Jim's hands trembled as he adjusted the lid of his laptop, refusing to meet Mauwa's gaze. The narrow desk felt like a bridge over a canyon, and Jim was determined not to cross it.
"I prefer to have my own space," Jim said, his voice clipped and formal. "I don't like being touched, Mauwa. I don't like people crowding me. I respect everyone's personal space, and I expect the same courtesy in return. It's about discipline and... and basic respect."
Mauwa didn't move. He leaned back, crossing his arms, a slow, challenging smile spreading across his face. "Respect? Is that what you call it? Or is it just another brick in that wall of yours? We're cousins, Jim. We're working on a project. Normal people sit next to each other."
"I am not 'normal' by your standards, and I'm thankful for it!" Jim shot back, his face flushing. "Your version of 'normal' involves crashing into people and putting your hands where they don't belong. I'm setting a boundary. That is my right."
Mauwa leaned forward, tapping the edge of the mahogany desk. "A boundary is for protection, Jim. But look at you. You're sitting five feet away, and you're still shaking. You're still sweating. If the distance was the problem, you'd be calm now. But you're not."
"I am calm!" Jim lied, his voice rising an octave.
"You're a glitching system," Mauwa whispered, his eyes glinting. "You think that by sitting across from me, you're safe. But the vulnerability isn't in where you sit, Jim. It's in the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching. You can move to the other side of the room, or the other side of the world, but you're still running the same program of fear."
"I am running a program of purity!" Jim hissed, slamming his laptop shut.
"Then why," Mauwa asked, his voice dropping to a hypnotic low, "does it feel like you're just waiting for me to find a way around your firewall again?"
Meanwhile, the atmosphere at the Loved house was deceptively peaceful. Mrs. Loved, carrying a tray of empty lemonade glasses, pushed open the door to Jared's bedroom. She had checked on them earlier to bring them lunch, and now, a few hours later, she found the room draped in the soft glow of the afternoon sun.
Both boys were asleep. Jared was curled up on the far side of his bed, clutching a pillow as if it were a life raft. Mike was sprawled in the armchair by the window, his head tilted back, his long legs stretched out.
Mrs. Loved smiled, her heart melting at the sight. Poor boys, they must have worked so hard, she thought. She picked up a light throw blanket from the foot of the bed and stepped toward Mike, gently draping it over his broad shoulders.
The moment the fabric touched him, Mike's eyes snapped open. The "creepy" predator was gone for a split second, replaced by a sharp, instinctive alertness. He relaxed when he saw it was only her.
"Oh! I'm sorry, dear. I didn't mean to wake you," Mrs. Loved whispered. "You looked so tired."
"It's fine, Mrs. Loved," Mike said, his voice thick with sleep as he sat up and rubbed his face. He glanced at the bed, where Jared remained motionless. "I think it's time I headed out. We've done enough...for one day."
"Already? Oh, stay for dinner! I'm making a roast, and I'd love to have a bright young man like you at the table."
"Thank you, but I really should get back to the University," Mike replied, standing up and stretching like a cat. "I have a few other 'projects' that need my attention."
Their hushed conversation acted like an alarm for Jared. He had been pretending to sleep to avoid more of Mike's unsettling "mentoring," but hearing that his tormentor was finally leaving made him "wake up" with a dramatic yawn.
"Mom?" Jared muttered, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. "Is... is Mike leaving?"
"Yes, honey," Mrs. Loved beamed, walking over to pat Jared's forehead. "And look at you! You look fully recovered."
Jared looked at Mike, who was standing by the door, his leather jacket slung over his shoulder. Mike caught Jared's eye and winked—a slow, deliberate movement that promised this was far from over.
"Yeah," Jared whispered, a chill running down his spine despite his 'healed' status. "A real miracle."
***
The study was thick with unspoken tension, the air still crackling from Jim and Mauwa's argument about boundaries and purity. Jim sat rigid, convinced he had won the ideological battle by establishing physical distance, while Mauwa leaned back, utterly sure he had exposed Jim's hypocrisy.
"You can call it 'purity' all you want, Jim," Mauwa said, resting his elbow on the desk. "But pure gold is soft. You're trying to be pure iron—hard, brittle, and freezing."
"And you're just cheap brass—loud and easily tarnished," Jim countered, gripping the edge of the desk.
Before the argument could escalate further, the study door swung open and Father Oliver stood there, a look of solemn satisfaction on his face.
"Excellent," Father Oliver boomed, pleased by the sight. "I see you two are engaging in a serious scholarly debate. This is precisely what I had hoped for. Good work, Mauwa, for drawing your cousin out of his shell. You are facing each other, looking one another in the eye, as scholars should. Continue your work, but remember the hour. God bless your focus."
Father Oliver shut the door. Jim felt a hot wave of fury and utter defeat wash over him. His deliberate act of separating himself had been misread by his father as "engaging." He was still trapped, and now Father Oliver had inadvertently mandated the confrontation.
Mauwa let out a low, victorious sigh. He picked up his laptop, effortlessly moved his chair across the room, and sat down right next to Jim again.
"See, Jim?" Mauwa whispered, leaning in just close enough to be a distraction. "The world has a sense of humor. Your father just revoked your firewall command. Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Scanning."
Back at the Loved residence, Jared was finally free. Mike had departed, leaving Jared's mother utterly charmed and Jared himself deeply unnerved. Jared sat on his bed, frantically trying to debug the memory of Mike's predatory smile.
He needed air. He walked downstairs, intending to step out into the yard, but stopped in the hallway when he heard a voice.
Mike was standing by his motorcycle in the driveway, talking on his phone. His polished, charming demeanor was gone. His posture was slumped, and his voice was tight with stress and frustration.
Jared instinctively stepped back behind the living room curtain, curiosity warring with caution.
"Look, I don't care about your feelings on the matter!" Mike snapped into the phone. "I need access. I'm not spending another night sleeping on the bleachers, damn it! I just got back from three hours of driving, and I have a project that needs a computer."
Mike paused, listening to the response, his jaw clenching. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair.
"No, I don't have a key! Because you were supposed to leave it with the neighbor, but the neighbor is gone!" Mike's voice dropped to a desperate, ragged whisper. "If the house is locked, where in God's name does he expect me to sleep tonight?"
He listened again, then let out a sound of pure, bitter disgust. "Fine. Fine. I'll figure it out. Don't expect me back until the semester is over." Mike furiously disconnected the call, slamming his phone into his jacket pocket. He leaned his head against the handlebars of his motorcycle, taking a long, ragged breath that bordered on a shudder. His usual persona was completely shattered.
Jared, unable to contain his shock, let the curtain drop from his hand. The swoosh of the fabric instantly drew Mike's attention.
Mike's head snapped up. His eyes widened in shock when he saw Jared standing there, frozen in the doorway, his face reflecting utter surprise. Mike's immediate reaction was a flash of naked, furious vulnerability.
"Jared?" Mike stammered, his body language shifting instantly from exhausted adult to exposed aggressor. "What are you doing here?"
Jared, however, was too stunned to be scared. He stared at the man who had terrified him hours earlier, realizing this menacing mentor wasn't just a—he was a guy with genuine, crushing family problems.
"Your house... it's locked?" Jared asked, his voice barely a whisper. "You don't have anywhere to stay tonight?"
Mike swallowed hard, the charming, predatory mask struggling to re-form and failing miserably. The realization that Jared had heard everything was a fresh layer of humiliation.
Mike's moment of vulnerability vanished as quickly as a shadow in the sun. Seeing the pity in Jared's eyes was more than his pride could handle. He straightened his back, the sharp, mocking mask sliding back into place like a visor.
"What's the matter, Jared?" Mike challenged, his voice cold and daring. "Are you feeling sorry for me? If you're so worried about my sleeping arrangements, why don't you do the hospitable thing and let me spend the night? We could share your bedroom—since we're such good friends now."
Jared's face turned a violent shade of red. The sympathy he had felt seconds ago was incinerated by Mike's relentless arrogance.
"You are unbelievable!" Jared lashed out, his voice shaking with fury. "I don't feel pity for you! I was just asking a question. You think everything is a game or a way to get under my skin. I don't care if you sleep on the bleachers or the street! Just get on your bike and go wherever it is you actually belong!"
"Is there a problem out here?"
The screen door creaked open, and Mrs. Loved stepped out onto the porch, her brow furrowed with concern as she looked between the two bickering boys.
Jared froze. His instinct was to scream the truth—to tell his mother that Mike was a homeless bully who was trying to manipulate his way into their house. But as he looked at Mike, he saw the minute tension in the older boy's jaw. Mike was braced for the impact of a total loss of dignity.
Jared realized then that Mike's "unreasonable" offer wasn't a real request; it was a smoke screen. Mike would rather be hated and kicked out than be seen as someone who needed a place to sleep.
"It's nothing, Mom," Jared said, his voice dropping as he forced a calm he didn't feel. "Mike was just... being dramatic about his commute back to the University. He's heading home now." He looked directly at Mike, his eyes hard. "Right, Mike? You have a long drive and a very comfortable bed waiting for you."
Mrs. Loved smiled, relieved. "Oh, good. I was worried you two were fighting. Safe travels, Mike! You're welcome back anytime."
Mike stared at Jared for a long, silent beat. The power dynamic had shifted again. Jared had saved him from humiliation, and Mike hated him for it. Without a word, Mike swung his leg over his motorcycle, kicked the engine to life, and roared out of the driveway without looking back.
Jared stood on the porch, watching the taillight disappear. He realized that Mike's cruelty was just a cage built to hide a very messy, very broken life.