The Moon Shines when the Sun Isn't Around

Part 42

THIS PART IS 12.3k WORDS LONG!!!!

King sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the box on the top shelf of his closet. It was small, nondescript, with a layer of dust covering the lid. For years, he had ignored it, forgotten it was even there. But today was different. Today, he needed to face it.

With a slow, deliberate motion, King stood and reached up, pulling the box down from the shelf. It felt heavier than he remembered, like it was carrying the weight of the past he thought he'd left behind. He sat back down, placing the box on his lap, his fingers hovering over the lid as memories flashed through his mind—memories of a time when he used to be someone else, someone more calculated, more distant from everything he cared about.

He didn't want to be that person again. But now? Now, with everything that had happened, he didn't know how to be anything else.

King flipped the lid open. Inside, nestled among a few old photos and keepsakes, was a single black key. It gleamed faintly in the dim light of his room, untouched by time, as though waiting for him to come back for it. He picked it up, feeling the cool metal against his palm.

The key had always been a symbol—something he had used in moments of transformation. When things became too much, too painful, this was the key he turned to.

With the key in hand, King crossed the room, moving toward the second closet. This one was different—larger, hidden in the shadows of his room, and locked. He placed the black key into the lock, hesitating for a moment before turning it. There was a soft click, and the door swung open.

Inside, the sight hit him with a wave of nostalgia and regret. Rows of black clothing hung neatly on hangers—suits, coats, and jackets, all meticulously organized. Shelves were lined with polished jewelry, each piece carefully chosen and crafted for a specific purpose. There were watches, rings, chains, glasses, and shades, all untouched since the last time he'd donned them. His eyes fell on the shoes—sleek, polished black shoes that seemed to belong to a different world.

And there, in the corner, hung the trench coat. His five-foot, flowing black trench coat that used to be a part of his identity. The coat had always been more than just clothing; it was a shield, a way of cloaking himself from the world and all its troubles.

King let out a deep, resigned sigh. He had promised himself he'd never come back to this. He had told himself that this was a version of him that belonged to the past. But now? Now it felt like the only version that could survive everything that had happened.

"It's fall," he muttered, as if that was reason enough to justify his decision. He reached for the rings first, sliding each one onto his fingers with practiced ease. The cold metal felt familiar, grounding him as he moved through the motions. He slipped on his favorite watch, its dark face gleaming under the light. Next came the glasses—black, sleek, reflective. They hid his eyes, making his expression unreadable, adding another layer of distance between him and the world.

Finally, he reached for the trench coat, feeling the weight of it as he lifted it from the hanger. He put it on, the fabric falling over his shoulders, enveloping him like a shadow. As he stood in front of the mirror, he barely recognized the person staring back at him. He looked... untouchable. Cold. Like he belonged to a world far removed from the one he had been living in.

But this was necessary. He told himself that as he adjusted his coat, pulling it tighter around him. He had a meeting later that day with a private party—something that required this version of him. But first, there was school.

King walked out of his room, the door swinging shut behind him. His steps were purposeful as he made his way through the house, his trench coat sweeping the floor with every movement. Outside, his blacked-out SUV was already waiting, flanked by two other vehicles. The bodyguards, dressed in their own black suits, stood at attention.