The Auxmino Theatre stood tall under the blazing afternoon sun, its chrome letters glinting like a challenge. Arin lingered just outside the entrance, half-hidden behind a towering movie poster, watching.
A man in his fifties strutted across the plaza. Snow-white hair caught the light from a hundred meters away, impossible to miss. His gut ballooned beneath a too-tight dress shirt, the bottom button hanging on by a thread, ready to surrender at any second. Short—noticeably shorter than Arin—he still walked like the world owed him tribute.
His fat hand slid around Lyra's waist, fingers digging in with lazy ownership. She didn't resist. Together they disappeared through the glass doors.
Arin watched them vanish through the glass doors, then slipped inside the Auxmino Theatre himself, blending seamlessly with the afternoon crowd.
"Oii! Arin!". Alex's voice cut across the sidewalk as he hopped off the public bus that had just pulled up at the stop.
Arin threw a quick wave over his shoulder, praying the idiot's voice didn't carry into the theater, then kept moving without breaking stride.
One by one, their classmates spilled out behind him, laughing, shoving, tickets already in hand. The line at the entrance moved quickly under the bright afternoon sun. There were still few minutes left before the film started.
Arin took his seat dead center in Row C. His four classmates dropped into the seats on his left, already whispering about the trailers. He sat motionless, spine straight, outwardly calm.
Then he heard her.
Lyra's voice, soft and unmistakable, drifting up from the row directly in front, just one seat off-center. She sat on the aisle side; right beside her, arm draped possessively along the back of her seat, was the same short, white-haired, fat-bellied bastard who had pawed her waist outside.
Arin was practically hovering above the guy, close enough that if he dropped his phone it would land in the man's lap.
'Hmm… They're talking something about marriage… I have to hear this,' he whispered to himself. He pulled his black hoodie low, shadowing his face, and leaned forward.
The house lights dropped. Advertisements flared across the massive screen, splashing colored light over the rows.
Arin listened.
"You know, Lyra darling… we should get married soon," the man murmured, voice thick with fake affection.
"I haven't really thought about it lately," Lyra answered evenly. "We'll see. By the way, why didn't you pick up my calls this morning? I called you several times."
"Oh… uh… just buried in office work, sweetheart. Didn't even get a chance to look at my phone," he replied without missing a beat.
Four minutes of oily small talk passed while Arin caught every word. Then came the sentence that made his blood boil.
"…and my last marriage fell apart because that woman was nothing but a gold-digger, you know?"
Arin's vision flashed crimson the instant the words left the man's lips.
A total lie. Every syllable.
Back at the park, when Jenny had broken down on that public bench, voice cracking as tears rolled down her cheeks, she had told Arin the ugly truth: how this same bloated leech had charmed her entire family, siphoned every last won of their savings with honeyed promises of "starting a business,". Then kicked her out like a stray dog the moment the money vanished, sneering that she was useless, worthless, nothing.
And now that parasite was spinning the exact same con on Lyra.
'This fat bastard is a walking liar… and now he wants to marry Lyra. No… I can't let another milf get robbed. I have to do something…'. Arin muttered under his breath and leaned back as the movie started.
…
The interval lights flared on, bathing the theater in harsh white. Arin's classmates groaned, stretched, and shuffled out for the restroom, leaving him alone in the half-empty row. He didn't move.
Below him, Lyra stood.
"Darling, I need to use the restroom. Stay put—I'll grab us popcorn on the way back," Lyra said, rising smoothly from her seat.
The white-haired man leaned in for a kiss. She turned her head at the last second, letting his lips graze only air.
He watched her go with small, piggy eyes, then immediately dug his phone out of his pocket, fat thumbs already scrolling, probably checking stocks or texting some side-chick.
A faint, satisfied smirk ghosted across Arin's face.
Lyra slipped out of the row and disappeared through the auditorium doors. Arin waited three heartbeats, then followed, silent as a shadow.
He loitered just outside the hall, hands buried in his hoodie pockets, until she emerged from the ladies' room.
She made a beeline for the concession stand, hips swaying under the bright lobby lights. Arin trailed her like a snake through tall grass—close enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume, far enough to seem accidental.
"Oh… hello, ma'am," he said, letting just the right amount of surprise color his voice. "Never thought we'd bump into each other again."
She turned, eyes lighting with recognition, and gave him that warm, effortless smile. "Hey, kid."
Arin tilted his head, feigning confusion. "Wait—I swear I've seen you on Fakebook. Are you the fitness influencer?"
Her smile widened, pleased. "You got me."
Arin already had his phone out, thumb hovering. "What's your handle again? I wanna make sure I've got the right one."
"Just type 'Fitness with Lyra,'" she said with an easy smile.
He punched it in right there, tapping the follow button while she watched. The little blue checkmark appeared instantly. Her follower count was still modest (she was only a few months into posting, a true beginner), but the notification clearly made her day.
"Thanks, ma'am," Arin said, sliding the phone back into his pocket with a shy grin. "Your videos show up in my feed sometimes. They're honestly super helpful."
A faint, pleasant warmth stirred low in her belly, nothing crazy, just… noticeable. Lyra blinked, surprised at herself, then smiled wider to cover it.
Arin gave a shy little smile and added softly, "That tip about pushing through your heels? It completely fixed my squats."
That second compliment landed like a match on dry grass. The warmth flared into a slow, liquid heat that curled through her thighs and made her press them together on instinct. A delicate flush climbed her neck, impossible to hide now.
"Next!" the cashier called.
Lyra blinked, snapping out of it, and stepped forward. "Two medium buckets, please."
She fumbled for her card. The cashier took it without comment.
Arin drifted half a step back, hands buried in his hoodie pockets, shoulders loose, expression mild.
But the heat coiling inside her refused to cool, pulsing in slow, heavy waves with every heartbeat.
She stole one quick glance back at him as the buckets were handed over.
Arin met her eyes and smiled, small, harmless, devastating.
Then he turned and melted into the crowd heading back to the auditorium, leaving her standing there with two buckets of popcorn and a body that suddenly felt far too awake.
'What was that sudden feeling…?'.
Lyra stared blankly at the two buckets in her arms, the lobby noise fading into a dull hum. She hadn't felt anything that raw, that alive, in years, not once throughout her entire fitness journey.
'That kid… there's something strange about him'. The words slipped from her lips in a soft, neutral murmur, her face betraying nothing while that stubborn heat still pulsed low in her core, slow and insistent, like it had no intention of leaving anytime soon.