Chapter Eleven.
Klein woke to a dull ache that seemed to have settled into every muscle of his body.
It was ridiculous.
He'd done intense workouts before—on the rare occasions when motivation struck him, which happened about once in a blue moon—and even those had never left him feeling this sore. This was different. Every muscle seemed to protest at the slightest movement, as though his body had collectively decided to file a formal complaint against him.
He lay there for a moment, staring blankly at the unfamiliar ceiling.
What the hell happened to me?
"..."
Klein shifted beneath the blankets, trying to find a more comfortable position.
The attempt immediately proved to be a mistake.
A sharp ache traveled through his body, and he stiffened, grimacing as soreness flared through muscles he hadn't even realized were capable of hurting. His shoulders felt heavy, his back was strangely tender, and even the slightest movement of his hips made him instinctively tense.
Then there was another sensation.
Something sticky.
Klein paused.
He frowned and carefully shifted again, trying to determine where the uncomfortable feeling was coming from.
It seemed to be concentrated around his lower body.
"...What?"
His brows furrowed.
The sensation was unpleasantly noticeable now that he'd become aware of it. His skin felt tacky beneath the sheets, leaving him with the vague but persistent feeling that something had been spilled—or worse, left behind.
He swallowed.
For a moment, he simply lay there, staring at the ceiling.
Maybe he had sweated excessively during the night?
That was possible.
Although...
His memory of last night was far too fragmented for him to be certain of anything.
Klein slowly lifted the blanket and glanced downward.
His expression immediately became complicated.
"..."
He couldn't quite explain what he was looking at.
There were faint traces of something on his skin and the sheets, enough to make his stomach twist with discomfort.
He rubbed his forehead.
What happened last night?
He tried to remember.
His memory arrived in fragments.
The answer hovered just beyond his reach.
He frowned harder, trying to grasp the fragments of memory drifting through his mind like scraps of paper caught in the wind.
Pitch-black eyes.
An infuriating grin.
A voice that never seemed to take anything seriously.
The moment those memories began stitching themselves together, Klein's expression froze.
"..."
His face slowly lost all color. He shut his eyes immediately, as though refusing to acknowledge reality would somehow undo it.
It didn't.
The silence in the room only made the memories clearer.
"..."
"...I actually lived through that."
The realization landed with astonishing weight.
His ears burned. Heat crept from the tips of his ears to his neck until his entire face felt ready to burst into flames.
Klein quietly pulled the blanket over his head.
Five seconds passed.
Ten.
Fifteen.
"..."
"I don't want to wake up anymore." Klein said expressionlessly.
Unfortunately, the universe appeared to have no intention of granting him that mercy.
His stomach growled.
"..."
Klein slowly sat up, and that was the first time he realized he wasn't in the bed alone.
He froze.
For a moment, he didn't move.
There was a faint weight beside him.
Someone else was lying on the mattress. Klein's eyes slowly shifted to the side.
A man was sleeping there.
He was lying on his chest, his face turned slightly to the side, leaving his bare back exposed.
Klein's eyes unconsciously traced the unfamiliar figure.
Then they stopped.
There were scratches.
Long, red marks stretched across the man's back and shoulders, some more prominent than others. A few had already begun to fade, while others were still clearly visible against his pale skin.
It looked as though the man had been attacked by a particularly hostile cat.
Klein stared at the scratches.
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
A deep blush slowly spread across his face.
The scene looked far too intimate.
...Did we really—?
He immediately looked away, his ears burning.
Then his gaze returned to the scratches.
"..."
A strange thought surfaced.
I should've scratched him more.
Klein's expression slowly darkened.
Not from embarrassment this time.
From irritation.
If this infuriating stranger had been shameless enough to leave him in this state, then perhaps those scratches weren't nearly enough.
Klein glanced at the sleeping man.
"...Serves you right."
He paused.
Actually, I should've drawn blood.
For some reason, that thought made him feel slightly better.
Though not nearly enough.
Klein stared at the sleeping man.
The irritation returned in full force.
I wish I could shoot a supernova at him.
Klein sighed as he slowly and carefully lifted the blanket, trying to get out without waking the person on the other side of the bed.
Every movement was deliberate.
Painfully deliberate.
He shifted one leg toward the edge of the mattress.
So far, so good.
Then the other.
He paused.
The stranger didn't move.
Klein silently exhaled in relief. Even though he was angry, he was more afraid that the strange psychotic young man would wake up.
You can never argue with a psycho!
All he needed to do was stand up, find his clothes, figure out where the hell he was, and leave before this nightmare could somehow become even worse.
Simple.
Easy, in theory.
Klein carefully placed one foot on the floor.
The moment his weight shifted forward, a sharp ache shot through his leg.
His knee buckled. And something was leaking from his ass, flowing down in his thighs.
"...!"
Crazy bastard!
He hurriedly grabbed the edge of the mattress, barely managing to stop himself from falling.
His legs felt like jelly!
Klein's breathing hitched. He looked down.
And immediately regretted it.
His eyes widened.
There, scattered across the inside of his thigh, were several unmistakable marks.
Bite marks.
Not just one.
Not two.
There were enough of them that Klein stared in stunned silence, his brain refusing to process what his eyes were seeing.
The marks varied in size, some faint and already fading while others were still painfully red.
It looked less like one person had bitten him and more like an entire pack of particularly enthusiastic dogs had decided to use his leg as a chew toy.
"..."
Klein's face slowly turned crimson.
His hand tightened around the edge of the mattress.
What the hell happened last night?!
The bed creaked.
Klein froze.
His entire body went rigid.
Silence.
He slowly turned his head.
The stranger remained motionless.
Still asleep.
Klein stared at him for several seconds before cautiously releasing the breath he'd been holding.
That was close.
It was then when Klein saw the young man's face clearly for the first time.
With the morning light filtering softly into the room, there was no longer anything obscuring his features.
He was a handsome young man, with unruly curls of black hair framing his face. His broad forehead and slender, finely sculpted features gave him an almost aristocratic appearance, even in sleep. His closed eyes and relaxed expression softened his otherwise striking features, leaving him with an almost serene beauty.
Yet there was something faintly unsettling about how effortlessly elegant he looked.
Even asleep, he carried himself with the quiet refinement of someone who seemed born to stand above others.
Klein stared for a moment.
"..."
What an annoyingly handsome bastard.
It was almost unfair.
Someone who looked this elegant had no business being such a complete psychopath.
Klein's gaze lingered for another second before he hurriedly looked away.
No.
Absolutely not.
He was not going to be distracted by someone's face.
Especially not his face.
Klein had more important things to worry about.
Like escaping.
Unfortunately, standing was beginning to look increasingly unrealistic.
Klein glanced toward the door, then at his legs, before looking back toward the door.
"..." He quietly sighed.
Fine. If he couldn't walk, then he would crawl. There was no dignity left to preserve anyway.
Klein slowly lowered himself toward the floor, biting back a groan when another wave of soreness traveled through his body.
His palms touched the carpet.
Soft and warm.
Thankfully, it was thick enough to keep the floor from feeling too cold against his skin.
Klein paused there for a moment, looking at himself.
A grown man, crawling across an unfamiliar bedroom, naked, sore, and covered in suspicious marks while trying to escape from a strange, psychotic young man sleeping peacefully in his bed.
"..."
How did my life become this ridiculous?
He refused to think about it.
Klein began crawling, slowly and painfully, each movement requiring far more effort than it should have.
He dragged himself forward with his arms, carefully shifting his knees across the carpet. One hand, then the other, followed by another painful shuffle.
He stopped.
"..."
His body protested.
Klein glared down at himself. "Be cooperative," he muttered under his breath.
His body, naturally, ignored him.
He continued crawling, pausing every few feet to make sure the mattress behind him hadn't moved.
Nothing.
The stranger was still asleep.
Good.
Klein kept his eyes fixed on the floor ahead until something caught his attention—a piece of black fabric.
His clothes.
Klein's eyes lit up.
Finally.
He crawled faster, or at least what he considered faster.
His discarded clothes were scattered across the carpet as though someone had simply thrown them aside without a care. His shirt lay several feet away, his trousers were closer to the edge of the bed, and one sock had somehow ended up beneath a nearby chair.
Klein stared at the scene.
"..."
He didn't even remember taking them off.
Actually, he didn't want to remember.
Klein reached for the nearest piece of clothing and grabbed it, clutching the fabric like a drowning man holding onto a lifeline.
My clothes.
My beautiful, innocent clothes.
He pulled the shirt toward himself and hugged it briefly before remembering that he was currently naked.
"...Get a grip, Klein."
He began gathering the rest of his clothes, collecting his trousers, underwear, socks, and everything else he could find.
At least his shoes were still nearby.
Klein breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
He had almost finished collecting everything when a faint rustling came from behind him.
Klein froze, his hand stopping halfway toward his trousers.
Slowly, he turned his head.
The bed remained still.
The stranger was still lying there.
Klein stared.
Nothing.
He waited several seconds before finally exhaling.
I'm becoming paranoid.
He looked down at the clothes in his arms.
Understandable.
After everything that had happened, paranoia was practically a survival instinct.
Klein carefully gathered his clothes against his chest and began crawling toward the nearest corner of the room.
He would dress there, find the door, and leave. He didn't care where he was, who this man was, or what had happened.
He was going home.
He was going to take a shower, sleep for twelve hours, and pretend none of this had ever happened.
A perfect plan.
Absolutely flawless.
Klein nodded to himself.
Then his stomach growled.
"..." He lowered his head in resignation. Fine. After food.
There were limits to how much suffering one human being could endure before breakfast.