Adrian really wanted to let loose that Friday night. His already grueling job, which offered him no pleasure whatsoever, felt twice as bad because of his lack of sexual release. That's why his plan to find a tall, curvy girl willing to spend time with him with no strings attached was finally going to come to fruition tonight.

But what was the result?

He was standing in a dark, musty-smelling alleyway, holding his broken glasses in his hand, his fly still undone. And in front of him, his ex-girlfriend was making some hysterical demands. The situation was the height of absurdity.

"Don't go!" Lucas shouted sharply, and his voice echoed off the wet walls like the crack of a whip.

Adrian, already on edge and irritated, raised an eyebrow for just a split second. That fleeting movement spoke louder than any words: it conveyed utter bewilderment mixed with cold, biting irony.

"Why are you yelling?" Adrian asked slowly. His voice had become frighteningly even, without a single trace of the rage that had been raging inside him a minute ago. "I told you I don't want to. I don't want to go, and I don't want to listen to this."

How he wanted a cigarette right now. A sharp, throbbing pain shot through his lip, which was still raw from the recent blow, reminding him just how precarious his situation had become. He slowly, with deliberate calm, zipped up his jacket and adjusted his shirt collar, as if trying to restore not only his appearance but also his violated personal boundaries.

"All right, listen… I won't demand compensation for the harm you've caused me, but…" Adrian began. At that very moment, Lucas took a step toward him, but Adrian raised his hand to stop him.

Lucas froze.

"Let's make a deal: you'll never bother me again. You won't talk to me. Ever. Even if, against all common sense, I go to this fucking Olympics."

"Okay, but…" Lucas's voice faltered, a note of desperation creeping in.

"Need I remind you," Adrian cut him off, his eyes narrowing, "that you were the one who started flirting with others while you had a steady partner, trying to make me jealous? I'm not an idiot, Lucas. And I certainly don't intend to waste all my time on this."

He didn't wait for an answer. Turning around, Adrian strode toward the exit of the alley, leaving Lucas standing alone.

***

Saturday passed in a haze. Adrian woke up with a heavy head, a sour mood, and a new pair of glasses that dug into the bridge of his nose. He'd ordered them that very night.

The first thing he did was open his laptop and type out a letter to the dean: "I request to be excused from accompanying the student delegation to the competition for health reasons."

His finger hovered over the "Send" button.

He pictured the dean's face. He pictured his colleagues, who were already swamped with paperwork. He pictured how it would look: him, a grown man, backing out of a trip because of a twenty-year-old student's tantrum.

It would be a defeat. A complete and utter one.

With a low groan, Adrian deleted the text. He's coming. He has no choice.

***

The morning of his departure was gray and damp. The central station buzzed like a disturbed beehive.

Adrian stood apart from the crowd of students, wrapping his arms around himself to keep warm. He wore an impeccably pressed coat, those awful new glasses, and the impenetrable expression he had honed over years of teaching. He repeated a mantra to himself: Four days. Just four days. Ignore. Be professional. Don't react. Goddamn it, please let this go off without a hitch.

He counted the heads. Mrs. Bailey, the research supervisor who had been sent along with Adrian, was telling two students something animatedly. It was clear that Noah, not listening to her, was shifting around and taking small steps toward Adrian, casting meaningful, lingering glances that sent a chill down his spine.

But one person was missing

Adrian glanced at his watch. There were twelve minutes left before departure.
The irritation he'd been so carefully suppressing since Friday night began to rise in his throat like a hot wave. He'd specifically, damn it, set the condition in that alley.

Don't come near me. Don't talk to me. And now what? Had this kid decided to make a scene right there on the platform? Decided to be late so all eyes would be on him?

Still, if he doesn't show up, that would be the best outcome, Adrian thought bitterly, gripping the handle of his suitcase so tightly that the knuckles of his fingers turned white. He was already mentally compiling a list of excuses for the dean as to why one student had stayed behind in the city.

And then he heard that sound.

First, the loud, hurried clatter of wheels on the cobblestones, then heavy, ragged breathing. Adrian slowly, with chilling composure, turned his head.
Lucas was running down the platform. His hair was a complete mess, his jacket was unbuttoned, and a huge, ridiculously large sports backpack dangled from his shoulder, looking as if it were about to burst at the seams. He looked as if he'd woken up five minutes before departure, but, as if to spite him, his face was lit up by that very same self-assured, slightly vulgar smirk that so infuriated Adrian.

Lucas came to a stop next to the group, breathing heavily, and immediately scanned the platform, looking for Adrian.
Instead of looking away like a decent person, or at least pretending they didn't know each other, Lucas smiled broadly, almost defiantly, and, shouting over the noise of the station, bellowed:

"Good morning, Mrs. Bailey, Mr. Wayne! Sorry about the traffic!"

Something snapped loudly inside Adrian. No, not anger, it was pure fury, mixed with a sense of utter hopelessness.
He exhaled slowly, adjusted his glasses, and, without even acknowledging Lucas with a nod, turned away toward the approaching train.

Four days. This was going to be the longest week of his life.