Chapter 47 #2
Now we’re sitting in one of the coolest retro diners I’ve ever been in.
The neon lights hum softly—at least, I think they do.
My hearing aid picks up the clink of cutlery, the low thrum of chatter, the kind of warm noise that makes the place feel alive.
The ambience is perfect, like stepping into an old movie, and the desserts on display are dangerous enough to make saints sin.
When the food arrives, we dig in like starved kids. I’m halfway through my burger when Maksim glances at me over his milkshake, eyebrow arched.
“Are you even supposed to eat that much?” he asks, straw still between his lips.
I blink at him, swallowing my mouthful. “What do you mean?”
“Aren’t you the bottom in your relationship?”
I stop mid-chew, staring at him in both disbelief and bewilderment, my cheek already burning.
“I take fiber pills, and I also dou—” I cut myself off, narrowing my eyes. “Why am I even explaining my routine to you?”
He snorts, unbothered. “Nobody’s reeled you in this much in a long time, right?”
The worst part? He’s right. And he knows it.
“Why did you even insist on hanging out with me?” I ask, spearing another fry and popping it into my mouth.
“Because I don’t have any friends,” Maksim says with a casual shrug, like he just mentioned he was out of milk.
I pause mid-bite and stare at him. “Huh?”
He leans back in the booth, chewing slowly, his gaze drifting around the retro diner before coming back to me.
“I have people who want to be my friend,” he says through a mouthful of burger. “I talk to them, hang out when I’m bored. But…”
He swallows and takes a sip of his soda. “I don’t see them as my friends. I’ve never actually wanted friends.”
I blink at him, trying to reconcile that statement with the guy sitting in front of me.
Maksim doesn’t look like someone who shouldn’t have friends.
He’s tall, broad-shouldered, handsome in the kind of way that makes people stare.
Tattoos cover his arms in bold sleeves, with smaller designs crawling up the side of his neck—birds in flight just below his jaw.
He recently got a spine tattoo and wouldn’t stop posting about it on Instagram, flexing in every mirror he could find.
He’s got piercings scattered across his face and ears— a silver stud in his nose, a triple helix climbing one ear, and an eyebrow piercing that complements his face. His buzzcut is in the awkward stage of growing out, bleached in streaks that look like deliberate art.
He has that edgy bad boy look, dangerous but magnetic. And yet… under all that ink, metal, and bravado, there’s this playful side that’s annoyingly contagious. Even when he’s driving me insane, he somehow makes me want to keep listening.
“You’re studying me,” he says suddenly, one brow arched in amusement.
I clear my throat and drop my gaze to my plate. “I’m not.”
He grins, leaning forward like he’s in on some private joke.
“I like someone.”
I glance back up at him, caught off guard. His smirk lingers, but there’s something else in his eyes, something that almost looks serious.
“I’ve liked this person for years,” he continues, his voice gentle, picking at the edge of his fries. “And they like me back… I think. But they keep holding back.”
There’s a quiet moment between us then—him leaning back with that careless grin, me pretending to focus on my food but wondering what kind of person could make Maksim sound like that.
I look back up and catch him staring at me. I raise a brow.
“What?”
“Well, give me some advice.” He exhales like this is the heaviest problem in the world. “I need to know how you pulled Alex into being so obsessed with you. What trick did you use? What voodoo?”
I blink at him, incredulous. “I didn’t use any voodoo or tricks… Maybe ask Igor. He looks like someone who’s been in plenty of relationships and would know how to make someone obsessed or whatever.”
“Mmm, Igor likes women,” Maksim says with an eyeroll. “He wouldn’t know how to pull a man.”
That makes me pause, fork halfway to my mouth. “Wait. What?”
“Christ, Lucas—keep up.” He leans forward, suddenly serious, like he’s about to tell me the kind of secret that changes the course of history.
“I’m gay. Been gay since the womb. The man I like?
Also gay and he’s thirty-two. He was married to this annoying guy, but they thankfully divorced two years ago.
His family’s law firm handles all my family’s business matters, and his family and mine are very close. ”
I open my mouth to say something, but he’s on a roll.
“We had a one-night stand the day he finalized his divorce, which also happened to be my twentieth birthday. Years of fantasizing about him, and I finally—” Maksim throws his hands up in the air for emphasis— “get to sleep with him. And then after that, He disappears. Leaves the country for a year and a half. No contact. Nothing.”
I’m already struggling to keep up, but he’s not done.
“He came back recently because his dad retired, so now he’s officially our family lawyer. And yet, he still acts like nothing happened that night. Pretends I don’t exist. We can be in the same damn room and he’ll talk to everyone but me.”
I just stare at him. My brain is still trying to process everything—each sentence slamming into me before the last one has even settled.
“You… said he’s thirty-two,” I murmur, because that’s the only thing my brain manages to catch from the whirlwind Maksim just unloaded on me.
He opens his mouth, closes it, then narrows his eyes at me.
“You know Sasha’s turning thirty next year, right?”
“I know that.”
“Then it’s not a big deal,” he says with a shrug. “He’s ten years older than me. I’m a grown adult. I know what I want.”
“So…” I tilt my head, studying him. “You’re being rejected.”
His eye twitches. “…I guess so.”
Before I can reply, my phone buzzes against the table. Tyler.
“Sorry, I have to take this,” I say, already picking it up. Maksim just waves me off and returns to his food.
“Lucas,” Tyler’s voice comes through—sharp, breathless. “I sent you a link. Go check it.” There’s tension there, but also panic bleeding through every word. He’s breathing hard, and through my hearing aid, the sound feels uncomfortably close, too loud.
“Okay,” I say cautiously. “But… are you alright, Ty?”
There’s a pause.
“I’m fine,” he says, clipped. “Just check it.”
The call ends.
My thumb hovers for a second before I open our messages. He sent it a few minutes ago. I tap the link.
A news site loads.
My gaze snags on the headline, and it’s like the air in my lungs turns to stone.
Two faces stare back at me from the photo—smiling, carefree, exactly as I remember them in the worst way possible. My brain refuses to connect the image with the bold words screaming above it:
TWO ROOMMATES FOUND DEAD IN THEIR APARTMENT, brUTALLY MURDERED IN COLD BLOOD.
I blink, but the headline doesn’t change.
My pulse thunders in my ears, a deep pounding that drowns out everything else. My fingers tremble as I scroll down.
The article is short, just bare facts, but each one feels like a blow.
They were found in their apartment after friends and family couldn’t reach them for two days.
It’s been a week since the murder. The story has been trending for days, fueled by whispers of how gruesome the details were, though nothing specific is printed here.
My throat feels tight, my chest constricting with a pressure I can’t shake. I read the words again, as if repetition would make them make sense. But all I can feel is the echo of my heartbeat and the sudden, suffocating truth—
They’re gone.
“Lucas.”
It’s Maksim’s voice—muffled, like it’s coming from the other side of a thick wall. My eyes are still glued to the words on my screen. The letters blur, swimming together, refusing to stay still.
“Lucas.” This time it’s sharper, closer, but the sound feels detached from the world I’m in. My head is light, like I’m floating and sinking all at once.
There’s a sudden movement. My phone is gone. It takes a second to realize Maksim’s taken it from my hand. I force myself to look up.
He’s reading the article, brow raised, no flicker of shock or disgust. Just… a blank sort of observation, like he’s checking the weather.
The phone buzzes in his hand. He glances at it and wordlessly passes it back to me. My fingers fumble over the smooth glass, my grip shaky as I swipe to answer.
“Are you okay? Where are you?” Tyler’s voice bursts through, loud and close in my hearing aid, each word sharp enough to sting.
My lips don’t move. My mind feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton, the pressure building behind my eyes.
“Lucas, talk to me,” Tyler snaps, the edge in his tone cutting through my haze like a knife.
“I…” My tongue feels heavy, stuck to the roof of my mouth. I lick my lips, but it doesn’t help. “Tyler… what the fuck happened to them? I mean… how—”
“I don’t know, fuck…” His voice wavers, threaded with nerves. “Maybe they went too far, pissed off the wrong person. Jesus… the details that are out are really brutal.” He says something, something that sounds like mutilation, but the rest of the words dissolve into static.
My gaze drifts, snapping toward Maksim.
He’s still there, calm as ever, but giving me a concerned look as he munchies his fries.
And then, like someone flicked a switch, something in me shifts. My stomach twists, and my pulse kicks harder. I can’t look away from him. The hum of the diner fades into nothing, and all I hear is the uneven rhythm of my own breath as my eyes stay locked on his.
He notices, and his brows lift.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
My voice comes out ragged, almost breaking.
“Why was Alex in Boston a week ago?”
That wasn’t the question he expected. I see it, the flicker of shock in his eyes, before he covers it up.
“What do you mean?”
“You were with Alex in Boston a week ago,” I say, the words cutting out in shallow bursts of breath.
Boston.