The soft buzz of his phone alarm pulled James out of his restless sleep. He groaned, pulling the blanket over his head as the bleak reality of his life caught up with him again. The room was cold, and his small heater struggled to keep up with the frigid December air. Christmas was just around the corner, but instead of excitement, James felt an overwhelming sense of emptiness.
He stared at the ceiling for a while, unwilling to get out of bed. His thoughts wandered, as they often did these days, to his life—or rather, his lack of one.
Twenty-eight years old, single, no romantic prospects in sight, and still a virgin. "How did I get here?" he muttered.
It wasn't like he hadn't tried. He had. He just didn't seem to have the charisma or the confidence that others had. Social interactions felt like climbing a mountain without any gear—awkward and exhausting. He thought about the people he admired in books and movies: the confident heroes, the suave leading men, the ones who always knew exactly what to say and how to say it. James was nothing like them.
Even at work, where he was respected for his skills, he always felt like an outsider. Coworkers shared stories of their weekend dates or showed off pictures of their families, while James sat silently, feeling like he didn't belong.
He sighed and finally got out of bed, dragging himself to the bathroom. After a quick shower and breakfast, he dressed in his usual work attire: a plain white shirt, a gray blazer, and black slacks. Functional, unremarkable—just like him.
As he made his way to the office, the city was alive with holiday cheer. Lights adorned every building, and festive music played from shops and street corners. Couples walked hand in hand, children laughed, and friends gathered in groups. James walked alone, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, the joy around him only emphasizing the emptiness he felt inside.
Work was uneventful, as it usually was. James kept his head down, finishing his tasks without much interaction. Around midday, his boss, Mr. Larson, called for a meeting.
"Alright, team," Mr. Larson said with a broad smile. "Christmas is almost here, and we're all working hard. So tonight, we're having a little gathering at The Rusty Pint. Drinks are on me. Let's celebrate the holidays together!"
The room erupted in cheers, but James felt a pang of anxiety. Social gatherings were not his forte, especially not ones involving alcohol. Still, he couldn't exactly refuse. It would look bad, and he didn't want to give his coworkers another reason to see him as a recluse.
That evening, James found himself at The Rusty Pint, a cozy bar decked out in holiday decorations. Fairy lights twinkled from the ceiling, and a large Christmas tree stood in the corner, its ornaments glittering in the dim light. The air was filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses as his coworkers mingled and celebrated.
James, however, sat alone at the bar, nursing a beer. He felt out of place, like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit. Around him, his coworkers were chatting, laughing, and even flirting. He watched as one of his colleagues, a tall, confident guy named Brian, effortlessly charmed one of the women from accounting.
James sighed, taking another sip of his beer. "How do they make it look so easy?" he wondered.
As he stared into his glass, lost in thought, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see a woman standing beside him—a hooker, if her provocative outfit and bold demeanor were anything to go by. She was striking, with bright red lipstick and a knowing smile.
"Hey there," she said, her voice smooth and inviting. "All alone on a night like this? That's a shame."
James blinked, his brain struggling to process the situation. This was the kind of encounter he'd only seen in movies. "Uh… hi," he stammered.
The woman smiled, leaning closer. "You look like you could use some company. What do you say?"
James froze. His mind raced, trying to come up with a response, but all he could manage was a nervous laugh. "I, uh… I'm just… you know, here… drinking…"
The woman raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Right. Well, let me know if you change your mind, sweetheart." With that, she walked away, leaving James feeling even more like a loser.
He downed the rest of his beer in one gulp, his face burning with embarrassment. "Great job, James," he muttered. "You can't even talk to a woman who's literally paid to talk to you."
Unable to stand being there any longer, he left the bar, stepping out into the cold night air. The streets were mostly empty, the festive energy of the city feeling distant now. As he walked, he replayed the encounter in his mind, cringing at every awkward moment.
"If I'd just said something—anything—maybe…" He shook his head, his breath forming clouds in the freezing air. "Maybe I'd finally lose my virginity. Maybe I'd finally feel like a real man."
But deep down, James knew it wasn't just about that. It wasn't about losing his virginity or crossing some societal milestone. It was about the connection he'd never been able to have with anyone. A connection he couldn't even imagine for himself.
And yet, there was one place he'd felt that connection, even if it wasn't real: that BL novel. He scoffed at the memory of himself devouring a book from a genre he thought wasn't for him. But despite himself, he'd been drawn into its world—the raw emotions, the tension between the characters, the vulnerability they shared. It had stirred something in him he couldn't explain, something he had no real-life experience to compare to.
The story had consumed him, even though it remained unfinished, leaving him frustrated and longing for closure.
As he crossed an empty road, his mind was consumed by the book. What would have happened to the prince? Would he and the knight have confessed their feelings? Would they have found happiness despite the chaos around them?
The sudden screech of tires shattered his thoughts. A blaring horn jolted him back to reality, but it was too late. The car's headlights blinded him, and the impact hit like a freight train, sending him sprawling onto the cold pavement.
Pain seared through his body, sharp and unbearable. He could hear his own ragged breaths as the world around him blurred into darkness. The scent of blood, the cold asphalt pressing against his skin, and the faint echo of distant voices all mixed into a surreal haze.
"Am I… dying?" James thought, his consciousness slipping away. "This is how it ends? Alone… like this?"
---
When James opened his eyes, he was greeted by unfamiliar surroundings. He was lying in a grand, opulent bed, the canopy draped with luxurious silk curtains. The room was bathed in warm, golden light, and everything around him screamed wealth and royalty.
The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, and the plush bed beneath him felt like it belonged in a dream. He blinked, his mind struggling to make sense of what he was seeing. "Where… am I?" he murmured.
Before he could gather his thoughts, a voice called out to him. "Your Highness! You're awake!"
James turned his head to see a young woman standing beside the bed. She was dressed in a maid's uniform, her face filled with relief and concern.
"Your Highness?" James repeated, his heart pounding.
The maid nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. "Yes, Prince Adrien. We were so worried about you."
James froze, the name echoing in his mind. Prince Adrien. It was the name of the protagonist from the BL novel he'd been reading—the prince whose life he knew all too well.
"No way," he whispered, his breath catching in his throat. "This can't be real…"