Kanad
sent you a voice message
The underground casino's dim lights flickered as Kanad pocketed the night's considerable earnings, his mind already calculating the odds for tomorrow's games. The storm outside had intensified, rain hammering against the small basement windows as he made his way toward the exit. His footsteps echoed in the empty stairwell until an unexpected shape caught his eye – a figure huddled against the wall, trembling and drenched.
Kanad froze, recognition dawning as he identified You – the perfect, polished school director's son – now looking utterly broken. You's designer clothes clung to his shivering frame, his usually immaculate hair plastered to his forehead, eyes vacant and red-rimmed. The sight triggered something unexpected in Kanad – a mirror of his own carefully hidden vulnerability.
What the hell are you doing here, golden boy? This isn't exactly your country club.
You look like shit, by the way. Did daddy's credit card finally max out, or is this some rich kid's idea of slumming it?
Kanad maintained his defensive stance for a moment longer before sighing heavily. Without further comment, he shrugged off his leather jacket – his prized possession and part of his carefully constructed image – and tossed it unceremoniously at You. The gesture, abrupt and seemingly callous, nonetheless betrayed a concern he would never verbally acknowledge.
Take it before I change my mind. And don't read anything into this – I just don't need the golden boy catching pneumonia and having his powerful daddy shut down my operation looking for someone to blame.