Right earring already dumped somewhere, better that way than risking Byron to hear Charles's angry screams and exposing their spy game.
Sleep deprivation. It made the brain foggy, sluggish, as if drunk. Etienne had only had two hours of sleep since yesterday—his exhaustion weighed on him like chains, dragging his limbs down, making even the simple act of walking a struggle. If he didn't collapse onto a bed soon, he was sure his body would betray him.
"Which room would you like?" the hotel clerk asked politely.
Before Byron could respond, Etienne slammed his credit card onto the counter. "Got a king-sized bed?"
Byron quickly snatched the card away and handed the clerk cash instead. "You get the idea. We'd like to pay in cash."
"Give me back my credit card!" Etienne giggled, leaning against Byron's chest like a playful drunk. Of course, Byron wouldn't let him have it.
"Nah, no credit card until you sleep," Byron replied, waiting for the clerk to input their data and hand over the key.
Etienne clung to Byron's chest, hugging him possessively. "Byron... you have to spoil me."
Byron just smiled, not responding. He was also sleep-deprived, but he was used to it, able to keep his focus intact. When he noticed the way people in the lobby looked at Etienne—judgmental stares, disapproving glances—he adjusted his grip, supporting Etienne's body in a way that made him seem less like a drunken mess in a black party gown and more like a man simply exhausted from the night.
Etienne, oblivious to the stares, continued to cling to him like a koala. Byron looked down at his face, brushing away the remnants of dried makeup. He still looked beautiful. Damn beautiful. Even with faded eyeliner and smudged lipstick.
Byron pressed a quick kiss to his lips, and Etienne snuggled deeper into his embrace, possessive in the way he held onto him.
"Here's your key, sir. Enjoy your stay," the clerk said, handing Byron the key. Byron responded with a polite nod.
Their room was on the eighth floor. As they walked down the long, silent corridor, the old carpet muffled their footsteps. Despite Etienne's bone-deep exhaustion, he still found the energy to banter, his voice slurred slightly from sleep deprivation.
"How did you do it?" Etienne asked, tilting his head toward Byron, his golden-dyed hair messy, strands falling into his eyes.
Byron smirked, his expression dripping with mischief. "Do what?"
"The cop," Etienne said. "Why did he like the harassment? What did you do? You promised to show me."
He grabbed Byron's shirt aggressively, his grip tight, stubborn. Byron could tell he wouldn't let go until he got what he wanted.
So Byron grabbed him by the waist and flipped him around, pressing him against the hallway wall. A breathless chuckle left Etienne's lips, but it was immediately stolen when Byron's hips pushed up against his ass.
"Uhh... Byron—" Etienne gasped, feeling the deliberate thrusts against him.
"Shhh," Byron whispered, lips grazing the shell of Etienne's ear. His voice dropped to a dark, teasing murmur. "I'll rip you apart violently, you fucking bitch."
The motion against him made Etienne bite his lip. He could feel the hardness pressing into him—teasing, demanding. Heat coiled in his stomach as he glanced back at Byron with flirty, half-lidded eyes.
"I'll do you right here if you keep looking at me like that," Byron smirks, his eyes softens, captivated by Etienne's flirty eyes.
Responding to that threat, Etienne just responded by brushing his ass behind, and tucking it upwards, making Byron's grins wider.
But before they can do anything, the door next to them open, with the guest resting there show up looking annoyed, Byron snatches Etienne away from the scene and continue walk to their room, they both giggles like pair of teenagers.
That was the longest trip to their hotel room from the elevator. What made it even longer was the way they kept stopping to kiss. Etienne wouldn't stop grabbing Byron's shirt and pushing him against the wall, pressing himself against him.
At some point, he whispered to Byron, "Are you a sexual offender? Aren't you, Byron? Would you harass me?"
It was a weird question, one that made Byron pause. Why was that on Etienne's mind? What was he trying to do? Was this some kind of kink, or was it something that truly unsettled him? Byron couldn't figure it out.
Finally, they reached their hotel room. The door locked automatically once it shut, ensuring their privacy. Byron lifted Etienne effortlessly, their lips colliding once more as they stumbled toward the bed.
Etienne felt his body hit the mattress as Byron kissed him all over, slowly peeling away the black party gown Etienne had worn. A deep moan escaped his lips as he threaded his fingers through Byron's hair, gripping and tugging as Byron's mouth traced heated paths along his skin.
The gown slipped further, barely clinging to Etienne's body, like a half-opened present waiting to be unwrapped. Lying on his back, he pulled Byron up for another deep kiss. As their bodies pressed together, he felt the undeniable hardness rubbing against him—impatient, demanding.
His voice was a teasing purr, low and sinful. "I get it now…"
Byron arched an eyebrow, confused.
Etienne smirked. "...Why the cop liked it."
Byron grinned, understanding the implication, and continued his kisses, hands exploring, seeking an entrance—
Then, out of nowhere, Etienne patted his cheek. "I'm so damn sleepy. Let's go to sleep."
Byron blinked. "...Are you fucking kidding me?"
Without another word, Etienne rolled away from him, eyes already fluttering shut.
Byron groaned, dragging a hand down his face. His body was still burning, aching with frustration. All that heat, all that build-up—left unresolved. With a heavy sigh, he turned his back to Etienne and handled things himself, relieving the tension alone.
When he finished, his breathing slowed, but sleep didn't come easily. He lay there, listening to the steady rhythm of Etienne's soft breaths, utterly undisturbed.
And he looked beautiful.
Etienne had fallen asleep in his black gown, one side slipping off his shoulder, revealing soft, flawless skin, almost exposing a nipple. His body was positioned in a way that felt deliberately provocative—an arm resting above his head, lips slightly parted, one leg bent just enough to be enticing.
Byron reached out, tempted to touch. Just a brush of his knuckles against Etienne's bare shoulder. Just a little taste of what had been denied to him earlier.
The second his fingertips made contact—
SLAP!
Still half-asleep, Etienne instinctively swatted Byron's hand away without hesitation.
Byron smirks, thinking this is exactly how Etienne wants it to be. Why else would he tease him—kissing him, pressing his body against his, whispering those dirty words along the corridor? He must want to be dragged.
So Byron does just that, grabbing Etienne's legs and spreading them wide, jolting him awake in shock.
Etienne gasps, his breath hitching as he finds himself aroused by his dangerous companion. This murderer—dominating him, pinning his wrists to the bed, locking him in place.
"Let me go, Byron!" Etienne struggles, he try to kick, but Byron place his legs on his shoulders, and entered Etienne forcefully.
Etienne's heart pounds hard.
Charles was right! He's a serial rapist!
Etienne clawed at Byron's shoulder just as he started to push in.
"Ouch!" Byron hissed, immediately stopping. He pulled back, glancing at his shoulder, surprised to see blood seeping from the opened wound.
"Why did you do that?" Byron asked, confusion lacing his voice. But when he met Etienne's wide, terrified eyes, realization struck.
This wasn't a game. Etienne wasn't teasing. He wasn't inviting him, and this is NOT a role play. He really didn't want this.
The damage had already been done. Etienne scrambled off the bed, rushing to the sofa across the room, putting as much distance between them as possible.
Byron exhaled heavily, running a hand over his face. He stood there for a moment, hands on his hips, looking at Etienne—speechless.
He knew what this meant.
Broken trust. And most of the time… that was impossible to repair.
"I'm sorry. I thought... it was part of your game. You've been teasing me, grabbing me, kissing me, and you said you wanted me to do what I did to that cop to you, so..." Byron's voice was barely above a whisper.
Etienne was still terrified. A sinking feeling settled in his chest—sadness, disappointment. Charles had been right about Byron. He was a sexual offender.
That had been the whole point of this—to test him. Would Byron respect his boundaries, or would he give in to his urges the moment he was aroused?
It seemed Byron had failed.
"I'm not sleeping near you!" Etienne snapped, curled up on the sofa, keeping a cautious eye on Byron.
Byron let out a long sigh. "Fine, okay. I'm sorry!"
"Don't come any closer, or I'll give myself away to Gion!" Etienne threatened.
"Yeah," Byron's face now looked as if he just being wrecked by hurricane. "sure."
Etienne return to the bed and grabs the blanket, all for himself, and Byron let him. He only watch Etienne cover himself in the blanket on the sofa, and fell asleep fast. Too exhausted to argue, Byron collapsed onto the bed and fell into sleep.
***
Byron's dreams were a war zone.
He saw himself running, police sirens blaring behind him. They were everywhere, surrounding him. Bullets rained down, piercing the air. But instead of fear, Byron laughed. Not out of arrogance, but the way someone laughs at a puppy trying to chase its own tail.
You think you can catch me?
He was invincible. No one could capture him.
Then, the dream shifted. A golden door appeared, massive and sealed with intricate engravings. He pushed through—
And found himself in a ballroom.
No more police. No more war. No more bullets.
And there, in the center of the grand hall, stood the most beautiful man he had ever seen. His golden-dyed hair shimmered under the light. Byron reached out, touching his shoulder—
Etienne turned his head and smiled.
"Hi," he greeted, his voice light, warm, reflecting the gentle heart that had made Byron fall so hopelessly in love.
Byron leaned in. Their lips met.
Love had never felt like this before. Suddenly, it was no longer a game.
But when he pulled away—
Etienne was gone.
In his place stood Charles.
Cold steel snapped around his wrist. Handcuffs.
Charles smirked, tightening his grip. "Where do you think you're going, Byron?"
Byron's chest tightened. "Where is Etienne?!" He whipped his head around, searching. Running from figure to figure, face to face, but still, Etienne is no where to be found.
"Where is he?!" Byron frustrated.
The click of a gun echoed behind his head, as the cold of the gun felt on his head's skin.
Charles leaned in, voice low, deadly. "I told you—you can't escape me."
BANG!
Byron jolted awake, drenched in sweat, his breathing heavy and erratic. His heart raced. His chest ached.
He looked around—Etienne was right there, sleeping like a log on the sofa. Byron felt blessed that it had just been a dream.
Sitting alone on the bed, Byron looked out the window as the sky slowly darkened. The sound of the breezing wind and the bustling city outside gradually faded.
Etienne was out of reach—not physically, but emotionally. Because Byron had been too stupid to read the situation, too quick to assume. He should have known. Etienne was exhausted. He just wanted to sleep. And now, he felt more distant than ever.
"Byron? Are you up?" Etienne stretched his body and inhaled deeply, his voice groggy. His eyes were still half-open, heavy with the weight of deep sleep.
"Yeah, just... a nightmare," Byron answered, his voice still thick with sleep.
"What kind of nightmare?" Etienne rested his head on one arm, then smiled over finding it hilarious. "Just like a child."
"Never mind. Maybe it's because I lost my blanket," Byron said, pouring himself a glass of mineral water and taking a sip.
"Your blanket is here," Etienne murmured, snuggling deeper into the warm blanket he had stolen from the bed. "Do you want it back?"
Byron smirked at the silly question. "Yeah, can you give it back?"
"Depends..." Etienne said slowly, his green eyes locked onto Byron.
Byron raised an eyebrow. "Depends on what?"
"Depends on how well you behave... and how much you respect my personal space," Etienne smirked.
That sounded suspiciously like a storm warning.