The room was dark, thick with the stench of sex, sweat, and cologne—cheap and heavy, like everything else about the nights Lucien lived in now. The sheets were twisted, the walls scuffed from furniture shoved back too roughly. There were bruises blooming across Silas's pale thighs, his neck peppered with possessive bites and faint red handprints. And Lucien—he didn't look like Lucien anymore.
His once-slim body had thickened with muscle. His shoulders stretched wide, arms corded with tension as if he'd been carved into something else entirely. The softness, the lightness, was gone from him.
He didn't speak much anymore. Didn't smile.
He just fucked.
And tonight, he was fucking Silas like he hated him.
Lucien's POV
His moans annoy me.
Every time he says my name—"Lucien… fuck, Lucien, please…"—it grates against my ears like static.
I don't slow down. I grab his hips tighter, spreading his legs farther until they tremble in the air, until he can't escape, not even if he wanted to. My thrusts are hard, deep, punishing. I watch the way his mouth drops open, the sounds that escape him—so eager, so loud.
But I don't feel anything.
Not lust. Not satisfaction.
Just emptiness.
He grabs at my shoulders. "Kiss me."
No.
I slam into him instead, my hand moving to wrap around his throat—not hard enough to choke, just enough to quiet him. His lips part, reaching for mine again.
Still, I don't kiss him.
I don't know why. I just can't.
Because… something inside me screams not to.
Silas looked up at him like a man desperate, his flushed cheeks stained with tears, his body completely surrendered. He took everything Lucien gave, clung to him as though trying to summon a memory that wasn't his to take. But Lucien… Lucien never looked at him like a lover.
He stared through him. Past him. Like his soul was missing.
His pace never slowed. Not when Silas whimpered. Not when he arched and pleaded for more. Lucien's body moved like a weapon—precise, brutal, and efficient. The headboard banged against the wall. Silas cried out, begging for closeness, but Lucien only responded with a deeper thrust, biting down on his shoulder to shut him up.
He never cum with Silas, he was holding Silas still beneath him as if his body was the only anchor left in this godless world. Then he pulled out—silent, already reaching for the towel beside the bed.
Silas was still panting, messy and trembling. "Lucien… please. Just stay tonight."
Lucien didn't answer. He didn't look back.
Lucien's POV
I walk into the bathroom.
Cold tiles. Harsh lighting.
I stare at the mirror above the sink.
The man looking back at me has scars I don't remember getting. There's a faint one near my temple, another slashing through my collarbone.
His eyes are darker than I remember. Or maybe I've just forgotten the color.
Who is this?
Who the fuck am I?
I turn the water on and splash my face, trying to wash away the sticky heat of sex, the fingerprints that don't belong on me. My skin feels too tight, like I'm living in someone else's body. Someone I hate.
When I step back into the bedroom, Silas is already curled on his side, watching me through half-lidded eyes, arms reaching out.
I ignore him.
Instead, I go to the drawer by the bed. Third one down. Neatly lined inside, like soldiers waiting to die—the pills. The ones they gave me to stop the dreams. The ones that make the night less cruel.
But they never work.
Because even in sleep, he comes.
Lucien tossed two pills into his mouth, dry swallowing, then fell back on the bed, far from Silas's reach. His breathing slowed as the chemicals kicked in—numbing, sedating, dragging him into the abyss.
But tonight, like every night, they didn't pull him into peace.
They pulled him into him.
A shadowed figure. Small frame. Soft skin. Eyes too big for his face. He always calling him something that made his heart lurch.
"My little tiger…"
The words always echo in the dark.
And the pain comes next. Not physical. Worse.
Lucien's POV
Who are you?
Why do you make me want to scream?
Why does it hurt when I can't see your face?
Every time I dream of you, I wake up sweating, aching, angry.
Not at you.
At myself.
Because something's missing.
Something no one else can give me.
Not even Silas.
Especially not Silas.
His touches feel wrong. His voice feels false. Even when I'm inside him, even when he calls me baby, darling, love… it all sounds like lies.
But your voice…
I don't even know your name.
Yet you sound like home.
Lucien tossed in bed, the drugs failing him. His fingers twitched. His mouth murmured something unintelligible.
Silas reached out to touch his shoulder, hopeful for closeness, but Lucien jolted awake with a gasp—eyes wild, body drenched in sweat.
"Don't touch me," he growled.
Silas shrank back. "You were dreaming again. Same one?"
Lucien didn't answer. He stood, grabbing a shirt off the chair. He needed to move. To run. To bleed.
He needed silence—but silence never came.
Because even when the world was quiet, his voice remained.
"Lucien… come back to me…"
Lucien's POV
I'm going insane.
And I think…
I think I was happy once.
Before they erased it.
Before they took him from me.
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