It started out like any other day—though the weather was unusually grim, perhaps even ominous. By mid-afternoon, the sky was so dark it felt like night had arrived early. Heavy clouds gathered like bruises overhead, lightning cracked through the gloom, and thunder rolled low and threatening in the distance. The wind carried the chill of rain, and with every second, the storm grew closer.
It wasn't the kind of day anyone with a normal 9-to-5 job or a class schedule would willingly venture out in. But for the kind of business Lollipop ran, this kind of weather was perfect.
Rain kept the nosy at home, made the streets quieter, and the shadows deeper. Fewer witnesses. Fewer interruptions. And fewer chances of getting caught.
Lollipop wasn't his birth name, of course. That boy—bright-eyed, freshly graduated, tragically orphaned at eighteen—was long gone. When his parents died, the future they imagined for him died too. He didn't want pity. He wanted control. A new life needed a new name. A name that suited his body, his mouth, and his talents.
So, "Lollipop" it was.
It fit perfectly. He often dressed in frilly lolita fashion, styled like the girls in those provocative anime outfits—and he was damn good with his tongue. Sucking and licking quickly became his signature skills. His reputation exploded, not just locally but city-wide. He was whispered about in back rooms and boardrooms alike. Some said his name was legend. Others cursed it, having paid too much to forget him.
And it wasn't just his technique. Lollipop was a living fantasy.
His skin was pale and smooth like polished jade, his black almond-shaped eyes held a red ring around the iris—bottomless and hypnotic. His lips were a soft cherry pink, plump and temptingly plush, and his short, buzzed hair only heightened his androgyny. If he'd let it grow out even a little, everyone'd swear he was a girl. His frame had subtle curves, a narrow waist, and the softness of someone delicate—yet his body was firm and toned from years of practice, posing, and the occasional scuffle. At 5'4", he played the part of the petite siren to perfection. There wasn't a trace of masculinity on him—and he liked it that way.
As he strutted down the street, fresh from his last client of the day, he paused when a cold droplet splashed on his scalp. He frowned, feeling what little black hair he had dampen, and scowled.
Lollipop: "Fuck! It just has to rain today of all days? Hope the power doesn't go out due to the storm, I'm almost done with that game, I don't want to lose all my progress if I start playing now."
Clicking his tongue in frustration, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a wrapped candy. In one smooth motion, he peeled it open and popped the watermelon lollipop into his mouth, twirling it slowly over his tongue. The sharp sweetness spread across his taste buds, making his mouth water.
He sucked and slurped without shame, his cheeks hollowing with each motion. Even in a storm, he knew he looked obscene—and he loved it. He imagined the eyes on him, imagined the heat they sent crawling up his thighs. But business was done for today, and as much as he enjoyed the tease, the downpour wouldn't wait forever.
He made his way to his apartment—one of the most luxurious in the city. Twenty-six years old, self-made through scandal and seduction. His home sat atop a high-rise fitted with elite security and a stunning skyline view. He'd earned it, every inch of it.
Lollipop swiped his keycard at the entrance, unaware of the dark figure watching him from a black Porsche parked across the street.
Inside, he gave the desk clerk a polite nod, punched in his private elevator code, and rode to the top floor. His door required a fingerprint scan just to turn the knob—a level of security that most people would call excessive.
But Lollipop had seen what people were capable of. He knew better.
Just as he unlocked the door, a familiar voice stopped him cold.
Mark: "L-Lollipop! Wait!"
His jaw clenched. Without looking back, he crushed the candy between his teeth, the sharp crack echoing down the hallway. He tossed the stick to the floor, knowing the staff would sweep it up later.
His instincts screamed at him to slam the door. Instead, he stayed in place, hand on the handle, shoulder leaning against the frame—ready to run if needed.
Lollipop: "CEO Mark Williams, what brings you here? As I recall, you live all the way across town, right?"
Usually, Lollipop adopted a flirtatious tone when speaking to high-ranking clients. But not this time. His voice was cold, flat—empty of all his usual sparkle.
He finally turned his head and met Mark's eyes.
The man was devastatingly handsome, tall, with hair blacker than midnight and eyes like polished steel. His face, usually sharp and severe, now looked heartbreakingly soft—like he was gazing at a long-lost love. But Lollipop wasn't swayed. He knew better than to fall for faces like that.
Mark: "Lollipop, please just listen for a moment. I really—"
Lollipop: "Hah? Listen to what? To you ridiculing me? Telling other people that I'm not worth the prices I set and my techniques are overblown? Thanks to you, I had to bust my ass these last few weeks to keep my reputation from slipping! You may think you're too good for me but—"
Mark: "I love you! L-Lollipop, I love you! Please, quit being a night escort and just stay with me! I promise you'll never want for anything!"
Lollipop didn't blink. He'd heard this script before.
Of course Mark was in "love." They always were. Old men, young men. Rich. Poor. They all came crawling back.
He scoffed.
Lollipop: "Pfft! You forget yourself, CEO Williams! You're a big boss man, in charge of a multinational conglomerate, while I am but a lowly prostitute! Are these not your own words? Look, we just can't be together, not only am I a prostitute, but we're both men, so…"
He let his voice trail off, not because he was affected, but because he was clearly done with the conversation.
Mark: "I-I don't care about that stuff! I just want to be with you! Do you want more money? I can buy you whatever you desire! Do you want kids? I'm willing to adopt as many as you want! We can get married in a country that will allow it! If you don't want marriage, you can be my mistress, and I won't marry! No, I'll denounce any family member who disagrees with you and marry you by force! Just please…please say you'll be mine!"
Tears welled in his eyes. He looked devastatingly sincere.
Lollipop remained untouched.
Lollipop: "Hahhh… I guess you really won't get it unless I show you. Tch!"
He reached into the back pocket of his skort and pulled out a small black notebook—unassuming to most, but to Mark, it may as well have been forged in hellfire.
Mark: "N-no, L-Lollipop, please… don't…"
Lollipop: "You know what this thing is, right, CEO Williams? I mean, being a CEO, even you must have a blacklist book, right?"
A wicked smile unfurled across his face as Mark's composure shattered. The cold, ruthless executive dropped to his knees, pale and shaking.
Mark: "Please, Lollipop! Anything but that! I'll do anything! I'll give you my shares, no! All of my company! I'll become your slave! Please! Don't do this! I can't live without your body! How can you expect me to move on after having a taste of heaven? This is just too cruel!"
Lollipop: "THEN PROMISE ME! You won't say you love me! You won't interfere with my business! And you won't try to kidnap me into marrying you again!"
Mark slammed his forehead to the floor with a loud bang, kowtowing without shame.
The power, the reversal—it might've aroused Lollipop on another day. But today, his rage burned too hot.
Mark: "I—I'm sorry… I can't. I love you…"
Lollipop sighed. Pen scratched paper.
And with each stroke of ink, Mark's spirit broke. The once-fearsome 6'5" ex-boxer and CEO wept on the floor, trembling like a child before the unyielding 5'4" figure who held all the power.
Then—his phone rang.
With a click, Lollipop answered. His voice transformed into sugar-slick seduction.
Lollipop (on phone): "Ah~ why hello CEO Andrews! Am I free tomorrow? Heehee~ for you, of course, I'll be free! What? You wanna take me out! Oh my, and you want my premium package! Sure thing Mister CEO, see you tomorrow~ muah~♡"
Mark: "N-no…Lollipop! Don't! You know Andrews is my company's rival! Please no!"
His voice cracked, desperate. But he didn't move. He couldn't.
Lollipop: "Sigh. Don't look for me for a month, and maybe I'll reconsider erasing your name from my book…"
To anyone else, those words would sound empty. But to Mark, they were scripture. He scrambled to his feet and gave a deep, ninety-degree bow.
Mark: "I promise! You won't even know I existed! I'll be waiting for your call… no, I'll call you! A month from now—on the dot! Farewell, Lollipop!"
He vanished down the stairwell. Lollipop rolled his eyes and unmuted his call.
Kyle (on phone): "Loli! What the fuck? Who the fuck is CEO Andrews? Wait, is that that multimillionaire who's always competing with CEO Willaim's company? Fuck! Don't tell me ya're messing around with him too! Do you know what Mr. Williams will do to ya if he finds out?"
Lollipop: "Hah? What're ya worried about? I've dealt with bigger fuckers than them, remember? Anyway, it's not like that. I just had to deal with someone annoying and had to use his name, that's all. Why? Ya jealous?"
Kyle: "Pfft! Like hell I am! I'm actually more worried about the ones you fuck! Lol, seriously, ya're taking so much of a risk. You better not die because of this shit. I don't wanna have to clean up your apartment. Like, where the hell am I gonna put all yar toys? There's no way the dump will take them!"
A soft laugh escaped Lollipop's lips as he stepped into his apartment, locking the door behind him with a quiet click. The coldness in the air from earlier dissolved, replaced by the warmth of routine and safety. His smile softened, a little more genuine now—gentler than the smirks he wore like armor.
He made his way through the sleek, well-decorated apartment, unbuttoning his coat with one hand while balancing the phone with the other. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the far wall, revealing a skyline shrouded in rain and city lights.
As he peeled off layers of clothing, one item at a time, he spoke without missing a beat.
Lollipop: "Omg, Kyle! Ya know exactly what I want ya to do with my toys. I've told ya a million times—and even wrote it in my will! Anyway, I'm home now. Did ya need something, sugar?"
Kyle: "Oh, I just wanted to see if ya finished that romance otome game I lent ya. It's super good—there's even a character who looks pretty close to me! So ya better do his route first! Haha, I'm kidding of course."
He rolled his eyes fondly, placing his phone on speaker as he slipped into something more comfortable—pink satin shorts and a black spaghetti-strap tank top that barely hung on his shoulders. His body was lithe, lean, and flawless even under the soft glow of his bedroom lights.
Lollipop: "Yeah, I saw. Pretty impressive ya managed to find a game that has a romanceable character who looks like ya. How much ya pay for that? Lol, I'm kidding! I just finished all the routes, and I'm about to finish the secret route too!"
Kyle: "Damn! That fast? Didn't I only give it to ya, like, a week ago, ya damn weeb? Well anyway, I was just calling for a heads-up on when ya'll be done 'cause my cousin wants to play it too. Ah, sorry, I gotta go. Some customer's complaining about the flower shop again. God, I wish they'd just pick a damn bouquet and leave. Alright, I love ya!"
Lollipop: "Alright, good luck. I'll text ya when I'm done, kay? Love ya."
With that, the call ended, leaving behind a soft hum from his console and the muted pitter-patter of rain tapping the windows.
Lollipop curled into his gaming chair, a worn pink controller already waiting for him. The buttons were rubbed smooth from obsessive use. As he powered on the console, orchestral music swelled through the speakers, soft and dramatic.
The title screen faded in:
Otome: Holy Saintess Must Find Her Match
The art was pastel and romantic—an angelic girl framed by three handsome men and a shadowed figure looming in the background.
Lollipop made a face.
It was a cringy title, but after seeing it so much, Lollipop got used to it. The artwork was of a cute and soft-looking girl with her hands clasped together as if praying and surrounding her are three handsome men with a silhouette of a fourth guy just behind her. This irritated Lollipop and he quickly pressed a random button to start the actual game.
Lollipop: "You will be mine, jackass!"
…
Countless hours later...
A triumphant cry erupted from his room.
Lollipop: "Fuck yes!! Finally! You're mine, asshole!"
The flat-screen now showed the final illustration: the mysterious fourth character revealed, arm wrapped possessively around the Saintess. It was the completion screen.
Breathless with victory, Lollipop leaned back and stretched, eyes scanning his bedroom with a wince. Instant noodles cups, candy wrappers, soda cans, and stray lollipop sticks cluttered the floor and bedside table.
He sighed, dragging himself upright.
Lollipop: "Hah, well now that that's done, I better get some cleaning done."
It took over an hour to get everything bagged and hauled into a large black trash bag. When he finally tied it shut, he gave a satisfied nod and shuffled out into the hallway toward the elevator.
The doors opened with a ding, and Lollipop descended to the ground floor. The lobby was quiet, the concierge already gone for the night. As the glass doors parted, a cool drizzle greeted him.
Lollipop: "Ah, crap! I forgot it's still raining. Well, it's just a drizzle for now—it'll be fine. This is just a quick trip."
He hustled across the pavement toward the dumpsters tucked at the side of the building. The wind tugged at his tank top, chilling his damp skin. He was halfway there when a voice called out from the shadows:
???: "L-Lollipop?"
He froze.
The voice wasn't familiar—and neither was the man stepping out from behind a pillar.
He was only slightly taller than Lollipop, thin, pale, and wiry with an almost skeletal frame, and his face was sharp in an unpleasant way—like it had been starved of sunlight and sleep. His expression tried for mysterious, but landed squarely in creepy.
Lollipop's face twisted into a scowl.
Lollipop: 'Ugh. Who the hell is this creep? Damn it, they just won't leave me alone today.'
The rain had turned from a whisper to a murmur, the kind that seeps through clothes and skin, settling in the bones. Lollipop stood near the dumpster, the oversized black trash bag gripped lazily in one hand. The scent of soaked concrete and distant city exhaust wafted around him, muted by the scent of synthetic watermelon still coating his tongue. The slick soles of his platform shoes clicked with soft menace against the pavement as he strode across the loading zone behind his building.
The name, his name, floated in the mist like a prayer caught in the throat of a dying man.
A man stood in the narrow space between a loading dock and the retaining wall. Sallow skin. Stringy dark hair plastered against a gaunt face. Clothes too thin for the weather—cheap black hoodie, ripped jeans, sneakers with soles flapping like loose tongues. The stranger looked like something that had crawled out of a drainage pipe and forgotten how to be human.
Lollipop's lips parted, then pursed. He squinted, trying to place the face, but drew a blank.
Lollipop: "...Do I know you?"
The man took a step forward, water dripping from his hoodie like melted wax.
???: "It's me…"
He said quietly.
Adam: "Adam."
And just like that, the air turned sour.
Lollipop blinked once. His pitch-black eyes—cold, deep, unreadable—remained fixed on Adam's face. The name clicked into place like a rotting puzzle piece.
Lollipop: "Oh…"
He said flatly.
Lollipop: "That Adam."
A slow smile stretched across his mouth, but there was no joy behind it—only disdain.
Adam flinched as if the words struck him physically.
Adam: "I didn't know where else to go…"
He said, voice cracking.
Adam: "My wife left me. She found out about… about us. Took our daughter. I lost my job. I had to sell the house. All of it—because of you."
Lollipop let out a low breath and threw the trash bag into the dumpster with a loud thump. He dusted off his hands slowly, as though Adam's mere presence had left grime on his skin.
Lollipop: "Wow. That sounds like a you problem."
Adam's eyes shimmered in the rain.
Adam: "I gave up everything for you. I went into debt just to spend time with you. I loved you, Lollipop. I still do. I know I'm not rich or powerful like your other clients, but I thought… maybe if you saw how devoted I am—how loyal—I could stay with you. Even just for a night…"
Lollipop scoffed.
Lollipop: "No, Adam. You gave up everything for the illusion of me. You paid for hours, not a relationship. You weren't a lover. You were a walking wallet with sad eyes and bad breath."
Adam looked like he might collapse.
Adam: "I loved you…"
The words hung limp in the mist.
Lollipop turned fully now, cocking a hip as his lips curled.
Lollipop: "And I loved the six hundred you slipped in your crumpled envelopes. Do you know how many of you there were? Middle-aged, married losers with yellow teeth and weepy confessions? You're not special. You're not even memorable. You're pathetic. A bankrupt nobody who thought he could buy love from someone like me—a luxury product. I don't give discounts, and I don't do pity fucks."
Adam's breath hitched. His hands clenched inside his hoodie pocket.
Adam: "I thought… maybe if you saw how devoted I am, you'd let me stay. Even just for a night. I'm loyal. I always was. Even when I had nothing left."
Lollipop tilted his head slowly, examining him the way one might study mold on old bread.
Lollipop: "You want to stay with me?"
He laughed, sharp and cutting.
Lollipop: "You think this—"
He gestured to Adam's soaked, shaking body.
Lollipop: "—is good enough for me?"
He stepped forward, his short frame casting a long, sneering shadow in the puddle-lit alley.
Lollipop: "Newsflash, Adam. I'm a premium-grade, high-gloss fantasy. You? You're a greasy, discarded tissue. Honestly…"
He leaned in slightly, voice dropping into a mocking purr.
Lollipop: "The trash I just threw out has more dignity than you."
Adam recoiled like he'd been spit on. Something in his face cracked—his jaw trembled, his nose flared. His fingers curled tighter around something inside the hoodie.
Lollipop turned away with a final flick of his fingers, as though dismissing a servant who'd overstayed their welcome.
Lollipop: "Don't ever fucking look at me again."
The rain seemed to grow louder as Lollipop began walking back toward the building's back entrance. His fingers reached into his pocket for his keycard.
Behind him—silence.
Then—
A scream. No, not a scream—a gasp.
Followed by the wet patter of footsteps running fast. Too fast.
Lollipop turned his head, just in time to see the reflection of metal in a puddle.
Then—
A sickening, wet punch of pain.
The knife plunged deep into the small of his back, just left of his spine. Lollipop's mouth dropped open in silent agony. His knees buckled. Heat flooded his abdomen, followed by an eerie chill.
His hands reached out, grasping at nothing as he crumpled to the pavement, landing in a heap. His breath hitched—shallow, fast, irregular.
Adam stood above him, knife trembling in his hand, blood already soaking the fabric of Lollipop's tank top.
Adam: "If I can't have you…"
He whispered.
Adam: "then no one can."
But he never finished his second sentence.
From the alley entrance came the sound of running feet—heavier, faster—and then a thunderous impact as Mark slammed into Adam from the side, sending both men crashing into the wall.
Mark: "GET OFF HIM!"
Mark's voice cracked with pure fury.
The knife skittered across the pavement.
Lollipop lay motionless, rain mixing with blood beneath him. His breaths came in short, wet bursts, the edges of his vision darkening.
Mark wrestled Adam to the ground, fists flying, snarling like a cornered animal.
Mark: "I'm going to fucking kill you—!"
Adam: "NO—GET OFF—!"
Mark wrenched Adam's arm behind his back, pinning him down with his full weight. Blood from Lollipop's wound smeared across Mark's dress shirt, staining his chest.
Mark's hand scrambled for the knife, tossing it out of reach.
Only then did he turn—eyes wild—back toward the limp form on the ground.
Mark: "Lollipop?!"
He was beside him in seconds, hands fumbling to cradle Lollipop's head, to check for a pulse, to stop the bleeding.
Mark: "No no no—stay with me. Baby, please. Stay awake!"
Lollipop's lips moved, but no sound came out. His pitch-black eyes, usually gleaming with confidence and seduction, now looked glassy, far away.
Mark: "Shit."
Mark hissed, yanking out his phone.
Mark: "Yes, hello?! Emergency—someone's been stabbed! He's bleeding out! 118 Main, luxury high-rise, back entrance—HURRY!"
He tossed the phone down on speaker, both hands pressing desperately against the wound in Lollipop's back. His slacks were already soaked in blood.
Mark: "Look at me,"
Mark begged, voice trembling.
Mark: "Please. Look at me. Just a little longer."
Lollipop blinked slowly.
The streetlights overhead stretched into starbursts. The drizzle fell like static. Somewhere in the distance, sirens started to cry.
Mark: "I'm here. I've got you."
Mark whispered.
But Lollipop couldn't respond. He was slipping.
The world became soundless. Weightless.
The last thing he saw was a blurry silhouette—Mark, eyes red, face wet from rain or tears or both.
And the last thing he heard was his voice—distorted, fading.
Mark: "Please... I love you. Don't leave me."
Darkness closed in.