Page 54 of Glitched Fates & Stolen Mates

Feeling sick so gone home early. Don’t worry, see you tomorrow. Love you. x

Outside, the night air was crisp and sharp after the stifling heat of the arena. Kit quickly led us to the nearest taxi bay.

I hesitated before climbing into the front seat. I usually hated talking to taxi drivers—all that forced small talk, the pressure to be entertaining or at least polite. But I wasn’t sure I could handle being in the back with Kit right now. Not with this tension radiating between us.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

Kit gave his address, then the engine rumbled to life, and we pulled away from the kerb into the Saturday night traffic.

I stared out the window at the passing streetlights, trying not to completely freak out. Kit remained absolutely silent in the back, but I could feel his presence like a weight pressing against my shoulders. The air in the cab felt thick and charged, like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm.

Every few seconds, I caught the driver’s eyes flicking to the rearview mirror, probably wondering what our deal was. The silence echoed in my ears. I couldn’t help feeling like we were building towards something that felt oddly… monumental?

We finally pulled up on a residential road lined with Victorian terraces. The meter ticked over to an eye-watering amount that made me wince, but Kit mumbled a thank you and leaned forward to tap his card.

Then we were alone on the pavement, the taxi’s red taillights disappearing into the London night.

“It’s this one,” Kit said, gesturing towards a three-storey house that had clearly been converted into flats. His ground floor flat had its own separate entrance, painted cherry red.

I followed him miserably up the short path, wishing I was already tucked up in my own bed.

Inside, Kit’s flat was… nice. Really nice. Far nicer than mine—no wonder he’d made that comment about the size of my place. The living area was homely in a way that surprised me. Plants everywhere, trailing ivy cascading from floating shelves, colourful succulents clustered on windowsills. Lots of bright knick-knacks scattered about—ceramic bowls, framed photographs, what looked like handmade pottery.

One of those classic Pixar desk lamps curved over a comfy-looking sofa I almost wanted to throw myself onto. The whole space felt warm and lived-in, nothing like the sterile bachelor pad I’d expected.

For a moment, I almost forgot the strange circumstances of my being there. When it all rushed back, I hovered in the middle of a stripy rug, one arm clutching the other.

Kit went straight to the open-plan kitchen, hands moving restlessly over the granite worktop. “Are you hungry? Can I get you something?”

He looked hopeful, almost desperate. Maybe he wanted to delay this conversation we apparently needed to have.

Food would help settle my churning stomach.

“Um… could I maybe just get some toast or something?”

Relief flickered across Kit’s face, and he nodded quickly. “Yeah, of course. Butter? Jam?”

“Jam would be great.”

I watched him move around the kitchen, pulling bread from a wooden bin. Everything about his movements screamed nervous energy barely held in check.

“I’m going to use your bathroom,” I said quietly, heading for the doorway. I was desperate for a moment alone, plus I’d decided to just strip off this revolting beer-soaked shirt that kept sticking to my skin.

“It’s just down the hall,” Kit called after me.

The corridor stretched ahead with four doors, all shut. I headed for the furthest one and twisted the handle.

Light flooded the space as I flicked the switch.

Not the bathroom.

I blinked, taking in the scene before me.

It was Kit’s bedroom.

I took a half step backwards, intending to switch off the light and close the door, but found myself pausing. Curious, despite everything.

The room was sparse compared to the colourful living area. A wooden chair in the corner. A large oak wardrobe with some shirts hanging off the door handle. The space was mostly dominated by a massive bed with an ornate iron frame that looked like it belonged in a period drama.