CHAPTER 4. MASKS #2
But to my surprise—
“I’m Sawyer,” he says, and takes Nick’s hand.
I stare.
Did my brother and my bully just shake hands?
“You know Mark and Eric?” Nick asks, nodding toward the two of us.
Moon glances at me, then lets his gaze land on Eric—lingering, like he doesn’t quite recognize him.
Told you. Out of uniform, Eric’s basically Clark Kent with his glasses on.
“Tolmachyov,” Eric says. “I’m with the Centaurs.”
That’s when Moon nods, like it finally clicks.
“How are you feeling?” Nick asks, settling onto the couch a couple feet away. “Any better?”
Moon shrugs, like he’s not sure, then frowns. “What am I doing here?”
“You don’t remember?” I ask again.
He shrugs, unsure.
“You got drugged at the gay club,” I tell him.
And okay—maybe I’m a terrible person, but the words gay club spark a weird little warmth in my chest. I mean, yeah, the guy got roofied—that’s awful. But now that I know he’s okay, I think I’m allowed a tiny bit of satisfaction that my homophobic bully is, in fact, gay. Right?
“Drugged?” Moon blinks at me, his face flushing deep red. “By who?”
“Some douchebag in a Joker costume,” Nick says, even though he never saw the guy. “You told Mark he spiked your drink.”
Moon looks at him, then back at me—and freezes, like he’s trying to piece something together. His gaze goes glassy. Then he turns back to Nick.
“Can I have some water?”
“Sure,” Nick says, already heading toward the kitchen area. He fills a glass and brings it back. “I can make you some tea too, if you’re up for it.”
“Yes. Thank you,” Moon says, though he still looks far away, lost in his own head.
As Nick moves to put the kettle on, Eric stretches and turns to me. “I’m gonna change—kinda cold.”
I nod, just now registering that he’s been basically naked all night.
As he starts to leave, I catch Moon looking between the two of us. The second he realizes I’ve caught him staring, his eyes meet mine.
“Can you tell me what happened?” he asks.
I pull the plastic guard mask off the top of my head, then grab a chair from the kitchen and drag it over. I’m not quite at the sit next to him on the couch level yet—whatever civility he’s managed so far doesn’t erase years of bullshit. So I keep a bit of distance, sitting a few feet away.
Then I tell him everything—how I saw him in the booth with the Joker and a bunch of other guys, how the Joker had his arm around him, touching him through his pants.
Moon flushes, clearly embarrassed, but I don’t say it to humiliate him.
This isn’t payback. I just think he deserves to know.
Maybe it’ll help jog his memory—especially if he ends up pressing charges.
As I keep talking, Eric comes back from the guest bedroom in sweatpants and a Centaurs hoodie. He grabs a chair and drags it over, sitting beside me. Maybe he doesn’t even think about it, but just having him close makes me feel steadier.
A minute later, Nick returns, carrying a wooden tray with four mugs of tea. He made one for each of us, which honestly makes sense. After the mess at the club, none of us is really in the mood for anything stronger.
Nick hands out the mugs, then drops back onto the couch. I walk Moon through the rest of what happened, ending with us leaving the club.
When I finish, he looks at me—face still flushed—and says, “Thank you.”
I just nod. He holds my gaze for a second longer, like he’s still processing, then glances at Eric and Nick. “All of you.”
“No problem, man,” Nick says, then adds, “Are you gonna press charges? Please say you are.”
Moon nods. “I will. But I need to talk to my agent first. And my lawyer. And probably my publicist too.”
Eric snorts and throws me a quick look—like, yeah, of course he doesn’t just have an agent, but a full legal-slash-PR squad lined up for stuff like this.
I don’t say anything, but I doubt he’ll actually go through with it. Admitting he was at a gay club, possibly looking for a hookup and ending up roofied, would be a PR nightmare—and he knows it. The risk’s too big for someone like him, probably not even out to his team—let alone the fans.
We sit in silence for a few minutes, sipping our tea. Then Moon clears his throat.
“I’ll finish my tea and head out,” he says.
“Do you remember your address now?” Eric asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” Moon says, taking another sip.
“You sure?” Nick says, squinting at him.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it saved in the app,” Moon replies, offering him a faint smile.
God, this is bizarre.
“You should still stay here tonight,” Nick says. “After whatever that guy slipped you, I don’t think you should be alone.”
Moon blinks, like the offer caught him off guard. “Thanks,” he says. “But I think I’m okay.”
Nobody argues, even though I can tell Nick still doesn’t love the idea of letting him go off alone. Honestly, I agree—it’s probably a bad idea, but I don’t say anything.
We finish our tea in silence. Then Moon pulls out his phone to order a ride.
Ten minutes later, he’s lingering awkwardly near the edge of the living room, waiting for the car to pull up.
“The taxi’s here,” he says after a moment, and all three of us follow him into the hallway.
Moon glances at each of us. “Thanks again.”
Nick nods and offers his hand. Moon shakes it, then turns to Eric and me and does the same. Then Nick unlocks the front door—and just as Moon steps over the threshold, he pauses and turns to me.
“Mark,” he says quietly. “Will you walk me to the car, please?”
“Yeah,” I say instantly, heart jumping into my throat. I can feel Eric and Nick watching, but I don’t look at them.
I have no idea what he wants, and the fact that he asked me to walk him out feels like something from a parallel universe. But I tell myself I’ll think about it later and follow him.
We head down the stairs in silence and reach the ground floor. Outside, as we step onto the porch, Moon turns to me.
“I’m seeing a therapist,” he says, eyes on the ground.
I blink. “Uh…good for you.”
“Almost eight months now.” He looks up—and in the glow of the streetlamp, I see the tears in his eyes.
Something twists in my chest. No fucking way.
Did he actually go to therapy because of what I said?
“I’m sorry,” he says, blinking as a tear slips down his cheek. “For the shit I’ve put you through.”
I stare at him, stunned. My throat tightens.
He means it. I can see that he actually means it.
So I just nod, because I don’t trust my voice.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, full-on sobbing now, eyes down. “For everything. It wasn’t about you. It was about me this whole time.”
And that’s it. Whatever anger I’ve been holding onto is gone, just like that.
“It’s okay. You’re okay,” I tell him, pulling him into a hug—because shit, I’m blinking back tears too now, and he’s clinging to me in the cold night air, arms wrapped around my neck. “You’re going to be fine.”
He just sobs, his whole body shaking in my arms as I rub his back. I don’t think I’d ever see this kind of rawness from him if he weren’t completely wrecked—physically and emotionally—after everything that happened tonight. But with him like this, I finally get it. I finally get him.
The taxi’s headlights wash over us, and Moon pulls away, wiping at his face.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay over?” I ask, heart aching at how shaken he looks.
He nods, then holds out a hand like he wants a handshake. I take a step forward and pull him into another hug instead. Because whatever hate this guy used to stir in me—I don’t think I feel it anymore.
He hugs me back, mumbles a quiet thank you, and presses a quick kiss to my cheek. I barely have time to process it before he lets go and walks away.
The next time I see Sawyer Moon is almost two months later.