Dorian's peaceful sleep was abruptly interrupted by the sharp ring of his phone echoing through the room. With one eye still closed, he groggily reached for the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Dorian, why aren't you at work?"
The familiar voice of the bar owner crackled through the speaker, jolting him fully awake.
"Jenny?!"
Dorian rubbed his eyes, still processing the situation.
"Yes, it's me. Why are you still sleeping?"
"What's going on? I rest on Saturdays..."
"I know you rest on Saturdays, young man, but today is Friday! Check your calendar. And don't forget—yesterday the guys told you they'd be out, and you were supposed to cover their shift! Hurry up and get to the bar! Customers will start arriving soon, and what am I supposed to offer them? Tap water with ice?! We're short-staffed, Dorian, and if you planned to skip a shift, you should've warned me in advance."
"Wait..."
Jenny hung up.
The confused boy quickly checked the calendar, and to his surprise, it was indeed Friday.
"May 2nd, Friday."
"What?! How is that possible?"
He stared at his phone, unable to shake the feeling of disorientation. Should he blame the world or his less-than-ideal sleep schedule? It felt as if a cold shower had been poured over his head. He got ready in a flash and left the house.
The city was still waking up around him. There was an unusual calm in the typically noisy streets. It was the beginning of May, and cherry trees dotted the corners of Wanderlust, their blossoms leaving a delicate scent in the air. The sky blanketed the city with soft, warm colors. Dorian was so confused and lost in thought that he didn't notice anything around him—neither the flower vendors energetically arranging their stalls nor the passersby, already wrapped in thin coats, enjoying the rising sunlight.
Fortunately, Dorian didn't live far from the bar. It was a 15-minute walk.
"Yesterday was Friday," he muttered to himself as he entered the bar through the back entrance and got to work.
As the day wore on, it was already getting dark. Dorian stood behind his long counter, arranging the bottles stacked in neat rows. Suddenly, a familiar but unwelcome voice broke through the background noise:
"Pour me a Negroni."
He turned around and saw Victor again, just like the day before.
"Damn it," he whispered under his breath.
"Did you say something?"
Victor feigned misunderstanding, raising an eyebrow.
"Nothing. I'll make your drink now."
Victor smirked. "Still grumpy, Dorian?"
"You're starting again? I didn't think I'd see you here after yesterday's... altercation."
"Altercation? Beautiful, if you think that was a fight, you clearly don't know what a real fight is," Victor said cynically, his tone laced with mockery.
Dorian, irritated but unwilling to escalate, handed him the drink without another word and turned back to his work. But Victor wasn't done. He ordered another drink, clearly in the mood to talk.
"You're so young and beautiful. How can you waste yourself working here?"
"Unlike some people, I didn't grow up in a golden cradle."
Victor laughed dismissively. "Calm down and lose the attitude. Trying to provoke me is pointless. Besides, I'm in a terrible mood today. Don't ask why."
"Good. I wasn't planning to."
"Perfect. I wasn't going to tell you anyway," Victor said, finishing his drink in one gulp. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pen.
"This is my number. Call me when you feel the need. You probably know what I mean."
He placed the napkin with his number on the counter and left.
Victor wasn't the first to give Dorian his number, but most of them took the hint when Dorian declined. Victor, however, was different. He carried himself like the self-proclaimed master of the world.
Later that night, Dorian saw off the last customer and headed home. He walked along the quiet, dimly lit streets, passing closed shops and cafes. The distant sound of a saxophone, played by a street performer, added a melancholic undertone to the evening.
When he arrived home, the house was dark but not lifeless. The curtains filtered the streetlights, allowing a soft glow into the room. As he closed the door behind him, he felt the weight of the day settle heavily on his shoulders.
The chaotic noise of the bar was replaced by the soothing whispers of his home. He made a simple dinner, put on some familiar music, and reminded himself that amidst the storms of life, there was always a place for peace and solitude—his mother's house.
Yet just as he began to relax, an unexpected knock echoed through the house, interrupting the fragile tranquility.
--------
The comfort that had been created was broken by an unexpected knock on the door. A rhythmic sound rang out in the silence. When he opened the door, a cold wind blew into the house. Although it was only the wind that had blown in, this coldness was accompanied by his father's creditors.
"Is this Mr. Marcus Freeman's house?" one of the middle-aged men dressed in black asked.
"My father is not at home. I don't even know where he is, and you're looking for him here in vain," Dorian replied.
"No, young man, we have not come here to visit him. We have come here to warn you—we give you 24 hours to pay off the debt in full. Otherwise, you will have to leave this house. Is everything understood?"
"What? What does 24 hours mean?" the boy panicked.
"No, no... I'm sure Victor planned everything!"
"We hope that everything we said is clear. And now, we will leave you."
That was all they said indifferently, and the door was closed. A cold sweat broke out on Dorian at the news. A whole stream of emotions ran through his body. The house, his deceased mother's inheritance, was of boundless sentimental significance. He could not allow himself to lose this last remnant of his family.
Added to this was the fact that the owner of the bank was Victor's father, a man with a character worse than his son's. Even if Dorian could get along with him, there was no chance he could settle the debt.
"Is... is this the only way left for me?! How I hate myself for even thinking about it."
Indeed, there was no way he could pay off the debt in such a short time, except by accepting Victor's offer. Until now, Dorian had only had intimate relationships with people he was attracted to or genuinely interested in—never out of necessity or with someone as impudent and rude as Victor.
He took a crumpled napkin from his pocket, unfolded it, and looked at the hastily written number. He wondered if he was ready to take this step. Taking a deep breath, he began to dial the number with a heavy heart. After four rings, someone picked up:
"...."
"...."
For the first five seconds, no one spoke. Then Victor broke the silence.
"What a surprise," his voice oozed cynicism and supreme confidence.
"Do you have something to say, Dorian? Do you realize there's no point in arguing with me?"
"Yes, I do have something to say..."
"I'm listening."
"Go to hell, you sick bastard!"
BEEP! BEEP!
With that, Dorian hung up.
------
He stared at his phone again, his heart pounding. He knew morally he had made the right decision, but on the other hand, he saw no other way to keep the house. It was a relief to imagine Victor, already basking in the throes of victory, losing his smug complacency, even if only momentarily. Still, Dorian's mind was filled with a storm of emotions: fear, anger, freedom, loneliness, and despair. He needed a plan immediately. The clock was ticking, and the danger of losing his house grew more real with each passing moment. Forty-eight hours was too short to earn thousands of dollars.
The boy took a deep breath and decided to go for a walk, hoping the fresh air would clear his mind and help him find a way out. He mingled with the city walkers. The city seemed to breathe as one, like every creature inhaling and exhaling in unison. Nearby, Dorian's older friend, Joshua, was selling warm buns. The smell was so pleasant and sharp that he couldn't resist the temptation and bought one.
"Dorian, I'm glad to see you. I haven't seen you at the shop lately," Joshua said.
"I know, I know... It's good to see you too. I haven't been out for a walk recently."
"You've got to get out more. Just being at work and home isn't enough. You're young, you need to meet people—and don't neglect photography. You're great at it."
"How's your mom doing? She broke her leg, right?"
"My mom? She's fine. She hasn't broken anything yet!"
Joshua laughed and handed Dorian the bun.
"Enjoy your meal."
Joshua smiled warmly and waved goodbye with great affection.
Dorian walked through the brightly lit park, munching on his food and thinking about Joshua's words.
"But I remember you told me about your mom two weeks ago... That's strange."
Everything had been surreal for Dorian these days. Every face in the crowd seemed to blur, reinforcing his thoughts about the uniformity of the city's people.
Lost in thought, he suddenly noticed a familiar face.
Gabriel Martinez, dressed in his police uniform, stood near a beautiful fountain dedicated to his father. The plaque read: "The city thanks Frederic Martinez for his heroism. We will always remember him."
Gabriel's father, a police officer, had been attacked by criminals while saving many innocent people. During one of his last missions, he shielded a little girl and sacrificed himself to protect her. On that day, the whole city mourned him, even the universe sending rain, as if humanity's tears weren't enough.
Gabriel usually carried a strong, unshakable aura. The city saw him as a future hero. But now, Dorian saw a man deep in thought, sitting alone by the fountain.
Noticing Dorian, Gabriel smiled warmly. "Dorian! What are you doing here? Taking a walk?"
"Yeah, I needed to clear my mind. If you don't mind..."
"Not at all. Is everything okay?"
"Not really..."
"Then come sit and talk, if you've got time."
They found a nearby bench. Dorian explained his situation and the problem at home. Gabriel listened attentively, his expression reflecting shared concern. When Dorian finished, Gabriel made an unexpected offer:
"I can give you the money, Dorian."
"What? Are you serious?" Dorian jumped up, stunned. "I can't let you do that!"
Gabriel grabbed Dorian's arm and gently pulled him back to sit.
"Let's make it a loan. You can pay me back gradually. Victor gave you 48 hours, which isn't enough to earn that kind of money. Take it from me, and we'll work out a repayment plan. What's wrong with that?"
"But..."
"No buts. Agreed?" Gabriel extended his hand.
After a pause, Dorian shook Gabriel's hand, unable to find the words.
Gabriel smiled, as though he hadn't just saved Dorian's life, and went on his way. As for Dorian, he walked home, less nervous but still emotional, and finally went to sleep.