#sweetgem97draws

The silence in his new apartment didn’t sit well with him. It all heavy-pressed against Alec’s eardrums until he could hear the steady, mechanical ticking of his own wrist watch. He refused to look at the watch. He knew what the time was. Precisely, twenty-three minutes past midnight. The exact hour when his thoughts always drifted back to the finality of the courtroom ink, the cold handshake of a mediator, and the sudden, staggering emptiness of a life halved by a judge’s gavel. 

Alec sat at his kitchen island, a glass of amber scotch resting on the sleek quartz surface. He hadn’t touched it since. The ice had also melted long ago, so the alcohol was watered down to a pale, useless gold. Before him lay a leather-bound planner, which was the only relic of his old life that still held any meaning. For years, Alec’s world had been defined by precise numbers, predictable outcomes, and strategic control. He was always the man who solved the equations and who could balance the scales. Yet, the more he stared at the blank pages of the upcoming week, the more powerless he felt. 

The divorce wasn’t just a failure of his marriage, it collapsed his whole life. He felt bitter and resentment, not just toward his ex-wife Cheryl, but towards the entire concept of the life he had built around it. He’d done everything right according to the ledger. He had provided, played the part of the respectable, stable husband; and in return, he had been handed a box of his own books, a standard custody schedule for his own son that felt more like a prison schedule for him, and an apartment that smelled too strongly of fresh paint and cheap laminate. 

As he kept his eyes locked on the pages, a sharp knock broke the quiet, startling him out of the gray fog in his mind. 

“Huh, who the bloody hell is here at this hour?” The divorced man asked, half annoyed and half concerned. “Hell, who even knows that I’m here?” Walking up to the heavy, wooden door, he found himself facing face-to-face with three, iconic colleagues of his. 

“Finally!” Yul pushed past Alec without an invitation, smelling strongly of expensive-cologne and cheap energy drinks. Following his lead was Sam and Spencer, who felt the presence was filled with loneliness and hitting rock bottom. Yul turned to Alec to face him.

“Look at you, sitting in the dark like a gargoyle. You’re pathetic, Çelik. The ink on the papers are dry. You’re a free man! And tonight, we are celebrating that freedom whether you like it or not.”

“I’m not in the mood for a drink, Yul,” Alec exasperated, his voice filled with a bubble of pure exhaustion dropping over his features. “And I certainly don’t remember giving you three my new building code.” 

“Relax, your ex-wife told us where you were living now.” Sam revealed all calm, not wanting to increase conflict. 

“Besides, this is for your own good,” Spencer added, adjusting his glasses, not once feeling intimated by Alec’s cold glare. “You've been a living hell for a month now, Alec. A change of scenery might statistically improve your cortisol levels.” Alec rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache blossoming right behind his eyes. He wanted to throw them all out and sink blank into his resentful quiet. But as he looked past them into his living room, at the single cardboard box of unpacked academic journals sitting under the television, a sudden, heavy wave of defeat washed over him. Staying here meant staring at the walls and it meant counting the minutes until morning. 

“Fine,” Alec reluctantly muttered, reaching for his dark overcoat by the door. His voice was laced with a deep, cynical bite. “Where are we going?” Yul grinned a flash of white teeth with no genuine warmth and evil plans hiding behind it.