One Drunk Night, five years of Problem [part 1]
Chapter 1: One Drunk Night, Five Years of Problem [Part 1]
The Rusty Anchor smelled like Dorian's study after a bad day whiskey and something chemical underneath, the smell of someone trying to drown a feeling that wouldn't die.
Ari Solen wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be home, pretending not to check Dorian's phone when it lit up face-down on the counter. Pretending he didn't know the name that appeared Julian or the way Dorian's thumb hovered, then swiped, then smiled like Ari couldn't see.
"You're reluctant." Dorian's voice had been flat. Final. "That's why I went elsewhere. You can't blame me for needing someone who actually wants me."
Reluctant. Because Ari had flinched when Dorian touched him. Because he'd stopped believing I love you meant only you. Because he'd known for three months and couldn't say it, couldn't prove it, couldn't be enough.
The word had followed Ari out of the penthouse, into this bar, to the bottom of shot glass number six.
He signaled for another. His reflection in the mirror looked wrong same sharp jaw, same dark curls, same frame Dorian used to grip and say mine while he was inside someone else. But his eyes were hollow. The eyes of someone who'd learned that home was where you learned to check phones, to count condoms, to wonder what you lacked that made them look elsewhere.
Two tables down, three men in suits watched him. Dorian's cousins. Dorian's enforcers. Dorian didn't let go of things he thought belonged to him, even after he'd broken them.
His phone buzzed. Come home let's talk.
Ari didn't answer. He dropped cash and walked out into the rain.
The alley hit like a wall November rain slicing through his coat, the stench of garbage and wet asphalt. He pulled his jacket tighter, but the chill had settled in his bones.
Footsteps behind him. Not casual.
"Mr. Solen." Smooth. Professional. "Mr. Hale would like a word."
Ari ran.
