Tareme sat with his back against the hallway wall, legs splayed across the threadbare carpet that smelled of old piss and cigarette ash. The door to apartment 307 was closed now, but it might as well have been glass. Every sound came through clear and cruel.
Inside, the bedframe creaked in steady rhythm. Audrey's voice rose again—higher this time, unrestrained.
"God, yes—right there, fuck—"
A wet slap followed each word. Skin on skin. Kang's low grunt answered her, possessive, satisfied. The headboard tapped the wall in time with their fucking, a metronome counting out Tareme's humiliation.
He pressed his palms to his ears. It didn't help. The sounds burrowed deeper: the slick glide of Kang's cock plunging into her, the hitch in Audrey's breath every time he bottomed out, the filthy little whimpers she let slip when he hit that spot she always claimed Tareme could never reach.
Minutes stretched. Or maybe hours. Time lost meaning when your entire world narrowed to the symphony of your girlfriend getting railed by the man who saved your life three days ago.
The pace quickened.
Audrey's moans turned desperate, fractured. "Don't stop—don't you fucking stop—make me come again—"
Kang laughed, dark and rough. "Louder, baby. Let the hallway hear how much better I am."
She obliged.
Her cry peaked—sharp, animal, shattering. Tareme's stomach lurched. He knew that sound. He'd heard it maybe twice in two years, always when she finished herself off after he rolled over spent and useless. Never for him.
The bedframe slammed harder. Kang growled something unintelligible. Then a long, guttural groan as he came, hips stuttering, burying himself deep. Audrey keened through it, legs locked around his waist, milking every drop.
Silence followed—panting, heavy breathing, the soft wet sounds of their bodies still joined.
Tareme's nails dug into his palms until blood welled.
Then the door opened.
Audrey stood there wrapped in a thin silk robe—his robe, the black one he'd bought her last birthday. It barely reached mid-thigh. Her silver hair was mussed, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from kissing. Between her legs a faint sheen of sweat and cum glistened on her inner thighs.
She looked down at him like he was a stain on the carpet.
"You're still here?" she said, voice flat.
Tareme's mouth worked but no sound came out at first. When it did, it was hoarse. "Audrey…"
"Don't." She stepped into the hallway, pulling the door mostly shut behind her. Kang's shadow loomed just inside, shirtless, smirking. "Just don't."
He forced himself to stand. The crutch had fallen earlier; he leaned on the wall instead. Pain flared through his ribs but he ignored it. "Three days. I was in the hospital three days. You didn't come. Not once."
She crossed her arms under her breasts, pushing them up. The robe slipped open enough to show the dark bruise Kang's mouth had left above her left nipple. "I was busy."
"Busy," he echoed. The word tasted like bile.
"With him?" Tareme jerked his chin toward the apartment.
Audrey didn't flinch. "Yes. With him. Kang pays attention. Kang makes me feel something. You…" She trailed off, pity flickering in her eyes. "You try, I'll give you that. But trying isn't enough anymore."
Tareme's vision blurred—not from tears, not yet, but from the sheer force of the rage and grief colliding inside him. "I love you."
"I know." She said it gently, almost kindly. "That's the problem."
Kang appeared behind her, one arm sliding around her waist. His hand dipped under the robe, cupping her ass possessively. Audrey leaned into him without hesitation.
"Time to go, kid," Kang said. "Show's over."
Tareme looked at the man who'd pulled goblins off him in the Gate. The same man now balls-deep in his girlfriend minutes ago. "You saved me."
"Yeah. And you almost got us all killed." Kang shrugged. "Debt's paid. Now fuck off."
Audrey sighed. "Look, Tareme. I pay the rent. All of it. The utilities. The food. Your medical bills are coming out of your next raid check—if you even get another one after today. You've got nothing here."
"I live here."
"Not anymore."
She turned back into the apartment. Kang followed. The door stayed cracked.
Tareme stepped forward. "Wait—"
Audrey reappeared with an armful of his things: his spare jacket, a duffel half-packed with clothes, his cracked phone charger, the cheap mana baton he'd bought secondhand. She dumped them at his feet.
"Take it and go."
He stared at the pile. "This is all I have?"
"Pretty much." She met his eyes. No remorse. Just exhaustion. "I'm tired of carrying you."
Something snapped inside him—not the thing in his skull, not yet—but the last fragile thread of hope he'd clung to.
He reached for her arm. "Audrey, please—"
Kang moved faster. One massive hand clamped around Tareme's wrist, twisting until bone ground. Tareme gasped. Kang shoved him back. Hard.
Tareme hit the opposite wall, breath exploding from his lungs. Pain white-hot through his cracked ribs. He slid down, wheezing.
Kang loomed over him. "Touch her again, I'll break more than your pride."
Audrey watched impassively. Then she stepped forward, crouched so her face was level with his.
"I'm not sorry," she said quietly. "I should be. But I'm not. You were never going to be enough. And I'm done pretending."
She stood. The robe slipped open further—revealing the fresh red handprint on her thigh where Kang had gripped her, the slow trickle of his cum still leaking from between her legs.
Tareme stared at it. At the evidence of what he'd just heard. What he'd just lost.
Audrey closed the door.
The lock clicked.
For a long moment there was only his ragged breathing.
Then the sounds started again.
Louder this time. Deliberate.
Audrey moaned—exaggerated, performative. "Fuck me harder, baby. Show him what he'll never have."
Kang laughed. The bedframe resumed its brutal rhythm.
Tareme curled in on himself, forehead pressed to his knees. Tears came then—hot, silent, soaking into the fabric of his bloodstained pants.
He sat there for what felt like forever, listening to the woman he'd loved scream another man's name. Listening to the wet slap of bodies. To the creak of springs. To the final, triumphant cry as Kang came inside her again.
When it finally stopped, the apartment went quiet.
Tareme didn't move.
He couldn't.
His fists shook against his thighs. Nails bit into palms until blood dripped onto the carpet.
I wish I was dead, he thought.
Or strong enough to burn them both.
Inside his skull, something shifted.
A faint heat. Not pain. Not yet.
Just… awareness.
Like embers stirring under ash.
Waiting for oxygen.
Waiting for rage.
Waiting for permission.