Blake had never stared at his closet like it might betray him.
Tonight, it did.
He stood in front of it for nearly five full minutes, doors open, hangers slightly swaying from when he'd pulled them apart too aggressively. The room was quiet except for the low hum of the ceiling fan and the distant sound of traffic filtering through the window.
Tomorrow. Myles' house.
The word house felt heavier than it should.
He exhaled slowly and stepped closer, his fingers trailing through fabric. School uniforms didn't matter, they'd be wearing those until dismissal. But afterward, they were going to Myles' place. That meant changing.
That meant intention.
And intention meant strategy.
He leaned his forehead briefly against the closet frame.
"Seduce the final boss," he muttered under his breath. "Sure. That's easy. Step one is don't look like a confused idiot."
The system did not appear to assist him.
Blake straightened and began pulling things out.
A black shirt. Too lame.
A loose sweater. Too soft.
What was appealing?
He paused, a shirt halfway off the hanger.
Appealing to who?
Myles didn't smile. Didn't flirt. Didn't react in ways that were easy to measure. And most importantly, his favorability is still pitifully low.
Blake dropped onto his bed with a frustrated sigh.
"I mean, he's a dude at the end of the day…"
He had never consciously tried to attract a guy before. Or a girl, if he was being honest. High school crushes had been distant things. He admired faces from afar and buried his feelings before they could become too big.
It was simply never a priority. Besides, it was embarrassing to confess to someone.
He stared at the ceiling.
Was he even bisexual?
He tried to imagine kissing Myles' cheek.
His mind supplied the image too easily.
The sharp line of his jaw. The calm, steady eyes. The faint warmth of his skin from when they'd held hands.
Blake's ears heated.
"That doesn't answer anything…" he muttered. Then he sat up abruptly and returned to the closet. "Overthinking won't help me."
He needed something clean. Simple. Intentional without screaming for attention.
He finally pulled out dark jeans and a charcoal button-up. It was structured but not formal. He rolled the sleeves slightly, examining himself in the mirror.
"Okay, okay. It's not bad, and I don't look desperate."
He tilted his head.
Blake huffed quietly and changed into sleep clothes instead. Tomorrow would be soon enough to panic properly.
He reached for his phone on the bedside table.
No notifications.
He unlocked it out of habit and paused.
'I need to ask for his phone number soon.'
They'd spent a week orbiting each other. Physical proximity, shared lunches, and now a partner project.
And yet...
No number.
No chat.
Nothing outside school.
He needed his number tomorrow.
Obviously.
His thumb hovered idly over his contact list.
That was when he saw them again.
Mother.
Father.
They sat near the top of the list, untouched.
He had noticed them on his second day in this world.
Yet he had simply ignored it. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to look at the chats for for long.
It felt repulsing.
However, in the quiet of his room, he tapped on Father.
The chat history loaded.
Bank transfer confirmations.
Monthly notifications.
One-line messages.
Don't waste it.
There was really no warmth.
Blake scrolled up further.
The pattern repeated for months.
No questions about school. No inquiries about health. No "How are you?"
He backed out and opened Mother.
The chat was worse.
The last message had been nearly a year ago.
And they were all from Blake…
He swallowed.
Maybe for some families that was normal.
He checked the bank app.
A transfer had come in three days ago.
Not much, but it was enough to cover expenses and maintain independence.
He set the phone down slowly.
The only person he felt sad for was Blake.
"Seriously, I'm so afraid of dying or whatever other punishment… while he killed himself."
What had his final days looked like?
Had he stared at this same ceiling?
Had he scrolled through these same empty chats?
Had he felt like there was no one to call?
The room suddenly felt unfamiliar all over again.
Blake drew his knees up slightly, resting his forearms on them.
"I'm not you," he murmured quietly. "But I'm here now."
The system flickered faintly in his peripheral vision, but no message appeared.
He wasn't sure whether that was reassuring or unsettling.
If the original Blake had died because of loneliness…
Then what was Blake doing now?
He let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
"This plot is ridiculous."
And yet.
Myles had invited him to his house.
And it wasn't out of obligation, or, at least, not completely.
Blake lay back again, staring at the ceiling until his thoughts blurred into something softer.
Tomorrow.
***
The next day arrived too quickly.
School passed in a strange haze. Blake found himself hyper-aware of time. Of glances. Of the knowledge that once the final bell rang, the setting would shift.
Myles seemed unchanged.
As always, he was focused.
If he was aware that bringing Blake into his home crossed a subtle boundary, he didn't show it.
During lunch, Blake finally did it.
"Can I get your number?" he asked, keeping his tone casual.
Myles looked at him for a moment.
"For the project, of course," Blake added quickly.
Then Myles unlocked his phone and held it out.
Blake blinked.
"…You're just going to let me type it in?"
"Yes."
That level of trust shouldn't have felt significant.
It did.
Blake input his number carefully, resisting the urge to add something stupid as his contact name. He handed the phone back.
"I'll message you later," he said.
"Okay."
The final bell rang hours later.
Students began flooding out of classrooms, the usual end-of-day noise filling the halls. Blake's pulse ticked steadily as he and Myles walked toward the gates.
The ride was silent.
Blake got off first.
"Let's meet later, then. Wait for me at the bus stop."
"Yes."
As soon as the bus departed, Blake ran to his house, changed quickly, and caught the next one back.
"Love tracker…"
The screen popped up. He could have simply looked out the window to spot him, but, quite frankly, he felt too anxious to trust himself.
There he is.
Watching his phone, the final villain looked as calm as always.
"I'm here!" Blake approached.
Myles simply acknowledged him, and they started to walk.
Myles' house wasn't far, but it wasn't close enough either. They moved through quieter streets as every noise faded behind them.
Blake tried not to look overly curious, but he couldn't help observing.
The neighborhood grew less crowded. Houses spaced farther apart. Fewer pedestrians. The air felt stiller here.
'Wait a second…'
"You live alone?" Blake asked carefully.
"Yes."
The answer came without hesitation.
Blake's heart skipped.
"…Completely?"
"Yes."
"Haha... same."
Of course he did. Actually, Blake did somewhat know, but he had simply forgotten.
'Obviously, he's the final villain. It's not weird that he's parentless.'
They stopped in front of an apartment complex set slightly back from the street. The exterior was mildly worn, minimal.
Blake followed as Myles climbed the stairs. It felt like an endless spiral until they finally reached the entrance door.
Myles stepped forward and unlocked it.
The interior was neat to the point of precision. Shoes aligned. Furniture arranged with intention. No clutter.
The silence inside was different from Blake's room.
Heavier.
Myles set his bag down near the entrance and led Blake to his bedroom. "You can sit wherever you want," he said.
Blake stepped further in.
The space was cool, the faint scent of something neutral, like cleaning solution.
"What a nice house…"
Blake placed his bag carefully on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed.
Myles disappeared briefly down the hallway, then returned with two glasses of water.
He handed one to Blake.
"Thank you."
Their fingers didn't touch this time.
Blake's gaze drifted around the room again.
No framed photos.
No scattered belongings.
No evidence of anyone else.
It didn't feel sad.
Just unsettling.
Blake's thoughts flickered uncomfortably.
Two boys.
Two houses.
Him and Blake share similar lives…
Myles sat across from him at his desk instead of beside him.
"Let's outline the presentation," Myles said.
Right.
The project.
Blake opened his notebook, but his mind was still adjusting to the space.
Myles began speaking, outlining key points about systemic justice and imbalance, his voice calm and analytical. Blake tried to focus, jotting down phrases, structuring arguments.
But every so often, his attention drifted.
To the quiet.
To the closed doors down the hallway.
To the fact that he was here.
In the villain's house, more specifically, his bedroom.
Halfway through discussing case studies, Blake's pen paused.
"Myles." He fidgeted with the pen. "Should we include Trail-X in the presentation?"
It was a bold question. Trail-X was the alter ago of the novel's main character, the hero Myles would defeat before destroying the world.
"Why?" he asked, glancing up.
Blake's pulse pounded in his ears. The air in the room felt subtly charged now.
It wasn't hostile.
Or safe.
Outside, the late afternoon light shifted, casting longer shadows across the floor.
"I mean, everyone's been calling him the symbol of justice. Why not analyze the reasons?"
Myles simply looked at him for a few seconds.
"Okay."
Blake forced himself to look back down at his notes.
'I have to at least try to convert him in the meantime… seducing won't be enough to stop his plans.'
And he had just realized something far more unsettling.
He had to kiss his cheek in this house.
In this silence.
Under that steady gaze—
Blake wasn't sure who was studying whom.