❝I had a conversation with Death, he wants you back ❞
---
At the New Year's Eve party, Quincy Sinclair finds the dead body of Alfred Kingsley III. Resident golden boy and incredibly rich, his death was no accident.
By morning, Quincy sees him again...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
During my daze, somebody took a seat to my left, bringing the strong smell of cologne along with him. It nearly choked me in its tight grasp and was enough to jolt me awake.
"Quincy," he smiled.
I turned my head and met those infamous blue eyes. Taron Clemente.
His long legs were crossed and he stretched out his body along the pew with his arm snaking behind my head. Kingsley lifted himself from my shoulder.
"Hello," I greeted carefully.
"How are you?" He asked and looked at me through those thick lashes.
"I'm fine, how are you?" I countered.
He smiled wider and shrugged. "Very good...very good..." his words trailed off and I realised that without the heat of a party and the surge of kisses, we had nothing but awkward tension.
After a moment, he continued. "So, about Felix..." he began.
I raised an eyebrow and felt as Kingsley tensed beside me.
"Have you...you know, read the note?"
I nodded, yes.
"So you know that you're in it?'
"I do," I frowned.
"Well, are you alright? Has anyone come up to you about it?"
I furrowed my brows and the tips of Felix's ears tinged a light pink, obvious to see against the milky white of his skin.
"Are you expecting somebody to come up to me?"
He lifted his hands instantly in surrender, laughing it off forcefully.
"Of course not," he cleared. "I was just wondering."
I would have replied if not for the sound that interrupted. It was a loud bang and shouts that echoed through the church halls, coming from outside. By now, I'd assumed everyone had left. Obviously, that wasn't true.
I looked to Kingsley first, he pulled at his fingers, clicking them. A nasty habit, I'd noticed.
Then, I turned to Taron who got up slowly. "You should probably stay here, I'll check to see if it's alright."
I scoffed, "As if."
Together, we glided to the doors and opened them, instantly greeted by the smell of fresh rain as it drizzled on that underneath. Then, I saw a boy, one that I recognised.
His curly hair looked a whole lot messier today than the night at the gala and his pink lips turned down into a scowl. The dark skin of his face had tinged a red from the flare of anger that had erupted through his trembling form.
I'm sorry, Atticus. I slept with you because I could. That's it.
Atticus, the boy I'd found Felix with the night of the gala. His body was tense while standing next to a car, shouting into the rolled down window of the driver's seat. I couldn't see who was inside but it was tense. Atticus bent down to be at eye level with the driver, his arms crossed stiffly. From his crumpled features, I could tell he was holding himself back.
