𝔽ℝ𝔸𝔾𝕀𝕃𝔼

𖠘

FLASHBACK

He hated the empty feeling that came with the end of the day, the silence of an empty house, and the feeling of being invisible to everyone around him. That was when he usually retreated into his own world, pretending he wasn't hurting, pretending that it was okay to be alone.

But then, he heard it—Mercy's voice.

"Hey, freak." It was low, laced with a mocking tone, but there was something else behind the words. A hint of curiosity, maybe even amusement.

Osyair froze in his tracks. The voice was unmistakable. Mercy.

He turned around to see Mercy, leaning against the lockers with his usual nonchalant expression. Mercy wasn't like the other guys at school. He was different—intense, unpredictable, and with a look in his eyes that made Osyair feel exposed in a way he couldn't quite explain.

At that moment, Osyair felt an undeniable pull. Something about Mercy's presence, the way he looked at him, made Osyair's heart race. But it wasn't just the usual sense of attraction—it was deeper than that. Mercy had an air about him, something dangerous and magnetic, something that made Osyair feel like he was both scared and intrigued. He couldn't look away, even though part of him wanted to.

"Who the hell are you looking at?" Mercy's voice cut through Osyair's thoughts. There was no malice in it, just an arrogance that Osyair couldn't help but be drawn to. Mercy pushed himself off the lockers, taking a few steps toward Osyair. He was at least a few inches taller, standing with an easy confidence that seemed to fill the hallway.

"Uhm... No one." Osyair mumbled, but it wasn't convincing. His hands were shaking slightly, his heart thudding in his chest. Mercy's gaze never wavered. Mercy had a way of making him feel like there was no escape, like he was trapped, but in a way that made him want to stay.

Mercy studied him for a moment longer, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "You're weird," he said bluntly. "But I like weird. Makes things interesting."

Osyair didn't know how to respond to that. He was used to being called weird, but this felt different. Mercy wasn't mocking him in the same way everyone else did. There was something deeper in his words, something more... curious.

"I don't bite," Mercy added after a moment, his voice taking on a softer edge, but it was still that same intense, commanding tone. "Well, not unless you want me to."

Osyair was taken aback. His chest tightened, and he swallowed nervously. The way Mercy was looking at him... it was like he could see straight through him. Like Mercy knew there was something broken inside Osyair and was willing to explore it.

"I... I don't know what you want from me," Osyair said quietly, his voice trembling slightly. His insecurities started to rise, but he fought them back. He hated how weak his voice sounded. But Mercy didn't seem to mind.

Mercy stepped closer, closing the gap between them until there was barely any space left. He raised his hand, gently brushing a strand of Osyair's hair behind his ear. "I don't want anything from you, Osyair." He said Osyair's name with such ease, like he already owned it. "I'm just curious. You're... different, and I like that."

The words hit Osyair like a punch to the gut. Different? He was used to being ignored, discarded, or made fun of. He wasn't used to being noticed like this. Not by someone like Mercy—someone who had this dangerous aura about him. And yet, here Mercy was, standing right in front of him, not treating him like a freak.

"You shouldn't," Osyair whispered, almost to himself. "I'm not someone you should get close to."

Mercy raised an eyebrow, the smirk fading into something more serious. "Why? Because you're broken?"

Osyair didn't answer. He looked away, not wanting Mercy to see the shame in his eyes. But Mercy was quick, grabbing his chin and forcing him to meet his gaze. Mercy's eyes were intense, searching Osyair's face for the truth.

"You're not broken, Osyair," Mercy said softly, though the words felt heavy, like a promise—or maybe a warning. "You just haven't found the right person to put you back together."

And that was it. That was the moment everything changed.

For the first time in his life, Osyair felt seen—not for his brokenness, not for the mistakes he'd made, but for who he really was. Mercy didn't care about the pieces Osyair had scattered across the floor. Mercy didn't care that Osyair had a past full of scars, that he had a reputation for being unstable, for being unpredictable. Mercy was drawn to him. Mercy wanted him.

That night, they didn't talk much. Mercy's quiet presence was enough. They walked around the empty streets together, just the two of them, with no one else around to judge. The world felt smaller with Mercy beside him, like the weight of everything he carried wasn't so heavy when Mercy was around. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Osyair allowed himself to just breathe.

It didn't take long before things got more intense. They both knew that something was happening between them—something neither of them could deny. Mercy was possessive, always pulling Osyair closer when anyone else even looked at him. And Osyair? He couldn't get enough of Mercy's intensity, the way Mercy claimed him in ways that felt both comforting and terrifying at the same time.

"I don't want you to leave me," Mercy had confessed one night, his voice low, a tinge of vulnerability hidden beneath the confident exterior. And Osyair, without thinking, had nodded, pulling Mercy into a kiss that sealed the truth between them.

They didn't need to speak the words—Mercy knew he would never let Osyair go, and Osyair knew the same. Their bond was already too deep, too tangled, and no one would come between them. Not now. Not ever.