The Lair of the Victim

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Jake's POV:

Here I was again, seemingly wasting my time on something that felt utterly meaningless. I found myself in Chris's building, riding the elevator up to the eighth floor, and eventually entering apartment 804. I plopped down on the couch, wondering what had led me to this point, and eagerly anticipating the promised token of gratitude from my intended victim.


The strange part was that I hadn't planned any of this – I had somehow agreed to have coffee in his apartment. I couldn't quite fathom what had come over me, or why I had assented to his invitation.


Taking in my surroundings, I noted the stark contrast between Chris's well-kept and inviting living space and my own preferences. I tended to favor dimly lit, atmospheric dens, while he clearly preferred a more hospitable and open ambiance.


The neatness of his home nearly made me want to gag, but I couldn't exactly vocalize that. I was about to comment on it when Chris returned to the living room, bearing a hearty clubhouse sandwich and a glass of Kool-Aid Strawberry Juice.


"Eat up, and if you like, I can give you a tour of the place," he offered, a warm smile gracing his features. He then headed back to the kitchen, leaving me alone with the food and my own thoughts.


"Thanks," I muttered, examining the sandwich. I wasn't much of a vegetable guy, so I deftly picked out the lettuce and other greens, discarding them discreetly. I washed the sandwich down with the sweet juice and decided to take the empty plate and glass to the kitchen myself.


As I reached the kitchen, I noticed Chris emerging from the bathroom, his torso bare. His wet hair clung to his skin, enhancing his overall appeal. For a moment, I found myself utterly shocked by his appearance, causing me to drop the plate and glass, both of which shattered on the floor.


In the midst of our joint efforts to clean up the mess, I held his shoulder and helped him to his feet, our proximity sparking an unexpected connection that neither of us could ignore.

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