But in the next moment, with a swift kick from Thomson, it flew open and slammed into the wall. Ethan stepped into the room, casting a dark glare at everyone present. At a glance, there were about fifteen people in the room. Surprisingly, there were even a few guys among them. Before Ethan's not-so-gentle entrance, they had been watching a presentation of some kind. Thomson's eyes darted to the projector screen, and he involuntarily clenched his teeth.
Why Ethan Thomson is the Living Embodiment of Andrew Minyard: Facts! [Andrew Joseph Minyard is a fictional character from the trilogy 'All For the Game' by Nora Sakavic] The ridiculous title was plastered on the screen. To the left, framed in gaudy hearts, was a candid photo of Ethan, clearly taken without his consent. The right side of the screen featured an illustration of a blond guy in white-and-orange sportswear, also surrounded by the same tacky hearts.
Ethan fumed internally.
The fans froze in place, holding their breath. But their expressions didn't show fear—they just looked caught off guard by his sudden appearance.
Thomson silently hurled the fire extinguisher straight at the projector screen. The improvised projectile tore through the pristine white fabric, landing somewhere behind it. The impact was the final straw. A hissing sound filled the room as the fire extinguisher, under the rising pressure inside its casing, began ricocheting around the back of the classroom, spraying its contents everywhere. Ethan didn't even glance at the chaos he had unleashed. He didn't care that the extinguisher might explode from the repeated impacts, possibly right in his hands. Instead, he fixed his burning gaze on the stunned fan club. He was just about to unleash a torrent of questions and sharp insults when his eyes landed on one of the girls. In that last photo, her face had been obscured by her hair, but Ethan recognized her clothes without a problem. The girl flinched and shrank under Ethan's intensified scrutiny. Without a word, Thomson headed towards her.
A voice of reason whispered in his mind, reminding him that she was just a dumb pawn in all of this. Everyone in this room was mindlessly dancing to someone else's tune. But did that absolve them of responsibility for their reckless actions? Did it absolve the creature who dared to shove her tongue down Morgan's throat?! The rage tearing through Ethan made him want to scream.
He didn't let himself stop. He cast aside any doubts about how Noah might react to his actions. He didn't care about the offender's gender and wasn't planning to hold back. If you mess up, you gotta pay the price.
5' 8"-5' 9"
Noah was running as fast as he could, with the others right behind him. They burst into the law department building in a disorganized huddle, rushing up several flights of stairs. Morgan's ears were tuned to every sound, expecting to hear the noise of a fight or—God forbid—cries for help. (Did he really think that?!) But the hallways, empty now that classes had started, were eerily silent. Noah might have thought they were mistaken and that Ethan wasn't here at all if not for the broken lock on the door of the room they were looking for. Morgan sprinted inside and froze in place. The scene in front of him looked almost surreal. The projector screen had been ripped to shreds, with white foam spilling out of the hole. The projector itself had been smashed to bits, its scattered parts littering the floor. The remains of homemade pins with Instagram photos of Ethan, crumpled posters of a sports team in orange uniforms unfamiliar to Noah, and trampled questionnaires featuring questions, which he had seen before, were scattered everywhere.
Ethan stood on one side of a long rectangular table, while the rest of the room's audience was huddled on the other. Among them, Noah immediately recognized the girl who had kissed him. She was sitting with the others, occasionally licking the cut on her lip. Everything about the scene might have seemed expected if not for ONE crucial detail: everyone in the room was staring at Ethan with an unsettling reverence. Clutching notebooks, some were furiously jotting down every word he said, while a few were even sketching. One of the sketchers was the girl with the cut lip. Looking closer, Noah noticed she also had a forming bruise on her cheekbone and finger marks on her neck. She didn't seem bothered by them. She was sketching feverishly, her sharpened pencil scratching against the paper.
"You sure took your sweet time," Ethan drawled, his earlier fiery energy completely drained. "I've already learned everything I needed. Not much information, by the way."
"Uh… um…" Noah glanced between the group and Ethan, completely lost.
"Whoa, what the hell?!" Scott exclaimed, barging into the room behind him.
"Holy crap," Andrea muttered.
"Is that… a fire extinguisher?" Nicole gasped.
"What the hell happened here?!" Rufus howled, arriving last.
Ethan stood up silently, rapping his fingers on the table to command the fan club's attention.
"Make sure to tell the rest of your club," he said, his tone razor-sharp. "This—" he held up one of the surviving pins, "—is copyright infringement. Punishable by fines and jail time. This—" he picked up a stack of his printed photos, "—is stalking. I can file restraining orders against every single one of you. And this—" Ethan nodded toward Noah, "—is sexual harassment. Am I clear?"
The group nodded in unison.
"And he…" Ethan pointed at Noah.
"Is untouchable," the fan club chorused, like attentive students hanging on their lecturer's every word.
"Good," Ethan hissed, his voice dripping with venom so sharp it would make anyone normal wince.
But the fans? They beamed at the praise with a smile beaming on their faces.
They were crazy. Completely crazy.
"Let's go. There's nothing more we can do here," Thomson announced, turning to Noah.
Everyone started rushing out of the classroom, but Morgan stayed rooted in place. He didn't like what had just happened—he didn't like any of it, and more than anything, he wanted to get out of there as fast as possible. What bothered him the most, though, was the girl's split lip. The sight of the bleeding wound gnawed at him almost as much as knowing how she'd gotten it. Something deep inside him rebelled against accepting this as normal. Still, Noah forced himself to keep it together.
Have some self-respect.
"Come on," Ethan said, tugging the sleeve of Morgan's shirt.
"N-no," Noah stuttered. "Not until I get an apology," he added, his voice not quite as firm as he wanted it to be.
Ethan stopped in his tracks, a spark of pleasant surprise flashing in his eyes.
"You know, you're absolutely right…" he murmured, turning his dark-gray gaze back to the fan club. They began whispering among themselves, and after a moment, the main culprit stepped forward with a resolute look. Drawing a deep breath, she launched into a long-winded speech about how sorry she was, how Ethan had helped her see the error of her ways, and how much she regretted her actions. The whole scene tipped further into the realm of the surreal. For some reason, the sincerity in her voice made Noah feel queasy. What had Ethan done? What had he said to make them act so fake?
Her apology triggered a chain reaction, as the rest of the group joined, stumbling over each other to ask for forgiveness. They all said how deeply they regretted their behavior and promised never to get involved in anything shady like this again. Some even apologized for thinking poorly of Noah.
Noah should have felt satisfied—vindicated even—but instead, his mood darkened.
"Good strategy," Ethan remarked as he walked out of the room. "You did well."
"What did you do while you were alone with them?" Noah asked, tension thick in his voice. How on earth had Ethan gotten that kind of reaction? Had he threatened them with a knife? A lawsuit? Promised to track down their families and burn their houses to the ground? What the hell had he done?!
Ethan glanced at him with his dark eyes, the very picture of innocence.
"Nothing special."
"Doesn't look like 'nothing'!"
"I need to use the restroom," Ethan declared, blatantly dodging the question. Without waiting for a response, he made his way towards the door marked with the appropriate symbol.
"Go to the cafeteria. We'll catch up with you," Noah told the others, then followed after Ethan.
Andrea and Scott exchanged a look but decided not to say anything. Nicole didn't even notice something was off, while Rufus trailed Ethan and Noah with a watchful gaze.
"Do you think you'll be fine?" Noah heard Hughes' question reach his ears.
"Who knows?" Andrea answered.
Noah entered the empty restroom and caught Ethan taking the napkins, which turned entirely red, out from his nostrils. The nose just wouldn't seem to stop bleeding. Blood stains immediately covered the sink.
"I want to know what you have said and done to them," Noah continued in a stubborn voice. Ethan just sighed.
"In order to get off easy, I had to have a deal with them," he said and frowned after the word 'deal'. It sounded fake.
"What kind of deal?" Noah asked skeptically. So, according to Thomson, the members of the fan club behaved that weird way not because he had scared them to death. Huh?
Ethan just moaned like he was in pain and whispered, 'I can't believe I really agreed to do that shit!' Then he switched his gaze to Noah:
"After all — it was worth it. I tried to solve the matter in the most peaceful way possible. Just as you wanted."
"Yeah, you should probably tell that to the girl with a cut on her lip."
"She deserved that. I'll beat the shit out of any person who's going to touch you without your consent," Ethan said in a cold voice. Noah was still mad, but Thomson's fairness in this question calmed him down a little.
"Thank you," Noah said, instead of expressing another accusation.
"You're welcome," Ethan nodded, slightly confused. He definitely didn't expect that reaction.
"So what kind of deal is that? Did you promise to give them money?"
"I wish," Ethan sighed, leaning against the sink, sniffing his nose once in a while. "Before I tell you about the deal, here's a little of a backstory for you. They're not really my fans. They…Well…They're fans of a character I remind them of. Do you know what that girl said after I had punched her in the face a couple of times? She made me feel so confused that I suddenly calmed down. And I didn't want to punch her any more. I was THAT fucking shocked."
"So what did she say?" Noah frowned.
'He even reacts like Andrew,' Ethan quoted her.
"What Andrew?"
"It's a fictional character."
"Are you shitting me?"
"No. They're shitting us."
"Why you?!"
"You'll think it's funny."
"I seriously doubt that! I'm not in the mood to laugh," Noah made a helpless gesture.
"My height."
"What do you mean, 'your height'?"
"My fucking dwarf-like height," Ethan explained patiently. "The character is short. It's quite rare to see the same kind of dwarves around the campus. Besides, we sort of look alike. He's blond; I'm blond. He's usually pictured with tunnels in his ears; I also have them. He has a nasty temper. I'm also not a cutie-pie. That's what they told me."
"And that's all?!"
"Yes."
"Sounds like bullshit."
"You have a point."
"Then why the hell did they name this fan club after you?!"
"Because in the past two years, I've become a living embodiment of their favorite character."
"That's insane! And are they targeting me because your orientation didn't fit the story?" Noah scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.
What nonsense.
"No, the character is gay. They were actually convinced I was straight, which let them occasionally imagine me as their boyfriend. But at the same time, they projected the character's traits onto me. In their fantasies, I love sweets, cats, and… sometimes, one of them. Whenever my gay side would show up, though, they'd decided I'd prefer guys with a certain look."
Noah's face twisted as if cramping for a second.
"Let me guess, I don't fit the description of your ideal type?"
"Nope."
"And who's the lucky one? Did they already pick him for you?"
"Oh, absolutely. At first, they chose a guy from my department, but this year, they swapped him out for a freshman from the engineering faculty. They even told me the poor guy's name, but I didn't remember it. They did hand me a photo to think about it, though," Ethan said, pulling a crumpled photograph out of his hoodie pocket. Noah, unable to hide his irritation, practically snatched the photo from Ethan's hand and glared at the blue-eyed, red-haired guy with a charming, wide smile.
"But he's… stunning!" Noah exclaimed indignantly.
"I think he's completely average," Ethan replied, carefully studying Noah's reaction.
"Yeah. A completely average FREAKING MALE MODEL FROM A MAGAZINE COVER!" Noah snapped, shredding the photo into tiny pieces before kicking open the stall door and flushing the remains down the toilet.
"I can't figure it out—are you jealous of the photo or the fictional character's boyfriend they associate with me?'
"Both!" Noah burst out, pacing back and forth in the restroom. "And what did you promise them in exchange for their help? A photo with that hottie? A French kiss? A date?!"
"God, of course not," Ethan said, his voice tinged with a smile. "What do you think I am? I wouldn't go that far."
"And what would you go for?"
"Hmm…" Ethan drummed his fingers nervously on the sink. "For sports gear."
Noah froze, slowly narrowing his eyes at Ethan.
"Sports gear from the character?"
"Yeah."
"So, it's going to be a cosplay, right?"
"Sort of. I'll wear it to the university Halloween party. Finding the costume isn't hard. I'll also need a lacrosse stick, which is actually a bonus—it can double as a weapon in case Hughes gets too pushy. There are a few specifics, but I've got it all written down," Ethan said, showing Noah a list on his phone.
"You hate costume parties."
"I do."
"And that's your birthday."
"I'm aware, Morgan."
"And you're doing this for me?"
"Don't get all teary-eyed," Ethan smirked. Noah gave him a strained smile. The last hour had been such an emotional rollercoaster that now, as things settled, exhaustion was hitting hard.
"What's the look? Will you show me an example or something?" Noah asked, thinking about sketching something new.
Ethan scrolled through his phone again and, after a moment, pulled up an album of fan art by various artists. The gallery featured the whole team. Noah snorted softly, admitting the fact that the character fans had chosen for Ethan did suit him. As for Noah, there was no match to be found.
"All heartthrobs and not a single scrawny, acne-ridden loser," Noah muttered bitterly.
"Don't talk about yourself like that, or I'll think my pep talk about self-respect didn't stick," Ethan said, ensuring the bleeding had finally stopped. "Having acne doesn't make anyone ugly," he added, pulling up a mask over his face. "Think of it as your unique trait."
"More like a whole bunch of unique traits. Mostly pus-filled ones," Noah grumbled.
"I thought your acne didn't bother you much."
"It didn't—until I saw the baby-smooth, flawless face of that…" Noah gestured toward the toilet, where the shredded photo had been flushed.
"God, I thought you were going to yell at me for hitting that girl, or at least demand to know what they told me. But instead, you're stressing over the fantasies of random strangers?"
"But I…" Noah couldn't think of a way to finish the sentence. "Fine. You're right. So, what did they tell you?"
"Nope, not so fast," Ethan said, leaning against the sink and beckoning Noah closer. "Come here."
"Why?" Noah asked suspiciously.
"Just come here."
"You're not going to do anything… weird, are you?"
"I won't," Ethan promised. Cautiously, Noah stepped closer to Ethan, having no idea what he had in mind. Maybe the information about his stalkers was so shocking that it needed to be whispered even in an empty restroom?
"You," Ethan said, poking Noah in the chest with his finger, "are exactly the person who's perfect for me. Not some guy with flawless skin."
Noah immediately flushed, feeling hot blood rush to his face, burning his skin from the inside out.
"There's no… No need to talk about that. I already know perfectly well that…" Noah struggled to force out each word.
"Really? Because it seemed to me like you were doubting it. And that's almost insulting—like you're questioning my choice."
Noah tried to protest, but it came out so muddled and incoherent it sounded more like a frustrated grumble. Ethan raised an eyebrow sharply, as if to emphasize his skepticism toward anything Noah might say that didn't affirm his uniqueness and irreplaceability. And then, out of nowhere, the ground disappeared from beneath Morgan's feet. Noah gasped as Ethan softly grabbed him by the hips and, with one effortless motion, lifted him onto the wide edge of the sink. Startled, Noah instinctively gripped Ethan's shoulders, afraid he might fall. But Thomson held him firmly and didn't let go, even after settling him on the edge.
"What are you doing?"
"What does it look like?"
"You're not seriously planning to make a move on me in the university restroom, are you?"
"What do you mean? I'm already making a move on you in the university restroom," Ethan smirked. "Why are you being so outraged? Weren't you the one ready to throw yourself at me on the cafeteria table?"
"I was playing hard to get," Noah confessed, completely shameless.
"You're already hard to get."
"You think you'll have to sell one of my cars?"
"I'll have to sell all of my cars. And the house."
"Your dad's going to hate me."
"Nope, he'll be thrilled. He loves a good adventure way more than money," Ethan replied, pressing his stomach firmly against Noah's waistband. Morgan nervously bit his lower lip. What now? In a typical sitcom couple, this would all be easy and straightforward. But he and Ethan were far from typical. Noah had never seen a show where one character combined such contradictory traits: blatant passion paired with an absolute reluctance terror of physical contact.
"What?" Noah's nerves only lasted about twenty seconds under Ethan's gaze.
"Just looking at you."
"I can see that. But why?"
"Why do people look at paintings?"
"To admire their beauty, find hidden meanings, or appreciate the artist's delicate work."
"Exactly. I'm admiring something beautiful," Ethan said, his tone so soft and intimate it sent shivers down Noah's arms. And Ethan noticed.
"If you react this strongly to just words, I wonder… Can I bring you to orgasm with them? Should we find out?"
"Oh my God," Noah groaned, covering his face with his hands, burning with shame. "Stop saying things like that! You're driving me insane!"
"You'll get used to it."
"How could anyone possibly get used to this?!"
"Fine, maybe you won't get used to it, but you'll at least stop fighting against everything I say so much."
"I… I'm not fighting against anything," Noah argued weakly.
"Then why do you feel so tense instead of just accepting it? And why do you try to argue with every compliment I give you? Even if it's not out loud, it's written all over your face. And whenever you compare yourself to someone else, you always come to the worst conclusions. Should I remind you more often how handsome you are?" Then he heard Noah begging, 'Please, Ethan, just stop!' But Thomson continued, "You're way too hard on yourself. Should I list all the things I love about you?"
"Ethan, please don't! Are you seriously trying to fuck me verbally?!"
"Do you think I can't do it?"
Noah was certain there was nothing Ethan couldn't do.
"You're the devil."
"Then you should thank me for the Devil's Eye."
"We… We need to get back to the others."
"Are you really trying to run away from listening to all your best qualities?" Ethan asked, tightening his grip on Noah's thighs, just above the knees.
Morgan did want to run. He couldn't think of a single good excuse. All he could do was resign himself to the torture of compliments and hope he wouldn't die from an overload of emotions in the process. But before beginning the torture, Ethan leaned in closer—so close that Morgan could feel the heat of his lips even through the mask. Then Ethan ran his tongue across Noah's lips. Noah instinctively leaned forward, desperate for more, wanting to make the moment last. And then, suddenly, someone burst into the bathroom. A guy walked in, talking passionately on his phone, ranting about some professor who had driven him crazy. He walked right past Ethan and Noah as if they weren't even there and locked himself in one of the stalls, still grumbling loudly. Noah and Ethan froze. They could probably have continued, but the moment was gone.
5' 3"
"Halloween party? That sounds so sick!" Andrea exclaimed, immediately latching onto that part of Ethan's story, as she would always do.
"Not the best idea," Morgan muttered, his face still faintly flushed from their bathroom conversation. They had all returned to the cafeteria. Scott and Andrea had already been late for their classes and decided they had nothing left to lose. Noah and Nicole had a free period, and Rufus was supposed to head to practice, but he insisted on staying to hear more about what had gone down with the fan club. As for Ethan… schoolwork wasn't even on his mind. All he wanted was to get home as soon as possible and jerk off.
"Why is it a bad idea?" Andrea asked, confused.
"It's Ethan's birthday. Spending it at a party he doesn't even like feels wrong to me."
"I'll survive," Ethan replied with a shrug. "I don't celebrate my birthday anyway. Besides, I already promised."
"Did you find out anything useful?" Scott asked, sounding just as unenthusiastic about the Halloween party. Ethan couldn't help but wonder how Scott would react if Andrea picked out a revealing costume—or worse, showed up to the party in just lingerie. And then Ethan thought about how he'd feel if Noah did the same. Honestly, he wouldn't mind, as long as they were the only two people at the party.
"Not much," Ethan admitted. "Their strategy isn't too different from what they used with Chad. However, it turned out even easier with the fan club: instead of offering money, they played on their emotions. They were probably told that Morgan's supposedly harassing me and ruining my reputation just by being around."
"Well, at least they weren't told I was ruining your charm," Noah huffed, crossing his arms. Ethan couldn't hold back a smile.
"They spun this whole story about me being some naïve, innocent forget-me-not who doesn't realize the 'sleazy' looks Morgan's throwing my way," Ethan said, throwing Noah the sleaziest look he could. "Their speaker played on their feelings perfectly, convincing them that only they—my loyal fans who know me better than anyone—could protect me from this shameless pervert," Ethan added, still staring at Morgan, whose face was turning more and more red by each second.
"Just get a room already," Rufus muttered irritably.
"Why?" Ethan drawled, winking at Hughes. "I'd rather stay and watch you losing your shit."
"Is that all you managed to find out?" Nicole asked, her voice tinged with disappointment.
"Not quite. The conversation took place in a group chat. It was, of course, deleted later, and the user's profile has since been removed. But the girls saved screenshots and sent them to me," Ethan explained, pulling up the first screenshot on his phone and setting it down on the table for everyone to see.
"Wow, straight to the point," Rufus muttered. "He knew exactly how to get what he wanted." No one bothered to argue with Hughes.
"That's not what caught my attention, though," Ethan said, shaking his head and tapping the sender's name.
"Dungeon Master?" Noah frowned.
"Is that a reference to Dungeons & Dragons?" Nicole gasped.
"You mean that game for nerds?" Scott asked, surprised.
"Why does it have to be for nerds?" Nicole huffed indignantly. "Noah and I used to play it all the time in school! We even held tournaments between classes!"
"So, is Dungeon Master one of the characters?" Ethan clarified.
"No," Noah drummed his fingers on the table nervously. "The Dungeon Master is the person who runs the game. They're both the referee and the storyteller. Basically, they create the plot, outline all the possible scenarios, and set the mood. They take on the most demanding role in the game."
"More importantly," Nicole added, "is that the Dungeon Master sets the rules, though sometimes their decisions can break them. The golden rule of the game is: 'The DM is always right.' Some people call it 'DM fiat.' Clever, isn't it?"
Everyone fell silent, drawing unexpected parallels between the game and their current situation. Had Noah's tormentor appointed himself as the Dungeon Master and planned to keep playing until he rolled the dice in his favor?
"So, how good were you and Noah as DMs?" Ethan broke the silence.
"We weren't," Nicole shrugged, oblivious to the trap in the question. "A good DM needs a vivid imagination and strategic thinking."
"Nicole and I couldn't come up with anything cohesive," Noah confirmed. "Nicolas was always the DM."
"Who's that?"
"My brother," Nicole replied, her expression growing somber.
"Where's your brother now?"
Nicole froze, realizing only now where this line of questioning was headed.
"Leave Nico out of this!" she snapped, her reaction startlingly sharp. Yet, Noah didn't seem surprised by that at all.
"Nicolas is studying at MIT in Cambridge," Morgan answered instead.
"When was the last time you talked?" Ethan asked, undeterred by Nicole's worsening mood.
"A while ago. We stopped talking when we moved to different cities," Noah said with a shrug.
"But were you close in school?"
"Yeah."
"How close?"
"Um…" Noah hesitated. "We were kind of best friends."
"And then you just stopped talking out of nowhere?" Ethan narrowed his eyes, finding the story increasingly suspicious.
"Nicolas is a passionate guy! He got into the program he always dreamed of! There's nothing wrong with diving headfirst into your studies!"
"But he still keeps in touch with you, right?" Ethan pressed, fishing for a reaction.
He got the opposite of what he expected. Nicole suddenly deflated, her eyes welling with tears. At the same time, Ethan felt a sharp kick under the table from Noah's direction.
"He's very busy, like I said," Nicole murmured, her voice trembling.
"So, doesn't he ever talk to his own sister?" Ethan hadn't meant for the words to sound accusatory, but they came out that way anyway.
Nicole stood up abruptly and walked out without a word. Ethan expected Noah to follow her, but he didn't move. When Andrea got up to go after her, Noah stopped her with a gesture.
"I'll talk to her. But let's give her a few minutes alone first," Noah said coldly. He definitely knew well how to handle this, suggesting he'd dealt with Nicole in this state before.
"Why did she react like that?" Ethan asked.
"Nicole and Nicolas have a complicated relationship."
"Complicated enough that they haven't spoken in over two years?" Ethan pressed, still annoyed about the kick.
"Sorry to be blunt, but you're the last person who should be surprised by that," Noah retorted with biting sarcasm.
Ethan winced as if slapped but swallowed the remark. Harsh or not, the truth was still the truth.
"S… sorry," Morgan, as usual, was quick to apologize. "It's just that things really are complicated between them."
"More complicated than what Audrey and I have?" Ethan muttered through gritted teeth. Noah swallowed audibly.
"Yes."
"So, what happened between them?"
Morgan looked away.
"You don't want to say?"
"I won't."
"Why not?"
"It's a secret."
"Fine, I'll ask Nicole," Ethan said, starting to rise, but Noah forced him back into his seat.
"Don't. She doesn't know."
"About what?"
"The reasons. It's Nicolas's secret."
"And you know it?"
"Yeah."
"How?"
Noah tapped his temple.
"The Devil's eye."
"If it's somehow tied to you and that's why—
"No," Noah cut him off sharply. "It has nothing to do with me. I swear."
"But you're not going to tell me the reason, am I right?"
"Yes, you're right. Just trust me: Nicolas isn't the villain. It's definitely not him."
"Fine," Ethan nodded. "If you say so, we'll leave Nicolas out of it," Ethan promised, but then thought inside his head, 'At least for today.'
"Thank you," Noah nodded. "Now I'll go talk to Nicole. And don't you dare mention Nicolas's secret to her!" he warned.
Well, now he needed to find out the information about this secret as soon as possible.