Lucien finally dragged his eyes off Jamie's phone.

Which, honestly, deserved recognition.

Personal growth.

Character development.

A medical miracle.

Because Leon Bolton shirtless on a fight poster was not a situation built for survival.

Unfortunately, the second Lucien looked up, Jamie was already staring at him.

Narrow-eyed.

Suspicious.

Way too pleased with himself.

Lucien immediately got nervous.

Which felt unfair. He technically hadn't done anything wrong.

Probably.

"What?" he said.

Too fast.

Jamie leaned back slowly in his chair.

"Oh, wow."

Lucien frowned. "What wow?"

"Your face."

"…What about my face?"

"You're red."

"No, I'm not."

"Baby, you look like someone just caught you reading fanfiction about your professor."

Lucien almost choked.

"That is incredibly specific."

Jamie pointed at him dramatically.

"And defensive."

Lucien touched his cheek automatically.

Warm.

Traitorous skin.

"I was thinking about something else," he muttered.

Jamie took a sip of iced coffee.

"Mhm."

"What does that mean?"

"I didn't say what you were supposedly thinking about."

"…."

Hell.

Westerners really were terrifyingly direct.

Jamie reached over and patted his shoulder with fake sympathy.

"Relax. Leon Bolton is hot. This isn't a moral failure."

"I don't think he's hot."

Jamie stared.

Then slowly looked toward the fight poster on the phone screen again.

Then back at Lucien.

"Be serious."

"I am serious."

"You literally stopped blinking."

"That means nothing."

"It means your soul left your body."

Lucien grabbed the mop beside the counter defensively.

"I like skinny guys anyway."

Jamie looked genuinely horrified.

"Oh, that's bleak."

"It's normal."

"No, babe. That's a cry for help."

Lucien ignored him and escaped toward the kitchen before the conversation could become more psychologically damaging.

Behind him, Jamie shouted:

"You are not beating the Leon allegations!"

Lucien almost walked directly into the pizza oven.

—

The next afternoon, Lucien sat inside an overpriced café near campus trying not to calculate how many work hours his drink cost.

Too many.

The answer was too many.

Jamie, meanwhile, looked perfectly at home.

Of course he did.

Jamie belonged in places where coffee tasted like emotional manipulation and everyone dressed like they had trust funds and unresolved childhood trauma.

Lucien held his paper cup with both hands.

"This still feels shady."

Jamie gasped.

"Oh my God. You can't call things shady while wearing that sweater."

Lucien looked down automatically.

"What's wrong with my sweater?"

"Nothing. It just has no authority."

Lucien opened his mouth.

Then the café door opened.

Jamie immediately lit up.

"There he is."

Chuck walked inside wearing a black jacket and dark jeans, sunglasses pushed into his hair despite the weather being aggressively cloudy.

Lucien recognized him instantly.

And immediately didn't trust him again.

Something about him felt slippery.

Like a guy who definitely said "trust me" before ruining someone's life financially.

Jamie stood up fast enough to nearly knock over his drink.

"Hi, baby."

Chuck grinned and pulled him into a hug.

Then kissed him.

Right there.

In public.

With eye contact.

Lucien suddenly became deeply interested in the café menu.

Wow.

Look at all those beverages.

Amazing.

Beautiful typography.

God, were they done?

Eventually the kissing stopped and everyone sat down.

Lucien survived narrowly.

Jamie beamed.

"Lucien, this is Chuck. Chuck, Lucien."

Chuck nodded once.

"Jamie talks about you constantly."

Lucien smiled politely.

Dangerous information.

Jamie talked constantly in general.

Chuck reached into his bag and dropped a thick stack of tickets onto the table.

Lucien's attention sharpened immediately.

Too many tickets.

Way too many.

"If you're Jamie's friend," Chuck said, "I'll do a thousand each."

Jamie looked delighted.

Lucien looked interested.

Internally, however:

Oh, this man was going to prison.

Lucien picked up one ticket carefully.

At first glance, it looked real.

Correct paper.

Correct logo.

Correct print quality.

But Lucien had spent half the night comparing fake details online after Leon mentioned counterfeit sellers.

Because apparently this was his life now.

Pizza delivery boy by day.

Tiny fraud detective by night.

He tilted the ticket slightly toward the café light.

There.

Wrong corner.

Again.

No security layer.

His stomach dropped.

Well.

That was deeply unfortunate.

Lucien smiled brightly.

"Oh wow. Seriously? Thanks, Chuck."

Chuck relaxed immediately.

"How'd you even get this many?" Lucien asked casually. "That's insane."

Chuck shrugged.

"Club connections."

"That easy?"

"If you know the right people."

Lucien widened his eyes just slightly.

"That's kinda cool actually."

Liar.

Criminal behavior was not cool.

Hot people committing crimes just made everything annoying.

Lucien bought three tickets anyway.

His bank account died instantly.

A tragic loss.

He slid the tickets into his bag and stood up.

"Well. I should stop interrupting date night."

Jamie blew several dramatic kisses at him.

"You're an angel."

"I know."

"Cover my shift later?"

Lucien sighed.

"Yeah, fine."

"Love you."

"Okay."

Chuck laughed softly into his coffee.

Lucien escaped before Jamie could become emotionally sincere in public.

The smile stayed on his face until the café door closed behind him.

Then it faded.

The tickets felt heavy in his bag.

He should tell Leon.

Probably.

Maybe.

Okay definitely.

The fake tickets were connected to Leon's event. Leon had literally mentioned searching for the seller.

Also—

Leon gave him ten thousand dollars.

Which felt relevant.

Lucien walked slowly down the sidewalk arguing with himself internally.

Call him.

Don't call him.

Call him.

Don't be weird.

But what if Jamie gets dragged into something illegal?

But what if Leon thinks you're inserting yourself into his business?

But he literally transferred you the GDP of a small village.

True.

Very true.

Lucien sighed hard enough to fog his own glasses.

The problem was simple:

People like Leon existed in a different universe.

Lucien knew this instinctively.

People with money and power could be kind one day and unreachable the next.

You couldn't mistake temporary closeness for permanence.

That was dangerous.

So in the end—

he didn't call.

Cowardly?

Maybe.

Emotionally responsible?

Also maybe.

—

The universe punished him immediately after.

Lucien worked his own shift.

Then Jamie's shift.

Then another emergency rush.

By the time closing time arrived, he was spiritually dead.

Actually dead.

If someone checked his pulse, they'd probably hear elevator music.

He was halfway to the back room when the manager shouted:

"Lucien! Delivery."

Lucien turned slowly.

"…No."

"Overtime pay."

"I'm on my way."

Capitalism won again.

Twenty minutes later, Lucien was riding the shop's dying scooter through downtown traffic holding onto a pizza box with one hand and his remaining will to live with the other.

The address was weird.

Too far from campus.

Too hidden.

After three wrong turns and one near-death experience involving a bus, Lucien finally pulled over beside a row of storefronts.

He stared at the numbers.

A07.

A08.

A11.

Where the hell was A09?

Lucien frowned.