~Dorian’s~

“Pain is a funny currency,” Reo mutters whilst keeping his eyes fixed on the swirl in his glass. “You think paying enough of it earns you peace. But it doesn’t. It just leaves you broke in new ways.”

Dorian smiles across the candlelit table. “That sounds poetic. Almost like you’ve been journaling.”

Reo huffs, not laughing. “Don’t tempt me. I’ve been seeing a therapist. Her walls are made of sharper things than mine.”

They sit in a corner booth of Lure & Hollow, one of the few places that still whispers discretion behind gold-plated wine menus. The booths curve like secrets. The waiters wear gloves. And no one asks...