The room felt as though it were collapsing in on itself. Frank sat on the edge of the mattress, his breath coming in jagged, shallow hitches that made his ribs ache. The proposal—the idea of reversing their roles, of him taking the dominant position over a man who looked like a literal god of war—was too much. It was the final crack in his already fractured reality.
"I can't... Drake, I can't," Frank sobbed, his voice breaking into a thousand fragile pieces. He covered his face with his hands, hot tears seeping through his fingers. "It's too fast. Everything is impossible. I don't know who I am anymore... I'm so scared. Please, just leave me alone."
Drake stood there for a long, harrowing minute, his chest still heaving, his gaze fixed on the boy who was disintegrating before his eyes. The raw hunger in his expression flickered, replaced by a shadow of something dark and hollow. Without a single word, Drake reached for his robe, cinched it tight around his waist, and turned his back.
The sound of the master bathroom door clicking shut—and then the distinct thud of the deadbolt sliding into place—echoed like a gavel.
Inside the soundproof sanctuary of the marble bathroom, Drake didn't turn on the shower. He didn't splash cold water on his face. Instead, he sank onto the edge of the deep soaking tub, his head falling into his hands. The silence here was absolute, a heavy shroud that allowed the mask to finally slip.
His hands were shaking. Not from the drug—the Fever was a lie, a chemical ghost he'd conjured to justify his madness—but from the sheer, crushing weight of his own desperation. He pulled his phone from his robe pocket, his thumb hovering over a contact for a long time before he hit dial.
"Shame?" Drake's voice was a wrecked whisper the moment his older brother picked up.
"Drake? What's going on? It's late," Shame's voice was calm, the steady anchor Drake had relied on his whole life.
"He isn't cooperating, Shame. At all," Drake choked out. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. "It's like he's not even trying. He looks at me like I'm a monster. Every time I touch him, he flinches like I've burned him." Drake let out a jagged, self-loathing laugh. "This was a bad idea. Framing him with that syringe, the 'aphrodisiac' story... it was a mistake. I thought if I just got him here, under my roof, I could make him see me. But he's straight as fuck, Shame. He's in the other room crying right now because of me."
A sob broke from Drake's throat, a raw, ugly sound that he'd never allowed anyone on campus to hear. "I feel like a fool. A complete and utter fool. I thought I could make him mine by force of proximity, but I'm just breaking him. I don't want to force him, Shame. I don't want to be a predator, but I don't know how else to get close to him. We haven't even kissed. I tried to kiss him this morning while he was 'sleeping,' and even then... I felt like a thief."
"Drake, listen to me," Shame's voice was stern but compassionate. "You need to calm down. You've gone about this the wrong way, but spiraling now won't fix it. You have to give him time. You're a strategist , Drake. You're the Captain, the 'Golden Boy.' To a kid like Frank, you're terrifying. If you keep pushing this hard, you're going to scare him away forever. He'll run until he hits the edge of the earth just to get away from you."
"He's thinking about getting a girlfriend," Drake whispered, his voice trembling with a fresh wave of agony. "He told me tonight. He wants to ask that girl, Hannah. Can you imagine? I'm sitting there, burning for him, and he's talking about another woman. He has no idea how I felt when he said that. It felt like he'd reached into my chest and squeezed my heart until it stopped."
Drake wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, his breath hitching. "Was loving him such a wrong thing, Shame? Why does it have to be this hard? Why do I have to go through all of this just to get him to look at me without fear?"
"You're courting him like a hunter, not a lover," Shame sighed. "What do you think you have to do to make him willing to even kiss you?"
"I don't know!" Drake cried. "I've tried everything. I've tried being the 'protector,' I've tried being the 'master,' I've tried being the 'victim' of the drug. Nothing works."
"Then stop being all of those things," Shame advised. "Court him slowly. Be passive. Show him the man behind the jersey, not the predator. If you don't slow down, his fear will turn into genuine hate, and there's no coming back from that."
Drake leaned his head back against the cold marble wall, his eyes closed. "He doesn't know. He has no idea how much I love him. He thinks I'm just some horny athlete who's bored. He doesn't see how crazy I am for him. Every time I see him in the library, every time he smiles at a book... it kills me that I'm not the reason for that smile."
"Then tell him, Drake. Just tell him the truth."
"I'm not ready," Drake whispered, a fresh tear escaping and tracking down his cheek. "I'm terrified of the rejection. If I tell him I love him and he still looks at me with that disgust... I won't survive it. Besides, he's straight. How do you tell a straight man you've built your entire world around the shape of his shadow?"
Drake stared at the locked door, the silence of the penthouse feeling more like a tomb than a home. He was the most powerful man at Forebest, and yet he was a prisoner to a love that was currently crying itself to sleep in the next room.