Page 63 of Once in a Lifetime, Part 2

Mano didn’t answer.

Ody pushed himself up on one elbow. “I’m asking you.”

He stayed quiet.

“Are we not okay? Did I miss something?”

Mano finally looked at him, and something about how calm he was didn’t sit right. “We’re fine.”

“Then why—”

“Just because you have fun with someone doesn’t mean you stay with them.”

Ody stared at him. Then he nodded. “Okay.” His voice didn’t sound the same. He threw the covers off and stood. “I’ll go to the living room.” He headed for the bedroom door and opened it. “Get some sleep.” He walked out without looking back. The couch creaked under his weight as he dropped onto it, restless.

In the morning, Mano woke up late and noticed the empty side of the bed. The living room was empty too. Ody was gone.

A weight settled over him, but he pushed it down before it could turn into anything else. He had a quick breakfast and got ready for the gym.

By the time he locked his things in the locker, his mind was already drifting back to Ody. He tried to ignore it and focus on his routine, but it didn’t work.

At the squat rack, he finished his third set and stayed there, breathing heavily as he stared at his reflection. Last night sat heavy in his chest, but he pushed through the rest of the workout anyway.

Sweat clung to his skin when he reached the locker room. He showered in cold water, trying to clear his head, but the heaviness stayed. Then he dried off, took a few sips from his water bottle, and got dressed.

With his phone in hand, he headed for the elevator, a faint heaviness settling into his limbs that he brushed off as post-workout fatigue. Just as the doors were about to close, a hand stopped them. Mano looked up. A tall, heavily built man in his thirties stood in the doorway, his frame filling it, bigger than most men in the room. Dark hair, a short, trimmed beard, and full tattoo sleeves that stretched over his hands and down his fingers.

“Down to parking?” he asked.

Mano nodded and the man stepped in.

Something about him felt familiar. Mano looked at him a little longer. Then it clicked. The squat rack. The guy who’d been lifting more than him.

His attention dropped back to his phone. Ody’s name on the screen made something tighten inside him. He opened the message, reading.

I didn’t like what happened yesterday… or sleeping on the couch instead of next to you. And the way you keep talking like we won’t last… like this is just temporary. You’ve been doing that since Serifos, and you’re still doing it now. I could ignore it. Pretend everything’s fine. Not text you. But I don’t want to do that with you. So please… can we talk? I’ll let you decide this time. Just call me when you’re ready

Mano exhaled, forgetting he wasn’t alone. He stared at the message for another second. He wanted to answer. Tell Ody he was wrong. Tell him he wasn’t temporary, that he wasn’t pushing him away because he didn’t care.

The doors opened and he stepped out first, Ody’s chat still open on his phone. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, ready to type. The parking lot felt colder than it should. Something was off. His head felt heavy, his thoughts slowing as each step took more effort than the last. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but it only blurred further.

His legs gave out, the impact coming too fast.

Then nothing.

His eyes struggled to open, everything in his body feeling unbearably heavy. When they finally did, the ceiling came into focus first, white, with scattered lights above him.

He pushed himself up slowly, the surface beneath him unfamiliar. A couch. Not his. His eyes moved around the room, taking in the dark walls, the glass railing above, the empty fireplace built into the wall, all clean lines and polished surfaces, too expensive.

What the fuck—

He pushed himself to his feet and went straight for the door. His fingers closed around the handle. He pulled, but it didn’t open. A sharp wave of panic hit his chest.

“Leaving so soon?”

Mano spun around.

The man from the elevator was making his way down from the second floor, dressed neatly now, a white button-down stretched across his chest and arms. The fabric pulled tight over his muscles, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the tattoos running down to his fingers. His movements were calm. Controlled.