The sun was setting as Lanark approached Clair's apartment, his steps slow and deliberate. The fading light painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in his mind.
He hadn't spoken to Clair since the disastrous outing a few days ago. He had been avoiding her, consumed by guilt and self-loathing, but tonight he couldn't keep away. He needed to see her, to apologize, to promise that he would do better—for her, for himself.
As he turned the corner onto her street, the sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks.
---
Clair stood on her apartment's balcony, her figure framed by the soft glow of the setting sun. But she wasn't alone.
Druwel was with her.
Lanark froze, his heart pounding in his chest. For a moment, he thought he must be mistaken. Why would Druwel, of all people, be here? And why was Clair letting him?
The answer came all too quickly.
Before his eyes, Druwel leaned in, his hand resting on Clair's waist as he kissed her.
It wasn't a casual kiss. It was passionate, deliberate, the kind of kiss that spoke of possession, of dominance. And what shattered Lanark the most was Clair's response. She didn't pull away.
Lanark's world tilted on its axis.
---
Anger surged through him, hot and all-consuming. His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He felt his legs move before his mind could catch up, carrying him toward the building.
By the time he reached the balcony, Druwel had pulled Clair closer, his smug smirk visible even from a distance. Lanark's voice erupted, raw and filled with fury.
"Clair!"
Both Clair and Druwel turned to look at him. Clair's eyes widened, a mixture of shock and guilt flashing across her face. Druwel, on the other hand, looked utterly unbothered. In fact, he seemed amused.
"Lanark," Druwel drawled, his tone mocking. "Didn't expect to see you here."
Lanark ignored him, his gaze locked on Clair.
"What's going on?" he demanded, his voice shaking. "Why are you… why are you with him?"
Clair opened her mouth as if to speak but then closed it again, her eyes darting to the ground.
Lanark stepped closer, his anger giving way to desperation.
"Clair, say something! I deserve an explanation!"
But Clair remained silent, her shoulders tense, her hands clutching the edge of the balcony.
---
Druwel chuckled, the sound grating on Lanark's nerves.
"She doesn't need to explain anything," Druwel said, wrapping an arm around Clair's waist. "It's pretty obvious, isn't it? You're too weak for a girl like her."
Lanark's fists tightened at his sides.
"Get your hands off her," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
Druwel smirked, clearly enjoying himself. Instead of letting Clair go, he leaned in again, kissing her deeply.
Lanark's vision blurred with rage.
"Stop it!" he shouted, his voice cracking.
Clair finally pushed Druwel away, her movements sharp and abrupt. She turned to Lanark, her face pale, her eyes filled with guilt.
"Lanark, I…" she began, but her voice trailed off.
Lanark took a step closer, his voice softer now, almost pleading.
"Why, Clair? Why are you doing this? Do I mean so little to you?"
Tears welled in Clair's eyes, but she didn't respond. Her silence was louder than any words she could have spoken.
---
Druwel stepped between them, his towering figure casting a shadow over Lanark.
"Face it," Druwel said, his tone dripping with condescension. "She's not yours anymore. Honestly, she deserves someone stronger, someone who can actually protect her. You're just… pathetic."
Lanark's hand twitched, the urge to hit Druwel almost overwhelming. But he hesitated, the memory of their last encounter flashing through his mind. Druwel was bigger, stronger, and faster. Fighting him would only end in humiliation.
And then there was Clair.
Lanark's gaze shifted to her, searching for something—anything—that could give him hope. But all he saw was the truth he had been avoiding. She hadn't pulled away from Druwel. She had kissed him back.
She had made her choice.
---
Lanark's anger dissipated, replaced by a hollow ache in his chest. His arms fell to his sides, his body suddenly feeling heavy.
"You were enjoying it," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Clair's eyes widened, but she didn't deny it. Her silence was answer enough.
Lanark took a step back, his heart breaking with every inch of distance he put between them.
"I see," he said, his voice trembling. "I guess I was never enough for you."
Clair opened her mouth to speak, but Druwel cut her off.
"Finally, you get it," Druwel said with a laugh. "Now why don't you run along? You're embarrassing yourself."
Lanark's jaw tightened, his fists trembling. But he didn't fight. He couldn't.
Without another word, he turned and walked away, each step feeling like a knife to the heart.
---
The streets were quiet as Lanark wandered aimlessly, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. Anger, sadness, betrayal—they all swirled together, threatening to consume him.
He replayed the scene over and over in his mind, each memory cutting deeper than the last. Druwel's smug smile. Clair's guilty silence. The way she had leaned into the kiss.
"I'm such an idiot," Lanark muttered, his voice breaking.
He had believed in her, trusted her. He had thought that despite his flaws, Clair had seen something in him worth loving. But tonight had shattered that illusion.
---
Lanark's feet carried him to a park, the moonlight casting long shadows across the empty benches and trees. He sank onto a bench, his head in his hands.
For the first time in years, he felt utterly alone.
"I'm not strong enough," he whispered to the night. "Not for the game. Not for her. Not for anything."
The tears came then, silent and unstoppable.
For hours, Lanark sat there, his heart heavy, his mind racing. He didn't know how to move forward, didn't know if he even wanted to. All he knew was that he couldn't stay the same.
If he wanted to survive—if he wanted to win—he would have to change.
And that change would have to start now.