“Ｗｈｏ ｔｈｅ ｈｅｌｌ ｉｓ ｈｅ？”　

                      ୨୧┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈୨୧

The next afternoon, the bell above the door to Ciel chimed — sharp and loud.

Not because it was designed that way.

Because Dominic had swung the door open hard enough to rattle the damn hinges.

Not walked.
Not entered.

Stormed.

Every single head in the café turned, all at once, because of course they did.

Not just because the door had nearly come off its frame — though it had — but because of him.

Dominic didn’t exactly lend himself to subtlety. Not that he cared.

He was still in his black dress shirt from the morning, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, jacket draped carelessly over his arm. The top button was undone at his collar, because neckties were a chokehold he’d never liked, and his hair was slicked back and perfectly in place despite the fact that he’d clearly come here straight from work.

He didn’t so much as glance at anyone.

Didn’t care about the cloying smell of sugar, didn’t care about the whisper of voices noting his presence.

He moved straight toward the counter.

Collins was already there, crouched by the display case, fiddling with a tray of macarons — which, as far as Dominic was concerned, looked like children’s toys masquerading as food.

His brother’s head popped up at the sound of the door, face lighting up like some kind of idiot.

“Oh hey—Dom! You’re here. Listen, about yesterday, I—”

Dominic didn’t slow. Didn’t smile. Didn’t even pretend he’d heard him.

He stopped in front of the counter, dropped his jacket on it like it belonged to him, and leaned forward, bracing his hands on the glass.

“Why the hell,” Dominic began, voice low and calm in a way that was infinitely more dangerous than shouting, “did you set me up with a carbon copy twink who’s got less personality than an empty cupcake wrapper?”

Collins blinked at him like an owl, completely caught off-guard.

“—Excuse me?”

Dominic straightened, shoving his hands in his pockets, towering over him. His tone didn’t rise. It didn’t have to.

“Cory,” he said, with a curl of his lip. “You told me you’d set me up with someone worth my time. Interesting. Not one of these pathetic, plastic showroom dummies.”

Collins’ mouth opened, then shut, then opened again, sputtering.

“—Okay, whoa, hold on a second,” he stammered. “Riley is— he’s very nice. Polite. Normal. Gorgeous. And you,” he jabbed a finger at Dominic, “were the one who made it awkward! You didn’t even greet him before telling him to leave. You told me to ‘cancel him’ like he was some kind of—of takeout order! That was rude, Dom. Disrespectful. And—”

“A waste of my time,” Dominic cut him off, his tone like ice cracking.

Collins actually gawked.

Dominic arched a brow, daring him to say something else.

“I don’t do polite,” Dominic said lazily. “Or normal. Or whatever the hell he thought he was offering. Don’t act surprised.”

Collins groaned and dragged his hand down his face.

“God, you’re impossible,” he muttered.

Dominic smirked faintly. “You sound shocked.”

He turned his gaze lazily toward the windows — scanning the tables — though the one by the window, the one that had actually caught his attention yesterday, was empty.

A beat passed before he asked, quiet and deliberate:

“…The chocolate boy.”

Collins blinked. “What?”

Dominic’s dark eyes slid back to him, sharper this time. “The boy. The messy one. Who the hell is he?”

Collins squinted at him, clearly confused.

“…You mean the one who wasn’t Riley?”

Dominic didn’t bother dignifying that with a reply.

Collins laughed weakly, scratching the back of his neck.

“Well, uh… that’s not who you were supposed to sit with. You do realize that, right? He wasn’t waiting for you. He was just… sitting there. You—” Collins trailed off, staring at him incredulously. “…You really didn’t realize you sat down with the wrong guy?”

Dominic stared back at him, blank as stone.

Then leaned forward on the counter, voice dropping a note lower.

“I wasn’t asking for a lecture.”

Collins sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Figures.”

Dominic’s fingers drummed on the glass.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

Dominic shot him a razor-thin smile. “Don’t play dumb. What’s his name.”

Collins blinked at him like he’d grown horns.

“…You’re actually asking about him?”

Dominic’s fingers stilled. His gaze hardened.

“I don’t repeat myself.”

Collins’ expression morphed into disbelief — and then into the faintest smirk.

“Well,” he said dryly. “Guess the chocolate-smeared brat made more of an impression than Riley, huh?”

Dominic’s jaw flexed. “Shut your mouth, Collins.”

But his little brother just leaned against the counter, watching him with barely-contained amusement.

“You’ve got no idea how ridiculous you look right now,” Collins said lightly. “Big, scary Dominic. Chewed up and spit out by some… what? Giggle machine who can’t sit still and licks his own fingers?”

Dominic’s lip curled faintly, but his tone stayed flat.

“I said shut it.”

Collins chuckled, even though his brother’s glare could’ve cut through glass.

“Fine, fine,” Collins muttered, scribbling something on a scrap of paper before sliding it across the counter.

Dominic didn’t even look down right away — just pinned Collins with another cold, unimpressed stare until Collins finally said it aloud.

“Sasha,” he said simply. “Sasha Clarke. Regular here. Sweet kid. Harmless.”

Dominic finally glanced at the slip, folding it once between two fingers and sliding it into his pocket.

Collins watched him, his smirk fading into something faintly concerned.

“You’re gonna scare him off,” he warned. “He’s… not like everyone else you eat alive. He’s loud. Soft. You’ll wreck him.”

Dominic’s eyes cut to him sharply. His voice stayed even — but colder now.

“That,” he murmured, “isn’t your business.”

He straightened, grabbed his jacket from the counter, and turned toward the door without another word.

The bell above the café chimed again as he left, and Collins could only shake his head behind him.

Dominic didn’t care.

Didn’t care about his brother’s little knowing grin.

Didn’t care about the handful of eyes still following him.

Except…

Except he heard himself mutter, low and dangerous, as he stepped out into the street:

“…Sasha.”

*
That night, his condo was still and quiet — just the way he liked it.
Usually.

He kicked the door shut behind him with his heel, dropped his keys on the entry table, and tossed his jacket carelessly over the couch. His tie was already half undone as he padded into the kitchen, rolling his sleeves up higher on his forearms with sharp, irritated tugs.

The place was silent, save for the faint hum of the city beyond the windows. A silence he normally found comforting. Predictable. Orderly.

Not tonight.

He pulled a bottle of scotch from the cabinet, popped the stopper, and poured himself two fingers into a heavy crystal glass. The faint clink of the ice cubes was too loud.

He leaned on the counter, letting the faint under-cabinet light cast long shadows on the marble as he took a slow sip. Let it burn its way down his throat.

For a few seconds, he closed his eyes.

And instead of darkness, all he could see was that stupid little smile. That boy.

That boy.

Dominic set the glass down harder than he meant to, the sharp clack echoing in the stillness.

What the hell was wrong with him?

It was absurd.

It was infuriating.

That boy — Sasha — wasn’t even worth his attention. He was just some kid. Messy. Clumsy. Ridiculous. With his sticky fingers and frosting on his lip and that breathless little giggle that sounded like it came out of some corny greeting card.

Dominic scoffed out loud, shaking his head to himself.

Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.

Since when did he let anything — anyone — crawl into his head like this?

And yet.

Yet he could still see him clear as day.

Sitting there at the little café table yesterday, eyes wide and confused as though Dominic was the strange one for daring to sit down. The faint smudge of chocolate on his mouth he hadn’t even noticed. That clumsy, bright way he laughed at his own stupid joke.

The way his voice had sounded saying his name — “grumpy,” like it wasn’t meant to be an insult at all.

Dominic picked the glass back up and downed the rest of it in a single swallow.

It didn’t help.

It didn’t burn enough to drown out the memory.

He set the glass back down harder this time, leaning his palms into the counter, jaw tight.

He didn’t care.
He didn’t.

It didn’t matter how wide those eyes were. Or how… soft his voice was when he said something dumb and didn’t even realize how dumb it sounded.

It didn’t matter that Riley — perfect, polished Riley — had bored him to death with just a single glance while this messy little thing somehow managed to hold his attention without even trying.

Dominic scoffed again, low and humorless.

Hopeless.

He didn’t even know if he meant Sasha.

Or himself.

He straightened up, loosening the rest of his tie, his gaze catching briefly on the folded scrap of paper sitting by his keys where he’d tossed it earlier.

It sat there innocently enough, but it might as well have been mocking him.

He narrowed his eyes at it.

Of all the people to get under his skin — it had to be that one.

A boy who could barely keep his fingers clean and who giggled at his own nonsense.

Dominic dragged a hand down his face, muttering under his breath.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Even now, he could still hear the faint sound of that laugh.

Like an idiot.

Like a damn idiot.

He shoved away from the counter, poured himself another drink — darker this time — and stalked into the living room.

The glass clinked against the coffee table as he sat on the couch and leaned his head back against the cushions, closing his eyes again.

And still.

Still, the memory lingered anyway.

That name.
That laugh.
Those stupid wide eyes.

Dominic let out one more quiet, frustrated laugh — low, bitter, disbelieving.

Hopeless.

He really didn’t know anymore if he was talking about Sasha.

Or himself.

Hello! How are y'all doing?