Jamie snapped his fingers twice in front of Lucien's face.

"Hello? Earth to Lucien? Honey?"

Lucien blinked hard and shoved the ticket back across the table.

Jamie narrowed his eyes.

"Okay. What was that?"

Lucien hesitated.

Then shook his head quickly.

"Nothing."

Probably nothing.

There was no way the universe was cruel enough for this to somehow connect back to Leon again.

Right?

Jamie, meanwhile, clearly decided not to care.

Within thirty seconds he was already talking about his new boyfriend again with the enthusiasm of a man being spiritually fulfilled by good sex.

Lucien listened with approximately one functioning brain cell.

Mostly because his mind kept circling around the ticket.

And Leon.

Unfortunately.

A while later Jamie's phone rang.

The second he saw the caller ID, his whole face lit up.

"Oh, there he is."

Lucien watched in mild horror as Jamie's voice instantly dropped two octaves flirtier.

"Miss me already?"

Something said on the other end made Jamie laugh loudly enough for three nearby tables to look over.

Then he stood up, grabbing his bag.

"Okay, babe, my boyfriend's here. I gotta go."

Lucien nodded quickly.

"Yeah, okay. See you tomorrow."

Jamie blew him a kiss dramatically and headed outside.

Lucien hesitated.

Then— very casually, definitely not nosily— stood up and drifted toward the front windows.

Outside, Jamie practically launched himself at the guy waiting on the sidewalk.

Oh.

It was Horn Guy.

The one from the party.

Tonight he wore a gray tank top instead of costume pieces, broad shoulders visible beneath the streetlights. From this angle Lucien could clearly see a large eagle tattoo stretching across one shoulder.

Lucien stared.

Did every American man just wake up one day and decide to get tattooed?

His thoughts betrayed him by drifting toward Leon.

Would Leon have tattoos?

Probably.

God. He probably looked insane shirtless.

Lucien froze.

Then shook himself.

Absolutely not.

Nope.

Money was already corrupting his moral compass enough.

He did not need the hot boxer problem added on top of that.

Unfortunately, the universe apparently found this hilarious.

Because later that night, when Lucien returned to his dorm building—

Leon was there.

Leaning against his car beneath the glow of a streetlamp.

Black button-up.

Black pants.

One hand in his pocket.

A cigarette balanced lazily between his fingers while the ember glowed red in the dark.

His head tilted slightly downward.

Relaxed.

Cold.

Like he belonged in some expensive crime drama instead of outside student housing.

Lucien stopped walking.

Wasn't this guy supposed to be impossible to find?

Campus legend status.

Crowds every time he appeared.

So why had Lucien somehow run into him like four times this week?

Lucien considered pretending he hadn't seen him.

Unfortunately, Leon looked up at exactly that moment.

Their eyes met instantly.

Oh no.

Lucien pasted on his Customer Service Smile™ and walked over.

"Leon," he said brightly. "Wow. Crazy coincidence."

Leon stared at him for two seconds.

Then crushed the cigarette beneath his shoe.

"Yeah?"

Lucien gestured vaguely toward the dorm building.

"You live here too?"

Pause.

"Thought rich people lived in like… modern vampire mansions or something."

Leon's mouth twitched slightly.

"I'm waiting for a friend."

"Oh."

Silence.

Again.

Every conversation with this man somehow became socially catastrophic within thirty seconds.

Lucien could physically feel himself constructing an entire apartment complex with his toes inside his shoes.

He was debating whether to fake a medical emergency and leave when Leon spoke first.

"You're back late."

Lucien nearly sighed in relief.

Conversation topic acquired.

"I got dinner with a friend."

Then, automatically:

"You eat yet?"

Chinese reflex.

You asked that before literally anything else.

Leon paused.

Then said calmly:

"No."

Lucien stared at him.

…Okay?

And what exactly was he supposed to do with that information?

Go eat then??

Why say it like that??

Lucien panicked internally for three straight seconds before blurting:

"I have leftover fried chicken."

Leon lifted one eyebrow.

"You offering?"

Lucien hesitated.

Very tragically.

Because that fried chicken had originally been tomorrow's lunch.

"…Maybe."

Then held out his hand.

Lucien looked betrayed.

Leon looked completely unashamed.

Lucien sighed like a man surrendering to fate and handed over the paper bag.

"It's cold," he warned sadly. "Needs the oven."

Leon took the bag carefully.

"I'll survive."

His eyes dropped briefly toward Lucien's mouth when he spoke.

Just for a second.

Then moved away again like nothing happened.

Lucien absolutely did not notice that.

Definitely not.

Probably.

A weird silence settled again.

Lucien shifted awkwardly.

Then finally decided to ask.

"Uh… can I ask you something?"

Leon glanced at him.

"Sure."

"There's a guy in the boxing club. Chuck?"

Lucien gestured vaguely with both hands.

"Big arms. Looks like he could throw a refrigerator."

Something unreadable darkened in Leon's expression for half a second.

"Club's big," he said evenly. "I don't know everyone."

Lucien regretted asking instantly.

God.

Why did every conversation with Leon feel like stepping onto a landmine?

"Sorry," Lucien said quickly. "Forget I asked."

Leon watched him for a moment.

Then said calmly:

"I can check for you."

Lucien blinked.

"Oh. You don't have to—"

"I'll text you."

Lucien opened his mouth again.

Leon nodded once toward the dorm entrance.

"Go get some sleep, Yu'an."

And somehow the conversation was over.

Lucien walked inside feeling strangely off-balance.

—

Ten minutes later Joey climbed into Leon's passenger seat looking deeply suspicious.

"You picked me up personally?"

Leon started the engine.

"Lucky you."

Joey narrowed his eyes.

"You know I date women, right?"

Leon glanced at him flatly.

"Which one?"

"…Wow."

"Last week's girlfriend or yesterday's?"

Joey looked offended for exactly two seconds before noticing the fried chicken bag.

He froze.

Then slowly turned.

"…Is that fried chicken?"

Leon grabbed the bag away.

"Don't touch my food."

Joey stared harder.

"You don't eat fried chicken."

Fair.

Leon's diet was psychotic.

Custom nutrition plans.

Training meals.

Body fat percentages monitored like government secrets.

Seeing Leon voluntarily eat fried food felt medically concerning.

Joey pointed accusingly.

"You're into someone?"

Leon lit another cigarette.

"No."

"You absolutely do."

"No."

"You picked me up from the dorms yourself."

"No."

"You're protecting fried chicken."

Leon exhaled smoke slowly.

"Do you know a guy named Chuck?"

Joey scratched his jaw.

"…Maybe? New guy in logistics." He frowned. "What?"

Leon stared out through the windshield.

Then said flatly:

"You talk too much."

—

The next morning Lucien woke up to a text from Leon.

Chuck existed.

Apparently.

Though Leon had also added:

He doesn't have muscles. He's probably just built weird.

Then, seconds later:

Actual muscle definition comes from repeated tearing and rebuilding of muscle fibers.

Lucien stared at the message while preheating frozen pizza.

"What kind of gym-bro correction was that," he muttered.

His phone sat on speaker mode against the kitchen counter while Leon talked.

Halfway through explaining Chuck's general lack of impressive physique, Leon paused.

"What're you eating?"

Lucien narrowed his eyes.

Not falling for this again.

"Frozen pizza."

This time he very deliberately did not ask if Leon had eaten breakfast.

His fridge contained exactly two pizzas.

He refused to lose another meal to this man.

"Thanks for checking for me," Lucien said instead.

If Chuck really worked there, then maybe the tickets weren't fake after all.

A brief silence.

Then Leon asked casually:

"Chuck your friend?"

Lucien shrugged while opening the oven.

"He's Jamie's boyfriend."

Pause.

"I just don't want Jamie getting scammed."

A low laugh crackled softly through the phone speaker.

Lucien frowned.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Leon sounded suspiciously amused.

"Good mood this morning."

Lucien rolled his eyes automatically.

Weirdly enough, though—

between the pizza and the phone call, his own mood had improved too.

Which probably meant he was developing Stockholm syndrome.

Concerning.

—

By noon Lucien had arrived at the pizza place.

Jamie dragged him into the corner dramatically.

"Honey," he whispered. "I have a financial opportunity."

Lucien stared.

That was exactly how Chinese scam calls started.

Carefully, he answered:

"I personally believe in honest labor."

Jamie rolled his eyes so hard it became spiritual.

"This was literally your idea."

"…What?"

"The extra ticket?" Jamie said. "I asked Chuck about it last night."

Lucien straightened.

"And?"

Jamie grinned.

"He can get more."

Lucien's stomach dropped slightly.

"How many more?"

"As many as we want."

Uh oh.

Jamie leaned closer.

"One thousand each."

Then held up two fingers dramatically.

"We resell them for three."

Lucien did the math automatically.

Two thousand dollar profit per ticket.

Jesus.

It sounded almost too good.

Which immediately made Lucien suspicious.

Especially after noticing the weird security marking issue yesterday.

"So…" Lucien said slowly. "You're buying them?"

"Obviously."

Jamie looked personally offended.

"Do you know how insane that profit margin is?"

Fair.

Then Jamie groaned dramatically.

"Problem is, I only have enough cash for ten."

Only ten.

Lucien wanted to scream.

Jamie pointed at him.

"And because I'm generous, I thought of you."

Lucien absolutely did not believe in free money anymore.

The universe had already transmigrated him into another continent. That felt like proof enough.

Still—

letting Jamie handle this alone somehow felt worse.

"I'm broke," Lucien reminded him. "Like. Spiritually and financially."

Jamie waved him off.

"You sold the watch."

Right.

The fake watch excuse.

Lucien sighed.

"…I can do three tickets."

Jamie brightened instantly.

Then Lucien added carefully:

"But I wanna meet him in person."

Jamie blinked.

"…Why?"

"No reason."

Every reason.

Jamie shrugged.

"Sure."

Right there in front of Lucien, Jamie called Chuck immediately.

The guy agreed without hesitation.

Coffee shop tomorrow afternoon.

Too easy.

Way too easy.

Jamie hung up grinning.

"We're gonna be rich."

As the phone screen dimmed, Lucien accidentally caught sight of Jamie's wallpaper.

He choked.

"Jesus Christ— what is THAT?"

Jamie looked delighted.

"Oh. That's Chuck."

"…Why is his ass out?"

Jamie looked down proudly.

"Took it after sex."

Lucien nearly left the mortal plane.

Jamie zoomed in helpfully.

"Look at the curve on that thing."

"I hate this conversation."

"Coward."

Jamie kept scrolling through photos casually.

"He's not built like the actual fighters though."

Lucien tried extremely hard not to sound curious.

"…Boxers are all built like that?"

Jamie stared at him.

Then slowly grinned.

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"You wanna see Leon shirtless."

"I absolutely did not say that."

Jamie was already pulling up fight screenshots.

"Too late."

A photo filled the screen.

Lucien froze instantly.

Oh.

Oh, that was—

Jesus Christ.

Every time Lucien had seen Leon before, the man had been fully dressed:

expensive shirts,

dark jackets,

clean lines,

broad shoulders.

Intimidating.

But this—

This was unfair.

Shirtless, Leon looked carved out of violence itself.

Heavy muscle layered clean beneath pale skin.

Defined abs.

Sharp V-lines disappearing beneath boxing shorts.

Arms thick enough to genuinely hurt people.

The kind of body built through years of getting hit and surviving anyway.

Lucien stared way too long.

Then his eyes drifted slowly toward Leon's chest.

Memory flashed instantly:

the abandoned factory,

the storm,

slamming face-first into Leon's body in the dark.

Oh.

That had been his chest.

Well.

That explained several things.