5' 3"
Ethan didn't want to lie to Noah. And technically, he wasn't. He had only told him half the truth. He really was going to class. Just a little later.
After leaving his car in the campus parking lot, Thomson took a taxi to the place he needed, walked a few blocks, and stopped in the shadow of a house that was up for sale. This wasn't his first time there; by now, Ethan had studied all the neighboring houses. To the right of the one he was interested in lived a man with a large dog. He came home for lunch at the same time every day. To the left there was an older couple. The husband liked reading his newspaper outside, enjoying some fresh air, while his wife spent hours tending to a small garden in the yard. As luck would have it, someone was always home in Ethan's target house. The man left early in the morning for work and returned around dinner. The woman, meanwhile, stayed home, ruining Thomson's plans just by being there. Every time Ethan came, he ended up lingering for hours, skillfully keeping out of sight and waiting for the right opportunity. The woman couldn't possibly never leave the house, could she? Experience suggested she could. She was home today too, vacuuming on the first floor, constantly passing in front of the windows. If Duncan were here, everything would've been much easier. His bodyguard had incredible patience; if asked, he could sit in an ambush for a couple of days straight. But Duncan was still chilling in the hospital, and his father, along with several security guards, had entered a phase of legal hysteria, buried in paperwork day and night. The only exception had been Ethan's birthday. That morning, his father had called him into his office and handed him a set of keys ceremoniously.
"What's this? Another car? Do I really need that many?" Ethan knew he probably looked like a spoiled rich kid complaining about another expensive gift. But he genuinely didn't understand what was the point. It was a waste of money.
His father didn't look offended at all. Michael just broke into a sly smile and silently handed Ethan a brochure. Inside there was information about a new residential building on Broadway. Ethan turned the brochure over in his hands, not particularly interested.
"Don't tell me you bought me an apartment," Thomson said darkly.
"I bought you an apartment!" his father announced cheerfully.
"Why? Do you want me to move out?"
Michael looked lost while staring at his son.
"No, Ethan, I don't want you to move out," his father assured him. "I'd be happy to live side by side with you well into old age," he now said ironically. "But it seems to me you might need some personal space, considering you've got yourself a partner."
"We've barely been seeing each other," Ethan objected.
"Given your obstacles, the very fact that this connection exists suggests you're serious about this young man."
That was true. And still, wasn't it a bit too soon to be talking about eternal love? Ethan thought his father was rushing things. But he didn't say it out loud. The doubts Ethan sometimes had—not about Noah, but about himself—felt like something he shouldn't say out loud. As if saying them would somehow be a betrayal of Morgan. However, Thomson wasn't naïve at all. It had been long since Ethan lost his rose-colored glasses, and he understood perfectly well that even the most ideal relationship could fall apart in the blink of an eye. It didn't even need a real reason. After all, Ethan wasn't exactly easy to be with. Noah could get tired of him at any moment, not because Morgan was a bad person, but simply because he deserved better. Certainly better than a former addict with a collection of trauma and a less-than-pleasant personality. That didn't mean Ethan was ready to give Noah up. His selfishness wouldn't allow it. But blindly believing in a happily-ever-after wasn't something Thomson was willing to do either.
"One thousand three hundred ninety-nine square feet? Isn't that a bit much for 'personal space'?" Ethan muttered, finally bothering to open the brochure.
"It's a penthouse."
"Why do I need a penthouse? And on Broadway, of all places?"
"I think Morgan would like it there. He's an artist, isn't he? On Broadway, creativity seeps into the pavement itself."
"Morgan would like anywhere, as long as I'm there," Ethan shot back.
"How conceited."
"Fine, let me rephrase. I'll make sure Morgan likes it, no matter where he is, as long as he's with me," Thomson corrected himself.
"So let me get this straight. You're saying I should've bought you a cardboard box somewhere in the ghetto?"
"Don't twist my words. A regular apartment would've been enough. Even in that building."
"But the penthouse has a pool!" Michael insisted.
"Oh yeah, I just love splashing around," Ethan said irritatedly.
"Not for you. Let Morgan splash around, and you can just watch."
Ethan froze for a second. That, he hadn't considered.
"So now you're going to tie every questionable idea to Morgan just to make it sound more appealing to me?" he frowned. Back then, Michael had only winked at him. Thomson said that kind of manipulation wouldn't work. And yet, somehow, the keys to the penthouse had ended up in his bag, and now they sat in his pocket, burning against his palm every time he clenched his fist too tightly. It was far too early to be thinking about living together, which made it sound foolish. And yet the thought wouldn't leave him alone. Waking up to the smell of fresh toast. Kissing at sunset. Spending evenings watching dumb TV shows. The picture seemed perfect, even though Ethan understood that real life rarely came in such rosy colors. Living together also meant arguments. Two entirely different people, with different views, interests, and priorities, under one roof? That didn't sound easy. Not that Ethan wouldn't have wanted to give it a try…
The front door of the house he'd been watching suddenly opened. The woman who had been ruining his plans every time stepped outside and headed for her car. Judging by her simple clothes and the large bag in her hand, she was going grocery shopping. Perfect. Finally!
As soon as the car had left far enough, Ethan moved toward the house. He still had about forty minutes before the man with the dog got back. The older couple was nowhere in sight. He glanced around, making sure no one was watching, then rang the doorbell and listened. A soft chime echoed through the house. No answer. He rang again, just to be sure. Silence. Ethan circled the house, checking for an open window. There was no point hoping for luck on the first floor. But on the second floor, or in the attic, people often forgot to close every window. However, in that case there was no such luck. Even in the backyard, every window was shut. But the ivy climbing up the front of the house gave Thomson a new idea. Ethan glanced around again. No one. Well…
"Violation of inviolability of housing… Not the best addition to my CV," Thomson muttered under his breath as he grabbed onto the ivy and climbed up onto the awning of a small gazebo with surprising ease. From there, he had access to two windows, which, of course, were locked. Fortunately, Ethan had come prepared. It was really a little unnerving to be doing this in broad daylight, knowing he could be spotted at any moment. The good thing was that one of the windows turned out to be old, with the latch at the bottom, not in the middle like the rest of the windows. That made things easier. Even so, he needed to hurry.
Ethan pulled a long metal ruler out of his backpack and slid it into the gap between the window and the frame. Forcing it past the seal, he followed it with a piece of wire, slipping it under the sash. A few tense minutes, full of the constant fear of being caught, and the old latch finally broke. With a faint creak, Ethan opened the window and climbed inside.
The room he found himself in felt… off. Oppressive. Ethan might've thought it was still lived in, if not for the thick layers of dust on the bookshelves and desk. Posters yellowed with age. Action figures were covered in dust. Books scattered across the table, never put away, as if someone expected the owner to come back any minute and find everything exactly as he had left it.
Is it his room?
Ethan stepped carefully into the hallway and moved to the next room. This one didn't feel abandoned, but it was a mess. Ethan scanned it quickly, looking for anything useful. But it would've been naive to expect real clues to be left out in the open. He already knew who was behind what was happening to Noah. Deep down, he had probably sensed it all along. But now, faced with a piece of information that didn't quite add up, his suspicions had solidified. Still… you couldn't build either defense or accusation based on speculation alone. He needed undeniable proof.
Ethan started with the desk, going through every book and notebook, the drawers, and the shelves. Then he searched through the bookcase. Then the wardrobe. And even the trash can.
'This will be funny if I'm wrong', Thomson thought, searching the room methodically. 'I'll just be digging through an innocent person's things. How ironic.'
There was nothing under the bed. Nothing under the pillow. Nothing under the mattress. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Was there really nothing at all? Either this person was extremely cautious or Thomson had made a mistake by thinking it was them. It sucked.
He was just about ready to give up when another unpleasant memory surfaced. Back when he was using, he had always hidden his stash inside the mattress, not under it. It was a much safer hiding place.
Ethan pulled the blanket and sheets off the bed and tossed them onto the floor, then began inspecting the mattress more closely. Near the head, he found a neat, barely noticeable cut. He slid his hand into the filling and almost immediately felt something solid. It was a small notebook, clearly very old. Ethan skimmed the first few pages. It turned out it was a diary, and he had no desire to read it. Instead, he flipped to the last page filled with tight handwriting. Summer. Two and a half years ago, before everything started, right? Between the remaining blank pages, the edge of a different-colored sheet peeked out. Ethan pulled out the crumpled paper, and everything finally fell into place.
A motive.
Yes, it was still circumstantial. However, now his suspicions carried real weight. Ethan snapped a few photos with his phone, then slipped the yellowed page back where it had been, followed by the diary. He fixed the beddings, trying to make it look the same as before. The pillow was slightly tilted, right? And the blanket bunched up a little on this side. He gave the room a look, checking for any signs that someone had been there. He had tried to be careful, leaving no obvious traces, but he had no real experience with break-ins, and the thought of making some stupid mistake nagged at him.
Satisfied, he was about to leave the room when he heard the click of the front door lock downstairs.
Fuck.
A flicker of panic sparked somewhere deep inside him, but Ethan crushed it immediately. If something this minor could throw you off, how were you planning to work at all? His father could go back to work an hour after an attempt on his life, and here you were, losing your composure just because you might get caught in someone else's room? The consequences wouldn't be pleasant. But they were nowhere near life-threatening.
Footsteps were getting closer. Someone was coming up the stairs. Shit. The hallway led to only two rooms—and both could now point to unauthorized entry. The one Ethan had come from might give away the window, even if he had lowered the sash back into place. As for the other room…
Thomson ran toward the bed and slipped underneath it a split second before the door swung open. The woman stepped into the room, holding a small vase filled with fresh flowers. Perfect. Their presence would confirm that someone had been in the room, so if Ethan had left behind any minor traces, they could easily be blamed on her. While she was busy making the place a bit more cozier, Thomson had no choice but to stare straight ahead. In the dim light, he didn't immediately notice that the underside of the bed had been scratched by someone. He ran his fingers over the rough surface, just to make sure he wasn't imagining things and there really was something there. But he couldn't make out what exactly. So Ethan pushed himself up onto his elbows, bringing his face closer to the scratched surface.
'What the…?' Ethan might've had time to think of something more coherent, but the quiet of the room was broken by the vibration of a phone. His phone. An incoming call.
The woman froze, listening. Ethan, carefully turning the phone off in his pocket, froze too. He even held his breath. His heart was pounding wildly. It was so loud it felt like the whole neighborhood could hear it. The woman moved deeper into the room. Ethan's mind raced, running through possible scenarios if she decided to look under the bed. What would he do? How would he react? Let himself be caught and hand himself over once she called the police? Or run away by pushing her away? What if she fell and got hurt? Assault? Maiming? That was too risky. But the woman stopped by the desk, apparently searching for the source of the noise. Not finding it, she eventually left the room. Ethan exhaled slowly. Pulling the phone out of his pocket, he checked who had chosen this moment to call him. It was Noah Morgan. Strange. Why would Morgan call him?
Ethan Thomson: 'I can't talk right now. Did something happen?'
Noah Morgan: 'Yes. I need to see you.'
Ethan Thomson: 'When?'
Noah Morgan: 'Now.'
Ethan Thomson: 'What happened?'
Noah Morgan: 'I'll tell you in person.'
Ethan Thomson: 'Where are you?'
Noah Morgan: 'At the campus library.'
Ethan Thomson: 'Okay. I'll be there in twenty minutes.'
Noah didn't reply after that, but his short messages looked suspicious. And why couldn't he just say what happened? Just in case, Ethan checked the anonymous chat. But today, it was completely quiet. So that wasn't it.
No matter what had happened, he needed to meet Morgan as soon as possible. Ethan crawled out from under the bed, walked over to the door, and listened. The footsteps were more muffled now; she must've gone back downstairs. He slowly cracked the door open and glanced into the hallway. Empty. He slipped out and returned to the first room, the one he had entered through. Ethan immediately moved toward the window but didn't dare open it. The neighbor with the dog had just come back and decided to combine his lunch break with playing with his pet in the backyard. Ethan had never thought that loud, cheerful barking in the middle of the day could be this irritating. He'd have to wait. If he climbed back onto the gazebo awning now, he'd be completely exposed. The neighbor would definitely spot him.
"I'm home!" came a voice from downstairs. Ethan's heart, already racing, started hammering in his chest. Shit.
"Welcome back!" the woman answered. "Oh, did something good happen?"
"What makes you say that?"
"You just look… different!"
"Just a nice day, that's all!"
And what exactly made it so nice? Something in Ethan's gut told him it had to do with the conversation he was about to have with Morgan.
The barking stopped. Ethan lifted the lower part of the window carefully, made sure the neighbor was gone, and escaped outside. Ten minutes later, he was in a taxi. Another twenty (damn, he was late!) and he was heading up to the campus library. Morgan was in the farthest corner of the large room, tucked away in a dark space between the shelves. Judging by the way he looked, Noah had been crying the entire time he'd been waiting for Thomson. Ethan didn't really know what to do when someone who mattered to him so much was crying. For some reason, he suddenly remembered his mother, who was already bedridden from her illness, crying. He could still see how uncomfortable she had been after letting herself break down into tears in front of her son. Back then, Ethan hadn't known what to say either. He had just stood there, a few feet away, staring blankly at her suffering. The drugs had dulled his emotions. But even through the haze, Ethan had felt her pain and that heavy sense of hopelessness, layered over his own bitter anticipation of the inevitable. Now, Thomson was completely sober. However, he still had no idea how to behave.
Ethan approached slowly, stopping just in front of Morgan, then sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the bookshelves.
"What happened?" he asked calmly. Noah was clearly on edge, and Ethan didn't want to make things sound any more dramatic than they already were.
Morgan wiped his face with the sleeve of his sweater. He was clearly trying to pull himself together, but it had the exact opposite effect. Fresh tears streamed down his already damp cheeks. It didn't look like Morgan was capable of speaking. Which Noah immediately confirmed by suddenly leaning forward and wrapping his arms around Ethan's neck in silence. So, he needed a little more time to cry? Alright. Noah clung to Ethan, kneeling and slightly hunched over. For both their comfort, Thomson slid his hands under the bends of Noah's knees and pulled him closer, letting him settle onto his lap. Noah didn't resist. He just buried his face in Ethan's neck and quietly sobbed for a while, gripping him so tightly it felt like his life depended on it. Thomson said nothing, just stroked Noah's back in quiet support. But the tears didn't stop. Morgan couldn't calm down. So Ethan had to push past his own stiffness and actually say something. He spoke whatever came to mind, some supportive nonsense, the kind people in movies usually spout. Strangely enough, it worked. Noah pulled himself together and leaned back from Ethan's shoulder but stayed on his lap. Thomson watched silently as Noah, for what had to be the tenth time, wiped his flushed face with his sleeves. It looked kind of cute.
"Ready to talk now?" Ethan asked gently. Noah nodded. But instead of answering, he held out his phone. Ethan skimmed the message, then looked more closely at the attached photo.
"Not a bad shot," he said finally.
"You're joking, right?" Morgan exhaled hoarsely.
"I'm not," Ethan shook his head. "Although you can't really see my dick in it. Am I really that—"
Morgan hit him on the shoulder to show his annoyance.
"Is this domestic violence? Or abuse?" Thomson asked.
"Ethan, can't you see I'm not in the mood for jokes?" Noah sniffed.
"I can. I just don't know what I'm supposed to say in a situation like this," Ethan admitted honestly.
"Me neither…" Noah said quietly. "What are we supposed to do now?"
"Do we need to do anything?"
"What do we need to do so this photo doesn't end up in the chat?" Noah clarified patiently.
"It says here that for that to happen, you're supposed to dump me without giving any explanation," Ethan said, turning the phone in his hands. "I'm glad you didn't try pulling that trick. Though, I'll admit, I'm a little surprised. You do have a tendency for self-sacrifice."
"Are you an idiot?!" Morgan smacked his shoulder again. Well, 'smacked' might've been too strong. It was more like a light slap, just a touch firmer than usual. "If I'd dumped you right after we had sex, what do you think that would've done to you? What kind of stupid things would you have started thinking about?!"
"Oh, so it was my own trauma that saved me from making a stupid mistake?" Ethan smirked. Morgan just let out a quiet snort under his breath.
"Maybe…" he hesitated, as if unsure whether Ethan would like the idea. "Maybe we could pretend?"
"That we broke up?"
"Yeah…"
"That's nonsense," Ethan cut him off sharper than he'd intended. "We're not breaking up, fake or real, over some stupid photo and a sick bastard. I'm not about to feel like some rat being led around by the Pied Piper of Hamelin."
"But if he posts the photo…"
"What happens then? I found the picture that started all this bullying for you. That one's a lot more… explicit. Yeah, it's photoshopped, but well done. Very well done."
"God, why would you even…" Noah groaned and covered his face with his hands.
"I wanted to assess the level of rage of our supposed opponent."
"By looking at a picture where some porn actor is supposedly fucking me?!"
"By evaluating how meticulously the image was put together," Ethan clarified. "The level of effort. The hatred is, indeed, impressive."
Noah groaned again.
"Besides, let's not forget that you're not dealing with the FBI here. I mean, this 'Master' can't watch you twenty-four seven, can't track all your messages, and can't control what you say, to whom, or when. This is a bluff. Psychological pressure. Basic blackmail. You understand what that means?"
"That he'll post the photo anyway?"
"Exactly."
"S-sorry…" Noah said. Tears welled up in his reddened eyes again.
"Stop apologizing, Morgan. How many times do I have to say it?"
"But you're in this situation because of me!"
"What situation? What's so terrible about that photo?"
"But I—I mean, you—and this—"
"Speak up, Noah. In the photo, you're giving me a blowjob. So what? We're dating. We're both adults. Is it really going to shock anyone that when adults date, they have sex? Wow. How could we possibly…"
"But… what about… reputation? And—" Noah broke down into tears again.
"You cried less over the last incident, if I remember correctly," Ethan noted, gently wiping the tears from Morgan's cheeks. He was referring to the photo with Noah's grandmother. Morgan just shrugged.
"I can't do this anymore…" he said in a breaking voice. "I just can't."
"Then it's time to put an end to it," Ethan nodded. Noah shot him a startled look.
"You found out who… Do you know something?"
"Well…" Ethan chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. "I don't have direct evidence. Just circumstantial. But yeah, I'm a hundred percent sure who the Master is."
"And when were you planning to tell me that?!"
"When I had something solid. Although… Today my collection of findings got a bit bigger."
"Tell me."
"I could be wrong."
"Tell me anyway!"
"You're not going to like it," Ethan warned.
"Is it…" Noah pulled back slightly. "Someone close?"
Ethan said nothing. From the very beginning, it was obvious that it was someone close.
"Someone… from my friends?"
Ethan remained silent.
"Why?!"
"I can only guess."
"Who?"
"Let's not start with that, okay?" Ethan said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and opening the file he needed. "Did you know about this?" He showed him the scanned document. Noah started reading the small print. Judging by the way his eyes widened, he hadn't known a thing.
"No, I… I thought that… But then it means…" Noah choked on words. Saying it out loud was physically painful for him.
"So it means that…"
"Are there no other leads? It could be a coincidence. Maybe the family just chose not to talk about what happened."
That was exactly why Ethan didn't want to rush things. Of course Noah would defend his friends. He would refuse to believe that one of them could be responsible for everything.
"There's something else," Ethan said, opening the photo he had taken an hour earlier and showing Noah the screen again. "This 'N.'—that's you, isn't it?"
Noah's gaze seemed to blur. He slid off Ethan's lap slowly and moved back toward the opposite shelves. It seemed that he did that not to get away from Ethan but to get away from the photo.
"Noah, you can tell me," Ethan said quietly. "Either way, this isn't your fault. Everyone chooses what they—"
"No," Morgan cut him off. "This isn't about me."
"No?"
"No. But… they could've thought it was…"
The underside of the bed flashed in Ethan's mind again, covered over and over with the same scratched message. If it wasn't Noah, then… Damn.
"And that means…"
"It means that if all of this is because of that message, then for two and a half years my life's been turned into hell for nothing. I was blamed for something I had nothing to do with," Noah let out a strained, almost hysterical laugh. "All this time… I really thought… I kept asking myself why… what for? How could this even happen? And now… it turns out… was it all because of a fatal mistake?!"
"Noah…"
"My life was practically destroyed OVER THIS?!" Noah suddenly shouted, jumping to his feet. Unfortunately, he felt nauseous immediately. "Oh God…" he breathed weakly. "I think I'm—" He didn't finish. Morgan rushed to a nearby trash bin, barely making it in time before he threw up.
5' 8"-5' 9"
The photo appeared in the chat the next morning, but Noah didn't care anymore. He didn't care about the jokes thrown his way or the unexpected words of support that followed them. He didn't care about classes. The professor delivered the lecture in a vibrant manner, but Morgan didn't hear a single word. He kept thinking about how all of this could've happened and how unfair, cruel, and unpredictable life could be. And suddenly it turned out that you didn't have to be the worst person in the world to be cast straight into hell. Sometimes it happens because of someone else's mistake. Or an accident. Or something else entirely; something small, insignificant. And it would still happen. And your life would never be the same again. Just like that. For no reason. No one would even notice.
Noah wanted to jump up, get to the person responsible, and scream at them. He wanted to tell everyone around them the one little secret they'd been keeping for years. Noah wanted to cry. He wanted to break something, right here and now. But instead, he just clenched his fists and waited. After all, endurance was the only thing he had learned over the years.
"We could make a scene. However, we need something more solid than that letter. Right now, everything we have is built on assumptions."
"No," Noah shook his head. "This is enough."
"For us, maybe. Not for everyone else," Ethan countered.
"There won't be any 'everyone else.'"
Thomson looked at Noah like he was crazy. His sense of justice had been raging all evening. He kept suggesting ways to punish the bastard. Noah refused every single one.
"We'll do it my way," Morgan said. And apparently, Ethan noticed something in his expression and decided not to argue.
"Your way? And what's that?"
"I want the truth to be known to all the players in this little fairy tale," Noah said, without a trace of irony.
That was why he was here today. The autumn sun wasn't hot, but it was still warm. A windless day could be perfect for a walk in the woods. But Noah sat here instead. On a metal chair, at a metal table. The emotional vacuum he'd been stuck in for the past few days finally cracked, and Noah suddenly realized he was… nervous. The tall, dark-skinned man who had brought him here was now approaching the table again with someone else. A ghost of a person Noah had once known, slowly sat onto the chair across from him. The man in white left. Noah looked at the ghost. The ghost looked back. In complete silence.
"Hi… Noah," the ghost exhaled with effort.
"Hi, Nicholas."