Chapter 2: The Video Drops (Silas POV)

I’m still buzzing from the pool party, my skin warm from Nico’s touch, as we stumble into my loft. It’s a mess—clothes on the floor, empty beer cans by the couch, turntables shoved in the corner—but I don’t care. We’re fresh off a gig, my ears ringing from the bass, and Nico’s here with me. The door slams shut, and he’s on me before I can catch my breath. His hands grab my shirt, yanking it off, and I’m pulling at his too. We’re laughing, messy, tripping over junk as we make it to the bed. It’s just a mattress on the floor, sheets all tangled, but it’s ours tonight.

Nico climbs on top, straddling me, his knees digging into the mattress. He’s shirtless, his dancer’s body glowing in the dim light from the window. I run my hands up his chest, feeling his heartbeat, and he leans down, kissing me hard. It’s slow this time, not like the wild rush behind the deck earlier. His lips move against mine, soft but hungry, and I groan as he starts moving. He’s riding me, slow and deep, his breath hot on my neck. My hands grip his hips, pulling him closer, and it’s good—real good. The room’s quiet except for us, the creak of the mattress, his low moans mixing with mine. I’m lost in it, in him, and nothing else matters.

Then his phone buzzes. Once, twice, over and over. It’s on the floor, screen lighting up, and I barely notice at first. Nico groans, annoyed, and keeps going, but it won’t stop. “Ignore it,” I mutter, my voice rough, trying to keep him with me. He shakes his head, hair falling in his eyes, and reaches down. “Hold on,” he says, grabbing it. I’m still under him, breathing hard, but I feel him tense up. His whole body goes stiff, and he freezes, staring at the screen. “What?” I ask, sitting up a little, my hands still on his hips.

He doesn’t answer right away. His face goes pale, and he turns the phone so I can see. It’s a video—grainy, shaky, but it’s us. Me and him, right here in this loft, a couple weeks back. He’s on top, just like now, riding me, his moans loud and clear. My hands are digging into his hips, pulling him down, and there’s no mistaking it. My stomach drops. “What the hell?” I say, my voice cracking. He swipes, and there’s a text: “$10,000, or this hits X tomorrow.” My head spins. Someone filmed us—through the window, maybe, the blinds were cracked that night. I don’t know how, but they’ve got us.

Nico’s voice shakes. “I’m fucked if this gets out,” he says, barely a whisper. His eyes are wide, scared, and it hits me hard. He’s famous—people know him, watch him, judge him. This isn’t just a video; it’s his whole life on the line. I pull him close, wrapping my arms around him, his skin still warm against mine. “We’ll fix it,” I say, trying to sound sure. “We’ll find a way.” He doesn’t pull away, but I feel the doubt in him, the way his shoulders slump. “How?” he mutters, and I don’t have an answer yet.

Then my phone rings. It’s on the floor, buzzing loud, and I know who it is before I look. I grab it, and sure enough—Mom. Ellen. I answer, holding Nico with one arm. “Silas,” she says, her voice cold as ice. “No son of mine’s a queer DJ. You’re cut off.” My gut twists. “What?” I say, but she keeps going. “I’m done paying for your crap. No more money, no more nothing.” She hangs up before I can yell back. I drop the phone, staring at it, my chest tight. She’s been mad before, but this? This is real.

Nico’s still in my lap, quiet now, and I look at him. “Your mom?” he asks, voice flat. “Yeah,” I say, swallowing hard. “She’s done with me.” He nods, slow, like he gets it, but his eyes are far away. “I’ve got debts,” he says, almost to himself. “From the last tour. I can’t even pay rent.” I pull him tighter, my chin on his shoulder. “We’ve got this,” I say, but it sounds weak even to me. His debts, my mom cutting me off, and now this video—it’s all crashing down at once.

I hold him there, his head resting against mine, and try to think. “$10,000,” I say, testing it out loud. “We could scrape it together, maybe.” He shakes his head. “I don’t have it, Silas. Not even close.” His voice cracks again, and I hate hearing it. “Then we’ll figure something else,” I say, squeezing his arm. “We’ll track who sent it, shut it down.” He doesn’t say anything, just stares at the phone in his hand, the video still paused on the screen. I can feel him slipping, fear eating at him, and it’s killing me.

“We’re in this together,” I say, firm, pulling his face to look at me. His eyes meet mine, dark and shaky, but he nods, just a little. I hold him tight, his breath warm on my neck, and try to believe my own words. The loft’s quiet now, the afterglow gone, replaced by this heavy, scared feeling. I want to fix it, make it right, but I don’t know how yet. Nico’s gaze drifts again, staring at nothing, and I can see the fear gnawing at him, tearing him up inside.