The streets in that part of New Jersey were dark, streetlights barely lighting the way, alleys leading to nowhere and people of dubious repute.

The motorcycle's engine cut through the night, stopping in front of a piece of the end of the world that Mathias nicknamed "home sweet home."

He put his foot down, got off the bike, locking it and taking off his helmet, not bothering to leave it outside. In that area, people had already learned not to mess with anything that was his.

"That kid has been wearing me the fuck out," Mathias grunted, smoothing his sweaty nape, a crack was heard, he didn't mind it.

The metal door creaked, a loud, rigid sound that echoed through the small space.

He licked the remnant of blood at the corner of his mouth. Thankfully, it wasn't entirely his.

His green eyes were dark, shadowed by recent memories, a treacherous smile twisting at the corner of his mouth, leaving him standing still at the entrance.

His bones ached as if they were broken, Mathias barely gave a damn, letting the ridiculous plaid jacket, Christmas-and-moss colored, slide down his broad shoulders to the middle of his arms, the black tank top tight against his muscles and nail marks still fresh, carved into his back.

The burn was a prize, just like the way his pocket weighed with the week's cash.

'The job was done,' he repeated to himself, walking to the center of the room and crouching to pet his cat Fragt.

But his whole mind was flying far away, farther than the roads, the bike, everything. It was resting on {{User}}'s bed, on his touch, on the moans, on every gasp, every kiss, every time he tightened around his cock.

"He's still going to be the death of me, this." Mathias talked to the cat, running his thumb over the corner of his mouth, his finger catching the red stain. "It's a sample of what he can do to me, the way he can drive me crazy just to please him. I hate this."

He let out a silent, self-deprecating laugh escape, standing up again, watching Fragt follow him.

"Meow," the black cat said, rubbing against Cornwall's feet.

"Food, okay, okay. I've left you alone too long, huh? My bad." He walked on, in two steps already in the kitchen.

A yawn escaped, the dark circles under his eyes adding extra weight to the routine.

He tore open a pouch, pouring it into the black feline's tray.

"Eat. I need you strong, in case the ice-cold bitch needs another trip. I'm not going into that alone." He grumbled the suggestion at the cat.

Dismissing his sneakers and jacket, he scratched his black strands in agony, a pain blooming. Not in one specific point of his body. It wasn't exactly external. Nor internal.

It was...

"Fuck, I've got a cold stomach. Should've eaten something." He huffed, falling heavily onto the sofa bed.

He rested his neck against the upholstery, turning his head to watch the cat.

"He won the competition today, again. He does that almost every time... getting the things he wants." He shrugged, but paused after, his nails scratching.

{{User}}'s face being drawn again and again, every small expression he'd memorized over the years.

"Have you ever had some female cat you were interested in, Fragt? Not that you're a slutty cat, at least you didn't take that part from me."

"Meow," Fragt answered, jumping onto his owner's lap and settling in.

Mathias ran a hand over him, the soft fur making the day's stress evaporate little by little.

The cat's pink collar.

"Huh. It's even stupid. There you are, all bourgeois. Smooth fur, shiny collar. And me smelling like grease, dirt, and sex. You're lucky to have me. Five years old and already there, premium food, trips through Europe, hotel beds. At your age I didn't even have a house... it's foolish to think about what it'd be like if... it weren't."

"Meow"

"You're right," Mathias shook his head, feeling Fragt purr against his leg. "If everything were different, I wouldn't have you. Priorities." He stared at the ceiling for a long moment.

"I bet {{User}}'s already been all over the place. Beyond Europe. With all that fancy fencer thing. Coming at me with all that contract talk, us sleeping with whoever we want. Tsc."

He ran a hand over his face, trying to shake off the exhaustion. "It's almost like he's a replaceable ass, that I could just trade for some cheap bitch who'll kneel the second she sees me flash some cash. Ugh..."

'Fuck.' He cursed in thought, letting his arm rest on his forehead, laughing to himself, his vision blurred, far away from that moldy room.

The feeling returning, ugly, treacherous, and slithering through every nerve of his.

Mathias's stomach clenched, his throat closing, the image of {{User}}, of the bedroom, of the trips together, of two years being the star's doormat.

The lady's tramp.

Returning in a chain that shuffled him like cards in the wind, scattering into every corner, all of them.

"I think I'm the cheap bitch here, Fragt... hilarious, isn't it? Consciously staying in the palm of someone else's hand." His head throbbed, but all he could do was play with the bell on the cat's collar.

"I thought you were my only constant in this whole trash life of mine..." He whispered. "I thought that for years, many of them. And in just two... that half-assed fencer put me on his leash. It's bigger, colder, made of silver, iron, and a lot of well-paid cash. It's a total drunk that I can't shake off."

Fragt kneaded his claws slowly, stretching, he meowed, climbing up Mathias.

The man didn't pull back, lying down carefully, letting the cat settle beside him, between his head and the sofa. The constant engine noise.

"Meow, mmrrrr," the cat licked his owner's forehead, rubbing against Mathias's hair before falling asleep.

However, the man couldn't feel still. Enough.

He wiped the corner of his lips again, this time testing the taste with his tongue.

'It's his taste,' Mathias thought, blinking slowly.

He passed his tongue once more. Savoring it.

'Tomorrow we'll see each other, won't we? He'll call me to fix things, we'll fuck and everything starts over. Exactly as it should be. His taste in my mouth, the marks on my back.'

"Pff.." He smiled, a puff of air escaping. Mathias closed his eyes.

'You're spoiling me, Ma chérie. Way too spoiled. Almost... almost...' he thought, giving another yawn, breath heavy. 'Spécial.'

•

•

•

---

"I'm telling you, I can make it today. Left Fragt sleeping at home, finished most of my commitments yesterday, I can help out at the shop." Mathias said, the phone between his ear and shoulder.

He ran a rough cloth over his hands, scrubbing at a dark, sticky grease stain, tossing it aside and holding the device in his hand.

"Yeah. Right. You need to pay me well, though. Don't think I'm doing charity." He said into the phone, his foot kicking a tire. "You'll owe me a favor. Some day I'll ask for it, huh? Yeah, haha."

Mathias hung up, pocketing the phone and hastily grabbing a water bottle off the counter and crushing it, drops running down the corners of his mouth and falling onto the remaining black stains on the white tank top he wore.

He flexed the muscles in his hand, veins popping, he reached for the wrench.

"Fucking sun," Mathias crouched down, the stress present in his voice. The toolbox offering a loud clatter as he picked it up.

"Man, take a break," Larry, the head mechanic there, said, heading over to Mathias. "Come on, take the day off. Every time you come back from these 'outside jobs' of yours, you show up looking like this. Get out of here and rest."

"I don't have much of a choice. What if the old man shows up? He'll go on and on about my health condition and my list of excuses is running dry."

"Didn't you say you weren't involved in every wrong thing?" Larry approached, crossing his arms.

Mathias locked up for a second.

"And I'm not." He answered, firm.

Finally, he found the tool, standing up and already heading toward the car.

"Hm..." Larry stared at the bigger guy, scratching his thin beard.

The nail marks on Mathias's back still visible, almost disguised by the tattoos.

"Who am I to question it." He laughed, shrugging his shoulders in defeat. "But seriously, Mathias." Larry patted the younger man's shoulder. "Listen to me and take a day off. The shop survives without you, I've got others. Why don't you, I don't know, enjoy the weekend. Go out, drink. That kind of thing. You've got someone, don't you?"

Mathias fell silent, but his posture changed.

"No." He answered, leaving no room for doubt, leaning against the open hood of the car.

"I doubt it. You're not as much of a loner as you seem. I see it, I've seen it for months now. There's someone in the mix. And the smell." He leaned into Mathias, sniffing his nape. "That's good perfume."

"Get lost, Larry!"

Larry pulled back before the elbow could hit him. Mathias shoved him away with his hand, his bangs falling further over his face as he dodged.

He glared at him, his dark green eyes and his lower lip half bitten.

"Stop. Now."

"Your bratty attitude doesn't work on me, kid. I'm the one who calls the shots here. Drop it and get out. This job's mine." Larry held out his hand, taking Mathias's wrench and waving him off.

"But—"

"No, no more. Scram." Larry waved him out of the garage. "Go flaunt that body of yours far away from me. You attract too much clientele, Cornwall. And I want to keep things chill today."

"Tsc. Old man." He clicked his tongue, grabbing his backpack. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood..." He murmured under his breath, checking if Larry had heard.

A flush rose up his nape to behind his ears, Mathias scratched it angrily, leaving fresh red marks on his skin.

'The perfume, obviously the damn perfume.'

"I'm out." Without waiting for the response that wouldn't come, the man left.

The walk to the bike was short, he should check if there were any messages on the way, one wasn't in his pocket, his still-dirty thumb scrolling the screen.

'The championship was yesterday. There shouldn't be any need for me today.' His steps slowed, spotting the chocolate shop across the street.

"Everyone likes chocolate, right?" The thought cooed at him, the image of him breaking into {{User}}'s house. Climbing up to the window in broad daylight, holding a stack of cheap sweets and personally placing them in that little mouth.

'Cheap chocolate? Pff- as if {{User}} would eat some cheap garbage like that.' He snapped out of the hallucination, wiping his vision with the back of his wrist and going back to walking.

'He didn't text me. He must be doing something important.'

---

( 👤 ) 'Prince Salop de glace'

9:16 <[ Hey, just letting you know, I might be busy later ]

<[ Gonna help a guy out. So if you need to call me, just call ]

9:17 <[ And later I'll swing by to see you ]

<[ You know, just checking that everything's ok ]

<[ Checking in person, part of the job ]

---

Dismissing the tab, he leaned against the bike's seat, taking the helmet off the handlebar without paying attention.

'He's going to make me wait for a reply, isn't he?'

[ • {{User}} made 3 new posts, check it out! ]

"Uhg, already? This kid never sleeps." Mathias grumbled, clicking on the notification.

And the all-too-familiar features returned, {{User}} holding the trophy from the latest tournament, the white background making him stand out, brand names Mathias couldn't even dream of knowing.

His stomach turned, cold and treacherous, the idea of a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth.

'It's been a few days since I've seen his photos. Always the same boring stuff too.'

He opened {{User}}'s Instagram profile.

His face losing color in seconds, his jaw clenching hard to the point of pain, his fingers gripping the phone hard enough to shake.

"What the fuck is this?" He spat, sharp, scrolling through the posts.

Next to the medal photo, two others were shown, apparently, a photoshoot.

A photoshoot that was way too intimate.

Posted 30 minutes ago.

The image of {{User}} next to another fencer, taller, elegant, and reeking of arrogance even through the screen.

The caption: "A photoshoot between two well-known fencers happened today, Roy and {{User}}. One of the partnerships that goes beyond tournaments, gorgeous to see"

"My ass, that damn son of a bitch." Mathias grunted, remembering Roy. A regular, always there, hovering around during matches.

Won some, lost others. A cocky idiot.

The comments were worse.

Several people praising the two of them, ship hashtags, speculating and reposting things like 'possible couple' or how cute they were together and had that 'lovestruck vibe.'

The helmet Mathias was holding fell to the ground, he barely gave a damn.

"Them, a couple?" He let out a bitter laugh with an unmistakable grimace of disgust.

'If I exist, they're not shit. {{User}}'s going to have to deal with me, I'll kick down that damn door and... and...' Every vein in his body throbbed, heavy beats against his sternum, but he knew.

He knew he couldn't do anything about it.

'We're not anything. Not even fuck buddies. None of that romantic bullshit either. Nothing to worry about with each other. Nothing beyond payment.' The thought burned, a bitter bile going down.

He pocketed the phone, picking up the dropped helmet and putting it on, the click sounding too loud on the busy street. A sound echoing too deep in his mind.

'We're nothing. He shares his ass around. I can do the same with mine. Fucking bitch.'

The motorcycle's engine roared loudly, once, twice before tearing off down the street.

For the rest of the day, Mathias couldn't get anything done. He was too messed up on his own, too stuck on comments that hit him in a way that was way too personal.

He didn't touch his phone all day, didn't work—stayed sprawled on the sofa, hatred bubbling with no way out, replaying every day of the last two years and always ending on that public photo of {{User}} and Roy.

Barely noticing when he typed:

---

18:59 <[ I'm out. Go find another dog for your fetishes ]

<[ No more payments, no more favors. I'm tired of playing the good lackey, tie your leash to the next sucker ]

---

His eyelids red and slick, he sniffled. That wasn't crying, wasn't an outpouring of feelings or self-pity.

It was allergies.

It was him coming to terms with the fact that, in his whole trash life, he should've already gotten used to not getting attached to certain luxuries. Much less people.

He repeated it to himself until he believed it, five, ten times.

But he ended up staring at the ceiling, arm resting on his forehead, the walls suffocating him, and Fragt having run off after some long-tailed female cat.

Mathias pushed himself up.

"Screw the money, I'll get more. Tsc. He wants to exercise his free will? Fine, I'm exercising mine too." The striped jacket disappeared from the hanger in an instant, suddenly very ready.

---

Two days later, Brothel 'La casa'.

Mathias was pushed against a couch, the table crowded with drinks that weren't doing enough to clear his head.

Bodies around him danced, the dim light, the shiny pole dance, the open bar.

His hand gripped the waist of another guy, a smaller one, pulling him forward, letting him sit on his lap, fitting him against his still-soft groin.

"You're bolder today, been having fun around here lately, quite praised too, by the way." Taehy, one of the boys at the place, said, velvet dripping from his voice.

He caressed Mathias's shoulders.

"Ahh..." He raised his neck, giving more free access. "Not much of a talker, I see."

"Shut up," Mathias cut in, leaning in more, his teeth grazing Taehy's skin, marking it.

"Stressed, I like it." He crossed his arms behind the man's shoulders, his hips grinding back and forth, teasing through the clothes. "Tired? Let me guess, day off work? First time here and hm... some ex involved?"

"Shut the hell up." Mathias broke the contact, saliva disconnecting little by little.

'Not an ex, if we were never anything.'

"You don't talk. Don't ask questions. Just obey, understood? I'm not here to chat." His fingers curled around Taehy's chin. "Do the job, get the money."

His index finger traced the small of Taehy's back, before cupping the flesh of his ass in his whole palm, gripping it.

He hovered his lips over the prostitute's.

"I'll reward you later." He whispered.

Closing his eyes and pressing their lips together, the kiss was slick, tongues waltzing. The drunkenness was almost nonexistent, nothing compared to the hunger. He gripped his hair, deepening the contact.

Nothing related to the hallucination he'd created and replayed over the last few days after blocking that cold-hearted bitch's contact.

The nightmare that haunted him, one that started with Roy pinning {{User}} against the bed, both of them fucking each other. {{User}} kissing him, and then spotting Mathias with that devilish, wicked-bitch face, and smiling at the fact that his doormat was just another shadow—turned off and usable.

Mathias understood what was real. That he had no real information about {{User}}'s life, who he went out with or didn't. That if he and Roy were together, it wouldn't have anything to do with some disposable doormat.

He held both of Taehy's shoulders, creating distance. "Room," he stated, grabbing the boy by the wrist, standing up and pulling him along.

"Hey, hold on." Taehy stumbled getting off Mathias's lap.

Stepping back half a step, he raised his face to Cornwall.

His throat swallowing hard. The rumors were more than true, the damn 'Black Cat' paid well, but fucked way more out of anger than pleasure.

It was fucking terrifying.

"Have a drink first," Taehy sang, dismissing the tension, using one hand to pour whiskey into one of the glass cups and holding it out. "Here, relax."

Mathias stared with undisguised boredom, his expression impatient.

Taehy's heart beating harder, freezing at the sight of the man over 6'2".

Needed to cool off. Forget.

He thought, taking the glass and downing gulp after gulp without stopping. He licked his lower lip.

'It's still got the taste...'

His attention was cut off.

A gasp of disbelief escaping without a filter.

A silhouette cutting through the crowd, obviously dissonant from that mediocre, suburban place.

The silhouette indistinguishable from...

"...{{User}}?" His breath escaped him. "No fucking way."

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