Chapter 8 Toby
Toby
The high from the practice room lasts exactly until I check my phone and see the email subject line: URGENT: Meeting Required - RA Henderson.
My stomach drops.
"What's wrong?" Jionni asks, his hand still warm in mine as we cross the quad. The sun is bright, the sky impossibly blue, but everything suddenly feels cold and gray.
"Nothing," I say automatically, shoving my phone back into my pocket. My voice sounds thin, distant. "Just... an email."
Nothing. Right. Just the end of my life.
"Bullshit." Jionni stops walking, tugging me to a halt beside him. He's like an anchor in the middle of a rushing river of students. "Your face just went white. What is it?"
I swallow, but my throat is tight, like it's trying to close up. "Henderson wants to see me. Right now."
"So? You're an RA. He probably wants to talk about some dumb policy thing."
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him. But the sick certainty coiling in my gut tells a different story. This isn't about policy. This is about punishment.
"Maybe," I say, unable to meet his eyes. I stare at a crack in the sidewalk instead, focusing on its jagged, meaningless line.
Jionni's fingers find my chin, gentle but firm, tilting my face up until I have no choice but to look at him. His eyes are intense, searching mine. "Hey. It's going to be fine."
"You don't know that."
"I do." He sounds so certain. So unshakably confident. It's one of the things I love about him, and right now, it feels like a lie. "And if he tries anything, I'll—"
"You'll what?" I pull away, anxiety making my voice sharp and brittle. "Make it worse? This isn't something you can fix by being... you."
He flinches, a barely perceptible tightening of his jaw, but I see it. It's like I slapped him. The guilt is immediate and suffocating.
"I'm sorry," I say, reaching for his hand again. The skin is warm, real. "I'm just stressed. I should go. I can't be late."
Jionni nods, his expression guarded now, the easy confidence gone. "Text me after?"
"I will." I squeeze his hand once, a desperate, silent apology, then let go. "I'll see you later."
As I walk away, I can feel his eyes on my back. I don't turn around. I can't. If I look at him again, at the worry that's replaced his arrogance, I might not have the strength to walk into whatever trap Henderson has set.
The housing office is in the administrative building, a squat, brutalist concrete structure that always makes me think of a prison. Fitting, considering I'm walking to my own execution.
Every step feels heavier than the last. My mind starts to spin, grabbing at possibilities, each one worse than the last.
Maybe it's a routine check-in. Maybe he wants to lecture me again.
Maybe someone else violated quiet hours and he's blaming me for not catching it.
Maybe he doesn't know anything. Maybe this is a coincidence.
But deep down, I know. He knows. About Jionni. About us. About the locked practice room and the rumpled clothes and the bite mark I can still feel throbbing on my neck.
I pass a group of freshmen sprawled on the grass, laughing about something on someone's phone. They look so carefree. So normal. I envy them with a sudden, sharp ache. When was the last time I felt that unburdened?
Before I met him?
But even as I think it, I know it's not true. I wasn't unburdened before Jionni. I was… empty. Checking every box. Following every rule. Being the perfect son, the perfect RA, the perfect machine.
Perfect and hollow.
The housing office smells like old coffee and burnt copy paper. The receptionist, a woman with tired eyes and a permanent frown, barely looks up from her computer when I enter.
"Song-Gi?" she asks, her voice flat. She's already reaching for the phone. "He's expecting you."
Of course he is.
Henderson's office is at the end of a short, windowless hallway. The door is ajar, but I knock anyway.
"Enter," comes his thin, reedy voice.
I push the door open and step inside. Henderson is standing behind his desk, not sitting.
It's a power move, forcing me to look up at him like a supplicant.
His office is exactly what I'd expect—sterile, gray, with not a single personal touch.
No photos of family. No plants. Just a desk, a chair, and a locked filing cabinet.
The only decoration is his framed master's degree in Educational Administration hanging on the wall, perfectly level.
"Mr. Song-Gi," he says, not offering me a seat. "Thank you for coming so promptly."
"Of course, sir." My voice comes out steady. Professional. It's a miracle, considering my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest.
Henderson's thin lips curl into what might generously be called a smile. It doesn't reach his cold, pale eyes. "I won't waste your time or mine. I've received some... concerning information about your conduct as an RA."
This is it. He knows.
"Sir?" I keep my face a neutral mask. Give nothing away. Don't let him see the terror.
He slides a printed email across the desk.
"I received this from a concerned student yesterday evening.
They witnessed you entering Mr. Alarie's room yesterday evening.
They report that the door never opened again until this morning, and when you both emerged, you were.
.." he pauses, letting the word hang in the air, savoring the moment, ". ..a mess."
Heat rushes into my face, a hot tide of shame. I say nothing. My silence is its own confession.
"I might have dismissed this as hearsay," Henderson continues, his voice dripping with false reasonableness, "if not for this."
He pulls out another sheet of paper. This one has grainy black and white images printed on it.
Security camera footage. The air in my lungs turns to stone.
The sound in the room fades to a low buzz, like a dying fluorescent light.
My vision narrows until the only thing I can see is the grainy image on the page.
It's the hallway outside Jionni's room. The timestamp shows 11:42 PM.
There I am, a ghost in the dim light, clearly entering his room.
He slides another page across the desk. The next image shows me leaving at 7:16 AM. Wearing his clothes.
"Leaving at 7:16 AM, Mr. Song-Gi," Henderson says, his voice laced with a sneer. "In Mr. Alarie's... clothes. Not a very professional look, is it?"
I feel sick. Exposed. Like my skin has been peeled away, leaving every nerve raw and screaming.
"I..." My voice fails me. What can I possibly say? The evidence is absolute.
Henderson's expression is one of calculated disappointment, but I can see the victory glinting underneath. He's enjoying this. He's been waiting for this moment since the day he met me.
"Mr. Song-Gi, I hardly need to remind you of section 4.
3 of the Resident Advisor handbook. 'RAs shall maintain professional boundaries with all residents in their assigned building at all times.
' Professional boundaries," he repeats, savoring the words like a fine wine.
"Not romantic entanglements. Certainly not sexual relationships. "
Every word hits me like a fist. Termination. Loss of scholarship. Professional misconduct.
"This is a serious violation of your contract," Henderson continues, leaning forward, his hands flat on the desk. "Grounds for immediate termination."
Termination. The word echoes in the buzzing silence of my head. No more job. No more free housing. No more scholarship stipend. No more Westbridge. No more future.
"However," Henderson says, and a sliver of desperate, foolish hope cuts through the panic. "I am willing to offer you an alternative."
I look up, hardly daring to breathe. "Sir?"
"Option one." He holds up a bony finger. "You immediately terminate your... inappropriate relationship with Mr. Alarie. You submit a formal letter of apology acknowledging your lapse in judgment, and you agree to weekly performance reviews with me for the remainder of the semester."
Every cell in my body rebels at the thought. But my logical brain, the part of me that has guided my entire life, seizes on the lifeline. A way out. A way to keep my job, my scholarship, my future. A way to not destroy my family.
"Option two," Henderson continues, holding up a second finger.
"You are terminated from the Resident Advisor program, effective immediately.
This will, of course, mean the loss of your housing scholarship and stipend.
Additionally, a formal notation of professional misconduct will be added to your permanent academic record. "
He pauses, letting the implications sink in like stones. "Which, I hardly need to point out, will be visible to any reputable law school you might apply to."
I feel dizzy, the gray walls of his office tilting around me. He knows. He knows everything. My career plans. My dreams. And he was tearing my future apart, piece by piece.
"I..." My voice cracks. I clear my throat, forcing the words out. "I need time to think."
"Of course," Henderson says magnanimously, the smile back on his face. It's the smile of a predator that has its prey cornered. "You have until the end of the day to decide. I'll expect your answer by 5 PM."
He sits down then, a clear dismissal. "That will be all, Mr. Song-Gi."
I turn and walk out, my legs moving on autopilot. I don't remember leaving the building. I don't remember crossing the quad, the sun feeling too bright on my face. Somehow, I find myself back at my dorm, standing in front of my door, my key shaking in my hand.
I step inside and close the door behind me. My room. My perfect, orderly room. Everything in its place. Everything except me.
I sink onto my bed, staring at nothing. The choice he gave me isn't a choice at all. It's a gun to my head.