"I agree," Ken whispered, the words feeling like a sentence passed upon his own freedom. He had no other choice, only a desperate hope that this would be enough to keep his world from crumbling.
Delvon reached into his desk, pulling out a thick, rubber-banded stack of cash. He tossed it across the desk with a dismissive flick of his wrist. It landed with a heavy thud in front of Ken. "That's fifty thousand dollars, cash. Your repayment begins the second you walk out that door," Delvon said, striking a match and lighting a fresh cigarette.
Ken reached out with trembling fingers, his hand nearly disappearing as he gripped the stack.
"…And don't you dare try to run," Delvon added, the smoke curling around his face like a shroud. "You would regret it in ways your mind can't even fathom."
"I won't… I promise," Ken replied, his voice barely audible.
"You can leave now."
Ken bowed, a puppet on a string, and backed out of the room. As the heavy door clicked shut, one of the men leaning against the wall looked at Delvon. "Do you think a kid like that will actually pay up? That's a lot of weight for a student."
Delvon blew a long, slow stream of smoke into the air, watching it dissipate into the red-lit darkness. "He's diligent. Hardworking. He'd break his own back before he broke a promise. I'm certain he'll pay back every cent… but I might make things interesting in the future, just for fun. It depends on my mood."
Ken arrived home in a daze of exhaustion and adrenaline. He tucked the money into a small, battered safe hidden beneath a floorboard and collapsed into bed. But the sanctuary of sleep brought no peace. The nightmare returned, more vivid and invasive than before. He felt the phantom pressure of hands on his neck, the ice-cold touch sliding beneath his clothes. The figure pinned him down, a dark silhouette stealing the very air from his lungs with a deep intense kiss. When the cold hand moved from his throat to his chest, tracing the line of his ribs, Ken jolted awake.
The alarm was screaming, a harsh contrast to the silence of his dream. He sat up, gasping, his skin prickling as if the cold touch were still there. "Wha… what is happening to me?"
Despite the terror, the cycle of his life demanded movement. He dragged himself through his morning route, his muscles screaming for rest. He wasn't eager to get to school; the thought of Lucien being there and his own obligation as class representative to assist the man felt like another debt he couldn't afford.
As he crossed the street toward the campus gates, a black SUV roared past, missing him by mere inches. The wind from the vehicle nearly knocked him over.
"Hey! What is wrong with you?" Ken shouted, his heart hammering against his ribs.
The SUV screeched to a halt. Lex stepped out from the driver's seat and opened the rear door. Lucien stepped out, elegant and detached. He didn't even glance in Ken's direction, walking toward the university entrance with the stride of a man who owned the ground he walked upon.
One moment he's giving me his coat, and the next he's nearly killing me, Ken thought bitterly. Is he in love, or is he just insane?
The day was a blur of avoiding Lucien's heavy, obsidian stare. Every time Ken looked up, he found those dark eyes anchored on him. By the time he reached the restaurant for his afternoon shift, he was a ghost of himself. Surprisingly, Lucien didn't show up.
Is he avoiding me? Did he realize I was hiding? Ken wondered, catching his reflection in the restaurant window. He looked haggard. He shook the thought away; he had three hours to get to the hospital, pay the bills, and get to the club as soon as the restaurant closes.
He moved like a machine, fueled only by the relief of seeing the "Paid in Full" stamp on his mother's medical records.
But that night, the sleep deprivation caught up. He barely closed his eyes for thirty minutes before the ice-cold touch returned in his dreams. He woke up shivering, unable to return to sleep. He spent the rest of the night staring at the wall, clutching a pillow, waiting for the sun to rise.
By the time he reached school the next morning, Ken was a dying bird. He moved slowly, his eyes bloodshot and heavy.
Meanwhile, Sylvia, watching from the rearview mirror as she dropped Lucien off, couldn't help but ask.
"Lord Hades, forgive my intrusion… but you haven't been to the restaurant in two days. Have you grown bored of the boy?"
"He is avoiding me," Hades replied, not looking up from his book. "So I decided to give him the space he desires until he is ready for a conversation."
"Perhaps he is just overwhelmed," Sylvia suggested.
"Whatever it is, I care little. When he is ready to close the gap between us, he will."
But inside the classroom, Ken wasn't closing gaps; he was falling into an abyss. He kept nodding off, his head jerking up every few minutes. Becky, noticing his state, took over the majority of the departmental paperwork as the vice president, but it wasn't enough to save him. By the time he reached the restaurant for his evening shift, his vision was beginning to fray at the edges.
"Ken, you look terrible," Amy whispered as they crossed paths in the kitchen. "When was the last time you slept?"
"I'm fine," Ken lied, his voice thick. "Just a little tired."
"I have a bad feeling about this," Laura muttered, watching him stagger toward a table.
Suddenly, the bell chimed. Lucien walked in, Sylvia at his side. He had seen the state of Ken's eyes earlier at school, and though he told himself to remain detached, the sight of the boy's crumbling stamina pulled at a string in his chest he didn't know existed.
Ken saw them sit. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking hands, and walked toward their table. With every step, the floor seemed to tilt. The lights in the restaurant began to spin, blurring into long streaks of white.
Huh… what's happening? The order pad slipped from his numb fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud. The world turned to ink. As Ken's knees buckled and he began to collapse, a shadow moved fast, faster than human should.
Lucien launched himself forward, catching Ken before his head could strike the hardwood. He pulled the unconscious boy into his arms, his cold skin meeting Ken's feverish heat.
"Ken!" Amy and Laura screamed, rushing forward, but Lucien was already standing, holding Ken against his chest with a grip that suggested he would never let go.