The first afternoon at Myles’ house ended without catastrophe, and that absence of disaster felt strangely unnatural.
They worked with an ease Blake had not anticipated. The room filled with the soft sounds of shared concentration: the quiet turning of pages, the scratch of pen against paper, the low murmur of Myles’ voice as he dismantled and reconstructed argunts with careful precision.
When he pointed out a flaw in Blake’s reasoning, he did it without condescension, sliding logic into place as though he were adjusting sothing delicate rather than correcting a mistake.
Blake found himself leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, listening more intently than he ant to. At several points, he almost forgot why he had co here in the first place.
For nearly two hours, it felt ordinary. Dusk gradually pressed against the windows, thinning the light and stretching their shadows long across the walls. The air cooled. The house grew quieter.
Only the mission tir in the corner of Blake’s vision refused to soften.
Six days remaining.
When they finished outlining the first half of the presentation, Myles closed his notebook with a soft but decisive motion. "This is sufficient for today."
The word lingered unpleasantly in Blake’s chest.
Six days sounded generous, but each unused opportunity narrowed the space left to act.
Blake rose, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and stepped closer under the pretense of retrieving it from the couch. Their sleeves brushed, and the brief contact sent a sharp awareness through him.
He told himself he could make it look casual. A friendly lean. A quick, harmless press of lips to the cheek. Sothing that could be laughed off if necessary.
’Okay, now it’s ti to act...!’
Instead, he adjusted the strap of his bag.
Myles watched him with quiet attentiveness.
"You’re restless," he observed.
Blake forced a small laugh. "Am I?"
"Yes."
Blake’s pulse quickened.
Now, he thought.
He shifted closer again. "Hey," he said, lowering his voice slightly, "there’s sothing on your—"
His hand lifted toward Myles’ cheek, but the movent lacked spontaneity. His fingers hovered, hesitant and deliberate.
Myles did not flinch or step away. He simply looked at Blake’s raised hand.
Under that scrutiny, Blake felt sothing inside him falter.
"...Never mind," he finished, dropping his hand.
The silence that followed pressed heavier than before. Myles’ gaze remained on him for a mont longer than comfort allowed, and then he turned and walked him to the door.
Blake left with the mission untouched.
***
The week that followed felt like moving across an icy surface that threatened to break.
On Tuesday, in the lunch line, Blake lingered closer than usual. Their shoulders touched as they stood side by side, and Blake angled himself slightly, testing proximity while pretending not to. He imagined turning his head at the right mont, closing the distance under the cover of laughter.
The image tightened his throat.
He stepped back instead.
’What is wrong with ?’
Five days remaining.
On Wednesday, while reviewing notes after class, he tried to introduce the idea more lightly.
"You know," Blake said, keeping his tone casual, "in so cultures, people greet each other with a kiss."
Myles glanced at him, expression unreadable. "I see."
Blake felt heat rise under his skin. "Right."
Four days remaining.
On Thursday, Myles handed him a corrected draft. Their fingers brushed briefly in the exchange. The contact was simple and unremarkable, yet Blake felt it sharply. Myles did not react at all; his composure remained intact, his expression unchanged.
The steadiness unsettled Blake more than rejection might have. It felt wrong to treat that calm as an opening.
Three days remaining.
On Friday, near the school gates, Blake forced himself to try again.
"I could walk you ho," he offered.
"I’m aware of the route," Myles replied evenly.
"I ant company."
Two days remaining.
By Saturday night, Blake lay awake staring at the ceiling while the tir glowed faintly in the darkness of his room.
One day remaining.
’I’m royally fucked...’
***
Sunday afternoon found them once again in Myles’ bedroom. The window stood open, and the thin curtains shifted with the late breeze. The room slled faintly of paper and cool air.
They were rehearsing their presentation.
Blake adjusted and repeated his lines while Myles listened. They refined transitions and corrected emphasis, polishing the structure until it felt seamless. Outwardly, everything was productive. Inwardly, Blake felt his nerves fray with each passing minute.
As the sky outside turned gold, Myles set his notes aside. "That should be sufficient."
The word landed heavily.
Blake closed his notebook with careful deliberation.
"Myles."
"Yes?"
"I have sothing to tell you."
"Then say it."
Blake swallowed. "I don’t want to say it too loudly."
A subtle pause followed.
"Um... co here?"
The invitation sounded casual enough to pass without suspicion.
Myles stepped forward without hesitation.
They stood close enough that Blake could see the faint reflection of the window light in his eyes. Close enough that the steady coolness of Myles’ presence felt tangible.
Blake’s pulse pounded in his ears.
He stepped in and rose slightly onto his toes, angling his head as if to whisper near Myles’ ear. His breath brushed warm against Myles’ cheek.
’Just a little more, just a little...’
Then, a hand harshly grabbed his face.
The grip was cold and firm, fingers pressing along his jaw with controlled strength. It was not violent, yet it left no room for movent.
Blake’s eyes snapped open.
The atmosphere in the room shifted, tightening invisibly. Myles’ expression had not changed in any obvious way, yet the faint warmth Blake had grown accustod to was gone. His gaze was clear, focused, and disturbingly calm.
’I’ll die. He will kill now. Ah, I failed.’
"Are you," Myles asked quietly, his voice lower than Blake had ever heard it, "truly that in love with ?"
Blake’s breath faltered. He had not prepared for the question or for the clarity behind it. His fear must have shown, because Myles’ grip tightened just enough to cause pain.
Blake’s back t the wall beside the open window before he fully processed the movent. Myles guided him there without haste, his control effortless.
Cool air brushed against Blake’s neck.
"Myles—" The na trembled apart.
[ Fear Is For The Unloved! (D) has been activated. ]
Myles pushed him just far enough that the back of Blake’s head tilted beyond the window fra. The drop below was not dizzying, but it was undeniably real. Concrete waited several ters down.
In that suspended instant, Blake understood in a visceral, animal way that he could fall.
Myles’ eyes held his, calm and unblinking.
"You’re scared."
Blake’s hands stopped trembling, his vision getting clearer. "No..."
Myles studied his face for another mont. Then he released him without warning.
Blake stumbled forward, catching himself against the wall. His hands flew to his jaw, where the imprint of fingers still seed to linger. The skin felt cold.
Myles stepped back, restoring distance as if nothing unusual had occurred.
Blake stared at him, unable to form words. He grabbed his bag from the floor, waving at him. "I have to go!"
Myles did not attempt to stop him. He simply watched.
Blake fled down the hallway, through the building, and out into the street. He did not stop running until his lungs burned and the world blurred at the edges.
At ho, he collapsed on the floor, gaze snapping to the tir.
[ 00:00:00 ]
[ Mission Failed. ]
For a brief, suspended mont, everything was silent.
Then the pain struck.
It erupted through his body all at once, as though every nerve had been ignited simultaneously.
"Argh!"
Agony tore through muscle and bone, through skin and marrow, leaving no space untouched.
It felt as though he were being pulled apart from within, electricity threading through every vein and tightening rcilessly. His vision dissolved into white static. His fingers scraped against the floor in a desperate, useless attempt to ground himself.
The pain did not concentrate in one place. It existed everywhere at once: behind his eyes, inside his skull, beneath his skin.
Ti distorted, stretching into sothing unbearable.
Then it ceased as abruptly as it had begun.
His body began to tremble violently.
The system window hovered faintly before him.
The night felt long. He cried, threw up, passed out, and woke up.
Now it was almost morning.
[ Penalty Executed. ]
[ Favorability: -8 → -10 ]
Reset.
He lay there with his cheek pressed against cold concrete, jaw throbbing faintly where Myles had held him, sobbing.
’How... just how am I supposed to do this?’
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