Hunter
I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.
But the second Charlie slips out the front door of his building, I’m already moving, feet carrying me down the sidewalk before my brain catches up.
I told myself I came back to thank him for last night—maybe drop off dinner, say something normal like “hey, thanks for not leaving me for dead” and leave it at that.
Except I never made it inside. Instead, I’d planted myself across the street like an idiot, leaning against the cold brick of the closed laundromat, watching the three big windows on the second floor that he left cracked open with the curtains pushed to the sides like he doesn’t give a shit who sees in.
It’s dangerous.
The warm light from inside spilled out onto the street, turning the whole scene into something private and golden.
I could see everything. The way he shifted in front of that big canvas just beyond my view, head tilted, lips moving like he was talking to the paint itself.
His face kept shifting—soft concentration melting into a small, secret smile, then tightening like something painful had brushed against him.
Golden curls falling into his eyes every few minutes, only for him to shove them back with the back of his wrist, leaving faint smudges of charcoal or paint across his cheek.
He looked… alive in a way most people don’t anymore.
Raw. Like every feeling hit him full force and he just let it.
I told myself I was just making sure he was okay.
Kid had looked wrecked at group last night, all that soft vulnerability he tried to hide behind ripped fishnets and smudged eyeliner.
Somebody should check on him. That’s all this was.
Basic human decency. And a thank you for being nice to me when I didn’t deserve it.
He’d disappeared from the window for a bit after his phone lit up—probably texting that friend of his—and I’d almost left then.
Almost. But then he came back, hair damp from the shower, wearing a pair of tight black jeans that made his legs look even longer and a cropped hoodie that kept riding up every time he reached for something.
The strip of pale skin at his waist caught the light every single time. I stayed.
Now he’s walking, shoulders loose, hands in his pockets, moving like the city belongs to him tonight. I keep half a block back, telling myself I’m not following. I’m just… walking the same direction. Same street. Same night. Plenty of people out. No big deal.
After about eight minutes, he turns the corner toward The Spot, that shitty little dive that pretends it’s a club, and I slow down just enough to keep him in sight.
The way the streetlights hit his hair makes it look almost white-blond.
The cropped hoodie lifts again when he reaches up to adjust his earbud, flashing that same sliver of skin.
My jaw tightens at the sight of some guy checking him out.
He’s too soft for this city. Too soft for the kind of hands that have been on him in the past. Somebody should keep an eye on a kid like that. Make sure the dark doesn’t swallow him whole before he even realizes it’s happening.
That’s all I’m doing. Keeping an eye.
I watch him push through the door of The Spot, the neon sign flickering over his head like it’s welcoming him home. I stop under the awning of the closed bodega across the street, hands shoved deep in my jacket pockets, the cool night air biting at my neck.
I’ll just wait a minute. Make sure he finds his friends okay. Then I’ll go grab that dinner I never actually bought and head home.
Just one more minute.
The bass leaks out onto the sidewalk each time the door opens, and I can picture him inside already—laughing with that Lucy girl, maybe dancing a little, that small secret smile coming back out under the colored lights. My fingers flex at my sides.
Yeah. Just making sure he’s safe. That’s all.
Nothing more.
But then I notice a guy through the doors.
Tall, greasy hair slicked back, leather jacket that’s seen better decades, leaning against the wall just inside the entrance like he owns the place.
The second Charlie walks in, the asshole’s eyes lock on him—tracking those tight black jeans, the strip of skin at his waist, the way the cropped hoodie rides up when Charlie lifts a hand to wave at someone.
The guy straightens up, smirk sliding across his face like he just spotted fresh meat.
Bad news. The kind that doesn’t take no for an answer, the kind that smells vulnerability from across a crowded room and moves in for the kill.
Fuck that.
I’m across the street before I can talk myself out of it, telling myself it’s nothing.
Just making sure the kid actually found his friends.
And that piece of shit doesn’t slide up next to him and start running his mouth—or his hands.
Charlie’s too soft for that shit, and he should stay that way.
He doesn’t need some sleazy predator breathing down his neck after what he’s been through.
I shove the door open, the wall of sound and stale beer hitting me.
The place is dim, sticky floors, colored lights cutting through the haze of smoke and sweat.
I spot Charlie almost immediately—golden curls glowing under the purple and red strobes, already laughing at something Lucy’s saying as she pulls him toward a high-top near the back. Good. Friends found.
But the greasy fuck is already drifting that way, eyes still glued to Charlie as if he’s got plans.
I cut through the crowd, shoulders brushing strangers, until I’m close enough to slide into the empty stool at the end of their table like I belong there. Charlie’s head snaps up, those eyes widening for a split second when he sees me.
“Hunter?” His voice is half surprise, half something softer I don’t want to name.
I shrug one shoulder, keeping my tone easy even though my pulse is still hammering from the walk over. “Yeah. I saw you come in. Figured I’d come in and say hi… and thank you. For last night.”
Charlie’s mouth twitches into a small, crooked smile that makes my dick take notice, but I shove that thought away. Before he can answer, Lucy leans forward on her elbows, glossy lips curing into a polite but very clear smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Great,” she says, voice bright and final. “You’ve said hi. You’ve said thank you. Mission accomplished.” She tilts her head toward the rest of the bar as though she’s pointing out the exit. “We’ve got it from here. Night’s just getting started for us.”
The dismissal is clear. I feel the brush-off like a door clicking shut, but I don’t move. My eyes flick past her, scanning the dim room until they land on the greasy fuck again.
He’s still there.
Leaning against a pillar now, leather jacket hanging off one shoulder, nursing a beer and staring straight at Charlie like the kid’s already his next meal.
His gaze drags slow and hungry over him.
The asshole doesn’t even try to hide it.
His mouth is curled in a smirk, eyes narrowed on him like he’s calculating exactly how long it’ll take before Charlie's friends leave him alone and he can slide in.
My jaw locks tight. The knot in my chest twists harder.
Charlie doesn’t need some sleazy predator circling him tonight, waiting for the right moment to sink his teeth in.
I stay planted on the stool, boots hooked on the rung, fingers drumming once against the tabletop.
Lucy’s still giving me an expectant look, waiting for me to take the hint and fuck off.
Charlie’s watching me too now, his light-blue eyes look almost gray under the pulsing lights, like he’s not sure what he wants me to do.
I don’t stand up.
Instead, I lean back a little. “Place is crawling with assholes tonight. Figured I’d stick around for one drink. Make sure everything’s cool.”
Lucy sighs, loud enough to be heard over the bass, and rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t stick. “Jesus Christ, Hunter. We don’t need a babysitter.”
But Charlie doesn’t look away from me. Something in my gut settles anyway, heavy and warm, even as the greasy fuck across the room keeps staring like he’s already mentally peeling Charlie out of those tight black jeans.
I flag down the waitress and order a Coke. The memory of puking my guts out in a dumpster last night is still too fresh; the sour burn in my throat, the way the world spun. Going through that again anytime soon doesn’t sound like fun.
The conversation flows around me after that—Lucy talking shit about her manager, the other two girls (I catch one name, Maya, the other one slips past me) laughing too loud at something the guy next to them keeps saying.
He’s clearly trying to get with Maya, leaning in close every time she speaks, but Charlie just sits there with that easy, open smile, chiming in like none of it costs him anything.
He throws his head back when he laughs. He looks…
free. Light in a way that feels like it should contradict everything he’s been through.
It doesn’t match. None of it matches. And I can’t stop watching.
When the song changes to something with a dirtier beat, Lucy grabs Charlie’s wrist and drags him toward the dance floor.
The other girls follow, the guy trailing after Maya like a puppy.
Charlie glances back at me once, almost like he’s checking if I’m coming, but I just lift my Coke in a lazy salute and stay put.
My gaze trails after him anyway.
He moves like the music lives under his skin—loose hips, shoulders rolling, his smile turning into something brighter under the strobes.
Someone bumps into him, and he just laughs, spinning away without missing a beat, curls flying.
Too soft. Too open. Too fucking trusting in a room full of people who’d eat him alive if they got the chance.
Maybe I’m not leaving after one drink.
I shift on the stool, the healing burns on my shoulder and arm pulling tight under my shirt, a sharp reminder of why I’m not out there with him.
If I tried to dance right now the pain would probably drop me to my knees in under thirty seconds.
So I stay glued to the table, nursing the watered down Coke, eyes never leaving Charlie for long.
The greasy guy hasn’t moved. He’s still posted up near the edge of the dance floor now, beer in hand, watching Charlie the way a wolf watches a lamb that wandered too far from the flock. Every time Charlie’s cropped hoodie lifts or his hips roll to the beat, the asshole’s stare gets heavier.
My fingers tighten around the cold glass.
The greasy guy finally finishes his beer, sets the empty bottle on an empty table, and starts weaving toward the bathroom at the back of the club. I watch him go.
I give it ten seconds, then slide off the stool and follow.
The bathroom reeks of piss, cheap cleaner, and stale smoke. One flickering bulb overhead, the rest burned out. The guy’s at the urinal when I push the door open, back to me, zipper already down. Perfect.
I don’t say anything at first. Just let the door slam shut behind me. He glances over his shoulder, a smirk already pulling at his lips like he already knows what this is about.
“Problem?” he drawls.
“Yeah.” I step closer. “Stop staring at the guy on the dance floor like he’s your next fuck-toy. He’s off limits. You look at him again tonight and I’ll break your fucking jaw.”
He finishes, zips up slow, then turns to face me, curling his lip in a lazy laugh. “If he was interested in you, he’d act like it. He’s been dancing like he wants attention. So why don’t you stay out of it, tough guy? Let him make his own choices.”
The words hit like a spark on dry tinder.
I move before I even decide to. My hand shoots out, fist twisting into the front of his leather jacket, and I slam his head hard against the metal stall door.
The bang echoes off the tile. The side of his head cracks against it with a satisfying thunk.
He grunts, eyes wide for half a second, blood already trickling from a fresh split in his eyebrow.
I lean in even closer, voice dropping to a growl right next to his ear. “I said he’s off limits. Touch him, look at him, even breathe in his direction again and next time I won’t stop at one hit. Got it?”
He wheezes a laugh through the pain, spitting blood onto the filthy floor. “Crazy fuck…”
I slam him once more for good measure, harder, the stall rattling like it might come off the hinges. Then I let go, shoving him back so he stumbles into the urinal.
“Stay the fuck away from him.”
I turn and walk out without waiting for an answer, heart hammering steady and dark in my chest. The bass from the dance floor hits me again as I push back into the main room.
Charlie’s still out there, golden curls flashing under the lights, laughing with his friends as though the world hasn’t tried to chew him up and spit him out a hundred times already.
I slide back onto my stool, pick up the warm Coke like nothing happened, and let my eyes settle on him again.
Just making sure he’s safe.
That’s all.
Nothing more.