A finger on a button. The smell of fresh coffee being poured into a cup.

“So why’d you move out here, then?”

“Hm?” Cole looked up, distracted from his thoughts. His fingers were hovering over his laptop's keyboard, his writer's block was in full swing, and his brain was having a laugh at his own expense.

Springtime meant that every student everywhere was busy studying and fretting over piles of midterms, and Cole was no exception. The sunny disposition of the world outside was at odds with his internal feelings of total despair as he stared at the blinking cursor on his half-finished page.

His roommate retrieved her filled cup from the coffee machine. "This apartment. It's a bit far from Brigham, isn't it? I thought that was on the other side of the city."

"Oh, yeah." Cole closed his laptop and drank from his own forgotten cup. It had gone cold, and he winced as it went down his throat. "I like the scenery here, though."

That was part of the truth. Their little apartment was located atop a hill overlooking the entire city, and on clear days Cole could see right across the lake to the border from his bedroom window.

"Wow, you are nuts." His roommate seated herself across from him and yawned, rubbing her eyes. "A two-hour commute by train either way to university? I don't think I'd take that even if our apartment was looking over the Grand Canyon, dude."

Cole shrugged and gulped down another mouthful of his unintentional semi-cold brew.

"What are you working on?"

"An essay." Cole shrugged again, trying to seem nonchalant. "On contemporary literature."

His roommate looked at him with sympathy. "Midterms?"

"Yeah."

They both shared a moment of glum camaraderie in silence. "That sucks, man."

"Yeah."

His roommate abruptly stood and stretched, changing the subject. "I'm going to be out at my boyfriend's for a couple of days. Do you mind taking the compost down for the weekend?"

"Nah, that's fine."

"Alright, thanks. See you, then." She left the room. He heard her footsteps heading down the stairs, followed by the slamming of the back door a moment later as she went out.

Cole exhaled and slumped back in his chair. His essay, which was supposed to be well over six pages long, was due in four days. Shame, stemming from his idleness over the past three weeks, was beginning to haunt him—but it wasn't strong enough yet to turn him away from his continued procrastination.

It had been so easy to declare that he was going to be a writer, he reflected. He liked writing, and he liked words, so it had seemed like a natural fit at the time. But he hadn't anticipated the reams of formal essays and soul-draining reports that came with getting a Proper Writing Education, and he was starting to regret his purported choice of career.

Moping around and waiting for ideas to come wasn't going to do him any good. Cole decided to head out for a walk. He powered down his laptop, finished off the last of his coffee, and washed his breakfast dishes.

The birds were singing like ringing carillons when he finally stepped outside, blinking as he took in the fresh sunlight and cloying summer heat. He locked the door behind him and started down the lane.

He'd only been in this area of North Canley for about a month, so everything was still relatively new to him, but even then some part of him felt an uneasy disquiet about the place. Neighbours waved rhythmically and dogs made no sound. Every lawn was immaculately trimmed and every house was painted the same shade of eggshell white. It was like the whole avenue was a death's row of dollhouses.

The city centre wasn't much better. Buildings leered at him with reflective glass, bouncing his reflections off of each other so that four or five of them were following him up the street at any time. He kept his arms close to his sides, feeling more than slightly self-conscious as he passed his fellow pedestrians.

A soft rain started up, and Cole belatedly cursed his lack of an umbrella as he pulled his hood over his head—it had been sunny only a few moments ago, hadn’t it? He glanced around for nearby shelter, wiping water from his brow, and his eyes fell on a nearby café. Open 24 hours, its sign said. Midnight Coffee.

Well, he could do with a hot drink.

The bell chimed as he pushed open the door. Strangely, the café was almost entirely empty, except for the waiter cleaning one of the tables. He straightened up as Cole entered and offered him a perfect smile with gleaming white teeth. “Raining outside, is it?”

“Er, yeah.” Cole awkwardly fumbled with his bag, rummaging around for his wallet. "Is it usually this empty?"

"We only serve special customers like yourself." The waiter winked, and Cole felt a blush working its way up through his body. "Isaac. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Nicholas. My friends call me Cole."

Isaac raised an eyebrow. "Would I be one of your friends?"

The blush hit Cole's face, where it bloomed and blossomed. "Yeah. Yes, very much so."

"Well, then! Happy to make your acquaintance, Cole.” Isaac grinned and bowed to Cole with exaggerated formality, sweeping his arms forward and to the side. “Ordering anything? Our specialty is black coffee. Midnight, like the sign."

"Oh, no, I'm not really a black coffee kind of person." Cole shrugged sheepishly.

"Really? Why's that?"

"Too bitter."

"In that case…" Isaac neatly folded the cloth he'd been using to clean the table, draping it over his forearm in one fluid motion. "I'll be sure to make it sweet just for you."

He left for the back before Cole could say another word, leaving him feeling more than slightly speechless and unsure of how to proceed. He sat down gingerly. His brain was saying that this sort of thing didn’t just happen, that beautiful people like Isaac didn’t hit on people like Cole, that he probably did his little routine with every customer who walked in, that something probably wasn’t right, that Isaac was too good for Cole—but his heart was pounding and pounding, and he was suddenly in the grips of a very large and very painful crush that made it rather hard to swallow…

I should have worn something nicer, he thought.

“I hope you like mochaccino,” said Isaac from behind him, making Cole jump about a foot into the air. He set the teacup and saucer before Cole on the table with a soft clink. “It’s my own recipe. Melted white chocolate, roasted arabica, a dash of vanilla, a touch of cream, and a secret ingredient.”

“Thank you.” Cole stared at the little cup. “You didn’t have to.”

“Nah, I’ve got nothing but time in this place.” Isaac pulled up a chair and rested his chin on steepled fingers. “Go on, have a taste. Bet you’ll like it.”

Cole brought the cup to his lips and sipped. Flavours hit his tongue and opened up in layers, revealing creamy, sweet overtures and hints of dark undertones. It would have been akin to biting into an orange, had citrus trees borne chocolate instead of fruit.

Isaac was watching him closely. “How do you like it?”

“Oh. Holy shit. Wow. It’s amazing.”

A huge grin unfolded on Isaac’s face. “Told you so.”

“Um, how much—”

“This one’s on the house.” Cole opened his mouth to protest, but Isaac cut him off. “Don’t worry about it. I am the house as far as we’re concerned.” Isaac waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Plenty of room in these walls for more. Would you like another?”

Cole glanced down and belatedly realised that he’d drained the entire cup. “I…”

“I’ll get you another.” Isaac stood, ready to take off like a rocket, but was stopped halfway when the sounds of a familiar jingle suddenly blared out of nowhere.

They both looked towards the source, which was Cole’s phone.

“I’m so sorry—” said Cole, at the same time that Isaac said, “Sorry, I’ll—”

They looked at each other with sheepish grins.

“I’ll just leave you to it, then, shall I? I’ll go get that second cup brewing.” Isaac gave him a lazy salute and disappeared around the corner.

Cole wistfully watched him go, then looked down at the caller ID. It read, Mom.

He sucked in a deep breath and picked up. “Mom?”

“Nicholas?” Her voice was worried, but stern, and he closed his eyes. Another lecture. There was another lecture coming for him in his very near future, and the chances of his being able to avoid it were absolutely nil. “Where are you? You haven't called, you haven't—"

Cole swallowed, trying to keep his voice even. "I'm not coming back, Mom."

"Just let me explain myself, son. I've been looking into treatments for you, and I think—"

He hung up.

He was still staring at his phone when Isaac came back with the mocha. Isaac set the cup down, looking concerned. "Bad call?"

Cole hastily stood from his seat. "Listen, Isaac, I've got to go. I'm really sorry. Thanks so much for the coffee."

"Are you alright? Do you need to talk?"

"No, no. I've… I’ve just got something I need to do." Cole slung his backpack over his shoulder. He didn't quite know what to say, so he just went for the simplest thing he could think of. "Bye."

He stumbled out of the café, hearing the ding of the bell behind him, and hurried down the street. When he turned to look back, he saw Isaac standing at the window of the café, staring after him with his palm against the glass.

Cole kept walking.

—

That night, Cole had a dream about a tree with twisted branches which spiralled infinitely upwards into an endless grey sky. Crows filled its branches as far as he could see, watching him with their beady eyes.

They didn’t make a single sound. They just stared.

—

A finger, hovering over a button.

Cole’s hair was still suffering from a severe case of bedhead as he stood numbly over the coffee machine. His brain was telling him to push the ON button, to get his morning over and done with, but he just couldn't do it.

He was remembering the taste of mochaccino—specifically, Isaac's smile as he sipped it. He was also remembering kissing his first crush behind their middle school building, holding him by the lapels. He remembered getting ratted out by Timothy Dumont to the teachers, and he remembered his mother's reaction when she heard about it…

Six years of absolute hell had followed.

He still loved his mother. That was the most frustrating part. It would have been easier to leave her if he hadn't felt a thing for her, but he constantly missed her home-cooked meals and the rambling way she would talk about her day at work. She would go on and on about girls she'd seen in magazines ('Aren't they pretty, Nicholas?') or their neighbours' daughters ('I hear Maddie’s been looking for a boyfriend'), and Nicholas hadn’t had the heart to tell her Mom, while I'm sure those girls are lovely people, I don’t love them.

She would have tea with the other parents in her group and gossip relentlessly about him. Gossip has a way of trickling down from parents to children in a particularly malicious way, and thus for most of high school he found himself sitting alone at tables or being apologetically ignored by everyone else. Cole was naturally shy and introverted, so that had mostly been fine, but having nobody talking to you does eventually take its toll on a person no matter how antisocial you may think you are.

He’d tried. He’d attempted a Coming Out speech, although he might as well have just Gone Back Inside because nobody could do withering disinterest like his mother. She liked to change the subject whenever he brought it up (‘Weather is awfully nice today, don’t you think?’ or ‘Fridge is looking a bit empty, might be time for a grocery trip' were her perennial favourites), which made it almost impossible to talk about anything. Running away and getting his own apartment had been like taking in a fresh lungful of air for the first time in years.

His mother wasn’t an awful person, she just hated who he was. On some days, it was really hard to reconcile those two things.

Like today.

Cole lowered his hand from the coffee machine. He owed Isaac an apology.

He threw on his jacket, went through a sped-up version of his morning routine, nervously checked his hair for any dishevelled strands, and stepped outside. The air was cooler this morning due to the fog from the morning rain, and he shivered instinctively despite the summer warmth as he tucked his hands in his pockets.

There was a dreamlike quality to the lane as he started on his walk. Every monotonous, cardboard-cutout house was quiet and partially shrouded in the mist, looming larger as he got closer and then fading away once more as he left them behind. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was following in his footsteps, echoing his every move, but whenever he paused to listen for signs of human life, all he could hear was silence.

Strangely, he was half-expecting the café to be gone, but it was still sitting on the corner of Nord and Fleet in all its assuring solidness when he arrived. He ascended the steps, hesitated, and pushed open the glass door.

Ding.

Isaac was standing in front of the counter. There was a small smile on his face, and Cole swore that he had never seen a more perfect human being in his whole life. “Well, well! Look who’s returned.”

Cole couldn’t help it. He smiled back. “Hi.”

“Hi to you too. Are you alright? You ran off pretty quickly yesterday.”

Cole took his hands out of his pockets. “Yeah. I’m… sorry, Isaac.”

“What for?”

“Well, for running off on you like that.” He shrugged helplessly. “And I didn’t drink your second cup of coffee.”

Isaac’s smile widened. “Is that all? Ha! That’s nothing. Actually, do you want that second cup now? I was keeping one ready just in case you came along.”

“Yes, please.”

The sounds of Isaac bustling around the machines behind the counter were oddly comforting in the quiet atmosphere of the café. Cole sat and watched the world passing by slowly outside—a mother pushing her stroller, a cyclist waiting for the light to turn, a taxi picking up a passenger, a pedestrian walking a dog. The fog was clearing up, and a few rays of sunshine were beginning to peek through the clouds. The twisted knot in his stomach was unwinding, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt hopeful.

Isaac came back carefully holding a cup and saucer with both hands. “This one’s a bit different from yesterday’s. Do you like lattes?”

“I’ve never tried one before, actually.”

“You uncultured barbarian!” Isaac put a hand over his heart in mock horror. “I’d better fix that quickly, then.” He placed Isaac’s hands around the cup, and the brief contact from Isaac’s fingers made Cole’s heart flutter. “It’s french toast.”

Cole grinned. “I’m guessing it’s your own recipe.”

“And I’m guessing you must be psychic.” Isaac winked.

“Are you going to give me an extensive list of ingredients this time, too?”

“Well…” Isaac looked down modestly. “It’s nothing much. Hazelnut milk, brown sugar, maple syrup, vanilla, and a dash of cinnamon. Oh, and my own special secret ingredient. That goes in everything I make, of course.”

“Care to tell me what it is?”

Isaac wagged a finger. “And ruin the fun? You’ll have to figure it out for yourself. Taste it.”

Cole looked down at the latte. The creamy browns and whites in the cup had been carefully and deliberately parted into the shape of a heart.

Cole looked up at Isaac.

Isaac’s smile softened, and his eyes took on a mischievous sparkle. “Go on, take a sip.”

Without taking his eyes off Isaac, Cole took a sip.

It was warm—not just in temperature, but also in taste. Where the mocha from the previous day had been a starburst of sudden flavorful life, the latte was a layered pastry confectionery. Every sip brought the slightest kick of cinnamon, simmering beneath a shimmering sweet silk cream curtain of hazelnuts and vanilla. It was a close hug on a cold day. It was exactly what Cole craved and needed.

“Do you like it?”

Wordlessly, Cole nodded.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

Isaac seemed to be struggling with words, which struck Cole as being highly unusual. Finally, he spoke. “Cole. I like you. A lot.”

Cole felt his heart speeding up. He nodded.

“I would ask you out for drinks, but, well…” Isaac shrugged and grinned impishly. “I think we’ve already gotten past that point, right? So I was wondering—would you like to—”

“Yes!” Cole blurted out. “Absolutely.”

“Really? You didn’t even hear what I was going to say yet. I could have been suggesting the most boring thing on the planet.”

He raised his head and looked into Isaac’s eyes. Strangely, there seemed to be depths to them that trapped glimmers of light within their recesses, and it was oddly mesmerising. He’d never noticed that before. “No. I trust you.”

Isaac’s eyes crinkled at the edges. “Well, I’d better take advantage of that, then.”

—

how to act on a date with boyfriend

Cole’s fingers stopped typing, then frantically backspaced.

what gifts to buy for boyfriend

No, that wasn’t it, either.

how to make boyfriend happy

He hit enter.

There was the typical Adderall fluff: Be affectionate. Be attractive. Be supportive. He scrolled past it quickly, his eyes scanning pages of black text on white. It was late at night and well past what anybody would be calling a reasonable time to be awake, but worry and anticipation were driving him off the rails. Why wasn’t there a manual for this kind of thing? Was it alright to hold hands on a first date? And what on earth were you supposed to talk about?

He looked out the window. There was a single lit street lamp throwing the whole avenue into variations of shadow, but it was still bright enough for him to see the black formless shapes staring out at him from the dark. They were a multitude of black eyes and black feathers, and they rustled.

When he rubbed his eyes to take a closer look, they were gone.

He did not have any dreams that night.

—

Isaac was wearing an enigmatic smile and a long black collared coat when Cole found him outside the café late that afternoon. He was leaning against his brick wall backdrop with an effortless, casual ease, which instantly made Cole’s palms break out into an itching sweat. He curled his hands into fists, hoping to stop them from trembling. It didn’t work. You can do this. You can do this. You can—

“You look nice,” Isaac said, walking over and putting a warm arm around Cole. “Going somewhere, handsome?”

Cole turned a bright beetroot red. Oh, god, I can’t do this.

Isaac chuckled and gave Cole a companionable slap on the back. “You’re very fun to play with, you know.”

“Thanks?” Cole hurriedly changed the subject. “Uh, I brought food. For the picnic.”

“That was very kind of you.” Isaac’s gaze lingered on his face. “I’ll bet it tastes wonderful.”

The two of them started down the street. The sun was modestly hiding behind a brace of grey clouds, which lent a cooler edge to the afternoon breeze on their faces as they walked. Cole searched for something to say. “Isaac?”

“Hm?”

“How did you end up working in that café, anyways?”

Isaac raised an eyebrow. “Why do you want to know?”

“Well, because…” Cole shrugged. “You seem to be pretty good at what you do. I feel like you could be some kind of professional chef or something. I mean, your coffee is amazing.”

“That’s just the secret ingredient you’re tasting,” said Isaac, waving a hand dismissively. “I’d be nothing without it.”

“No, really. You said they’re your own recipes, and they’re wonderful. You could probably leave and start your own café or something.”

“Really?” Isaac had a bemused expression on his face, like he was in on a personal secret which Cole wasn’t aware of. “Well, I’m not sure anybody would come.”

“I’d come.”

Isaac took Cole’s arm in his own. His lips curved. “I’ll consider it, then.”

Strangely, the beach was completely devoid of people when they arrived. Cole spread out a blanket and began placing his little selection of fruits and breads on it. Isaac watched him work with a curious hunger to his features that Cole couldn’t quite place.

They sat down together facing the water.

“Tell me about you, then,” said Isaac, who was cross-legged on the blanket. “How’d you end up in North Canley? No offence, but it’s quite the mundane place. Not much happens here.”

Cole had his knees drawn close to his side. He was beginning to regret wearing only a t-shirt—despite the summer warmth, there was a small breeze blowing, which was making his arms prickle with goosebumps along their length. “It’s not a very interesting story.”

“Well, you’re interesting, so it stands to reason that nothing about you is boring.” Isaac was showing a hint of his very white teeth in his dazzling smile. “I’d listen to anything you say.”

Cole blushed and fiddled with the blanket, looking at his feet. “Well… I was running from my mom.”

“Your mom?”

“She didn’t like the fact that I—well, that I like guys, I guess.” Cole took a deep breath, trying not to remember all their nights of not-fights, and their conversations full of things left unsaid. “She was always trying to fix me. So I moved away.”

Isaac moved closer to him on the blanket. “Well, I don't think you need fixing,” he said gently. “You’re perfect.”

The words struck a long-disused chord within Cole. You’re perfect. Two simple words should not have been able to evoke such emotion, but in that moment, every one of his faults was suddenly forgiven and every little thing was possible.

There was a painful lump in his throat which he couldn’t swallow. He couldn’t speak. "I—"

"Shh, shh." He felt Isaac’s lips on his forehead, and before he knew it he was falling backwards onto Isaac’s broad chest. His arms were wrapped around his waist, cradling Cole. It was alright. Everything was okay.

Cole wept until he had no tears left to shed and nothing left to feel, until his only thought was that Isaac’s torso was the softest thing in the whole world, and until he only knew that Isaac was his whole world. The waves of Lake Locken splashed rhythmically against the sand a few metres from their blanket, the water continually drawing away along with the last of Cole’s misgivings.

They lay together on the beach for a very long time in the meaningful quiet.

“Isaac?” Cole was listening to the resonant thrum of Isaac’s heartbeat, feeling its steady rhythm aligning with his own. He felt like a compass needle that had finally found north.

“Yeah?”

“Sometimes, I think you’re too good to be true.”

He felt the gentle shake of Isaac’s chest against his cheek as Isaac laughed softly. “Maybe I am.”

The two of them watched the last of the sunlight disappearing beneath the water together.

—

“Something needs to be done about your mother,” said Isaac. They were making their way back to the familiar sights and sounds of the city at night, carefully stepping over weeds and threading around shrubs.

“Done? What do you mean, done?” Cole’s cheeks were still red from the cold breeze and the warmth of Isaac’s embrace as he tried not to trip over his own feet.

“She’s not good for you, obviously.”

“Well, I’m done with her.” Cole tried to put as much conviction into his words as he could—if he said it like he believed it, perhaps it was true. “She can hate me all she wants. I’ll be better off without her.”

Isaac’s eyes flickered. “Will she get in the way of us being together?”

Cole looked away and said nothing.

The familiar light of the café was a beacon in the dark. Cole was grateful to ascend its steps and escape into its confines, and he watched Isaac doffing his windbreaker with all the ceremony of a priest performing last rites. The seats were as empty as ever, and Cole had the strangest feeling of apprehension as he looked across at the empty seats. "Isaac?"

"Hm?"

"It really is this empty all the time, isn't it?"

Isaac's face was carefully blank. "Yes."

"Wow, you weren't lying. There's never any customers." Cole pulled back a chair contemplatively, then replaced it. Isaac was watching him like a hawk, and Cole suddenly felt awkward under his intense scrutiny. He tried to lighten the tension with a joking compliment. "Can't think why. Your personality is just magnetic."

“I have you as a customer, don’t I?” Isaac smiled distantly, but his eyes did not crinkle. “I don’t need anybody else.”

After Cole left, he thought he saw Isaac’s dark silhouette outlined against the café windows, staring after him, but when he rubbed his eyes the figure was no longer there. There was, however, a crow sitting on a streetlamp, and its beady eyes were silent and implacable twin stars as it watched Cole and his troubled heart making the long trek home together in the gloom of the summer night.

—

Two realisations bludgeoned Cole over the head when he woke up the next morning.

The first was that his essay was, in fact, due later that day. The second was that his roommate had still not returned to their apartment.

He closed his eyes, exhaled, and groaned with heartfelt despondency.

After summoning just enough energy to scramble out of bed, he opened his laptop and stared at the half-blank page which came up. The cursor blinked at him in a cheerfully malevolent way, like a hellhound puppy. His dishevelled clothes arrayed about the floor chimed in with their own diabolical salutations, and his unwashed bowls joined the greeting festival just for the fun of it.

Cole closed his eyes again, willfully ignoring the sight of his own room. If I can’t see it, perhaps it will all magically disappear, he thought. Alas, when he reopened his eyes, his world appeared entirely unchanged.

He suddenly wanted to call his mother. The urge to confess all his troubles to somebody who was family manifested as a deep yearning with his chest cavity, reminding him that he would never be able to let go of her no matter how much he lied otherwise.

Call her, whispered an insidious little voice in the back of his mind. It was the voice of eternal hope. If you call her and tell her everything, maybe she’ll finally accept you.

The doorbell rang.

Cole hurriedly threw on a hoodie and sweatpants, then answered the door with as much dignity as he could muster. “Hello?”

Standing on the threshold was a tall man wearing glasses whom, Cole dimly recalled, he had seen around the place before. Cole couldn’t quite recall his name, though the man certainly knew his. “Cole?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Cole tried to get some intruding hairs out of his line of vision—he hadn’t yet brushed his unruly locks into order. “What is it?”

“I’m James. Marcel’s boyfriend?”

A little bell went ding in Cole’s brain. The man was his roommate’s boyfriend. “Oh. Hi.” Another thought occurred to him. “I was going to ask—”

“—have you seen Marcel?” the two of them said at the same time.

There was a momentary pause. “I guess you haven’t,” said Cole, because he couldn’t think of anything useful to say.

“Yeah. Do you know where she might have gone?” The man pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. His face was a mask of worry. “She hasn’t messaged me at all for a couple of days now.”

“I thought she went over to your apartment. That’s what she told me.”

The man shook his head. “She never came over, and she never told me she had plans to come over.”

Cole racked his brains for any helpful clues, and came up with nothing. “I don’t know where she could be,” he said at last, slowly. “I didn’t know her very well. I’m sorry.”

The man’s face tightened at his use of the word didn’t, but his voice was tightly controlled when he spoke. “So you didn’t notice anything strange at all? Nothing concerning about her behaviour?”

Now that he thought about it… “She was going out a lot lately, but I thought she was going over to your place. That’s what she told me every time.”

“She hasn’t been at my place for a month now.” The man hesitated. “I… I thought she wanted to break up with me, honestly. I wanted to talk to her, but she was so abrupt and cold when I messaged her. It was like she was a completely different person. I thought I’d done something wrong.”

Strangely, Cole found his thoughts wandering over to Isaac, and the distance in his eyes when Cole had mentioned other customers the previous night. “Maybe she just needs some time to herself,” he said, but his words sounded weak even to his own ears. “I’m sure you’ve done nothing wrong. Maybe she’s having the time of her life right now.”

The man let out a laugh, but there was no humour to it—only a horrible nervousness. “Will you call me if she comes back?”

“Yeah. Yes.” Cole nodded. “I promise.”

“Thanks.”

Cole shut the door and breathed in deeply, then took out his phone. After staring at it for a long moment, he opened his Contacts and let his finger hover over Mom.

Too much. The world was being too much at the moment. He wanted to tell somebody that he was drowning in a well of his own devising. He needed to.

He dialled her number.

She picked up on the first ring. “Nicholas?”

Cole listened to her voice and said nothing.

“Nicholas, what’s wrong?” Her voice was starting to become suspicious. “Nicholas?”

Tell her, the thing with feathers that perched in his soul suggested.

“Do I need to call an ambulance? Say something, son!”

“Mom,” said Cole. His voice did not sound like his own. It was thin, weary, and stretched out over too many places at once. “Mom, do you love me?”

“Of course I love you, son.” Her voice was as it had always been: soothing in its gravitas, and pitched just so as to make the world seem like an inherently orderly place. “Is there something wrong?”

“I have a boyfriend.”

The sudden silence on the other end of the line was as terrifying as it was worrying. Cole pressed his ear closer to the earpiece, straining to hear something. His mother’s voice, when it came, was the boulder at the tip of an avalanche. “You’ve fallen in with the wrong crowd again. They’ve been telling you things, haven’t they?”

“No, mom. I—I love him.” Cole faltered. He couldn’t remember why he had decided to call any longer.

“I knew that moving away would put bad ideas into your head. Nicholas, forget this nonsense and come home at once.” His mother was speaking with urgency. “You’re not well.”

“Mom, you said you loved me.” The back of his throat was burning with raw, red emotion, searing his larynx with every word he forced out. “I thought you loved me.”

“I do, son, but—”

His fear caught fire and flared into pure fury. “If you really loved me, you would love every part of me,” he said to the black rectangle in his hand. “But you don’t. Bye, Mom.”

Cole didn’t wait to hear her response. He just threw his phone in a scything arc, where it smashed into the wall and bounced off to a stop on the carpet.

He was so angry and so fed up. He couldn’t believe how naïve he’d been. Expecting change from his mother? Really? All because he’d finally gone and done the one thing which she’d always tried to prevent from doing—finding happiness?

He had nobody but himself to blame for his delusions.

Throwing on his coat, he stormed out of the house. Fine. His mother didn’t love him. That was alright by him, then. He didn’t love her either.

The oppressive sunshine beat down on his skull as Cole stormed down the lane, past rows upon rows of beautiful whitewashed hellhole houses standing in silent judgement, past ever-watchful columns of impenetrable glass and mirrors and steel, and finally arrived at the one refuge which mattered the most in that instant.

It was a different place with the lights out. The Open 24 Hours sign became a near-falsehood, and the emptiness of the café seemed to have expanded in the absence of light. The ding of the bell as he entered reverberated, trying to fill the soundless void, but fell silent almost instantly. Cole looked around. Everything was spotless, as usual. “Isaac?”

The till’s digital display, usually brightly lit, had gone dark. Nothing moved except for his own shadow as he peered around the counter, trying to find signs of life. He found none.

Maybe, he reasoned, Isaac’s hiding in one of the back rooms, getting supplies ready or something. He pushed the flimsy barrier aside and entered the Staff-Only hallway. “Isaac!”

It was strange how labyrinthine everything in the hallway was. He went down twists and turns, expecting to find a dead end at some point, but the corridor wound on and on the further he travelled. He wasn’t sure if something this long and large could have, or should have, been able to exist in a corner café…

As the anger and indignation slowly started to drain out of him, replaced by dawning apprehension, he reached the end of his little journey. There was a door ahead of him that was just barely ajar marked STOREROOM C, and there was a distinct smell coming out of it. It was a smell that said that it was a few days old at the very least.

“Isaac?” Cole’s voice was very small in the empty quiet. “Are you there?”

No response.

He pushed open the door.

In the dark, it was hard to tell what was lying on the ground between all the boxes, but as he leaned closer, he realised to his horror that it was an arrangement of limbs that formed a body—that is to say, there was a corpse on the floor.

“You weren’t supposed to find that.”

Cole whirled around to find Isaac studying him with those glimmering, light-consuming pinprick eyes of his. He was standing right behind him. His charming smile, his cheerful persona, his warmth—that was all gone now, and what was left of the Isaac whom Cole had thought he loved was something vaguely predatory.

“Isaac, what’s going on?” Cole was slowly backing away, though he wasn’t aware of it yet. “Why is there a—”

Isaac shot forward like a bullet that had been kept on a leash for far too long, and in one smooth motion drove all the breath from Cole’s body with a single blow to the throat.

Cole staggered and fell to his knees, gagging. As he did so, he was brought into direct line of sight with the body, and was immediately able to discern more details.

The eyes of his former roommate were boring into his own from their places in her head on the floor, having been rendered sightless forever.

Isaac looked down at him. “I didn’t want to do that, Cole.” He leaned down and took Cole’s chin in his hand, turning it one way and the other, inspecting him thoughtfully. “It’s too early. I wanted to wait.” He easily lifted Cole up by the chin, and Cole struggled futilely like a fish out of water. “It would have been better if we’d taken our time together.”

Cole tried to speak, but he might as well have tried breathing under the sea. It probably would have been easier.

“You’d have tasted better.” Isaac’s eyes were chips of obsidian. “I’d have enjoyed you more than her.” He nudged the corpse on the floor disdainfully with his toe. “Did you enjoy her?”

“What?” It came out as a strained, coughing whisper.

Isaac’s lips curved in that not-smile of his. “Did you like the coffee? I made it sweet just for you. Barley for the pigs, as they say.”

Cole threw up a little in his mouth and groaned.

Isaac closed his eyes and inhaled, drinking in his fear. His eyes opened. “There’s still some potential to you. You’re angry, and it’s not because of me. Why?”

Cole shook his head. He wasn’t going to say a thing.

Isaac almost looked bored as he reached down and effortlessly broke one of Cole’s fingers with a crack that split the air like a gunshot. Cole tried to scream, but Isaac’s other hand rapidly clamped around his neck, cutting off his air supply.

“You still have nine other fingers,” said Isaac.

Cole felt the tears streaming down his cheeks, and realised that at some point he’d started to cry. It hurt too much to see, and Isaac’s face swam before him in twos. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t happening.

Isaac broke another finger. The jets of pure agony which blasted into Cole’s brain washed away all rational thought, and this time Isaac allowed him to howl from the pain of it.

“Eight left, now.” Isaac smiled, showing teeth. “Shall I make it seven?”

Cole just wanted it all to stop. “My mom. I called my mom.”

“And?”

The words tumbled out. “She can’t… accept me.”

Isaac studied Cole, who was trembling under his grip. “Do you hate her?”

Cole shuddered, closing his eyes. “No.”

Everything was still for a moment. “You’re all so interesting,” murmured Isaac, running his tongue between his teeth. “So much forgiveness, so much fear, so much hate, so much love—and all at once, too. You’re all such irrational creatures. You don’t make sense.”

Cole was too busy trying to grit his teeth against the pain to speak.

“Perhaps I should pay your mother a visit. She seems like such a fascinating person.”

Cole frantically shook his head. “Don’t do this,” he said desperately, trying to appeal to any last scrap of humanity Isaac might have had. “I still love you, Isaac. You don’t have to do this.”

Isaac said nothing in response. His cold hand only further tightened around Cole’s neck until stars began to swim at the edges of his vision and his head started to pound painfully. There was a dark amusement in those light-eating eyes of his, and Cole could see his own futile struggles reflected back at him from within their black, shining depths.

That was when Cole knew that he had lost, and there was no way he would be leaving alive. He summoned up the last of his breath for one final whisper. “Just don’t hurt my mother. Please.”

Isaac leaned forward. Cole could feel his cheek brushing against his scalp, and he gagged at the physical closeness of the contact.

“Don’t worry,” he said. His lips were moving against Cole’s ear. “Isaac won’t lay a finger on your mother. We’ll be together, Cole. Just like you wanted.”

Perhaps it was the sudden clarity that impending death was bringing with it, or the desperate little voice in the back of his head which had gone unnoticed for far, far too long that was finally making itself heard. Whatever the case, Cole's eyes widened with dismay as he realised that perhaps there was a fate worse than death, and his struggles increased in urgency as he fought to claw the hand of the thing which called itself Isaac away from his throat…

"Shh, shh."

The last thing Cole ever felt were those white, white teeth as they rent his neck to pieces.

[https://i.postimg.cc/LXvM92L9/ch-iv.png]