Askai trudged back to the dorm, every muscle tight with exhaustion and mounting anxiety. The stadium lights, symbols of the glittering, empty world he'd just left, dimmed behind him. The streets still echoed with the crowd's leftover energy, but all Askai could focus on was the profound vulnerability of Jordan, alone in the room. 

Vance had asked him out for dinner but Askai had the good sense not to take things too far with him. It was surprising and disappointing that he did not insist. He simply accepted the answer as if he was the most generous ….Askai did not know what to say. Who was Vance to him? A generous lover?..Friend or..just a blackmailer? 

Despite how messed up things were at this point, a reluctant smile bloomed on his face. He was completely acting out of character. That was new for him. As long as Vance maintained some boundaries, Askai could bear with him.

He stopped at a corner shop—not a corner market, but a cramped, brightly lit store—and got himself a take away of instant soup noodles, a carton of juice, and some protein bars. He hustled back, driven by the protective instinct that had always been his fiercest weapon.

But when he reached his floor, a strange, absolute stillness greeted him. The things were quieter than usual. The door to his room was already ajar. He had warned Jordan not to open the door for anyone but him. Askai had taken an identity from Middle Nolan, Jordan was West - through and through. A whiff of him on these soil would send a pack of wolves hunting their way. 

East was a land fit for angels on earth, but guarded by curses and whips so unforgiving than even the worst of the West cowered in their feets. 

Panic flared, sharp and cold, instantly overriding his fatigue. He shoved the door open, irritation primed in his chest to chastise Jordan for his carelessness. "Jordan, what the hell—"

His voice died, strangled in his throat. Vance Regale was sitting on his bed, relaxed, yet emanating a dangerous, coiled intensity. Across from him, in Askai's desk chair, sat Jordan, still bruised and stiff, a mirror image of Askai in his refusal to show weakness. 

The space between the two men was charged with silent, hostile energy—the tension thick and vibrating, as if any sudden movement might trigger an explosion.

Askai blinked, his mind struggling to reconcile the impossible image. "…What is going on?"

Neither answered. They simply continued to glare across the small room, Vance's cool, wealthy indifference meeting Jordan's street-honed, bitter defiance.

Jordan finally leaned back, his voice calm, dangerously controlled, but biting with accusation. "I was just wondering how my friend forgot to mention he'd been making friends with the East End elite."

Askai's eyes wandered to the floor, guilty of keeping secrets from his brother that could turn their life upside-down. Jordan would never have hidden such a thing from him and Askai knew that too well. 

Vance's eyes narrowed, cool and sharp as chipped glass. 

"That makes two of us." He sharply cut in. "I was unaware he kept such intimate company. I was led to believe you had no roommates."

Askai could feel the temperature in the room drop another ten degrees. Shit. Shit. Shit.

He set the food down slowly, carefully, like a bomb technician placing a volatile device. Anything louder than a whisper might make one of them snap. Vance 

"Jordan," he began cautiously, his eyes signaling a desperate plea for discretion, "We'll talk. Later." Don't say anything about the streets. Anything that can rouse Vance's interest in him, because if he went digging…

Askai turned to Vance, injecting as much icy control into his voice as he could manage. Somehow, the image of him sitting in his room, on his bed was more than he could bear. Someone needed to teach this man at least something about boundaries.

"Why are you here?" He asked, in a terse voice.

"You bailed on dinner," Vance said, his tone clipped, possessive. "I came to find out why."

"I told you. I had assignments, shifts that needed to be taken care of."

"And yet," Vance's gaze drifted pointedly toward Jordan, taking in the evidence of his care, "you had time to pick up dinner for a roommate, authorities know nothing about."

Askai sighed, forcing himself to push through the paralyzing tension. "I don't have a roommate. He was injured in an accident." Askai improvised. "I did not have time to run back and forth between the two places, so I had him over. He's staying here until he heals. Not that I should be explaining anything about my life to you."

"Right," Vance said dryly, his lip curling in contempt. "Looks more like a fight. Were you perhaps doing a little slumming on the wrong side of the city?" The last words almost dripped with venom, sending a deep chill creeping over his spine.

"It doesn't matter," Askai replied, his annoyance finally breaking through the layer of caution. "He needed help. That's all you need to know."

The sudden, aggressive intrusion on his private sanctuary—the only place he truly felt safe—was infuriating. 

Vance did not respond immediately. He took a slow, deliberate survey of the cramped dorm room—at the blanket on the bed, the folded spare clothes, the open first-aid kit near the sink, the lingering scent of antiseptic and cheap gauze. His eyes flicked back to Jordan's bruised face, then finally settled on Askai, a dark, calculating intensity in their depths.

"You're really going all in," Vance murmured, his voice softening just enough to make it sinister. "Cooking, cleaning, playing nursemaid. No wonder you were dozing off during the game. Such tender devotion to a friend must be exhausting."

The way his words curved around the word 'friend' made it clear what Vance was insinuating. The casual implication of a kind of intimacy he didn't share made his blood boil.

Before Askai could say something, Jordan cut in. He tilted his head at Vance, his own dark eyes glinting with instinctive mistrust. "Didn't realize you two were that close, either."

"We're not," Askai snapped, turning to Jordan, his hands raised in a gesture of pure, exasperated denial. What the hell was Jordan thinking, fueling this fire?

Vance ignored Askai completely, his focus locked entirely on Jordan, his smile becoming a dangerous, charming weapon. "Funny. You seem awfully invested in knowing who Askai is close with. Checking out the competition?"

Askai's jaw clenched so hard it hurt. "Are you out of your damn mind?! Jordan is—he's a friend! A brother!"

Vance gave a tight, disbelieving smile, his gaze sweeping Jordan's lean, handsome frame. He did not like his presence one bit. 

"Right. A friend who looks like a fucking model and who is camping out in your room? Does he also know about your… preferences, Askai?"

Jordan was momentarily shocked into absolute silence by Vance's open hostility and forward comments.

Preferences? What kind of preferences were in Vance's mind, exactly? How close were they?