Chapter Two: The Descent Begins
Part I – Whispers Like Smoke
By lunch, Luca wasn't just "the boy in the skirt."
He was the story.
His name swept through the halls in murmurs—half joke, half obsession. New students whispered it behind textbooks. Others said it louder, for effect.
They talked about the way he walked.
The way his shirt hugged his waist.
How his ass moved when he ran.
How he didn't flinch when someone called him soft.
Some said he was doing it on purpose—teasing.
Some said he didn't know better.
And some said they wanted to be the one to teach him.
The cafeteria buzzed with it. Luca sat alone.
A few boys passed by his table, loud and careless.
"Did you see him yesterday? Straight up runway shit."
"I bet he likes being watched."
"Wouldn't mind watching more…"
Their laughter stabbed more than it rang. Luca poked at his food, not hungry. A tray clattered behind him. He jumped.
"Sorry," came a voice.
He looked up. A boy his age—lighter build, brown curls, awkward smile. He gestured to the seat. "Can I…?"
Luca hesitated. Then nodded.
"I'm Ezra," the boy said.
"Luca."
Ezra gave a cautious smile. "You okay?"
"I'm fine."
But he wasn't. His insides felt loose, like someone had unlaced him. His body was still raw from the run, from the locker room, from the eyes.
Ezra was kind—but nervous. His gaze flicked lower too often. When Luca crossed his legs, Ezra swallowed.
Even kindness here came laced with desire.
And Luca, though confused, was beginning to wonder if maybe… that was the only kind he was allowed.
In the halls, they didn't call him names—not yet.
Instead, they watched.
They leaned in.
They brushed too close.
One boy whispered "pretty" as he passed. Another left a note in his book: Wear that skirt again. Please.
Luca didn't know how to answer a world that only knew how to want him.
Chapter Two: The Descent Begins
Part II – The Quiet Spiral
Luca lay back on his dorm bed, eyes on the ceiling. The air was still. Too still. He had cracked the window for a breeze, but even that felt heavy—like everything else that touched him lately.
His uniform hung on the chair, his skirt folded with care on the desk. His body was clean, but not at peace. There were phantom hands on his skin. Phantom stares. The locker room replayed on loop.
The barked command.
The weight of gazes.
The way he'd obeyed.
Was it wrong?
Was it worse that a part of him had felt seen—even if through something ugly?
He squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn't help. The quiet was too loud.
A knock broke it.
Two soft taps.
He sat up. "Yes?"
The door creaked open. Ezra peeked in, smiling. That same crooked, boyish smirk that seemed both innocent and a little too pleased with itself.
"Wasn't sure if you'd be asleep."
"I wasn't," Luca said. "I was just—"
"Thinking?" Ezra stepped in, uninvited but smooth about it. "Mind if I sit?"
Luca hesitated. Then shrugged.
Ezra took the desk chair, spinning it once before sitting backward on it, arms folded over the back. His curls were slightly damp, probably fresh from the shower. He smelled faintly of mint.
"I figured you might want company," Ezra said. "Place can be kinda brutal the first week."
"It's… different," Luca admitted.
Ezra grinned. "You're handling it better than I would. I mean, most guys here wouldn't have the balls to walk into that locker room like you did."
Luca looked down.
"You made an impression," Ezra added. "That's not a bad thing."
"I didn't mean to."
"Doesn't matter." Ezra's eyes drifted over Luca's arms, bare and folded in his lap. "You're magnetic."
Luca felt that heat rise again. Not the pleasant kind—more like a flush under the skin, sharp and uncertain.
Ezra tilted his head. "You okay? You look… tight."
Luca gave a ghost of a smile. "Just tired."
"You've been on everyone's radar, you know." Ezra leaned in a little. "Some of the guys—" he shrugged, "—they don't know how to handle something beautiful. They act out."
Luca looked at him. "And you?"
Ezra smirked. "I try to handle it with grace."
It was a joke. But not really.
Ezra reached out—casual, slow—and touched Luca's wrist. Just a brush.
"Let me know if anyone messes with you," he said. "I mean that."
His fingers lingered a beat too long before pulling back.
Luca nodded, unsure whether he felt comforted or cornered.
Ezra stood. "Anyway. Just wanted to check in. Didn't want you alone up here thinking the whole world's against you."
He walked to the door, paused, and looked back.
"You're not crazy for wanting someone to notice you," he said softly.
"Just make sure the ones who do… deserve it."
And he was gone.
Luca sat there for a long time after, the feeling of that brief touch still buzzing against his wrist.
Chapter Two: The Descent Begins
Part III – The Visit
It was late.
The halls had quieted to distant murmurs and the hum of overhead lights. Somewhere down the corridor, a door slammed. A faucet hissed and stopped.
Luca had changed into his sleepwear—a loose shirt and shorts that clung a bit too much. He lay in bed on his side, facing the wall, pretending that rest would come if he held still long enough.
Then—
Knock.
Not soft. Not shy.
He froze.
Another knock. Firmer this time. Then a voice:
"Open up."
Luca's heart lurched. He knew that voice.
Even in a whisper, it sounded like a threat wrapped in smoke.
He moved slowly, feet touching the cool floor. The knock came once more before he even reached the door.
When he opened it—Marcus filled the frame.
Shirtless. Shoulders glistening with sweat like he'd just finished a workout. A towel slung over one shoulder. His gaze dark, amused, and not asking permission.
"You weren't sleeping," Marcus said. Not a question.
Luca shook his head slowly.
"Good."
Marcus walked in like he owned the place. He didn't ask. He didn't hesitate. Just moved—massive, quiet, confident.
Luca stepped aside, unsure what was happening, what this was. Marcus turned, looking him over like a predator assessing a weaker animal—not just for threat, but for... response.
"You always this quiet?" he asked.
Luca shrugged. "Sometimes."
Marcus sat on the edge of the bed—his bed.
"You let that curly-haired kid in here earlier?"
Luca blinked. "Ezra?"
"Yeah. Him." Marcus leaned back, elbows on his thighs. "You let him touch you?"
Luca swallowed. "He didn't—"
"But he wanted to."
Marcus' tone darkened, teeth flashing briefly in a half-smirk. "He wants to act soft so he can slip under your skin. Guys like that always do."
Luca stepped back slightly, the tension coiling tighter in his chest.
Marcus stood suddenly.
He moved toward Luca—not fast, not slow, but with that presence that made the room feel too small.
He stopped inches away.
"You're gonna have a hard time here," he murmured.
"Looking like that. Walking like that."
"Not knowing what the hell you want."
Luca didn't speak.
His breath was shallow.
His heart—thunder.
His limbs light and trembling.
And yet—he didn't move.
Marcus leaned in slightly, just enough that Luca could feel the heat from his skin. Not touching. But near.
"You want someone to protect you?" Marcus asked, voice low, rough, intimate in the worst way.
"Or do you want someone to ruin you a little first?"
The words hit like a slap and a kiss at once.
Luca's lips parted. But no answer came.
He couldn't tell what he felt—fear, arousal, guilt, need. All of it tangled, swelling, breaking the surface of something aching inside.
Marcus let the moment burn.
Then—he stepped back.
"Think about it," he said, heading for the door. "But not too long. This place eats the indecisive."
And with that—he was gone.
Luca stood alone, trembling, the scent of Marcus still in the air.
His pulse still racing.
His throat dry.
He sat slowly on the edge of the bed Marcus had just claimed, the pressure of his weight still impressed on the mattress. He touched it, like that would give him clarity.
It didn't.
It only made him feel the truth he didn't want to name:
He had never felt more wanted.
And never more lost.