Chapter 6: Will you just shut up!

Eoin’s complexion was naturally pale and cool, and with his blood sugar this low even his lips had lost their colour, leaving him as fragile as a paper cut out.

Sinéad felt a pang of sympathy. "Dinner’s a good while off, so it might be a rough one. By the way, do you know Cian’s rules for bringing someone into the circle?"

The rich kids never ate on time. They usually played until eight or nine before drifting back to the city. If it was someone’s first time being brought along, they had to drink first. When Sinéad first met Cian and the others she’d been made to knock back three bottles, and that was only because she was a girl and they’d gone easy on her.

Eoin asked, "What rules?"

"Drinking, loads of it, at least half a bottle of whiskey," Sinéad whispered. "On the way back, try to eat something to line your stomach, or you could end up with a perforated ulcer."

But Eoin said, "I won’t be taking part."

Sinéad’s eyes went wide. "You won’t?"

Eoin said simply, "I have a meeting tonight. It’s outside the contract."

The original Cian had agreed in the contract not to interfere with Eoin’s academic commitments. If Eoin had a meeting, he could leave at any time.

When Cian first saw that clause, he’d thought it strange. With the original’s arrogant, domineering nature, it wasn’t his style at all. He’d even gone back to check the novel, where it was described like this:

Young Mr. Fitzgerald had grown tired of keeping fragile songbirds. Lovely as they were, they bored him. Now he wanted a change, someone with a spine who wouldn’t bend easily, preferably someone who had achieved something. Someone cold and aloof in the lab, commanding at the lectern, who would beg with red eyes in his bed. That was what made it fun.

At the time Cian had smacked his lips and thought, What a playboy.

"Will Cian be all right with that?" Sinéad hesitated. She had never seen anyone like Eoin in their circle, and after some thought she still tried to advise him. "You know Cian better than I do. If you don’t go this time, you’ll have to go next time. And next time he’ll make you drink even harder."

And it might not stop at drinking.

Eoin shook his head and said only, "I know what I’m getting into."

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the consequences. But ever since he’d signed the contract, all of his time had been in Cian’s hands, like a puppet on strings. Only this sliver of freedom, granted by the young master, kept him going.

At that moment a burst of cheering rose from the track as the last few cars crossed the line. The main screen flickered a few times, and the names of the top three were picked out in bold red. The announcer picked up the microphone to congratulate the winners.

Beside the main screen was a smaller one showing the results for the other drivers. Cian glanced at it and saw that he, having abandoned the race midway to take a handsome stranger out for a spin, had come dead last. Rory was a bit higher, seventh from the bottom.

Cian didn’t care, and gave a half hearted clap. From afar he saw Rory storming off the track, face black as thunder, flinging his helmet to the ground and dropping into the seat next to Darragh, panting and cursing. "Bloody hell, a pack of blind eejits, they kept cutting me up and forcing me wide!"

Darragh patted him. "It’s just a bad run. It happens."

"Bollocks! I think the steward was blind too!"

Rory couldn’t swallow his anger and sat there swearing. Darragh tried to soothe him. "Tell you what, we’ll find somewhere to drink tonight and knock back a few bottles."

Rory brushed him off. "What’s there to drink to?"

Darragh said, "Not drinking? I’ve just got my hands on a few bottles of Midleton Very Rare, the proper top shelf stuff."

Rory still looked sour, but he didn’t have many hobbies and he loved his whiskey. At the mention of good drink he nodded. "Fine. The usual spot, and we’ll ring a few fun people to join us?"

He looked up at Cian. "Young Fitzgerald, what do you say?"

Though Rory was addressing Cian, his eyes were on Eoin, sweeping him from head to toe, the look so blatant it was as if he wanted to strip him bare.

By their table rules, the "boyfriends or girlfriends" brought along by one of the lads weren’t to be taken all the way, but a little hands on fun was still allowed.

Eoin stayed expressionless while Sinéad shrank back and didn’t dare speak.

"Fine." Cian, who had been sitting at the front lost in thought, was jolted out of it. He idly plucked a few blades of grass from a crack in the concrete. "Let’s go."

If he turned down the invitation from his so called friends, he’d be breaking character.

Rory said, "Back to town, then."

The three of them stood up. Cian lingered behind to wait for Eoin. After a while he turned around and saw Eoin still standing straight in the same spot, his white shirt hugging his lean, tall frame.

Cian raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Brennan?"

Eoin met his gaze. "I’m not going tonight."

Cian said, "Hm?"

Eoin’s fingers curled into fists inside his sleeves. He looked straight at Cian and repeated flatly, "I have a meeting tonight. I won’t be at the party."

The moment he finished speaking, every head snapped round to him.

Sinéad was startled. "Are you out of your mind? You can’t say that!"

She had never seen Eoin so defiant. She immediately whispered a warning. "If you humiliate Cian in front of his friends like that, it won’t end well for you. If you don’t want a beating tonight, go and apologise right now!"

Eoin said nothing.

If he’d been the sort to apologise, he wouldn’t have ended the novel severely depressed and still refusing to beg the lead for mercy.

Cian didn’t react much. He just glanced at Eoin, turned, and said, "Come on down. We’ll talk about it in the car."

He sauntered across to the car park, opened the car door, and got in. Outside, Sinéad gave Eoin a sympathetic look, shook her head with a sigh, and climbed into Rory’s car. Darragh shot Eoin a glance that seemed to say, Good luck.

Eoin gripped the handle. In the reflection on the window his face was pale, his lips pale too, a picture of misery.

Cian unlocked the car. "Get in."

Eoin lowered his eyes and got in.

The door locked with a click.

Cian’s car was a luxury Bentley saloon with reinforced steel doors and bulletproof windows. Once the locks engaged, the car felt like an island cut off from everything.

Eoin buckled himself in with one hand. The wide belt wrapped around his body, crossing his waist, as though he were tying himself down.

The young master started the car and reversed. He didn’t turn on the stereo, and the interior was eerily quiet apart from the faint sound of the steering wheel turning.

Breaking the silence, Eoin spoke again. "I’m not going tonight."

He stared at the window, hands hidden in his sleeves, his back rigid with tension.

Cian shrugged lazily. "If you’re not going, then neither am I."

Eoin was stunned.

He paused for a couple of seconds, then turned to look at Cian. The young master was reversing the car, knuckles prominent on the wheel. He glanced back to check the way, and the dim yellow light of the car park lit his handsome face, playing across the contours as if they’d been sketched with a brush.

He truly had remarkable looks.

Eoin hesitated. "You"

Cian said, "Hm?" Eoin turned his head. "Never mind."

Cian gave a half smile. "I’ve something on tonight, and so have you, so we’ll leave it. But if you don’t come next time"

He paused, drawing out his tone. "I can’t promise what’ll happen."

Eoin’s back stiffened instantly, then he forced himself to relax. "Mm."

Cian nodded.

It wasn’t that he’d suddenly lost his mind. This was part of the script and he had to say it.

In the original text, Eoin refused to attend the party and the original Cian was very displeased. He’d roughed Eoin up in the car, leaving behind a lot of blurred out scenes.

The blurred scenes weren’t the problem. The problem was the scraps of plot scattered among them, and these absurd scenes were what Cian was supposed to act out.

During a lull in the racing, Cian had skimmed through the material he’d have to perform, his face sceptical and his brow twitching. He couldn’t help asking the system, "Is it what it looks like?"

The system replied coolly, "It’s a protagonist suffering story. What else did you think it meant?"

Cian said nothing.

He stayed silent a long while, and the system leaned in. "Is it hard to pull off? The uncensored parts are just ordinary stuff."

Cian raised an eyebrow. "Ordinary stuff?"

He pointed at the screen. "This one, ’Young Mr. Fitzgerald chuckled, reached over, and pulled Eoin into his arms.’ Is that ordinary?"

The system said, "Well, it’s fairly standard."

Cian said, "And this? ’Cian grabbed Eoin’s chin with one hand, forced his mouth open, and commanded, "Lick."’ Normal?"

The system fell silent.

It replied tactfully, "In a protagonist suffering story, that’s par for the course."

In short, the absurd scene dragged on for more than a Chapter. It only ended when Declan rang to ask his son to come home for dinner because there was something to discuss.

Cian was still pondering how to act out this ridiculous scene when three honks sounded from outside.

Rory rolled down his window and leaned out. "Young Fitzgerald, what’s the hold up? Why aren’t you moving?"

Cian gestured that he was coming, closed the script window, and drove onto the mountain road.

By now dusk was falling and twilight was near. The robotic voice of the satnav echoed in the car, and the smell of the forest outside drifted in through the gaps at the windows, mingling with leather and cologne and a faint hint of soap.

The sound system was on, and Cian idly picked a radio station playing a soothing concerto. The rich, warm tones of the cello, together with the roomy seats of the luxury car, made it so comfortable that you could easily have drifted off.

With his long limbs, Cian lounged lazily, completely at ease, without it affecting his view of the road or his work on the pedals. His posture was relaxed and unrestrained. Eoin, on the other hand, sat quietly, his neck forming a perfect arc, like a well bred young gentleman from a classic novel. It was a posture that shouldn’t have belonged to someone sitting in the young master’s luxury car as a plaything, but to a laboratory, a lecture hall, or a library reading room.

Cian drove while observing him.

Cian had never been a good student. In secondary school he’d hit a long rebellious phase, sitting in the back row as a troublemaker, while Eoin seemed like the earnest class captain or prefect sitting at the front.

A troublemaker’s attitude to a straight A student is always a bit off, a mix of disdain, envy, and pride fuelled jealousy. If Cian had met Eoin in secondary school, he’d inevitably have nicked his rubber, copied his homework, and bullied him a little.

But now Eoin had truly become his contracted partner, bullied into sitting here, shaped and reshaped at will. Cian felt a bit guilty and didn’t dare look too much.

No one spoke the whole way.

After more than twenty kilometres they reached the fork at the M50. Ahead lay the city proper. Cian told Conor and Rory in the group chat that he had something on that evening and wouldn’t be joining. Amid the pleading and wailing of his friends, he turned the wheel and left the motorway.

He adjusted the satnav. "Mr. Brennan, shall I drop you at the lab?" Then, after a moment, "Mr. Brennan?"

"Okay," Eoin replied a moment late, lowering his lashes. "Sorry, I zoned out."

After a pause he added, "Thanks."

Cian glanced at him in the rear view mirror. "Are you all right? You don’t look great."

Eoin had closed his eyes as soon as he got in the car and had been more or less out for the whole ride.

Eoin shook his head. "No."

It was just a sugar crash.

He felt a little dizzy, but it wasn’t too bad. He glanced at his watch. There was plenty of time to grab a bowl of plain soup and some brown bread in the canteen before the meeting started.

Trinity was in the heart of the city, and it was less than a ten minute drive from here to the lab building.

Cian braked to a stop. "Mr. Brennan, mind how you go. See you around."

He looked at Eoin, leaning on the armrest with one hand, and chuckled mischievously, reciting a line from the novel. "We’ll call it a day for now. Next gathering, you’d better keep me company."

The system popped up silently. "You’re just going to let him go like that?"

Cian said, "What do you expect?"

The system reminded him, "You’ve still got some lines to deliver."

A fluorescent blue screen hovered in mid air, the novel turned to the relevant page, a few lines highlighted in glaring red.

Cian said lazily, "I can’t bring myself to say that. We’ll skip it. As long as we hit sixty percent on the plot, right?"

With that, Cian pressed the unlock button. The door released and Eoin took hold of the handle and pushed it open. The chilly, damp air flooded the car. Campus noise reached his ears, girls walking past with takeaway coffees, lads heading to the pub, and as he undid his seatbelt he felt a strange disorientation, as if he’d been transported to another world.

Just like that, he was free?

Eoin turned back, meaning to say thanks. As he half straightened he went pale and dizzy. The combination of low blood sugar and the aftereffects of sitting so long made his legs give way. Before he could react, he slumped back against the armrest.

"Hey, are you all right?!"

Cian had been about to close the door and leave when Eoin unexpectedly tipped towards him. He grabbed him quickly to steady him, and Eoin, dazed, was pulled straight into his arms.

Cian said nothing.

Though he came from a poor family, Eoin took great care over his appearance. His head rested on Cian’s shoulder, his hair brushing Cian’s neck, his cheek grazing Cian’s nose. Cian caught the scent of old fashioned soap and washing powder. It wasn’t some fancy perfume but the kind of traditional homely brand the older generation favoured, with a bitter, medicinal tang. Not fancy, but fresh.

The system announced flatly, "Congratulations, Host. The main plot point ’Cian reached out and pulled Eoin into his arms’ has been completed."

Cian snapped back, "Is now the feckin’ time for that? Navigate me to the campus health centre!"

The system replied coolly, "Don’t worry, Host. The protagonist of a tragedy doesn’t get into trouble that easily. It’s only low blood sugar. Leave him alone and he’ll be fine in ten minutes."

Low blood sugar?

Cian thought it over. Holding Eoin with one hand, he fished a lollipop out of his pocket, one of the ones he used to stay off cigarettes. He quickly unwrapped it and pressed the sweet to Eoin’s lips, then paused, decided that saving him mattered more, and with one hand pinched Eoin’s chin and pushed the sweet in.

The system droned, "Congratulations, Host. ’Cian pinched Eoin’s chin with one hand, forcing his mouth open’ has been completed."

A vein throbbed in Cian’s forehead. "Will you just shut up!"

Eoin wasn’t completely unconscious. After a wave of dizziness his senses gradually returned. He knew the feeling of low blood sugar well and didn’t panic. After a moment he steadied himself and tried to sit up.

Then something was placed in his mouth.

The system helpfully highlighted the completed sections in green. Now only one red section remained in the entire Chapter.

Cian glanced at the screen and said sheepishly, "Er, to bring your blood sugar up, just lick it. It’s sweet."

Still groggy, Eoin instinctively did as he was told, keeping the sweet in his mouth.

In his haze, only instinct guided him.

It really was sweet.